The detour Gareth had mentioned turned out to be a short trek up the other side of the wetland forest to meet with a scout, with whom the Seeker departed from their hideout.
"We set up a temporary camp near the ruined port originally. We moored at nightime, and did not expect much of magister resistance. Their response was swift, however."
They were making it out of the woods, the patches of sun shining through the canopy getting bigger and more bright. Gareth entertained the ragtag group of Sourcerers with a report of their current situation.
"We fled through the swamps with Reds hot on our heels. I expect they sank our ship by now. Our spies saw them install those monstrosities in place, so the defense of the port probably tripled."
"If they sank your ship, why are you so desperate to reclaim the port?" Vermil inquired.
"To intercept the first Magister vessel that comes through," the Seeker explained.
"Ah, well, good thing we have a spare one sitting on a reef near the Fort proper if that won't work."
"There is another ship?"
"Yep. A dwarven fellow called Beast and the rest of the inmates are working hard to get it to a sailable state."
"That is…not good. We have no idea with what frequency the ships course to Joy and back. And now they have two vessels out of order-"
"Up. There is someone sitting on that tree."
Elane shook her head in the approximate direction, as her hands were busy holding the comatose Magister. A lean silhouette slid from the branches onto the path that began steeply rising. Seekers' scout was clothed in a camouflage of leaves and twigs. An elf, undoubtedly.
He pulled a leafy hood off his face, exposing dark skin and braided auburn brown hair, yet despite the mud smeared on his skin, he was ashen, his movements somber and jittery at the same time.
"Seven curses, Gareth. And eight woes-" the words rang before the party could look the man in the anxious eyes.
"Ymmit, no need to revert to heresy…" his leader reprimanded, very much unsettled by his comrade's outburst.
"Go up and tell that to their faces," the scout pointed up the path, which curved sharply behind a rocky protrusion.
"What's up there?" Red Prince asked, distrustful.
"Pain." Was the elf's only, sharp answer, before he moved aside and leaned against a tree trunk, head hanging low.
"Is it safe?" the man continued the questioning, surprised he had to do so.
"If you consider corpses a threat."
"The ship?" The spartan exchange continued, as Ymmit's responses were snappy and hateful.
"Ours gone, Hammer's remain."
Gareth was quite surprised at the news, but he dared not bother his shaken comrade anymore, resuming his march up the hill.
"Vermil, could you keep an eye on him for a moment?" Elane's nose tipped down towards Loke dozing in her arms.
"You want to go after Gareth too?" The rogue scanned the rest of their companions questioningly. "Fane, could you look after him for a moment?"
The undead in question huffed. "Yes, I could."
Leaving the unconscious Magister by the tree, with an admonishing growl targeted at the scout waiting nearby, the woman sprung after Gareth, with Vermil following close. The two managed to catch up with the knight just atop the hill, where he stood, petrified.
The hill topped with a flattened area that descended down onto the northern coast of the island. The remains of the camp were visible nestled underneath tall rocks that hid the tents from wind and open view. The rustle of waves reached them even up here, but the most audible were the wails and murmurs of agony from above. The outskirts of the abandoned Seeker camp were scattered with Divine Order stakes, on which still very much alive people hung. Skin covered in blisters, blood drying on exposed flesh serving a feed for insects and scavenger birds alike. It was a brand new horror on this isle of terrors.
"What in the Void…" Vermil was equally appalled by the sight, and he slowly approached the other man.
Gareth snapped back at the sound of rogue's voice, turning teary eyes to look pleadingly at the Sourcerers.
"Please, help me get them down…!"
For Elane, one glance at the poor souls was enough, the realization of what the Divine Order was capable of unlocked a new kind of fear inside her. Eternal torment. She stood frozen in place, oblivious to Gareth and Vermil's pleas, fighting the urge to flee while her tall figure shook from a mere whiff of suffering lingering in the air. When she finally stepped forward, her eyes never rose to look at the corpses again, but it helped little, the stench of desecrated blood alone making her stomach turn.
"Lucian's arse, they're nailed to the wood!" Vermil spat with disgust that matched hers.
The elf wouldn't dare to take her gaze off her own feet, but she heard Gareth make a few heavy steps to her right, presumably walking in circles.
