“Down, Cutter,” I hollered as another Spore Ape—huge gorilla-like creatures covered in poisonous mushrooms—charged through the trees, the underbrush cracking and snapping as it ran. The thief threw himself into an agile roll, coming down in a pile of goopy muck, as I unleashed a burning Umbra Bolt at the incoming monster. The purple javelin of energy smashed into the Spore Ape’s sloping brow, knocking it off balance just long enough for Amara to hurl a conjured spear of black obsidian through the air, skewering the creature through the neck with brutal efficiency.

The snap-crack of a breaking branch caught my ear and I spun, ducking below an incoming haymaker, courtesy of another ape—this one more mushroom than monkey—before slamming my warhammer into its exposed barrel gut. I threw my weight into the attack, triggering Savage Blow, which cost me 20 stamina but earned me a 25% damage boost and a 15% Critical Hit increase. Sadly though, the creature’s spongy flesh absorbed the blunt force damage with ease, and it’s HP didn’t drop by more than a handful of points. I twirled my weapon and backtracked, sidestepping a lumbering jab, only to catch a brutal front kick in the gut.

My conjured Night Armor, wrapped snuggly around me like a second skin, absorbed a big chunk of the damage, but the blow still left me bent over, clutching my stomach, and wheezing for air. I stumbled back, an eyeblink away from triggering Shadow Stride and retreating for the safety of the Shadowverse, when a hail of arrows whizzed by—only inches from my face—sinking into fungus-covered flesh with pitiful ease. The creature’s body rocked from each arrow, spurts of green blood flew through the air as the creature toppled, its HP dropped to zero, a small cloud of floating spores wafted up from its body.

I scampered away from that cloud—not interested in being infected with the deadly jungle spores—and wheeled around searching for more of the incoming Apes. A handful charged in from the rear, but Amara held them at bay with waves of arrow fire while the Chief waded through their numbers like a tank, clad in conjured plate mail of pale white bone, inscribed with gleaming emerald runes. He lashed out with a gnarled staff of blackened swamp wood, cracking skulls and breaking arms with each blow. He twirled as an ape, missing one arm, bolted for him, throwing forward his free hand and unleashing a burst of pale-green light, which washed over the monster like the incoming tide.

The ape faltered, stumbled, and fell as its body decayed in double-speed, the mushrooms wilting and shriveling as flesh sloughed away, leaving only gleaming bone behind.

Wow. Necromancers were scary as hell.

In seconds, the rest of the Spore Apes were down, the threat dispatched as quickly as it’d come. I ambled over to Cutter and offered him a hand, hoisting him from the sludgy mud. He gained his feet with a struggle, scowling down at the muck splattered all over his pants and arms. “Bloody Hell,” he said, his words dripping with disgust, “I hate this place. Why did I ever leave Yunnam? Why? Sure, Yunnam is awful, obviously, but this part of the swamp is a thousand times worse. Mosquitos as big as hummingbirds, snakes as fat as trees, water that smells worse than the sewers beneath Rowanheath”—he scrunched up his nose—“not to mention these disgusting beasties.”

He trotted over to one of the dead Sore Apes, then crouched and riffled through its meager belongs. He grunted, stood, and planted a sharp kick to its ribs. “Ugly bastards don’t even have the good graces to provide decent loot. Just a handful of coppers and some stupid plant spores.” Though Cutter might not have been interested in plant spores, rare ingredients were coveted by Faction Alchemists, so I scuttled around from ape-body to ape-body, collecting the ingredients while Cutter whined like a spoiled little kid.

“Honestly, I cannot fathom why anyone would build a city out here,” Cutter continued. “I mean there aren’t even any roads. How do they trade, eh? The city planner should be summarily executed for being so awful at life. I mean really, the guy had one job. One.”

“There is no city,” Amara said, offering the thief a steely-eyed glower. No one could do a steely-eyed glower better than Amara. “Perhaps it was once a part of a city, but no more. You know little of our people, but the six clans are deeply divided. Hostile, even. The Dark Conclave convenes on neutral ground—a sacred place, revered by our people—the final resting place of Nangkri, the Jade Lord, and many more of our sacred ancestors. Come, this way. It is not far now.” She guided us around a thick copse of palm trees, ducked beneath a tangle of low-hanging vines, then stepped aside, giving us a view of a swampy pit, filled with brackish bog water, covered with floating sheets of emerald moss.

