Quest And Sorrow Sang Softly

[Trajan Meng]

Trajan nodded. "You have my thanks, Captain. I pray only that Aiofe is yet safe."

Yes, it was good that Aiofe had so ingratiated herself with the Guard unit. Such outstanding service was coming around again to repay her in kind, as all good things did in time, and it may so prove to be the grace which saves her life. Trajan and his faithful could only search the town so fast, but with the aid of more men they could double or triple the speed in which the search progressed. The cynical often blithely remarked: "No good deed goes unpunished." Today, Trajan hoped to add yet another glaring exception to that insufferably pessimistic rule.

Trajan conversed with his believers, and then with the roughly thirty Anirian Guardsmen joining in on the search once they all assembled. He spoke with the few sergeants available, and together they quickly formulated a plan to divide up the areas of the city to search. Three groups: Trajan and his believers, and two groups of about fifteen Guardsmen, this done in wariness of another attack from those fiends (and the words of the cloaked elf echoed in Trajan's mind in that moment). Once done, having found Aiofe or no, they would meet back in this square outside the Rogue's Hollow. It was all they could do.

And they set off. Trajan sparing a glance at the young Dreadlord, who seemed to be devising some arcane scheme by which he might draw some insights into the nature of their foes.

With a flickering of carefully reserved hope, Trajan said to him, "For the sake of these beleaguered men and women, discover the source of this foul corruption and these vile fiends, Dreadlord."

And then he and his believers went on their way.

Down the rain-slicked streets they went. From dilapidated building to dilapidated building, squalid domiciles and rundown homes, shops in disrepair and stables withered by neglect and warehouses on the verge of collapse. Trajan called out Aiofe's name, as did Zachary and Alric and Addagast and all the rest of his men. They knocked on the doors of homes and shops and questioned the frightened occupants and manually searched the dwellings and buildings where no one answered. In a sickening large number of these cases, the fiends had claimed the lives of other good men and women, as they had with Torvid.

As they went about their search for Aiofe, a certain...cloud descended upon the Luminari men and women.

And it was not Trajan but Bellatrix who gave voice to this, saying, "Does anyone else feel strange? As if...I'm unsure...as if a weight--"

"--is on your mind? Yes," said Zachary.

"I concur," said Harve.

"Aye," said Addagast.

Trajan, who felt these things just the same as his faithful, said in a low and firm voice, "Stay alert. Call 'Red' if the situation worsens, or you see something. But we must continue."

Red was one of the many Luminari code words. A quick and disguised way to announce the presence of a hostile xeno, or xeno trickery of the mind among other suspected deceptions.

And Trajan and his believers continued down the street they were on, approaching the dead end and the city wall. A few more homes to check.

* * * * *​

Aiofe faintly heard her name being called out. Somewhere distant and beyond the safety she'd utterly convinced herself existed solely in the closet.

And yet...yet...something felt wrong. Plain wrong. A disquiet festering in her mind.

She shivered. Clutched her legs and her knees more tightly than before.

 

[Talus]

He shot the man a nod as he spoke to him, narrowing his eyes at the symbol upon their clothes. He did not recognize it, but he set it in the back of his mind. For now the most important thing was the plague of the city.

Talus drew the last line of the mark around the creature.

Rune Magic was not exactly his strength, he knew his own craft far better than anything else, but this should work. His lips thinned as he looked down at the mark, his head shaking for a brief second before he reached towards the small of his back and drew a knife.

"Stand back." He ordered as the Soldier returned with what he had asked for.

Talus quickly took the supplies and placed the plants in the correct places.

Flowers and herbs were often used in combination with Runes in order to aid with healing. This spell in effect was much the same, except for instead of healing they were tracing the wound. The wound that had been dealt to this creature and the city.

The theory behind it was almost scholarly, and Talus couldn't help but feel slightly proud of himself for having come up with it.

"Call the commander." He told the Soldier. "And ready some men."

Once the ritual activated, it was likely this city would set itself off.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

Thorgauld's gaze wandered about. Something felt… off, almost like butterflies in his stomach – or at least that's what his mother had called it.

Bless her soul. Strange, that he should think of her in a place such as this.

“Captain, the Dreadlord requests you.”

Right. Now they'd find out what was really going on here, or so they hoped. As he came close to the ritual more soldiers closed in, mustering around their captain. Many took up positions around the ritual, along the wall and near the gate. Magic was never something to be taken lightly, and hardly something easily anticipated. Very few had any inkling of what might happen, and tensions grew. They trusted Talus… just not what he was seeking.

“Sir, word from the brig…” the soldier approached to inform him of whatever it was, and then Thorgauld grunted, dismissing him. The elf had shared some… stories.

“We'll see.” He said to himself.

~*~*~*~​

The group of Guardsmen sifted through the streets, and likewise another group of Guardsmen and the men and women Thorgauld had assigned them to assist. They had one goal: find Aiofe. Several of the men had a personal interest in finding her, as she had been there to heal many of them in their trials here. She was respected.

As they searched, other soldiers aided by even some heartier townsmen gathered the dead to the square – but indeed, it was disheartening how many more innocence had perished than they first believed.

