-Steelheart Saga-

Chapter XI - Distant Hope & The Forsaken Shrine

Following the party's departure from the Drogmir Isle, with an equal count of male and female Orc warriors at their side, the crusaders sailed another two days to the Grajan coast. The Immortal Leviathan made port at the town of Harlik, a quaint little fishing village many miles out from the heart of the oft-reviled Grajan Empire. Despite their reputation, the Empire found itself at an impasse, their army engaged in indefinite skirmishes against Nora's hordes and their reach stifled by the expansion of neighboring territories, chief among them the Dark Elf Union, centralized in the northeast of their shared continent.
Krysté and her ever expanding party wandered the humble streets of the seldom regarded fishing town, the Wo'enne Elf noting the diverse makeup of its townsfolk within her first steps off the ship. Among the villagers and fishermen were Dwarves, Goblins, Half-Orcs, Humans, and even a scant Dark Elf. A flock of seagulls called, soaring through the crystal blue sky overhead. The raw, salt laden stench of freshly caught fish filled the party's nostrils as they walked, passing merchants, villagers, fishermen, sailors, and migrants.
"Captain, are we sure we can trust Gormog's word about this supposed Demon Lord?" Asked Lieutenant Vana, eyes puzzled at the serene sights of the seaside town. "Seems we've arrived at the most peaceful corner of the world. Might there truly be a Demon Lord here, of all places?"
"Perhaps not." The Captain answered. "Still, it's best we follow what leads we've got on Nora. We'd be remiss in our duties to head home before we've explored every whisper of demon activity we may encounter."
"Aye." Krysté agreed. "The Hellspawn are a cunning sort. They arrive without warning and devastate all in their sight, like an infestation. I couldn't have predicted the raid on my village, nor the people of Grayhold their own mayor's desperate invocation. Even in a town as quiet as this, we mustn't underestimate the dangers in wait."
"Well said, Private." Captain Ulrich grinned. "I tell you, Dame Krysté, just a few more years of experience under your belt and it'll be you giving the orders. Ha, imagine that. An Elven woman in a seat of command? They'd put you in the history books." He chuckled.
"If I am successful in my efforts, Humes shall praise my name for all time." Krysté smirked.
"Ah, Dame Krysté of Wo'enne Forest, Reclaimer of Kristenalia." Vana chimed in with a giggle. "Though, she'd be too modest to ever accept such a title. The Lady would simply saunter back to her forest, Blod'ven in hand, a frown on her lips."
Krysté shrugged. "One never knows. Perhaps in a renewed world, she may find herself a new home. The future is unwritten, afterall."
The chivalrous Huntress felt a bump at her hip. She glanced down to spot a blonde little Human girl staring back with a beaming smile. "Tag, you're it!" Said the girl, who ran off, a Dark Elf boy and Dwarf girl giggling along only a few steps behind the Human girl. Krysté stopped in her tracks, swiveling on her heel and staring at the fleeing children.
"Private?" Called the Captain.
"That little girl just tagged me." Krysté reported.
"Really now? Well then, you ought to tag her back, lest we're to suffer the company of one who's been made it." Ulrich suggested with a playful grin.
"Are we not on duty, sir?" Krysté asked.
"Indeed we are." The Captain confirmed. "Which means you've just received an order. Pursue the objective Private, posthaste, and report back at the Inn, just up the road."
Krysté stared blankly before affirming the command with a nod. "Sir!" She saluted, breaking off from the group and jogging over to the children in the middle of their game. The Elven Knight followed the giggling kids down a winding side path leading down to the beach, her armored boots kicking up sand and leaving a large set of footprints behind the small footprints of the children. She watched the three kids scramble into an abandoned shack, where they shuffled into hiding spots.
The Elf waited for the children to stifle their giggles, then pushed past the weathered wooden door, proceeding with heavy stomps. "Ohh, children, where are youuuuuu?" She called in her scary voice. Her ears flinched at a dropped can, the Knight glancing at her side to spot the girl who'd tagged her. "BOO!" She shouted, drawing a scream from the children. "Got you!" Krysté snatched the little girl by her shoulders and bore her teeth, the corners of her lips curling up into an amused smile.
The Human girl covered her eyes with a pretend shriek, then smiled at the Elven Knight. "You caught me!"
Krysté stood straight, patting the girl on her head. "So I have. Now then, what's your name, child?"
"Charlie! And these are my friends, Théos and Adesna." The Human girl answered, pointing out the Dark Elf boy and Dwarf girl in sequence.
"A pleasure to meet you all." Krysté smiled at the children. "My name is Krysté, I am a Knight of the Kristenalian Guard. Do your parents know where you are?"
"My mama said we can play!" Charlie answered.
"Very well." Said Krysté. "Then I shall leave you to your games, children. My infantry is staying in town tonight, should you require our services, tell your parents to check the Anchorside Inn. Farewell."
As she motioned for the door, Théos piped up. "I like your sword!" He blurted.
