Chapter Three: Pinwheel.
He hesitantly clambered down the precipitous ledge, rocks skittered after him, bouncing once off the sharp rock filled jutting ledge below and then disappearing in a blanket of dust. He managed to teeter across the precipice and land on the familiar comfort of solid ground. How anything could comfort a sane man here, only he knew, his daunting painful trek through the Catacombs was more than enough to turn any man mentally insane. It was very serendipitous he happened upon this shortcut that cut out the majority of the meandering tombs that wove in and out of this riddling cave. It beat his methodical technique of clearing each tomb one by one, laying to rest hordes of ravenous skeletal monsters which inevitably would of worn him out before the suspected Necromancer. Leeroy looked down at his once bright white clothing, now ashen and riddled with dust, he tried to pat it down, a pointless task as only a cloudy puff arose, sucking into the ventilation of his helmet. He tried to hold the tingling in the back of his throat, but ended up coughing loudly. The cough echoed throughout the open basin at the bottom of the cavernous drop, ricocheting off the walls and passing into intertwining passageways, into nooks and crannies inhabited by skeletons. They abruptly awoke from their long slumber.
The cave was awash with a palette of blue, a sapphire tinged the rocks edges, mottled darker greens caught a thin ray of light which pierced through a fissure high above, it illuminated the centre which looked more like sea waves than the cold decaying barren ground of a centuries old cavern. There was a tumultuous blare that resounded throughout, creating a ricocheting shockwave, a sputtering of loose rocks crumbled down from an unnaturally torn deep scar in the stone above.
There was a dead silence.
A single thud echoed, a bouncing rock landed before Leeroy.
In the darkness a bleach bone frame wrapped around a wooden helm trundled along at high speed. Leeroy side stepped and the spikes of the helm spun viciously, tearing up the rock and soil and leaving a jagged trail behind it. Dirt and bits of fossilised bone and body peppered the air. A fetid stench coughed and bubbled from the freshly opened layers of waste, a compost blend of burrowing insects and corpses. The spinning skeleton battered into the stone wall, rotating non-stop, merely scratching away pathetically at the immovable cavern rock. Leeroy turned and crashed the iron mass of Grant onto its spine, bending the wood over itself, shattering it into wood splinters which fragmented off and stuck into the ground. The skeletons armed twitched, and Leeroy finished it off with one quick strike.
He was perturbed, but the abstract idealism of a world filled with fire, a living light for humanity burnt strong in his mind. All this death, even the simplicity of staring into an empty skull had meaning, that being once lived a normal life. He was contrite over putting them to rest, but it was righteous in the name of Gywn, hopefully these lost souls would find relief somewhere else. Wherever that else was.
He staggered into a narrow corridor, the blues and greens washed away into a more familiar ashen path, white, grey and black shades formed into a deepening shroud of darkness. The white cloth hung off his body in strips, torn by brutal attacks, bathed in blood red, the chainmail links had broken, his side torn from a wheeled skeleton. He was still strong enough, but that strength whittled away as a strange premonitory feeling benumbed him.
A broken yellow sandstone roof gave way to a small drop into a square room filled with shallow water. The corners were filled with books, some stacked, some lay open and soaked in puddles and most were littered randomly, discarded unwantedly. Mounds and mounds of scrolls and literature. Leeroy noticed the hanging skeletons, and came to the uneasy conclusion that these were tomes filled to the brink with perverse necromancy spells.
He leapt down, the iron chunk clanged and splashed the water, Sanctus' green glimmer danced in the disturbed waves. His resplendent gold armour scintillated across the water's surface. A myriad of skulls and bones hung, tightened on worn rope, the entire anatomy of hundreds of bodies and parts dangled precariously. He stared incredulously at all the experimental remnants.
