Knights of Anathaeum Through Halls of Flame

[Hector]

Thankful for Amelia's quick aid, Hector righted himself up. Let out breath and applied the ointment as he thought on the matter. Heard the shuffle of footsteps. The gleeful crackle of flame, rise to challenge.

With wide eyes, Hector watched as Flynbul stepped to the wall of fire. Breath held in his lungs, horror full in his heart as his companion stepped closer and closer still. Undeterred as those same writhing bodies of gold and red that shimmered and shook within the blaze beckoned.

Something shift. Something changed. Something inside had sprung out. And Hector could see the flames whip and lash and whirl about the brave figure that was Flynbul. Until he was clear through, or burned over whole.

The elf rose up, and gripped his hands tight. Looked to his fellow squires, gave them a nod. "We follow Flyn's lead," and so too, did Hector step through the fire, and all the shadows there in that maddening candescence.

There in was a song. Sung by a thousand faces. Memories most immemorial. A rage. A surge. An ecstasy of enlightenment. Truths of self come crackle and spark against those greater understandings. What came to be understood, what would come to be felt, only time would tell.

For in the wash of writhe and shake, twist and spring, time meant little, and upon the other side the squires would find themselves, the halls of Flame, long before them, though their path was clear.

Once gathered, they would rush ahead. Past murals and chambers, whose secrets would be last to them. For the sounds of something more rang ahead.

Curses in frustration uttered beneath hot breaths. Clangs, and bangs, like blade and hand come against armor plate.

"Why won't you open?!" A voice dared ask.

Through the a grand archway they would step, and as their eyes did adjust, what might have looked like an honored monument came into focus.

Vesna there, so caught up in her action that she tried to climb up the giant figure. A terrible suit of armor of beastial machination. With plates that looked of monster's bone, wrapped around fibers fleshy and thick. Yet, the giant slumbered.

Hector drew his sword. Eyes wide as they still tried to make sense of it all. ​

---

​

 

[Torche]

Torche didn’t mind that he didn’t have the right idea as long as someone did, which just so happened to be Flyn. With Hector’s encouragement, Torche went through the flame, only able to fight through the innate fear of being burned alive because the others managed to do it as well. There was a strange sensation surrounding him as he stepped through the flames, as if he was all at once safe and yet still in danger. He had to fight against knowledge and reason and his instincts to follow the path his heart had laid out for him.

Once on the other side, unburnt and unharmed, the brute of a man ran, hearing Vesna’s voice. His dark brows momentarily furrowed. He had forgotten all about her but it seemed she had had the right idea after all for just running straight through this underground lair. He would have made a joke about it if it weren’t for the sight that greeted them.

Torche wasn’t the brightest tool in the lightbulb shed, but even he had an idea on self preservation. The slumbering… thing… was massive and it had a sword to match its size. His eyes were wide as he regarded the sword’s blade, longer than Vesna was and probably longer than him. Unsteady gaze flickered to Hector, hearing him unsheathe his sword. Should he draw his weapon as well?

“Hey! Get away from that thing!” Torche shouted, taking one step further but only that step. Trepidation prickled underneath his skin. Torche loved a good fight, always had and always would. He had fought all sorts of things, beasts and skeletons and ogres. He had nearly lost his life one too many times to keep track of. The thing with those arenas was that no one had armor, as long as one was quick enough, they could defeat any opponent.

Torche didn’t know he was afraid of a battle of attrition, only because he didn’t know the word, but it was a warrior’s instincts that told him he would be outmatched against something so big with a big sword and sturdy armor to boot. Strangely enough, he looked to Innis.

“Talk sense into her!” She was the smartest squire here, wasn’t she? She had more sense than Torche himself had. She could write!

Innis Amelia Hawthorne Flynbul Tosstopple

 

[Innis]

Of course, as soon as Flynbul said it, the nature of the challenge all made sense. And the little man was ready to test his words with a brave step through the flames. As the others followed suit, she could hardly lag behind. At the threshold of the flames, Innis stilled herself.

No magic, no magic... She chanted silently as she quelled the urge to raise a protective ward or douse the flames with water and ice. Just heart...