Krysté turned back, grasping her weapon's hilt. "My Blod'ven? It's an Elven design. Although, my father's the one who forged it." She pulled the greatsword from her back, causing the children to fall back with a gasp each. "Fear not. Tis a noble weapon." She flicked the blade towards the floorboards, stepping over to the boy and presenting the hilt single handed, her other hand resting on her hip. "Go on. Grasp it with both hands."
The girls stared in envy at Théos, who fastened his hands around the massive sword's leather wrapped hilt, Krysté gently releasing her grip and causing the boy to stumble, the blade sticking into the wooden floorboards. "It's very heavy!" Théos remarked.
"You have no idea..." Krysté muttered as she retrieved her weapon with a singular pull of her forearm, freeing it from the soaked wood, giving it a swift wipe with her other arm, and returning the weapon to her back. "With that, I return to my assignment. Be kind to your parents, children. While you still have that luxury." The Elf Knight pulled back the creaky wooden door and stepped through, hearing the children explode into chatter as she walked away. A sly smile shaped her lips, her footsteps proud as she overheard their admiration.
"That sword is huge!" Said Adesna.
"I want one!" Charlie shouted.
"Do you think she likes me?" Théos asked, drawing raucous laughter from the girls.
Krysté regrouped with the party at the Anchorhead Inn, just as Captain Ulrich instructed. Rynor was in the middle of a one on one game of Twisted Fate against Sir Greyson, the transfer squad and Orcs watching with bated breath. The Captain was nowhere to be seen, but Krysté spotted Vana sitting alone at the far corner of the lobby. She waltzed over, dropping her Blod'ven against the wall and crashing into the empty bench seat beside the Lieutenant, who didn't react to Krysté's entrance.
"What's wrong?" Krysté asked.
Vana sighed. "Does it matter?"
Krysté glimpsed the Lieutenant's somber eyes. "Of course it matters. We've come this far, right? Is there any point keeping secrets now?"
"I suppose not." Vana mumbled, turning towards Krysté. "I wasn't going to bring it up, but since you ask..." She paused before clearing her throat and locking eyes. "Krysté, tell me. Are you serious about me?"
"You really want to discuss this here?" Krysté scanned the room, eyeing the rest of the group, who seemed unaware of the conversation.
"No time like the present, yes?" Vana answered.
"Vana—Éloria—I've already told you everything." Krysté matched Vana's gaze. "I care deeply for you. There's no one else I'd rather have at my side. But our crusade comes first. We—"
"Give me a yes or a no." Vana pleaded. "Please."
Krysté fixated on the small table mere inches away, ultimately relenting with a nod. "I am." She choked.
"Then what are you waiting for?" Vana snatched her hand. "Krysté, I'm right in front of you. What are you so afraid of?"
Krysté pulled away. "I don't—" She stammered. "Ugh, I thought you said you could play the cat and mouse game, what's with you all of a sudden?"
"I know, I thought I could handle it, but the truth is I can't. Ever since that night in Vincia, I dream of you. Of us." Vana leaned into Krysté. "I don't want to walk away from this wondering what could've been. Who cares if they find out? Nothing they could do could keep us apart, Krysté. I promise."
Krysté froze, panicked breaths escaping her lips as she lost herself in Éloria's scarlet eyes.
"Please, tell me you feel the same." Vana begged. "I want this charade to end. I want to be with you, Cherry Girl. I'm yours, Krysté, all you have to do is say you feel the same."
"I..." Krysté struggled. "I do."
Vana smiled while leaning in for a kiss, Krysté sinking hopelessly into a trance as her eyes locked onto her Lieutenant. Despite the Goddess' word on women who lay with fellow women within Elven circles, all that had transpired with Lady Vana felt preordained. The Wo'enne Huntress felt her breath catch, sweat beading under the pressure of being seen together, yet sending the Blod'ven wielder's heart fluttering from the thrill of it all. Perhaps it was wrong—a sin, even—but should Krysté stray from the path of virtue, for Vana, for Éloria, she would proudly bear the Goddess' scorn.
Krysté relented to her base urges, closing her eyes and puckering her lips in anticipation of Lieutenant Vana's arresting embrace. She felt her lover's palm grace her cheek, the stoic Elven defender shuddering beneath Vana's gentle touch with a reflexive whimper.
Slam!
The Elven pair were startled by a female Orc warrior, who had tossed a sack of her personal belongings onto the table in front of them. She stood at an imposing height, her skin apple green with yellow blemishes, battle scars across her face and musculature. Her black hair was half shaven and swept to one side, eyes golden, thick tusk-like fangs protruding from her bottom lip. "Yo, sharp ears. You two Rynor's girlfriends? He doesn't shut up about you two."
"Excuse me?" Krysté sat up, scowling at the Orc.
"Settle down, red." The warrior huffed. "I just got tired of hanging around these noisy males. Thought I'd get to know the only other people on this expedition with brains in their skulls."
"I'm Krysté, this is Lieutenant Vana. You are?"
