RAVEN'S GAMBIT | Part 10: Steel, Stone, and Sacrifice
Group Three had seen death before—but not like this.
The corridor led them up a dry flight of stairs, the first they'd encountered since entering White Plume Mountain. Their boots, soaked and reeking of swamp water, left no wet prints here. For a moment, they hoped this meant relief.
But at the top of the stairs, a sealed iron portcullis barred their way.
“Finally, dry ground,” muttered Agent Marcus Virelli, flicking the chamber on his service revolver. “And another obstacle.”
“I’ve got this,” said Legionnaire, already moving to grip the bars.
He planted his feet, wrapped his gauntleted hands around the cold metal… and pulled.
But the portcullis pulled back.
“What the—?!”
Legionnaire’s hands were suddenly fused to the bars, flesh sizzling as veins of ooze slithered up his arms. The metal writhed. It was no gate.
It was a mimic.
The creature, now fully awake, twisted into a monstrous toothed maw, slamming Legionnaire against the wall with brutal force. Ribs cracked like snapped kindling.
Lungs collapsed.
Legionnaire died without a scream.
Before anyone could react, the mimic lashed out again, crushing Silas with a thunderous slam that sent blood and bone flying down the stairs.
“SILAS!” Lira Valesong shrieked.
In pure panic and rage, Lira loosed an arrow from her shortbow—striking true, the shaft glowing faintly from the aura of Marshal Darian Thorne nearby.
Marcus Virelli fired his revolver, the shot sparking against the cavern wall. “Damn thing’s fast!”
Bayushi Kaede, calm even in chaos, slid into a defensive stance and drew her wakazashi, poised to strike.
Marshal Darian Thorne, a towering figure in his black-and-gold armor, charged, longsword gleaming.
With a thunderous roar, he cut deep into the mimic’s hide, ichor splashing onto the stone.
But the mimic retaliated in kind. It smashed into Kaede, the blade still in her hand as her ribs shattered inward. She dropped like a broken doll—dead before she hit the ground.
The creature twisted toward Lira—but the nimble elf leapt aside, landing gracefully even as tears streamed down her cheeks.
She fired again, the arrow finding another soft spot.
Marcus took another shot. This time, the bullet hit clean, bursting into a ripple of black ichor and mimic flesh.
Darian struck once more, carving a brutal X-shaped wound in its body.
But the mimic lashed back with unnatural speed, crushing Darian with one slam, then lifting him into the air with the second, slamming him back down so hard that his chestplate caved inward like paper. His final breath escaped in a metallic gasp.
Lira and Marcus were all that remained.
Still, Lira fought. Another arrow lodged in the beast’s torso.
Marcus, his face stony with fury, fired again—a clean, cracking shot that ripped through the mimic’s gullet.
The beast shuddered, then exploded into a shower of mucus, splinters, and shattered pseudo-metal.
The iron gate dissolved, revealing a narrow passage behind it.
They paused long enough to search what little treasure remained:
A flask of oil
A vial of holy water
A sunrod
A metal scroll tube containing divine scrolls: Remove Disease and Neutralize Poison
A flask of alchemist’s fire
Lira knelt by Darian’s shattered form and closed his eyes.
“Rest, Marshal,” she whispered. “You gave us the opening.”
Marcus said nothing, just reloaded.
They continued, two survivors from a team of six, deeper into the winding tunnels. The stone corridor turned sharply—then ended in a heavy wooden door.
Lira pressed it open.
Beyond the door…
They stepped onto a narrow ledge, perched high on the wall of an enormous natural cavern.
Far below, a boiling mud pit churned and belched noxious vapors, filling the air with sulfur and rot. The heat was oppressive.
Suspended from the ceiling, a dozen or more massive wooden disks, each the size of a cartwheel, hung by thick chains, swaying gently in the cavern breeze. They led in a crooked path across the pit toward another ledge on the far side.
Lira stared at the disks. “Stepping stones... really?”
Marcus checked the tightness of his holster. “I’ve had worse ideas.”
“Name one.”
Marcus stepped forward.
“…Joining this expedition.”