Out of the waters rose a curved mound like a small island, which looked almost like a natural feature. Swamp grass, lush and green, and a handful of stunnted trees, intermixed with a spattering of brightly colored jungle flowers in vivid blues and reds, dotted the mound. Obviously, though, this was far more than just some natural hillock, rising up in the otherwise flat marshes. This was a temple, though an old one, long abandoned. Stone statues of somber-faced Murk-Elves, beaten down from long years of wind and rain, jutted up from the stagnate pool, while a stone doorway sat nestled into the side of the hill.

There were a set of cracked and lopsided steps, leading from the doorway into the bog water, which suggested that whatever this place was, it hadn’t always been submerged.

“Gods, this is where the Shadow Conclave meets?” Cutter asked with a disapproving sniff. “What in the hells do you have against comfort? Sure, you’re backward mud-people, but how about a tavern next time, eh? Someplace with a hot fire and something good to eat. Did you ever think the reason you’re so hostile to one another is because everyone’s wet, sweaty, and hungry? I’d be in a bad mood too if I had to battle past a horde of mushroom-covered jungle apes every time someone wanted to throw a get together.”

Amara moved in a blink, shoulder-checking the mouthy thief hard enough to send him flying forward, straight into the fetid water. “Oops,” she offered, face flat and deadpanned, as she slung her slender arms across her chest. I sniggered while the Chief simply watched on, smug and satisfied, his hands laced behind his back. Cutter emerged from the water a second later with a gasp, lifting his arms in disbelief as water ran off him in sheets.

“What in the bloody hells in wrong with you?” he hollered before sweeping the wet hair from his eyes.

“I slipped,” Amara replied with an unapologetic shrug, “much like your tongue.”

“I’d leave those waters quickly if I were you,” the Chief said with a quirked eyebrow. “There are giant moat leeches in there.”

Cutter scrambled out of the rank water, cursing under his breath, as the rest of our small party scrambled across a set of stone lily pads, up the tilted steps, and through the stone entryway inset into the hill. Chief Kolle took the lead from there, ghosting into the darkness, leading us down a musty stone passageway, the floors damp, the air musty, the ancient walls covered in mossy growth and budding mushrooms. The passageway was unnaturally dark, lit only by a handful of flickering torches.

The ground sloped steeply down, curving off to the right, before snaking sharply left and ending at a spiral staircase, which drilled through the stone and deep into the earth like a corkscrew. It took us a few minutes to descend, everyone silent and watchful, only the sound of clomping feet, dripping water, and labored breathing to be heard. Eventually, the staircase let out into a cavern, which couldn’t possibly fit inside the sloped mound I’d seen protruding from the boggy swamp outside. Everything about the place was impossible.

A wide clearing, filled with lush grass and blooming flowers sat directly ahead with a comforting fire in a stone fire pit, burning brightly against the dark. Trees and craggy rock formations stretched off in the distance, while a gently burbling waterfall carved through the rock face on the right, trickling into a clear pond filled with brightly colored fish. The cavern walls reached up, up, up, and the ceiling—if there was one—was too high above to see. Just blackness, punctuated by like shimmering specs of light like stars on a cloudless night.

Cutter whistled softly as he spun in a slow circle taking it all in. “Holy bollocks,” he said, an atypical awe touching his words. “What is this place? How is this even possible? Are those …” he faltered, squinted, and craned his neck forward. “Are those stars?”

The Chief shook his head. “Chips of raw swamp diamond. This is one of the few places in all the Storme Marshes where they can be found. Very rare. Very valuable.”

“Diamonds, you said?” Cutter replied while dollar signs practically flashed in his eyes. Amara gave him a hard, disapproving stare, to which Cutter simply raised his hands in a sign of surrender. “Just making small talk is all.”

“Daughter. Cutter. You must wait here,” the Chief said, gesturing toward the low burning fire. “But be warned, thief, do not venture far from the light of the fire.” He took a quick survey of the unnatural, underground forest. “There are many dangers here for the unwary. The ancestral spirits of our people haunt this grove—no outsider is safe amongst the sacred trees. Stay with Amara and stay in the light.”