"Ah, from the ship, yes? Tara, wasn't it?" Vana recalled.
"Tara the Violator." She chorted. "Wanna know how I got that name?"
"Not really..." Vana mumbled.
"How?" Krysté asked, sitting back and crossing her arms.
The Orc pulled up a chair, a glimmer in her eye as she recalled the tale. "So, during one of our invasions back on Hume soil, it was one of them disease ridden Kingdoms, can't remember which one—anyway, point is...Me and my mates had infiltrated this worthless little town out in the middle of nowhere, captured their women and dragged 'em back to our camp. So the men come along the next morning, bitching and moaning about their wives an' daughters or some such, so y'know what we did?"
"What?" Krysté asked, staring blankly at the Orc.
"Stripped them apes down to their bare asses an' paraded 'em around their hometown, for their own mothers to see!" Tara smacked the table, rocking back with wheezing laughter. "You shoulda seen 'em!"
"Hilarious." Krysté delivered without an ounce of humor.
"Ah, lighten up, sharp ear, that was funny." Said Tara.
"Why are you bothering us with this?" Krysté asked. "We've no interest in your barbaric practices."
"Barbaric? Psshhh..." Tara scoffed. "No wonder you prissy lil' bitches were conquered by every two bit clan under the sun. No respect for the art of war."
"What was that?" Krysté snarled.
"Krysté, don't..." Vana warned.
"Listen to your friend, before you end up bent over my knee, receiving the spanking your scumbag father never had the balls to give you, little wench!" Tara snapped. "I'll fix that bad attitude in a heartbeat. Try me."
Krysté sighed. "You're not worth it..."
"Pardon her, we mean no offense." Vana said. "It's a pleasure to meet you properly, Tara. We look forward to serving alongside you."
"Huh, this one knows manners? I like that." Tara grinned. "You could teach the red hair a thing or two."
"She won't be a problem, I assure you." Vana insisted, shooting a glance at Krysté, who was boiling in her seat. "Right, Lady Krysté?"
"Uh huh." The Wo'enne Elf grunted.
Tara chuckled. "Make sure you keep her on a short leash."
The Captain barged through the Inn doors, silencing the packed lobby and drawing the eyes of his infantry. He presented a local map with an X marked over a spot to the northwest of Harlik. "Attention, all! We've got a location on the Demon Lord. He's hiding at an abandoned shrine, northwest of here."
"A shrine, you say?" Rynor set down his cards and reached into his satchel, retrieving a book on the occult. "Dedicated to whom, exactly?"
"What, you looking to get some praying done out there, Wizard boy?" Tara teased the Elven Mage.
"Oh please, even Orcfolk must have myths of spirits haunting abandoned ruins." Said Rynor. "Demons centralizing around a haunt like that cannot be mere coincidence, friends. I'm afraid this particular horde may be of a more enduring sort than the typical animalistic beasts we're used to."
"In that case, we'd better make preparations." Said Captain Ulrich. "Rendezvous on the main road at midday. Tis best we accomplish our goals before sundown. Elsewise, remember the creed, Knights." The Captain raised a fist over his heart, his subordinate Knights mirroring the gesture. "By the Grace of the Goddess and the Honor of the Crown, We Fall by the Sword in Glory, Our Sacrifice is Virtue. We are Born of the Light, Chosen by the One Above All, We Shepherd All Kingdoms to the Promised Land. Victory in Death, By the Hand of Fate, Our Calling the Price of Freedom, By Kristenalia We Rise."
"Aye!" The Knights shouted in unison.
Tara rolled her eyes. "Crock o' shite, that is..." She muttered.
"You have your orders, Knights. All that remains is to see them through. Prepare for the fight of your lives, then move out." Ulrich ordered, departing the Inn with a salute, his Knights saluting back.
Krysté and her Elven companions, now accompanied by Tara against their wishes, spent the hours until noon restocking their curatives, reinforcing their armor and weaponry at the local smithy, and resting for the impending trials. The full infantry of Knights and Orcs awaited at the main road out of Harlik, the Elven trio and their Orc tag-along greeting the Knight Captain, who took a quick headcount, turned his back to the infantry, and initiated the march to the shrine ruins with a shout.
The party arrived at the abandoned shrine after a short trek into the Grajan Wilds, the structure which once stood as a monument to a watchful God now overwrought with vines and foliage, its walls crumbling, stone idols weeping for a light long perished.
"This place is...I can't find a better word for it than creepy." Vana muttered at the steps of the ruins. "Yet, it's sad in its own way."
"Tis a spooky ol', demon infested, pile o' bricks." Tara scoffed. "I don't see what all the fuss is about."
"You wouldn't, would you?" Rynor climbed the steps into the temple proper, leading the way for the Knights and Orcs behind him. He pulled a Grimoire from his satchel and cracked it open, holding it out in a single hand while studying the site. "A torchlight, anyone?"
"Hang on..." Captain Ulrich produced some flint from his item pouch and lit a long extinguished wall-mounted torch, walking beside the Mage as they progressed into the dreary, decrepit crypt.
