RAVEN'S GAMBIT

The echoing corridors of White Plume Mountain had already claimed lives and sanity. But now, Group Seven—a coalition of survivors, nobility, undead, and misfits—pressed forward down the west corridor, wary but resolved.

Ahead, dark water rippled over stone.

Sir Cedric Lightbringer took the lead, armor clanking with holy resolve. Deputy Mercy Whitlock tapped her boot against the submerged floor while Talen “Whisper” Marr slowly probed with a spearhead. Thirty feet in, the spear disappeared into nothing.

Theron Blackroot scowled. “Of all the gear we’ve hauled in here, nobody brought a rope?”

Lysara Dawnveil peered down the corridor. “We can swim it, but the water carries blindness. Submerge your eyes and you risk it.”

Sir Cedric strode forward and, with a wild grin, leapt into the water. “Let’s swim!” he shouted, splashing forward with head above surface.

“You fool!” Lady Vexa Andros gasped. “You'll kill us all!”

But Sir Cedric turned back, dripping and gleaming. “Keep your heads above water and you should be fine. My eyes are unharmed.”

The rest followed.

Elowyn Mosswhisper panicked and flailed—slipping beneath the water. She surfaced, sputtering, but with her eyes closed tightly. She coughed hard, but there was no infection.

Lysara swam slower, her robes dragging her down. Her mouth filled with water as she slipped under, eyes wide. Her limbs flailed. She surfaced with a scream—but her eyes clouded, struck by blind sickness.

Varkul lunged, dragging her back to the surface, his ghoulish strength pulling her up as she gagged. His undead nature protected him from the water’s curse.

Talen Marr began strong but faltered. He dipped under with a choked cry and surfaced blind and gasping.

Without hesitation, Togashi Norimasa glided through the water, pulled Talen to safety, and nodded once, calm despite the near-death.

Skulvyn, Morven, and other undead crossed unaffected, their cursed forms immune to the sickness that struck down the living.

Eventually, the entire group gathered, coughing, wet, and wounded, in a corridor just beyond the pit. Water now reached only their ankles.

The corridor shifted.

Ahead, six-foot copper plates lined the walls—dimly glowing beneath the water.

Theron Blackroot snorted. “So what now, fearless leader?”

Sir Cedric Lightbringer didn’t answer. He stepped forward.

As they entered the passage, the copper plates began to hum—then glow—then radiate heat.

Buckles sizzled. Armor scorched.

Screams filled the corridor as metal gear began to burn.

Everyone rushed, sprinting or limping, throwing cloaks over glowing scabbards, dropping gear.

Only the undead, bare of armor or immune to pain, walked unfazed.

The heat subsided once they reached the other side—a 30x30 flooded chamber with stairs leading out of the water.

The group groaned, wading toward the stairs. They dunked heated weapons and armor into the murky pool.

That’s when the water exploded with motion.

Three ghouls and a ghast surged from below, claws raking and jaws snapping.

One ghoul latched onto Sir Cedric, biting deep into his arm. Blood arced into the water. He roared and resisted paralysis, clutching the wound.

Lady Vexa narrowly avoided a swipe, pulling back and drawing her blaster.

Veronica “Vee” Sinclair wasn’t so lucky. A ghoul’s teeth found her throat—tearing it out in a spray of blood and bubbles. She dropped, lifeless, into the water.

Mercy Whitlock twisted away from another and fired. Her Colt Navy revolver boomed, and the ghoul’s head exploded, chunks splashing across the stone.

Vexa fired her holdout blaster, grazing a second.

Elowyn Mosswhisper, screaming in fury and grief, slashed a ghoul across the chest with her curved blade.

Lysara Dawnveil, barely standing, called on the Morninglord and healed Sir Cedric, closing the bite.

Varkul, enraged, sank his teeth into another ghoul, tearing out decayed flesh with a gory snarl.

Theron Blackroot raised his hand and unleashed Eldritch energy, scorching the final ghoul.

Morven slammed it with rotted fists, crushing its skull.

Then the ghast rose.

It grabbed Lady Vexa and, with monstrous strength, ripped her throat open. She fell silently, aristocratic grace lost in a gurgle of blood.

Lysara screamed—then was slashed by its claw, barely resisting the paralytic curse.

The stench now rose—foul, overpowering.

Sir Cedric, Mercy, Elowyn, Talen, Togashi, Hachiro, and Theron fell to their knees or collapsed, retching violently.

Only the undead stood unaffected.

Lysara and Shino held their ground by sheer force of will.

Through bile and weakness, Lysara cast a healing spell upon herself.

Varkul lunged again, teeth finding rotten meat—but the ghast retaliated, tearing Varkul apart, killing him.

Skulvyn slammed it into the wall—but in the next breath, the ghast ripped off Skulvyn’s head and tossed it aside like meat.

Only three now stood.

The others could do nothing but vomit and weep.

Morven, eyes glowing with cold fury, tackled the ghast, slamming it into the water, again and again. It hissed, clawed, but couldn’t shake him.

From behind, Theron crawled to a knee, vomit-stained, and loosed another blast, scorching the creature’s side.

The ghast slashed Morven across the chest, deep—but still he held on.

Lysara Dawnveil, her staff glowing with holy light, stepped forward…

...and with a cry of desperate vengeance, crushed the ghast’s skull, collapsing it into the water.

All was still.

The water, once filled with blood and bile, rippled softly again.

Of the thirteen who entered this passage, only ten remained.

Two leaders dead.

Two wounded beyond healing.

But the path forward remained.

And White Plume Mountain whispered for more.

TO BE CONTINUED...