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Been busy
Sorry for the lack of updates on Heaven's Gavel. I've been distracted. https://carp0nastick.itch.io/game-book-forge
Heaven's Gavel Pt. 7
The Warning of the Past
“Huh?” Ardam said in absolute confusion. He stepped backwards, new sword still in hand and held at the ready. His sudden companion didn’t react. Or rather, couldn’t react. The body of the man was fused with a block of stone, much like the one Ardam had just pulled his sword from.
“Longsword, huh? Pretty standard choice. I guess it is standard for a reason though. It will serve you well for as long as you last.” The man said, still watching Ardam with sad eyes. Ardam looked around. He wasn’t in the chamber with the others anymore. He wasn’t… anywhere as far as he could tell. A shapeless void surrounded him and the only objects with form were himself and the stranger stuck in the stone.
“How did I get here?” Ardam asked, still looking around in shock.
“Look, we don’t have much time, and you will struggle to remember this, so listen close. My name is Harrin, I once challenged the tower like you are now and…” More time passed, of that Ardam was certain. He’d had a conversation with the man in the stone, but before he could parse things, he was back in the well lit room with the floating swordsman bearing down on him again.
Ardam raised the blade. The longsword felt perfect in his grip, as if it had been crafted specifically for his hands. He knew it would harm the creature, was that what he had talked about with the man in the stone? He’d put an effort into remembering once he’d lived through this. As the floating swordsman raised it’s blade, Ardam leaned into a guard for a parry.
“HAAAAAARGH!” Came a fearsome shout.
Instead of crossing blades with Ardam, the floating creature bucked with impact as Thæry made a flying leap onto it’s back. She had shed her shield, and was putting both arms and all of her flying body weight into the strike she was leveling at the back of the swordsman’s head. She was rewarded with a crack as the wooden mask splintered down the center.
Something told Ardam that shouldn’t be possible, but there was no time to dwell on it as Thæry landed on the floating creature’s back, her mace clattering to the ground as she clutched at the wooden mask to stay on the creature’s back. The fingers on the mask caused the floating swordsman to convulse as Thæry’s accidental grip pulled them apart at the splinter. The two halves of the mask began to crack further apart, but seemed stuck in the same morass that had swallowed Ardam’s militia sword earlier. The creature started to reach up to stop the adventurer, caught in apparent panic as the mask fractured. Ardam darted in, swiping his new blade and taking the creature’s arm off at the elbow. He had to leap back as the other arm took a frantic swing at him with its sword, but with another swipe that hand flopped to the ground as well. Thæry, noticing the creature’s distress, continued to pull at the mask. She strained, stretching the wood away from the skull with great effort. With knowledge he couldn’t remember acquiring, Ardam knew the mask was it’s weak point. He was about to yell at Thæry to let go so he could finish the job with his new weapon, but as he took in the breath to do so, it caught in his throat. Something was screaming in his soul that to do so was a trap. There was no time to think too strongly about it though, Thæry’s arms were at their limits as she strained with all her might. Ardam gritted his teeth, and dropped his blade, reaching for the head of the creature as it lowered under his companions struggling weight. He thrust his fingers into the widening gap and began to help pull the stubborn wood apart. The creature thrashed, the stump arms striking Ardam twice in the ribs before Golodec and Ellinaria rushed forward to hold an arm each at bay. A roar of effort came out of the two prying the mask apart, and with a tremendous crack, the wood surrendered the final inches of connection it had retained.
Ardam and Thæry both flew backwards with a piece of the mask, the exposed face of the creature hemorrhaging a thick black smoke instead of blood. The priestess and wizard let go of the arm stumps as they began to thrash wildly, the creature’s motions becoming less focused and more spastic as it seemed to shrivel up. The last of the creature disappeared into a puff of the smoke, which itself rapidly dissipated into nothing. All four adventurers sat panting in the circle of statues. Golodec was the first to speak. “I hated… EVERY part of that!” The elf exclaimed. “I’ll raise a cup to that.” Ardam said, raising a hand with an imaginary mug from where he lay panting on his back.
A sudden rumbling had everyone scrambling back to their feet. Ardam and Thæry retrieved their weapons, and the four adventurers grouped up in a tight circle, all facing outwards and looking for what was coming next. “Look!” Ellie said, pointing towards the spiral column that had been on the opposite side of the room from their entrance. The shimmering barrier was clearly under duress, vibrating and cracking before it crumbled and blew away like so much magical sand.
“That’s… not how a barrier dispels. I can’t imagine it was supposed to do that.” Golodec said.
“Will it be a problem for going up the stairs?” Thæry asked. “I doubt it. That barrier is well and truly gone. There was just something about how it crumbled that seemed… wrong.” The elf said. “It felt like the magic was fraying, instead of releasing.” Ellinaria joined in. “Yes, exactly that…” Golodec replied, then seeing the blank looks from the two fighters he went on, “All spells have set conditions for when they should end. It doesn’t matter if it’s a fireball hitting it’s target, or an ancient impassible barrier opening when the key is presented. They all have a set ending point in the spell’s… let’s go with recipe. If a spell doesn’t have an end point, the magic cannot function, like a pulley with a cut rope…” As the elf continued to explain, Ardam leaned toward Thæry. “You think all mages like to explain stuff that non-magic users can’t use?” He whispered. “Probably. Just smile and nod, it’s what’s worked for me so far.” The adventurer whispered back.
“In short, everything about the layout of this room, the nature of our opponent, and the weapons here for the taking implies a ritual. We somehow managed to break the conditions, and thus, sabotaged the magic.” Golodec finished.
Ardam’s tail flicked with unbidden irritation at the mention of the word ritual. That was important. He knew it, but he frustratingly couldn’t remember how he knew it. His eyes were drawn down to the broken half of the wooden mask, and before he knew what he was doing, he was bending over to pick it up. “Didn’t take you for the trophy taking type.” Thæry said, picking up her own half of mask and tying it through the eyehole onto her belt. “I dunno… something just tells me I should.” Ardam replied, head still buzzing with thoughts he couldn’t explain, but knew beyond a doubt that they were important. He looked at the wooden mask, he could swear that it had been practically featureless before. Now it had the implications of a familiar face chiseled into it, something about the features tugging at memories that remained stubbornly out of reach. He looked at the sword he had taken from the stone. It still seemed like it had been waiting for him and now the steel was happy in his grip. He looked up, to see Thæry looking at him with her usual smile, but a tilt to her head as she tried to gage him. Ardam’s train of thought was obliterated as he took note of how cute it was when she did that.
Golodec seemed to take note of the sword as well.
“That is an impressively fine blade. I wonder if there’s a staff here I could use…” The elf said, looking around the circle of stone embedded weapons. “Here’s a mace for our hammer of Barstan.” Thæry scoffed.
“I don’t need it. This tower does nothing but take, I’d tell Ardam to ditch the sword if his old one had come out of that floating thing when it died. I don’t trust any of these weapons,” She looked at Ardam “Not that you have a choice but… tell me if you start hearing voices or seeing things.”
Ardam nodded, tail flicking with more than a little appreciation that she seemed more concerned for him than eager to vent her usual vitriol at the tower for a change. The group made their way to the stairs, and began to climb. Along the way, more of the morbid artwork they had seen on the doors to this crypt adorned the walls. “May we slow down a bit?” Golodec asked, violet eyes scanning the scenes. “Tired?” Thæry asked. “No… ever since the first image at the entrance, I’ve been wondering about these etchings. There are many gods, some valuing martial prowess as our recent contests show, but there are those that value cleverness as well. Taking note of what these depict might offer us a clue further up. If nothing else, I am a scholar by trade and ancient knowledge is my area of interest.”
