3. How the mighty get fallen

How the mighty get fallen

  • S

    @bb04d41fc5:

    These tales are inspired by the several events that occured overtime in Jiyyd, as part of a larger plot. In thanks to those that have been part of this plot, and as well just for funs, I'll put here the whole story in parts, as I find the time.

    How it came to pass

    “I thank you. Now, I have just one request…” For a moment, the knight needed to compose herself, then she looked upon the young Tormite again. “Bury what is left under Helm's grace… Leave my remains my armour and sword. Let me have those in my death. All the rest is to the Order. See to it…." With that, she closed her eyes, dismissing the young Tormite as well from the bounds of the afterlife. "Be well, brother. May Helm guard your way...” Finally, she was alone…

    For a final time, she looked around. The demons that lured in the mists of the Fugue all kept at bay, knowing their quarry was lost. With a final breath, she kneeled down, thankful for a live lived to the fullest, proud for the honor now bestowed. She closed her eyes one final time in prayer, as thoughts drifted off to what had been, enemies overcome, love shared and pain endured, friends gained and lost, or left behind…

    “Rovan, take the body!” Rovan snapped to attention, the whole scene having seemed like a dream to him. A dream he’d already lived the night before. Here he was, his hands covered in the blood of the paladins. “Heretics that will serve the cause” the –master- had spoken. Rovan knew well enough what that cause was. His whole reason for living, the sole reason why he even considered sharing his days with these –brothers-... These men whose hearts were darker than the blackest cloth he’d ever seen. If only they knew his true intentions. Rovan shrugged the thought off as quickly as it came. They did not suspect, he’d played his role well. Now was not the time to make them notice... yet.

    Without a further glance, Rovan did as ordered, before the chance was lost. There she was, the face pale and full with blood, the armour shredded and dented in more places than one could care to imagine. There was nothing much left of the stern posure that the knight always showed. “I wonder what makes her so special...” Nothing was, she was just another puppet in the Cult’s play, a tool to a means. They’d never be able to learn anything from her in life, since she was as stubborn as most others of the Helmites were, so the –master- had decided she would serve them better in death. Rovan swallowed away a scowl as he watched the others taking what little she carried. “And leave the rest to rot.”

    Rovan felt out of place as never before, right there in the midst of the Silver Valley. He wondered suddenly if anyone would even know, or care, of what had just befallen. It did not matter, his task was set. His dreams had been clear, all of this was meant to be. And he would go through, or atleast make the effort, if such could mean putting a halt to the Cult that had accepted him as brother. That, in the end, was still his purpose. “Just a tool.”

    The flight was quick and easy, too easy even. Rovan did not like it, but there was no time to care. Quickly, he undid the body of the armoured plates, leaving them behind to lessen his burden. He had to move quick, before the others noticed he was gone. “I hope your Watcher does really watch over you, miss. Otherwise we’ll both be doomed.” Quickly, Rovan uncorked the flask he’d taken along just for this, and quaffed it whole. He took a breath of relief to see it worked, as his hands and legs already started fading from sight. In the distance behind him, he could already hear the curses and shouts. They had noticed. Time was up....

    “A year, lovely... a year and has He already called for you again? Has your precious Watcher finally taken pitty?” The fiend whispered, as it had for near to a year now. And with every whisper, it saw how the will of the paladin slowly crumbled. It only held on to faint threads of faith now, a faith that would soon be gone completely, far away resolves that the promise would still be fulfilled, that peace would still come. “Do you still really believe that they will come forth, lovely? A year is long in a mortal’s mind... They have forgotten about you.” “No.” “Yes... you know it too. But I can show you the way... You can help them, make them. They owe you as much...” “Leave me be...please.” The fiend continued, ignoring the pleas. It could not stop now, not when it was so close. “My lovely... Don’t you see it? They don’t care about you. And you are here, trapped, until they do... Make them see. Make them fulfill it, so you can have that peace you were so promised. Have you sacrificed all for nothing?”

    “No.... I have not....” The knight trembled, weary, exhausted. She’d heard the words more than once already. She’d heard herself whisper them even, in the silence of the dark, alone, when the restless souls would give her a moment’s peace, when the nightmares of a forgotten life would come. The fiend watched her intently, spotting for any signs of the weakness, of the crumbling will.

