The Guardians of Celesk

Chapter 8 : A Sanctuary for the Wicked

The spread of darkness slowed to a crawl as the battle took its toll. Despite the dwindled supply of his once great army, most of Valezk's creatures assembled at the sanctuary felt the need for the rustic rather than that of their humanoid companions. They built large campsites in the grounds of the sanctuary and laid waste to many of the gardens to build their pits of comfort. The Macrimancers and dark humanoids took shelter in the huts, while Valezk had taken the great refuge of Garwyn and Eondall.

He sat at the head of a vast wooden table but in place of a chair was a crudely made throne. Valezk was keen to discuss numbers – the wounds still apparent through his bandages but his true frustrations were growing at his counsel. Parscer – a stocky Macrimancer, half-drenched in sweat responded to his questions.

"The verdict?" he asked.

"Excellent sire." He replied.

"Casualties?"

"Minimal Sire."

In a short reflex, Valezk produced his sword from the back of the chair and thrust it into his chest.

"Little thing, snivelling, agreeable. I don't need people to say yes. I need feedback. Raw, honest feeback." He turned to his servant. "Get me Slaker!"

Another servant dragged the Macrimancer's corpse as Slaker marched into the room. Nostrils flared, she erupted. "How dare you! We have very few Macrimancers left. Is anyone here immune to your violence?"

Valezk pointed his sword at her chest. With a quick wave of her hand, the handle became very hot and he dropped it in response. He smirked as he said "Not you it seems."

He paused a moment before asking. "So what's the verdict?"

"What?"

"The verdict of the great battle."

" The strikken battle, well it wasn't great to begin with. We barely made it out alive, a minor victory at best."

"Casualties?"

"In the thousands. The diversion cost us heavily. In fact if you hadn't wielded your dark way, we would have been meat for the beasts."

Valezk turned to his main servant. "You see what I mean by honest feedback."

"Sire, to be honest we need to regroup. It will take years to reinforce our army.... And the resistance in the south, as well as the east..."

"All in time, Slaker. Have some optimism. Besides we need the orb. All of this is for nothing if we don't get that orb."

"I understand, but we still need to take Mes-Celezk entirely. There are still members of the Golden Blade in hiding around the city. Is now the time for mercy or diplomacy?"

"Fear will come before Mercy. Let us strike first and then offer care. I just need a few days before we pitch our next battle."

"I agree, so rest and try not to kill anyone else in the meantime."

"I promise nothing."

The Misty Vale Tavern was a place of divided reputation, filled to the rafters with an assortment of beings and people on either side of the rules. The place was packed to the ceiling with long wooden trestle tables, each assorted with large mugs of beer, mead and goblets of wine and the odd lukewarm pie. Fires crackled over the top of hearty voices boisterously chanting jokes, playing table games and singing off key. The band of entertainers, along with their fellow Guardian made way through a throng of people hovering around the bar before being greeted by a familiar voice.