Yveshin
Only a few dim rays of light found their way through the grey, snow-heavy clouds above. It was the early morning, too early even for the humans of this land and almost cold enough to make Yveshin uncomfortable even in his protective clothing. This was a proper winter even by the standards of his kind. In these human lands, it had to be the harshest in decades, perhaps centuries even.
He and Sanurius met up in front of the healers house just after dawn. Yveshin had spent the night resting in the small chamber he had been given, even falling into a brief, dreamless sleep after his conversation with the half-elf. Still, he felt barely rested after the harrowing vision that had troubled him earlier. On top of that, his conversation with Sanurius had stuck. The Wraith... he knew some of his tribe would have been overjoyed at the prospect of meeting such a foe, but he was not one of them. At the same time, hesitant as he was, Luzelin and Naeem both had asked him to go there and he trusted them. They would not put him in danger, he was sure of it.
“Are you ready?”, Sanurius asked, leaning onto a thick wooden staff, simple in its design, yet Yveshin spotted intricate runes carved into the wood. The healer was wearing thicker furs than Yveshin himself, with a heavy scarf to protect his face, muffling his voice in the process. Yveshin had one of these too, but right now he preferred not to impact his vision in any way, not with the keep ahead of them. In the light of the day, he was actually able to see it in the distance.
The Alackskeep was massive, even by human standards, way larger than the small keep he had seen in Drakesfield, but just as desolate and crumbling. A ruin by all accounts, with collapsing walls and three towers where once there had been four. His fine eyes could make out deep craters in the walls and cracks in the stone, signs of an ancient battle that had been going on here. Still, the keep was located on top of a barren hill, able to oversee the entire valley and the road that led north, to the Middenrealm border as he now knew. From afar, it seemed like the crumbling throne of an ancient giant king, a decaying monument, the remaining three towers almost appearing like fangs from the distance.
“I'm ready”, he confirmed, as he wrapped the cloak around him more tightly. “What about the Tulamid?” Sanurius came closer and though the scarf was concealing most of his face, his eyes showed a kindness to them that was rare in these lands. “He is regaining his consciousness already”, he told him. “Magister Djelef is a strong man and your timely aid will allow him to make a full recovery. Once we return from the keep, you might be able to speak to him already, though he will need a few days of rest before I can safely allow him to leave the house”
Yveshin couldn't hide his relief. “Good”, he spoke. “And what about you? Are you ready to face whatever creature dwells within these walls?” A dry chuckle came from beneath the scarf. “Not really”, Sanurius admitted. “I am a healer, not a battlemage. My hope is that the creature is dormant for now and that we won't even encounter it. Should we meet it though, I suggest we run. My magic might be able to hold it off, but I have seen what that beast has done to its victims. Victory over such a foe lies beyond our skills”
He walked up to the elf and Yveshin extended a hand, giving him a warm handshake. “I know you'd rather remain here”, he told him. “But I appreciate your support. I think it is customary among humans to repay someone in kind. Something about an eye for an eye, if I got the saying correctly, but I'd like to keep the one I have left, so maybe we can come to a different agreement?” He shot him a brief, mischievous smile. “That was a joke”, he explained.
Sanurius actually chuckled, though Yveshin was not sure if he got the whole joke thing right. It was one of the stranger aspects of human society, for elven tales were rarely meant to amuse. “An elf with a sense of humour”, Sanurius spoke up. “That is rarer than you might think, at least for a tribal elf”
“Really though, I can repay you for your help”, Yveshin insisted, as they started walking. “I have a few silver coins, I'm... actually not sure how much they are worth, but the humans I met during the summer have been very happy to give them to me after I helped them out” Sanurius shook his head. “I'd never ask for payment for this”, he assured him. “Truth be told, it is me who should be thanking you. I've trained at Thunderbrook for almost a decade, learned from the best healers in the world and now I'm stranded in Realm's End. The people here are good folk, but their injuries are usually as modest as the lives they life”
He straightened his back and stared at the keep, his eyes narrowed and gleaming with determination. “In Thunderbrook, I learned how to bring people back from the brink of death, how to reattach severed limbs and how to combat infectuous diseases”, he told him. “Here, I deal with cuts and bruises and broken bones. I love helping these people, but it is hardly challenging work. This however... this is the most useful I have felt in years”
All things considered, Yveshin was glad to have the half-elf by his side. Though his own arcane talents were rudimentary compared to other elves, he didn't need to be a powerful mage to realize that something terrible was dwelling within the Alackskeep and going in alone... even the thought was enough to make him shiver.
“There is one thing you could do for me though”, Sanurius spoke, as they left the last huts of Realm's End behind, now walking over a gentle, snow-covered hill up the path to the Alackskeep. As Yveshin looked over his shoulder at the healer, he noticed the stern look in the half-elf's eyes. “You can tell me what this is all about. What leads a Rime Elf so far to the south, to deal with a druid in a ruined keep that should best be forgotten by the world?”
Yveshin hesitated for a moment, before he gave him a nod. “That is only fair”, he agreed. “If you need to know, I left my tribe about a year ago. My people dwell in the shadows of the Eonaval, the mountains you know as the Brazen Sword. It is our duty to guard these lands against the terrors that loom beyond. My people live serious and grim lives and I... didn't quite feel ready for that”
“So you decided to see the world”, Sanurius deduced and Yveshin sighed. “I don't think my family understood”, he told him. “My sister probably still doesn't. Knowing that I hurt her, it... it pains me” He glanced up at the keep, which they had gotten closer to by now and the cold chill that ran down his spine in this very moment did not quite leave him right away. “By chance, I met others. Friends, I think. I hope. There was Iiro, a man of the Meadows and of the northern lands alike, as well as Vittorio, a mage of great skill and an even greater ego. There was Naeem the druid, whom I intend to meet today. And there was Thea...”
He was quiet for a moment, as momentary sorrow threatened to overcome him. They were still out there, just as confused and hurt about his sudden departure as his sister must have been. Yveshin cared for each of them and yet, perhaps leaving them worse than when he first met them was all he was good for. All they would remember him for...
Sanurius was understanding enough not to interject and he patiently waited until Yveshin continued to speak. “Together, we were responsible for ending the dark ritual that destroyed the village of Drakesfield”, he continued and now, Sanurius let out a gasp. “I heard of that!”, he exclaimed. “By the Twelve, all of Meadows did. We got you to thank for that?” As Yveshin looked at him, there was genuine surprise in the man's eyes. “I could tell you have a good heart when you saved the Tulamid, but I didn't know I walk in the presence of a hero!”
Now, Yveshin gulped, before he averted his gaze. “I don't know if that's appropriate”, he admitted. “I just did what anyone would have done. Besides, most of the people of Drakesfield died. We saved three people... four if you count the Darpatian, but a lot more of them were killed” He felt a sharp pain flaring up within his head, where the ruby had replaced his left eye and he flinched at the sudden sensation.
“Drakesfield changed you too, didn't it?”, Sanurius remarked and Yveshin gave him a quiet nod. “We fought against a mage and I was injured in the process. At first, I thought he merely blinded me in one eye, but the longer I wait, the clearer it becomes that something else happened. Something far worse” He glanced at the healer, who gave him a nod.
