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Cintra
The Deadwoods

The world shard stood in sight, finally, after four days of riding through the deadwoods. No more guardian monsters pursued them, they faced no more wandering undead, but they had plenty of other things to worry about when they at last reached their destination. As all were weary from too many sleepless nights, paranoia started to settle in as the men began to jump at every shadow. Only Geralt and Vandal stood steady as oak trees facing the storm; for the witcher had been through many trials that hardened his resolve, and the knight had lived through that nightmare all his life.

Indeed, they made quite the pair amongst lesser men.

The warriors ascended the rocky cliffs that surrounded the cradle of earth in which the world shard rested in, and they beheld the remains of a mighty citadel cut out of the face of Saggrel. Those of Cintra never had the chance to name this place, for no one had ever gotten this far, deep into the heart of the source of the undead incursions.

The citadel was a ruin unlike any other, its buildings toppled and askew from their foundations as the shard landed atop the Continent. The earth beneath it cracked, exposing a deep abyssal fissure that stretched for miles across the sundered valley. The wind howled as the chill of the unnatural winter made itself known to the interloping warriors. In the middle of the citadel stood a large cathedral, a temple to the greatly revered Lady of the Light, where curious blue light pierced the dimness of the bleak atmosphere. Stone statues of men, dragons and gargoyles still stood proudly at the gates of the citadel, all were faded monuments to Saggrel's glory long past. Vandal saw the tattered standard of the forgotten kingdom that once ruled it, then recognized the citadel for what it once stood for and grew sad.

"You know this place?" Geralt asked.

Vandal removed his helmet as if to pay his respects, "Yes, this was once my home. I was born here, and it had a name once."

The witcher waited for him to speak its name, then asked when he would not tell of it. "You gonna tell me about it?"

"No." Vandal sighed, putting his helmet back on. "That memory, that precious memory, I shall hold to myself."

The closer they got to the gates, the louder the noises from within rang in their ears, showing that the ruins of the citadel remained very much occupied till that day. However, it was clear that whatever remained in that cursed place was an affront to life and a danger to the Continent. All of it must be destroyed, whatever the cost.

"You know this place, so I think it's best that you lead from here." Sir Weyland said shakily as he shivered from the cold. "Tell us, Champion, what must we do?"

Vandal turned to see everyone looking at him expectantly, and thought long about the plan to see them through this nightmare. "We ride for that cathedral, but slowly so as not to make too much noise. There will be many who will stand in our way, I'd rather we don't shake up the hornet's nest any more than we have to, so let's avoid any direct confrontations. To tell the truth, I am blind to what is going on as much as you are- but I'll make damned sure that I'll figure it out when it counts. Are you ready?"

Everyone nodded in agreement, though not as eagerly as they could have been, for they only wished it all to be over soon.

"Right then, let's ride."

They did as he planned, riding slowly through the maze of ruined buildings, the broken cobblestone streets filled with wandering and prostrated undead, every attempt made at avoiding direct conflict with the cursed denizens. Curiously enough, most of the undead warriors that stood or sat in their path were not at all aggressive. They would gaze up at the untainted warriors with hollow eyes, whisper in cracked, parched voices then return to their reverie.

"I see no army here." Enris remarked, pulling his fur cloak around his body tighter.

"Appearances can be deceiving." Geralt reminded the mercenary.

"The citadel has a network of underground catacombs, built to hold the honored dead." Vandal revealed, "The wars fought through the centuries proved its necessity, I fear that they may have only served to provide the undead army an endless supply of troops."

"How many do you think there may be?" Sir Kane asked.

"Impossible to know for certain." The young knight replied, "Hundreds? Thousands? Millions?"

"Ye gods!"

"Indeed." Vandal agreed, "Which is why we must put a stop to this, for if they grow too strong they might overwhelm the Continent entire."

The streets they entered to get further into the heart of the citadel were clogged with ice walls two meters thick and thirty feet high, so Vandal bade them all to make their own route through the buildings, hammering through the soft brick or stone walls to reach the other side. Every now and then, the noise they made drew the more vicious denizens of the citadel out of their hovels to their presence, and the warriors had to find better ground to fight them off which took more of their precious time.

They broke into the next street and then the next, keeping their mounts at a steady pace as they walked closer and closer to the threshold of the cathedral grounds. They entered the wrenched and bent gates of the once holy place, forcing aside any obstacle in the way, then dismounted. The warriors led their horses by the reins, with their weapons at the ready. They walked into the cathedral grounds, through the large snow-filled courtyard where dozens of frozen statues of black iron and gray marble stood on rows upon neat little rows- statues of sorrowful angels weeping bitter tears into the cracked basins in their hands. Saggrel was dead, never again would they weep for the damned.

In the middle, just before the massive gilded doors that served as the cathedral main entrance, there stood a knight dressed in faded black cast-iron armor.

