Drummesburg, close to midnight
Anderson stood guard that night, up on the village wall and watching outwards into the darkness. He yawned, sleepiness creeping its way into his awareness. He should've been asleep hours ago, but, through an unfortunate luck of the draw, he was picked to replace Henderson for the midnight shift.
It wasn't so bad, as he was able to enjoy the crisp air, but his annoyance came from the complete randomness of being chosen to take on the night watch.
Nothing would placate him more than a belly full of mead and some good rest and, given he was only chosen to do tonight, he could enjoy such pleasures for the rest of the week. All that stood between him and his reward was this insufferably long and boring night watch.
"I wonder what the others are up to," he muttered to himself, absent-mindedly scratching his belly. He lazily leaned his spear against himself, allowing his thoughts to wander and recall what exactly led him to tonight.
From the beginning, he was told he was expendable, not in that his life was worthless, though he very much believed it was to his higher-ups, but in that he was to be replaced by some other poor lad in desperate need of some coin.
He didn't know all the details, but he knew that the camp he was stationed in, Drummesburg, was meant solely as a holding ground for the "servants" that would one-day serve the nobility of Re-Estize.
To call the poor souls "servants" was a nicety he required to sleep better at night. True, they were maintained enough that they were not decrepit and useless by the time they were "trained" to reach their future masters, but neither were they subject to the privileges afforded to basic human beings.
Slaves. Slaves would be a better term, though Princess Renner's attempts to outlaw the practice were well underway, so camps like Drummesburg had to be kept hidden by his employers. It was a precaution, meant to secure their business.
Lower rank and file like himself were not allowed to see the slaves as they were kept in the mud pits near the center of the camp, but he'd heard more than enough from them over his tenure working at Drummesburg to last him several lifetimes.
Rumors spread amongst his co-workers as to the identity of his employers. They all knew that some nobility had to be involved, since a massive amount of coin was needed to bring in a steady stock of slaves stolen from their villages, but there were suspicions that other groups were involved in order to acquire said slaves.
Whispers of shadowy organizations were prevalent, who secretly controlled larger villages to grow illegal crops used in the making of Black Dust, and to scout out potential slaves to be kidnapped and sold off to the highest bidder. Anderson never bothered listening beyond that, merely wishing to get on with his shift and make as much as he could before returning home.
Sometimes, pangs of guilt at the plight of the people detained in the camp tore at him, only to be muffled by an apathy built up over years and years of this kind of work. Him merely being a guard at Drummesburg was simply the latest in a long line of shady but profitable business.
Off in the distance, he could see a small, red light burst into existence, a pair of them actually. They were not so bright that they lit up everything in front of them, but focused and intense enough to be noticeable.
If he had to guess, it was likely about a hundred meters out. He squinted his eyes, before remembering he had a lantern placed next to his feet since he was standing there on the camp wall.
Anderson picked it up, quickly igniting the oil so that he could have a better view of the strange phenomenon. It was held up to his chest level, readjusting his spear to have a better grip on it.
"Hello?" He called out, "Who's there? I can see your lamps out there! You should know this is a restricted place, so either leave or I'll come down there and make you leave!"
Tiredness was creeping into his voice, punctuated by the yawn that came after. He figured the source of the flaming red light was nothing more than a couple of mischievous travelers who camped nearby.
Drummesburg may be hidden to the world at large, but every so often the occasional traveler camped in the plains surrounding the camp. They usually left within a day or so, given that the camp was not exactly on the beaten path.
The twin flames extinguished themselves, their piercing shades granting a pure darkness from the night sky. Only the stars should be allowed to provide any light, as a new moon was upon them.
Anderson sighed, "Bunch of idiots. I can't wait for this shift to end, it's so goddamn boring. Nearly anything would be better than this."
For a moment, he could've sworn he heard something, faint whistling through the air. It took him a moment longer for him to realize what it was, since the whistling grew louder and louder.
By that point, it was a moment too late.
Before Anderson could say anything, sound an alarm, or cry out for mercy, his voice died on him, words drying out. The world shifted on its axis, twirling away from him.
A sharp pinch began at the base of his neck, but immediately vanished. He would've brushed it off, but he realized he couldn't feel his…well, everything. His limbs refused to obey his commands, and he was facing the very same stars that shone brightly.
From his point of view, he fell backwards, feeling a dull thud on the back of his head. He rolled over onto his side, seeing his body collapse away from him. He gasped silently, and then his eyes lost all the color of life and vitality with the blood that seeped out of the stump of his neck.
Though he would not live to see it, a similar effect was happening all around the edges of the camp, to all the guards who were awake on guard duty. Theirs' was a singular death, enacted with an unnatural swiftness and brutality.
The ones still alive were almost all asleep, or closer to the center, away from the first attack.
When it came to be that only a singular guard remained on the outskirts, he was allowed to remain alive. He was a younger man, decently built and with the blonde hair of a wild man. His blue eyes were wide with fear and adrenaline, glancing in all directions as he watched his fellow guards fall around him.
His breathing was ragged, and the simple metal helmet he wore was crooked and allowed stray pieces of his hair to dangle loose. Panic overtook his senses, overriding his logic and ability to warn the others.
Finally, the forces that cut down his comrades stopped, as the final head rolled and blood watered the grass. An impenetrable wall of shadows lined the young man's sight, shimmering with untold power and malice.
He pathetically raised his spear, his hands trembling. "I-I'm not afraid of you!"
"Then you will die braver than most," replied a feminine tone, coming from behind the wall of darkness, which he could only separate out from the standing torches that lit up the walkways of the camp.
They separated down the middle, allowing a heavily-armored warrior to pass by. Were it not for her speaking, he would've never been able to tell she was a woman because of the thick plates that covered her.
Her armor was primarily steel-grey, one shoulder forged in the shape of a screaming skull, and the other a typical pauldron. Over her breastplate was draped a cloth painted black, a stitched red symbol of a flaming, horned skull wearing a crown on top of a shield.
The edges of her plate was a metallic black, each piece interlocking and providing air-tight resistance. Her gauntlets were clawed, and the top of them shaped to be the snarling faces of undead beasts.
Her greaves matched the design of her gauntlets, with pointed boots and a tasset made to look like scales. The helmet held a mighty plume that flowed backwards, and the visor was likewise a solid piece of metal, with only the eyes visible.
