“I don’t know what is supposed to be normal for a Seraphilim but I somehow doubt our guest qualifies. She keeps utterly erratic hours and seems to either sleep as much as a house cat or not at all. Also, she’s utterly oblivious to the schedules and needs of others; I once woke up to our guest sitting in my tent seeming to have an intense argument with herself. When I inquired as to what she was doing, she apologized and said ‘we’d have this discussion at a later date.’ But all that pales when compared to whatever happened to my squire, he was alone with her for maybe ten minutes, and when I came back he was bawling like a baby. He continued to cry for the next three hours, and when the boy finally recovered himself, he refused to speak of whatever happened but has now shown a remarkable new dedication to his swordcraft. Bluntly, my prince, I’m requesting a change of duties as soon as possible.” Sir Solon Duida’s letter to Elector-Prince Yoseph regarding his bodyguarding charge.
The day after Cole’s experiences in his mindscape proved to be busy but uneventful, which wasn’t exactly ideal for him. The caravan had moved into a better-traveled section of the Deeps and hadn’t faced any threats outside exhaustion brought on by their own frantic pace. For the past seven hours, the convoy marched toward Azyge with just enough speed and intensity to keep one’s body busy but not one’s mind. Leaving the Homunculus with far far too much time to think about all he’d learned.
As they trekked down ancient tunnels first carved by nature’s power and then smoothed by dwarven hands, Cole wrestled with some very uncomfortable truths. First, among them, he didn’t have a soul, instead his very essence was a literal curse that fed on death; drinking in soul hollows of all those around him. Isabelle and Natalie both assured him at different times these metaphysical echos weren’t true spiritual essence, instead comparing souls to a cup’s contents and what Cole consumed being what little spilled over the edge or clung to the bottom when it was emptied. That was a palatable metaphor, and part of him wanted to believe what he’d been told. Yet a few things stuck out to Cole, rough spots that stopped him from swallowing this bitter but acceptable explanation.
While he might not yet be worthy of his mantle, Cole was a paladin and intimately knew how souls could regenerate from most damage. His very magic worked by burning pieces of his own essence to channel that little fraction of divinity enmeshed within them. Even a fragment of a soul held power and more importantly a reflection of its owner. Souls weren’t like brains or books where you could tear out a section and render the rest crippled; a functioning soul, no matter how large or small, contained a mirror of its bearer's consciousness. Of course, that consciousness can be damaged and a soul is not indestructible; but if enough of the original mass remained so would the mind within. This left the very very concerning question, were the pieces inside Cole alive in some shape or form?
Unfortunately for Cole’s sanity, other events had given him a likely answer to this concern. He’d watched as Natalie’s familiars hunted and played, how the undead wolfpack acted much like any living one and even seemed to be adapting to their new existence. Those necromantic constructs had soul hollows at their core and they seemed pretty bloody life-like to Cole. Which meant what lay within the Homunculus was either asleep, imprisoned, maimed, or otherwise kept silent by the magics of that ashen hellhole. None of those possibilities seemed good, but Cole didn’t know if he could free these hollows or if that would even be a good idea. Perhaps he’d be rendered mortal as the echoes fled him, or maybe Cole would simply go permanently mad as hundreds of splintered consciousnesses infested his soul? No, Cole couldn’t entertain notions of emptying the ash wastes, instead, he’d just have to learn to live with being an abomination.
That thought made Cole’s lips quirk in a sardonic smile as he mused on the irony involved. For a very long time, he’d considered himself something abominable, an aberration in the world desperately seeking purpose and acceptance from the cosmic power that his existence defied. The last few months had started to change that, with the eternity of duty he’d consigned himself to suddenly looking far less lonely. But now it turned out his bleak assessment of himself born after escaping the Voivode was far more accurate than he’d ever feared. Cole wasn’t just an aberration in the cycle of life and death, he was an apostate against all he considered holy. Here he was, a Paladin of Master Time by choice, but by creation, far more kin to the vampires, lychs, and other immortal soul-eaters he’d sworn to strive against.
