Fable - Ask Encroachment [Vel Anir/Dark Cult]

[Taayi]

Orilon Village, on the Anirian Southern Frontier

Fires raged all over a small forest village. Bodies laid upon the ground. Over a dozen surviving villagers knelt on the ground in a packed circle. A group of dark figures surrounding them.

A tall elf stepped forth – Talavaar. He had slain a few of those that just died.

With the tip of his sword, Talavaar used it to tilt a villager’s chin up – a young man that just passed the age of adulthood.

“Round them up,” Talavaar ordered with a booming voice, “They’ll do for the sacrifice.”

Talavaar and his warband have terrorized several Anirian villages lately. At this point, a group of Guardsmen and Dreadlords would have been sent to investigate and confront this terror.

With night upon this land, the inferno that engulfed Orilon could be seen in the distance. If reached soon, the trail Talavaar and his group left would still be hot. And dragging the kidnapped villagers along would slow this dark cult down...

 

[Amalric Urahil]

The villagers shivered with fear, huddled in a circle, firelight from their burning huts illuminating their terror-streaked faces.

One of the men started to stand. Rob encouraged him to sit down with the hilt of his falchion. It made a solid thud, bone against steel. The fellow crumpled to the ground.

Around them, the various underlings of Talavaar began to prepare the ritual.

 

[Edric]

Edric crouched on the cliffside, binoculars slowly pulled away from his face as the black cloak tied around his shoulders whipped against the wind. "Three, I think."

He said to his companions. Out of all of them he had the best eyes, though at this distance even the binoculars didn't help too much.

"Some Initiates, hard to tell how many." The rogue Dreadlord continued, watching the Anirian Column as it slowly continued to march up the road. His lips pressed together as he glanced towards the still rising smoke from the west of where he crouched. "The Guardsmen too, obviously."

"They don't matter." A voice said from behind him before continuing. "Can you tell who they are."

There was a pause as Edric brought the binoculars up to his face again, trying to focus enough to make out any more detail. Then, after a few seconds he shook his head. "No. Too far. Can't make out their faces and even if I could I don't know ma-"

A hand clapped on his shoulder. "I know lad, don't worry. We ain't here to fight em'."

Edric looked up at Ulrich, and then slowly tilted his head in a nod.

Horace Odwyth had been a Dreadlord for almost thirty years, a fact which made him older than most of his brethren Anirian Mages.

Upon graduation he had been named a third level. His magic neither spectacular, nor anything to make waves. Yet he had served House Virak loyally for the entirety of his career, and through both his own acclaim and their patronage had reached the level of First.

Though many begrudged him, there were few who could question the decision. He had made his mark, and he had made it well enough that no one could deny him what he deserved.

When the Revolution had come, he had not joined with Talus and Zana, but neither had he stood against them. He'd thought to pick the Reserve when the Republic offered it's great changes, bitter of the outcome of the bloody coup. Yet when the Guard called on him, he answered.

After nearly two years of service within, he was glad that he did.

Virak had been good to him. The now dead Erich Virak always offering respect, and little Elise never short with a smile and kind word. Yet the Guard...there was something about it. He served no person, no patron, but the people. His people.

The very people that now found themselves attacked by an unknown threat.

That was why Horace had volunteered for this. Why he had demanded Blackforge give him this assignment. Whoever was behind these massacres would be punished, and he would be the one to see it so.

As a column the small army of Anirians made their way up the road towards the smoke still steadily rising up ahead. The beat of horse hooves sounding out like a discordant song as they rushed towards the village.

 

[Vardan]

The door to the town's ossuary - a peculiar little stone crypt no one paid much mind to even on days without massacres - cracked open a sliver. Vardan peered through and beheld the conflagration, the screams of dying villagers, the whooping battle cries of bandits.​

​

"Nnnh. Very well..."​

​

The door creaked back shut.​

​

---​

​

As the massacre wound down and the survivors were rounded up, the door opened again and Vardan creeped outside. The bedraggled lich was hunched under the weight of a large, rough sack thrown over his shoulder - which rattled with the sound of stolen bones every time he took a step.​

​

He began shuffling noisily and heedlessly for the treeline. Not his peasants, not his warband, not his problem.​

 

[Amalric Urahil]

Goblins, as it happened, did have rather keen eyesight at night.

