III. Andromadus: The Dark One (Chapter Two)
It has been a perilous journey north, but somehow, between Burt’s perpetual whining and Allard’s penny-pinching, your party has made it as far as the Northern Creek, which winds through the countless misty valleys of the mountain ranges. You had spent a cozy night at the Hawk’s Beak Inn a few nights ago, but the strength you had gained from its comforts has been all but sapped away by the vicious climate.
You notice it has been quiet for some time and you look over to Burt. His purpling lips are moving, but it seems he has lost the energy to vocalize his complaints. Even Allard, who had been steadfastly sure of his movements from the beginning, has grown silent and takes to checking the Atlas every ten paces or so.
“What’s that?” Burt suddenly croaks.
You all look up at a colossal shadow towering above the fog.
“Aye, that’s Dragonfall, the Breath of Myths,” Allard says.
You are surprised at how you could have missed such a massive object this close, but Allard seems to read your mind.
“The mists around this mountain carry a certain enchantment and are nigh impenetrable. Keep your wits about you, minnows, we’re getting closer.”
You expect the usual retort from Burt, but he merely wraps his furs closer about him. The morale of the party is at an all-time low.
A few shades later, your party reaches the foot of the mountain. Your heart drops as you gaze up at the sharply inclined terrain, which is nothing but a frozen cascade of rock and ice. You hear Burt’s long, exaggerated groan from beside you, but for once, you are with him wholeheartedly. Between the party and the perilous cliffs sits a dark, wide lake full of slushy, ice-cold water. Oddly shaped icebergs jut tall from its surface, hunched like twisted monoliths. You look to either side, but the lake seems never-ending, as though it wraps like a moat around the great mountain.
"Well, that’s that,” Burt bursts out. He gathers his belongings in a businesslike manner and turns around. “It was nice knowing you, gentlefish. Our journey comes to an end here. If you need me, I’ll be back at the Hawk’s Beak next to the fire with a pint of their finest.”
“You’re going nowhere, Burt,” Allard growls, catching Burt in a swift headlock. But Burt isn’t giving up with a fight and wriggles desperately in Allard’s vice-like grip, unleashing a torrent of profanity.
You shake your head and leave them be, trudging beside the lake to see if there is any way of crossing. You stumble across a flat iceberg that stretches from the shore like a jetty. The floating icebergs in the middle of the lake sit so that one could theoretically jump from one to the other starting from the jetty. You race back to the scuffling pair and share your findings.
“Well done, Adventurer, I’m glad we have someone with brains on our journey,” says Allard, untangling himself from Burt.
“That’s not fair, Allard! You always pick on me,” Burt wails, punching Allard’s burly midriff, but he crumples to the ground cradling his hand.
“Lead the way, Adventurer,” Allard says as if nothing had happened. You nod, dragging Burt to his feet.
“I could get abs like that if I just did a few sit-ups,” Burt mutters. You resist the urge to tell him that it might take more than a few sit-ups.
You take the others to the jetty you discovered.
“Hmm, it looks awfully convenient,” Allard says. He paces back and forth as he scopes the darkening landscape. “But we cannot stay out here tonight, we will surely freeze to death on these barren shores.”
“That’s why we should go back to the inn,” Burt says hopefully.
“We will face the same problem even if we retreat,” Allard says quietly. “We would lose six precious days. And we haven’t the time nor strength to circumnavigate this lake.”
You and Burt look at each other. Neither of you have ever heard Allard sounding concerned. Allard continues to pace the water’s edge before halting at the jetty with his arms akimbo.
“We have no choice. We cross the lake now and find shelter by the cliffs tonight,” he declares. “At least we will be protected from this ghastly wind.”
“Oh great, if the winds don’t kill us, maybe we might take a pleasant dip in the lake and turn into fish fingers ready for cold storage.”
“Quiet, Burt. I will mount the jetty and make the first jump. If it is safe, follow me immediately and we will cross the lake as quickly as possible. But before that…”
Allard puts his hands together and mutters something. A faint orange glow issues from his fingers and he touches you, Burt, and finally himself. You feel a sudden warmth from your core that spreads to your extremities, and you no longer feel the wind chilling you to your bones.
“Allard!” Burt exclaims. “Why didn’t you do this from the beginning?”
“Be thankful, you squirt,” Allard says dangerously. “Magic is our most precious resource on our journey and I will not waste it on creature comforts. This is so you do not die instantly lest you fall into the lake.”
“Oh, thank you for letting me die slower,” Burt retorts, but Allard turns and strides off.
“Follow me straight away if it is safe, minnows,” Allard calls. “And remember, we are in enemy territory now.”
But as soon as he steps foot on the jetty, you know something is terribly wrong.
“Allard!” You and Burt shout in unison as the tall golden whisker is suddenly lifted off his feet.
Allard spins uncontrollably in the air as a shimmering pink bubble forms around him and floats just above the jetty. You both run towards him, but there is a flash, and a thin figure materializes between you and Allard.
“You have grown slower, stupider, and overly confident, old fool,” the small whisker says in a creaking voice. You and Burt both gasp. It is the elderly Windrosian whisker you had run into at the bar in Windrose City.
“You...you!” Burt stammers. “Look, we’re sorry about the fried pickle, but this is a bit too much, isn’t it?”
The whisker doesn’t reply. Instead, she looks back at Allard, suspended above the jetty. The bubble he is trapped in deepens in color to a bloody crimson. Allard’s eyes widen in surprise and he slumps, as though all strength has left his body.
“What are you doing to him?!” Burt yells.
“One of my finest magical snares. The longer he stays in that bubble, the weaker he gets, until finally he perishes.” The elderly whisker turns back to you and Burt. The dark aura that oozes out of her makes you both step back. “I’ll only say this once. Give me the Atlas, or you all die.”
“My good lady whisker!” Burt shouts, advancing on her. You try to grab his cloak to pull him back, but his eyes are wild, and he is trembling. It seems he has lost his mind. “Lady whisker, let us not partake in such barbarity. Thus, I challenge thee to a card duel! Winner takes all!”
Burt whips out his deck of cards and furiously arranges them in front of elderly whisker. She takes one look at Burt and belts him over the head with surprising strength. Burt collapses at her feet, and she kicks him aside.
“I am not here to play games,” she says, cracking her knuckles. You clutch Burt’s bag, which holds the Atlas. What do you do?
Choose your answer, here.