“Well, I'm not a clairvoyant, but every mage knows the basics”, Sanurius explained. “And I hope you don't mind, but I casted a few of these basic spells while you slept. Did it on the Tulamid, to make sure he was not affected by a spell, but I couldn't help but notice that you have an arcane problem of your own”
Yveshin raised an eyebrow over his good eye, ignoring the low, hateful whispers of the entity he shared his thoughts with, barely audible over the howling wind that came from the keep. “What did you find?”, he asked and Sanurius placed two fingers over his own left eye. “The eye you cover... once we're back in my hut, do you mind if I take a closer look?”, he asked. “I noticed an arcane signature from it, something I have never seen before. Without boring you with the details, your eye has been fundamentally changed. It is more an artifact now than an organic part of your body and I have reason to believe that it is quite powerful”
“Is it dangerous?”, the elf asked, even though he dreaded the answer. To his surprise, Sanurius shook his head. “That's like asking if a sword is dangerous”, he told him. “Artifacts are objects of great utility. Some are dangerous if wielded incorrectly, others are perfectly harmless. Yours is unlike any I have seen before, but as I said, I am not a particularly skilled clairvoyant, much less so an artifact mage. If you really want to know what happened to your eye, one of those might be able to help”
Yveshin had no idea what an artifact mage even was, but he wondered if Vittorio was one of them, or perhaps if he knew one at least. “Where could I find such an artifact mage?”, he asked and Sanurius shrugged. “True experts are rare. The white guild does not condone the excessive use of artifacts, but a few grey academies have specialized in that art. The closest from here is in Festum, a thousand miles to the east, but I heard they are an odd and distrustful bunch. If you truly want some answers, you have to journey to the south-western coast. The Dragon Egg Academy in the city of Khunchom is home to Aventuria's foremost experts on artifacts and they are guaranteed to help you for the right price”
“Price... as in human coins?”, Yveshin asked and his expression softened. “As I said, I have a few of them. It is probably going to be... how do you say it... expensive?” Sanurius chuckled. “You'd have to pay them in gold, I'm afraid. More than what most people can call their own in one lifetime”, he told him. “Though you should consider finding help about this. As I said, I am not a skilled clairvoyant and I can still see that your eye has turned into an object of great power. Any mage could tell you the same”
“That means any mage could see it”, Yveshin deduced and Sanurius gave him a calm nod. “Any being who can see an arcane aura. That includes not just mages, but demons just as well”, he clarified. “Whatever happened to you, you should seek help urgently” Yveshin frowned at these words. “I'm trying”, he admitted. “Naeem sent me to Luzelin, the witch of Blue Firs”
“A woman with an ill reputation”, Sanurius admitted. “At least among the commoners of Meadows. I know places where elves like you have a similar reputation and from my experience, it is rarely justified” Yveshin gave him a nod. “She's a good person”, he stated firmly. “And she tried her best to help me for the last two months. Eventually though, she sent me to find Naeem”
“And that led you here”, Sanurius stated and Yveshin frowned beneath his hood. “I keep my eye hidden these days. Once we're back at the village, I can show you why”, he offered. “But even beyond that, something is wrong with it. Though I cover the eye with linen and leather, I can see perfectly fine through it. And... it speaks to me”
He continued a few steps, before he noticed that Sanurius had briefly frozen in place, now hurrying after him. “It speaks?”, he asked and Yveshin gulped. “Is that not normal for artifacts?”, he asked, to which Sanurius shook his head, his eyes now having a grim expression to them. “Artifacts are still just objects. They have no sentience of their own, they cannot speak to you”
“So...”, Yveshin mumbled. “It is not an artifact, yes?” Sanurius shrugged. “I am a healer and I know a few other useful spells”, he told him. “But something like this... I cannot even speculate about its origins and I am certain that most of my colleagues will feel the same. My friend, I'm starting to believe you could use an exorcist”
By now, the walls of the Alackskeep had gotten close enough for Yveshin to see the damage that had been done to them, by ancient weaponry, but also by time itself. “Enough about that for now”, he muttered. “We need to focus on what's ahead of us” Sanurius had caught up with him again and out of the corner of the ruby eye, Yveshin saw him nodding in agreement. “Indeed we should”, the half-elf stated. “Whatever happened to your eye, it is nothing compared to the beast that lingers within this castle”
Yveshin narrowed his eyes as he saw the destruction of the walls. Parts had crumbled entirely, others were blackened from fire, or cracked by siege weaponry. “What happened here?”, he asked, barely able to keep his gaze from the former gatehouse, which was now but one of several openings into the courtyard. Far behind, one of the larger towers loomed over the entire yard, dousing it in perpetual shadow.
“Once, this castle belonged to the Church of Rondra”, Sanurius told him. “Their proud border fortress. If you look closely, you can see their fading heraldry in the stonework. Lions and swords, slowly withering away. It was the Church of Praios that fought against them. Back then, they claimed the Rondrians murdered the child emperor of the Middenrealm, but all things considered, it was the Praiots themselves who had the most to gain from that. Without a legitimate ruler, the head of the Church of Praios took control of the realm. Priest-Emperor, that's what he called himself and of course, the Sword of Swords did not kneel before him”
“So they waged war over this...”, Yveshin mumbled and Sanurius sighed. “Less of a war, more of a massacre. The Rondrians were valiant as always, but the Praiots outnumbered them fifty to one. They had an army behind them, whereas the Rondrians had only their warrior priests. One by one, their temples fell, with their priests dying in combat or burned alive at the Priest-Emperor's decree”
“That is horrible!”, Yveshin growled and the fine hairs at the back of his neck stood up as he saw something else. There, on both sides of the gatehouse, was a different mark within the stone. Fine, horizontal lines, as if something had carved through the stone itself while walking there. Claw marks, but he had never seen a beast that could carve through stone, even one as weathered as these.
“Horrible doesn't even begin to describe it”, Sanurius clarified. “Mages of all kinds, their supporters and, of course, the strong and stalwart Priests of Rondra were slaughtered by the Praiots. This was but one of many fortresses that fell to their madness. But something went wrong during the siege” He clenched his fists, now visibly tense. “It is said that the Rondrians of the Alackskeep consorted with darker forces than their divine lioness. I'd call it slander, but those were dire times back then. Whatever happened, the Praiots suffered heavy losses. Even their leader died during the final hours of the siege. They buried him in the keep, but they never repaired the damage they did to the walls and towers. Even after the reign of the Priest Emperors ended, no one returned to claim the ruins”
“And no one used the stones for anything else?”, Yveshin asked. “Seems like a waste to me” Sanurius gave him a nod. “That is usually the fate of old fortifications once they are no longer needed”, he told him. “And this ruin, it is very old, yet the stone is still good. The fact that nobody came for it means the Wraith is just as old, perhaps a creature summoned by the Rondrians in their final stand, still bound to this forsaken place”
Even though he was used to the cold, the sudden, sharp wind that came from the north, blowing through the keep and towards them was enough to make Yveshin shiver. Or perhaps it was the sight he couldn't look away from, the damage done to the walls not by siege weapons and fire, but by claws. Sometimes, these marks seemed to be carved into the stone at random, but he saw intent behind others, symmetry and purpose.
“It looks like the Wraith left a warning”, he spoke. “For anyone foolish enough to venture here” Sanurius chuckled. “That means we're officially fools”, he replied. “But I see it, yes. Looks like our Wraith is quite the artist” They stopped in front of the gatehouse and through the gaping hole, where once wood and iron had protected the entrance into the courtyard, Yveshin could see a desolate, snow-covered square.
“Are you ready for this?”, Sanurius asked and slowly, Yveshin shook his head. “Not really”, he admitted, as he reached for one arrow from his quiver. “But I don't think we got much of a choice. Me at least” Sanurius pulled his scarf down, revealing a grim, but honest smile. “And I'm not going to back out now”, he promised him. “The Wraith has been dormant for a few months now, so perhaps we're in luck. Your druid friend must have some reason for calling you here, of all places”
Together, they stepped through the gloomy gatehouse and in the shadow, the chill was genuinely uncomfortable. It seemed not just colder thank outside these crumbling walls, but darker as well, with the entire courtyard doused in gloomy twilight. In here, the Alackskeep seemed even more desolate than from the outside, with the three remaining towers slightly bending inwards, as if they were trying to swallow this grim place.
