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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 3890339" data-attributes="member: 143">Thanks, Mahtave! I've been reading some of my older stuff lately, and I'd like to think that my writing has improved considerably since the days of Travels. Today might seem like a Friday post (especially at the end), but don't worry, there's always room for things to get worse.  <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f609.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=";)" title="Wink    ;)"  data-smilie="2"data-shortname=";)" /> * * * * * Chapter 295IT BEGINSThe sun had risen, even if was not yet visible over the high walls of the interior courtyard in the rear of the Ducal palace.  It was one of those rare clear days, but while the calendar indicated that spring had started almost a month ago, the air was still bracingly chill.  Winter had lingered well past its time, another piece of evidence of the touch of the Demon upon the land of Camar.  Dar ignored the cold with the iron practicality of a veteran soldier.  He stood on the steps that led back to the palace, adjusting the heavy gloves he wore.  He had kept his cloak on, but the elaborate uniform he’d worn the day before had been replaced by a more practical outer garment of rugged, undyed cloth.  Valor hung at his side, and a new longbow was slung across his back, replacing the one he’d lost at the mill outside Derber’s Point. The courtyard in front of him was busy with activity.  Armed men and women checked their gear, and tested the edges of weapons that had already been carefully examined a dozen times already.  The two robed monks of the Order of the Vigilant Fists stood a short distance away, watching the preparations of the others in calm silence.  Dar had spoken to Setarcos briefly the night before, and had asked about Kupra.  The monk had reported that Banth’s former apprentice had found peace for herself, but he had not elaborated.  Allera had told him something about the Drusian monastery being attacked by members of a death-cult, but the fact that they’d sent aid anyway spoke well of them as far as Dar was concerned.  He wasn’t quite sure how useful they would be without armor or weapons, but he’d seen Setarcos fight in Rappan Athuk, and figured he could at least handle himself.  His companion, Dar had doubts about; it was tough to tell with his shaven head and the bulky robe, but he looked like he was in his early teens.  The other four monks had left with the men of the Second yesterday evening.  The others were all Camarians, either from the city or from its provinces, but their origins were as diverse as those of his circle of companions.  The men of the City Watch were nervous and wary, but they were all veterans of the Night of the Dead, and one had fought with Dar before.  Dar nodded as he met Octavius’s eyes briefly.  His companions were Nonius and Decimus, and all were clad identically in chainmail tunics crafted of blacksteel, augmented with greaves on the arms and legs, and skullcaps with dangling noseguards protecting their heads.  Each of them carried a magical sword and a heavy crossbow, and their quivers each contained several bolts blessed by the Patriarch himself. The two priests were next in line.  They were about as different as two men could be; Tullus Aquila was bald and weathered, and likely had a few years on Nelan.  He bore a staff that purportedly bore healing powers, and his armor hung awkwardly on his frame.  Marcus Felix, by contrast, was tall, youthful, and muscular.  He had been a corporal in the legions when he’d discovered his religious calling, and he was as comfortable with a broadsword as he was with a mace.  The only thing that they’d had in common was that they’d both been out of favor under the previous Patriarch; they had only recently returned to Camar after spending years out in the provinces.  Neither cleric was even close to as powerful as Nelan, but their faith was strong, and their abilities considerable.Dar felt a momentary twinge as his gaze traveled over to Talen’s knights, and his hand dropped to the hilt of Valor at his side.  He hadn’t met most of the young men and women that the former head of the Knights of the Dragon had trained, but from what Allera had told him, Talen had worked them hard.  Most of the knights had already departed with Nelan, but there were three here, two men and a woman.  Alexion, Zahera, and Xenos—all provincial names, although Alexion and Zahera could have easily passed for Camarian born.  Xenos was obviously an Emorite, his skin a dusky gray.  All three of them had a hard look that none of the other soldiers here could match.  They were clad in suits of half or full plate, and like the watchmen, their gear too bore numerous magical enhancements.  Dar’s gaze lingered for a moment on the sword that Xenos carried.  Tiros had told him that the Emorite was Talen’s best swordsman, so he’d given the man Shay’s holy flaming longsword.  Beatus Incendia rode on Dar’s back, in a new leather scabbard that had been wrapped in a fur coverlet.  Tiros had looked at him with a raised eyebrow when he’d come to the final strategy meeting with the sword slung across his back, but the marshal hadn’t pushed the issue.  Dar did not consider himself a leader, despite his new title, but neither was he a fool when it came to military matters.  He wasn’t sure himself why he’d taken the sword, instead of giving it to another to wield.  He still felt uncomfortable when his hand touched the hilt, and just having it around him made him think of Talen, which was not useful.  But those impediments had not been enough to make him discard the weapon. Dar swept his gaze over the rest of the company.  The others gathered were not coming with the first team, and Dar thought he could detect an undercurrent of quiet relief among them.  He heard someone coming and turned to see Allera emerging from the palace.  “Any sign of the elf?”“No, he hasn’t arrived yet.”“Dammit, we’re on a schedule here.”