I am not a savage.
I soaked in the gore of the illithid for only a few moments.
I felt the need to reflect on a former captor being held responsible for its crimes. To smile at the irony that, just as it held others against their will, it was stuck fast beneath the rubble of its own failure, unable to gather the strength to free itself. It perished after someone stole all chances of hope from its mind, just as I'm sure it did to countless others.
I was proud to have been able to serve all those who had fallen before. To get vengeance for them. And perhaps myself.
Shadowheart pulled me back, asking whether I wanted to wash the blood away.
I'm certain I couldn't have been reflecting for more than a few minutes.
On our way to the beach, an elf stopped us. The first living being we'd come across. That wasn't related to the illithid. He claimed an intellect devourer had fled the wreckage, and asked for its death. Curious, I followed his direction and found nothing but a boar.
The growing smile at his paranoia stopped immediately as I turned back to find another bore. He had a dagger in hand and seemed prepared to slit a throat.
He blustered as I unsheathed an axe, but stopped silent as the worm within his head stunned his senses. Realizing that he had made a mistake, that we were not servants of the illithid, he attempted an apology.
I do not take well to threats. Even those that have good reason.
But, I am not a savage.
I understand that the weak live in fear.
So, I did not reward his cowardice with execution. Not yet. I'll stay my blade as long as he kepts his to himself.
But I would also not reward his actions with acceptance either. Even with a fearful apology. He had his own problems, just as we had ours. I will let him solve them.
Alone.
After cleaning ourselves, Shadowheart and I stumbled upon a huge structure. It's a marvel the crash didn't seem to cause any damage. If it had, perhaps we could have pushed forward. The door was much too sturdy for us to break down with the tools we had at our disposal.
I began to search for another path, and found nothing promising. I thought back to the elf that we had left by himself. I grimaced at the thought of having to pass him again. I did not want another confrontation, even as I did not fear the outcome.
Shadowheart smirked at my hesitation and brandished a small pack of tools she had scavanged from the ruins of the ship. Within a few moments, the door was still intact. But open.
Inside the building were several sarcophagi. This appeared to be some tomb.
Defiling the dead is fine. They no longer need their tools. Or riches.
Shadowheart halted my advance with a gesture and pointed to traps on the floor. While I held no compunctions of robbing graves, apparently the dead had other thoughts.
She bent to work, using her tools to lock pressure plates and cut the wires that connected the defenses. Perhaps I was too hasty to judge the priestess on her physical appearance, too ready to compare her to myself. She may not have my brawn, and may have issues on her own in a fight. But she still had value.
Once most of the traps were disabled, I found a new weapon. One of the corpses held a halberd.
It felt wonderful to hold something built for two hands once again. I could put the full force of my weight behind the shaft. Imaging the stubborn resistance of a foe, and the glorious release when flesh and bone finally gave way to steel. I smiled as I pictured blood spewing from an injured foe, still living.
A shame the illithid didn't live long enough to see its own mutilated face. I would not make that mistake again.
Shadowheart cursed as she broke the tools on the centerpiece of the room, drawing me back to the moment. It likely belonged to the most important of the dead - some kind of king or leader. There was writing in some foreign, or ancient, writing. Neither of us could glean meaning from the shapes.
It is no surprise her tools might break on that specific trap. The tools had been scavenged and it was only a matter of time before they broke. I could not blame her.
She pointed out a button on one of the pillars. It was likely another trap. Something for the ill-prepared to find and foolishly activate after they stumbled. It was not worth risking.
My companion led the way through the darkness, continuing to open doors when we found more. We reached another tomb. It felt closer to a temple; there was an air of holiness about.
The name "Jergal" - an ancient, mostly forgotten god of the dead - rose to mind.
Several skeletons littered the ground. I could not see any sign of struggle. They must have perished from something other than a fight.
We looted what we could find. There were no traps, not like the other tomb, and we rescued scrolls to protect against the un-natural.
Given the lull, I pressed Shadowheart about the trinket she kept hidden. She refused to speak of it.
I attemped to change the subject and learn more of her. More than just her name and that she had a simililar feeling of faith that I held. Though hers was likely more concrete, with strong reasons for holding them.
Rather than my holding of a half-remembered dream as a clue.
She once again refused to speak. Claimed that it would serve no purpose.
My thoughts turned inward. To my lack of memory. The ecstacy I felt as I felt the life of the illithid drain away. The regret that later welled as I realized I could have drawn it out longer, make the excrutiating pain linger. The ever-present flickers of death and blood that fill my mind. The frequent lapses as I fade into fantasy.
The urges that tempt so many of my actions. That I do not wish to explain, or reveal.
I did not press her further.
Shadowheart foudn a switch at the end of one of the corridos. She felt it was safe to activate given the lack of dangers here.
A panel shifted, and a hidden room was revealed.
The skeletons we had found, the corpses whose flesh had sloughed to nothingness with the years, moved. The dead rose.
I pushed Shadowheart into the room, blocking the entrance with my body as the scribes stalked forward. As I waited, I cast the spell from the scroll in the hopes that its protection was more powerful than mere hope.
A brute took note of my strategy and took note. He held my attention while the flimsy ones kept their distance and cast spells, silencing and blinding us both.
Shadowheart was rendered next to useless, unable to bring her magic to bear.
Fortunately, the magic of the scroll bent the attacks from my body. I pushed the brute back, losing the priestess in my excitement. Once able to call upon the strength of my goddess again, I shook the walls of the cavern with sound and turned the bones of our adversaries to dust.
We triumphed. I was proud.
Until I looked upon remaining shards of bones. Any strength they may have had in life had drained away with their blood. After eons of standing guard over whatever secrets this final room held.
My pride faded into disappointment.
In the room was one final sarcophagi. Much effort was taken to protect this specific corpse. A plaque claimed it held the Guardian, and that atonement came with knowledge.
Shadowheart was wary and stood back. I lifted the lid.
A dessicated corpse - a lich - flew from its confines. I lifted my halberd, ready for another fight.
Sometimes my instincts serve a purpose.
But not this time.
The lich appeared civil, mostly curious. He rattled on about some philosophy, asking my opinion on the cost of a single mortal's life.
I owed this undead nothing, and I told him as much.
He accepted my defiance.
He claimed we would meet again, at the proper time and at the proper place.
I felt nothing. No comfort in his words, nor anxiety he would stalk us. Perhaps it was the factual way he spoke. With some authority.
He left. I expected him to call upon a magic, to vanish completely.
Instead, he shuffled off. Inspected the temple we had already picked bare.
Complaining about the filth and mess.