"We need an axe, or geomancy or-"
"Will rotten wood also do the trick?" The elf finally found the courage to speak aloud, and look the Seeker in the face, that was contorted in panic and guilt.
"If we could hack through the pillar with our swords? Yes-"
The woman's palm shone with telling, miasmic purple as she raised her hand.
"Come. The sooner this is over the better."
She moved behind the pillar, trying her best to be oblivious both to the delirious prayers of the tortured, as well as her own, paralyzing anxiety. Gareth joined her, golden sword in hand and cold determination in his eyes.
Her fingertips grazed the wood, which cracked and puffed, flakes of rotten pillar falling from the sheer strain of the body suspended above. The Seeker swung at the weakened structure, and it cracked, starting to collapse. Vermil ran to help with lowering the pillar slowly to the ground. The tortured woman seemed unaware of her surroundings, or any change to her situation, still mumbling one, frantic prayer to Lucian.
"Tend to her, we will get the rest down," Elane ordered the terrified Seeker.
"Your sword El-" The rogue extended his hand expectantly.
She handed him the blade, and they moved on to the next pillar. They repeated the motions of the last time; the spell weakened the structure, and the rogue hacked at it with the borrowed sword. As they were lowering the other stake to the ground, an inhuman shriek pierced the air.
All they could do at that moment was snap their heads towards their companion. Gareth was kneeling, mortified, over a lifeless corpse of a tortured Seeker. The two shook off the shock and quickly, but delicately, finished their task, before rushing to the man.
"They…they can't be healed…" Came an answer to an unasked question.
Gareth's voice was weak, merely a whisper, that bore the weight of tears with it.
Inspecting the body, they could see literal holes in flesh and bone that, presumably, Gareth's spell caused. The damage looked as if the tissue melted under the restorative magic as if it was hot water dripping onto a sugar cube.
"Source harmed them?" Vermil fumed. "What did the Order…how did they manage this?"
The three weathered this distress in silence before Elane pried her sword from Vermil's hands.
"Death is the only comfort we can grant them now…" she stated grimly, before walking towards the lowered stake, and decapitating the tortured man with one swift blow.
Gareth said nothing and dared not look over at the elf and her gruesome work, clutching the hand of the deceased woman.
"Her name was Viya, our healer…" he muttered to the other man, apologetically.
"She's in the Hall now," the rogue tried to comfort the other man, stomaching his own disdain.
In the distance, the elf was moving onto another stake, her sword and height being enough to swing mortal blow after blow at the writhing, tormented bodies. Once dead, they could be surprisingly easily jerked free of the stakes, so brittle their flesh had become.
Gareth was distracting himself with prayers and after bidding his tortured comrades their farewell, he moved onto inspecting the remains of the camp, finding bodies of few more Seekers and Magisters, who paid dearly for their aggression. Vermil followed him, concerned about the knight's diminishing mental stability. They searched the area together, but didn't manage to find anything of use, not even a single shovel. Being unable to even bury his comrades properly, Gareth was at his breaking point. Elane joined them soon after, looking as miserable as the next human.
"Hey, El…" Vermil whispered. "Go get Fane, we'll have use for his geomancy."
She looked at him stupefied, the weight of the long day finally taking its toll on the woman's psyche.
"I wouldn't put defiling corpses past the Order's lapdogs if any still scurry about-" he explained, and that finally roused the elf to sluggish and apathetic action.
With the undead's help, they managed to bury all bodies, and by the late afternoon, they were crawling through the wetlands once more, now with the sight of a promise-bearing horizon for incentive.
Ymmit led them through a safer path, and soon the party emerged from an animal-trodden track onto the very edge of a ruin-strewn clearing. The woodland around thinned, suggesting they made it to the island's edge. The few cobblestone walls hugged together hardly resembled a building and were barely higher than any of the elves.
"Down to the shore and we're there," their guide assured, pointing across the glade.
"Good," Vermil didn't even bother slowing his step, eager to finally get some rest after the hectic day. "I'm more than ready to-"
The man has just reached the point of the closest wall, protruding from low grass that padded the earth, when he felt the all-too familiar cold. His first thought was that, with the evening slowly setting in, it was nothing but a chiller breeze, but the moment earth started churning and bursting he knew they were in for another encounter with the Void.
