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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 4164225" data-attributes="member: 143">Chapter 19BLOOD AND LIFEAs the Bloodwraith plummeted down to attack, Ghazaran crushed the vial he carried in his hand, and thrust it up to meet the descending creature.  The cleric’s hard expression twisted with pain as his hand passed into the wraith’s substance, but he did not flinch away, stabbing deeper until his entire arm to the elbow was lost inside the shifting vapors that comprised the undead duke.The effect upon the Bloodwraith was more dramatic.  Its body convulsed, as though the cleric’s fist had been a spike that it had impaled itself upon.  Its arms, which had been collapsing upon the cleric in its attack, flared back, and a deep, terrible groan issued from its open mouth.  Flashes of energy could be seen within its body, like flickers of lightning witnessed within the depths of a storm.  Ghazaran turned his head, and shouted, “Navev!” The mummy had entered the chamber proper, and at the cleric’s command it lifted a withered arm.  Black tendrils of eldritch power were already gathering around its fingers, and this time, the blast tore deep into the substance of the Bloodwraith, tearing gashes in it that oozed trailers of red mist.The unholy creature was clearly injured now, but as the initial shock of Ghazaran’s counter began to wear off it resumed its attack.  Flashes still radiated out from the cleric’s fist, buried deep within the wraith’s body, but the creature, driven by an ancient and potent hatred, thrust itself down deeper, drawing its arms back down and pressing them around the cleric’s throat.  Ghazaran was staggered by the creature’s fell power, and the others could see him waning, his flesh as pale as new snow where its insubstantial claws had brushed him.  Falah tried to move to the aid of his lord, but the fighter was sorely wounded, and he fell within the outer ring of sarcophagi, leaving marks of bright blood against the ancient and weathered stone as he stumbled to his knees.  Still he struggled, and he pushed himself up, wavering from the loss of so much blood from the touch of the devouring mists. Navev blasted the Bloodwraith again, and again his assault tore at its body, but the creature remained focused upon Ghazaran.  At first it seemed as though there could only be one outcome; the wraith appeared almost indestructible, while the cleric could barely stand.  But then, as Ghazaran’s knee nearly brushed the floor, the priest called upon some desperate reservoir of strength, and he stood once more, driving his arm yet deeper into the wraith’s body, until his face almost brushed against the insubstantial visage of the Duke.  The creature howled at him, but Ghazaran discharged a last flare of positive energy, the last such spell left within his reservoir of divine power.  The unholy thing could not stand before that attack, and it dissolved with a last haunting screech that faded into nothing as the mists reclaimed the collapsing form of the Bloodwraith.   The cleric sagged against the nearest tomb, breathing heavily.  He drew out one of his wands and activated it, drawing the power into himself to replace the blood and vitality lost in the desperate battle against the undead.  Falah waited patiently a few feet away, leaning against another sarcophagus to keep from falling down.  The cleric looked up as the Seer approached.  “Impressive,” the mage said.  “I was not aware that blood magic was within your area of expertise.”Ghazaran looked up as he drew more of his wand’s power into himself.  As it depleted the last of its stored power he tossed it aside, and took another one from his pouch.  He gestured to Falah to come over to him.  He rubbed his other hand, covered with blood and shards of glass from the broken vial, on the edge of the stone tomb.  “A minor ritual, something that I picked up in the jungles of Razhur.”“The blood... how were you able to establish the connection to the wraith?”The cleric touched his wand to one of Falah’s wounds, which closed as the blue flare of healing energy seeped into him.  “The blood was that of the last descendant of the house of Aerim.”The Seer raised an eyebrow.  “I was not aware that any such existed.  That must have been difficult to come by.”“Indeed.”  The cleric did not elaborate.  Instead he stood, and gestured for Falah to join him on the bier in the center of the chamber.  The Seer and Navev watched as the pair worked at the lid.  Ghazaran drew out a pair of prybars of black metal, but even so it took the big Razhuri’s full strength to lift the heavy lid enough for the cleric to work his bar in enough to start levering it aside.  It took another full minute of grunts and heavy effort before the stone lid toppled, landing hard on the adjacent floor with enough force to crack the stone.   The Seer joined them atop the dais, curious.  The mists clung to the three of them as they looked into the interior of the tomb, but their magical lights gleamed off of bright metal inside.  The sole occupant of the tomb was a man long-dead.  He had obviously been laid here in great state; his bones were still encased in armor, plate of silvery mithral chased in gold, and bearing the sigil of the house of Aerim upon the breastplate.  A robe of cloth-of-gold covered much of his body, and a circlet of solid gold still rested upon the brow of the faded skull within the open helm.  A greatsword lay at the skeleton’s side, its blade bare.  