Bottom of the Barrel

Crap! I didn’t get it all? My panicked thoughts consumed me. Or was this because—Crap! I didn't heal the wound! Crap. Crap. Crap. Fug. Crap. What do I do?

Glancing down at Rionriv's unconscious body resting in my lap, I knew that I couldn’t leave our vulnerable sorceress alone. But Sharzin also needed help that only I could provide. That said, I was already feeling the fatigue of magic drain weighing heavily on my body. The ancient potion had inadvertently consumed nearly all of my stored magical potential, an apparent side effect of the ability, as Rionriv had just figured out.

My heart raced as I began to realize that there was no way I’d have the stamina left to heal Sharzin properly. The Crocmaw toxin was already spreading through her at an accelerated rate, meaning that she was going to die if I—

Holy crap. My mind halted the panic attack to realize something else. I just started shaking, Rionriv! I didn’t even check to see if she was dying from those wounds.

Reaching into my bag for a healing potion, I immediately touched Ri’s neck, noticing her faint but stable pulse. My heart fluttered for a second. The relief I felt that she was still alive was overwhelming, sending my heart racing as I realized the romantic situation we were in. I was cradling her weak body in my arms, gently caressing her neck, inches away from her face, as I listened to her soft breathing. If my life were a cheap romance novel, I would have been a moment away from stealing a kiss from her. Instead, I uncorked a healing potion and poured it past her lips, watching as the burns across her body began to mend.

“Iz!” Aesandoral's anxious voice snapped me from my inappropriately timed trance. “My healing potion isn’t working!”

“It won’t,” I responded firmly, turning from Rionriv towards Aesandoral. “It's already in her. It needs magical—wait!”

It suddenly dawned on me that there was something we could use that wasn't magic. It was a powerful detoxifying drink that required two ingredients readily available for our party. One was in our bottomless bags, and another coated the slick streambed we had slid down. But before I had a chance to say anything more, our bad situation became worse as a screech that chilled my blood echoed from the tunnel behind Aesandoral and Sharzin

YEEEERAAAAAWWWW!!!

“HEE-YAH!” I commanded the orb, pointing to Aesandoral.

As the magical sphere reached the maximum distance that it could travel from me, it illuminated the space beyond the archer with a flood of radiance. Revealing four crocmaw corpses, their bodies bubbling and burning under the light of high noon, another form appeared to tower above them. A monstrous pale beast, standing nearly ten feet tall on all fours, poked its head from the shadows, baring teeth with a snarling hiss. A terrifying, lizard-like creature that had never seen the light of day hungrily looked down at the two prone women before it.

My racing heart stopped as I realized just what this beast was. It was Goram, the white terror of the dungeon's second level and half of the boss duo for this section of the facility.

Hoping for a miracle, I attempted to use my lightning dash. Placing Rionriv to the ground, I leapt to my feet and stepped towards the beast. But as my foot stepped down, and the spell failed to activate, I knew that I was out of moves. With no ranged weapons in my arsenal, I could only watch as the giant lizard charged my companions.

“Aes!” I cried out, watching in horror as the creature approached the elf, displaying no fear of the light.

Ahh-whoooo!—

Joining in with my cry, a pair of young wolves leapt from the darkness, suddenly sinking their teeth into the monster. With a shriek of pain, the reptile reared up, trying to fling the loyal beasts from its scaly hide. But the wolves held to the creature, their jaws locked firmly in place, dedicated to giving Aesandoral the time she needed to prepare herself.

Oh damn, that’s right. We have wolves. Where the hell have they been this whole time?!

That was when I sensed something over my shoulder. A chill ran down my spine as that feeling of being watched once again filled me with dread. Instinctively turning to face it, I threw my hands up defensively as magic channelled into my forearms. As I did, I watched as a globule of blue fire pierced the darkness, cutting through the air towards me. It came fast and low, seeming to have been aimed at my waist or potentially Rionriv's prone body behind me.

Flinching, I hopped forward and crouched my body into a defensive stance. I felt as instinct took over and the magic in my arms shifted to my wrists as the holy shield began to form. Without a second thought, I cupped my hands and dug into the approaching spell as though it were a magical volleyball. Making solid contact with the mote, I revelled as it skimmed the shield, reflecting off and detonating with a flash against the ceiling.

D-did I just deflect a spell? It was like playing volleyball again—

My mind began to drift towards the unsettling memory of the sport and the feeling it gave me. Giving my head a shake, I exhaled sharply.