Shaking his head, Cole tried for perhaps the seventh or so time to push these thoughts away from him. He had a duty to fulfill, the existential crisis could wait until Isabelle was safe and the plague broken. Refocusing, Cole took stock of the world around him and tried to ignore the one within him. As he did, the Homunculus noted an odd warmth on the back of his neck, reaching to rub at the bare skin Cole recognized the sensation. It was summer sunlight, a two-fold impossibility considering it was spring and they were a kilometer or more beneath the mountain peaks.
Turning to face the warmth’s source, knowing who he’d find, Cole asked. “Do you need something of me, Sera Deborah?”
The willowy Seraphilim smiled, her expression inhumanly radiant. “The honorific is unnecessary, Paladin; but yes I wish to speak with you.”
Nodding, Cole silently wondered if the half-angel had a sense for emotional turmoil like he had for loss. Coming up beside him, walking staff clacking against the stone beneath her, Deborah asked. “How confident are you in your ability to help Azyge?”
Raising an eyebrow at the question, Cole pondered this. “Reasonably. I’ll need to see the situation when we arrive but I wager all of our combined abilities should be enough to beat back the tide, or at least give the town some breathing room.”
The perfect symmetry of Deborah’s face shifted slightly in a frown. “Allow me to specify, your powers, do you think they’ll be enough to ward away this darkness?”
Uncertain of what exactly she was asking, Cole shrugged. “I can’t win a battle by myself but I can certainly help. Base ghouls and even grinners aren’t much threat to half-decent defenses. So once we get the plague under control with the stone, I wager dealing with the more… exotic members of the corpse-tide would be my priority. Considering the town hasn’t fallen I can probably take on any individual undead threatening Azyge, but I dislike my odds if I were to be swarmed.”
Deborah nodded slightly. “Yes, numbers tip the odds even when great power is unleashed. Do you think your allies have it in them to give you the space and time needed to deal with each major threat without issue?”
A little concerned now, Cole replied. “They should, especially with your magical support-”
He saw the deep frown on Deborah’s face and stopped, sucking in a breath Cole asked. “How over-taxed are you?”
For a split second, Deborah almost looked ashamed. “My… well is running dry. Banishing two potent Hellkyn and then healing everyone was a bit much considering my other investments.”
Cole was momentarily confused and then he understood it. “You're helping your sister keep the Lictorim protections active?”
Deborah smiled. “I see your wits match those of the other paladins I’ve met. Yes, keeping the Prince’s army warded against the plague and… a few other efforts are limiting me. I can still stockpile my magic and use it at my discretion but I do not recover as quickly as I would normally. I’ve still got enough power to work a few potent miracles but the longer I can delay exerting myself the more I’ll have to work with once we reach Harmas”
This changed Cole’s calculations, but not too terribly. “Will you still be able to heal Kit and others?”
The Seraphilim made a noncommittal shrug, an odd sight for one so vaunted. “Maintaining and guiding what I’ve already set in motion won’t be a problem. Repairing any new calamitous damage would be another thing. Of course, if I’m called upon I’ll answer, but I’d prefer not to.”
Glad to have something else to think about, Cole started working on the problem ahead of him. “I have some ideas, you and the defenders might not like some of them but hopefully they won’t be required. But to that end, I’d like to get your advice on a few things.”
Expression neutral, Deborah asked. “That being?”
Hand going to his amulet, Cole answered. “How to be a better Paladin”
Natalie tugged at the collar of her leathers, covering the lower half of her face with the extra fold of cloth sewn into the garment. Running cold fingers along the edges of the mask, making sure it was in place, the Alukah grimaced at the necessity. They were close to Azyge now, likely to reach the town within the hour and Natalie didn’t want to spook anyone before her allies could testify in her defense. As much as she could appreciate the healthy paranoia her nature engendered, she was truly sick and tired of this song and dance. Still, having a Seraphilim alongside a Paladin vouching for her should make things easier, even with the antitheistic dwarves.
