Chapter Text
A loud crowing noise pierced the air, cutting through the thick stone walls of the barracks. I groaned loudly to myself. 'Must be morning already,' I thought, rubbing at my eyes. The cot creaked under me as I pushed myself up to a sitting position, letting out a long yawn. Sleep clung to me like syrup on a stack of flapjacks, but the faint light seeping through the window seams pulled me awake. I blinked a few times, staring at those thin lines of morning sky
Swinging my legs over the side, I stood and staggered to the window. The wooden shutters stuck a bit, swollen from last night's rain, but I yanked them open with a grunt. Cool morning air rushed in, brushing my face like a cold hand. It felt good, sharp and clean, chasing away the stuffiness of the room. Outside, the garrison yard stretched out below, still shadowed in places. A couple of night guards were trading shifts with the morning crew, their voices carrying up in low murmurs. One slapped the other on the shoulder, laughing at some shared joke I couldn't quite hear before heading off toward the barracks.
In the distance, smoke curled up from the forge chimney, thin and gray against the sky. 'Old man George is at it early again,' I thought, picturing him hammering away at some dented shield or bent sword. The man never seemed to sleep.
I smiled a bit at that, then turned away from the window. My eyes flicked up to the cot above mine... empty, as expected. 'Master Edric's up with the dawn, like always.' The sheets were neatly tucked, no sign of haste. I had a little time before the day really kicked in, so I shuffled over to the small table in the corner. The stool scraped against the floor as I pulled it out and sat down. There, on the scarred wood surface, sat the letter I'd been working on.
I picked it up, unfolding the parchment carefully. The ink was dry now, my handwriting a bit messy from writing by candlelight last night. 'Been too long since I sent word back to Ma.' I scanned the lines again, checking for anything I'd missed. News from the frontier... nothing bad happened thus far, just the usual patrols and quiet watches. Assurances that I was eating decent, staying out of trouble, no fresh breaks in my bones. Pa's prosthetic came to mind... hope he's not pushing himself too hard on the farm. Last letter from home mentioned the stump still bothered him on rainy days.
Satisfied, I rolled the letter tight and tied it with a thin ribbon from my pouch. I stood, tucking it into my personal chest at the foot of the bed. The lid thumped shut as I locked it. While I was there, I grabbed my cloak from the hook on the wall, swinging it over my shoulders and fastening the clasp. It cut the chill a bit. I glanced down at my tunic... wrinkled from sleep, but they'd do. 'Change after training,' I decided. Breakfast first, then the courier.
With the cloak fastened around my shoulders, I stepped out into the hall. The stone floor was cold under my boots, and the air carried echoes of footsteps from others stirring. A familiar face nodded as I passed, Thom, from the 4th Company, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Mornin', Roland. Early for you today ain't it."
"Aye, Thom. Chasing Edric's shadow." I grinned, and he chuckled before turning down another corridor.
The garrison wasn't big, just a sturdy keep with outbuildings huddled around a central yard. We'd been here a week, long enough for the paths to feel routine. Stone walls rose high, topped with iron spikes, and the gates were barred tight against the night. Not suffocating, but solid. Reminded me of Ader's Keep back home, albeit smaller.
The walk to the mess hall was quick, my stomach rumbling as I got closer. A line had already formed outside the door, maybe a dozen men and women shuffling forward. I grabbed two trays from the stack by the entrance and fell in behind a stocky woman from the morning watch. The air inside was warmer, thick with the steam from cooking pots. As we inched along, the smells hit me stronger: boiled potatoes, leeks, maybe a hint of herbs. 'Potato and leek soup today,' I thought, my mouth watering. Hope there's meat this time, fresh ones, not just the dried stuff.
The line moved slow, giving me time to glance around. The mess hall was a long room with rough-hewn tables and benches crammed together. A few early risers were already eating, spoons clinking against bowls. One group huddled over a game of dice in the corner, low voices murmuring bets. Finally, it was my turn at the serving counter.
I slid the trays forward. "Morning, Beatrice," I said, smiling as I eyed the big pot she was stirring.
She looked up, her round face breaking into a grin. "Morning to you too, Roland. And Aye, good harvest last week before your lot rolled in." She ladled a generous scoop into the first bowl, steam rising thick, then did the same for the second. Chunks of potato bobbed in the broth, flecked with green leeks.