Thæry didn’t reply, but did slow her pace, letting the elf get a good look at the carvings as they went. Ellie seemed to take an interest as well, both of them inspecting each scene. Ardam thought his efforts would be better served keeping a lookout, so he only glanced at the images a few times. The pictures only told him stuff he already knew… wait? Already knew? He’d never seen or heard the story of the kingdom depicted on the wall, yet he knew long before they got to the top that its hero failed at the very last hurdle and his homeland was destroyed. Ardam’s tail wouldn’t stop twitching the whole way up. This was really starting to bug him. As he looked at the ending to the story he already knew, Ardam resolved to spend whatever spare moments he might get on figuring out where these memories were coming from. Something told him that everything depended on it.
Heaven's Gavel Pt. 6
Crypt of Conviction
The approach to the structure made the overwhelming size of the foreboding pillar apparent. The eerie green glow soon overpowered the light coming from Ellinaria’s illuminating eyes, and the priestess stopped suddenly as if she had accidentally walked into a wall. She turned back to the other two, her eyes back to their normal squint as she rubbed at each for a moment.
“I didn’t let go of the spell, something made it stop. That pillar must be a place of power. Only simple spells will work in there.” She said.
“There are simple spells?” Thæry and Ardam said in unison.
“Well, relatively simple. Ones that only require knowledge of how to weave the mana and concentrate. Anything that would need chanting or a magic circle would be overpowered by the concentrated mana woven into the structure. Places of power are the work of decades. Considering how long the legend of the gavel has been around, that pillar probably has centuries of magic in it.” Ellinaria looked at her two companions, realizing from their expressions that every word of this was going over their heads. She sighed and dumbed down the explanation. “I can only cast combat magic and healing magic in there.”
“Ah” The other two said in unison. As Ellinaria turned back down the staircase, Thæry and Ardam shared a shrug.
The three continued down into the base of the large bowl. As they approached, the whole pillar seemed to swirl with energy then the rumbling sound told them it wasn’t energy swirling, but the pillar itself. The entire column of stone turned until a gate faced them. The door was as large as a city’s gate, and decorated elaborately. Heroic figures climbed a pile of vanquished warriors towards a crystal. At the apex, a deific figure sat bearing witness to the climb of the heroes, scales in one of its hands, a judges gavel in the other.
“Subtle.” Ardam said sarcastically.
“Pretty hard to miss the meaning, yeah.” Ellinaria quipped.
“Like a picture book made by condescending assholes.” Thæry joined in.
As the three appraised the morbidly instructional piece of art, a new rumble began. The door split in the middle, opening outwards towards them. The smell of fresh blood hit their nostrils immediately. Thæry and Ardam pulled their weapons out at the ready, and lead the way in. A fight had taken place in this hallway. Knights of Lorn, several adventurers, and a priest of the order of Justice all lay still. Surrounding them was the bodies of their opponents in red robes. As the group surveyed the carnage, a cough came from down the hallway.
“Everybody is dead in here but me. Do be kind and come help me or finish me off. The waiting is literally killing me.” Came a distinguished sounding voice that was tinged with pain. Ardam and Thæry advanced slowly, checking every red robed body just to be sure. As they advanced, Ellinaria made quick checks on all those not wearing red robes, confirming that everyone was indeed no longer among the living.
They found the speaker propped up against the wall. It was a well built man, holding his side where he had been stabbed. He was wearing the gear one would expect from an adventurous wizard, but a well off one. A good quality cloak and gambeson, topped by a wide brimmed pointed hat that covered his face as they approached. With a few laborious pants, the man looked up, revealing himself to be a dark skinned elf. Violet eyes looked at them with obvious relief, his silver hair and beard glistening with sweat as he tried to keep his blood where it belonged.
“Oh good. You appear to be sane. Well, maybe not quite sane, you’re in this damned place after all. At least you’re not with these suicidal red robed fools.” He said with an effort at levity. Ellinaria bent down to look at his wounds, Thæry still held her hammer at the ready.
“What happened?” The adventurer asked, still on guard.
“We came in here as soon as we could. Big group, most of us dispatched by His majesty Lornic III, and some fellows from a clergy we didn’t recognize that offered us help. As you can see, we had a bit of a falling out.” He grunted out, still trying to sound jovial as Ellinaria took stock of his wound. The priestess pulled out a bottle from her pack, and a bandage. “It’s not too bad. I can cast healing on it after I disinfect it. This will hurt.” She warned, getting to work without giving him much of a chance to hesitate. The elf grunted and tensed, but otherwise took the treatment without complaint. A faint glow showed the shepherd’s magic at work, and the wizard visibly relaxed.
“If I make it out of here in one piece, I’ll definitely have to make a donation to the order. Bless you miss.” He sighed as the tension released.
“Only way out is up, though.” Thæry said, keeping a lookout as Ellinaria brought the elf back to health. His bodily integrity restored, the wizard grabbed his staff and regained his feet. As he blew out another sigh of relief he addressed the adventurer.
“Right you are… miss… if I’m not mistaken, are you the Hammer of Barstan?” He said, adjusting his hat. “No, I doubt I’m mistaken. I can’t think of anyone else who’d be smiling like you are in a situation like this.”
“I am she. Disappointed, Golodec the Spell Burglar?” Thæry said with a knowing smile on her face as she revealed she wasn’t the only person of renown in the hall.
“Oh please do not call me that! I’m 243 years old and never once have I stolen another’s possessions.” The elf said indignantly.
“So if we’re not supposed to call you Golodec…” Ardam started.
“No no no. By all means you may call me Golodec, as that’s the name my parents gave me. I merely take issue with people claiming that I am a thief of magic. Let us leave it there or this introduction shall tarry on forever. I am Golodec Mahraan, may I have the pleasure of my saviors names?” The wizard asked.
“I’m Ellinaria Fondrin, journeyman priestess of the Shepherds.” Ellinaria said with good mannered cheer as she re-secured her pack.
“Ardam Thanedor, Militiamen.” Ardam joined.
“Thæry Broogan. Have you seen what’s beyond this point?” The adventurer asked, still all business. Golodec switched from nodding along at their names to shaking his head.
“I’m afraid not. Our group heard the sounds of fighting from ahead of us, that’s when these ‘clergymen’ stabbed us in the back. After the fracas, I didn’t hear anything from ahead. So either that group went on, or… well. As you said, though, the only way out is up. Whatever’s in that room, my magic is at your disposal.”
Thæry nodded and led the group down the hall. As the end of the passage appeared through the murk, Ardam and Thæry both made note of the familiar shimmer of a barrier.
“Hmm… A barrier?” Golodec mused.
“Just like the one around Lorn.” Ellinaria said.
“Probably works the same too.” Thæry posited. “Meaning there’s probably something some people want to run away from in there, and this is supposed to keep them in.”
Ardam’s tail flicked. Something about that seemed… off. There already wasn’t a way back down as far as he knew. Why would there be yet another barrier inside? His tail flicked again as his hair stood on end at the feeling of wrongness coming from the shimmering wall. Something was telling him that past this wall was more than just another peril, but a specific test. That same feeling told him that hesitation here would be a death sentence. When Thæry looked at him he nodded his readiness, and the two of them stepped through the shimmering wall of energy.
The room inside was circular, with a spiral stair carved into a pillar on the opposite side of the circle from the entrance. Where the halls and bowl had been murky and dark, this place was well lit with a soft light that seemed to shine from directly over head. A shimmering blocked off the entrance to the staircase. In the center of the circle, stood a ring of statues, all looking rather heroic, but also in poses of defeat or despair… That was all Ardam had time to realize about the room as his earlier unease became manifest in a shadow he barely noticed in time.
