The moment Alyss started to head back, away from the group, a hand gripped her shoulder with an unrelenting grip. Saint dug his fingers in to the point of possibly causing her actual pain. Did he mean to snap her out of this emotional outburst with this show of force? Could she be brought back to her senses at all? Leonardo knew nothing of the love they shared in dark alleyways. Only a mentality to ensure everyone's survival guided him. Perhaps a small bit of anger fueled him as well given that Arias nearly died trying to save her life. Bandages that normally went around each digit were now in tatters from the battle and left bare skin exposed. Unpleasant for anyone to lay eyes upon. . . yet they still contained a fearsome might.
"We just escaped from the jaws of death. Are you so eager to run back into them? Two of our comrades just sacrificed their lives so that we all might survive. I will not allow you to lessen their noble deed through stupidity."
Saint's tone then took a darker turn before spinning her around to face him.
"Malwin left you there, alone, for the shadow's dark embrace. Do not suffer the folly of pursuing him there."
Partially exposed through torn bandages, the grotesque facial features were contrasted only by pristine blue eyes.
She had frozen. Frozen. Eric had had to drag her out of danger. And now-- And now--
She'd barely known him a day. He had been to teach her, to train her further where her brother had not...
She shut that thought out. They were still in danger, and the creatures which even now took Eric and his comrade's life, would just as soon take hers, if she did not follow her commander's orders. Fighting back tears of fury and impotence, she turned and ran to the trapdoor--but she did not climb down just yet.
"Derek!" she cried, grasping his free arm as she reached him. "Torches--and flint! If there is anything else down that hole, I want something that'll pray do more than our arrows have, dammit!"
"Then take it and get the hell down there!" he yelled, taking it from across his chest and shoving it at her; she nearly stumbled from the force, but held on grimly, taking out but one torch and the flint, slinging the rest of the bag across her back.
She worked as fast as her deft fingers would move; lighting the torch, tearing a piece of cloth from her tunic and lighting that, then tossing the torch down the staircase; she then tied the burning cloth to an arrow, just behind the arrowhead, and notched it in her bow, before rushing down the staircase.
Corben was a dozen feet behind her. He veered right, slamming a skeleton into the wall. His shoulderplate, like his armour, burned with its holy blessing, shattering layers of bone. The Marshall's hair was practically grey with necrotic dust.
Or was it the shock.... the knowledge that his mentor was gone?
Eric's first command to Corben had been on that mission, years ago, when they first encountered the Rove Maw. And now the same darkness had swallowed his final orders. A curse come full circle. A joke of cruel years. He felt his knees turn weak, as if all this time he had leant upon his predecessor and now could walk no further.
"DEREK! MOVE!"
His lieutenant was sprinting from the pillar and would be the last inside. He had counted Erilyn, Alyss, Jenra, Bjeorn, Leonardo and Arias going below. But of Malwin... or what was left of him... Corben had no concept. It was as if the man had slipped from his memory, as if he had been a ghost all along this night, fading on the edge of their perception.
The Marshall spun from the wall, sword cleaving a fiery track through the ribs of a second fiend. Then his back connected with a sturdier body and brought the hiss of his holy wards. His heart leapt. He turned, saw Tahan reeling from the collision. But there was no time to reflect on the irony. He grabbed the macabre bindings of the Legionnaire's armour and shoved him onwards. "Get below!"
The boy was lost in his frenzy, but could not resist the holy searing as their armour connected. He went below, Corben guiding him by the shoulder.
Derek would have to close the trapdoor behind them.
Derek's blade slashed through another row of skeletons. Even with half the room collapsed it ultimately made little difference in Derek's positioning as Bjorn had gone below. With one last slash Derek dashed for the trap door. Closing it would be a pointless act if the skeletons could just open it again. With that thought Derek began to descend, grabbing the feet of the obsidian altar he pushed to the side as he did. Pulling the altar over the opening just before the skeletal hands reached him all they could do is scratch at the tiniest gaps left between the floor and the altar's base. He thanked his lucky stars for the shape of the altar before coming down to the ground before retrieving the torch Jenra had dropped.
Through the emotionless metal plate of his helmet Derek looked to the faces of his companions. Alert, short of breath, and several among them tinged with grief. They had lost allies above in that hellish place. Eric in particular. First Aloysius now Eric. He could only imagine what kind of emotional train wreck Corben was going through. However in Derek's case adrenaline continued to pump through his body, allowing him to keep his focus. When no one made an immediate movement he turned his back to them and looked down the tunnel. His voice rang out, "There isn't any time for this. We need to keep moving."
Perhaps it was a trick of the light from the torch but he was almost certain her caught looks of disbelief, "We are still on a time limit and that fight cost us precious time. Unless we want to end up like the fallen of the past and of the present then we need to keep moving. There will be time for grief later. Steel your minds, no matter how painful it is and let's keep going. Time waits for no man or woman. Even those of the FateGuard..."
His words were firm, but he disliked the fact that he was the one to say this. To force his friends to suppress their sorrow and press on and ignore the losses they incurred. The words of the Archmage echoed in Derek's head.
"There are quite a few people who seem to think that you're the prime candidate to succeed Corben as Marshal and lead the FateGuard someday."
Those words gave Derek pause. "To force down your own emotions to guide others...is that what will have to happen if I do end up leading someday? Is that what Corben forces himself to do every single night...?" Derek took one last look back up to his comrades. "Let's go," his words were curt. He turned and looked down the hallway before them with a greater understanding of what Corben went through as leader.
And as the trapdoor slammed behind the last of them, billowing dust clogging the cramped passage down, the sound of quiet moans...like snow falling, faded into the silence behind them. One by one, they descended.
One by one, they were lead to the end.
************************************
The restless dead moved, puppeted and dancing as they propped up their newest kills and added them to the ranks. Eric, once so graceful as he evaded their fleshless grasp now slumped in perpetual half motion, his eyes listless and lost. His spirit had departed and yet did not escape. Like the others, it hovered somewhere in the cieling, in the fresco and paintings, forced to watch his mortal shell move with the others...he and Dimaethordis both.
Only one did not move in the same shambling gait. Malwin stood still as the trapdoor closed behind them and the dead turned to face him. They sought him with their sightless eyes, but really, they looked behind him...at the shadow looming without the use of light. It trailed long behind him, clamoring through his bandages.
"You've done well, Malwin." A voice said, hushed in its sepulchral whisper resounding through his bones, "I chose well."
Malwin was silent, a bandaged phantom.
"You may speak."
"Please..." It was a voice that had not escaped his lips since that night with the creature, the voice that had frozen in alarm as a shadow clawed into the imperfections of his heart. "Please...no more. Gods...no more."
But his body was not his own and it stood rigid.
"Your suffering is almost at an end," the voice whispered, coy, playful. Perhaps most horrifying was the edge of actual concern, twisted by...something deep below. "But one more task remains ahead of you."
"No." Horror. His hands moved to draw his daggers, trailing into his cloak to take the vials out one by one. Derek, Alyss, Corben, Jenra, Saint, Erilyn. Of the other two he had none, no time to collect and brew a poison fit to kill them. The clink of the vials slid into the daggers, and the bandages fell away.
A hiss and the sound of grinding stone led him to the altar at the front, twisting down into another staircase fading into darkness. He left his comrades behind, dead, to pursue the ones who still lived.
He was bade and his soul buckled beneath the titanic pressure of keeping the darkness from claiming all of him...he was not in control, had not been in control.
But there was one last reservoir of strength within him, and he clung to that...if nothing else.
