I stood in silence before the one whose blood had turned me from the light of day. "It was you," I said at last. "Ah, that makes sense." Amarax echoed in my mind. "Does it?" "It makes sense of some things." "Why did you do this?" I demanded of the prince. "Does it matter?" "Yes!" "Why was I turned? Why was Merinth? We are all but pieces on the board." "But we have will of our own." "What is the will of the dead next to the will of gods?" "A mere servant, then?
That is what you claim to be?" "At the moment." "I, for one, would be glad to continue serving, which necessitates an escort to the capital." "Yes, such a diligent servant." The prince flicked his wrist dismissively and began climbing the slope of the crater. "I am no servant of Deadaus" I said, striding after him. "No? Why would you call someone delivering a gift they helped to make?" "Gift? I don't even know what this thing is.
I am a victim of fate," I said, nodding towards the maw tucked under my arm. The prince's laughter resonated with the echoes of Amarax in my mind. "I did not choose this! My purpose was to destroy Dead House!" "And you failed in that purpose. But rather than accept the failure, rather than accept your death, you chose my blood." "And who would choose to accept death? That is no choice at all."
"I have witnessed countless mortals destroy themselves over the millennia so that they could not be reanimated." "I had to avenge Thacea. I could not allow its fall to go unanswered." "Thacea was destined to fall, as was Ustilia. Your pride means nothing next to prophecy." "Pride? Ugh, I so tire of the sanctimonious judgment of the dead, always accusing me of self-serving. I owe my life to the Thacean Empire. I don't expect any of you to remember what honor means, if you ever knew it all."
"And if you were to aid in the destruction of the awakened, if you were to avenge that pitiful kingdom you dare call an empire, what then?" "When we have destroyed the Awakened, our alliance will be done." "Oh, what happened to your vendetta against Deadhaus?" "I have no love of your monstrous house, Liche, but I have come to see that you were not responsible for the fall of Thacea." "That took longer than I thought." "You are still a cabal of evil whose stain should be cleansed from Malorum."
"Of course." We continued on in silence as my thoughts reeled with the prince's story. Pieces on the board... Was that all we really were? But there was something in his tone, something hidden behind those eyes that reflected times gone by. Eyes like mine. Eventually, it occurred to me that we were walking at a mortal's pace. "I can go much swifter than this. I know you can too." "That would be very disorienting for the Liche." "And?" "There's no need to be cruel, Alaric."
"No need to be… from the literal monster!" "He is by far my most unpleasant phylactery." "Unbelievable. Why not go as a dragon then? I could sit atop your back. Surely our mighty arc-liche could handle travelling through the air." "That form is still reconstituting." "How so?" "The angel blasted it apart. It will be some time before I may take it again." "If we are destroyed in one form, we must take others?" "It depends how the form we take is destroyed.
In most cases we may simply return to Mist, and then from Mist reform ourselves anew. But the power of El'Sabayoth can disrupt this. Beware the gold." We continued our march in silence. Neither the Fetid Prince nor I made any sound as we moved, whether over grass or stone or leaf litter. I should mention as well that my blood felt a strange stirring near the prince, a kind of familiarity.
I had not recorded this before in my haste to recall so many details, but I now know the source of this sensation. "So we're going to bring this thing to N'Gaztak and hope he gives us a pardon?" "Precisely." "Is there anything else I should know? What is this Nagaztak even like?" "He is not so different than other revenants." "That doesn't bode well," I said, remembering my previous encounters. "Certainly more prone to speeches." "Ah, yes, and poetry."
"Oh?" "He is one of the strongest revenants aligned with Deadhaus, and a highly competent battlefield commander with many great victories to his name. But I sometimes suspect he wishes to be remembered more for his poetry than anything else." We came at last upon the crest of a hill, and there we saw something that would have chilled my blood in life. In death I felt no physical sensation, but the weight of history bore down upon me, the weight of corruption.
The air here was sick with odorous yellow fog, and within it I saw the looming outline of a lost city. What once rose as mighty walls of rounded mirror were now blackened ramparts that stood in utter silence. One was a silver gleam that once reflected invading armies in all their futility, replaced by jagged corrosion and iridescent streaks among the black. So too did the once-proud towers now rise as blackened spires, pitted and visited by decay. "I saw this city as it was before.
The things you have taken from the world cannot be forgiven." "Well, we could hardly occupy it if we left it silver." "And this vapor... Sulphur?" "Indeed." We passed into the sulphurous fog. I was reminded then again that I no longer breathed by reflex. I recall forcing myself to breathe for some time after I had been turned, finding the sensation of breathlessness unnerving. But I must have stopped somewhere along the way. I don't remember when.