“Lookout!” He shouted, raising his sword and stepping forward into the blow. He intercepted it flawlessly, just as his father had taught him. If he hadn’t, his head would be rolling on the ground. The others all made ready to fight as Ardam took stock of what he was facing. It was emaciated, like a beggar dying of some illness or other. At the same time it was twice as wide at the shoulders as Ardam. It had no legs, merely an upper torso tapering to a dangling spine floating off the ground. The slate grey skin of the levitating creature made it look like a macabre statue. A smooth wooden mask, with indented lines that looked like a weeping face stared blankly at Ardam as the arms wheeled the greatsword it carried around.
The creature gave a wail that sounded like an out of tune woodwind and lunged at Ardam again. Before it could close to striking distance, Thæry came rushing in from the side. The brunette bashed into the greatsword with her shield, her full bodyweight behind it. The motion pushed the tip of the blade away from Ardam as he made a lunge of his own through the area Thæry had cleared. He thrust at the chest of the creature, and his blade bit into the flesh. It was like stabbing a bucket of pitch, and Ardam could instantly feel his sword being sucked into the creature.
“Oh shit!” Ardam swore as the creature didn’t seem to be dying from the wound. One arm holding the greatsword flexed. Emaciated muscle suddenly rippled through the sickly colored skin as the greatsword Thæry was holding at bay began to swing back inwards with such strength that it hoisted the adventurer off her feet. Ardam Reacted quickly, letting go of his stuck sword and catching her while twisting the two out of the blade’s path. They landed in a heap below the floating swordsman.
“Flare!” Came dual shouts from Golodec and Ellinaria. Two fireballs impacted the creature as Ardam and Thæry scrambled out from under their opponent. The fire seared the swordsman, patches of skin catching fire and where they burned through, the goopy innards of the creature smouldered with a red glow. The monster made absolutely no note of the damage and squared up with Ardam again. Weaponless, Ardam had no choice but to back away from the sweeping thrust. The creature lunged, and once again, Thæry intercepted the blade with her shield. The strike knocked her back, but instead of pressing the attack on the adventurer, the floating swordsman slid around her to make another attack at Ardam. Thæry took a swing with her mace, cracking ribs as the swordsman bypassed her. Once again the creature took no notice and bore down on Ardam.
“Did you insult this thing’s mother or something, Ardam?” Thæry said as Ardam began to run from the monster that seemed to only have eyes for him. Ardam ran for the circle of statues, thinking to use the tall pedestals of the stones to restrict the floating swordsman’s movement.
He was able to gain some ground with his sprint, and got inside the ring of statues. On the insides of the pedestals was text that Ardam couldn’t read, but more importantly there were weapons! A longsword stuck out of the base of one of the statues, and Ardam could swear he could feel the grip calling to his hands. He rushed over to it as a lightning bolt and another fireball hit the back of the floating swordsman that approached, oblivious to the damage. His hands found the grip and he braced himself for a mighty tug. The moment Ardam pulled he found himself face to face with a stranger looking at him with a sad expression.
“Another one?” The man sighed.
Heaven's Gavel Pt.5
Halls of the Vanquished
The sensation was odd, but strangely pleasant. Ardam could feel his muscles relax, the stress of the day washed away as he floated momentarily in a cascade of lights. Then he was standing on his feet, feeling as though he had just awoken from a good nap, refreshed and ready. Looking over he saw that Ellinaria likewise looked relaxed and healed. She was looking at her arm where a bruise had been forming from the earlier fight. The blemish was gone, leaving the Shepherd acolyte wide eyed in wonder. Thæry didn’t seem all that impressed. Her smiling face was already looking around and taking stock of the first floor. She sniffed the air.
“Rot and blood. Undead, probably.” She said simply. Ardam sniffed as well, smelling exactly what she had said, but so slightly he wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t pointed it out to him. He was glad for her experience in such matters, but made a mental note that he needed to start learning these tricks for himself. “Try and keep moving. They’re mindless and easy to beat one on one, but it’ll never be one on one. Don’t get tangled up, just dispatch the ones you can’t avoid and we should be able to get through.”
Ardam and Ellie nodded, trusting their adventurous companion. The three began to move away from the small chamber they had appeared in. The halls were hewn in a smooth grey stone, no sign of masonry to be found upon them. No joins, no tiles, simply featureless straight lines leading into the gloom. There was a disconcerting darkness that pressed in around them, and yet there seemed to be enough light to see clearly. It was like peering through fog on a misty day, only no source of light was to be seen.
“Where’s the light even coming from?” Ellinaria whispered, giving voice to the oddity of their view. Thæry’s head snapped back to the priestess, an edge of concern in her grin.
“That’s… hmm… That’s actually something we might need to know.” Thæry said, stopping in her tracks. The three looked about but no source was apparent. After a few moments of pondering, Ellie’s squinting eyes seemed to light up with an idea.
“Wait here!” She said. Both Ardam and Thæry reached out to stop her, but the priestess moved out into the gloom… and glowed within it. The three adventurers were themselves glowing, casting light from their bodies. Ellie looked back at the other two, beaming at having figured out this small mystery.
“Shit!” Thæry hissed, moving fast to catch up with the priestess. Ardam was only a step later than the adventurer but saw the same thing. From the murk, a rotting hand reached for the priestess from behind.
“Ellie! Duck!” Ardam yelled. Ellinaria’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as she saw both her companions running at her with their weapons dawn back to strike. She obeyed the instruction just in time. Thæry vaulted over the crouching priestess, slamming into the animate corpse that was bearing down on the cleric with her shield. The zombie went down with a disgusting crunch of desiccated bone, chunks of ancient scale mail getting shaken loose from the impact and scattering on the floor. Ardam’s stomach lurched at the sight of exposed bone and tendon, but he choked it down as he saw another grotesquery stumble into their little patch of light.
Ardam’s teeth chattered as he recognized the coat of arms of Lorn on the tabard of this much fresher corpse. An expression of shock was still on the face of the young man at arms, staggering forward despite the broken speartip tangled in his spilling innards. Ardam clenched his teeth, willing himself to action as the dead man lurched forward to swing the axe he carried. The parry wasn't a difficult one to deflect, but Ardam could feel an absurd amount of power behind the blow. A living man would have been concerned about numerous things when making such a swing. Missing, over extending, even just controlling such a swing would make it a poor choice for a living combatant. For the enthralled dead man, the only concern was to strike a lethal blow.
Now that he knew this about his opponent, Ardam used it to his advantage. The dead man's next swing missed as the militiaman deftly hopped back, landing on the balls of his feet and surging forward as the axehead cast sparks against the stone floor. Ardam’s lead foot landed on the haft of the axe, ripping it out of the corpse's grip. In the same motion, he gripped his blade at the halfway point, using the wide grip to accurately drive the tip into the undead’s eye.
The dead man slumped, whatever dark energy made him move, it was expelled the moment the brain was destroyed. To his left, Ardam heard a dry moan. Thæry had dispatched one undead, and pinned another against the wall with her shield. The ancient corpse was calling, a sound coming out of a rotted throat that couldn't possibly still have the parts needed to make noise. The cursed sound echoed down the halls, and was answered by more moans of the undead. Thæry brought her hammer down crushing the nearly bare skull of her opponent and making the wail cease.
“No wonder most people don't make it through. I bet they can see us all lit up, but we can't see them until they're right on top of us.” The brunette said as she moved to Ardam’s side. The two brandished their weapons at the unseen horrors in the dark. “We need to charge… Ellie?”
Ardam glanced over his shoulder. The Shepherd priestess was chanting, her brows furrowed in concentration as she held her staff raised and one palm outstretched towards the dark. This was no small spell cast with a simple magical effort, even a farmboy like Ardam could tell that this was the deep magic. He looked at Thæry, who was smiling, as ever, but biting her lip as she chewed on a thought. She looked back at him.
“She can’t move while casting that. I don’t know what it is, but I trust that she’s thought it through.”
“I trust her too.” Ardam replied.
“Then we’ll make sure she gets to finish.” Thæry said, bracing herself as another group of shambling dead broke into their small patch of light.