As the party descended the staircase, the smell of purifying herbs still hung thick on the air. The first to step into the chamber and hoist their torch would be amazed, they all would, as a kaleidescope of colors crossed along the ceiling, moving in the firelight. The chamber was large, piles of sanctified riches crowded the walls in neat, untouched glory. Religious blades rested in the hands of twelve solemn statues, staggered so that the thirteenth figure, actually a tall sarcophagus was one of the two prime points of the room. The sarcophagus was a patchwork of strange symbols and pictures and two latches locked the lid in place. One had already been undone and it hung there like an accusation. The second point of interest was a throne beside the wall where they had exited. A simple thing of the same black stone the altar above them had been made of, it seemed to draw the eye, hold it...threaten to tear it away entirely.
Few had noticed, caught in the awe of the room, but Tahan had fallen strangely silent. Still.
"What is this place?" Derek asked quietly, the last to step out into the room, "Some holy tomb?"
"I recognize none of these from Gothenheim's pantheon," Saint muttered darkly, examining the frescoes, "How could this have come to be?"
"It was here before us," A voice said from across the room, and Malwin's figure loomed in the darkness. "Gothenheim was built above...I doubt the pilgrims ever knew."
"Malwin!" Corben snapped, grabbing a torch from Jenra and thrusting it at the shadows, "How?"
Malwin evaded the light, the shadows almost protective around him, and the light only seemed to catch the glimmer of his eyes, his teeth. "There was a passageway against the opposite wall," he lied coldly, "I accidentally triggered it and ended up down here...are you all safe?"
"Malwin..." Alyss said his name almost like a prayer, half hiccuped, but her sorrow withheld.
"Light the brazier," Malwin suggested, "Let's see if there's another way out."
Corben lowered his torch to one of the braziers set along the wall besides the religious relics. Immediately, every brazier, twelve in total, lit along the walls to cast a ghost light over the room. Malwin stepped against one of the statues, preserving his cloak of anonymity, but the light that caught the ceiling, the treasures, it blinded them.
And in that blindness, pictures moved through their minds, slithering understanding.
They saw the Empire. They saw Lumin.
And they saw Prince Nadir.
******************************************
Once, many years ago, an empire sprawled across the dark lands beyond Gothenheim. A holy beacon, hundreds of the sick and poor clamored for entry. Once it had been bathed in celestial radiance, all who came found their lives renewed and their spirits filled with purpose.
At that time, the city was led by the clergy, commanded by a council of twelve high priests, all in veneration to the God-prince Tamoldes. Born of sunlight and prayer, as the rumor said, he had showed uncanny wisdom and unrivaled holy powers in his youth, and so found himself risen by the council as the center piece of their empire. Surely, none could say justice was not done.
But the boy was a curious one and spent years thinking on the nature of sin, of vice. To him, the natural inclinations of man to do wrong to their fellow was a demon within them that demanded to be purged. Surely, salvation could not come to the masses if their souls had not been cured of the desire to be damned. And so with his twelve he forged a throne of holy stone, white as driven snow, a seat that had the ability to cast the demons from the people's souls. To the horror of the Fateguard, they witnessed the same beasts they had defended against their many horrifying vigils cast from the darkness of people's own vices.
At that time, the monsters were dealt with, destroyed.
But it was not enough.
There was only one throne and so many people...and so the Prince devised a plan to take the horrors into himself. Surely his own purity could do battle and defeat the monsters within the souls of his people. Surely.
And so the twelve gathered to the twelve corners of the empire, shepherding the people inside and...as one, performed a rite of exorcism unlike any conceived of before. Although they held their doubts, they did as they were told and focused the sins of the people, their vices, their weaknesses, all to the white throne of the Prince Tamoldes. Surely he would banish these horrors and bring the people of this empire into an age of spiritual enlightenment.
But they had underestimated the horrors within the hearts of man.
The white throne turned black, overwhelmed by the corruption and Prince Tamoldes died instantly.
And the monsters he had thought to purge burst forth from him and tore the empire to pieces...casting the land into cursed darkness forevermore....
Here was the last bastion of those priests, the ones who had taken the body of their savior and buried him here. But why they had used so many runes on the inside, or why his tomb was latched was obscured.
What brought them out of the vision was the sound of a child crying.
From behind the Prince's sarcophagus, Malwin's daughter emerged. She was weak, starving, barely able to walk for toll this place had taken on her. To the shock of the party she started for them, holding out her pitiful hands, eyes wide in terror.
But Malwin stepped in front of her and roughly hurled her backward, where she tumbled to a stop and did not move.
"Perhaps I was not so honest before," he said to them, standing in front of the sarcophagus, "You see, I wasn't saving my family that night...no, far from. It took the life force of my wife and some child I took from the street to empower my runes and summon the Rove Maw. I needed it, and further, I needed both you and my daughter to come down here. Wave something corrupt in your faces and you all just wag your tails like trained dogs."
"No..." Corben's eyes were wide, his grip clentched against his sword. He'd seen others fall to corruption in the last few days, others of his group, the guardians of the city. Now another member had been cast to darkness and he had been so desperate not to believe it, that he'd led them all into a trap.
But Saint was not bound by the same prison that held the others in shock. He roared, hefting his hammer and charging his half-brother. Bringing his hammer up, he brought it around, intent to crush Malwin into the side of the sarcophagus, destroy the stain on his bloodline and the damnation of souls HE should have saved in one blow.
But Malwin was not human anymore, and when the hammer met surface, it only met the second latch on the sarcophagus, crushing it in a brilliant flash of light.
Saint felt a sting on the back of his neck and the shadow that once was Malwin moved faster than any man should, arms too long, legs too long, into the midst of the Fateguard. Corben and Derick put up their blades, but felt the bite of something in the joints of their armor. Likewise did Jenra and Eryilyn.
Alyss could not speak, could barely move. The blow of betrayal hit her hardest and so when the not-Malwin descended before her, slicing up her arm with his blade, she asked in that pitiful voice, all sorrow and desertion, "How...How long?"
"The whole time."
Saint whirled on his half brother, the light fully catching the thing that Malwin no longer was. He was dark, like ink, but his outline shimmered as though made of smoke. His eyes were piercing white points now, devilish and narrowed. His mouth was thrice as wide as any human and filled with razor teeth, the same razors on the ends of his fingers and toes. His limbs were grossly out of proportion, nimble and graceful in a terrifying way.
In both hands glittered his daggers.
And Corben knew before he felt the world spin, what horrors he had left.
Strangely, Tahan had not moved an inch the hole time. As the rest of the Fateguard wrenched out their weapons, he stood immobile.
Until Derek moved on Malwin and a heavy gauntlet smashes the knight to his knees. Red light burst from the armor and the child was no longer in control. The darkness, the originator of darkness bade the armor move...and so it did. But no longer did it fight against the corruption, but for it. Turning on his former allies, Tahan was helpess to stop his suit as every holy sigil and sign burned to dust beneath the weight of power here.
Ok all, a lot happened so let me explain. In the interest of not taking forever, I put a lot of stuff in this post. Malwin is a monster now and all but Bjeorn and Wolfsin are poisoned (wanted to give you guys a moment to shine). The rest of you are poisoned. This will sap your energy and will to fight so it's a race against time to stop Tahan and Malwin. Keep in mind, it's Tahan's armor that's controlled, not Tahan. If you can get out, more power to you, but that armor is berserk. I'll intervene when necessary, but go ahead and mess up Malwin good (just don't make it look too easy). Sorry this all seemed thrown at ya, but I want to move ahead toward the end of the chapter.