The scent of blood comes to me whether I breathe or not, another reminder that none of my senses are driven by physiology, but rather the supernatural. In life, the sulphur cloud would have stung my eyes and choked my lungs. In death, I passed through it effortlessly. We arrived at the blackened ramparts, and they slid apart as if by their own power, grinding loudly as the great slabs of corroded silver slid against each other. "They are to enter this city unharmed."
The shadows of the rampart sighed in answer, a fragmented sound I had heard before. The race had been among us, watching in silence. I turned back to face the prince. "How did you--?" But he was gone. "Best we move on, Alaric." He guided me from the depths of my mind, telling me which turns to take. The city interior was not unlike its ramparts. All that was once silver now stood blackened and streaked with iridescence by the sulphur's corrosion.
The roads were paved in basalt bricks, each finely cut and dressed, and laid in precise alignment. Ustilians once tread upon these roads, making commerce, visiting the Lucent Temple, marching to war, but now they belong to the dead. I saw them shambling in the yellow fog. Many were like those I had seen in Anu Maht, mouldering corpses in various states of decay. "Are these not the reanimated? What are they doing here?" "They are indeed reanimated.
A part of the Shambling Hordes is kept here for defense." "No, I mean, why are they wandering these roads?" "Irrelevant. They're mindless." I knew that would be his damn answer as soon as I'd asked the question, but still I couldn't help but wonder as I watched them aimlessly shuffling if some sort of intention still lingered in their rotted minds. So too were there other types of undead within the city, though much less common than the reanimated.
Occasionally, I saw what I was certain to be revenants. I heard them first, the great stomping of their armoured feet. It was not difficult to spot them among the reanimated, clad from head to toe in full plate armour and standing much taller than the crowd. "Are all revenants so large?" "Yes, only the mightiest warriors come back as revenants, and they tend to be rather large."
I watched as these armoured juggernauts took great care and patience with the reanimated, though they could have easily toppled the mindless dead that obstructed their path. The revenants moved around them, or sometimes rather carefully picked them up and set them back down out of the way. "Why do they take such care?" "They would owe restitution to the liche that raised these servitors if they were to damage them."
Again, I suspected that Amarax was missing something, just as he had with the shade and the wandering of the reanimated. Could the dead care for the well-being of the dead? Could a revenant care about anything? As we passed by one of the blacken spires, I saw atop it a circle of liches hovering in a seated lotus position.
In the middle of them sat a strange hookah, and they each drew deeply from its many hoses, and from the eyeless sockets in their skulls and the spaces between their teeth the sulphurous fog that shrouded the city poured out. "This is the liches doing then, This fog?" "Liches are quite useful." "You've already tarnished all the silver here. Why continue to produce sulphur?" "In case silver is brought against us." Suddenly a strange flurry of incoherent echoes reverberated in my mind.
"What was that?" "They recognized me. They were asking what I've learned recently." He mentally indicated towards the liches above. "It didn't sound like a question..." "They encrypted the message." "Liches..." As we moved on, I sometimes felt faint stirrings in my blood, which I believe was its recognitions that other vampires were nearby, but I never managed to spot them among the other dead. "Why are there no ghouls here?
Why no banshees?" "Ghouls tend to congregate in their mounds, but there are undoubtedly some of them crawling around beneath the city. As for banshees, they keep to the Pale Temples, or they roam afar on missionary work." "Missionary work...?" "Giving lost souls their last rites, guiding them to the Realm of the Dead, or occasionally meeting out justice for those that violate the ritual." We then came upon a place I vaguely recognized from a nightmare long ago.
It was once the Lucent Temple of Ustilia, a proud monument to the worship of El'Sabayoth. It was a terraced structure, open to the sky as all Lucent Temples were, so that El'Sabayoth could gaze down upon his followers. Only the brazier that held the gold was covered, surrounded by silver pillars and a great silver dome. But these now stood as pillars of black, and the blackened dome sheltered a brazier that burned with necrotic green.
I saw their banshees knelt in silent prayer before this unholy fire, and some other dead knelt with them. Some appeared to be reanimated. Two were revenants. "Now, see there! Those reanimated are praying. You can't tell me they don't have thoughts." "They're just imitating what they see. They do that sometimes." I said nothing in response, but shook my head.
As we passed on from the corrupted temple, I heard a faint echo in the back of my mind, as if many voices reverberated in a final chant, like long forgotten bells. I could sense that Amarax heard nothing, and so I kept silent. I could see now that the liche was guiding me to the imperial palace, of what once had been the imperial palace. It rose above us now as a twisted mockery of everything it once stood for, a black bastion of the dead.
As we walked a long road to its mighty gates, I saw the shadows ahead lengthen and rise. A wraith stood unmoving as we approached, and I slowed to a halt before it, a wisp frantically strained against the bars of its cage. The Fetid Prince said we were to enter this city unharmed." A preternatural cold washed through my mind with a thousand fragmented whispers, and from the cacophony certain words stabbed out. "You have entered. You will not be harmed.