Consequently, when Rob saw a figure shambling away toward the tree line he made sure to point it out to the slightly terrifying elf who led this little warband.

“One of ‘em is gettin’ away.” He pointed at the retreating figure of Vardan with his falchion.

 

[Taayi]

Talavaar’s gang began to tie up villagers. The elf surveyed the acts. Sword still drawn. He watched his goblin compatriot end a hero wannabe.

Talavaar smiled at the sight of the dead Anirian.

“Faster,” Talavaar called out, “Faster. The mongrel Anirian dogs won’t give us time.”

Odwyth and his army drew closer, with Edric and his comrades nearby.

Cultists would begin to arrange villagers in a specific pattern around a clearing in the village center.

Then, Rob called out. An escapee? Talavaar’s grin widened. His eyes spotted Vardan shuffling away.

Talavaar took this matter into his own hands. He dashed toward Vardan – the muscles in his legs allowing him to burst into a sprint with ease. Sword in one hand, he reached out with the other in an attempt to grab Vardan by the neck.

 

[Vardan]

Taayi | Threnody

​

Vardan heard heavy footfalls rushing to meet him and attempted to speed up, attaining a only a quick, waddling gait. It was to no avail. The elf seized him by the bare, bony neck, and in his shock Vardan lost his grip on his spoils. It fell to the ground with a pathetic thump while he thrashed about.​

​

"Ack! Recreant! Blackguard!" He hissed, swiping at Talavaar with a backhand, "Unhand me!"​

​

A few bones spilled from the sack. A person familiar with these sorts of things would recognize the long-bones of the leg and arms. A skull lolled out lazily among them.​

​

"My bones!"​

 

[Leander Urahil]

Pale blonde hair was pushed back from Leander’s face as his horse galloped along with the others. Before him was first level dreadlord Odwyth, and beside him were plenty of blonde initiates and guardsmen. While many held grim faces with deep serious lines etching around their eyes and mouth, Leander looked unbothered.

He wasn’t fearing for his life, nor was he fearing for his fellow Anirians in these ransacked villages. If anything, he looked almost pleased.

The only thought in Leander’s mind was how he was going to prove to a first level that he would be on equal footing. Well, not in experience, the old man had plenty of that. And neither was it in skill or magic. No, Leander was going to show this first level that he was a untapped well of talent, the future of all dreadlords to come after him. He was going to lead the way and—

“Are you trying to race me?” Leander was broken out of his daydream as he noticed that Lumen seemed to be trying to move ahead of him. Annoyance flickered in his features before hiding behind a confident grin. “Even with a head start you won’t be able to keep up with me when we’re out there.” Yes, Leander thought little of the screams and cries for help that were just beginning to reach his ears.

He only hoped enough stayed alive to tell stories of his might throughout these dirt-poor villages. This would be the start of the legendary Leander Urahil, the greatest Urahil in history— no he was thinking too small! He’d be the greatest dreadlord of all time! The most fearsome archon! When he died his name would be spoken for centuries, and someday in the future, little initiates would be reading his history and looking up to him.

The villagers misfortune would be the start of his legacy. Leander couldn’t wait to get in the thick of it.

 

[Lumen]

She held a grim face. Soot and ash filled the skies. The glow of fires on the horizon growing larger as they drew nearer. The smells of burning flesh already reaching her nostrils.

A small, quick glance behind her at Leander Urahoe.

If she had an opposite side to a coin, he was it. Where she stood for truth and justice. He stood for selfish-preening and snobbery.

"Initiate Adagio and Urahil. Do not break line or formation," barked Horace. A clench of his jaw as he focused on the bigger problem. A few of the soldiers around her gave her a curious look but she did as ordered.

An urgency thrummed in her blood. This is what they'd been trained for. They were here to protect the Anirian citizens, just like her mother before her. And the thought of someone dying because they'd had to maintain formation did not sit right with her. Even if the recognized there was order to things for a reason.