The largest of the towers had an opening, possibly a mighty door once not unlike the tower in Drakesfield, but door and doorframe were long since gone. All that remained was an asymmetric hole that led deeper into the darkness. So close, the claw marks on the stone were clearly visible as something had carved through the stone countless times over the centuries. But what he found most startling was that even though the wind was howling over and around the keep itself, down the gentle hill and into the village, it was almost windless in the courtyard itself, as if not even the wind dared to enter this grim place.
Now that he knew what to look out for, his fine sight easily made out the fading heraldry among the stonework. He knew of this human tradition of putting their sigils everywhere they could and out of all the odd customs, he understood this one the best. Though he only now learned that the lion belonged to the goddess Rondra, he could clearly see several of these animals engraved in stone, though most of the details were gone by now. What he could see was that this had clearly been a magnificent fortress once. His people did not build in stone, but even their grandest crystal palace could not compete with the sheer size of this bulwark.
And there was another thing, a sight that made his blood freeze within his veins. Snow had fallen rapidly over the last weeks, covering the entire landscape in an even white. Not even the familiar white tone could do anything to make this desolate place look any less eerie. But what truly startled him was the disturbance among the snow. Someone had been digging within, removing a few inches and revealing a body lying beneath. It was unrecognizable from afar and frozen solid, though a grim suspicion grew within him.
Wordlessly, he glanced at Sanurius, who had clearly seen the same and they exchanged a nod. Then, with one arrow ready to fire, he approached the body and with each step he took, he could see it more clearly. The body wore little fur for this cold weather, just a thin, grey cape made from a wolf. A crude leather harness covered the chest, though the leather was torn to pieces by a violent blow. Yveshin could see bone beneath the ruined armour, but more importantly, he saw black fur. “It's not Naeem...”, he mumbled.
“An ork...”, Sanurius mumbled and when Yveshin knelt down next to the corpse, the healer did the same. “Deep injuries”, the elf mumbled, as he closely inspected the frozen body. “But not deep enough for a quick death. This ork bled out. Several minutes of agony at least” Sanurius gulped. “Ghastly way to go”, he admitted. “Not even an ork deserves that. Can you see what caused the injuries?”
Yveshin leant closer, carefully studying the body. Orks were roughly as tall as humans and generally shorter than his people, but that was where the similarities ended. Tending towards the stocky, with broad shoulders and thick necks, they had short, black fur covering their entire body and this one had been no exception. Faint lines of red had been painted across the visible fur, not blood, but long-dry paint. Furthermore, his face was as inhuman as possible, with a small, flat nose with large nostrils, resembling a snout more than it did a nose. The jaw... Yveshin narrowed his eyes, but there was no doubt. The jaw was broken, shattered even and the ork was missing half of his back teeth. The front teeth remained intact, including the characteristic tusks that grew from their lower jaw. His eyes, small and well-protected by a thick forehead, stood open in sheer terror.
“There's more over there!”, Sanurius exclaimed, pointing at another corpse, almost entirely hidden beneath the snow. “Four in total. Any idea how long they've been here?” Yveshin gave him a nod. “Rot has set in, but the cold preserved them well”, he spoke. “No earlier than late summer. Early autumn is more likely. Around four human months. They'd look a lot worse if not for the harsh winter”
He put a hand on the ork's forehead, cold and stiff to the touch. “How long did you say the beast hasn't been active?”, he then asked and Sanurius raised an eyebrow. “Four, maybe five...”, he began, before his eyes widened. “Twelve have mercy!” He stared right past Yveshin and as the elf followed his gaze, he saw a horrifying sight.
Out of the shadows of one of the crumbling towers stepped a figure. Ghastly white, almost invisible through the snow, but with a faint glow of its own. It was shorter than him, with a stocky, heavily-muscled build and clad in a torn leather armour. He spotted brutish facial features, a small nose and unmistakable tusks and... his eyes widened and he tried his best to remain calm as he noticed the deep gash in the figure's throat, a crude and horrific injury. “
Betrayer!”, the ghost roared, its voice hateful and high-pitched. The tone originated not from the figure itself, but from somewhere within Yveshin's head.
“It's a ghost!”, Sanurius exclaimed, as he raised his staff. “One of the orks, it seems. Stay close, he could be dangerous” Yveshin wasted no time and immediately aimed at the creature, though Sanurius shook his head. “That won't do much”, he warned him. “At worst, it'll just make him angry. Our best bet is to keep away from them and hope they are not the violent kind”
“Is that the beast?”, Yveshin asked and again, Sanurius shook his head. “One of its victims, most likely”, he explained. “Sometimes, those who die horrible, unavenged deaths find themselves unable to pass through Uthar's Gate. They remain in this world as ghosts, echoes of what they used to be. No two of them are alike, so there's really no saying how dangerous they are”
Ghosts... Yveshin knew they existed, of course, his tribe had countless stories of their kind, apparitions who were equally dangerous and pitiful. And yet, hearing of them was one thing. Standing here, so close to one was another thing entirely and he felt a cold chill running down his spine. Icy dread threatened to overcome him, as he stared at something fundamentally unnatural, a soul that should have moved on but remained trapped within this world, its mad rage clear to see.
“And if they aren't harmless?”, he asked, glancing at the bow in his hand. Sanurius sighed, before he looked down at his staff. “I didn't expect ghosts”, he admitted. “Before we came here, I prepared a few spells, but I'm not an exorcist, nor a battlemage. If they are hostile...” He paused, before he shook his head. “Well, let's just hope they aren't, because I won't be able to hold them off for long. I've never had to face a vengeful ghost before, but I know what they can do to a person”
“
We trusted you, elf-knight!”, the ghost howled again within Yveshin's mind. No, not that ghost... It took him a moment to realize that it was a different ghost who had spoken and as he looked up, he saw another figure on the wall, flickering briefly, before appearing again in the courtyard, a few dozen feet away from him. This one was horrifying to look at, with its head shattered on two sides, caved in as if some inhuman force had crushed it.
“Yveshin...”, Sanurius gasped. “Perhaps we should...” He actually cut himself off and flinched as a third ghost appeared, just a few feet away from him. “How many of them are there?”, Yveshin barked, as he took aim at the one who just appeared close to Sanurius. The marks of a violent death were clearly visible on the ghostly ork, as his lower jaw had been ripped off, with further claw marks all over its ruined torso. “
You betrayed us”, it spoke within Yveshin's mind, its voice hollow, cold and hateful. “
You sent us to die!”
“Back off!”, Sanurius barked and he pointed his staff at the ghost who stood closest to him. The apparition did not even look at him, instead it focussed entirely on Yveshin. Then, to the elf's surprise, the tip of Sanurius' staff began to glow. A brief, blinding flash of light erupted from it, hitting the ghost and causing it to flicker and disappear. “That won't hold him off for long and it's all I got. Yveshin, we need to...”, Sanurius began, but his eyes widened, as he stared at the elf. “Behind you!”
“
Tairach take you!”, the ghostly voice hissed and Yveshin spun around. There, right in front of him, stood the ork whose corpse he had investigated. Small, hateful eyes stared at him and though the jaw was broken beyond repair, its mouth formed a vicious snarl. “
Elf-knight!”, the ghost barked, though its lips did not move. Through the partially translucent figure, Yveshin could still see the actual corpse of the Blackfur lying in the snow.