Pale, disgusting-looking millipedes dug themselves from the earth, surrounding the party. The monstrosities began crawling towards them, trampling a clear path through the grasslands. Some made irritating noises, clicking their chitin segments together and others screeched, but nothing was as unsettling as the one that spoke, leering with their antennas at the group below.
"Pests, leeches. We were the first!" The crude cross between a caterpillar and a blood-filled tick spat in a voice they had heard before. Dignified, yet dripping with hate.
Elane, who walked in the middle of their group, noticed that Fane began shaking at the taunt. The wand he was holding creaked under the strain his hand forced upon it.
"Form a circle! Don't let them surround you!" Gareth yelled the order in a well-trained voice.
The companions followed his lead, and encircled Elane, who couldn't effectively fight and carry the young Magister.
The monsters clicked and lunged at the formation, getting squashed or incinerated in the process. They fell easily, but for every killed Voidwoken, it seems two more emerged from the ground and the assault barely attenuated in its viciousness. One of the insects managed to burrow and re-emerge behind the defenders' backs, lurching at the elf in the middle. After a few stomps, however, it was nothing more but a puddle of noxious-smelling bile. They jointly killed a dozen or so crawling nightmares when Gareth gave the signal to slowly start making their way through the clearing. The idea could've worked if the Sourcerers had practiced coordination and discipline beforehand, but the group soon dispersed among the cobblestone covers, as the maneuver proved too tricky to execute in such an environment. Elane clung to Fane's back, as his fire spells were quite efficient in preventing them from getting swarmed. All the same, when the formation finally dispersed, she was forced to roughly manhandle Loke to hang over her shoulder while she drew her blade, and nailed down whatever insects didn't get caught in the scholar's barrage of flames. Similarly, on the other side of the ruin, Vermil teamed up with the Prince, while Gareth and Yimmit fought on their own.
Among the usual clatter and turmoil of battle, the indignant voices of Voidwoken gurgled their curses; all uniform, yet spoken in several different ways. One rang softer, others harsher.
"Die! Die! Pass away!"
"You are vermin. You will be cast out!"
All of those remarks, even if surprising coming from a creature that should not biologically possess the ability to speak, were in line with the general expectations they had about monstrosities born from the Void; a realm of horror and mindless destruction. This perception changed, at least for the elven duo, when Elane pierced a jumping millipede mid-flight, and it burbled tainted mucus right over her face, shriveling on the blade as it muttered its last words.
"Join us…Join us, Fane."
The woman's eyes shot wide open as she instinctively kicked the carcass off her weapon. She would've looked back at the aforementioned Eternal, but another three creatures raised their vile mandibles from the ground, forcing an irritated yelp from the noble.
"Have you heard that?!" She shouted back to her companion.
"It would be quite difficult not to…" he answered, feeding a small flame dancing in his palm.
"Maybe tell them to get lost if you are acquaint-"
Before Elane managed to finish her snappy remark, a bolt of lightning zapped one monster and jumped onto the next, effectively frying Elane's Voidwoken entourage. From the direction, Yimmit mentioned came running the rest of their initial group; Lohse, Ifan, and Sebille.
The Voidwoken were caught in a brutal crossfire, and after the initial blow of the reinforcements, the numbers of the creatures stopped replenishing and were effectively culled shortly after. The cursed pus oozed from countless hacked open cuticles pooled on the trampled ground, in some cases the bodies were piled atop each other up to a grown man's chest. Some elongated, segmented bodies hung over the crumbled walls, cast there by blows and spells.
The fighters barely had a chance to breathe when another miraculous phenomenon occurred right before their eyes. The baneful, writhing, living acid under their feet sunk into the earth, replaced by springs of glowing blood and water. All Sourcerers, save for Elane, Lohse, Gareth, and Ymmit were listening keenly for a moment, before glancing around, muttering and squinting at the holy substance under the soles of their shoes.
Elane, who was too inconvenienced to pay much attention the last time something similar happened, shook Fane's shoulders, to the other's disgruntlement.
"What is-"
"Quiet!" The undead scowled.
She wasn't too pleased with the answer but didn't bother asking anyone else, once again changing her grip on Loke, letting him lay in both of her arms. By now even she was growing tired and her muscles began protesting the constant strain. The boy finally stirred, which at least was a sign of hope.
"Is everyone alright?" Lohse called repeatedly as she made her usual errands, checking for injuries and putting her hydrosophy to use.