I scooted the trays along. "Any fresh game this morning?" I asked, hopeful, as I reached for the bread basket. Two hunks of dark rye, still warm from the ovens, went on each tray. They smelled fresh, with a crust that crackled under my fingers.
Beatrice shook her head, wiping her hands on her apron. "Hunters ain't back yet. Sorry, love."
I must have pouted, because she laughed a deep, rolling sound. Then she ducked under the counter, pulling out a small jar. With a quick glance around, she sprinkled a pinch of salted pork into each bowl. The bits sizzled faintly as they hit the hot soup.
"Now don't get used to it," she said, winking. "Tell Edric he owes me one."
My face lit up. "Thanks, Beatrice. You're the best!"
"Oh, I know." She smirked, then grabbed two tankards from the shelf behind her. "What'll it be to wash it down?"
"Ale for me, dark tea for him." I replied. Still couldn't fathom how Edric drank that bitter stuff... tasted like boiled boot leather to me.
She nodded, pouring frothy ale into one and steeping the tea in the other. Steam curled from Edric's cup, dark and pungent. "There you go. Have a good one, Roland."
"You too," I called back, balancing the trays as I stepped out of line. The weight felt good, promising a solid meal. 'Day's starting off right,' I thought. After this, drop the letter at the courier's office, then maybe swing by the training grounds. Stretch out the stiffness from yesterday's drills.
The garrison yard was busier now, sunlight creeping over the walls in pale streaks. A cart rumbled past, loaded with sacks of grain, the driver whistling off-key. I nodded to a passing sentry, who raised a hand in greeting. The air nipped at my face, but the cloak helped. My boots crunched on gravel as I crossed to the outer path, trays steady in my grip.
I had a hunch where Edric would be. The last few days, he'd taken to this hill overlooking the farmlands. Sure enough, as I crested the rise, there he was. Sitting cross-legged under an old oak, back ramrod straight. His hand rested on the pommel of his sheathed sword, casual but ready. The tree's branches spread wide, leaves rustling in the breeze. The sky hung low and gray, clouds thick like unwashed wool, with a chill rolling in from the east.
I picked my way up the slope, grass slick with dew underfoot. It soaked the hems of my trousers, cold against my shins. Careful not to slosh the soup, I approached and set the trays down on a flat patch of ground between us.
"Morning, ser." I placed his bowl in front of him, the steam twisting up. "Cook Beatrice sends her regards... and says you owe her another favor for the pork."
Edric cracked one eye open, then sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. But I caught the slight curl at his mouth's edge. "Ah, Beatrice and her debts. I'll have to square that before she starts tacking on interest."
He shifted, chainmail links whispering under his cloak. I passed him the tea, taking the ale for myself. The mug was cool in my hand, foam spilling a bit over the rim.
We settled in, no rush. I tore off a chunk of bread, dunked it in the soup, and let it soak. The broth was thick, potatoes soft, with that salty kick from the pork. Simple, but it hit the spot after nights of rations. Edric sipped his tea, staring out over the fields. Below, farmers dotted the landscape, bent over plows or scattering seed. One team of oxen pulled steady, furrows turning dark earth behind them. Smoke rose from distant chimneys, thin trails against the gray.
Quiet stretched between us, broken only by the occasional bird call or wind through the oak. I chewed slowly, savoring the warmth spreading in my belly. After a bit, Edric leaned back, elbow on his knee, bowl half-empty. "Tell me, Roland... how would you handle a twisted stag on the field?"
I paused mid-bite, bread halfway to my mouth. "Pardon?"
"A twisted stag. You know the sketches... antlers like jagged blades, body swollen with taint, eyes glowing red. You're out there with your sword partner, and it's charging full tilt."
"Oh." I set my tankard down on the grass, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Pictured it in my mind. The beast's hooves thundering, corruption twisting its form. "I'd raise my shield, ser. Hold the line. Draw its eyes while my partner flanks. Go for the neck... hide's thinner there."
He nodded, but his eyes held a glint, like he was holding back a smile. "Solid enough. But say it's quicker than you figure? Feints left with those antlers, then throws its bulk to smash you flat?"