They came to a main street, and at the far end the could see the Luminari emerge as well, maintaining their vigilant search. All the while the uneasiness grew, the weight of the evil spell strengthening.

As some of the men investigated the nearest dwelling, others kept their guard nearby.

It had become quiet, and still. As if even the air itself had paused where it hung. The damp grew colder, and even frost began to form in places.

One of the guardsmen drew close to one of their fallen comrades, left in a heap in the street. Blood ran from the corpse. In the dark and the mist it was difficult to tell, but as the guard knelt down to inspect and touched him, he felt a sting as his blood ate through the leather glove he wore.

“What the…?”

He smelled it as the steam of it lifted while it evaporated away, and it was sweet. Just then the body stirred, only gently. The guard shot up, and backed away.

“Sergeant…!” the soldier called, his voice carrying dismay.

A brief confusion before the group rallied themselves. Around them, the silence was broken by distant shuffles and crashes as someone, or something, began to stir. They gathered and hurriedly moved to join with Trajan and his group, the third contingent yet nowhere to be seen.

~*~*~*~​

A man slammed the door to his cell open, and Erën looked up to him from where he sat.

The elf was bruised and bloodied, and certain a few ribs had been broken. But, he had been through worse interrogations – he was not exactly trying to keep anything from these men. As far as he could tell, this was just another huge misunderstanding, and once the truth of the matter was found perhaps this could all be forgotten.

Perhaps.

“You're coming with me, Elf. And we'll see just how truthful you are.”

“I've seen the kind of magic your mage seeks to use… it will indeed tell us all we need to know.” He replied, his voice solemn.

He was certain it would, and if the curse was indeed what he believed then all would soon be made clear. He only hoped it was not too late.

So he was escorted in bonds back outside to observe the ritual - where it was assumed he would be found guilty.

 

[Trajan Meng]

Her name. Multiple voices. Coming closer and closer. Even so it seemed a realm away, an ocean of grim and still silence permeating the house and the calls of "Aiofe! Aiofe!" like the hazy thin line of land emerging at voyage's end.

There was not much that affected Aiofe, or so she had thought. She had seen many a grievous and gut-wrenching wound, smelled the nauseating stench and saw the brown and green filth of sicknesses like dysentery or gangrene, endured the palpable sorrow of men and women whom she could not save facing their imminent mortality, and through it all she maintained her composure and perhaps even a certain level of grace. The various traumas of being a healer she took in dignified stride.

But this. The sudden and ferocious burst of violence, the horror of seeing a true monster so close that its presence seemed somehow to infect her with the stark and abrupt sense of the terrifyingly unpredictable and inevitable...it broke her. That...that and...

A heavy set of footsteps inside the house. Her name again. A man's voice, calling, "Aiofe! Can you hear me?"

She could only tremble. Whimper.

"Aiofe!" The voice, in a lower and apprehensive tone, said, "What's this, now."

Footsteps. Coming closer. Outside the closet door.

The meaty sound of a hard boot against bark. The limb of the creature poking through the hole it made in the closet door fell roughly away. A dull thud on the other side of the door. Grunting. Another, quieter thud.

And the door swung open. A tall, bald, dark-skinned man stood there, gazing down at her. This she knew only by hazarding a look up from the cradle of her arms and knees.

"Aiofe," the man said, gently and quietly, the initially hard gaze in his expression softening. "My name is Trajan Meng, of the Luminari."

From outside, a voice, calling with a clear tone of worry: "Trajan! We need to hurry!"

Trajan's own tone did not change. He knelt down slightly, extending his hand out, his words slow and measured, "You will be alright. If it is so demanded, I will lay down my life in your defense. But we must go. Take my hand, Aiofe."

She looked at it with glassy, distant eyes. Her voice was hollow and hoarse. Tiny. "I heard the children... they..." Her words caught in her throat.

(Outside: "Trajan! Something's happening! There's no time!")

"Take my hand, Aiofe. Take my hand and look down at the floor."

Aiofe, at last, reached out meekly and did as Trajan asked. He took hold with a firm grip and helped pull her up to her feet. And she kept her head and eyes straight down as she was bidden, not daring to look elsewhere in the house and Trajan guided her out and down the front steps and onto the street.

Only then did she look up. And see another group of men--and one woman--clad in the same tabards as Trajan, gathered close and with weapons drawn and with watchful gazes, the Luminari she had been in contact with. Them, along with a small detachment of Anirian Guardsmen. Their faces, Luminari and Guard both, ringing with alarm and apprehension.

"We should make haste back to the Rogue's Hollow square," Trajan addressed one of the Guardsmen, a sergeant whom Aiofe had become familiar with during her time in the city.

And her trembling began to abate. The grip of abject terror loosening.

She took heart in the presence of them all.

 

[Talus]

With everyone present Talus turned back towards the ritual.

A part of him did not really want to do this. Whatever had created those creatures was dark to it's very core. There was something malign here, something more than just a few drops of necromancy or a touch of Blood Magic.

It was hatred.

Pure and simple Hatred. Distilled down to it's more natural form. Talus could feel it in the air, taste it on his tongue. There was something more unsettling about it than many of the others threats he had faced.