Ardam grunted in reply, shifting his stance as a withered corpse wearing clothing and armor that looked quite exotic bore down on him. The curved blade of the old warrior sliced forward, seeking Ardam’s shoulder, but just as before, the undead was putting everything into offense without a care as to what would happen if it missed. Ardam repeated his earlier tactic, stepping back and surging forward again, this time with a horizontal slice that took the head from the corpse’s shoulders. Thæry was using the weight of her shield and hammer to her advantage. The mercenary would push her shield out as she charged into the undead’s swings, catching them before they could gain momentum. Then the hammer would come down in brutal overhead swings as the shield deflected to the side. The pristine floor in front of the smiling warrior was already becoming littered with chunks of skull and old helmets.
As the eighth screeching undead fell to Ardam’s blade he felt a tingle on his tail. A quick glance over his shoulder showed him much closer to Ellinaria than he thought he’d been. Thæry’s prediction was coming true on all accounts. Individually, each of the undead was easy to handle, but he’d been fighting three at a time for a while now, and was getting pushed back enough to feel the magic aura the shepherd was generating on his back. He chanced a quick look at Thæry, the mercenary’s brown hair starting to stick to her face as she had worked up a good sweat in the fight. He knew the human wouldn’t last as long as an Equinaris in terms of stamina. They were going to get overwhelmed sooner rather than later. Just as he had this thought, a soft breath from behind him preceded a phrase that he felt rather than heard.
“... and the Shepherd’s eyes saw the way. Thus his staff guided the flock onward.” Said the voice, and the tap of the priestess’ staff against stone sounded impossibly clear above the din of battle.
The undead in front of Ardam went slack instantly, the bodies falling like puppets with their strings cut. The two warriors found themselves standing in a heap of rotting flesh as a light revealed the hall ahead of them. It had been packed with undead queueing up to fight them, now fallen still. Ardam turned back to see Ellinaria with her eyes wide open, but instead of finding out what color her eyes were, the farmboy had to look away from the bright glare coming from the girl’s sockets. The priestess let out a girlish giggle that didn’t match her sudden radiance.
“Sorry Ardam, and sorry for deciding on that without telling you guys.” She took a few steps forward to stand even with them. “The undead won’t be a problem while this lasts. The shepherd has shown their souls the way home.” She looked down at the body of the young man from Lorn, a sad smile on her face.
“How long does it last?” Thæry asked, practical as ever as she caught her breath.
“I’m not sure. I’ve never had to cast it before, but I’ve heard of some priestesses holding it all night.” As the priestess spoke, an armless corpse wearing the red robes of the cult wandered into the light and collapsed as Ellinaria glanced at it. Thæry spat on the body as the three picked their way through the pile. “Is that necessary? Whatever he believed or did in life, he’s at rest now.”
“Fuck his rest, and especially fuck his beliefs. He was fighting to kill everyone who didn’t agree with him, and I don’t have to respect him just because he’s a corpse now.” Thæry said angrily.
Ellinaria didn’t respond to the fuming, her glowing eyes simply watching the other woman angrily curse through her grin. Ardam let out a sigh. He was getting to know her various smiles pretty well already, and this was his least favorite.
“No doubt that she’s really from Barstan.” He muttered, earning a glance from Ellinaria.
Passing the press of bodies from their fight, the hallway came to a split. The priestess looked left and right, a flopping sound coming from the murk down one of the paths.
“It’s this way.” She said confidently. Thæry and Ardam didn’t question it, assuming the magic had something to do with showing the way. The shepherd led them through multiple twists and turns, and as they walked, the three became aware of the roof of the halls slowly climbing up into the dark above their heads. Ellinaria, turned the corner ahead, gasping as she did. Thæry and Ardam caught up, seeing what had shocked the shepherd. The ground dropped away in steps before them, nearly a mile of perfectly round staircase sloping down from multiple exits of the maze they had fought their way through. In the center of the bowl, was a large crypt like structure, tall as any castle, it reached from the bottom of the depression to the far away ceiling above. The crypt glowed with a disgusting ethereal energy, as if the very concept of rot had become luminous inside it.
“That’s our way up.” Thæry declared, her confident smile now adorning her face. Ardam liked this smile better… Why was he thinking of things like that in this situation? The farmboy flicked his tail in irritation with himself as he made the first step towards the next challenge.
Heaven's Gavel Pt.4
I may have stopped doing this as a solo RP as the writing just became more interesting...
Red Robes
Before the three could turn to go, Jorek stopped them and went into the back room. Drunkenly rummaging about, he eventually emerged with three packs. The old innkeep offered one to each of them. “Fresh food for the day. Some preserved stuff that should be good for a month. I’m not sure how much food a challenger’s going to find in there.” He said, blinking to focus. Thæry checked the contents and nodded to the former guard.
“That solves that problem. Only a million more to go.” The mercenary said cheerfully. The priestess, not yet used to Thæry’s sarcastic personality raised an eyebrow as she accepted her pack.
“You’re strangely cheerful for all the gloom and doom you talk about.” The shepherd acolyte said. Thæry shrugged, the unflappable grin on her face refusing to explain itself. Ardam answered for her.
“She’s not wrong, though. It’s only been half a day and I’ve had more crap to deal with than ever. I’m done worrying, it’s time to fix this mess.” He straightened the pack on his back, making sure it was secure enough to move quickly in. He turned to the shorter girl, “Our hammer happy companion tells me the odds aren’t good in there. You sure you want to come miss?”
“It’s Ellinaria. Ellinaria Fondrin.” The priestess said, a breeze seeming to blow both her hair and robes out of nowhere as the casting jewel in her staff started to glow. A series of small fireballs began to spin around her in an orbit as the slight woman gave the other two a confident grin of her own. “And I have something to say to those attempting to crush my flock.”
“That’s the spirit Ellie!” Thæry said with a loud clap of approval. “Now then, while we’re all riding high on this, let’s get to the obelisk before the Tower boys make their move.”
***
The Tower boys had made their move. In the center of town, the king’s guards were locked in combat with what looked like members of their own. Red armbands denoted that there was likely a contingent of traitors within the king’s soldiers who were trying to lock down the obelisk that granted access to the tower above. Thæry viewed the chaos with what a casual observer would call a calm smile, but Ardam thought this one looked pretty annoyed. “The reds are outnumbered. It’s only a matter of time.” Ellinaria said hopefully as she eyed the two shieldwalls in a shoving match. Ardam shook his head. He’d been in at least two good scuffles against bandits and monsters as a militiamen and knew how this might go.
“The reds will lose, but there’s enough of them that they can keep rotating fresh troops in to hold the chokepoints at the streets. If nothing changes, they can hold out for at least a day.” He said, appraising the tussle.
“That time could be enough for the first challengers to all be killed off.” Thæry said as her brown eyes surveyed the combat from their elevated position on the wall that surrounded the courtyard. “We can’t bet on his majesty’s finest being able to break through in time. We’ll have to find a way through.”
The three began walking around the wall, taking advantage of the panic of the day driving most people away from this particular site of chaos. Every street into the courtyard containing the obelisk was packed with soldiers both loyal and suicidal fighting hard. Ellinaria suggested sneaking in through one of the buildings, but both Thæry and Ardam pointed out how the traitor reserves were stationed far enough back that they could easily intercept and overwhelm them if they tried. That’s when Ardam saw it. The wall they were on connected to a small group of warehouses in the rear of the cultist positions. He remembered from a delivery that one of them was a granary, with a pulley system to aid in moving the sacks of grain about.
“They’ve probably got some people back there watching though.” Ardam said after finishing his explanation.
“Probably not their best. I’d expect them to be like the thugs from earlier, just there to watch.” Thæry said, one hand on her mace, fingers tense as if itching to use it. “It’s our best bet if we want to make sure we’re in the tower before tomorrow.” Ellinaria simply nodded, trusting the other two’s assessment of the situation. Thæry looked both of them in the eyes and made things plain. “Not like there’s any going back while we’re inside the barrier, but I just want to be sure. We get down there, and it’s kill or be killed until the tower’s gone. Are you two ready?”
