Chapter III
Scars
Eva was leaning on her spear, staring off into the distance, while Priest stared down at the bodies. Corrupted Rogues covered their once-sisters where they fell over those they helped destroy, all equal in death and all covered in red.
Priest moved his head slightly to get Eva in his peripheral vision, light breeze tugging at his hair.
"Rouge is the colour of passion," he remarked. "And you will find nothing as passionate as a soul in departure from body."
She moved some stray persistent hairs from her eyes with the back of her hand, scoffing at him absently.
"They are heroes."
Priest took a long, slow breath, glancing away and back again in that way that conveyed nothing but distaste.
"A hero? A hero is someone who dies a heroic death. A glorious, heroic death for the one who tried and never succeeded. An empty victory, for him who fought so hard when he should be winning instead."
His eyes bored into her as he spoke, intensifying every word into a needle.
"You are strange, warlock," Eva muttered, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes.
He sheathed the bastard sword he was holding by his side all this time, blood encrusted on the old blade. It made a dull metallic sound as it slid into the scabbard.
"Yet I am victorious. And they," he made an idle step toward the heap of dead Rogues, his armour clinking softly under thick cloth of the cloak. "Are better off dead."
He observed the bodies with studious detachment, occasionally pausing to nudge with the tip of his boot, but in a way that wasn't really probing for life. It seemed more like a testing of material, texture.
Eva couldn't stand the ease with which he moved through carnage, with what cold aloofness he regarded the remains of someone's friends, lovers, relatives. She couldn't decide whether she was appalled or envious.
A shimmer of gold caught her attention, spilled pouch half-concealed under a bloodstained limb.
She made a strained noise as she bent down, her muscled thighs stretching the armour straps.
"You are hurt."
His words made her back stiffen with some anxiety, the dispassionate tone in which he delivered his keen observation adding to her discomfort. A bit too keen for her liking.
"I am wounded," she replied pointedly. "It's nothing serious. Nothing to waste a healing potion on."
Priest just regarded her silently, and she suppressed an urge to cough. She looked away, focusing on something in the distance.
"Cold Plains should be just in that direction from here, according to the map the Rogues provided," Eva noted, for she had studied the document well.
Priest nodded silently, slowly and unseen to her. Eva turned back to him, fighting the weariness from her face. Her eyes were once more drawn to a particular detail about him. She noticed a goldened hilt of a sword peeking from under his cloak at his waist at times, the crossguard and pommel inordinately intricate and detailed. But she had never witnessed him unsheathe the sword, whether in combat or otherwise, so it was hard to tell what manner of weapon it was, apart that it was a straight longsword.
Her eyes travelled, almost as if of their own accord, back to the bastard sword on his back. She could not help but notice how much dirtier and worn it appeared than the first weapon, almost like a reminder to the cold reality of present war.
"Let us be on our way," Priest reminded mildly, spurring her into action again.
She hoisted her own spear, on the brink of breaking as it was, and started towards the distant Cold Plains confidently.
The area was quiet, but in a very tense, unnatural kind of way. Inhuman sounds could be heard in the distance, carried across the moors on the wind, and every now and then a mutilated body served as a grim reminder. A stunted and disproportionate demon, twisted even more grotesquely in death. A dead Rogue with limbs at unnatural angles and covered in blood, her bow trampled into the ground not far away. A man with lower half of his body missing, entrails trailing out. A naked woman face-down in the grass, with deep red gashes razing her back. A young child crumpled against a large rock, blackened with decay and covered in flies.
Scarcely pleasant were the sights that greeted them.
They barely walked for long when they came to the opening expanse of Cold Plains. And on the border, amidst the ruins of an old fort, a Rogue.
She greeted them with as much curt apprehension as any other Rogue, the Necromancer's presence not eluding her. Just his presence alone evoked fear and wonder in them, it seemed to Eva.
"Be warned, warriors," she said ominously. "There be many enemies just ahead, far too many for a small party like yours."
"We have been there before, we know the dangers," Eva shifted her weight uneasily. "How many?"
Flavie scoffed into distance dramatically.
"Many. A lot."
Necromancer slid his pale eyes from her to Eva, some sour grimace creeping to his face.
"Well. With such accurate tactical estimation, how can we fail?"
Eva offered a meaningful look before turning back to Flavie.
"Will you remain here?"
Flavie's eyes flicked to her worriedly.
"I'm waiting for a scouting party to return, they are long overdue already," she looked up at the almost midday sun pointedly. "I worry for them."
Eva rested her spear against a crumbling wall, looking around tentatively.
"This is a dangerous area to be waiting in. Maybe we could wait with you until the scouts return?"
An uncertain expression settled on Flavie's face, while Priest rolled his eyes in the background in apparent annoyance.
"Though your assistance is not needed, I am nevertheless grateful," she managed a small smile that almost didn't look forced. "Especially from a sister Amazon."
Eva nodded back in acknowledgement, and glanced triumphantly at Priest.
"Good."
Aliza felt exhausted from the running and fighting, her legs burning with effort. Despite her harsh Rogue training, the strains and stresses of constant threat from demons was weighing on her heavily. Judging by the looks of her companion, she didn't fare much better. It was another narrow escape, with her and Oriana being the only survivors of a Corrupted Rogue ambush further in. Their scouting mission was suppoed to be a simple affair, quickly in and quickly out, but, like so many other things these days, went horribly wrong. The skirmish was brutal and intense, with many good sisters falling before her tired eyes. Aliza was still too numb and running on adrenaline to think about it properly, but she just knew their tormented faces will haunt her in the evening, when she is back to the safety of barracks tent.
"Look!" Oriana's voice brought her back to reality. "Ahead, we made it! We reached the Blood Moor!"
There was relief in her voice as she pointed to the lone figure standing vigil by the ruins up ahead, the ever-reliable Flavie. Except that she wasn't alone anymore, with two more figures waiting with her. They spotted them as well, and were now all turned in their direction. Aliza felt a cold precognition as she saw them, a distant feeling in the back of her mind.
"I wonder who's that with Flavie?" Oriana spoke up again as they slowed their pace. "They aren't sisters...probably some people from the camp."
"Hail, sisters!" Flavie called to them, with no small amount of relief, though not without pain either.
There were six of them when they set out.
"Hail, Flavie!" Oriana greeted with equal camaraderie. "So glad to see your face again, that you are unharmed!"
"Indeed, sister," Flavie said somberly. "I only wish I could say the same for those that left with you."
"The area ahead is far more overrun than we thought," Aliza spoke up for the first time, unable to fully hide distress in her voice. "They're all..." she trailed off distantly, bringing some pained silence over the small group.
"I am sorry for your loss," Eva said commiseratingly.
The two Rogues' attention was now turned to the newcomers.
"These two are from the camp," Flavie offered by way of explanation. "A sister Amazon and another warrior. They came by and offered aid."
It was not missed by anyone how vaguely and dismissively she presented the Necromancer, just as his true profession didn't elude the two Rogues. Oriana shifted her weight uneasily, exchanging meaningful glances with Aliza. She recognized the man as soon as she set her eyes on him, just as her sister no doubt did. Even though he did little at the moment past watching them disinterestedly, she still felt the tugging urge to put as much space between him and herself.
Oriana felt a haze of deep-seated unease around this man. It was an anxiety hard to define and even harder to explain, but undoubtedly stemming from the depth of unconsciousness. And judging by the brief talks with her sisters, she was not alone in feeling this. There was just something sublimely sinister about him, even as cloaked and common as he appeared.
"Their deaths will be avenged," Flavie said firmly, perhaps reassuring herself as much as her sisters.
Oriana grunted in agreement, jaw clenched. Aliza looked away scoffing, clearly battling some strong emotion.
"All life comes to an end," Priest spoke up from where he was leaning against the ruined wall, arms crossed and eyes deprecating, as if to heighten their unease. "Such is the nature of the Great Cycle of Being."
