The Skysail Treasure Co.

Little time passed from when Arlen yelled to Cyradis to freeze the floors to when a powerful evil spirit, perhaps a mage in another life, launched it's horrific assault upon them.

The beam barreled toward Cyradis. In this situation the most dangerous of the group, undoubtedly. Arlen's heart sank as he watched their hope fade with every passing meter of the red malicious energy being hurled toward their mage. Suddenly, their fates changed, along with the course of the beam. The skeletons even seemed to double back in fear from the beast that launched forth the attack. The change in the fate of two quickly turned to the fates of all as rocks crashed down around them.

Arlen's eyes darted quickly to his comrades but dust and rock pelted, crushed, and obscured the vision of them all. A skeleton crashed through the dust with gaping mouth and sword raised. Skewering the creature went to little effect as his blade fixed itself in the bony ribcage of his enemy. Its sword hand fell with the quickened stroke of death, to which end Arlen was not inclined to concede. Grabbing the skeleton's bony wrist, he shoved himself forward with a yell to equal the unholy and raspy snorting of his adversary. A great stone the size of an ur'ghatrel crashed down behind the skeleton, who slid on the half-polished granite with no purchase. It clawed at his jacked, tearing at his sleeve, as Arlen dashed it against the crag with as much ferocity as he could muster. It clattered and fractured against the rock, and yet still tried to fight with its last flicker of undeath. Arlen threw the mess to the floor and kicked the head of the still biting torso a distance worthy of song.

Panting heavily with scratches on his shoulder bleeding mildly, he found himself cut off from the rest of the undead rabble. He pulled his sword from the unmoving chest of the pile of bones and grunted in the heavy darkness, to which no mortal eye could probably attune. Death in solitude...

He heard a shuffle behind him and turned, his sword at the ready. To his amazement, he was not alone as he had originally thought. "Or death by sermon..." he muttered, watching the cleric dusting herself off, sword still glowing from an unknown fire. No doubt her sword and holy nature had attributed to her safety, Arlen mused sarcastically. Now it is her God's will to save my soul, too, probably. Arlen coughed and walked toward the woman and spotted a door beyond her.

"Come on," he said in passing. Approaching the door, he grabbed a torch beside it and touched it to her sword. It ignited and Arlen smirked. The door was old but looked in fair condition. Taking a glance at the Cleric, he took a breath. "The treasure is not gold for me, but my friends. I understand if it matters not to you, so do what you planned to and I'll go my own way... Agreed Cleric?" Without answer, he kicked the door in, the handle breaking off and wood splintering.

OOC: i'll allow you to post what is inside, if you wish. I just got tired of no activity on the board, or of my own. I've been trying to post the better part of a week!

OOC: I know I said afternoon, but I had some errands to do that I forgot about :p

Cyradis

She felt the ripple-effect of the powerful spell before seeing it cast. The minor fireballs and more complex bombs she threw almost drew her attention from the increasingly powerful spell being charged somewhere deep in the ranks of the undead. The caster - apparently a mage in its past life - poured a considerable amount of power into the spell. Seeing it tear through the horde of undead without so much as a pause, Cyradis knew she could not reverse the spell in time. Instead, she grasped the glass head of her staff and pulled an arc of electric purple energy from it. As the threatening spell came upon her, she released her mana into a shield-like spell that didn't absorb the energy of the opposing spell, but rather deflected it. She felt a slight boost in her own morale at having effectively neutralized the spell, but her victory was short-lived.

Moments after the spell was redirected, it crashed not into a distant wall or the ceiling, as Cyradis thought it would, but instead connected with a support pillar with enough force to tear it in two. The falling stones and groundshaking impacts did nothing to slow the undead's advance, though the sheer amount of falling debris crushed nearly every one beneath it. Cyradis didn't have much time to think on it, though. For all she knew, the whole room could come crashing down. While that may solve their battle against the undead, it would cost their lives as well. Cyradis yelled for everyone to run, but even she couldn't hear her voice over the destruction of the pillar. Survival instinct drove her to run to the nearest wall. She reached the wall just as the pillar hit the ground among the large chunks which had been blown off by the spell. The shockwave delivered enough force up her legs to buckle her knees and send her to the ground. She recovered to the sight of a veritable fog of dust and stone. Some movement persisted through the limited light given off by her staff, but once again, the room was thrown into darkness.