Ordinarily, having such expensive armor so solidly built would prove a hindrance, as the plates would rub against each other and the weight would slow down the user. However, the armor must have been enchanted, for it produced no noise, and the wearer moved as comfortably as she would in cloth. In her right hand was an exquisite sword, with glowing purple edges and a peculiar, circular cross guard with a gem floating in the middle.
A small round-shield was strapped to her other arm, a buckler of the same quality as her blade. Whoever this warrior was, she was well armed and very much prepared to handle an entire group by herself.
Unfortunately, he was just one man, and he very much could see his life flash before his eyes.
In a desperate bid to save himself, or at least buy himself more time, he yelled and rushed the woman. His center of balance was low, making himself as small a target as possible while pointing his spear directly at her neck.
As expected, she saw this coming, but rather than try and dodge or step out of the way, she held her strange sword up, the edge pointing towards the tip of his spear. There was a light hum emanating from its honed metal.
To his utter amazement and horror, the spear was sliced directly down the middle like it was butter. The smell of charred wood and molten metal filled his nose, and he had to dig his feet into the ground to stop his momentum before he could slice himself in half.
He was face-to-face with the woman, his jaw hung loosely, her sword right above where his left hand was. There was an intense heat from that edge, hotter than any forge he knew.
"Be thankful that you are given a warrior's death," the woman said with potent venom in her voice, "Anyone who dares to work in a place like this deserves far less."
Before the man could respond to plead for his life, the strange sword followed the path of the spear shaft, cutting off his fingers and biting through his armor. His flesh melted like wax, and he was cleanly sliced in half from his left shoulder to right hip.
His two halves fell away, his eyes staring glassily at Tsuare as she glared back. She looked over her shoulder at the wall of darkness that followed her.
"Go around the camp and finish off the last of the guards still sleeping, but don't do it quietly. Assume your original shape and do what death lords do best. For the Weeping King!"
At her behest, the shadows solidified into seven of the thirteen death lords that her god gave to her. She raised her sword with a battle cry, which they mimicked.
They began to wreak havoc on their surroundings, tearing into some of the storage houses where supplies were kept for the guards. A few began to run out into the camp where Tsuare assumed the guards were stationed, a collection of log barracks.
Some of the guards were already awake, caught in their night clothing. They screamed as one of the death lords reached them, impaling one unlucky guard on its blade and using his body as a bludgeon for the others.
Another death lord was charging into the walls in a way that would make a bull proud, smashing the outer walls of the camp into splinters. Amongst the storm of noise, she could hear the cries of the guards and of her true target.
Off to her side, she heard a battle cry, looking over to see that the guards not handling the death lord at their barracks were rushing her. They were haphazardly dressed in leather and chain mail.
"Get that son of a bitch!" Cried one of the men. Unlike the ones from before, these men wielded swords in the more cramped space of the camp interior.
Tsuare counted around ten of them, each of them taking a place to completely encircle her. She noticed the panicked looks on their faces, not even hidden despite their bravado in coming to face her.
"We don't know why the hell you're doing this, but you'll pay dearly for taking the lives of our workers," one muttered darkly, "We'll butcher you and hang your corpse off our walls."
She said nothing, only raised her sword and buckler to meet her opponents. Heatstriker's edges glowed with its latent power, ready to unleash it upon her foes.
"[Martial Arts: Agility Boost]," she said, feeling the muscles of her legs tighten and ready for her bursts of speed. She dashed toward the guard right in front of her, bisecting him much like the man she fought earlier.
He gurgled as he literally fell to pieces, and in the confusion and horror of how easily their comrade was slaughtered, Tsuare managed to lop off the arm of another and melt through the sword of a third, quickly cutting his head off in his defenseless state
Even as they began to recover and close in on her, she felt, rather than heard, the familiar, booming roar of one of the death lords. Its footfall shook the earth with its weight, and in an instant it covered her back, freeing her to focus on the ones in front of her.
Given she effectively disarmed one of the men and killed two more, there were only two men left on her side while the death lord dealt with the other five. She imagined it wouldn't be long before she heard the wet squelching of blood under foot as the beast stomped her enemies into paste.
"For the Weeping King!" she cried out, rushing the last two men and bringing Heatstriker down in an overhead strike. The guard she struck at raised his sword instinctually to block, only for the blade to be easily bypassed by the intense heat of her sword.
It sank all the way down to his collarbone from his skull before the last man realized the properties of the blade and created some distance between the two of them.
Blood pumped in her ears as a war-drum, her pulse beating insanely fast due to the whirlwind of emotions she felt being in Drummesburg. Memories threatened to spill over and shatter her focus, held back by her channeling those memories into a blistering rage.
The meeker version of herself recoiled at such bloodlust, whimpering at the version of her that stood there covered in blood. It was a version of her nurtured and made stronger by her time in the Knights, even if it was relatively brief in the grander passage of time.
Still, she learned valuable lessons from the ones who eventually became her new family, who reforged her self-image into something sturdier than before. The Tsuare that commanded death lords and was clad in the blessings of her god scoffed at the Tsuare who lived as a peasant in a village.
"Men like you who willingly work in a place like this do not deserve a warrior's death! None of you do!" She spat, using the extra speed from [Martial Arts: Agility Boost] to close the distance.
The last guard, recognizing he wouldn't be able to outrun her, stood his ground, a commendable effort on his part, if ultimately fruitless. Perhaps recognizing he would most certainly die, he aimed a slice at Tsuare's neck, it's cruel edge whistling through the air.
It connected, but bounced harmlessly off, and Heatstriker buried itself into the guard's gut. He wailed, trying to grab the blade in a desperate bid to pull it out, momentarily forgetting the magical properties of the blade.
He lost his fingers for his effort, and his life was cut short by Tsuare dragging the blade upwards from his stomach, effortlessly through his guts and bones and the top of his head. The stench of burned meat and hair made her nose wrinkle, but she ignored it.
With half of the fight finished, she turned to gauge how well the death lord was handling its portion of guards. In her adrenaline fueled stage, the other sounds of battle were drowned out. Now that she had the chance to calm down, she could hear all of it in its sickening glory.
Those still alive were screeching, begging for their mothers or for mercy, crawling in the mud towards a salvation that would never come. Those who stood were trapped in place, their limbs twitching and the smell of urine soaking the air. When they could, they swung their swords in a last ditch effort.
Unsurprisingly, none of the guards fighting the death lord were able to so much as scratch it, and those who dared to get too close were ripped to pieces, their viscera coating the ground in a macabre display of carnage.