She stopped dead in her tracks when she spotted Elane not only accompanied by another new face but also holding an unconscious man dressed in Magister garb.
"And you are…?" She addressed the veiled undead, who stared her down with cold sparks exploding from his brown eyes.
"And who are you expecting?"
"Oh! Fane… You're taller and, err…"
From the corner of her eye, Elane saw his jaw twitch in an irritated manner and she wanted nothing more but to punch the dignified buffoon in the face.
"He has a face-changing mask. I bet he can tell you all about it later. Can you lead us to the camp?" the elven woman interrupted, stealing the enchanter's attention.
"Oh sure! But do tell the story behind this one too-" She pointed at Loke. "If anything, it seems your journey was more eventful than ours."
They both moved towards a path hidden among greenery at the other end of the clearing, while Fane lingered on the battlefield, transfixed by the pungent remains.
"Lohse, I am exhausted…" The usually sure step of the elf was visibly wobbly, the weight of the lad in her arms only adding to the imbalance.
"Right! Sorry, sorry. We arrived some time ago and were waiting for the sunset to light up the flares. Your timing is spotless, I'll tell you that." The woman chatted away, and Elane came to appreciate the silence of her earlier company. Gareth, at least, didn't spit fifty words in one second.
Descending lower, they made it to the shore, it was a small bay, enclosed between two masses of rock. One such wall sported a massive opening, marked by a stone arch. A lizard's face was peeking down on them, guarding the ladder that hung down to the lower level.
Lohse looked back at the elf and the man she held in tow questioningly.
"You want me to zap him up?"
"Can you do it somewhat safely?"
"Depending on your catching reflexes…"
"Great…" Elane's voice trailed off with a weary exhale.
If her arms had voices of their own, they would scream in anguish.
Vermil caught up with them, emerging from the bushes and making a short trot down to the sandy coast. He caught the sense of the surroundings quickly, and understood the ongoing issue without them even needing to point it out.
"Having trouble getting him up?"
"Depends on who you ask…" The bard shrugged.
"Hold him for Lohse to teleport, I will do the catching-"
"You struggle quite a lot for the sake of some Magister whelp," Red maw grumbled as the lizard passed them by, heading towards the ladder.
Elane's jaw tightened at the remark, but she said nothing, handing the powerless body to Vermil and turning to follow the redhead up. The Red Prince climbed after her and his presence immediately stole the attention of the lizardess guarding the entrance.
The artifact on the witch's hands lit up with runes and sang the spell, after which Loke rematerialised over the elf's head. She caught him, but just barely.
The rogue followed up soon after, and the rest of their merry companions were on their way to the shelter.
The guard, a lizardess of a rare, alluring purple hide, greeted them after being done conversing with the Prince, who now was strolling away.
"Be welcomed to the Sanctuary of Amadia, Sourcerers. I am Bahara, a servant of Amadia. Find me within the Sanctuary should you need anything, or refer to Mistress Gratiana directly."
"You have our thanks…" Vermil gave her a polite nod.
Seeing no more questions coming from the weary Sourcerers, she left them with a slight bow of her head, departing in the strange lizard gait.
Gareth's return, since apparently the man has been stranded by the magisters for a long while now, has been welcomed with great relief by the inhabitants of the camp.
The sanctuary itself was nested in the lowest spot of the tiny valley that had been meticulously filled with tents and hastily put together constructions from driftwood that washed ashore. The initial gloom of the place dispersed the moment their leader returned, not only alive but successful in his mission. The Seekers flocked to him, and while they listened to the brief recollection of recent events, Lohse led the elf to the makeshift infirmary, occupied by three other wounded, who were returning to their strength after the bard brought them back from the brink of death before. The elf herself plopped hard next to the cot the Magister was laying on, looking more disheveled than ever. She ran her hand across the ornaments in her hair, and let out a heavy sigh.
A human woman, quite a young blonde with dim, green eyes, offered her a cup of water, which she emptied in nearly one gulp.
"You're holding up okay, chief?" Lohse eyed both of her arms, at least as little as she could spot under her new armor, still feeling a tinge of disbelief she saw the elf torn to bits and not showing any signs of strain.
"Yeah, others could have suffered some minor injuries. You might want to check on them-"
"Yeah, I will…" the woman's voice trailed off.
