*Readers may have noticed that there are now two "Amidst the Ruins" threads on this forum. The other one is a mistake on my part, please let it die (and I apologies for clogging things up).
*Okay, it's been ages since I last posted- evidently, I can't keep to the weekly update schedual, so I'll just leave it at "this storyhour will be sporadicaly updated as the mood suits its author".
*A note to readers- Ygred's real name is infact "Yzak"- I'm not sure why I had such difficult comprehending that durring the writing of the first two instalments, but from now on, Yzak will be Yzak. Sorry about that, everyone (especialy Yzak and his player).
*And without further adue, back to the story!
***
“We need to get out of here. The dead are returning.” Rasped Yeth from his position on the ground. Apparently, he’d woken up at some point during the well-episode. The ranger got to his feet, teeth clenched in apparent pain. Beside him, Eromil stirred feebly. Despite his efforts, it was soon apparent that the elf would be unable to rise. His leg, it seemed, was broken.
“Do we have time to make a stretcher?” Asked a worried Yzak. “I don’t see how Eromil is going to be able to run with us, and without a litter we won’t be able to carry him and move at any reasonable pace.”
“There is no time. He’ll run or he’ll die. That is the way of the Rotwood.” Intoned Yeth without emotion. Yzred seethed.
“We can’t leave him.”
“We’ll leave him or all of us will die.”
As the two men argued, Nwm felt something rise within him. The same force which he’d channeled through his palm to burn the dead child which had clung to him could be used to heal as well. Removing the gauntlet from his branded hand, Nwm approached Eromil’s prostrate form. The elf watched him blearily, his face a mask of pain. Kneeling beside the elf, Nwm laid his hand on the now blue flesh of his leg.
He concentrated for a moment, willing the life-energy to do as he willed. Silverish flames sprung from between his fingers, and lapped gently at the wound beneath them. Color returned too Eromil’s face, and the fires diminished. He starred at Nwm with something like ambivalence. Slipping his glove back on, Nwm helped Eromil to his feet.
“The irony of being healed by a branded hand does not, I think, escape you.”
Beside him, Nwm heard the sharp intake of Yzak’s breath.
“I can do it too. Just now, I healed myself.” The two Paladin’s regarded each other. “I’ve read about this in several religious texts, Knights who could channel Hypatia’s gift of life with a touch. The only one I’ve ever seen do it before now was Lord Gilgamesh.”
“We haven’t the time to ponder the nature of your gift, Yzak.” Growled Yeth, and he began to walk, grunting with pain. “If we can get out of here before the dead find us, you might even live to use it again.” The others moved to follow Yeth, glancing anxiously behind them until they reached the cover of the trees.
The darkness of the Rotwood seemed almost a reprieve after the horror of the burnt out settlement. Yeth lead them on until well past nightfall. He aimed, he said, to reach the border of the Rotwood in no longer then three days. The Lord Commander would need to be informed of the destruction of the colony as soon as possible, for such hostile activity from the undead did not often confine itself to a single region.
When they could go on no longer, the party set up camp on a sheltered rise overlooking a large clearing. Leaving Eromil to watch, the others immediately fell into fitful sleep, dreams haunted by the smoldering shells of buildings and the hideous faces dead.
It was close to midnight, and Eromil himself was beginning to feel the gentle pull of the elven sleep-state known as trance. Eyelids fluttering, Eromil was about to nod off when something moved in the glade bellow.
Shaking himself to full alertness, Eromil’s keen eyes picked out the graceful forms of three deer, two does and a buck, moving cautiously through the tall grass. The elf relaxed, slumping against a nearby tree to watch the gentle herbivores.
Suddenly, the buck raised his antlered head in alarm. Nostrils flaring and eyes wide, the creature’s tail flashed white and it broke into a sprint, careening towards the forest with the does close behind it.
From the trees across the glade, six awkward forms exploded outward, moving with unnatural speed. Falling apart even as they closed on the quarry, the undead howled in something akin to glee as they reached the terrified animals. Woken by the unearthly keen, Yzak, Nwm, and Yeth joined Eromil to watch in mute horror as the the deer were savagely mauled and cast to the ground, life still clinging to their trembling frames.
