Effort and Embarrassment

The chamber was quiet—too quiet. I scanned the walls, the altar, the skeletons frozen in permanent vigilance. All very familiar.

"Weapons off," I muttered, moving toward the dead. One by one, we pried the rusting blades and bent spears from skeletal hands putting them aside for later. Shadowheart once again raised an eyebrow.

"Precautions." I said, gesturing for her and Lae’zel to take up positions behind the stone columns flanking the altar. In nearby range of the skeletons.

Lae’zel grunted but complied, her greatsword already in hand. Shadowheart followed with a quick nod, mace and firebolt ready. I stepped next to the altar. On the left wall was a small, weathered panel, it was tucked just low enough, and aged just well enough, that someone else might have spent a long time searching for it.

I pressed it.

A stone wall slid open beside the altar with a low rumble, revealing a narrow doorway. As soon as the grinding sound stopped, the skeletons began to twitch.

Five of them rose, staggering upright with slow, cracking motions. Despite their blank skulls and rigid frames, there was something oddly expressive in the way they turned to each other—as if even they were confused about their ambush gone wrong. Three of them, unarmed and clearly improvising, raised bony fists in a clumsy attempt at melee combat. The other two, robed and focused, lifted their arms, weaving the start of whatever dark spell their brittle fingers remembered.

Before I could start blasting, one of them snapped a quick incantation.

Silence.

My mouth opened but nothing came out. The air around me thickened like static, completely muting every sound. No words. No spells. No commands. Just a mute warlock with no weapon.

I reached down, fumbling for the rusty sword I had taken off one of the skeletons earlier, but before I could lift it, one of the unarmed skeletons barreled into me and socked me in the ribs with a solid bare knuckled, bare-knuckle punch. A literal bag of bones clocked me in the gut.

"Are you kidding me!" I failed to shout.

The pain was very real. I was in no way proficient with the sword, and it felt like trying to fight with a broken table leg. I held it up mostly as a shield trying to bat away the skeletons unrelenting fists. One spellcaster was preparing something, I didn’t know what, but I didn’t like the look of it.

I was taking a beating, my arms ached, my stance faltered, and I could only muster a weak defense. Then, just as I started to consider how embarrassing **** by undead knuckle might be, the help arrived.

Lae’zel lunged from her corner and sliced clean through the two closest skeletons, her blade chrushing through ancient bone. Shadowheart followed, blasting a skeleton with a firebolt and crushing another with a heavy strike from the mace.

By the time the last skeleton fell, I was leaning on the sword like a crutch, bruised, panting, and quite thoroughly humiliated. The Silence lifted. I exhaled.

[Experience Gained]

"Well," Shadowheart said, elegantly brushing dust from her armor. "You’re certainly not a fighter."

"But a tactician," Lae’zel added reluctantly. "We shattered their ambush before it ever began. They rose expecting slaughter and found only defeat."

I straightened with a cough. "Exactly. Let’s not confuse the roles," I said, trying to claw back a sliver of dignity.

We stepped into the next chamber. The air was thick and stale, the scent of stone and dust left untouched for ages. Faint glyphs crept along the walls, their meanings lost to time. In the center, silent, undisturbed, and waiting—rested a sealed sarcophagus.