    “Lovely...you know I am right. You shouldn’t be here like this... I can help you. I can help you make them see, I can show you the way...all you need to do is want it so. And you do want it, I can see it.” The fiend saw it. There it was, the sign it had been waiting for so long. The once proud paladin had finally crumbled. It had taken long, a year almost, but in the end, the Fugue had taken it’s toll. She remained silent for what seemed an eternity, the turmoil within apparent. Then, with the last resolve she could muster in these draining bonds, she gave a short nod. She wanted it, she did. There was no stronger desire than to see the end of this torment she’d been enduring for so long already, no greater wish than to be released from this forgetfulness, to feel whole again. She would do it, she would agree to the fiend’s offer. There was nothing else left. She was forgotten...

    “Lead then, and show me the way.”

    ((to be continued))

  • S

    Bacelar Diion, proud servant of Tyr, Paragon to the Divine Shield Order, arose in his bed disturbed, his palms and face just like the sheets wet of cold sweat. Twice, he blinked his eyes to gain minor focus on his surroundings. It was still dark outside, as dark as any night had been since the fall of his brothers. From below, the faint smell of roast and warm ale still crept up. But those eyes… He could not shake the vision from before him. The eyes still watched him.

    “I must warn the others.” Quickly, he got up and took hold of what little he carried, donning the plate that stood as symbol towards both The True, and his position with the Legion, heading down towards the common areas of the Regal Whore.

    “Evenin’ sir” Mary barely managed, tossing aside one of the drunk to clean up the final mess in the inn room. Drudo yawned widely as he counted the earnings for the day, making ready for bed as well. All seemed as normal, not at all as the vision had shown him. There was still time. With an irresistible shiver, the Tyrean grasped the doorhandle, and paused.

    All had seemed fine as the dream had come to him that night as well. The children had been playing in the field, and all had seemed just as peaceful. Then, the dark had fallen, covering the quaint town like a cold blanket of death. He’d raised his eyes towards the sun to see, and to his horror it had been black. He’d looked once more around the town, and what he’d seen had horrified him beyond all imagination. Jiyyd was dead...

    In his dreams, the whole town had fallen to the cursed darkness. Everyone, friends, allies, peasants and children alike, all were dead. Yet their shadows still stirred, still they lived and moved, fed by the dark rays of the sun. And then he’d seen them, the eyes that still haunted him, the sadness, and the looks of pain and guilt, the pleadings for aid as they peered into his soul. There was something familiar about them, somehow he could not shake the thought he’d seen that look before, that he knew whom those eyes belonged to. But whom then? It made no sense.

    Bacelar Diion took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped out into the night. It was darker than ever, black as the darkest cloth, as clouds obscured the moon and stars from sight. It was a time of darkness, and shadows...

    “Please Lerian, continue about the little boy.” The few men gathered within the confines of the Helmite temple listened with all interest to the stranger’s tale. They’d met him on the road to Jiyyd, and after exchanging some words, drinks and other pleasantries had followed him towards the temple. There, he’d told them about the poor Barnd gone missing, driven mad by unknown sources as his information told him.

    “Well, I am here to look for him.” The man that had called himself Lerian took mental note of his audience as he spoke. Kalis Reign, Allannon Damon and Amana Colds, the two first still rather young in years, but all men of sound heart and nature it would seem. Amana had expressed his allegiance towards the Vigilant earlier in their conversations as well, another good point to mark. It had been reason enough to speak to these men about the matter, and seek their aid. All help from those known within the town would prove useful.

    Yet the Inquisitor kept to choosing his own words with care for now, providing only the little information he deemed necessary to complete his task. The warnings from his superiors at the Helm’s Hold had not been in vain, there was reason enough to suspect treachery within the small hostel of Jiyyd, maybe even amongst their own ranks. And he, Lerian Orryngaard, Knight Inquisitor of Helm, Keeper of Trust, would not have been commissioned for this “minor” task if there was no reason for caution.

    He’d learned very few details already in speaking with the locals, and the only thing his talks with the High Watcher Garnendar had revealed besides the matter was once again the need for caution. Lerian could not put his finger to what it was, but there was something not quite right about the man. “Be ever watchful of your enemies... “ In time, he would learn the truth, of that he was certain. Lerian Orryngaard was not known to fail.

    “Apparently, he spoke nonsense, about death returning.” Lerian continued, his expression not at all betraying his inner musings, his posure calm, relaxed, methodical.
    “Like the undead?” Lerian nodded towards Kalis’ remark, considering their weight. “Aye.. something about death not being death no more. It's why I must find him soon. They took him to his bed to rest, but he disappeared a few hours after. He's not been seen since...”

    Lerian trailed off as he noticed what the others seemed to notice as well. As they were speaking, the halls of the Temple grew colder, to the point where he could see his own breath in speaking. The calm features on his face vanished, making way for a dark expression as his hand reached for the sword at his side. A dark taint of evil had crept up almost unnoticed, and it grew stronger now with each breath. Something was near...

