“Run My‑re. Keep running like the rabbit you are,” came the voice of the Lake of Mists’ Monster from out of the darkness.
My‑re’s thighs burned with pain, and her muscles quivered with fatigue. Stooping over and placing her hands on her knees, My‑re panted hard to catch her breath. She wiped the sweat from her face, licked the salty sweat from her lips, and tried to shake and rub the soreness from her legs. The Grey Wand radiated light from the tip, her only light source. She stood on a marble sarcophagus embedded in the floor. A master stone carver had elaborately decorated the cover. She raised the wand high into the air to light her underground surroundings. She stood at the edge of hundreds of more tombs in the ground, each covered with a rectangular stone slab. The mausoleum’s pillars reached into the darkness in all directions, well beyond the wand’s light source. The immeasurable darkness hid tombs without numbers. Placed in a necropolis, a city of the dead, it offered no paths to escape.
My‑re took a step and waited. Her heart pounded like a hammer in her chest. She took a second step. Nothing. A third step. She sighed in relief. She felt a slight tremor under her feet. She froze and then looked at the grave. The mortar sealing the tomb cracked. A line spread along its length. An eerie lavender fog escaped from the crack.
Realizing its undead occupant stirred, she launched herself, sprinting forward. Her long legs stretched to their utmost. Her muscles screamed in protest, threatening to seize up at any moment.
A thunderous eruption blasted as the slab she’d stood on exploded upward, followed by a chain reaction. Hundreds of tombs exploded in a deafening roar and rained down deadly fragments.
Undead, in various stages of moldy and wet decay, clawed up from their resting places. Their eyes had the color of boiled eggs, their slimy black skin bloated in death. Many appeared like former soldiers with worn faded surcoats over torn chain mail tunics. The creatures screeched with rage and battle cries at the bright light from the Grey Wand. They pulled themselves free from the earth and swarmed after My‑re. Like an avalanche, she saw a wall of jerking and convulsing undead creatures converge toward her. Their high-pitched screams made her hair stand on end and filled her with primordial fear. She ran, shielding her eyes from the erupting debris with her forearm.
A huge form loomed ahead of her. Gromp, the Shewish Giant from the Broken Sword tavern, rose before her but in the perverted form of the undead. Flesh peeled from his face, exposing bone, and more than one rotten tooth shot from his mouth as he bellowed forth a shrieking roar. He blocked her way, and it would take time to get around him and risk letting the horde behind her catch up. With no viable choice, she charged straight at the Shewish giant. Zombie Gromp solidified a wide stance. At the last possible moment, she sprang into a roll between the two giant’s legs, then back to her feet behind him.
My‑re quickened her pace while more vaults in all directions released their undead. Some hissed as she ran by, while others chased. The creatures rose and honed in on her wand’s illumination. Some were unearthing themselves in front of her, and given enough time, they would cut her off. She ran on. Her entire body ached beyond exhaustion. Her mouth became a desert. Sweat poured down her face. She concentrated on her breathing as she continued to push past her body’s limits. The bursting graves seemed without number.
The mass of undead rushed toward My‑re like waves in the sea. She saw no escape. Alone, she resigned to herself that she would die, horribly. Her body spent, and her mind dulled. She had never felt so helpless. She thought about dropping the Grey Wand and letting the Lake of Mists’ monster have what it wanted. Maybe it would end more quickly if she didn’t resist. Beyond exhausted, she thought the idea of eternal rest seemed appealing.
The undead crashed into her like rolling boulders. They started to grab and rip at her arms and legs. One attached to her waist, and its weight pulled her down. She let out a panicked scream. Slipping on ichor, she fell among the horde. Rotted teeth bit and tore at her flesh. Agony ignited her entire body, and then darkness fell over her consciousness.
***
My‑re awoke. Her thighs burned with pain, and her muscles quivered with fatigue. Stooping over and placing her hands on her knees, she panted hard to catch her breath. She wiped the sweat from her face, licked the salty sweat from her lips, and tried to shake and rub the soreness from her legs. The Grey Wand radiated light from the tip, her only light source. She stood on a marble sarcophagus embedded in the floor.
“Just drop the Grey Wand, and this will all be over,” whispered the Lake of Mists’ Monster’s voice from the darkness.
“I’ll let you in on a little secret. I like running,” My‑re quipped.
“Impertinence!” The monster roared from the darkness. Silence resonated for several heartbeats. The creature asked, its tone calmer, “However, I’m feeling generous today. Tell me this one thing, and I’ll show mercy. What does your little party of humans on the boat call me?”
My‑re spoke a phrase in Rathiri roughly translated to ‘go procreate without the benefit of a partner.’
“No need for name calling,” the Lake of Mists’ monster replied in perfect Rathiri. “I’m just curious. Just this one thing and no more running in the necropolis.”
“You speak Rathiri?” My‑re asked back in the Rirorni tongue.
“Yes, of course, which means I’ll speak it better than you ever will. Now, my patience grows thin, child. What do the humans call me?”
My‑re contemplated telling the creature what it wanted. She didn’t like running and being eaten alive over and over. However, she didn’t want to give in to this creature’s demands. Resistance might prove a possible weapon and the best way, maybe the only way, to buy time and figure out how to purge the creature from her body. Even if she gave him an answer, he’d probably start making her run again from another horrible fate. She believed the creature when it said, ‘No more running in the necropolis.’ However, she also thought it would likely set her into someplace worse, like a burning building.
“The Broken Sword tavern is a welcoming setting,” the Lake of Mists’ monster said from the darkness. “Tell me this one thing, and I’ll place you there.”
“How do I know you aren’t lying?” My‑re asked.
“My word,” the creature stated. “I believe that holds meaning across your child-like race.”
Seeing no alternative but to reply, My‑re answered. “They call you the Creature from the Black Lagoon.”