Speaking of dwarves, Natalie looked at the nearby caravanners and winced; exhaustion clung to them like a bad smell, having returned in force after being banished by last night’s rest. The appropriate time to make camp had come and gone hours ago, but their proximity to Azyge motivated the convoy to keep moving well into the unseen night. While Natalie was personally invigorated, no longer needing to spend her meager blood supply on staying awake, most everyone else was in poor shape, marching for more than twelve hours wasn’t something professional soldiers did, let alone this ragged band. Lips pursed, seeing how Kit seemed utterly dead on his feet, Natalie understood the desire to push on but weighed the wisdom of it. She and Cole might be able to jump into the fight right away, but she doubted anyone else would. But that would hopefully matter little, they rushed predominantly to deliver the cure before the plague claimed any more lives, not to help man the walls.
As if conjured, Cole appeared then, setting a hand on Natalie’s shoulder a grim expression on his face. Touching his fingers, Natalie felt a smile flicker across her face, she’d been starting to worry. Cole had been in council with Deborah, the pair speaking in tense whispers, only punctuated by a flare of gold or silver. It seemed Cole was making good on his idea to seek lessons from the Seraphilim, which was a wise choice but one Natalie felt a little peeved by.
Being near the living saint wasn’t pleasant for the Alukah, and not just because Deborah’s halo made her skin itch, the power within Natalie reacted poorly to the Seraphilim’s presence, sending waves of instinctual fear sloshing up from within her soul. Which was distressing for multiple reasons, including that it signified something of Annoch remained. While the original bearer of this curse was dead thrice over, his echoes, survived and within them lay darkness mixed with deadly opportunity. Cole wasn’t the only one wondering how to increase their strength and the battle with the Reaper, (traumatic as it was) had been highly… educational. Natalie managed to subdue a splinter of fell divinity using this bit of bloody inheritance, that wasn’t something to dismiss, even if most everything else Annoch left behind was.
“How did it go with Deborah?” Natalie asked, as her cool fingers interlaced with her lover’s.
Cole absently scratched at the long scar that went from one cheek to nearly his ear. “She offered some good ideas. I’ve been using my mantle rather crudely and her suggestions should amend that. But we can talk about that later, there’s something else to discuss first.”
As Natalie raised an eyebrow, Cole looked over his shoulder, worry apparent in his expression before explaining Deborah’s diminished power and his concerns related to it. “I’d been counting on her ability to cow the corpse-tide with powerful battle magic. Since that won’t be feasible, other options are needed; chiefly: your powers.”
Natalie barely paid attention to this, her focus was on Cole’s bearing. There was a heaviness to the Paladin’s countenance, a stiffness speaking to great weight supported by now flagging strength. Anyone else might attribute this to the physical toll of the march, but Natalie could see deeper, this load Cole bore was on his soul, not his body. The cause was obvious, visiting his mindscape had widened the cracks in Cole, and Natalie didn’t know how to seal them.
As the meaning of Cole’s words finally wormed their way past Natalie’s concerns and into her brain, she started and asked. “How?”
Cole hesitated, before saying. “You’ve been able to command the infected before, I don’t know the limits to that ability but if there isn’t a vampire directing this we might be able to save anyone still alive among the attackers.”
That wasn’t all, Natalie could hear it in Cole’s voice. Arms crossed, she gave the Paladin a look, one that dragged the truth free without even saying anything. Sighing, Cole said, “It’s possible you might be able to control the ghoul swarm as well, I just don’t know how.”
Blinking in surprise, Natalie considered this. “I thought that took knowledge of necromancy?”
Cole nodded. “It does, but I have a hunch your inherited powers might offer an alternative solution. See, from my understanding controlling large numbers of lesser undead usually involves the creation of either networks of magical connection or psychic bonds… which are both things you’ve shown a talent with. But I’m not sure how you’d go about it, and… and we’re missing the person who could teach you.”
They walked in silence for a while, Natalie watching a number of expressions shift across Cole’s face. There was the anxiety and uncertainty she’d known to find since Isabelle’s kidnapping but bubbling just beneath was anger, but not the kind Natalie usually saw. This anger wasn’t focused inward or on a worthy foe, instead, it simmered and roiled ready to burst free in a violent torrent. It was the kind of confused, listless fury Natalie recognized in those angry with someone they loved. The emotion was strong, painfully strong, but also bottled up and aimed away from its wanted recipient. Worry grew inside Natalie, you couldn’t repress that kind of rage for long, and even if they found Isabelle quickly, there would be a reckoning.
