A Sacrifice Not In Vain

[Altiak 1648]

 

 

The soft flicker of the torchlight covered the faces of the men gathered, grim determination etched upon those un-helmeted and a steely visage of anger on those with helms.The group crouched, as well as they could in mail, through the thick swampland - clambering over roots as they neared their objective. Turning a corner, the lead man, a grotesque smile for his helmet, lifted up his hand and the unit of men scrambled to a halt. Embermoore was in sight.

 

The ruined fort was a mess of badly constructed stonework next to a moat filled with spikes - most already with pale bodies upon them. Jutting out of the centre behind the rusting gates was a huge tower, leering up towards the skies. The men in front of it fanned out, perhaps ten or so in number, all with the Lorraine Cross emblazoned upon their tabards, spurting their way through the open graves.

 

 

From atop the old walls a single lunatic peered down at them, half pink and half white - an abomination. The lead man stepped forwards at the sight of inhabitants, raising a mailed hand first upwards in greetings. “Hail, creature of Embermoore! Have you seen a pair of knights travelling through here recently?” He called upwards. The mad man peered down and simply began to do a jig, spewing obscenities at them. With a sigh, the group huddled into a circle and began planning a course of action, sword or arbalest hefted upon each individual’s shoulder while at ease.

 

As the party threw words back and forth with the crazed anathema upon the walls, another pair of cultists appeared, quickly retreating underground after their hats were removed by crossbow bolts. Having informed the Grand Master of this event, he now arrived; Jan de Savoie, Horace Martinell and many other Order-men accompanied to aid the efforts.

 

With still no assistance forthcoming from within the walls, simply a lunatic and a rogue Waldenian standing guard and insulting them with contradictions, they resolved to take action. Scrabbling to the trees, the group began to fell trees in a hurry, already the screams from their trapped comrades filling their ears. Their fellow Order-men’s calls for assistance imbued them with a certain determination and courage.

 

 

But just then, whilst scrambling between roots, Ser Delaney tripped and fell into a small hole, finding a ladder.

 

As him and the Master Cross descended, the rest of the troops followed - Guy, Jan, Lazare, Leufroy, Yef, Horace and more. The sound of mailed boots pounded through the passages as they almost flew through, before halting beside a door. The door was wooden and splintered, and with a single blow from his hatchet, Ser Delaney smote it in half. After shoving his way through, he did the same to another door in similar condition.

With cries of delight, the party marched into the fortress, opening the gates, and slaughtering any cultists out in the open. However, as they neared the central tower, they observed it was safeguarded by a sturdy iron door; firmly inset into its frame.

 

In hushed tones, the Order-men contemplated their next move. They could not use means of force to gain entry into the tower, having only long swords and axes to oblige them. In their pensive state, the group became restless as the screams of their comrades echoed toward them; all fixed their gaze toward the senior command, expectant of a crafty plan to bypass the metal door. No one, however, had been anticipating Yef, the fledgling initiate, who withdrew an old pickaxe from his pack and flew at the hinges of the door in a fury. Despite his success, he refused to falter, unleashing his ire at the next metal door. Unleashing a mighty roar and many a shouted prayer, the party stormed the main hall only to be confronted with an appalling sight.

 

 

The room was that of a lava pit, only a crumbling rocky cliff that the soldiers now stood on saving them from a certain fiery death. To the other side stood a towering set of stone doors, wholly resistant to the men’s incursions. Retreating to the cover of a low stone wall, those present surveyed their surroundings. Eliminating a passage through this ledge, the soldiers returned to the stronghold’s living quarters.

 

But alas, even after an avid hour of searching, it became clear there was no other way into the ‘control room’, where the Gravelord and his minions cowered to rain fire upon the crusaders. As the Order-men returned to the lava pit, they began to trade fire with the rows of skeletal archers that lined the walls, each arbalest shot reaching its mark.

 

 

Leufroy stood upon the edge of the cliff, the torchlight reflecting off his helmet casting fearsome reflections upon the nearby walls. Sighting the Gravelord upon the opposite walkway, he began to hurl shouts towards him, demanding the return of his brother or that the fortress would be razed.

 

After being barraged with arrows, the Grand Master bid his men to fall back. One brave Amyasian let loose an arrow and was a moment too late in his flight, stricken by lightning and being burnt to a crisp. All eyes turned to the source - a mere girl with lightning sparking at fingertips, cackling manically.

 

 

Plucking his body hastily, the beleaguered men congregated with despair, praying for the lives of Gereon and Simon. In a final effort, they thrust their picks and swords against the decaying stone wall that separated them  from the passage that led to necromancers’ headquarters. Managing to weaken it slightly, jaws went agape as an Order-man peered through a hole in the roof. In a fit of renewed joy and strength , the Grand Master leaped up to pass a pickaxe between the gaps, after Yef’s failed attempt to do so. Gereon smashed the tool upon the floor, dislodging the thin surface from it’s weak supports and falling through along Simon.

 

Bringing the pair to their feet, the victorious Order of Saint Amyas departed in glee - morale enhanced in knowing that no man would be left behind and their brother-in-arm’s sacrifice was not in vain.

 

Big thanks to stigwig for assisting me with this post!

[_Stigwig 1510]

The Master Cross would bow his head for his fallen brother, merely glad their sacrifice had not been in vain.

[monkeypoacher 8055]

"Slay these curs, and festoon Izborsk with their shattered staves!"

[DagonsChosen 85]

Simon's gaze runs over the report, and he attempts to immagine the heist from his Comrade's eyes. He clutches his bandaged and splinted hands, and shudders, as he remembers the terrors him and Gereon had gone through in the deepest and darkest corner of the Gravelord's lair.

 

The Amyasman exits the keep of Leuvaarden, and sets off towards the Cathedral, with the intent of praying for his fallen comrade, who sacrificed himself in order to save his brothers.

[Lita 677]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.