His voice was calm and measured, and, much like his mannerism, brimming with some subdued intensity. Another stunned silence hung for a moment or two, before Oriana retorted with some indignation.
"Their deaths were horrible and unecessary! They died far before their time!"
Flavie and Aliza scowled at him stormily in her sister's agreement.
Priest uncrossed his arms to lean forward pointedly.
"And what would you know about such matters?"
"They died for a good cause, at least," Eva interposed, dividing the attention of Rogues. "They died fighting. More than could be said for some."
There was a pregnant pause before Flavie spoke up, somewhat mollified.
"We should report back to Kashya immediately," she exchanged concerned looks with Oriana and Aliza. "She needs to know about this."
Oriana nodded vigorously, while Aliza just stared ahead despondently.
"Let's go."
They made to depart, but Eva signalled for them to wait.
"Warlock, I think we should go with them back to the encampment," she collected her spear resolutely as she spoke. "We should be heading back soon enough either way, and there is strength in numbers."
Priest regarded her from under his brow cynically, glancing briefly at the uneasy Rogues.
"If you wish. Anything to stop standing aimlessly about."
O O O
Eva moved through the camp briskly, some resolve brightening her face and lightening her step. Her leather armour was mended and polished by Charsi, though her flesh still felt sore. She didn't mind much, it kept the true danger of what she was facing in the forefront, and right now her mind was racing with other things.
Priest followed her approach with his eyes from where he sat, a picture of haggard serenity. She came up to him with a palpable air of accomplishment, placing her fists on her hips triumphantly.
"I have spoken with Akara," she began meaningfully.
Priest turned a laconic look up at her.
"And what did she have to say?"
"She asked to see us in her tent immediately, and Kashya is there also," her tone made clear that this was to be of some importance. "We would do well to go and see what they need of us."
Priest grimaced in annoyed distaste.
"What makes you think they hold my alliance, much less allegiance?" he challenged.
Eva was taken aback for a moment, then resumed her firm stance.
"That's hardly a way to gain the Rogues' trust," she said scornfully.
Priest was now studying her critically from under his brow.
"Their trust is irrelevant, their respect is irrelevant. They are irrelevant. It is only our common interest that matters, do you understand?"
Eva leaned away distrustfully.
"I understand, but I do not agree. Warlock, this is important. Of what little Akara told me, there is a place of great danger not far from the encampment. Demons are gathering there, most likely this is where they are launching their attacks in the Blood Moor from. The Rogues have dubbed it the 'Den of Evil'," she said with dramatic grimness.
"How original," Priest quipped dryly, somewhat spoiling the effect.
Eva flicked a long glance his way, skewering him with her eyes.
"Nevertheless, it is our destination."
Priest rose and took a heavy step toward the bag lying not far from him, potions and various trinkets spilling from it sloppily.
"Yes," he agreed at length. "Rooting out this demonic entrenchment should significantly destabilize their spearhead into the area."
Eva stopped and watched him suspiciously for a few moments, surprised by his apparent abrupt change of heart.
"Right," she added as she helped him collect the potions. "And give the Rogues some breathing room."
She straightened suddenly, her brows furrowing as if a thought just struck her.
"Did you..."
He paused where he crouched, raising an eyebrow up at her questioningly.
"Nevermind," she shook her head dismissively.
Priest nodded vaguely, then pulled the bag close and rose with an air of finality.
"To Akara, then."
Kashya was already in Akara's tent when they arrived, their strained conversation petering out awkwardly as Eva and Priest entered. The air inside was ladden with incense as the last time she was here, though Eva's attention was less focused on taking in the surroundings with two penetrating sets of eyes on her.
Akara and Kasyha deemed to greet them with silence, grave and expectant and utterly suffocating. Priest seemed little inconvenienced by it, Eva noted silently with some mild annoyance. Silence came like breathing to him, she knew this well. She suspected that if left to his own devices, he would simply stand there and stare back at the Rogue leaders, like a man watching pine boughs swaying in the wind.
"Ah, Eva," Akara stressed the name meaningfully, conspiratorially. "I am glad you could come on such short notice."
"How could I not? From what you told me, this is a serious matter," Eva responded grimly.
Akara nodded with some sadness in her features, while Kashya remained stoic and hard.
"Indeed, a terrible danger preys upon us all, and I have given you but the most brief information," her green eyes flicked to Priest momentarily. "You know already of what I speak, Necromancer."
Eva snapped a sharp look on Priest at this, but he paid her no heed. Instead, his mesmerizing attention was focused solely on Akara.
"This foul place is a grave danger to all of us gathered here," she continued, with unbroken resolve. "Will you not aid us?"
"Wait, how did-" Eva struggled to interject, but nobody was paying much attention.
"I serve the Equilibrium, and none other. I have come here to restore balance; if in the process I also come to aid you, then so be it."
Akara slowly nodded, studying him steadily.
"I understand."
Kashya shifted her weight tensely, turning to Akara.
"Does that mean we can count on their swords or not, High Priestess?"
The cloaked Necromancer appeared bored and annoyed as he glanced at her. When he spoke again, it was more of impatience than any discernible sympathy.
"Yes, we will do this for you. We will seek out this...den of evil, and we will succeed where you have failed."
"How dare you-" Kashya began angrily, but a raised hand from Akara silenced her.
"If you do, you shall have our gratitude," the old woman's voice was graceful and lined with fine aristocratic threads. "And our trust, both in your intentions and your skill."
Priest offered a distasteful expression, showing plainly just how little he valued such offerings.
"Of course," Eva interrupted the brewing tension, swallowing her anger and sending a disapproving look his way. "We would be glad to help, but we must supply ourselves first."
"Very well," Akara said gravely. "Do not think your offered assistance goes without appreciation. Come to the war tent at nightfall tomorrow. We will gather Rogue Lieutenants and most capable adventurers in the war council at dusk."
She paused for a moment, hesitating.
"Seek help from the others as well, Amazon. There are many warriors here that would gladly help you. Perhaps we may even lend some of our sisters to your plight," here she shot Kashya a meaningful look. "We shall see."
Eva nodded tightly.
"We will do as you say."
She briefly acknowledged Kashya then gestured to Priest, who was preoccupied with mud stains on his cape. Drizzling rain emphasized the moroseness hanging about them as they walked away from Akara's tent, side by side. Boots sank in the mush of mud and trampled grass with each step, just deep enough to be of annoyance.
"Next time I will speak, warlock, and you will not interrupt," Eva warned with some subdued emotion.
"Then I urge you to speak quickly, for we have not come here for fruitful debate," the Necromancer dismissed curtly.
"And you knew about this for...how long? And you said nothing?" Eva gained intensity with every word.
Priest shrugged with a non-committal sound, as if shrugging off a trivial matter. Eva bit back her frustration and anger, knowing that they would do little good, and they were silent for a long time. Truly there were times when he was so infuriating and unreadable it drove her mad. But she liked to think she knew him enough by now to know there was always a good reason for everything he did, though not necessarily a comprehensible one.
Or perhaps that was just what she told herself for her own peace of mind.
She shot him a quizzical glance from the corner of her eye as they walked on, her anger wearing off slowly.
"So you've decided to help the Rogues?" she asked flatly, at last.
Priest kept his voice quiet and scornful as he trudged on through mud.
"We are here to free the pass, I could not care less about the Rogues."
O O O
Borrn and Jelen stopped to survey the thrashed interior, their large, robust figures casting heavy shadows from the doorway.
The silence was enclosing, spreading forth from the dank rooms of the house like a black shroud. Neither of them appreciated it much, for it was the kind of thing that was more the harbinger of things to come than an oasis of tranquillity.
Borrn kept his eyes in constant motion, surveying the cramped interior as they cautiously advanced, never letting himself grow lax. There was a feeling of distinct unease in the back of his mind, and judging by the tenseness of his companion, he shared it too.
Floorboards, covered in a thick layer of sticky dust and soaked in water leaking from the ceiling, dulled their steps.
"What is that smell?" Borrn muttered roughly, his face grimacing as his eyes sought about.