Its sword's rippled edge glistened crimson, bubbling from the intense poison that coated it. The death lord roared, raising its shield to smash it upon the head of the poor soul caught within range.
THWACK!
Smashed into red paste, the death lord seemed pleased, mashing the edge of its spiked tower shield over and over again into the man's remains until it was nigh impossible to tell the bloody mess was once human.
Strands of blood dripped from the shield's edges, creating a connection between the body and the death lord's shield. The glowing light that pierced through the seams of its armor glowed brighter in response, perhaps as a sign of sadistic glee.
Only one guard remained, quivering in his boots and trembling before the monstrous warrior. He yelped when the flaming eyes of the undead focused on him. Tsuare walked up to stand next to her honor guard, watching him for his reaction.
"P-please, s-spare me!" He begged, dropping his blade and clasping his hands together. "I-I'm just a guard h-here! I d-didn't want to do it! I-I was forced into t-this line of w-work, to support myself! I'll give you anything, I'll tell y-you anything!"
Tsuare considered this, allowing a shred of kindness to shine through. "Oh? You would tell me anything? Very well, what other camps are there like this? Where else is your repugnant influence prevalent? Where is the one who stole me away and brought me here to be processed?"
"I-I don't know where t-there are other processing camps! I-I don't k-know who or w-where our bosses are! I-I was never a-allowed to s-speak to them when they c-came to check u-up on things! That was the s-senior guards' job!" He stammered out.
"Then you mean to tell me you have nothing to offer. You're just trying to buy yourself time to think of a way out of here."
"W-wait! I know o-of a v-village! I-I've overheard i-its name from the s-senior g-guards, t-they call it W-warlington! W-warlington I tell you!"
"Warlington," She said, testing the word, "And what can you tell me of Warlington?"
"J-just that it's another v-village that m-my bosses visit! It's b-bigger, and I t-think they're s-sorting something there, b-but I don't k-know what. T-that's a-all I know, I s-swear!"
Warlington? The name didn't strike any cords within her, which meant it was probably not close to her home village of Azalea. It was possible it was closer to Re-Estize itself, in order to be more accessible to the ones in charge.
Except that in itself might raise red flags for Re-Estize, or perhaps not, if it was another slave processing camp. It would need to be isolated enough that prying eyes couldn't find it, but close enough that the trip wouldn't take long.
She suspected that there were other forces at play, beyond the one who stole her away from her family. It was likely there was not much more she was going to get out of the guard, that much was obvious.
"What is your name?" She asked him.
Believing he wasn't to be interrogated any longer, the man unclasped his hands. "A-Axel, miss."
"Axel, do you wish to live? Do you wish to be redeemed of what you've done here?"
"B-but miss, I-I never-"
"Your very presence indicates you knew exactly what was going on. You may not have done anything personally to the ones kept here, but by doing nothing you allowed those horrible deeds just as much as if you perpetuated them yourself."
The man had the common decency to look ashamed, his eyes downcast. Tsuare sighed, sheathing Heatstriker, but keeping her buckler equipped just in case. She gestured to the death lord, who made its way back to her side.
"If you are serious about wanting to redeem yourself, I have a task for you, one that you should be able to do. Do you know where E-Libera is?"
He nodded in a way reminiscent of her old self, but remained tight-lipped. The trembling never stopped, and actually seemed to intensify when the death lord came closer. He was chewing the cuticles of his nails
"I need you to help escort some people to the healers in E-Libera, but I want you to take the most common roads, the ones where the most travelers take. You are to make sure these people, one in particular, is seen by as many as possible as you make your way to the healers."
Again, Axel nodded in compliance. Satisfied, Tsuare looked to the death lord, noticing the hungry gaze it shot towards the broken guard. While she was given command of the death lords from her god, she still felt humbled to be responsible for such powerful warriors.
"Would you please take him to a supply house, if there are any left? Make sure he is well equipped to manage himself, Brain Unglaus, and a group for his trip," she asked respectfully. The death lord nodded, and trudged up to the much smaller man.
His eyes nearly bulged out of his sockets. "B-Brain Unglaus?! His skills as a warrior are legendary, second only to Gazef Stronoff himself! Do y-you have him as a prisoner? Just who are you, miss?"
Tsuare did not answer right away, pondering how best to word her response so that the man would remember. In allowing him to escort the branded Brain Unglaus to a larger city, she hoped to accomplish two of the objectives of her master's mission.
Brain Unglaus was kept captive in the bowels of the Knights' fortress for a little over three days now, untouched by anyone except to give him food and water. Tsuare didn't doubt that some of those assigned to bring him those essentials spit in it.
It was hard to believe that he led the assault on their fortress for nearly a month and a half. It wasn't until two weeks ago that Destrus Desmodus's murderer came through and did the work for the Death Spreading Brigade. So much chaos and death, led by one man.
Whatever became of him, she would leave to fate, but not before she did as she was expected to do. Whether she liked it or not, she had new responsibilities as the leader of the Knights, and that meant leading by example.
Best to keep it simple. I want him to remember me and to spread the word, though I doubt anyone in his place could forget what happened tonight.
"I am Tsuareninya Veyron, leader of the Knights of the Weeping King and herald of His Majesty Himself. This territory now belongs to us, and anyone caught trespassing will be dealt with swiftly."
She let her words hang there, allowing Axel's imagination to do the rest for her. Now, he no longer seemed as scared, but impressed and terrified. Without another word, the man gestured for the death lord to follow him, which it did with a raspy grumble.
Once the two of them were out of sight, another death lord materialized out of the shadows to accompany her while she walked to the destination she had in mind. It was in the direct middle of the camp, simply called the Mud Pits.
While the slaves processed at Drummesburg were kept mostly in one piece and ensured they were healthy enough to serve their new masters without issue, they were cloistered in a space meant to dehumanize them and create compliance.
The Mud Pits were such a place, a hollow cavern dug into the ground where the slaves wouldn't see the light of day until they were ready to be transported. There was only enough light down there for the guards to see, and it was consistently humid the entire time.
Slaves were afforded only the most basic of necessities, that being food, water, and clothing. Physical punishment was employed if a slave got out of line, but nothing that wouldn't fade with time or be healed via a potion, should a guard go too far.
Each slave was shackled to each other during the day, and when night came, they were shackled to spaces on the wall to prevent an escape attempt. The consistent lack of lighting and humid conditions, threat of beatings and assaults, and lack of access to commodities beyond what was allowed meant many of the captured people were thoroughly humiliated and ready to be molded into whatever was seen fit for their future purposes.