Despite what she just said, Lohse stayed next to the elf for a long while, making her uncomfortable.
"Anything I can help you with…?"
The redhead snapped out of her idle, confused trance.
"No. You rest some, alright?" And with that, she ran down to join the sizable crowd surrounding the Seeker leader.
"Where…am I?" A low, hoarse voice called from behind the elf's back.
"Safe," she answered the Magister. "And healed to the best of our ability at the moment-"
Loke's hand slowly raised to touch his face and waved in front of his eyes.
"I still…I can't see…" he stated worriedly.
"Yes, I imagine that would be expected after getting badly wounded and Source-muting every person capable of healing in the proximity," she snarled back.
Elane's temper was short, worn out by exhaustion and the entire situation she found herself in. There was a moment of silence while her words sank in, his hand dropping limply to the side.
"Will you kill me now…?" The tone of his voice conveyed he was more or less convinced of such a possibility and that only angered the elf some more.
"You can wander out of here if you have a death wish. I did not carry you all the way from the armory to here just to slide a blade between your ribs.
"...where is 'here'?"
His hand felt around the collection of various fabrics making for his bedding.
"A sanctuary in the middle of the marches."
She stood up, still weary but quite done with talking to anyone.
"I am leaving now, there are people nearby…"
Elane noticed the woman who handed her water earlier, sitting just outside the infirmary tents.
"Can you keep an eye on him?"
"S-Sure-"
"Thanks."
The elf strolled away without any other word. She looked down to the commotion below, where something was happening but she couldn't be bothered to care. Passing a blacksmith's temporary workshop she found that the valley lowered itself and opened to a tiny sandy spit extending into the open sea. She threw her pack onto the sand, and nestled down, looking into the far horizon. The water nearby seemed shallow and seemingly unable of hiding dangers but she kept her blade close, just in case.
Meanwhile, in the camp proper, the Sourcerers were being freed from the collars by a woman named Leya, who up until now was quite emotional about Gareth's absence. The news about the overturn at the Fort made it here before them, with the arrival of wounded Delorus, the Magister saved by the escapees earlier, and the Paladin, who appeared to be friends with the leader of the Seekers. Fane found little interest in the conversation that ensued between the three members of the Divine Order, and after getting his collar removed, wandered down into the valley. The actual place of worship consisted of a pond that hugged one of the rocky walls that sheltered the sanctuary from the sea breeze. Halfway submerged in the water, sat an obsidian face of a horned woman, with an empty socket in her forehead and weeping eyes, that fueled the pond below. The more the undead looked at the likeness, the more familiar it seemed to him, and he found himself leaning from the platform that was built above the very edge of the water.
"Amadia's blessing child. I take it you are one of the escapees from that Fort of nightmares?"
He was approached by a woman, wreathed in an old cloth and wearing a mask of an unseen fashion and she joined him on the platform. The name she uttered only added to the scholar's inner turmoil, and his attention immediately snapped to her.
"I am Gratiana, priestess of Amadia and keeper of this shrine," she continued, trying to rouse the absent-minded elf to speak.
The moment the name 'Amadia' reached his non-existent ears, his head snapped to her at full attention
"Is this face a depiction of this Amadia you speak of?" He inquired, visibly agitated as the puzzles in his mind clicked in place
"Indeed. Sacred Amadia is the mother of magic. She is the fount from which all wizardry springs. The legends have it all wizards trace their ancestry to her-"
Brow furrowed, the scholar listened to the story with a growing sense of befuddlement. As far as his knowledge went, magic and spells existed well before the mortal races. Were those deities truly his Lords, or some lowly impersonators, or merely a cruel coincidence?
Gratiana fell silent in her explanations, spotting the distress etched on the elf's illusionary face.
"Child, are you quite alright?"
He only waved his hand dismissively.
"It is nothing, Amadia just... reminds me of someone." He felt he let slip a tad too much, and he tried to distract the creature with another inquiry. "This…swamp…hardly seems like an apt spot for a shrine dedicated to the goddess of magic, isn't it?"
Her masked face moved to face the obsidian likeness of Amadia.
"It was not always thus. This swamp was once a rich, lush land. Before he came. Before Braccus."
