8Hello and welcome, damn I didn't think this was going to get done, but hey, here we are! I don't have much to say except that this is where the 'crossover' actually starts to happen. Enjoy.
Chapter 3: Contact
With barely a moment to spare, the injured dragons were able to duck their heads back down behind the pillar before being spotted. Tucking in any extremities as tightly as possible, Spyro and Cynder pressed their bodies to the cold stone as the footsteps of those strange creatures drew nearer. Without the wild clashing of weapons and the hateful snarls of the undead, the sound of conversation between grew discernible. The lighthearted banter exchanged between them after a life and death scenario suggesting they had dealt with those terrors before. Breathing as softly as they could, the two dragons listened intently.
"Well that was underwhelming." the Coated One muttered, kicking the skull of a felled undead down the hall, "They didn't even have anything worth taking back on them either."
"I rather enjoyed their meagre attempt, it's always a boon to have an encounter go by this effortlessly." the Armoured One replied, readjusting the trinket-laden pouches on his belt, "Come now Dismas, you cannot honestly tell me that you aren't pleased to have a chance to loosen up before delving deeper?"
Deeper? Why would they want to go further into this horrid place? Spyro thought.
"It's not that." Dismas replied, "It bothers me that they weren't going out of their way to quietly skulk around, they were already at prepared to fight. Like they were looking for something..."
"I'll admit my curiosity on that matter is piqued." the Masked One said thoughtfully, "It's possible that a group of would-be monster hunters foolishly marched down here and were scattered. It wouldn't the first time."
"Hunters to pick off a survivor then." Dismas replied with an affirmative nod, "Looks like we have an additional goal down here. If there are any left."
Well, they're half right. Cynder thought dryly.
"Onward!" the Armoured One ordered, the rest of the warriors following him single file.
Only when their footsteps started to fade with the light as they rounded a corner did the dragons finally get to stretch their cramping limbs. "So what do you think?" Spyro asked as both he and Cynder worked up the nerve to begin tailing them, "They don't strike me as the kind creatures who would follow the Dark Master."
"Maybe. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't be cautious." Cynder conceded before her features hardened, "But they said they were going deeper. Following them isn't going to get us out of here, Spyro. We don't need to stalk them any longer."
"Then what would you have us do?"
"We follow the tracks they left in the dust. I'm not sure if you can see them, but they're clear to me." Cynder said, tapping a claw to one of the said prints, "Afterwards, we reorientate ourselves, find some spirit gems to get you patched up and fly ourselves back to Warfang for your procession. The Guardians are probably worried sick if Volteer hasn't driven them insane yet."
"It's reassuring to hear you've got this all planned out, but I think you're getting ahead of yourself, Cynder." Spyro said with a hollow chuckle, "Who's to say that the surface will be any safer? Let alone the path there. And... I don't think I'm in any shape to fly. I think we both know that you wouldn't risk leaving my side, so we'd be grounded in the open."
"That's... I see." Cynder mumbled, disheartened, "What do you suggest?"
"Think about it Cynder. Not only are those warriors more than capable of fending off those things, but they're also on the lookout for survivors too." Spyro reasoned, "I understand how you feel, but in our current condition, I'd rather take our chances with someone who I can speak with than whatever else is stalking these halls."
"You're right. I hate it, but you're right." Cynder said dejectedly, "But if I sense the slightest hint of hostility, I will do what I have to."
Though hardly pleased with that response, Spyro knew better than to argue. He'd do the same if the situation were reversed and considering Cynder's feelings for him, it'd be vindictive of him to deny that. Their course of action set, the two set off before those 'Warriors of the Flame' widened the gap too far. They weren't hard to find, the torches they carried shone like a beacon in the blackness. As if to challenge any of the stalking terrors of the dark. Stalking them without being seen, however, was a different matter entirely.
Spyro couldn't help but look on with bated breath as his dark-scaled companion advanced to eavesdrop, hoping to learn something that could put their foot in the door with them. But even with Cynder's ability to blend in with the shadows via her unnatural element, getting within earshot was beyond risky. The Coated One, Dismas, was exceptionally sharp-eyed and Spyro was almost sure she'd been spotted. Though, if they had seen her, they didn't pay her any mind. Perhaps the rest of them grew a little more restless though.
More careful than Spyro gave her credit for, Cynder silently slinked from shadow to shadow, behind rubble, discarded apparatus' and old statues. She strained her ears to listen to their idle chatter, only veering away back to make sure Spyro was safe whenever more of the undead attacked. Being forced to rely on these unwitting soldiers bothered Cynder to no end, she always felt an obligation to rely upon herself after Spyro freed her and it rubbed her the wrong way to benefit off of these creatures' hard work. What was more worrying, however, was the variety of armaments their foes. Some made use of crossbows, a couple wore heavy armour and used maces bigger than her entire body. They were armed like the soldiers of the Dark Army, but even they didn't trouble her nearly as much as that unassuming undead dressed in mattered purple furs.