 

[Natasha]

It was rare for Natasha to be anything other than calm and composed. It was also rare for her to meet, or rather, serve someone so highly regarded. More often than not, she was sent out with her fellow classmates or some proctor who had no longer desired to be surrounded by the initiates. She admired the first level dreadlord and followed closely behind him with Leander on her right and Lumen just beyond.

Horace shouting at the pair broke Natasha’s concentration and the rigid girl finally relaxed, exhaling the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding for a little too long. In Natasha’s opinion, they should just kiss and get it all over with already, rather than subject the rest of the initiates to their childish antics. They had a job. If Leander and Lumen’s goofing off got them all killed, Natasha’s ghost would be so embarrassed.

Surely neither of them wished for such a disgraceful exit either.

As soon as everyone was back in their formation she returned her attention to Horace, eagerly awaiting his orders.

 

[Taayi]

Talavaar squeezed Vardan’s neck.

Nothing but bone.

“Undead?”

The blood knight’s smile widened.

“No good for the sacrifice.”

A glance was afforded to the assortment of bones that spilled forth from Verdan’s sack.

“You’re no Anirian, though. You’ll tell me why you’re here,” Talavaar commanded as his sword covered closer to Verdan.

In the background, cultists would continue to set up the blood ritual.

 

[Vardan]

Taayi

​

Vardan eyed the broadsword. Such crude, physical implements were his bane, and the runes etched into it made it all the more a pressing threat. He estimated, then, it was in his most convenient interests to answer without applying further insults.​

​

"Hnngh... The True Scyence requires certain materials," he rasped, referring to the bones, "I hath come to levy them from these simple countryfolk."​

​

He shifted unpleasantly under Talavaar's grip. "Relinquish thy grasp. I shall grant thee a boon for thy troubles, yes?"​

​

Just about anything to get that sword out of his face.​

 

[Edric]

Edric and the others moved far faster than the Anirian column. There were only three of them, but each a Dreadlord in their own right. Ulrich stood at the front, and trailing behind him came Edric and their third companion; Tiana.

He knew next to nothing about either of them, save that Ulrich was another of Gilram's hands and that Tiana was apparently strong in her own right. Both tended to be away more often than not, and this was the first time he worked with either.

The three reached the burning remnants of Orilon ahead of the column. Coming upon the grim sight and quickly searching through it. "Here!"

Tiana called, motioning for the other two Rogue Dreadlords. They nodded, and then quickly cut along the path that had been made by the cultists. Fanning to the west shortly after to avoid running into their fellow Anirians but following the trail still.

The Anirian column arrived in Orilon mere minutes after the Rogue Dreadlords departed, all sign of them gone. Some of the Guardsmen gasped at the sight of splattered blood and still burning flames, though most kept their composure. A face that Horace was more than thankful for.

The last thing he needed on top of dealing with bickering children was unprofessional Guardsmen. "Fan out!"

He called to both soldiers and Dreadlords in training alike.

"Torril, Contif, Edgewrite! See if there's any villagers left around." The village seemed to be desolate from all that Horace could tell, but there was always a chance. "The rest of you find the trail. They had to leave something behind."

The first level turned towards the Initiates. "Do not go off by yourselves. Alert me so we can move together."

He would not have anyone do something foolish.

 

[Ivan Skender]

Ivan stopped his horse just behind those of Horace Odwyth and his fellow initiates, as they entered Orilon. The spectacle that unfolded before the column was rather unpleasant, but hardly disconcerting for him: The flames that emanated from the wrecked buildings, as well as the smoke that rose from these, had been visible in the sky for some time prior to their arrival and so the destruction was not surprising. As for all the blood, it was little more than an afterthought for him when one took into account his entire upbringing as an initiate had revolved around making sure he was comfortable seeing and spilling it himself.

The situation they were in was not that troubling either: While an attack on Anirian soil was an outrage, this was the frontier. Violence here should hardly have been a surprise, even for those that had just been attacked. All in all, there should be nothing to be concerned about - or so he told himself - and so, as he dismounted, his face remained impassable, expressionless as if he was made out of steel; the model weapon of Vel Anir the academy had trained him to be.

The truth was though, that he could only remain this serene because he did not quite know how to feel anyways. He had been in missions outside the academy before, but these had been mostly routine patrols or some other boring such. To be detached to the site of an attack - and under the command of a first-level Dreadlord no less - was something else for him.