Being hated by something you couldn't even see what...worrying.

A sigh passed his lips, and he crouched down to draw the last line of Rune. In an instant a sickly purple glow exploded out from the creature at the center of it all. It seemed to twist, bulge, and then fall into itself as a fire consumed it.

The flame burst high, and then suddenly bounded into the air. It trailed and burst forward in a thin like, drawing through the sky in a lasting image. "There!"

He pointed after the line as it began to flow through the city.

"We follow the fire." Talus told the Captain as he stood.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

All eyes watched on in awe as the unnatural flame erupted from the beast – all eyes save for two. Erën watched carefully as the Dreadlord worked his magic. It was an interesting spell, achieving something he had not quite expected. Nevertheless, the fiery guide led out into the city and far away from him. He saw the Captain nod in reply Talus, and he and his men did as Talus had instructed. The gates were made open and they filed out in pursuit of the flame. Erën could still however be implicated, so he was towed along with them. He wished to lash out and free himself, but the memory of what stopped him earlier was quite present. A curious thing, one he hoped to make clear before this was over.

~*~*~*~​

“Aiofe! Its good to see yo-”

“We should make haste back to the Rogue’s Hollow square.”

Yes, he was right. There was no time for this now, something was happening around them and given what had transpired just shortly before, well this Guardsmen knew enough.

“You heard him! We got what we’ve came for, let’s move!”

“What about Cedric and his group?”

Cedric and he had been friends for years, and he was loathed to make the call he was about to.

“There’s no time…Cedric can take care of himself, and-”

Shouting in the distance, cries of terror and anger as fighting could be heard. And then… a terrible sound, like a thousand pained voices joined in a single, bleeding lament. The body nearby stirred once more, and then so did the others just meters from them. The buildings themselves moaned and creaked, and the even the ground felt uneasy beneath their feet. And the cold.

“Move damnit!” he yelled again, and they did. They Guards surrounded the Luminari, who had rallied themselves around Aiofe. She was their goal, and they needed to ensure her above all others.

~*~*~*~​

The darkness grew stronger now, creeping forth from their ritual and spreading farther and farther throughout the city. Quickly, all the dead had been made corrupt, and even now began to stir and change. But the spell had grown beyond what it once was, and those that were before would be remade, and those newly added would too be reshaped.

“Go forth, my minions…feed now…”​

Wait...what’s this…?

He felt the surge of energy like lightning down his spine, and Ril’thilian grew unsettled. The flame directed the Anirian's spell directly to them. This was unexpected, and quite skillfully done given all the wards he'd put in place over the years of his being here but… no. For all their power, this was beyond them now.

It was beyond them all.

"Destroy them!"


~*~*~*~


There, in the center of it all beneath a mountain of wasted life it began. The ground began to split, and the rune burst with shadow and smoke, the sky was split with indigo lighting which plunged down into the center of square and erupted the magic in the rune there further. The pile of the dead there was set ablaze and consumed into the evil light made there, and from the shadows that spewed forth a haunting image took shape. ​

A great tree as black as tar manifested there in the square, dark roots plunging down through the streets and into the ground, shifting and collapsing nearby structures. The ground turned black, and twisted vines and weeds sprang out sharp with thorns. And there at the trees base, even as it continued to grow taller, and wider, the roots grew themselves into the shape of an archway. It led nowhere, but there in the center of the arrangement a tiny, pulsing light began to form.​

Even as the tree still grew the image plagiarised, though much much smaller in scale, was unmistakable to any who had seen even once: Fal’Addareth.

In addition to all those now scattered throughout the city, from the image of the sacred tree the creatures took shape and dropped from the branches which loomed overhead, biting and clawing and gnashing as they charged out to finish what had been started.


~*~*~*~​

And then… a terrible sound, like a thousand pained voices joined in a single, bleeding lament.

He felt the terrible grief, and inexplicable regret. Sorrow. It sang through the night like the distant wolves’ howl, a mournful and fearful song.

Then the ground shook, and the sky roared with rage.

No…

Even as they hustled through the streets and drew near to their mark, he feared it was too late.

Talus Trajan Meng

 

[Trajan Meng]

Aiofe was in a sorry shape, that much Trajan could see. Pale as death with fright, her robe visibly and embarrassingly soiled, quaking like a rabbit whose fortune narrowly allowed it to escape the predations of a hawk. And it was all understandable. Trajan had gathered from Dio's avian communications with her that Aiofe was skilled at her craft, yes, but green as a newly trained Guardsman in battle, or even so much as matters of grave peril.

There would be no time for soft lessons today. This forging would be in the roaring flames of this city's numerous woes and this persistent scourge of fiends that so plagued it.

The Luminari ringed Aiofe, and the detachment of Anirian Guardsmen ringed them. Trajan stood with her in the very center of this formation, the last line of defense, the ultimate responsibility of her safety resting with him.

They had only to walk back up the street they had come, but this simple feat had become nightmarish. The shouting and sounds of fighting elsewhere were grim harbinger to the stirring of the dead they had only just passed. This, and the horrendous scream that seemed to cover the entire city in some sepulchral anguish.