No, focus. Where did the shot come from? If that’s Goram over there, then that means only one thing. This spell came from Drac’aertin, the frail crocmaw shaman and the other half of the duo.

Glancing over my shoulder, I briefly checked on Rionriv. She appeared stable but remained unconscious, meaning that I couldn't just leave her to assault Drac'aertin. I needed to defend the sorceress until she awoke or Aesandoral was free to assist, whenever those would be. So, readying myself to hold off another attack, I began to pool my magic only to feel the strange sensation of dipping into the bottom of my reserves. As the power began to dwindle, my arms and legs grew heavy, and the world around me became harder to focus on.

No. No. Come onnn! I thought as I scanned the area, trying to focus on the world around me.

But with exhaustion beginning to fragment my mind and the commotion of combat behind me, I struggled to concentrate. Unable to see anything beyond the harsh difference between light and darkness, I decided to focus on the sounds that echoed through the reservoir. Growls, shrieks, and scuffling from Aesandoral’s direction consumed the space as she fought Goram with her hounds. But through the sounds of battle, I picked up the rushing of water from the nearby stream we had entered through. It was then that I heard it. The subtle footfall splashing against the flow, one that wasn’t Aesandoral’s light, elven steps, nor was it the patter of canine paws.

I reached down, gripping one of the looted spell-charged bottles from the bandolier that Rionriv wore across her chest. As I did, with my concentration split between the hunt and the search, another globule of fire flew towards us. Grabbing at the sorceress, I narrowly dodged the explosion that would have horribly wounded both of us. With a flash of my shield, I managed to prevent any of the flames from touching us, but it came at a cost. I could feel that I was running out of magic, meaning I had one or two more uses of deflection left.

The situation had become a now-or-never moment.

“Sorry, Ri,” I whispered and closed my eyes, gripping the looted bottle tightly. "I'm going to need to use this."

Over our short time together, I had picked up a thing or two from the triop of girls I trained with. Sharzin had taught me the importance of stealthiness and the art of being quiet. Spellcraft and understanding when to use specific elements came from Rionriv. Both skills were beyond helpful, and I was lucky to have learned them. But in this battle, where I was almost out of magic and had nowhere to hide, I was most thankful for Aesandoral’s preternatural hypervigilance. While not always the most attentive, once she began taking her pills, I learned just how focused she could become. So, following her style, I breathed and listened once more. Closing my eyes, ignoring the pain in my body, the taste of the blood in my mouth and the smell of burnt leather that filled the reservoir, I cut out as many senses as possible. All I cared about in that moment was my hearing.

Then it happened, the faintest slip of a rock. It wasn't from Aesandoral or her battle. It was Drac'aertin, and he was making his move.

Opening my eyes, I saw an icy comet streaking through the air towards me. With a sidestep, I allowed instinct to take over as I tossed into the air the small vial I had been holding. I jumped, meeting it at its apex before spiking the object like a volleyball with my magic-infused hand. The bottle raced away from me, and, a moment later, shattered with a fiery explosion that erupted in the distant darkness.

A pitiful yelp echoed out as the frail master cried in agony. Its limp body flew from the shadow into the light, sizzling in the radiance as it lay motionless. Drac’aertin was dead, and I had killed him with a single, well-placed shot.

Landing on the ground, I stumbled forward before toppling to the stone floor as vomit flowed past my lips. Grabbing at my mouth, I noticed that what had come from me was not bile or a long-since-passed breakfast. I had spewed blood.

“Oh, that’s not good...” I muttered, pulling my bloodied hand away from my face. "It can't be, tub—"

Pain suddenly surged through me as the last of my magic left my body. Collapsing, I gripped at my gut and the half-foot of ice spear protruding from it. My vision began to narrow as I held onto the cold rod, feeling my blood flowing out from the wound.

“Iz?” Rionriv began to stir behind me. "Iz, what—?"

“Good,” I muttered as I lay on the ground, looking at Rionriv as the darkness began to take me. “Zin. Slime.”

“Oh gods, Iz!” Rionriv screamed, crawling her way over to me, while fumbling around her bag. “Just hold on. I’ll get a potion.”

“Ri. Listen. Slime. Moss. Kings. Chew. Tea. For. Zin. Slime. M-Moss. Kings-s. Ch-ch-che—”

The curtains closed on my vision, and I fell unconscious.