Malekus steels himself from the carnage. He wishes there was a way to sacrifice none in this fray, but he knows the good of the whole town is at stake. He begins to mutter the prayer and forming the energy in his hand. He tries to find an opening while the demon is tearing through the militia. He hurls the ball of energy at the demon, but it looks up at him laughing and swats the ball away harmlessly.
His enemy preoccupied with the warlock's attack, the hunter acts quickly. He flings one of his swords to the ground as he scrambles over the heaps of bodies at the demon's feet. Eyes still surveying the monstrous threat before him, he reaches down, grabs the shield of the fallen militiaman, and slips it quickly into place on his forearm. As he turns, the ranger catches sight of Gerard and Father Bertram, and his eyes show a hint of relief. But he quickly returns his attention to the demon, sidestepping back to his former position to prevent its advance. Shield before him, sword held low and to the side, Joseph spits at the feet of the towering, red fiend. Then he steps back, lowers his stature, and cranes his neck up to meet his foe's infernal gaze. Joseph's mouth curls into a mocking, wry smirk. "More sheepdogs. You picked the wrong flock."
Gerard and Father Bertram make their way slowly into the grafs. The good Father is gravely injured and relies on the younger man’s support. They stop out of the range of the battle. Gerard takes a scroll from the father and unfurls the fine parchment. While Gerard holds him and the open scroll steady, Father Bertram begins chanting words in musical language. The words stir hope in the faithful even if they cannot understand them. Gerard joins in with Father Bertram joining his stronger voice with that if the father’s. In unison they speak words that push back the darkness encroaching in hearts of the town’s defenders . Unfortunately beyond the sound of the words giving some momentary comfort to the faithful, the spell does not seem to do anything more. Gerard and Father Bertram look at each for a moment perplexed.
Wielding a shield, Joseph weaves and bobs, nimbly blocking a heavy-handed swing from the demon. In a blur of rage, the demon strikes again for the ranger. With little time to react, Joseph tucks himself and rolls, allowing the shield to take the brunt of the momentum as he just dodges the demon's steely black nails. The maneuver doesn't get him as far as he'd like however, and slowed Joseph to his feet. Before the ranger can better his position, the demon lunges forward with its needle-toothed jaw open and wide, clamping down on Joseph's shoulder. The force is immense, and the demon's teeth are incredibly sharp. The attack sinks deep, and Joseph's mind sinks to oblivion. "One mutt has been put down. Now for the lot of you."
With the ranger's body limp on the ground, the demon leaves him to die and rushes for the remaining Avacynian clergy, determined to get the soul he is owed. If he is fortunate enough to rid this world of the rest of these imbeciles, he'd be very happy, indeed. It's important to enjoy one's work, after all.
Malekus looks past the demon charging him at the fallen ranger. He moves his lips in a silent prayer to his patron for dying companion. A dim glow emits from around the rangers damaged body and mend some of the wounds. The bleeding slows but does not stop. He stands firm and resolved to meet the incoming attack head on. He begins to chant the holy words "Luceat lumen vestrum" while tracing an ancient symbol with his staff. The demon is looming over him now and he mistraces the final sigil. A flash of light at the tip of the staff slowly fizzles out instead of creating a burst of energy as the spell fades. Malekus takes a few steps back towards the pastor hoping to put a small amount of space between himself and the demon.
Joseph's head hurts immensely. He must have hit it on something. He opens his eyes, and sees the trees of the Ulvenwald above him. There's a scuffling noise, and a growl. He rolls his head to the side and sees his older brother Easton pinned to the path by a werewolf, shoving at it with his shield.
The ranger pushes himself to his knees. In the other direction, another wolf stands ten feet from Thomas, his younger brother. The beast is slavering and snarling as the boy prepares a spell. Joseph blinks groggily and rubs his head. His hair is wet with blood. Then he hears The Old Man's voice thunder from the trees. "Joseph!" the wizard bellows. "Get up there! Keep it from Thomas!"
With a gasp, Joseph startles awake in the Hanweir graf, his face and chest covered with his own blood. He can still feel the tingle of Malekus's healing magic within him. He looks up and sees the spearsage squaring up to the hellish threat before him. The demon's back is to Joseph.
"Get up there!" the words echo in his head. "Keep it from Thomas!"
Seeing the shield lying next to him, Joseph grabs it, scrambles to his feet, and charges the demon from behind, slamming the shield squarely into its rump. The creature stumbles, then wheels around with a blind claw at the unseen attacker, but the ranger deftly ducks the blow. The demon turns to face the renewed threat in full. Joseph's eyes dart past the demon, to Malekus's. "Go!" he shouts. "Get away! Back from it!"
Gerard was so sure that this would work. He and Father Bertram would be able to close the portal together and that the demon in front of him would be sent straight back to hell. He realizes that this was hubris. He is nowhere skilled enough to even help the veteran clergyman in this endeavor. "Father Bertram, I believe that I am a hindrance and not a help to you now. Please continue to try and close the portal while I help keep this demon from harming others!"
Gerard's heart drops when he sees Joseph go down, but regains hope when he sees the determined ranger pick himself back up after Malekus's healing magic. He charges at the horror speaking softly primordial words of power that call upon the elements for aid. The words quickly become louder and end with shout. Gerard's staff and eyes briefly glow green as he closes to the front of the demon and brings his staff crashing down on the hellspawn.
"By brimstone! I'll not have your insolence!" The demon scowls as the persistent ranger shows his mangled face again. With claws extended, the demon slashes the man's face, splitting it anew with bloody horizontal streaks. He then grabs Joseph's limp body by a shoulder, bringing the hunter's torn, leather-bound chest to his pointed ear. "Ahhh," the demon's voice seethes. "He's not yet been met by Alabaster. Shall I spring him to the front of the line?" As he finishes his question, the demon's other hand wraps around the unconscious Joseph's neck.
The Pastor Bertram understands Gerard's position, for though the druid seems devout, he is not of the Avacynian word. With squinted eyes, the father would continue reciting the holy word of the aged papyrus, but sees the motionless, bleeding body of their woodsman fellow in the clutches of the infernal fiend. In a horrid moment of awe, Bertram is speechless. His eyes dart to Malekus, and then to Gerard. He is uncertain. Doubt begins to creep into his heart, not of his faith- no. But of the amount of life lost for the sake of defeating this one monster.
"Stop, stop!" Malekus shouts through his clenched jaw. He knows he needs to contain his emotions and appear composed but he is enraged. The betrayal by an innocent, the loss of the town guard, and the chaos of the gaff is too much. He switches to a neutral stance and tries to relax his grip on his staff. He looks to the priest and the others assembled with a solemn expression. "You have already reaped more than was promised to you demon spawn. The guard captain and his men were good people. The destruction here will ring out against the light as was promised by the misguided youth. Take what you have already reaped and be gone. Leave the boy and the ranger and be glad with the souls you have already harvested."
“Father Bertram, your entire life has prepared you such a time as this. You know the words, you know how to do this! Do not let this filth take anymore innocent life! Send it back to hell!” Gerard ends his plea with a shout.
"Y-yes! I must continue, the verse.." Pastor Bertram continues to mutter, his graying eyes shakily passing back and forth, left and right across the musty page. His face tightens as he comes to a piece of script he doesn't immediately recognize, a small mispronunciation in terms of diction, but harks a death sentence for the allies of the church in the face of the infernal monster before them.
Thus far, the demon's face has been by-and-large amused, though it has roiled into frustration a time or two. Now, however, he was angry. "It must be the boy's! Give him to me, or this bag of flesh and guts will be torn open and you'll bathe in his steaming internals!" He begins stretching Joseph's neck away from his shoulders.
At the demon's dark promise, Eran looks to the Father of Lightspire, still away in his angelic stanzas. Then to Malekus. His eyes and cheeks are flushed and puffy, dirt and blood smeared over him and his Avacynian attire. His face says it all. He is absolved with his sealed fate. He slowly crawls to his feet. "Just.. let me go."
Outside Lightspire Graf
Much earlier in the day, another arm of the Church enters the cursed township of Hanweir. This one consists of two cathars and their leader, a prospective moonsage. A relatively recent graduate of Fel Seminary, Vict is young- possibly one of the youngest to complete his initial training- but he finished with exceeding marks and was immediately whisked to use. He'd proved his worth quickly in the field, and trusted with leading this group of cathars. They were all recent initiates as well, but Vict led them to mission success, albeit with losses, in their previous assignment further south. They had been double their current size leaving Thraben.
His men were tired from their travel and weighted by the losses of their comrades- they needed respite, and Hanweir seemed a fortuitous locale to stop for the day. Vict continues northbound, seeking an inn or other housing establishment on the Gavony-side of Hanweir. During their trek, however, a dismal strangeness can be sensed. The sky begins to have an eerie tinge to it, as if it were sunset though it was not so. As he continues his way through the streets of Hanweir, a black pillar of smoke can be see rising beyond the rooftops but within the borders of the town.
Passing into nearing the center of town, guards can be seen urging civilians to stay within inner Hanweir. These men immediately recognize Vict's regalia and bid him forward. They tell him of the hellish occurrence within Hanweir's grafs and beg Vict and his men's assistance.
"Oh damn," exclaims the cleric who turns to his fellows who are, as himself, still battered and shaken from the last task. "Darkness never rest on this land, and so do we....I have to ask you my friends....another effort for today...follow me, a fiend's pit, those agents will need our help." Vict spurs his horse towards the Lightspire Chapel graf and the black smoke.
Even in haste, it takes several minutes to reach the upper district of Hanweir. During his ride, the cleric notices another group of individuals is just as ask briskly heading in the same direction as he is, vice the direction everyone else is going. It seems to be three men, all of them wearing Avacynian regalia. They haven't noticed the cleric as they determinedly make way towards the graf.
"Ehi" Vict shouts trying to attract their attention, riding the horse closer "What is the situation?"
The gruff man in the lead, an inquisitor it looks like, looks at you and speaks between his grunts of effort and pushing civilians out of his way. "A moonsage, eh? Good! Follow us boy!"
Behind him another man, much younger than the leading individual slows his pace to meet you. "A hellmaw has opened it seems in the graf. I didn't imagine other Avacynians would be in town. My name is Myles Raben, and we could sure your help to vanquish what fell demons arise."
Behind him, another cleric continues on behind the boisterous inquisitor. He looks to you with sharp eyes but runs forward silently.
Vict first nods to the inquisitor. "Aye....Inquisitor Vict of Thraben, are there any other civilians to secure?"
The cleric answers then to the younger man, "We were south, for another mission, but Avacyn's grace brought us here, where is needed, show the way, we will come with you, we have to stop the demons and possibly close the hellmaw." He spurs the horse once more towards the graf.
"I do not know. Hopefully, they've all been evacuated from the vicinity of the graf." With that, Raben continues his haste.
Now following the three Avacynians, another figure can be seen ahead of them. A small, lithe frame, denoting a child or young woman, who also appears to be sprinting towards the graf.
Vict frowns for a moment, being one of the youngest cathars of the clergy, he is not completely surprised to see a very young...boy..or girl? running to face a peril. Without directly addressing him or her yet, he urges his steed nearby trying to understand who is he or she.
"Eh, Myles, who is he?" Vict asks pointing at the figure ahead.
Raben looks ahead and lets a small chuckle go. "Oh, her. She is a ward under our charge for the moment. She may not look it, but she wields strange magicks. She told us of the predicament at the graf."
"Well then, we need all the help we can get!" With that said, the Cleric spurs his horse to a gallop towards the graf.
As Vict arrives nearer the scene, he first sees a large chapel. It's not so close to the splendor and size of the Cathedral of Avacyn in Thraben, but it's more impressive than any chapel in many other towns and villages. The graf is located behind the chapel, which isn't uncommon. As he nears the graf's gates, Vict notices the sky becomes noticeably becomes more of a shade of red. A black plume of smoke rises from farther within the graveyard. A few onlookers line the periphery of the site, with guards ushering them back. The ground before the open gates of the graveyard is scuffed, mottled, and stained. Some weapons, shields, and helmets still dot the entrance. Believing urgency to be of utmost importance, Vict continues on.
From a decent distance, before actually arriving in the heart-rending scene proper, Vict can see the demon- a tall, langy, red fiend. It appears he is holding someone- someone who doesn't appear to be struggling to be freed. In front of the demon and his hostage, there are three men- all appearing to be Avacynian by their garb. From his vantage, the demon does not see the approaching band of cathars, and can be flanked from its side. Vict will seize this opportunity and smite this infernal creature from this holy place.
When they reached the unhallowed entrance, Yesfir decidedly slowed her approach and stood behind the barred gates. Expecting Raben, Syd, and Garreth, she turns around to see if they continue straight on through, but instead she sees an unknown man and on a dappled horse. She presses herself against the stone pillar hinged to the metal gate, immediately afraid of the unknown, but the man continues straight through into the graf with purpose. Behind him, even more men. Cathars by the looks of it. Where did they all come from? As they pass, they urge Yesfir to vacate the premises. She simply nods with a small whimper, but stays against the stone. Raben and the rest of her familiar group arrive just moments after. "We go with new cathars?"
"Yes, Nata. The others should be here, and hopefully, they are in one piece." Raben answers.
"Let's move!" Garreth hollers as he continues his momentum through the gates. "We can't let them have all the glory! I want a few fiend kills under my belt!"
The Calvary Arrives The dread begins to set in for Malekus. This does not look to be a fight the group can win. He hangs his head and shakes it slowly. “Fine demon. We have lost many good people today and if one more will see you gone so be it.” He turns to look at the young friar with a pained look…
“Take the poor boy “ he exhales as he begins to trudge back towards the priest with his shoulders slouched. He walks slowly and sways as if unsteady on his feet. “Take the poor boy “ he exhales as he begins to trudge back towards the priest with his shoulders slouched. He walks slowly and sways as if unsteady on his feet.
Seething with anger, Gerard shouts, “This filth gets nothing!” He swings his staff with all his might but his anger causes his strike to be short.
Pastor Bertram's face is quickly overcome with shock as Malekus speaks, but as the spearsage gets close, he sees the younger man's true intentions. They attempt to read the scroll, but before they get to the end, the page begins to illuminate in a dull white light. "No, no, no!" The Pastor starts, his eyes bright. After it overcomes the spell scroll, it disperses softly in tiny white stars. He grasps at the empty space as the small orbs of light fade into the ether.
With a backstep, the ravenous demon stays clear from the druid's rakish swing. In disdain, the demon reaches its long, gangly arm and palms the man's face, flinging him to the side like a brat of a child- away from the immediate scene and out of its face. It steps up closer to the two Avacynians, overcasting its large looming figure above the clergymen. It raises an upturned palm, claws curled out towards them.
"Whatever power you thought you had, it is gone. Give me the boy."
Vict finds himself heading the motley crew upcoming to the Lightspire Chapel graf. The young Cleric on his mount is lightly ahead of his fellow Cathars, the other three Avacynians and the little girl just met. He knew what he was running towards, but once in sight of the tall, dreadful, red demon, Vict's heart skips a beat, perhaps two, his mouth hangs for a split second, eventually closing with a loud gulp. Not today..not today! he repeats to himself, regaining control while the hand free from the horse’s reins reaches for the shield on his back . The cleric's shield is emblazoned with the symbol of the Guardian Angel, Avacyn. Vict focuses his attention on the man the fiend creature has at his mercy, he speaks divine words while the holy symbol on the shield glows. focusing his blessing and channeling it at the bleeding corpse.
"Flank the demon!" Vict orders the cathars "We have the favor of number, we have to stop him at the behest of Avacyn". The cleric halts his horse's gallop a few feet away from the fiendish creature and again, drawing strength from his faith, he finds the spirit to directly look at the demon and slowly but firmly order: "Drop him, now!"
A bright, irritating light glows in the periphery of the demon's vision. Turning to its source, the fiend recoils, shielding its face with its free hand. An echoing voice pounds within its head, demanding to let go of the dead one in its grasp and against the demon's will, Joseph is let go. With a tragic slump, the hunter falls onto the graf dirt, barely regaining consciousness. The light seered into the demon's vision, and the voice resounded in its ears, forcing the demon to seethe and grunt in pain. Within this moment of opportunity, the rest of Vict's troop, three young and aspiring cathars surround the riling demon. They didn't want to fight this thing, they'd never imagined they'd have to, but with the might of Avacyn at their side at the behest of Vict and the present arm of Goldnight, they might prevail without too much injury. They brandish their various weaponry, readying themselves for the monster to recover and wreak its retribution.
Sprinting towards the scene, Raben and his comrades arrive within running distance from the rapidly enlightening situation. They had seen Vict command the demon into a small state of submission. Perhaps this was their chance to rid Hanweir of this pestilence. But demons were ferocious foes- how many would pay the price in such an attempt?
Garreth barks definitively as he continues onward, pulling his dual axes, "Ohh, bet your silver I'm cutting into that fiend! We won't be letting it escape the Church's hands, Raben!"
"Raben, follow the dastard. I'll see to your support." Syd rationales, grabbing hold of his broad shield.
At this juncture, Eran is flabbergasted. Things had scaled so far beyond his control and his intent. Eran hadn't known the strength of the Church for a great severity of time, and now that he has forsake his faith, Avacyn shows him the error of his ways. How poetic. How ironic. He was now a blasphemer, a heretic. Goldnight did not look favorably upon heretics- their punishments were usually along the lines of prolonged torture until granted forgiveness, which was often synonymous with death. Eran was debating on abandoning the Church, running away, perhaps to Stensia. The Church has almost no presence there. Was he certain he should do this? He didn't know, but for now Eran was content with simply fleeing the scene. The young friar gets to his feet and attempts to steal away as the new arrivals make landfall.
"Eran!" Pastor Bertram calls. "You mustn't! You can't!"
No answer from Eran. With tears in his eyes, Eran continues running. For how long, he had no idea.
Watching the demon continue to punish the ranger was devastating. Malekus tries to offer a healing prayer for him but the fight has taken its toll on him. He mutters quietly to Gisela but seeing number of wounds he begins to think that even divine healing might not be enough. With that wavering thought the prayer finishes and he sees some of the blow flowing out of a wound slow but not stop. He was beginning to doubt until the second half of his group appeared.
Seeing that reinforcements had arrived Malekus starts to think the outcome of this fight might not be as bleak as he though before. He turns toward the demon and energy begins to collect in his palm. As he is beginning the chant the pastor overcome with relief at seeing reinforcements arrive collapses into Malekus. He immediately moves to catch the pastor before he hits the ground.