Jelen, too, felt the stench, and his brows furrowed slowly as it only added to the rising unease that gripped him. It was not the smell of a corpse, the pungent sweetness, nor was any other of the manifold odours that nature could produce in its various ways and states. This was...different, and in a bad way.
"I do not know," he kept his tone low, out of some unconscious impulse. "But be wary."
Both men stepped lightly, with every sense focusing into gathering what lay before them, every limb ready to explode into movement. The silence was heavy around them, constricting, and in this straining for anything tangible they were suddenly struck with horrid realization.
It was the stench of a demon, the foreign scent of something that had never been actualised in life, now invading their senses. A dark presence of something that was never born and will never die, but rather forced itself into the form of life and has beaten it into submission.
The two men, now alerted to foreign presence, startled and searched around frantically with anxious eyes. Just as Jelen's fingers tightened on the hilt of his falchion there was a familiar bleet and a passing of many shadows over the broken windows.
"Ambush!"
Even as he cried out, Borrn jumped back out the door and reached for his weapons.
With much clamour and noises the goatmen attacked, coming in from around the main building and pouring in from the rundown stables. Their hooves made dull, threatening noise across the damp earth as they charged with snarls and garbled words.
Two warriors burst apart, with Jelen falling back to where corrupted Rogues flanked them from the stables, and Borrn surging forward toward the wild hedge around the side of the house.
Pair of goatmen halted him, black and grey as if born from cooling ash of hellfire, sporting axes and vicious clubs. Borrn came to an abrupt stop and threw himself aside just as the first enemy struck forth with his weapons, missing him by a few good centimeters. He slid around the blows clumsily and managed to put himself inside the goatman's defensive reach. While doing so, he pulled his sword along behind him, but out at an angle to graze the goatman's right arm. The blade cut over the goatman's underarm, deep enough to slice off flesh and scrape the bone. Momentarily paralyzed by surprise and pain, the goatman dropped his club and stumbled sidelong with a deep snarl.
Borrn beheaded the surprised goatman with one fast slash and a furious cry, already rushing sideways to avoid the strikes from the axe of his comrade. He blocked the last blow with his own axe, pushing the enemy's weapon away, and stabbed him with the sword. The first stab was quickly followed by another slash downwards and chop with the axe from opposite side, finishing the demon and spraying his thick blood all over his face and leathers.
Explosively he bolted over the fresh bodies and threw himself against the damp wall of the house, keeping one line of escape open towards the porch. Blood rushed through his ears like fire in the veins, every sense heightened in the familiar state of alert. Out in the yard, Jelen was cutting down corrupted Rogues while moving in erratic circles, his falchion lethally efficient with non-linear strikes he was employing.
The enemy was vicious and relentless, caring naught for pain and loss of life. As he kept a lunging goatman at bay, Borrn slowly edged toward where the Druid was, never letting himself become hedged in. Even though Borrn was fairly confident in their odds, separating was very dangerous because the demons outnumbered them. With lethal strikes coming from all directions, every misstep could be fatal.
The two warriors had managed to kill a significant amount of their foes already, their skill and will outmatching even greater enemy numbers.
However, the remaining demons, which now consisted mainly of stronger and more resilient goatmen, were still too numerous and fast to be overpowered out in the open like this.
With savage might and enduring hatred for all living they fought, encircling the two humans and pressing forward to crush them in their combined might.
Swerving and cutting, Jelen and Borrn enclosed on each other again, coming into each other's reach and forming a defensive circle. Borrn's greasy hair whipped around his face as he whirled about frantically, struggling to keep the enclosing enemy in his view.
"Don't let them surround us!" he darted in and out into the slowly merging groups of the enemy, desperate to prevent them from forming a perfect circle.
Behind him, Jelen kept the goatmen at bay with wide, fast slashes and spinning movement. But the goatmen were well organised and clever, and they kept in tight mixed groups, preventing any more of their brethren to be killed by mobbing either of the pair when they ventured out to strike at them. Borrn and Jelen both knew that they couldn't keep the demons at bay indefinitely, for as soon as they would make an unbroken circle around them, they would rush them from all sides.
"We must break their lines!" Borrn shouted a warning, searching fiercely for an opening.
Jelen drew on the energies contained in the air about him, creating a magical influx of sort before him. A momentary sucking sound was followed by an abrupt blast of chilled frost that blasted forward into the enclosing goatmen. It blew forth ahead of him in a sparkling cone of blue death, chilling all in its path.
Borrn felt the coldness from the powerful blast of frost as Jelen fanned it about, engulfing surprised goatmen and turning them into frozen statues on the spot.
Though not expecting it, Borrn seized the opportunity and struck out as soon as the spell wore out, shattering the frozen enemies. They exploded into chunks of flash-frozen flesh in a shower of crystals under his axe, crystallized grass crushing underfoot. Jelen folllowed and they promptly took advantage of the ensuing opening and pushed out, breaking the tie. But the persistent goatmen, undeterred by mortal fear or fatigue, quickly regrouped and renewed their assault, several of them having the distinct advantage of a polearm.
The two were forced back into the house, retreating into a safer position while defending themselves. Behind them, a spreading growth of blades and skewering tips. The doorway gave them a great tactical advantage against the goatmen, for the chokehold it created greatly reduced their numerical advantage. The goatmen were tall and wide, thick muscles under slick fur. Their intimidating size prevented them from entering into the house more than one at a time, and no more than one could stand in the small doorway at once, with others clumsily poking in through any openings behind him.
Jelen and Borrn positioned themselves at an angle on either side of the doorway, easily slaughtering the first few goatmen that attempted to storm the building. Then there was a pause in attack, for goatmen were no idiots, and far from lacking knowledge in tactical warfare.
Jelen sought out Borrn's eyes, silently conveying what both, as experienced warriors, knew – it was only a matter of time. An occasional poleaxe head poked into the house, quickly repelled by a strike from either man, just enough to keep the pair inside. The demons' horrible grunting and baying noises only served to further tighten the tension around the men's necks.
There was a distinct sound of shattering glass amidst grunts and angry cries and clanging of weapons.
"The windows!" Borrn cried out in alarm, already rushing to secure the back of the premises.
Jelen stepped in wordlessly, both of them understanding that the doorway must be held just as importantly as none must be allowed to surprise them from behind.
Tense moments passed and none attacked from the front, while Jelen could hear the sounds of fighting from the back; Borrn holding back the attackers trying to enter through the windows. He resisted the urge to go and help him, knowing that the ruthless goatmen would take any opening presented to them. From his position half-concealed behind the doorframe he could see the goatmen standing in defensive stances outside, just a little to the sides of the door so that no direct attack could hit them, their weapons at the ready. Something was wrong, why weren't they taking advantage of their divided attention and attacking?
An acrid scent caught Jelen's attention then, sending him into an instant state of alarm.
The vile creatures had set fire to the building! A torch flew in through the door, bouncing off the corner wall in a burst of sparks and rolling on the floor. Flames could be seen reaching up through the windows and choking smoke began to pour down from the rafters, filling the rooms and lungs.
"We're on fire!" he called to Borrn as he saw him come crashing from the back of the house.
"Damn the beasts!" Borrn cried out amidst coughs, trying to keep a bearing on his surroundings.
"We cannot stay in here!" Jelen shouted and Borrn was in complete agreement.
"Let's go!"
Borrn screamed in rage as he threw himself frontal forward, hacking and thrusting with the last remaining strength. He exploded out the smoke-filled doorway recklessly, rushing an outline of a goatman outside and disappearing out of Jelen's view.
Jelen was about to follow when a goatman struck at him with a spear, charging at him from the smoky doorway. Jelen twisted in the last moment, bringing up his his falchion to force the thrust off course. Heavy spearhead stuck in the wooden wall past his shoulder, the sound of cracking wood speaking of the force of the blow. From this close, he could smell the hellish stench of the demon, and feel the cold inhumanity of his scorching eyes. Jelen slid the blade of his sword down the spear's shaft, cutting through the goatman's hands.