Feeling around, Cyradis found and opening in the wall and stepped through it into a small adjoining room with another door on the far side. Coughing lightly from the dust in the air, Cyradis heard a challenge from within the same room. The voice was familiar and she urged her staff to glow brighter. The light penetrated the less dense dust in the smaller room and showed Archamae in a corner with her crossbow drawn. After seeing Cyradis, though, she lowered the weapon. No one else was in the room, and Cyradis hoped others made it to safety. She walked over to the pilot and sat on a dishelved stone to calm her still shaking legs. She sighed deeply and looked back towards the door she'd entered from.

"We should wait a moment to make sure more of those pillars don't come down," she looked back at Archamae, "Then we can look for the others."


Kyra

Kyra never even saw the spell that changed the entire scope of their mission. After berating Arlen's arguably foolish decision, she had no time to explain to him what the Everlight was, let alone what it meant to her. The pressing attacks of the undead consumed her entire attention. Some of the creatures were more agile and harder to kill than others, but most of them lacked the individual thinking and sanity to execute successful attacks. Some blows managed to get through her defenses and connect with the chainmail she wore beneath her robe, but she suffered no injuries. Despite all that, her luck would get no better. Stone doesn't crack easily, and when it does, it's no sound a normal human would welcome hearing. Especially a normal human fighting for her life in the depths of some tomb several leagues from the nearest glimpse of civilization.

As the pillar came crashing down, enormous chunks of stone cut wide paths through the ranks of the dead. Kyra used these paths to escape the kill zone beneath the pillar. She didn't get far from the impact area before it hit and she soon found herself face-first on the ground with bits of rocks and dust showering over her. The terrifying event was all over at once with just the lingering sound of the dead shuffling around still trying to reach the living. Kyra stood and adjusted her helmet to sit correctly on her head. She brushed her robes a few times while looking around through the dim light of her sword. She heard a cough behind her and spun to face the direction from which it came. She held her sword up to shed more light on the shape moving through the dust. Moments later, she recognized the figure as Arlen.

"Come," he said, passing her and going to a nearby door. Kyra lowered her sword as he lifted a torch to the flames. They could certainly use the extra light. "The treasure is not gold for me, but my friends. I understand if it matters not to you, so do what you planned to and I'll go my own way... Agreed Cleric?"

In a moment of heresy, Kyra wondered what made him worthy of her help as he kicked in the door. The priestesses would chastise her for such a thought, but his lack of concern for the life of the friend he killed earlier was lamentable. They proceeded through the door which led to a hallway lined with unlit torches every couple dozen feet. Kyra lit those on the right and Arlen those on the left as they moved down the hall.

"All life matters to me, Arlen," Kyra spoke breaking the brief silence, "Sarenrae protects all life and is as the sun to the earth. Everyone is worthy of Her light... even if they do not believe. As Her cleric, I deliver the unjust to her judgement or see them redeemed." Kyra cast a glance at Arlen. He wore a somewhat sardonic expression, but offered no immediate rebuttal, so Kyra continued. "In the case of the man you killed, I'm guessing not your first, I scolded you out of principle. He was alive, Arlen, and we could have saved him. But down here, in this place, you have condemned his soul to whatever curse is upon this place. It is clear the damned souls here can not leave to whatever heaven awaits them. If he, and your living friends, are truly your most valuable possession, your obligation is the same as mine. And we must end the curse here by any means."

ARLEN

Through the hallways, The Cleric ran through her obligatory mission statement that she had probably gone through a myriad of times. She looked for a response and Arlen sheepishly nodded his understanding. Continuing to light the torches as they passed, Arlen chuckled.