It wasn't strong or imposing like the rest of them, but the scent foul of the brew it splashed from the black goblet it carried made Cynder's nose curl. It wasn't just some rancid beverage; there was an almost bewitching allure to it, the same pull that one feels in the back of their mind when in a position of trust — the temptation for a deplorable act. A cry of terror left the Small One as her face was drenched in the black fluid, though the perpetrator was cut down almost immediately after, the sizzling sound that reverberated through the hall made Cynder grimace.
"Bah! Those foul Goblet-Bearers never cease to be troublesome." The Armoured one growled, crushing the cup under an iron boot, "You are not injured are you, Roselyn?"
"Only my dignity." Roselyn replied with a weak smile, wiping the tainted brew from her brow, "Can never get used to the visions though."
"I have some experimental vapours that might put your mind at ease." the Masked One suggested, holding a pouch of exotic looking herbs.
"This is hardly the time for that, Felicia." Roselyn declined, before turning to the Armoured One, "Reynauld, would you keep a lookout for a place to set up camp? I feel as though we'll need to collect ourselves soon."
"I too have begun to feel the effects of this place weighing on me." Reynauld admitted, "I shall search for a defensible location, we shall decide our next move from there. Hold fast until then, Roselyn."
Slinking back into the dark towards Spyro, Cynder informed him of what she had heard and seen. Perturbed by these other kinds of undead she described, Spyro felt that they should request their aid soon. Nodding in contemplation, Cynder agreed that approaching them in the open while they were resting was the best way to introduce themselves. The purple dragon would take charge of the first part; he was always better at negotiating than Cynder, not to mention her condition. If those warriors asked the wrong questions, then things could get ugly. Spyro assured her that he wouldn't let it come to that, but Cynder knew that was too optimistic. She had seen the fear in the eyes of children, so what chances did she have with battle-hardened veterans? She'd be lucky if they didn't try to skin her alive.
"...Cynder?" Spyro prodded, rousing the dragoness from her brooding thoughts.
"Sorry, go on," she mumbled, lifting her head and trying to find something else to focus on.
"I know that look Cynder; I won't let it come to that." Spyro said firmly, his eyes filled with conviction, "I will always stand up for you when it comes to your past, you know that, right?"
"Thank you, but that isn't the issue here," Cynder replied, a hint of a smile peeking from the corner at his words.
"If you think that they-" Spyro froze, a chill shooting up his spine as his instincts suddenly screamed at him to move.
His body didn't react fast enough.
A wordless cry emanated from Spyro as a bloodied talon swept out from behind the darkness, flinging him into a wall. Cynder didn't even have a chance to call out to her friend before she was forced to jump back from a blow that shook the ground. It's gaze falling on this new threat, Cynder nearly froze. The thing was big, bigger than even the most robust apes and endlessly more frightening. The smell of death radiated off of it. Cold, grey skin clung to the creature like wet fabric; it's sharp bones threatening to breach the surface of its wart covered back. Milky eyes pierced through the gloom from behind thick strands of mattered hair and wads of drool rolled out between needle-like fangs, sullying the bandoleer of bleached skulls tied around its torso.
A morbid testament to its ravenous hunger.
The thing swung a blood-soaked claw at Cynder, eager to end the dragon as quickly as possible. Perhaps a bit too eager. Dodging out of the way at the last moment, Cynder let loose a torrent of her poison at it's exposed face, forcing it to rear back and shriek in agony. Not wasting a moment, Cynder darted between its legs lashed her tail-blade at one while an outstretched claw caught the other. Flinching as an icy cold liquid splashed on her, Cynder turned to jump away from the flailing beast when white-hot pain laced through her wing as her feet were torn from the ground. Vision flickering as she groaned from a harsh impact, Cynder winced at the sight of her wing's torn membrane splayed across her side and broken, no doubt.
Eyes being drawn to the salivating giant lumbering toward her, the eye her venom missed staring at her with murderous intent. Struggling to spur her legs into motion, Cynder forced herself to stand as the monstrosity drew nearer. Each of its lumbering steps oddly silent. Staring up into the maws of death eager to embrace her, Cynder stood her ground, if she was going to die here, then the least she could do is take this thing with her.
Calling on what little remained of her magic, black flames licked out from the gaps in her fangs as Cynder prepared to dose the fiend in her shadow breath in a last-ditch attempt to end the encounter. She'd only have enough in her for a single blast.
