(See Chapter One for Disclaimer)
"What do you mean you're not coming back?!" Rast shrieked, drawing stares from the people boarding the Requiem for her journey back to Rathir. They had spent the days after their victory over Dead Kel getting to know one another. After that first spontaneous, and rather intense, bout of love making, time passed by way of stories from Rast and what little Ymir could remember from before his resurrection in the Well of Souls, along with his adventures during the war. She felt that real progress had been made, that they could finally see about getting their life together started. But then he dropped that little piece of information on her. What the in the Hell was he thinking?!
Ymir winced, holding up his hand in a pacifying gesture. "Rast, please calm down. I am coming back. Just not at this time. There's something here that I still have to do, something important." She rounded on him.
"What could be more important that what we have?! I know you feel it, just as strongly as I do. After weeks of being trapped here, being forced to fight all sorts of terrible monsters, we finally get to go home! Why would you ever want to stay here?"
He sighed. "You know that Gnome from the village, the one they call Paddy?" Rast nodded, the impatient look on her face a sign to get to the point. "He took me to the abandoned fort north of the village. Rast… I can't explain it. There's something pulling me there, as if the building were alive and asking for my help. This is something I feel I have to do." He closed the distance between them, cupping her heart-shaped face in his rough, calloused hands. "Please, love, trust me. Have I failed you, or lead you astray when it truly mattered?" She scowled a bit, looking down to hide her watery eyes. Eventually she shook her head in the negative. "Then trust me now. Two months. Return to Rathir, collect your reward for Dead Kel, and gather supplies. Come back to these shores in two months, and I will be here."
"Promise me, you big oaf. Promise you'll be here." Her arms encircled him in a bone-crushing hug. She had to admit, he did have a point; not once in their adventure had he ever let her down. And she could understand the feeling of having to do something even if you couldn't explain, or even understand why. Still, that didn't mean she had to like it. When she released him from her embrace, she felt something slide over her finger. A silver band. Rast looked up questioningly.
"That ring signifies me as Archsage of the Scholia Arcana. I won the right to wear it through sweat, fire, and blood. It is very precious to me. I ask that you wear it until you come back. By then I will have something more befitting the greatest sailor in Amalur." Sniffling, she smiled and hugged him again as he leaned in for a quick kiss. She could handle two months away from him. His gift would make that easier.
"Off you go pretty, it's time for me to set sail." With a quick salute he hopped back onto the dock, watching his consort shout out orders to her crew.
"Was it wise to give her that ring? From what I know of the Scholia Arcana, I believe the rings amplify the wearer's powers, do they not?"
Ymir looked down to see Padrig Dower, the Gnome castaway who first told him about Gravehal Keep. "It puts my mind at ease knowing that she has the protections the ring grants. And I still carry my Savant's Ring," Ymir said, slipping the ring onto his finger. "The enhancements it provides will suffice until her return."
Paddy chuckled. "As you say."
"I do. Go prepare yourself. We make for the Hall at mid-day." Ymir's attention went back to the ship he had fought so hard to win pulling out of the harbor. The last few weeks had been hard, but he had weathered them as he did everything else that life threw at him. But it was Rast Brattigan, however, that made dealing with it easier. It was a noticeable change from his prior adventures where it had been just him, or at best, Agarth. With the old fateweaver there were a few lewd jokes, maybe a drink or two or seven in Agarth's case, but with Rast there stories from her childhood, her limitless cheer, and of course, lewd jokes. He sighed. Hopefully clearing out a dilapidated fort would keep his mind of her.
xxxXXXxxx
"I fucking hate Scavs," he growled, kicking the last of the disgusting beasts aside. If he ever decided to stay, he'd make a point of removing the entire species from the island. Though he supposed that for now he'd settle for making Gravehal Scav-free. Despite its advanced age, over five hundred years according to Paddy, the main structure itself was remarkably untouched, as if the timbers had been felled only the day before. When properly restored, it would make a fine keep. Even now it was certainly more hospitable than Cape Solace. Still... Something felt off. A malevolent presence hung heavy in the air, as if something was lurking beneath the surface.
"The keep was not haunted. It was overrun. Monsters, not phantoms, inhabited the dark hallways," Paddy intoned, breaking him from his line of thinking. The former architect nodded to the throne. "Go on. You've beaten back the beasts. You've braved the shadows. You've earned the right to claim the seat." His gaze turned to Ymir. This warrior had purged the wild monsters from this grand hall while he could only watch. Though it had been his dream these long months to restore Gravehal Keep, this man had earned the right to rule it. "Sit upon your throne. You are the rightful ruler of Gravehal now." Ymir nodded, walking purposefully toward the great wooden throne, his prior sense of dread forgotten in this moment. Sitting in the chair granted him an expansive view of the hall. He could almost picture it at the height of its power. It felt right being there.