"Then you think I have no faith in that our objective is one and the same. Or for that matter, that you'll be successful. You're here to clear a curse; we're here to take a book for our captain. Both are more than likely in the same place. As for anything of the theocratic nature... Let's just say that I have lives of two men in this body of mine. One as a man of faith in his God and one as a man of faith in self. So called 'Gods' to me are just bored children with more power than they know what to do with. They tinker in the lives of men." Arlen shrugged, "I have nothing against them, really. Some do good, some do bad. But they don't care, in the end. So neither do I. After all, isn't it some God that created the curse that you're trying to rid in the name of your own God? They play games on each other and use us as pieces. And so far no bolt of lightning has struck me down for any heretical sayings. I know of one God that owes me, but I doubt he'll hold good on it any time soon." Arlen sighed, tiring of the stale air and stale conversation. "On the point of our man I dispatched... We can barely take care of ourselves at the moment, and he more than likely would have bled to death or wished die. He was a man of action. So unless you could grow him another arm, I think I did him a favor."

His voice remained pleasant and neutral throughout the sermon of his own, peering this way and that, up and down the hallway. "There are, Kyra, things that we will never see eye to eye on, and you'll just have to accept the fact and move on. But I think we both can agree that we need to focus on other things at the moment."

Kyra

The cleric watched Arlen as he talked, trying to get some clue as to his thinking from his expressions. He said he had the lives of two men inside him. Kyra could only assume he was speaking metaphorically. Either that or he had some kind of delusion of another life. Such things weren't unheard of, after all, especially among the narcotic addicted slummers living in the bowels of Qadiran cities. Arlen, however, didn't seem to share much in common with those men - except perhaps his faith, or lack thereof. Kyra sighed and tapped another ensconced torch with her sword. The pitch-soaked head lit happily and spread its light a dozen feet down the hall.

"You understand very little about Sarenrae or any god, I think. Even I couldn't hope to comprehend the world on their level. They may seem fickle and careless to you, but what do you know of the future? Or the present in other places than here? You say a god owes you for something. Don't you think there's a reason he chose you in the first place?" Kyra sighed again, and turned her thoughts away from religion. Arlen wasn't one to be converted to her faith, and this wasn't the place to try, "Whatever you may believe, this curse is the creation of man. Likely the work of the cult I mentioned before, it shares much in common with their dark magics."

Kyra stopped walking and sheathed her sword as the hallway came to an end before wide arch. The arch opened to a large room lined with rectangular stone slabs spaced at even intervals along the walls. Arlen dipped his torch into what appeared to be a brazier at about eye level just inside the room. As it turned out, the brazier was connected to a small trench carved into the stone around the whole room. As the brazier lit, the pitch in the trench lit as well and a tiny river of flame circled the room all the way back to a similar brazier next to where Kyra stood. She looked at Arlen, and he shrugged as he casually proceeded into the room.

"A barracks?" Kyra wondered, "Perhaps this place served as a headquarters for Ptolemy's army before it became his tomb."

"... whatever you may believe, this curse is the creation of man. Likely the work of the cult I mentioned before, it shares much in common with their dark magics."

Arlen wanted to make the rebuttal along the lines of the motivation of power such individuals have leading to stealing powers from beings of other realms, but was stunned wordless as they reached a wide arch. Closing his mouth, he quickly scanned about and spotted a brazier beside them. Their dim lights revealed a fraction of what the trail of fire had. More than just a tomb?Ah well, he thought, shrugged, then started taking the short flight of stairs down into the pit. No different than any other crazy adventure with this crew.

"A barracks?" Arlen heard quietly behind him, "Perhaps this place served as a headquarters for Ptolemy's army before it became his tomb."

Arlen's boots softly patted on the floor and he stopped, twirling to take a look around. "A stronghold you mean? Could be, with the weapons he was supposed to have gone up against. I'd use original caves too." He waved his index finger at a few of the slabs. "Not the most efficient organization, but there's probably a lot missing now. Or there is more to this room than it's simplicity suggests. Why give it such illumination? A way deeper into the fire?"

He was equally puzzled and looked at the Cleric. "So... Shall we see if there are any exits to further enigmas and conundrums? I am curious to see you work on this curse of yours."

What had he done? Even as the throng of undead lumbered their way towards them, it was the only thought he had. A familiar feeling washed over him, although it had been a welcome stranger for many years now. Everyone reacts differently to death when you're staring at it in the eyes, and for Gabe it was a quiet, yet chilling acceptance of his fate. Over ten years ago he'd felt it when he was a Captain in the militia, fighting beside his countrymen who had also risen to the call to defend their sovereignty from the insatiable appetite of the Empire, and once again dreaded calm filled his body from head to toe.

