Dark Tidings: Into the Catacombs (Patreon)

19 Harvestmere 671 BW

06-52 Ravenmoor

Muerkon Acolyte-Adept Ædil bit into a strap of leather as he slowly walked down the labyrinthine passageways under the city. If he didn't bite on something, then his nervous muttering would ruin the stealth aspect of the stealth mission. With him were three others, and somewhere in these ancient catacombs was a daemon cult that had kidnapped an untold number of people off the streets and had ties to the daemons pouring out of the Burning Wound. Of the four on this mission, two had official sanction for this kind of unscheduled mission while the others were hired swords.

The two in question were the hedge knight Ahimund Ecunasson and a larkun woman that was at the very least his traveling companion but the way they interacted made Ædil think of his parents before his father’s passing. The thought of a human with a larkun was…unsettling. He had fought alongside humans, larkun, and his Ahkron was a magdul, so Ædil knew that he was more accepting of the other races than most. Even so, the thought of laying with someone with claws and oversized slit eyes was not in anyway appealing to him.

Ædil shook his head, refocusing on the mission. Another problem he had, and why he was very glad not to be in charge of the mission: when he didn’t mutter his mind wandered. Deciding to try to do something productive, Ædil thought back to the information that led the group here. As part of the arrangement between the Ordos Muerkon and Ravenmoor, Acolyte-Adepts frequently aided Solarus-Inquisitorius in the area. Such assignments often brought them into contact with members of DrycDræfed. Whether they worked together or fought was something of a coin toss.

Shaking his head, his mind was starting to drift, Ædil glanced over to the last member of the group, the inquisitor that was officially in command. AmakoHiltzinsdottyr was approaching fifty summers, an amazing age regardless of position or life let alone one as dangerous as the Solarus-Inquisitorius.Ædil had only met her as Ahimund led him to the entrance to the sewers above the catacombs, so he didn’t know her well enough to judge her.

Ædil came to an abrupt stop as the larkun froze while using a small mirror to look around the corner. Taking a slow, deep breath, Ædil unhooked the mace from his belt and carefully made his way forward. Coming to a stop next to her, and trying not to be unnerved by her clinging to the wall, Ædil looked into the mirror. A mixture of disgust, revulsion, and pity arose within him as he saw the dangling head and ribcage of a bloodcloak.

Taking another deep breath, Ædil waited for the larkun to climb further up the wall, her claws finding purchase in the old stone, as he removed his helmet and passed it to Ahimund. Carefully removing the bit of leather from his mouth and poking out only enough of his head past the wall so that he could see the bloodcloak, Ædil focused his desires and pulled up a touch of malice.

{Taen-laezo-kaedaro-khotezlaelashzo}, the mystic words were whispered, and the effect was almost instantaneous.

He couldn’t hold back a slight shiver of pleasure as the rush of life, as small and tainted as it was, flowed into him from the unfortunate soul. Much as Ædil held sympathy for those that were turned into bloodcloaks and other daemonwraughts, death was the only thing that he or anyone else could offer.

“There was only the one, either we found this group before they had a chance to get a drop-grip or we’ve been spotted and they’re tryin’ to lull us into droppin’ our guard,” the larkun whispered as she came down to the floor.

“Then we plan for them knowing about us,” Inquisitor Amako calmly said as she pulled her sword from its scabbard. The bronze gleamed in the torchlight, and as he put his helmet back on Ædil idly wondered what mystic reagents were used in the forging process to make it.

Holding her sword in front of her, the remaining three knelt and lowered their heads as Inquisitor Amako spoke a holy prayer, (Huitzihelm Splandas Domonos, datnabas serves tas, qospotost pirdiri it corom to inimicistus).

Though nothing visually happened, all four felt the blessings of Huitzihelm settle upon their spirits. Their spirits lifted and with lighter steps, the four slowly made their way further into the cult’s domain, wary for any other scouts or traps. As they passed the now dead bloodcloak, the larkun knelt down and carefully placed an acorn within the tortured soul’s mouth and whispered a single word: {llosthán}.

The acorn burst into flame, the spell etched into it triggering with the command given. With sorrowful eyes, she watched as all that was left of some unknown person burned to ash. Standing up, she rejoined the rest of the group.

Ædil thought about saying something, noting the use of witchcraft, but decided against it. Instead, he put the strip of leather back into his mouth, but prepared to spit it out should it become necessary to cast a spell. Raising his mace in a two-handed grip, the polished steel catching the hints of torchlight further behind them, Ædil readied himself to charge into battle while mentally cataloging what spells would prove useful.

The life-drain would always be useful when dealing with daemon cults, but depending on the target it could take a long time to kill an enemy. In general bigger creatures held more life within them, though when dealing with daemon cults exceptions abounded. The dark and perverted magics of daemons excelled at twisting and corrupting life in unnatural and horrific ways. Plus the spell would leave nothing for the animation magics to work with if he planned on making use of them later.

The team of four slowed and stopped as the sounds of chanting echoed down the tunnel. All four recognized the language being used, but not the words. The foul syllables of the daemonic tongue were unmistakable. Carefully creeping forward, the team came upon a doorway, and as the other three readied their weapons, the larkun quietly opened the door to peek through.

Ædil held his breath as she made a few gestures to Ahimund. Some sort of code that they had developed? I have a bad feeling about this, Ædil thought to himself as the hedge knight paled and looked fit to curse.