You will suffer!" The voices spoke together, but in disharmony. Some were drawn and lengthened, others sharp and quick. Mentally, I turned to Amarax. "They're fragmented beings. It is difficult to know them." "We come with a gift for N'Gaztak." Again, the terrible cold swept through me like a black wind, and whispers whirled within it. "The whisp, The maw! The cage! The wife! The Cage! Themselves."
I held the maw up and presented it to the wraith, and it drifted toward me, clinking faintly with hidden chains. I knew that those chains were tipped with hooks and barbs and blades. I knew that they could each snake out and strike as if they were alive, but I also knew the wraith did not have to move through space as I did. The fact that it was meant those chains would stay hidden for the time being.
The shadowy folds of its cloak reached forward, and hands of billowing darkness passed over the maw. A queen. Deceiver! She suffers! Suffering! I was not sure if the wraith understood about the maw or its contents. "May we deliver this?" It shadowed cowl turned to me, and I felt a tinge of fear in Amarax. "Heretic! Broken Ritual! The Black Hand." All at once it flickered out of existence in a flurry of broken whispers, and we stood alone.
"The Black Hand?" "This is the title given to the Pentarch of the Shambling Hordes." "N'Gaztak?" "He lies ahead, as does our fate." And so I moved forward, passing beyond the corroded gates and into the Imperial Palace itself. No reanimated shuffled about in the great hall of the palace. It was as empty as it was silent, an eternal tomb. The liche guided me onward, until at last I came to a great hall that was once a throne room.
Upon the walkway were strewn the tattered remains of a long carpet, and as I tread upon it, I passed by pairs of revenants on either side. These were the Lucent Templar who were burned alongside Lucian Armin for their loyalty, and now stood as N'Gaztak's honor guard for all eternity. They were empty suits of interlocking armor, uninhabited by flesh, wreathed in violet fires with their great glaives grounded.
And there ahead stood a great pillar that rose to support the ceiling, and built into the base of this pillar was the Imperial Throne. There sat the Pentarch of the Shambling Hordes, N'Gaztak, the Black Hand. His armor, like those of the revenants that stood guard, was the interlocking cuirass of a Lucent Templar.
Like all the silver of the city, it was stained pitch black, and it covered him entirely except for his head, which was itself enveloped by violet fire, a baleful torch with a skull-faced wick. At his left hand stood a woman I'd seen before, her gossamer gown and raven hair flowing as if underwater, and her throat slashed and bloody. At his right hand stood a vicious-looking vampire with a bestial face, and armor wrought as if from a thousand blades.
I stopped before the throne, and not knowing what else to do, knelt before the Pentarch, placing the maw and the cage upon the ground. "I did not bid you kneel," the revenant spoke, and the fires of his head flared brighter for a moment. I stood anew, taking up the maw. "I was told to bring this to you." "You speak like a beltlander." "I am a Thacian." "The beltlands never joined the Thacian Empire. They stayed independent." "In name only.
Taxes were still levied, men were still conscripted... despite your efforts." "Yes, conscripted into your futile war." "Again the fires of his head brightened. "You would begrudge us fighting for our existence?" "The Thacian Empire is the last remnant of Ustilia's corruption. That is what you fought to preserve, and that I do begrudge." "And now I have come to avenge it!" "Alaric, this is not the time." "Vengeance? Tell me of vengeance."
The revenant leaned forward and rested his jawbone on his gauntlet. "I owe my life to Thacia. You may say it was corrupt--." "It is" "But it was still my home, and it was my duty to protect it, not to challenge it, not to undermine it, to preserve it. I failed my duty in life. I chose undeath so that I could avenge its honor... My honor." For a time he said nothing, but he leaned back on his throne once more. "Very well, Thacian. What have you brought me?" "In truth I do not know.
I was guided by Amarax in the construction of this artifact." I said, holding out the maw. "That's a Hollow Maw. It's against the ritual for those to leave Anu Maht, one of the many violations you two have accrued." "If I may." "You may not. You're too clever for your own good. Now be silent."
"What was involved in the construction of this artifact?" "Well, we had to acquire the maw, then we had to go to the Realm of the Dead and capture the soul..." I remembered then who was trapped in the maw, and suddenly realized things might not go so well for me. "We had to capture a soul inside of it." "I will only warn you once, Thacian. You will speak the whole truth to me." "We captured the soul of Gwyneth Armin." Then the revenant was silent for a time. "Gwyneth.