An elevator shaft operated via a pulley system was the only way in and out of the Mud Pits. It was large, and could fit about ten people of her size comfortably. The death lord went to the lever, pushing it to lower her down into the depths.
The cranking of gears and sliding of ropes filled Tsuare's ears as she descended. Memories of past experiences in the Mud Pits came back slowly with only the darkness for companionship. In an effort to push down the horrid recollections, she focused on happier thoughts instead, those that brought her the most comfort instead.
She called upon one of her fondest memories, which would be the first day she managed to tap into her martial arts and become a true member of the Knights of the Weeping King.
She was promptly knocked onto her back, all the wind blown out of her and left her gasping for breath. She barely managed to roll out of the way of the training warhammer her instructor was using, which still noticeably cracked the stone ground.
Back to her feet, Tsuare back peddled to create space and give her room to breathe. She wasn't tired, not quite yet, but the intensity with which her sparring partner fought her was enough to put nearly a year's worth of cardio training to the test.
"Damn it girl! You're still slower than a pack of boulders! Get those little twig legs of yours working already!" roared one of the weapon masters, who was trying to help her improve her agility. He dashed at her again, already almost closing the distance.
He came at her with an overhead swing, to which she was able to dodge since her instructor wasn't trying to trip her up with advanced feinting techniques. That would be for another day, once she had mastered the art of agility.
Swinging her sword sideways into his dominant arm did little against the mighty plate-mail he wore, as it merely bounced off. When she tried to compensate with a combination of stab combos instead, her instructor caught the edges of her blade with the two handed handle of his weapon, shoving her away and bashing her with the head of his hammer.
Her shield barely caught the brunt of it, thrusting her backwards with a grunt and forcing her on the defensive. Every time she blocked with her shield, it was practically wrenched from her grip from the strength of the Warhammer Master's blows. At times, she could barely hang on by her fingertips.
A sword and shield were her weapons of choice for that day, since she thought it might help to have extra defense while she worked on her agility. If she could move quickly while using both tools at once, then her speed would be even greater if she just had to use one weapon.
That was the hope at least. She was coming up on around that time a novice of her level would usually unlock their first martial art, but so far, she hadn't seen anything.
"Just remember Tsuare! Martial Arts are developed through intense focus and training. It'll come in time, just keep at it!" Destrus Desmodus shouted from the side of the training arena. He, alongside some of the other weapon masters, were watching her train that day, curious to see if perhaps she would have a breakthrough of some kind.
"Her focus is too off, she'll never learn a martial art at this rate if she doesn't learn how to properly fixate on her opponent and let it come to her," one of them commented, who specialized in spear training.
Another who utilized a flail shook her head. "What she needs is real battlefield experience. She's been our longest lasting trainee thus far, since all her shield mates graduated from training months ago. Can't learn a martial art if she doesn't know what a real fight feels like.
"No, no, no! What she needs is more intensive training. She was smart to pick a partner who specializes in a fighting style different from her own, but to go up against the Warhammer Master? She must be looking for a few broken bones instead."
"Aye, but who knows, I still say we pluck her out of training and throw her right into the thick of an honest and brutal fight, no holds barred."
She listened to all of their comments with grit teeth, shame deep in her chest as she was reminded once again of her late bloomer's status. A hearty slam to her abdomen knocked her out of her self-pity, sending her sprawling once again.
"Don't listen to them, focus on me, you pathetic weakling!" her instructor roared, "You want to be strong? You want to be able to dance circles around me, then figure out why the hell you're so slow! You got the build to be a great runner, so put it to use, dammit!"
Rather than another overhead swing, he swept his hammer along the ground as if he were gently dusting away some dust with a broom. She was sent hurtling into a wall, her armor rattling and what she swore sounded like a few bones cracking in her back.
A collective "oooh" came from the other weapon masters. The Dagger Weaponsmaster tutted. "She may need to go to the infirmary for that one. Perhaps it is wise that we end this sparring match now."
The Warhammer Weaponsmaster snarled. "Are you kidding me?! We don't end this until she shows me something damn tangible! She came from nothing, and I refuse to let her remain nothing! Girl, if you know what's good for you, you will pick your sorry ass up and get in a good hit on me for once!"
All eyes were on her gasping, beaten form, waiting to see what she would do next. There was a mixture of disappointment and pity on their faces, seeing her crumbled against the wall and cradling her stomach. Tears nearly came to her eyes while her cheeks burned from the embarrassment of being so thoroughly throttled.
In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to be left alone, left to cry in her little corner and allow the others to leave her. A year's worth of training, all so she could try and learn a martial art from the safety of the fortress, was completely wasted on her.
Perhaps she should've never taken up Destrus Desmodus's offer to join the Knights of the Weeping King. She thought that by coming here, she might be able to acquire useful skills that would allow her to protect herself and her family. The Flail Weaponsmaster was right, she should've been sent out to the field to gain some actual field experience, rather than remain clustered inside.
Despite those feelings, however…
When she looked up, she saw that Destrus continued to stare at her, watching her with great interest. There was no pity or disappointment in his eyes. Instead, when he looked at her, she saw only a father's sense of progress. He was waiting ever so patiently for that breakthrough of hers, as well as challenging her to prove the other weapon masters wrong.
Those eyes conveyed to her a question, one that she decided then and there she would rise to answer: Are you going to do something about what they're saying?
With great effort, she lifted her bruised body off the floor, her armor settling back into place. More of her bones popped and cracked, especially where her ribs were. She suspected three were decently bruised, if not outright broken.
Breathing in deeply, she took up her stance, pointing her sword where the tip would be level with the Warhammer Weaponsmaster's throat. He grunted in acknowledgement, hefting his weapon.
"You have grit, girl, I'll give you that. You want a martial art so you can fight better? Keep your focus on me and come damn well earn it, you spoiled brat."
The combination of goading and compliment spurred her to take the next move, stabbing with precision at where the plates of his armor met. As expected, he blocked with his hammer's handle, moving with a flowing motion to bash the side of her head with the pommel of his own weapon.
She ducked beneath the attack, slashing at his more lightly armored ankles. She lacked the strength to even dent the armor, but it was enough to make her instructor back up and slam down where she was. Another web of cracks spread where she was, able to sidestep more easily than before.