“Stay back!”, he yelled and immediately, he let go of the arrow, firing it at the ghost without thinking twice. The projectile passed right through the creature's head, leaving not even the slightest mark on the ghastly ork. In return, the creature's snarl widened, revealing the splintered bones of its lower jaw. "I'm not the one who betrayed you", he spoke, even though he knew that arguing with the ghost was hardly possible. "I've never been to this place before"
Before the elf could stagger back, the creature lunged forward. In one moment, it stood perfectly still, then the ghastly form flickered once more. When it appeared again, it stood so close in front of Yveshin that it drowned out everything else. A pair of hands reached out for him and when they grabbed him, they were perfectly solid and cold, as freezing as the highest peaks of his mountain home, as icy as the maw of a Frost Wyrm. “
Liar...”, the ghost hissed and it was the last thing Yveshin heard, before darkness claimed him, immediately and ruthlessly...
“Is this the place?”, Rassan growled, as he glanced up at the nightly sky. Dark clouds hid Tairach's pale gaze and yet, he felt the presence of his god still, resonating within the lines of red he had painted on his black fur and within the bones he wore around his neck. He knew the others were nervous, but that was the difference between him and his companions. They worshipped Brazoragh and through him, strength, virility and battle. As such, they grew easily nervous when faced with an unknown threat, something they potentially couldn't fight, fuck or otherwise dominate. Simpletons, all of them. Rassan meanwhile worshipped a god of death and he was calm in the knowledge that all would belong to Tairach eventually.
Morchai gave him a brief nod, his black figure almost invisible in this moonless night. “Be ready for anything”, he snarled and his gravelly voice was mildly shaky. He was the tallest and strongest of their small band and as such, he was a natural leader. But he could not read or write and he was a terrible diplomat, which was why even he deferred to Rassan's insight from time to time.
“Anything...”, Sharraz hissed, exchanging a glance with his blood-brother, Ashar. They were both fairly young, having been unbloodied until the Great War just three years ago. Rassan still did not trust them to remain calm, should they face what he expected to find in this ruin. What they were sent to meet, to parley with. A warrior, a weapon. “Anything is not good enough. Why did the elf-knight sent us here?”
To parley... with what exactly? During the Great War, Rassan had served Sadrak Whassoi. He had been there when the Black Marshall had made the decision to move around this tiny patch of land, to ignore and avoid it. No scouting missions, not even a small raiding party to burn the few villages in this human barony to the ground. At that time, ten thousand orks had marched under the Black Marshall's command and yet, he still did not dare to come here.
All this time, Rassan had to wonder why and even now, he was none the wiser. The humans called this place Realm's End and it was exactly as desolate and poor as the name suggested. The lack of riches hadn't been the reason for Sadrak's hesitation, they had burned down poorer baronies during the war, sometimes for the thrill of battle, sometimes to send a message to the hated humans, sometimes just for the sake of it. There were no fortifications here either that would have justified the Black Marshall's hesitation, none but this crumbling ruin they approached right now.
Once, it must have been mighty, a structure grander than anything his nomadic people had ever built. Rassan had no problem with admitting the superiority of human architecture, but he also saw the flaws that came from relying on houses and castles of stone. The human kings bred weakness into their people by hiding them from the threats of this world and as the state of this ruin proved, sometimes this was exactly what caused their downfall.
These days, the ruin was barely worth a mention. The walls had too many holes within them to be called proper fortifications anymore and even one of the once-great towers had crumbled. A ruin of such age was a rare find, for usually, the humans would have stripped it of its parts by now. The fact that they hadn't did not ease his underlying concerns. He placed one hand on the sharp knife he carried with him. There was an axe tied to his backpack, but he had left it behind at their camp. The others were armed well enough, Morchai and Ashar with swords, Sharraz with a short bow.
“A warrior of great strength lives here”, Morchai explained. “The elf-knight wants to ally with him” Ashar bared his teeth, as he hurried to catch up with the larger ork. “It is for his horrid queen, isn't it?”, he barked. “If she wants to have this great warrior by her side, I say let her come in person. I don't see why we should do the bidding of the elf-whore any further”
As soon as these words had left his mouth, Morchai narrowed his eyes. Swiftly, especially for an ork of his size, he grabbed the younger man by the throat and pulled him closer, glaring at him, before baring his thick fangs. “The elf-queen paid us good coin and we gave her our word”, he growled. “You may not like it, but we owe it to her to stand by it”
Subtly, Sharraz reached for an arrow, but Rassan was quicker by stepping between him and his leader. “Stay, runt”, he hissed and reluctantly, Sharraz lowered his hand again. Morchai did not seem to notice, his entire attention now being on Ashar, who squirmed within his grip. “My word is worth more than your life”, Morchai told him sharply. “Remember that when next you insult the elf-queen”
“You served the Aikar Brazoragh once...”, Ashar hissed, gasping for air within Morchai's grip. “He would have led this group himself” Morchai rolled his dark eyes and with one swift move, he slammed his forehead against Ashar's nose. A cracking sound echoed through the night, followed by Ashar's muffled howls, as the young ork pressed both hands against his broken nose. Blood seeped from between them and blood now stained Morchai's forehead. Then, the larger ork let go and Ashar sunk to the ground.
“Ashim Riak Assai was a fool”, Morchai spoke in a deceptively calm tone. “I followed him because I believed in him, but his war killed too many of our kind and not even nearly enough of those blasted humans” Rassan nodded in agreement. The Aikar Brazoragh remained in power to this day and in his stead, Sadrak Whassoi and Uigar Kai had to suffer. It was one of many reasons for him to turn his back on the Orkland.
“Now, I believe only in the gold the elf-queen pays me”, Morchai continued. “And if she says we go here to recruit a great warrior to her cause, then we do just that” Reluctantly, Ashar gave him a nod and he flinched as the larger ork leant down. Instead of knocking him back down, however, Morchai extended one hand, helping him back up.
The warrior... Rassan knew preciously little about him, but he was curious why such a great warrior would hide in this ruined fortress. Perhaps he was the reason why the Black Marshall avoided this land at all cost. “She paid us well after we plundered that temple”, he brought up and Morchai nodded in agreement. “She'll pay us even better now”, he growled.
“Better than the Uhdenberg Legion?”, Sharraz asked, as they slowly approached the nightly ruin. Rassan chuckled at his comment, even though it was by no means meant as a joke. “The Legion won't take you, runt”, he growled. “They won't even take me. Morchai perhaps, but only as long as they don't hear about his role during the Great War”
“Human-fuckers, all of them”, Morchai growled. “Heard they even have filthy half-bloods in their ranks” He shook his head. “I wouldn't join them even if they'd beg me to. Nah, I intend to head north once we got our pay this time. Find work in Tjolmar. Closer to home, but not close enough to ever have to deal with Ashim and his senseless wars again"
“We haven't been paid yet though”, Rassan brought up. “There's no sense in planning with gold you don't yet have” Morchai narrowed his eyes. “Don't you start questioning me too, Rassan”, he growled. “We're doing this, like we raided that temple. Slaughtered those sun priests and took their treasure. And she's going to pay us, like she did back then. Handsomely”
“I'm not questioning you”, Rassan assured him and briefly, his gaze fell upon the deep markings on the walls, on both sides of the tunnel that led through the gatehouse. Something had carved through the stone, three lines, almost symmetrical. He knew of no weapon that could do this, not without causing significantly higher damage to the stone itself.
Magic then? That was one thought that actually made the ork shiver. He was used to battle and even more to bloodshed. Tairach was a demanding god and worshipping him was not for the weak. He had killed for his god, he had sacrificed slaves and not once had he felt uncomfortable. But magic... Not the kind the shamans could wield, but human magic... it was the one thing that made him lose his cool.
“I just don't think we should have come here after nightfall”, he added and Morchai chuckled. “What, are you scared of the dark now?”, he asked, as they stepped through the gatehouse and into the open courtyard. Grass had long since grown through the cracked stones that once formed the ground, but it seemed thinner than outside. Sick too. Several cracks were barren entirely. And strangely enough, though the cold autumn wind was howling outside these walls and above it, there was no wind at all here in the courtyard. It wasn't any warmer though and if anything, the lack of wind only added to the uncomfortable feeling that grew within the ork.
