Chapter 2: Fate of the Earthwalking

"Lord, wait! Lord Tamrael! I beg you, just wait for me a moment!"

He let out a sigh, then turned to frown at the monk that hurried after him. The later was still young, barely a grown man by what he knew the human's standards to be. In his hands the student of the holy arts held something long wrapped in brown cloth. It didn't take Tamrael long to realize what.

"Sire, surely you didn't intend to leave without your blessed blade?" The young monk uttered under heavy breath as he reached his master. He let the exhausted human rest a moment, but kept the gaze of his pure white eyes upon him without blinking. When the monk had caught his breath again he quickly bowed and held forth the wrapped sword.

"I'm merely escorting him to the altar. Had I seen reason to bring my sword, I would have." He replied with a deep, yet kind, voice. The sound of it resonated within the white temple halls for a few moments before it faded. As with any seraph, it sounded as if it had multiple layers. Hearing these words, the expression on the monks face changed. He seemed to have lost confidence in his actions. It was the face of a man loosing the ground beneath his feet.

"Sire, I'm sorry… I didn't mean to offend you. I… I shall take it back to your chambers immediately." By the time the monk had put his apology together he had already bowed and half turned towards the path he had come from.

"No." Tamrael replied. "I will take it with me, now that you have already brought it to me. Next time however I would appreciate if you asked me first. Child, what is your name?"

Confusion was written over the monk, but he quickly handed the sword over. "Bob, sire. My name is Bob Baredson." He answered while bowing again. "You have my thanks, Bob Baredson. Please, go retire for the rest of the day. I can see the prayers have taken heavy toll on you." The request he uttered was true and justified. There was weariness in the robed figure's eyes. He had to confess to himself however that he partly said so because he wished for the monk to leave. With a quick nod the monk thanked him, then they parted ways.

Tamrael, he thought. It was a name given to him by the humans the day he began walking the earth. As with any other earthwalking angel, he too had lost most of his memory. Nobody could tell why. Among the few memories that remained their own was their rank among angels. He had been one of the searing ones, one of the seraphim. It eluded him why he had come to earth. Few remembered the reasons, and most of those who did were those who had become outcasts even from human society. For a while he pondered as he walked towards the cathedral's catacombs where his well-protected destination was. Somehow he was rather glad to have his sword with him after all. Human blades were strong, but this blade was evidently forged by other powers. It was long and thin, but as strong as a broadsword, stronger in fact. Along the razor edge the blade emitted faint white light. It had the strength to sear demons or cleanse corrupted souls when it struck. He admired the blade for a while longer before putting it away just to realize where he was.

By now he had reached the cold sandstone stairs that led down towards the dungeon he was headed for. Time, it seemed, passed fast when he wasn't watching it carefully. Down in these halls the air was colder, moist and damp, but he knew that this particular cold originated from another source. A being that was held down there, and to be more precise, the being he was going to meet. He was not afraid of it, but couldn't help feel the slight sense of dread that lingered in this prison. It was, after all, their most safeguarded prisoner. Only few knew he even existed. It didn't take him long to reach the end of the stairs leading down below. Admittedly he had never been down here, but he knew all too well who resided behind the door that had met him at the bottom.

Iron clad guards wielding heavy pikes stood on either side of the door. Their purple tabards indicated their royal standing and thereby the incredible amount of training they had absolved. As Tamrael approached them they quickly straightened up and ceased their conversation. Usually fighters of their rank knew limitless discipline, but he couldn't blame them. Down here nothing had happened for as long as they had lived. Probably even longer.

"At ease, I have been sent to escort him." Saying this he handed he royal guard with a golden badge his orders. He didn't like being ordered around by humans, but in this case he knew it to be necessary.

"Alright sir, you may enter." The guard replied short.

"I will need a bit of time to brief the prisoner on our situation."

"Understood."

As the captain of the four warders unlocked the door Tamrael let out a sigh. He was not too keen of their military behaviour in terms of conversation. It seemed cold… indifferent. A creak sounded heavily in the otherwise silent corridor and the prison beyond the door as it opened. Tamrael entered and quickly the door was shut and locked again. The prison was pitch black, but he didn't have to adjust his vision. To him even the night was as clear as the day. A trait of being born among the Seraphim, he guessed. When the clang of iron against iron had subsided he spotted the robed figure that sat on the ground within his prison cell.

"Over one hundred years… one hundred seven long years, and this is the first time you decide to pay me a visit?" the prisoner spoke. Tamrael didn't know what how to reply.

"You know, old friend… the design of a prison doesn't vary too much between my people and the ones you serve… although the term 'dungeon' seems like a bit of an overstatement to me…" he continued, sweeping his gaze across the room. "Tell me, why is it that you have come after all this time?"

