“You’ve been?”
“Fuck no. That’s a journey and a half that one. Without magic, it’d take months, maybe even years. I just heard stories. Got themselves a real problem with the guilds, and the god who rules over the Holy Realm is a real piece of work.”
Ralph sat on a stray boulder beside Zarrik and let his eyes glance over the others. I They seemed to be in a good mood, chuckling at some lowbrow joke. Blades whistled as the pirates sharpened them while smoke billowed from pipes filled with a heady leaf from the Black Sands.
“They seem pleased,” Ralph observed.
“These are the first kills we’ve made in weeks,” Zarrik said. “Our band has been starving for essence. Our power dwindles without a constant stream of energy.”
“I have barely rested, so I wouldn’t know.”
“You’ll find the thirst for essence is insatiable. It’ll turn you into a fiend. Something about the way Infernal tattoos are made. They hook you worse than the sand-weed those fellas are smoking.”
Ralph could feel the hunger for power, but it didn’t seem insatiable. He wanted to grow stronger; it wasn’t the essence making him desire it.
“Is Zagorath truly as valuable as you say it is?” Zarrik asked.
Ralph’s mind flickered back to the dungeon. The side-altars, the sigil-infused weapons resting there in the blood-red light, and the monsters filled with essence were all waiting to be claimed. The dungeon had claimed the lives of Alaxon and the entire band of Scalpers, so its power would’ve done nothing except grow.
It would be a difficult battle, but Ralph believed they could win. The Scalpers had been amateurs, and Ralph had never dived a dungeon before. The Sand Pirates were something else entirely, and he now had the benefit of experience. After all, he’d defeated Kerril, the leader of the Sand Pirates, and he now wielded the dead man’s swords.
“It’s claimed everybody who’s walked down its steps,” Ralph told his right-hand man.
“Except you,” Zarrik said with a smile.
“Aye. Except me.”
“You said you conquered it. How?”
Ralph didn’t flinch. If he was to perpetuate the lie, he would have to be unblinking about it. “The others were too enthusiastic, too consumed with greed. They fell, but not before they took the dungeon’s champions with them. From there, it was a simple matter of taking the mace and leaving.”
“And you left the core behind?” Zarrik muttered, shaking his head.
“Wouldn’t you?” Ralph challenged him. “If it’s allowed to thrive, then the monsters of Shadow Crag and all of the Infernal Realm grow in strength. Giving us more essence. A constant stream of it. Would you not do the same?”
Alaxon had taught Ralph all about the economy of dungeons, and the false-priest had also mentioned that cores were not so easily taken after their roots were planted into the earth. It required high-order magic to remove a sealed core, but Zarrik obviously didn’t know this. Ralph didn’t hold the pirate’s ignorance against him; it wasn’t unreasonable for him to know so little about dungeons—after all there hadn’t been one in this realm for centuries.
Zarrik nodded. “You make a good point. Never thought there’d be a dungeon back here. Sounds like the realm is on the up. What’s our next move, Chief?”
Ralph almost flinched this time. Chief? Was that his new title? It sure sounded good coming off the other man’s tongue. He looked down at his hands and the ring glittering on his finger. He had taken from Kerril’s gnarled hand, and only in the moonlight could he easily see the runes etched into its surface. It carried an enchantment, but Ralph hadn’t determined its use yet. He was already strong, fast, and filled with an unshakable bloodlust—but were they a result of magic or just his desire to ascend through adventurer ranks?
“Chief?” Zarrik prodded.
“We stay to the path,” Ralph said after he recalled the other man’s question. “More monsters crawl over this mountain, drawing their power from Zagorath. If we’re to survive its depths, we need to be brimming with Essence. How are the others? Have they had their fill yet?”
His new lieutenant laughed. “We’re never satisfied, Ralph.”
Ralph grinned at their shared motivations. “Then let’s allow the others to rest. We move at dawn.”
Visions of Zagorath filled Ralph’s light sleep, and he awoke constantly to the imagined sounds of battle. Rather than spend the evening tossing and turning, he decided to take watch and allow his men a full night’s rest.
When the sun peeked over the horizon, they resumed their journey up the mountain. Sulfur gnomes crawled from the cracks and holes of Shadow Crag, accompanied by an enormous bat with glowing red eyes and huge fangs. Ralph had never seen such a thing, but when one of the party—an enormous man named Razen—brought his huge warhammer of matte steel down on its head, Infernal energy radiated from the strike and caused the monster’s skull to implode. Bone and brain matter splattered over the gnomes, and they scattered in retreat.
Razen hefted his hammer back over his shoulder as the Infernal Essence swirled into his tattoo. The brands glowed a shimmering blood-red and made his eyes glitter with power.
“Should we go after the gnomes?” a half-orc said.
“No,” Ralph said as he watched the monsters retreated into their warrens. “There’ll be plenty more essence on our journey. And the greatest prize awaits!”
The Sand Pirates roared their approval before mustering forward. Ralph took a moment to run his hands over Kerril’s broadswords holstered on his back. He had used them frequently, and they proved as effective as the Dark Reaper. Even still, a lingering doubt hovered in his mind. Alaxon had admitted to lying about the prophecy, but a sliver of hope existed. Mother had told Ralph that he would be something great, and he’d always thought she carried the gift of prophecy. Maybe the false-priest had actually made a valid premonition?
The thought carried Ralph onward as he traversed the mountain alongside his band of pirates. They continued slaying monsters,