With a groan, Joseph brings his face up out of the dirt. He sees a line of men, all dressed in the splendor of the church, and he blinks. "Raben," he says quietly to himself, a genuine smile creeping onto his bloodied, slashed face. With Bertram's outburst, the ranger's eyes dart to the fleeing Eran. Suddenly rage eclipses the smile. Joseph scrambles to his feet, turns to the demon, and hisses violently. His eyes take on a fiery-orange hue. Far-off winds rush in to greet the hunter, whipping up a dust devil between himself and his hellish adversary. Using the distraction to escape, Joseph takes off in a full sprint after the boy, leaving a swirl of autumn leaves in his wake.
Carnifax the Ravenous couldn't believe what was happening. He'd made a simple contract with a miscreant choirboy, barely influencing him with a few dark whispers as the wayward child would walk amidst empty pews and sweep the dust that would settle the vacant Lightspire Chapel. The first clause of the deal had been complete, allowing him to surface this angel-forsaken realm. These weak bags of flesh plated in the ground's metals were pitiful compared to his strength. Hell, he'd already lost count of how many he'd rent. But now, in some showing of faith, they'd been bolstered, renewed, wielding white light and holy sigils.
I but needed this one soul.. Just.. this.. one!!
Recovering from a blasted spell of forceful command, the demon roars, hot breath erupting like the iron grating of a furnace erupting open, "Fine! I'll have all your bones for my throne!"
In an enraged flurry, the demon Carnifax rakes his terrible claws into the spearsage, rending Malekus to his knees in searing pain. Carnifax pushes onwards towards the elder pastor opening his gullet with a hungry ferocious sound. The demon's jaw closes down on Bertram's frail body. The crunch of bones cracking and snapping under the severe pressure was sickening and did nothing to cover the pastor's anguished scream.
The demon pulls his head back, a squelch resounding across the graf. Dark red pours over the pastor's vestments for a moment from the gaping missing from his upper left body. He falls to the ground with a soft exhale and stays motionless.
Vict grits the teeth knowing that probably, this encounter has just turn to a live or die situation. The ravenous Demon is out of control, he realizes that really him, probably, pulls the last straw of his control with that compulsory command. Their next moves will be vital, and it is a long shot. He takes a deep breath before drops off his horse and gets closer to the just met young man, Miles..Raben? his name right? The Cleric catches a glimpse of holy determination upon his glaze and he decides immediately, he will be his bet. Vict digs up from the satchel a small pouch of a mixture of fine powered silver and iron, he takes a handful and whispers the right words. "Raben," he calls, while smearing the holy glowing mixture on his shoulders "This incantation will grant you protection from that bastard. It is not all," he adds, underlined every next word with sacred power of his order "We have to take him to the ground, we have to hit hard...now. All together," he shouts eyeing everyone, "for Avacyn...for Innistrad...for all the Good". As always, as his compulsory behavior urges him, he adjust his glasses while copious sweat forms on his forehead, breathing hard, Vict, keeping an eye at the demon and shield at the ready, tries to move cautiously towards the wounded men hoping to not be too late.
How could they have lasted this long.. Raben curses himself, under his breath. He's heard stories of these dark manifestations, tantalizing the weak as their profession and razing a town as their amusement. "Malekus!" Raben shouts. "Let us break it away from you!"
As he yells, Raben puts himself between the injured spearsage and the towering fiend, bringing his silver sword across in two wide strokes. The demon, however, anticipates the cathar's movements and deftly dodges both, smiling mockingly. Steps behind Raben, Syd had thought to prepare an attack spell had Raben landed his blows to further aggravate the monster, but instead decides to pray to the angelic hosts to provide divine protection to the stalwart cathar. A holy glow emanates from the cleric's focus, and a resonant illumination radiates from Raben softly. Although he'd rather not be so close to such a creature, Syd positions himself in front of the felled pastor and Malekus, raising his shield. "See to the pastor, Malekus. Quickly while the demon gazes at us."
Malekus pulls himself over to the limp body of Pastor Bertram. He looks over the wounds and sees the life pouring out of him in a steady stream of crimson. He puts on hand on his broken chest and the other grasps his amulet of Avacyn. He says a quiet prayer as the battle rages on in the background “Sana animam meam huiusmodi auxilium Domini luminis”. As he prays his holy symbol begins to glow with a pale light. The prayer completes but the glow fades away. He slowly pulls his hand back from the now lifeless corpse. He looks up to the demon now being engaged by his other companions and slowly, painfully stands up using his staff as a brace. Clutching to it out of breath he begins the incantation to blast the demon. He closes his eyes to focus on the task at hand of defeating this foul demon. The laughter of the demon breaks through his concentration and he faulters in his words. The holy light escapes him momentarily.
The demon attempts to focus on the young cathar that has locked himself in mortal combat with him, but he can't properly do so. A white glow surrounds the young fool- it was like staring into the moon's callous, paraselene face. There were two light-speakers, now. He'd rid the old one of his withered soul, the aged wine of the pastor's blood still lingered on the demon's tongue. As far as Carnifax was concerned, there was no difference between the flesh and souls of a devout and charlatan- their souls don't shine, and their meat stinks.
Carnifax barrels through the silver-wielding Avacynian soldier, his right claw reared back after pushing Raben to the side. The first strike rakes harshly against the reinforced steel of Syd's shield, but the force causes him to lose his balance, and the shield-arm flails over to the clergyman's right-just in time for a second slash to connect with Syd's chest. The blow forces the cleric to a knee, his face strained in anguish. Before he can raise his face and open his eyes, the demon plunges its many needle-like teeth into Syd's shoulder, just as he had to the elder fallen Lightspire priest. There is naught but pain for a moment, then blissful blackness. Letting the shielded-bearer out of his jaw's grasp, the demon heaves satisfactorily, "I was promised-and content- with but a morsel, but now I shall revel in your feast!"
Vict witnesses the demon ravage fury on the cleric with wide, sorrowful eyes, as the fiend is slashing his flesh instead. He holds a urge to sprint towards the clergyman and bless him with the strength to still have a breath. He knows that facing toe-to-toe the creature will probably result in his own depart. He stand still instead, not much for cowardice, but in the awareness that he has to be alive to try to save the severe wounded men afterwards...nevertheless, he has a short window to do it, before all the efforts will be in vain. "Holy fighters!" he shouts to his troop "Let Avacyn light guide your blows and straighten your hearts, we can do it together, don't stop now!" With the intent to inspire the troop he also summons a radiant flame to descend on the demons from the reddened sky above....with all frustration, the evil creature avoid it easily..."Damn it!"
Vict's troop consisted of three cathars: Jonesmar Dayhat, Dalreyus Kans, and Lita Jas. All were marked graduates of their class at their time in the Elgaud Grounds. Jonesmar was the eldest and deeply wished he'd make home to his family. Dalreyus owned a small beet and animal farm with siblings, inherited by the passing of his parents. Without him and his benefits of Avacynian service, he wasn't sure how they'd make it out in the Moorlands. Lita Jas was the youngest, and though she'd never faced a demon before, she forbid to let fear overcome her. She brandished her blade hard and fast, and swiped with the most ferocity of the three.
They weaved and bobbed in and out of the fray, calling to each other, nicking the demon and forcing it into various possible open positions for their more magically affluent members to strike true with their Avacynian magic. It was clear, this wasn't a new, motley troop, but a hardened group of fighters who trusted one another.
As Syd fell to the ground, so too did the white magic blessing placed on Raben fade away, but that wouldn't stop him. The Father Jofridus depended on Raben's survival, just as the rest of the Church and the people of Innistrad.
"The only thing you'll dine on is your hubris, demon!" Raben bursts forward with a flourish of speed just as the demon swiped at an evading Lita. With its arm outstretched, it offered a sizable opening for Raben's silver blade to pierce straight through. If the monster had a heart, Raben was sure he'd pierced it.
Carnifax feels a pain like no other stabbing into his side. Cold fire slices between his ribs and deep into his body, a harsh seething roar escapes him. He hadn't realized it, but Carnifax was hunched over, a knee braced against the graf's unhallowed dirt for support. In a fit of anger, the demon flails its long arms in either direction, which catches Garreth off-guard and prevents him from digging his dual axes into the demon's red hide.
Chasing the Lamb Eran was heaving. He didn't believe he'd ever run so hard in his young life. He runs passed the open iron bars of the graf gates and continues on towards the front of the chapel. Eran looks back, and exclaims worriedly. The hunter was incredibly fast- he was right behind him!
Through the graf gates the hunter easily overtakes Eran. Reaching out, he catches an arm; but the boy screams and wrests away, tearing himself out of the sleeve and continuing down the street. Joseph furiously throws the sleeve aside and continues after him. The two approach the front of the chapel, where a guard is standing watch.
“Stop that boy!” shouts the hunter within an arm’s grasp of Eran. “He’s summoned a demon!” Again, he reaches out. This time he gets hold of Eran's bicep, nearly jerking the boy off his feet, bringing him to a sudden halt. The two stand, both heaving and bloodied, before the approaching guard.
"Guardsman! Guard!" Eran shouts, his breath escaping the young, dirty and bloodied lad as his heavy feet slam the cobbled street. The unassuming guard turns to Eran and his face turns to shock and fright and motions towards Eran.
"Friar? What has happened?"
"There is a madman after me! There's a demon in the graf and he plans to offer my soul to him!"
Joseph, grasping Eran by the armpit, looks up at the approaching guard. The rage fades from the ranger's blood-covered face for a moment, and he opens his mouth to speak, but stops. Without a word he wheels around and charges back towards the graf, dragging the friar screaming down the street. There's a look of determination in the hunter's face, a fierce mixture of terror and murder in his orange-flickering eyes.
The guard raises a hand with a resounding call. "Oy, halt, huntsman! What have you-" His attempt at a cordial dialogue is cutoff, however, with the hunter's exceedingly brisk turn around, a warm wind buffeting the guard's face softly. He sprints down the side-street after the struggling clergyman and his wrangler. Damned, he's fast! But with a concerted effort, the militiaman catches up and attempts to grab hold of the boy.
Joseph turns, grabbing Eran with his other hand. "Damn it, man!" he barks. "I told you! He summoned the demon! It's killed half a score of your ranks already, as well's the friar!"
With a strained grunt, the hunter pivots, jerking Eran's body around with both hands. The boy screams again in terror, and all three stumble forward. The guard loses his grip and quickly rights himself. There's a brief struggle as Eran tries to escape, but his footing slips as he tries to pull free, and he slumps to the ground. Joseph nearly lifts him off the ground by his armpit, setting him upright on his feet. The dust from the scuffle is taken away by a gust of warm breeze.
"No, please! You mustn't let me go with him- please!" Eran squeels.
Hand on the hilt of his longsword, the guard squints and inspects the angry ranger's persona. He was familiar.. He was with the Arm that fought the werewolf just the night before! Perhaps things aren't as they entirely seem, but the guardsman couldn't be too careful. He speaks up, the palm of his steady head still warming the hilt of his weapon. "I'll attend you, hunter. The graf, is it?"
Joseph takes a step towards the graf, opening his mouth to speak, but he pauses. He turns back to the guard. "It'd be your death," he says grimly and calmly. "Fetch the captain. Bring the whole guard." Redoubling his grip on Eran, he turns and charges back to the battlefield, the friar mewling and bawling behind him
Loss and Resolve Malekus is clutching his staff barely holding himself up and he sways slowly in the clamor of battle. He is bleeding from the deep wounds suffered at the hands and teeth of the foul demon before him. The embodiment of evil manifested before them to continue sowing the seeds of chaos. We have put a wrench in his original plan he thinks to himself as the corner of his mouth begins to curl into a grin. His eyes focus on the trail of the ranger who was chasing after the boy…
At least we were able to keep the boy from any more harm. He is young and naïve thinking he could get something good out of a deal with a demon. There will be time for him to receive council and he might make it into the service of the light yet. This would be the harshest lesson he could learn in life. Losing his mentor, the pastor Bertram would be tough on the boy, but he should pull through. His swaying causes a shift of focus for his eyes and suddenly the body of the pastor fills his field of view.
The pastor would be a devasting loss for the town of Hanwier. Being a man of the church in a town of this size is no easy task. He tried to put an end to this evil, but our faith cannot heal all wounds. The pastor was the face of the church here and his good work was be cut well short by the demon. He sways back the other way and his eyes find the body of the cleric.
Syd’s twisted body is lying motionless on the ground. Another life cut short by the evil that plagues this land. Avacyn lost many of her faithful today but these two she would feel the most. The cleric was doing her work but could not stand up to the blackness made manifest…. He closes his eyes to fight through the wave of emotion that is washing over him…. So many lives lost…. I started this melee in the name of Avacyn but it has caused more destruction that I could have ever imagined. The soldiers, the pastor, and the cleric all fought bravely and paid the ultimate price. The pain that he hadn’t been thinking about suddenly rushes back and he embraces it. I will see this through even if it is the end of me. This town deserves more than to be the domain of this demon.
His throat is burning from the ash and smoke, but he still manages to get out the words “This ends now.” He stands up straight and begins his prayer to Gisela “Angelus custos hekpo mei nolite malum hoc perpetuum”. He moves the tip of his staff in the symbol of Avacyn as he has done many times. He channels the divine energy into a ball of pure energy in his left hand. As the demon lashes out at the cathar he sees an opening.
Quickly he raises it as he finishes the prayer “Et eos quidem qui ceciderunt hodie” the ball of light flashes from his hand and pierces the demon’s side through the wound Raben had opened just a moment earlier. The demon howls in pain as the light bursts out the other side in an explosion of dark gore. He shouts “This is it! Finish it NOW!” As the evil creature begins to fall those nearest to it continue to pierce it with their weapons not wanting to take any chances. Malekus slumps and is forced to lean on his staff but lets out a sigh of relief.
Evil Slain There was another instance of remarkable pain as a prominent blast of holy power eviscerates Carnifax's torso. His mouth begins to fill with a hot fluid. Carnifax raises his hand to his mouth in surprise. Black ichor flooded his palm as he choked and fell to his knees. "I'll.. be back.. and I'll... remember you.."
The demon spoke no more, and all was quiet for a moment, save for the heavy breathing of those remaining. Blood and sweat begins to permeate and pierce the nostrils, mixed with the burning tinge of the smoldering pit that was still ever so close and seething. Motionless, the demon's body begins to waft black tendrils of fog, it's essence slowly, but surely, dissipating into the ether of Innistrad.
Fury and Duty Joseph drove forward with long, dogged strides through the graf gates, dragging the shrieking friar behind him. His whole soul was focused on one thought, a primeval urge, a single, knife-edged, life-and-death compulsion: deliver. As he approached the hellish scene, he saw something was missing. In his mind, a rushing mixture of fear and hope ballooned briefly. Words formed in the empty space left in their wake: Where is it? Where’d it go?
Then he saw it—the thing’s red, horned flesh oozing and sizzling at the feet of the defenders in the distance. For a moment, Joseph felt relief and the tiniest spark of triumph. The world returned to him. There was the smell of the dirt, the comforting weight of his tarnished scale resting upon his shoulders, the flap of his dusty overcoat against his calves. He realized his whole head hurt, as did his upper torso, where tooth and claw punctured armor. He felt blood trickling down his neck.
Joseph hears sobbing. It’s coming from behind. It's still locked in his white-knuckled grasp. The boy. A cold jolt shoots up Joseph’s spine, and the world closes in again. His head feels suddenly warm. He searches the battlefield, but sees only death. Again, he hears the staccato sobbing. The boy. It fills his ears. Is he laughing? A helplessness pins Joseph’s heart as his every vein sears with burning rage. The murderer.
Joseph wheels around and sees Eran wriggling and squirming at the end of his grasp. Moving his grip to the friar’s mussed, dirty hair, he lifts him to his feet. “You did this,” the ranger says quietly and firmly. He can feel his face starting to tingle. Jerking Eran forward by the hair, he thrusts his clenched fist outwards, towards the twisted bodies of the fallen militia. “You!” he screams. “You killed them! Every one of them!”
With a pained shout, the ranger throws Eran forward, sprawling face-first into the dirt next to the militia. He points to the dead. “Their sleep! Your master’s sleep! Nearly my own!” Joseph feels another gust of rage sweep upwards, from his feet to his face. He steps forward and kicks the friar in the ribs. Eran groans in agony, rolling onto his back, his sobs redoubling. The boy curls his arms over his face and head in terror, just as the Hanweir guards had done when the fiend wrapped its foul claws around them. Another surge of fury sweeps through the ranger, and a sickening helpless feeling weighs in his gut. He shifts his voice up a register, repeating the words he had just heard in disbelief, moments ago, in front of the guard. “‘Help!’” Joseph squeals mockingly, pointing back at the chapel. “‘He plans to offer my soul!’”
Again he grabs Eran by the hair, lifting him out of the dirt, bringing the boy’s face close to his own. The friar clenches his eyes shut. “You offered!” White flecks of foamy spittle spatter onto Eran’s bloodstained cheek. “You did! An’ then you left us to pay. You let them pay! You ******* made them!”
He storms towards the demon’s body, dragging Eran behind. The wailing boy grasps vainly at the calloused hands clamped next to his scalp. Joseph moves to throw the friar towards the hellish corpse. “Go, coward! Be with your—“ Joseph’s eyes fall upon a dinted shield lying at his feet, with three deep gashes striking out the symbol of the collar. His blood freezes, and he looks up in wide-eyed panic. There, lying next to the demon’s smoldering corpse, lies Syd’s lifeless body. It’s mangled and torn, like a farmer’s in the distance, like a Kessiger’s in the corner of a room, like a soldier’s on a heap, in a cursed graf—like your own lonely corpse, rotted and forgotten, wandering a dark forest road. Suddenly, as if he were an altar candle succumbing to an acolyte’s clumsy snuffer, a shroud falls over Joseph.
Myles Raben was the first to realize. He saw it in Joseph’s eyes. For the past week, even in various states of distress, the hunter was always watching, always thinking, always moving. Whether fleeing from a flock of maddened crows, or standing firm between Threg and an angry mob, there was nothing Joseph didn’t see as he acted unflinchingly to protect the helpless around him.
But when Joseph’s eyes rested upon Syd’s body, they suddenly ceased, and the light escaped them. Joseph was looking, but he saw nothing. And when the hunter turned to the boy, the motion was unconscious, slow, and deliberate, like that of a wild beast stalking its prey. “Avacyn…” Raben whispers, tracing the collar over himself. “Joseph?” he calls out tentatively, walking towards his companion.
With a single, cat-like movement, Joseph raises the boy a full foot above the ground by his hair, flips back the flap of his overcoat, and grabs for the sword—but the scabbard is empty. Without pause or thought the hunter sprints away towards the fiery pit, dragging his bloodied prey along with him. “Joseph, no!” Raben begins to run.