He looked at the sky and frowned. The moon was still hiding behind the clouds and here in the courtyard, Rassan felt the absence of his god more than anything. At the same time, he felt watched, from the walls, from every hole in the three remaining towers and from the gaping darkness behind them. “It's not the dark I'm afraid of”, he spoke, as he glanced around. “It's the monsters that lurk within it” His gaze fell upon the largest of the three remaining towers, upon the opening that remained of a once lavish entrance. There were pieces missing from the doorframe, entire bricks ripped out, sometimes smashed and shattered. And there were these markings again. From afar, they almost looked like... claw marks...
“Monsters...”, Morchai chuckled. “You're getting stranger, man! There's a human village a mile to the south. You think they'd settle so close to a monster's den?” He shook his head. “Sharraz, Ashar! Check out that tower. We got a warrior to find, sure he must be here somewhere” Rassan barely saw the angry glare Ashar threw at his leader and he was glad Morchai did not notice. Sharraz however saluted in front of the larger ork, as he and his brother hurried across the courtyard.
“It'll snow soon, first time this year”, Morchai spoke. “Whole place'll look better then. Maybe coming later would have eased your concerns” He shrugged, turning away from Rassan and watching the two young orks, as they made their way towards the tower. “Or perhaps we should have paid that village a visit first. Find some humans you can sacrifice to Tairach. Some blood to spill for the Red Moon, huh?”
“It would please my god”, Rassan admitted and the larger ork shrugged. “You give too much about the bloody gods”, he growled. “The elf queen is the same when it comes to that, only that her god has no name. If you ask me, you're both taking your gods too bloody serious” Rassan narrowed his eyes, though with his back turned to him, Morchai couldn't see the angry grimace. Nonetheless, he bared his teeth at him. “You're a fool”, he growled. “And we... I don't think we should have come here. Where is the queen's warrior...”
He was about to say something else, when he suddenly heard something. It was muffled, barely audible, even though it had to come from right behind him. A muffled thud, as if something had been dropped from a great height... perhaps from the walls. He tensed up, as his hand moved towards the knife he carried on his belt. “Morchai...”, he mumbled and his eyes widened as the larger ork turned around. Confusion on his leader's face quickly turned to horror, as he staggered away from him. “Rassan...”, he growled. “Behind you...”
Rassan gave him a nod, before he turned around, slowly and hesitantly. He saw the tall, lean shadow behind him, but before he could make out any details in the darkness, a sharp pain flared up in his guts, a force heavy enough to make him drop the knife. Something had hit him, piercing through leather and fur, through skin and flesh and muscles. Immediately, he could taste his own blood and with heavy, painful breaths, he looked down.
There was a hand on his gut, all five fingers pressing against his belly. Where they touched him, he felt a cold, horrifying pain, unlike any sensation he had ever felt. Another hand was placed on his shoulder, holding him upright with monstrous strength. He opened his mouth to speak, but no word would leave his throat, nothing but the faintest wail of pain.
As he looked up, pain was quickly replaced by fear, a feeling of dread so overwhelming that it drowned out even the horrible agony within his gut. The large figure was a man, a human, at least two heads taller than him, clad in a heavy, black armour, with a long, worn cloak of the same darkness draped around his shoulders and falling to his feet. He towered over the ork and in the dark of the night, Rassan could barely make out his features. Pale skin, pallid even, as if he had never seen the light of the sun. In sharp contrast, his his hair was midnight given form, unkempt and stringy, falling down to his shoulders. It framed a long, gaunt face, with a thin, hooked nose, high cheekbones and a strong, clean-shaven chin, as well as narrow, pallid lips. His eyes... Tairach have mercy, his eyes...
In the thirty years of his life, Rassan had never seen eyes like these and he immediately knew that they would be the last he'd ever look into. They were even paler than the man's skin, but he could make them out well, for they seemed to have a faint glow of their own, a ghostly light that stared down at him. There was no iris, just white orbs, sunken deep into the man's face... no, not a man. Into the monster's face, for Rassan had no doubts that this creature was anything but human. And the look inside of those eyes, it was cold, not just devoid of mercy or compassion, but downright hateful as if those concepts were utterly alien to the creature.
When it leant down, a whimper left Rassan's throat, half agony, half terror. He could feel the chill that radiated from the creature's pallid skin, almost pressed against his own, as its lips reached his ear. “They should have listened to you”, the creature whispered and its voice was deep and cutting. It carried far across the courtyard even though the creature was whispering. At the same time, the voice was hoarsy and hesitant, as if its wielder was not used to even hearing it. “You shouldn't have come after nightfall. You shouldn't have come at all”
Rassan felt a new wave of pain flaring up in his gut and he coughed violently. The taste of blood was overwhelming now and as he looked down, he saw just what had pierced his flesh. Claws, thick claws where there should have been mere fingernails, growing from the creature's long, thin fingers. They had twisted and dug within the ork's belly and Rassan knew immediately that he would not survive this injury. “I know your kind, Blackfur”, the creature hissed, its voice now oozing contempt. “All your life, you considered yourself a hunter, strong and proud. As if you had any right to force yourself upon those beneath you. You murdered and you sacrificed and you felt good while doing so”
Without warning, the creature pulled back its clawed hand, leaving behind five holes within Rassan's gut. Too shocked to react in any other way, the ork pressed his hand onto the wound, staring with wide eyes at his own blood seeping between his fingers. “And I know that expression on your face”, the creature continued, still holding him up with one hand. “All your life, you considered yourself superior. Now you made one mistake and it all comes crashing down. And as you stand there, bleeding out as I demand it, you realize that you have been nothing but a sheep, one of many on a tiny field. Now, you're face to face with a true predator and you realize that for all your strength, all your courage, all your deeds and misdeeds, you have always just been that... livestock”
With these words, hissed in a spiteful tone, he let go of Rassan, who immediately sunk to the ground. With wide eyes, the ork stared up at the creature as it stepped past him, while he continued to press his hands onto his gut wound. There was agony, too much to even move, but there was also horror, keeping him in the moment with such severity that he couldn't even pass on into merciful oblivion.
Morchai had his sword drawn by now, too stunned for a moment to react. “Boys!”, he growled. “Boys, get back here...!” He staggered back from the creature and now, Rassan saw the armour it was wearing more closely. A knight... a monstrous knight in a deceptively human form. But no one who had seen these eyes would ever mistake this beast with a human. And immediately, he knew why the Black Marshall had avoided this land.
“Please, we...”, Morchai began, as the monster took a swing at him with its blood-stained hand. Large, fast and skilled, the ork parried the strike with ease, though the monster wrapped its long, clawed fingers around the blade, pressing its flesh against the sharp, jagged edge. “We have a message for you. We have come to...”
“You have come to die”, the creature hissed, slowly pushing the sword down with one hand. Not even with both of his, Morchai was able to hold against it, as the creature pressed the sword down until his head was left unprotected. Then, faster than Rassan could even fathom in his dizzy, injured condition, it moved. In one moment, the creature and Morchai stood there, staring at each other. In the next, the creature had let go of the lowered sword, before smashing both of its open palms against the ork's head. The skull gave in between the clawed hands and Morchai collapsed, dead in an instant.
By now, Sharraz and Ashar were hurrying back towards them. The former was reaching for an arrow, while the latter had his sword drawn and was rushing ahead. Rassan could not see the creature's expression, but he imagined a cruel smile to go with the hollow chuckle that left its throat. Its body language showed actual excitement, as it charged towards them.
Ashar reached him first. He was young, inexperienced and panicked, so Rassan could barely blame him for his weak overhead strike. Expectedly, the armoured beast took a step to the side and avoided the blow, while its clawed hand grabbed the shorter ork by the thin leather chestplate. It lifted him up with ease, with strength more befitting of an ogre than someone of its size, before tossing him across the courtyard, towards Rassan.