One of the zombies knelt to the ground beside the buck, who had remained largely intact topside the raking of undead claws. The deer shied from the ghastly hands reaching towards in, but had not the power to move with more then a feeble twitch. The zombie’s fists closed about the creature’s hoofs, and with a snap broke them off just above the ankle. The deer screamed in pain, even as the process was repeated on each of its remaining hooves.
The zombies were gone as quickly as they had come, leaving the quivering deer to a slow death. Yeth drew his crossbow wordlessly, walking into the glade. With an expression of profound anguish, he put a bolt through the buck’s head, and dealt similarly with each of the does.
“They deserved a clean death.” He muttered in an unusually emotional voice.
***
Two more days of hurried travel brought them to the edge of the marsh (apparently known to those few who entered the wood with any frequency as “Rotwater”). Since they had seen it last, rain had swelled its pools and streams with a muddy torrent. Although the newly claimed waterways were seldom over knee deep, they now disguised many of the perils of the marsh, such as quicksand, making the going very slow indeed.
On their second day in Rotwater, the party was assailed by a small group of zombies which had lain in wait beneath the surface of the muddy water, and sprung up to drag them to their deaths in the murky depths. The creatures were easily overcome, either falling to the warrior’s blades and bolts or fleeing back into the marsh, and any wounds suffered were dealt with by the Paladins’s healing touch.
That night, the party camped on a large burg of land within sight of the tree line which marked Rotwater’s end. Their proximity to the marsh’s border gave them hope and confidence, and so, when Eromil proposed to light a fire, Yeth did not dissuade him as he had done on previous occasions.
With warm food in their stomach’s and the end of the marsh in sight, the adventurers slept almost easily. Even Nwm, assigned to watch for the night, was lulled into complacency by the small comforts of food and fire, and failed to hear the telltale splashing of a body moving through the water until the creatures were upon him.
Rising from the murk with inhuman grace, the emancipated bodies of four human warriors slipped onto the island behind Nwm. Silent as hunting cats, they crept up behind the paladin, pausing for a moment before the foremost leapt upon the knight and sank its teeth into his neck.
Even as he reached for Exile, Nwm knew something was horribly wrong. His limbs move sluggishly, and his muscles tightened unbidden. In a matter of moments, the knight was unable to move, paralyzed by the touch of the strange creatures.
The four monsters stood for a moment, perhaps making certain that the knight was completely paralyzed, before creeping towards the sleeping forms of Yeth, Yzak, and Eromil. Nwm tried valiantly to scream a warning to his friends, but could only watch in dreadful silence as the things stalked towards the sleeping men. Despite himself, the knight found these monsters morbidly fascinating. They were dead, of that he was sure, for their eyes glowed with the same sickly luminescence as those of the zombies they had encountered earlier, but these fiends were clearly of a different order then the mindless husk that were zombies. Their bodies, although twisted and disgustingly thin were intact- and, more horribly, they seemed possessed of some malign intelligence. Where zombies would have simply torn Nwm to shreds, these atrocities had left him paralyzed to witness the demise of his friends.
As a horrified Nwm looked on, the creatures bent over his sleeping comrades, the firelight casting twisted shadows into the marsh mists. As one, the monsters closed their jaws about the sleeper’s necks. In the moment they awoke, both Eromil and Yeth succumbed to the paralyzing residue coating the fiends’ elongated fangs. Yzak, however, shrugged the paralysis and the undead creature on his shoulders off with grim ferocity. The young knight tore his sword free from its sheath across his back, and rammed the weapon through the torso of the monster who’s bight graced his neck.
The thing’s gaunt frame seemed pathetically feeble as it fell, inanimate, from the paladin’s sword. The other monsters, apparently shocked by the sudden death of one of their own, cautiously moved to encircle the Paladin.
Although he fought with righteous conviction, fury, and desperation all driving his blade, Yzak knew with horrid certainty that he was outmatched. Faster, stronger, and smarter then the zombies he’d fought before, his assailants attacked in concert, with measured blows and retreats. Over the course of several agonizing seconds, the undead drew blood again and again, while Yzak found himself unable to land a solid blow on any one of the monsters.