Derek was...unsurprised to say the least. Malwin surviving the Rove Maw had been an anomaly. They should have never let him come down with them. Though he knew full well what Malwin had done, Derek felt no immediate effects. Slow acting perhaps? Adrenaline dulling the effects? It didn't much matter at the moment. Poison wasn't something Derek would call a foolish choice, but it was without a doubt a redundant one. All it did was add a time limit and in this case there already was one. Alondite roared to life, bathing the chamber in light as he brought his armored fist up into Tahan's chest, knocking the suit of armor back away from his comrades. The had to get back to the surface. There was only one person that could help them now. Malwin was a poisoner and poisoners didn't carry antidotes to their poisons, "We need to end this now if we're going to make it back to the surface. Atlas is likely the only person who can help us now. We have to kill Malwin. We no longer have the luxury of time to try and save him," He turned towards the other side of the chamber where he had knocked Tahan.
"You can leave him to me."
As much as Derek would have liked to used his present situation as an excuse to kill Tahan then and there he knew better than to rattle the church's cages. His role would be simple: Keep Tahan out of the fight and away from the rest of the FateGuard so they may fight Malwin. Or whatever was left of him at this point.
Tahan would prove to be...a unique opponent to Derek. His observations of the dragon they fought was a clear indicator that he had immense physical strength in the armor. While he was certain the massive cleaver didn't possess any properties that could pierce the Regalia he couldn't discount the possibility that those dragon tooth daggers were hidden somewhere. Even if they weren't the two of them were strong enough to at least knock one another off their feet if not across the room.
For all intents and purposes they were likely to be evenly matched. Derek took his stance.
"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about this fight before. Let's see what you're made of."
Derek charged and as Alondite and Tahan's cleaver began to scrape and smash against one another as a herald to the final battle they would have in the Rove Maw.
"Malwin...." Her voice trembled, her eyes filled with hurt and distrust. She stumbled to the ground for a moment, knowing full-well what had happened... She knew what was happening to her body, and, knowing Malwin, he had tailored it specifically... hell, she had counted on the thought of it when she was more afraid of loosing her humanity- but.... seems like he was the one that was dealing with the lack of humanity now.
Blood ran cold rivers down her arm and for a moment, she remained still.
For a moment, she wanted to accept it, just give in... The betrayal was too much for her to take- or so she thought, until she saw Derek move into action... But... She didn't think she could fight like this... her arm was hindered too much to draw an arrow and fire a meaningful shot... even if she could- it was doubtful that she could bring herself to harm the man...
"Malwin." She muttered the name, a soft plea among the chaos, her eyes gleamed with a fire, determination. She couldn't do much... but... she hoped that it would help, that it would be enough. Please- gods be kind- let it be enough. She moved to her feet slowly, trying to figure out what she was working with... figuring out what she had left in her bag of tricks.
"MALWIN!" She uttered the cry like a beast coming unglued, a desperate and angered shriek, taking off as fast as she could, going towards him.
Flashes of all the moments they had spent together spun through her mind- six months of trust gained, six months of tenderness, six months of silent understanding, six months of secrecy. Six months to prove she had something else inside of her besides a monster- trapped in the skin of a human. Six months.
Like sand drifting through her hands, she let the memories slip away for the time being... she had gathered what she needed from them- a driving force, a push in the right direction.
There was no way she could harm him... not a single way... but... She could still fight. She could still help... Her hands tightened into fists, her uninjured arm going for an arrow- but, strangely, she had shrugged off her bow in the last few seconds.
"I will not hurt you." She spoke softly, only for his ears- her actions would be enough to others to let them know she wasn't able to fight against him in this battle- her voice like silk, yet, emotionless. The arrow was not for him... it was only an aide to a wounded arm. "But I cannot allow you to do this... I will not let your madness damn us...I am sorry..." She added, her tone even and calm as she offered the slightest hint of a smile, marred by the sorrow and distrust. She threw herself at him, hoping to take him off balance and to hinder movement. The shaft the arrow pressed against his throat, not to strangle, but to help her hang on, and she held on, locking herself on as best she could. Had she entrapped an arm? Hopefully... but doubtful...
And then she did what she could to call on what little control she had of the cold within her body. Dropping temperature as quickly as she could, her joints stiffening into place and frost covering her skin again, . Let her be the shackles of this man, let her be the one to bring a moment's chance for a strike. She'd do her best to hold him still, though, she wasn't even sure if this tactic would work...Her body was rapidly weakening...
"STRIKE HIM! ALL I CAN DO IS HINDER HIM, DON'T YOU DARE LET HIM GET THE BEST OF US!" She called out as she did what she could to hold him still... Colder.... colder... She'd get tossed off easily with enough force... but...
Some part of her hoped he wouldn't resist... some part of her hoped that luck would grant her one boon. Then again, luck wasn't seeing to be part of today's plan.
Arias didn't find any comfort in the absolute darkness that plagued them on the floor below. No light passed and it was hardly plausible to see ones hand, held out before them. Still he could make out the sot tone of Leonardo who was lecturing Alyss, about the worth of her life, the others came down soon enough, and finally the trapdoor shut for the last time, truly allowing them to remain in darkness. His skin crawled with each second spent here, a cold chill that crept along his spine tainted hi courage quite a bit. After all this was his first mission, away from the Charter house, and he was already thrown head first into Zombies, and the true evils of this cursed place, but he had little time for his own thoughts as a soft voice emerged from the Darkness, and the commander openly recognized it to be Malwin.
Arias stepped forward, trying to get a look at the Poisoner, that had served the Fate Guard for so long, but that of itself was close to impossible. Then Corben drew light to the torches, which triggered a chain reaction. The ceiling, ornamental of so many colors and histories caught him off guard. Treasured items remained, and statues of what could only be Watchmen of the night like themselves but aged far beyond the forbearance of death. Malwins tones had distorted slightly as he spoke to them, and soon the true wonder of this place took hold upon their minds.
A story was revealed, one that was not meant to be found, and with it a grasping understanding at the curse that consumed this world. Outside of these walls were creatures, of true darkness, a ever looming shadow that engulfed everything, but what could be said for this Darkness, and even more for Malwin. Arias felt he understood, like he had known for ages about the great prince, but he never had, none of them knew of this, but why now, what was the point of showing this now?
Suddenly a soft whimper of a voice emerged out of the sparsely illuminated darkness. A small girl stepped forth, and even reached out to them. She prayed silently with her gentle gaze, and Arias recognized her to be the Daughter of the man before them, the little girl to Malwin and his ill wife, but why? He started one foot in front of the other, though surely someone was bound to place a hand out to stop him. Then out of nowhere, Malwins hand distorted and with a quick flash of a movement he smacked the girl back intot he Sarcophagus that sat behind them, her body fallimg limp as a doll to the ground. "Gods have mercy.." he prayed to himself as he stepped forward and drew his weapon again. There was not much that could be done with his abilities, but it made him feel at least some security in the absolute confusion of this mess.
Leonardo Rushed forward, before any of them could, not hearing the words of treachery that left the rest of them confused, and disoriented. His divine hammer struck out aiming to claim Malwin, and end this foul darkness with a single strike, but it would not be so easy as this Ghost of a man proved to them quickly enough. Arias was already dancing his pale blue eyes about the ill lighted darkness searching, for things that might help their situation, with facing a challenge like this. A low groan escaped Lonardos lips as the bite of Malwins, daggers bit into their flesh, then others as well, Alyss being the most distraught of the group in this treachery. A ghost flitted around them now, biting them with the sting of those daggers in the softest points of most of their Armor. Bjeorn and himself were not hit by some miracle, and Tirian could only think of one strategy in that time. His voice sounded above the chaos like a chorus of Angels in perfect unison. "Back to Back, it will preserve our blind spots!" he turned and moved so that his back met with Bjeorns as he glanced about desperately.
