Iiro
The mood was grim, as the group left the temple of Tsa in the early hours of the morning. At least Iiro hoped it was morning, for he had lost all sense of time in the last few hours. The sky was still covered in black clouds and the only colour within them were the red bolts of lighting that crashed into the tower the group was approaching, each of them briefly dousing the decaying landscape in blood red. Over the few hours of their rest, a quarter of Drakesfield's buildings had crumbled and by the time they left the temple, Iiro spotted the first signs of decay even on the walls of this holy place. Perhaps even the grip of the Young Goddess on her temple slowly faded, as Drakesfield was wholly consumed by the curse.
But that wasn't the worst discovery the morning held for them. Yveshin was gone. His bedroll was empty and though his backpack was still there, he was nowhere to be found. Out of all his companions, the elf was the last Iiro would have expected to desert them. But there was no doubt about it after Naeem confirmed it.
“He isn't made for such horror”, the druid spoke, as he stepped over the crumbling skeleton of one of Drakesfield's former inhabitants. “All we can hope for is that he manages to leave the area before it consumes him. We can buy him time by fighting our enemy” Vittorio sighed. “But we can't win without him, can we?”, he spoke, voicing the same grim thought that went through Iiro's mind. “Twelve, I have never been one to sacrifice myself for others, especially for someone who chose to run away instead of helping us”
Thea narrowed her eyes. “You're free to run away as well”, she hissed. “I wonder why you haven't done it yet when even he lost his nerve. You're not a hero” Vittorio shrugged. “Doesn't mean I can't do the right thing”, he replied, his tone being notably more polite than hers. “Besides, it's a little bit too late to run now, isn't it?”
The elf sighed, looking mournfully towards the horizon. “We should have never come here”, she whispered, to which Naeem shook his head. “We had to”, he told her. “No one else could have done this and if we don't overcome him today, the man responsible for this will unleash an unspeakable horror upon this world, so much worse than what he has done to this land already”
The old tower was standing on a bald hilltop, surrounded by the broken, dry stumps of decaying trees. It was the only building in the area that was built entirely out of stone, which also meant it was perhaps the last building in the entire village where someone could actually live in. Yet as they came closer, Iiro noticed that the walls were beginning to crumble just as well. The bolts of lightning shook the old building heavily and as they entered the courtyard, a piece of stone broke off the roof, spiralling down and landing heavily in the grey, dusty dirt that covered the path in front of them.
“Intruders!”, a gravelly voice sounded, heavily rolling the R in the fashion of the Norbardians. Iiro narrowed his eyes, as he spotted a familiar figure stepping out of the empty tower entrance. “You are not welcome here!”, Korobar growled. “Lay down your arms and turn around or we shall destroy you!” He took a step out of the tower, as he gave them a vicious glare.
A look just as fierce flashed across Iiro's face, as he stepped forwards. “You will pay for what you have done here!”, he spat, as he noticed a hateful smile forming on Korobar's face. “So be it”, he spoke, before he raised his hand into Iiro's direction. “
Ignisphaero!”, he yelled and Iiro's eyes widened as an orb of fire shot into his direction.
It was fast, too fast to dodge, but not fast enough for Thea's wall of ice, which formed just a few feet away from Iiro. The orb of fire crashed into it, breaking through a second later, just as Naeem had jumped between it and the rest of the group. “Fort-”, he began to yell, but he was too slow. The orb of fire, though weakened, still hit him with tremendous force, exploding on impact, sending him flying against Iiro and causing the sellsword to tumble to the ground.
“Oh damn...”, Vittorio mumbled, as Iiro let out a groan. Naeem was lying on top of him and for a second, the druid was neither moving, nor breathing, as smoke rose from his singed robe. Then, he took a heavy gasp, as he pushed himself off Iiro, sinking onto the ground next to him. His robe was ruined, revealing deep burn wounds on the chest beneath and the lower end of his beard was seared off cleanly, but as his wide-eyed stare proved, he was at least still alive. “Quick...”, he gasped. “Defend yourselves!”
Iiro blinked, as he saw two figures running past Korobar. One of them was a woman, tall and short-haired, with a brutish build and a longsword in one hand, a shield in the other. The other figure, wielding a greatsword, was clad entirely in heavy, rusty armour, the open visor revealing not a face, but a grinning skull. Korobar slowly walked down the stairs and another man, a younger mage, followed after him.
“Iiro, quick!”, Thea yelled, as she reached down for him, helping him up as Vittorio staggered behind them. “Not another undead!”, the grey mage yelled. “Gods, I hate necromancers!” He mumbled some spell, as Iiro rose his sword to parry the skeleton's attack. The rusty weapon clashed against his own with surprising force and finesse. Within the skeleton's empty eye-sockets, small, red lights were visible, revealing a fiendish intelligence.
The other fighter, the woman, was a bit slower, but Iiro spotted a silver needle within her forehead, not unlike the one he had seen with the man he slew on the road to Drakesfield. Thea yelled a spell in the melodic, serene tongue of her people, though the result was anything but peaceful. A violent ray of fire shot from her fingers, hitting the woman and at least slowing her down, even if Iiro doubted that it would be enough to kill her. The smell of burned flesh mingled with the omnipresent stench of dust and decay.