Despair filled the knight, and with despair the paralysis, until now held back by his force of will, began to seep into his limbs. With a final effort, the knight lashed out, knocking one of the monsters into the embers of the fire, were it writhed and screamed, but he could see it was not enough. The remaining two stepped back, waiting to see if the paralysis would take hold. As Yzak slumped, malevolent grins spread across the undead faces before him. One of the monsters moved towards him, clawed hand reaching for his throat... and lurched forwards as a Exile exploded through its chest.
Taken completely by surprise, the undead shied away from Nwm, who moved to stand over Yzak. With measured thrusts and caution, Nwm held the two remaining monsters at bay. For minutes, the combat continued, Nwm parrying or catching on his shield each blow aimed at him, the undead dodging away from every slash of Exile’s bloodstained length. As the battle dragged on, Nwm’s strength began to dwindle. His parries became more sluggish, his shield arm sore and leaden. The ghost lights in the eyes of his adversaries seemed to flair with eagerness and lust for flesh.
A click echoed through the still air of the marsh, and Nwm felt something hiss past his head. To his right, one of the undead monsters screeched in pain and clawed at its abdomen, where a crossbow bold spitting golden-white sparks was lodged up to its fletching. Moments later, a second dart finished the second beast. Glancing behind him, Nwm’s eyes met Yeth’s. The ranger hefted his crossbow and nodded curly to the paladin, before kneeling to attend to the still paralyzed Eromil.
***
The following morning found the adventurers free of the Rotwater, and nearing the edge of the Rotwood. They hiked through the rest of the day, and reached the border unhindered by the dead. Sunlight greeted them as they marched out from beneath the tangle of trees, and each took comfort as the fresh wind of the plains swept the stench of the Rotwood from their lungs. The party made good time across the plains, reaching New Fort only a few days later.
At the sight of Yeth, the guards at the gate stepped aside, allowing the party entrance. Yeth strode purposefully through the winding streets of the fort, making directly for the keep. Trailing behind him, Nwm, Yzak, and Eromil watched in fascination as the human inhabitants of the fort parted like water before Yeth, whispering and staring after him with awe, and...mistrust? Nwm shook the thought out of his head- if the Lord Commander saw fit to trust Yeth, than his people had no place to question him. Head high, he speed up, matching Yeth’s pace. To his right, Yzak also increased his stride.
“Listen to them” Yzak muttered to Nwm. “They’re talking about us.” The half elf pricked his ears, and sure enough, began to catch snatches of the hushed conversations of the commoners.
“Do you think they’ve brought us reinforcements? I’ve never seen those two Knights before...”
“Hypatia knows, we surely need the aid....”
“That's Yeth Mogrin... Now he’s back, I’m sure the Lord Commander won’t hesitate to dispatch an expedition to intercept the refugees...”
Nwm turned to Yzak. “What refugees do you think he means?” The knight whispered. Yzak shrugged.
“Maybe survivors from the ruin we just returned from. We could have passed them in the night, or something like that.” Nwm snorted with derision at the thought. As he opened his mouth to speak again, Yzak stopped suddenly.
“Nwm- where's Eromil?” The paladins scanned the crowed, but there was no sign of their elven companion. Nwm shook his head.
“I suppose he doesn’t want to talk to the Lord Commander... that does seem to be where we’re headed.” With a laugh, Yzak replied-
“You know, sometimes I think that elf has better sense than we do.” The paladins jogged after Yeth, who had disappeared around a corner of a ramshackle watch tower up ahead. As they rounded the building, the paladins saw Yeth talking to a grizzled man dressed in hide armor, a pair of swords across his back. As the knights approached, Yeth turned to them.
“Nwm, Yzak, I haven’t the time to explain myself, but I’ll need you to report to the Lord Commander in my stead- I’ve urgent business elsewhere.” Saying no more, Yeth and the other man departed, leaving the Paladins standing alone and mildly confused. Yzak grimaced as he watched Yeth stroll away.
“Well, looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.”