Ardam shook his sword in the scabbard, making sure the blade wasn’t stuck. His check done, he turned his head upwards, looking at the cruel task above them. With a deep breath, he looked back down at the other two.
“I’m not letting that tower fall.” He said simply. Thæry nodded back, her smile growing slightly.
Ellinaria seemed to be saying a prayer, mumbling something under her breath. When her head turned up, her eyebrows were scrunched with determination that Ardam found quite cute as she nodded again. Ardam was a little taken aback that he was noticing things like that in this situation.
“A Shepherd must protect the flock. I’m with you.” The priestess said. Thæry clapped them both on the shoulders, her smile taking on a dangerous edge. “Then let’s get climbing.”
***
The three of them found the roof of the granary an easy jump to make from the wall. Using the pulley to lever themselves down to the street was nerve wracking. Every creak of the wheel threatening to draw some cultist and his reinforcements to catch them in the air. Despite the tense moments, all three of them had their feet on the cobbles before they heard the first signs of the tower cultist patrol.
“I’m telling you we’d be better off lobbing rocks at the king’s apostate soldiers.” Came a brutish voice down an alley. “Ain’t like anybody can fly over the wall here.”
“Be silent, and do as you’re told. The time of blessed cleansing is upon us, and we must all do our parts as needed. The soldiers shall keep the apostates at bay. We shall ensure no rats sneak by to sully the tower with their footsteps.” An imperious voice responded.
Ardam and Thæry both drew their weapons. There wasn’t a way around the patrolling cultists. They would have to take them by surprise, and take them quickly. Ellinaria nodded in understanding as the two silently motioned their intent. The cultist footsteps were just around the corner, and Thæry signaled the charge. The cultists were closer than they had sounded. Ardam’s sword left a clean cut on the thug he found himself squaring off with without even making a swing as the two collided. Two loud crunches indicated that people had found their marks with bludgeoning weapons. Ardam kept his eyes on the thug in front of him. The robed cultist had the look of a hard bitten criminal to him. Scars from various knife and fist fights dotted his arms where they poked out of the cheap red robe wrapped around him. Ardam had already dealt with his type during militia work. The Thug had a dagger that he was probably used to having a range advantage over the knives common in city work with. It was useless against Ardam’s sword. With deft and calm precision, just like his father had taught him, Ardam deflected the thug’s first lunge and repaid the clumsy effort with a quick stab to the chest. The cultist’s eyes went wide in shock as he tried to suck in air with a pierced lung. He slid off Ardam’s sword and wheezed on the cobbles, limply trying to hold himself up for a moment and failing.
Ardam was about to turn and check on Ellinaria, but the skinniest of the cultists staggered by him, covered head to toe in flame. The priestess’ staff impacted the back of his head, laying the burning tower worshipper out on top of the thug Ardam had dispatched. Both of the cultists sagged and stopped moving. Ardam gave the shuddering priestess a glance. She had been struck, but seemed more shaken about just having killed a man than injured. A crunching sound drew Ardam’s eyes towards Thæry. She had clearly beaten her thug early on, and switched to just beating him. The hammer hit once, twice, three times before Ardam hissed her name. The smile never left her face as she looked at him, blinking as if she had just been roused from a dream. She looked down at the dead man she was straddling, and contemptuously flicked the parts of him still stuck to her mace on his twitching corpse. Ardam grabbed Ellinaria by the elbow, and the three of them began to move down the alley.
The obelisk was in front of them, having planted itself straight through an auctioneer’s platform. Ardam could read the glowing text on the ominous looking black marble from where they stood peeking around the corner of a small warehouse.
The tower calls, and thou must answer.
Challenge the perils above by touching this stone.
Should day break upon the stone without a challenger, cleansing shall begin.
Seize the crystal atop the halls in the sky, and the tower shall be banished.
So let it be.
Just seeing the words made Ardam feel furious. It was all so arbitrary! Panic, grief, and torment had been visited upon a whole city. No reason given. The tower refusing to justify itself, merely announcing the rules of the sick game it was playing with the lives of everyone in Lorn. A part of him understood why Thæry swung her hammer the moment she saw the cultists.
As if to reinforce the rising disgust, Ardam looked past the obelisk to where the red robed fanatics organized their defense of the way into the tower. Wounded traitor soldiers were being brought back to the cultist’s healers. As the three watched, one who was able to be brought back into the fight was tended to, while another who would be useless no matter the amount of healing was summarily dispatched with a blade across his throat. Ellinaria gasped at the sight, and Ardam shushed her by reflex. Thæry’s smiling face was looking around, making sure there weren’t any watchful eyes on the stone. Satisfied they could approach without sounding an alarm, she nodded to the two, and they crept their way forward. Keeping as much of the crushed auctioneer’s stand and black stone between them and the cultist rearguard as possible, they were able to get within arm’s reach of the stone. With one last silent look of determination shared between them, the three reached out for the obelisk.
Heaven's Gavel Pt. 3
The following is a log of a solo RP game.
Hysterics and Fanatics
It took a while, but the press of bodies finally relented. Thæry suggested they wait a bit for the crowd to clear, but for some reason people kept milling about the barrier. As the two challengers got close, they could hear someone shouting to the throng. Ardam couldn’t hear what was being said, but he knew the cadence of a sermon when he heard one.
“Is somebody preaching?” He asked as the voice became a bit clearer. At his words, Thæry’s shoulders hunched as she pushed her hand through the barrier, causing the still stacked bodies to fall like macabre dominoes. Without a second’s hesitation, she started advancing down her bloody path, mace already coming out of the loop on her belt. Ardam almost balked at the suddenness of the movement. He had thought there’d be more time to steel himself. He only stuttered one single step though, and followed his companion through the magical prison wall. He could shore up his courage when they actually went to the tower, he guessed.
Up ahead, Thæry stalked forwards, her hand sliding down the haft of the mace to hold it at the handle, ready for use. Three men in red robes were standing at the head of the group. One loudly shouting his sermon at the crowd. Ardam could now hear the words clearly, and they hardly made any sense.
“This apostate would blind you with her words! Seek not to escape! Embrace the cleansing of the most holy stone. Ye have been chosen to be purified and join the gods eternal! Aspire not to challenge the tower, await the blessed…” The man speaking trailed off as Thæry and Ardam got to the front of the crowd. He was holding a grey robed priestess of the Order of Shepherds by the long braid of black hair she wore. All three had the vestments of some priesthood or another, but Ardam would have pegged them as street thugs were it not for the robes. The fact that they had clearly assaulted a priestess from an order he recognized didn’t help. The man holding the priestess took a few moments, taking in Ardam and Thæry as the adventurer stalked straight towards them, Ardam keeping pace, but entirely unsure of what was going on. The man’s eyes flicked back and forth between him and Thæry several times before a flash of recognition caused him to jolt as a realization hit him. “You’re the Hammer…”
Without a word,Thæry lunged, bringing her hammer in a sideways arc against the robed man’s head. The crunch left no room for doubt as the crowd watched the newly minted corpse crumple like a dropped bag of grain.
“Of Barstan.” Thæry finished for him. Her left hand picked the priestess up by the arm, pushing her towards Ardam as the crowd stared on in shock. Ardam, just as shocked as everyone else, managed to catch the girl and hold her upright. The adventurer of name flicked her mace, splattering the cobbles between herself and the remaining two robed men with their compatriots blood and brains. She spoke in a loud voice, one that the crowd gathered around could hear as they started to parse what they had seen. “Not a surprise to see you lot here. Where you go, the tower always appears.”