Then with the loud shriek of a war cry almost he realized that Alyss was not having it, nor Derick. Tahan, in the midst of the Chaos had lost control of his mighty armor and now clashed like a Giant with Derick and the mighty sword Alondite. Alyss charged forward, even though her weapons all but dropped to the ground before she lunged in and tried to grapple the Shadow like creature that once had been Malwin. Arias looked out in terror, realize just how vulnerable she had made herself, that this Demon Malwin could kill her with little to no effort at all as she was, he almost thought to break his own rules for a moment, but found that his eyes were already betraying that notion as he glanced about and sought some viable way of ending this quickly. "Fire.." he thought for a second, but realized that unless Malwin discarded Alyss it was a useless thought.
His body trembled desperately as he felt the full pressure of being a part of this company and measured the weight. "I need him distracted." He could only pray the others would allow him that grace period, to sort out his methods, fire still remained the only Viable option but they needed to rescue Alyss, and assuming they moved while she held him then there was a chance they could end this very quickly. In the corner a bit off he seen a chain and he leaned back to speak his plan to his partner that cover his back, but the distraction would be the important part. So He would wait for that moment and then he would dash to the chain, from there he had already figured his path, Now he just had to pray that it all worked out. Bejorn knew he had a plan, and he could only hope the others could trust him enough for this as well, after all if he couldn't be valued to lead them from this Darkness then what sort of Shepherd was he?
Bjeorn was dumb founded at the sight of Malwin, was this really the poisoner who had worked so hard to keep the city safe, this distorted monster? Had he really fallen so low as to become the very thing he'd sworn to stand against, to kill? Bjeorn's couldn't help but be enraged by the betrayal he'd committed not only to FateGuard but also all of Gothenheim.
He'd just about given into his rage when he heard Arias's voice call to him, his focus snapped to the young warrior as if it had been pulled to him by an unseen force. He wanted Malwin distracted, Bjeorn felt more than happy to oblige. Axe in hand Bjeorn charged the poisoner intent on taking them man's head for what he had done.
He swung wildly at Malwin determined to reduce him to nothing for his transgressions against his allies. Although he was genuinely concerned about injuring Alyss he couldn't help but throw his all at Malwin despite what might happen to her. His anger had begun to build and if he wasn't careful the poisoner wouldn't be the only one his blade struck. He had to remain calm, though it would be easy to give in to his anger and charge forward while the armor numbed his pain, he still had allies he had to be careful of.<o:p></o:p>
The circle collapsed. Those who had stood back to back with Arias now dropped to hands and knees. Erilyn and Jenra were down... and Leonardo had collapsed by the sarcophagus, the limp form of Malwin's daughter beside him. As Bjeorn made his charge there was only one still standing with Arias.
Corben threw his helmet off, swayed, gripped Arias's shoulder to stay upright. Sweat was streaming on a flushed face, the eyes fluttering. "Go..." the Marshall's voice rasped. "Do what you must."
Then he staggered past him, to the space between the wrestling Malwin and the stand-off between Derek and Tahan. There he crashed down on one knee, breath coming in ragged gasps.
The Poisoner's touch... he had seen it so many times, night after night, victories won as the greatest fiends were devoured by their own blood. And now Malwin had turned his talent upon the FateGuard. How long had he hoarded their blood? From what encounters or trespasses had he harvested it? With every acidic pulse of toxin came flashes of the story of Tamoldes, the sacrificial god-prince, the black throne, the seeding of the Farborn Field. What connected this to Malwin, to the luring of his daughter, the Rove Maw, the Wounded Hand, the Legionnaires, the Monolith on the hillside, Eric...
The thoughts cascaded to a maddened scream. It was all too much. Corben fell forward, his sword pinned beneath the weight of his armour. His strength was spent. Malwin's poison spelled one end alone: death. He would follow Eric into darkness, and like the God-Prince Tamoldes his deeds would be for nothing.
And in that he beheld the only sense, the only logic amidst delirium. The story of Tamoldes was a parting mockery - an allegory of Corben's own demise.
He almost laughed, rolling onto his back, staring up at the glittering ceiling.
"Amadea..." His wife's name hung upon a whisper, as his heart began to pound.
The first into the trapdoor, Erilyn had watched the others of the Guard rush down into the opening to keep her company but only from the corner of her eye. She was looking hard at the shapes in the semi-light, trying to discern the meaning of the elaborate tomb resting here beneath the city. The surges of light and purity, as though in memory, gave her a sense of light-headedness and befuddlement as she tried to make sense of it all.
Before any conclusion could be reached, however, Malwin had reappeared. Before the words that he spoke could even resonate properly in her ears, there was a stinging pain at Erilyn's collarbone. Surprised, her eyes widened and she clamped her teeth, gritting them against the insidious pain that was already creeping through her. The wound itself was not severe, little more than a small puncture from the dagger embedded in her chest, but the true injury came from another source. Whether the betrayal or the poison was causing Erilyn more pain, she could not say.
With a small gasp of air, Erilyn wrapped her fingers around the hilt of the dagger, all but oblivious to everything else until it was pulled unceremoniously from her skin. A bright bloom of blood seemed to pool forth at once, coating her mail in the dilute red fluid. With the small blade taken from her, she lifted her head to look about once more to the chaos that had ensued while her attention was self-centered and occupied with her own pain.
Derek seemed almost keen in fighting the suit of, no, there was a person within that armor. Were they corrupt as Malwin had become? The possibility seemed likely, the metal groaned in compliance to some will and struck against the Fateguard themselves. As for Malwin, Alyss had clung to him at once, crying that she would hinder him but taking no real action to do him harm so close as she was to the throat, the pulsing vessels of lifeblood close to her fingertips. She could not do more, or she would not?
It was almost a battle in itself to stay upright, the poison touched so near the heart that it entered her circulation rapidly. Erilyn swayed a little her expression furious at having been caught unawares by the poisoner. Shame to him for having turned, but a shame on them also for letting themselves be taken advantage of, she thought. Lifting her shield, which felt heavier than it had since she'd begun her training, Erilyn advanced, her eyes trained on Malwin. He could not be allowed to do more harm to Saint, who was already injured and struck with a dagger by all appearances. He was in no position to take any more abuse, though he had lashed out against Malwin bravely and allowed the others a chance to move.
"Vilest of wretches, the death of your own blood not enough to sate your thirst for backstabbing? You must also see slain the family formed by the Guard who took you in?" She expected no reply, unsure if her words were even heard, but she was not sure even she would live through this fight and she'd be furious if she died without at least this spiteful observation made.
The closer the group traveled to the nexus of darkness, the thicker the bundle of threads around its hands seemed to get. Gossamer threads hung thick in the air and tunnel, dense enough altogether to act like fog. Yet they were translucent, and it could clearly see through them to the place that called it. And as they entered the final altar, it suddenly remembered what it originally was.
Its jaw ripped open, the thick hemp bindings nothing more than a maiden's hair. And as their group fell into array, the carefully inked scriptures on Tahan's body were splashed into incoherence with great violence; if he could be seen, it would have been like someone whipped him with a lash soaking in black dye. And the jaw hung open, quivering, and though no sound emitted the taunt it issued to Derrick silently ringed around the cavern.
Betrayal and emotions fell on deaf ears as it raised its cleaver. Before it could cleave the nearest living being - Corben - in two, another suit of armour, but metallic, threw it backwards with a great blow. The human parasite inside its body was not protected out of any goodwill, but rather because the armour itself was so strong.