"I didn't know..." Aiofe said, her voice hollow and reedy. "This is beyond me...I couldn't possibly help...oh gods..."

And as the first of the newly risen dead turned toward the formation and the Guards dutifully called out their numbers and their positions, Trajan dropped a hand on Aiofe's shoulder and squeezed--perhaps harder than he had intended. "Keep the faith, sister. Here we will prevail, but righteous belief precedes righteous action. Indeed, it cannot manifest without--"

"Trajan!" shouted Zachary.

One of the risen fiends charged, oblivious to the swords and spears impaled into it by the Guardsmen and the Luminari warriors, straight toward Aiofe. She gasped and stepped back, shrinking away from the monster held at bay by no less than four weapons skewering it. It swung an arm at her, out of reach, unable to move forward as the four men and women struggled to push it back. And Trajan lifted the Emblazoned Sun overhead and brought it crashing down on the corrupted skull of the fiend--obliterating it--and he prayed that the good human soul trapped within could at last find some peace. The four Guardsmen and Luminari shoved the body back and away in the rain-slicked street. The black blood of the fiend splattered on the ground was carefully avoided by those passing.

Other fights on all sides of the ring. They were fortunate for now, in that the fiends seemed uncoordinated, coming at them as they saw them in solitary assaults or in small, meager groups. But it was likely only a matter of time before a much larger group, having coalesced before sighting their prey, fell upon them.

Guardsmen were wounded. Some of the Luminari were wounded. Harve, one of Trajan's believers, had to quickly rip off his Luminari tabard after an accidental splash of the black blood landed on it. Exhaustion was setting in. Trajan assisted where he saw opportunities to do so, coming forward through the gaps in the rings of defense and delivering swift strikes with his warhammer and dropping back in to the center once it was done.

Aiofe noticed something. "They keep...many of them keep trying to come at me." Trajan thought at first that it was her nerves playing on her perception, but he noticed this disquieting trend as well. Did Aiofe herself have some particular significance in this? Or was it something else. He did not know, and as of yet, could not say.

Then, as they neared the square up the street by the Rogue's Hollow.

"What...the fuck is that?" Addagast said.

They saw it, emerging from around the blocking view of surrounding buildings, they all with stolen and hazarded glances saw that massive black tree.

"Halt," Trajan commanded of his faithful, and they did. He had no authority to command the Guardsmen.

They stood in the street, amid the dilapidated homes and outright ruined buildings to either side of them, some thirty or so meters from the square and the monstrous tree.

Murmurs:

"Steel will not serve here," said Harve.
"Metisa preserve us," said Pompeus.
"Xeno filth," said Bellatrix.
"It's too much..." said Aiofe.
"Mother of..." said Zachary.

Things. Things, barely glimpsed from the distance and the building-obscured view from their vantage, dropping down from the tree.

Trajan scowled. "We will not approach that abomination on our own. We will go around, through the narrow alleys if we must, and find the Dreadlord." If they had any hope of destroying that wicked fabrication of a tree, that mockery of the natural and pure inherent of Arethil and her bountiful landscapes, then they would need magic. They would need the fearsome might of the Dreadlord.

To the Guardsmen, any of them, Trajan called, "Where has the Dreadlord gone? Do you know?"

And the Luminari warriors stood vigilant in their formation. Tired, battleworn from their trek up the street, but ready.

 

[Talus]

Talus broke through the ranks of the Guardsmen as he heard the call of his title.

In his left hand he already cradled his sword, the blade softly glowing as magic began to stream through it. He could feel the darkness within the air, the burning tide of misery and death that this city had all but succumbed to.

Above their heads was the thin wisp of flame from his ritual, it's rope like form twisting and angling itself in an eternal struggle against the wards that had been put in place.

The great tree seemed to rise above it, branches hanging low and the spindley creatures pulling themselves away like some unholy fruit. Talus arched his neck to watch the twisted creation, his lips thinning as fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword.

I'm out of my depth. The thought was kept from those around him, his face somehow remaining steady even as he walked through the ranks of guardsmen.

He could see their faces.

Most held nothing but fear, but as they looked at him he could see small pittances of hope.

Talus had not the heart to tell them they were dreaming. Lips thinned, and then the call for him went out again. "Here!"

His free hand shot up as the men parted before him and he stepped in front of Trajan.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

“By the gods…”

Erën’s eyes traveled up, looking on at the monstrosity that had risen before them. Never before had Erën seen such heresy: such an abomination was an insult to the very essence of life itself in his eyes. Rage boiled within him, and his eyes shot to and fro to capture the surround.

The captain’s forces were vast enough to maintain a stable line against the creatures, the An’syiil: Sorrow, in the elven tongue. This happening was yet another testament to the name bestowed them and it, the curse itself. He wriggled in his bonds, anxious for the chance to fight. But then, as the branches stretched overhead yet more creatures began to drop in amongst them. It struck him, and he was toppled. The creature was quickly undone by the swords of nearby Guardsmen.

“Loose me,” he beckoned, “I will fight with you!”

Even then, magic welled within him. He was unwilling to be caught unawares again and would likely not be so luckily unscathed a second time. He pulled himself to his knees.



