RAVEN’S GAMBIT | Episode 63: The Slumbering Doom
The double doors loomed at the end of the passage like the closed lids of some vast stone eye. Unmoving. Watching.
Sir Cedric’s gauntlet glinted faintly in the wan magical light emanating from Elowyn’s trident, Wave. “These are different,” he muttered, running his fingers along the smooth iron-braced edges. “Hinges swing both ways.”
Elric leaned in, eyes narrowed. “That’s not normal. Either it’s meant to let something through quickly… or trap us.”
Bran knelt, examining the seam where stone met door. His revolver rested beside him on the flagstones, the matte black barrel reflecting none of the lantern glow. “No trap trigger I can find. But this smell… you catch that?”
Thalia sniffed the air and frowned. “Dust. Old stone. But something under it—metallic. Sweet. Like... nectar left too long.”
“Magic,” Theron said flatly, eyes flaring with the residual black sheen of Blackrazor’s hunger. “Something conjured. Not meant for us to breathe.”
Thog grunted, already fidgeting with the haft of Whelm. “Open it or not? My axe thirsts for something breakable.”
“No,” Lira whispered. “Not until we know—”
But it was too late.
With a soft creak and a press of Bran’s hand, the western door gave way. It opened inward—no resistance.
From within the chamber beyond, a rush of golden mist surged outward with uncanny speed—thicker than smoke, and colder than fog. It rolled like liquid, swallowing the air.
“Hold your breath!” Elowyn gasped, retreating instinctively. She brought her sleeve to her face, casting a ward—but already, it was too late.
The gas hit like a wall.
Elric stumbled first, dropping to his knees. His eyes fluttered and rolled back as he collapsed sideways.
“No—!” Thalia reached for him, but the gas licked her face and her arms went limp. She slumped into the crook of the wall.
Bran swore, dragging Tessa back toward the threshold. “MOVE, dammit!”
“I’ve got her!” Thog roared, hoisting Sir Cedric by his collar as the paladin staggered and wheezed.
Inside the room, something rumbled.
Far beyond the thick mist, gears clicked.
A sound like grinding stone echoed down the passage. The floor trembled.
Theron’s hand tightened around Blackrazor’s hilt. “Something's coming.”
“From where?” Lira hissed.
Another click. Louder. Steady.
A shadow moved in the corridor—massive and rolling. A stone wall with wheels. No… with tusks.
Bran turned slowly, Colt Dragoon cocked with a sharp click.
“I’ve seen battering rams in siege warfare,” he said. “But that thing’s not meant for gates.”
The juggernaut rolled into view—its massive, domed form gleaming dully with enchanted runes, its eyeslits glowing faint red. Two stone tusks jutted forward from a face carved in the mockery of a skull, its wheels already in motion as it gained momentum down the corridor.
“RUN!” Tessa screamed.
They fled, dragging the unconscious, racing time.
Behind them, the corridor thundered.