A hunched, black cloaked figured hadn't heard his arrival or was simply ignoring him, its back protruded several thin metal arms, which were working away on shattered bones across a makeshift desk. Its arms flurried up and down, until it had finished its job and tried to stretch upright to appreciate its work, but its deformed back wouldn't let it. Its shoulders bobbed slightly instead, as if giddy with pleasure from its harrowing triumph. The Necromancer turned, staring with its three distorted masks, their mouths elongated and their eye sockets dark as the depths of hell. Each was distinctively different though, tarnished silver and bronze, representing some weird twisted necromancy no doubt. They were theatrical rather than intimidating, the smiles like a giant crescent, frowns bent down to the chin and bulbous eyes overly exaggerated. The masks operated by themselves, looking the Paladin up and down inscrutably.
A raucous cacophony erupted from the twisted turning masks of the Necromancer. From its six diminutive arms hung lanterns, roaring with intense flame. The master of skeletons, Pinwheel, drew them forth and fired a raging torrent of fire. Leeroy stepped back and raised Sanctus. The fire surged across the rim of the shield scorching the peak of his helmet, it hummed a bright red then faded to a dim cinder glow. The beautiful white flame paint work started to peel at the edges, the green healing strands emanated soaring in height, unaffected by the dark magic, endlessly rejuvenating Leeroy.
Leeroy slung Grant over his back and held his Talisman. He knelt down on one knee and a gold transparent circle formed around him, concentric shapes and patterns danced around in the inner circle. An aurora of greenish, gold bands rose around him, interlocking and dispersing. A speckled gas cloud, powdery in appearance folded over itself and remerged as a rotating light, it spun above him before fading into the sky. Replenishment, a healing miracle of the Gods, granted to all Clerics.
He had a profound belief in only calling upon the Gods at certain times and not to waste their abilities on petty brawls. This Necromancer had a few tricks up his sleeve, which he had several of…
The black silhouette faded out, it appeared suddenly behind him, and another to his left… then right. It had duplicated itself into many identical forms. He swung violently at one, on touch of the cold iron it vanished immediately. The rest of the forms combined their spindly arms and charged their powerful magic. They surrounded and unleashed the waves of red fiery doom upon him. He clenched the Talisman and his whole body shuddered. Within an instance a bright holy white ball grew, larger and larger in his vicinity, it expanded and exploded outwards, projecting the Necromancers magic back at its respective selves.
He lunged at the remaining form and repeated the attack, known as Wrath of God, delving into an unseen amount of Faith, it was the first time in years any Cleric or Paladin had accessed the true unparalleled divine power of the Gods. Its violent waves of white showered and burnt the hunched, caped demon. One mask was set ablaze, its smiling face melting into sadness, an ember struck his cloak and ignited like a raging forest fire along its seams and continued to set the Necromancer alight. Leeroy gripped the handle of Grant, with all his strength he raised the godlike weapon above his head and crashed it down upon the being. The masks crumpled and smashed across the paper laden floor, the cloaks flames evaporated in the shallow water and the beings arms were bent, flailing wildly for a second before Leeroy smashed its remnants into oblivion. He heaved Grant over his head for one last strike, his elbow bent, his body stuttered as he stopped mid swing. He tip toed forwards, struggling to maintain his balance. A crippled, bony hand, the only recognisable body part jutted from beneath the black scorched cape. Leeroy knelt, on further inspection he noticed the hand was grafted to an elbow, and that elbow to a shoulder. One bent, melancholy face; its upside down crescent turned mouth gawped at him. He picked it up, the unknown material, tough and worn, felt hardened through a source of severe heat. He didn't know though, it could be fused together from any mysterious source of necromancy. Leeroy looked above as the skeletal figures clanged together. He had mashed the corpse so thoroughly he could not fathom its strange merged form. He flipped the mask and looked at the inscription.
'I'm so sorry.'
He dropped the mask, took the tip of the ragged cape and covered the bodies.
He held Grant high and continued to lay into it, until nothing but scraps of black cloth and broken bones were left in an unrecognisable heap.