Thorgauld’s face betrayed his shock, and he nearly gasped when he realized what it was rising through the dark.

What in all hell…

His men fought valiantly to stay the creatures, but he could see their vigor. Their malice. They sought to not just kill them, but to devour them, in some sickly form. He saw within the ranks of the beasts the markings of Guardsmen, pieces of armor meshed in with strange growth, and even some familiar faces – however distorted and different.

A pit grew in him, and he realized that these were some of his own men, his own allied souls which raged against them.

He swallowed hard, a moment of uncertainty flushing him.

“Captain!” a Guardsmen shouted.

They’d stopped when they’d met with the oncoming waves of enemies, somewhat disorganized in how to proceed. Thorgauld’s eyes darted around, witnessing the carnage that ensued – on both sides.

“Captain!” his ears rang.



Ril’thilian felt the sting of the Dreadlord’s magic, battering his defenses and laying them to waste. But even now the shadow grew, and unlike in Sharyrdaes where he had been thwarted, here the way would be made open.

For centuries he’d heard their voices in his mind, calling to him. Revealing to him a sacred purpose. He would be their instrument, through him their reach into and throughout Arethil would be made unhindered, the natural fabric broken and reshaped for their final coming with his dark magics.

He would be the harbinger for the whole of Arethil, for their ascension.

You shall be made… perfect.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tree twisted and curled into being, stretching higher and farther over the city. From it, great spires shot out to each corner of the compass, then dropped and sank deep into the ground, reaching as far out as beyond the city walls or just within. The ground turned black all around and spread like a flame across parchment.

And there, at the base of the tree the light crackled and shook, as though something were trying to pry though it.

But the time had not yet come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

Within the Rogue’s Hollow, he stirred. All around him the screams of those taken by this vile sick whirled, and he felt nothing but cold all around him. He saw the timbers and the torn curtains, but he could also see beyond it all what he could only describe as a twisting nether, pooling around a great beaming red light. From it, a grotesque fog spewed, and it touched all of those souls that shouted and clamoured around in the naturally unseen.

It drew near to him, and he flailed to get away, yet unable to move.

“Come close Torvid… and you will be changed…”

“No!”​

“You shall help bring about our perfection….

...be remade...!”​

And he saw it. The great shadow grew, looming over the city, and all within were consumed. Then it spread, into Falwood, into Alliria, Elbion, Vel Anir. Even into Epressa, and beyond. He saw their faces, the Guardsmen, the townspeople, even Trajan and Aiofe, Zachary, the others… all the ones he held dear.

The ones he loved.

“I… will… not!”
​

By now, Torvid had stumbled his way down the stairs and into the square. He wove about, flailing at beasts as they drew near only to run past him toward the gathering of men just outside the square along the main road from the castle.

His body appeared both corporeal an ethereal, with his flesh and bone writhing and changing even as he struggled forth, but the image of his true self somehow showed through. He screamed and tore at the air and all else around him as he stumbled toward the crowd, seeing everything and nothing all at once.

“Trajan…Trajan!...

…help me…”​

 

[Trajan Meng]

The Dreadlord had not gone far. And that was just the small grace of fortune that Trajan and Aiofe and, indeed, all the brave Guardsmen and Luminari faithful needed now. The Dreadlord filtered through the fighting formation of Guardsmen and through the Luminari line and stepped in front of him.

And Trajan wasted no time. He dropped a heavy hand down on the Dreadlord's shoulder and shouted over the clamor of battle, "Can you burn down this damnable tree? We will give you all the space and protection you require!"

"Trajan! To the rear!" Bellatrix yelled. Some of the risen dead, those poor human souls who had been twisted by this evil scourge and bound to follow its unholy command, were gathering. Shambling ever closer. Staring down Bellatrix and the other warriors beside her and even past them to Aiofe, who saw this and went wide-eyed and pale.

These fiends be damned. Those abhorrent creatures were dropping down from the Black Tree to their front, and the risen dead were coming in from the rear, boxing them in on the street. Trajan had no authority over the Guardsmen detachment he had joined with or the Dreadlord himself, but what he had was a strong and firm voice and a willingness to lead and coordinate the two separate forces. They would need to stand as one, the fifteen Guardsmen and the Luminari, else either would be outflanked and destroyed.

Trajan dropped his hand from the Dreadlord's shoulder and shouted, "Luminari to the rear! Form a line of six, two in reserve. Guardsmen, hold the front! Rotate out your injured to Aiofe!"

She shook as if startled from some deep concentration. "Wha...what?"

Trajan, as his Luminari warriors did as he ordered, grabbed the back of Aiofe's head and forced her to look at him; he wasn't gentle about it, but he wasn't hurtfully rough either. What was truly important was for her to listen, to overcome her timidity, and to act.

A hard gaze. And he said, "Aiofe. These good men and women are depending on you. Focus. On nothing. But your duty. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes..."

"Louder. Do you understand?"

"Yes!" She was close to tears. But even while tremendous stress weighed upon her, she seemed more receptive to performing her healing duties. And she did. Not even a moment after her affirmation, one of the Guardsmen from the detachment rotated out from the frontline to her, and her darted from the danger of the risen dead to the Guardsman's injured swordhand. She clasped his hand in both of hers and the bright green light of healing magic glowed and she appeared far more content now, distracted for a time from the terror of battle.

