Guild Wars_ Ghosts of Ascalon - Matt Forbeck [2]
Clagg called it Breaker, and seemed more concerned about its well-being than that of the other members of the party.
“I said, ‘What is it?’ ” snarled the asura, its shark-like teeth flashing with irritation. Dougal rarely saw an asura smile, and was never reassured when he did.
“Something’s wrong,” Dougal said, keeping his voice low.
“Humans,” Gyda Oddsdottir muttered, shaking her head. The silver sleigh bells woven into her long, yellow warrior’s braid jangling loudly. “Always taking stock instead of taking action.” She set her huge hammer before her with a resounding thud, crushing a dry skull to dust.
Dougal winced, not at the norn’s words, but at the racket she made. At nine feet tall and bristling with weapons, she thundered down the halls, making more noise than the asura’s golem. This daughter of the distant snowcapped Shiverpeaks didn’t care who heard her coming: she wanted to warn them of her approach. In the heat of the depths of the crypt, her heavily tattooed flesh dripped with a sheen of sweat.
Gyda’s grandsires were refugees as well, fleeing from the power of one of the great Elder Dragons to the north. The norn were a healthy, hearty, proud people, quick to anger and equally quick to forgive. In his time since leaving Ebonhawke, Dougal had met good norn and bad norn. The good ones treated every day as an adventure, every problem as a challenge, and every foe as a chance for personal glory. Most people didn’t understand how dangerous the dark places of the world could be; the norn actually relished exploring them.
Gyda, though, was definitely in the latter category of norn: boastful, judgmental, and unpleasant to those around her. She was both bullying and insulting, as if any achievement by others diminished her own. Dougal didn’t like it when she smiled, either.
“The floor. It’s too clear,” said Dougal, talking to Clagg but meaning it for Gyda. “No bones. No one was buried here.”
“And that means a trap,” said Killeen, the last member of the party, the sylvari, in her soft, melodious voice.
Dougal nodded. The sylvari necromancer was probably the most pleasant individual of their motley krewe, himself included. Shorter than a human but not as diminutive as the asura, her skin was a verdant green, her hair more similar to the leaves of a succulent plant than that of a human woman. When she moved, golden pollen drifted off her.
The humanoid appearance, Dougal knew, was a lie. Killeen and the others of her race were born fully formed from the fruit of a great white-barked tree far to the south. There was no animal warmth to her flesh. The sylvari were a recent addition to the world, their entire race only a little older than Dougal himself, but they had already spread far and wide, like an invading weed. Killeen had all the traits attributed to her race: she was honest, direct, and focused. In many ways she was better than most humans he knew.
That may have been what made Dougal most uncomfortable of all.
Killeen took Dougal’s statement at face value, but Gyda instead snorted, “I think you are just trying to delay us from our goal.”
The sylvari ignored Gyda but said, “What do you think would set it off?”
Dougal looked at the norn. “Not noise. Maybe vibration, or maybe weight.”
“The human’s probably right,” Clagg said, sitting in the relative safety of his armored harness. “I guess even a blind dredge finds a diamond some days.”
The asura fiddled with a row of crystals set into his harness’s front rim, then nodded to himself. “Ah, yes. There it is. Crude, but effective.”
“What is it?” Dougal hated asking the question. He knew the asura was fishing for yet another reason to explain how brilliant he was. To an asura, the other races of the world existed primarily for heavy lifting, taking risks, and asking stupid questions.
“If one of us were foolish enough to walk into that room,” Clagg said, enunciating every syllable, “it would trigger a lethal blast that could kill those present.”
Gyda harrumphed as if no