Ardam could feel the crowds collective breath suck in once again. Heads turned slightly left and right, but only slightly. This was the same crowd that had been crushing people to death against the barrier in a panic moments before. Thæry’s accusation spread like a wildfire through those who so desperately wanted to avoid the crushing fate quite literally hanging over their heads. Thæry didn’t even bother continuing to square off with the other two robed men, and resumed her march towards the center of the tower’s shadow. Ardam followed, practically picking up the priestess in his arms. Not really knowing the idea, but rushing ahead had kind of been his thing today. The two thugs in robes acted like they wanted to stop the three, but before they could act on it, a man from the crowd lurched forward and grabbed one of them. “DID YOU SUMMON THE GAVEL HERE?” The hysterical shout rang out as Ardam kept pace with Thæry. Ardam sped up, slipping free of the crowd just as it surged once again. He heard a frenzy of ripping noises from behind, and tried not to think about how juicy they began to sound as he put more distance between the mob and himself. The trio continued down the road, now within the city of Lorn proper. The priestess, coughed politely as they walked, and Ardam realized he had been carrying her along without really asking. He stopped to set her down. She was a dainty thing. At least Ardam, used to hard working farm women and his newfound adventurer companion, thought so. Long black hair, tied into a single braid went over her shoulder, as the gray robe of the Order of Shepherds hung off her slight frame. She was carrying a crooked staff, as was common among the order. Uncommonly, hers had an elemental casting jewel floating within the crook. Were priestesses allowed to learn combat magic? She looked at him through narrow, almost closed eyes, a slight bit of redness on her cheeks as she regained her feet. Ardam made a quick, one handed gesture of apology to her, before turning to catch up with Thæry’s single minded advance. To his surprise, he heard small footsteps coming along behind him as both he and the priestess caught up to the adventurer at the same time.
“Um. Excuse me! Miss adventurer? Is what you said true? Did they summon the tower?” The black haired girl said. The sound of her voice surprised Ardam, she was around the same age as him.
“Doesn’t matter.” Thæry said bluntly. “The Cult of the Tower worship the damned thing. Think it’s falling means they all get to go to heaven and be told they’re the gods most goodest and special boys. They’ll do anything to stop challengers from getting in, and I do mean anything. They probably have more thugs waiting ahead, if not assassins in the tower chasing anyone who’s already started a challenge.”
The answer stunned the priestess for a step. Ardam had stopped trying to guess at what Thæry might know by this point. It made sense for people who worshipped the tower to not make sense like that. Barely anything had made sense yet today, so why not a bunch of suicidal maniacs trying to make things worse? The priestess caught back up, keeping pace with the two as if that was somehow agreed upon.
“But… if the tower drops…” She started.
“If it drops, it starts with fire.” Thæry interjected. “The air can’t get out of the way fast enough, and the whole bottom burns as it falls. The impact site doesn’t even survive long enough for the stone to hit the ground. That same air crushes everything under it. Everything not directly under the tower gets blown away in a gale as strong as any tornado. Stone walls will get swept away as if they were children’s blocks. Then the tower hits, and anything that’s still alive gets their legs broken as the ground bucks under their feet like a ripple in a pond, but made of solid earth and as high as a man. Then the fire and ash burn anything left inside the barrier, and then the damn rock picks somewhere new to ruin. Even if those guys don’t have the power to summon the stone, I have every right to want them dead.” The priestess almost lost a step again as she listened, but something seemed to stiffen in her steps, and she kept pace with them.
“I can’t let that happen…” The priestess said, and Thæry looked at the smaller woman with that same approving grin she had graced Ardam with earlier. Ardam was about to protest, if everything was as dangerous as the woman who was proven quite dangerous herself suggested, then it was no place for a skinny girl like this priestess to be. A familiar sight made the words stick in his throat as he saw the inn his family often stayed at when selling their wares in town through an alley.
“Wait!” Ardam said, a little more intensely than he intended. He was actually surprised that Thæry listened and halted mid pace. “That’s the inn where Eisha, my sister, is supposed to be staying. I have to know she’s okay, just hang on a short bit, please.”
Without waiting for an answer, Ardam ran down the alley towards the inn. The Rusted Halberd was as it always was. Ardam breathed a sigh of relief at the sight. He’d been worried with all this rioting and panic that a fire might start in the town. Hearing two sets of footsteps behind him, he went through the door. The carved heavy door that was the inkeep’s pride was hanging ajar at an odd angle, but Ardam didn’t expect the place to be pristine. The inside was mostly dark as the windows hadn’t been thrown open as normal. Only the ones by the inkeeps counter were open, casting light on the slumped form of the proprietor. A balding, grey bearded former town watchman, his body was hunched on top of the counter. His still unbent back was rising and falling with slumber, as several tall pitcher’s of ale told the story of how he’d taken the news of the day.
“Jorek! Jorek, wake up! Where’s Eisha? Is she here?” Ardam said, shaking the drunken man awake. After a few blinks, Jorek’s flushed face lit up with recognition.
“Ardam? Right… Ardam. Yer here for lil’ Eisha… course ye are. Good big brother…” The man pushed himself up from the counter, tottering on his feet a bit, but trying his best to think for the boy he’d known for years. “Eisha… she ran out… Not sure where. Took her sword… said… what did she say?”
Ardam waited, aware it was only taking moments, but the inebriated delay was putting strain on his brotherly concern once again. His tail was flicking back and forth like a whip in distress. Just as he was about to lose patience with the drunk he felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder and at his elbow as his two companions sought to calm him down. Jorek, for his part, seemed to get his feet under him, and looked up at Ardam.
“Said she had to do something. She might have said what, but she was running out the door so fast. You two always were so fast…” Jorek eased into a stool. Slumping with something more than age or alcohol to it. Ardam lowered his head in frustration. After all this, she could be anywhere, even back at…
Thæry’s hand squeezed his shoulder, as if she knew where his head was going and wanted to remind him. Ardam gathered himself and let out a deep breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding.
“We already know what we have to do, right?” He said, turning to his companions. Thæry beamed back at him with her usual inscrutable grin. The priestess gave a nod with her eyebrows furrowed in determination.
“Thirty years…” Jorek said behind him. “I protected this town for thirty years. Now some grand holy prick on high’s just going to smush it like a bug in the gutter.” Ardam turned back to his longtime friend, bright blue eyes looking intensely into the former guardian of the city’s.
“It won’t, old man. I won’t let it.”
Heaven's Gavel Pt. 2
The following is a log of a solo RP game.
The Road to Judgement
Normally the trip to Lorn took half the morning. A large part of that was the stop at the toll bridge at Millman’s Crossing. Ardam made the trip at a run before the sun had even fully made it’s way into the sky. Eisha was in Lorn! He had to hurry!
When he saw the bridge, his heart sank. The situation was pure chaos. People on Lorn’s side of the river were in a stampede to get across. There were too many people, and too many carts mashed onto the bridge as the king’s toll collectors shouted in futility to make the crowd cross in an orderly fashion.
Ardam paced back and forth. Frustration and panic making his heart race more than the run here had. He had to get across this bridge! He had to get to Lorn and find his sister! Couldn’t these panicking fools let him through?
A loud whistle caught his attention. Reluctantly, Ardam took his eyes off the bridge and looked to where he had heard the sound. There, sitting on the bank of the river, was the adventurer from yesterday. She appeared as calm as could be and smiled at him with a slight smugness to her grin, as if she had been expecting him. She stood up and dusted her rump off before coming over to him with an unhurried gait. “Lemme guess, somebody you care about is in Lorn today?” The brown haired woman said, smile looking as though she already knew the answer. Ardam nodded. The woman nodded back, then pointed down at the base of the bridge where a small boat was docked. “Ever rowed a boat before?”
