Beneath the Shadow of the Five Peaks - Chapter 2
The Lansing Manor
4
MAY/14
PART IV: UNTO THE BREACH
Despite their victory against the boar, a sense of unease began to grow amongst the party as they struck camp in the gorge and followed Saiya back into the wilds. The Lansing manor had been abandoned for a year, but according to Ghant’s reports the goblin raiders were not using the manor as a staging point for their incursions. It was obvious that, due to the disappearance of all the scouts that the dwarf had sent to investigate the ruins, something had taken residence; but the question of exactly what that was gnawed at the group. Each step through the recalcitrant brush seemed to deepen their apprehension. Saiya called for a halt as the sun began to sink behind the horizon; they had reached the crown of a large hill overlooking the vale which the manor occupied. Though venturing within for the sword was best left for daybreak, the last light of day gave the adventurers a glimpse of what awaited them.
The manor was almost a fortress unto itself. Unlike the timber walls of the fortifications around Newcayne, the walls of this place were made of sturdy stone brought down from the mountains during the days of peace after the Empire had briefly tamed this wild country. It bore the signature style of imperial architecture, thick and practical walls and arched gateways. Despite the quality of its initial construction, it was obvious that the years of warfare and lawlessness after the death of Michael Roele, the last emperor, had taken their toll. Entire sections of the wall had been damaged and then rebuilt with far less impressive workmanship. And it was through several of these points that the goblins had breached the manor, at least two massive sections had been collapsed on the western edge facing the hill. The manor itself was a burnt husk; the second story of the three wings, constructed of timber, had collapsed in the inferno of the building’s destruction. Several more breaches through the walls of the manor itself were barely visible in the vanishing light. Unsettlingly they noted that nothing moved within the grounds; no goblin guards stood watch, no wolves or beasts prowled the wreckage, not even the flitter of small game in the long grass surrounding the outer wall could be discerned.
Speaking in hushed whispers the party discussed their options. They had no choice but to venture within, but despite their brief reconnoiter of the vale from atop the hill they had scant information to prepare themselves. They decided to leave their excess gear atop the hill, with Saiya standing guard. The better to move swiftly should they need to retreat. Saiya agreed, but warned the small band that if they did not return from within the manor in two night’s time she would assume they had died and resume her journey back to her home in the elven kingdom of Tuarhievel. As his companions settled down for fitful rest, A’Sharad sat beside Saiya and questioned her again about her origins. Having proven himself worthy of trust after aiding her hunt, Saiya spoke with him at length about her upbringing as a half-elf amongst her father’s people. Unlike the stigma a half-orc faced in the realms of human and orcs, elves were far more accepting of mixed race offspring. If the child, upon reaching a sufficient age to understand the choice, chose to live among the elves they were accepted whole heartedly. There were some who did not welcome their presence, but they were a rare exception usually reserved for the elders who still nursed painful memories of human expansion into their lands.
Dawn came quickly, though it did not bring the welcome light of the sun. A grey pall of clouds obscured its warm light, and a thick mist had rolled down from the mountains and clung to floor of the vale. Only the walls of the manor stood above this fog, like the bones of a beast left to rot long after its flesh had been devoured. Finally climbing down to see their quest through, the party slowly made their way across the wide field of long grasses towards the breaches in the western wall. As they approached, they found that the closer they came to the manor the more the land seemed blighted. Flowers hung withered from their stems, and the grass itself had a sickly yellow hue. Upon reaching the wall they opted to stay together and climb over the rubble of the largest hole. Hamnarabi, leading his mount, went beside A’Sharad, with Isael keeping a watchful eye upon Eliza. A cold feeling of hate swept over them as they crossed breach; black runes scrawled upon rubble had gone unnoticed, and the dark magic of their inscriber was triggered. Still atop the collapsed section of the wall, Isael and Eliza were the first to notice several patches of earth begin to bulge as the party entered the inner grounds. Five zombies, the sad remains of the manor’s defenders from the look of their tattered armor, heaved and clambered their way free their impromptu graves.