I frowned, stirring my soup with the bread. "Uh... step back? Give it room to miss?"
A low chuckle rumbled from him, rough like stones tumbling. "You'd be paste, lad. Those things don't fight clean. They don't have survival instinct. Back up, and it fills the gap."
My spoon paused. "Then... what would you do, ser?"
"Push in." He said it flat, like stating the weather. "Deny it space. Ram your shield into its side, heave up with your weight. Use the charge against it. You may not necessarily be stronger than it, but you can surely tip the balance."
I blinked. "Tip the balance?"
"Aye lad. Fights aren't won by raw power alone. It's about where the force lands. As a shieldman, you're the anchor. Not just blocking, see your purpose is to set the ground for the rest."
I mulled that over, chewing. His words always landed simple, but they stuck, unfolding later in the heat of things. Like that patrol last month, when the ghoul pack hit us. I'd held, but barely. If I'd pushed instead...
The wind gusted, carrying the scent of turned soil and distant rain. I smiled despite myself. "You make it sound straightforward, ser."
He arched a brow. "Isn't it?"
"Not with a stag bigger than a stagecoach's coming at you." I grinned wider.
That pulled a bark of laughter from him. "Hah! Touché, lad."
We lapsed back into quiet, finishing the meal. Soup cooled in the bowls, bread crumbs scattered on the trays. The warmth in my chest wasn't just from the food—it was these talks, the way he turned every moment into something useful. Made the frontier feel less like an endless grind.
I remembered the letter then, my mind wandering to it for a moment. "Oh... ser. I've got a letter ready to send today. For the folks back home."
He nodded, draining his tea. "Good. Been a spell since your ma's last, hasn't it?"
"Aye, about a month. She wrote the spring planting's going strong, though rains are lagging."
Edric reached into his belt pouch, fingers rummaging. He pulled out a silver coin and a few coppers, pressing them into my hand. "Here. Covers the courier... and grab a loaf from the baker. Honey-glazed, if he's got 'em."
I stared at the coins, heavy in my palm. "Ser, I can't take—"
"Take it." His voice cut firm, no room for argument. "Coin's no good rotting in a pouch. Better it buys a bit of ease than another sharpening stone."
I hesitated, then closed my fingers around them, slipping the money away. "Thank you, ser."
He waved it off with a grunt. "Pay it back when you've got your own green apprentice to nursemaid."
I laughed at that. "Might be ages yet."
"Then stick around." Simple as that.
We sat a moment longer, eyes on the fields. Rows of wheat swayed gentle, farmers moving like ants in the distance. Beyond, the great wall loomed. A massive stone barrier, scarred from old assaults, separating us from the wastes. From up here, it all looked almost tame. No sign of the taint, just earth and sky all around
"Ser Edric," I said soft, after a beat. "You ever figure we'll win it? Push the dark back for good?"
He didn't reply quick. When he did, his tone dropped low. "Maybe not us. But them?" He jerked his chin at the workers below. "That's worth holding hope for."
I followed his gaze. Clouds shifted, letting a sliver of sun through. It lit the wheat tips gold, like fire without the burn. Strange how something so ordinary could feel like a promise.
Then Edric stood, brushing grass from his cloak. His braced leg creaked a bit, but he moved steady. "Head to the training yard after. Drill with the lads."
"I could tag along, ser," I offered, rising too and stacking the trays.
He shook his head. "Not today. Just chatting with the quartermaster. Dull stuff."
I paused but nodded. "Aye, ser."
He started down the hill, stride even despite the limp. I watched his back for a second, cloak flapping in the wind, before gathering the trays. The grass whispered under my boots as I headed back.
The yard buzzed now, more soldiers out and about. A group practiced formations near the gate, shields clanging in rhythm. I dropped the trays at the mess hall return, waving to Beatrice as she bustled behind the counter. She flashed me a thumbs-up before going back to work
Next stop, courier's office. Well after I grabbed my letter that is, all in all it was only a small detour. And before I knew it I was standing right before the building. It was a small hut tacked onto the main keep, door half-open. Inside, the air smelled of ink and sealing wax. The courier, a wiry man named Hale as indicated by the plaque at his desk, sat while filing through what looks like a mountain of paper, documents, and what not.