Shout came from farther up the convoy, one of the dwarves, the head ranger by the looks of it was calling out in his native tongue. Natalie didn’t understand any of the words but before she could ask Cole for a translation, something answered the senior ranger. Tensing, Natalie feared for a split-second one of the voice-stealing mimics was in their way, but quickly the response proved itself no uncanny lure. Whoever was calling out to them from down the tunnel was punctuating his words with a rather impressive number of curses, which naturally was the most complete part of Natalie’s dwerick lexicon.
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Cole let out a breath and confirmed Natalie’s suspicions. “That’s the town’s outer watch, we’ve arrived.”
Getting onto her toes, Natalie squinted against the dark, her eyes quickly picking out what the rangers had and then nearly tumbling off her feet in shock. A pair of monumental glowing eyes stared out from down the tunnel, their baleful illumination revealing an equally massive head. Filling the entire cavern’s end was a house-sized face, its stoney brow furrowed in rage. Before she could shout in alarm about the Jotunn whose mouth they marched into, Natalie realized her mistake. It was a statue, the tunnel mouth was carved into the face of some unknown dwarf. The empty eyes were guard posts lit by large glowstones and what Natalie first thought were bared teeth turned out to be a reinforced portcullis.
Still a little stunned, Natalie asked. “Uh… is it normal for dwarves to carve their gatehouses into giant faces?”
Cole made an amused noise, his own eyes clearly unable to see what she had. “It’s one of those huh? Yeah, that’s a common architectural theme for them, and from my knowledge it's supposed to ward off monsters. Think of it like a scarecrow except for trolls and the like.”
Eyeing the disturbingly life-like face awaiting them, Natalie muttered. “Well, it nearly worked on me.”
They reached the gatehouse soon enough and more frantic dwerick was exchanged between the rangers and guards on duty. Whatever was being discussed, it came to a palatable conclusion quick enough and the giant stone face’s teeth started to unclench with a groan. Following the senior ranger’s lead, the convoy passed through the gate and out of the Deeps.
Waiting for them on the other side of the portcullis was a tighter tunnel, its walls marked with arrow slits alluding to passages hidden parallel to this second layer of defense. Then past this killbox was yet another gate, this one thankfully lacking a face. As this new gate rumbled open, it revealed their destination.
Awaiting Natalie was a high vaulted cavern, maybe three stories tall and wide as two main roads. Judging by the clean angles and smooth surfaces, this cave had long been sculpted by dwarven hands; its walls now sporting branching tunnels and extensive chambers that testified to how here in the mountain, dwarves didn’t so much build structures as hollow them out of the surrounding rock. But this complex masonry wasn’t the extent of the cave’s modifications, bright murals and wall paintings covered much of the exposed stone, giving the chamber a shockingly vibrant air; an impression that violently contrasted with its current inhabitants.
Nervous faces and suspicious eyes gazed out from octagonal windows, watching the newcomers for any sign of danger. Weary-looking soldiers, or more accurately judging by their equipment, militia were quickly assembling. While those few dwarves out in the open were scurrying away towards some place of protection, uncomfortably reminding Natalie of nervous rodents, a far cry from what she’d learned to expect from these folk.
Cautiously stepping forward, sticking to Cole’s shadow, Natalie watched as a militia officer spoke quickly with the senior ranger, and a number of runners were dispatched. Glancing around the chamber, making sure her eyes weren’t red, Natalie could feel the tension in all those present, it was a painfully familiar thing, the weight of living under constant threat, never knowing when another tragedy might strike. These people were under siege, and weren’t yet used to it like Natalie’s hometown was. Pursing her lips, she readied herself to save Azyge, it would be good practice for Glockmire.
Cole stared up at the clear night sky and felt incredibly grateful to be out from beneath the mountain. Tracing constellations with his mind’s eye, he allowed himself a few moments of stolen peace, knowing this would be the last he’d get for some time. They’d arrived at Azyge three hours ago and found the situation markedly worse than when the dwarven caravan left. Plague was running rampant through the outer human quarter of the town and any and all attempts at aid had been halted in the name of quarantine. A coldly pragmatic decision that split a once prosperous town into two villages struggling against each other as much as what waited beyond the outer walls.