"Joseph! That won't fix anything! Nothing will, I know! But you don't want a boy's life in your hands!" Raben quickly follows after the enraged hunter. He wasn't sure what he'd do when he closed the distance, but this was not justice as he was taught, not for humans, even for one who could be blamed with such travesty.
Raben tentatively puts a should on Joseph's shoulder. "He must kneel penitent before the gaze of the Church, and be tried before an angel of Goldnight. As it is done, as it should be done, Joseph. Give the boy to me."
"Is..is demon dead?" A meek voice is heard from behind a tombstone. Young Nata's head slowly appears from behind it, her small fingers grasping the stone like an anchor holding onto the sea floor. She surveyed the scene, seeing the smoldering demon, seeing Syd being cared for, and then seeing Joseph. She gasped sharply and was motionless.
Jonesmar made a different side of the proceedings his priority. He stepped up and behind Raben, sword low at his side, eyes trained on the mad hunter who seethed with hellish intent. "I'd do as he says. You'd be in no better position if you follow through with this."
Raben notices that Joseph seems wholly intent on seeing to his grim task. Raben firms his grip on the ranger's shoulder and pulls him, hopefully lunging Joseph out of his clouded mind. Raben's voice is rigid, cold steel that is not often heard from him. The cathar is not a.. jovial man, one would say. But there is a dark gravity to his tone as he speaks. "Joseph, you mustn't. Let him go."
Joseph whips around, yanking Eran around with him. He jerks back from Raben's grasp. "Let him go, Raben?" he screams, blood spattering from his lips upon the cathar's armor. "Look at what he did! Just look! It's all around us! All these townsfolk—dead! All those soldiers—dead! His own pastor!" Again, Joseph yanks the bawling Eran about, and raises him off the ground by his armpit.
"And the coward stood there and watched it happen! He invited the thing, promised it his soul, and then watched it devour a full score of souls! Innocent souls, Raben! Good souls! I've seen Falkenrath with more honor!" The ranger points back to the flaming pit behind him. "The wormy little ****er belongs in that hole with his masters!"
---
As the foul demon flesh dissipates in the smoky, red air of the graf, Vict exhales a long blow of relief and adjust the googles. Even if the evil fiend vaporized in the sky, they are all far from being able to rest. The young Cleric rushes towards the Avacynians and the old priest. A quick overlook of the old men, instinctively gives him the disheartening feeling of being too late. Dark blood already clotted on the ground, the gross sight of his missing part and staring wide eyes is soul breaking. Vict grunts and just moves the hand to close his eyes for now and suddenly turns his attention to the younger Cleric. "What is his name?" He asks to Raben and the Warlock who just give the demon the fatal blow. The young Inquisitor crouches on the severe wounded body checking speedily his vital signs "He is still breathing," he exclaims heavily and places his joints palms on the Cleric murmuring a prayer to Bruna, the leading Angel of his Alabaster Order. In a few moments Vict's hands glows in balming light and the wounds stops to bleed. "I...I did it" He says with a hint of wonder "He is stable now...out of risk....but need prolonged cures and....I hope there won't be any infections..."
Vict turns then his attention to the hellpit and makes out the hunter and the young priest helped by Raben’s shout. "This is not good... not good."
Syd's eyes flash open and he breathes in, chocking on the hot, death-filled air. He grasps his chest and attempts to stand, getting to his feet with the aid of the cathars around him. It doesn't take him long to gather what has transpired since his impromptu rest. "Joseph, what are you doing?!" he shouts accusingly.
"Hold on, Cleric, you've only just been staved from an early Rest," Lita begins. "You need proper treatment: healing magic and bed rest." At the mention, Syd grunts, grasping his own shoulder. He pulls his hand back and it is wet with blood. With the re-realization of the wound, Syd becomes light-headed and falls forward into the cathars' arms.
"Right, there we go- we've got you," Lita reassures the cleric.
"You a forcemage?" Dalreyus asks the hinterman with the staff who was now rummaging through his belongings. "You know any healing magic?"
"I am," Gerard states matter of factly as he spreads some ointment onto a cloth bandage. "Unfortunately, I must rest before I use any more power granted to me. The fight with this demon, and other malevolent spirits has exhausted my reserves." He then hands Dalreyus the cloth that he just smeared ointment on. The cloth now has a strong, soothing smell emanating from it.
"Please try to get Joseph to breath in the vapors of this cloth, or ask Raben to do it. It won't stop him, but has a calming effect which may allow him to come back to his senses. That will free me up to treat more wounded with more mundane skills. Thank you." Gerard doesn't really give Dalreyus a chance the refuse the cloth, but immediately turns to triaging the wounded that have not been seen to. He is focused on the task at hand. His mind needs... order and a chance to apply skills that he knows well.
"I see," the cathar starts, looking at the damp cloth, quickly sniffing it once and making an agreeing look. "What of you, Vict?" he shouts back to Vict. "Can you heal these men?"
Gerard takes out his healer's kit and approaches Syd. The magical healing helped, but the wounds still need to be treated. Gerard carefully wraps Syd's woulds with clean bandages treated with a poultice that helps prevent infection and promotes healing. He makes sure that the wounded cleric is comfortable and then approaches Malekus. "You fought very well Malekus. Please allow me to treat these nasty cuts the demon inflicted on you." Gerard then sets himself to medically treating the spearsage's wounds.
Vict, still on his knees before Syd after successfully snatched him from the clutch of death, gloomily swings the head and answer to Dalreyus "No....I cannot, as the forcemage here, the Demon sucked away all my blessings....I believe we should treat him with what we have until tomorrow," The Cleric eyes the shoulder-to-shoulder forcemage who is taking care of Syd. "I am Vict, glad to have your help, you did great in containing demon; it could have been much worse- thank you."
Speaking of the fiend, the young cleric turns again to the hellpit in time to spot in the corner of the eye the hunter, the young priest and the parish-blade running after them. Vict asks the forcemage, "Is he Joseph the hunter? What he is trying to do?" Vict takes the smeared cloth. "Dal, Lita? Could you help this man taking care of the wounded? Jones, come with me." With nothing more to say, Vict sprints towards the trio direct to the hellpit.
After treating Malekus the best that he can with bandages, sutures, and medicinal herbs, Gerard cleans his hands with water from a skin and a compound known to help prevent infections. He smells of sweat and medicine. He turns to the others that were accompanying to the mayor's house that are still gathered. "There has been a lot of blood spilt tonight, and the hells have made their presence known Still I feel burdened to complete the task we set upon when evil came calling. I will welcome those that wish to accompany me. We need the mayor's daughter's letters that she has given us permission to take. If there is some information contained in those letters that will help relieve the suffering of Hanweir, we should not waste anymore time despite our fatigue. Who will accompany me?"
The wounded Malekus, still clutching his staff for support, stares at the steaming corpse but he is not focused on it. He is physically present, but his expression is blank, and he does not hear the commotion at the pit. His mind is racing through the recent events and it keeps returning to the deaths he instigated. He sees the faces of pain and hears the screams of anguish. After a few moments he recounts the end of the battle and murmurs “It’s done…. It’s done.” His trace is broken by the force mage who approaches and offers to help tend to his wounds. Malekus accepts the offer but he is mostly silent staring off unfocused into the distance with his mind racing back to the horrific battle.
Part of the treatment includes a stinging poultice which brings him back to the present. The force mage is speaking about completing his task. Ah yes, their task to rid the town of the curse, he starts to come back to reality. Hopefully they had paid enough to lift the curse and there would be no more sacrifices required. He says “Gerard, I will go with you to see this through. We should make sure everyone is taken care of here and that no more demon spawn will be coming out of that hole first. Hopefully my disheveled appearance will not make the mayor think more unkindly of the church.” He tries to crack a small grin but there is another damn sting as some ointment is being applied and he winces in pain.
Lita looks between the seemingly friendly forcemage and the heavily injured spearsage, an aghast expression worn on her young and elegant face. "You can't be serious? Surely this can wait, sir? You're so injured, you really must rest." She looks to Gerard with a measured glance before returning to Malekus. "Or.. he could go alone?"
"Malekus, I will be happy to go alone so that your injuries are further treated. It should not be too much danger just going to the mayor's house." Gerard looks for a moment at Lita, and then back to Malekus. "You are a grown man and I'll respect whichever you choose. The hour is getting late, and either alone or accompanied, I must be off."
---
Vict and Jonesmar reach Raben, Joseph and the young Eran near the pit. Before actually arrive in place, the Cleric hurls few words to his fellow Cathar. "If things go south, be ready, we have to physically stop the hunter, you should help me to grapple him so that I can let him sniff this cloth, ok? I believe this all situation droves him off...understandable but he can't goes on."
"Hey...what is happening here?" Vict asks staring at Joseph. "What about all of us taking a deep breath and talk about it?" The Cleric's attention now bouncing between Raben, Joseph, and Eran. Vict points a finger towards the hunter "I didn't free you from being chopped up by that demon to shovel citizens in a hellfire." While talking the Cleric tries to slowly but surely get close to Joseph.
"Joseph," Raben continues. "I don't want to have to hurt you. You've been a great ally ever since Thraben. Remember your old man- back in Kessig- don't you want a place for him in the Blessed Grafs? I assure you, you won't grant him that if you do this!"
A grunt escapes Joseph bared, grit teeth. As he heaves a breath in, he wipes his eyes with his free hand, caking his glove in blood, tears, sweat and soot. "You cathars deal with evil, do ya?" He tosses Eran to the ground in front of Raben and the rest of the encroaching cathars. "See to it you deal with him, then. He's no different from what came out of that hole s'far as I'm concerned."
As Joseph walks away, he spits at the young friar's feet and utters a heavy Kessig swear. Wordlessly, Joseph searches the field and retrieves his weapons. After wipes the blades with a cloth from his pockets, he scabbards them. To no one in particular, he says, "I'll be back at the inn. Let me know when make ready to leave this wretched place." And walks off towards the direction of the Wandering Heron.
"Let him be," Raben softly says to the cathars he knew were behind him, ready to attack the infuriated ranger. "He's a lot on his mind. This was.." Raben looks around the graf, considering everything that had transpired. He became loss for words. Garreth, he notices, has turned and left to the inn with Joseph, besides himself that he couldn't slash the demon himself. "If I was the ranking cathar here, I'd help you cast that demonlicker to the flames," he says aloud.
Raben wanted to properly greet their saviors, but he had caught the injured visage of Malekus and has gone to aid the spearmage further to his feet, placing a hand on his shoulder. Assuring himself that Malekus would be able to travel onwards, he tells Gerard that the sooner he left to see the mayor the better. Raben then addresses Vict and his troop.
"My name is Miles Raben, a cathar under the Father Jofridus, Speaker of the Commons. We are on a holy task from the High Cathedral. The two that left are Joseph and Garreth. They've sworn to aid me. I thank Avacyn you and your contingent arrived when you did, sir."
Vict has a sigh of relief when the hunter eventually releases the grip on the young friar. He eyes Joseph as the ranger retrieves his weapons and bites his lips while saying nothing. He doesn't know the hunter but he could understand his sorrow and rage. Fighting the most fearsome force of the dark...even the victory comes with a cost. The Cleric let the hunter go on his way, adjusting the goggles, he slowly turns to the pit, sure, they overthrew the demon...but the hole is still there. Sulfur, flames and ashes make him sweat and shake his heart.
"Please Avacyn, give us the strength.." he mutters while going to the young friar. He helps the boy to the stand up. "Come, boy, this is not over- not for you."
Vict follows Raben back to the battleground with Eran. "I am Vict, Inquisitor of the Flight of Alabaster" He answered when the cathar present himself and his group. "And they are Jonesmar, Dalreyus and Lita." He adds while indicating respectively his entourage. "We were south, a possession case in Lambholt but...yeah...hopefully Avacyn's grace lead us here in time. Nevertheless...we are far from being fine here, the hellpit is still there....what is your name?" The Inquisitor asks to the young friar. "The hunter wanted you dead...what is happening in this town?"
The friar begins to utter his name, but struggles to make the sounds. "E-er-er.."
"His name is Eran," Raben finishes, nodding towards Vict. "And he was the late pastor's friar. Somehow, he has managed to form some sort of pact with that thing." He motions towards the smoldering demon.
"The pact being," he continues, "to rid the town of a curse. A curse they believe started when a corpse was found within the chapel itself. And this is where me and my entourage's task begins. We have been charged to investigate this body, as it is believed to be of occult significance. We believe the body had been inflicted with magical wounds- wounds that never cease to bleed whether alive or not. This demon was to rid the town of the body, was it?" Raben asks Eran.
"Y-yes!" Eran snivels. "It was going to remove the blight in the graf, and then take me- that's all! Please, don't take me to Thraben!"
"You've sealed your fate, friar. Now it is in the hands of angels instead of a demon." Raben sheathes his silver blade. "May they be more merciful." Furrowing his brow, the cathar shakes his head with a gloved hand covering his eyes. He speaks lowly under his breath for a moment, a sort of cadence to his voice, then looks back to the remaining group standing within the graf. He notes that Gerard and Malekus have both gone, to the mayor's he'd overheard. He would commend their sense of duty despite the immense glower and gloom that has befallen this day.
"Vict, if you and your troop have the time, could you come with me and mine to the Wandering Heron? I feel we might be able to delegate a division of labor. "
Vict listens carefully to Raben's debrief. His look glooming in the meanwhile. He thoughtfully touches his chin and adjust his goggles. "Mr Raben is right, Eran, you will be judged by the Angels but we could put in a word for you- you have to decide if your soul will be for ever doomed or not...would you like to do something about it? That hole is not gonna close itself at our liking and I am fearing that the more it stays wide, the more fearsome and devilish creatures will show up in time...who brought this blight to the graf? Did you do something about it? Maybe there is a way to reverse the process?"
The Cleric refers to his crew.."Lita, Jonesmar....please escort Eran to the Chapel, maybe there is something in the archive that he could look for to try to close the hellpit..and of course be sure he will not attempt to sneak out...but...you will not Eran...right?" Vict stares at the young friar with a severe look.
"Now, Dalreyus come with me please, we will make our visit to the Wandering Heron and discuss the next moves...I am sorry, guys," He adds with a smirk to his troop. "I fear our way back has been extended. Raben...please led the way."
After a decent walk, the extravagant Wandering Heron is within sight. The damage from the previous night is still very evident- scratches and claw marks stretching up the side of the building, the broken window allowing the tarnished air in. Asides from this, it doesn't seem the hellish horde had made it this far in Hanweir. Without pause, Raben enters and sits at a far-end table, a hand over his pocket. Syd, injured as he was, refused to be taken to the triage and insisted to be present during the impending meet. He dropped his weight on a chair next to the cathar, his ringmail and shield clanking. Raben motions towards the rest of the seats, taking off his tricorn, "Please, sit down." He begins slowly brushing a hand through his brown hair.
Vict and Dalreyus follow Raben to the Wandering Heron. The Cleric looks at the scratches on the walls, the wrecked windows. This group went through a strenuous fight, no doubt the scars nick on their soul and the town itself. Vict takes seat around the table, he gets rid of his pack and the blazoned shield from the shoulders, setting them down carefully. He adjust the googles and eyes the group. "You did a great job in containing the losses. I am Vict, Alabaster Inquisitor, and I would like to help if I may, I am concerned about the hellpit, specially. I believe the more it stays open the more fiends could delve their way out. Raben...you told me about a corpse- who was it? Did you know if we can stop the curse?
"As are we, Inquisitor. Truth be told, this started as an investigation of a dead young man, named Pitre. He'd been slain by a magical blade. It is my task to retrieve this blade and have it sealed within the High Cathedral's vaults once more. I couldn't speak to any curse when we arrived here, but it seems it just may well be the case.." Raben omits speaking as the barmaid made her rounds, asking the cathar's if they required a drink or meal with a measurable amount of apprehension: the cathars' looked a complete mess, to put it nicely.
"Waves.. take time coming from a hellpit," Syd speaks amidst his breaths. "Like the Ashmouths.. we have some time before the next."
Raben continues. "As we speak, our forcemage and spearsage have paid visit to the Mayor Garunsen, hopefully to ascertain information regarding the young Pitre's whereabouts before his demise. This is our only current lead regarding the matter, but so many other plights have made themselves known."
After some time, the exterior fencing surrounding the mayor's manse comes into view. The infernal swarm, it seems, did not reach this far into the interior of Hanweir. Nonetheless, two guards are now stationed before the gated entryway. One, a gruff man with a yellowing lip looks at the two damaged souls incredulously. He lifts his free hand, pointing in the direction the pair came. "The triage was set near the apothecary. Thataway, you couldn't have missed it."
Gerard is very quiet on the way to the mayor's home. He briefly checks Malekus to make sure that his wounds are properly bound. His normally brisk pace is slowed. Physical and emotional fatigue are setting in. He knows that he can not keep going much longer before he has to rest. How can one day make one so weary? What is wrong with this damn town?
Answering the one that speaks, Gerard says, "Yes, we know. We are not here for treatment, but rather have urgent business with the mayor. The mayor's daughter directed us to him. There may be information in this home, that helps rid Hanweir of its misfortunes." Gerard nods his head back toward the grafs for a moment as he finishes speaking.
The disagreeable guard was about to speak in deference, but the other knocked an elbow into his watchmate's armor. "Donahue, this man is with the church. He's with the cathars that slew that were the past night!" He steps to the right, motioning with his pike towards the gate. The other follows suit with an "Oh-sorry! You should wear a badge or somethin'."
With one obstacle down, the duo walk across the expanse of the manse's entryway. The mayor's home it seems, with most of the interior of Hanweir, has been unperturbed by the infernal boil that now seethes in the town's graf. Heading to the familiar door that lead's the mayor's office, there is a fine, brass placard hanging by the door's knocker, reading "Do not disturb." in bold, black lettering. As they approach the door, an unnerving sound is heard from above the pair's periphery- a low and unwelcoming meeoow. Looking up, a black cat is staring down at the two mages from the edge of the office's roof. It is black with ugly, mangy fur, but what disheartens most is its eyes- searing red orbs with a knowing intelligence, peering into the two souls below it.
As Gerard focuses on this tiny beast, the feline hisses and retreats behind the edge of the roof.
Gerard looks at Malekus and speaks in a low tone. "I think that thing is a necromancer's spy. We should hurry." Gerard knocks loudly on the door and opens it.