Hearing the door open, the man looked up from his desk. Bags visible under his eyes. 'Clearly this man has his work cut out for him, best to make this visit a quick one.'
"Welcome to the courier's office, are you here to send or deliver a mail/package?" The man tiredly said, his hands moving to brush away a portion of paper to make room.
"Just a simple message delivery please, over to Arlenford." I say sliding over the neatly rolled up letter from before.
The man took it and slid it over to the side, his hand then moved the beads of an abacus a few times over. Clearly calculating the price for the delivery, while scribbling on a piece of parchment with a charcoal pen on his other hand.
"That'll be a silver piece." He finally said after a few more moments of calculation.
I nodded wordlessly and took out the silver coin my mentor gave me earlier, before placing it on the table.
The man took the coin and dropped it in a drawer he'd pulled. "Your letter should arrive sometime this month, is there anything else I can help you with?"
I shook my head, the letter alone should be enough for now. "Not right now."
The man nodded, and I took my leave. For a moment I debated whether or not to get that honey loaf now or later... to my better judgment, I decided to save it for later. Having a little after exercise treat would be best. So I took the direct route to the training grounds.
Walking from the courier's office to the training grounds took little time, and as I got closer, I could gradually hear the sounds of exertion, of clashing swords and shields. 'Must be time for early training then.'
Entering the training grounds, I could see a platoon of greenhorns training with their instructor. 'Ahh to think that was me a few years back.' Shaking my head ruefully, I walked over to the training rack.
Looking over the options, I picked the medium shield. It's a rounded shield with an iron rim, its heft is comparable to my own shield. Granted it's nowhere near as durable, but hey it's training gear.
Nodding to myself, I walked over to one of the training dummies. One with dented plate mail strapped to it, the thing is rusted over but should provide enough resistance for me to put the effort in.
Unclasping my cloak, as I don't need it to get soaked in sweat. I placed it somewhere safe before doing a few stretches. 'Maybe I should wear my armor for this? Nah, I'll do that for the later training. Maybe for a spar, right now I'll just work up a decent sweat.'
Finishing my quick limber up. Feeling my joints pop in a satisfying way, mostly so I don't pull a muscle or get a cramp when trying a new maneuver, I lightly hopped on my feet preparing for a bashing strike. While my job was to defend, it'd be remiss if I neglected my offensive training.
Rearing my fist back I'm prepared to do a textbook bash, that was when a loud voice cut through the air. "ROLAND!" The voice startled me and made my strike thump weakly against the dummy.
Suddenly the whole training ground went silent, sounds of clashing steel stopped. And I looked on my mentor with confusion. "Ser Edric, is something wrong?"
His expression is one of stone, it was... worrying to say the least. 'The other time he was like this was when... oh no, something is wrong.'
"Pack your things and move out in thirty, we've got our orders. Meet me at the command tent." With that he moved out of the way, leaving the other recruits whispering with one another. The instructor quickly barked at them and they went back to training.
Me on the other hand, I placed my training shield back on its rack and jogged back to our room. On the way I passed a few other guards and recently familiar faces, though I can't really stay and chat so I just waved and smiled at them.
Reaching our room, I opened my chest and took out my pack. I'm not sure how long this assignment would be, so I'm packing in the standard 3 day ration pack in it. Making sure that my hunting knife is there for utility purposes, I also packed in a little pouch filled with cubes of sugar. They did cost me quite a bit, but they're useful for bribing ornery steeds. I debated on wether or not I should be carrying my coin pouch, on one hand I might not be able to find any trader. On the other... 'Silver might be useful if we ran into any lycans' punching a fistful of Silver coins at them might not be the same as cutting them with a silver blade, but it does the job in a pinch. So in the end I stuffed it into my pack
Another thing I made sure to prepare separately is my medical kit, wouldn't do if we survive the fight only to die when the wound gets infected, some beasts carry poison in their claws. To that end, I tucked in several rolls of bandages, a bottle of disinfecting poultice, a suturing kit, a good supply of antivenom, a few more doses worth of healing draughts and even a few tincture of laudanum. Should the horrors we face bears too hard on the mind
Then I went on the tedious task of donning my armor. Firstly by changing my tunic to a proper set of fatigue and I tugged it on, smoothing the sleeves down my arms. Next came the gambeson, padded canvas heavy with quilted layers, buckling at the sides with worn leather straps that I had to pull tight to fit snug.