The skeleton attacked once more and this time, Iiro dodged the strike, to deliver one of his own against the undead creature's chest. Though he struck a dent into the rusty armour, his opponent made no attempt to slow down, nor did it react to the heavy blow. Instead, it grabbed Iiro by the throat, the bony fingers immediately clenching into his flesh.
Though gasping for air, he managed to parry the creature's strike, as it was now wielding its greatsword with a single hand, using the other to choke him. Behind it, the woman emerged from the cone of fire, her wide eyes showing an expression of pure agony and yet, she still charged at them without being affected by it at all.
Now, Thea hurled a shard of ice right at the skeleton, hitting its skeletal visage and breaking through the cheekbone. This actually got a reaction out of the creature, as it nearly let go of Iiro, who was coughing heavily now. It still choked him and his breaths became more shallow, but with the opening Thea had given him, he managed to bring his sword down onto the skeleton's left arm. The rusty armour gave in, as did the brittle bone and though his strike had lacked his usual strength, he severed the entire forearm.
Instantly, the grip around his throat faded, as the severed arm lost all its unholy strength and fell to the ground. Iiro gasped and though the air that filled his lungs was stale and dusty, it felt heavenly to him. He had less than a second of respite, unfortunately, as the skeleton attacked him viciously, not even minding its severed arm.
They locked swords, as the skeleton pushed itself closer. It opened its mouth, but no sound came from it and though it had only one arm, Iiro had to use both of his and his entire strength to push against it. The skeleton glared at him and with a roar, Iiro pushed himself away from it, just as the woman had reached them. She quickly took a swing at him and he parried her strike, then the skeleton's, as the two combined forced him into the defence.
“A little help here!”, he roared, looking at Vittorio, who stared at the approaching mages. Korobar turned to him, while the other one kept in the background, carefully eyeing the injured druid. Then, the necromancer raised his staff, pointing it right at Vittorio. Another orb of fire emerged from it, bolting towards the grey mage.
“
Transversalis!”, Vittorio yelled and he disappeared just as the orb hit the spot where he would have been. Instead, he appeared at the top of the wall, his own staff now pointing at Korobar. A brief orb of light flared from it, shooting at the necromancer, but Korobar himself protected himself with a quickly mumbled spell.
“Kill the druid!”, the other mage yelled and instead of taking another swing at Iiro, the skeleton took a step back, turning towards Naeem, who was still barely conscious and heavily injured from shielding the group against the explosion. The undead began to walk towards him, but its path was blocked by Thea, who jumped in the way, as she eyed the creature with predatory fury.
Now with only one opponent, Iiro had it slightly easier. He parried the strike, though the woman blocked his counterattack with her shield. She was moving more careful than the man he had fought against on the road to Drakesfield, but in her expression, he saw the same fear. More than that, he noticed that they shared many features. Siblings, perhaps? Clearly, she was forced to fight, but even if she was struggling, it had no effect. Her attacks were quick, hard and aimed to kill.
“
Ignisphaero!”, Korobar yelled again, aiming not at the grey mage, but at the wall Vittorio was standing on. The force of the explosion was enough to shatter the brittle stonework and Vittorio, a hefty curse on his lips, was sent flying alongside the debris. “
Transversalis!”, he screamed, disappearing and then reappearing on the other end of the courtyard.
Korobar wasted no time, sending another orb of fire towards his opponent, though Vittorio easily blocked it with his staff. The very same moment, Korobar moved his staff over the ground and a line of fire formed where it touched the dust. It darted towards Vittorio, growing in height the closer it came to him, before forcing him to jump to the side to evade it. Where he had stood a second ago, a wall of fire, ten foot tall, now blocked him out of the fight.
Iiro parried another strike, as pain erupted in his shoulder. A spark, flung from the staff of the other Borbaradian mage had hit him and it easily burned through the thick leather. In pain, he barely managed to parry the woman's strike, but not the following attack of her shield, which heavily slammed into his face.
Brief darkness clouded his mind, as nausea threatened to overwhelm him. He sunk to the ground, but he remained conscious, his hand moving around, trying to find the sword which he dropped. The woman stepped over him, letting go of her shield as she grabbed the sword with both hands, the tip pointing down at his chest. Then, she rose the blade.
“Ahem!”, the voice of Vittorio sounded to her right, as the mage materialized out of thin air. The woman narrowed her eyes. “Vittorio, no!”, Iiro merely managed to say, before she rammed the blade into his companion's chest. Vittorio's eyes widened and he let out a gasp, as the blade broke through flesh and bone, all the way through his back.
For a moment, Vittorio just stood there, wide-eyed and unmoving, as Iiro stared at him in horror. A second passed, then another and still, Vittorio made no attempt to fall to the ground, even though the injury was easily lethal. The scared look on the woman's face got replaced by one of utter confusion, as she twisted the blade, getting no reaction from the mage. She moved the sword up and down, cutting through his body as if it consisted of nothing but thin air.
A thin smile formed on Vittorio's face. “Hello. My name is Vittorio Crawford”, he introduced himself. “And I am an illusionist” While he said this, his form began to blur, while at the same time, the real Vittorio appeared behind her. The woman spun around, but this time, she was too slow and he pushed his staff against her guts. “
Kulminatio!”, he barked and a wave of lightning flooded her body. She screamed and began to twist, as her body was torn by violent seizures. The lightning burned so hot that it seared her flesh while it electrocuted her and Vittorio only stopped pumping the spell into her body as she dropped to her knees. Immediately, she fell backwards and next to Iiro, a husk burned so heavily that even the silver needle in her forehead had melted.