"We've got a Ghoul!" Came Dismas' voice from the hall.
Cursing under her breath as she stole a glance over her shoulder and squinting at the growing light behind her, Cynder growled in frustration. The scuffle with this 'Ghoul', had not only broken her wing and hurt Spyro but also ruined their attempt at reconnaissance too. Her stomach lurched at the thought of Spyro's condition, his form crumpled against the side of a wall, gashes on his side leaking blood. Shaking her head, Cynder refocused herself. She couldn't help him while this Thing was in her way and faced with the decision of either keep fighting a losing battle with the Ghoul in her debilitated state or praying that those creatures weren't hostile. It wasn't a choice at all. Nothing for it then. Cynder thought grimly as she broke into a sprint toward the light, her purser not hesitating to chase down its prey.
"Over here!" She called out, quickly darting behind an old bookcase the warriors had looted before she watched the scene unfold.
Dismas knew something was following them, sifting through the dark just beyond sight, he informed his team of such with the well-practised hand signals he taught himself for alerting each-other of a threat without tipping off a would-be stalker. The crashing and cry for help that followed quickly dismissed any need for continued secrecy at once. He cursed himself at the sound of the voice, Dismas knew that things had just gotten a whole lot more complicated. If it were up to him, he would have left the poor sod to their fate. They had a job to do, for light's sake! But it wasn't just up to him, was it? No, he had to be paired up with a literal knight in shining armour.
"The beast assails a fair maiden!" Reynauld cried out, pulling ahead of his comrades in arms, "Fear not, the Red Hook will dispose of this affront to nature in brutal fashion!"
It baffled the old rouge how he moved so swiftly in that armour, the cry of some poor waif being all it took to spur the knight into a fit of reckless abandon, needlessly betting everyone's lives on could very well be a ruse. Dismas' silently cursed the old crusader as he picked up speed to keep up with him, readying his flintlock as they drew closer to the fell beast. It struck the highwayman as odd when the Ghoul finally became visible; half of its face had been melted off as if it had already been hit with one of Felicia's plague bombs. Much like the one sailing over his head now. Contents of the pouch splattering onto the Ghoul's shoulder with a sharp hiss as corrosive microbes ate away at its flesh.
Its pained screech was drowned out by the bark of Dismas' pistol, tearing a hole into it's weakened shoulder in a flash of fire and smoke. Taking advantage of the distraction, Reynauld rammed the butt of his sword into the side of its head, sending it reeling back. The gentle light surrounding Roselyn intensified as she chanted a prayer from her sacred tome, coalescing at the peak of her mace as she prepared to lay divine judgement upon her foe.
Her words did not come fast enough.
Not nearly dazed as Reynauld would have liked to believe, the Ghoul tore a skull from its body and flung it with deadly precision. Bone splinters scattered with a sickening crack across the side of Roselyn's head, sending the vestal crashing to the ground, her spell fizzling away. Casting the group to the verge of panic.
"Fuck!" Cursed Dismas, deftly dashing in with a stab to draw the monster's attention.
"Felicia!" Reynauld called back to the plague doctor as he slammed his blade into his enemy's arm, glancing off the bone.
"On it!" she confirmed, besides her injured teammate in an instant. It didn't look good. Blood leaked down Roselyn's forehead, and her eyes were dull and unfocused, a concussion no doubt. Pulling the vial of medicinal herbs she kept on her at all times, Felicia wafted the healing vapours towards the holy woman's nose.
Emboldened by its victory, the Ghoul let out an ungodly howl. A sound not meant to be heard by the ears of men. The encroaching blackness seemed to writhe one the edges of sight, any who listened to the vile cry becoming victims of gnawing uncertainty that bore into even the iron wills of the Red Hook. Staring with it's single, unblinking eye at its quarry, a black tongue slinked over its black fangs as it readied a stained claw for the coming feast.
Heart pounding in the back of his head as his instincts kicked in, Dismas forced his uncooperative arm toward the Ghoul's knee. "Shut the bloody hell up." he snarled as he shot at point blank, "Now! Lay 'em low!"
"Foul heathen, thou stand accused of forsaking the light and throwing thy ilk in with the dark." Reynauld began, each word charging the very air as he produced a scroll penned in golden ink, "I cast the heaven's retribution upon thee, may the light have mercy on thy's passing. Now begone!"
The pale glow emanating from the holy parchment intensified at the last word, rays of light shot out of the inscriptions, tearing burning holes through gnarled flesh. The Ghoul's claws shot forward to tear at the accursed paper that dared to bring the blinding light and the meat-sack that held it, only to utter a gurgle of confusion as it's arms crumbled to ash before it's very eyes. It didn't even realise it had died before it hit the floor. What remained of it at least.