Once that was secure, I sat on the edge of the bed to lace up my combat boots with steel-shanked toes, the leather creaking as I pulled the laces taut. The greaves came after, steel plates overlapping like scales, clamping around my shins with clasps that clicked into place. I flexed my knees a couple times, feeling the slight give at the joints.
The cuirass was next, the heaviest and most protective piece. Banded steel plates riveted over boiled leather, the edges trimmed faintly with silver. I lifted it over my head, letting it settle on my shoulders. The Union's sigil stared back at me from the front as I fastened the side buckles, each one pulling the armor closer until it hugged securely against my frame
Gauntlets slid on last for the upper body, heavy steel with reinforced knuckles. The right one had that weighted guard for close strikes, leather palms worn smooth from gripping. I clenched my hands to test the grip
Now for the shield. It rested against the wall, round and medium-sized, steel over a core of steeloak. The rim and boss gleamed with consecrated silver. I strapped it to my left arm, the leather bands biting into my forearm as I tightened them. The weight pulled familiar, balancing me out.
Finally, the helm. A fairly standard armet narrowing my view when I fastened it on. It muffled sounds a bit, turned my breathing echoey inside. I hauled the pack onto my back, straps digging into the armor, and stepped out the door. 'Must be something serious... wonder what it is.'
The jog to the command tent felt heavier in full kit, boots thudding on the packed dirt, armor clinking with each stride. Throughout it all I kept my pace steady, nodding to a passing sentry who raised a hand in silent greeting. 'Keep it together, Roland,' I thought. 'Ser Edric's face back at the grounds... that wasn't just drill talk. Something's brewing.' A part of me held excitement, yet another dreaded failure
The command tent stood at the center of the garrison, its canvas flapping lightly in the breeze like a flag at half-mast. Guards flanked the entrance, their spears crossed in a loose X until they spotted me. One, a grizzled type with a beard like tangled wire, nodded and stepped aside, pulling the flap open with a rustle. "In you go, lad."
Inside, the air was thick with the smell of lamp oil and old maps. A wooden table dominated the space, covered in parchments, a few weighted down by daggers. Ser Edric was already there, leaning over the table with his hands braced on the edges. Beside him stood Captain Lira, a stocky woman with a scar running down her jaw like a lightning bolt, her arms crossed tight. Two other shielders lingered nearby... Garr, a broad-shouldered bear of a man with a notched helmet tucked under his arm, and Thom, leaner but with eyes sharp as knife points. Three strikers rounded out the group, fidgeting with their sword hilts and crossbow strings, their lighter armor making them look almost twitchy compared to us.
Edric glanced up as I entered, his face still set hard. "Good, you're here. Listen up."
I fell in beside him, shield arm resting easy, though my heart picked up a notch. Captain Lira straightened, her voice coming out clipped. She jabbed a finger at a rough sketch on the table... charcoal lines marking out the Thane ruins, with a red circle smudged around what looked like an old altar chamber, paths snaking in from the edges.
"Scouts slipped back an hour ago," she said, eyes flicking over us. "Cult activity in the Thane ruins, two hours ride east. Broken Star idiots, at it again. They're forcing a rift open... chanting, blood runes, the works. Don't know exactly what aberration they're hauling through the veil, but it's nasty enough they summoned a guardian early to watch their backs. We stop it cold before whatever's coming gets a foothold."
I swallowed hard, fingers tightening on my shield strap until the leather creaked. 'Aberration... figures it'd be one of those.' Training sketches flashed in my mind: hulking messes of flesh and wrongness, limbs sprouting where they had no business, eyes blinking from spots that made your stomach turn. Not like fighting men or even ghouls... those things didn't follow rules, didn't bleed right. My mouth went dry, but I kept my face steady, like Edric always did.
Captain Lira scanned the group, her scar twitching as she spoke. "Small platoon hits first. Shielders hold the front... you lot form the wall, buy time. Strikers, you slip the flanks, cut down the casters quick. Edric," she nodded at my mentor, "you're leading the shields. Keep it tight."
