Ch. 10 Crossroad Keep

The halls were crumbling and dark, drowned in a smell of dead, maggot-filled wood and blood that rose from the sacrifice pits of priests and their macabre brotherhood. A storm raged through that keep, binding dead spirits to forever abide among its halls. She felt it, shuddered at this binding, loosing her hold upon her own power. Garius lay dead before them. Black gowns spread through pools of his crimson essence. Eyes of her companions came to watch her, her gaze flew over them, into them, through them. In flurry of vision she sought a place to hold but there was nothing. Chains of the spirit world held her neck tightly, tied her hands strongly, pulled her away from them. Knees slammed against a stone floor, pain ran through the shaking body. They began to move, echo of their footsteps. The Shaman fell, head slammed against the blood pools of her enemies, their blood seeping into her mouth, into her eyes. In a bright blindness she shook, floated into nothingness.

The improvised cot was in the crumbling hall, beneath a hollow roof that dripped water upon the stone tiles and moldy old carpeting. Raviel was placed upon it without words, her daggers beside her. Cold gripped her skin, like golden dust upon the dew. A few rays of appearing sunlight pierced into the ruin, into the silence. Upon the softness of her skin gore still clung tightly…

Her companions stood in shadow of the room, away from the sun lit cot and their dead leader. Shandra was crying yet no one comforted her; no one even gazed in her direction. They were drowned in their own thoughts, in their doubts…in fear.

Bishop ran, like he always did, even wounded as he was, to the wildlands; far from the fool companions, from Nasher's men and even more so from responsibility.

Khelgar kneeled by his axe, restraining tears, loosing his balance…loosing a friend. His dark eyes remained closed; he could not watch; even if he opened them wide they would remain blind.

Neeshka remained there for a few moments before moving away, slipping into the shadows for some safety. The young tiefling went as far as she could from her friend's body.

Casavir stood proud, feigned an expression of stone. Held his hammer and waited… there was jet so much to be done.

Neeshka sat by one of the smoldering pyres; a warm glow reflecting off the delicate skin of her neck and cheeks, glistening warmly in the darkness of her eyes. The woman held her dagger tightly, one Raviel gave to her along with a strange poison they used to coat the blade.

Neeshka got used to being alone a long time ago; when she was in the hands of Helmites and even more so later upon the streets of Neverwinter. Her introduction with the city of heroes was brutal. Neeshka met the criminal minds that came before Moire, men who had no honor and no allegiance. She was drafted by force into their service, with 12, serving mostly with her body. Things, she didn't want to remember. Those days taught her, humans know no mercy for tieflings.

Even when she managed to escape, seeking shelter among the fearsome eyes of Neverwinter… she was turned away by armored hands and merciless eyes… eyes like Casavir's, duty driven, blind wide eyed. Her punishment would have been brutal but Neeshka hid and gutted those who pursued her. She paid for her freedom in blood and proclaimed a mental war against the world.

Neeshka lived to see 20, more than anyone thought she would until a band of greedy soldiers decided to end that "lucky streak". She thought she would die but there was this one stubborn person walking from the southwest, a silhouette on the dying sun. She smelled of the upper planes, death and magic. The dwarf beside her smelled of iron, charred wood and spirits. The guards paused, prolonged the game as this strange band walked toward them. Neeshka didn't hope for a savior, the time of heroes had ended.

The green eyed woman was strange; her eyes were aflame with her spiritual heritage and she aroused fear among the men she faced. The tattered clothes were odd furs and leathers sown together and decorated with skulls and teeth. The dwarf like some odd pendant that rolled behind her, strong headed but calmed with soft words. Of all the people of Faerun, of priests, monks, paladins, thieves, assassins, mages, magistrates, soldiers and merchants Neeshka found one person who would risk their life for a tiefling; a planar touched, muck-farmer's daughter who thought she could talk to spirits.

She sat silently, watching the last sparks die in the pyre. Khelgar's heavy steps tore her from her reverie. She met the dwarf's heavy gaze. Khelgar was confused between anger and sorrow.

"I'm going… I'm gonna search for the tree-worshipper."

"Why?"

"Because… we need all the friends we have and they need us." Khelgar wiped an almost dry eye with a hand. "Darn dust, keeps getting in me eyes."

Casavir sat by the body, he remained vigil, even when the others could not. The paladin's pale hands were still, they felt heavy and impossible to move. His breath painted the air, breathed life into the room. He gazed at the beautiful woman and began to wash the gore off her cold remains.

