The passageway to the sorceress’s stronghold lay at the base of the Obsidian Volcano, a towering and menacing peak that loomed over the jungle like a silent sentinel. Its jagged silhouette, dark and imposing against the night sky, promised nothing but danger and mystery. At its base, a large vent smoldered faintly, releasing wisps of sulfuric smoke, marking the entrance to the deep, twisting caverns within. The path leading to this entrance was treacherous, cutting through dense, tangled foliage that made every step a challenge.
Despite the dangers of the jungle, the sorceress’s remaining troops had set up a makeshift camp at the foot of the mountain, where the looming shadow of the volcano offered some semblance of safety. While the majority of the troops patrolled the perimeter, no more than sixteen remained in the camp itself, their presence sparse and largely unguarded. The scattered guards moved with a sense of complacency, unaware of the approaching threat. The party had already dealt with just as many in smaller skirmishes, their strikes swift and precise, each encounter bringing them one step closer to their goal.
Now, lying on their bellies at the edge of the clearing, the group surveyed the scene before them, their eyes narrowed in concentration. The distant campfires flickered weakly, struggling against the heavy dampness in the air. The faint light cast long, uneven shadows, which danced erratically across the jungle floor. Three of the party, blessed with the ability to see clearly in the dark, scanned the layout of the camp with precision. Their eyes swept over the guard posts and the hidden points of vulnerability. Meanwhile, the rogues within the group observed the patrol patterns, noting the guards' habits, their movements, and the time intervals between shifts. After a tense, silent moment, the group retreated to the cover of the nearby hillside to discuss their next course of action in hushed tones.
Gathered in a tight, close-knit circle, the party’s voices barely rose above a whisper, each one carefully weighing their words as they deliberated.
“Alright, team,” Captain Alaric began, his tone low but steady, carrying the weight of leadership. “We need to decide our approach. Stealth or battle?”
“Stealth has worked for us so far,” Uilly replied, his voice calm and confident as he nodded toward the deeper shadows that obscured the jungle. “We’ve made it this far without raising an alarm. I say we stick to the shadows and stay unseen.”
“I agree,” Sern added, tightening his grip on his bow. His piercing eyes never left the clearing. “We can take out any guards quietly, one by one, and avoid unnecessary attention. The fewer we alert, the better our chances of reaching the Jade Monkey idol without a fight.”
While not on the city streets of Stronghold, Sern had never lost his ability to step without a sound. That, combined with his skills with a bow, made him the perfect match to team with Uilly. And if the need arose, he could silence a guard from a distance. Keeping Grendor in the rear was for the same reason. The two made a lethal combination.
“I can see well enough in the dark to guide us,” Hernkull said to Bartel, her sharp eyes scanning the terrain around them, always alert for movement. “If we move carefully and stay patient, we can avoid most of the patrols.”
“But what if we’re discovered?” Bartel asked, her voice tinged with unease. She shifted uncomfortably, her small form barely visible in the shadowy surroundings. “We need a backup plan. We can’t afford to be caught off guard.”
“That’s why Sern and I are at the ends,” Grendor said softly, sheathing his sword and unshouldering his bow. He nocked an arrow with practiced ease. “We’ll stop it before it begins.” His voice was calm and measured, his soft elven accent steady. “If it comes to a fight, we’ll be ready. We should have a signal in place to regroup quickly and defend ourselves if things turn hostile.”
Captain Alaric nodded thoughtfully, taking in each of his companions' words. “We will need to address that based on where the threat is coming from and where the best defense will be. But, good points, all of you. Let’s split into pairs. Uilly and Sern, you take the lead. Uilly, keep an eye out for traps and disarm them as we go. Hernkull and Bartel, you follow and stay vigilant for hidden guards. Grendor and I will bring up the rear, ready to support if needed.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Uilly said, a faint, knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. “We’ll move quietly, take out any threats, and if things go south, we regroup and fight our way out. Simple and effective.”
“Let’s do this,” Sern said, gripping his bow tightly, his expression hardening with resolve. “The sorceress won’t know what hit her.”
Captain Alaric placed a firm hand on Uilly’s shoulder, his gaze unwavering. “Remember, our goal is to reach the Jade Monkey Idol. The sorceress is not the goal—if we can do this and get out, then that’s the plan. Stay focused, stay together, and stay sharp. Let’s move out.”
With that, the six moved in a single, synchronized line, their movements fluid and practiced. They used hand signals to communicate wordlessly, each member of the party remaining in constant, vigilant awareness of their surroundings. They stayed low to the ground, blending into the shadows cast by the crumbling ruins and dense foliage. Uilly and Sern, both skilled in stealth and familiar with navigating such environments, led the charge. They scouted the camp’s perimeter, mapping out the guards’ patrols and timing their movements with eerie precision.