“Well, what can I say?”, Vittorio chuckled, as he reached down, to help Iiro up. “You owe me one, my friend, you owe me” To their right, Thea was targeting the skeleton with cold fury, encasing the undead creature in a block of ice. Then, the moment she had finished doing that, she rose her other hand, letting out an angry growl, as she hurled a small orb of fire at her opponent. The impact was enough to shatter the creature into dozens of small shards.
Breathing heavily, Thea turned to them, a triumphant smile on her face. Iiro gave her a nod, but at this moment, her eyes widened. “Behind you!”, she warned them, before she herself spun around to block the other mage's spell with a hastily conjured wall of ice. The young man stormed towards her, firing small orbs of light from his staff, which she parried with her ice-covered hands. Her warning was enough, however, as Iiro turned around, managing to parry Korobar's strike. The necromancer had approached them swiftly and instead of hurling a spell at them, he took a swing with his staff.
“Kulm-”, Vittorio began, but Korobar cut him off. “Not this time!”, the necromancer growled, as he made a brief move with his staff. Vittorio was flung through her air, pushed by arcane force, his own spell shot somewhere into the sky instead, before Korobar parried Iiro's strike with ease. “I am not a weak guild mage”, Korobar hissed, as he attacked, forcing Iiro to parry the surprisingly heavy strike. “I was steeled by the northern wilds, fought against the shadow that lurks within the dark forests near the Brazen Sword and against all those who would see me dead for what I am”
He parried Iiro's attack, replying with a blow of his own. His staff hit the mercenary with the force of a blunt mace, pressing the air from his lungs and causing him to stagger back. “Where your friend put his nose in a book, I honed my strength, my skill with weaponry and spells”, Korobar boasted, as he struck the back of Iiro's legs, causing him to fall down. He only barely managed to parry the next blow of the staff, holding the tip away from his face with his sword and all his remaining strength.
“I could break them in half, every last one of these guild mages and yet they look down upon me, call me a wild brute, a wicked villain!”, Korobar spat. “But they will pay. They will all... pay!” The tip of his staff began to glow with arcane might, as he narrowed his dark eyes. A twisted grin formed on his mouth. “
Ignifaxius”, he then said.
Before the spell could go off, a gasp came from Korobar's throat. The staff almost fell from his hands, as he staggered back, glancing down at his side, where a small stone dagger was stuck in his side. Both, Korobar and Iiro stared at Naeem, who had flung the weapon at the necromancer with his last strength. The druid sunk back onto the ground, as Iiro jumped up. Grabbing the dagger by its hilt, he twisted it, as he roared at Korobar. The necromancer's eyes widened and his legs gave in beneath him.
The other mage wasted no time. Still locked into an arcane battle with Thea, who managed to hold him off fairly well, he broke their stalemate by slamming his staff onto the ground, right in front of her. A shockwave emerged from it, knocking the elf to the ground and in a second, the mage stood next to his companion. “
Transversalis!”, he yelled, as he reached for Korobar's shoulder. Then, Iiro only had the dagger in his hand, with Korobar and his companion standing two dozen feet away in the doorframe of the tower.
“
Fortifex!”, the mage shouted and as Iiro tried to charge at them, Vittorio held him back. “It's an arcane wall”, he told him. “He blocked the door. We can break through, but give us a moment of respite!” Iiro narrowed his eyes, as he and the mysterious mage glared at each other. Then, he forced himself to look away, at his companions.
Vittorio was looking better than ever. Somehow, the adrenaline of the fight had gotten to him and though breathing heavily and clearly suffering from bruises and light injuries, he seemed almost eager to continue their battle. Thea had her back turned on him and he couldn't see if she was injured, but he realized that Naeem, whom she leant over, was in bad shape.
The young druid was breathing shallowly. Thea had opened his vest, revealing the numerous cuts and burn marks on his chest and his facial expression showed just how much pain he was in. “He is heavily injured”, Thea spoke. “Naeem, you need to focus. I can heal you, but you need to stay awake” Naeem shook his head. “Don't waste your time with me”, he told her. “The ritual needs to be stopped. He is growing stronger... it won't take long and he will free his master”
“I won't let you die!”, Thea protested, to which Naeem gave her a thin smile. “I can take care of myself”, he told her. “I will not die, not today. But I can't push on. Leave me here and I will tend to my own wounds. Should you fail, I will alert those who might still be able to stop Borbarad” He sighed in pain, as he placed a hand on his injured side. “We druids pray to no god, for Sumu needs to worship”, he explained. “But just this once, I hope the Twelve watch over you”
Iiro placed a hand on his shoulder. “And over you”, he replied. “We will meet again, my friend” He turned to the tower, glaring at the two mages who were cowering inside, hiding behind the arcane wall that blocked the door. “Can you destroy it?”, he asked, to which Vittorio gave him a nod. “With Lady Thea's help, certainly”, he told him and Thea crossed her arms. “I'm with you, humans”, she promised them. “Let us end this”
No Choices for this part
Edmond
Korobar sunk to the ground against the wall, blood seeping through his fingers. The dagger was a druidic weapon and as such, it had been left behind the moment Edmond transported himself and Korobar to the tower. Now, he was bleeding out and the arcane wall that protected them wouldn't last for much longer, not with two mages about to tear it in.