Immediately as it let go of Ashar, the creature turned his attention to Sharraz, who fired an arrow towards it. Instead of dodging, the creature barely even moved, merely opening its hand and catching the arrow before getting hit. Under other circumstances, Rassan would have stared at this beast with awe, for even now, as he was bleeding out and numb with terror, he realized that the elf queen had not lied to them. This was a warrior, lethal perfection given form. The speed, the grace, the precise efficiency with which it took a swing at the young ork before Sharraz could reach for another arrow... all of that was drowned out by the sheer horror of seeing the beast ripping off his companion's lower jaw with one well-placed strike. Sharraz remained standing for a moment, eyes widened in disbelief, before he collapsed.
“NO!”, Ashar roared. Rassan was surprised the other ork was still standing, even though blood was running from his mouth. He should have stayed down, should have played dead and perhaps he would have had a chance. As it stood, his efforts were admirable, but nothing more. Tairach would honour him for it in the afterlife.
The creature raised a thin eyebrow, before it charged towards him. Ashar managed to raise his sword, pointing it at his opponent, but blood was already running from his mouth and he was unable to even take a tiny swing. Unimpressed, the creature grabbed his arm and almost with the flick of its wrist, a sickening crunch echoed across the courtyard, followed by Ashar's screams, as the beast had broken his arm without any effort. Perhaps it was the loss of blood, as his own life slowly left him, but Rassan could swear he could see the bone sticking out of Ashar's forearm.
The young ork's screams were drowned out, replaced by a panicked gurgling, as the beast moved forward. Rassan could only see it from behind now, but clearly, it pressed its own jaw against Ashar's throat, biting down into it, tearing at the flesh like a blood-crazed animal. It moved back, just as Rassan reached for his knife. Just a moment... he needed just a moment. He was not as strong as Morchai, or as fast as Ashar, but he was quiet, always had been.
He saw the gaping hole in Ashar's throat, a significant part simply bitten off. Blood was running freely from the wound and the young ork quickly fainted, as the beast still held onto his broken arm. For a moment, it focussed entirely on its latest victim, completely ignoring Rassan, even having its back turned to him. It did not react as he raised his knife, not even as he rammed it forward.
Only in the last possible moment did it seem to even notice him, turning around quickly, but not quick enough to avoid his attack. His knife found the throat, piercing through it, rammed upwards through the creature's blood-stained mouth. And yet, he immediately knew that something was wrong, something far worse than the creature's uncanny speed or strength. There was blood, a lot of it even, staining the creature's mouth and throat, but all of it seemed to be Ashar's. And unlike anyone he had killed, human, ork or even the occasional elf, this beast did not collapse in spite of its injury.
Slowly, it opened its mouth into the most spine-chilling grin he had ever seen. The teeth... by Tairach, by Brazoragh, by any god willing to listen, what was this creature? The teeth seemed perfectly human, with one startling exception. Both of the upper canine teeth were long and sharp, longer than even the small fangs the elven race called their own or the tusks that grew from his lower jaw. They reminded him of an Orkland viper and right now, they were utterly stained with Ashar's blood.
In a sudden shock, he let go of the knife, staggering back until the creature held him back. It narrowed its eyes, before it pulled the knife from its throat. “Brave livestock”, it hissed and with a gaze that was almost resigned to this terror, Rassan saw as the injury closed, immediately after the knife left the flesh and without leaving even the tiniest of scars.
“But nothing more...”, the creature continued, before grabbing his lower jaw, holding it between thumb and middle finger. “Just livestock” It began to apply pressure and even though he already thought himself numb to the pain, he still howled in agony, as he felt his own jaw slowly, painfully cracking beneath the monster's iron grip. Pain, icy cold at first, then hot and searing, the sharp claws digging into his flesh and shattering bone and teeth beneath.
“Impudent. Thoughtless”, the creature hissed. “You intrude in my land. You talk about killing my flock... For that, you will die. You know, I actually came to an agreement with your Black Marshall during your pathetic war. Not what you'd call a negotiation, but I sent him bits and pieces of his scouts until he left this land alone. He was reasonable, so I allowed him to live. You though... you don't seem to have gotten the message” The eyes widened. “And... you did not come alone...”
With these hateful words, it let go of Rassan, who sunk back to the ground, his howls dying down to a whimper. His jaw... he could not see the injury and did not dare to feel it, but the throbbing agony that radiated through his entire head was strong enough to drown out even the fear he felt as he faced this monster. It was a pain so strong that he could not even faint.
“Come out, come out wherever you are”, the creature mumbled, as it began to look around. It spread its arms, ready to pounce at anyone foolish enough to have come here. But... there could be none. Rassan had checked, he had made sure that none would follow them. And none could have, for nothing could have avoided his gaze while walking over the open field that led them to this accursed keep. He would have said as much, but even just trying to open his mouth was enough to bring tears to the seasoned warrior's eyes. The creature took a deep breath, sniffing at the air like a wolf who picked up a new scent. Then, it raised both eyebrows, slowly lowering its hands. “Come out, come out...”, it hissed. “Shakagra!”
To Rassan's surprise, a new sound cut through the nightly silence. Steel softly hitting steel, as someone clapped, slowly and mockingly. He barely managed to turn his head to the gatehouse, but he could see the figure that stepped through it. Tall, even taller than the knight, but just as lean, clad in an armour just as black, but crafted in a strange, alien way, unlike the familiar sight of the human plate armour the creature was wearing. He wore a thick helmet, concealing his features and leaving only a small opening for the eyes, but Rassan recognized him. The elf-knight, champion of the elven queen, the one who had hired them in the first place.
“Impressive”, the knight spoke in an almost jovial tone. “You truly are as perceptive as they say, Walmir of Reeveshoff” He stopped at the entrance of the courtyard, taking in the carnage for one moment. “I really wish you would have heard them out first, though” The creature... Walmir of Reeveshoff, apparently, bared its teeth again, not to smile or smirk, but to threaten the elf-knight, who took a faint bow in front of the monster. “I am Asch, the Black Lion of Ometheon, first and most favoured of the mother-queen”
“You are not welcome here, Shakagra”, Walmir hissed. “Leave or you will share the fate of your pawns” Pawns... a terrible realization grew within Rassan, something he had suspected from the moment they were sent to this ruin. They had been just that, pawns in the elf-queens game. She had used them and now she had sent them to die, with her knight in tow to actually do what Rassan and his companions had tried to accomplish here.
“Oh, I will leave”, the knight promised. “After you hear me out. The mother-queen is requesting your aid. She...” Walmir did not let him continue. “She is none of my concern”, he hissed. “Nor is she my enemy. Leave now, or she will be” The knight stepped into the courtyard now, to Walmir's obvious displeasure. “And yet, she thinks highly of you”, he spoke. “She wants you by her side as an ally”
“A pawn maybe!”, Walmir roared. “Don't speak to me as if she has my best interests in mind. I did not survive the centuries by getting involved in madness. I am no fool, knife-ear” By now, the knight was standing right next to Rassan, who could do nothing but stare up at him. “Apparently, you are enough of a fool to talk down to me like that”, the armoured elf spoke, his voice showing not a hint of fear. If anything, he sounded mildly excited. “The queen is courteous here. She has sent you these Blackfurs as a gift. Something to sate that hunger of yours for a bit. They come with a promise of more, as much as you desire for the rest of your life”
“And how long will that be if I go with you?”, Walmir replied, before he shook his head. “Keep your honeyed words, Asch of Ometheon, and your poisoned gifts. I will not be swayed” Though his vision was slowly leaving him due to losing so much blood, Rassan could clearly see the elf-knight tensing up. What followed, however, was a genuine chuckle coming from beneath this heavy helmet. “You know, Walmir...”, the elf spoke and his voice sounded hollow to Rassan, as did the sound of his long, thin sword being drawn. “I was hoping you would say that”
He pointed the weapon towards the monster with one hand. “I'm afraid the mother-queen insists on your presence”, he now spoke and his voice, for all the cocky bravado in his stance and gestures, was low, calm and no less menacing than Walmir's growl. “So, if you don't want to come with me by your own accord... why, I get to force you” He lowered his head, glaring at the beast, who itself spread its arms, ready to pounce at the knight. And yet, even though he had seen how easily the creature had slaughtered Rassan's companions, the elf was still oozing confidence. “Perhaps you can offer me the challenge I've been yearning for, Wraith”
By now, the pain that came from his gut was almost gone and the ork knew that death would come any moment now. His vision was rapidly becoming weaker, as did his hearing. The elf-knight was only a shadow to him by now, his voice muffled beyond recognition. Rassan opened his mouth in one last, futile attempt at screaming in agony, but all that would leave his throat was a pathetic whimper.