Krysté's eyes sharpened as she clutched the hilt of her Blod'ven. "I don't like this. There's something dark about this place."
"Is there? I hadn't noticed." Tara joked.
"Not like that, brute!" Krysté snarled. "Tis far from the first nest of demons I've infiltrated. I can feel it. A thick, odorous blackness abounds."
"You speak of curses, Elf?" Steinholm asked, glancing at Krysté.
"Perhaps, though tis not I who has studied such abhorrent practices." Krysté glanced over at the resident Arcanist.
"Rynor, any ideas?" Asked Lieutenant Vana, who walked with a hand hovering above her sheathed broadsword at all times. Her ears flinched at distant animals and sporadic winds.
The Mage was nose deep into his pocket Grimoire, skimming a chapter on forbidden rituals and sordid curses. "Hmm, whassat? Oh, yes." He glanced up, studying the features of a half crumbled statue. Despite the damage, the shape of what it once was remained clear. An Elven idol from the dawn of civilization, often depicted as a blind woman in robes. "This temple is clearly Elven in origin, whatever spirits yet linger were likely servants of an old God. The trouble is discerning which one."
"Sure, but what of the curse Dame Krysté spoke of?" Elnard asked.
"The answer is precisely the same." Rynor proceeded down a descending set of stairs, flipping pages of his Grimoire, the Knight Captain lighting his path. "Invoking a curse is rather dependent on the powers one calls upon. To know a nullifier, one must first know the entity they've aggrieved."
"Ha, all them fancy books and you don't know a damn thing." Tara laughed. "Face it, Wizardboy, you're as in the dark as we are, quite literally."
"Only for the moment." Rynor said, descending into an open chamber, rats scurrying along.
Eeeeek!
Lieutenant Vana squealed at some bats, swatting her sword at them.
Tara snorted. "Tis only winged vermin, girl! Steel your nerves."
Vana sighed. "We ought not idle in this horrid place. Let us locate this 'Velzix' and bring a swift end to his tirade!"
Krysté outpaced Vana and Tara, walking at the front of the group and drawing her monstrous greatsword, holding it at her side, single handed. "Aye. Stay together, all. We know not what fiends lurk, and there is strength in numbers."
"Couldn't have said it better, Private." Ulrich wore a proud grin. "You heard the woman! Stick with the group, take no risks."
"Aye." The Knights affirmed.
The group ventured ever deeper into the ruined shrine, braving its dungeon as a unit while keeping watch for deadly foes. They found them not far underground, where a bipedal humanoid creature with a squid-like head, commonly known as a Cephelos, stalked the ancient passage with Hellhounds bound on a leash. The Hounds detected the party, frothing barks striking a chilling terror into the hearts of men and women alike.
"Hounds!" Krysté shouted, charging at the beasts with Blod'ven drawn.
The Cephelos released the Hounds with a blood curdling screech.
Rynor raised magic barriers around the party, shielding them from the pouncing Hounds and affording them a moment's reprieve. The Arcanist hid behind the Knights and Orcs, casting defensive holy magics from the back row. He casted Holy Protection upon the party, draining his mana severely but nullifying the Cephelos's spells of Insanity and Petrification.
Krysté was already hacking and slacking away at the Hounds, grunting with each swing of her weapon. Captain Ulrich fought by Krysté's side, slashing his broadsword at the evil, bloodthirsty beasts with fearless determination. The transfer squad kept their shields forward, blocking and parrying where possible. From the back line, Vana loaded her bow, hanging beside Rynor and keeping her eyes trained on the Cephelos while Tara and the Orcs wrestled with whatever they could get their hands on, twisting canine necks and stomping out all threats in their path.
Krysté cleaved the torso of a pouncing Hound as Vana nailed an arrow through the eye of the Cephelos, causing it to screech and flee, scrambling away from the party and retracting deep into the recesses of the forsaken shrine. With only a few bites and scrapes, the party overcame the vicious Hellhounds through their combined force. They plunged deeper into the dungeon, weapons ready and eyes alert as they entered a tomb.
The chamber was octagonal, candles lining the room in equal number and distance, flowers laid at the foot of a sealed sarcophagus. There were two connecting passages, one at the left and one at the right of the tomb.
Tara motioned for the sarcophagus, one hand squeezing her battleaxe. "Wakey wakey, Velzix..."
Rynor barged through the line of Knights, grasping the Orc's wrist, not that he possessed the strength to stop her. "Don't you dare!"
"Why not, Elf?"
"There is no surer way to invoke a curse than disturbing the dead!" Rynor insisted. "Whatever lies within, we leave it."
"Agreed. Velzix isn't in there." Krysté cut in. "He resides further still."
"How do you know, Red?" Tara asked, raising an eyebrow at Krysté.
Krysté walked to the left passage, running her hand along the corner. "It's faint, but through here, there are whispers. In fact..." Her eyes widened as she glimpsed the party. "They're waiting for us. Perhaps the Cephelos is bait?"