The Paladin remained silent as he washed her face, placed a hand on her cheek as if she would react to the caress. In the end… he could not even protect her life. The man paused his action as the thought sank in; held his hands to his eyes tightly, warm and safe in the darkness of his vision…

Shandra stood by the doorway, waited a while before Casavir collected himself, she did not want him to feel uncomfortable by her presence. He had a right to say goodbye to Raviel on his own terms.

"Is everything alright Casavir?"

"No Shandra, yet how could it be?" He paused for a while. "I would appreciate your help, she needs to be clothed in a funeral garb and I find a woman would be better suited for this task."

Shandra paused, slowly walking forward. She looked down onto the woman's face, only now daring to come close. She had mixed feelings for the shaman, she was a friend of sorts but Shandra found her confusing and often cold in her dealings. The fiery woman was also aware Raviel commanded more attention in her life than anyone before, she taught her, changed her, opened Shandra's eyes to a different world; a brutal world.

"I don't know Casavir…perhaps someone else should."

"There is no one here; would you allow her to be burned without a proper last rite?"

"You are right, I owe her that much." She whispered it with a sigh. Shandra sat by her but remained motionless, allowing Casavir to slowly recite a prayer. The candles burned slowly, wax dripping to the cold stone beneath.

"Did you love her Casavir?"

"It is hard not to." He paused as if he revealed too much "Could you find one of our companions who does not?"

"I never thought the bonds were as strong. I doubt anyone even understood her."

"Didn't you ask yourself… why anyone would follow a stranger, even more, be willing to give their life for them?" Casavir smiled again. Without a moment of judgment, complete acceptance of his mistakes and his virtues. What he thought a sin that colored his life, she found no sin at all… It was perhaps Tyr's will he receive this liberation.

Shandra said nothing, gazing down at her hands. Perhaps if they had had more time she would have learned…would have understood.

With the ritual interrupted the cloud filled skies were broken by a frosty winter sun. Its golden rays tickled the cold air and wet woodland, shimmering in the floating mist. The forests fell silent in winter as the creatures returned to their burrows to slumber or hid among the barren trees in search for food. Bishop stood in a treeless patch, gazed at a tiny waterfall filling a shallow, clear stream that continued to run through the forest until eventually joining up with some greater current. The Ranger sniffed the air deeply; a familiar smell of moist leaves and cold, fresh, evening air snapped him to full awareness. The pain in his back was an ever present reminder of her hands; of the fact that in the end she even saved his life.

He was free now.

Raviel's death broke all chains from him. He could run with Karnwyr to the end of his days without having to look over his shoulder. The great wolf walked toward him from the nearby cliff. The creature's dark fur and jeweled eyes defined him in his grandeur. Karnwyr was an outcast, like him, a brother killer.

There was something refreshing in their solitude. Bishop felt as if he was alone with his mirror reflection yet even Karnwyr, his beastilian counterpart found someone to follow. The need to form packs was deep etched into any wolf, into any hot-blooded predator but the human did not understand this. The grim man didn't admit to feeling sorrow, rather began feeling an even greater anger at himself, at the weakness for becoming dependant to a female.

Karnwyr howled for him.

Khelgar was storming through the forest, loud, angry and without forethought. His axe took out any branches or vines that dared stand in his way. Weightless, in only a light shirt he walked on. He needed to get Elanee so they at least all have each other, that way, perhaps, this mission wasn't doomed. After storming on for a good hour he finally stopped, breathing heavy and shaking where he stood. He was aware it had nothing to do with the mission, he just didn't want to remain alone.

He could always return to the Ironfist Stronghold but that wasn't home any more, nothing held him there. Khelgar was coming to the conclusion he was afraid of being lonely. It wasn't a conclusion he wanted to make and he'd rather have downed a tankard of ale than thought about it but that was how it was. He sigh loudly falling back to sit on a stump, massaging his temples with a free hand.

When he looked up again he shivered in shock before jumping up fists at ready.

The hooded creature almost floated, half-suspended in air. The cloak was mossy, heavy and long, hid both hands and armor, wrapped around the creature as if it were wings. A hood hid any inch of a face, a silver chain dangling from its front binding it to a silver rune buckle on the chest.

"What are ya? Sneaking up on me like that?"

Khelgar noticed the man's bow was still on his back. He had never seen a longbow of such form or such size, it was probably taller than him. The hooded man did not answer.

"Khelgar!" The dwarf turned to the sound of Elanee's voice and saw the thin woman running toward him. When he turned again, the hooded man was gone.