Trajan...Trajan!...help me...

At first, Trajan thought his name was being called from the Captain's contingent of Guardsmen across the Rogue's Hollow square from them; they who were fighting their own pitched battle. But no. Though his name had been called from the front and thus from the square, it was not the Captain nor any of his Guardsmen.

It was Torvid.

That much he could see over the Guardsmen line to his front. Torvid, and yet not. Twisted in a manner wholly different than the bark and wood-like fiends that plagued them. It...appeared as though his very soul was struggling to escape his defiled body.

Trajan brought up his warhammer and held it with both hands. He was in the center of the Guardsman detachment and Luminari warrior formation--there with Aiofe and the Dreadlord and the injured man--but now, seeing Torvid, a new, grim responsibility fell to him. He could not let Torvid suffer the defilement wracking his sacred human flesh. Torvid--the real Torvid--would understand and welcome this mercy, as would any of the Luminari warriors to Trajan's back. As would Trajan himself.

Torvid would come to them, to the Guardsman line. Then Trajan would be compelled by his loyalty and duty to his fallen friend to stride forward. And end him.

Trajan spared a glance to the Dreadlord; hopefully, the young sorcerer had enough reserves to cripple, if not outright destroy, the Black Tree.

Then Trajan looked forward again. His stony gaze locked on Torvid's approach.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

All around him was absolute chaos. The An'syiil creatures were relentless – driven by abominable hate. Their master was a true devil, of this he could be certain.

He was hoisted to his feet. He looked. A Guardsman, his face ghostly white, the fire in his eyes dim.

The shackles fell, his sword belt thrust into his chest. He grasped it.

A screeching howl from behind – several Guardsmen slaying one of the beasts, hacking and stabbing it even despite the deadly blood it spewed. Selfless.

The Healers – exhausted and weak, but as relentless as the monsters that sought to kill them. The men – fearful and wavering, but holding for dear life. The Captain, frozen with fear.

The evil tree, humming with a twisted and unnatural terror. An unspeakable evil.

It must be cleansed…

A shadow enveloped him, and whispers danced through his ears. Beyond them, the howling of the taken, the enslaved souls of this wretched curse. He beheld them whirling and wailing in terror around the image of the tree – which he now saw as a pit of beaming red light that shot into the sky, and vented an evil mist which reached out to ensnare the souls of the dead as they fell - man and monster alike.

Then he saw him. A single individual set differently from the rest.

He thrashed and tore against its pull, staying it with naught but his determination.

Then he realized, that the very connection he felt to his own people he now shared with these lingering spirits. A strange and awful experience. But not only did he perceive them, there was another as well. And this other was now but a shell, filled with the hate and rage that fueled this catastrophe.

The accusing hand. The elf.

But he was familiar...

And all was not as it seemed...​

The Dreadlord's spell tore through whatever had tried to bar it, and drove harmlessly through each of the fiends, even through Torvid, and into the Hollow, reaching deep within…

Then something changed…

The tree shuddered, and the beasts all froze. More than a few were hacked down where they stood. Then it all began to faze in and out: all the darkness; the beasts; the tree; the cursed ground; and then it was replaced. Where the monsters once stood, townsfolk and Guardsmen alike, unchanged. The tree - a pillar of light which shot into the sky, and the ground - unchanged save the blood which now mixed with mud and stained cobble. All the remained from before was the tension in the air, and the unnatural thunder booming overhead.

An illusion, somehow undone by the Dreadlord's tracing spell... Erën's eyes fell to the one man. Could he have...?

But all of this had revealed not only to Erën but all those around him, his own greatest fears - the fears of all his kind. He glanced down at his sword, forged using a shard of his people's great artifact. Its uses were many, but perhaps now the gifts it had given he and his kind had themselves become a curse to be wielded against them.

He struggled to understand, but much became clear when he revealed himself.

Ril'thilian emerged from the tavern with a great gust of necrotic energy. Erën gauged him – his power clearly vast. From his chest, a dark light shone out and Erën felt it. A piece of the stone, corrupted, and fused into the innkeepers very own body. A ghastly fog was about him, and sparks of ill-conceived energies whirled around his frame. Yet the Dreadlord's spell persisted past him, into the depths below the Inn he'd came from.

Erën, and likely the Dreadlord, as well as anyone else familiar with Dark Magic would have guessed his aim. With abilities of great deception he'd fooled them all into slaying countless innocence, controlled by some dark spell, for his own nefarious gain of gathering necrotic energy. An insidious ploy.

The necro elf advanced, a tremendous weight apparent with each footfall. As he approached them, he lifted his open hand before him, and as his fingers curled into a fist, each of those that were under his control collapsed, unconscious or otherwise - useless to him now. He would finish those lot off later. As for the rest...

He would deal with them himself...

Then he came to Torvid, who was now before him on hands and knees, panting heavily from the ordeal. He grasped him by the back of the neck and elevated him up off of the ground growling at him through grated teeth with the sound of many voices,

“So… you think to defy me… you cannot begin to imagine what you have denied yourself...!” ​

 

[Talus]

The Illusion was broken, cast off and shaken by the force of his rune.