He paused and turned to go, a hint of worry lingering in his eyes, but suddenly, Amara was by his side, one hand clamped down over his forearm. “Are you sure this is wise, Father?” she asked, her voice pitched so low it was almost impossible to hear. “I have a bad feeling about this. You know the Conclave will be displeased by his presence.” She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. “They could levy sanctions against the Tribe. Against you. They could even …” she left the rest unspoken.

The Chief smiled at her and placed one comforting hand over the top of hers. “All will be well, daughter. There is no reward without risk and no change without challenge. Without change, however, only stagnation and death waits. This is a thing you know well—a thing we all know.” He carefully dislodged her hand. “This way, Jack,” he said to me, nodding at a small path snaking away from the clearing and through a spattering of trees before disappearing behind a small ridge of stone.

I gave the gang a small wave goodbye, then slipped forward, trailing after the Chief, taking great pains to stick to the dirt path. After only a few minutes, the light from the campfire faded and died along with the muted voices of our friends, leaving us in a tense silence and a perpetual twilight, broken only by the soft light from the diamonds far overhead. The path wound and curved its way deeper and deeper into the cavern, constantly and inevitably veering into the heart of the forest.

The trees here were towering, ancient things, hung with strings of moss and dotted with somber purple flowers and patches of red-capped mushrooms. From what I could see, there was no wildlife of any sort, and yet, something—or maybe several somethings—seemed to dart from tree to tree and shadow to shadow just out of the corner of my eye. Only a flutter of movement, but enough to leave me feeling supremely queasy and unsettled. I clenched the head of my warhammer in a white-knuckled grip, waiting for everything to go sideways. “Is there something in the forest?” I asked the Chief at a whisper. “Like maybe something we should be worried about?”

He glanced back at me, eyes flat, face solemn, and simply raised a hand as though to say, now is not the time or the place for such questions.

After another few minutes, the path hooked left, cutting through an especially thick cluster of trees before opening up on an impressive glade. Grass, so vibrant it glowed with spectral light, carpeted the ground, while flowers ran amok, the colors so bright, the petals so pristine, they hurt to look at. A ring of stone archways, each composed of colossal gray slabs covered with swirling runes, encircled the little clearing, instantly bringing a fantastical version of Stonehenge to mind. In the center of the clearing sat another fire, burning in ghostly shades of violet.

Seven great chairs—heavy wooden things, edged in gold—surrounded the unnatural flames; five of them were occupied by robed figures with heavy cowls pulled up, covering their faces. Behind and just to the right of each robed figure stood another man or woman, all Murk Elves, all of different classes—one clearly a Shadow Knight, another a Shadowmancer like me, a third a Plague Bringer, but all clearly Maa-Tál—and all staring at us with flat faces and cold, scrutinizing eyes.

“Welcome, Jack,” the Chief said in a reverent whisper, “to the Dark Conclave.”

***

Hey everyone, so V.G.O.: The Jade Lord will be available for purchase on Amazon for $4.99 (USD) as of Thursday, June 8th! Whoot, whoot. Because I’ve enrolled it in Kindle Unlimited (KU)—which makes it “free” for all subscribers—I’ve had to take down the vast majority of the content from Royal Road (due to Amazon’s competition clause). You can buy the first V.G.O. here, http://royalroadl.com/amazon/B01MU0DYXW; please consider leaving a short, honest review on Amazon or Goodreads (or both).

Reviews are the lifeblood of indie book-sellers like me. Those reviews are so helpful, in fact, that I’m happy to give away free books to get them. If you’re willing to leave an honest review on Amazon or Goodreads (or both), I will give you your next book on the house. Reviews don’t need to be long or difficult—it’s not a book report—just leave a sentence or two on either Amazon or Goodreads, telling folks what you enjoyed about the story. After leaving your review, PM the link along with the title of the book you’d like to receive (you can check out a full list on my website www.JamesAHunter.Wordpress.com).

Now—before you all stone me to death and tank my rating here on RoyalRoad—I understand that a lot of the people on this site don’t have access to KU or Amazon in general; I also understand the economy is bad and money is tight … so, even though the book is available for sale, I’ll still happily provide you with a free copy if you need one. It would be great if you’d buy my stuff and support me—since I pay my bills by writing—but if you can’t, shoot me a PM, give a brief explanation of your situation (ex: “I live in ____________ where Amazon isn’t a thing.”) and, in turn, I’ll send you a copy. Easy-peasy. As always, thanks for reading!