The door opens and inside it is just as Malekus remembers- a heavy wooden desk with a woman sitting behind it, a thick ledger open atop it. The woman's face alights in surprise as she gets up briskly, causing her chair to grate against the floor. Behind her and to the left is the entry to the Mayor Garensun's office- it's door closed. Voices can be heard from beyond it.
"The mayor is currently busy.." the legalwoman speaks with an unmoving tone and scans Gerard. "..sir. As you can imagine."
Gerard replies flatly, "I imagine that he is quite busy, but this is urgent," as he continues walking past the woman's desk. Gerard knocks once, opens the mayor's office door (if it isn't locked) and then enters.
As Gerard pushes into the mayor's office the woman at the desk begins to stand up to protest and Malekus enters the room. He puts on his most charming smile, forgetting, for the moment that his clothes are covered in blood and ash, and says "I do not think he will mind hearing our news." He stands up a little straighter and follows Gerard.
"He's already seeing some-" she begins to say as the forcemage grasps the door's knob, twists, and pulls. The speech behind the door seemed a bit escalated, but as the door hinges declare their movement, the talking abruptly stops.
The mayor is behind his desk but on his feet in front of his extravagant chair, his face taught- which only strains tighter as he sees unsolicited 'guests' intrude into his space. There is an individual in front of him, armed, and with a badge of authority. Malekus remembers him from the last visit to the mayor's- this man had exited just as Malekus had arrived with Raben and Syd.
"The wall must be finished if we're to-" He eyes the door just as vehemently as the mayor after he stops speaking. Behind the druid and warlock, the desk woman apologizes softly, before intuiting that her voice isn't actually effective or warranted in the current predicament.
Gerard strides in and stops a pace behind and to the right of the mayor's current visitor. "My apologies for the rude interruption mayor, but the hour is late and the matter is urgent. My companions and I, including many members of the church, have just fought and defeated a devil in the grafs. Several of Hanweir's finest soldiers perished in the fight and several others lie wounded. Father Bertram," Gerard pauses just a moment before continuing, "also tragically was slain by the devil. The portal that the creature used to enter our world from the hells still stands open."
"There is no time for normal courtesies, nor for the normal courtesies reserved for a man of your position. The time for being less than forthright or cooperative has also passed. Your daughter has informed us that she has information in her diary that may contain information crucial to helping Hanweir overcome the darkness that has befallen it. She has given me the key to her diary and permission to take it. Will you please allow us access to her room immediately? If you know anything else that may help us and have not been forthcoming with it so far, will you please do so now?"
Malekus shuffles into the room behind Gerard. He knows they need the mayor's cooperation and remembers his disposition towards the church. He recognizes the other man in the room from before but he is not sure of role here. "Everything he said is true. It has been a devastating day for you town. We must work together to expunge the darkness. We will need all the help we can get."
He glanced toward the other individual in the room. "I do not believe we have met. I am Malekus and my companion is Gerard, we have several others working to lift the curse on this town. Will you lend aid to our fight here?"
The mayor explodes. "My daughter? What do you know of- I've enough to worry about without the church involving themselves in my town and with my family! In fact, since you've showed the travesties have only begun piling! Just as you say, I've no time for pleasantries! You should do what's best and look after you and yours up north, leave my town!"
After the portly mayor's tirade, the other armed gentlemen feels it strange to introduce himself, and only bids the mayor, "Another time then, mayor." Tipping his hat before turning and facing the door, the mayor speaks. "No! We haven't finished our discussion. I have, however, finished with the church. Go through Lorelei's room, if you'd like, but then I'd expect you gone within the day." He stares at both of the spearsage and the druid, his face wrinkled with tension and red with fury.
Gerard tips his hat to the armed man as he leaves and then turns to face the mayor. “Thank you. We’ll ask a servant to show us the way and be out of your home as soon as possible.” Gerard leaves the office and ask the secretary for assistance in finding Lorelei ‘s room.
Malekus gives a long look at the mayor and the follows Gerard out of the office.
The Wandering Heron: Delegation
The Cleric thoughtfully listen Raben's debrief. Arms crossed on the belly, a facial expression of both focus and concern. His green eyes watching all the attendants at the table. Vict favors a light smile to the barmaid "Something to drink and to eat please, whatever they prefer, I will take some wine and a stew, thank you."
After the maiden goes away Vict continues, "okay, I want to help, I can stay and help you retrieve this cursed blade, besides, tomorrow, I will be able to laid some help on the wounded". The Cleric turns to Sid "I hope we will find a way to close it before the next wave...what is your plan for now Raben? What have been these other plights you talking about?"
"To the north on Angel's Way, there's a watchtower. It had been besieged by a mad crow-witch. She threatened us, or warned us- perhaps both. When we first arrived and spoke to the mayor, he had stated that large birds assaulted any travelers to and from here. This witch- we saw her turn into such a creature. Also, that a blight has infested the supplying farms. Again on our travel here, we bore witness to a strange ghoul that fumed this.. noxious gas. It could be responsible. Ah, and let's not forget the undead cat." Raben's face turns into a forced thinly-lipped smile looking up and away.
The maid returns placing a mug in front of Raben, then a fragrant bowl and matching mug for Vict. The broth has a browny-taupe coloring and a hearty fragrance. Light and dark lumps of cubed potatoes and pork dot the surface under the broth. "If you need anything, call for Sherill." She grins politely and walks towards some recently seated individuals some ways away in the dining hall.
Raben drinks from his tankard, greedily to his surprise, and wipes his forearm on his mouth. "I think we should discuss our next course of action. There's too much to pay attention to. I think a division of our current forces would be wise. Some stay here, address to the town. Others will head back for Thraben. The last and myself would continue the original charge. I take you for a smart lad- Do you have any suggestions as to who goes where, Vict?"
Returning back towards the secretary's space, the two notice she is behind her desk once more, speaking into one of many arranged copper tubes protruding the wall to her left. "Yes, I need someone to escort two.. Avacynian officials. No, no- just to the Lady Lorelei's room. They shouldn't dawdle. No-no, that should be all. Thank you." Once her correspondence ends, she turns to the two with a contrite look and purses her lips in a polite smile. "You'll, please, wait one moment. I've arranged for your escort."
Just when it seems almost too long a duration had passed, there is slight rasp on the space's door. A young women in a light blue shroud appears as the door opens, her blonde hair partly covering one eye and a side of her face. "I'll be showing you to the lady's chambers. Uhm," she clears her throat, almost awkwardly, pulling her hands behind her back before turning. "If you'll follow me."
Putting her hands in front of her body again, the young woman proceeds to walk away from the mayor's entry spaces and towards the manse's main doors. Once opened, they reveal a marble flooring that is white stone with grey and black veins. A deep red carpet spreads across this, making way to an empty pewter fireplace and mantle. A very large portrait of the mayor-facing forward- rooted in his seat of public office, holding the hand of an elegant and pale woman who gazes in the same direction. It is painted with a warm orange glow, portraying a sense of love and belonging.
The young lady pauses after the doors shut behind the three, as if in contemplation. Her head looks from side to side. The hall to the right is lined with stone and metal busts placed atop short pillars, placed just so that the light of the morn casts a light yellow hue onto their collective visage. The left hall appears shorter, leading to another grand room before continuing on.
Deciding on a path, the woman nods haphazardly and walks to the right, leading Gerard and Malekus passed the many busts. One is recognizable as the current Mayor Garensun, others are not, though there is a semblance of familiarity among them. The woman walks slowly passed each door as the group comes across them, as if eyeing them or listening in. The hallway turns to the left, forming the eastern wing of the mayor's manor. The walls are adorned with fine, floral drapery which each frame a different oil portrait. Many of the rooms that appear in this wing are without doors, allowing patrons to look within.
One rooms contains a small piano-meant for private concerts- as well as other staged string instruments. Another leads to a library with walls completely lined with tomes. Stairs can be seen to the side, suggesting there is another floor to this collection of books. After passing what appeared to be several guest quarters, the doors were once more shut. The final door was labeled with an engraved floral-dressed wooden plate- 'Lorelei'. The woman leading the two curtsies, if somewhat strangely, and trots off without a word.
The immediate wall was long and continued on towards the viewer's left and was largely a single window adorned with a prismatic curtain. The room was painted with the gossamer hue of all of the rainbow's colors. A single, elegantly carved, black chair did lean against this wall with a dark leather case tucked beneath it along with a metal contraption. A neatly made bed was at the end of the room situated at the corner of the room's bend which caused the room to form a large 'L' shape. The comforter and pillows were all prim and proper, obviously decorated in a dictated sort of fashion. A rectangular wooden chest rested at the bed's feet. Shaped into the wall of the 'L's' shorter end was a study. A cushioned seat was pushed under the desk and beside it was a large shelf filled with all manner of tools of education. Books, plumes, inks, papers, lenses- things such as that. Pressing into the room, two pull-doors are situated to the opposite of the study area-presumably the Lady Lorelei's closet.
Malekus looks to Gerard and says "What was it we were looking for in here? I would feel bad ransacking through this room any more than we absolutely need to." He walks over to the desk and begins flipping through the items on the surface.
Gerard looks around Lorelei's room. He has never seen such fine furnishings in his life and did not realize that some people actually had such luxuries. He resists a temptation to lay down in the very comfortable bed and let himself sleep for a day. He turns and answers Malekus, "We are looking for a diary or journal. Lorelei gave me permission to take it for whatever help it may be. She said it was in a lockbox in her closet." Gerard fishes out the key given to him by Lorelei and proceeds across the room to the two pull doors. He then pulls the doors open (if it is not locked) and proceeds to look for a lockbox inside.
The doors softly give way revealing dozens of dresses of the upper echelon neatly hung on a wooden rung. Below these exquisite linens are two open-faced cupboards- one lined with boots, shoes, heels and other footwear, the other with folded delicates and towels. Parting the dresses, pressed against the left corner of the closet is a metal lockbox made to look like a small chest no larger than a typical parcel. The keyhole is centered on the front in a filigree heart. Each corner is embossed and etched in some fashion. The metal isn't heavy or coarse but smooth and mirrors its surroundings in a distorted manner. Engraved along the top it reads: "Verona".
Gerard tries not to disturb anything and examines the metal lock box for a few minutes. If nothing seems amiss, he attempts to open using the key that Lorelei gave to him. The box does not open although the key fits inside and turns without issue. After trying a few times Gerard picks the box up out of the closet by two side handles. “Malekus, the key turns but the box doesn’t open. What do you make of this?”
As he looks over the stacks of papers, Malekus recognizes many of the psalms he has recited through the years. The calligraphy is well done and in several languages, of which he recognizes many. Set off to the side and neatly stacked are several volumes on the study of flowers. On the shelf he takes note that there are several romantic novels, picking up The Castle of Mauer and Romero and Juliette he looks over to Gerard and says "It is dark times when a young woman is thrust into something foul like this. These books are what she should be focusing on, not running away. Based on some of this material she may be self-taught."
He walks over to inspect the lock box Gerard is holding. He tries turning the key. The key turns but the box remains closed. Malekus looks over all the details of the box and the lock but nothing jumps out at him. He responds to Gerard "It might be enchanted to stay closed. Was the girl gifted at all?"
“I am not sure about an enchantment that might keep the box closed. She is an initiate at Palmbriar, an order of church spring mages. Let’s take the box with us and see if another of our company can open it. We can return the box once we have the diary.”
"Sounds good to me. Was there anything else we needed here? If not we should be on our way back to join our company and rest!"
Vict spins his broth finding a good pork lump and savoring it in the mouth. "Hm, do you believe the crow-witch, the wolf, the ghoul, could be related to this course? Anyway, we should ask Eran what exactly was his involvement, what he did for the demon. There are two of my companions with him at the Chapel. I could join them and question the boy. Meanwhile we will see what the forcemage discovered from his visit to the Mayor and then we can move from that. Dalreyous," Vict eyes his fellow cathar. "You should go back to Thraben with Jones and report to the High City. Report our previous mission, and the situation now in Hanweir. It is possible that we will need more help to contain the waves if we won't manage to close the hellmouth. Lita could stay here to help with that, just in case...agreed?"
"Aye." Dal responds. He's been standing off to the side, looking up towards the stairway and interior balcony, but listening intently.
Raben considers Vict's suggestion and agrees with the knight-inquisitor's decisiveness. "I'll have Syd remain here in Hanweir, so that he may better recover his injuries. I think Jospeh will want to remain with him. He's sort of developed a kinship with the cleric. I'll be writing some reports to send back to the Grand Cathedral with your man, Dal. Garreth I believe will wish to stay here as well, I suppose- he wasn't initially part of our troop, but he'll be involved in the correspondence. I'd feel better if we can commission a carriage for your two men for their journey. The quicker Thraben hears of what's actually going on here the better."
The Cleric nods "Agreed, I'll put some coins in for the carriage. We already have the horses and they will make the journey safer, avoiding the witchtower and the ghouls". Vict reaches his mug and take a swig. "I'll want to have a word with Eran soon."
Catching Up
The misery of the day never seems to fade even as the thin yellow sun passes across the sky, its light paling as it traces its coarse through the solid blanket of clouds beneath it.
At the Wandering Heron, the makeshift headquarters for the Avacynian Arm led by Myles Raben, the cathar, himself, waits for the rest of his troop to arrive from their various investigations. Also at the opulent inn was a newly arrived knight-inquisitor, Vict, who commanded a squad of experienced cathars- one of them, Dalrius, was also about the table. Joseph, a ranger that had been tasked with Raben's mission from the beginning was also within the establishment, but had maintained himself most of the day within his room. After a few hours, he leaves his space and joins the others at the table with few words and a harsh expression worn over his now twice-scarred face.
Garreth, alone at a separate table, could be seen drinking from his personal flask, a quickly emptying bottle of amber spirits within his other palm.
The rest of the young Vict's Arm- Lita and Jones- was at Lightspire Chapel, searching through the recently passed Pastor Bertram's chambers for anything that could help quell the town's hellish predicament. Also, they have Friar Eran in their detainment. Vict and Raben would expect them to appear at the Heron's doors any minute now.
The Arm's two mages, forcemage Gerard and spearsage Malekus had payed visit to the Mayor Garensun, who was in ill mood for the church's repeated council, but the mages' goal had been successful- they searched through the Lady Lorelei's room and retrieved a strangely locked metal box about the size of a travel case.
As the shadows elongate across Hanweir's walls, alleyways, and streets, a pair of guards make the precarious vigil that is to light the grid of oil streetlights throughout town. Their faces are darkened and only the barest of words are shared between them. The hellpit that has spawned within the religious heart of their hearty town is also a wound to their own hearts and spirits. It is at this time in which the druid and warlock duo return to the Wandering Heron.
After finishing the stew, Vict quietly sips the rest of the full-bodied red before him. As is his wont, his inquisitive gaze over-viewed the Hanweir delegation, acknowledging Raben as a leader of this group, understanding the seclusion of Joseph and wondering how Garreth will manage to be on his feet tomorrow. The Cleric's green eyes focused the guards outside, hoping to see Lita and Jones coming back shortly. The doors of the Wandering Heron moan and Gerard and Malekus make their appearence. "Oh," Vict exclaims adjusting his lenses "I hope you are bringing good news."
"Hello there, everyone." Malekus says as the pair walks over to the table. The portly mage sits down at the table and waves to the waitress to bring additional food and drink. Once he is sure a meal is on the way he continues to the group. "Not sure if we have good news, but we do have something. Unfortunately, we were not able to open it or figure out what is inside it. Gerard is convinced this will help us unravel the story behind the bleeding corpse. Right, Gerard?"
Gerard enters the inn carrying a large metal box sets it down near a chair that he sits in at the table with the rest of his companions. "Lady Lorelei, the mayor's daughter, has a journal that she says may help us with our mission. However, the key she gave me doesn't appear to open the box even though it turns the lock. There is something more to this box, but this is not the place to examine it." Gerard then leans into the table and lowers his voice. "We also spotted the bad cat that had spooked Nata. Where is she? It was near the entrance of the mayor's house. I believe it to be the work and servant of a necromancer."
Raben's eyebrows raise as he searches the table. "Joseph, did you see her here when you arrived? Do you know if she's in her room?"
The ranger shakes his head slowly as a long breathe escapes him. "Nah, I ain't seen her. Wouldn't be surprised if this all spooked her and ran when she got the chance. This is out of her breadth. She's just a girl."
Raben, as well as Syd, nod in silent agreement. "What do you mean?" Raben asks when the box is referred to.
Syd responds to the other side of the conversation, his words separated by practiced breaths as one arm holds himself around the waist. "That cat.. if it's a servant. Someone is watching.. us." He is leaning back against his seat, a slight hiss passing through his gritted teeth every now and again. Joseph raises Syd's glass to the cleric's mouth, who reluctantly acquiesces to the ranger's aid.
Answering Raben about the box, Gerard says, "The lock turns when the key is inserted as one expects. However, the box still will not open. Perhaps there is something more of a mechanical nature that needs to be done, or it may have an enchantment cast upon it that is preventing it from opening." Making sure again that no one is eavesdropping, Gerard continues. "I can spend some time with the box, in a private setting and check for an enchantment. If it is an enchantment, then it will be beyond my skill to remove it. Mechanical safeguards are completely beyond my skill."
"I agree it should be done in private. I want to help figure out what is inside but I am exhausted from our day." Malekus chimes in. "Ah here comes the food." As the meal is placed before him he begins to eat and talk "Raben the mayor was very adamant that we get out of town quickly as members of the church..." He paused to slurp down some ale before continuing "I do not like the way this is going with an open hell put and now further mystery."
At the mention of a bad cat, Vict narrows the eyes, as a reflex, he moves them around the bar and outside the window trying to ascertain if something or someone is eavesdropping the party. "A servant you said? Did..did you feel anyone was watching you guys once entered you Hanweir?" the Cleric takes a deep breath "Anyway, as I told Raben, I will stay here to help your investigation if you allow me. That box is puzzling. Did the girl said anything about it? It is.. strange she didn't mention the key wouldn't be enough to open it.. but.. you're probably right... We all need some rest now. Tomorrow we will all have more sources to address it. The Mayor though, I heard Hanweir was aiming to be.. more independent, let's say....but this... " Vict shakes the head. "This should bring people together.. church or not."
Gerard answers Vict, "I have not felt that someone was watching in general, although there have been a few specific times that it seems I was being observed. Nevertheless, if it is agreeable, I will take the box to my room for the evening. I can perform a short ritual to see if the box has been enchanted. We can meet in the morning and decide what to do with it from there. The mayor's threats may have been just momentary frustration, or he actually mean to do what he says. It may be best to move on, but we need a direction to move onto."