"It sounds like you hold a grudge towards this man," Fane keenly noted, paying closer attention to the creature before him.
For a human, as her height could only indicate this race, she was rather thin, and despite the humid hotness of the isle wore many layers of clothing. He figured out who he was speaking with rather quickly.
"I have been here for many years. It has given me a lot of time to... reflect on the past. And learn from it," she answered omittingly.
"Ah, so you must probably know quite a lot about this isle and the secrets it is still hiding," the curious excitement returned to the veiled undead's tone, as he eyed the priestess.
"I-Those places are dangerous…but you have already returned from the armoury unscathed…" she added quieter as if to herself. "There are two more structures, but one might be of interest to you. Near this place, across the beach below is a hidden cave, its bowels house another vault of Braccus'. I cannot tell exactly what is stashed in there, but it might be worthwhile if you wish to leave this place with something other than nightmares."
The scholar's eyes glistened at the tidbit as he scurried to note it in his mental map.
"Thank you. Your input is appreciated," Fane nodded towards the undead woman and she turned to attend to other matters.
"Walk ever in Amadia's grace, child."
Her farewell with another mention of the familiar name stirred up his anxiety once more. He turned back to the statue, scrutinizing it as if it was to hold every answer to his questions. It bore semblance to hallmarks made by his people, the black stone was clearly not native to the island, yet it was nothing he could recollect from his days among the breathing. After waiting for Gratiana to disappear up the road leading to the infirmary, he jumped down from the platform and slowly made his way through the shallow water, arriving just below the colossal visage.
He wished to remember the face of Lady Eternal he knew so well, but he found himself unable to, and this depiction didn't sit quite right with him.
One of her horns had broken off and her forehead was bare, a space sitting empty where her gem should be. Against all logic, Fane's leg made a wide sweep through the muddy bottom of the pond, clouding the water. Naturally, even if the gem fell at some point in time, it would have either been stolen, or buried significantly deeper in the undersoil, and so his surprise was all the greater when he bumped into something. He dove down, soaking the front of his robes and wraps, and pulled a sizable, glass-like stone cut into a perfect oval. The surface of the gem stirred as if awakened, the light trapped within dispersing into a spiraling nebula hiding the light of one, bright silver star inside. He brought the jewel up to roughly compare it to the crevice in the statue's brow. And then he felt as if he began sinking into the pond's floor. Emotions floored him, too many to name. The most prevalent of them were anger and irritation. His people were gone, and he was busy chasing meaningless shadows through an island that held nothing but crumbling walls of some mortal monarch who at best was considered a grim legend among many. He felt lost, alone, and trapped in a body he no longer understood. The gem's surface seemed to darken the reality around him leaving nothing in his vision but that shifting, the wondrous cosmic tail of the star.
"Fane…"
A hand, soft and gold crept down his arm from behind like a snake, gold claws grazing the sleeve of his prisoner garb. Common sense would dictate running away from a sudden and unwarranted touch, but it seemed to have left him at that moment, and he couldn't help but marvel at the golden claws that coiled around his forearm, another crawling up his chest. Warmth spread across his bones as if they were still veiled in flesh, but that didn't alarm him, it delighted him. The loneliness and the anger all faded away to the silent hum of the celestial spectacle that played just in front of his non-existent eyes. It was as if the star was singing for him, and it taxed him greatly to try and focus on the sounds that seemed to resonate within his own soul.
"My own…my own…"
The embrace deepened, feeling almost motherly. Now he clearly felt the weight of something atop his shoulders, something tender, something innately soothing, making him wonder whether this is how a child feels when comforted by their mother. His memories were too cloudy for him to account for such an experience himself.
The words picked up intensity, becoming intelligible, and he was surprised to hear his own voice breaking the calm murmur of the cosmos.
"I… I will find-"
The warm hands moved to rest on his cheeks, something he couldn't quite perceive nearing his face, lips feeling like sheer euphoria and deadly hunger all at once pressed against his jaw, but were able to leave merely a peck on his eternal smile when he was brutally pulled out of the vision.
"FANE!" Elane's voice rang almost panicked, drowning out the nuanced heavenly buzz that his inner ear was so enthrallingly enjoying.
Another violent tug of his shoulder shook off the bewitching weight that left a strange void in its place.
"You will melt at this r- why are you clutching onto that rock?!"