“He will be here.”“He’d better show up soon, or he’ll have to catch up on his own.”“The archmage is on his way.  He and Tiros were discussing a few last-minute details.”Dar nodded.  He could sense the disapproval in Allera’s voice, but he could understand Honoratius’s decision.  Letellia had refused, at first, but she had been all too aware of what was at stake here, and ultimately she’d had no choice but to capitulate.  Remembering the withered, broken creature that had spoken to them the night before last in the Guild tower, he wondered just how long the old man would last.  They had a contingency in case he could not manage the first part of the plan, but from what Letellia had told him, there was a small chance for error if she was compelled to use her own magic to facilitate the transport. Dar snorted.  With their luck, “small error” meant a virtual certainty of a screw-up, in his mind. “What’s so funny?” Allera asked.  The healer had changed clothes as well, wearing trousers and a white linen tunic under her magical armor of boiled leather.  Her hair had gotten long enough for her to be able to tie it back, and a leather cap with side flaps provided protection for her head.  She still bore her light mace, but only carried it at Dar’s insistence.  Her true weapon was her healing powers, which they would rely upon not only to keep their warriors in the fray, but to destroy any undead that they might encounter. “Nothing,” he said.  “Ah, here we go.”Letellia and Tiros appeared together, flanked by a pair of armed guards.  Dar had spent enough time around the sorceress, both with and without Honoratius riding along, to know that the archmage was present.  There was a certain puffiness to her cheeks and under her eyes that suggested that she’d been crying, but she carried herself now with an utterly calm aplomb. Tiros nodded to him.  “General.  Let’s get ready.”Dar turned to the men and women gathered before them in the courtyard.  “All right, listen up, everyone.”  The activities and discussions going on in the courtyard had faded as Tiros and Letellia had arrived, and now every eye was on them.  Dar glanced at Tiros, but the marshal nodded for him to proceed. “They call me a general, but I’m just a soldier,” Dar said.  “Hells, just a few months ago I wasn’t even that, just some gods-damned mercenary looking out for his own selfish cares.  I’m not going to give you a big speech about honor and glory and sacrifice; you’ve heard enough of that already.  You know that I’ve been where we’re going, and I won’t lie to you, Rappan Athuk is the freaking bung-hole of the universe, and it will do everything it can to see that every one of us lies dead in its freaking maze.”“You know all this already.  But I’ll remind you why we’re doing this.  We’re going there because we have no freaking choice.  That gods-damned pit is where old Goat-Head is hiding, and because that bastard won’t stop until this world is dead, we’ve got to go in there and cut his freaking head off.”Dar drew Valor.  The sword gleamed brightly in the morning air, even though the sunlight still hadn’t crested the outer wall.  Something flashed in his eyes.  “I swear this, right now,” Dar said.  “Anything that gets in my way is going to die.  If I have to cut my way to Orcus, I will, and I won’t stop until either that bastard is destroyed, once and for all, or I’m am freaking exterminated.  Because that is the only thing that is going to stop me.  I swear it!” The men and women in the courtyard lifted their own weapons, and echoed his words; all save the monks, who stood there as still as statues.  “I SWEAR IT!” “I too, swear it,” came a voice from behind them. Dar and the others atop the step turned to see Alderis come forward.  The elf was clad in a wondrous robe of fine gray cloth, covered in intricate spiral designs in silver thread that seemed to move as he walked.  A silver circlet covered his brow, sparkling with six diamonds the size of a man’s thumbnail.  Despite the damage wrought upon him by the experiences of recent months, he looked the true archmage, and power shone in his dark eyes. His daughter and son-in-law were not with him, but the elf was not alone.  Behind him a tall form moved into the arched entry, and for all his experience with strange things, Dar couldn’t help but start slightly in surprise.  It was a construct, a thing built in a vaguely humanoid shape, but formed of wood and stone and metal.  Silvery metal plates had been affixed to its arms, legs, and torso.  It stood almost nine feet tall.  “Shield guardian,” Honoratius said.  “Impressive.  I must remember to ask sometime how you managed the mithral augmentations.”Alderis acknowledged the comment, then turned to Dar.  “I am ready, general.”  “What about Mehlaraine and Selanthas?” Allera asked, quietly. The elf looked at her, and smiled sadly.  “My people believe that each of us must make our own decisions, and face our own destiny.”The healer nodded.  She understood.  “You all know your assignments,” Tiros said.  Alderis and Letellia moved down into the courtyard, the elf trailed by his hulking protector.  Those gathered in the courtyard took their positions.“You are the last to depart, but make no mistake, you are the first wave,” Tiros said.  “By now, Nelandro Agathon and his cohort will be nearing Rappan Athuk.  Thane Gravorr and his dwarves left with the riders from Erem and three centuries of the Second Legion last night; by midday they will meet up with General Darius and the First marching down from Janaris.  Tendaji Jaddo’s corsairs have already sailed for the south along with sixteen ships of Camar’s Seafarer’s Guild, bearing supplies and support troops from the Fifth Legion and the City Watch, along with Sukat Koth’s Emorite hunters.”Tiros gestured to Honoratius.  Everyone present had been briefed on the unique situation with the archmage and his niece, and they listened to her words without question or disagreement as she took over the briefing.  “Earlier this morning I scried Rappan Athuk.  