A part of Talus rang with sorrow, yet the emotion seemed to be walled off within his own mind. The Proctors had warned him of things like this, had ensured that he would be ready with his life for things like this.

These people were to be mourned, but not by him.

Talus Was a Dreadlord of Vel Anir. He was above the mercy of mortal man. He was above the despair that came with killing your own. One couldn't get caught up in the losses of war. One couldn't etch themselves within the fallen.

Not when there was killing left to do.

Soldiers and Luminari around him stood horrified at their butchery. The Guard Captain shook, though whether it was with rage or sorrow Talus could not tell. He moved forward. Not a single step missed, not a single moment allowed to pass.

The blade felt heavy in his hand.

This, all of this was due to one figure. A figure that he could see on the edges, a figure whose mouth moved but words did not echo from.

Talus stepped forward.

His skin turned a pale translucent blue, the entirety of his form suddenly shifting as a ghostly after-image of himself burst forward. It moved through the crowd like a viper, stepping between the fallen and those still holding their blades.

Within an instant he stood besides the Necrotic Elf, his sword sweeping upwards to hopefully cut him in two.

 

[Trajan Meng]

Xeno trickery. All of it.

And the only appropriate response to this treachery was rage, not sorrow. There could be no reversing of what was done, some way of undoing the tragedy brought on by the illusions beguiling not merely Trajan and his believers but the Guardsmen and indeed the whole of the city it would seem. But the truth of the present always took precedence over the truth of the future: Trajan knew that he and his Luminari warriors accorded themselves righteously, with the facts as they appeared at the time. Each and every good man and woman of the Luminari knew that.

And Trajan need not turn around to see their faces along the rear line of the formation. He could their own shock as tangibly as his own. But this shock at being deceived was the sacred ember that would light the blaze of sanctified rage in their hearts.

For what they had done could not be undone, no. But the fool xeno, an elf, came forth from the Rogue's Hollow reeking of some foul magic, and he--the source of all this woe--could be undone. It was perhaps the most surprising fact that the coward who hid behind innocent men and women and illusory deceptions even dared show his face.

The Dreadlord, swift as holy retribution, descended upon the Necrotic Elf. What a blessing it would be if he could end the wicked xeno's spree of terror and death prematurely.

Trajan brusquely pushed his way forward through the detachment of fifteen Guardsmen. He stepped into the square, warhammer in hand.

He still had his grim duty to attend to. For he and all the Luminari had seen Torvid die, the horrifying remnants of his face. Deception or no deception elsewhere, this fact was immutable. The man had died, but, as it was with vile xenos who delved into black magicks, he did not stay dead. His sacred human soul lay in dire peril, trapped in a husk that once was his body.

And this desecration could not stand.

The Dreadlord had moved to attack the xeno. And Trajan, striding across the square, sought to end Torvid's enthrallment. He would do him a final mercy. Crush his skull and put his body down and his soul to his deserved rest.

Trajan approached. Drawing closer. A gaze of granite locked on Torvid.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

It was all so real.​

He'd never betray it, but everything that was and was not around them had torn a part of him in two. Something within him withered, and curled. Any hint of rage grew dim, and now even the fear had left. As he stood there, assimilating all so much in seconds, a cold came over him and in him his heart became grey.

It was all a lie.​

He saw the righteousness of their stand against all hell before their very eyes only to have it replaced with the blood of innocence drenched over long darkened stains. Not even that which was before, his worst fears, equaled the regret he felt in this moment. The shame that washed over him.

Never had he feared such a thing.


His eyes fixed upon the elf. The Dreadlord, Talus he'd heard, charged forth with speed that was beyond his own. Nevertheless, he brandished his sword and leapt toward their singular foe, following Talus' lead.

The image of Talus was upon the necromancer in short time before materializing and striking out at him. Erën would have been more impressed by his effort had he not been distracted by Ril'thilian's complete failure to outmaneuver the attack. Aside from tossing Torvid aside, he didn't even budge.

The sword struck true, and carved a path clean through its target. But instead of blood, there were plumes of dark fog, and before the blade had completed it route the entry had already woven itself shut again.

All the while, the swirling spire of light near them groaned,
but when the Dreadlord's attack found purchase it grew into an agonizing wail.​

Erën was now just near to them, harnessing the Strength of Nykios to propel him forward, and as Talus followed through Erën took his turn. He plunged the sword into Ril'thilian's chest, and it sank firmly through. He tore the sword free, and stepped back.

Ril'thilian withstood their blows, but with each injury he sacrificed yet another soul to mend him, and each time the cries grew excruciating.

How...?

And Trajan's weapon fell upon Torvid...
​

The circle... the ritual...

A sudden comprehension, all in one instant the thought appeared and he saw -
the spell, and he knew their place. ​

And then Ril'thilian reacted. The dark fog around him coalesced into the shape of swords with no handlers, and they attacked the Dreadlord and he.

"Below us!" ​

It was all he could manage in the fray for the time - but above their heads the string of fire still burned through the air, the light pulsing along its route from the castle and into the despaired inn.