"Oh ho? Despite getting knocked, you're actually beginning to move a bit better than before. Keep your eyes on me and don't lose sight of the fight!" The Warhammer Weaponsmaster said, picking up the pace and attacking now with even greater speed.
It nearly broke her concentration, having to deal with an instructor that practically became a blur, but she was managing by the skin of her teeth. For the most part, she was able to block, but her arm was thrown aside and she was slammed repeatedly, over and over again.
Her armor dented and began to crack under the pressure, her shield doing little more than a flimsy sheet of metal to bend around her arm. It got to such a point that she had to stop blocking all together, ducking and weaving to the best of her abilities.
It wasn't noticeable at first, since she was using up the majority of her concentration to avoid the worst of her instructor's blows, but when he came down with another floor cracking overhead strike, she noticed he was just a hair slower than he usually was.
"Hey, she actually is starting to go faster now," the Flail Weaponsmaster said, "You don't think she might actually-"
The Dagger Weaponsmaster shushed him. "Shut up, I want to see what happens next. Don't screw this up for her now while she's so focused."
The blur that was the Warhammer Weaponsmaster continued to slow, while she herself kept accelerating. Her movements were increasingly deft and agile, making her glide around her opponent. Bubbling excitement rose in her throat alongside a new word, one that came unbidden to her from her inner mind.
"[Martial Arts: Agility Boost]," she said, her muscles thickening with strength and propelling her to greater speeds. Just like her teacher wanted, she started unleashing a flurry of blows against his armor, none of which dented it but which showcased she was finally able to push past his defenses.
The other instructors cheered when they heard her utter the words, applauding her for finally unlocking her first martial art. It would be the first stepping stone in her career, elevating her status as a warrior to something greater. Nothing could ruin the moment of pride and accomplishment she felt in herself for finally doing what she set out to do.
Even when she lost focus for a moment was promptly smacked into another wall, bruising more ribs. She fell to the floor with a clatter, resting her back against the cool stone. Despite the pain, she managed to smile, looking back at Destrus to see his reaction.
He beamed at her, nothing but approval in his eyes. He gave her a thumbs up, a simple but meaningful gesture that spoke more than any verbal congratulations he could offer her. To Tsuare, that's all she would ever want and need.
She mimed the action back while she laid on the floor, her eyes brimming with tears for a different reason now. She had made him proud.
The jolt of the elevator shocked Tsuare out of her memories, and she shook her head to think more clearly. In the dark below, her vision was practically useless. She should've grabbed a torch before she came down.
There should be a torch of some kind around here. Wait a minute…
An odd idea came to her then, her eyes flickering down to the sword strapped to her waist. She unsheathed it, taking the opportunity to briefly admire the craftsmanship of it. It was as much a precious heirloom as it was a weapon of war, but she hoped it might be able to serve the purpose that was thinking.
She held it up in the air, like she would an ordinary torch. At first, nothing happened.
Then, the edge began to glow like it was preparing to slice through armor and flesh. The purple outline provided a somber glow, not as bright as a torch, but enough for her to see ahead at least.
"My sister would've loved to study you," she reflected sadly, "When I do find her, I'll make sure she gets to meet you first, Heatstriker."
Given the sword couldn't say anything back, her speaking to it was more a product of her trying to fill the silence of the Mud Pits. It was uncharacteristically quiet, which either meant everyone was still somehow asleep, or they were trying to hide themselves.
Through the darkness she walked, navigating the subterranean tunnel. While the space was expansive, it was overly simple. From what she could remember, the sleeping area was more akin to a collection of stables, beds of straw or cloth for groups of slaves to use at a time.
When Tsuare reached the end of the tunnel, she lifted Heatstriker higher, squinting her eyes to see further into the pitch blackness. The sound of mud being squished and of bated breath caught her attention, allowing her to breath a sigh of relief.
"It's alright, you're all safe now," she called out, "The guards above are dealt with, so there is nothing to fear."
As expected, none of the slaves replied to her. While she couldn't see them as clearly as she would've liked, she imagined them glaring at her with suspicion and worry, waiting to see what her next move was.
"I can free all of you. I can cut your shackles and get you out of this horrid place, offer you a new chance at life you may have thought was lost to you forever. Does that not sound enticing?" She tried again.
This time, a meek voice answered back, sounding like a young boy. "You can get us out of here?"
"Yes! Yes, of course I can! Here, I'll do it right now," she excitedly exclaimed, following the voice.
She reached a wall of shackles, seeing a family of slaves all huddled closely together. It was a mother and two sons, one barely out of his adolescence and another barely entering it.
Feeling along the wall, she found the shackle ring that bound the three. With careful precision, she aimed the tip of Heatstriker at the iron ring, easily slicing the metal and breaking the chains that held them to the wall.
They fell with a clatter, and Tsuare quickly got to work removing the manacles around the family's feet and ankles. She worried that the intense heat might melt the metal, but the enchantment that allowed it to cut lesser materials bypassed this concern.
"When I'm done cutting you free, I want you to wait by the elevator for me to finish with everyone else. Once I come to the top, I'll stay up there with you to help lift it up and down to get everyone else out," she told the mother of the two boys. She gave Tsuare a grateful look, and then did as she was told.
Seeing what she was doing, more of the enslaved began calling to her, allowing her to find them more easily and free them. Those who were no longer chained made their way to the elevator, anxiously waiting for her to finish her task.
Tsuare had no idea how long she was down there for, but with her tools she was likely cutting away for minutes. She silently counted each head that entered her line of sight, and by the time she was done, she estimated there were around five dozen people.
It made her frown, as the capacity of the Mud Pits was only about forty people, and even then that was pushing the limit. Whatever her former captors were up to, they must've been planning for a massive sale of some kind for their customers.
A small degree of satisfaction worked its way into her mind, knowing she thwarted those plans. She followed after the last man, making her way onto the lift with the first group and calling up to the death lord to begin pulling them up.
While a new moon night was dark all on its own, the torches that were already lit made the shadows of the Mud Pits all the more deep, contrasting varying shades of black. It almost hurt her eyes having to adjust for the minuscule change.
She anticipated some extreme reactions from her charges, since the reputation of the undead was widespread. Tsuare hoped with her there to keep the death lords in line, as well as her showing off her ability to control them, that keeping the people calm wouldn't be too much of an issue.
Many of the people started screaming anyway, scrambling over each other to get as far away as they could from the monster that greeted them at the top.
"Please stand back!" She told the creature, "Show them you mean no harm, and do not come any closer until I tell you to."
