Index:
Episode 1 - The League of Iron assembles
Episode 3 - Legacy of the Veil Breakers
Episode 7 - Home is where the hearth is
Episode 8 - Last of the Old Ones
Episode 12 - Mistress of Flesh
Episode 15 - March of the parasites
Episode 16 - Shadows in the Fog
Artificial ruination.
Below shattered tower and crumbling wall, the once beautiful cobbled streets of Weistarr lay. Broken shadows full of vileness marched ever so vigilantly, eager fingers clutching onto stolen arms, forever marred with the blood of innocents. Clad in dilapidated armor, their hollow eyes aglow with vehement delusion, and bony mouths reiterated their olden treachery.
Drinking their full on Thulm lies, the Neldaeir Veil Breakers of Weistarr had slaughtered their own kin... willingly.
They'd visit the homes of friends and family not to bring tidings of joy, presents, or feast in peace, but to murder. Decay had these once homes now turned tombs, firmly in his skeletal grip. Tarnished, the once cozy rooms were thick with the dust of centuries, which covered the innocent dead like a funeral shroud. Whatever few personal belongings remained unmarred, unbroken, lay there beside them.
Twinkling in the starlight, these items which by sheer luck had evaded the bonfires, remained solitary witnesses of Weistarr's cultural genocide. The statue of olden benefactors, those who spared nothing in order to uplift others, lay shattered in the dust. Long have the beautiful paintings of noblesse Neldaeir fed the fires of regress. Olden tomes preserving the lived wisdom of benevolent sages for posterity joined the priceless scrolls of life-knowing poets, and the heroism inspiring books of masterful tale-weaving authors.
Together did these priceless cultural artifacts of Elf, Dwarf, Neldaeir, and Arkan burn. The fiery red sparks, their tears and the sad hiss of the flame, their weep. True it was that one could not add another word to a burnt page; that what took centuries and was forged by giants vanished in mere days, destroyed by the fool, the bootlicker, and the zealot.
The Four trod Weistarr's broken homes, and their boots sunk to their shins in this sorrowful dust. Oft, whilst they skulked across a street or lurked inside a shadowy wynd till the ever vigilant Veil Breakers marched past, they'd stumble upon the remnants of a pyre. Crowned by many a charred skeleton; for when the book, the painting, the scroll, and the tome became sparse, those who could forge them anew were fed to the flame.
As it always came to pass during an artificial cultural collapse, it was the poet, the sage, the painter, and the writer who were martyred first. For without them, the thought, the smile, and the love of thy ancestors was lost. Then the zealots with hollow souls could fervently march forwards and without fear, straight into their dead future. The youth could not easily oppose them since they knew not of the beauty which their forebears had forged.
Oh, how weak were those whose past was taken from them!
However, the further the Four skulked across Weistarr's crumbling landscape, the more the failure of these zealous dead became apparent. No, the beautified culture and the wholesome legacy of elder Elf, Dwarf, Neldaeir, and Arkan kin were very much alive! There was living breath in their chests still; purpose aglow in their eye, and the strength of their martyred ancestors ran in their noble blood.
“Quick, run into the temple!” - whispered Gelduin, alerting his companions to a incoming patrol - “Dash with all your speed, lest these treacherous corpses see us!”
Undeterred by the frost-armed gale, the Four, their hooded cloaks swirling, reached the ruined building. No sooner did they hide behind its toppled colonnade and the dead marched across the despoiled square with their mud-caked boots. These guardsmen of the ruined city suddenly stopped, and, as if made aware of the Four, slowly approached their hiding place.
Ainhart's axe in its holder over his shoulder, the clergyman leveled his windlass heavy crossbow. The Ranger had already nocked an arrow and with swift series of hand signs telegraphed who should strike who. Eirunn on the left, tiny sparkles of magick charging at her fingertips, and Dalnor in the center, readying one of his daggers, the Four waited for the corpses to come closer... or go away.
For a few long, frosty breaths, they thought that the dead would resume their patrol. However, one of the corpse-walkers canted her decayed skull and looked around. Rotten her nose was and yet, the Four could clearly hear her sniffing. Before any of the Veil Breakers could screech and alert other patrols, Gelduin emerged from his cover and let loose the arrow.
Not a second after its hefty tip crushed a fist size hole in his target's skull, his companions attacked.
A brilliant beam of light aimed by Eirunn's fingertips burned her target to a crisp in seconds. The heavy crossbow bolt pierced the rusting chestplate of Ainhart's chosen foe and shattered his back. Defeating gale and frost, Dalnor's swirling dagger found its mark, the blade plunging deep inside a chest long devoid of lungs. With barely audible clatter, bones, rotten arms, and armor littered the freezing mud.
“Reload!” - gestured the Dwarf, and pointed a distant shambling figure to Ainhart, one too far for his own bow to reach - “Shoot this one or they wi...”
“To arms! To arms!” - wailed a ghastly voice - “The foes of peace attack!”
Aimed well, the mighty crossbow bolt shattered yet another moldy skull, however, the dead were alerted to their presence.