It landed against the side of the wall in the same position as it was originally introduced; deeply reclining in a pile of rubble, a fallen king. As it rose it tore at the dead, useless skin sewn around its magnificent skeleton, until all that remained was the boy housed inside a cage of bone, lashed to it by tendon and dried sinew. Thus Tahan's present condition was fully revealed for all to see, as well as the cracked ribs that protected him from the metal armour's blow. It tore away those damaged ribs and twitched a commanding finger: fresh ones rose from the ground, dragged by the ethereal thread, and it welded them, fresh, onto its rib cage.
"All must submit to the throne of bone!"
It advanced on the metal suit, bone slivers flowering and crumbling to dust on each step, and engaged in trifles and sword play with the metal hunk it wielded as a sword. Derek's armour may have had great enchantment, but it soon began to scratch and dent under relentless blows, for dragon bone itself was also a mythical material. However, it began to notch and crack under their fierce play, and his shield also began to fall apart from Alondite's mighty blows.
"I have risen again to spar with the FateGuard! War is truly eternal!" The laughter was deep and booming, and did not come from Tahan's throat. He had cuts on his body from flying slivers of bone and metal, and he seemed to be bruised as well as obviously unconscious.
Though weapon and shield were broken, the King did not hesitate. It stabbed the shield into the ground and threw the huge cleaver at Corben. With the shield hand it tugged at one of the many threads on its fingers, and out of the dirt rose a bone that once belonged to some beast, which it now wielded as a savage club, looking to cave Derek's skull in.
Derek coughed through labored breathing. It was the only chance he had for a moment to catch himself. It was unsettling to have the Regalia damaged. It had been the first time in a long time and it meant that he would likely need to spend the next night repairing it.
Even through the adrenaline rush and the focus it brought Derek could tell his limbs weren't reacting normally. Once or twice he'd felt his knee almost buckle in the middle of the fight. Malwin's poison was working, though he couldn't tell how well. Derek was a hard man to wound. His blood couldn't have been easy to get, let alone a good amount of it. Regardless, he had to find a way to end this and quickly. The others were locked in battle with Malwin, unable to help. He had to keep fighting. The consequences of stopping would prove fatal for he and his companions. Drawing his sword up again Derek's blade met the bone the armor had drawn. The blow did not shatter the bone like he had expected. It did leave a sizable gash in the side however and left the two locked together with he and his opponent struggling against one another to pull loose. When the weapons finally came apart it sent the two tumbling away from one another. Seeing the remains of Tahan's shield to his side he gripped what was left of it by the handle and threw it into the breastplate of the king.
As much as Derek would have liked to simply cleave the armor in two to be rid of it and Tahan both he knew that would be like hitting an hornet's nest with a branch in regards to the church. Even when they were not present they were obstructive and did little more than make his job harder than it had to be. Seeing the king across from him rise Derek readied himself again, ignoring the fact that his left leg was shaking. Despite this Derek found the strength to let forth a challenging shout.
Rage poisoned his blood every bit as much as the foul concoction that now ran through his veins. Betrayal had set loose the darkest parts of his soul and let them run rampant. He would not let this go unpunished by his hand so long as an ounce of strength remained within him. The rest of the FateGuard now experienced for themselves the evil Leonardo always believed to dwell within Malwin. All of them led into a trap deep underground from which there was little possibility for escape. The entire time he had suspected something was wrong. . . but knew the others would not hear it from him. Now things had changed. Nothing held him back now from trying to destroy the one who had brought him so much pain and shame. They could not defend him from Saint's wrath any longer.
Every blow he had tried to land against Malwin's inhuman form failed to strike true. It made no sense to him. Of all the weapons present he believed his Combat Crucifix would be the most effective against this sinner reborn from shadows. Yet it struck nothing at all. What could he do? Down here no sunlight could aid them against such coalescing darkness. Poison tailored especially for him sapped his body of strength with each passing second, draining the strength to fight from his body.
But the iron will remained and resisted.
Blackness gathered at the edges of his vision as his gaze fell upon the young girl beside him on the floor. Malwin's own daughter. . . cast aside as nothing more than a means to achieve his evil ends. Pity filled his heart in that moment for the girl hose own father cared nothing for her life. Resentment for his Half-brother would never die but this girl had done nothing wrong. Leonardo had watched over the girl and her mother from a distance ever since they entered Malwin's life. For all the hatred he felt for that man, in truth they were all the family he had left in this corrupt world. Mercy and forgiveness many none would suspect Saint to hold existed for them and them alone. Compassion for that ill fated mother and daughter now compelled him onward.
". . .Diana. . ."
Leonardo took the girl's limp body into his arms, his eyes stinging with tears as he mourned for the loss of an innocent child. Rage that had consumed with white hot fire now found itself drowned out in a deep well of sadness. Emotions that were draining on stamina already fading fast. At this point he could not even stand up on both feet. Instead he remained on the ground clutching Diana's corpse to his white robes. Few choices remained for him now. . . but his faith was an eternal spring where his last hope now laid.
"Saint Michael the Archangel,
Defend us in battle;
Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil.
May God rebuke him, we humbly pray:
And do thou, O Prince of the heavenly host,
by the power of God,
thrust into hell Satan and all the evil spirits
who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls. . ."
His eyes shut as one last word escaped his lips in a devout whisper
". . .Amen."
At last he had fallen silent, leaving what remained of the FateGuard to fight as he fell into a deep slumber.
Moments later, his eyes shot wide open. . . glowing with an eerie blue light.
Unsettling to even those who could not see the supernatural, an aura washed out across the chamber. No longer did Leonardo lay still. His entire body convulsed in the throes of something otherworldly getting ready to enter their world. A presence that every creature of corruption present could sense the second it awoke. One that was using Saint as a doorway, a living conduit, so that it could come into active existence. No longer would the presence remain dormant inside of Saint's very soul. Locked away within Leonardo every waking moment, it could only protect him so much. But now this Guardian had no choice but to assert itself. Evils that boasted dominion over this place now shuddered in recognition of what was coming into the midst of the maw.
Revolting to those who dwelt in Darkness, the mere sight of what emerged from Leonardo caused Malwin to recoil with a sinister hiss.
Distracted by this new opponent, the Betrayer almost entirely forgot about Bjeorn and Arias. Though they too stared at this mighty Guardian in awe for a few moments. Every member of the FateGuard that still retained their sight beheld the ethereal entity. Adorned in armor angelic, the imposing figure took two steps from where Leonardo laid unconscious. Eyes of azure crystal set in a face of pristine porcelain glowed with a calm certainty that it would prevail. Darkness despised such a knowing gaze that pierced through all the fear and confusion. At once it appeared both a person and a phantasm. Feathers of wings that were not quite wings sprouted from it's back. One would doubt they could ever cut it down. . . while fearing it would cut them down with the mighty sword in it's hand.
Right then, Arias tossed the chains around Malwin with Bjeorn's aid to immobilize the possessed poisoner right in front of the black throne. A howling gale rose up in place of footsteps as the Guardian charged with the ethereal edge of it's sword raised to strike. Dust from those long since dead now swirled all around as the distance between them dwindled. Feathers from another world left in it's wake floated in the air before they fell to the ground and vanished. Unable to escape, he could only watch as the spectral sword slid into his chest up to the hilt with the smoothness of a dream. Impalement was not the end, however. Once struck, the two kept moving with such force that it sent his body flying through the air and directly onto the seat of the black throne.
In certain circles it was regarded with respect when the gears of history began to churn. So long had Gothenheim remained in its endless cycle of quiet days followed by nightly purging that people may have forgotten what it meant to be at peace. The sons and daughters of dead men and women would raise the banner of the Fateguard high, step into battle proudly, and leave the fatherless daughters and the motherless sons to take the fabric where it fell...where their skin, and stand again.