He pulled himself out of his trance long enough to fire a shot into the swarm, but it was like throwing a pebble at a tidal wave. God's, what have I done? he asked himself again. Glancing around at his friends he watched as they bravely fought to stem the inevitable. Kaltor and Drice fought ruthlessly with their swords, hacking at and dispatching anything that came within reach, all the while shuffling back, unable to hold a line. Cyradis and Arch were even working together, and he watched with an almost fatherly satisfaction as the two worked together to slow the skeletons advance. Even Seph had joined rushed into the fray, artfully executing her peoples form of combat, which seamlessly blended dance, gymnastics, and martial arts. Jade. Sure, her brother couldn't die, but she was a doctor, she shouldn't of even been near this place. She seemed too pure to arrive at this kind of an end.

It was happening all over again. He'd led his squad to their graves.

From his left a grinding sound caught his attention and a pair of pistols skidded across the floor to land in front of him, followed shortly by a young woman with flowing light brown hair. One of her sleeves was rolled up, and the skin on her arm appeared to be covered in some kind of script. For a second instinct took over, and he leveled the pistol directly at her head? But in this bizarre set of circumstances, he highly doubted she could be any more of a threat than what was already coming at them, and he lowered his gun, and instead extended his hand.

"You picked a bad location to stumble into," he commented dryly and nodded towards the skeletons that made up the moving wall of bone. Despite his attempt at levity, she wasn't paying what he said any attention.

"Quick, help me close this door," she practically barked at him as she took his hand and pulled herself to her feet. As soon as she found her footing, she sprinted towards the door. Something about the command broke through his trance, and he raced after her. Together, shoulders pressed against the cold stone, they managed to swing the door closed just before what looked like a shrieking banshee could get through. The noise, however, had left them both on their knees.

Panting together, the woman turned towards him, "Thanks for that."

"My pleasure. Now, if you have a similar solution to our problem," he pointed down the hall, "I'd be most anxious to hear it."

"Hmm? She turned her head and Gabe could feel her eyes go wide. "Gods! We've got to get out of here," she didn't even bother dusting herself off, and instead picked up her pistols and got ready to fight. He admired her fighting spirit. Gabe did the same, although he flipped his around so he could bash the living hell of out those unholy creatures.

"My name's Gabe, I'm-" he started before she cut him off.

"The name's Tara. Save the rest for when we get out of this mess."

"Fair enough," he replied.

"Oh no."

"What now?" he looked at her.

"They have have an undead mage." Even as she spoke, the ball of energy that was speeding it's way towards Cyradis and Archamae became deadly evident. He felt helpless as he watched it destroy the skeletons in its path. The remaining crew all looked for cover, and Tara tackled him to the ground just before the missile slammed into Cyradis. A second later than he expected, there was a massive explosion as stone and dust scattered over the entire hall. A vibration gripped the tomb and it became evident that part of the ceiling was about to collapse. Everyone was scrambling in different directions looking to get clear. He stood and tried to gather his wits, but he could only see a portion of his crew and had no idea where the others were. No time to pine.

"Seph! Kaltor!" he yelled, "Get them out of here!" he pointed towards Jade, Amateira, Aram and Garin. The two seasoned veterans didn't flinch, and quickly found a staircase and formed a pocket for the others to duck behind. "Come on, we've got to go too." He and Tarra were at least twenty five yards behind though.

"Hurry Gabe!" Sephara's voice was lined with desperation.

A louder, more intense rumble suddenly shook them off balance, he saw Kaltor, Seph, Jade, Am, and Aram all get sent tumbling down the stairs. A rock had been shaken loose from the roof and it crashed down right in front of Garin, sending him sprawling backwards. Even though the man had only signed on back in Gebron, Gabe would never leave any of his crew behind so long as he was alive.

When they got to his body it was thankfully clear of debris, but the man looked unconscious. "Help me drag him!"

"Where?" she asked.

Gabe scanned collapsing hall for an escape. "There," he nodded towards a small archway that looked like it opened up into a larger side tunnel. Together they dragged him through, and just in time. A massive portion of the hall must have been caved in now. They were sealed off from their friends, and lost in an ancient burial shrine.