She closed her eyes, and pushed into the flame. It did not burn, but the feeling was overwhelming nonetheless. There was knowledge to be found in the fire. Solace, sacrifice, sanctuary, hearthhomeheathavenhurt relief rancor rage, rage rage! The spirits within the flame spun round Innis like a toy top, dancing erratic, flashing one feeling, then another.

It was overwhelming. She couldn't understand it. It would take ten lifetimes to understand it, or maybe just a few more minutes, but either way it was too much for Innis! Bolting, frantic, eyes squinted against the light, she ran until she was out of the fire and her hands were pressed against the cooling stone wall on the other side of the room.

Unsinged, and in one piece. But no time to work through it all, as there was a commotion in the next room.

Torche greeted her with a plea. It took a few heartbeats for her to figure out who she was supposed to be talking sense into. And what was that thing in the center of the room, put in a place of honor, with the Flame Pursuit's symbol carved into the wall behind it?

"Think we're past talking," she said in response, drawing her own sword as Hector did the same. "Let's go straight to incapacitating, if you don't mind?"

Torche Amelia Hawthorne Flynbul Tosstopple Hector

 

[Flynbul Tosstopple]

He was through to the other side. But how? Confused eyes surveyed his form. No burn marks or flames clinging on to garb. Huh. A nascent tension headache began to surface. His body was sore, like he had just been stretched out on a Rack. The others soon followed. One by one they stumbled through. Each person suffering the encumberment brought forth by the fire. A cursory glance followed by a nod was shared by all before pushing passed the many chambers to the sounds of shouting. Once in the chamber, they all froze, but only for a moment. Swords were drawn, and shouts of warning echoed. "Is that... What IS that?" He didn't reach for blade like the others. This may require a bit more finesse. His hands found themselves in his component bag. A sharp whistle pushed passed his lips. You can do it Yeljor. Heartsfire. We need you.

"And a one, two, three, rip-adee-dee. And a four, five, six, lickity- Whats that?" -Ramblings of a Squire

Torche Innis Hector Amelia Hawthorne

 

[Amelia Hawthorne]

Ah, of course. She tutted to herself. How did she not see it. Of course, the answer was esoteric. It was no surprise to her that an ancient temple like this was meant to test the merit of any who dared traverse it in search of its treasures. Intrinsic mettle and otherwise.

Amelia steeled her own and walked through fire. Her hair, bright like blood, bright like flames, danced in invisible thermal winds even though no heat burned her skin. Still, when she stepped out the other side, she couldn't help checking the exposed skin of her hands for any blisters and charring. Relieved that her pale skin was still unmarred, she trekked on with her motley crew, inwardly sighing as they passed endless walls that crawled foreign runes. Of murals that showcased battles she had never read about. If she just had a little time...

But there was none, for they came upon the strange scene of their local guide attempting to climb up the side of some slumbering animatron. A guardian? A sentinel?

A final test. She bemused.

The silvered edge of her rose rapier whispered from its sheath. She was not sure if magic would also be useless in this test as the one before. But either way, Amelia would do everything in her power to not be caught on the wrong end of that thing's blade, for it was almost as tall she was. The sight turning her stomach, as very real danger settled around them.

Hector Flynbul Tosstopple Torche Innis

 

[Hector]

Vesna looked back as Torche's voice carried clear and loud across the room. Her eyes widened a fraction, but she grinned, and went on with her work. Fingers digging at something in the plate.

Dirt. Crud. Something that looked like rust but was too soft. Too plantlike. She grunt and she ripped it way and there was a rune of flame. That same rune that hung proud behind the great slumbering knight. She closed her eyes and traced her finger across it.

Hector grit his teeth and raced forward. Still twenty yards away, he tried to break fast. "Stop!" he cried out.

But the rune came to light. A bright and fiery gold that was drank in by the great knight. The chords beneath its armored plate shimmered and flexed, like flesh come alive. A sound like heavy gears clicking into place. Steam jet in hissing clouds from vents laid in the carapace, and the shell of the construct opened up with audible cracks and clanks, whirrs and whines.