“Yes sir!” - He said dutifully, trying to push any unpleasant feelings out of his mind as any good Dreadlord would. Ivan then took his bow and a quiver full of arrows from the horse, before venturing into the ruined settlement.​

 

[Leander Urahil]

Leander ignored the rebuke, mostly because he hadn’t done anything wrong. Clearly Dreadlord Horace hadn’t seen Lumen trying to break formation— and how could he have when he was leading the group? So Leander could forgive Horace. Miss-goodie-two-shoes on the other hand…

Damnit. Was everyone dead already? Leander dismounted and looked directly at Natasha.

“You’re with me.” He told her, making sure that if they were going to split into teams, he would undoubtedly have the strongest, fittest initiates with him. Which was a shame that Lumen had to bog down Ivan’s potential, but Leander wasn’t running a charity here. He wanted the best, and someone who wouldn’t argue with him. Natasha was perfect.

And if Leander played his cards right, he could probably find the trail and follow after it if there was good enough reason to do so. He’d make a reason if he had to. But first thing’s first: actually finding the trail.

The proud Urahil decided to look first at the ground before them, and there were footsteps but just so many. Different directions, different sizes… he looked around the burning village and grinned when he saw it: a few dead villages slumping against each other. They looks like the elders, and one was even holding a rake as if that could have down anything.

He immediately stalked over there, crouching to inspect the ground. Blood was pooling around them. And to his pleasure, someone had stepped into the blood. He had a lead, able to piece out just enough of the crimson stains to be heading towards… maybe the west? Possibly the north. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the most solid trail— and if anything, it could have just been someone running away.

Leander would need more evidence. A part of him wanted to send Natasha to the west while he investigated the north, but what if that gave Lumen the upper hand? Or made him look like he wasn’t a team player? He’d need to play things smart if he wanted to win, and sometimes taking one’s time was the best thing to do.

 

[Lumen]

Lumen rolled her eyes at Bossy Leander. 'You're with me.' It's a good thing he knew better than to say that to Lumen or she would've broken his nose job. But even these thoughts were fleeting and quick in her head. It was clear her focus was the mission.

Dismounting with grace and practice, she tied her horse off at the first post she saw. A hand along her horse's neck, sensing the animal's unease - even though bred and trained for things like this. "Easy girl," she'd whisper. Keeping Horace in eyeshot. There were bodies, everywhere. Many with arrows in their backs. Young and old. No one had been here to protect them, Lumen realized. Jaw hard and clenched.

Following the trail of bodies and trampled grasses around one side of building, she frowned, eyes catching the signs of trampled grass, hooves, and...there, further into the grasses. Another body.

"Sir," she called back to Horace and the others around her. "I think I've got something." With a quick breath, she cast her magic forward seeing if she could sense a group of heat beyond the fires of Orilon behind her. It was faint but yes. There.

Looking over her shoulder she pointed in that direction.

 

[Natasha]

“Eh?” Natasha looked back and forth between Leander and Horace for a moment before accepting their orders. “Very well, then.” She dismounted the horse and stood before Leander while she awaited some suggestion on where he thought they should look first. She watched his gaze shift to the ground they were standing on with an amused curiosity.

“Hm..” She moved on from examining the trail they’d made with their own horses and men to glance over at the village Leander was now off to. “I don’t believe Horace meant bodies when he said ‘things they left behind’.” She commented, crouching down next to him and dragging her finger through the pooling blood.

She noted its thickness as she rubbed her fingers together. The blood flaked off. “Few hours at most.”

Leander had already moved on to the footsteps nearby and Natasha followed suit. Unlike Lumen, who appeared to be using her abilities to identify the source of heat, Natasha had little to offer aside from a knowledge of anatomy. “The steps are close together.” She followed them for a few feet, matching up to her own. The owner of these feet had to have been walking based on the distance between steps, but, like Leander, she was unsure if they were of any significance.

She heard Lumen's call, but ignored it for the moment. “What would you like me to do?” She addressed her partner, still following the faint trace of blood in the grass. Just a few meters past the last step, a reflection caught her eye. “Hey,” She stopped him from saying anything else while she crouched down and pinched the pommel of what appeared to be a bloodied dagger hiding in the grass. A strange symbol had been carved into the handle.