Beads of sweat streaking down his brow, Dismas let out a long sigh. He'd never get used to the sound those things make. Sauntering over to the downed vestal, Dismas offered a hand to help her up. She took it despite Felicia's protests and stood up unsteadily, rocking preciously from side to side. A small nod being all the indication from her that he needed, Dismas turned his ire upon the remains of the Ghoul, stomping it's half disintegrated head in out of spite. Roselyn would be fine, she had been through worse, and a blessing from her god would keep her on her feet. It'd take much more than a skull to the face to keep her down from her sense of duty. Dismas knew that much.
"I hope this wench was worth putting the mission at risk." Dismas said dejectedly to Reynauld, "You know that if Roselyn goes down, then all of this may as well have been pissing in the wind, right?"
"And I'm sure you remember that as a servant of the light and as such, a code binds me. If I were to break just because it was convenient would leave me powerless." he responded in the rehearsed sounding tone of voice he would use whenever someone would question his faith, "Roselyn would support me on this venture too no doubt, even with the benefit of hindsight."
"Right, sometimes I forget that I'm the only sane one out of all of you." the highwayman retorted.
"Speaking of which, we should make certain that of our new charge's safety." Reynauld said as he approached the bookshelf, ignoring the snide remark, "The Ghoul has been dispatched, are you unharmed? We can guide you out of the Ruins if you are lost."
"W-Wait!" She responded in a haggard but cautious sounding voice, stopping the Crusader in his tracks, "Before I step out from here I want you to promise me something."
"If it is within my power and not unreasonable, we shall," Reynauld responded, glancing back at his companions. The woman sounded desperate and afraid, and the old warrior's wizened ears couldn't pick out an inkling of deception in her voice.
"I want you to promise me that no harm will come to me or my friend. No matter what you think when you see me."
Stepping past the crusader before he could answer the odd request, Dismas marched up to her hiding place with a scowl. "Oi! We didn't just halt the progress of our mission to be insulted by some moronic fool who decided to delve into this godforsaken place unprepared! We aren't the monsters here!" Dismas barked, rounding the bookshelf before anyone could stop him, "I don't care how fucked up you may look, we got a job to do and can't waste any more time with you that we have too. Whatever is messed up with you can't be..."
"Oh."
Voice trailing off as he made eye contact with the strange creature, Dismas' hand slowly inched toward his knife as they stared each other down in silence. It was about the size of Beret's wolf-hound and reptilian in nature, a crown of sharp white horns adorning its head like a crown. A pair of leathery, bat-like wings sprouted from its shoulders, the left one laying against its side. Misshapen and useless, it's membrane torn from whatever scuffle it had with the Ghoul. Scales of a muted ruby colour lined the underside of its wings and belly, contrasting the shiny black of the rest of it, making its emerald eyes quite striking. It's gaze reflected a certain quality that a mere animal couldn't, whatever it was, it was intelligent enough to speak and in Dismas' experience, that never boded well.
Startled, the creature took a step back while it regarded him before it turned tail and ran. It must have seen him go for his blade. Dismas would have tried to shoot it but he hadn't reloaded his firearm from kneecapping the Ghoul, and it sprinted into the blackness unabated. Slowly slinking out from behind the bookshelf, Dismas approached his team, mind racing to comprehend what had just transpired.
"What was that?" Roselyn asked to no one in particular, having at least somewhat shaken off her concussion.
"I don't know, but it sure as hell wasn't human." Dismas replied distantly, absentmindedly loading another round into his flintlock, "You all heard it right? Wasn't just me and ol' rust bucket here going senile, yeah?"
"It's fuzzy, but I did hear the voice of a young woman." Roselyn nodded.
"Fascinating. Perhaps if she isn't hostile, we should try to capture her?" Felicia spoke up with that same exuberant tone she used whenever she pondered the thought of a new experiment or discovery, quickly jotting down notes in her journal, "We may have very well discovered the first sentient species outside of homo-sapiens Provided this isn't just some escaped experiment of course."
"Calm yourself, Felicia, needless speculation will get us nowhere." Reynauld said firmly, "All we know is that a strange creature either asked us for help or attempted to deceive us. Either way, our course is clear; we track it down and take the appropriate course of action."
So that could have gone better, impatient Dismas is impatient. Can't say I'm entirely pleased with how I handled Dismas' reaction to Cynder, but I'm not certain what else he would have done besides stab or shoot her. But I'm not sure he'd be that rash. Eh, the only thing certain now is that the Red Hook's job became a lot more complicated.
Feel free to leave a review and tell me what you think/how to improve. Peace.