    “I sense trouble coming” Alannon spoke the words that the others thought, and with that, all drew weapons and went for the main hall.

    The Temple halls were dark, pitchblack, obscuring near to every detail. A light tremor shook the hall, coming from deep below, as a deep cold sigh seemed to eere through the empty halls below. “I have see this before... darkness” Amana’s words had not even grown cold yet when the darkness gave life to the shadows. One by one they emerged from within it, dark talons lashing out at the 4 men, hungry for their life, craving to take their warmth away and succumb their souls to the darkness. The battle erupted harshly within the sacred halls as steel met shadow in an effort to save both the Temple’s sanctity, and their own lives...

    “Morrrtaaalssss...” A dark loathing voice hissed from deep within the dark, freezing the blood of the warriors to a halt. The last few shadows remaining halted their assault, immediately retreating to the blackness that birthed them. “What is the meaning of this!” Alannon cried out in it’s direction, startled and uncertain of their fate, as the others moved closer with arms at ready.

    “Lisssstennn...” Without a care for anything else, the fiend issued it’s warning to them, fulfilling it’s bound task to the letter. And with every word it spoke, it foretold of what was to be. And with every breath, the men uttered reprisals of disbelief and unknowing. Soon enough, it lost it’s patience. As if it wasn’t bad enough already that it had been in need to strike the bargain with that pesky Watchling human in order to gain what it desired so much. Now it had to deal with zealot incompetents.

    “Foolssss!!!!!” It hissed clearly in anger. “You do notssss undersssstandd!!!” The outburst startled the men for a small moment, enough to regain their attention and lower their weapons another inch again. Maybe they were not as stupid as the fiend figured after all. “What is it that you want here?” “Rah! Mortalsss.....downn fall will come.” “Mortals will fall? The gods would not let such an extremity happen.” It uttered a mild curse. “Deathh cannot be denied! All will learrrn.....rrremember it morrrtallssss... and ssspread thisss worrrd... It isss yourrr only hope” It did not tire itself anylonger on mortal fools. Soon, it thought, this demeaning little task would be over, and it’s own time would finally come. Soon, when Garnendar completed the last of his side of the bargain. When –she- was ready...

    As quickly as it came, the darkness vanished again, leaving not a single trace of what had just occured. Lerian remained silent, almost untouched. Alannon looked at him, still somewhat shaken, as the others relaxed as well. “That was a warning...that thing eludes to a greater evil that comes to this land.” Lerian nodded calmly to his words. “That such a creature could come and desicrate the santity of this temple... “ Amana could not believe it, let alone accept, that Helm would even think to allow such a vile being in His own temple without aid nor reprisal.

    “That He would allow it in His halls sets us to think. Darkness is coming in time, my friends. Prepare.” Lerian’s words remained as calm as methodical as before, as if this was mere common fact. “This what, Lerian? Have you seen such a thing before?” “I have, more than once, sir.”, he replied. “Such fiends would shred your flesh from your bones for mere pleasure.” He watched them intently, curious for their thoughts and actions. “He must want his message spread...else we would not be breathing still.” This Alannon is a wise man, Lerian thought, atleast he speaks with thought.

    “The towns folk should not hear of this. They would not have the strength to understand.” Amana’s remark was curious, but not unexpected. And in a way Lerian deemed him right. The Helmites seemed to have grown in quite a disliking over the last few weeks as he himself had noticed, and even when none dared to speak it, he’d sensed his Lord’s everwatchful gaze turning away from Jiyyd the moment he’d set foot within the town’s limits. Something was seriously wrong... if only he could see what.

    “I Must have your words sirs. That none shall know of what has occured here this day, save others of the temple.” Even when the others agreed to Amana’s request, lerian shook his head, placing a palm upon the altar. “There is only one that can ask such of me, sir Amana. One, besides Helm. And that is my liege. I cannot grant you my word, nor can you ask for it.” Amana nodded unquestioning, and continued. “The word must go out though to others. The Order of the Divine Shield must know and start to prepare. They must learn that a great evil is coming, though we know not its form or when it shall arrive?” He looked at his companions for support to his words, or challenges for that matter.

    Lerian let go of a deep sigh, his eyes fixed upon the stone tablet, shaped to Helm’s Hand. “I must find the boy and learn what he saw...” The others fell silent. “I have no dealings with the town's affairs. If the priests wish to inform they may. They should even if it is in danger.”