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Malekus steels himself from the carnage. He wishes there was a way to sacrifice none in this fray, but he knows the good of the whole town is at stake. He begins to mutter the prayer and forming the energy in his hand. He tries to find an opening while the demon is tearing through the militia. He hurls the ball of energy at the demon, but it looks up at him laughing and swats the ball away harmlessly.
His enemy preoccupied with the warlock's attack, the hunter acts quickly. He flings one of his swords to the ground as he scrambles over the heaps of bodies at the demon's feet. Eyes still surveying the monstrous threat before him, he reaches down, grabs the shield of the fallen militiaman, and slips it quickly into place on his forearm. As he turns, the ranger catches sight of Gerard and Father Bertram, and his eyes show a hint of relief. But he quickly returns his attention to the demon, sidestepping back to his former position to prevent its advance. Shield before him, sword held low and to the side, Joseph spits at the feet of the towering, red fiend. Then he steps back, lowers his stature, and cranes his neck up to meet his foe's infernal gaze. Joseph's mouth curls into a mocking, wry smirk. "More sheepdogs. You picked the wrong flock."
Gerard and Father Bertram make their way slowly into the grafs. The good Father is gravely injured and relies on the younger man’s support. They stop out of the range of the battle. Gerard takes a scroll from the father and unfurls the fine parchment. While Gerard holds him and the open scroll steady, Father Bertram begins chanting words in musical language. The words stir hope in the faithful even if they cannot understand them. Gerard joins in with Father Bertram joining his stronger voice with that if the father’s. In unison they speak words that push back the darkness encroaching in hearts of the town’s defenders . Unfortunately beyond the sound of the words giving some momentary comfort to the faithful, the spell does not seem to do anything more. Gerard and Father Bertram look at each for a moment perplexed.
Wielding a shield, Joseph weaves and bobs, nimbly blocking a heavy-handed swing from the demon. In a blur of rage, the demon strikes again for the ranger. With little time to react, Joseph tucks himself and rolls, allowing the shield to take the brunt of the momentum as he just dodges the demon's steely black nails. The maneuver doesn't get him as far as he'd like however, and slowed Joseph to his feet. Before the ranger can better his position, the demon lunges forward with its needle-toothed jaw open and wide, clamping down on Joseph's shoulder. The force is immense, and the demon's teeth are incredibly sharp. The attack sinks deep, and Joseph's mind sinks to oblivion. "One mutt has been put down. Now for the lot of you."
With the ranger's body limp on the ground, the demon leaves him to die and rushes for the remaining Avacynian clergy, determined to get the soul he is owed. If he is fortunate enough to rid this world of the rest of these imbeciles, he'd be very happy, indeed. It's important to enjoy one's work, after all.
Malekus looks past the demon charging him at the fallen ranger. He moves his lips in a silent prayer to his patron for dying companion. A dim glow emits from around the rangers damaged body and mend some of the wounds. The bleeding slows but does not stop. He stands firm and resolved to meet the incoming attack head on. He begins to chant the holy words "Luceat lumen vestrum" while tracing an ancient symbol with his staff. The demon is looming over him now and he mistraces the final sigil. A flash of light at the tip of the staff slowly fizzles out instead of creating a burst of energy as the spell fades. Malekus takes a few steps back towards the pastor hoping to put a small amount of space between himself and the demon.
Joseph's head hurts immensely. He must have hit it on something. He opens his eyes, and sees the trees of the Ulvenwald above him. There's a scuffling noise, and a growl. He rolls his head to the side and sees his older brother Easton pinned to the path by a werewolf, shoving at it with his shield.
The ranger pushes himself to his knees. In the other direction, another wolf stands ten feet from Thomas, his younger brother. The beast is slavering and snarling as the boy prepares a spell. Joseph blinks groggily and rubs his head. His hair is wet with blood. Then he hears The Old Man's voice thunder from the trees. "Joseph!" the wizard bellows. "Get up there! Keep it from Thomas!"
With a gasp, Joseph startles awake in the Hanweir graf, his face and chest covered with his own blood. He can still feel the tingle of Malekus's healing magic within him. He looks up and sees the spearsage squaring up to the hellish threat before him. The demon's back is to Joseph.
"Get up there!" the words echo in his head. "Keep it from Thomas!"
Seeing the shield lying next to him, Joseph grabs it, scrambles to his feet, and charges the demon from behind, slamming the shield squarely into its rump. The creature stumbles, then wheels around with a blind claw at the unseen attacker, but the ranger deftly ducks the blow. The demon turns to face the renewed threat in full. Joseph's eyes dart past the demon, to Malekus's. "Go!" he shouts. "Get away! Back from it!"
Gerard was so sure that this would work. He and Father Bertram would be able to close the portal together and that the demon in front of him would be sent straight back to hell. He realizes that this was hubris. He is nowhere skilled enough to even help the veteran clergyman in this endeavor. "Father Bertram, I believe that I am a hindrance and not a help to you now. Please continue to try and close the portal while I help keep this demon from harming others!"
Gerard's heart drops when he sees Joseph go down, but regains hope when he sees the determined ranger pick himself back up after Malekus's healing magic. He charges at the horror speaking softly primordial words of power that call upon the elements for aid. The words quickly become louder and end with shout. Gerard's staff and eyes briefly glow green as he closes to the front of the demon and brings his staff crashing down on the hellspawn.
"By brimstone! I'll not have your insolence!" The demon scowls as the persistent ranger shows his mangled face again. With claws extended, the demon slashes the man's face, splitting it anew with bloody horizontal streaks. He then grabs Joseph's limp body by a shoulder, bringing the hunter's torn, leather-bound chest to his pointed ear. "Ahhh," the demon's voice seethes. "He's not yet been met by Alabaster. Shall I spring him to the front of the line?" As he finishes his question, the demon's other hand wraps around the unconscious Joseph's neck.
The Pastor Bertram understands Gerard's position, for though the druid seems devout, he is not of the Avacynian word. With squinted eyes, the father would continue reciting the holy word of the aged papyrus, but sees the motionless, bleeding body of their woodsman fellow in the clutches of the infernal fiend. In a horrid moment of awe, Bertram is speechless. His eyes dart to Malekus, and then to Gerard. He is uncertain. Doubt begins to creep into his heart, not of his faith- no. But of the amount of life lost for the sake of defeating this one monster.
"Stop, stop!" Malekus shouts through his clenched jaw. He knows he needs to contain his emotions and appear composed but he is enraged. The betrayal by an innocent, the loss of the town guard, and the chaos of the gaff is too much. He switches to a neutral stance and tries to relax his grip on his staff. He looks to the priest and the others assembled with a solemn expression. "You have already reaped more than was promised to you demon spawn. The guard captain and his men were good people. The destruction here will ring out against the light as was promised by the misguided youth. Take what you have already reaped and be gone. Leave the boy and the ranger and be glad with the souls you have already harvested."
“Father Bertram, your entire life has prepared you such a time as this. You know the words, you know how to do this! Do not let this filth take anymore innocent life! Send it back to hell!” Gerard ends his plea with a shout.
"Y-yes! I must continue, the verse.." Pastor Bertram continues to mutter, his graying eyes shakily passing back and forth, left and right across the musty page. His face tightens as he comes to a piece of script he doesn't immediately recognize, a small mispronunciation in terms of diction, but harks a death sentence for the allies of the church in the face of the infernal monster before them.
Thus far, the demon's face has been by-and-large amused, though it has roiled into frustration a time or two. Now, however, he was angry. "It must be the boy's! Give him to me, or this bag of flesh and guts will be torn open and you'll bathe in his steaming internals!" He begins stretching Joseph's neck away from his shoulders.
At the demon's dark promise, Eran looks to the Father of Lightspire, still away in his angelic stanzas. Then to Malekus. His eyes and cheeks are flushed and puffy, dirt and blood smeared over him and his Avacynian attire. His face says it all. He is absolved with his sealed fate. He slowly crawls to his feet. "Just.. let me go."
Outside Lightspire Graf
Much earlier in the day, another arm of the Church enters the cursed township of Hanweir. This one consists of two cathars and their leader, a prospective moonsage. A relatively recent graduate of Fel Seminary, Vict is young- possibly one of the youngest to complete his initial training- but he finished with exceeding marks and was immediately whisked to use. He'd proved his worth quickly in the field, and trusted with leading this group of cathars. They were all recent initiates as well, but Vict led them to mission success, albeit with losses, in their previous assignment further south. They had been double their current size leaving Thraben.
His men were tired from their travel and weighted by the losses of their comrades- they needed respite, and Hanweir seemed a fortuitous locale to stop for the day. Vict continues northbound, seeking an inn or other housing establishment on the Gavony-side of Hanweir. During their trek, however, a dismal strangeness can be sensed. The sky begins to have an eerie tinge to it, as if it were sunset though it was not so. As he continues his way through the streets of Hanweir, a black pillar of smoke can be see rising beyond the rooftops but within the borders of the town.
Passing into nearing the center of town, guards can be seen urging civilians to stay within inner Hanweir. These men immediately recognize Vict's regalia and bid him forward. They tell him of the hellish occurrence within Hanweir's grafs and beg Vict and his men's assistance.
"Oh damn," exclaims the cleric who turns to his fellows who are, as himself, still battered and shaken from the last task. "Darkness never rest on this land, and so do we....I have to ask you my friends....another effort for today...follow me, a fiend's pit, those agents will need our help." Vict spurs his horse towards the Lightspire Chapel graf and the black smoke.
Even in haste, it takes several minutes to reach the upper district of Hanweir. During his ride, the cleric notices another group of individuals is just as ask briskly heading in the same direction as he is, vice the direction everyone else is going. It seems to be three men, all of them wearing Avacynian regalia. They haven't noticed the cleric as they determinedly make way towards the graf.
"Ehi" Vict shouts trying to attract their attention, riding the horse closer "What is the situation?"
The gruff man in the lead, an inquisitor it looks like, looks at you and speaks between his grunts of effort and pushing civilians out of his way. "A moonsage, eh? Good! Follow us boy!"
Behind him another man, much younger than the leading individual slows his pace to meet you. "A hellmaw has opened it seems in the graf. I didn't imagine other Avacynians would be in town. My name is Myles Raben, and we could sure your help to vanquish what fell demons arise."
Behind him, another cleric continues on behind the boisterous inquisitor. He looks to you with sharp eyes but runs forward silently.
Vict first nods to the inquisitor. "Aye....Inquisitor Vict of Thraben, are there any other civilians to secure?"
The cleric answers then to the younger man, "We were south, for another mission, but Avacyn's grace brought us here, where is needed, show the way, we will come with you, we have to stop the demons and possibly close the hellmaw." He spurs the horse once more towards the graf.
"I do not know. Hopefully, they've all been evacuated from the vicinity of the graf." With that, Raben continues his haste.
Now following the three Avacynians, another figure can be seen ahead of them. A small, lithe frame, denoting a child or young woman, who also appears to be sprinting towards the graf.
Vict frowns for a moment, being one of the youngest cathars of the clergy, he is not completely surprised to see a very young...boy..or girl? running to face a peril. Without directly addressing him or her yet, he urges his steed nearby trying to understand who is he or she.
"Eh, Myles, who is he?" Vict asks pointing at the figure ahead.
Raben looks ahead and lets a small chuckle go. "Oh, her. She is a ward under our charge for the moment. She may not look it, but she wields strange magicks. She told us of the predicament at the graf."
"Well then, we need all the help we can get!" With that said, the Cleric spurs his horse to a gallop towards the graf.
As Vict arrives nearer the scene, he first sees a large chapel. It's not so close to the splendor and size of the Cathedral of Avacyn in Thraben, but it's more impressive than any chapel in many other towns and villages. The graf is located behind the chapel, which isn't uncommon. As he nears the graf's gates, Vict notices the sky becomes noticeably becomes more of a shade of red. A black plume of smoke rises from farther within the graveyard. A few onlookers line the periphery of the site, with guards ushering them back. The ground before the open gates of the graveyard is scuffed, mottled, and stained. Some weapons, shields, and helmets still dot the entrance. Believing urgency to be of utmost importance, Vict continues on.
From a decent distance, before actually arriving in the heart-rending scene proper, Vict can see the demon- a tall, langy, red fiend. It appears he is holding someone- someone who doesn't appear to be struggling to be freed. In front of the demon and his hostage, there are three men- all appearing to be Avacynian by their garb. From his vantage, the demon does not see the approaching band of cathars, and can be flanked from its side. Vict will seize this opportunity and smite this infernal creature from this holy place.
When they reached the unhallowed entrance, Yesfir decidedly slowed her approach and stood behind the barred gates. Expecting Raben, Syd, and Garreth, she turns around to see if they continue straight on through, but instead she sees an unknown man and on a dappled horse. She presses herself against the stone pillar hinged to the metal gate, immediately afraid of the unknown, but the man continues straight through into the graf with purpose. Behind him, even more men. Cathars by the looks of it. Where did they all come from? As they pass, they urge Yesfir to vacate the premises. She simply nods with a small whimper, but stays against the stone. Raben and the rest of her familiar group arrive just moments after. "We go with new cathars?"
"Yes, Nata. The others should be here, and hopefully, they are in one piece." Raben answers.
"Let's move!" Garreth hollers as he continues his momentum through the gates. "We can't let them have all the glory! I want a few fiend kills under my belt!"
The Calvary Arrives
The dread begins to set in for Malekus. This does not look to be a fight the group can win. He hangs his head and shakes it slowly. “Fine demon. We have lost many good people today and if one more will see you gone so be it.” He turns to look at the young friar with a pained look…
“Take the poor boy “ he exhales as he begins to trudge back towards the priest with his shoulders slouched. He walks slowly and sways as if unsteady on his feet. “Take the poor boy “ he exhales as he begins to trudge back towards the priest with his shoulders slouched. He walks slowly and sways as if unsteady on his feet.
Seething with anger, Gerard shouts, “This filth gets nothing!” He swings his staff with all his might but his anger causes his strike to be short.
Pastor Bertram's face is quickly overcome with shock as Malekus speaks, but as the spearsage gets close, he sees the younger man's true intentions. They attempt to read the scroll, but before they get to the end, the page begins to illuminate in a dull white light. "No, no, no!" The Pastor starts, his eyes bright. After it overcomes the spell scroll, it disperses softly in tiny white stars. He grasps at the empty space as the small orbs of light fade into the ether.
With a backstep, the ravenous demon stays clear from the druid's rakish swing. In disdain, the demon reaches its long, gangly arm and palms the man's face, flinging him to the side like a brat of a child- away from the immediate scene and out of its face. It steps up closer to the two Avacynians, overcasting its large looming figure above the clergymen. It raises an upturned palm, claws curled out towards them.
"Whatever power you thought you had, it is gone. Give me the boy."
Vict finds himself heading the motley crew upcoming to the Lightspire Chapel graf. The young Cleric on his mount is lightly ahead of his fellow Cathars, the other three Avacynians and the little girl just met. He knew what he was running towards, but once in sight of the tall, dreadful, red demon, Vict's heart skips a beat, perhaps two, his mouth hangs for a split second, eventually closing with a loud gulp. Not today..not today! he repeats to himself, regaining control while the hand free from the horse’s reins reaches for the shield on his back . The cleric's shield is emblazoned with the symbol of the Guardian Angel, Avacyn. Vict focuses his attention on the man the fiend creature has at his mercy, he speaks divine words while the holy symbol on the shield glows. focusing his blessing and channeling it at the bleeding corpse.
"Flank the demon!" Vict orders the cathars "We have the favor of number, we have to stop him at the behest of Avacyn". The cleric halts his horse's gallop a few feet away from the fiendish creature and again, drawing strength from his faith, he finds the spirit to directly look at the demon and slowly but firmly order: "Drop him, now!"
A bright, irritating light glows in the periphery of the demon's vision. Turning to its source, the fiend recoils, shielding its face with its free hand. An echoing voice pounds within its head, demanding to let go of the dead one in its grasp and against the demon's will, Joseph is let go. With a tragic slump, the hunter falls onto the graf dirt, barely regaining consciousness. The light seered into the demon's vision, and the voice resounded in its ears, forcing the demon to seethe and grunt in pain. Within this moment of opportunity, the rest of Vict's troop, three young and aspiring cathars surround the riling demon. They didn't want to fight this thing, they'd never imagined they'd have to, but with the might of Avacyn at their side at the behest of Vict and the present arm of Goldnight, they might prevail without too much injury. They brandish their various weaponry, readying themselves for the monster to recover and wreak its retribution.
Sprinting towards the scene, Raben and his comrades arrive within running distance from the rapidly enlightening situation. They had seen Vict command the demon into a small state of submission. Perhaps this was their chance to rid Hanweir of this pestilence. But demons were ferocious foes- how many would pay the price in such an attempt?
Garreth barks definitively as he continues onward, pulling his dual axes, "Ohh, bet your silver I'm cutting into that fiend! We won't be letting it escape the Church's hands, Raben!"
"Raben, follow the dastard. I'll see to your support." Syd rationales, grabbing hold of his broad shield.
At this juncture, Eran is flabbergasted. Things had scaled so far beyond his control and his intent. Eran hadn't known the strength of the Church for a great severity of time, and now that he has forsake his faith, Avacyn shows him the error of his ways. How poetic. How ironic. He was now a blasphemer, a heretic. Goldnight did not look favorably upon heretics- their punishments were usually along the lines of prolonged torture until granted forgiveness, which was often synonymous with death. Eran was debating on abandoning the Church, running away, perhaps to Stensia. The Church has almost no presence there. Was he certain he should do this? He didn't know, but for now Eran was content with simply fleeing the scene. The young friar gets to his feet and attempts to steal away as the new arrivals make landfall.
"Eran!" Pastor Bertram calls. "You mustn't! You can't!"
No answer from Eran. With tears in his eyes, Eran continues running. For how long, he had no idea.
Watching the demon continue to punish the ranger was devastating. Malekus tries to offer a healing prayer for him but the fight has taken its toll on him. He mutters quietly to Gisela but seeing number of wounds he begins to think that even divine healing might not be enough. With that wavering thought the prayer finishes and he sees some of the blow flowing out of a wound slow but not stop. He was beginning to doubt until the second half of his group appeared.
Seeing that reinforcements had arrived Malekus starts to think the outcome of this fight might not be as bleak as he though before. He turns toward the demon and energy begins to collect in his palm. As he is beginning the chant the pastor overcome with relief at seeing reinforcements arrive collapses into Malekus. He immediately moves to catch the pastor before he hits the ground.