“Gemtuda spies eleven cultists in a ritual circle, four skarks, three bonespitters, and a lumbering brute. Mayhaps we bit off a little too much meat off the bone,”Ahimund whispered with a sardonic tone.

Ædil felt like cursing himself, eleven cultists each one possibly capable of serious daemonic magics along with eight daemonwraughts? If he were able to bring along his soldiers then he’d be more confident but the undead were not suited to stealth unless specifically designed so. The biggest danger was the brute, none of his more practiced spells would be able to drop it quickly, while the skarks would have to pass through Ahimund and Amako and his armor should be able to hold against the first few shots by the bonespitters.

Ædil snapped himself out of his thoughts as Amako spoke, “We do not know what the cultists are doing here, but we cannot allow them to succeed. So here’s the plan, Sir Ahimund: you and I need to take out the skarks and draw the brute towards the ritual circle. Larkun: you are to focus on the bonespitters. Acolyte-Adept: kill as many cultists as you can to disrupt the ritual. Understood?”

Instead of speaking in response, all three just readied their weapons as Ædil spat out the leather bit. As the larkun stepped back and readied a bronze-headed ax, Ahimund and Amako raised their shields and stepped up before the door. At an unspoken signal, all four raced into the room, causing all the daemonwraughts to turn to face them.

Alright, Ædil, focus on the cultists, with that thought in mind, and pulling forth the malicious glee that the spell required, Ædil spoke the incantation to one of his more situational spells {Ahefotakhmov-kaezhanklaek}.

As the words filled the air, so too did screams of agony as four of the cultists dropped to the floor cradling shattered jaws. A glance to his left showed Ahimund and Amako having dispatched one of the skarks while the remaining three formed a shield wall with their bone spear-sword hybrids pointing at the two. Behind the skarks the brute hobbled forward, intent on smashing the four that it was able to hurt.

The larkun bellowed {tyfás}, with the trigger word given, the small bulb thrown by the larkun sprouted and rapidly grew into a tangled mass of grass and vines, preventing the bonespitters from aiming their arms at the four intruders. Moving his gaze back to his targets, Ædil pulled forth a mix of fury and malice as the remaining seven cultists frantically chanted to keep the ritual going.

[Akhaz, kikhanzakzuk].

The ethereal voice echoed throughout the room, burrowing into Ædil’s bones as a wave of fear disrupted his concentration. The emotion brought upon by the daemonic spell compounded with the dread that Ædil was feeling as Ahimund was turned into paste by the cudgel arms of the brute and Amako was run through by the remaining skarks.

“Ahi!” the larkun cried out in sorrowful agony before turning her gaze to the brute and running straight towards it.

As she reached the brute, her legs coiled before she leaped up onto the brute’s lengthened chest. Her claws dug into the magically thickened hide, finding purchase as she climbed up the body to hook her legs around the neck. Using her own weight, she drove the brute off balance, causing it to bat the skarks into the wall where their heads split open with a wet crack!

Realizing her plan, Ædil mustered his courage and charged at the cultists with his mace. So long as he was under the effects of the daemonic magic, he’d be unable to focus his mind into the proper state, but his armor should enable him to resist direct attacks from whatever cast the spell. As he swung his mace, an incantation served as his warcry, “Taen-laezo-kaedaro-khotezlaelashzo!”

Though the crunch of metal on bone was melodious to Ædil’s ears, the wet ripping sound akin to tearing flesh as a daemon gate opened was by far the worst sound he could remember hearing. The remaining cultists cried out as the rebound from the now unstable ritual snapped back at them. Bones snapped and healed, flesh bubbled and flowed like melted wax, hair wove together and hardened into blades and spikes and whips.

As he watched this happen, all Ædil could think was the relief that he wore bone-dancer armor else he would be in the twitching, moaning mass of flesh and bone before him. A deep chuckle drew Ædil’s attention to the tear floating in the middle of the ritual circle. As it widened, the mass of flesh that was once eleven cultists twisted and crawled over itself to form a gateway. As the mass of flesh rose up, the brute stumbled into it.

Despite himself, Ædil couldn’t help but recoil in horror. The unknown ritual had suffered so much instability at this point that not even the most knowledgeable scholars of the Ordos Muerkon would be able to predict what could happen. Indeed, the dimensions of the tear wavered as the attempt at stabilizing was disrupted.

[MA! Kishika ta-azaago! Tanzgotzak--ghuzibako! Zran--kikhanzak-az--Kishika-azzanamokshan.]

Ædil cried out as he felt the flesh of his body roil at the behest of the daemon on the other side of the tear. His bone-dancer armor protected him from the worst of the spell, but it wasn’t perfect. The larkun, on the other hand, was not so fortunate. Before she had the chance to cry out, the two sides of her body ripped away from each other. The cloth garments she wore failed to keep the two halves together, such was the force behind the daemon’s spell.

It was at this point that the daemon’s second spell was called out, pulling Ædil by his meat and skin to the increasingly unstable tear. Doing his best to turn around, to put more metal and undead flesh between him and the tear, Ædil could not help but watch as half of the still living larkun was pulled through.

Just as he turned his head away from the tear, thus breaking the spell’s grip, Ædil came face-to-face with the remaining half of the larkun. As he was bowled over and returned to the grip of the daemon’s spell, Ædil had just enough time to notice that the tear appeared to be reaching a tipping point. As he was pulled off the ground and into the tear between worlds, there was a blinding flash before Ædil lost consciousness.