Once more they began to stir... the dead - the now truly dead; dismembered; hungry. Those unfortunate innocence once more began to rise, but not as the monsters of darkness and hell - but old friends, soulless and filled with revenge...

They began to stir...

​

"Gods..." Thorgauld nearly gasped as he saw the necromancer's magic take hold - the ones he himself had helped slay. It was different... monsters were just that, but these were people - people who had been wronged... terribly wronged... and he an aspect of that wrong.

"...Is there no end to this madness?"​

 

[Talus]

A blade swung at him, and suddenly his skin turned a translucent shade of blue.

The sword that had been formed from the dark mist swiped through Talus, bisecting him before he quickly reformed and became solid once more. His own blade came up, deflecting the blow of another sword before he took three quick steps back.

His lips thinned as the Elf shouted at him, his gaze suddenly dropping to the floor for one brief moment before another blade swiped towards him.

This time he did not move fast enough, and he felt a sudden heat as one of the swords cut directly through his armor and bit into his flesh. Blood splattered onto the ground to his left, and the fingers in his right hand went numb.

"Fuck." Talus said through gritted teeth as he heeded the Elf's words.

His body once again went that odd translucent blue, and then he quickly darted past Ril'thilian and into the Inn.

They had to end this.

 

[Trajan Meng]

"I will free you, brother."

Trajan swung his warhammer down on Torvid's head as the Dreadlord and the cloaked elf engaged the necromancer. The weapon obliterated the good man's skull as easily as it would smash a pumpkin or a watermelon, and the splatter upon the ground was horrifically akin to such. Yes, it was ugly. But any in the Luminari would ask it to be done if they were in Torvid's place, and any would perform the solemn service if they were in Trajan's. One's sacred human body could not be allowed to be desecrated in death by vile xeno magicks such as these.

Now, Trajan prayed, Torvid could rest. His duty to Mankind was done.

Below us!

Trajan looked up. The cloaked elf had spoken this. A curious thing, that. But it was not out of the question for some xenos to be so deranged that they would put other xenos at hazard. Some accepted this wanton chaos. This one, the cloaked elf, did not. So it would seem.

This circumstance would serve. For now. The priority remained that this unholy magic and the necromancer spurring it on must be stopped. And if the Dreadlord saw fit to enter the Rogue's Hollow, then Trajan would trust his intuition in the matter.

Perhaps a proper application of the Emblazoned Sun's first enchantment, the Bulwark, down at the source could disrupt or mayhap bring this entire ritual to a swift close. In either case, they would need to hurry: the Guard and Trajan's own Luminari faithful could only hold for so long.

Trajan, giving the necromancer a wide berth, dashed after the Dreadlord entering the inn. He kept eyes on the necromancer, backpedaling as necessary to enter the doorway. One must never take their eyes off of their enemy.

And there was no reason to believe the necromancer would make matters easy.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

Steel rang out in the night. Even as Ril'thilian was occupied by the two swordsmen, the dead rose. The true meaning behind it all - an abundance of necrotic energy, welled to whirl about in a twisted spire of ominous light stolen from their once vibrant souls. Their shells lumbered and lashed, and Thorgauld's Guards fought them.

The Captain rushed forward to fill Talus' place as he drove onward into the Hollow. Erën and he fought his evil swords side by side, allowing for the two to embark into the depths of the inn.

But as Trajan advanced to enter, Ril'thilian moved to intervene. The shadow about him coalesced, and threatened to strike out at the Luminari leader.

Erën anticipated him, and lunged forward. Crackling energy enveloped him, and at the direction of his sword a bolt of light shot forth, and tore through Ril'thilian who dispersed into a dark cloud of fog.

And the spiraling light wailed. ​

Trajan and Talus were now well inside, and Ril'thilian once again reclaimed his shape. The attack intended for Trajan was then unleashed on Erën, who erected a magical barrier to protect him. He succeeded, but he and the Guards would only be able to hold out for so long...


The Rogue's Hollow


Inside, the state of the inn was beyond disheveled. And there, several dead dragged themselves from darkened corners. Gnashing, and clawing they reached out at the trespassers, but they would be felled easily by their might.

Descending a narrow stair, through a hoarded and unkept basement a light could be seen... a torn and tattered curtain with a strange symbol embroidered upon it. Sweeping past it, a long corridor chiseled from the stone and ground and at the end, the chamber.

Wispy lights twisted around, and screamed and shrieked in agony. At the center, a great circle - a runic shape which was ablaze with magic light, purple and red and black. Part of the rune was marred, and smoldered - stricken by Talus' spell.

When they entered, three of the dozen acolytes turned to see them. They seemed to disappear into shadow only to reappeared some meters ahead of their intruders. They roared an unnatural sound, revealing long blackened claws upon disfigured hands, and then lashed out in ravenous, almost animalistic behavior.

They would be powerful, but far from the strength of their master. Where he had magics to heal him and centuries of experience, they were without such benefits and would feel great pain at the heroes' hands.

There was but to slay them, and undo the spell to put an end to the hell taking place above their heads.

Talus Trajan Meng