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 16 - Shadows in the Fog
Steps in the dark.
Long, crooked shadows, they stretched along the rhythm of stomping bone-forged armored boots. Muscular hands carried weapons of every kind; forged from rusty-looking, red steel, the Thulm were indeed outfitted well. Heavy swords, axes, long spears, and, of course, sturdy shields, these items of murder reverberated with the conquering intent of their owners.
Clad in armor of intricate-craft, the infantrymen suits of long-sleeved riveted chain mail were augmented by witch-craft bones. Harrowing to behold for anyone not of the Thulm, the remains of their enemies and slaves were all utilized for war. Skulls made their helms sturdy, leg and arm bones, their limbs, and rib cages, their torsos. In the darkness of the tunnels, these marching shadows appeared more apparition than flesh. Horrid nightmares, their only purpose in life was to murder, enslave, and conquer.
Yet, not all looked as it should.
Mouths that should've otherwise been singing songs, chanted promises of brutalities, they spat raspy breath. Sweat glistened on their bodies and in the dusty, moldy air of this underground, greyish brooks ran down their tired faces. Large, heavy backpacks full of trail rations, water, and spare munition dragged them one step aback for every three they made forward.
Those with enough breath to curse, they snarled the vilest of words! Oft spitting them at their commanders; who, customary for higher rank Thulm warriors, rode on the backs of six-legged war horses. Moreover, it would appear that the very road, so secretive and otherwise a marvel of Thulm infrastructure, was slowing down their march.
Some swore that they've seen ghostly figures gazing them from the broken stones under their feet. Others, they appeared to have stumbled where their comrades had just marched and fell, face first, further delaying the column and annoying their fellow conquerors. Such was the burden that they were suddenly forced to carry, that even those who were supposed to provide their fellows with perimeter security, had to lug more than usual.
Scouts, tired from marching with such a hefty load on their backs, they spared their feet. Instead of fanning out and securing all side tunnels under the light of their hooded lanterns, they reconnoitered close by. It was a recent accident, their commanders claimed, which deprived them from precious and quite necessary for night operations lamp oil. Thus, the out of breath scouts, their feet blistering and bleeding from too much running around, some of them resorted to lying.
Oft, a troop of them would enter a shadowy side tunnel, only to immediately lie down and take a nap. Instead of reconnoitering, they stole whatever minutes or even hours of rest they could. Many even removed their boots and attempted to dry their soggy, bloody footcloths. Some made the huge mistake of scratching and popping their blisters, which caused them even more pain.
Mighty the Thulm were on the march and in battle, yet, denied their comfy supply trains, the conquerers of Alkiorn walked and moaned like aching old ladies.
Long after this shrouded in complains, wallows of pain, and increasingly irregular marching column vanished in the moldy dark of the tunnels, the Four slipped out of their hiding place.
“The Thulm are not going to like battling with their feet so ravaged!” - Whispered Eirunn, her face plastered with the widest of smiles her companions had seen so far.
“An army, my teachers always said, marches on its stomach.” - Began the Knight, as soon as they reached in another shadow-rich tunnel - “Yet, the Thulm had it so easy with this tunnel network and their obedient army of corpse-walkers, and for so long, that now they can't even march straight.”
“Strong and numerous are the Thulm, though... I doubt infection cares how blood-craving or well-armed are they.” - Snickered Ainhart, and counted the few crossbow bolts left in his quiver.
“Their commanders have no other choice.” - Nodded in agreement Master Gelduin, and gave Dalnor a smiling look - “Force march to reoccupy their positions at Weistarr since their six-legged mounts cannot do without unspoiled meat.”
“Our heavy infantrymen can march for days carrying all their kit, plus supplies. If my kin clashes with these Thulm footmen right now, they'd fell them all!” - Quietly declared the Elf, when the Four made a short stop to rest, take a bite of food, and a drink of water.
Their Ranger led them inside one of the hidden rooms. Long disused, this space was overly dusty and the door which once kept it shut, rot on the floor. The air in this area was stale and its earthen floor, untrodden for many a decade. For what reason did this room remain empty, the Dwarf did not know, yet he was more than sure they'd be safe there... at least for a short while.
“That is not our concern, my companions.” - Dalnor said as he stood guard over his friends while they ate - “We did indeed aid our kin and greatly so, but our Quest is not done.”
“True,” - the Sorceress whispered - “until the Overlord of the Thulm is slain, we cannot stop or loiter around, stalking their supply from dark and shadow.”
“Master Gelduin, how long till we reach the tunnels' end?” - Asked Ainhart, and stashed the seven bolts back inside their quiver, closing its safety cap.
The Dwarf raised an eyebrow and answered, after he stoke his beard:
“A day and a half, me thinks. See, our group moves swiftly since I guide you through the side tunnels and not always the main road. Taking shortcuts, because we are unburdened and well-traveled people, this shortened our trek in the dark by a full day, at the very least.”
“I expect the Thulm have positioned many well-armed sentries at their end of the tunnel network.” - Said Dalnor, and looked at his looted bow - “We are not going to take them out so easily like last time.”