"This was not what I had in mind when I brought my crew here. How is he?"

The blue eyed newcomer looked over Garin, "He's alive... I think."

Gabe bent down beside the locksmith and slapped his cheeks, "Garin? Garin?!? Wake up man!"

OOC: I'm back ^_^ I'm probably going to stay at this new job, which means things are stabilizing in my life, and I had a boat load of downtime at work today, so voila. I've sent the "leftover" crew with Seph and Kaltor. SoHee, I wasn't sure if you'd be rping, but I of course will be there with Seph if you want to. Ren, hope you're ready for some RP. And WF, I hope you're still around. It feels good to want to write again.

And lastly, sorry for any spelling and weird phrasing, I didn't have time to re-read =p

...

"-rin?!? Wake up man!" A moment before, in the darkness of his mind, he thought he felt a bee sting his face. His hand raised as his eyes opened, and rubbed his cheek. Looking at a man above him, it took a second to recognize the Captain.

"G-Gabe? Ah... better than waking up to Arlen's beaming disposition... Urgh!" He winced as he stood up, his head pounding with protest. He could feel the spot a rock, a pebble compared to what fell in front of him, had fallen on his head. Garin felt lucky it had been no bigger. "Jade?! The rest of them?! Did we make it to them?"

Gabe's lips stiffened and he shook his head briefly, "We're cut off. We'll find them."

"Serves us right for entering a man's eternal rest, hey?" Garin got to his feet, noticing the other person and that she was not part of their crew. Yet. People always seemed to pop into existence around the ship. She was pretty enough. Garin nodded in her direction, "Garin Wiljatai. Aside from lost, you are whom?"


OOC: Short post, but don't really know what else to do from there.

As the horde of undead started to move towards the group Jade almost gagged by their putrid smell. She had been around dead bodies before, but this was different. It didn't make it any easier that the bodies were moving. All she could do was to keep herself from retching and horrifying witness Duncan's death. When he had falled she had taken a few steps forward, to help, but quickly stopping by the shocking image of Arlen. She heard Jasper mumbling something to himself.

<...not surprised...>

This was not the man she had come to know and respect. Not when she could at least have gotten the chance to try and save Duncan's life. The thought was quickly forgotten as she was pushed back by the others. Suddenly she found herself next to Garin. Everyone but them seemed already in the middle of the battle. Shakily she held her short-sword in front of her, feeling more than a little out of place.

Garin raised his hand and rested it on her shoulder. "It'll be okay," he said. "I'll make sure you're alright. Just stick close, okay?"

His voice calmed her down a bit and her hands steadied. She gave the locksmith a thankful smile. Jasper was already holding his sword in front of him, blocking her view slightly as he had stepped in between her and the dead. It seemed to her that some of the heads turned directly towards Jasper, seeing him when none of the living could. As the first one reached Jade and Garin Jasper swung his sword and to Garin and the others it would have looked like a shadow had suddenly come to life, revealing the image of a male version of Jade, as the sword hit flesh. In the next second he was gone until the next time the sword hit something solid. And so he went back and forth trying to keep the skeletons away.

One of the skeletons managed to sidestep Jasper's attack and before he could turn to help more were coming. Jade swallowed deeply before she raised her sword. When steel hit flesh she felt nauseated. She was a Doctor, a healer. Even if the bodies were already decaying it felt so wrong. The act itself was so far away from the core of her being that it could be. Only once before had she harmed another being. She froze, eyes drawn to the fallen body in front of her. The world around her became blurry only to vanish in the next blink of an eye. It felt like she was standing inside a black void, alone with her dark memories. Only the loud explosion and the warning shouts from the crew brought her back to the present time. Before she had any time to react Jasper threw her aside. Together they rolled around on the ground until they hit the wall. A bit disoriented Jade stood up just to find Kaltor dragging her away.

"Jasper!" she yelled and saw him hurry after them out of the way of the large falling rock. The reaction of fear was unwarranted of course when it came to Jasper, but logic eluded Jade.

Together with Kaltor and Seph, Jade tumbled down the stairs. They ended up in a heap by the bottom of the stairs, bruised and scraped.