He made a ghastly sound as his spear hit the floor amidst severed fingers, blood splattering over them. Jelen stepped in with a hard elbow to the goatman's face, simultaneously impaling him on the falchion. He tried to strike at Jelen's throat, but his bleeding hands were useless and his strength was fading fast. Pushing the goatman away he used the momentum to propel himself sideways, towards another advancing enemy. He intercepted the charging goatman in the doorway, ducking under his swiping axe and striking low, disemboweling him and tackling him outside.
He quickly rolled away from the dying demon and sprung back to his feet in a defensive stance. Borrn was a little ahead towards the corner of the house, struggling with two vicious goatmen. One of them was already wounded from the Barbarian's weapons, bleeding cupiously.
The last of demons, never yielding, now attacked with full force in their last attempt to bring them down.
But now they lacked the numbers to bring down the two warriors, however weary they were. Borrn and Jelen made short work of the last few goatmen, with Borrn scoring a nasty cut over his ear from a sword that nearly impaled his head.
Jelen pulled his sword from the last fallen demon with a grunt of effort, wiping his sooty brow. His eyes turned to Borrn, who was standing over the dead goatmen, bloodied and transfixed. His face was set in grave expression, brows knitted in cautious concentration.
That face would be littered with scars of war, and that nose, broken countless times, crooked out of shape grotesquely, were it not for the wholesome effect of the restorative potions and magic. Indeed, were it not for them, Borrn would not be standing here among Rogues now, battling malevolent foes. Some deep, concealed part of him scornfully doubted his honour and courage for using such devices to evade death's clutches. But Borrn paid it little heed; a warrior need not be a fool throwing his life away at a whim to dine at the table of the Gods.
Still, that part remained, however minute, always doubting his worthiness for such a glorious fate.
Borrn eyed the bodies with some intensity, breathing heavily.
"I'm going back," he threw his chipped sword in the blood pooling from corpses angrily. "I've had enough."
He turned and made back toward the path without another word, prompting Jelen to stare after him curiously.
O O O
"That farm over there...we can rest there and scout the area around those hills. The higher ground should give us an advantage in case of an attack."
Priest glanced at her over his shoulder and then at where she was pointing. He gave a silent nod. The sky was grey and indifferent as they made their way through the rain-beaten grass and through mud. It loomed over them like some dreadful shroud, suffocating all hopes and making everything look desolate and cold.
The closer they came to the destroyed farm, the more wary they became, their weapons ready and movements careful. Above the distant inhuman sounds that occasionally reached them on the wind, or a very human cry, there was ominous silence over the place. The kind that descended over the entire land when the demons came it seemed, and Eva never really got used to it.
She doubted anyone ever could.
A scene of carnage opened up to them as they reached the farmstead. The stomped ground was crusted with dried blood and remains of demons in the large courtyard, with rotting hay slipping underfoot. A recent conflict had left broken and mangled goatmen and corrupted Rogue bodies lying about. The main building was nothing but charred remains with ashes still smouldering, the blackened solitary walls reaching out to the sky impotently. Sickly scent of burnt flesh wafted over from the burned-out house, and Eva was again unpleasantly reminded of roasted pork. The similarity of the scents was uncanny, and once realized, the forced association would never go away.
Nearby stables were the only structure left relatively untouched, even though the stench coming from them spoke of death and rot.
They cautiously made their way through the courtyard, with Eva prodding an occasional body with her spear to ensure it was dead. The warlock seemed at ease, as he often did, though there was that quiet alertness about him, his flail held casually, deceptively by his side. Eva felt ill at ease herself, what with the ashes of the house still hot, and all the fresh bodies about. One should always expect the worst, a credo she adhered to strictly. It saved her life many times in the past few months.
She kicked a dead corrupted Rogue away, its slumping body leaning back against a charred remainder of a wall, deep red gashes in the pale flesh, like meat at the butcher's stand.
"Careful, I want to take her eyes."
Eva pulled her spear from the body of a corrupted Rogue forcefully, scoffing in perplexion. She thought to ask what he needed a fallen Rogue's eyes for, but then decided it best not to know.
She glanced toward the Necromancer, who was now stretching the dead Rogue's eye area between a thumb and forefinger, retrieving a thin crooked knife from his belt with the other hand.
"Make it quick, warlock!"
"In a moment."
She used the time to search more thoroughly through the ruins and around them, ensuring there were no demons or undead waiting in ambush. When she returned, she found the warlock already finished with his ghastly deed, and they took a few more relaxed steps around, searching for the best spot to rest a little.
They stopped at the remains of several goatmen clustered together, looking like they died fighting together in a group.
Eva hesitated.
"What is it?"
She knelt down smoothly to study the tracks and trampled grass around the bodies.
"Someone, whoever killed these beasts, was here recently."
"That much is obvious. A Rogue patrol?" Priest offered from the background off-handedly.
"No," she rose quickly, scanning the surrounding plains for activity again. "Someone heavier. Rogues rarely travel in groups of less than three. It was someone else, someone else from the camp."
Having found nothing in vicinity, her eyes sought out the warlock. He was staring off towards where the weathered path was veering around the boulders, and the windswept moor behind.
"There are many in the camp," he commented vaguely, turning around. "And it matters little who it was."
Eva glanced back at the goatman bodies again.
"I suppose it doesn't. Let us rest here, outside," she indicated the edge of the farm's yard, unwilling to stay in the stale air of the stables' interior, amongst the hacked corpses.
Priest nodded his indifference, and they settled in the cover of the open stables. Eva seated herself on an old stump and refreshed herself from a waterskin.
They sat in silence for a while.
The Necromancer's company was oddly comforting, in the same way a silent tombstone amidst the tranquil cemetery bushes is comforting.
Perhaps numbing was a better word.
She grabbed her pack firmly, retrieving a leather-wrapped book. Carefully, almost reverently her hand paused at the cover before pulling it open.
Priest watched her read with a sort of placid air, the kind of idle serenity reserved for observing something that just barely holds one's interest.
"That book is worthless, you know," Eva shifted her weight on the stump with a narrow breath, pointedly ignoring him. He waited long enough for her to fall back into reading again, then continued. "Delusional ramblings and fantasies of a supercilious Horadrim toad. Any philosophy that struggles to explain life without comprehending death is worthless."
Eva briefly glanced up from her reading, unable to hold back her tongue anymore.
"You always have a full mouth of scorn for everything, warlock."
Priest watched her for a silent moment before answering.
"The world is full of inferior minds, producing inferior works."
She snapped the book shut irritably.
"Well I like it," she said defiantly.
"I am not surprised. Women are often attracted to things they don't quite understand. It is the intrigue of the mysterious."
"If you know women so well, why are the only ones enduring in your company dead then?"
"Rest assured live ones enjoy my company just as well, if I allow them. It is just that the dead ones are such better conversationalists."
Eva gave a disgusted breath, rising.
"We've rested long enough."
"As you say."
An amulet clinked softly against his armour as he rose slowly, and for a moment Eva thought she caught a strange glint from the corner of her eye.
Priest noticed her inquisitive look.
He reached for the amulet idly, a simple pendant of a spiral carved into an angular tablet, one of several around his neck.
"Do you see this spiral?" he pointed out the faded etching with gloved finger. "It represents many things, many meanings, least of which is the overarching principle of Necromancy – the obscurity. The spiral unfolds unto itself into infinity, and as you gaze upon it you see all of it, all its boundaries within which it is contained. And yet, your sight penetrates only so far, and no matter how closely you look, there are always infinite depths still unseen. You see it, and simultaneously you do not."
"How...disturbing."
Priest let it slide from his hand, forcing her attention up to his face again. Then he nodded at the book in her hand pointedly.
"Do not presume that because you see all that is to be seen, you know what you are seeing."
She sighed roughly and shoved the book back in her pack.
"Maybe I'm just reading it for entertainment? One needs not know something to be entertained by it."
"May be," Priest said distantly, eyeing her intensely.
