Beholder’s Gaze

As the night darkened, fleecy gray clouds drifted over the Erubean Plains, and the restless wind whistled from the east, carrying with it the damp stench of rotting mushrooms.

Ezra had a tall task ahead of him, with no one to rely upon except the Gunsmith bound to his arm.

Unlike the town guards patrolling the streets of Aranor, the Skeletal Warriors looked vigilant and prepared. And since they had been tasked with guarding the tomb by a higher entity, there was no way to lure them away from the area.

Ezra peeked around the rock he was hiding behind and carefully observed their patrol routes for a minute. The Skeletal Warriors seemed to be moving back and forth at regular intervals and occasionally turning to their left to observe the area outside.

Meanwhile, the Skeletal Archers were standing still with rusty iron-tipped arrows drawn over their longbows, ready to let loose at a moment’s notice.

Though threatening in a large group, these lowly undead were the least of Ezra’s con