“Korobar”, he spoke. “Korobar!” The necromancer groaned, as he glanced at his blood-stained hands. “Can you still cast a spell?” Weakly, Korobar gave him a nod. “One or two”, he spoke. “But they got out of this better than we did” Edmond shook his head. He hadn't been injured in this battle, he was ready to fight and willing to sacrifice his life for his master, for Liscom, for Borbarad.
“Then we have to focus on killing as many of them as possible”, he disagreed. “Kill the elf and maybe the swordsman. The illusionist will be no match for Liscom and the druid is too injured to push on” He straightened his back. “I should have listened to you. Berosh could have turned the tide here. Maybe he will come to our aid”
Korobar shook his head. “I wouldn't count on the dwarf”, he spoke. “He joined us out of fear. Now that we are defeated, he will flee” Despite his pain, he managed to form a smug grin. “Yes, you should have listened to me. Took you long enough to notice that” Edmond narrowed his eyes. “We are not yet defeated”, he warned his companion. “I can still fight”
Once again, the necromancer stared at the dark blood that stained his fingers. “That makes one of us”, he mumbled weakly and Edmond knelt down next to him. Grabbing him by the collar of his robe, he pulled him close. “You listen to me now!”, he hissed. “Maybe this is the day of our death. The gods will hardly be kind to us, for we fought to shake off their tyranny. An eternity of torment will await us” He took a deep breath. “Then let our final moments be glorious! We shall hate them to the very end. With our last breath, we shall spit defiance! Let this be an end they will remember!”
The necromancer narrowed his eyes, as he pressed a hand onto his wound. “
Balsam Salabunde...”, he mumbled and with what had to be his last arcane reserves, the wound closed itself. Edmond sighed, as he helped him up. “You are young, boy”, Korobar spoke. “You don't know death and you cannot even imagine an eternity of torment” He shook his head. “My fate will be worse. Not gods, but demons will judge over my soul” He gave him an urgent glare, as the first spell crashed into Edmond's arcane wall, causing it to shiver, but it still held. “Edmond, we need to get out of here!”
Edmond raised an eyebrow. “You want us to flee?”, he asked in a low, vicious tone. “Maybe you are a coward, but I am not! And if I die, I will take as many of them with me as possible!” Korobar sighed. “You want to throw your life away, but I tell you, don't! I beg you, don't! You are young and there is a life full of opportunity waiting for you. Flee now, so that you can succeed later on!”
“Never!”, Edmond growled, as he turned back to the wall. “Isn't it better to die for something than to live for nothing?” He would not flee, he would not! Years ago, he hadn't been there when Liscom died and this failure, it haunted him to this day. He would not abandon him, now that he had been given the opportunity to defend him to the last.
“It is better to live for something than to die for nothing”, Korobar corrected him. “I will not stay here, I will not die for nothing!” He placed a hand on the young mage's shoulder, but Edmond angrily shook it off. “Please, come with me. Don't throw your life away until you know exactly what this means”
“I know what it means!”, Edmond barked, to which Korobar sighed. “You can leave, coward, I will not force you to stay!” He shook his head. “But you should know that Borbarad will punish your weakness here” To this, the necromancer narrowed his eyes. “Is it weakness to live, so that I might serve him later?”, he asked. “There are battles to come and struggles and he will need you and me to succeed”
“He has to do without me”, Edmond spoke, raising his staff at the arcane wall, as the elf woman unleashed a cone of ice at it. Behind him, he heard Korobar's sigh. “I tried to convince you”, he spoke. “I hope you can forgive me in time” Edmond narrowed his eyes, as he spun around, just in time for Korobar to place a hand on the young mage's forehead. “
Imperavi!”, he yelled and Edmond felt a wave of arcane energy flashing through him. Then, everything went dark.
No Choices for this part
Yveshin
As the first sounds of combat echoed across the courtyard, Yveshin sneaked in through the crumbling wall on the other side of the tower. There, he spotted a hatch of broken wood, leading down into the tower's basement. Naeem had told him that this was where he would find the man responsible for this.
He had to pull himself together to remain here instead of sprinting around the tower to help his friends. They likely believed him gone, fled like a coward and the thought was almost worse than having to suffer through this cursed landscape. Slowly, Yveshin felt the curse taking root within his heart. He was unable to age physically, but despair was lethal to his kind. And right now, he was indeed close to lose his hope. The only thing that still helped him going was the memory of Naeem's words. He was doing something important here. Only he was able to defeat the mage behind all this.
As such, Yveshin continued his way across the courtyard. It was dark and even his excellent vision didn't help him much, as only the red bolts of lighting illuminated the landscape at all. Seeing the desolation behind him, he would have been more happy if they didn't. He moved carefully through this scenery, with the sounds of the battle raging on from the other side of the tower. A frown formed on his face, knowing that some of his friends could be dead by now.
One step, another, then – pain! Yveshin yelled loudly, screaming in agony as something heavy his his lower leg, knocking him to the ground. Immediately, tears shot into his eyes and through the blur, he saw something sticking in the flesh, a short stick, having completely impaled his lower leg. An arrow... no, a bit shorter than that.
“Guess ye didn't see that coming, eh?”, a gravelly voice sounded and Yveshin recognized it as the one belonging to the dwarf, Berosh, even though he could not spot him. Blinking rapidly, he managed to clear his sight, but the pain remained, flaring up even worse as he tried to put weight onto his leg.