Hector slowed his charge, awe struck by what he was seeing, his sword held low at his side.

Vesna glanced back as she pulled herself up to the large hand that was like a platform into the armor's heart. She stared into the pit of its heart, and wasted no time climbing in.

Something fell over her, and she yelped as the armor drew her into its mass. The carapace shell snapped shut. Hissed with vapor as it came shut once more. Sealed with a loud lock and click.

A dreadful moment of pause. Of silence.

Metal ground against metal, as magick hummed to life, and red eyes glowed beneath the white-bone helm of the construct, and it rose up. A behemoth, that was four times over taller than Hector who stood before it with mouth agape and eyes wide.

It raised its blade up, jerky and lumbering as it made to use its newfound strength.

Hector began to run back.

The blade came down behind him with a crash that smashed the stone floor and sent shards of rock spraying out, and a plume of dusk that obscured the impact.

Torche Flynbul Tosstopple Innis Amelia Hawthorne

 

[Torche]

Everyone probably thought he was a big meathead, but at least he wasn’t as dumb as Vesna to go poking around in things that he shouldn’t be. Torche, if he had been asked in that moment what had happened or what was going on, wouldn’t be able to speak. No words could form, even the most simplest of phrases had vanished as he tried to make sense of what he saw, what he heard. He wasn’t a nerd like Hector, Innis, Amelia and Flynbul.

But he was a fighter, it was in his blood like it was in a dog’s blood to bite. He was ready to fight, always, even if it was against a foe that he didn’t understand. Size never bothered him, although right now, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous whatsoever about this… thing.

He began running, rolling out of the way, not yet drawing his sword as his roll brought him to the side of the monster. All he saw was smoke and debris. His nostrils flared, adrenaline fueling him like all the other times before his fights in the ring.

“I’LL AVENGE YOUR DEATH, HECTOR!” Torche shouted, rolling once more to get behind the murderer. Poor Hector, slow and weak and just overall a poor fighter with survival instincts in general, there was no way he’d be able to dodge that strike unless he had rolled out of the way. Much like Torche continued to roll, bruising his right shoulder before getting behind the monster and drawing his sword with a victorious shout.

Innis Amelia Hawthorne Flynbul Tosstopple Hector

 

[Innis]

"Wait! That thing's obviously--" It was too late. Torche was already rolling away, trying to flank the automaton. "Ugh," she sighed out in disapproval. If it hadn't been a fight, she would have spared the attention to roll her eyes.

Actually, the construction wasn't an automaton, was it? It was missing the auto- part of the equation. That woman had crawled inside, and then the thing had powered up, which meant that it was-- what? A puppet? A massive suit of armor?

Whatever. It was heavy. Heavy enough to crack the stone floor and send debris flying in every direction. That gave her an idea.

Through the dust, Innis moved.

"Hector, Torche, keep it distracted!" With her free hand, Innis thumbed open the flask of water at her side. "We'll take advantage of its next swing!"

The armor shuffle-turned to face Torche, its movements jerky and undisciplined. The sword that it carried scraped against the ground, as its glowing eyes veered this way and that, trying to locate the reckless squire who was shouting so confidently at it.

Sword came up, and the armor stepped into a beastly swing. Steel crashed into a pillar behind Torche, crumbling the stone as if it was a block of parmesan.

Innis' hand flared out, and a wave of water splashed across the floor. Finally, something she was good at. The water froze as soon as it hit the ground. The armor's chicken-clawed feet scratched against smooth ice, and its balance was swept up with the momentum of its strike.

With a creak of old metal, the armor crashed down. Its limbs flailed dangerously as it tried to get back up, but Vesna - whatever she was doing inside it - couldn't bring the thing to standing again.

"Now!" She called out to Amelia and Flynbul, who had stayed back with her. "Find a way to keep it down, quickly!"