The evidence of that struggle was plain to see as Cole forced himself to look away from the beauty overhead and down at the ugliness below him. Currently, the Paladin stood atop the inner curtain wall of Azyge, the stout rampart that divided the inner dwarven village from the outer human village now consumed by plague. The burnt and broken remains of ladders and people lay at the wall’s base, the result of a failed attempt to breach inner Azyge by some of the more desperate refugees. In the flickering light of a nearby braiser, Cole could see the crossbow bolts sticking out of the corpses, where dwarven guards had shot down these ‘attackers.’ Bitterly, the Paladin noted the extra bolts put into the bodies’ skulls to prevent them from animating as ghouls, an act of final charity between former neighbors.
From somewhere next to Cole, a worn voice muttered. “We didn’t have a choice, they could have brought the infection among us.”
Thinking of his own time with the plague, Cole replied. “I seriously doubt anyone sick could endeavor to find or construct siege ladders then try and climb a good ten-meter-high wall.”
Constable Gernat, head of Azyge’s militia and the dwarf who’d brought Cole here stiffened in anger. “How could we be certain? This pestilence is nothing natural, there is no telling how it might spread!”
Nodding slightly, Cole privately admitted Gernat had a point. It was only with Argentari’s spy network and Isabelle’s expertise that Vindabon got such a complete idea of the screaming plague’s attributes. It was unfair to cast so much scorn upon these scared dwarves who’d done what they thought was necessary to protect themselves. Still… Cole looked out across the settlement beyond the wall and couldn’t find it in himself to be properly impartial.
Outer Azyge was dying, Cole could see it in the many dark windows that should have glowed with dim hearth light, he could smell it in the rank odor of sickness and desperation that wafted up to him, he could even hear it in the rattling creak of the corpse cart being pulled down the main thoroughfare. Squinting against the shadows, Cole watched as a worn-looking priest helped by three masked men piled up bodies to be taken for consecration and burning. Near the town’s south wall, a great smoke cloud bloomed, its black mass billowing up into the night sky, smelling of incense and spice; someone was making an effort to hide the stink of mass cremation.
Letting his eyes track over the dying village, Cole trying to keep his voice steady, asked. “What about the outer wall, how is it being defended?”
In answer, Gernat handed Cole a spyglass and gestured in the appropriate direction. Peering through the remarkable trinket, Cole took a moment to find the first line of defense. A few dim braisers and glowstone lamps marked the outer wall against the darkness; shorter and less sturdy than what guarded inner Azgye, this rampart was still manned. Cole could see silhouettes moving up and down the parapet in erratic but constant pacing, probably an effort to stay awake. One of the silhouettes paused and shook violently, Cole imagining the wracking plague cough he was too far away to hear.
Sighing and returning the spyglass, Cole muttered. “Poorly it seems.” then after a moment, adding. “Why haven’t the undead breached the wall yet?”
This was another thing Cole had noticed nearly the moment he’d stepped out of the subterranean section of Azyge. A low groan was carried on the air, itching at the edge of hearing just as the stink of death did his sense of smell. It was a subtle sound and to the untrained ear might be mistaken at first for some strange wind, but Cole knew the truth. If one listened, really listened even from the inner wall, you could hear the fluctuations in the groan, the faint gurgles and cracks produced by decaying vocal cords. How the noise carried on in a constant drone, never shifting in volume or intensity, simply continuing as a gentle roar that made gooseflesh rise on all who heard it. This was the sound of hundreds, maybe thousands of dead throats all crying out in unison, a choir of ghouls singing their own lament day and night, unburdened by the petty restrictions of mortality.
Expression hardening, Gernat said. “Before the quarantine, we helped them deal with most of the grinners and a few of the nastier variants. The wall will hold as long as the gate does, and nothing outside is capable of tearing reinforced oak down.”
