The Hydra of Halstaig: I

[_Stigwig 1510]

THE HYDRA OF HALSTAIG: I

 

Adelmar aep Stonehallow faces the Hydra of Halstaig |Speedpainting by Dominik Mayer

 

^^ Music made by Vamoose / Yung_N_Hung

 

 

---

 

The sky hung heavy over the fort, thick with a brooding sense of anticipation. Armoured men milled about the courtyard in pairs and trios, forming natural groups as each checked their weapons. It was not a sense of nerves that propelled the group so much as that of anticipation; the firm knowledge that their venture might well not leave all alive. The majority of the men wore coarse, woolen scarves about their necks that delineated them as Reiters, hardened mercenaries, but a small gathering, clumped away from the gaggle of mercenaries, conversed in hushed tones.

 

They seemed more at ease than the hardened mercenaries - not just with the task at hand but also with the world around them. The Marked Men gathered clumped around the magi who had led them hence - Avenel - their words masked by the clatter of steel and hooves that filled the small walls. After a few moments they turned their heads up to the sound of an authoritative voice calling the men to order, stifling the men’s gossip.

 

“Oi!” Lothaire called out, the Reiter’s voice filling the air with its volume. “We’ve spent enough time gossipin’ here, and this contract isn’t the usual for coin. Lans hasn’t let up since securin’ it, and I trust his judgement on the severity of the task at hand. Best we march soon.”

 

Some of the heads made brief nods in agreement, the majority of eyes swivelling towards Avenel, the subject of their sortie. Before long they had arranged themselves in a loose column outside of the gates and begun their trek away; some on horseback, trotting along with an eye to the dark woods that lined their corner of what was once Lotharingia, others riding on old carts that trundled across the rutted roads with an uncomfortable bounce.

 

---

 

 

The company of men had spent the night in Halstaig before travelling up north once more. The tavern they had stayed in was ill-equipped to maintain the type of fighting force they were, barely offering enough beds for each soldier to stay the night, but the soldiers didn’t grumble as they finally reached the entrance to the valley they had been searching for. Snow had fallen the night before enough to make the journey uncomfortable but not unchallenging, coating the different peaks that hung against the burnished morning sky with the gentlest of white brushes. The breath of each man hung in the air before him, turned almost solid by the biting cold that pinched and nipped at the fingertips of the soldiers who did not have thick enough gloves.

 

With a soft nod to his companions the masked Avenel began to clamber up the mountain sides, followed soon by other Marked companions - Renauld, Siris and Alfred at his flank - and Lothaire who scaled the mountain a few paces behind. Lans, placed in command of the rest, led them in a wary march along the road until they reached a crater in the road before them. With a raised gauntlet Lans ordered them all to a crouch; the majority either falling to their knees in the snow or scurrying further along to hide behind the chunks of rock that jutted out of their icy path.

 

The scene that faced them was a torrid one. A clump of black-robed cultists flew shadows on the snow below, four or five gathered in a circle. Above them was lifted a squealing baby, red-faced in the cold, that beat its fists hopelessly against the cultist’s muscled arm. A mass of garbled language reverberated about the scene, echoing amidst the mountaintops to reach the men above. A few covered their ears or made warding signs, glancing up to see the party of Marked arrive at a higher outcrop.

 

The dozen or so mail-clad mercenaries had exerted a huge pressure on the edge of the crater, made up of little more than packed snow and the slippery ice that led down to the gathering. Slowly, but surely, the sound of crunching made itself clear; the beginning of slow, insidious cracks that spread like serpents across the side. Men began to scuttle at the sight of them, spreading further across the edge, hopping from side to side. At the sight of the chaos a crossbow bolt flew from the higher position of men, striking the nearest cultist squarely in the back.

 

As the man fell and the slow spread of blood became apparent, staining the painfully bright snow about the body, noise filled the valley. Ifan shouldered his own crossbow, releasing a bolt towards one figure. As the lead cultist hastily stowed the baby inside his flowing robes and others moved to run a pair of figures began to slide down the side of the crater; Lans, elegantly sliding down, launched a spear towards one assailant - driving it through his chest with an immense force. Lothaire, at his side, had stumbled as he launched himself off and instead threw his entire body towards the nearest cultist, slamming him onto the ground and cracking open the devotee’s skull. Behind them came another pair of Reiters, Batu and Renati, sliding down on Batu’s shield.

