Xevren was beginning to have second thoughts.

He wasn’t claustrophobic in the least, as the looks some of his companions gave him seemed to have them believe. He was of larger than average size and was long used to building interiors being a touch cramped. Nor was it the darkness outside the influence of the torch light that made him tense. His night vision was passable, and as a member of the Adventurer’s Guild, he’d been through many a dark environment.

No, it wasn’t his surroundings that made him second guess his assignment to this team. It was what those surroundings meant.

He was a healer, first and foremost, even if treks into wild land where ambient necrotic energy could still raise the dead had seemingly necessitated he take on more martial armaments. Despite having grown accustomed to them, he still felt woefully inadequate with them. They simply allowed him to be better prepared on the front lines of a fight, where injuries were to occur. And, in a group of four, if combat was to be had, everywhere was the front line until they retreated.

The problem was, the corridors of the old, abandoned keep were designed for those of a more average size, and not being the most martially apt, he was bringing up the rear. Were they to come across something hostile in these tight quarters, he would have great difficulty getting to those wounded in front of them. And, though he could save their souls from passing on in order to resurrect them should any fall, they would be down an able body until then. Xevren would much rather prevent death than undo it, and he was not a believer of “acceptable losses”.

That thought soured his mood, as he knew it was something some of the guild heads saw in him. With how heavily armored he had become in his efforts to keep himself safe as he aided others, others saw things a little differently. Some say Xevren as something of a “contingency plan”, which if everyone else fell, he could “salvage” everyone involved to be resurrected, with his armor and the speed of his four legged frame able to escape a conflict gone awry. Such callous disregard for life was one of the few things that honestly angered the healer. It did not matter if the death was “temporary”; life was no less precious. And it angered him all the more when, if he pointed out that fact, others countered on his being a predator himself, calling him a hypocrite. He did not consume others because he wanted to, he did it because he had to, and he still strongly disliked taking life in such a manner.

The voice of their forward scout, Rishka, broke him out of his thoughts, causing him to berate himself for his inattention. The Lynx had moved so silently that no one knew she had returned until she’d stepped into the light.

“There’s nothing down the corridor, undead or trapped. Number of doors to either side, and another at the end of the corridor. Didn’t enter, but didn’t hear anything. Given the number of evenly spread doors, I suspect this area was for people to stay, like rooms of some sort.”

The group considered what that meant for a moment before pressing on. Exploration and further examination would resolve those mysteries far faster than mulling over them, and so long as there weren’t undead or creatures to interfere, they could examine easily enough.

Xevren kept his ears sharp for sounds from behind as they advanced, and with it being impractical to continuously look over his shoulder, his eyes wandered a bit. The walls seemed to be lined with the remains of various tape. The dryness within the old keep kept them fairly well preserved. Xevren took a closer look at one as they passed. It featured some kind of stylized reptilian, of what kind was hard to tell with where fabric and dye had worn, set in a profile view. It actually looked almost like an insignia, which made Xevren wonder. Were these tapestries, or banners?

He didn’t have time to ponder that further, for he saw the group stop in front of him out of his peripheral vision. While Rishka went to work on the lock, seeming to have more trouble with it than she usually did, Tristle slowly edged his way back to the healer. A spiritualist, he was the only other one of their number with an inclination towards the magical, and his was a bit more tenuous, or perhaps simply more focused, than Xevren’s studies.

“Nervous?” the Alligator asked. He, at least, had recognized Xevren’s posture for what it was. Though young, Tristle had a keen mind, perhaps as keen as his close friend Kaniku, though the Kitsune was more inclined to wit and charm than Tristle, who was more the insightful yet blunt type. Tristle was not one to beat around the bush.

“I find it hard to believe that this keep is truly barren,” he whispered in earnest. “Something must reside in here, roaming or nesting, and there’s little room to move in these halls.”

“I understand, but we are unlikely to be caught unaware, and though you may not like why you were assigned with us, let me tell you that we appreciate it. Other teams without someone of your dedication have fallen with little hope of bringing them back. I, for one, feel safer with you among us, regardless of what means you use to save us. You may not agree with why the decision was made, but I can assure you we all appreciate it. One way or another, you will bring us back alive.”

Xevren nodded, unable to find the words to express his thanks. He was saved from potentially fumbling over something to say by the excited exhale of Rishka as even he could hear the click of the lock releasing. The Lynx tried to crack the door open quietly, but the hinges creaked, and the feline shrugged, waiting for everyone to prep weapons, just in case, before forcing the door open and throwing herself against the side wall so that those more armored could be front and center.

Nothing jumped out at them, and the room before them seemed as empty as the corridor they stood in. Graston, the soldier of the group, advanced in his plate mail and great axe. Xevren had never seen someone with so many scars, and wondered if the Bear allowed himself to be healed in such a manner than such scars would form. Though curious, he felt it was not his place to ask such a personal question, at least not until he had come to genuinely know the man better.

The chamber had something of a short entryway before the room proper, with banners set into alcoves in the wall, a chandelier set in the ceiling, and sconces flanking the arch leading in. With the quiet, they all advanced quietly, Rishka a step or two behind Graston, Tristle behind them with the torch, and himself bringing up the rear.

The torch proved inadequate to illuminate the room, but it was enough to tell them what this room was; an armory. Xevren sparred a moment to look back into the corridor they left, surmising the doors led to dormitories of a barracks. It seemed they entered the wing of the keep that housed a battalion of soldiers, if not perhaps an entire army.

With the others alert for traps and enemies, it was Xevren that first noticed the skull, and there was no mistaking its origin. It looked like an alligator skull, though Xevren thought it was odd for the skill to be present without the rest of the skeleton. When Graston moved forward to further illuminate the room, Rishka keeping to the edge of the light, Xevren got Tristle’s attention, motioning towards the skull.

Xevren noted the quick flick of emotion that crossed his reptilian features, and most reptiles weren’t east to read. Surprise, followed by anger fueled by indignation, quickly covered by a mask of seeming indifference. Xevren met his eyes, and though no words were exchanged, Xevren knew they that they both knew the other knew. Tristle got down to one knee and looked into the empty eye sockets of the skull as though he were staring down someone in an interrogation to intimidate them.

There was something that Xevren always found mildly disconcerting about the process. Though all predators had some influence over the souls of those they ate, and himself a touch more than most, communicating with the dead and perhaps beyond recovery was something Xevren wasn’t fully comfortable. Still, he watched as Tristle worked, lips jaw moving in silent conversation and eyes unfocused and almost looking a little glassy.

Xevren’s fingers tightened on his weapon as Tristle’s bearing tensed, the silent conversation seeming the accelerate and his expression looking concerned. The gator snapped out of his pseudo-trance shortly thereafter, and to Xevren’s surprise, the empty eye sockets began to glow with a deep crimson light. Tristle kicked the skull away at the same moment the door slammed behind them of its own accord.

“We’re not alone!” Tristel called to the others, though they too had heard the door. Xevren sensed the presence of a number of spirits, sending a chill down his spine, and many of the weapons resting upon their racks began to move. Graston took a defense posture and growled.

“I hate ghosts,” the Bear muttered, and the expression on Rishka’s face gave silent agreement. Xevren and Tristle had more experience, but Xevren did not like how many weapon he saw rising. This was not likely to end without injury, but he swore he would not let anyone fall here as he readied himself for battle.

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Xevren by me
Art by  sidonie
Original here: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/24245725/