***
Apparently, word of their arrival had reached the Lord Commander before they did, for the Paladins were swiftly ushered into the keep and through the main foyer, where they were met personally by the Lord Commander. The aging man glanced around the chamber, eyes lingering for a moment on a corner occupied by several elves dressed in the robes and headdresses of tribal chieftains, and then with a look of intense displeasure fixed his gaze on the paladins, demanding-
“Where is Yeth?” Yzak stepped forward and with a blank expression responded-
“Sir, Yeth left us shortly after returning to the fort on urgent business. He has instructed us to make a complete report of our mission in his stead.” The Lord Commander sniffed with displeasure, but seemed to accept the statement.
“Come to my chambers then. I’d rather hear your report away from the poi- prying ears of certain....guests of mine.” With that and a swish of his heavy cloak, the Commander strode off towards his office. The Paladins followed, exchanging amused glances.
As they followed the Lord Commander through the torch lit passages of the keep, Nwm’s mind wandered back to an odd remark of Yeth’s regarding the Lord Commander.
“...I was wondering that myself. The Lord Commander is a corrupt man, though. You saw the way he doubled the guards on the keep after yesterday’s attack, yes?...”
On an impulse, Nwm slid into the spirit sight, and focused on the Lord Commander. Not sure what he had been expecting to see, Nwm was never the less surprised with the results of his literal soul searching- it was although the Lord Commander wasn’t there at all- no coils of darkness or golden radiance occupied the space within his physical body’s shadowy outline were a soul should be. Confused, Nwm’s eyes refocused in the physical world.
Shortly thereafter, the trio reached the Lord Commander’s office. Two immaculately dressed guards saluted and swung open the heavy wooden door, closing it after the Commander and the Paladins had entered. The Lord Commander sat heavily behind his war table, and fold his arms across his chest, staring with a certain foreboding expectation at the Knights. Nwm took as step forward and began to speak.
“Sir, we entered the forest and made good time, reaching the settlement marked on Yeth’s map with only minor interference from the undead. Unfortunately, upon our arrival we found the place in ruins, burnt to a husk and devoid of any living humans, or corpses. Yeth an-”
With a start, the Commander rose to his feet and cut Nwm off. His face was scarlet with anger.
“Fools! Clearly, you were not fast enough! Had you arrived but a day earlier, perhaps the people of that outpost could have been saved! I send you to rescue an entire village and guide them to me, and you return with news of their destruction! I’m disgusted by your incompetence.” Taken aback, Nwm struggled to find words. Yzak, however, seemed largely unfazed by the onslaught.
“Lord Commander” Yzak growled, “If memory serves, you yourself were not completely certain whether or not this village even existed when you sent us to accompany Yeth. I was not aware that we were intended to protect the inhabitants from the onslaught of the dead, not that we would have been able to do much, had we been there, seeing as whatever force attacked the settlement was able to effectively raise it to the ground. Further, I suspect that the settlement was destroyed some time before out arrival, as the undead seemed to carried the bodies of its defenders, and were somehow able to poison the well water.” The Commander sneered, responding in a voice dripping with venom-
“Poison the wells? A likely story. Why would you have been anywhere near the village wells anyway- I was not aware I’d ordered you to check on the condition of the settlement’s drinking water- rather, I sent you to save its inhabitants and bring them to me.” Recovering from his temporary shock, Nwm spoke.
“Finding the place in ruins, we examined the wells in order to see if the water had become black paste like our own wells at Naschres did before we left.” To his surprise, the Commander nodded and asked-
“And had it?”
“Yes.” Nwm and Yzak stood in silence for a moment, while the Lord Commander furrowed his brow in a apparent thought, before speaking once more, this time in a much calmer, even sympathetic voice.
“You mentioned the contamination of Naschres’s wells once before, I think. A pity, I had not recognized the significance. Since your departure, I’ve received several reports in addition to yours of well poisonings preceding undead attacks. I fear, good Knights, that Naschres is no more. It seems you are without a home now- but, in my infinite generosity, I shall allow you to remain here, if you swear loyalty to this fortress, and to me.”
The two paladins stared blankly at him. In both men’s minds, a fierce struggle between the obedience to authority espoused by the Paladin’s Code and the realization that the Lord Commander had toyed with them like an angler reeling in a pair of fine fish was playing out. Nwm snapped first.