As Uilly crept forward, his sharp eyes caught a faint shimmer in the moonlight—a nearly invisible tripwire stretched across the path. He froze, raising a clenched fist to halt the group. “Trap,” he whispered, barely audible. Kneeling, he examined the wire’s tension and traced it to a concealed mechanism buried beneath the moss. With deft hands, he disarmed the trigger, neutralizing the trap without a sound. He nodded to Sern, who gave a silent thumbs-up, and the group pressed on, their trust in Uilly’s vigilance reaffirmed.
Hernkull, Uilly, and Grendor, with their different night vision and heightened senses, guided the group through the darkest, most concealed parts of the jungle. Their sharp eyes missed nothing, detecting potential threats before they even had a chance to emerge. Bartel, the halfling, moved with deliberate caution, her small, nimble frame making it easier for her to slip through the thick undergrowth unnoticed. The first to cross the open area were Sern and Uilly, Sern’s bow always ready, his agility and sharp instincts making him as effective at close range as he was from afar. Captain Alaric and Grendor brought up the rear, their senses constantly alert as they scanned the area for any signs of danger, making sure no one was left behind or compromised.
Using the natural cover of the jungle, Uilly led Sern down a narrow, overgrown path that bypassed the main guard posts. Hernkull and Bartel timed their movements carefully, slipping past unnoticed as they tracked the guards’ patrols with precision. The tension in the air was almost palpable; every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, seemed deafening in the stillness of the night. The slightest sound threatened to expose them, but they pressed on, unwavering in their resolve.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Once Uilly and Sern reached the next point, Sern turned back, his arrow nocked and bow at the ready to cover Alaric and Grendor. Grendor saw the signal, lowered his bow, and led Alaric forward, ensuring they followed Hernkull and Bartel. As they reached the midpoint, Hernkull and Bartel paused, waiting for the all-clear signal from Uilly before proceeding.
At one point, Hernkull suddenly raised a hand, signaling the group to halt. Her sharp eyes had caught a subtle movement—a guard shifting at his post. Though the guard appeared to be sleeping, the slightest misstep could betray them. They froze, holding their breath, as the guard settled back into a deeper slumber. Hernkull then led Bartel through a dense thicket that provided excellent cover, her familiarity with the terrain allowing them to move swiftly and silently. Rejoining Uilly and Sern, they regrouped, their careful coordination keeping the mission on track.
As they neared the cavern entrance, the air grew heavier, carrying the faint metallic tang of damp stone and the earthy musk of decaying foliage. The flickering glow of torches cast long, shifting shadows across the jagged rocks, their light barely penetrating the oppressive darkness beyond. Two sentries stood watch, their forms outlined against the dim firelight, spears in hand, their faces weary but alert.
Uilly and Sern exchanged a quick glance, their eyes communicating a plan honed through quick understanding. Without a sound, they split up, slipping into the shadows like predators stalking prey. The faint crunch of leaves beneath Uilly’s boots was swallowed by the night as he moved with ghostly precision, his dual axes held low and ready. Sern melted into the darkness, the taut string of his bow creaking faintly as he nocked an arrow, his breathing steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. A second arrow was readied in his hand as he tracked Uilly guard if he flinched, he would have killed him and then moved to his own target.
The faint scent of sweat and leather from the sentries reached Uilly’s nose as he closed the gap, every step calculated to avoid the brittle twigs and dry leaves that littered the ground. The distant hum of insects filled the air, a discordant symphony that seemed to amplify the pounding of his heartbeat.
In perfect unison, they struck. Uilly surged forward, his axe slicing through the air in a deadly arc. The blade met flesh with a muted thud, severing the first sentry’s windpipe before he could make a sound. Warm blood sprayed across Uilly’s hands, the coppery tang filling his nostrils as the body slumped silently to the ground.
Sern’s arrow flew like a whisper of death, its flight barely perceptible until it found its mark. The second guard’s eyes widened in shock, his hands clawing at the shaft protruding from his throat as he crumpled to the ground. The faint gurgle of his last breath was quickly swallowed by the jungle’s oppressive stillness.
Working quickly, Uilly and Sern dragged the lifeless bodies into the underbrush, the rustle of leaves the only evidence of their grim task. The cool night air carried the faint scent of blood, but no trace of their approach remained. For a moment, they paused, listening intently for any sign that their actions had been noticed. Satisfied that the way was clear, they exchanged a brief nod and pressed on toward the cavern’s yawning maw, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a blade.