“Berosh...”, he mumbled and he heard a chuckle from somewhere to his right. “That's right, knife-ear”, the dwarf confirmed, as he stepped from the shadows. Under normal circumstances, Yveshin would have spotted him there, but right now, the place he emerged from was shrouded in complete darkness. And though it was still gloomy, Yveshin realized that something had changed within the dwarf. His eyes were darker and completely bloodshot. A stench of corruption surrounded him.
“Old Berosh is here to send ye to yer bloody maker”, Berosh roared. “Gotta give it to the lad, he knew you'd come. He and that stinky necromancer, they are ripping yer friends apart right now. Would have been good to be there, but seems like there's only ye tonight” He slowly reloaded his weapon, as he came closer.
Yveshin reached for his bow, but the dwarf tilted his head. “Nah, ye better don't even think of it, or I'll shoot ye”, he warned him and seeing how he had no choice, Yveshin raised his hands, slowly crawling away from the bow. “Alright, you got me”, he spoke. “Please, let us talk” Berosh raised an eyebrow, before he shook his head. He fired the crossbow again, this time grazing Yveshin's right arm. More pain seared through his body and the elf fully fell onto the ground.
“Don't think I wanna hear yer shite”, Berosh told him. “Right now, I just wanna hear ye scream” He came closer and Yveshin spotted the bloodthirsty grin on Berosh's bearded face. “Never spilled elven blood before. Would have done once with some vagrant down in Goldenlea, but Brodar stopped me. That's one reason why I killed him”
“You killed Brodar Landmarshes”, Yveshin gasped, in the attempt to keep the dwarf talking. The pain was almost unbearable, but he knew, the moment Berosh would stop talking, more pain would follow. Unashamedly, Berosh gave him a nod. “Aye, but I made it quick”, he confirmed. “Shot him right in the heart, then dumped his body into that shit-infested river. Still better than he deserved”
Yveshin sighed. “And now you are going to kill me”, he mumbled, to which Berosh nodded with enthusiasm. “Aye”, he confirmed. “Ye should have taken the damn drink, ye stuck-up woodland sissy” He chuckled, as Yveshin slowly realized what he meant. “Wait... that is why you want to kill me?”, he gasped. “Because I refused your drink back when we first met?”
“As good a reason as any”, Berosh confirmed. “Truth be told, I never would've done it if not for the Black Hand. Blakharaz spoke to me, ye know, and one does not refuse him. Gave me the power and the drive to kill all who ever wronged me” He flashed him a twisted grin. “And trust me, it's a long list. I prayed to my new master that you'd be the one to try and sneak through the back entrance and look, here we are, just you and me at the end of the world”
The elf gave him a long, horrified glare. Behind Berosh, red lightning cut through the sky, crashing down somewhere in the distance. “You're insane”, he gasped and the dwarf chuckled. “Nah, never felt more sane in me life!”, he proclaimed. “I used to be pushed around, first by me father, then by Brodar and his companions. Had the nerve to call themselves friends. The old Berosh was a pushover, who always let himself be slighted and never did a thing against it. Ye tell me that sounds sane to ye?”
He narrowed his eyes, as he slowly came closer, the crossbow pointed right at Yveshin. “Blakharaz showed me the way”, he whispered. “Only thing I regret is that I haven't followed him sooner. Now I am Berosh Son of Blakharaz!” He tilted his head, as he carefully took aim and Yveshin knew, he had to act quickly. He was too injured to take the dwarf on in a fair fight, yes, too injured to stand even. But he had spent enough time around humans by now to learn their ways of trickery.
“You know, if you help these people to bring back their master, there won't be any world to take revenge on anymore”, he spoke, catching Berosh off guard. “What?”, the dwarf hissed, though he actually lowered his crossbow. Yveshin took a deep breath. “What your master is doing down in the cellar, it'll end the world as we know it”, he spoke. “So, it would deprive you of your vengeance, wouldn't it?”
Berosh narrowed his eyes, but then he began to laugh, a brief, shrill tone, before he raised his crossbow again. “Ye think I'm stupid?”, he spat. “I don't know what the rotface is doing down in the cellar, but I've seen his follower, that Edmond boy. He ain't the type to destroy the world and he believes in the rotface, more than I have ever seen anyone believing in anything. Nah, maybe it'll change the world, but it won't destroy it” He shrugged. “And that means it brings a lot of coin”
Yveshin gulped. “Listen, if it's coin you want, I have fifteen of them”, he spoke. “And you can have them all if you just turn around and leave” For a moment, he caught Berosh off guard. The dwarf gave him a curious look. “Ye serious?”, he spoke, before he began to laugh loudly. “Oh, ye're quite something, knife-ear. Quite a cunt, aye, but ye got yer moment”
He shook his head, before he carefully placed his crossbow on the ground. “Ye know what, this is too good for ye”, he spoke, as he approached the wounded elf. “When the Black Hand asked me what I want out of that pact, I didn't have ta think for long” He presented his open palms and Yveshin spotted the fine maze of black veins that crossed through them. “Let me show ye”
Though Yveshin tried to hold him away, he was injured and Berosh was likely stronger than him even on good days. The dwarf knocked his arm away and placed both of his hands on Yveshin's temple, before applying light pressure. “Now”, he said. “I can cause pain” As soon as he said this, something hot and searing flared up in Yveshin's head, drilling through his mind and burning with scalding agony.