With a groan, Joseph brings his face up out of the dirt. He sees a line of men, all dressed in the splendor of the church, and he blinks. "Raben," he says quietly to himself, a genuine smile creeping onto his bloodied, slashed face. With Bertram's outburst, the ranger's eyes dart to the fleeing Eran. Suddenly rage eclipses the smile. Joseph scrambles to his feet, turns to the demon, and hisses violently. His eyes take on a fiery-orange hue. Far-off winds rush in to greet the hunter, whipping up a dust devil between himself and his hellish adversary. Using the distraction to escape, Joseph takes off in a full sprint after the boy, leaving a swirl of autumn leaves in his wake.
Carnifax the Ravenous couldn't believe what was happening. He'd made a simple contract with a miscreant choirboy, barely influencing him with a few dark whispers as the wayward child would walk amidst empty pews and sweep the dust that would settle the vacant Lightspire Chapel. The first clause of the deal had been complete, allowing him to surface this angel-forsaken realm. These weak bags of flesh plated in the ground's metals were pitiful compared to his strength. Hell, he'd already lost count of how many he'd rent. But now, in some showing of faith, they'd been bolstered, renewed, wielding white light and holy sigils.
I but needed this one soul.. Just.. this.. one!!
Recovering from a blasted spell of forceful command, the demon roars, hot breath erupting like the iron grating of a furnace erupting open, "Fine! I'll have all your bones for my throne!"
In an enraged flurry, the demon Carnifax rakes his terrible claws into the spearsage, rending Malekus to his knees in searing pain. Carnifax pushes onwards towards the elder pastor opening his gullet with a hungry ferocious sound. The demon's jaw closes down on Bertram's frail body. The crunch of bones cracking and snapping under the severe pressure was sickening and did nothing to cover the pastor's anguished scream.
The demon pulls his head back, a squelch resounding across the graf. Dark red pours over the pastor's vestments for a moment from the gaping missing from his upper left body. He falls to the ground with a soft exhale and stays motionless.
Vict grits the teeth knowing that probably, this encounter has just turn to a live or die situation. The ravenous Demon is out of control, he realizes that really him, probably, pulls the last straw of his control with that compulsory command. Their next moves will be vital, and it is a long shot. He takes a deep breath before drops off his horse and gets closer to the just met young man, Miles..Raben? his name right? The Cleric catches a glimpse of holy determination upon his glaze and he decides immediately, he will be his bet. Vict digs up from the satchel a small pouch of a mixture of fine powered silver and iron, he takes a handful and whispers the right words. "Raben," he calls, while smearing the holy glowing mixture on his shoulders "This incantation will grant you protection from that bastard. It is not all," he adds, underlined every next word with sacred power of his order "We have to take him to the ground, we have to hit hard...now. All together," he shouts eyeing everyone, "for Avacyn...for Innistrad...for all the Good". As always, as his compulsory behavior urges him, he adjust his glasses while copious sweat forms on his forehead, breathing hard, Vict, keeping an eye at the demon and shield at the ready, tries to move cautiously towards the wounded men hoping to not be too late.
How could they have lasted this long.. Raben curses himself, under his breath. He's heard stories of these dark manifestations, tantalizing the weak as their profession and razing a town as their amusement. "Malekus!" Raben shouts. "Let us break it away from you!"
As he yells, Raben puts himself between the injured spearsage and the towering fiend, bringing his silver sword across in two wide strokes. The demon, however, anticipates the cathar's movements and deftly dodges both, smiling mockingly. Steps behind Raben, Syd had thought to prepare an attack spell had Raben landed his blows to further aggravate the monster, but instead decides to pray to the angelic hosts to provide divine protection to the stalwart cathar. A holy glow emanates from the cleric's focus, and a resonant illumination radiates from Raben softly. Although he'd rather not be so close to such a creature, Syd positions himself in front of the felled pastor and Malekus, raising his shield. "See to the pastor, Malekus. Quickly while the demon gazes at us."
Malekus pulls himself over to the limp body of Pastor Bertram. He looks over the wounds and sees the life pouring out of him in a steady stream of crimson. He puts on hand on his broken chest and the other grasps his amulet of Avacyn. He says a quiet prayer as the battle rages on in the background “Sana animam meam huiusmodi auxilium Domini luminis”. As he prays his holy symbol begins to glow with a pale light. The prayer completes but the glow fades away. He slowly pulls his hand back from the now lifeless corpse. He looks up to the demon now being engaged by his other companions and slowly, painfully stands up using his staff as a brace. Clutching to it out of breath he begins the incantation to blast the demon. He closes his eyes to focus on the task at hand of defeating this foul demon. The laughter of the demon breaks through his concentration and he faulters in his words. The holy light escapes him momentarily.
The demon attempts to focus on the young cathar that has locked himself in mortal combat with him, but he can't properly do so. A white glow surrounds the young fool- it was like staring into the moon's callous, paraselene face. There were two light-speakers, now. He'd rid the old one of his withered soul, the aged wine of the pastor's blood still lingered on the demon's tongue. As far as Carnifax was concerned, there was no difference between the flesh and souls of a devout and charlatan- their souls don't shine, and their meat stinks.
Carnifax barrels through the silver-wielding Avacynian soldier, his right claw reared back after pushing Raben to the side. The first strike rakes harshly against the reinforced steel of Syd's shield, but the force causes him to lose his balance, and the shield-arm flails over to the clergyman's right-just in time for a second slash to connect with Syd's chest. The blow forces the cleric to a knee, his face strained in anguish. Before he can raise his face and open his eyes, the demon plunges its many needle-like teeth into Syd's shoulder, just as he had to the elder fallen Lightspire priest. There is naught but pain for a moment, then blissful blackness. Letting the shielded-bearer out of his jaw's grasp, the demon heaves satisfactorily, "I was promised-and content- with but a morsel, but now I shall revel in your feast!"
Vict witnesses the demon ravage fury on the cleric with wide, sorrowful eyes, as the fiend is slashing his flesh instead. He holds a urge to sprint towards the clergyman and bless him with the strength to still have a breath. He knows that facing toe-to-toe the creature will probably result in his own depart. He stand still instead, not much for cowardice, but in the awareness that he has to be alive to try to save the severe wounded men afterwards...nevertheless, he has a short window to do it, before all the efforts will be in vain. "Holy fighters!" he shouts to his troop "Let Avacyn light guide your blows and straighten your hearts, we can do it together, don't stop now!" With the intent to inspire the troop he also summons a radiant flame to descend on the demons from the reddened sky above....with all frustration, the evil creature avoid it easily..."Damn it!"
Vict's troop consisted of three cathars: Jonesmar Dayhat, Dalreyus Kans, and Lita Jas. All were marked graduates of their class at their time in the Elgaud Grounds. Jonesmar was the eldest and deeply wished he'd make home to his family. Dalreyus owned a small beet and animal farm with siblings, inherited by the passing of his parents. Without him and his benefits of Avacynian service, he wasn't sure how they'd make it out in the Moorlands. Lita Jas was the youngest, and though she'd never faced a demon before, she forbid to let fear overcome her. She brandished her blade hard and fast, and swiped with the most ferocity of the three.
They weaved and bobbed in and out of the fray, calling to each other, nicking the demon and forcing it into various possible open positions for their more magically affluent members to strike true with their Avacynian magic. It was clear, this wasn't a new, motley troop, but a hardened group of fighters who trusted one another.
As Syd fell to the ground, so too did the white magic blessing placed on Raben fade away, but that wouldn't stop him. The Father Jofridus depended on Raben's survival, just as the rest of the Church and the people of Innistrad.
"The only thing you'll dine on is your hubris, demon!" Raben bursts forward with a flourish of speed just as the demon swiped at an evading Lita. With its arm outstretched, it offered a sizable opening for Raben's silver blade to pierce straight through. If the monster had a heart, Raben was sure he'd pierced it.
Carnifax feels a pain like no other stabbing into his side. Cold fire slices between his ribs and deep into his body, a harsh seething roar escapes him. He hadn't realized it, but Carnifax was hunched over, a knee braced against the graf's unhallowed dirt for support. In a fit of anger, the demon flails its long arms in either direction, which catches Garreth off-guard and prevents him from digging his dual axes into the demon's red hide.
Chasing the Lamb
Eran was heaving. He didn't believe he'd ever run so hard in his young life. He runs passed the open iron bars of the graf gates and continues on towards the front of the chapel. Eran looks back, and exclaims worriedly. The hunter was incredibly fast- he was right behind him!
Through the graf gates the hunter easily overtakes Eran. Reaching out, he catches an arm; but the boy screams and wrests away, tearing himself out of the sleeve and continuing down the street. Joseph furiously throws the sleeve aside and continues after him. The two approach the front of the chapel, where a guard is standing watch.
“Stop that boy!” shouts the hunter within an arm’s grasp of Eran. “He’s summoned a demon!” Again, he reaches out. This time he gets hold of Eran's bicep, nearly jerking the boy off his feet, bringing him to a sudden halt. The two stand, both heaving and bloodied, before the approaching guard.
"Guardsman! Guard!" Eran shouts, his breath escaping the young, dirty and bloodied lad as his heavy feet slam the cobbled street. The unassuming guard turns to Eran and his face turns to shock and fright and motions towards Eran.
"Friar? What has happened?"
"There is a madman after me! There's a demon in the graf and he plans to offer my soul to him!"
Joseph, grasping Eran by the armpit, looks up at the approaching guard. The rage fades from the ranger's blood-covered face for a moment, and he opens his mouth to speak, but stops. Without a word he wheels around and charges back towards the graf, dragging the friar screaming down the street. There's a look of determination in the hunter's face, a fierce mixture of terror and murder in his orange-flickering eyes.
The guard raises a hand with a resounding call. "Oy, halt, huntsman! What have you-" His attempt at a cordial dialogue is cutoff, however, with the hunter's exceedingly brisk turn around, a warm wind buffeting the guard's face softly. He sprints down the side-street after the struggling clergyman and his wrangler. Damned, he's fast! But with a concerted effort, the militiaman catches up and attempts to grab hold of the boy.
Joseph turns, grabbing Eran with his other hand. "Damn it, man!" he barks. "I told you! He summoned the demon! It's killed half a score of your ranks already, as well's the friar!"
With a strained grunt, the hunter pivots, jerking Eran's body around with both hands. The boy screams again in terror, and all three stumble forward. The guard loses his grip and quickly rights himself. There's a brief struggle as Eran tries to escape, but his footing slips as he tries to pull free, and he slumps to the ground. Joseph nearly lifts him off the ground by his armpit, setting him upright on his feet. The dust from the scuffle is taken away by a gust of warm breeze.
"No, please! You mustn't let me go with him- please!" Eran squeels.
Hand on the hilt of his longsword, the guard squints and inspects the angry ranger's persona. He was familiar.. He was with the Arm that fought the werewolf just the night before! Perhaps things aren't as they entirely seem, but the guardsman couldn't be too careful. He speaks up, the palm of his steady head still warming the hilt of his weapon. "I'll attend you, hunter. The graf, is it?"
Joseph takes a step towards the graf, opening his mouth to speak, but he pauses. He turns back to the guard. "It'd be your death," he says grimly and calmly. "Fetch the captain. Bring the whole guard." Redoubling his grip on Eran, he turns and charges back to the battlefield, the friar mewling and bawling behind him
Loss and Resolve
Malekus is clutching his staff barely holding himself up and he sways slowly in the clamor of battle. He is bleeding from the deep wounds suffered at the hands and teeth of the foul demon before him. The embodiment of evil manifested before them to continue sowing the seeds of chaos. We have put a wrench in his original plan he thinks to himself as the corner of his mouth begins to curl into a grin. His eyes focus on the trail of the ranger who was chasing after the boy…
At least we were able to keep the boy from any more harm. He is young and naïve thinking he could get something good out of a deal with a demon. There will be time for him to receive council and he might make it into the service of the light yet. This would be the harshest lesson he could learn in life. Losing his mentor, the pastor Bertram would be tough on the boy, but he should pull through. His swaying causes a shift of focus for his eyes and suddenly the body of the pastor fills his field of view.
The pastor would be a devasting loss for the town of Hanwier. Being a man of the church in a town of this size is no easy task. He tried to put an end to this evil, but our faith cannot heal all wounds. The pastor was the face of the church here and his good work was be cut well short by the demon. He sways back the other way and his eyes find the body of the cleric.
Syd’s twisted body is lying motionless on the ground. Another life cut short by the evil that plagues this land. Avacyn lost many of her faithful today but these two she would feel the most. The cleric was doing her work but could not stand up to the blackness made manifest…. He closes his eyes to fight through the wave of emotion that is washing over him…. So many lives lost…. I started this melee in the name of Avacyn but it has caused more destruction that I could have ever imagined. The soldiers, the pastor, and the cleric all fought bravely and paid the ultimate price. The pain that he hadn’t been thinking about suddenly rushes back and he embraces it. I will see this through even if it is the end of me. This town deserves more than to be the domain of this demon.
His throat is burning from the ash and smoke, but he still manages to get out the words “This ends now.” He stands up straight and begins his prayer to Gisela “Angelus custos hekpo mei nolite malum hoc perpetuum”. He moves the tip of his staff in the symbol of Avacyn as he has done many times. He channels the divine energy into a ball of pure energy in his left hand. As the demon lashes out at the cathar he sees an opening.
Quickly he raises it as he finishes the prayer “Et eos quidem qui ceciderunt hodie” the ball of light flashes from his hand and pierces the demon’s side through the wound Raben had opened just a moment earlier. The demon howls in pain as the light bursts out the other side in an explosion of dark gore. He shouts “This is it! Finish it NOW!” As the evil creature begins to fall those nearest to it continue to pierce it with their weapons not wanting to take any chances. Malekus slumps and is forced to lean on his staff but lets out a sigh of relief.
Evil Slain
There was another instance of remarkable pain as a prominent blast of holy power eviscerates Carnifax's torso. His mouth begins to fill with a hot fluid. Carnifax raises his hand to his mouth in surprise. Black ichor flooded his palm as he choked and fell to his knees. "I'll.. be back.. and I'll... remember you.."
The demon spoke no more, and all was quiet for a moment, save for the heavy breathing of those remaining. Blood and sweat begins to permeate and pierce the nostrils, mixed with the burning tinge of the smoldering pit that was still ever so close and seething. Motionless, the demon's body begins to waft black tendrils of fog, it's essence slowly, but surely, dissipating into the ether of Innistrad.
Fury and Duty
Joseph drove forward with long, dogged strides through the graf gates, dragging the shrieking friar behind him. His whole soul was focused on one thought, a primeval urge, a single, knife-edged, life-and-death compulsion: deliver. As he approached the hellish scene, he saw something was missing. In his mind, a rushing mixture of fear and hope ballooned briefly. Words formed in the empty space left in their wake: Where is it? Where’d it go?
Then he saw it—the thing’s red, horned flesh oozing and sizzling at the feet of the defenders in the distance. For a moment, Joseph felt relief and the tiniest spark of triumph. The world returned to him. There was the smell of the dirt, the comforting weight of his tarnished scale resting upon his shoulders, the flap of his dusty overcoat against his calves. He realized his whole head hurt, as did his upper torso, where tooth and claw punctured armor. He felt blood trickling down his neck.
Joseph hears sobbing. It’s coming from behind. It's still locked in his white-knuckled grasp. The boy. A cold jolt shoots up Joseph’s spine, and the world closes in again. His head feels suddenly warm. He searches the battlefield, but sees only death. Again, he hears the staccato sobbing. The boy. It fills his ears. Is he laughing? A helplessness pins Joseph’s heart as his every vein sears with burning rage. The murderer.
Joseph wheels around and sees Eran wriggling and squirming at the end of his grasp. Moving his grip to the friar’s mussed, dirty hair, he lifts him to his feet. “You did this,” the ranger says quietly and firmly. He can feel his face starting to tingle. Jerking Eran forward by the hair, he thrusts his clenched fist outwards, towards the twisted bodies of the fallen militia. “You!” he screams. “You killed them! Every one of them!”
With a pained shout, the ranger throws Eran forward, sprawling face-first into the dirt next to the militia. He points to the dead. “Their sleep! Your master’s sleep! Nearly my own!” Joseph feels another gust of rage sweep upwards, from his feet to his face. He steps forward and kicks the friar in the ribs. Eran groans in agony, rolling onto his back, his sobs redoubling. The boy curls his arms over his face and head in terror, just as the Hanweir guards had done when the fiend wrapped its foul claws around them. Another surge of fury sweeps through the ranger, and a sickening helpless feeling weighs in his gut. He shifts his voice up a register, repeating the words he had just heard in disbelief, moments ago, in front of the guard. “‘Help!’” Joseph squeals mockingly, pointing back at the chapel. “‘He plans to offer my soul!’”
Again he grabs Eran by the hair, lifting him out of the dirt, bringing the boy’s face close to his own. The friar clenches his eyes shut. “You offered!” White flecks of foamy spittle spatter onto Eran’s bloodstained cheek. “You did! An’ then you left us to pay. You let them pay! You ******* made them!”
He storms towards the demon’s body, dragging Eran behind. The wailing boy grasps vainly at the calloused hands clamped next to his scalp. Joseph moves to throw the friar towards the hellish corpse. “Go, coward! Be with your—“ Joseph’s eyes fall upon a dinted shield lying at his feet, with three deep gashes striking out the symbol of the collar. His blood freezes, and he looks up in wide-eyed panic. There, lying next to the demon’s smoldering corpse, lies Syd’s lifeless body. It’s mangled and torn, like a farmer’s in the distance, like a Kessiger’s in the corner of a room, like a soldier’s on a heap, in a cursed graf—like your own lonely corpse, rotted and forgotten, wandering a dark forest road. Suddenly, as if he were an altar candle succumbing to an acolyte’s clumsy snuffer, a shroud falls over Joseph.
Myles Raben was the first to realize. He saw it in Joseph’s eyes. For the past week, even in various states of distress, the hunter was always watching, always thinking, always moving. Whether fleeing from a flock of maddened crows, or standing firm between Threg and an angry mob, there was nothing Joseph didn’t see as he acted unflinchingly to protect the helpless around him.
But when Joseph’s eyes rested upon Syd’s body, they suddenly ceased, and the light escaped them. Joseph was looking, but he saw nothing. And when the hunter turned to the boy, the motion was unconscious, slow, and deliberate, like that of a wild beast stalking its prey. “Avacyn…” Raben whispers, tracing the collar over himself. “Joseph?” he calls out tentatively, walking towards his companion.
With a single, cat-like movement, Joseph raises the boy a full foot above the ground by his hair, flips back the flap of his overcoat, and grabs for the sword—but the scabbard is empty. Without pause or thought the hunter sprints away towards the fiery pit, dragging his bloodied prey along with him. “Joseph, no!” Raben begins to run.