With one last, desperate groan, pressed through a broken jaw, he managed to turn his head so that he could face the sky. If only he could see Tairach's pale gaze one last time... it would be alright, he could fade away knowing that his god would look after him. But the moon was not there, still hidden by the clouds. And as the last spark of life left him, Rassan knew that Tairach did not see him...
“...shin...”Slowly, he opened his eyes. The first thing he felt was the cold, then the surprising softness of lying on freshly fallen snow. His head was aching, particularly his left eye and he felt nauseous, as the world around him spun, slower and slower. The rest of his senses returned little by little, as did his memory, even if it remained hazy at first.
“Yveshin!”, a voice called out to him and only slowly did he recognize it as Sanurius'. The half-elf was standing above him, one hand reaching down towards him, the other clenched around his staff, pointing it at something outside of his currently limited field of view. “What... happened...?”, he gasped. Realm's End... the Alackskeep... his eyes widened as his memory returned.
“You've been out for a minute”, the healer spoke and with his help, Yveshin managed to stagger back to his feet. “Glad you're back. Though neither of us would have made it without your druid friend” The elf took a moment to glance around. The first thing he noticed was that the ghosts were still there, glaring at them from a distance, unmoving yet clearly still focussed on them. This time, he knew their names. Morchai, his head still crushed. Ashar and Sharraz, still bearing the injuries the Wraith had dealt to them. And there, just a few feet away, on all fours like a feral animal, Rassan, the ork whose final moments he had witnessed.
And then, he realized that they were not alone. Standing halfway between him and the large tower was another figure, quite familiar this time and certainly not a ghost. Though he had exchanged the simple linen and leather for appropriately thick furs, with a tight leather cap hiding most of his face, the long beard was unmistakable, as was what little Yveshin could see of his features. Naeem Umer had his eyes closed and his arms spread, mumbling something just as Yveshin noticed him.
“Naeem?”, he stuttered and the young druid opened one eye, a thin, pleased smile forming beneath his beard. “In the flesh”, he replied, though the moment he spoke, the ghosts began to flicker and move, slowly, sluggishly at first, before Naeem closed his eyes again. “You'll have to catch up later”, Sanurius barked, before he pointed at the tower. “We need to get inside, now!”
Though Yveshin was not sure what protection the tower would offer them from the ghosts, but Naeem nodded in agreement, which was enough for him to comply. He took position to the druid's right, with Sanurius to his left, as Naeem slowly began to walk back. His eyes were closed again and he mumbled something, but even with his good hearing, Yveshin was unable to make out any specific words. And yet, something of what he was doing had an effect on the ghosts.
They were still there, of course, they were quite clearly still filled with violent hatred towards them. After having seen what he just did, Yveshin even knew where their anger came from. And yet, they remained out of their reach, their shapes flickering closer whenever Yveshin took another step, but never close enough to actually attack him. They just stood there, silently staring, throwing hateful glares at the elf.
Though the tower itself sent a chill down its spine, with its broken entrance and the obvious claw marks surrounding it, especially now that he knew who had done this, the alternative was not better by any means. These ghosts... Yveshin still felt dizzy and colder than he should after their attack, merely dragging himself into the tower, knowing fully well that he could not defend himself if Naeem's magic would fail them.
It was only after they crossed over the threshold that led into the tower itself that the druid lowered his arms, immediately staggering backwards, his eyes wide open now. His breaths became faster, irregular even and Sanurius leant closer to support him. “Easy, druid”, the half-elf spoke, his tone calm, but stern. “Do not faint now. Focus on my voice”
Yveshin took this moment to look around. They were in a short hallway, more of an entrance room to the actual tower. The wind had blown a bit of snow into the room and the spots that weren't covered in a soft white were stained by dust and the dirt of centuries. It was a ruin, inside and out, though unlike the main gate, this one still had a door that led deeper into the tower. It stood half open and even with his heightened senses, he was unable to pierce the darkness behind. Just gazing into this black abyss was enough for him to tremble. There was an almost palpable evil radiating from this place, oozing from beyond this door and even though the ghosts did not follow them into the tower, he still kept his bow ready. The orks had kept their weapons ready too, as he remembered, but it had done them no good against the Wraith.
It was clear that Naeem had been camping in one corner of the room. A makeshift tent covered part of the ground, out of sight from the half-open door, yet still protected from the elements. And Yveshin noticed signs on this side of the broken entrance, drawn with chalk. His knowledge of magic was rudimentary at most, but he recognized form and design within them. Protective wards, not too different from the kind his people would use.
“This will keep them out. We should have a moment now”, Naeem spoke up, his voice shaky at first, but quickly regaining something of his former strength. With a tired smile on his face, he straightened his back, before he gave Yveshin a nod. “It is good to see you, my friend, even if I had hoped it to be under better circumstances” A rare, warm smile formed on Yveshin's face as he looked at the druid. Naeem was a friend, a close one after what they had been through together. As such, he did not go for this odd human greeting, this handshake, but he placed his hands on the druid's shoulders in the way his kind would greet close friends, before pulling Naeem into a brief hug.
His gesture clearly caught Naeem off guard, though the druid reciprocated the hug for a moment. “It has been too long, my friend”, Yveshin spoke and Naeem nodded at his words, as they separated again. “Unfortunately, my journey through Tobria took me longer than I expected.”, he replied. “The oldest and wisest of my order have their own problems to deal with and getting them invested in our plight was no easy task”
“Did you tell them about Borbarad?”, the elf asked and he noticed how a curious expression formed on Sanurius' face, though the healer was too polite to inquire. Naeem gave him a nod. “Of course”, he spoke. “Some found it most troubling and their help is certain, but they are not as many as I hoped for” He sighed, before he glanced at the half-open door that led deeper into the tower. “When I returned to the Meadows, I quickly realized that something was wrong. The disappearances, the disturbing rumours, they originated here, in this barony, in this ruined keep”
“It's the creature that dwells here”, Sanurius interjected. “The locals call it the 'Wraith of the Alackskeep'” Naeem raised an eyebrow. “A fitting name”, he admitted. “Though I was getting to you in a moment, mage” With these words, he turned back to Yveshin. “So I sent word to Luzelin. I trust she has taken good care of you in my absence?”