With the guards eliminated, the party slipped into the cavern, the cool, damp air and the thick darkness enveloping them. They paused for a moment, letting their eyes adjust to the new surroundings and listening intently for any signs of pursuit or movement. The silence in the cavern was both a comfort and a warning, but they knew that the true challenge lay ahead.
The cavern walls radiated heat, their obsidian surfaces gleaming like molten glass frozen in time. A faint shimmer of heat distortion hung in the air, giving the tunnel an almost surreal quality. The air was dry and oppressive, carrying the acrid scent of sulfur and scorched stone. Each breath felt parched, the heat drawing moisture from their throats and clinging to their skin like an invisible shroud.
The faint crackle of shifting stone echoed through the vent tube, accompanied by the occasional hiss of escaping steam from unseen fissures. Shadows cast by their torches danced wildly on the jagged walls, the flickering light highlighting the sharp, angular formations carved by ancient lava flows.
Hernkull’s sharp eyes caught sight of strange markings scorched into the walls, their edges blackened and cracked as though burned into the glass itself. The symbols glowed faintly, their ember-like hues pulsating in rhythm with the deep, almost imperceptible rumble that vibrated through the tunnel.
“Runes,” Hernkull muttered, her voice dry and cracked from the heat. “Old magic. Firebound.” The words carried a weight of caution, her tone as sharp as the jagged shards of obsidian underfoot.
The group moved cautiously, the soles of their boots crunching against the brittle volcanic glass. Every step seemed to stir the stifling air, creating faint eddies of heat that prickled their skin. The oppressive atmosphere felt alive, as though the very tunnel pulsed with the residual energy of the molten river that had carved it eons ago.
Beads of sweat dripped down their faces, evaporating almost instantly in the searing heat. The dry air amplified every sound—the faint scrape of a boot, the rustle of clothing—each noise reverberating ominously down the vent tube. The sensation of being watched was replaced by an overwhelming awareness of the raw, untamed power that had shaped this place, and the group pressed forward, their resolve steeled against the infernal environment.
The passage widened into a vast chamber, its oppressive heat replaced by an eerie stillness that seemed to muffle even the sound of their breathing. The ceiling loomed high above, adorned with stalactites of once-molten obsidian, their jagged forms resembling the fangs of some long-dead beast. The faint glow of residual heat pulsed through the black glass, casting fragmented reflections across the chamber like fractured shards of light.
The floor was a chaotic mosaic of debris—freshly forged weapons gleamed amidst scattered armor pieces, and discarded potions glinted in the dim light, their shattered glass sparkling like tiny stars. To one side, a smithy stood, its forge heated by the flows below them, still exuding the acrid tang of burned metal from recent activity. Finished weapons lay haphazardly on stone tables, their edges honed to a deadly sheen. Opposite the forge, shelves lined the walls, crammed with herbs and vials. Their contents glowed faintly in hues of green, red, and gold, casting an otherworldly aura over the chamber.
At the center of the room stood a massive stone altar, its surface intricately carved with symbols that seemed to shift and writhe when viewed too long. The altar glowed with a blue-black light, an unnatural radiance that pulsed like a heartbeat. The air around it shimmered with magical energy, the aura thick and suffocating, vibrating with the sorceress’s immense power. Around the altar, the floor was eerily pristine—a perfect circle of untouched stone, as though the chaos of the surrounding chamber dared not encroach upon its sanctity. It felt timeless, a relic from an era long forgotten, untouched by decay or disorder.
The party approached cautiously, every muscle tensed, their weapons held at the ready. Sern’s bow remained raised, the string taut, his sharp eyes darting to every shadow and corner, searching for the faintest hint of movement. Hernkull’s great axe gleamed in the altar’s glow, her grip firm and her blood singing with the primal energy of a hunter on the brink of a kill. Uilly’s dual axes glinted with lethal promise, his steps silent but purposeful, his focus unwavering.
Captain Alaric stood at the center of the group, his blade drawn and steady. His piercing gaze swept the chamber, every fiber of his being tuned to the possibility of an ambush. Bartel, though smaller than the others, gripped her club tightly, her knuckles white with determination. The nervous fluttering in her chest was drowned out by the steady rhythm of her resolve.
As they moved forward as one, the tension in the chamber grew thick, almost tangible. Every sound—the faint clink of armor, the soft crunch of boots on debris—seemed deafening in the unnatural quiet. The glow of the altar intensified, casting long, shifting shadows across the walls, as if the chamber itself were alive and watching.
With a final, resolute nod from Captain Alaric, the party advanced toward the altar, their thoughts unified and their hearts set on their single goal: to confront the sorceress and claim the Jade Monkey Idol.