Edric grunted, his brace creaking faintly as he shifted his weight. "Aye. We'll anchor."
Then her eyes landed on me, sizing me up like a recruit at inspection. "Roland, you stick close to Edric. This is good field work for an apprentice... Prove you've got the basics down, and you'll come out sharper." Her words may have sounded rough, but I took her enouragement for what it was
I nodded quick, straightening my back a touch more. 'Field experience... yeah, that's what it is.' My gut twisted a bit, but there was a spark there too... a chance to show I wasn't just tagging along anymore. "Understood, Captain."
No one piped up with questions... we all knew the score. Delays meant the rift widened, and that meant more mess spilling into our world. Captain Lira rolled the map with a snap. "Mount up. We ride hard, hit before they finish the summon. Move."
One by one, we filed out, the tent flap slapping shut behind the last striker. Outside, the yard smelled of horse sweat and oiled leather, the sun climbing higher but still pale through the clouds. Horses stood saddled in a line, a groom holding reins for each. Mine was a sturdy bay I'd ridden before, its coat glossy but marked with old scars from frontier runs. It snorted as I approached, eyeing my armor like it knew the weight was coming. I swung up careful, the saddle creaking under me, and gave its neck a gentle pat. "Easy there," I murmured. It settled quick, ears flicking back.
Edric mounted beside me on his gray, the horse steady as a rock despite his limp making the swing a bit awkward. He adjusted his sword belt with a clink, then glanced my way. "Breathe steady, lad. Basics first... hold, observe, strike when it's open."
"Aye, ser." I managed a small smile, though it felt tight under the helm. 'He's got my back. Always has.'
The gates groaned open with a rattle of chains, and we rode out in a tight column, Lira at the front. Hooves kicked up dust on the path, the farmlands blurring past at first... neat rows of wheat bending in the wind, a few farmers straightening from their work to watch us go, hands shading their eyes. One kid waved from a fence, and I lifted a hand back, quick. Then the ground shifted, grass thinning to patches on cracked earth, trees twisting into skeletal shapes with leaves pale and veiny. The air grew heavier, carrying a faint metallic tang that coated my tongue, setting my teeth on edge. 'Getting close to the wastes.' Whispers started faint, like wind rustling dry leaves, but I knew better... the taint, seeping in, nibbling at the edges of your thoughts. I shook my head inside the helm, focusing on the rhythm of the ride.
Two hours felt shorter than it should. We slowed at the ruins' edge, dismounting quiet, tying reins to a cluster of dead trees that clawed at the sky. My boots hit the ground with a thud, legs a bit stiff from the saddle. The stones rose ahead... crumbled walls half-buried in dirt, vines choking archways like strangled throats, shadows pooling deep in the cracks where light didn't reach. Rubble scattered the approach, chunks of masonry worn smooth but etched with old runes that made my skin prickle.
The Captain signaled with a closed fist, and we moved in quiet unison, boots crunching on gravel that shifted underfoot. Shields up front: me, Edric, Garr, and Thom, our gear scarred and solid. The strikers hung back, lean and ready, swords loose in scabbards, crossbows loaded with silver-tipped bolts. The chant hit us first... low and droning, words twisting in the air like smoke, making the hairs on my neck stand. We crept through a broken gateway, walls leaning precarious, like they might topple with a breath.
Shapes stirred in the gloom ahead. Cultists, hooded in ragged black cloth stained with what looked like dried blood, symbols carved into their exposed skin... stars with broken points, glowing faint. They turned as one, eyes wild and glassy, drawing knives crusted with rust and worse, clubs wrapped in shards of splintered bone
"Form up!" The captain barked, her voice slicing through the tension.
We slammed into position, shields overlapping with a metallic clank. I planted my feet wide, feeling the dirt give a little under my boots, shield raised to cover from chin to thigh. The weight settled familiar, like an extension of my arm. 'Breathe... hold the line.' The first cultist lunged at me, knife slashing wild and high. I caught it dead on the shield's rim, the blade scraping across the silver with a spark that sizzled his flesh. He hissed, hand blistering, staggering back with a snarl. I didn't chase... there's no need for it as a crossbow bolt whizzed past my helm and pierced the cultist's head. I held the line still, eyes scanning for the next.