 

[Taayi]

A short guffaw followed Vardan’s words.

Releasing Vardan from his grip, Talavaar told him, “Quick. Show me.”

The sword remained near Vardan – hovering just above.

But before Vardan could do anything, a cultist scout arrived. The scout was a halfling with severe burn scars along his lower jaw and a missing nose.

“Sir, the Anirians are already at the village,” the halfling told Talavaar.

Then the scout revealed, “They’re led by Dreadlord Odwyth.”

Thus, the scout only reported on Odwyth’s movements and not those of Edric’s.

Upon hearing that, Talavaar maniacally beamed from ear to ear. He drew his sword away from Vardan and lifted it in the air.

“With haste! The Anirians are upon our backs!”

The cultists in charge of the ritual rushed to push and drag the villagers away. They would be departing from the same trail they came through from the west. Some would leave bloodied footsteps behind.

Lumen would sense this mass of heat departing.

Looking to Vardan, Talavaar told the undead, “You’re finished if they catch you. Follow. Or not.”

With that, Talavaar gave the signal to fellow cultists to fan out and prepare for ambushes. Should the Anirians follow, there would be random attacks…

Meanwhile, the symbol upon the dagger Natasha discovered would be one of extreme rarity. The knowledge of it would be beyond that of the typical Dreadlord education within the Academy.

 

[Edric]

"Stop." Ulrich's voice whispered, and almost instantly Edric and Tiana came to a halt. Both of their heads turning towards the oldest among them. A frown lay on the bear-like man's face, and he motioned towards the two of them to draw closer.

"Just up ahead." He called. "Group of people."

Edric frowned for a moment. "Ho-"

Before he could even speak Ulrich put a finger over his lips. Then quickly his hands flickered, the secret speech that all Dreadlords were taught used to quickly give orders. He tilted his head in a nod, and then the three of them broke off and headed in separate directions.

Horace came up behind Lumen, his own search having turned up little. He'd never been much of a hunter, just a soldier. Yet he knew enough at least to lead this mission. The older Dreadlord stepped to the Initiate, no small amount of haste in his voice. "What is it?"

He asked.

"Tracks?" Though he had always tried to familiarize himself with those under his command in previous missions, there hadn't been much time here.

He'd not had the time to properly request, much less look over any of the dossiers which would ordinarily have been presented to him. For all he knew the Initates they had given him were next to useless, but in that moment it didn't matter. He had to trust those in his command.

Otherwise they were doomed to fail before they could even start.

 

[Vardan]

Taayi

So released, Vardan rubbed the back of his neck. He would lodge a complaint with this wretched blackguard's sovereign in due time. To lay hands on a nobleman in such a manner was the height of impertinence. Still, a pact was a pact. "Hnnngh, very well!"​

​

Vardan meshed his fingers and cracked them, preparing to work some foul sorcery. Only to be interrupted by a scout. The manners of these bandits left much to be desired. His magic fizzled out and faded. "A moment... I shall join thee shortly..." Vardan rasped, and he stooped over to recollect his stolen bones, slinging the sack back over his shoulder.​

​

Again, none of this was his problem. Except the bones, that is. He needed those. When Vardan was finished, he guessed the direction the Anirians' approach and set off at a wide angle, teetering through the smoldering village just like before, as if he owned the whole place.​

​

He was circling around.​

 

[Rob Yew]

Well, now the skele-man seemed to be on their side. How wonderful. Except the moment was ruined by the announcement that the Anirians had already found them out.

This was not how the plan was supposed to go.

Rob signed up to steal from a few villagers with a warband, not die on the end of an Anirian pike wall.

Grumbling to himself, the goblin loped away from the circle of prisoners and crouched behind a bush. Always best to have cover when loading a crossbow. Especially a waste and poison smeared crossbow. Rob gingerly handled the filthy bolt as he loaded it into the strung crossbow, then peeked out from behind the bush and squinted into the night at the shadows converging on the burning huts.