Amelia Hawthorne Flynbul Tosstopple Hector Torche

 

[Flynbul Tosstopple]

His eyes widened in shock and an uneasiness set over him as Vesna amalgamated with the hulking suit of armor. But Why?
Before he could explore the answers to the question the creature swung at Hector. The collision of its blade kicked up debris and dust, obfuscating Hector's health. "Hector! Vesna, Why?!" He shouted in confusion. Why was she doing this? Flyn pressed forward preparing auxiliary components assuming the worst happened. Torche had taken up the initiative and had rolled into a flank on the backside of the creature. A worthy yet reckless distraction. Innis shouted a plan of attack. They'd capitalize on its next swing. The floor beneath his feet rumbled as the immense weapon crashed into the pillar, swearing to relieve Torche of his head. "Keep rolling Torche!" The commands of Innis swallowed up his words as she summoned a sleet of ice that knocked the creature off balance. Its chimeric form clattered to the ground. Flyn rushed to the creature's legs. He slid on the ice dodging the erratic kicking, and scooped up some clay from his bag. He rolled like Torche to dodge another side swipe of the mechanical leg before breathing into the clay, smashing it together, "Alluvian." The clay stretched and grew like moist playdough. He ran underneath the tantrum of the lower half nearly dodging a blow to his face and stuck the creature's ankle with the living clay. It coiled around its ankle like a boa constricting its prey and solidified immediately. He slammed the ground with the other end. The anchor point was set. He just needed to get to the other leg.

Amelia Hawthorne Hector Torche Innis

 

[Hector]

A crash shook the stone ground they tread upon, as the great armored beast fell to the stone floor in a titanous heap. There, it thrashed as it tried to right itself. With harsh jerks, starts and stops, it struggled to get back to its feet.

With one of its massive hands, its swat at the loud squire that had daringly rolled his way across the chamber.

Hector broke free of the large dustcloud, covering the lower half of his face with the crook of his arm, his bright sword still in hand, he tried to analyze what he could

The great armor rolled on its back, each thrash of its terrible mass threatened to break any squire fool enough to be near.

With momentum, it managed to get onto its stomach, the fibrous chords that powered its legs flexed, and vents near its spine hissed as plumes of steam jet out as it strained.

"The vents!" Hector cried out. "Obstruct the vents!" a whirl of his sword, and a trace of flame seals scribed with its shimmering point.

A spiral of sparks hissed to life behind the giant, making it easier for Torche to will the fire gathering there in its bright storm of power.

With a harsh break of the stone tiles, it managed to push itself up to kneeling. Its angular helm turned, and its red eyes fixed onto Innis.

Too much like a human, it willed itself forward. Forced the magicked clay Tosstopple had stuck on to one of its feet to strain. Tense, enough to cause it to trip once more, but not without a wide cut of its long blade aimed at-

"Innis!" Hector cried out in panic. Too far to intervene in time.

Innis Torche Flynbul Tosstopple Amelia Hawthorne ​

 

[Amelia Hawthorne]

Without thought, stupid as it was, Amelia lunged to intercept that blade, her own rose adorned rapier bursting from her side with a desperate flourish, the reinforced blade glowing a bright candescent orange.

There at her guarded hilt, did that sentinel bury its blade with a clang. Amelia grunted in pain at the weight behind that blow, her shoulders screaming from the impact as she held it back with both hands. Her rapier was not made for combat like this, wasn't built for this kind of punishment even despite the magic infused within. She felt like a frail doll in comparison. But seeing Innis alive and well in her peripheral was worth the peril she now found herself in. It had only been a moment, but the squire could feel her strength waning. She needed to disengage without feeling the kiss of that blade herself.

Yet before she could think of what to do, the glow of her sword faded. All she had time for was the widening of her eyes, before the rest of the weight behind the mech's sword crashed against her, sending her flying back into a heap upon the stone.

She groaned in pain, her hand somehow still clenched around her hilt, although she was sure she had fractured a finger or two and bit through her tongue.

Her chest heaved from the effort, sweat beading upon her brow, but Amelia raised herself on shaking legs until she stood once more. Glancing down at her rapier's guard handle, she mourned at the chunk taken out of its base. Wiping the blood from the side of her mouth, she doubted she could handle another direct blow like that. Amelia would have to fight smarter.

Leveling a baleful stare at the sentinel, Amelia stepped forward and shouted to Innis, "Are you okay?!"