He was standing in the pond again, but the water took on a strange inner light, and standing upright was becoming difficult by the second. As he looked upon the gem again, he noticed it was nothing but a mud-covered, dull rock. He let it fall with a loud splash, hands trembling, as he tried to decipher what had just transpired here. A sizable audience gathered on the wooden embankments around, curiously following the bizarre scene. Fane was on the brink of collapsing when Elane grabbed him by the scruff of his tunic and carried him onto the solid ground. The bandages and illusions covered the damage rather well, but underneath it, all the bones of his legs were more akin to a beaver-bitten tree. Now that he was out of the water, he saw the radiance emanating from the pond, sun-kissed mist swirling above, disturbing the rays of light.
Gratiana fell to her knees next to the Eternal.
"By Amadia's grace, what did you do!?"
He wished to know an answer to that himself, and only stared blankly at his now-empty hands. Devoid of everything once more.
"Hey…" The elf waved right in front of his eyes in an effort to snap him back to reality, becoming more and more concerned for the undead. "What is wrong with you?"
He…felt sated.
"The statue spoke to me, I- I heard something, and then there was this m-mist…" Fane finally managed to scramble a plausible answer out of the roaring chaos of his mind.
"This is incredible! In all my years I've never seen the goddess bestow her blessing on someone. I am humbled to be in your presence."
"Yes, yes. Escaping inescapable forts, talking to gods, just another Moonday for me-" He waved her off, hoping to be left alone with his thoughts.
The noble accompanying him cast him a dubious look, then addressed the priestess. "Have you at least heard of this happening before?"
"Nothing I could recall." Her masked face shook. "Perhaps it was a common occurrence once when the Seven gods were still strong, but it has been many years since this was anything other than a pond for me to pray at."
"The Gods…fell silent?" Fane asked, despite his initial resolutions.
Now the pale, carved face was shaking positively.
"Amadia's strength waned when the Divine Lucian accepted the power of the Seven. This is most unusual. Truly we are blessed to know you. If Amadia favours you, that is all I need to know. Go in peace, brother."
She offered him a comforting gesture, yet her hand barely brushed his shoulder, after which she excused herself, and hurried to resume her prayers by the glowing waters.
Elane shot him another, questioning look that seemed to ask whether he was even able to walk after his God-appointed bath in holy water. He seemed reluctant to get up, and that only confirmed the theory.
"Your legs…?" She murmured quieter, in case anyone was listening.
"Bad," was his only answer.
With a tiresome sigh, she helped him up, keeping most of his weight on her shoulder as they hobbled towards a remote area of the valley's sea-bordering end. She led him away from the camp, onto the tiny sandy beach, and then right, following a narrow spit formed under the mass of cliffs that marked this side of the coast. A shallow, wave-gouged cove hid them from prying eyes.
The elf simply let go of the scholar's arm the moment they entered the hideout, and the undead dropped to the ground helplessly. Fane sat up, took off his mask to dispel the illusion of flesh, and started unveiling the bones of his legs from their wraps. As he was busy assessing the harm, the elf was hugging the edge of the entrance closely, listening to whether they were being followed with a rather sour expression etched on her face.
The bandages were coming off slowly, showing not-completely human bones. The structure suffered great caustic damage, but despite the missing chunks of his tibias and fibulas, the carved, golden ornaments, not dissimilar to the casing of the gem that crowned his forehead, could be recognized. Deeming the area safe, Elane turned back to him, hands crossed on her chest as she eyed the corroded bone with a mixture of disgust and interest.
"That would be it for your Eternity," she summed up rather harshly.
He recoiled as if the remark hit him like a blow. "Do excuse me. Perhaps I should purge you of your Source and lock you in a space wide enough to take in a shallow breath, and see how you fare being let out after millennia."
"You are more than welcome to try," she spat back. "After you answer this; what is the deal with you and Voidwoken?"
The anguish of Fane's soul was lit anew as if wind blew into dying coals. He lost any inclination to talk, fighting the rolling urge to hide his face in his palms.
"They recognized you," the elf reminded with a sharp motion of her straightened hand. "And when that witch spoke… Have you understood what she said?"
"... No," he groaned, lying in hopes to be done with this interaction quickly.