The two were soon inexpertly splashing their oars into the water together. Neither of them knew exactly what they were doing, but had enough of an idea that they were making headway against the current regardless. A commotion on the bridge preceded some cargo tumbling over the side as the adventurer sighed. “How pointless.” “What do you mean?” Ardam asked.
“Don’t they know the legend around here?” She said. “The tower puts up a barrier so that no one can escape judgement. If you can run, you’re obviously not inside the barrier, and if you are inside the barrier, then you shouldn’t bother trying to run.”
“Maybe they’re worried the tower will fall and catch them in the blast anyway?” Ardam offered.
“Gavel’s fall, they really don’t teach that stuff around here, do they? The tower only falls if the sun rises without a living challenger inside the tower. The sun’s already up, so there’s a full day for someone to enter the tower and keep it in the air.” Ardam blushed, he actually had heard all this before, but the panic of the morning had erased this common knowledge from his head.
“So it’s all true then? Somebody has to get to the top of the tower, or it will crush Lorn?” He asked, even though he knew the answer. He figured he should ask something new. “If this is all outside the barrier, then why are you heading towards it?” He could only see half her face as they rowed, enough to see that she was still smiling. However, it took on an edge as sharp as any blade as she looked at the floating mass of stone.
“I have business in that tower.” She said, and went quiet.
The two got to the other bank, where some panicked looking people rushed them, intent on taking the boat. The adventurer pulled out her mace and brandished it towards them, and they seemed to decide that rowing a boat was easier without a split skull. The moment the two were standing on the bank and moved away, a fight broke out over the boat. The brunette continued on without looking back. The road to Lorn was more of the same. People who had been outside the barrier moving away in a frenzy. Broken carts and more than a few bodies lying still along the way. Ardam’s eyes kept looking through the crowd, hoping to see his sister, looking for the little bright ribbon she always wore around one ear. It was all he could do to keep pace with the woman who never once broke stride in her march to the tower. The bulk of the trip behind them, it didn’t take long to see what the adventurer had been talking about. A shimmering wall of magical energy formed a clear line around the large valley that contained the great city of Lorn.
“Ah, looks like it’s started already.” The woman ahead said. Ardam didn’t even have to ask what she meant as he saw the horrible sight of a riot happening against the barrier. People trying to get out pressing forward in a crushing mass. More than a few people in the front row were completely still, crushed to death by the panicking crowd behind them. It took more than a little effort for Ardam to swallow his shock at the horrid scene. He looked over at his impromptu companion. Her smile was still on her face, but it was the kind of sad smile one made when watching a child fall after warning it that it would. A sympathetic empathy, paired with an understanding that this was inevitable.
“So… how do we get in?” Ardam said eventually. It surprised him. He had witnessed more death and suffering today than the rest of his life combined, but he still felt the need to help Eisha. He could never live with himself if he abandoned her to the whims of the floating stone tower that loomed impossibly large in his view. The adventurer was looking at him with a new smile on her face. Her brown eyes sparkling in the morning light as they took him in with newfound approval. After a moment, the expression faded, replaced with a more neutral smile as she replied.
“Fuck if I know.” She said with a theatrical shrug. “I’ve never been on this side of it before.”
***
It took half the day for the press of people to realize the futility. Ardam had paced back and forth across the barrier, looking for his sister, and hoping he didn’t see her. The adventurer had stopped him, dragging him away to a distance away from the carnage.
“Best not to dwell on it. You really wouldn’t want to see who you’re looking for in that mess anyway.” Ardam hated doing nothing, but couldn’t argue the wisdom of what she was saying. The two sat in the shade, waiting for the crowd to break. “So who’s in there? Girlfriend? Family? You marry young maybe?” The adventurer asked.
“My younger sister.” Ardam replied. He felt drained, having come so close to just sit and wait now.
“Ah. The one that looked like you from yesterday. She looked like the type that can handle herself. I’d tell you not to worry but…” She waved at the tower floating like a executioner’s axe above.
“Why do you seem so unbothered?” Ardam couldn’t help but ask. He winced as soon as he said it, the words had come out like an accusation. If what he’d heard and she’d alluded to were correct, then he was salting a wound. He had tried to use the words to fill the space instead of his worries, but she was here trying to get in to a place of peril the same as him. She must have good reasons.
“Because being bothered wouldn’t help.” She answered, leaning back in the grass and looking at a cloud wrapping itself around the floating stone. “I know what’s bound to happen, what could happen, and what I’m going to do about it. Don’t you?”
Ardam looked at her in a bit of confusion. He actually hadn’t thought that far ahead. He’d been running on instinct since the tower had forced him out of bed with the dread of its arrival. Now that he had a moment, he looked at the tower. Really looked at it, thinking about it for the first time. He looked at the shimmering barrier as well. If what she was saying was true, he could get in and look for Eisha, but getting out again was impossible. Unless the tower was challenged and beaten. He could hope someone else did it, but the moment that thought crossed his mind a wave of sheer revulsion at the thought of rolling over for fate after all this threw the idea back the way it had come.
“Yeah… I guess I do.” He said back. The two sat quietly for a few moments. “I’m Ardam. Ardam Thanedor. Thanks for everything today.”
“Thæry Broogan. Don’t thank me yet. The day isn’t over, and from everything I’ve heard, most people don’t make it past the first floor.” She replied, smiling all the while as if she hadn’t just portended their own demise. Ardam couldn’t help but smile back, a gallows smile if there ever was one. He found himself strangely calm as he took the hand she was offering and clasped it. He had made his decision, same as her, and it was actually reassuring to have someone heading in the same direction.
Heaven's Gavel Pt.1
The following is a log of a solo RP game.
The Legend
It has earned many names over the centuries, as is only inevitable for such a thing. The great tower floating in the sky that we call Heaven’s Gavel has judged those on mother Rhol for as long as any living thing can remember. Without a chance for anyone to run, the tower appears overhead, casting a barrier that traps those beneath within the deadly challenge. An obelisk directly beneath the flying fortress gives the rules of judgement: None may leave the tower’s judgement. Anyone may challenge the tower by touching the obelisk. Should the sun rise without a living challenger within the tower, the stone shall fall. Should a challenger reach the crystal at the top, the tower shall be banished. Such it is that the history of Rhol is written around which kingdoms have survived, and which have perished under Heaven’s Gavel.
The Farmboy
“Enough, Ardam! I yield!” A youth said as he staggered backwards across the training yard. While the young man who had surrendered was gasping for breath, the one who had bested him stood calm and composed. After a few moments of maintaining a stance still ready to fight, he let out a huffing breath of satisfaction. The two lowered their blunt training swords and made way for the next pair of militiamen to spar. The victor of the training bout was a fit specimen, even for the generally strong race of Equinaris to which he belonged. Built out of the muscles only hard work in a field could forge, Ardam Thanedor stood tall under his messy shock of black hair. The horselike ears on the top of his head rotated to face his fellow militiaman, as his tail flicked to the side, a sign he was pleased with the outcome of the bout for those that knew him well enough to see it. Ardam’s bright blue eyes, the only trait he had inherited from his mother sparkled with youthful delight as he afforded himself a chance to tease his friend.
“Come on Bargit, we’ve barely even started. How can you be breathing like your father’s bellows already?” Ardam asked the blacksmith’s son, “You can’t possibly be finding time to slack off without bringing me along can you?”
“As if. My old man has decided it’s time to get serious about my apprenticeship and has been working me harder than usual. Not that it matters here. You’re just too good with a sword.” The blacksmith’s apprentice complained. “Well he’d better be,” A voice chimed in from across the fence separating the practice yard from the road around the square of Kelb village, “A swordsmanship instructor wouldn’t stand for it if his son wasn’t the best.” The young Equinaris woman bearing a strong resemblance to her brother said. She was leaning lazily in the yoke of the cart the Thanedors used to sell their wheat to the nearby city of Lorn. “Hey Eisha. Your turn to take the goods to market huh? Don’t you let those city boys give you the runaround… or hit on you.” Bargit said as he finally caught his breath.