Hamnarabi, unable to mount, whistled commands sharply to his steed and closed against the two undead which set upon them from the north. A’Sharad turned towards the two from the south, and Isael held the breach in order to keep the last from reaching the Eliza. Hamnarabi, flail in hand, leapt forward and struck valiantly. Pushing the assault of the first away with his shield, his mount toppled the abomination and brought its hooves down upon its skull. The second however, was not so easily undone. It lashed out with a fist like a mace and gave the knight a blow which would have killed him outright if not the strength of his helm. A’Sharad deftly cleaved the skull of one with his broadsword, barely bringing the blade back around in time to keep the other at bay as it lunged to grapple him. Isael prayed to his god to drive the black creatures away, but the power of their dark creator was too powerful for his plea to reach the heavens. Eliza needed no god to summon forth her magic, and demonstrated as much by incinerating half of the head of the advancing zombie. Though gravely wounded, it fell forward and began to crawl its way up the rubble towards them.
A’Sharad, struggling to keep back the gnashing teeth of the zombie locked with him, saw a moment of opportunity. Using its prodigious strength against it, he shifted his weight and threw it expertly across his shoulder and atop the undead crawling the rubble heap. Isael was enraged that his prayer had been stifled, he cried out Cuiracéan’s name and thrust the point of his blade down into the two zombies. A sudden break in the clouds allowed a single shaft of light to fall upon his sword, and as it did the steel flamed as if fresh from the forge. The heat of the war god’s fury incinerated the vile things in the space of a single heartbeat. Fate was not as kind to Hamnarabi. As he lashed out again with his flail the zombie brought an arm up and entangled its chain. With a great heave it broke the link closest to the handle and sent the head of the flail tumbling through the air. Eliza, however, was well versed in her craft and spoke a brief incantation of mending. A serpentine line of green light sprang from her fingertips to the broken handle, and then out to the airborne chain. The chain flew back and fused in its original position almost as quickly as it had been broken.
Dazed, Hamnarabi tried again to attack, but his blow was turned aside by the rusted breastplate hanging from the rotten thing’s shoulders. As Eliza and Isael climbed down through the ash and stone to aid him, A’Sharad began a headlong charge towards the beleaguered Khinasi. With a dexterous leap he flew over the man’s head and shot both of his legs into the zombie’s chest. The blow was incredibly powerful, launching the creature off its feet and onto its back. As it landed its head splattered upon an exposed cobblestone. Thought the immediate threat had been dealt with, the party grimly realized why no man had ever returned from Lansing manor. A dark incantation had transformed it into a massive trap, a hive of slumbering undead who had been awaiting the approach of the living. This did not bode well for what they might encounter in the crypt beneath them.
PART V : A DESECRATION MOST FOUL
In order to take stock of their odds A’Sharad and Isael peered through cracked windows as Hamnarabi climbed atop his steed and quickly galloped a circuit within the inner walls at break-neck speed, if more undead were waiting outside they would not have time to attack before he was headed back to his compatriots. No further dark surprises awaited them outside the wall, but it had been difficult for Hamnarabi to ascertain what was within the walls through shattered doors and broken stone. Though he had not seen anything within the exposed sections, the front greeting hall had been shut tight. Isael and A’Sharad found it even more conspicuous from their vantage that the chains which secured its charred doors were placed from the outside, not from within as if to withstand an assault. They had also found the stairwell leading to the crypt beneath a gaping window frame, its stained glass littering the sill and grass. It was a long drop, but if someone let a rope down it would be easy enough. The party chose to forgo the greeting hall; it was a risk they were not willing to take unless they found that the object of their quest was not within the crypt.