 

[Ivan Skender]

Searching the ruined village, he trailed off momentarily. Initially, he had noticed the cracked door of the town’s ossuary and had made his way there. Hoping that the assailants had attempted to ransack the place, and in doing so left some hint or other behind, he made an effort to quickly search the place. Alas, apart from a few desecrated skeletons missing a few bones here and there, there was not much of note.

Converging towards the rest of the initiates, Ivan could not fail to notice however, much like Natasha had, how some of the footprints appeared to be a bit too closely together. While a “regular” stride had some distance between steps, between the ossuary and the place Leander had found, there were a few clusters of confusedly trampled dirt, looking as if whoever had made those tracks had continuously stomped on the same place. This led him to guess that:

“I believe some of the villagers may have been captured.” - He said, as he rejoined the main group, appearing behind Odwyth. He pointed with the tip of his bow to a cluster of alike footprints that crowded together, heading towards the grasses that bordered the village. - “These are too close together.” - Being shackled to one-another, as prisoners were, usually caused whoever was captured to trample on the other members of the group, thus making the awkward-looking imprints as the ones they now had in front of them. - ”They look too awkward to have been made by any attacker, or any villager running from the fight.”

This was, of course, just a guess, but one which raised an interesting possibility: If, indeed, some of the villagers had been captured, would they assist? If he had to guess, he’d say “yes”. That was why they were there after all. Doing so however, would entail going blind into a dark, thick forest. In addition to this, whoever was behind the attack was probably close-by, since Lumen could sense them as she did, which meant that there was a fair shot the assailants knew the Anirian column was there, and could take measures to ambush them in the woods.​

 

[Leander Urahil]

“Dead bodies always tell a story,” Leander said to Natasha, his tone not brusque for once. After all, she was doing her part in the investigation. She had even pointed out that the steps were closer together, and in some areas the tracks did look like the person had been dragged despite them digging their heels in. By the time Leander came to such a conclusion, Lumen was loudly shouting for everyone and their mother to come and see.

He frowned, but in the end, did nothing. Based on the number of homes, there should be plenty more bodies lying around. There weren’t, and considering how many tracks were headed in one direction… well, there was only a few assumptions one could make.

“Let’s join the others, Natasha.” Leander told her. Maybe they lost their chance to impress in this case, but at least this was the one area that didn’t matter too much. Leander could still be impressive in where he was strongest: battle. “Just stay close to me, unless Dreadlord Odwyth says otherwise.” He had leaned down close to Natasha’s ear right before he began to make his way to Lumen and Ivan. His armor clinked against each other as he briskly jogged to the group, reaching them just as Ivan had stated his point.

Well. It seems that both groups had came to the same conclusion: prisoners and the direction they seemed to be going in.

 

[Lumen]

Tracks?

"Tracks of bodies," she said, pointing to the slumped figure further in the grass. "And I can sense them. A cluster of heat toge-," she frowned as she pointed. Honeyed-brows crinkling together. "They're on the move. Dispersing." The heat was spreading out, no longer concentrated in one cluster.

What did that mean?

A nod back to Ivan. "Let's hope some are still alive." She looked back to Horace as the Commander in charge. "Sir? Permission to move forward and check it out?"

At least Leander wasn't being his usual dickish self. Thank the gods for Natasha.

 

[Taayi]

Ambushers dispersed. As they did, Verdan may have had the chance to see the cosmopolitan nature of this group of cultists. Humans, elves, orcs, halflings, goblins, a pale woman with a half-rotten face. Something beyond ancestry bound these people.

Some for gold. Some for revenge.

Some, like Talavaar, displayed a vigorous fervor for something beyond all this.

Looking to his second command, be it Rob Yew or someone else, Talavaar said, “Make your attack quickly, then get the sacrifices in place. We must complete the ritual.”

Then, Talavaar marched toward the Anirians.

In the distance, Talavaar’s tall figure would slowly emerge from the smoke. They could see the silhouette of his sword resting on his shoulder.

Lumen would be able to see multiple heat signatures continuing the spread around. Some near Talavaar, some circling around. Undead like Verdan and the half-faced woman would melt into the background from that perspective – unless they had something to generate heat.

Talavaar stretched out his arms – even as he still held his sword.

“OO̶O͝O͡O͘DWY͘Y̵YY͡T͢Ḩ!”​