The valley is quiet, but that does not mean that we will not encounter resistance.  It is our task to secure a defensible position and wait for Nelan’s force to join us.  Then we will begin our probe into the complex.  If we encounter enemies that we cannot defeat, we will fall back and await reinforcement.  Each day, I can teleport more forces to our location, if we are in an area that is not shielded from magical travel.”“Are there any questions?” Tiros asked.  After a few moments of silence, he continued, “All right, first team forward.”  Dar, Allera, Tullus, Alexion, and Zahera moved next to Honoratius, while Marcus and Xenos stepped over to where Alderis waited.  The monks and the watchmen would be taken with the second wave, once Honoratius teleported back to Camar.  In essence, they would be using the same tactic they had used at Alderford, where Honoratius had delivered fifteen warriors to block an undead assault closing on Highbluff. “Thirty seconds,” Honoratius said.  There was a brief flurry of activity, as the spellcasters prepared wards.  Alderis reached up and touched his shield guardian with a wand; the creature’s body glowed softly for a moment before fading back to its usual coloration.  “Ten seconds,” Honoratius said.  The champions of Camar drew their weapons, and formed in a close group around the mages.  The Drusian monks drew back the sleeves of their robes, revealing intricate black patterns tattooed upon their hands, wrists, and forearms.  “Good luck,” Tiros said.  “Every man, woman, and child in Camar is depending upon you.”“We will not fail you,” the knight Xenos replied.  Dar opened his mouth to say something, but before he could speak, the wizards invoked their spells, and the entire group of ten, including the shield guardian, abruptly vanished.  The five who were set to go in the second group waited; if all went well, Honoratius would be back for them in a matter of seconds. All did not go well. The companions materialized on target, on the northern edge of the valley of Rappan Athuk.  Their arrival was accompanied by a brief but painful surge of disorientation, and several of them fell to the ground, momentarily stunned.  When they finally recovered enough to recognize their surroundings, however, a grim chill settled upon each of them. “Oh, screw us,” Dar said. The first thing they saw was that the valley was not as Honoratius’s scrying spell had indicated it.  A huge spiraling formation of dark clouds hung low over the area, gathering in the center in a mass so dense and foul and black as to appear almost solid.  Flashes of sickly yellow light cracked within the center of that unnatural storm, and noises that sounded vaguely like a dying man in the last throes of torment.  The sky was alive with winged creatures that twisted through the air in chaotic formations.  The majority were green gargoyles, the twisted guardians they had battled before in this valley.  But there were dozens of them, and among them, not clearly identifiable in the shadowed heights, more sinister, alien forms could just be discerned. The floor of the valley was likewise alive with movement.  The tormented groans of the undead rose up like a miasma, clutching at their bowels with a raw, primordial fear.  They could see skeletons and zombies of all shapes and sizes, along with ghouls, wights, and more terrible things, things that they could not give name to, but which were whispered of in ancient texts of cracked parchment and by cults that practiced unholy rites in places where the light of the sun never reached.  It was impossible to put numbers to them, but the valley could have easily accommodated thousands of the creatures.  The mists that lingered in the dell were gone, and they could clearly see all the way down to where the mausoleums of green stone had warded the entrance to the dungeon.  But now those structures were gone, replaced by a huge, gaping hole at the nadir of the vale.  The opening was surrounded by plinths of green stone that ringed the hole like uneven teeth, and amidst those monuments they could see shadowed forms, ranging from squat, bulbous things to hulking monstrosities with bulging muscles and alien features.  These creatures, unlike the other servitors of Orcus, had life, but their origin was in the blackest pits of the Abyss, and their very presence here was a violation of their world.  Demons. “We were deceived,” Honoratius said.  “We have to abort the mission, get out of here,” Dar said.  “What about Nelan?” Allera asked. “He’ll see this long before he gets here, but we can’t stay!” “Alderis?” Honoratius asked.  The elf and those he’d transported were within fifteen paces of them; Marcus was helping the elf to his feet while the shield guardian loomed over them protectively.  The elf was still clearly not fully recovered, but he latched onto the archmage’s voice and forced a nod.  “I can manage another teleport, but it will cost me,” he said.  “Everyone, back together!” the archmage ordered.  Less than ten seconds had passed since their appearance, but already cries were starting to echo from the gargoyles above, and several groups of the creatures were already winging in their direction.  Honoratius cast his second greater teleport. Nothing happened.  Alderis’s limited wish likewise failed. “I can’t help but notice that we’re still here,” Dar said. “There is some sort of lock in place,” Honoratius said.  “I cannot transport us out of here.” “They’ve seen us, they’re coming!” one of the knights warned, pointing with his sword.  The cries of the gargoyles had started to echo, building as they were taken up by the thousands of unnatural forms that filled the depression.  As that deafening roar broke over the champions of Camar, the nearest of the gargoyles swept down out of the air, their wings folding as they dove, claws outstretched, eager to rend.  Below them, the vast army of undead began to move, surging up toward the lip of the valley like a swarm of hungry ants.</blockquote>

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