She never did get accustomed to those unblinking, transfixed stares of his. There was just something...unnerving about his staring eyes, an almost trance-like quality to them. At times it seemed to her as if he was caught in some sound beyond her grasp, listening to something only he could hear. She shook off her thoughts, looking around the morbid countryside with tired eyes. Perhaps it was better she didn't know his thoughts after all. Ignorance was far better shield sometimes.
"Come then, let's be on our way, warlock."
O O O
It was almost evening already when they returned to the encampment, sore from walking and tired of the day's dark work. At least Eva was, she never really could tell how the warlock was feeling, and she doubted they had similar sensibilities. The camp was slowly dying down in activity as night approached, with fires lighting up in front of tents, merchants slowly packing up their wares in their wagons and more Rogue sentries beginning their night patrols of the camp. The main tent was likewise beginning to fill up, with lords, soldiers and peasants and all in between to drown their fears and sights of the day.
Cold wind was picking up again, biting vengefully at any exposed skin. Eva cricked her neck to each side as they walked through camp slowly, brought first one shoulder up, then other. She rubbed at her side absently, old wounds coming to haunt her. Even though the magical restorative effects of many healing potions should prohibit such relapses. Perhaps it was just in her head. Or perhaps there were some wounds even a healing potion couldn't heal.
A cold feeling in the bottom of her stomach made her shudder momentarily. She closed her eyes for a moment, forcing herself to dismiss the dark downward spiral of her thoughts. It never did anyone any good thinking bad things in worse times, no good at all.
"I need to check something," Priest said off-handedly, not even looking at her.
Eva opened her eyes to look at him.
The hood of his cloak was down, his long hair stirred by the wind, his profile sharp as bone. They were close to one of the Rogue barrack tents now, a large angular shape. Its sheets of dark brown fabric, faded and worn by elements, strained inward against the wind. Some Rogues loitered about it, giving them suspicious glances.
Eva didn't bother asking what he needed to check, since his wording implied he wanted to do it alone. She just donned a mildly impatient look.
"The Rogue council is this evening, " she said redundantly.
"I know, and apparently we are attending," he gave her a dry glance. "I'll meet you at our tent at mid-evening. Don't be late."
"And you neither, warlock," she said pointedly.
Eva made her way to the close-by area of the camp where many trader wagons were, though some were already closed. A few reamined open all the way into late evening, scrounging for the rare profit made off desperate adventurers.
Gheed's stall was one of them, and at the moment he was negotiating with a rough-looking individual in worn leathers and an eyepatch. He was holding up a gaudy looking ring for close inspection in the feeble light.
"So...in order for the magic to work, I have to place the ring on my chosen one's ringfinger?"
"Of course," Gheed hasted to assure smoothly. "The magic will bind you two together as if you were destined to be!"
The man frowned thoughtfully.
"Isn't there some other way to make it work? Putting the ring on her finger would mean having to untie her hands."
Gheed cleared his throat forcefully, glancing about meaningfully and placing a conspiratorial hand on his back.
"Not per se, but for the meager added cost of forty gold I can throw in a potion which is rumoured to have been made by Bartuc the Terrible himself! Its arcane magical power would grant whoever drank it power over the minds of man and beast...or so they say."
The man clearly had difficulty believing this, but he nevertheless produced his purse, grudgingly shifting it in his hands.
"Twenty-five," he said roughly. "And that's if it ain't just cowpiss in a bottle."
Gheed brought a slow hand to the side of his head and affected a pained expression.
"You wound me, friend. Deeply," he swallowed thickly for dramatic effect. "I am talking about an immensely powerful alchemical concoction! None can truly know its vast magical effects, all we know are guesses preserved from fragments of writings that were found with it. And you would have me sell such a mighty artefact for...for a mere twenty-five gold? I think not, sir! I couldn't possibly let go of such a powerful potion for any less than thirty-five gold! And even that is practically cheating me out of my meagre earnings!"
The man grumbled some more, considering, calculating in his mind.
"Thirty-two?" he ventured at last.
"Deal!" Gheed shot out, slamming him on the shoulder. "You've made a fine purchase today, friend, a fine one! Keep in mind though, I have a strict no-coin-back policy," he added quickly with a warning finger.
The man narrowed his eyes at Gheed, who was smiling back, but said nothing more as the exchange took place.
Eva glanced after the Gheed's latest customer for a moment when she approached. His face brightened falsely as he pretended to spot her for the first time.
"Ah,...the Amazon. The Rogues have been whispering about you," he said with an oily smile. "Praising your skill in battle and your courage."
"Is that so?" she said suspiciously, eyeing his wares on display.
Gheed roamed her firm body with his eyes.
"Oh yes, and I can see now just by looking at you that they were right to praise you," his expression darkened instantly, hit tone lowering. "Though I can't say I much approve of your choice of travelling companions. Why anyone would want to travel with such...such a..man, is beyond me."
He gave a shudder, but his friendly façade returned as he noticed her darkening expression.
"But enough chatter, eh? You are here for some premium and supreme quality items and potions, not to hear me talk! So what can I do for you?"
Eva carefully looked over some of the weapons in a rack, then grabbed a short sword and appraised it closely. Gheed watched her tentatively, his eyes following the blade.
"Yes, a wonderful example, one of the finest there is today. Crafted by-"
"Many people buy your wares, don't they?"
Gheed feel silent momentarily, curious eyes studying Eva. He disliked talk that didn't directly involved sale, but if banter was what was needed to sell something, he was not adverse to it. Some people needed softening before buying anyhow, to have that illusion that they have developed a relationship of a sorts with the seller.
"Yes," he answered smoothly. "Many buy from me, because they know quality could mean the difference between life and death out there," his tone lowered conspiratorially. "Nary a few days ago even a Druid bought some supplies here!"
He emphasized the words with some self-important nodding.
"He came from lands far away, and even he could instantly recognize the superb craftsmanship of my wares."
Eva arched her brows in surprise.
"Really? A Druid? And what did he buy?"
"Well," Gheed adopted an evasive expression. "I am afraid I can't tell you. I value my customers' confidentiality, you see. But it was no small amount, I can tell you that."
"No doubt," Eva murmured bitingly, hefting the sword in her hand. "How much?"
"Four hundred and thirty gold," Gheed said quickly, already noting her snort of disdain. "My goods are expensive, but quality comes with a price. That particular piece is enchanted with magical sharpness, it cuts deeper than it looks!"
He smiled pointedly again. Eva replaced the weapon on the rack.
"It's still too expensive."
Gheed gave an exasperated sigh.
"You are free to go to my competitiors, of course, and if you can call them that, but don't complain when a wepon breaks in your hand or a shield doesn't stop that axe! I might be a little bit pricier than your next Rogue blacksmith with subpar skill, but I deal only in quality, and I firmly stand behind all my wares!"
Actually, he more hid behind the fact that most of his customers didn't live long enough to voice their dissatisfaction, but that was details. He adopted a firm look, with traces of annoyance filtering to his face.
"I am not here to discuss the quality of my goods in any event. Now, what can I help you with?"
Eva shifted her stance, looking him in the eye.
"You said a Druid bought here, how about a Barbarian? Did a Barbarian buy from you recently?"
Gheed rolled his eyes mentally. 'Yes, they were all barbarians', was what he wanted to say, but instead just smiled and spread his bejewelled hands apologetically.
"There are so many people in this camp...I have many customers."
"Tall, long red hair, wears leather and usually two weapons?" Eva insisted.
"Can't say I remember anyone like that," Gheed said coldly, his patience rapidly evaporating.
Who did this woman think he was, the village minstrel? He was here to make gold, not answer her inane questions, and time is gold! Clearly she wasn't intending to buy anything, and he was done wasting his time with her. He pulled his coat close, subtly interposing himself between her and the enchanted jewellery stand, and forced a tightly strained smile.
"I would love to chat with you into the early hours of the morning, but I am expecting an important customer any time now, big order. So just let me know what you need so we can both be on our way."
