Lyric watched in horror as one of the creature's undulating pseudopods, a beefy tendril constructed of stone and clay, lashed forth from the ground and wrapped itself around DD’s still, crumpled form and promptly began pulling the unconscious Midknight into its sandy, smothering embrace. “Shit!” she cried, leaping to action and rushing to the fallen man’s side, grabbing frantically onto his tunic and began trying to pull him free of the strange monster’s grip. The creature appeared to be little more than an undulating mass of stone, clay, and sand, with no other discerning features save for these lightning quick tendrils that shot forth from its formless mass, which it used to strike out at its prey, bludgeoning them like a flail before grasping and dragging their unfortunate victim into a slow and suffocating death.
“Oh no you don’t,” Lyric grunted through clenched teeth as she dug her feet into the ground and leaned backwards, both hands clenched tightly onto DD’s overcoat, as she pulled with all her might. Despite her best efforts, DD’s descent into the roiling sandy mass didn’t slow in the slightest and he was dragged inexorably towards the undulating mass as if she were not even there. To her horror she felt his tunic slip free from her grasp and she scrambled to regain her purchase and grabbed on to his outstretched hand. She then threw herself backwards onto her butt and dug her heels into the loamy ground searching for solid footing amid the shifting sands and almost gasped for joy when her feet found purchase on a large stone partially subsumed in the dirt. With her entire body, she strained and tugged on DD’s arm, her eyes closed and her teeth clenched tightly…
…and he slipped from her grasp and disappeared into the churning mass. The surging, oozing mound of sand and stone enveloped him fully, and for a brief second within the teeming swarm Lyric could make out the colorful patch on his tunic – the patch that Marshall Vendri had given to DD when she had promoted him to Midknight; the patch which he had so solemnly and reverentially sewn onto his tunic, a stylized helm of silver on a copper background, with a crown in the center - Lyric stared at that patch in shock and disbelief for a helpless moment before it too disappeared beneath the ground.
And then there was silence.
Well, not silence exactly. Lyric could dimly hear the sounds of battle around her as her other companions fought off a lumbering clay creature, but the tumult sounded like it was underwater and hundreds feet away; dull and muffled. She sat there dazed and stared at the spot where her friend had disappeared, a slight shifting mass of brown dirt was all that remained of the man. DD was their voice, he was their inspiration. She had cringed a little at each of the stirring speeches he had shouted to them each morning before they started their day, but his words were rousing and despite herself, she actually felt emboldened upon hearing them. He made them want to be better, to fight harder, and he gave them the glimmer of hope that they might actually succeed in the incredibly dangerous mission that awaited them. And now he was just…gone? How was that even possible? He was training to be a knight! He had trained with the Vashirians, some of the most elite fighters in the land. She had never seen someone throw a dagger with such lethality and accuracy and now he was just gone? Ignobly buried beneath the ground with no marker of his passing?
Tears were streaming down her face as she stared numbly at the dirt in front of her, not even noticing the stony pseudopod that shot out of the ground at her and narrowly missing, instead smashing hard into the rocks beside her with a gravelly crunch before slithering back into the sand creature’s body. He's gone.
After a brief moment of paralyzing despair, the sounds of the battle around her finally began to come into focus as her wits slowly returned to her. “Lyric, by the Gods, get over here!” Deuxdahl’s frantic shouting snapped her fully free from her shell shock and she looked over to the man, noting in horror that he carried the limp form of Arnie slung over one shoulder; frosty arcane magic crackling in his other hand as he faced off against the clay automaton and more of the strange, shambling sand mounds. “I need to get Eros!” he shouted again, nodding to the still form of the masked elf that lay by his side.