Against his wishes, a hand shot forth like an angry viper, grasping the front of his garb and hoisting him up. Red-hot sparks seemed to wrathfully dance in Elane's eyes as she gave him one, hateful stare.
"Water and poison may not concern you, but I know ways to make your existence miserable still. SO TALK!" Her order echoed around their small refuge, assaulting the scholar with its intensity.
"W-why do you care?" He managed to blurt out, the raw fury shaking him to his very core.
"Why do I care? Has it not appeared in your brilliant, undying mind that there are women and children on the island? And the Void is hot on your tail?!"
"Voidwoken addressed all of us. Perhaps you would be able to hear it, had you not marched at the monster like a brainless twit!"
The two were yelling at each other in earnest by this point.
"I was trying to save you!"
He was not able to deny that. Both fell silent, searching for faults in the other's reasoning to renew their respective slanders but Elane's mind was first to drop this notion whatsoever, refocusing on a different aspect.
"Why? Why are they after you? What have you done?"
"What do you mean what have I done?" The undead picked up his agitated tone.
Elane's irises dropped, dizzy and jolting from one corner of the eye to the other. "Tomb. You were entombed but what for…? What did you do?" Her voice carried something frantic and confused within, hinted by the increased tempo of her words and snapping motions.
"We…talked about this-" He was one to remind, caught unawares by the elf's faulty memory. "Atop the fort's walls when we arrived. I was punished for my discovery."
She opened and closed shut the cabinets of her memory, looking for recollection of the events, but the archives became muddy, blurred, as if she stared into the sun for too long.
"I cannot… I do not remember."
All fire lost to the jumble effort of remembering, she finally let go of the scholar, and he fell heavily onto the ground again.
"I would not be surprised if it was the result of you being thrown like a ragdoll by that Voidwoken-" he murmured, straightening his garments.
"You were quite sober when we talked, and I dare say actively interested in that discourse. You were asking questions and I answered them all," he added, louder.
"It was merely a few nights ago…" she breathed in disbelief.
"Indeed, but you seem rather exhausted. And taking into consideration you died almost two times today, I would not blame you for not being in the most pristine shape intellectually. "
He was absolutely right. The day of escape, and it was only one day still, seemed endless. She collapsed, the flow of adrenaline that roused her to action in the first place faded. In truth, she had dozed off on the beach before, and a sudden sting of anxiety woke her up, battle-ready. Her head lolled on her long neck, head spinning.
"We will…We'll talk about this tomorr…ow."
Consciousness left her like a snuffed out candlelight, and she tumbled down onto the sand, remaining perfectly inert.
Fane grumbled, but internally he was thanking his lucky star for the elf's endurance finally failing her, as their conversation took a course that greatly upset him. He finally caved in, and buried his face in his palms, letting his helplessness be shown if only for a little while. Then came the issue of his damaged legs. He himself was incapable of wielding necromancy - the only kind of restorative spells that actually mended his withered body, but since his awakening, he learned a trick to circumvent that. Crawling up to the elf and her bag, now laying strewn on the cavern's soft flooring, he procured a vial of poison, one he found during their heist of the keep, and then slipped into the elf's baggage when she was busy redressing herself back at Orivand's office. He would commend himself on his forethought, had his mind not been swamped by the recent events.
He poured the wickedly green liquid on his legs and watched the dents sizzle and mend through some ironic whim of the Universe. The mending was far from perfect, if anything it was a barely serviceable solution. The bone seemed to puff and expand from the reaction, filling in the gaps haphazardly than actually restoring the tissue, but it was good enough for now.
After that was done, Fane stared at his disfigured form with pity, his hand resting atop the four-faced shape of his mask. He thought he mourned the loss of his old self enough, while he was still enduring the silent horrors of the tomb, but being let out to roam in this broken state was somehow even worse than the initial punishment. He put the empty glass bottle back into Elane's pack, heavens knew this material was difficult to come by where they were, and he donned his elven face again, resting outside of their refuge. The slip of sand that rimmed the cliff's feet was so narrow his feet were being licked by the waves even without straightening his legs. Pulling out his notebook from his own, barely filled bag, he basked in the last rays of the setting sun, alone with his thoughts, trying to make sense of all that he saw and heard that day.
A silent curse from a now-dead language left his thoughts and materialized as a sound targeted at the very heavens. The nightime's stillness was both a malady and a blessing.