Torche Flynbul Tosstopple Innis Hector

 

[Innis]

The blade came down upon her, and Innis couldn't react in time. She didn't have the shielding steel of the forge like Hector did, or swift fighting reflexes like Torche.

The blade came down, and all Innis could do was flinch.

Amelia took the blow for her. She felt the force of the behemoth's strength ripple through the other squire. Steam vented from the armor, its joints jolting with effort as it won out against Amelia's magicked defense. Innis watched wide-eyed as Amelia was thrown back, rolling painfully against the ground. The question of her well being, even as Amelia bled, shocked Innis back to the moment.

"Y-yeah! I'm alright!"

Determination setting into her frame, Innis slid a foot back. She drew her sword. Amelia had taken that hit, for her. The others had made this opening, so she could act.

She wouldn't let their efforts go to waste--!

The behemoth's sword was swinging hard again, but Innis would not be there this time. She side-stepped out of the way, the tile beneath her cracking to pieces. Dodging right between its feet, Innis spun round behind the armored thing.

Steaming vents ran up the armor's back, doubled on each side of its metal-laced spine. They hissed and spat hot liquid. Innis grinned wildly. She could practically see the currents flowing beneath its segmented plates. If there was steam, then there was liquid inside that thing.

The willow-wand hilt of her sword grew cold in her hands. Frost crawled up the blade. She leapt as high as she could, and jammed her sword into one of those vents. It ended up being a graceless maneuver, her feet dangling helplessly as the behemoth's joints groaned out their protest and the armor tried to shake her off. She scrambled up higher onto the thing, her boots finding purchase between grooves of armor.

Hot and angry, steam spouted from the back of the beast. It made Innis' skin scream with pain. She closed her eyes against the heat, and focused on her magics. Forced the steam to condense, stopped the flow of the coolant within the beast. Blocked the vents with ice.

The armor shook and rattled like a kettle about to burst. It could not raise its arms any longer. The sword it had swung around so viciously crashed to the ground one last time, aimless. The behemoth fell to its knees, motionless. Its chest split open, revealing the woman inside.

Vesna, the woman who had so recklessly piloted the massive armor, was in bad shape. She lay unconscious within the heart of the armor. Unresponsive, but still breathing. Tendrils and gears obscured her arms and legs, buried in the machinery.

On the armor's back, Innis' grip gave way. She fell to the ground, panting hard, her sword still stuck in the vent. Her hands hurt, her face flesh felt tender. She probably had burns from all that steam, but that didn't register. It was hard for her to think through the thick fog of the spell she'd just cast.

She just needed a moment to catch her breath...

Hector Amelia Hawthorne Torche Flynbul Tosstopple

 

[Torche]

In the heat of battle, Torche was aware of anything being said unless his name was tied to it. So he listened to Flyn, kept rolling and dodging although it hardly mattered until he was directed elsewhere. The man had never been a distracted before, but he could be one now, when it mattered most. Rather, it had little to do if he could, he had to. He’d be the best distraction he could be— and wouldn’t you know, he was already half naked!

It was a shame that he couldn’t woo Vesna with his perfectly sculpted body of muscular perfection. What woman wouldn’t pause to stare at a man of his physical caliber? Broad shoulders, strong and hardened, tapered waist full of shadows and contours and highlights. Tree trunk thighs, thick and sturdy, calves that could only belong to a god of pure physical prowess.

Instead, he took his large sword and began to whacking the joints of the metal Mass, which would have debilitated a human quickly, but the steal and fibers were strong and Torche’s technique was not the sort to strike precisely, over and over. Torche was a brute and therefore had only ever learned how to take down foes by over powering them and playing dirty.

Innis though, Innis had an idea and it worked. The metal mass fell, no longer moving but parts still groaning, and Torche was left sweaty and heaving— but unharmed.

“I heard,” Torche gasped to Innis, “Hector’s voice one last time. His spirit showed us the way to fell this….” The man paused. He wanted to say one of those big words, the sort he had heard before. Abolition? Atomatation? Abdominalation? “This mother fucker.” For good measure, Torche stomped through the dust to kick at the creepy chicken claws. It didn’t move. He moved between the abomination’s legs and stabbed where the groin would be. The tip of his sword clinked and scratched.