“We won't have to.” - and with a half-smile, Eirunn produced four small phials from her potion box.
These looked olden, augmented by metallic ornaments and had intricate bottle caps. Easy not only to the eye but the hand, the potion bottles were crafted for sturdiness since their walls were thicker than phials of similar size. Inside, a vaporous substance danced before their eyes, as if desperate to escape the constrains of magick, glass, and metal.
“Vapor of living shadow... my King's gift.” - The Sorceress named her potions and stashed them inside the box.
“Your noble King gave four, even though your intent was a one way trip...” - said Ainhart and smiled, one hand on her shoulder pulling her close - “Dream about life, dear Sorceress, for Princess Hope shall be with us all, when our Four faces the Overlord in battle!”
Eirunn's face lit up and with a not-so-hesitant smile, she held Ainhart's strong hand. Yet, wholesome as this precious moment was, it lasted for a counted few seconds before the curst dark of the tunnels reminded them where they trod.
A whisper of warning came from the shadows, followed by a glint, it alerted them to be on their guard. Assumed their battle formation and weapons in hand, the Four stood back to back, when their Sorceress lunged her arching with magicks spear at what otherwise appeared to be empty space.
“Thulm attack via Gate-Walls!” - shouted she as her spear struck, and an armor-clad warrior pierced straight through his neck materialized only to fall gargling, his blood gushing on the earthen floor.
In seconds, more Thulm phased out from the Gate-Walls, one of the flesh witches' most devastating magicks. Clad in their horrid armor, made from polished, magickally-reinforced bones, these monstrous warriors were ready to kill. Yet, alerted by that mysterious and unintelligible whisper, the companions were gifted a chance to strike first. Weapons in hand, the Four managed to slay an equal number of Thulm, those who materialized immediately next to them.
Thus, their backs secure, Elf, Arkan Kin, Dwarf, and Neldaeir faced the enemy.
Before them and blocking their escape, stood ten Thulm bone raiders. However, the knightly warrior who led the enemy, one clad in immaculate-looking, painted white and gold full plate armor, was what made the Four gasp.
“The Lord of Peace ordained your just demise my... 'brother!'” - Glistening sword drawn and its tip aimed at Dalnor, the white knight declared, scorn emanating from his voice.
“Treacherous fools like yourself are no brothers of mine!” - Roared Brother Dalnor and swiftly, threw one of his daggers.
Visor pierced and from point-blank range, another bone raider fell dead on the dusty floor.
“Hallowed warriors of Thulm, thou shalt slay these without fail!” - The white knight ordered his retinue with obnoxious subservience, and added - “Yet, remember this – the wretched black knight is all mine.”
Charge the Thulm did, yet something or rather somebody else phased out of the shadow behind them. A tall figure, its skin dark blue, mouth rich with multiple rows of razor sharp teeth, it tackled one of the bone raiders. Screaming, this one gazed into six otherworldly eyes, while the figure's seven fingered hands dismembered him, undeterred by magickal armor or the torrent of desperate sword strikes which scarred his flesh.
“Call the witch,” - screeched one of the Thulm, as this daemon leapt at him - “quick, or we are done for!”
Had the Four been surprised and surrounded by this enemy troop, they'd most probably be overwhelmed. Bone Raiders, their brutish fame preceded them, were swift on their feet, and their surprise attacks, deadly. Whoever or whatever this daemon was, he spared the Four from certain doom.
The companions faced the charging Thulm with their most accurate, swift attacks. First the Ranger's arrows flew at them, successfully killing one and wounding another. Then, the shining axe of Master Ainhart cleaved through bone-forged armor, and with a single strike to the chest, felled another Thulm. Their Sorceress, spear stance steady, stabbed one of the attackers in the leg, before Gelduin's short blade finished him.
“Slave of the past, thy fate is sealed!” - his voice charged with disgusting fanaticism, announced the swiftly advancing forth white knight.
“Was it you, traitor, who doomed the innocents of that fort?!” - Roared Dalnor, and himself moved in striking range, unbothered by charging past him Bone Raiders.
“My pleasure it was, nay, privilege, to guide the most hallowed Thirteen inside, so they could grace its degenerate denizens with the Peace of my Lord.” - the white knight admitted with the utmost of calm, even happiness, and assumed a steady fighting stance.
Though their stances looked-alike, this was only on first glance. The white knight, overconfident in his superiority, attacked with short stabbing motions, intent on striking his opponent's armor most vulnerable spots. Brother Dalnor studied his enemy's every move, counted his breaths even, in his stead, his every movement measured to the inch.
“How can one witness the vile acts of the Thulm and still call them peaceful?!”
In the dusty dark of this room, there was no space for warriors to aim powerful, sweeping strikes, or dance around with elaborate footwork. Thus, the two knights clashed with sparing moves and moved even less since the earthen floor became pregnant with bleeding corpses.
“Neldaeir blades struck first, 'brother!'” - screeched the white knight, eyes aglow with zealous fury, as he parried another blow - “For I've read the olden texts, and I know how our ancestors wronged the poor, dovish Thulm.”