Yveshin gave him a nod. “She tried her best”, he replied. “Though... it's getting worse. The dreams, the voice, the headaches” Naeem frowned. “As I feared...”, he mumbled beneath his beard. “I believe there's a connection between your condition and the horrors that plague this land. This means I chose right when I called you here”
“About that...”, Sanurius interjected and now, Naeem narrowed his eyes, before turning towards him. “I see Yveshin has found a travelling companion”, the druid spoke. “Some of my order would say he could have chosen better than a white mage, but you defended him well while the ghosts swarmed you, so you earned my attention at the least”
“I appreciate it”, Sanurius replied in a calm tone. “And some of my order would dismiss anything you have to say on account of you being a druid. I suggest we don't even start with those petty squabbles” With these words, he extended a hand and Naeem shook it, after only a moment of hesitation. “I am Sanurius”, he introduced himself. “And I am not one of those zealots from Gareth or Rommilys. I was trained at Thunderbrook”
“A respectable academy”, Naeem admitted. “My name is Naeem Umer and if you are a companion of Yveshin, then you are most welcome here” A dry smile formed on Sanurius' face, as he glanced around. “Let's not get too ahead of ourselves here. I doubt anyone has ever been truly welcome in this godsforsaken place. But you really saved us out there”, he replied, before he glanced at Yveshin. “When the ghost knocked you down, I was certain this would be it. I don't think I could have hold off four angry ghosts, but thankfully, your druid friend came just in time”
“You're lucky I heard you at all”, the druid replied. “I was deeper in the keep. Exploring, looking for signs of its previous inhabitant, this... Wraith you mentioned” Yveshin gulped, as the memory of Rassan's final moment forced its way through his mind. “Walmir of Reeveshoff”, he mumbled. “That's the name of the Wraith”
“That's a human name”, Sanurius replied, exchanging a mildly startled look with Naeem. Yveshin shook his head. “He's no human though. Not anymore at least”, the elf explained. “When the ghost attacked me, it... it shared something with me. A memory of its final moments” Naeem gave him a nod. “They can do it, but it usually requires an emotional connection to the one they're attacking”, he brought up. Yveshin glanced out of the broken doorframe, into the snow-covered courtyard. “He mistook me for someone else”, he told him. “The one who lured them here. They were told to deliver a message to the Wraith, but they were sent to die here”
“Betrayal, I see...”, Naeem mumbled. “That explains why they left me alone. So, they were tricked by an elf?” This time, Yveshin shook his head and for the first time since he woke up again, he realized where this subtle dread he felt came from, a kind of fear he could not explain, not even in this ruined keep and in the current circumstances. “Not an elf”, he corrected him. “A shakagra”
He waited a moment and saw no sign of recognition on Naeem's face, though Sanurius slowly frowned. “I am familiar with that term from my studies”, the mage confirmed, while Naeem shook his head. “Well, I am not”, he admitted. Yveshin clenched his fists, as he realized the full implications of his dream. “It's an elven term. In your language, it means 'Cold Enemy', but you're using a different term entirely. We call them shakagra, but you call them Night Elves, even though they are as different from true elves as possible”
Now, Naeem's eyes widened and seeing the sheer horror on the druid's face was startling in itself. “A Night Elf here in Meadows?”, he spat. “Sumu have mercy. I have thought myself prepared for anything, but that... what could a Night Elf possibly want from this place?” Unfortunately, Yveshin was not done with delivering bad news, but after what he just said, the next words came almost easily. “He is working directly for his queen”, he spoke. “She-Who-Poisons-The-World”
“Pardona”, Sanurius mumbled flatly and even though he only whispered the name, it seemed for Yveshin as if it rolled through the building, seeping through any crack in the stone, echoing through the room and the courtyard itself. His kind had a hundred titles for her, but her name was seldom spoken and never lightly. Hearing him uttering it so nonchalantly was enough to make Yveshin flinch.
“Indeed”, he confirmed in a grim tone. “She has sent her champion to this land and he tried to recruit the Wraith. These orks out there, they were murdered by the creature before the shakagra made his presence known. I don't know if he succeeded, but it seemed they were about to fight. He seemed... oddly confident”
“That confirms my own findings”, Naeem replied, his voice no less grim. “The Wraith of the Alackskeep is not here. It hasn't been for months. I have searched this place high and low, ventured as deep as I dared into this nightmarish pit and what I found, while horrible in its nature, is not comparable to the famous monster that is supposed to stalk these ruins. This place, it's... defiled, thoroughly and perhaps beyond saving. Something happened here, long ago and it brought forth a darkness, something that has preyed on this part of the world ever since”
“Walmir of Reeveshoff”, Yveshin deduced and once again, Sanurius raised an eyebrow. “I have heard that name before”, he mumbled. “Once we're back in Realm's End, I need to look through my books. We have a name, we even know who else is involved. If the Wraith is no longer here, then it's not too far fetched to assume Pardona's knight has won their duel”
Yveshin grimaced at that name. “I would have rather faced the Wraith ten times over than getting involved in a shakagra scheme”, he admitted. “But I haven't chosen any of this” He placed two fingers at the patch of linen that covered his ruby eye, only to notice that the fabric was warm to the touch. The presence within his head was quiet right now, but he felt it deep down, listening to every word they said. He even felt a faint, morbid curiosity that was hardly his own. “So, what can I do? We need to get out of here”
Naeem gave him a nod. “Unfortunately, that won't be easy”, he told him. “It was wise of me to protect this room against the ghosts after I first noticed them. They were harmless back then, but now that they mistook you for the one responsible for their suffering, I doubt they will let any of us leave. There's no reasoning with a vengeful ghost”
“You held them off, though”, Yveshin spoke. “And you, Sanurius, you fought with one of them before I was attacked” The half-elf shrugged apologetically. “As I said, I am a healer, not a battlemage”, he explained. “I can fight off one, maybe two ghosts, but four of them? You need a proper exorcist for that. Give me a week or two and perhaps I can prepare better, but we don't have that time. I'm not cut out for this weather, not like you, Rime Elf. We have to get to the village before nightfall”
“We can fight them off”, Naeem brought up. “Banish them temporarily, though it won't be easy. Your arrival riled them up and if any of them gets close enough, they could kill us with certainty. But with your magic and mine, we stand a chance. If you give me a moment, I may even have something for you, Yveshin. You might be able to protect us while we prepare to banish them from this place. It will be a fight not unlike the one we faced in Drakesfield, but we survived back then and I am certain we can survive now as well”
“Temporarily...”, Yveshin mumbled, as he thought back to what he had seen in his dream. Rassan had been a warrior, a soldier and a killer. His sister had a low opinion on orks, having fought against them in the past, but he did not share her grudge. That was not like him. And no matter who Rassan was in life, no one deserved such torment. Being confined to this crumbling ruin, cut off from the afterlife that was promised to him... the ork deserved better than that.
“They will be back, yes”, Naeem told him. “In a few days, angry undoubtedly, but they are trapped in this place. They won't be able to follow us” Yveshin shook his head. “And... isn't there a way to help them? To put them to rest so that they can move on?”, he asked, before he glanced at these bleak, crumbling walls. The thought of being trapped anywhere for all eternity was terrible enough for him, but this place made it even worse, almost unbearable even.
Naeem shook his head at once, but Sanurius seemed less convinced. “I can't believe I'm saying this, but there might be a way”, he admitted. “A ritual. I know the basics, but to finish it, I need help” He looked up and at Naeem. “Your help, druid” Naeem raised a thick eyebrow. “Putting them to rest...”, he growled. “It is foolish and we have more urgent things to deal with, but I cannot deny it would be a noble thing to do”
“Exactly...”, Sanurius stated in a flat tone. “It's the right thing, but...” He glanced at Yveshin. “If you think fighting them off to banish them is dangerous already, you'll be in for a nasty surprise. Permanently putting them to rest, it might just be the most difficult thing any of us have ever attempted. There's a reason they train mages specifically for that, just like there's a reason only one in ten completes this sort of training successfully” He gave him a nod. “But as I said, it is a noble thing to attempt and it speaks a lot about your character that you even suggest it”, he complimented him. “If you're willing to try it, I'm with you”
[Try to banish the ghosts] [Try to put the ghosts to rest]