Edric beside me parried a club swing with his sword, the impact ringing out, then countered low with a thrust that dropped his attacker gurgling. "Tighten up," he muttered, voice calm over the chaos.
More rushed in, a wave of five or six, screaming gibberish that echoed off the walls. Garr bashed one square with his shield boss, the metal denting the cultist's chest with a crunch, then stomped down on the fallen man's wrist until bones snapped like dry twigs. Thom held steady to my right, his greaves kicking out to trip another who went sprawling face-first into the gravel. The strikers loosed from behind, crossbow twangs cutting the air... one bolt thunked into a cultist's chest, punching through robe and bone, dropping him mid-step with a wet gasp.
One broke through the press toward me, club raised high like he meant to split my helm. I angled my shield just so, letting the blow glance off the curve with a screech of wood on steel, the force vibrating up my arm. He overcommitted, staggering forward... opening wide. I drove my gauntleted fist into his gut, reinforced knuckles sinking deep. Air whooshed out of him in a wheeze, and he doubled over, face turning purple. Quick shove with the shield sent him sprawling back into the dirt, where a striker finished him with a sword thrust. 'Keep it steady... breathe in, out. No flair, just basics. Block, open, strike.'
Blood spattered the ground now, mixing with the dust to make mud that sucked at our boots. The chant grew louder, pulling us deeper like a hook in the gut. We pushed through a shattered courtyard, stepping over twitching bodies, the air thick with the coppery reek of it all. Runes smeared on the stones glowed faint purple, pulsing like a heartbeat, and the air hummed, pressing on my ears until they rang.
Then a roar shook the walls, deep and wrong... not beast, not human, something that crawled up from nightmares. Dust sifted from the cracks overhead.
"Aberration!" Garr yelled, pointing with his free hand.
It burst from a side chamber, shattering the doorway in a shower of rubble and dust that choked the air. Hulking, twice a man's height, its body a twisted mass of flesh and bone, limbs like gnarled tree roots ending in claws that dripped black slime. A maw split its torso wide, rows of jagged teeth grinding, eyes dotting its hide like festering boils, rolling mad in every direction. 'How did we miss this thing?' It lumbered forward, guarding the ritual circle beyond... more cultists knelt there, hands raised to a swirling rift in the air, the tear glowing hungry blue.
The platoon snapped into formation, shields locking front like a steel barrier, strikers circling wide for angles. The aberration swung a massive limb, smashing into Thom's shield with a boom that echoed like thunder. He held, grunting, but the force sent him skidding back, boots furrowing deep grooves in the dirt, his arm trembling. Garr roared, charging the flank, his swinging low to bite into a leg... the rim crunching flesh and bone as the hit connected, black ichor spraying out, sizzling where it hit stone.
I locked eyes with Edric through our visors. He nodded sharp, and we advanced together, steps in sync. The thing wheeled toward us, claws raking the air. I raised my shield high, bracing knees as the impact hit... jarred my arm clear to the shoulder, pain flaring hot like a brand. But I didn't budge, feet rooted deep. 'Hold... hold.' The silver rim burned where it touched the flesh, smoke curling up with a foul stench. It reared back for another go, exposing a cluster of eyes on its side. Opening. I lunged forward, fist smashing in... pulp burst wet and warm across my gauntlet, and it shrieked, a sound that pierced my helm like needles, staggering sideways.
Edric pressed hard, his sword slashing a deep gash across its side, blade gleaming as it cut through corrupted meat. Ichor splashed his armor, smoking on the plates but fizzling out against the silver inlays. A striker darted in low behind us, sword thrusting deep into the wound I'd opened... twisted the blade once before yanking free. The aberration whipped around blind, its backhand catching her mid-retreat, sending her flying into a wall with crash that sent dust flying where she landed. But that only seemed to slow her as she darted out of the dust cloud and back into the fight
More cultists swarmed from the shadows, knives flashing dull in the rift's glow. One dropped low, grabbing at my leg to yank me off balance. I stomped down hard, boot heel crunching his hand into the gravel... bones popping like kindling. He howled, and I bashed his head with the shield's edge, the rim caving his skull with a thud. He went limp, rag-doll still. Another swung at Edric, club whistling. My mentor parried clean, but the aberration's claw grazed his brace in the chaos, metal screeching as it bent the steel.