"Is everyone okay?" Jade asked with a low whisper, afraid to draw any unnecessary attention to them. She winced as she stood up, holding her left arm. It wasn't broken, so much she could deduct for herself, but it hurt like hell.

OOC: sorry for the delay :( but finally got a post up, long overdue :)
Geco - ooh goodie you are back! When this scene is over it would be great to start working what we talked about for the twins :)

...

Cyradis

Cyradis' head turned slowly towards Archamae as she began to talk. She was nervous and rattled; a state in which Cyradis had never seen her. It wasn't disconcerting so much as eye opening. Everyone broke down eventually, but Cyradis never imagined Archamae would simply because she was underground. Technically, they were still above sea level. No, Cyradis thought, it was likely due to their drastically lowered chances of survival. Archamae probably figured they wouldn't make it out alive and felt whatever need to apologize to Cyradis for that. Archamae certainly had crimes to answer for, but getting them stuck down here was not one of them. Cyradis sighed and stood, taking her staff in hand.

"Don't sound so grim. If it comes to it, I'll make us a way out. I'm not dying in some cursed tomb for whatever evil to control my spirit," Cyradis turned towards the dark hall and squinted her eyes. The light from the staff allowed them to see, but only just far enough not to fall into a hole or run into a wall. "Besides," she continued, "that qu'soa undead mage needs a little payback for getting me stuck here." Cyradis turned back to Archamae and smirked before setting off down the hall.


Kyra

"You have a strange way of showing your lack of faith, Arlen," Kyra remarked as the two tried their luck messing with various objects in the room in the hopes of triggering a door leading away from the barracks. "You question the existence - and power - of Sarenrae, yet you believe I me when I say I can rid the curse of this place. Or are you mocking me?"

Kyra came to a spot on the floor where the pattern of stone slabs was broken by one of the slabs being replaced by one half the thickness and made of a different type of stone. Possibly a replacement due to damage, but there was no evidence of fighting having occurred down here and none of the others, even the cracked ones, were replaced. Kyra walked around the curious slab looking for some kind of trigger.

"I think you should visit a temple," she said sarcastically, "You would make a fine priest."

Kyra stepped on a dust-covered, square, brass protrusion from the ground next to the slab. It took some force to get the out-of-place ornament to move, but it eventually clicked. A cloud of dust kicked up around the replacement slab as it began to slide into the floor aided by the sound of laboriously turning gears. It slid down twice its width before the gears clicked again and some other mechanism began to turn, forcing the slab to slide lengthwise into the wall. After it was all done, a steep stairway was revealed.

"How cliché..."

"You have a strange way of showing your lack of faith, Arlen," his companion noted. "You question the existence - and power - of Sarenrae, yet you believe me when I say I can rid the curse of this place. Or are you mocking me?"

Arlen's head was in the air as he looked at the double vaulted ceiling. The craftsmanship was quite exquisite. Nearly Dwarven in precision, in fact. "I think you should visit a temple. You would make a fine priest." Arlen's attention refocused on The Cleric, and he smirked. He was about to respond before she found some lever or switch of some kind, revealing an exit. Or rather, a way deeper into the rabbit hole. "How cliché..." she seemed to sigh, almost disappointed it wasn't easier.

"For all of the vastness and spectacle of the place... I couldn't have said it better myself." He pressed ahead of her down the stairwell. "Who do you think taught me my beliefs but priests and holy men? Of course, they intended otherwise." He shrugged as he took careful steps into the unknown. " I doubt neither the existence or the power of Sarenrae. I just think she's more selfish than you imagine. Gods empower the fools who make these curses. It seems to be the job of rival gods' puny slaves, like yourself, to fix these things. We're their play things, forced into service through fear and piety. I don't claim to be an expert in magic, but do you think it possibly to be their world colliding with our own? We seem to have no natural affinity or aversion to it through blood. It is an individual thing for the most part. Except in the case of Gods... They giveth and they taketh away at a whim."