“I will secure the main entrance!” - The Knight stood tall in the ruined door frame; sword unsheathed, its tip planted into the cracked stone floor, his gauntlets resting on the gemmed pommel.
“Eirunn, we do as we planned.” - Bellowed Ainhart, and dashed inside the ruin; crossbow on his back and axe ready to fell any corpse-walkers hiding within.
Before the Sorceress entered, she hid one candle at the main temple door and once inside, ran towards the furthermost door. Indeed, they'd planned well and prudently since Ainhart's axe cleaved through not one, but two corpse-walkers, who entered the temple from its rear entrance.
Meanwhile, Gelduin brought down two more Veil Breakers. Armed with olden bows, they let loose a few arrows aimed at the Knight, who moved not from his position. Only one arrow found his pauldron, yet shot from so far away, the projectile had lost most of its bite and glanced off. The Ranger wasted not a single breath, his heavy arrows shattering the skulls of another four shooters armed with small crossbows.
Soon more of the restless dead came and in their dozens; armed with spears, polearms, shields and swords. However, the Four had scouted the ramparts and the area surrounding the ruined tower beforehand. Atop, but a token few of these corpses carried bows and only a handful, crossbows. Though the enemy was numerous, the warriors of Alkiorn had forged for themselves many an advantage.
While Eirunn placed all six of her healing candles, the Elf kept close watch over her and crushed or cleaved in two any corpse-walker who dared approach. With such unrelenting might did the clergyman hit them, that none could suffer but a single blow before their arms bent, their shields shattered, and their moldy bones, snapped. Those who witnessed him, retreated and awaited the arrival of their deadened comrades so they could surround, and only then overwhelm the powerful Elven warrior.
Dalnor faced a wall of spears and halberds, yet, his stance fluid, the Knight withstood this charge. In his stead, he swiftly cleaved first through polearm shafts, the bony hands who held them and, finally, his shrouded in grayish gloom sword felled the dead without fail. Such was his swordsmanship and so impeccable his footwork, that nary a hit glanced off his blackened armor.
The few who remained, they too ran away; a rain of stones and other debris peppered Dalnor's heavy armor.
“Inside, take cover my brother!” - warned him the Ranger, who reached for the ordinary munitions since all of his heavy arrows were spent - “A wizard of the Veil approaches!”
“Cometh, oh cometh all thee cowardly traitors, join the shattered bones of your comrades! I, First Brother Dalnor of the Iron Knights Order beckon thee to face me in combat.” - Roared the Knight, and just before he slowly walked inside the temple, he snatched one of the rocks being thrown at him, mid air.
He sent it back and his aim precise, another corpse-walker fell broken in the mud.
“Three dozens or more are coming from the back end!” - Warned the priest, and moved his armored body to block one arrow aimed at Eirunn, as she began to spill the blessed water of upon the broken altar.
Once of simple, yet grand-looking design, the stone carved baby crib had suffered the indignant desecration of many a corpse-walker. To even reach it, Eirunn made her way through piles of broken skulls and cleaved bones. People were dragged and slain here, in order to sully Mother Vayila's home with literal rivers of innocent blood. Her very children butchered one after another in a most gruesome manner, to force the goddess's visage away from this place...
“Now?!” - asked Eirunn, as she walked around the altar, making sure the phial had not a single droplet of the precious clensation water left inside.
Eerie, the foul murk of ruined Weistarr was rebuked. Its dominion over this temple denied, this treacherous gloom made way for the light of Creation. The badly mauled, headless winged saints carved on each of the altar's four angles became aglow with blueish light. Emanating further and further from the altar's damaged surface, this wholesome glow surrounded the Four, emboldening their every act.
“Let there be hallow light within this home, once more!” - Dalnor's voice boomed across the temple, chasing those daring few Veil Breakers who approached the entrances, away.
Standing firm beside Ainhart, the Sorceress raised and then slammed her spear into the ground. Glittering beams tore from its shining tip, each finding a candle's wick.
Bolstered by the arrival of a magick-wielding Veil Breaker, the corpse-walkers charged every single entry into the building, en masse. Green flames aglow, the healing candles extinguished their undeservingly prolonged existence, making rotten flesh, moldy sinew, and mummified skin alive once more. For a fraction of a breath the Veil Breakers were alive and then, with most horrible, desperate wails full of unimaginable pain they fell... never to rise again.
Yet, this battle for the soul of Weistarr hath only began.
More, the corpses came in their droves, zealous chants upon their rotten lips. Aided by a wizard, their strongest, those who'd slain the most innocent souls, braved the hallowed candles' healing glow. Vile magicks bashed against Creation once more, and she who commanded it, her force was nigh spent. This is where strong arms, and weapons came into play; for not one of the Four could say that they were alone, as long as their companions drew breath!
“Maiden Sorceress, watch me back” - asked the Elf, as he parried a blade wrapped in baleful reddish flame, and cleaved its owner's helmeted skull off with a swift strike - “till I sing the prayer!”