Most of the Fateguard saw nothing. The shadow of divinity was hidden from the eyes of those cursed with mortal souls. Those, however, that could see beyond...who were beyond, saw the creature like a veil had rippled the air. Alyss was hurled from the shoulders of her once lover and the chains shattered in the blow that took the shadowy denizen directly into the throne.
There was a hiss, a thousand chorused screams like locusts.
Shadows lifted from Malwin, mixing with the air and then thundering into the armor that once held Tahan. It shook, cracked, bone growing denser, darker. Tahan was thrown from the chasis in a vile explosion, like vomitting the only purity the suit once held. Warped skin splayed across the armor, shadowy, a dusky hue...and crept along curves, never quite connecting.
There was a face...or the suggestion of one.
And Malwin, golden hair lank across his pale face, lay in the black throne...a hand pressed to the spreading crimson stain that ran across his bandages. The scars, those scars that had marked him cursed these many years were gone. His eyes beheld the world again, between the pain of breaths, in such a shocking blue that they might as well have glowed.
"Alyss..." he whispered, bloody bubbles collecting at the corners of his mouth, "Please..." He spit, reaching into a utility pouch he kept around his waist. With shaking hands he drew out a vial, a milky substance sloshed within. In his times of control, as brief as they were, Malwin had concocted an antidote for the poison that now coursed through his comrade's veins. Now he held it out to Alyss with senseless fingers, apologizing with his eyes. He could never say enough to her, to his wife, to his daughter, to any of them...how the shadows had found a place in his heart, how they had festered there.
With his night-eyes he had watched them accept that darkness, welcome it, trust it. How many hours had he screamed himself hoarse in his own skull, begging them to strike him down, to purge this darkness from him?
And how it never came.
The armor twisted, bringing its cleaver down on Derek's sword, knocking him back against one of the silent, watchful pillars.
As Alyss neared, Malwin pointed weakly at the armor, shuddering, "He wanted us here...planned...it. I tried to...fight. Gods but I...tried. Innocent hands and righteous...hands, have broken the...seal." He gestured to the sarcophogus damaged by Leo's hammer. "Need...to...get out."
The armor was striding across the room, past the weakening bodies of the Fateguard.
Arias and Bjeorn rose to oppose its progress, blades flashing in the dim light of the flames. The armor only laughed, bringing up its cleaver and charging in. Down came the cleaver, and as Arias intercepted it, he was thrown from his feet and across the room, narrowly landing on his heels and wincing. Bjeorn proved more challenging, locking weapons with the armor...the two struggled for a moment, a timeless moment in this massacre of a place.
Derek roared, casting his weakness aside for the moment he needed to drag his blade up and crash it down into the armor, splintering the chest and shadowflesh there, driving it to a knee. His vision swam, he sank to a knee, faltered...but Erilyn was there beside him, pushing him to his feet, her own bone-pale face and wide eyes giving him the answer he already knew.
They would all die here if they fell now.
Might surged through Derek and he tore the blade from the armor, separating an entire shoulder and arm from the thing which fell and shattered.
The armor wheeled on him, and Derek was too weak to avoid it smashing a gauntlet down on his shoulder, knocking him to the ground.
"More fight in your flesh than I'd suspected," it muttered with a chuckle, "If I wasn't so pressed, I'd want to enjoy this more."
But it continued, stepping to the coffin and throwing open the door.
Inside, a bandaged...thing, sunken, decrepit, fell out and into the armor's one good arm. The shadows clung to it, drank into it, and the armor placed the figure safely within it, bones knitting together around the fragile corpse. But to those awake, that corpse moved...something of unimaginable dread turned eyes that could only see hate upon those in the room, basked in their suffering, fed on it.
Not....Now
The whisper filled the room, filled their minds with its chill.
Need...time.
The armor loosed an almost human snarl, but did not turn on the Fateguard, lumbering toward one of the back walls.
Arias and Bjeorn rose to prevent it passage, but something beyond its ribcage caught their gaze...and neither could move. Each saw every tiny sin they ever committed. Every failing, every weakness, and saw it twist into the very demons they fought night after night. Their own sins devoured the innocent. Their own broken promises, moral failings, tiny failures...they murdered each and every citizen of Gothenheim.
And the weight of it paralyzed them.
The plan had not gone perfectly. Malwin, the vessel, was purged. The thing from the tomb was weakened, not strengthened, with its recent ressurection. Had Malwin not poisoned the Fateguard before, it almost certainly would have been destroyed...close...too close.
And to be nearly outdone by humans.
Your...homes...
It gasped
will...burn.
And then the armor pushed the stone portion of the wall aside, revealing a passageway deeper into the labrynthine darkness.
No one followed and the stone door closed.
And then...and only then, the darkness and corruption seemed to bleed from the place, vanish...and all it left was the wounded and the dying, and Alyss holding the only cure to their deliverance.
Malwin did not smile...could not, his body felt light and cool. For a moment, he closed his eyes, wishing only that he could somehow redeem himself, redeem them all.
There wasn't much choice, or really, need for one. She moved as quickly as she could, seeking out Eirlyn, passing the vial to her. "I trust him, it has to be the cure... A poisoner should always go through great lengths to procure an antidote to their poisons... Please give it to the rest and yourself, I'll go last, if that's alright..." She spoke softly, though her last words were not seeming to refer to what timing she'd deal with her own poisoning, but rather, the internal question of... did she deserve it at all?
Her feet took her back to the throne where Malwin lay, hands working to try and stem the flow of blood, trying to fix the damage that had been wrought upon his body. No, she wasn't trained nearly enough to deal with something of this magnitude, her medical skills were nothing like that of her mentor.... her father... and her movements were slowed and pain slightly showed on her face, though she tried biting back most of it. She wanted to help.
Sure, the fight had ended for now, it seemed... but... she could not save this man alone, and was there enough reasonable doubt in the rest of their group to conclude that whatever had come to possess Malwin, seemed to have passed? Or... would her words even be enough to inspire trust him him again? Garner support to save him?
Or...
"His family... his daughter.... Is she alright?" She spoke as she moved, removing a small satchel from a pocket in her outfit, the only thing useful in there were herbs to help stem the blood flow, thicken it... She winced in pain again, all the excitement and fear of the battle had left her, and she was left distracted now by the pain she felt. Still, she didn't feel like asking for an antidote until the rest had dealt with their poison.
She worked to apply what she could, try and fix what had been done.
While she worked, she spoke softly, a repeated plea. Only loud enough for Malwin to hear it, if he was even still listening.
"Please don't die, don't leave me, stay with me." The words were soft and slow but repeated, a sense of frenzied fear to them. Betrayal could be overlooked, but death was something far beyond what she could work with. The comprehension that it was even a possibility scared her.... perhaps it was also a reason she was delaying in taking the antidote... should her efforts fail, and others prove useless as well... would she be able to go back to the way things were before she had stumbled upon this new emotion? Could she act as though none of it occurred and move on? Was her doubt so severe?
"I can't fix this on my own... Please... Help." The facade was breaking, emotion was shining through, if it wasn't obvious before... clues should be able to be aligned now or later when the heat of battle and rush of saving yourself from poisoning were behind them... it just wasn't as important to hide anymore. Her lover was bleeding out and she couldn't fix it... Someone else had to... had to have what was needed to help these wounds. The herbs she brought weren't for wounds like this, she needed more training, let alone more tools to try and help the situation... Slowly, she started to turn to face the others. "He spoke now with clarity... his form is untainted... What gripped him has left him and he knows what was done was wrong... he wasn't in control..." she trailed off, then focused on Corben.