He stood with his hands grasping tightly to the beautifully engraved greatsword that was stuck into the ground before him, and though frost had settled upon him as it would an unmoving statue, he remained very much alive and aware of his surroundings. The armor he wore was the same kind as Vandal's old armor, but had the regalia of the citadel's elite knights from the House of the Oroborosine- the same order that Vandal had once been sworn in. Brass snakes coiled around his pauldrons and greaves, and the snakeskin pattern scutes adorned his gauntlets and breastplate.

His helmet, however, was gone. The face, gaunt, weathered and gray with unlife, lifted up to gaze at the approaching warriors with eyes that were white as the snow that covered the ground around him.

After leaving their mounts behind at the gate, the knights of Cintra surrounded him, but did not attack, for Vandal would not have them do so. He removed his helm and approached the knight, unsure if revealing his face would hold any significance, but he did try.

"I sense warmth in you." The hollowed knight remarked in a voice unchanged by the curse. "Curious...who are you and why have you come?"

"I am Vandal of Saggrel, Knight of Cintra and the Vestige of Warmth." Vandal answered, "The people of this world have named me their champion, so I've come with these noble warriors to put an end to the threat of the undead incursions that springs from this ruined citadel."

"Then you are a fool to have come..." The hollowed knight said with a shake of the head after a long pause, "...for to rid this world of one evil, you will unleash another."

"What are you talking about?"

Another shake of the head, "Alas, I shall not tell you." With a loud grunt, he retrieved his greatsword and hefted it on his shoulder, clearly readying himself for battle. "This, Vandal of Saggrel, is as far as you will go. Return from whence you've come. Leave the Howling Citadel and never return."

"You will fight me?" Vandal said, "To defend the hordes of undead that will surely cast blight upon this world as it did on ours?"

"No, to deny a greater evil a chance at resurrection." The undead knight tightened his lips and snarled, "I do not wish to fight you, but I shall do so...for this is my duty...this is my curse."

"I see." Vandal nodded, donning his helm once more. "But I cannot allow you to stand in our way."

"So be it." The undead knight swung his greatsword around his head and slammed it down against the ground, splitting the stones with a powerful surge of eldritch energy that sent the warriors staggering back, separating Vandal from the others so he could strike him down first. "You shall all die here this day...but you will serve purpose in joining me in undeath."

"That may be a little difficult in my case." Vandal replied, accepting the knight's challenge for a duel.

The undead knight lunged forward, only to be parried away by a well placed strike from Vandal's mace. On one hand, he wielded Ashseeker and the mace in the other. His comrades were hesitant to intervene, while Geralt just stood by to watch with amusement, curious to see how his companion would fare alone in this fight.

Both knights traded thundering blows on one another, sending sparks flying wherever they struck. For near an hour, they fought, owing to their relentlessness and their inhuman tenacity.

Then, the undead knight drew back his blade, called upon whatever fell powers he had at his disposal, then thrust it forward to unleash a beam of darkness that narrowly missed Vandal as he spun around to dodge the sorcerous strike. Using the same momentum that got him out of harm's way, he willingly dove back to close the distance.

And once he got close, Vandal bellowed out a heavy gout of flame that sent the undead knight into a panicked frenzy.

The hollow gasped and flailed wildly as the flames cooked him in his armor, and he fell to his knees in defeat. Vandal approached and raised his mace to deliver the final blow, but was stopped when his opponent yielded and called for mercy.

"Wait!" He rasped as he raised a shaky hand, "You are victorious! I beg you, hear my words!"

Vandal nodded and lowered his weapon, "Speak."

"There will be no stopping you...I see that now." Half of the poor wretch's face had been reduced to a charred skull, and the charred flesh therein still glowed brightly from the tiny flames eating at his face. He raised his other hand to point at the gilded doors that remained shut under his protection, "Inside is the Ebony Heart, a profaned sacred relic to the Lady of the Light- to Androstine. Yes, it is the heart that now beats for the many undead that no longer have their own. Many of us crave the warmth of the living, proof that we do not deserve to have this relic, this is also true...but the Ebony Heart, it is also the only thing keeping the Iron Revenant from coming to claim what is his!"

"Speak plainly." Vandal said with a frown, "Who is this Iron Revenant you speak of?"

The undead knight's face was one of fear, "You remember he who doomed us all to the White Frost? He who, in his madness, destroyed Saggrel and condemned us all to a slow death? He plunged himself into the abyss in the final hours of the battle that sealed his fate and ours, but he did not die! He embraced the Heart of Saggrel and became one with it! Now, as the wandering world crumbles, he comes close to unleashing the same plague upon this world. Destroying the Ebony Heart will remove the last obstacle in his path, and he will be drawn to this world- free to repeat history as he sees fit!"