Eva gave a small, cruel smile herself.
"Oh, I was just looking," with that, she turned and walked away.
Gheed's expression darkened, hard eyes glaring at her retreating back.
"Damn bitch," he muttered under his breath after she was out of earshot, then went to compulsively re-arrange his rings.
Noting that starless night had already fallen, Eva quickened her step. She made her way back to their tent, having had enough of the annoying trader.
During the course of past few days, the few tents in the immediate vicinity of their own had been hastily packed and moved deeper away into the camp, leaving a circular patch of trampled empty land around the solitary tent.
The warlock was standing in front of it now, lost in some thoughts and facing away from her. She frowned. It was almost time, the Rogues were already gathering in the war tent, she could see the fires all the way from here.
And he was just standing about idly?
She walked over briskly, stepping around the tent to their small, now cold fireplace.
Priest stood there in silence, hypnotic with his wild eyes and silent presence. He was so still and, she realized after a moment, unblinking, he took on an appearance of a statue, of a man frozen in folds of time.
Eva cleared her throat pointedly, though it provoked no reaction from him.
"Are you ready?"
"You have to find the demons before they find you," he said absently, slowly turning his eyes on her and blinking.
"What?" she asked softly, then repeated with more annoyance. "Are you ready, warlock?"
Priest just threw her a look, then stepped past her. Eva turned around after him, following him with her gaze for a long moment.
There was already quite a crowd gathered outside the Rogue war tent when they arrived, but mostly consisting of noblemen guard, nonchalant mercenaries and Rogue guards. Torches were lit and a pair of large braziers crackled outside the tent's entrance, their flames flickering in the cool night breeze.
All the lights and bustling activity gave the illusion of safety, but there was a palpable sense of tension and anxiety underlining everything. Eva could see fear in many eyes, fear and uncertainty.
There was a kind of urgency in the air, an atmosphere thick with despair.
Outside the guarded entrance was Kashya, discussing something with some rugged-looking mercenaries and occasionally disappearing inside the tent. Eva acknowledged her as they came up to enter, and she took note immediately, of Priest especially.
She sneered at him belligerently.
"We don't need your kind here."
"Good thing, too," he retorted with honeyed venom. "If you did, it would say a lot about your level of competence."
A Rogue Lieutenant approached, casting suspicious glances toward the Necromancer.
"Everyone is here, Captain."
Kashya turned to her, reluctantly drawing her cold eyes away from Priest.
"We will begin shortly."
She turned again to stop the pair that already made to enter the tent past her. Her eyes flashed dangerously as she measured them with a hard gaze.
"Akara may have placed some sliver of hope in you, but do not think you can win me over this easily. It will take a lot more than killing some demons in the wilderness to gain our trust."
"We'll do what we must," Eva said tersely, keeping her at bay with her eyes.
Kashya's hard stare was still on them as they entered, and were enveloped by a tent that already hosted a crowd of Rogue Lieutenants and local nobility, or what passed for it.
"Well," Priest started acerbically. "I'm sure sleep will not come easily tonight, knowing that I do not have the Rogues' trust."
"Things would be much easier if we had their trust," Eva glanced at him wearily as she pushed her way to the forefront, where a large map was spread over a table.
She spotted Borrn amidst some heavily armoured men, his features immediately recognizable. Warriv was there also, standing a little to the side of the great table in the company of a distinctly Eastern-looking pair of warriors. He gave Eva a friendly nod as he spotted her.
The Rogue commanders were gathered around the map, their diminished numbers speaking of the terrible blow dealt to the Order. They gave Eva and Priest measured looks as they made their way over. Even in the subdued din of the tent they halted their conversation at the presence of a much maligned Priest of Rathma.
Eva hoped the proceedings started soon, just as Kashya had said. She felt slight unease in the midst of all these inquiring eyes. Of course, she never showed a bit of it. It is not a way of the warrior to show weakness.
Movement at the entrance signified she would not have to wait much longer. The crowd respectfully gave way to Kashya as she entered, heading directly to the High Priestess behind the table. The small crowd silenced with expectation, and tension rose in the air. After a brief consultation with Akara and her immediate lieutenants, Kasyha stepped forward and spoke to the expectant gathering.
"So far, you have shown yourself to be some of the more competent warriors that have strayed into our camp. I need not tell any of you about the dreadful scourge that has gripped our land. But even in all this hellish nightmare, some dangers are more urgent than others. You have been called here because of a most dire threat that must be dealt with immediately. Most of you already know what I speak of, an amassment of enemy forces in Blood Moor, on our very doorstep," she paused dramatically, surveying the expectant faces. "Something must be done about this, and soon!"
"Why wasn't it done sooner?" a voice from somewhere in the back of the crowd demanded anonymously.
Kashya sent a cold look in its general direction, then addressed the crowd again.
"It is imperative that we attack their position as soon as possible. The more we delay, the greater the threat."
"We should go out in numbers and fight them, push them back by force," a grizzled-looking man at the front, a mercenary of some sort, interjected. "Bolting ourselves in here is a slow death! Why weren't the enemy positions stormed sooner?"
Kashya gave him a hard look, her posture tense.
"We kill one and ten more rise in its place. They are relentless! Cold Plains are littered with demonic bodies, many of them our own sisters that have been swayed into Andariel's hellish influence," her tone lowered into bitter murmur. "And unlike demons, our numbers are not infinite."
The wave of uneasy muttering that followed spoke of how well was this fact known in the camp, and how much the open admission of it by a high-ranking Rogue framed their fears.
"You can bear no hope of defeating them in the war of attrition," Priest spoke up for the first time, immediately drawing all attention to himself. "Or any other sort of war, really."
Kashya pressed her lips together tightly, crossing her arms.
"Then what would you have us do?" she demanded angrily.
Priest was calm before the staring Rogue lieutenants, looking each in the eye as he spoke with some caged intensity, his distinct voice shattering the atmosphere in the tent.
"Andariel is the binding arch-demon that anchors these creatures here and guides them. She must be removed if this land is ever to be cleansed."
Some agreeing murmurs rose in the back, quickly silenced.
"Andariel, the Maiden of Anguish?" a gasped question quivered from the crowd, but was ignored.
Kashya exchanged a meaningful look with Akara and then turned to Eva resolutely, pointedly ignoring Priest.
"This was our plan all along. We will not tolerate this demonic corruption within the heart of our Order. But until we come to that greater goal, we can but delay the demonic invasion," she glanced at the large warmap spread out on the table again. "This is the first step."
Eva was watching her thoughtfully, several of the nobles peering at Kashya from behind her.
"What can you tell us of this Den of Evil?"
"Not much. Most of my scouts have never returned from that place. The foul beasts are launching their attacks from this series of underground caverns," she indicated the spot on the map. "It will not be long before they manage to bring over enough reinforcements to completely take control of Blood Moor from us. When this happens, we are all doomed!"
Eva scowled over the large map, leaning on the table heavily.
"What of these caves, how far do they stretch?"
Kashya exhaled in frustration.
"We don't know. We are only aware of at least two underground levels to it, but old reports speak of much vaster network beneath the plateau," she paused to exchange a quick look with one of her lieutenants. "These caverns have never been fully explored, it is very likely for other entrances to exist."
There was a momentary silence, all eyes tensely fixed now on the map, now on Kashya, and the ever-present shuffling of those in the back trying to push forward enough to see the Rogue commanders and participate in the decision-making. Yet despite the crowded tent, there was a circle of free room around the Necromancer, a rather comical display of distance-keeping by both soldier and Rogue alike.
"What about your Rogues?" Borrn spoke up roughly. "Can we count on their support?"
Kashya's voice grew low and scornful, indicative of some inner struggle.
"I cannot risk sending a full battlegroup into these caves. Every Sister is needed here, to defend the encampment and hold our ground in the Blood Moor. Many locals have already gone to clear it, large groups and small, peasants and nobles alike. None returned."