There was nothing else, just the pain. It all blurred, Berosh, Drakesfield, his friends, even Yveshin himself. Blood-curdling screams erupted from his mouth, as he wildly flailed around, his body twisting and twitching. It felt as if he was burned alive, torn apart and flayed at the same time. Then, the dwarf removed his hands again and Yveshin sunk to the ground.
He was still screaming even though the pain was gone. The memory remained, it would remain with him for the rest of his days. “Ye see?”, Berosh asked. “Isn't it glorious? Never will I be wronged again, for all it takes is one touch and they'll sob like wee babies” Yveshin gasped, as Berosh grabbed his head again and a second later, the pain returned.
Yveshin howled, as his vision blurred. All of his strength went not into fighting Berosh off, but into merely staying awake, staying alive, for he knew, if he was to slip into unconsciousness now, he would never wake up again. Above his own howls, he faintly heard Berosh's gleeful chuckle and once more, the dwarf stopped. “Not so high and mighty now, are ye?”, the dwarf snarled. “Just some pissy sprite, thinking he's oh so much better than me, aye?” He shook his head as once more he raised his hands, relishing in the terror in Yveshin's gaze. “Now ye are unarmed and at me mercy, yer friends are dead and I promise ye, I'll find out how much pain ye can suffer before yer weak heart just gives in”
“I... I... am...”, Yveshin managed to gasp, as his hand moved to his belt. Berosh narrowed his eyes as he came closer. “A little louder for yer final words”, he barked. “I wanna hear you squeal!” Yveshin narrowed his eyes. “I am not unarmed”, he then spoke, as his hands finally managed to grab the second dagger, behind his back.
Berosh's eyes widened and he tried to jump back, but while he was stronger, Yveshin was a lot faster. He opened his mouth, but instead of a scream, only a gurgle left his throat, together with a gush of blood, as Yveshin rammed the dagger deep into his opponent's throat. Berosh began to gag, as he staggered backwards, sinking to his knees, then onto his back, falling to the ground right next to Yveshin, his hands clenched around the dagger that had fatally pierced his throat.
He gasped for air, but there was only more blood to leave his mouth, his silent coughs proving that he was in pain. Yveshin frowned, for as much agony as this dwarf had just put him through, seeing him dying slowly, it brought him no joy. Still trembling from the torturous grip, he managed to get onto his knees at least, even if his left lower leg still burned in agony from Berosh's crossbow bolt.
Slowly, he crawled over to the dying dwarf. “I didn't want to do this”, he spoke and in fact, this was worse than the memory of the pain. He had never killed a sentient being before this moment. Surely, no tears were shed for Berosh, but it was still a burden. Now he understood what his sister had meant, back when she returned from her first fight against the dreaded Night Elves. It wasn't easy, not even with someone as despicable as this dwarf, and it shouldn't be.
Regretfully, he placed a hand on the dagger and Berosh shot him a glare that was half accusation and half plea. “I offered you a way out”, the elf said, as he sighed. “I am sorry it came to this” With these words, he rammed the dagger deeper into Berosh's neck and the dwarf stopped twitching immediately. Given what master he had sold his soul to, Yveshin suspected that the worst was yet to come for Berosh, the Son of Blakharaz.
He forced himself to turn away from Berosh's corpse, as he inspected his leg. The crossbow bolt had pierced the flesh, leaving the bone untouched, which was a good thing. He was not a very talented mage, but every elf had arcane powers. A sigh left his throat, as he pulled the bolt from his flesh. Immediately, a nauseating amount of blood poured from the deep injury, but Yveshin wasted no time. He placed his hands on the wound and concentrated. A second passed, before a soft, warm glow emerged from his palms, soothing the pain and causing the injury to close.
Cautiously, Yveshin tried to stand. There was still pain, but it was a numb, throbbing sensation, not the hot agony of a fresh wound. His skills as a healer were barely existent, but it would hold, for now, it would be enough until he could find a real healer. He was able to pick up his bow and continued his way towards the hatch, not with a notable limp.
The door had been locked once, but the wood was so rotten that it broke right off as Yveshin placed a hand on it. Behind it, he saw a set of stairs and a gaping maw of darkness. The hairs on his neck stood up, as he felt a cold chill crawling down his back. Arcane energies filled this place, so much that he could almost see them. And here in this basement, the curse was worse than anywhere outside.
Within seconds of stepping onto the stairs, Yveshin felt the air grow dry and icy cold. He staggered and had to lean onto the wall to his left to remain standing, as his vision blurred for a second. But he bit down onto his lower lip, heavily, before continuing his way. On shaky feet, he walked down the stairs and with every new step, he felt as if a hammer was smashed against his chest.
The room down there wasn't very big, not much more than the main room of Drakesfield's temple of Tsa. Another set of stairs led up into the tower on the other end of the room, while most of it was filled by circle of arcane power. Yveshin counted thirteen corners and he briefly remembered the term from his lessons. It was a tridecagon, the most powerful of the ritual circles. A myriad of arcane glyphs covered the ground, glowing in black and red.