“With all due respect, Lord Commander, whether or not you recognized the significance of our well water being poisoned is a moot point, since you had the sworn word of two honorable knights that Naschrese was in terrible danger. You’ve known this all along, and through your inaction, the fate of every man, woman, and child in Naschres has probably been sealed. Think about what you’ve done- sacrificed an entire town to the dead in order to bolster your forces with the addition of two knights.” The Lord Commander looked distinctly unpreturbed, even smiling sadly as Nwm caught his breath. In the brief silence, Yzak stepped forward.
“I think Nwm’s assessment of the situation is about right- except for his assumption that these two, homeless knights are going to stick around to bolster the exultant Lord Commander’s private army.” The human’s voice oozed sarcasm. With a derisive snort, he rose and made for the door, followed closely by Nwm.
“Wait.” The Lord Commander’s voice pierced the stony silence which had descended over the chamber. “I think you’ll find that Nwm was correct in every aspect of his assessment, if you call to mind the Paladin’s Code...” As if by second nature, the tenets of the Code rose to the forefront of Nwm’s mind.
Thou shalt be, everywhere and always, the champion of Right and Good against Injustice and Evil.
Thou shalt make war against all that is Evil without cessation, and without relent.
Thou shalt temper Justice with Mercy, and temper Zeal with Wisdom.
Thou shalt engage thine enemies with honor and battle them with courage.
Thou shalt respect the weak, and shalt constitute thyself the defender of them.
Thou shalt never lie and shalt remain faithful to thy pledged word.
Thou shalt lend aide and succor to the ill, and seek to remedy that which ails them.
Thou shalt respect the rightful laws of the land thou art in.
Thou shalt be generous, and give largess to the deserving.
Thou shalt perform scrupulously thy sworn duties, if they be not contrary to the laws or Spirit of the Code.
After a moment of silence, the Lord Commander spoke again.
“Thou shalt temper Justice with Mercy, and Zeal with Wisdom. Thou shalt respect the weak, and constitute theyself the defender of them. Thou shalt respect the rightful laws of the land thou art in. In your zeal to defend Naschres, you have spurned the voice of wisdom. Naschres is no more, and to remain bound to a lost cause is a benefit to no one. Likewise, to leave my fortress on a foolish quest for your erstwhile home is to abandon the weak for whom this place is their only hope for survival. Do not forget in your reverence for the dead of Naschres the living of Estrela, who have already come to rely on you for protection.” The Lord Commander spoke as if reciting a prewritten speech, in a powerful voice which at once commanded respect and offered it. Listening to him, the Paladins felt the fires of their wrath begin to abate, to be replaced by cold acceptance and despair.
“A pretty speech, Lord Commander” snarled Yzak, not quite ready to give in. “But you’ve left out that last tenet of the Code you mentioned- why bother to remind us to obey the Law of the land?” With a pained expression, the Lord Commander met Yzak’s eye, and even as his mouth formed the words of a reply, delt a small gong hanging behind his desk a powerful blow with his mail clad fist. At once, the heavy door of the chamber swung open, and a quartet of grim faced guards entered the chamber, swords drawn.
“Because, Yzak, if I must, I will exercise my power as Lord Commander of Fort Estrela to see you clapped in irons and left to whither away in a dungeon.” Nwm’s eyes widened, and his hand flashed to the hilt of Exile, but before he could draw it from its sheath, the tips of two of the guardsmen’s blades were at his throat. The Commander grimaced at him.
“Be reasonable, Nwm. You can not serve Hypatia any better by throwing you life away in service to lost Naschres than you can as my prisoner. The only viable path that remains for you is to enter into my service- into the service of the people of Estrela.”
Nwm’s hand fell from Exile, and his head bowed in defeat. Seeing his comrade’s reaction, Yzak followed suit. The Lord Commander turned his attention to the guards.
“Men, unhand my Knights, and lead them to their barracks.” As the Paladins left the chamber in the company of their escort, the Commander eased back into his chair, lost in thought.