We inched closer to the ritual, the rift pulsing wider now, heat rolling off it like an open forge, baking through my armor. Sweat stung my eyes inside the helm, breath coming hot and ragged. Lira shouted orders over the din, her voice cutting sharp. "Flank the casters! Shields, draw the beast... keep it off them!"
"Aye, Captain!" I bellowed back, voice muffled but steady. Blocked another claw swipe, the force numbing my arm from elbow down. 'Can't let it through... not now.' Ducked low, driving my shoulder into its mass, shield leading like a battering ram. The impact shuddered through me, but it gave ground... just a step, enough space. A striker loosed a bolt from the side, the silver tip punching into its maw with a splurt of blackened blood. It bellowed, rage and pain mixing in a spray of foul breath that reeked like rot and sulfur, coating my visor in slime.
Too focused on the push, eyes locked on the next swing, I missed the rift flaring brighter... blue light turning white-hot, the air crackling like lightning about to strike. A cultist at the circle screamed a final, guttural word, and the tear ripped wider, energy coiling out. Edric shouted... my name? "Roland!"
No time to turn. His arm hooked around my waist, yanking back hard with a strength that surprised me. I stumbled, shield dropping low as my balance went. 'What... ser?' The wave burst from the rift, a blast of raw force ripping through the chamber like a storm wind. The aberration exploded in gore, chunks slamming into walls with wet thuds, ichor painting everything black. Cultists vaporized mid-chant, their shadows burned into the stone like echoes. Captain Lira and the others... gone as they were blasted away in the flash.
Edric shoved me toward a crumbling alcove, the only scrap of cover... safety, maybe. But the blast caught him square, armor blackening in an instant, sword flying from his grip to clatter across the floor. He crumpled hard, blood pooling dark under him, his brace twisted like scrap.
"Ser!" I lunged toward him, boots slipping on the slick ground, hand outstretched. But the rift pulled now, a sucking vortex like a gale, dragging everything in. Debris whipped past... stones, broken weapons, shreds of robe... cracking against my armor. My feet left the dirt, yanked toward the glowing maw. I clawed at the ground, fingers digging furrows in the gravel, nails bending back painful. Too strong. Edric's eyes met mine one last time through the chaos... pain twisting his face, but no fear, just that steady look. 'Live,' they seemed to say
Then the portal swallowed me whole. Light blinded, a roar filling my ears like a thousand screams mashed together. I tumbled through nothing, weightless, cold biting deep into my bones like winter's worst. Armor groaned, straps straining. Glimpsed the chamber one final time... shrinking small, the rift snapping shut like massive jaws, sealing it all away in a blink. Darkness rushed in after, wind whipping past through the slits in my helm, tearing at my cloak. I hit something mid-fall... a branch? Rock? Pain bloomed in my side, then my leg, tumbling end over end. Finally, something hard slammed into me... ground, maybe, jarring every bone.
My head throbbed, vision swimming blurry. I tried to push up on my elbows, muscles screaming, but my arms gave out, and I slumped back into... dirt? Leaves? The smell hit me... damp soil, not the dry waste dust, mixed with something green and alive. I stared up, chest heaving, at what should be sky. But it was dark, so thick I thought cave at first. 'We fought in the open... didn't we?' I tried to make sense of it all
Soft chimes broke the black... bells, tinkling like wind chimes but closer, deliberate. Footsteps... not boots, lighter, skittering. Voices murmured, high and buzzing, words I couldn't catch. Something poked my side... a stick? Claw? I groaned faint, but couldn't move. 'What... where...'
Veiled shapes loomed in the blur, hooded in white cloth, faces hidden behind masks that gleamed pale. Bells dangled from their staffs, ringing soft as they circled. One knelt, mandibles clicking beneath it's veil, poking and prodding my armor. Through blurred vision I managed to catch them saying something, but the words barely sounded like anything I'd recognize
I tried to speak, but only a rasp came out. As I felt my headache grew, things proved to be too much, my vision tunneling further. And my eyelids felt unbearably heavy, unconsciousness then pulled me under, heavy and final.