Mark of the Fool

Luthering was on fire. Thameish blood flowed between burning buildings as monsters stalked fromstructure to structure, feasting on soldiers caught by claws, flames, and fangs, preventing their escape.

“How did it come to this…” Sir Sean Swift whispered.

The battle had started without warning.

The evening had been like any other, at first.

Soldiers were in the chapel, receiving blessings and hearing benedictions from their priests. Supper was being cooked in vast cook pots, and the knight had been considering tapping a cask of ale to fill the bellies of his warriors.

But, all of that was suddenly forgotten, the peace had shattered quickly.

From deep within Greymoor, an explosion had ended the calm: one so loud that he’d thought it was thunder at first. But, soon after that, another boom had followed, confirming that it was not the weather threatening the outpost, but something else. He had quickly donned his armour and was commanding his troops to be ready for trouble when the beasts had poured from the forest.

Hundreds of chitterers and venom-walkers.

Then thousands.

They came on like a carpet of death, bursting out of the trees.

The alarm had gone up, but things had turned bad very quickly.

Never had the knight seen so many Ravener-spawn at once—let alone fought so many—and though his soldiers and priests had made a desperate effort to hold their home, their dead began to quickly pile up.

Not long after the attack had begun, mightier Ravener-spawn had appeared.

Gibbering legions and the monstrous poison-spirits, the latter were the leaders of the venom-walkers: glowing, ghostly creatures of a jelly-like texture with writhing, barbed tentacles dragging beneath them. With such powerful creatures among them, it didn’t take the spawn long to overrun all of Luthering.

The fire had started in a building—how, exactly, Sir Sean did not know—and the chitterers wasted no time in grabbing burning debris and hurling it into the other buildings.

Flame soon consumed the village as his soldiers were pushed further and further into the town square.

Now the few survivors were making a final stand, desperate to hold out as long as they could.

They knew their deaths were near.

All Sir Sean could do now was try to ensure that they met proper deaths.

“Steady on! Steady on!” he raised his sword, chopping through the neck of a chitterer, even as he fended off a venom-walker’s spiny arms with his shield. “I won’t have any of us embarrassed when we get to the after-world! Give ‘em everything you’ve got!”

His warriors roared, thrusting spears and blades into the oncoming horde. Chitterers cried out as steel spitted their chests, but their hatred fuelled them. Even dying monsters spent their last moments trying to pull their mortal opponents down with them.

“Sir Sean!” a priest cried. “In Uldar’s name, we should flee! Order a retreat!”

“To where?” the knight snapped, crushing a venom walker’s head with a shield-punch. “All around us are Ravener-spawn, there’s nowhere to go! The horses are dead, we’re surrounded on all sides! We’d be cut to pieces, even if we could break through this horde! All we can do is stand, fight, and die! The only retreat for us is death! But we will make it such a death, and one of our own choosing!”

A roar rose up from the fighters, and they fought on…though Sir Sean could see the growing fatigue in them.

All around, buildings were collapsing.

Beyond the flames, Sean could hear the screams of dying Thameish warriors as stragglers were hunted down by gibbering legions and the poison-spirits.

An enormous monster emerged, floating above the burning, skeletal remnants of the church, watching the clot of survivors struggling in the square.

“Poison spirit!” a soldier cried. “It's coming this way!”

The glowing monster—strangely beautiful in the night—floated down from above the church, its tentacles dragging along the ground. Ravener-spawn parted before it.

“Attack!” Sean cried. “Arrows, bolts and miracles into the thing! Don’t let it get close!”

Acknowledging the command, crossbow and bow-wielding archers launched missiles into the creature…doing little harm to the jelly-like body. Priestly miracles burned its flesh with divinity, and the monster flinched, but did not slow.

If anything, the miracles seemed to spur it to move faster.

It raised its tentacles, avoiding harming the other spawn…then lashed out. Glowing tendrils struck mortals with great force, denting armour and breaking bones. Everywhere the barbed appendages touched, skin became swollen and inflamed. Magical venoms coursed through mortal bodies as victims died horrible deaths, eyes shrivelling, mouths, ears, and nostrils oozing bloody foam. Sir Sean cursed.

That creature was not how the knight wished to die.

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But the choice was no longer his to make.

The monster was now rapidlyfloatingtoward him, reaching out with its glowing tendrils.

He raised both his blade and shield. “It was an honour!” he shouted to his troops. “For Uldar! For the Traveller! For the Heroes! For Thamelaaaaand!”

The brave knight took a step toward the monster.

And beams of utter darkness struck the creature from above. The floating Ravener-spawn let out a gurgling scream and withered, its natural glow dimming.

“What in the name of—” Sean cried, looking up.

Above, a squadron of Watchers hovered, unloading spell after spell on the attackers. Ravener-spawn burned up in fireballs, spasmed as lightning took them, or froze them like statues.

The warrior-wizards quickly changed the course of the battle for the remaining soldiers.

“Sir Sean?” one—a tall, broad-shouldered young man—flew down to him. “I am Watcher Roland. We need to get your people out of here.”

The knight’s jaw fell open. “Oh thank the Traveller and Uldar! I agree that we need to get my people out of here!”

“Of course,” the Watcher said, looking at the survivors. “We have wizards here to teleport you away! Everyone! Gather around! We’re here to help!”

“Thank Uldar! Thank the Traveller!” cries of relief rose from the soldiers.

The Watchers landed, speaking words of power.

Walls of fracking flame rose up around the survivors, shielding them from the Ravener-spawn.

A pair of older wizards approached the survivors. “Unfortunately, we cannot take all of you at once. We can bring ten at a time. So let’s get the wounded taken away first!”