He shook his head, "I refuse to play their game is all. I have nothing against their enforcers as long as they leave me alone." Arlen waved the torch ahead of him, checking to see if it was clear. The air was stale, just as everything else. Arlen pondered on how they shouldn't dally in case the slab moved back quickly and separated them. Things like that tended to happen in this company of airmen. "If you must know, I trust in your abilities. Which is why I take the lead. If something were to happen to me, my people would be better off. How would they leave without coming face to face with that army of the dead again, unless you could end it for them? I am driven by logic, and a different sort of faith. Faith in my fellow. After all, if they truly were immortal, beings like us couldn't bind and enslave gods using their own shared power. Neither would they have use of gender. They use people of a certain creed. Love, fire, bravery," he gestured to Kyra, "The sun and light. The darkness. People flock to such things. They are a danger and a menace to us. But they also serve their purpose."

Arlen clamored further down the stairs with drawn sword. One could never be too careful. There was ahead of him a passageway at the bottom of the flight of stairs. Further ahead, two intersections in view, a passageway leading left, and another leading right. "Hmm... Left would take us back a bit. The army and my friends. Right would take us further into the beast," he mumbled to himself. "Take Kyra to the curse, or take her to my friends?" The thought of undead bodies dragging themselves across the palatial tomb decided for him. The greater threat was the curse. Eliminating it would do the best good.

"To the curse, or to my friends, Kyra," he offered, pointing to the respective directions. "Which would do the greater good in your eyes - in the eyes of your Goddess?"

Kyra listened and followed Arlen down the stairs as he elaborated on his beliefs. She could understand the skepticism behind his words. They were familiar to all clergy of any faith. Some people needed proof, others needed much more. Arlen was one of the latter. Millennia ago, before the gods revealed themselves through miracles, people only wanted proof that they were there. None had shown themselves or directly intervened in the affairs of mortals, and many non believers weren't convinced of the gods existence. After all, how could a good deity allow things like famine, plague and war to continue unanswered. Mass suffering was common those thousands of years ago. Eventually, things changed and people saw proof of their existence, but not not all were convinced of their divinity. Short of becoming a god himself, Kyra doubted Arlen - or anyone else - could ever truly understand them.

"To the curse, or to my friends, Kyra. Which would do the greater good in your eyes - in the eyes of your Goddess?" Arlen asked her as they came to a fork in the narrow hallway.

"You believe in logic, as you say," Kyra wasn't averse to questioning his beliefs either, "so which is more logical? I'm not a zealot, Arlen. Sarenrae tells us we are to protect the helpless and redeem the evil. Your friends are far from helpless, but they could be injured. The way we came is blocked from the crashing pillar - that much I noticed after I realized I was still alive. So what is the most logical step? To proceed deeper and hope to find another exit at the source of this corruption. Your friends, if they can move, will have the same option unless they find an exit along the way; in which case, they would be beyond the need of our help."

Kyra proceeded down the right-hand tunnel with Arlen. "If I were here alone, I would have gone this way. There is and evil here that threatens to grow past this tomb. Here, it is barely contained. The implications of this army spilling out from this tomb into the world spell certain suffering for this region of the world. They may only be a couple hundred walking dead here, but each felled living soul adds another to their ranks. And as you've noticed, they are not easy to kill themselves. I know you and your friends didn't come here to save anyone's soul, but I did. If we fail, know that your sacrifices will be honored by Sarenrae and Her followers.

"I'm happy to die for the Everlight," She said smiling, "Whatever you may think of Her, she is trying to help people. It may be goal far beyond even the reach of a god, but it is worthy of your respect." Kyra stopped and drew her scimitar. A thin line of fire outlined the blade as it left the scabbard. She also pulled the icon of Sarenrae from its pouch on her belt. As Arlen looked on with a mix of curiosity and confusion, Kyra knelt removing her helmet and placing the tip of the blade into the ground and holding the icon above the pommel. She bowed her head and touched her forehead to the icon which began to glow brightly. After about a minute, the light from the icon pulsed rapidly and dissipated. Kyra stood and returned her equipment to their proper holdings.

"It's dawn," she explained, placing her hand fondly against the wall with her eyes fixed in the distance beyond it. Kyra closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Let's continue," she said as she set off down the hall once again.