"Of course!" Rynor realized. "A test of brain and braun before the main event! No high demon wishes to waste their strength on lesser foes! Milady Krysté, you are brilliant!" The Arcanist reached his arms for the Wo'enne Elf, lips pursed.
"I'm not your lady!" She snarled, batting a hand at Rynor.
"I'll be damned! Red's more useful than she looks. What's the word, boss?" Tara asked the Captain.
"The Private's reasons are sound. We form up and proceed further in. Keep watch for traps, lest we confront the enemy with anything short of a full unit." Ulrich answered.
"Aye!" The Knights affirmed.
Captain Ulrich stepped in front of Krysté and took the lead, torch in hand. Tara fell back and walked beside Lieutenant Vana, who carried herself in a manner more timid than she typically presented.
"What's wrong, Bloodeye? Afraid of the dark?" Tara prodded.
"Nerves, is all." Said Vana. "Bloodeye?" She glanced at the Orc, eyes puzzled.
"Your nickname. That a problem?" Tara asked.
"I suppose not. Though, I confess, I am vexed by your habit of naming others." Vana answered.
"Ah, you would. Tis an Orcish custom." Tara said. "It's how we remember one another. See that one?" She nudged her head towards one of the male Orcs. "That's Kor the Mutilator. His brother, there? Bran the Skullcracker. Her?" Tara pointed out another lady Orc. "Legs. Don't ask."
"I see. You called Rynor 'Wizardboy' and Krysté 'Red.' Why am I 'Bloodeye?'" Vana asked.
"Your eyes, they're the color of blood." Tara shrugged. "Didn't wanna call you 'Redeye', too close to 'Red.'"
"Hmm, fascinating." Vana remarked. "I'd no idea Orcs were so...creative."
"Watch your step!" They heard the Captain call, then a stone splashing into water.
The Knight Captain held Krysté by her waist. She had nearly fallen into a pool of water. Rynor sprinkled a vial of magic dust from his satchel onto his torch, expanding the flame's reach and revealing a flooded section of the dungeon. Krysté regained her footing and clicked her Blod'ven to her back. She saluted the Captain.
"You have my thanks, sir." Said the Wo'enne Elf.
"No salutes, Private." The Captain ordered.
"Blimey, the water's pitch black!" Steinholm noted, his voice carrying down the section.
"Watch yourselves. No telling what resides in these waters..." Rynor warned, studying his surroundings.
"Bloody hell..." Adlebert muttered.
"Focus, everyone. How are we going to get across?" Captain Ulrich asked the party.
The unit chattered among themselves, scrambling for a solution.
"You must know something, Mage." Krysté guessed.
"Perhaps a spell to drain the water?" Vana suggested.
"I'm afraid not." Rynor said. "These inky, black pools appear infested with a dark resonance. Such a heavy concentration of evil is resistant to my holy magics."
"I knew there was something off about this place..." Krysté mumbled. "The Gravitation spell!" She realized, turning to the Arcanist. "Surely there is a way to reverse the effect?"
"Ah, of course milady, though my mana has been nearly exhausted from defending you all from that nasty Cephelos." Rynor answered. "Luckily, I was able to homebrew a bottle of Ether with ingredients from Harlik. This'll take but a moment..." The Elven Mage grimaced at the thought of swallowing the concoction, but buried his distaste and pulled a bottle from his satchel containing a blueish-green substance with specks of assorted herbs floating inside. He uncorked the top, causing the party to gag at the Ether's foul stench.
"Are you seriously going to drink that?" Tara asked, side eyeing the Arcanist while plugging her nose.
Rynor shrugged. "Bottom's up!" He held down his cap as he tipped the Ether down his throat, chugging the whole bottle before pulling it from his lips with a belch.
"Heavens..." Vana muttered, her face scrunched up.
"I think I'm going to be sick..." Tara turned away, pressing her fist to her lips.
Rynor dropped the empty bottle back in his satchel, then concentrated on the flooded area, eyes sharp as he readied his casting staff with a deep breath. The Arcanist twirled his staff, reciting a mystical enchantment and granting Levitation to the party, who each lifted from the stone platform and hovered freely.
"Woah! This is mad!" Sir Greyson panicked.
"We must be swift, friends, the spell won't hold long!" Rynor instructed. "Simply swim across, like so!" The Arcanist threw his arms out and kicked his feet, swimming through air exactly as he described. The others followed his lead to the other side of the flooded section, arriving one at a time to be guided back to their feet by the Elven Mage. "Phew, I tell you, this plunge has been thoroughly exhausting! We must recruit more Magi at our soonest convenience."
"Your concerns have been noted." Said Captain Ulrich. "Now then, men, women. Steel yourselves. I sense we are nearing the Demon Lord."
"You feel it too?" Krysté asked.
"Indeed." Ulrich nodded. "Tis a pit sinking in my bowls." The Knight Captain drew his broadsword. "A most loathsome wretch awaits."