Cole wasn’t so certain, part of the danger of corpse-tides was the unending persistence of that many ghouls. Sure, a single specimen would wear itself down to a pile of broken bones and rotted muscle well before it could so much as put a crack in a castle door, but what about hundreds of ghouls? All it took was a single weak point and with enough time, that many ghouls could get through anything. In fact, this was why a mass of common ghouls was called a tide, they could wear down solid stone like the ocean itself. But even if the walls were sturdy enough to last months of constant pressure Cole found it doubtful that all the truly dangerous undead had been dealt with. Outside those distant walls were probably horrors capable of basic planning, things waiting for the paltry defenders to finally fall, leaving outer Azyge ripe for feasting.
That grim thought led to another and Cole asked. “What about the screamers? Those infected with the first stage of the plague, how have they been dealing with them?”
Gernat was silent, his face flicking between emotions none of them good. Eventually, he managed to say. “The same way we have.”
Cole winced, as welcome as Isabelle’s cure was in Azyge, its arrival brought a new form of tragedy. Lacking information and options, the people of this town killed those who’d become screamers. This was another act of cold pragmatism, and one already being cursed by all who’d originally condoned it. Looking out past the wall and to the dying borough, Cole wondered at what scars might remain upon the survivors, if there were survivors that is. Even if the cure was delivered, there was no telling how extensive the damage would be. Back in Vindabon, discovering some cases were too far gone even for Isabelle’s miracle to fix had been an ugly lesson.
Movement a little down the wall he stood on caught Cole’s attention and he found Natalie fast approaching, trailed by two very nervous-looking militia-dwarves. Seeing her, the Paladin asked. “I take it the bonekeeper gave you the all-clear?”
Nodding, Natalie joined him, leaning against one of the merlons, while studiously ignoring the fearful looks offered by every dwarf on the wall. “He poked and prodded me like Seohal Tinfoot did, but Deborah kept the tests reasonable.”
Thankful for the Seraphilim’s intervention, Cole gestured back in the direction Natalie came. “Where are the others?”
Nose scrunched up as all the wretched smells reached her, Natalie said. “Mina and Deborah are transubstantiating more of the cure, Grettir is with them. Alia and Kit both needed rest and I’ve got Yara making sure they’re okay.”
A tiny flicker of concern sparked in Cole. He didn’t like the idea of the two most vulnerable members of the group relying solely on Yara for protection. Glancing at the few dwarves around them, Cole tried to find a diplomatic way to voice his concerns. “Will she be enough to help them if a situation arises?”
Natalie seemed to get Cole’s double meaning and tapped the side of her head. “I’ve formed a link with her, she’ll be able to tell me if she needs anything.”
Pausing at that, Cole didn’t know entirely what to think about this development. Natalie had respected his wishes and broken the psychic bridge between them but seemed to have wasted no time in setting up a similar connection with her thrall. Deciding now wasn’t the time or place to voice his concerns, Cole asked. “How much of the cure have they made?”
Shrugging in a way that spoke to uncertainty, Natalie replied. “One large vat so far. They’re using some kind of mushroom wine as the base substance.”
Considering this, Cole said. “Well, we can start distributing what’s available right now.”
A nervous cough escaped Gernat. “That won’t be possible.”
Fighting down the sudden spike of anger that flared up out of nowhere, Cole growled. “This cure is being distributed across the Holy League as speak, its effectiveness has been demonstrated multiple times and is testified to by both myself and Sera Deborah. The people you’ve abandoned are dying but we can save them, now isn’t the time to dither!”
Jaw set, Gernat snapped back. “We physically can’t start now. The gates are sealed and will take time to re-open.”
Cole bit back a groan and rubbed his eyes. Of course, they’d do something like this, it was another perfect example of pragmatic idiocy. If the inner townsfolk couldn’t open the gates then the outer townsfolk sure as shit couldn’t force them. This also had the effect of making sure no ‘weak link’ could break the quarantine out of any moral impulses. While Cole could understand the rationale and even tacitly agree with most of it, he still found himself growing ever more frustrated.
Teeth bared, Cole asked slowly. “Well, how long until the gates can be opened?”
Gernat and some of the militia exchanged glances. “If we start on the main gate tonight… then probably by tomorrow mid-day, maybe quicker depending on a few factors.”
Before Cole could find out what ‘factors’ were involved, probably not in a very diplomatic way, Natalie spoke up. “Uh… what… is… that?”