 

---

 

The Reiters assail a mass of cultists in the mountains north of Halstaig.

 

Adelmar, one of the initiates brought along for their trial, rushed onto the scene after picking his way slowly through a path down the crater. Sheathing his axe with a huff as the action finished and the final cultist backed off warily, hands thrown up in the air, he leaned down to search through the fallen robes of one cultist, pulling out the squealing baby and shielding it in the crook of his left arm. Lifting his eyes up the mail-clad young man watched as the final cultist called out to Lothaire:

 

“I..I surrender to you!” She gasps, “spare me and I can help you!” She cried out over the snowy crater.

 

As Lothaire paused to consider her words, boots falling silent, she suddenly whipped around and ran - a dark blur against the clear sky. Within a few moments she had dived behind some snowdrift and totally disappeared from site, unearthing the unsteady passage that she had fled into. As the men drifted closer on the former battleground, picking their way through the bloody snow and shattered pieces of snow, the Marked finally finished their descent and met them in the centre to share glances of men now bound by the common purpose that combat brings.

 

The sun hung directly above them now as a large chunk of the mercenary band, along with the hulking Alfred, made their careful way through the passage. Lofting a torch to ward off the menacing shadows Lans stepped forwards, the sound of his falling feet echoing about the haunted passages. The party snaked their way along a corridor, passing one by one over a rickety wooden bridge that threw shadows over the water, each one breaking into a dozen smaller reflections, finally the lead pair - the indomitable Lothaire and Lans - forced their way into the final room.

 

---

 

There was the cultist, dark-robed and wielding a dagger in her right hand that shook like a leaf in a storm, standing atop the carcass of what had once been a reliable lift. Rotting wood lined the higher areas, worn

down by decades of neglect. A frayed rope connected the central section and leaving it just barely functional. The whole mechanism creaked after the cultist stepped on it, the uneasy sound reverberating about the chasm. With only a moment’s hesitation Lans thrust forwards again, driving his spear up through her neck to pin her against the back wall. The lift creaked again, rejecting the first use it had seen in years. The faint sound of snapping emerged, the sound of cracking wood only intensifying as a soft spindle of threaded cracks began to emerge across the pillars of wood that held the shaft in place.

 

With a sudden, ear-piercing shriek a dark shape fluttered from the upper alcoves of the room. The bat, flying directly towards the exit of the room, loosened such an attack on the ears of the Reiters that one - Renati - stumbled forwards onto the lift shaft.

 

That was when it came tumbling down. A soft scream echoed up the shaft after them, falling wood pouring down the now gaping hole after the pair - snapping ropes whipped up, finally free of the tension placed on them for so long, almost striking the watching Lothaire. The troop of men stumbled backwards quickly, shifting over rock, as their hands immediately grasped for ever-present weapons; eyes turned upwards. Renauld, instincts honed by years of combat, even flicked his blade up and out - smashing the still fleeing bat right out of the sky.

 

The two final members of the company, Ifan and Adelmar, finally emerged from the passage having finished wrapping up the baby in their scarves and leaving it in the care of a companion that had stayed behind with the pack animals. Casting an anticipatory glance to the men gathered around the hall, feet unceasingly carrying them further from the gaping hole, the soldiers began to work.

 

One grasped rope, tugging a long chunk of it from his pack. Another secured one end of it against a rock propped up firmly against the side of the wall, anchored in the age old ruins. Finally one stepped forwards tying it in a loop about Avenel’s waist before giving a final tug to test that it was securely fastened. Then, with a deep breath in, the elf threw himself off and into the side of the shaft. For minutes that seemed like hours due to the tension present in them nothing was heard except the soft thud except boots against stone. Then, silence.

 

Looking to each other the rest of the men attached themselves to the ropes that hung about the room, nervous eyes cast to each other as they began to descend into the gaping maw of the earth in search of their fallen comrades.

[ibraheemc2000 2965]

Saeed ibn Malek would smile IF he heard the news

((best god damn post i read You deserve a badge))

[seannie 7443]

"Intriguing." responds Aeternius.

[Joltastik 506]

"Hulking..." Sighard repeats as his mind drifts to Alfred, looking up to his brother-in-arms' glorious gains.

[Chorale__ 2147]

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

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it. 

[Chorale__ 2147]

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

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.