Arlen nodded as she spoke and stood beside her while they walked on to the right, away from his crew mates. Kyra performed a minor ritual, which at first he was interested in. He felt his stomach begin to turn as she performed it. To his appreciation it was brief, his stomach thanked her."It's dawn." She seemed relaxed and coddled by knowledge of the rising of the sun. Kyra walked down the passage and he put a hand against the wall to keep his world from the slight vertigo he felt. Quickly he followed her, trying to seem unaffected. Always when I'm close to magic use, he thought. What's with this stupid dizziness lately? "Ahh, yes, respect. Well, so far, you seem pleasurable enough of company. Worthy of my respect, as you have given it to me in listening to my rantings. As her representative, she has given me respect. Therefore, it is owed to her in fair measure." Arlen nodded in agreement.

Continuing to pace down the hall, Arlen was getting increasingly weary at the mention of dawn. "Perhaps it is not the best time, but would you allow an aging man a moment of respite? This marks about two days we've been traversing this tomb, with little rest or food. I require but a moment." Realization was the greatest factor in such things. Keeping watch in the dark hours of morning only to see the rising sun mid-shift made you realize how early it truly was. That was the hardest time of day to keep one's eyes alert to the distant horizons. She nodded, after a moment of hesitation and Arlen sank down the wall and sat. He prodded without looking through his bag, finding a tiny wheel of cheese left over from before. tearing the waxen seal, he released the pleasant aroma of it. Pleasant in comparison to the stale dankness of mold. Biting through the wheel in only a moment, he felt revitalized. "Thanks," he grunted as he rose to his feet. "A morsel of a breakfast, but it will do nicely." Arlen half-smiled and walked on.

"I know what you are thinking," he muttered, several seconds later. "But my soul is beyond... saving... as you call it. Moving to another plane is one thing. Perhaps the gods move to them to their own. Heaven, Hell; whatever they wish to call it. It's nothing your God, or any other, can change, but I will never be free to pass over. This is my own burden to be condemned and untouched by proper deities." Again, fumbling in the darkness of his pouch, his fingers discovered the pipe. Taking it out, it was already packed down with laced tobacco. With a bit of overkill, he lit it with the torch, ever so gently. From around the pipe he continued, with a brief puff. "Not the least of which is the revenge I feed by need for redepmtion. Only one more soul, as you put it, is on my list." He looked at her and his eyes seemed to glaze. "What do you think of one who kills his kin with glee, I wonder? What about when this same one would die for a stranger?" Even as he was speaking the words, he thought of Gabe. Still, Arlen was pondering why he would protect the man with his own body when he had barely known him a week. Was he just that charismatic? Was there more to it?

Kyra took the brief pause to eat a bit herself. Some beef jerky and a bit of water. She was low on rations and there was no telling how much longer they would be down here. They needed to find some water, she realized. Caves and such were often sprung with leaks, particularly ones under mountains such as this. It was only a matter of finding a vein to draw from. Food, on the other hand, was not as readily available. They could survive a few days without food, but none would be in any condition to fight. Kyra thought of Sarenrae and what Arlen said. He would wonder why a god wouldn't simply create a feast for Her devout cleric neck-deep in evil doing Her bidding. Kyra would like to think she just might, but knew better. If Sarenrae could do such a thing, she could solve hunger problems everywhere. Kyra had faith Sarenrae would protect her soul, but the mortal journey must be lived by the traveler, not the god he worships.

It wasn't long before they were moving again. Arlen produced, of all things, a pipe. Tobacco, by the smell of it, with something extra added. The collage of smells filling the tomb was becoming overwhelming. The filth of the undead, the burning pitch on the torch, and now the added aroma of pipe smoke. Kyra shuddered a bit but shook off the feeling. During all this, Arlen saw fit to continue their conversation, ending with a question for Kyra. She supposed he wanted a theocratic answer, but the result was more intellectual.

"Depends on the person, and on their kin. Many people are hostile with their siblings. When your life mission is to help people and hunt evil doers, you often find both in the same place. I've struck down many people in Her name, and none of them undeserving. I've also redeemed many others who I saw turn their lives around to live in Her light. Of the redeemed, their crimes ranged from theft to murder and everything between. They chose to change their lives. It's not my place to judge the crimes or virtues of anyone.

"As for dying for a stranger... well I think my opinion is clear already. I'm here with you, after all, and I would die to protect you from this evil," Kyra gave Arlen a smile, "Though I would take it as a kindness if you chose not to hold me to that oath."