    The man named Lerian parted soon after, agreeing to meet again within short notice to set out and find what had happened to Barnd...

  • S

    Garnendar reclined in the chair, comfortable. The halls of the Helmite temple were empty, and the acolytes had already retreated for the night. He closed his eyes, listening to the silence resounding. Then, when he was certain nothing but the sounds of the wind remained, he stood and left for the temple halls, and prayed. He prayed for the guidance he required, and prayed that his Lord would show his newfound ally before him. And his Lord answered…

    The fiend hissed a vile curse at finding himself trapped within the boundaries of the summoning once again. “What do you want of me thisss time, mortal?” The priest looked upon the fiend with a cold stare. “You will respect me, beast. What is the progress?” “All isss ready, massster.” The fiend cursed at this mortal’s insolencense, but now was not the time to act upon it. “Good. It is time then to bring this prophecy to life. You know your task. Begone.” “At your command, massster.” It did not need more words. Garnendar dismissed the fiend with a wave of his hand.

    “The prophecy...” Garnendar Talman, appointed High Watcher of Jiyyd, could hardly resist a laughter. It was all too easy, these peasants were all too gullible. He hadn’t even needed many words to persuade Lens Undon of his cause, only a decently forged letter of intrudoction, and his wits. And now, this rabble was at his mercy. Not even the sanctified halls of the Temple would give them refuge when the time would finally come, he’d already made sure of that. He smiled. Life in service of the Black Hand of Bane was good. His brothers would be pleased.

    The prophecy had been nothing more than an age-old vision, taken for truth by the earlier clerics that had come from the Helm’s Hold. One day, so it said, a great evil would arise from below the temple, and wreak havoc upon these lands. Garnendar looked at the warded door, leading towards the crypts, with mixed feelings. It had been warded for no other reason than to keep this specific at bay, locked inside the crypts should it ever emerge. Yet if he was to succeed in his task, that door had to be opened. It was time to make sure that the prophecy became truth. Soon, with the fiend’s help, the “great evil” would arise. Bane would be pleased... .

    Barnd stirred in his sleep. It had been a long day, helping the High Watcher in conducting masses, cleaning and running errands for the Temple, and the daily training, which had shown more exhausting than ever. His fellow acolytes had expressed their concern over him already, his color had paled, and he had hardly eaten a thing in the last few days. And sleep... Barnd feared the nights, he feared the dreams that had come to haunt him. He feared to loose his guard when he was the weakest, safely asleep...

    With a snap he rose in his bed, wide awake. There it was, he could feel the cold in the air already, could hear the ghastly whispers from beyond the door. –It- was there. “Helm guard me....” He shivered, and moments passed before he realized he was holding tightly to his symbol. He prayed for strength. “No fears, Barnd. Helm does not fear. He remains ever the Vigilant, ever the strong and the proud. No fears, He will guard you.” He cursed himself for his fears. How was he ever to show that he of all was worthy of the Vigilant’s Watch? Cowering in his bed?

    Without a further though, Barnd rose to his feet, his symbol tightly in his hand. Some flecks of rust powdered on the floor. He did not know why it had gone to rust, but in the past week, it seemed all of the acolytes had the same problem. Jarven had implied that maybe a bad metal had been used, or it hadn’t been cured right. It didn’t really matter they’d thought, after all it was just a sign of their allegiance to Helm, and they still wore it with the same pride, rust or not...

    He held his breath as he opened the door to the main hall. It croaked soft, and for a heartbeat’s moment he stopped and listened. The others remained fast asleep. Barnd swallowed his last fears away, and opened the door wider. Without a further thought, he set foot into the main hall, and watched.

    "From dark of day to black of night, what was denied shall be taken. From dark of day to black of night...” Barnd lay in a far away corner, curled up tightly, cowering in fear and insanity. “From dark of day to black of night...” The words did not seem right, they felt like a lie. But it was all he could think of, all that would linger in his mind. He had seen it, he had seen the dark shadowy beast in Helm’s halls, and it had spoken to him, told him to warn everyone, to remember...

    "From dark of day to black of night, what was denied shall be taken. The vigilant will guard no more the servant to the Watcher, as death shall be death no more. Death cannot be denied, and they must learn."

    “LIES !!!” Barnd’s voice cried out in the empty halls like never before, loud, enraged, shaken. And as the air left his lungs for this massive breath, so did leave the last portion of sanity that the boy still possessed. When the others came running, they found him, shivering and babbling nonsense in a dark corner, his symbol tossed alongside. Of the boy, none more but a shambling mass remained.