"Joseph! That won't fix anything! Nothing will, I know! But you don't want a boy's life in your hands!" Raben quickly follows after the enraged hunter. He wasn't sure what he'd do when he closed the distance, but this was not justice as he was taught, not for humans, even for one who could be blamed with such travesty.
Raben tentatively puts a should on Joseph's shoulder. "He must kneel penitent before the gaze of the Church, and be tried before an angel of Goldnight. As it is done, as it should be done, Joseph. Give the boy to me."
"Is..is demon dead?" A meek voice is heard from behind a tombstone. Young Nata's head slowly appears from behind it, her small fingers grasping the stone like an anchor holding onto the sea floor. She surveyed the scene, seeing the smoldering demon, seeing Syd being cared for, and then seeing Joseph. She gasped sharply and was motionless.
Jonesmar made a different side of the proceedings his priority. He stepped up and behind Raben, sword low at his side, eyes trained on the mad hunter who seethed with hellish intent. "I'd do as he says. You'd be in no better position if you follow through with this."
Raben notices that Joseph seems wholly intent on seeing to his grim task. Raben firms his grip on the ranger's shoulder and pulls him, hopefully lunging Joseph out of his clouded mind. Raben's voice is rigid, cold steel that is not often heard from him. The cathar is not a.. jovial man, one would say. But there is a dark gravity to his tone as he speaks. "Joseph, you mustn't. Let him go."
Joseph whips around, yanking Eran around with him. He jerks back from Raben's grasp. "Let him go, Raben?" he screams, blood spattering from his lips upon the cathar's armor. "Look at what he did! Just look! It's all around us! All these townsfolk—dead! All those soldiers—dead! His own pastor!" Again, Joseph yanks the bawling Eran about, and raises him off the ground by his armpit.
"And the coward stood there and watched it happen! He invited the thing, promised it his soul, and then watched it devour a full score of souls! Innocent souls, Raben! Good souls! I've seen Falkenrath with more honor!" The ranger points back to the flaming pit behind him. "The wormy little ****er belongs in that hole with his masters!"
---
As the foul demon flesh dissipates in the smoky, red air of the graf, Vict exhales a long blow of relief and adjust the googles. Even if the evil fiend vaporized in the sky, they are all far from being able to rest. The young Cleric rushes towards the Avacynians and the old priest. A quick overlook of the old men, instinctively gives him the disheartening feeling of being too late. Dark blood already clotted on the ground, the gross sight of his missing part and staring wide eyes is soul breaking. Vict grunts and just moves the hand to close his eyes for now and suddenly turns his attention to the younger Cleric. "What is his name?" He asks to Raben and the Warlock who just give the demon the fatal blow. The young Inquisitor crouches on the severe wounded body checking speedily his vital signs "He is still breathing," he exclaims heavily and places his joints palms on the Cleric murmuring a prayer to Bruna, the leading Angel of his Alabaster Order. In a few moments Vict's hands glows in balming light and the wounds stops to bleed. "I...I did it" He says with a hint of wonder "He is stable now...out of risk....but need prolonged cures and....I hope there won't be any infections..."
Vict turns then his attention to the hellpit and makes out the hunter and the young priest helped by Raben’s shout. "This is not good... not good."
Syd's eyes flash open and he breathes in, chocking on the hot, death-filled air. He grasps his chest and attempts to stand, getting to his feet with the aid of the cathars around him. It doesn't take him long to gather what has transpired since his impromptu rest. "Joseph, what are you doing?!" he shouts accusingly.
"Hold on, Cleric, you've only just been staved from an early Rest," Lita begins. "You need proper treatment: healing magic and bed rest." At the mention, Syd grunts, grasping his own shoulder. He pulls his hand back and it is wet with blood. With the re-realization of the wound, Syd becomes light-headed and falls forward into the cathars' arms.
"Right, there we go- we've got you," Lita reassures the cleric.
"You a forcemage?" Dalreyus asks the hinterman with the staff who was now rummaging through his belongings. "You know any healing magic?"
"I am," Gerard states matter of factly as he spreads some ointment onto a cloth bandage. "Unfortunately, I must rest before I use any more power granted to me. The fight with this demon, and other malevolent spirits has exhausted my reserves." He then hands Dalreyus the cloth that he just smeared ointment on. The cloth now has a strong, soothing smell emanating from it.
"Please try to get Joseph to breath in the vapors of this cloth, or ask Raben to do it. It won't stop him, but has a calming effect which may allow him to come back to his senses. That will free me up to treat more wounded with more mundane skills. Thank you." Gerard doesn't really give Dalreyus a chance the refuse the cloth, but immediately turns to triaging the wounded that have not been seen to. He is focused on the task at hand. His mind needs... order and a chance to apply skills that he knows well.
"I see," the cathar starts, looking at the damp cloth, quickly sniffing it once and making an agreeing look. "What of you, Vict?" he shouts back to Vict. "Can you heal these men?"
Gerard takes out his healer's kit and approaches Syd. The magical healing helped, but the wounds still need to be treated. Gerard carefully wraps Syd's woulds with clean bandages treated with a poultice that helps prevent infection and promotes healing. He makes sure that the wounded cleric is comfortable and then approaches Malekus. "You fought very well Malekus. Please allow me to treat these nasty cuts the demon inflicted on you." Gerard then sets himself to medically treating the spearsage's wounds.
Vict, still on his knees before Syd after successfully snatched him from the clutch of death, gloomily swings the head and answer to Dalreyus "No....I cannot, as the forcemage here, the Demon sucked away all my blessings....I believe we should treat him with what we have until tomorrow," The Cleric eyes the shoulder-to-shoulder forcemage who is taking care of Syd. "I am Vict, glad to have your help, you did great in containing demon; it could have been much worse- thank you."
Speaking of the fiend, the young cleric turns again to the hellpit in time to spot in the corner of the eye the hunter, the young priest and the parish-blade running after them. Vict asks the forcemage, "Is he Joseph the hunter? What he is trying to do?" Vict takes the smeared cloth. "Dal, Lita? Could you help this man taking care of the wounded? Jones, come with me." With nothing more to say, Vict sprints towards the trio direct to the hellpit.
After treating Malekus the best that he can with bandages, sutures, and medicinal herbs, Gerard cleans his hands with water from a skin and a compound known to help prevent infections. He smells of sweat and medicine. He turns to the others that were accompanying to the mayor's house that are still gathered. "There has been a lot of blood spilt tonight, and the hells have made their presence known Still I feel burdened to complete the task we set upon when evil came calling. I will welcome those that wish to accompany me. We need the mayor's daughter's letters that she has given us permission to take. If there is some information contained in those letters that will help relieve the suffering of Hanweir, we should not waste anymore time despite our fatigue. Who will accompany me?"
The wounded Malekus, still clutching his staff for support, stares at the steaming corpse but he is not focused on it. He is physically present, but his expression is blank, and he does not hear the commotion at the pit. His mind is racing through the recent events and it keeps returning to the deaths he instigated. He sees the faces of pain and hears the screams of anguish. After a few moments he recounts the end of the battle and murmurs “It’s done…. It’s done.” His trace is broken by the force mage who approaches and offers to help tend to his wounds. Malekus accepts the offer but he is mostly silent staring off unfocused into the distance with his mind racing back to the horrific battle.
Part of the treatment includes a stinging poultice which brings him back to the present. The force mage is speaking about completing his task. Ah yes, their task to rid the town of the curse, he starts to come back to reality. Hopefully they had paid enough to lift the curse and there would be no more sacrifices required. He says “Gerard, I will go with you to see this through. We should make sure everyone is taken care of here and that no more demon spawn will be coming out of that hole first. Hopefully my disheveled appearance will not make the mayor think more unkindly of the church.” He tries to crack a small grin but there is another damn sting as some ointment is being applied and he winces in pain.
Lita looks between the seemingly friendly forcemage and the heavily injured spearsage, an aghast expression worn on her young and elegant face. "You can't be serious? Surely this can wait, sir? You're so injured, you really must rest." She looks to Gerard with a measured glance before returning to Malekus. "Or.. he could go alone?"
"Malekus, I will be happy to go alone so that your injuries are further treated. It should not be too much danger just going to the mayor's house." Gerard looks for a moment at Lita, and then back to Malekus. "You are a grown man and I'll respect whichever you choose. The hour is getting late, and either alone or accompanied, I must be off."
---
Vict and Jonesmar reach Raben, Joseph and the young Eran near the pit. Before actually arrive in place, the Cleric hurls few words to his fellow Cathar. "If things go south, be ready, we have to physically stop the hunter, you should help me to grapple him so that I can let him sniff this cloth, ok? I believe this all situation droves him off...understandable but he can't goes on."
"Hey...what is happening here?" Vict asks staring at Joseph. "What about all of us taking a deep breath and talk about it?" The Cleric's attention now bouncing between Raben, Joseph, and Eran. Vict points a finger towards the hunter "I didn't free you from being chopped up by that demon to shovel citizens in a hellfire." While talking the Cleric tries to slowly but surely get close to Joseph.
"Joseph," Raben continues. "I don't want to have to hurt you. You've been a great ally ever since Thraben. Remember your old man- back in Kessig- don't you want a place for him in the Blessed Grafs? I assure you, you won't grant him that if you do this!"
A grunt escapes Joseph bared, grit teeth. As he heaves a breath in, he wipes his eyes with his free hand, caking his glove in blood, tears, sweat and soot. "You cathars deal with evil, do ya?" He tosses Eran to the ground in front of Raben and the rest of the encroaching cathars. "See to it you deal with him, then. He's no different from what came out of that hole s'far as I'm concerned."
As Joseph walks away, he spits at the young friar's feet and utters a heavy Kessig swear. Wordlessly, Joseph searches the field and retrieves his weapons. After wipes the blades with a cloth from his pockets, he scabbards them. To no one in particular, he says, "I'll be back at the inn. Let me know when make ready to leave this wretched place." And walks off towards the direction of the Wandering Heron.
"Let him be," Raben softly says to the cathars he knew were behind him, ready to attack the infuriated ranger. "He's a lot on his mind. This was.." Raben looks around the graf, considering everything that had transpired. He became loss for words. Garreth, he notices, has turned and left to the inn with Joseph, besides himself that he couldn't slash the demon himself. "If I was the ranking cathar here, I'd help you cast that demonlicker to the flames," he says aloud.
Raben wanted to properly greet their saviors, but he had caught the injured visage of Malekus and has gone to aid the spearmage further to his feet, placing a hand on his shoulder. Assuring himself that Malekus would be able to travel onwards, he tells Gerard that the sooner he left to see the mayor the better. Raben then addresses Vict and his troop.
"My name is Miles Raben, a cathar under the Father Jofridus, Speaker of the Commons. We are on a holy task from the High Cathedral. The two that left are Joseph and Garreth. They've sworn to aid me. I thank Avacyn you and your contingent arrived when you did, sir."
Vict has a sigh of relief when the hunter eventually releases the grip on the young friar. He eyes Joseph as the ranger retrieves his weapons and bites his lips while saying nothing. He doesn't know the hunter but he could understand his sorrow and rage. Fighting the most fearsome force of the dark...even the victory comes with a cost. The Cleric let the hunter go on his way, adjusting the goggles, he slowly turns to the pit, sure, they overthrew the demon...but the hole is still there. Sulfur, flames and ashes make him sweat and shake his heart.
"Please Avacyn, give us the strength.." he mutters while going to the young friar. He helps the boy to the stand up. "Come, boy, this is not over- not for you."
Vict follows Raben back to the battleground with Eran. "I am Vict, Inquisitor of the Flight of Alabaster" He answered when the cathar present himself and his group. "And they are Jonesmar, Dalreyus and Lita." He adds while indicating respectively his entourage. "We were south, a possession case in Lambholt but...yeah...hopefully Avacyn's grace lead us here in time. Nevertheless...we are far from being fine here, the hellpit is still there....what is your name?" The Inquisitor asks to the young friar. "The hunter wanted you dead...what is happening in this town?"
The friar begins to utter his name, but struggles to make the sounds. "E-er-er.."
"His name is Eran," Raben finishes, nodding towards Vict. "And he was the late pastor's friar. Somehow, he has managed to form some sort of pact with that thing." He motions towards the smoldering demon.
"The pact being," he continues, "to rid the town of a curse. A curse they believe started when a corpse was found within the chapel itself. And this is where me and my entourage's task begins. We have been charged to investigate this body, as it is believed to be of occult significance. We believe the body had been inflicted with magical wounds- wounds that never cease to bleed whether alive or not. This demon was to rid the town of the body, was it?" Raben asks Eran.
"Y-yes!" Eran snivels. "It was going to remove the blight in the graf, and then take me- that's all! Please, don't take me to Thraben!"
"You've sealed your fate, friar. Now it is in the hands of angels instead of a demon." Raben sheathes his silver blade. "May they be more merciful." Furrowing his brow, the cathar shakes his head with a gloved hand covering his eyes. He speaks lowly under his breath for a moment, a sort of cadence to his voice, then looks back to the remaining group standing within the graf. He notes that Gerard and Malekus have both gone, to the mayor's he'd overheard. He would commend their sense of duty despite the immense glower and gloom that has befallen this day.
"Vict, if you and your troop have the time, could you come with me and mine to the Wandering Heron? I feel we might be able to delegate a division of labor. "
Vict listens carefully to Raben's debrief. His look glooming in the meanwhile. He thoughtfully touches his chin and adjust his goggles. "Mr Raben is right, Eran, you will be judged by the Angels but we could put in a word for you- you have to decide if your soul will be for ever doomed or not...would you like to do something about it? That hole is not gonna close itself at our liking and I am fearing that the more it stays wide, the more fearsome and devilish creatures will show up in time...who brought this blight to the graf? Did you do something about it? Maybe there is a way to reverse the process?"
The Cleric refers to his crew.."Lita, Jonesmar....please escort Eran to the Chapel, maybe there is something in the archive that he could look for to try to close the hellpit..and of course be sure he will not attempt to sneak out...but...you will not Eran...right?" Vict stares at the young friar with a severe look.
"Now, Dalreyus come with me please, we will make our visit to the Wandering Heron and discuss the next moves...I am sorry, guys," He adds with a smirk to his troop. "I fear our way back has been extended. Raben...please led the way."
After a decent walk, the extravagant Wandering Heron is within sight. The damage from the previous night is still very evident- scratches and claw marks stretching up the side of the building, the broken window allowing the tarnished air in. Asides from this, it doesn't seem the hellish horde had made it this far in Hanweir. Without pause, Raben enters and sits at a far-end table, a hand over his pocket. Syd, injured as he was, refused to be taken to the triage and insisted to be present during the impending meet. He dropped his weight on a chair next to the cathar, his ringmail and shield clanking. Raben motions towards the rest of the seats, taking off his tricorn, "Please, sit down." He begins slowly brushing a hand through his brown hair.
Vict and Dalreyus follow Raben to the Wandering Heron. The Cleric looks at the scratches on the walls, the wrecked windows. This group went through a strenuous fight, no doubt the scars nick on their soul and the town itself. Vict takes seat around the table, he gets rid of his pack and the blazoned shield from the shoulders, setting them down carefully. He adjust the googles and eyes the group. "You did a great job in containing the losses. I am Vict, Alabaster Inquisitor, and I would like to help if I may, I am concerned about the hellpit, specially. I believe the more it stays open the more fiends could delve their way out. Raben...you told me about a corpse- who was it? Did you know if we can stop the curse?
"As are we, Inquisitor. Truth be told, this started as an investigation of a dead young man, named Pitre. He'd been slain by a magical blade. It is my task to retrieve this blade and have it sealed within the High Cathedral's vaults once more. I couldn't speak to any curse when we arrived here, but it seems it just may well be the case.." Raben omits speaking as the barmaid made her rounds, asking the cathar's if they required a drink or meal with a measurable amount of apprehension: the cathars' looked a complete mess, to put it nicely.
"Waves.. take time coming from a hellpit," Syd speaks amidst his breaths. "Like the Ashmouths.. we have some time before the next."
Raben continues. "As we speak, our forcemage and spearsage have paid visit to the Mayor Garunsen, hopefully to ascertain information regarding the young Pitre's whereabouts before his demise. This is our only current lead regarding the matter, but so many other plights have made themselves known."
The Druid, the Spearsage: The Mayor's Offices
After some time, the exterior fencing surrounding the mayor's manse comes into view. The infernal swarm, it seems, did not reach this far into the interior of Hanweir. Nonetheless, two guards are now stationed before the gated entryway. One, a gruff man with a yellowing lip looks at the two damaged souls incredulously. He lifts his free hand, pointing in the direction the pair came. "The triage was set near the apothecary. Thataway, you couldn't have missed it."
Gerard is very quiet on the way to the mayor's home. He briefly checks Malekus to make sure that his wounds are properly bound. His normally brisk pace is slowed. Physical and emotional fatigue are setting in. He knows that he can not keep going much longer before he has to rest. How can one day make one so weary? What is wrong with this damn town?
Answering the one that speaks, Gerard says, "Yes, we know. We are not here for treatment, but rather have urgent business with the mayor. The mayor's daughter directed us to him. There may be information in this home, that helps rid Hanweir of its misfortunes." Gerard nods his head back toward the grafs for a moment as he finishes speaking.
The disagreeable guard was about to speak in deference, but the other knocked an elbow into his watchmate's armor. "Donahue, this man is with the church. He's with the cathars that slew that were the past night!" He steps to the right, motioning with his pike towards the gate. The other follows suit with an "Oh-sorry! You should wear a badge or somethin'."
With one obstacle down, the duo walk across the expanse of the manse's entryway. The mayor's home it seems, with most of the interior of Hanweir, has been unperturbed by the infernal boil that now seethes in the town's graf. Heading to the familiar door that lead's the mayor's office, there is a fine, brass placard hanging by the door's knocker, reading "Do not disturb." in bold, black lettering. As they approach the door, an unnerving sound is heard from above the pair's periphery- a low and unwelcoming meeoow. Looking up, a black cat is staring down at the two mages from the edge of the office's roof. It is black with ugly, mangy fur, but what disheartens most is its eyes- searing red orbs with a knowing intelligence, peering into the two souls below it.
As Gerard focuses on this tiny beast, the feline hisses and retreats behind the edge of the roof.
Gerard looks at Malekus and speaks in a low tone. "I think that thing is a necromancer's spy. We should hurry." Gerard knocks loudly on the door and opens it.