It did as it was told, taking pounding steps backwards. With it out of the way, she whispered in soothing tones to each group of people that she pulled up. The reactions were the same every time, which disheartened Tsuare slightly that her efforts were considered in vain.
Human instinct detected the savagery of the death lord, prompting them to deny and escape its presence. The death lord snarled hungrily, glancing with an inquisitive look at Tsuare. Though it could not speak, it's unspoken question was loud enough.
"They are friends, not enemies," she told the undead beast. It took her order to heart, completely ignoring the people now. This was little consolation, because the people were on the verge of stampeding, hurling accusations towards her and appeals to be spared.
"Do not worry, they are my allies, graciously provided to me by my lord, the Weeping King. I am Tsuareninya Veyron, leader of His Majesty's knights," she introduced herself.
It took some time, perhaps around five minutes, for them to hear her, but when they did and they realized the death lord made no move against them, they settled uneasily amongst themselves. She hoped by giving them her name, some of them might recognize her from her own time in Drummesburg, and see her as trustworthy.
Unfortunately, nobody did, which brought down her mood slightly. She hoped someone from her time might've remained, to act as a link between her and the new faces she noticed in the crowd.
They already processed my group, though I shouldn't be surprised as it has been over a year. That's alright, that just means I'll have to convince the people of my own merit.
"I understand many of you have endured much since you arrived in this place. Some of you I'm sure were torn away from your homes and families, or had your villages ransacked and the people taken prisoner. Once upon a time, I, too, had a similar fate befall me."
Their heads were on a swivel, looking between her and the death lord, unbelieving of her words at first. She had their attention, which was good, but not necessarily compliance. She needed to say more.
"Like you, I was hopeless. I was scared. I was alone. I didn't think I would ever be able to escape the torment of this place, or if I did, it would only be to experience something far worse in comparison. But then one day, I was rescued from my captors, and presented with the choice I am about to present to you all."
She took the time to scan the crowd, meeting each man and woman's eyes to showcase as much sincerity as possible, the same type that Destrus Desmodus did that fateful day.
"I can get you safely to a nearby city. I have an escort who will guide you there. He will spread the word of what happened here, and ensure nothing harms you or your own along the way. I cannot promise I can find your families or villages, but I can at least offer you a headstart for the process."
Now, she paused, to let the weight of her words sink in, before she presented the next part of the choice.
"Or you can come back with me, to the Fortress of the Weeping King. It is a safe haven as well, but one that is more isolated and well-defended. No-one can touch you there. We can shelter you, feed you, and even train you, so that you never have to be at the mercy of anyone ever again."
She spread her arms, as if to embrace them. "The path will be long and hard, but if you come with me, I can promise we will make you strong, and we will harden your will so you can never be broken again. The choice is yours, but it's one you need to make soon."
Never before did she think she would be able to speak in front of such a large crowd. Before her training and socialization with the other knights, she probably would've fainted or ran off to avoid the embarrassment of her shyness.
Now, her voice only slightly trembled. She spoke loudly and clearly, able to be heard by others. No longer was she invisible to others unless she was addressed first, something that the Knights of the Weeping King were able to instill in her.
Confidence, strength, will, and tenacity. These were the cornerstones of their faith, of their scriptures. To be a warrior meant never being afraid, but being able to take on the challenges presented before her as best she could.
The recently freed slaves conversed amongst themselves, debating on what they should do next. Every so often one of them stared at her, searching her face for something, before turning back to their discussions.
They seemed to reach a consensus. One of them, a man with closely shaved hair and a goatee, took the lead.
"What you offer seems to be not a choice at all, miss Tsuare," he said in a lilting voice, "Either we leave our fates up to chance and be escorted to this "safe" city you mention, or we come and join you at this fortress that belongs to your cult. As we have just escaped our previous conditions with your help, and seen what kind of aftermath you leave in your wake, you can understand how we might be weary at this prospect."
"I can assure you, what I offer is genuine, and you do have a choice!" She responded passionately, "You all can begin anew, one way or another. I will not force you to accept either choice, but our circumstances limit what more I could give."
"You have saved us, something that few of us dared to hope for, but you keep dangerous and forbidden company! No sane person would ever consort with undead, unless they were seeking an ulterior motive. You are unknown to us, and you wield power few could, so how can we place our trust in you to give us a fair and equal choice that does not end in our demise?"
Tsuare recognized what it was that the man was asking. He was trying to mask the terror that cloaked him, betrayed by the shaking of his body while he stood in the presence of the death lords. She guessed him to be the leader of the former slaves, their guiding light when it came to difficult times.
They were afraid to commit, to offer fealty to her. She shouldn't be surprised, given who she brought along and the prowess she was implied to have just by being able to free them.
"You can place your trust in me."
A familiar voice echoed throughout Drummesburg, startling the people and causing them to whip around in alarm and fright. A new chorus of whispers and inquiries rose up from the people.
The death lord in their ranks kneeled immediately, and the other death lords who came with Tsuare that night materialized around the group of people to do the same. From their placement, it looked like the undead were locking in the former slaves, preventing any escape if things escalated.
Right next to her, she could feel the darkness solidify, and out stepped her master, the Weeping King. She, too, knelt before Him as a show of her respect.
"There is no need, pup," He said, "Ceremony is reserved for when we have time, and we are lacking for time. Besides, I come bearing gifts."
He then faced his captive audience, who gazed upon him with trepidation. "My child has freed you, as part of her vengeance against her original captors. She builds a great and terrible army in my name, and we are enlisting. You wish to know who to trust? You may trust in me, as your new god and patron, and you may trust in Tsuareninya Veyron as your new leader."
"You are the Weeping King she mentioned?" the temporary leader of the group asked, "You…are even more horrendous and dangerous than the other monsters that surround us!"
"I have been told I am a rarity among my kind, but that is beside the point. You are rescued, and you will be under my protection. The place where you shall live from now on is secure, under my watchful eye, but do not think you will get to live there rent-free."
With a wave of His hand, a portal opened up besides Him, the same kind Tsuare saw Him pull the baseball out of. A tall and wide rectangular slab of black rock came through, the portal closing behind it.
Tendrils of shadows that coiled around the Weeping King's body lashed out, slicing into the stone and carving a new shape out of it. It took only seconds, but an intricate sculpture came to be, one that she remembered as being the image her lordship showed her.