None of the items showed any sign of decay or age.  The Seer raised an eyebrow.  “What do you intend to do here?  You should be aware that a powerful curse lies upon these artifacts, and further that the essence of the Bloodwraith is tied to them.  You destroyed it once, but it will return, and it will follow anyone that takes any of these items.”Ghazaran looked up.  “I do not intend to steal the Duke’s possessions.”The wizard’s expression darkened.  “You had said that we needed the aid of the Bloodwraith, but it resisted your attempts to dominate it.  So what more do you hope to gain?”“I did not say that we needed the assistance of the Bloodwraith.  I said that we needed the assistance of Duke Aerim.”  He nodded to Falah; the warrior took up a warding position near the edge of the dais, facing the open doorway that led back out into the Bloodways.  The priest reached into his pouch of holding and drew out a black vestment, which he put on over his armor.  “But... you cannot mean...”Ghazaran met the wizard’s eyes briefly, but did not respond.  The Seer looked down at the remains within the tomb, then back at the cleric.  “The Duke has been dead for at least four hundred years, and probably closer to five.  Even a true resurrection cannot bring back one gone so long, even if the soul can be found and channeled back to the Prime.”At that comment, Ghazaran did smile slightly, a slight twist to his features.  “You lack faith, friend.”The Seer drew back a step as Ghazaran took up a position at the head of the open sarcophagus.  In his black robe, he looked almost like an undead thing himself, its long folds trailing as he lifted his arms out over the remains of the once-legendary Duke.  Aerim, who had led the armies of Good who had come to Rappan Athuk to destroy the legions of Orcus.  Aerim, who had once been a consecrated knight, who had ultimately fallen before the devastating power of the Prince of the Undead.  Aerim, who had served for centuries as the Bloodwraith, corrupted beyond human understanding into a foul, sinister thing by the dark energies resident within the Bloodways.Ghazaran reached down and placed something upon the brow of the dead knight.  It sparkled brilliantly upon the weathered bone, just below the golden circlet.  The Seer peered down at it, and then started in surprise.  For once he betrayed amazement, as he looked back up at Ghazaran.  “You have possession of chrysalium!  The Tears of the Gods!  Why did you not share this earlier?”But Ghazaran had begun to incant, and the wizard could feel the power growing within the mists all around him, almost at once.  Now alarmed, he started to back away, but as he turned he nearly ran into Navev, who had approached silently during their exchange.  The mummy stared up at the priest with an unreadable mystery in its dead eyes, and as they shifted briefly to the Seer the man felt an icy cold like a dagger thrust deep within his insides.  He stumbled away, falling against one of the tombs on the lower tier.  Looking down at his hands, the mage saw that they were wet with blood, the omnipresent markings of the Bloodways.  The ritual continued unabated atop the dais, and the Seer could now see the magical currents that the priest was manipulating, even without the agency of arcane divination.  The mists themselves were twisting around the tomb of the Duke, and the Seer could perceive a pulsing within them, like a heartbeat.  He wanted to cover his ears and avert his eyes, almost overcome by the clashing powers that warred in this place.  But the Seer was a creature of lust; not for the mundane matters of flesh that drove most of his kind, but for knowledge, secrets, hidden whispers and scattered fragments of lore lost to the eyes of man.  It was that lust that had driven him to Rappan Athuk, the same that had cost him his name and his life... before.  And it was the same that caused him to step not away from the dark rite being practiced here, but forward, until the edges of the swirling mists caressed him, and red flared before his eyes as the blood within them brushed his face.He wiped his eyes, clearing them, and watched.  It was impossible to tell how long it took, caught within the maelstrom of mists and power.  When it was done, the Seer was caught off guard for a moment; he blinked, his senses slowly returning to normal as the echoes of the ritual faded.  His body felt as though he’d been stretched upon a rack, and his steps forward were halting.  But he stepped up to the dais, and kept going, until he stood at the foot of the Duke’s tomb.  Ghazaran was still there, clutching the edges of the sarcophagus as a support; the priest looked gaunt and frail.  But the man lying within the tomb was anything but.  Clad within his armor, resplendent within the golden robe, he looked a lord, a prince, a knight.  He looked to be about fifty, his beard and hair sparkled through liberally with gray, which added rather that detracted from his bearing.  His features were strong, and even motionless he seemed to radiate a quiet charisma.  He looked like a man just laid to rest, but the Seer could see his chest rising and falling in slow cadence. The eyes of the Duke opened.  For a moment they fluttered around, unfocused, vague.  Then that haze of confusion dissipated, and his stare shifted toward the Seer, and sharpened.  In that moment, the wizard knew that Ghazaran had been right, and he understood why they needed Duke Aerim’s help.</blockquote>

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