The door opens and inside it is just as Malekus remembers- a heavy wooden desk with a woman sitting behind it, a thick ledger open atop it. The woman's face alights in surprise as she gets up briskly, causing her chair to grate against the floor. Behind her and to the left is the entry to the Mayor Garensun's office- it's door closed. Voices can be heard from beyond it.
"The mayor is currently busy.." the legalwoman speaks with an unmoving tone and scans Gerard. "..sir. As you can imagine."
Gerard replies flatly, "I imagine that he is quite busy, but this is urgent," as he continues walking past the woman's desk. Gerard knocks once, opens the mayor's office door (if it isn't locked) and then enters.
As Gerard pushes into the mayor's office the woman at the desk begins to stand up to protest and Malekus enters the room. He puts on his most charming smile, forgetting, for the moment that his clothes are covered in blood and ash, and says "I do not think he will mind hearing our news." He stands up a little straighter and follows Gerard.
"He's already seeing some-" she begins to say as the forcemage grasps the door's knob, twists, and pulls. The speech behind the door seemed a bit escalated, but as the door hinges declare their movement, the talking abruptly stops.
The mayor is behind his desk but on his feet in front of his extravagant chair, his face taught- which only strains tighter as he sees unsolicited 'guests' intrude into his space. There is an individual in front of him, armed, and with a badge of authority. Malekus remembers him from the last visit to the mayor's- this man had exited just as Malekus had arrived with Raben and Syd.
"The wall must be finished if we're to-" He eyes the door just as vehemently as the mayor after he stops speaking. Behind the druid and warlock, the desk woman apologizes softly, before intuiting that her voice isn't actually effective or warranted in the current predicament.
Gerard strides in and stops a pace behind and to the right of the mayor's current visitor. "My apologies for the rude interruption mayor, but the hour is late and the matter is urgent. My companions and I, including many members of the church, have just fought and defeated a devil in the grafs. Several of Hanweir's finest soldiers perished in the fight and several others lie wounded. Father Bertram," Gerard pauses just a moment before continuing, "also tragically was slain by the devil. The portal that the creature used to enter our world from the hells still stands open."
"There is no time for normal courtesies, nor for the normal courtesies reserved for a man of your position. The time for being less than forthright or cooperative has also passed. Your daughter has informed us that she has information in her diary that may contain information crucial to helping Hanweir overcome the darkness that has befallen it. She has given me the key to her diary and permission to take it. Will you please allow us access to her room immediately? If you know anything else that may help us and have not been forthcoming with it so far, will you please do so now?"
Malekus shuffles into the room behind Gerard. He knows they need the mayor's cooperation and remembers his disposition towards the church. He recognizes the other man in the room from before but he is not sure of role here. "Everything he said is true. It has been a devastating day for you town. We must work together to expunge the darkness. We will need all the help we can get."
He glanced toward the other individual in the room. "I do not believe we have met. I am Malekus and my companion is Gerard, we have several others working to lift the curse on this town. Will you lend aid to our fight here?"
The mayor explodes. "My daughter? What do you know of- I've enough to worry about without the church involving themselves in my town and with my family! In fact, since you've showed the travesties have only begun piling! Just as you say, I've no time for pleasantries! You should do what's best and look after you and yours up north, leave my town!"
After the portly mayor's tirade, the other armed gentlemen feels it strange to introduce himself, and only bids the mayor, "Another time then, mayor." Tipping his hat before turning and facing the door, the mayor speaks. "No! We haven't finished our discussion. I have, however, finished with the church. Go through Lorelei's room, if you'd like, but then I'd expect you gone within the day." He stares at both of the spearsage and the druid, his face wrinkled with tension and red with fury.
Gerard tips his hat to the armed man as he leaves and then turns to face the mayor. “Thank you. We’ll ask a servant to show us the way and be out of your home as soon as possible.” Gerard leaves the office and ask the secretary for assistance in finding Lorelei ‘s room.
Malekus gives a long look at the mayor and the follows Gerard out of the office.
The Wandering Heron: Delegation
The Cleric thoughtfully listen Raben's debrief. Arms crossed on the belly, a facial expression of both focus and concern. His green eyes watching all the attendants at the table. Vict favors a light smile to the barmaid "Something to drink and to eat please, whatever they prefer, I will take some wine and a stew, thank you."
After the maiden goes away Vict continues, "okay, I want to help, I can stay and help you retrieve this cursed blade, besides, tomorrow, I will be able to laid some help on the wounded". The Cleric turns to Sid "I hope we will find a way to close it before the next wave...what is your plan for now Raben? What have been these other plights you talking about?"
"To the north on Angel's Way, there's a watchtower. It had been besieged by a mad crow-witch. She threatened us, or warned us- perhaps both. When we first arrived and spoke to the mayor, he had stated that large birds assaulted any travelers to and from here. This witch- we saw her turn into such a creature. Also, that a blight has infested the supplying farms. Again on our travel here, we bore witness to a strange ghoul that fumed this.. noxious gas. It could be responsible. Ah, and let's not forget the undead cat."
Raben's face turns into a forced thinly-lipped smile looking up and away.
The maid returns placing a mug in front of Raben, then a fragrant bowl and matching mug for Vict. The broth has a browny-taupe coloring and a hearty fragrance. Light and dark lumps of cubed potatoes and pork dot the surface under the broth. "If you need anything, call for Sherill." She grins politely and walks towards some recently seated individuals some ways away in the dining hall.
Raben drinks from his tankard, greedily to his surprise, and wipes his forearm on his mouth. "I think we should discuss our next course of action. There's too much to pay attention to. I think a division of our current forces would be wise. Some stay here, address to the town. Others will head back for Thraben. The last and myself would continue the original charge. I take you for a smart lad- Do you have any suggestions as to who goes where, Vict?"
Investigating Lorelei's Room
Returning back towards the secretary's space, the two notice she is behind her desk once more, speaking into one of many arranged copper tubes protruding the wall to her left. "Yes, I need someone to escort two.. Avacynian officials. No, no- just to the Lady Lorelei's room. They shouldn't dawdle. No-no, that should be all. Thank you." Once her correspondence ends, she turns to the two with a contrite look and purses her lips in a polite smile. "You'll, please, wait one moment. I've arranged for your escort."
Just when it seems almost too long a duration had passed, there is slight rasp on the space's door. A young women in a light blue shroud appears as the door opens, her blonde hair partly covering one eye and a side of her face. "I'll be showing you to the lady's chambers. Uhm," she clears her throat, almost awkwardly, pulling her hands behind her back before turning. "If you'll follow me."
Putting her hands in front of her body again, the young woman proceeds to walk away from the mayor's entry spaces and towards the manse's main doors. Once opened, they reveal a marble flooring that is white stone with grey and black veins. A deep red carpet spreads across this, making way to an empty pewter fireplace and mantle. A very large portrait of the mayor-facing forward- rooted in his seat of public office, holding the hand of an elegant and pale woman who gazes in the same direction. It is painted with a warm orange glow, portraying a sense of love and belonging.
The young lady pauses after the doors shut behind the three, as if in contemplation. Her head looks from side to side. The hall to the right is lined with stone and metal busts placed atop short pillars, placed just so that the light of the morn casts a light yellow hue onto their collective visage. The left hall appears shorter, leading to another grand room before continuing on.
Deciding on a path, the woman nods haphazardly and walks to the right, leading Gerard and Malekus passed the many busts. One is recognizable as the current Mayor Garensun, others are not, though there is a semblance of familiarity among them. The woman walks slowly passed each door as the group comes across them, as if eyeing them or listening in. The hallway turns to the left, forming the eastern wing of the mayor's manor. The walls are adorned with fine, floral drapery which each frame a different oil portrait. Many of the rooms that appear in this wing are without doors, allowing patrons to look within.
One rooms contains a small piano-meant for private concerts- as well as other staged string instruments. Another leads to a library with walls completely lined with tomes. Stairs can be seen to the side, suggesting there is another floor to this collection of books. After passing what appeared to be several guest quarters, the doors were once more shut. The final door was labeled with an engraved floral-dressed wooden plate- 'Lorelei'. The woman leading the two curtsies, if somewhat strangely, and trots off without a word.
The immediate wall was long and continued on towards the viewer's left and was largely a single window adorned with a prismatic curtain. The room was painted with the gossamer hue of all of the rainbow's colors. A single, elegantly carved, black chair did lean against this wall with a dark leather case tucked beneath it along with a metal contraption. A neatly made bed was at the end of the room situated at the corner of the room's bend which caused the room to form a large 'L' shape. The comforter and pillows were all prim and proper, obviously decorated in a dictated sort of fashion. A rectangular wooden chest rested at the bed's feet. Shaped into the wall of the 'L's' shorter end was a study. A cushioned seat was pushed under the desk and beside it was a large shelf filled with all manner of tools of education. Books, plumes, inks, papers, lenses- things such as that. Pressing into the room, two pull-doors are situated to the opposite of the study area-presumably the Lady Lorelei's closet.
Malekus looks to Gerard and says "What was it we were looking for in here? I would feel bad ransacking through this room any more than we absolutely need to." He walks over to the desk and begins flipping through the items on the surface.
Gerard looks around Lorelei's room. He has never seen such fine furnishings in his life and did not realize that some people actually had such luxuries. He resists a temptation to lay down in the very comfortable bed and let himself sleep for a day. He turns and answers Malekus, "We are looking for a diary or journal. Lorelei gave me permission to take it for whatever help it may be. She said it was in a lockbox in her closet." Gerard fishes out the key given to him by Lorelei and proceeds across the room to the two pull doors. He then pulls the doors open (if it is not locked) and proceeds to look for a lockbox inside.
The doors softly give way revealing dozens of dresses of the upper echelon neatly hung on a wooden rung. Below these exquisite linens are two open-faced cupboards- one lined with boots, shoes, heels and other footwear, the other with folded delicates and towels. Parting the dresses, pressed against the left corner of the closet is a metal lockbox made to look like a small chest no larger than a typical parcel. The keyhole is centered on the front in a filigree heart. Each corner is embossed and etched in some fashion. The metal isn't heavy or coarse but smooth and mirrors its surroundings in a distorted manner. Engraved along the top it reads: "Verona".
Gerard tries not to disturb anything and examines the metal lock box for a few minutes. If nothing seems amiss, he attempts to open using the key that Lorelei gave to him. The box does not open although the key fits inside and turns without issue. After trying a few times Gerard picks the box up out of the closet by two side handles. “Malekus, the key turns but the box doesn’t open. What do you make of this?”
As he looks over the stacks of papers, Malekus recognizes many of the psalms he has recited through the years. The calligraphy is well done and in several languages, of which he recognizes many. Set off to the side and neatly stacked are several volumes on the study of flowers. On the shelf he takes note that there are several romantic novels, picking up The Castle of Mauer and Romero and Juliette he looks over to Gerard and says "It is dark times when a young woman is thrust into something foul like this. These books are what she should be focusing on, not running away. Based on some of this material she may be self-taught."
He walks over to inspect the lock box Gerard is holding. He tries turning the key. The key turns but the box remains closed. Malekus looks over all the details of the box and the lock but nothing jumps out at him. He responds to Gerard "It might be enchanted to stay closed. Was the girl gifted at all?"
“I am not sure about an enchantment that might keep the box closed. She is an initiate at Palmbriar, an order of church spring mages. Let’s take the box with us and see if another of our company can open it. We can return the box once we have the diary.”
"Sounds good to me. Was there anything else we needed here? If not we should be on our way back to join our company and rest!"
At the Wandering Heron
Vict spins his broth finding a good pork lump and savoring it in the mouth. "Hm, do you believe the crow-witch, the wolf, the ghoul, could be related to this course? Anyway, we should ask Eran what exactly was his involvement, what he did for the demon. There are two of my companions with him at the Chapel. I could join them and question the boy. Meanwhile we will see what the forcemage discovered from his visit to the Mayor and then we can move from that. Dalreyous," Vict eyes his fellow cathar. "You should go back to Thraben with Jones and report to the High City. Report our previous mission, and the situation now in Hanweir. It is possible that we will need more help to contain the waves if we won't manage to close the hellmouth. Lita could stay here to help with that, just in case...agreed?"
"Aye." Dal responds. He's been standing off to the side, looking up towards the stairway and interior balcony, but listening intently.
Raben considers Vict's suggestion and agrees with the knight-inquisitor's decisiveness. "I'll have Syd remain here in Hanweir, so that he may better recover his injuries. I think Jospeh will want to remain with him. He's sort of developed a kinship with the cleric. I'll be writing some reports to send back to the Grand Cathedral with your man, Dal. Garreth I believe will wish to stay here as well, I suppose- he wasn't initially part of our troop, but he'll be involved in the correspondence. I'd feel better if we can commission a carriage for your two men for their journey. The quicker Thraben hears of what's actually going on here the better."
The Cleric nods "Agreed, I'll put some coins in for the carriage. We already have the horses and they will make the journey safer, avoiding the witchtower and the ghouls". Vict reaches his mug and take a swig. "I'll want to have a word with Eran soon."
Catching Up
The misery of the day never seems to fade even as the thin yellow sun passes across the sky, its light paling as it traces its coarse through the solid blanket of clouds beneath it.
At the Wandering Heron, the makeshift headquarters for the Avacynian Arm led by Myles Raben, the cathar, himself, waits for the rest of his troop to arrive from their various investigations. Also at the opulent inn was a newly arrived knight-inquisitor, Vict, who commanded a squad of experienced cathars- one of them, Dalrius, was also about the table. Joseph, a ranger that had been tasked with Raben's mission from the beginning was also within the establishment, but had maintained himself most of the day within his room. After a few hours, he leaves his space and joins the others at the table with few words and a harsh expression worn over his now twice-scarred face.
Garreth, alone at a separate table, could be seen drinking from his personal flask, a quickly emptying bottle of amber spirits within his other palm.
The rest of the young Vict's Arm- Lita and Jones- was at Lightspire Chapel, searching through the recently passed Pastor Bertram's chambers for anything that could help quell the town's hellish predicament. Also, they have Friar Eran in their detainment. Vict and Raben would expect them to appear at the Heron's doors any minute now.
The Arm's two mages, forcemage Gerard and spearsage Malekus had payed visit to the Mayor Garensun, who was in ill mood for the church's repeated council, but the mages' goal had been successful- they searched through the Lady Lorelei's room and retrieved a strangely locked metal box about the size of a travel case.
As the shadows elongate across Hanweir's walls, alleyways, and streets, a pair of guards make the precarious vigil that is to light the grid of oil streetlights throughout town. Their faces are darkened and only the barest of words are shared between them. The hellpit that has spawned within the religious heart of their hearty town is also a wound to their own hearts and spirits. It is at this time in which the druid and warlock duo return to the Wandering Heron.
After finishing the stew, Vict quietly sips the rest of the full-bodied red before him. As is his wont, his inquisitive gaze over-viewed the Hanweir delegation, acknowledging Raben as a leader of this group, understanding the seclusion of Joseph and wondering how Garreth will manage to be on his feet tomorrow. The Cleric's green eyes focused the guards outside, hoping to see Lita and Jones coming back shortly. The doors of the Wandering Heron moan and Gerard and Malekus make their appearence. "Oh," Vict exclaims adjusting his lenses "I hope you are bringing good news."
"Hello there, everyone." Malekus says as the pair walks over to the table. The portly mage sits down at the table and waves to the waitress to bring additional food and drink. Once he is sure a meal is on the way he continues to the group. "Not sure if we have good news, but we do have something. Unfortunately, we were not able to open it or figure out what is inside it. Gerard is convinced this will help us unravel the story behind the bleeding corpse. Right, Gerard?"
Gerard enters the inn carrying a large metal box sets it down near a chair that he sits in at the table with the rest of his companions. "Lady Lorelei, the mayor's daughter, has a journal that she says may help us with our mission. However, the key she gave me doesn't appear to open the box even though it turns the lock. There is something more to this box, but this is not the place to examine it." Gerard then leans into the table and lowers his voice. "We also spotted the bad cat that had spooked Nata. Where is she? It was near the entrance of the mayor's house. I believe it to be the work and servant of a necromancer."
Raben's eyebrows raise as he searches the table. "Joseph, did you see her here when you arrived? Do you know if she's in her room?"
The ranger shakes his head slowly as a long breathe escapes him. "Nah, I ain't seen her. Wouldn't be surprised if this all spooked her and ran when she got the chance. This is out of her breadth. She's just a girl."
Raben, as well as Syd, nod in silent agreement. "What do you mean?" Raben asks when the box is referred to.
Syd responds to the other side of the conversation, his words separated by practiced breaths as one arm holds himself around the waist. "That cat.. if it's a servant. Someone is watching.. us." He is leaning back against his seat, a slight hiss passing through his gritted teeth every now and again. Joseph raises Syd's glass to the cleric's mouth, who reluctantly acquiesces to the ranger's aid.
Answering Raben about the box, Gerard says, "The lock turns when the key is inserted as one expects. However, the box still will not open. Perhaps there is something more of a mechanical nature that needs to be done, or it may have an enchantment cast upon it that is preventing it from opening." Making sure again that no one is eavesdropping, Gerard continues. "I can spend some time with the box, in a private setting and check for an enchantment. If it is an enchantment, then it will be beyond my skill to remove it. Mechanical safeguards are completely beyond my skill."
"I agree it should be done in private. I want to help figure out what is inside but I am exhausted from our day." Malekus chimes in. "Ah here comes the food." As the meal is placed before him he begins to eat and talk "Raben the mayor was very adamant that we get out of town quickly as members of the church..." He paused to slurp down some ale before continuing "I do not like the way this is going with an open hell put and now further mystery."
At the mention of a bad cat, Vict narrows the eyes, as a reflex, he moves them around the bar and outside the window trying to ascertain if something or someone is eavesdropping the party. "A servant you said? Did..did you feel anyone was watching you guys once entered you Hanweir?" the Cleric takes a deep breath "Anyway, as I told Raben, I will stay here to help your investigation if you allow me. That box is puzzling. Did the girl said anything about it? It is.. strange she didn't mention the key wouldn't be enough to open it.. but.. you're probably right... We all need some rest now. Tomorrow we will all have more sources to address it. The Mayor though, I heard Hanweir was aiming to be.. more independent, let's say....but this... " Vict shakes the head. "This should bring people together.. church or not."
Gerard answers Vict, "I have not felt that someone was watching in general, although there have been a few specific times that it seems I was being observed. Nevertheless, if it is agreeable, I will take the box to my room for the evening. I can perform a short ritual to see if the box has been enchanted. We can meet in the morning and decide what to do with it from there. The mayor's threats may have been just momentary frustration, or he actually mean to do what he says. It may be best to move on, but we need a direction to move onto."