Sliding down a rope as silently as they could, the group found themselves staring at an intricately wrought gate which, like the greeting hall, had been chained from the outside. Isael and Eliza, now aware that the dark arts were at play, carefully examine the floor and walls around the gate for further sign of magical triggers. They did not search in vain, and found scrawled incantations in glistening black. It was a foreign tongue to all but A’Sharad, who had been trained in the orcish tongue by his masters at the temple in order to educate him on his past. They were black writings invoking the power of Baphomet, a demonic power often worshipped by the orcs. Isael, hoping to avert their misfortune at the wall, blessed a vial of water and sprinkled it upon the hateful runes whilst reciting a litany against the dark powers. His faith was affirmed as the trap sputtered and dissolved beneath the cleansing liquid. They quietly unclasped the chain and pushed the gate open.
The dark within was absolute. A’Sharad, by virtue of his orcish heritage, had eyes better acquainted to the black than his friends. And while he was no thief, his light armor and training gave him a better chance to enter the crypt without announcing their presence. Though it was a close thing he was able to make his way far enough to find another group of zombies standing like statues within a small alcove, awaiting anyone foolhardy enough to chance the tombs beneath the manor. These zombies were different, however; they were the reanimated corpses of the manor’s assailants. A gnoll and two goblins, their deaths in the manor assault had been rewarded with eternal enslavement to a dark power by whatever force had led them. Possessing the element of surprise, the companions quickly devised a plan of attack. Eliza enchanted a stone to shine like a torch, and upon an agreed upon command cast it within the center of the zombies. Within seconds they had struck the creatures down for the second time in their pitiful existence, the speed of the assault was too much for the reanimated corpses’ slowed responses. It was a fittingly brutal end, and had spared the party another protracted engagement.
At last they stood in the faint light of Eliza’s magical stone before the final gate separating them from the primary internment chamber of the crypt. Like the last gate it had been chained from the outside and enchanted with black incantations. Though he was loath to part with the last of it, Isael again dissolved the wicked runes with his holy water. Carefully pulling the chains free, they prepared to enter the wide circular chamber which yawned before them in the darkness. Something had been built in the center, tall and irregular, but its details were too faint in the low light to discern more. The air of the crypt was stale and cold, and had seemed to deepen in the gloom. Dark arts were at play, and the beating heart of this sorcery was now before them. Eliza held back at the gate, she would cast her light stone into the heart of the chamber while her comrades entered abreast.
Their caution was not unwarranted. As the enchanted stone clattered across the floor it came to rest at the foot a hideous spectacle. The manor’s assailants, after their conquest, had emptied the tombs of every Lansing descendant interred there. Ornate tombs lay shattered and broken, their contents ransacked. They had then taken these remains and tied them together in a towering totem of bone and flesh. Below this gruesome display the horde had lit a pyre in worship of Baphomet; burnt offerings of flesh, blood, and gold for his aid in their victory were piled around the blackened corpse of the manor’s last defender. He had been left alive until this moment; the family blade which the party sought had been driven through his heart as the fire was lit. Isael especially was aghast; such depravity was rare even for the goblin tribes of the Five Peaks, it did not bode well for whatever wicked thing led them down from the mountains.
A rasping hiss snapped the party out of their shocked silence. Three emaciated forms detached from the totem and dropped to the floor. Ghouls, trapped within the crypt and forced to feed upon already dead flesh, had finally been delivered a fresh meal. They bared their teeth and snarled, and a scant second of tension passed before their ravenous hunger propelled them into long strides across the stone floor. The party had not been caught completely by surprise; the malign traps leading to the crypt had prepared them for such an ambush. The first two of the ghouls leapt against Hamnarabi and Isael’s shields, their claws and gnashing teeth glancing off to little effect. A’Sharad’s blade sang through the air and bit deep into the shoulder of the third, but the vile creature pulled itself free. The monk’s honed reflexes were all that saved him from its serpentine blows. The following seconds drew out agonizingly as the part desperately sought to slay their foes, and the tide began to turn against them.