“The lies of murderers, arsonists, and traitors...”
As the knights suffered hits and countered blows, both trying to strike the other dead, another person appeared on the battlefield. Manifesting from a Gate-Wall, a Flesh Witch clad in reddish chain mail armor swiftly aimed her magick at the blue-skinned daemon. While he crushed, bit to death, and dismembered a total of four Thulm warriors, the daemon suffered vicious wounds. Indeed, he did try to block the witch's wizardry, yet failed, his chest pierced by a blade made of Thulm blood.
The Sorceress, having wounded another Thulm, clashed with the Flesh Witch in a battle of magickal will. Their energies warping the air, causing the corpses to twitch, and their blood, boil. While this fight occurred, for Elf and Dwarf 'twas their utmost of effort to protect Eirunn from Bone Raider attacks. They fought bravely and suffered many wounds, yet made sure that her concentration was unbroken by blade, axe, or fist.
Tired and bleeding, Ainhart and Gelduin tackled with the last Thulm, rolling on the bloody ground. Eirunn spat blood, yet managed to parry the deadly spellcraft, and protect her companions' minds from the witch's vile touch. Moreover, the Sorceress intruded upon her enemy's attempts to open further Gate-Walls and call in more Thulm warriors. Indeed, her powers were now stretched to their curst slave bracelet's imposed limits, and if she was forced to remove it...
The Flesh Witch stretched out with her magicks. At first one, then two, three, and four of the slain bone raiders, twitched. Their bodies rose up; limbs moved by invisible treads, shambled towards the Four, weapons in hand. Yet, before something terrible could happen, even though the witch assumed the daemon slain, he attacked!
With his last speck of strength he rose from a puddle of his own blood, and viciously bit off the witch's left thigh. Screeching in horror and her concentration broken, the foul hag fell dead as Eirunn's magick ripped her armored body to gory bits. Multiple small gleams of blueish light appeared all over the witch and she promptly imploded.
“Pay you will, for slaying the Just!” - Grumbled the white knight, as he took note of his entourage's demise.
“How much Thulm coin are you paid for selling out your kin!?” - Dalnor asked, as he launched a deliberately slow strike, and prepared to half-sword his blade.
Blocking the baiting stab with ease, the white knight yelled:
“Eliminating your debased kind is my most holiest of duties, and serving the Lord Of Peace – enriching beyond any measly rewards!”
His white armor finally scarred in battle, the treacherous Neldaeir executed a tripping attack and with the utmost precision. Hit in the leg, Dalnor appeared to have lost his balance and fell on his knee. Strike, the white knight did in a flash, yet it was all a trap. Set by a knight in blackened armor, one who fought countless real battles, bled and suffered on the battlefield.
Experience and iron will bested zealotry and prideful overconfidence, when Dalnor grappled his startled opponent. With practiced moves, the black knight disarmed then twisted his arms, and finally, after pinning the traitor to the bloody ground, lifted his visor up. Swiftly, as soon he had achieved this, Dalnor proceeded to stab the white knight's throat with one of his daggers in a most merciless fashion.
He uttered not a single sound.
He made no other moves.
He asked not his enemy to surrender.
The Black Knight kept stabbing until his Neldaeiri kin gargled his last, treacherous breath, stupefied horror plastered all over his blood-covered face.
For a few, tired seconds, the small room echoed with the raspy breath of the Four and their strange ally. Aided by Ainhart, the Sorceress limped her way around, giving her companions one healing salve each. Another phial of restorative liquid in hand, Eirunn reached out to the blue-skinned man, asking him in Arkan kin tongue:
“Who art thou?”
“A father from another place... cough... honored to help the slayer of Shog-Khaigath.”
“Drink the potion, friend, quick, before...” - Mumbled she, as her companions stood beside, watching this man slowly wane before their very eyes.
The otherworldly visitor blinked; his faceted eyes gifting them a teary look, and he stated with a somber smile on his bloodied face:
“Nay, I cannot be saved by this miraculous salve of yours... wheeze...”
“There must be a way; a magick, a prayer or something!” - Exclaimed the clergyman, yet, once more, the dying man canted his head.
“Made my choice the very second I felt... cough... summoning magicks opening a rip into... wheeze... this cosmos. The plane where Shog-Khaigath lurked;... the place he hunted our progeny from!”
“H-h-hear me, oh Saviour of our children!” - the man's shaking hand reached up, and a strange magickal rune became aglow in his palm.
“Take this... cough... Good Sorceress, this be a portal into thy mortal enemy's chamber, the Red... wheeze... Witch!”
His last act in the cosmos of Alkiorn done, the blue-skinned man became vapor and vanished from their sight, a happy smile on his alien face.
***
Dear reader, if you liked this story, you might enjoy my published work.
Awesome dialogue with the otherworldly visitor. That had some nice subtext behind it. It's a hint for anyone paying attention to formatting in prior chapters.
Really loved this chapter, especially how it felt like something pulled from the FF4-6 era of FF games.