On each of the corners, there was a figure, bound and gagged, yet their twitching made it clear that they were still alive. And in the centre of the tridecagon, Yveshin spotted someone else, the figure of a robed and hooded man, his back turned to the elf and his hands outstretched. He was not standing on the ground, instead he was hovering a few inches above it. Yveshin narrowed his eyes as he focussed onto the ground between the fine lines of glyphs. Something was wrong about it. It was not just blackened stonework he was looking at, but it seemed as if the space between the glyphs was hollow, as if below the tridecagon, there was a pit, deeper and darker than anything he had ever seen, a maw of starless night, the void between worlds.
“Hear my words, immortal Satinav!”, the man's voice sounded, echoing through the small room and once more, Yveshin got the impression that the space around him was much larger than it actually should be. “Many-horned Guardian of the Ages, chained to the Ship of Time, God-Heretic and Father of Summoning!” He spread his arms and the twitching of the figures around him grew worse as faint, purple lines spread from them and towards the man's outstretched fingertips.
“You, whose unseen chains cross through the spheres and right where I stand! Satinav, I beg of thee, grant my master the time that has been taken from him! Take these thirteen, take this place and take this land. Take whatever you need and whatever you desire – but return Borbarad to this world!” He gasped, as below him, Yveshin saw how the void began to tremble. A deep sound, almost like a gargantuan heartbeat echoed through the chamber, as the elf reached for an arrow.
“I haven't forsaken you, master!”, the mage yelled. “I have returned, for you! Take my body as yours, for I offer it freely!” Yveshin narrowed his eyes, as he took aim. He couldn't waste any time now, as he fired the arrow, aimed for the mage's head. The projectile cut through the air, but as it came closer to its target, it slowed down and in horror, Yveshin saw how it began to decay. The wood started to rot, the tip started to rust and all that reached the mage was a small cloud of dust.
A deep, dark chuckle came from the mage's throat. “I've been expecting you, elf”, he spoke, as he turned around. Yveshin tensed up as he saw not a living body, but the disfigured features of an undead. Thin, scarred skin stretched thinly over his hollow cheeks. One eye was cold and dark, but the other... Yveshin trembled and had to resist the urge to flee, as the red ruby shot a glare at him.
“Did you truly think you could catch me off-guard?”, he asked. “Me, Liscom the Fasarian? I haven't beaten death to find my end in a mouldy cellar a the hands of a self-proclaimed hero” He shook his head. “In fact, you are too late” His hand moved down, to the tridecagon. “I have torn a hole into this world”, he mumbled. “Be glad, for you will witness a god passing through it”
Behind him, the door got pushed open. Through it and down the stairs rushed three figures whom Yveshin recognized and his heartbeat fastened. “Give up, Hamid!”, Iiro roared. “Your followers are dead or chose to abandon you. Your plan has failed!” He pointed a sword at the undead mage, even before he fully took in his surroundings.
Next to him, Vittorio gasped and he staggered backwards, only for Thea to grab him by the neck. “Stay and fight, human”, she spat, as she shot a glare at Liscom. She followed it up with a shard of ice, aimed for his head, but similarly to Yveshin's arrow, the spell faded before it could even reach him. The undead mage merely spread his arms. “Nothing has failed”, he spoke. “But now that you are all here, allow me to show you true splendour. A vessel worthy of a god”
He twisted his fingers and the thirteen captives began to squirm violently. Even though they were gagged, Yveshin heard their screams of agony. The one closest to him, a young man with dark hair, began to tremble and to Yveshin's horror, he began to age rapidly. His skin began to wrinkle in a few moments, the hair slowly losing its colour. Muscles grew limp and his skin was soon spreckled with age spots. In his eyes, however, Yveshin spotted genuine horror.
More and more of the thirteen began to twitch and tremble and as their lifeforce was sapped away, Liscom in its centre changed just as well. His scarred skin smoothed and healed, the pallid skin gained a healthy southern tan. Life returned to his right eye, while the left shined in malice, in triumph. “Behold!”, he yelled with new vigour in his voice.
Yveshin was frozen in place and he saw that Thea clenched her temples, screaming in pain. It was Vittorio, of all people, who reacted first. Instead of wasting time by attacking Liscom himself, he pointed his staff at one of the captives closest to him and after a moment of hesitation, he unleashed a cone of fire, burning the brittle body to ashes in an instant.
Liscom, now looking significantly more lively than before, spun around and he let out a loud growl of anger. “You!”, he barked. “You will not hurt what doesn't belong to you, maggot!” Without even making a gesture, he cast a spell upon Vittorio and the other man dropped to his knees, howling in sudden agony. “Iiro!”, he managed to scream.
The mercenary hesitated, however. “I...”, he gasped, as he stared at the captives. “Those are innocent people!” His sword hand trembled, as he couldn't even bring himself to point his weapon at the captive woman right next to him, even as her lifeforce was sapped away to strengthen Liscom. The mage chuckled. “Always the hero”, he spoke. “How adorable”
His mockery changed something about Iiro's expression. He narrowed his eyes, as he shot the still-undead mage a vicious glare. “I'm no hero”, he growled, as he brought his sword down on the captured woman, severing her head with one strike. Liscom growled and with a flick of his wrist, he sent Iiro flying through the room. The mercenary heavily crashed into the wall behind him, then onto the ground, where he remained without moving.
“Have it your way then”, Liscom proclaimed. “If I have to kill you to continue my ritual, then so be it” An orb of pure shadow flared up in his hand, as he turned to Thea, who was still struggling due to the effects of his ritual. She didn't even look at him, only at the gaping voice below him, her expression being one of sheer terror.