He spoke of Lorosi, the Mad Sorcerer King! How could he have not died after all those years? And yet, such a mad thought was not at all impossible. Vandal was living proof of the impossible. Though he had not seen the Sorcerer King's madness in person, he saw enough of the remnants of his work to know what untold horrors could be unleashed upon the Continent.

Now faced with the dilemma of choice, Vandal found himself burdened with the weight of each thought, and he was not alone. All the others who heard the undead knight speak were unnerved, to say the least. Every one of them grew pale, even the witcher. Though they had no idea how bad it was, what they heard was enough to speak volumes on their current situation. However, it was clear that they were in favor of the destroying the undead source. They had lost much to get where they were.

But for Vandal, he very much knew that they stood to lose a lot more if this Iron Revenant, this Heart of Saggrel, would be unleashed upon the Continent.

Firstly, he had to make sure. "Stand." He said to the undead knight, "Take us inside and show us the Ebony Heart. I must see it before I can make a decision."

The knight hesitated at first, but relented in the end. "If that is your wish." He rose up and carried his blade as he would a cross, then led them through the gilded doors, and into the cathedral's inner sanctum. All across the ruined floors, there were undead pilgrims prostrated before flickering candles or those who embraced faded relics of long dead saints. They all looked to the visitors with fear in their eyes, for they knew that their presence there spelled only doom.

The undead knight showed them the Ebony Heart, and though it was said to have been profaned, the relic remained very much a beautiful work of art. The golden statues of warrior angels bore a giant burning brazier aloft on their shoulders, which burned with the fires dancing atop the ashen remains of some unnamed saint. Curiously, the fire was as blue as the one light that shone atop the cathedral, the same one that beckoned to them when they first laid eyes on the ruined citadel.

Again, Geralt's medallion began to hum, for the entire place reeked of very powerful magics.

"Behold, the Ebony Heart, profaned by the Cursed High Priestess Astiele of whose ashes the very souls of the lost and the damned of this forsaken bastion are linked to." The undead knight said weakly, for his strength had left him from Vandal's burning wrath. "Before you stands a choice...Vandal of Saggrel."

Vandal frowned, looking to his companions helplessly as he did not wish to have to decide for this himself. He found no support for any other choice than dousing the flames, for they knew very little about the threat of the Mad Sorcerer King, of his horrors and his cruelty- if this undead knight's words had any truth in them at all.

"I do not wish to believe these words are true." Vandal declared as he drew close to the relic. "But I do, and I find myself at a crossroads. Neither choice is as simple as it seems."

He turned to face everyone, living or undead, and made a decision that surprised all. "You said that these ashes link your souls, binding you to this world? And if I destroy this vessel, I summon Lorosi into the Continent to begin the Age of the Blackest Night anew...I tell you what I wish to do...I am the Vestige of Warmth. I shall become the Heart that links you, and so too become the Harbinger of the Iron Revenant's return."

The undead knight was speechless.

"I will this to be so." Vandal declared out loud for all to hear, finding courage in his choice with every word that passed from his lips. "Let the Iron Revenant come, let the Mad Sorcerer King come...I shall neither let you become a plague on this world nor let his return come without repercussion. Let him come, for he shall meet an army ready to face him."

"I...I do not know if this is possible." The undead knight said, "What if you're wrong?"

"I'm not." Vandal lied, turning to face the brazier that held the ashes of Priestess Astiele, ready to become a true Vestige of Warmth by linking all those souls to himself. Such a timid and humble vessel he would make, never sure that his plan would ever work, but would nevertheless be committed to his goal. He was to save the land from the undead threat, and in so doing he would pave the way for a greater evil's return. No one in his shoes would ever be so sure of one's self.

And so Vandal reached into the brazier and embraced the flames, breathing them in to touch his very soul. This transition of power was painless, but it felt strange, for he never attempted such a feat before. Souls in the thousands, lost to the darkness and corrupted by cursed flame, some dimming into nothing as they hollowed out over the years. He felt them all, reaching and grasping like the gnarled roots of dying trees.

Then, a roaring sea of thoughts like that of one in the middle of a raging storm, then suddenly growing calm by his word.

The knights of Cintra, Enris and his mercenaries, and Geralt- they all watched as Vandal's eyes glowed brightly like that of a divine being's. Linked with the souls of the undead, willingly transferring life back into their hollowed vessels, Vandal became their renewed and beating heart. The flames on the brazier died out slowly until nothing, not even embers remained.

The light from the cathedral flickered like a spent candle, and just like that, the storms grew quiet. The magic battling in the skies, that which kept the final world shard of the crumbling wandering world of Saggrel in place, dissipated like a mist from the early morning's rays. The Great Shard emerged from the wandering world and began its slow descent into space.

And thus, Vandal unleashed a terrible curse upon the Continent.

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