A History Through Blood

Victoria slowly climbed down into the gaping pit, the holy energy emanating from the vessel still managing to affect her through the thick leather cape she had secured it in. This constant pressure on her already strained body slowed her down considerably, preventing the use of her familiars to help fulfil her task and leaving her vulnerable. It was unfortunate that her innate resistance to the smoke, due to her already dark soul, made her the ideal candidate for this role. Arthur, given a few years of spiritual training, had the potential to create a divine aura capable of dispelling the corrupting mist. Given the lack of available options in the brief time allotted to them, the pivotal task had fallen to her.

Sensing the presence of holy energy the dark god's form writhed uncontrollably, although unable to move from the bony pedestal. Quickly Victoria, hands wrapped in thick leather, produced the wooden seal, and began to trap the spirit within the blessed walls. Its futile attempts of desperate defiance were ineffective, lacking the sufficient force to repel the holy energies. Soon the box was closed shut, sending the last of the thinning fumes into the cold night sky. It took all her remaining energy she had to wrap the box with the blessed ribbon, before collapsing to her knees.

With no supernatural force sustaining the ancient skeleton, the once mighty bones crumbled into dust. Victoria could only lie on the ground and be submerged by the sudden wave of dirt from all sides, lightly burying her where she fell. Luckily, the ancient bone which once supported the pedestal was relatively thin, only dropping her a foot or so onto the bedrock. While lying prone on the ground Victoria reflected on the situation.

Had she had grander ambitions, her actions would have focused on securing the soul, either to siphon the potential power to herself or attempt to sell the husk to various disreputable entities. This path of greed would only garner enemies or tie her existence to others in numerous ways, so had been quickly disregarded. Initially she had planned to leave the mining town under the cover of darkness, having noticed the change in the magical ambience earlier than most. However, the swift reaction by the Farima had inadvertently tied her to the incident. Thankfully, she could use her contributions to avoid long term consequences in the region and improve her standing with the angels, while maintaining and asserting her neutrality.

-

The sounds of rubble collapsing permeated around the mine, sending panic across the surrounding encampments. Farima Bello, who had been watching what little progress he could observe from the entrance of their spiritually fortified tent, made the call to rescue the adze from the rubble. The corrupting smoke had already begun to dissipate, as the summoned rain had already begun to wash out any lingering effects.

“Retrieve the foreign woman and the box!” Bello ordered, his voice overpowering the ever-growing torrent of rain. “Anyone caught messing with the Imam's container will be killed for dishonoring the Mansa!” His orders were absolute. Various soldiers practically jumped down the muddy slopes, some dragging ropes, to carry out his orders. Only his inner circle knew of the woman's true contributions, but his loyal Farai nevertheless carried out his will.

It did not take long for his men to return, carrying the unconscious adze over their shoulder and carrying the ornate box with-in a thick hide coat. A quick appraisal of the foreigner showed that she had reached her physical limits, both from exposure to holy magic and constantly working since noon. “Take the foreigner to the overseer's tent and bring one or more of her mercenaries. They can look after her.” The soldiers, seeking refuge from the rain, quickly left for any cover from the sudden downpour. “Give me the box and have everyone else stand down, keep a few people to monitor the injured as a precaution.”

Upon entering the purified tent, the Imams and priests all rushed to meet him and verify that their creation worked. The swift intervention of his personal guard pushed back the excited holy men, giving himself room to breathe. Once the initial ruckus had died down, Bello placed the box onto a central table. Now free from the obscuring rain, he could properly see the sacred vessel. The Adze had done a reasonable job securing the box, given her physical limitations. While a few loops of ribbon were loose, it was tight enough to contain the black spirit.

“Listen up,” Bello commanded, bringing sole focus onto himself. “It has been a long day, so I want to confirm the integrity of seal and then transfer it to the mosque for storage. Everyone is exhausted dealing with the creature's corruption, so we will then decide on what is to be done with it tomorrow.” While there was some hesitancy, many of the civilians present were also at their limits and were content to address it later. There would certainly be some heated discussion tomorrow, from offering the soul to ancestral spirits for their protection or bestowing it onto Allah to destroy. The foreign priest's words would be considered, but unlikely sway the consensus to returning to their homeland with the deity to seal away.