A wave of distressed murmur rose from the assembled. Borrn snorted in disgust. Some of the gathered began to argue amongst themselves, and the protests grew louder.
"So you want us to go out and do your slaughter work?" one of the nobles spat from the second row.
"Aye," another agreed. "Sending us to our certain graves!"
Kashya made a few resolute steps forward, instantly calming the brewing unrest.
"When I say that every Sister is needed here, rest assured that I mean it!" she spoke loudly, her voice commanding obedience. "We must defend this encampment at all costs, and more than just our lives are at stake! But if we don't destroy the enemy gathering this close to us now, it will not matter!"
She scanned the gathered with steely eyes, silently challenging anyone to defy her. A gentle hand on her arm calmed her fire; Akara sighed quietly, painedly. She stepped past Kashya slowly as her hand lingered on her arm, now focusing everyone's attention on herself.
"It saddens me more than I can say," she began slowly, commanding complete silence and attention, but with a different kind of strength than her fiery Captain. "To see such suffering in our midst. The Order will do all in our power to aid those warriors brave enough to stand against this rising threat. But to do so, we must protect our hearth, here," she paused to let her eyes slide over the many expectant and tired faces watching her. "Or all is lost. Those that sought refuge here, seeking shelter for their families among us, we cannot abandon them. The Sisters must remain here, protecting this encampment from creeping death. So it falls to you, brave warriors, to fight and win this battle in order to protect us all. For if we do not stand united like our enemy does, all is lost."
She slowly looked around at the eyes of the crowd again. Some were sad, some ashamed and some resentful, but all were silent.
"Well," Eva broke the stretched silence, uneasily. "Those demons need to be destroyed either way. Have you made an attack plan already?"
Akara looked at Kashya, subtly letting her talk.
"We did," Kashya quickly spoke again, all businesslike. "Of sorts. It needs to be finalized when we know exactly who all is willing to participate, so for now it's a rough draft. We hope to be able to attack the place in three days' time," she paused to look around the crowded tent again. "All those who do not wish to take part in this, leave now. The rest of you willing to help should stay behind near the tent. We will reconvene again in short while to discuss details."
She stepped back in the midst of her Lieutenants, and with that the meeting was called over.
Roused but with a palpable sense of foreboding, the crowd slowly left the tent and dispersed, several smaller groups remaining to discuss the situation in grave tones. Some others took the opportunity to acquaint themselves with their neighbour, attempting to find common points in a time of distress.
Borrn watched with much distaste as the witchman loitered about in the company of that Amazon, both petitioning something with Akara and the Rogue commanders, or so it seemed. He turned away, refusing to foul his disposition further, then, spotting a familiar figure, started toward it with large, determined steps.
The Druid was seated on a barrel by the cow pen, carefully carving a small wooden statue. He paused and watched the crowd, making a comically unpleasant face as he followed the Necromancer with his eyes. This did not go unnoticed by the Barbarian.
Borrn sniffed loudly, then nonchalantly stepped over.
"I didn't see you in the war meeting this evening," he said neutrally.
Jelen made a thoughtful expression.
"What could they have possibly decided upon other than that there are demons to be destroyed?"
Borrn made a grudgingly agreeing sound, but watched Jelen evenly.
"There are some fiends gathering in a nearby cave system. If you're thinking of coming along..."
"I don't know," Jelen said quickly, as if annoyed by the subject. "I prefer to fight alone. I do not work well with groups."
Borrn grunted dismissively and shifted his weight.
"I probably will. Might as well start somewhere, and it sounds like a good place to get killed as any."
Jelen made a thoughtful sound, not looking away from his statuette. Borrn exhaled impatiently.
"Well if you change your mind, seek me out. I could always use a familiar sword by my side in that damn place. Someone I can rely on."
He already made to leave, but Jelen's voice stopped him in mid-step.
"Borrn," Jelen began at length, as if unsure how to phrase the question. "Why did you come here? I hear the corruption and darkness has not yet reached Harrogath. Why did you come to seek it out?"
Borrn stared at him for a surprised moment, then gave a dry, humorless laugh, more bitter than dismissive.
"You can either lie back in snow and freeze, or die with a sword through your heart," he said that in a way in which it was apparent which outcome was preferable.
Jelen studied his face curiously, not saying anything for a long time. Then he turned his attention back to the figurine, nodding with quiet acceptance.
"We all have our reasons."
O O O
Eva whirled out of the range of a lance, bringing her spear up to push it away and skewer the attacking corrupted Rogue. She vomited blood as she was impaled on the spear, struggling impotently to free herself. Eva twisted the spear upwards and kicked the corrupted Rogue off, already turning to the next enemy.
It was a small group of corrupted Rogues they encountered in the wilderness at first, but the skirmish quickly attracted another group of their fallen sisters, so they had to divide their efforts to keep them occupied. Eva was almost finished with the first group now, only a single pair of corrupted Rogues remaining to circle her warily with axes and maces.
Eva eyed them through narrowed eyes, spear pointed ahead and slightly upwards against them.
Behind them, Priest was fending off three corrupted Rogues with a two-headed flail. He kept his flail in constant motion before him, maintaining a defensive barrier and making it harder for his opponents to strike him. One was brained easily, having fallen into mud with a bashed-in face overflowing with blood that spread over her nigh-naked pale form like a veil of red. The other was attempting to strike at him with a chipped scimitar, face twisted in rage and hate.
Her blade got entangled in the flail's chain with an expert parry as she slashed at his arm, then pulled from her grasp with a sharp yank. She was open for a moment and Priest followed with a vicious straight sidekick to her plexus, which was more of a distraction until he could bring his flail around in fast half-circle that slammed into the side of her face, heavy metal tearing off her jaw in a spray of blood and crushed bone and sent her whirling to the ground.
He finished her off with a couple of stomps on the head with a heavy boot before jumping out of the way of the final enemy's strikes. She was armed with sword and shield, and much more cautious than her two dead sisters. Several attacks that she tried were deflected by the spinning flail, one of them leaving her side open momentarily. She managed to block the incoming strike in the last moment, but Priest wasn't aiming at her body.
The spiked heads of the flail hooked themselves behind the rim of her shield, which he then sharply pulled forward, imbalancing her. Simultaneously he pulled a throwing dagger from his belt with his other hand and brought it up towards her temple in a sharp arc. The corrupted Rogue blocked the blow desperately with her swordarm, steel catching on steel. From this close, her longsword was more of an obstruction than a useful weapon against an armoured opponent.
Priest reversed his flail, throwing it to the left against their locked weapons while himself spinning to the left abruptly, breaking the lock. The flail now caught around her sword before she could react, pulling her further forward as Priest turned with the pull. He hooked his dagger over the tip of her sword again and, thus having locked her weapon between his arms, twisted sharply to disarm her. Her sword was torn from her hands, too quick for her to bash him away with her shield, and the next moment a fast elbow delivered to the face staggered her back.
The sword fell into the mud useless, with Priest advancing back on her before she could recover. His flail struck from the right again, and she barely lifted her shield to intercept it. Now Priest stepped forward with a quick jab of his dagger into her momentarily unprotected right side, stabbing it through her eye socket so fast she was dead before she could even register what happened.
He pulled the dagger out as the body abruptly collapsed.
Glancing about as he re-sheathed his bloody throwing dagger, Priest saw that Eva had dispatched the remaining Rogues, but her last enemy had managed to topple her and fall on top of her even as she died impaled on her spear. Eva pushed the still impaled dead Rogue aside with a mighty heave on her spear, then remained on her back for a long moment to catch her breath.
"Tired already? We have only just begun," the Necromancer stepped over a twitching body of a fallen Rogue as he spoke, approaching. "Someone could easily mistake you for a corpse like that."
Eva made a pained sound, sitting up.
"Warlock! You promised you won't desecrate my body if I die!"
"That I did. But you are not dead yet, and such concerns should not burden those who still draw breath."
Even as he spoke he helped her up, as gently as he would a fresh corpse, while keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. Eva grunted as she was pulled to her feet, still feeling the blow from the corrupted Rogue's mace throughout her torso.