"I am surprised you manage to keep track of time down here." Tamrael finally replied to his 'old friend'. He didn't know whether to like being referred to that way or not.

"We live our entire lives underground and you think we do not know how to track time? I believed your kind to be schooled more then the imbeciles outside." The prisoner had a point. "You're evading my question…" The prisoner then said.

"Very well. We've received information that the depths become a threat once again, and the king has decided we should take advantage of our… resources." Tamrael nearly spat the last words. No matter what this being had done in its past, he could not stand to refer to living beings as resources.

"Me... but I ask you, what can tell you? And even more importantly, what can you offer me in return?" The captive demanded.

"…As it stands, a single keeper has risen up among the others and proven to be dominating most of the underworld. The last pieces are close to a fall" Tamrael continued.

"And again, you avoid my questions." The robed man behind iron bars repeated.

"We will offer you neither freedom nor power. And you know well that you're too valuable to be simply killed, so an extended life is out of question as well. You probably figured this already."

"Thus I did. Well then, why should I then help you? After all you have not shown kindness either. Not even so much as a small visit to an… old friend?" the prisoner replied with a smile, but he was obviously beginning to lose interest.

"Because there is one thing we can offer you" Tamrael said.

"And what could that possibly be?" The prisoner asked mockingly.

"I… believe you're familiar with the one known as Nemesis?" asked, knowing all too well the supposed 'old friend' did.

The moment Tamrael uttered the name the prisoner's eyes flashed, however briefly, but he knew his counterpart had taken interested.

"What we can offer you, is a chance for vengeance…" The seraph offered.

"Vengeance, revenge… merely a justification of the same acts…" Replied the hooded prisoner absently, he was already lost in thoughts.

Silence reclaimed stone room. The faint glow of Tamrael's sword illuminated only a few iron bars that were covered in a measureable amount of ice. It was freezing down here, a result of the prisoner aura. Time passed on and the captive that Tamrael carefully watched had lowered his head and was now deep in concentration. It was a risky plan they pursued, uncertain at best. It depended on the prisoner's cooperation. His value in war was undeniable, if he decided to assist them. But equally undeniable was the threat he could become. After all he had brought an entire underworld domain to its knees and made it his playground.

Eyeing someone such as this in deep thought was fearsome even to an earthwalking seraph. True, they were powerful, but they were as much mortals in this plane as humans, at least concerning unnatural deaths go. Losing his patience, and it would take a seraph much longer to lose, he finally added: "Perhaps you would like to know that it was Nemesis who aided in making us… 'old friends', as you like to call it"

The temperature in the cell dropped further as the prisoner tilted his head back and revealed his skull. At the first glance he seemed human, but anyone foolish enough to believe so would have soon been convinced otherwise. Long white hair fell far beneath his shoulders, thin as spider-silk and equally webbed. His features were not much different from what a man may look like. The sharp eyebrows that could have belonged to a hawk crowned black eyes. A crooked nose and pale mouth were embraced by skin that seemed to be pure white. Veins lay close to the surface in many places and formed an intricate design that could almost be mistaken for runic tattoos of some sort. Truly outstanding however were the near avian form of the skull, with its narrow appearance and spear-head chin that was only slightly camouflaged by a short goatee of the same spider hair.

"Apparently my methods were less efficient than I had anticipated…" The ghost of a man spoke. He sounded perfectly calm, but the seraph knew the continuous drop of temperature proved otherwise. Tamrael could not describe this being as anything other than cold. Perhaps a trait that it had been born with or perhaps a result of half an eternity spent underground.

"Very well, I admit you have caught my interest, seraph… Allow me to know which part I shall play in this grand display of righteous fury as it shall soon echo forth in my underworld theatre…."

Author's Note:_

Firstly, thanks to anyone who has bothered reading this. Writing is something I love doing, but without knowledge that it IS in fact read, I quickly lose interest in a particular story. Secondly, I know that the updates, style, grammar and story likely will not live up to people's expectations. Least of all my own. Therefore I don't only encourage, but request whoever read this make a short review where he/she is as merciless as humanly possible. Break my work into pieces. Rip it to shreds. I direly am in need of criticism that will reveal to me my flaws. Do however try to go beyond the point of "This sucks" and form a reasonable critique of it.

I know there are probably few readers for the fanfics of this particular game, but in case you know anyone who may enjoy it, please do spread it. The work of a creative soul is ment to be seen, not overlooked.

That said I can only ask this: Read. Review. Without shown interest there won't be more and what there is won't improve! Depending on demand this stuff will keep coming out faster.