She was pointing out into the distance at something beyond the outer wall. Squinting, Cole tried to see what Natalie had noticed but to no avail. Brow furrowing, the Alukah leaned forward, eyes fixed on a singular point and an expression of startled confusion growing on her face. Snatching up Gernat’s spyglass, Cole sought a better look, his eyes roving over the distant landscape. The Paladin nearly dropped the hand telescope when he spotted what Natalie had. There was a shape on the horizon, a small but growing speck of darkness that blotted out the stars behind it. Staring at his oddity, Cole slowly got a better sense of what he was looking at. Something large and capable of flight was soaring low over the ground, headed right for them.
“Fixed stars!” he cursed, looking up and down the walls, Cole asked. “Do you have any ballistas or onagers?”
Voice soft, Natalie cut off Cole’s line of questions and shut down the assumptions that birthed them. “It’s not a wyvern.”
Confused, he found Natalie standing with her hands pressed against the stone of the wall, eyes shut, teeth clenched. As Cole started to say something, Natalie shook her head, motioning for quiet. Everyone on the wall complied, staring at the vampire as she rocked herself back and forth. Cole had seen her do this once or twice before, shifting her head and body around to try and get a better grasp of something she was hearing. Letting his hand slip to his axe, Cole listened, expecting to hear some monstrous cry or inhuman roar.
By now the strange shape was big enough to be seen with the naked eye, a tiny black blur against the horizon, moving forward in a strange bobbing flight. With every passing second it grew larger and larger, soaring over the distant fields surrounding Azyge with startling speed. Round and bulbous, the entity was hard to see but easy to notice, the way it swayed back and forth, blocking out pieces of the night sky, giving it away once you knew what to look for. Squinting, Cole thought he saw two glowing pinpricks in the black blur but couldn’t be certain they weren't just stars.
A startled gasp escaped Natalie and she gripped onto Cole with considerable strength. Looking up at him, eyes wide and confused, she said. “I thought at first I was hearing wingbeats, but I was wrong.”
Something itched at Cole’s ears then, a faint rhythmic pattern, both familiar and alien. Frowning, Cole focused on the sound, hearing the ‘thump thump thump thump’ of whatever approached them. Growing more and more confused as the shape came closer, two glowing lights now clearly visible in its center mass, Cole asked. “What is that noise?”
Staring at the quickly resolving form of their attacker, Natalie said. “Footsteps.”
It was then that Cole had enough context to understand what he was looking at. This wasn’t a malformed sphere marked with lights flying through the air, it was a skull, a giant skull suspended fifteen meters above the ground by an invisible body, empty eye-sockets alight with witchfire. “What in the world’s name?”
The colossal skull was rapidly approaching the outer wall, and Cole tried to think of what to do. This was obviously some form of undead, he just hadn’t a clue what kind. Turning, to Gernat, he started to say. “Do you have any battlemages? What spells can your bonekeeper-”
“JAGGED EDGES!” shouted Natalie and she pointed at the skull. It had come to a stop maybe a hundred meters from the wall and now something levitated in the air next to it. Cole just had time to recognize the object as an entire tree, ripped up from a field’s edge and now held up like… like a javelin; then the tree shot through the air with a whistling roar. Before a warning cry could fully escape Cole’s lips the tree spear smashed into the outer wall, punching through timber and stonework with a mighty crash.
As piercing screams fought to be heard over the crumble and crack of settling debris, the giant skull started moving again, headed towards the outer walls in a dead sprint. Cole didn’t know what this thing was but could guess if it could pick up a tree it could batter down a gate. Turning to the dwarven Constable, Cole barked. “Get every battle-capable spellweaver and soldier you have ready to fight.”
Looking at Natalie, the Paladin continued. “Send word to Yara and get her to warn the others. Maybe the first batch of the cure will be done.”
Face pale as his lover’s, Constable Gernat asked. “Wh-what are you going to do?
Rolling his shoulders, Cole unsheathed Requiem and gestured at the approaching skull. “I’m going to stop that thing.”
Then before any more questions could be asked, Cole clambered up onto the battlements and jumped.
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