“After all the bruises Ardam left behind last time? They’d have to be nuts.” Eisha said, smiling at her overprotective brother. “Besides, he’s not the only one dad taught how to fight.” She said, patting the rapier at her hip. Ardam furrowed his brow in concern.
“Maybe I should still come with you…” He said, but stopped when he saw Eisha’s expression fall flat.
“Man, I wish I could have the confidence you guys have. Maybe if my father was a former man at arms and not a metal pounding hardass…” “Well I’m sorry your father likes pounding metal.” Came a gruff voice from behind as the village blacksmith laid his arm across his son’s shoulders. “Maybe I should teach you the joys of metal clanging against metal, on the practice yard.” Ardam and Eisha both winced in sympathy as the burly blacksmith hauled their friend back to the practice field for what was certain to be a rather rough bout.
“You’re sure you don’t need some help? It’s faster with two of us pulling.” Ardam asked. Eisha made a shooing motion with her hand in reply.
“I’ll be fine you big lummox. You keep playing soldier and impressing the ladies.” She said, indicating the other side of the training yard. An auburn haired human woman was leaning against the fence watching him though bright brown eyes with a grin on her face. The woman was as tall as most of the men on the practice field, and dressed much rougher than any. A mail shirt covered by a green tunic over her torso, while her hands and feet wore rugged leather gloves and boots. On her back was a round shield, and at her side was a mace, both showing signs of use. Ardam flicked his ear quizzically. “Oh her? You kidding? Look at what she’s got on her. She’s gotta be some adventurer. Nobody who lives off fighting like that’s going to impressed with some militiamen scrapping.” Ardam said.
“... So you’ve been checking her out.” Eisha said with a teasing lilt to her voice as she poked her brother in the side. Ardam blushed, though whether out of embarrassment of his wandering eyes or frustration at falling for his sister’s trap was unclear.
“I’d advise against it.” Another voice broke in. “That’s the Hammer of Barstan over there.” The innkeeper's wife said as she walked by with ingredients for the Inn’s meals..
“The what?” The siblings said together, their ears flicking with interest.
“She’s famous. The only survivor of the judgement of Barstan. Ever since the tower fell on her home six years ago, she’s been working as an adventurer and mercenary. They say that smile never leaves her face, even when she’s caving some poor sod’s head in with that mace. So keep your eyes where they belong young man.” The old busybody said.
“Wait, people can survive judgements?” Eisha asked. The older woman shifted the weight of what she was carrying, a little encumbrance no issue when there was an ear to funnel gossip into.
“It’s happened, but it’s not something I’d bet on. Barstan was a city of millions they say. Now she’s the only Barstanner left. I hear a few people called her a liar early on, and they’re the ones who got their heads knocked in to give her that nickname. So who’s to say? Certainly not someone who likes having their brains where their mother put them.”
Ardam kept his ears pointed at the woman as she spoke, but turned his head back to the adventurer. She certainly looked the part of a famous adventurer that would have stories told about her, but why the smile with a past as tragic as that? It looked like his curiosity would go unanswered, as the adventurer apparently lost interest and began to walk away.
With a bit more gossip from the innkeeper's wife delaying their chores, the siblings eventually got away. Ardam waved goodbye to Eisha as she left on the quarter day trip to Lorn. She’d sell the majority of their goods to the inn where she’d also stay the rest of the day and night selling what was left around town. It wasn’t the first time Eisha had performed this chore for the family, but it was close to it. Ardam couldn’t help his brotherly concern at letting his younger sister go into the city alone, but knew just as much that she could handle herself.
After practice with the local militia ended, Ardam went through his familiar routines. He plowed the field that had just been harvested, pulling the plow along as his mother guided the tiller through the soil. He chopped wood with his father, sowed more seeds in the second field, and before dinner went through a second sword lesson in his father’s teaching hall.
“You’ve gotten a lot better.” The scarred veteran said as they cleaned up for dinner. “At least you’re better than I was when I went off to war.” Ardam wasn’t sure why, but his mind wandered back to the smiling adventurer from earlier.
“Dad… what made you decide to fight for a living?” Ardam asked. He saw his father’s tail flick upwards. The question had upset him. There was a silence between them that stretched long enough that Ardam was about to retract his question, but his father eventually spoke.
“There was a big drought in Torum village where I came from. I was the fifth child. Another mouth to feed when there wasn’t any food to be had. Being young and stupid enough to believe nothing could hurt me didn’t help things along. When the king’s recruiters came by, I jumped at the chance. A lot of the boys in Torum did. Nobody else who joined up with me that day is still alive. Only I made it. During the war, my hometown was razed to the ground. So I could very well be the only person from Torum left.” Ardam had never heard this story before. Whenever he’d asked if there was more family out there, his father had always deferred to his mother’s side and said that his relatives were “gone.”
“...Do you regret it?” He couldn’t help but ask.
“Do I regret living through it all, meeting your mother and having a wonderful home with two children I’m proud of? Not at all… Some days though, I can’t help but wonder why I’m the one that lived. Why I get to be happy when so many people didn’t. But that’s life. Some people die of hunger in a drought, some die in war, whole cities get wiped out when the tower judges places, and some people survive. It’s our job to live for those who didn’t. To smile where they can’t, and to protect that smile with everything you have, because you know how hard it is to earn.”
The two sat in silence for a while. Ardam absorbing the wisdom of his father’s words. His father mulling over thoughts he hadn’t in a long time. Eventually the two stood up and went to a dinner that was strangely quiet with a family member missing. At least, it was quiet until Ardam’s father asked. “So, who’s the girl you’re thinking of joining the army to impress?”
***
Ardam wasn’t sure what woke him up. The moment his eyes flipped open, he knew something was wrong. Some horrid feeling in his chest, that almost made him panic as he rose in the pre-dawn dark. His hands moved in the dark with automatic precision, pulling on his pants and lacing his boots. The instinctual movement made him reach for his militiaman’s toughened tunic instead of his normal one. His swordbelt and gloves came on next, something driving him to be prepared while still knowing nothing about why he felt this distress. As he stepped from his room into the hallway, he could hear his father and mother moving as well. His father likewise carrying his sword as the family moved to the door. Even through the sure movement of his feet, Ardam could feel a rising panic in his core. The dread of what he would see when he opened the door and looked outside threatened to overwhelm him, but his body continued to carry him to behold it anyway.
He pushed open the door and his terror was made real. In the sky, the few morning stars that should have remained were missing. The sky on the horizon was the wrong color as well. Something occupied the once familiar view, something foreign and wrong. His mind slowly, as if resisting the idea, began to tell his soul the truth. As the first rays of sunlight caught the top of the horrid gray stone, shining brightly off the surface as if to declare it’s judgement had begun, Ardam took in the unmistakable sight of Heaven’s Gavel hovering in the skies above Lorn.
Becoming a master of disguise
"May evil be cursed."
"May evil be cursed." The Hexengard was destroyed, betrayed by the Lights Guard in the final moments of evacuation of Fritzfestung. Yet the motto of the Hexengard is still whispered in the alleyways and streets, usually as the last thing the corrupt hear before their hearts are pierced. (My friend asked if I was interested in joining a DnD campaign... I guess I was.)
Back to the grind for me! Announcing my new project, Dug Too Deep! Support the project on Patreon. https://patreon.com/carp0nastick?utm_medium=unknown&utm_source=join_link&utm_campaign=creatorshare_creator&utm_content=copyLink
Older piece I forgot to post here.
Her armor is cursed... or something.
The original Brexit was way more interesting.
Happy 4th of July!
So I finally finished my game~
It was my first project as a solo dev. I made the usual rookie mistakes, but I'm happy with the result in the end.
Not bad for my first attempt at an attack animation I think.