"It reminds me of what I felt confronting Nora, only milder." Krysté said. "Might we encounter the Demoness here?"
"You don't think..." Vana hesitated.
"Either way, this scum won't vanquish itself!" Tara readied her battle axe, a starving grin on her lips.
"Onward!" The Captain ordered, leading the march into the shrine's deepest sanctum. The party walked into pitch blackness, the torch expiring in a moment. A sickening stench overwhelmed the party as they felt their way around the black expanse. Through the endless darkness they heard a sinister cackling resounding off the dungeon walls.
"Throughout the ages, brave souls have united to challenge the evils of our world." Spoke a jittery, raspy voice. "The Elf Revolution that brought the mighty High Kingdom tumbling down. The conquest of Arlun the Vengeful, the tyrant who would be a God, only to decide another fate for our fragile, fleeting realm. And you." Luminescent crimson eyes penetrated the blackness. "Well met, Steelhearts. You've come an awfully long way. Let us now enact the trials you've journeyed so long to face, and see if the legend can be born anew!"
Sparks hissed, flames igniting wall mounted torches around the sanctum instantaneously, unveiling the piled corpses of previous challengers, Knights and Magi, bandits and researchers, Elves and Humans, Orcs and Goblins all equal in a shared stone mausoleum buried far beneath the light of the Goddess. The party drew their weapons, startling the buzzing flies around the sanctum as the Knights entered a battle formation and the Orc warriors clutched their battleaxes, standing shoulder to shoulder. A statue of an ancient God stood at the furthest wall, defiled with demonic runes and the smeared blood of Velzix's countless victims.
"Gthusen..." Rynor muttered upon glimpsing the vandalized idol.
"Bless you." Tara chorted.
"He hopes to rattle us." Ulrich said, sword and shield readied. "Let not this heretic cast doubt upon your hearts, men! On my word, we strike!"
"Captain, what of the Cephelos?" Sir Elnard asked, approaching the Demon Lord with shivering steps. "It appears they've vanished from the dungeon. Where could they have gone?"
"Ever the perceptive grunt!" Velzix cackled, raising both clawed hands. "Ask not, for all awaits you in the gauntlet of the Steelhearted!"
Vana flinched, raising her broadsword at a stack of cadavers. "Did you hear that? Something moved!"
"Tis no time for bloody ghost stories, sharp ear!" Steinholm snapped. "Form up and hold your wits!"
"Necromancy, of course!" Rynor raised his staff to Graja's lost heroes. "He's got Undead!"
The stacks of corpses around the sanctum shuffled, bodies tumbling down the sides as skeletal and zombified remains rose one by one, stumbling newborns grasping their withered fingers at the shapes and figures before them. The party backed away from the legion of rising bodies, Knights and Orcs picking out poking stabs and swatting bats.
"Cursed wretch!" Krysté erupted, grasping her Blod'ven two handed. "I tire of these petty torments! Die like the rest, abominated villain!" The seething Elf dropped her monstrous blade to the stone, a thunk! resounding around the sanctum as she dragged the hunting greatsword over to the Demon Lord's position and swung skyward. Velzix evaporated into a dark cloud which shrouded the sanctum, the Elven Knight's Blod'ven throwing her back with the weight of the whiffed swing, sounding a tink! through the morbid arena, Krysté's blade sparking against stone. She grunted with each desperate, exasperated pull, undead champions inching nearer from all sides.
"Do not disappoint me, Steelhearts! This is merely the opening salvo!" Velzix's voice echoed as the party defended against his ghastly puppets.
Emaciated warriors lunged at those who stood in boots tailored for their feet, absently lashing out in vain ploys to reclaim all the shrine had cost them. What scant impulses lingered compelled the decomposing, maggot riddled, would've-been saviors of the realm to savage the latest challengers of Gthusen's tomb. By some miracle, could they overcome the hot blooded, still breathing crusaders, perhaps the Goddess would breathe new life into their withered lungs. Only then, could their hero's journey—their penance—conclude at last.
Fragile bones and atrophied muscle were no match for the heroes of the present, the party snapping, slashing, and tearing through body after body. Though the undead were numerous, they were also brittle and unfocused, their rotted minds incapable of coherent thought. Krysté pulled with her back, crashing her Blod'ven through a ribcage, then a shriveled heart, inertia whacking her blade's edge off a corner with a ripping spark, sending the Elven Knight tumbling back. In her moment of recovery, a cold, dry bicep fastened around her throat, forcing her back with a windpipe blocking yank, the Elf's choking rendered mute, her blade squealing against stone as she clutched its hilt for dear life.
An undead red-skinned Orc held Krysté in his pestilent grasp, grunting and groaning perplexed, unintelligible bumblings at the squirming, kicking woman in his clutches. Krysté wriggled and jerked, the unforgiving squeeze on her throat denying every frenzied gasp. Her hold over the Blod'ven loosened, tears watering as the Wo'enne Elf recalled cherished memories of her mother and father from the life she knew before her people were purged from the world.