"Please..." Her eyes sought out for their leader, an answer, desperation shone in her eyes. "I know what he has done, and the mistakes he has made- but, I'd stake my life on this- he's worth saving. Should his punishment truly be carried out by the curse of mortality? Would that even atone for what has happened?" She continued, gripping at what she could to appeal to humanity, appeal to what was just and right... would that save him, though? Her heart was heavy in her throat, and she went back to trying to trying to stem the flow of blood, her cold hands fumbling.
"Malwin, please... open your eyes...Look at me... Please... hear my words and stay a little longer... please... Your family... your daughter, don't leave her to be an orphan..." The words bubbled from her lips as she searched through her pouches. Trying to find anything else, anything that could help. Anything that would help keep this stable.
"Don't die... please... I worked with my mentor for so long to try and help cure your family... You never stopped trying to heal their ailments... you never gave up on trying to find a cure... don't let yourself die yet..." Nothing. She had nothing else. She always packed light and usually was merely prepared for mild wounds, nothing like this... "Stop bleeding... stop bleeding!" She shrieked, her body starting to shake, tears welding her eyes shut for a moment. "It's ok, I knew you wouldn't deceive us like that... I knew you wouldn't do that... You weren't yourself..." She spoke and spoke and rambled on, like it was the only thing keeping her from falling to despair in this situation. "It's ok... just stay with us... please... We've lost too many people already... " She added, trembling as she noticed just how much blood there was.
"Oh gods help us." She murmured, her body shuddering.
OOC:
[SPOILI]Alyss relinquishes the antidote to Erilyn to disperse, wanting to try and tend to Malwin first. She's not equipped well enough to help stem the flow of blood and appeals to the others for help, trying to justify saving him. Her frenzied actions as well as other hints in the past few days probably should line up now to be pretty obvious what's going on between the Poisoner and herself.[/SPOILI]
It wasn't until it was too late to pursue that Derek managed to stagger over to the wall where his opponent had vanished and slammed his fist with whatever strength he could muster, "Get...back here! I'm not done...with you...yet!" he rasped. The strength of his blow was far less than he thought it had been. In his hand Alondite's light flickered and sputtered. If he had his full strength there wouldn't be anything stopping him from smashing through that god forsaken wall. Supporting himself against the wall itself he struck it with his fist again and again before finally dropping to a knee, supporting himself with Alondite plunged into the ground. Though his mouth produced no words his mind was still running like mad.
"GODDAMMIT!!! I had him! I almost had him! This fucking poison! If it wasn't for this poison we'd have been able to finish this right here!"
This was the worst case scenario. There was simply no other way to describe it. Now on top of The Wounded Hand and Arcanium they had to contend with this...whatever it was and whatever it was after. Unsure if was rage or poison that made his blood boil Derek could merely stagger his way back to his comrades only to fall to his knees again and support himself on Alondite by the time he rejoined them. With the battle over his adrenaline rush began to wear off and he realized just how bad of shape he was in. He had entered the chamber with his blood pumping faster than his comrades after he had to hold the line and destroy the pillar in the cathedral. The poison in Derek's body had likely spread with equal speed.
On top of the poison his body was battered from being knocked around the room, his muscles ached, and his armor was damaged. He would likely need a day to recover and repair the Regalia of Ancient Kings. But that all hinged on if he and his allies would be able to get out of this hole alive.
"But to get out of here we need to...oh no..." realization hit Derek harder than the armor ever had before. With the urgency of the situation Derek forced himself to speak normally.
"Oh my god....How much time do we have to get out of here?!"
In the silence, one by one, they fell. Erilyn, halfway through conveying the anti-toxin to her fellows, dropped hard against Bjeorn, and passed him the vial as she rolled onto her back. Then Leonardo, stumbling with Alyss to slump at the side of the throne where Malwin sat. A lover and a brother at his side now, one exhausted by her heartache and the other by something higher than earthly realms could fathom. Derek remained leant upon his sword with Corben, Jenra and Malwin's daughter in unconscious triangle around him.
Only Arias and Bjeorn remained standing. Perhaps because they could not drop... because they alone had gazed into the eyes of the God-Prince Tamoldes... and heard his whispered curse upon all souls of Gothenheim.
It was a first mission they would never forget. A blooding like no other.
Beyond the sleeping sepulchre the great church was silent, a carpet of bones on which the bodies of Eric and Dimaethordis lay. And tracing back through the tunnels the footsteps and handprints of Malwin's daughter still glistened between the holy carvings. They were caught now in the light from above, the commotion of lamp-fire and magic flares being dropped by Dyne and Atlas.
Ropes were being lowered now... through the shaft of the great chasm... down the hole that had opened... down the hole that remained.
The Rove Maw had frozen in place, a coagulate scar upon the bedrock of the city. It would never move again.
And neither, so it seemed, would Malwin... yet only for a moment. For in the evils of the Farborn Field what escape should be there from a wife's passing, a daughter's trauma, a house's desecration, a brother's hate and a fellowship's betrayal? No such tender mercies were given to the Pilgrims. The eyes of Malwin the Poisoner opened once more as he sat upon the throne, and glistened with the knowledge that scars are never for the dead.
A Rove Maw in his soul. A chasm within the FateGuard.
[dash=brown][bg="#330000"]
Helga pulled a blanket around her brother's shoulders,
hugging him as he whimpered. "Don't worry. There was
an angel, remember? He was watching over them."
"But the demon!" Finn's cries were helpless and muffled
by the blanket, while above them, in the armchair the
children leant against, their grandmother turned another
page of the storybook.
"I told you this tale would scare you, dears."
Desperately, Helga reached up and snagged the old
woman's shawl in her fingers. "No, Grandma! It's okay.
We want to hear more!"
On the weathered page, a picture of the Demon Prince
Tamoldes leered. Helga peered at it with morbid delight,
before the grandmother's hand covered it. "I think something a little milder is in order."
"No! What happened to Eric? Was he eaten? And why did the poison work quicker on some, but
not on others? It doesn't make sense!"
Finn whimpered with every question his sister snapped, and calmed only when the old woman's
hand ruffled his hair. The grandmother soothed him, before narrowing her eyes at Helga. "Your
curiosity will get you into trouble, girl. Children who stare too long at the dark may find something
staring back at them before long."
"That's what everyone says!" Helga crossed her arms and slumped against the chair leg.
"Well, we've learned it the hard way, dear." The old woman turned another page of the storybook.
"You see, there was a time in Gothenheim when children weren't so safe as you two are..."
Finn peered from beneath the blanket. "I hope this one isn't scary." [/bg][/dash]
With a crash of slate and brick-dust, he tumbled to the alley floor. And there the cobbles bruised what skin he had not grazed in his panicked scramble over Gothenheim's rooftops. They had forced him down again, with arrows firing above his head. The hunters were relentless. In a heap now, he felt the every flavour of pain that bit at him, and how crowned it was by his pounding heart, so terrible it might snap his ribs at any moment. But there was no time to rest. The man rose again, slung his cloak across his shoulder, and sprinted into darkness.
Two thumps behind him. His pursuers were keeping pace. But they did not have his eyes. Turning left and right, the man bounded through the twists and turns of the alley labyrinth, dodging moonlight patches and barking dogs. Only the occasional foolish clack of his bow upon the walls would signal his position. Better to part with the weapon... but sentimentality had gotten the better of him, and he kept it slung across his back.
After all, it was sentimentality that had given him away. He had thought the old fletcher on Divan Street would take him in, give him shelter from the freezing night. But the hunters had been waiting at the shop, and now he was their prey.