It was the day after the war meeting, and they were out on a short demon hunt in Cold Plains. Nothing definite had been agreed upon last night, other than that three days' date of attack still stands. The bickering of nobles and usual disagreements with plan the Rogues had drawn out prevented the creation of a solid attack plan. Another meeting was scheduled to be held tomorrow, when the Rogues would present revised plan of attack in accordance to the suggestions and objections of the noblemen participating, but Eva felt fed up already. She had her own plan, which she fully intended to present to the Rogues at the meeting as well, but all this delaying was driving her mad! Now that the threat was finally revealed, she was eager to get in there and eradicate it, to do some good at last. And while she was glad for the assistance of other people in the camp, she felt they were also unnecessarily complicating things with their inexperience and internal feuds.
If it were up to her, a solid plan of attack would have been drawn right then and there, and they would be marching to the den of evil by now.
"Eva," Warlock's voice brought her from her ruminations, brief as they were. "It is unwise to stand about in the middle of an open field. If you are feeling unwell, we should seek shelter."
She gave him a mildly confused look.
"I'm fine, do I appear wounded to you?"
"I meant so you could safely resolve your thoughts."
Eva's confusion turned to an irate scowl, not in the least amused.
"Let's just go."
They walked for a short while in silence, vigilant of any new threats. This was Cold Plains, after all, an area far more dangerous and crawling with demons than Blood Moor. Right now, they were going through what used to be a large patch of farming area once, abandoned fields all around them.
Eva spotted something and slowed her pace, indicating for Priest to do the same.
"Up ahead," she said curtly, her eyes set on the figures coming into view from behind the ruins of a defensive wall.
It was a bloody scene, but in these times and in this place, nothing out of the ordinary. Bodies of carvers and corrupted Rogues were scattered about the field, hacked limbs and discarded weapons amidst puddles of unidentifiable gore. Rotting corpses spread over the burned-down remains of a turnip field like macabre harvest.
The small group, apparent victors of the recent skirmish, were busy with scavenging the bodies but quickly fell into hostile formation as they noticed the approaching pair. They soon relaxed upon realizing the newcomers were humans, but in the shuffle of readying their weapons one of them dropped a sack he had slung over his shoulder. It opened and something rolled out.
A head, once sitting firmly on the shoulders of a Rogue but now stained with corruption only death could cure.
It rolled down the small incline and over the flattened grass unevenly, stopping in an impression in the soft soil next to Priest. He pushed his hood down with a quick motion as he crouched smoothly, his attention focused on the head by his feet. His white hair spilled forward over his face as he picked up the severed head to gaze serenely into its countenance, twisted by pain and horror and smeared with old blood. Slowly, he turned it in his hands, studying the dead face with a masterly eye. Gazing into milky depths as if they spoke of hidden sights that evaded the common eye.
A pair of worn chain boots stopped in front of him, demanding his full attention. Priest straightened again slowly, turning his eyes to the man standing in front of him. The others watched sharply from the background, their hands always firmly gripping weapons.
They were a motley bunch, with mismatched pieces of armour, grey, scratched and rust with nicks and dents and dirt crusted in the joints. Faces, where visible, were defiant and weary, yet all to the last sculpted in that grim resolve so common to those whose lifestyle mostly consisted of warfare.
The one closest to Eva shifted restlessly, leaning with both hands on his pollaxe as he watched her. The chain lower part of his helm covered his mouth and nose and left only his eyes visible, bloodshot and strained in perpetual squint. Right now they were measuring Eva with a mixture of hunger and mild suspicion.
"You better give that back now, guvnuh," the one facing Priest, one could surmise a leader of the group based on his bearing and confidence, measured him with cruel eyes.
He gestured with expectant hands, smiling toothily. Priest offered the head in one extended hand, along with a tight smile.
"A souvenir?"
Eva knew that the foot soldiers, probably mercenaries drafted in at the start of demonic invasion judging by their lack of insignias, were either too stupid to recognize him for what he was, or too far burned out to care.
The one demanding the head back was apparently the former.
"Aye," he indicated the Priest's neck with his eyes, where several miniature skulls knotted in a string around his gorget were clicking together dryly. "Looks like you got a taste for 'em yourself, eh?"
Priest's empty smile persevered on his face as he studied the man with that unblinking intensity that always unnerved Eva.
"I prefer efficacy over aesthetics," he said evenly.
The man, perhaps finally affected by that aura of unspecified dread that always seemed to hang over the Necromancer, glanced away for a moment. He disguised his discomfort by clearing his throat roughly and spitting in the mud, then quickly reached for the offered head.
"Aye," he repeated, with a slightest tinge of nervousness. "We all got our little souvenirs."
Eva came to stand by Priest as the mercenaries' Captain stashed the head in an old sack carefully, and flung it over his shoulder again. By the amount of dark stains soaking through and the way it was filled out, there was definitely more than just a single head in it.
"You look like you haven't seen too much sun, eh?" he squinted up at grey sky, wistfully adjusting his dented helm. "We ain't seen much of it lately, either. Just the bleedin' rain, all the time."
"I like rain. It washes all the blood away."
The man blinked at Priest and shifted his weight with a sort of bemused expression, while the men behind him whispered something amongst themselves. Eva studied him with a tilted head, occasionally glancing over the others that now formed a curious half circle around them.
"Have you seen much of the enemy?"
The Captain turned to her, perhaps glad for a change of subject.
"Seen it? There's nothing but the demons everywhere!" he spat, then his face brightened with another smile. "And some Rogues, here and there. Always a sight for weary eyes."
Eva didn't quite like the way he looked at her as he said that.
Another one of the soldiers smiled up at her, displaying a large gap in his front row of teeth.
She rested one hand on her hip irritably and glared back until his smile died off in uncertainty.
"Are you from the Rogue camp? A local skirmish patrol?" she inquired further of the Captain.
"No," he shook his head vehemently. "You'd have to be mad to stay in that place. It's a deathtrap, it is! Me an' the boys have set up camp in some ruins south of here, in the Black Marsh. It's a good spot, covered from all sides, and patrols drop by now and then with news."
"Nothing good, I imagine," Eva said darkly.
"Nay," he replied. "Nothing good."
The tone of his voice suggested that he was used to it, though. As much as one could get used to such nightmares made reality.
"This place is going all to hell, and fast," one of the men said raspily, immense resignation carried on his tone.
The Captain half-turned to give him a sharp look, then turned back to Eva.
"It ain't all bad, it ain't. We're used to killing, an' there's plenty of killing to be done 'round here. Plenty of spilled blood calling for vengeance," he gave another of his toothy smiles. "We manage."
Eva frowned at him.
"I probably don't need to tell you, but things are getting worse by each day. The demons are gathering for a final push against the Rogues."
Captain exchanged meaningful glances with some of his men.
"Are they now? Can't say I'm surprised. No concern o' mine, though. Those fools-"
"What kind of ruins?" Priest interrupted abruptly, as if the conversation was of trivial concern to him.
The Captain paused in mid-sentence, taken by surprise. He closed his mouth and his brow furrowed slowly, then his face brightened again.
"The crumbling kind," this drew a few weak chuckles from some of his men, and a rolling of eyes from Eva. "Couldn't really tell you much more about them, guvnuh. They're ruins. They're old. Not much else to it, is it?"
Eva watched Priest with some puzzlement, annoyed at the pointless interruption.
"So you're demon hunters?" Captain again pulled her attention back to himself, his unsettling smile returning. "Have to say,-"
A long, faraway howl cut the atmosphere, and his smile vanished instantly, all heads turning to search about in caution.
"It'll be nightfall in about an hour," Captain said quickly, gravely. "It's a few good hours' walk more back to the Rogue camp. You might want to consider coming back with us to the camp to spend the night. You wouldn't want to be caught out here during the dark, trust me."
"That's probably a good idea," Eva agreed softly, her gaze, too, grim and lost in the distant moor.