After careful examination it was determined that no dark energies were currently able to escape the box and that their containment required only minor adjustments to remain secure. The looseness of the binding fabric raised some concerns for the attending figures, leading them to re-tie the mostly string binding. With some minor debate, it was decided that the youngest imam and one of the foreign priests would re-bind the box. The apprentice Imam slowly unwound the anointed ribbon, while the other priest forcefully held the box lid in place. Unfortunately, the end of the ribbon was in a place that was difficult to reach, underneath one of the priest's hands.

The delay in communication due to the language barrier resulted in Randi briefly mishandling the box, the shift in fingers breaking the tight hold that kept the container firmly shut. That one fumble loosened the lid just enough to open for the briefest of moments. That one second was enough to send two black tendrils towards the two holy men, targeting their exposed nostrils when given the slightest chance.

While Bello was quick to dive towards the box, sealing it shut while his guard, violently wrapping the thread around the container, it was not enough to spare the two from the cursed god's influence. Each began screaming in their own tongue, flailing around the room, and knocking over the astonished bystanders. The Imam was swiftly subdued, pinned to the floor while his colleagues chanted Du'as to purge the demonic influence. Randi was not so lucky, having escaped the panicked arms of his colleagues and running straight into the nearby forest. Their more muscular clergy, who had been talked down from venturing into the pit on multiple occasions, communicated via the translator that he would retrieve the possessed priest. Bello just sighed and consented to the chase. The Farima held the now secured box, a scowl forming on his face. This error could have easily been avoided. His brief lapse in attention had cost a potential ally a valuable resource, possibly souring their potentially fruitful relationship.

-

The visions of demonic fiends filled Randi's vision, his brief lack of attentiveness unleashing the once contained evil onto the world. Did he die and go to hell for his lapse in focus? Or did he simply get captured by the mob of gruesome beasts? Surrounding him were looming shadowy and twisted figures, speaking in daemonic tongues he did not wish to comprehend. All he could do was run away into the searing hellfire raining down from the infernal red skies, screaming scripture in a desperate attempt to repel his pursuers.

He managed to find cover, running into a deep cave filled with giant stone growths. Weaving between the red monoliths, trying to put as much distance between himself and the demons. The ever-constant hellfire still managing to burn his skin raw with-in the deep tunnel he found himself in. From the distance he heard a distorted voice calling out his name, which only sounded closer with each passing second. Rounding one noticeably large stalagmite he tripped over something he could not see, only to feel two thick blades stab into his back. The visions of damnation soon faded in light of the newfound pain, revealing only a dense jungle and a large spider dragging him down to its lair.

-

When Arthur caught up with Randi, it was too late. The smoke's madness had driven him into the fangs of an oversized brown spider. Drawing his sword, Arthur charged at the arachnid to avenge his fallen Brother in Christ. Under the constant downpour of rain, he charged forward and back to exhaust the behemoth. Each strike from the arm-sized fangs was either barely blocked or hastily dodged and swiftly countered with a slash from his broadsword. Each movement turned up the increasingly unstable and soggy mud, making his already taxing movements more erratic.

Eventually the spider collapsed from fluid loss from countless cuts to its forelimbs, lying prone and twitching. Arthur carefully stabbed the creature's body from a safe vantage point, away from its formidable fangs, sending spasms from its mangled limbs. He repeated his thrusts, each one producing a more muted reaction than the last until he was satisfied with the arachnid’s demise. The mighty beast now lay dead on the forest floor, its sticky juices melding with the pools of water forming from the torrential rain.

Arthur bowed his head, offering a prayer over Randi's now still corpse. “By the sweat of your brow, you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return.**” Arthur carefully placed the limp body on top of this prize, before dragging both back to the town for burial. Hopefully, the noble knight would let him keep one of the fangs as proof of his strength, before destroying the rest.