She was one of the lost then?" "Yes." "Always willful, that one. What was her reflection in the realm of the dead?" "Well...", I desperately searched for the words that would be both true and not enraging. What would the jester have said? "She was very assured of herself." N'Gaztak slowly leaned forward, his fires brightening, clearly unsatisfied by my answer. Seeing no alternative, I blurted out, "She was a vicious lying abomination that devoured the souls of men." "Ah, that's my Gwyneth."
N'Gastak sighed, leaning back on his throne. "Now, why should I not hand you over to the Darklight Enclave?" "Amarax said we could negotiate our pardon with this." "Amarax is a schemer. He is loyal only to the pursuit of greater knowledge." "Well, I can't have violated the rituals. I'm not part of Deadhaus." "So..." Nagastak stood from his throne. "Do you mean to say that you should be spared while Amarax is given to the Wraiths?" "No!" I shouted, surprising myself. And N'Gastak tilted his head.
"I mean to say... that is... Amarax wishes for the destruction of the Awakened. Yes... and that is what I wish for. It would be foolish to throw away such a powerful weapon, don't you think?" "You are the fool, Thacian, but a loyal fool, and loyalty is greater than cunning. Come then, Arc-liche. Tell me what you've made." "The construction is not complete. It lacks a third component." Nagastak threw his head back inside. "Ah, what are you making then?" "A weapon for our war with the Awakened."
"I'm listening." "Anything that goes into that maw isn't coming out again. Not with the soul of Gwyneth Armin inside." "They cannot die." "True. But she can devour them still." "Hmm. She always was an eater of dreams. Very well, then. If what you say is true, this is a worthy offering. But you have still broken the ritual. Again. That cannot go unanswered." As he said this, the shadows in the room began to lengthen.
"I am fully prepared to lose my sovereign status in pursuit of victory for Deadhaus." "Yes, how noble of you. Except you've lost and regained that status over countless transgressions before. It's clearly not a deterrent. I have a different punishment in mind." I could feel uncertainty and apprehension seeping from the Liche. "You are sentenced to take your place as a sovereign in one of the factions and serve as a leader." "Ugh.
Can't you just strip my sentience away?" "He has spells in place to restore his sentience and escape to other realms if it were taken from him." "Unearned prophecy." "He thinks himself more clever than the rituals." "Enough. Keeva helped arrange this punishment between myself and the other Pentarchs prior to your arrival." "That includes the Darklight Enclave. You should be thanking her." "Yes, thank you, Handmaiden." "Thank the Weaver." "The choice of faction is up to you, Amarax.
But you will serve." "Corpus Artificum, then. They are scholars, at least." "So be it. Artifex Magister. And as for you, Thacean, go where you will. You are not bound by the Ritual. I have no use of you." "I would stay here, if I may." "For what purpose?" "As I have said, I seek vengeance for Thacia. My best chance at that vengeance is working alongside Deadhaus. You are the leader of the military. In life, I was a grand inquisitor. In death, I have become far more powerful.
Perhaps you could find some use for me yet." "Neither your station in life nor your vampirism impress me, Thacean. But your loyalty. That I could use." "What would you have me do?" The revenant returned to his throne and was silent for the time. Then at last he spoke. "Do you know that the heavens are reflected in Malorum? All that is in the cosmos is also in our land. It has only been obscured. But soon will come the time of revelation.
This is the Age of Scorn, where righteousness and piety are in vain, and every noble effort bears no fruit. Malorum is forsaken. Where once this land was blessed, now it lays desolate, bereft of those worthy to tread upon it. None now living remember the days of old. They speak in empty words, spinning empty tales. Only in stone does the truth remain." "The spirit of men has grown weary, no longer capable of reverence or wonder.
Mankind harbors no love for the world to which it belongs, nor veneration of the god that uplifted them. Men scurry about in the shadows of their own iniquity like vermin, gnawing at the foundations of truth. Those who would be pious are deemed insane, while impiety is exalted as wisdom. Madness wears the mask of valor, while wickedness is called virtue.
In forsaking its history, mankind has forsaken itself, and civilization is nothing more than a mockery of every sacrifice to which it owes existence. In the unremembered absence of heritage, dark things roam freely, mingling with the blood of men, driving them ever further into madness. And if this madness should be left unchecked, the lands will heave, the skies will boil, and truth itself shall fall silent, as even the stones forget the hands that carve them.
But we can cleanse this world, wash away the deceit and a blackened tide of death. We can lance the festering boil of mankind and let its reeking pestilence drain from Malorum. For this world is a reflection of the cosmos itself. It is a stagnant pool that, once cleansed, will team with the endless lights of heaven, flickering like so many candles upon the altar of revelation.
Though I know not the full meaning of his words, I felt in them a conviction that was vengeance itself, vengeance against the Awakened, vengeance for Thacia, and perhaps even vengeance for Alaric von Beller. Alaric the Damned.