A distant, yet deceptively recent chapter in the young woman's life. Even then, her days were defined by life-risking monster hunts. She wondered what her Pa might say if he could've lived to see the woman she'd become.
"What happened to your face, girl? Who gave you that nasty scar?" He said. "Your eyes—they're like mine now. Full of regret, and pain." The veteran Hunter brushed his daughter's bangs away from her eyes, then wiped her tears and ruffled her hair. "Oh, my flower. Dry your eyes. You were left with the burden of our entire people, and that's too massive for any one woman to carry. Rest now, child. Your servitude is over."
Everything snapped back into place. Krysté fell to her knees, wheezing and sputtering, her Blod'ven clattering against the floor. The undead Orc's already fractured skull had been punctured by an arrow from Vana's bow, the red Orc collapsing before withering to dust. The party fought on, undead still rising to challenge the crusaders. Vana cut through the mess of battle to drop her shield at Krysté's side. "Krysté, are you alright? Darling, please, talk to me!" The Lieutenant begged her Cherry Knight.
Krysté regained her breath, palms pressed against the sanctum floor. She shrieked a haunting, ear piercing screech, collapsing face-first onto the floor and sobbing openly.
Undead badgered against Vana's shield, but her fellow Knights fended off the surrounding re-animated gladiators. Vana threw her free arm around Krysté, pulling her from the stone tile, blubbering slobber and mucus rolling off her face. "Krysté, dear, I've got you! We'll make it through this, yes?"
"DAMMIT!" Krysté wailed, pounding her fist into the tile, bruising every knuckle on impact. "Goddess be damned!" She slammed her fist back into the same spot, throwing both hands up into her hair and clutching her own scalp, blood pouring down her right arm and dripping onto the floor. The Wo'enne Elf rocked on her knees, tearful eyes wide open, shuddering and hiccuping as her body struggled to cope with her irreconcilable anguish. She whimpered.
"I just want to die."
Vana winced at Krysté's comment, mustering her full strength to squeeze her secret lover into the firmest possible hug while lifting her shield to defend from oncoming strikes. Krysté sat broken, feeble, and sobbing. She clung to Vana and wept defeated tears against her chest plating. The Lieutenant was unshaken by the pressure from the undead, a stone faced, noble glare in her eyes.
Their allies braved the fatal contest in their stead, broadswords cleaving rotted flesh and spilling blackened blood. The Orcs found scarce use for their axes, their bare fists proving beyond sufficient for the felled heroes of the realm. Knight Captain Ulrich kept Rynor shielded, swatting away grasping, withered hands as the Arcanist channeled his mana into divine spellcasting. The Magi survivor delivered soul punishing persecution upon the living dead, waves of Angel's Lament judging expired souls and purging the tarnished with the cindering light of divination.
With unwavering grit, coordination, and a dash of luck by their side, the party achieved the miracle of victory. They waited, bodies littering the sanctum, but alas, none rose from their fated resting place. Lieutenant Vana pulled Krysté by the hand, guiding her gently to her feet. The Private wiped her own tears, sniffling as she retrieved her Blod'ven from the floor. She glimpsed her reflection in the bloodstained, scratched steel of the greatsword's broad blade. The Elf hardly recognized her own harrowed, pitiful stare. Her scarred cheeks glistened with tears and her right side ran with blood.
How shameful it was to witness the betrayal of her own flesh. If not her own muscles, her own emotions, what then could she truly believe in? What, if anything, was truly within her control?
"Congratulations, virtuous crusaders, you've survived the first wave." Velzix's voice echoed off stone. "Now brace thyselves, for glorious bloodshed awaits!" From his imperceptible hovel, the Demon Lord summoned a hulking Cephelos, accursed levitating eyes capable of casting spells known as Watchers manifested from a dark mystical aura to hurl lethal spells at the party from above. The Knights raised their shields, Vana guarding Krysté from fireballs as the Orcs ducked and dived out of casting range.
"Defensive positions!" The Captain ordered, the party forming up around him and adopting defensive tactics whilst Rynor hung back, muttering beneath his breath.
"Enough of this foul charade." The Arcanist cast a sly Perception spell, his magic revealing the invisible Demon Lord to him alone. His eyes narrowed as he clicked his staff against the floor, razing tiles to topple Velzix, rendering him perceptible to the party once more.
Tara swiveled past a Watcher, charging for Velzix only to be intercepted by the bulky, brutish Cephelos, who hissed and flung its tendrils at the Orc warrior. She wrestled for her axe, which the Cephelos had a tentacle wrapped around, the cruel monstrosity gurgling indecipherable threats while grappling with Gormog's Champion. Amidst the scramble, the dual Watchers rained elemental spells onto the party. Rather than counter their magic, Rynor preserved his mana, harnessing all that remained for a particularly calculated risk.