Khelgar took a few steps back.

"Pointy ears, is that, is it really you?"

The woman smiled, apparently unharmed and wrapped in a similar mossy robe.

"Yes, I'm sorry I vanished as I did but it wasn't without reason."

"Aye? And just what was that reason?! Do you have any idea what happened?" Now that he was sure she was fine and that it was in fact Elanee Khelgar let his anger and his frustration show. He was furious at the woman, "perhaps," he thought, "if she had been there Raviel might not have died."

Elanee paused for a moment.

"I was… While we rested, I was last on watch. There was a small band of Harpers following us; they brought news of another band of Luskan soldiers coming from the north. I went with them to eliminate the threat and bring news of this as an eye witness to Raviel and later Nasher."

"Aye, a shame that didn't help us."

"What do you mean? The ritual failed, I can feel it… The nature here, it is as if it has been healed."

Khelgar shook his head. The elf was so excited, she seemed genuinely happy to have helped them.

"Raviel is dead."

"W-what?" A paleness spread through her face and the smile vanished from her lips in an instant. "That, that cannot be."

"It is." Khelgar sigh "They'll burn her in a couple of hours. They would have done it sooner but Casavir insisted she be given proper rites and I agree she deserved em."

"No, you do not understand Khelgar. Raviel must be alive he told me."

"Blast it-weren't you listening! She fell just after the battle-"

"Than something is wrong."

"Wrong? By the Gods, have they hit yer head or somethin'. She's dead, the entire band's falling apart! Bishop left, Casavir is taking Shandra back to Neverwinter to report to Nasher. He was ordered even though he wanted to stay for the burial-"

Elanee listened unfocused. She met Belavel only a few hours earlier. The intimidating elf accompanied her only thus far. He spoke little words but enough that Elanee understood his interest in Raviel went by far beyond duty. He even made her promise to watch her. It was an old ritual where an elf gave part of his eternity to save another…if she were dead Belavel would have known. Elanee began biting her lower lip, wishing Belavel had revealed more.

"Khelgar, we have to hurry or they'll burn her alive."

"What? What are you-"

But Elanee was already running, frenzied to Crossroad Keep.

Her skin burned, her bones shook as if crumbled, as if she had been torn apart and the flesh could not hold itself together. Her eyes opened but the same shade of absolute black remained. Feeling the flat, sensationless ground around her Raviel was uncertain weather she was blind or truly lost in the blackness of shadow. Passage to the other realm was never like this, there was little sound if anything; a faint, muffled moan of wind somewhere in the distance.

As she began to crawl forward a pale light blinded her for a moment. When she opened her eyes again she was on the floor of Crossroad Keep. She could see no color just blurred shapes in black and white. The furniture, rubble, floors and even the walls were not still but shivering, blurred, as if trembling in their place. This sensation of an earthquake made it hard to stand. Her body lie on the cot, hollow. The Spirit Shaman could sense no life, no spirits near it, only wraiths and shadows left behind by war, famine and pestilence of ancient times.

The muffled sound of wind and perhaps whispers became louder and Raviel felt weaker farther she was from her body. As she gazed back, the corpse had turned its head and the gapping blackness of eyes was gazing at her. Casavir was leaving the room and Shandra sat in his place. This entire change of scene came in barely an instant. The Shaman shivered where she stood, her eyes searching for something sharp and tangible; a spirit, a complete being, but she found nothing. She feared to look from her body again jet she attempted to grasp the knobs of the doors and found she could not leave the room. Gathering her courage she gazed back at the body, a shadow rose from it, born from the black in the hollows of her eyes. Her clothes were changed and there was no one left in the room.

The creature was shapeless, unlike the shadows she knew, she could not gaze straight at it but only at its outskirts where light was swallowed within it. There was no smell and no sensation upon the skin…nothing material…only sound. Screams, moans, veils and whimpers twisted and deformed emanated from its centre.

Nothing she read, saw or heard could prepare her for this. Indeed she had learned to barter with spirits but this was something else, it was not natural, it had no will or focus just devoured all light around it. She understood immediately this creature had something to do with Garius's ritual but she couldn't even guess its use or its reason.

Upon focusing the blackness of it faded…revealing singular spirits trapped within. Without any other course of action possible Raviel made a decision. She would pull them out of the blackness just as something or someone pulled her.

Cold bit his cheeks and his tattered cloak was placed in the pack so it would not break twigs and reveal where he was headed. Bishop was free. There was only one more thing he had to do.

Kill Duncan