Sean looked around, doing a quick count. There were a little more than twenty survivors left.

…a mere fraction of his full force.

He shook off the horror gnawing at his gut. “Everyone who’s able, get the wounded to the wizards!”

Several priests brought the wounded forth, using healing miracles to balm their wounds. Ravener-spawn tried pushing through the fire wall, simply burning for their trouble.

The older wizards touched the wounded, teleporting them away with a few quick syllables.

“Hurry now,” Roland urged. “The teleporters will be back without delay, they’ve seen the urgency we—Oh. That can’t be good!”

The young Watcher was pointing over Sean’s shoulder.

The knight turned.

“Oh…by the Traveller…” he gasped.

Floating above the forest was a living nightmare.

A massive orb of black tissue, covered in eyes and snapping mouths suspended on long stalks, being borne by four burning wings.

Never had he seen such a thing.

Never had he even heard of such a thing.

Before he could utter a single word, the creature released a gibbering shriek.

The sound tore into the knight’s mind, overwhelming his senses. A mind-rending terror drove him to his knees as every one of his senses were overwhelmed. Ghastly shapes surged toward him in a vision. His ears rang with ghostly cackling and the wet sounds of ripping flesh. His mouth was filled with the taste of rotting blood, bile and fetid flesh. He felt as though a mass of insects were burrowing under his skin.

Sean screamed, clawing at his face.

He screamed until he was hoarse.

Through the ghastly illusions, he could see soldiers lying on the ground, clawing at their eyes, their faces…some had drawn their daggers and were trying to dig into their own eardrums, wanting to make the terrible gibbering stop.

The priests and Watchers fared somewhat better, remaining on their feet even as they clawed at their skin. Some finally dropped after a few heartbeats, but others remained standing, trying to call on miracles or chant incantations through bleeding lips.

It was a true testament to the mighty will of mortals.

The monstrous orb cared not at all.

It rippled and immense stone spikes shot from its surface, puncturing survivors, impaling them, and driving deep into the earth.

A spike flew past Sir Sean, barely missing Watcher Roland.

But, the knight suddenly felt something change.

Along the left side of his body, the sensation of worms crawling over his skin had lessened.

How? What had happened.

He checked his shield arm, the limb was mostly gone, all that remained was a bloody stump; the stone spear had torn the limb away.

Sean was screaming when two things happened at the same time.

First, one of the teleporting wizards appeared beside him. The robed man’s eyes were staring as his teeth clenched, he seemed to be fighting the scream gripping their minds.

Magic suddenly washed over Sir Sean and Watcher Roland beside him.

While at the same time, the stone spear detonated.

Burning pain ripped through the knight, until he felt no more pain. He was then travelling through a tunnel of lights and colours until he appeared in the courtyard of the Castle in Greymoor.

Beneath the light of the aeld tree, his scream ripped from his throat.

He looked down in horror.

As they’d teleported away, he’d been struck by part of the blast.

His right leg was blackened bone beneath the knee, and his sword-arm was smouldering.

“Medic!” someone cried. “We need medical attention!”

“Traveller…Uldar…Heroes…save us…” Sir Sean whispered before darkness took him.

###

That was when the first explosion sounded in the distance.

Then another.

And another.

Alex whirled.

‘Claygon?’ the young archwizard thought over the link with his golem. ‘Are you alright?’

Far in the distance, he could make out the flash of explosions.

Multiple large explosions.

The fighting had intensified.

‘Claygon?’ he called again.

‘We are…alright father! There are…new Ravener-spawn here!’ the golem thought back over their link. ‘They…attack minds…and make more spawn…like living dungeon cores…! They look like…regular dungeon cores…but the Ravener-spawn physically throw them…and they…transform…’

Alex swore. “I’m on my way ba—”

‘No…father!’ the golem thought, waves of certainty pouring through their link. ‘Focus…on finding the Ravener…we are alright…we will be alright! Our friends… their wills are…strong! And my mind…is fine! Go…and keep looking…but watch out for the orbs of eyes…with fiery wings! They…make petrifiers and other…spawn!’

Alex remembered the orbs from his vision of the culling: they gibbered and shot spikes of stone that exploded into fire and gases, but he did not remember seeing them make more Ravener-spawn.

Claygon was right: they did sound like living dungeon cores.

Alex’s eyes scanned the area around him.

It was still quiet. Much too quiet.

He gripped the aeld staff tightly, it gave off waves of worry and anxious attempts to comfort him. “How much longer is the path?” Alex asked the summoned astral engeli.

“I cannot feel the end of it yet,” she said. “It might be some time before we reach the end.”

The General cursed inwardly.

Part of him wanted to simply teleport along the path with her, but he couldn’t risk missing something on the way. Aenflynn had covered the trail with an illusion once, and the last thing Alex needed was to teleport ahead, stumble onto some mirage, and be led off the path, or worse.

Another part of him wanted to teleport back to his friends…but this situation wouldn’t end until the Ravener was dead.

Steeling his resolve, he kept flying forward, watching the engeli as she led them down the trail. He acknowledged his impatience, letting the emotion pass over him. Other astral engeli, celestial rocs and elder air elementals flew with them.

‘There’s a chance that this is a trap,’ he thought. ‘If the others are being attacked by new Ravener-spawn, then there’s a possibility that the monsters are waiting for me to get closer to their home, to then ambush—’

Even as he thought the word ‘ambush’, the ground far below exploded.

Titanic creatures emerged, reaching for the General of Thameland.

“There you are,” Alex growled, pointing his sword-staff down at them. “You’re about to be nothing but a waste of energy for your master.”