Yveshin was quicker. Without even thinking about it, he moved to the captive closest to him and he cut the man's throat. The regret came immediately afterwards, even if the last look on the dead man's face was one of relief. Instead of killing Thea with his spell, Liscom growled, as he turned around to glare at the other elf. He looked a changed man, his face now that of a Tulamid nobleman, handsome and scholarly.
And yet, something else had changed. The ruby eye no longer glared at him in malice, especially compared to his other eye. Instead, he saw a look of curiosity within it. “You then”, Liscom barked, but before he could say anything else, he screamed up. A second later, pain exploded in Yveshin's face, more specifically within his left eye. A red flash of lightning echoed through his mind, as he instinctively clutched his face.
Through his right eye, he saw Liscom doing the same. “You... no!”, he yelled. “We had a deal!” A second later, a flash of lightning flared up behind him and this time, Thea's spell was not stopped by any arcane protection. She hit his newly resurrected body and Liscom howled up. “NO!”, he screamed, the shockwave of his voice enough to send Thea tumbling to the ground. “You are too late to stop me!” He turned around to finish the defiant elf and despite the pain he was in, he managed to reach for his bow.
One arrow, he thought. Just one arrow. His left eye was blind, if temporarily of permanently he could not tell and the pain was almost as terrible as what Berosh had put him through a few minutes ago. But he could still take aim and Liscom was not a hard target, floating above the ground and being so close to him. It only took him a second to fire.
Liscom's spell faded before he could even finish it. It was as if a heavy weight had fallen off the world and Yveshin sank to the ground in relief, as he saw the arrow entering Liscom's body through the back, before piercing his entire chest. His remaining victims stopped squirming and screaming and though most fell limp at once, he saw that one or two of them were still moving weakly. The mage himself sunk onto the tridecagon, briefly staring at the void below him, before turning to Yveshin.
“You are... too late”, he managed to gasp, though a thin line of blood already came from his mouth, proving without a doubt that the injury was lethal. He shot him a blood-stained grin. “I... did my duty”, he mumbled, as he sank onto all fours. “Now... oblivion, at last” He fell onto the ground, face first and for a second, it seemed as if he would remain there, hovering on top of the tridecagon, before his body fell through it and into the void below. It was over. Liscom the Fasarian was dead.
Yveshin himself still clutched his injured eye, as he noticed Vittorio staggering back to his feet. “Yveshin!”, the mage yelled. “By the Twelve, just in time!” He quickly looked at Iiro, who was still breathing, albeit Liscom's attack had cleanly knocked the mercenary out. “Mylady, could...”, he began, but Thea had already rushed past him and towards Yveshin.
Though clearly shaken by Liscom's spell, she was physically unharmed, as she rushed towards her fellow elf. “You have come back!”, she exclaimed in their beautiful native tongue, as she wrapped her arms around him. In pain, shock and confusion, Yveshin was unable to reciprocate the gesture, but the faintest of smiles formed on his face. “Sorry for not telling you”, he mumbled.
She shook her head and gave him a stern look, but before she could say anything, a new shockwave got sent through the small chamber. A thunderous sound, almost like another heartbeat, then another, as the terrible force returned with a vengeance, sending the elves to the ground. Now, it felt as if a bear was sitting on his chest, as Yveshin had to gasp for air. Wind was gushing from the hole beneath the tridecagon, pushing the two elves away, then the bodies of Liscom's captives.
“What is happening?”, he screamed, but between the deafening beats, he couldn't hear a word, despite Vittorio mouthing something towards him. On all fours and against the terrible force that filled the entire room, the mage crawled towards the tridecagon and towards the void beneath it. It was no longer black, but grey and like grey fog, it began to cover the chamber.
Cold. Logical. Precise. Determined. Powerful. Inhumanly powerful. That was what Yveshin felt, as he followed Vittorio's example, but it wasn't
his will, nor
his might. It belonged to something else, something that tried to break free through the gap Liscom had pushed open. Vittorio was screaming at the top of his lungs as he pushed himself up, but the deafening heartbeat still drowned out everything else. With every beat, the pain in Yveshin's head grew worse, but he saw Vittorio grabbing one of the captives, the limp body of an old woman, and dragging her out of the tridecagon.
Yveshin did the same to a man right next to the one he had killed and out of the corner of his good eye, he saw Thea doing the same to a woman, who still faintly managed to clutch to the elf's shoulder with brittle fingers. Again, Yveshin reached for one of the victims, while Vittorio managed to drag yet another from the tridecagon.
The force grew stronger and stronger. Somewhere within the grey fog, something crashed against a brittle, invisible barrier, again and again. In front of him, Vittorio howled, as he sank forwards and onto the ground. Next to him, Thea lost consciousness, falling right next to the woman she had saved. And Yveshin, with his last strength, managed to drag the final of Liscom's victims from the hungry maw, this hole within the world.
Immediately, the beat stopped, though it still echoed through his mind. Yveshin sunk onto his back, staring at the ceiling of the chamber and through the fog that clouded his thoughts, he noticed that something had changed, that this terrifying might no longer threatened to overwhelm him. The whole chamber seemed smaller again, the pressure gone and the runes of the tridecagon slowly fading. With them, the last light left the chamber and darkness came over Yveshin. The last thing he felt was triumph. But it wasn't
his...
To be continued...