Paddy chuckled. "For years the villagers of Cape Solace were too craven to enter this great hall. And here you are, freshly washed ashore, and you march right in and take it. Haunted? Never. Just a few small beasts. Nothing you couldn't handle." An unearthly scream tore through the hall, shaking the dust from the rafters. A scream that Ymir was very familiar with. He turned to Paddy.
"You just had to say that, didn't you?" A pillar of blue flames erupted from the floor, spreading a deep, piercing chill through the room. 'Never known a Niskaru to do that,' he thought as a claw shot out of the flames, the body of a Niskaru Tyrant following suit. No, not a Tyrant. While its flesh was a hodgepodge of knots of muscle and bone with the foul stench of decay all around it, this creature was different from the Niskaru Tyrants he had faced throughout Amalur. Whereas they had hearts of red fire radiating heat so fierce they could melt flesh, this beast was wreathed in blue flames with that ungodly chill that bit at the very soul. He'd read about them in an ancient text he found in the Warsworn Vaults. The Niskaru Horrinux. "Paddy, hide!"
The beast crossed the room with speed he'd only ever seen from Bloodhunters, ramming its deformed face into him, sending him into a wall. Trained reflexes allowed him to block, if only barely. Rolling off to the side he unsheathed his daggers, the Mirrorknives. They had been enchanted with electricity, and crafted from Niskaru skin which gave their edge a deadly bite. This creature had raw power, but Ymir had speed and technique. Rolling to dodge the massive claw trying to take his head off, he blinked to cover the distance between them, his weapons a blur as they sliced through demonic flesh. The Horrinux angled its head down, blue flames welling up behind the skeletal facemask. Ymir blinked to the side, hurling a fistful of lightning into the beast, staggering it. Scourgebane sang through the air, cleaving into the Niskaru's side. The creature howled and shot out an arm, knocking sword and swordsman across the hall.
"I will feast on your flesh dustling!"
'Never heard a Niskaru do that before,' he thought, bringing up his shield to hold back the torrent of freezing cold hellfire that sought to envelop him.
"I have seen into your heart… I know your fears! Your woman will be our plaything while we feast on your innards!"
Now, as Bloodgrin could have told anyone if his head had not been reduced to a fine paste, the one thing you do not do in front of Ymir of the Varani is threaten one Captain Rast Brattigan. This mistake had only one consequence: a slow, violent death. With unnatural ease he threw his greatsword, the weight and momentum of the blade sinking it deep into the demon's chest, eliciting a horrifying gurgled shriek. The rock beneath the floor rose up as he stomped towards his prey, the jagged pillars of stone pinning the Horrinux in place as he jumped up onto its head, driving the Mirrorknives into a pair of smoldering eyes. As the beast shrieked Ymir grabbed hold of its lower mandibles, prying them far apart. "Get out of my house," he growled, jerking his arms with one last burst of strength. Tendons and muscles ripped with sickening wet snaps, jaw bones dangling by sinewy threads. He leapt down to avoid the Niskaru's fiery breath, landing on Scourgebane's handle. The sudden application of weight turned the sword into a giant lever, arcing the blade up, slicing through the throat and what remained of the head in a spray of blood. There was no more movement, save for the occasional twitch. Reckoning could have ended it sooner, but he wanted the satisfaction drawing out the creature's death. A few extra wounds were well worth it.
"It looks as though the keep had one more surprise left for us," Paddy murmured. When the Niskaru had appeared, he could do little more than heed Ymir's command to hide, taking refuge behind a pile of rubble. He was glad he did. The Varani moved with the purpose and grace of a seasoned warrior, and the power he threw around was… It was just beyond belief. It seemed he wasn't the Archsage for nothing. "The keep is now yours. Let me be the first to offer you my services, my liege."
"Accepted, Padrig Dower of Adessa. You spoke to me when we first met of restoring this keep to its former glory. Is that still your desire?"
Paddy couldn't believe it! In less than a day his dream of restoring Gravehal, the only good thing about being stranded on this wretched island, had come true. "I am glad you asked my liege! I have many plans for restoration and improvement! When I am through your keep shall be the envy of Amalur. I will start immediately! First a total restoration of the main structure, outside and in. And, if my liege approves, a beast pen in the outer courtyard? All I will require will be two bundles of beachstone, three bundles of emberwood, and three bundles of sailcloth."
"Approved. I have the supplies you need stockpiled near Cape Solace." He knew there would be a good reason for hauling back all of those materials. "I have one request though, Paddy."
"My liege?"
Ymir looked to the freshly slain Niskaru. "Mount its head over the front of the main gate. When word gets out about the keep, we shall new enemies to deal with. I want to send them a message."
"Y-yes, my liege. Your will shall be done."
"We start in the morning Paddy. We both need rest." Prying his weapons from the body, he motioned for Paddy to follow him. It was getting dark out. Thinking back on it, maybe it had been best that Rast had left. If the Niskaru hadn't killed him, she certainly would have.
A/N: Sorry for the long delay, I'll try to speed it up. Paddy's dialog is taken and adapted from the game.