Into Crypts of Iniquity

Into Crypts of Iniquity

By

Francis Pendlebury 

Brynn wished he had more men with him. Not many, just a few. The best. Warriors. His Brethren. He knew the men he wanted. Or rather, he had known them. A shiver ran through him. The terror of campaigning on the spiteful continent of Pelgarod once more clenched his heart in its habitual icy clutches.

Brynn bit into his lips. To refrain from howling in madness at the horror confronting their stupefied minds, as well as to prevent his jaw from trembling. The men he wished were now beside him, to guide him, to make some humour out of this disgrace to the command sorcery could have over nature, had all died alongside him on previous campaigns. He needed their great experience and stolid presence. Now, the men here were looking up to him for those same qualities. This being his first adventure as leader and captain of a quest into the sinister realms of the foreboding land mass, lair and kingdom of the dreadful enemy.

He had to keep a grip. Before them lay the object of their exploit, an immense marble brooding crypt of the Lord Incubus Hollowshale, foremost among the Demonic Warlocks. Primary mage of the Circle of Seven. An evil coven of powerful sorcerers fallen into the folds of bleak, illicit witchcraft. Each one bent upon their collective purpose of gaining complete dominion over all humanity.

To this forsaken place these ready warriors had ventured. To destroy the monstrosity presently laying recumbent within the pillared, marble hall before their appalled stare. Brynn and his men were a raiding party of the War-isle. Men known as the War-bred. Bastard warriors born in the city of Arken's brothels, who chose to leave society behind at adolescence to pursue a tough life of adventure amongst the famed fraternity of freebooters. A well-respected, tight-knit, independent troupe of men, only bound by a code to protect the trade shipping of the empire of Arkendore they sprang from. By virtue of constant campaigning against the enemy, in exchange for regular supplies of all their needs.

These men were not ordinary warriors by any means. Their reputation for strength, valour and cohesion were legendary and well-deserved. Each had to endure a rigorous lifestyle and instruction regime to stand among the companies of famed warriors. Each man became, through harsh yet necessary years of preparation; - fearless, determined, adept, bold, resolute in their brotherhood, and committed to taking the fight to the enemy.

Yet not one of them now beside Brynn had ever expected to see anything as repugnant as the abomination presently holding their revolted fascination. They had talked and wondered as to the nature of the Brood-Mother, but no amount of imagination could have prepared their minds for the repellent sight burning itself into their memories with each heartbeat spent regarding it.

"By the stars, we're in Hell now brethren." Hissed Omarif, Brynn's second-in-command, without turning his head.

"Let's just do what we came to do." Brynn spat through gritted teeth.

The entire continent of Pelgarod had for years been referred to as Hell itself, by the War-bred. Due to the existence of a continuous knife-edge between life and death screeching down a man's nerves once he set foot there. A landscape of death. Every plant dangerous, if not deadly. All the natural creatures encountered were venomous, aggressive, menacing and hostile. Nine of Brynn's company had already succumbed to such endings on this mission, with another sixteen killed in combat against the powerful guardians of the crypt they now stood in.

Yet all the dreadfulness they had acknowledged prior to this day paled into insignificance in comparison to the revulsion offered by the disgusting nature and appearance of the Brood-Mother they had come to destroy. Now they could behold her in the form Hollowshale had created to propagate his demonic seed.