“This is for you, Hector.” Another stab. This bastard deserved two.

Amelia Hawthorne Flynbul Tosstopple Innis Hector

 

[Flynbul Tosstopple]

Flyn steadied himself and dove underneath the mechanical beast's wailing legs as it attempted to stand up to defend itself. The metal groaned against the tenuous magik he had restricted its movement with. He knew it wouldn't hold without multiple anchor points. He ducked as the unobstructed leg almost soccer ball kicked him across the room. His clay twisted the movements of the metal terror but did not stop it from advancing its strikes towards his friends. Amelia took the brunt of the blow, one that could've easily shattered her spine. The blade then found its way towards Torche, "TORCHE! ROLL!"

Hector's voice pierced through the battle. "The vents!" Hector screamed. Flyn was in no position to strike at the vents, Innis was. Fumbling with his components while dodging the ice-covered ground he circled to the front of the creature as it accosted Torche. A pouch of dust in one hand, and a flame in the other. He tossed the pouch towards what he perceived as the eyes of the creature and aimed down the barrel of his index finger. A web of flame a few meters long sprung forth with acute accuracy and exploded the pouch before it kissed the metal. The explosion almost sent the creature to its arse. It would've been a boon if it had, but Flyn wasn't greedy. He was just buying time for Innis to blade dance those goddamn vents.





The scene quieted as steam bellowed from the defeated monstrosity. His comrades were all on their asses, gathering breaths. Adrenaline still coursed through him. He hadn't come so close to being snuffed out. But now wasn't the time for reflection. "Who requires aid?? Amelia, are you okay?"


"I want to be great. I'd also settle for helping greatness." - Ramblings of a squire

 

[Hector]

Quick steps knocked against the warm stone. Dust swirled and billowed, as sun and flame set the clouds to glow. So far beneath the day's light. All set to settle, as the horrid grind and groans of the armor's animat parts whirred and hissed in overworked protest.

His heart, pump-pump-pumped as he heard the clang and scrape of Torche's sword.

Through panted breath, he looked to see Innis, down and out. Looked to see Amelia, who'd caught the weakside of the titan's strike. Pulse so loud in his head it felt as if his heart were a frog, ready to leap from his throat.

"I'm alive Torche!" he shouted. Teeth grit, he let out a huff, then rushed down to Innis, braced her side, a hand wrapped around her shoulder. "You alright?" he asked. His eyes noting the redness on her face, his own attunement to Flame feeling the heat there in the burned flesh.

He closed his eyes, drew in his breath, and pulled away the heat with a curl of his fingers, and a fill of his lungs.

The beat of his heart pumped. Pumped. Pumped. Steadied as the heat spread through his fibers. The rivers of their life steadied. Flowed together. Her pain became his, his vigor, hers.

A crude, and ancient form of Flame's healing. But it was quick.

"There," he said to her, feeling the frayed ends of agony prickle at his face. A twinge in the fibers of his flesh. A heat in the furnace of his mind. He let it out with a long and measured breath.

His eye scanned up to see her sword jammed into the titan's vent. Water run from where it sunk as steam still hissed and wheezed about the wound.

He looked to Flyn and Amelia. Glad both were still well. Stood up, and rounded to the front of the gigantic construct. Stared wide eyed at its inner workings.

Webs like marionette strings attached to bindings. Connected to clockwork machinery. A frame, almost skeletal, bound in organic matter. Like flesh itself.

A cough, from the rogue pilot, still linked to the automotan. Ragged breath that reminded Hector to find a way to work her free. Fingers found clasps that buckled in a harness that spread across her torso. Click, click, clicks saw them undone. The harness craked open, yawned as if to spit the woman out.

She shlumped like an egg yolk out of its shell. Hector almost fell back, braced himself, and pulled her out.

Breath still panting. He looked down at Vesna. Looked up at the cavitiy that was the titan's heart.

His mind ablaze with all the stir of Flame's magick.