There was a jolt. His cloak snagged the nails of a boarded up house. He spun to free himself, and as he did so saw a shadow flicker on the rooftops. It was too late. He felt a pulse of magic and then, like blood, light blossomed on his chest. A holy symbol, white and luminous, was painted on his body, and with it the other hunters found him.
The first exploded from the shadows, a hairy form unfolding from a side-alley and putting a ringed fist to his face. A tooth cracked, the man stumbled, then spinning unslung the bow. He drove it at the knee of his attacker, and as the figure buckled put his own knee to its jaw. The hunter went down, but not before his partner struck. This one was a woman - he could smell her coming. He dodged a half-second before her mace, cruel and barbed, swung past him. He used his bowstring to snag her weapon-hand, then his other to ram his FateGuard amulet into the woman's face. Her nose shattered, but she did not miss a beat. She never would. This woman was a child of pain.
Yet while the hunters reeled in darkness, the man's vision was perfect. He slung the woman past him and into her partner before he could rise. Then a kick sent both of them stumbling. A blade had been dropped by the first, and as the man reclaimed it he dealt them savage blows. Limbs and flanks were bloodied as he drove the hunters back, and they ended, wounded and weakened, on the floor before him.
But still he glowed with the holy mark. It would not be long before the others came. Turning, he picked up his bow and...
...was brought to the ground with a single strike. The third attacker had come from nowhere. Five tiny claws had cleaved his hamstring, and as the man dropped he saw a flicker of shadow beside him. A figure put its boot upon his back, pinning him as, overhead, the one who had marked him with the light stood silhouetted by the moon.
The hunt was over.
Keeping his foot in place, Vilamos Drohadan threw back his magic cloak and signaled to the rooftops. There was a return gesture from the target painter, and in the moonlight a single eye blinked with satisfaction. Ryste Valerian had caught his quarry. The two hunters convened in silence upon the man, while behind them the other two agents bled and groaned. Melody and Marcus had made the mistake of engaging the target directly, but with their sacrifice had granted the younger two the chance they needed. And after all, the pair of Inquisitors were accustomed to pain.
As was the target, it seemed. For no sooner had Vilamos relaxed his foot than the man drew up upon his knees and spat a broken tooth across the alley. He was gasping for breath, but his features were fearless. He knew that he was captured, that Vilamos and Valerian had him... and yet he almost smiled.
So it was that the last traitor... the sole known survivor of the Wounded Hand... was found.
Kael looked up at his captors, and prepared for what was coming.
NOW...
Corben's eyes opened. He was aware of his left hand, drifting high above his chest, then of the cold flesh that touched it. He blinked and saw the withered, ring-laden hand that held his own. Cold chills shot across his palm as something wet and blistering was smeared there.
The Arch Mage Endelweiz stood over him, applying a salve of brown-grey ointment. He was, as ever, a creature of blacks and greys, bedecked with totems and amulets. His coal-black eyes seemed to glisten as he smiled. "Milk of the Venus Worm. It will aid your recovery. I have instructed your servant to apply it daily."
Corben stared at the wizard, even as his senses came aware of the soft bedding beneath him, the feathered pillows, the incense of his home, the crackle of his fire. He was back with his wife and child, and the acid-feel of the poison was receding. Yet it was not the memory of passing out, nor the visions of the Demon Prince Tamoldes, that came to him. It was instead the memory of another time the Arch Mage Endelweiz had stood over him like this, in the rain, upon the battlements of the king's keep two nights ago, when he saved Corben from an assassin of the Wounded Hand.
"This is the second time you've guarded my life," the Marshall's dry voice croaked. "One might think you want something."
The wizard returned Corben's anointed hand to the mattress. "All is not cloaks and daggers in politics, Marshall. Many are the foes we share. It is not alone, for example, that your lieutenant Derek loses sleep upon the Wizard Arcanium." He took his staff and leant upon it, pondering at the beside. "He was the finest of my students... and as is often the way in the realms of the extraordinary, it is the finest students who grow the wildest."
"So you keep me alive to help you find him - so you may take his secrets for yourself?"
The question brought laughter that mingled with the wood-cracks of the fire. Across the room, upon a velvet chair, Corben's wife looked up from her embroidery. She had two children by her feet: their daughter Clara, and Victoria, Malwin's late-tormented child. Clara did her best to play with the other girl, but could barely draw her from her silent staring.
"I will admit what many think of me," said Endelweiz, "There are things Arcanium can teach the Eldritch Guild. Yet this is not my only motivation. The relationship between a master and a student is seldom simple."
The answer stirred a memory, sore and recent, and the wizard looked again at Corben. "On that note... I am sorry about Eric."
Corben's face betrayed nothing. The grief was masked. "Be sure his Ring of Shadows finds a new master."
"Of course. We need fresh blood for the FateGuard more than ever now. For what you found down there, Marshall, in the catacombs of the Rove Maw... may well be the power behind the Evil that soaks this land."
"Is this the opinion of the Eldritch Guild? That demon down there was asleep before we woke it."
"And yet the murals tell of how the sins of mortals were driven from them. The corruption of this land might well have begun in that sepulchre."
"That is too simple an answer."
"Yet one we must consider. The Eldritch Guild are making hourly sorties into the catacombs. We hope to have the chambers catalogued within the week."
With a grimace, Corben sat up against the pillows and fought the urge to vomit. "And what of the Church? Have they rallied the mobs to call for our disbanding yet?"
"On the contrary, Bishop Wallstein and Father Gregory are most discreet this day. They have taken the boy, Tahan, back to their sanctum." He paused and looked again at the Marshall, gauging his reaction before he spoke the next revelation. "And the Saint Brothers... Malwin and Leonardo... the Church has them."
At this Corben began to rise, swinging his feet from the bed, reaching for his sword from the bedpost. "They have no right. These are warriors of the Fa..."
Endelweiz's ring-laden hand came against his chest, forcing him back onto the mattress. "Calm yourself, Marshall. These things are inevitable. One brother was the vessel of a demon; and the other... well... there are whispers. They speak of angels guiding Leonardo's hand, and for Bishop Wallstein this is perhaps more troubling than Tamoldes himself."
"The King must hear of this."
"In time. For now they are guests of the Church. But you must rest, Marshall. Your soldiers are recovering in their homes, and your family needs you." The wizard looked across to Victoria, who was, so very slowly, taking hold of a doll that Clara offer her. "And Malwin's child has yet to speak. These are the matters at hand."
His strength gave out. Corben collapsed against the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. Across the room, his wife went back to her sewing.
Then with a grunt Endelweiz took up his staff and pulled on his cloak. "Well, I have matters to attend to. Eric's funeral will be held at noon, then I must join my Guild-Brothers in the catacombs. These are the days of revelation, Marshall. Heal quickly." He extended a spindly hand towards the bowl of ointment. "Remember. Once per day. Bid your servant take heed."
And with that he was gone, striding across the fire-lit room. In his half-vision Corben was unsure if the wizard had left via the door or simply vanished into mid-air. But as silence fell he remained in place, staring at the ceiling, where visions seemed to swirl within the brickwork. Eric shielding Dimaethordis. Aloysius crashing through the library window. Lilith's skull shattering on the chamber floor. Nadia and Aiden floating without eyes. Sayra sinking in the waters. Elayna slumped against the bookshelves, and by her death forfeiting the very house in which Corben now lay.
Propping up his head, the Marshall looked over at his wife. "And since when do we have a servant?"
Corben was a dozen feet behind her. He veered right, slamming a skeleton into the wall. His shoulderplate, like his armour, burned with its holy blessing, shattering layers of bone. The Marshall's hair was practically grey with necrotic dust. 