Hamnarabi, struggling to reach the blade he had been sent to recover, had tried to push his way past his opponent to reach it. His plan, prior to now, had been to have Eliza use her magic to pull the blade across the floor and into his reach. And while the mage had been able to snare the blade and drag it free, she had been unable to bring it within his reach. A he tried to shove the beast away it crawled atop his shield and sunk its teeth deeply into his shoulder. A frigid poison set into his muscles, and despite his valor he was brought to his knees as it leeched into his body. Isael again called upon Cuiracéan, but his lord could not hear his plea from within the dark confines of the crypt. He was set upon viciously; and while he avoided the poisoned fangs of his nemesis, its lashing talons found the hole in his helm and gouged deeply into his eye. A’Sharad fared better, bringing the first of the three creatures low with a powerful slash. Eliza, exhausting the last reserves of her mystical energy, unleashed a bolt of energy which seared the ghoul atop Hamnarabi to the bone.
A’Sharad hurried to the stricken knight’s aid, dropping his sword and focusing his internal powers into a targeted nerve strike which seized the ghoul’s muscles and sent it toppling to the floor. Eliza, her powers spent, brought her staff down relentlessly in a desperate effort to buy Isael and A’Sharad time. Isael, furious from pain, lunged forward and drove the point of his blade deeply into the second ghoul’s chest, it clawed futilely at his armor for purchase even as it finally collapsed into the cold arms of death. He and A’Sharad made short work of the last beast, refusing to give it time to regain its senses and renew its assault. Isael collapsed to his knees and clutched his face, struggling to determine if the beast had torn his eye free, or if he could not see due to the blood which flowed freely down his face. Eliza ran to her brother, holding him upright until the poison of the ghoul’s bite had finally dissipated. Though grievously injured, they had prevailed.
PART VI: TAINTED STEEL
Once their wounds had been bandaged, the solemn task to dismantling the grisly totem began. It was a risk to stay within the confines of the crypt, but the solemn vows of honor which bound Isael and Hamnarabi would not allow them to leave such a desecration in place. While they worked to undo the evil shrine, Eliza and A’Sharad investigated the room for evidence of what thing might have been capable of such perversions. Evidence was scant, though they were able to find a finely wrought spearhead and blackened map within the sacrificial brazier, along with a paltry amount of blackened coin. Isael presided over a cleansing ceremony, sanctifying the remains once again in the hopes that the dead might rest in peace on more. While he could never completely undo the dishonor inflicted upon this place, he could shatter Baphomet’s hold and keep the dark god from working more evil within the walls of the manor. Hamnarabi, at long last, clutched the blade he had been sent across the world to secure. With it firmly clasped to his belt, the party clambered up from the shadows and back into the first floor of the manor.
It was immediately clear that the destruction of the totem had begun to have effects. Sunlight shone through cracked walls, the strange fog had lifted, and a cool breeze from the mountains had finally begun to sweep the stench of death from the shattered cobblestones. Though they strongly considered leaving immediately, Isael could not walk away from the sealed front hall. They had initially bypassed it in order to focus on obtaining the blade; but if any undead were left within their curse would surely undo his cleansing rituals. They broke the chain and cast wide the doors, and their hearts dropped. Due to the destruction of the dark shrine the remains within the room would pose no threat to them, but that did little to relieve their sense of disgust at what they found. A large pile of scorched bone sat in the center of the front hall, the remains of all the other survivors of the goblin attack. They had been bound and sealed within this room, perishing horribly when the manor was set ablaze. Any sense of pride at their victory was gone, and with dark spirits the adventurers departed the ancestral home of the Lansing’s.