Gods, No! Not Eros! she thought, frantically. He was the voice of the returned gods, one of a tiny handful of people capable of wielding their divine gifts, and probably the most important person in the world right now. And he was down as well? She heard her mother’s voice in her head in that moment, “Keep your wits about you and keep your head in the fight!” Lyric grunted and rolled backwards, narrowly avoid another lashing strike from the sand creature’s rocky appendage as she rolled to her feet and began running to help her fallen friend…
Lyric and Deuxdahl huddled around a small fire while Eros and Arnie lay motionless, but fortunately still breathing, beside them. Their camp was barely a few hundred feet from where the clay figure was slowly reforming and rebuilding to its normal imposing stature, but the creature thankfully did not pay them any mind once they had left its immediate vicinity. Deuxdahl sat staring at the flames with a look of grim determination on his face, a faraway look in his eyes as he idly reached to his side and threw another log on the fire, the flames readily accepting the offering by sending a shower of lazy sparks wafting into the sky. The two of them had hardly spoken a word since the battle and Lyric was fairly sure that he was having the same thoughts that she was: namely, how could they continue on without DD?
Arnie was sleeping soundly, a hard earned favor of one who had dallied too long upon death’s doorstep and granted a painless, healing respite. The fierce kender was more bruise than flesh and it was astounding that she was breathing at all. Eros lay beside her, but instead of lying motionless his sleep was interrupted by twitching fits punctuated by pained groans, and Lyric found herself wondering what visions assailed the man during his healing slumber. When you speak with the Gods themselves, what do they say to you in those quiet and desperate times?
Lyric turned and looked back to the reinvigorated fire in front of her and her thoughts returned to her final moments with DD and wondering what she could have done differently. Her mother had trained her in the ways of the blade and the shadow, in finding creative solutions to any and every problem that she might possibly face. She had made her brave and taught her when it was OK not to be brave. She had sent Lyric to study the ways of the Arcanists and to wield eldritch magic to fill that gaps in training that she could not provide. But in that final moment with DD, none of her training, none of her magic, none of those countless hours fighting and studying had been enough to save her friend. Kavrash had tried to prepare Lyric for every trial and tribulation but somehow she had not prepared her fo…
The thought trailed off as a horrific realization washed over her. sending a cold shiver running down her spine. Her mother had tried to prepare her for this. She then heard her mother’s voice as clear as day in her head. “Look girl, you are quick and clever, good with a blade and light on your feet, but there are times where you will need to be strong as well.” Lyric had typically replied with a smartass quip like, “Why be strong when you can be fast?” or some other teenage nonsensery. Lyric hated physical labor and always found ways to skirt chores like digging posts and shoveling hay and lugging feed; chores that threatened to make her stronger. Her mother had even tried to get her to lift and throw heavy stones at targets, obviously trying to make a game out of exercise but Lyric saw right through this ruse and always pouted her way into not throwing more than one or two. And now, because of her weakness, her friend was dead.
Tears welled back up in her eyes as she stared into the campfire as the enormity of her failure pressed down upon her, crushing her under its weight. What she wouldn’t give to hear one more of DD’s rousing speeches or knightly aphorisms. He needed something to mark his passing, some speech glorifying and honoring his life; some small testament to his honor and bravery. After a long moment she whispered into the crackling flames, “Risk before Safety. Hope before Despair. Resolution before Deceit. Development before Desolation. Peace before War.” DD’s knightly Code had seemed like little more than lofty words to her before, but now she felt the full import of them now that the man was gone. Perhaps she could try to be a testament to his life, to live by the Code that her friend had devoted his life to? To be the kind of person that he had tried his best to be.
Yes, she could do that. Try to do that. But not just yet. It occurred to her that some elements of that Code, especially that last line, “Peace before War,” she wasn’t quite ready to embrace that one just yet. For her, the time for peace had come and gone and now it was time for war, for that clay monstrosity that had robbed her of her friend and who now stood watch over the patch of ground where DD lay needed to be destroyed. She tried to tell herself that this was out of a desire to give the Midknight a proper burial and not out of a sense of vengeance for her fallen friend. But she also sensed that she might be having issues with the “Resolution before Deceit,” commandment as well, as her self-deception as to her true motivations were so very apparent to her. No, she would try to uphold the Code starting tomorrow she promised herself, for today was the time for some good old-fashioned and decidedly anti-chivalric revenge.