It was a near perfect replica, but because it was night out still, it was difficult to make out the different details on the statue's surface. The general shape of it was recognizable enough, with the wide, spine shoulders and staff resting in the right hand.
"I will give you training. I will teach you the ways of my people, to become wolves among sheep. Never again will you fall prey to the other predators of this world, but in exchange, I demand tribute," He said, pointing to the statue.
"You will do battle in my name. You will spread the word of my gospel, recruit more to join our numbers, and conquest against the ones who wronged you. In every village you capture, a statue like this will be erected, and prayers and sacrifices will be offered up to me."
"S-sacrifices?" A little boy asked, his voice impossibly small amongst the crowd, but the Weeping King heard him all the same.
His flaming eyes sparked with excitement. "Oh yes, young child. Sacrifices of blood, of the bones of your enemies, and of your time. Every day, you will pray at my altars. You will pray for strength, for iron will, and courage."
He raised a clenched fist up and pounded his chest. "Be thankful, pups, for this opportunity. You will be able to have a hand in changing the face of this world, in being able to make your mark. All of you shall go down in history as the force who conquered the world and made it their own, so says I."
Though she had heard a similar speech from him already when He declared her the new leader of the Knights, she was enthralled, hanging on to every word and envisioning the future He promised them.
When she looked out over the crowd to gauge their own reactions, she saw horror and anguish, believing themselves to have traded one hell for another. Tsuare knew better, for they would come to appreciate the offer they were given towards their new lives.
They looked at each other anxiously, unsure what to do or how to act. Should they take the deal and subject themselves to uncertainties? Should they resist, and brave the death lords who surrounded them?
The man with the lilting voice was the first to act, stepping forward and bending a knee. "In exchange for our lives, we will swear fealty to you. If what you give is true, then we will do our best to repay the debt. We will take the opportunity to become stronger and free others like us."
One by one, they all took a knee, inclining their heads. They made their choice, but Tsuare sensed it was done more out of survival than any true sense of pride or desire to fight. The people felt beaten, and it would be her responsibility to show them otherwise.
"Tsuare," The Weeping King said, "when you get the chance, make sure Brain Unglaus is taken to E-Libera. I want his condition to be seen by the public, so that they may know me and what I'm capable of. Afterwards, take our new squires back to the fortress. They can come back here in the morning to scavenge for what they need."
"I have already made arrangements, my lord. I left a guard alive to escort Brain to E-Libera to get healing. I planned for him to take more people, but it seems that will no longer be necessary," she replied.
He gave her an appraising nod. "I knew there was some potential in you. I will handle things here instead, so use my Magic Mirror to take everyone back. There is still a…mess to be cleaned up at the outpost, which is an issue for another day."
Tsuare winced when her lord mentioned the Knights' outpost. To say there was a mess was an understatement. When she went down there to investigate using the teleport gate that was stationed there, she discovered a massacre.
All of the knights assigned to guard the outpost were unceremoniously dumped around the place, the same types of wounds that were found on Lord Destrus Desmodus's body were present on them.
But it didn't stop there. Their armor was smashed into jagged shards, and their bodies mutilated in a way that indicated the Death Spreading Brigade threw in explosives to flush them out, not realizing what befell them already.
Several hours of cleaning and maintenance would be required, since the outpost in question was really just a glorified watch-tower, barracks, wall, and warehouse where the teleport gate leading into the fortress was.
Which is why she was thankful that her god was pulling out an item that looked like a pocket mirror. He threw it down on the ground, where it unfolded to become a door-way of various shards. His own personal portal, ready to be dispensed at a moment's notice.
And that's barely scratching the surface of the types of treasures He has in His hoard.
"Please, right this way," she said to the group of former-slaves-turned-squires, "This will lead directly into the Fortress of the Weeping King Himself. Be orderly and go through in a single file line."
They heeded her advice, doing exactly as she said. They passed along silently, wearily peering at her but offering the occasional "thank you". She would be the last to pass through.
"What are your orders once I have everyone situated, your majesty?" She asked.
"Make sure they are given new clothes and food. Get them bunks to sleep in and speak with the old fencing masters who survived the initial attack. I want them to be ready to train as soon as possible, and the same applies to you as well. You may be my chosen leader, but you still have much to learn," he answered in a commanding tone.
"I understand," she said, giving one last half bow before she walked through the Magic Mirror. Once she did, it folded back up into its compact form, which the Weeping King pocketed.
He looked up to the sky, directly at the new moon, or at least where He assumed it would be that night.
"I hope you do, Tsuare. I hope you are able to forgive me for what I will have to do, in the end. The sacrifices you make in honor of me, will be nothing to the sacrifice I shall make to attain what I truly want: a seat at the table."
Fortress of the Weeping King, later that night
Brain was sitting in a locked room, his back against the wall. He was resting his head against his knees, which was bandaged so heavily only his right eye was visible.
He dared not look in the mirror he was provided with for personal hygiene management. He figured he was already ugly from his disfigurement, there was no need to reinforce it just so he could brush his teeth.
When he was branded by the beast that called itself the Weeping King, he thought he would be locked in some dank cellar to rot, forgotten about until the end of his days, when some poor maid would come to clean the room and find his bones.
Surprisingly, the opposite happened.
Once he was thrown into his current room, he found clean clothes to put on, which he had difficulty with since he only had one good eye left. The room was, for the most part, clean and maintained. The cot wasn't stained, and it had a thin sheet and flat pillow for him to lay on.
He was fed three times a day, though he didn't always eat. Chewing could be painful if he put too much force into it. A wash basin allowed him to rinse himself if he did feel the need to clean over the three days he was imprisoned.
At least, it felt like three days. Time was difficult to tell in that horrid place. He didn't exactly have a clock to guess with, which he also supposed was part of his punishment for besieging the fortress for a month and a half.
For what it was worth, it wasn't a bad situation, which was more than he deserved.
I never should've taken this damn job. I've pretty much lost everything, even my good looks.
The internal joke fell flat, as he couldn't bring himself to laugh. He sighed, lamenting a great many things. He lost his prized sword, snapped to pieces and used like a toothpick. He lost his men, which he truthfully didn't care much about, but some of them he could at least consider acquaintances.
His dignity, his pride, his skills, all dashed to the wind, in a fight he was destined to lose from the start. And until somebody came to grab him, he was forced to play prisoner to the Knights, likely once they decided his fate.
While he mourned his losses, the cogs of his mind began to turn, thinking back on some inconsistencies that he noticed now that he had the time to think.