The two day journey back to Newcayne was solemn. Saiya had briefly inquired about the events within the manor’s walls, but was left with few answers. Eliza was preoccupied with her brother, wondering if the ghoul’s poison had lingered beyond the shadows of the crypt. Hamnarabi had become sullen and withdrawn, clutching the Lansing sword in his sleep and murmuring beneath his breath. Isael’s wound had become inflamed, and though his eye remained intact the veil of blood which had blinded it seemed as if it would never lift. He had been trained to battle such evils, but the stark difference between reality and training had been driven home painfully. It had been a humbling lesson in the true nature of his enemy’s for a proud warrior and faithful cleric. A’Sharad did his best to keep his new friend’s spirits aloft, but spent the majority of their return beside Saiya. While it may never be reciprocated, a deep fondness for the half-elf had grown in him during their brief time together. Sadly, at the edge of the clearing before Newcayne she bid them farewell. Her purpose in Lindholme had been fulfilled, and her debt to the party paid. With a final kiss upon A’Sharad’s cheek she vanished back into the woods to begin the long journey back to her home.
As they exhausted group made their way through Newcayne towards the fort a small entourage seemed to gather in their wake. Astonished voices called to them for news of the manor, others lauded them for daring to venture into a place from which no others had yet returned. Ghant greeted them upon the road through the center of town, but knew with a glance at their wounded bodies and haunted eyes that congratulations were best kept for another day. In silence they entered the fort, and at the command of Lady Kiya were brought directly to Aemon Lansing’s chambers. At the foot of the ailing lord’s bed, she inquired about their quest. Though reluctant, they spared no details. Sorrow weighed her voice as she thanked them for retrieving the blade and for purging her former home of the curse which had been laid upon it. A whisper from the curtained bed brought her ear down to her husband’s cracked lips, and she turned back to Hamnarabi and asked for the blade. Aemon wished to hold it again, for one last time.
A strange sensation of repugnance swept through the Khinasi noble, and his hand unconsciously gripped the hilt of the treasured blade tightly. Why should he deliver it to this feeble man? It was promised to the Crown Prince of Ariya, and Hamnarabi had almost died retrieving it because Aemon had failed to protect it from capture in the first place. He did not deserve the blade, none of them did. Kiya, aghast, demanded that he explain himself. His companions implored him to hand over the blade, wondering at the strange curtain that had fallen over their friend’s eyes. His only response was to draw the blade and back himself against a wall. No one would separate him from his prize; he had earned it in the crypt. It was his now. Guards drew weapons, placing themselves between the bed and fevered knight. Violence seemed inevitable, swift action was needed. A’Sharad closed from the knight’s flank; and while he was loath to use his skills against an ally, he knew that it was necessary to avoid bloodshed. He slammed his open palm stiffly into Hamnarabi’s flank, and waves of kinetic energy crashed within him like waves against a cliff. With his muscles paralyzed, he collapsed to the floor still clutching the blade. A stiff kick from the monk sent the blade spinning across the floor as two guards leapt atop the knight. Isael shouted for no one to touch it, realizing that some taint of black magic must still cling to it after its use in dark rituals.
Hamnarabi struggled violently against the guards atop him; it was not until a thin wail pierced the air that the curse’s hold on him was broken. All the heads in the room turned towards the source of this cry to find Kiya collapsed on the floor, clutching Aemon’s cold hand. The strain of witnessing the struggle over his family sword had been too much, and the young lord’s heart had finally stilled. Those assembled watched in mournful silence as Kiya placed her husband’s hand back upon his breast, and bid farewell to her husband with a single kiss upon his pale forehead. Though tears stained her veil, the look within her eyes was determined as she looked back upon her cousin. Hamnarabi stammered an apology, guilt and shame at his actions washing over him. Kiya came to him, and helped him to his feet with gentle hands. She understood that he had not been himself, but her sorrow was too deep for her to forgive him yet. She ordered Ghant to remove those assembled from the room, and to seal the Lansing sword within an iron chest. There were many tasks still before them, between the goblin threat and the curse upon the blade, but they would have to wait. For now, they had a lord to bury and wounds to heal.