Krysté, eyes still watered, clutched the hilt of her Blod'ven with renewed strength, her eyes glinting in the torchlight. "Infernal coward!" She exploded. "A man unable to fight his own battles belongs not in command, demon or elsewise! Suffer and perish, cancerous parasite!" The Wo'enne Elf shot through the huddled mass of Knights, bursting out with cleaving slashes, splitting the eye of a Watcher and downing it instantly. The monster shrieked, its cries ringing the party's ears, only to be silenced by the crushing boot of the Elven Knight.
She skipped past Tara and the brute Cephelos, locking her sights on the scrambling Velzix and dropping her monstrous blade with an overhead slash. The Demon Lord skipped back, narrowly avoiding the sting of Krysté's razor sharp greatsword, her steel sparking off tile with a thunk! The Elven Knight swung back, missing her target's throat by mere inches, engaging Velzix in a lethal duel while her allies lent support to Tara and cleared the board of its remaining pawns.
Woosh! Velzix heard the Blod'ven swing overhead as he ducked.
"Wait! Spare me, and I can tell you where she is!" He pleaded, falling back against Gthusen's defiled idol, his minions dropping in short succession. "I'll tell you about the Demoness!"
Krysté pointed the tip of her blade at Velzix's throat, as she had done to many of Nora's Apostles before him. The party regrouped behind the Wo'enne Elf as she stared daggers into the Demon Lord. Her glare was spiteful as she reeled her massive greatsword back for a finishing stab.
"Stand down, Private!" Ulrich ordered, stepping beside his subordinate. "We need whatever information he has."
Krysté halted in place, her muscles trembling as she bore her teeth. This once, she found it exceedingly difficult to yield.
"That's an order, Dame Krysté." The Knight Captain warned.
"Lady Krysté, please." Vana clasped her hand around Krysté's over the Blod'ven's hilt. "This could lead us to Nora."
After a moment of silent contemplation, Krysté inhaled then retracted, clicking the Blod'ven to her back and allowing her superiors to take command. Vana gave an appreciative nod.
"Now then, Godless fiend. Tell us the whereabouts of your Demoness or face summary execution." Ulrich addressed the fallen Apostle.
"The Demoness...she is everywhere, yet nowhere." Velzix grinned.
Vana drew her broadsword. "A location, at once!"
"Easy, Lieutenant." Ulrich interrupted. "This one intends to misdirect. I expect we won't receive a straight answer from him. Very well, trickster. What is it you expect in exchange for your intel?"
Velzix cackled. "Ha, you think it a contest? How rich!"
"Even despicable vermin like you can be reasoned with." Said Ulrich. "What will it take for you to betray your Demoness?"
"Nothing! Nora is supreme!" Velzix snapped.
"You sided with Nora and she failed you, this is your only chance!" Ulrich shot back. "Name your boon or perish, tyrant. Final offer."
Velzix sighed. "I yield, Knight. I confess, there is something my Demoness has failed to provide."
"Which is?" Ulrich asked.
"A reward far beyond your comprehension, Human!" The demon hissed through jagged fangs. "It matters not. In defeat, I am relieved of duty. The curtain call, at last."
"Then what are you protecting?" Tara blurted. "Your misses had you wrapped around her little finger, now look at you! Grovelling, alone, at the bottom of this dank, dark dungeon! Pah, you were only her errand boy. I swear, the things men do for a whiff..."
"You know not what you say, the Demoness was born without love, and I am not naïve enough to seek it in a woman so cruel." Velzix said. "However, I see that in the end, I have been abandoned. What I long for is not within your reach, so I shall be forthcoming, Steelhearts. By the end of the lunar cycle, a ceremony is due in the ruins of O'karr. A summoning shall take place, one which—"
Velzix burst into flames, the Demon Lord wailing as indiscriminate fire chewed through his skin, muscle, tendons, and bone. The party fell back, only to notice Rynor holding his staff high, a smoldering fury behind his amber eyes.
"What have you done, Mage!?" Krysté snatched him by the collar, her teeth clenched.
"There is no greater crime against nature than raising the dead as one's own pawns!" Rynor snapped. "Those undead warriors were once sons and daughters, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters. Our foe stripped them of their personhood, their dignity, even their own deaths were not an escape from his torments!"
"Dumbass!" Krysté slammed him against the wall, holding her grip firmly around his collar. "We're aware of the ramifications, but he was our only lead! You couldn't wait two minutes to get an answer first?"
"That's enough, Private!" Ulrich called.
"No, dammit!" Krysté barked.
"Krysté!" Vana called out, her voice echoing but failing to reach the Wo'enne Huntress.
"Unhand me, hysterical girl!" The Arcanist demanded. "Through his deeds, his fate was sealed! By authority of the Goddess, punishment was due! You may see fit to judge me, but know my court is a higher one!"
Krysté released the Mage with a shove, stepping away and scoffing. "So be it. We know O'Karr, wherever it is, shall be our next destination."
"Indeed, but first, I believe a night of rest back in Harlik is due." Said Captain Ulrich. "Round up, Knights. We're headed back to town."