***
Sparks filled the air around Nwm as he put the finishing touches on a powerful greatsword, still glowing faintly red from its time in the forge. In the days since their fateful encounter with the Lord Commander, the dead had been unusually quite, and the army of Estrela was taking advantage of the lull in combat to see to the outfitting of its troops. All soldiers with any skill at metalsmithing had been transferred from guard duty to the forges, where they repaired damaged equipment, or, as Nwm’s case, created new weapons and armor from metal acquired through trade with the elves of tribe Leshme, inhabitants of the tent city which surrounded the fort’s plane side walls.
Satisfied with the quality of his work, Nwm laid his hammer aside and brought forth a smaller mallet and a chisel. Setting the tools against the rapidly cooling elven steel, Nwm etched the words “Zeal” and “Wisdom” along the length of the blade in the elven script used for such work. Presumably, the soldier who received his handiwork would have little idea what the runes actually said, but mocking the Lord Commander in this small way brought Nwm a small measure of comfort.
The clatter of heavy boots on the cobblestone floor of the workshop interrupted Nwm as he reached for a breastplate in need of mending. Turning slowly around, Nwm found the workshop occupied by half a dozen of Estrela’s elite soldiers and the Lord Commander himself. With a sinking heart, Nwm forced himself into a stiff bow. The Commander smirked.
“You may rise, Sir.” Nwm got to his feet, and stood rigidly at attention.
“My... Lord. To what do I owe the honor of you visit?” In answer, the Commander moved towards a rack of swords Nwm had crafted earlier that day. Drawing the Zeal and Wisdom greatsword from its place on the rack, the Commander examined the weapon with an approving eye.
“I’ve heard good things about your smith work, Nwm, and truly, the rumors didn’t do you justice. If I may ask, where did you learn to smith in the elven style?” Somewhat taken aback, Nwm found himself answering the Lord Commander automatically, even as his mind searched for double meanings in the unusual question, and infact the visit itself.
“Sir, I was raised with the Elves of tribe Brichwing. It is the custom of every elven warrior to forge his own spirit blade as a right of passage. Thus, I learned the art of smithing from the elves, as did every youth of my tribe.” The Lord Commander nodded.
“And learned it well, I see. Its a marvel that the elves don’t recognize the value of their crafts- they could make a fortune selling us their weapons.” Nwm shook his head at the Commander’s comment.
“No, Lord Commander, they couldn’t. You see, a Warrior forges but one spirit blade- no excess metal would be wasted on the creation of swords for the market, to do so would be an affront to ancient traditions. Further, elven culture for the most part has no concept of material value- the elves of Leshme being a clear exception due I suspect to their contact with humans, such as yourselves.” The Lord Commander nodded.
“A pity- that explains why the Leshme will only trade us their metal, not the finished works. So there really is no way to get elven made weapons- accept for through outcasts, such as yourself?”
Nwm gritted his teeth at the title ‘outcast’, but answered once again.
“Well, no, sir, with the acceptation of one practice alluded to in several myths. If an elven warrior is bested in single combat by another elf, his spirit blade becomes the property of the victor, who is made eligible by possession of the blade to challenge the chief of his opponents tribe for rulership. Its a curious custom, not widely practiced anymore... so to answer your original question, no, there isn’t any practical way to aquire swords of elven make, except through the work of renegades or- exiles-” The Lord Commander nodded.
“A pity” He sighed. Then, with a bow to Nwm, turned to leave. Just as Nwm found himself breathing easily again, the Commander turned back to the Paladin. With a shock, Nwm noticed that the Commander still held his Zeal and Wisdom sword. With a deliberate movement, he unslung his own greatsword from his back, and placed it on the wrack of finished weapons, sliding Zeal and Wisdom into his sheath. “You won’t mind, ofcource, if I replace my old weapon with this one, will you? Its a fine piece of work, and a damn sight better than the blade I’ve been using.” The Lord Commander spun about and left the shop, not even waiting for Nwm’s accent- not that he could have responded in any other way.
With a sense of irritation, Nwm returned to his work, venting his frustration with each blow of his hammer. No sense in fuming, he decided- better to forget the incident and make up for lost time.
