“Jesus… take a gander outside, everyone. It looks like we’re gettin’ close.”
Marco frowned, standing near the window. It was mid-afternoon the day after Lucius’s tea party with Sir Ruggiero. The Hippogriff Express had sailed smoothly through the empire’s lands, but at a certain point, the scenery began to change. There were no luscious meadows, no fields of golden wheat or crop. Instead, the air around them filled with a musky fog, dense, as the soil below devolved into a barren, hostile grey.
Even the light seemed to wither here, purple skies replaced by a swamp of sickly green.
Harper poked her head out and winced at the sight. “If this ain’t a bad omen, I don’t know what is. Can’t see a speck of life down there.”
No cities, no towns, not even a farm.
This was not a place the living should tread.
Mili pushed her way through and leered off into the distance. “Hold on… I think I see something.”
There, gradually coming into view, was a pitch-black fortress that reached up all the way to the heavens. It towered above the land like an ominous spire, forming a long stretch of wall that continued on far out of view. It was very much different from the glittering castle of before: from the dilapidated ramparts, to the watchtowers veiled in shadow, and even the dull stones that made up the base—everything was drenched in a miserable aura of death.
It was at the center of this sordid bastion that the train made its final descent. A horn rang to signify its arrival, and soon, players hesitantly stepped out of their dwelling and shuffled outside.
Ruggiero awaited them with a grim demeanor.
“We have arrived,” he said, carefully studying the crowd to make sure they were still of sound mind. “Remember what I have said before: Do not, under any circumstance, wander away from where you are allowed.”
A group of paladins emerged from the gate. They donned the same armor as those in the capital, wielded the same weapons, but their gaze was different—twitchy and on edge. The warriors looked ready to maul a man at the slightest provocation.
Fortunately, they were kept in line by someone who appeared to be their commander: a great hulking mountain of lard and muscle. Unlike the refined, tempered discipline of those like Ruggiero and Roland, this fellow hid not the wild fury rampant in his brawny limbs, in his unruly white beard that dangled to his waist. He was a juggernaut of a man—aged, intimidating, hardened by battle.
Even his voice boomed with a deep gravitas as he greeted Ruggiero, lumbering over and placing a massive hand on his shoulder.
“Ooh…” the giant heaved. “You are the Winged Terror of the Skies. I remember many a campaign ruined by your bombardment.”
“That was a lifetime ago, Sir Ogier. Now I am a Peer - the same as you.”
Ogier uttered a low, gleeful rumble. “Indeed, we live in amusing times. Old enemies turned ally. New foes that surge without end. For the clergy to cease your twenty-year long confinement… those fools must be quite desperate to bring results this time.”
Ruggiero winced at his words. “I was not confined. They merely deemed me of greater use whilst serving the castle.”If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“So you tell yourself.” The giant trudged over back to his fellow guards, and then looked out toward the players. “No matter. I have no grudge with you, warrior of the Moors. All I seek is to determine whether the ones you bring may be of use.”
He leaned in, rubbing his beard. Apparently the man didn’t like what he saw.
“I was promised heroes of God.”
“Then you have been promised correctly. These are the chosen summoned to our realm not long ago.”
The giant slapped his belly and bellowed out a great, mighty guffaw. “Then the Lord has abandoned us. These newborn whelps—our saviors? I do not take kindly to jests.”
“They are more competent than they appear. Worry not over their capability; that is not the purpose of this visit. We are here to observe and nothing else.”
“Mm. So our suffering is now meant to provide a show. How much further does the Order intend to mock me?”
Ogier’s face quickly reddened with a rush of blood. He gripped onto his weapon, a jagged short sword, with such force that his veins bulged like thick strands of steel.
But just as quickly as his anger came, it soon deflated until all that was left was a tired, worn-down old man.
“Very well, witness as you please. Let the sights here burn into your memory—the endless plight of those the empire have long forsaken.”
Ogier turned around and disappeared into the fortress. A few paladins stayed behind to direct the new arrivals to their new lodging, and though they acted cordial enough, it was all but obvious that the players were not welcome
“... Yeesh, did you see that dude?” Mili said, wiping her forehead of sweat. “I felt like I was gonna pass out just lookin’ at him. He’s even beefier than you, Marco!”
The old mobster agreed, clutching at his tie and exhaling in slow, steady breaths. “That’s a man ya don’t ever want to mess with.”
Harper shivered, but rather than fear, it was out of pity. “He reminds me of an old boss I had at the station. The man was a great chief, but one day he lost all of his boys after a bad call. The building exploded and he crawled out—alone. Never did go back to his old self, after that. It’s the veterans that have the darkest eyes.”
Indeed, Lucius noticed something ugly festering in the bearded giant. The gentleman probably wouldn’t even need to do much pruning to draw it out.
A few minutes later, the party was led into a tight section of the fortress hidden away from the other, more busy, departments. The rooms here were actually worse than the Hippogriff’s. Everything was cramped together into a claustrophobic pile of metal and old, raggedy sheets.
No windows. A low roof. Barely any light. The stuffiness would kill his fellows first before the demons ever could.
Lucius had his work cut out for him.
“A moment, please,” he said, busting out supplies. He’d need every tool available if this place was to become somewhat hospitable.
A sweep-sweep here, a pat down here, and voila: it was finished. The quarters now resembled a five-star hotel suite. Kind of. There was little he could do about the slabs of stone that were supposed to serve as their beds.
Before the party could partake in a little rest, however, a loud clamor soon rang through the corridors.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Mili groaned, pulling on her face. “They’re not even giving us enough time to settle down?”
So she said, but the musician quickly tensed up. This noise didn’t sound like a simple summon. No, there were shouts—orders being barked in hurry.
“What’s going on here? I only see this kinda action when there’s a fire,” Harper said.
The party quickly ran outside, where they saw swarms of paladins darting by in orderly, practiced marches—as if this was a routine they had repeated many, many, many times. They climbed the towers, gathered atop the walls, and armed themselves before heading toward the western-most side.
Ruggiero soon appeared before them, unease etched onto his expression.
“Good, you are already here,” he said, glancing at the mayhem unfolding about. “Inform whatever fellows you can find: Make for the battlements at once. We mustn’t lag behind.”
“Whatever is the matter, Sir Ruggiero?” Lucius asked. “This is all quite sudden.”
The man was already far ahead by the time Lucius finished. Ruggiero unsheathed his weapons, a large crystal greatsword and a buckler shield, before barreling forth with a snarl. “The demons have launched an attack. We are at war!”