For starters, what happened to the Knights of the Weeping King? For the first month of the siege, their defenses were impenetrable. The Death Spreading Brigade was held back to the outpost that doubled as an entrance to the fortress.
Each knight was highly trained, having a skill set that would've ranked them as officers in the Re-Estize military. Destrus Desmodus was at Brain's level of ability and martial power, augmented by whatever equipment he was provided with.
By all logic, the Knights shouldn't have fallen, they should have been able to stalemate the Death Spreading Brigade and keep them out. That was, until two weeks ago.
When the Brigade came out of their camp to fight the Knights again for control of the outpost, a mysterious quiet had fallen over it, which freaked out many of the men under his command.
It wasn't until they were able to walk right in and find the bodies of the guards stationed there that he realized someone had come in and taken care of them in their sleep. Beforehand they threw bombs in as a precaution, which mutilated their bodies a good deal as well.
Destrus Desmodus's disappearance was an oddity as well, and it wasn't until after he was imprisoned and he eavesdropped on some of the conversations outside his door that he realized the massive warrior was assassinated in his sleep as well.
A shame, really, as he hoped to fight him again and truly determine who was the better warrior. Not like he could bargain for it anyways even if Destrus was alive, since he was a prisoner.
There was a certain nobility to Destrus that Brain equated to a proper knight, or even his rival, Gazef Stronoff. It was possible Destrus held some prior connection to a noble family, or his disposition was inherited from the previous leader of the Knights.
There were other factors that seemed out of place as well, but he couldn't dwell on it, not when he heard the lock on his door click and the knob begin to turn.
He looked up, seeing a blond haired woman walk in, flanked by two elderly men who were dressed in heavy plate that sagged their shoulders. All of them glared at him with such intensity he half expected to combust.
A note of familiarity registered in Brain's mind when he saw the blond woman, but it was so fleeting that he lost it when he tried to grasp onto the recognition and expand upon it.
The woman kneeled before him, since he didn't bother to get up. She didn't say anything to him at first, just pursed her lips in thought. Finally she reached behind her, and pulled out a pair of shackles to put on his wrists.
"Am I being taken somewhere else?" He asked, trying to break the silence.
"Yes, you are," she said, clipping her words. She pulled him up with surprising strength for her shorter frame. She began to lead him out of the room, the two men trailing behind him. He felt the points of swords poking into his back.
They walked down a long stretch of stone hallways, several doors creaking open to let the inhabitants watch as they passed by. One of the people came fully out, revealing a face he recognized as one of the members of the Death Spreading Brigade.
"Hannibal?" He asked, not quite believing who he was seeing. The youthful man paused, and then nodded to confirm his suspicions.
Despite himself, Brain grinned beneath his bandages. "At least one of us made it out of this mess alive and well. You were never suited for the Death Spreading Brigade. I hope they treat you better here."
Ordinarily, he would not be so quick to offer a kind word like that, but Hannibal Solsen was a different breed of man. He radiated a quiet respect that Brain took to, and a sort of village wisdom that came from a hard life plowing fields, not unlike himself.
Out of all the members of his former mercenary group, only Hannibal never bore any scars, on the face at least. His messy brown hair and soft brown eyes complemented the tan complexion he had. He was a man of few words, and preferred to act than talk.
Brain was shoved and told to keep moving, the woman in front of him tugging on his chains. They passed the interim where the treasure vault was, which confirmed his suspicions that it truly was the heart of the fortress.
From there, they took a few flights of stairs and more tunnels, reaching the room where the Death Spreading Brigade came through to begin their assault on the interior. Because of how tightly packed the tunnels could be, as well as the various choke points, that was why it took an additional two weeks to be able to fully conquer the base and finish off the last of the guards.
The portal that served as the fortress entrance was a swirling, dark purple and black, outlined in a stone arch shaped like ribs. It was the only way in and out of the fortress, and Brain guessed if it were destroyed, they would be well and truly cut off from the rest of the world.
"So what happens now?" He asked, "Am I just going to be thrown out to wander all by myself, hoping someone is nice enough to take me in and heal me?"
"In a manner of speaking," the woman said, turning to him. "I've made arrangements for you to go and meet the healers in E-Liberia. You'll be escorted and protected along the way, so you don't have to worry about being robbed or accosted by bandits."
Brain raised the eyebrow of his remaining eye. "Wait, that's it? You're really going to let me go, just like that? Why?"
"Because you're going to serve as a message to what happens to our enemies. You're going to spread the word of what happened here, and of what happened to you," she replied, roughly yanking at the bandages to loosen them.
He winced, his wounds flaring up in protest at the treatment he was getting. "Alright that's enough! I didn't think I'd be able to heal this at all, but don't make this any worse than it has to be, please?"
The words felt almost dirty coming out of his mouth, him having to beg for her to stop. He tried to reach up and readjust the bandages, but the grip on his chains was tight and unrelenting.
"Your wounds cannot be healed completely. You will have scars left over, but the majority of the metal seared into your skin can be removed with a potion or lower level healing spells. Before you go, I would ask one thing of you," the woman said, that same familiarity coming back, stronger this time.
The softness of her features, her long, blond hair, how much smaller and weaker she appeared compared to her comrades, it all came flying back at him at once.
"You were one of the warriors that protected the hallway leading to the civilians," Brain finally recognized, "I saw your body on the floor. I thought you were dead."
"Evidently, I am harder to kill than most people think," she joked dryly, "That is besides the point, however. Answer me this, at least. Do you know who your employers are? The ones who hired you for this job?"
At first, Brain wanted to say that he didn't, which was technically true, just to spite her. He bit his tongue before he could do that, considering his options for a moment and deciding it was best to just be honest and relay what little he could.
"I'm not entirely sure who she was, but she paid well. I couldn't get a good look at her face, but she wore a cloak, and the hood hid most of their face. All she ever told me was that if I wanted a good fight, I could find it while battling your previous leader. Beyond that, she just wanted you guys dead."
The woman contemplated what he said, pursing her lips. She looked ready to accuse him of lying, but she must've deduced he had nothing to gain from that, because she breathed heavily out of her nose.
"Very well. Your escort is waiting outside this portal, and the one who guards you will have the key to your shackles. Once you get within sight of E-Libera, your guard will give your escort the key and leave. Safe travels, Brain Unglaus."
He was pushed through the portal, nearly stumbling into its depths and being swallowed up, only to be deposited where he would need to go and begin his long journey of healing and renewal.