“This spear bearer shan't fail her duty!” - Stated she with a happy smile, two bloody tears raining down her cheeks, as she readied her weapon.
“Retreat to the altar and watch your flanks!” - Instructed the Knight, reminding his companions to stay alert and not allow themselves to be surrounded.
In good order did he and Gelduin leave their positions. Fighting back to back every few steps, they cut, stabbed, and crushed the skulls of another dozen corpse-walkers until finally, they reached their friends.
Empowered by healing light and glowing altar, with a most soothing voice did Ainhart sang his prayer:
“Beloved Mother Vayila full of love,
Your eyes watch over us from above!
We ask thee, grace us with thy smile.”
It was then, when the Veil Breaker wizard, shrouded in some protective magickal field, strode inside. Clad in elaborate suit of chainmail, a ragged noblesse cloak with long since withered crest dangled from his shoulders. Followed by two dozen, heavily armed and armored corpse-walkers, what was once a youngling, perhaps no older than fourteen summers, drew his curst blade.
“Slay the Elf!” - screeched he, as his short sword became alit with crimson fire - “He mustn't finish his filthy song or we are all done for!”
As if this deathly promise gave Ainhart more succor, he sang and with even happier voice:
“Beloved Mother Vayila full of hope,
Shield us against the myope!
We ask thee, embrace us with thy hand.”
Obedient, the dozen and more corpse-walkers shielded from the healing lights immediately assailed the singing man. However, so indomitable were his companions, that not a single blade, spear, or axe, touched him. The stalwart Elf did not even look aback, fully trusting his life in the hands of Eirunn and her mastery with the spear.
Though her eyes shed more and more bloody tears, the Sorceress kept parrying blow after blow, her own armor cushioning more than one hit. Those she stabbed or slashed with her spear, their wounds became... healed. Flesh restored in a split of a second, all bled to second death and in torturous pain, writhing on the floor.
Yet, many replaced those who fell and soon, the Four became truly surrounded. Hits pummeled them from every direction, and even their skilled defense was breached, sturdy armor barely saving them from certain death. Ainhart's back was protected and if Eirunn couldn't parry a blow destined for him, she placed her own body between his and the blade.
From the front, a torrent of attacks sought to take his life. Yet, in his cheerful manner, the Elf kept fighting and though he sustained a dozen wounds, bleeding, still, his voice boomed with unrelenting serenity. Such was the might of his shining wholesomeness that the corpse-walkers despaired. Their foul spirits wavered, their decaying arms lost their unhallowed strength, and they quaked in their boots before this image of stubborn tenacity.
“Fall before the righteous!” - Roared the terrified skeletal wizard, and leveled his blade.
A large ball of unhallowed fire barreled towards the Four!
Undeterred, the Knight threw himself at it, swinging with his own sword. The way of the Neldaeiri slashed straight through foul magicks, yet, to best all of these flames, it could not. Some of the fire scoured Dalnor and armor smoking, he fell to his knee. However, the wizard could not cackle with glee since the two split balls of fire made an instant turn.
“Only the most deluded of monsters take their righteousness for granted.” - Retorted Dalnor, as the dagger he threw between the wizard's legs drew in the fireballs.
With an earsplitting clangor the magicks exploded, blasting half of the young skeletal mage to bits. Immediately, all corpse-walkers protected by his spell became once more vulnerable to Eirunn's healing candles. Many of them, their decayed flesh bit by Gelduin's blade, succumbed to regeneration and joined their fellow corpse.
His concentration unbroken, Master Ainhart sang the last of his verse-prayer:
“Beloved Mother Vayila full of life,
Stand beside us in our strife!
We ask thee, walk with us in thy Image.”
Vayila's altar became a shining ark.
All of its damages repaired, and more, even stronger light emanated from its four, winged saints.
There, above her baby crib carved altar, appeared Vayila's motherly visage! A voice, unfathomably soft and soothing to the Four, in the rotting ears of the Veil Breakers, clangored like the toll of a thousand funeral bells.
“Long hast thy doom been denied!”
As the Four limped closer to the altar and knelt before the goddess, there came a choir of desperate, grave-bound wails echoing across Weistarr. With the gnashing of rotten teeth, those who betrayed kin and butchered the innocent, what was left of their foul spirits became smitten by warm, golden light. Ran as they could, beg, or roll in the mud, in a short instance all those who swore allegiance to blood-thirsty Thulm, burned to cinders.
The gale, healed in Her graceful emanation, it became clean, blue and lively again.
The dust of all corpse-walkers and their everything became nothing. While miasma and rancid fog burned, the bones of the innocent were bathed in holy light. Golden treads fell from the heavens and touched each and every one, their long lost souls finally embraced by Mother Vayila.
A victory hard earned, tired and wounded, the Four basked in Vayila's holy light and fell into blissful sleep...
***
Dear reader, if you liked this story, you might enjoy my published work.
Oooooo! Dark and thrilling!
A good chapter of deep, heavy action. The knight had me concerned this chapter - he seemed to stand in the (sometimes literal) line-of-fire for the entire battle.