Narration 24
Saturday, 11 April 1571 P.C.E.
Media Nocte

till feeling the rush of battle in his limbs, Calimar strides from the darkened stable into the mist-filled, moonlit courtyard.  As he approaches, Rumil and the strange new ranger are feverishly working on the stilled form of Ilph.  The ranger mutters a curse, but then adds, "Ah, he still breathes...by the looks of him it is a surprise."  Calimar sees it is the truth.

     Rumil says nothing, but carefully examines the halfling's scratched face and looks to the deep gouges torn through his leather armour and clothing beneath.  His hands coming away wet with blood; the paladin sighs, and lays his hands on Ilph's chest.  A soft prayer answered, a warm glow spreads from Rumil's hands and somewhat eases the rasping breathing of the halfling.

     Back in the stable, Folly had begun to follow the others, but the glint coming from the raw hole in the stall of the gutted horse catches his attention.  Cautiously, he reaches into the chill maw and draws forth a battered blade.  Bringing it into the light cast by the lantern in the doorway, he finds it is a battered scimitar.  The blade itself is in fine condition and still quite sharp.  The accouterments -- the crossguard and the grip -- are worn beyond repair.  At its pommel, the tang nut in the shape of a snarling wolf growls at unknown enemies.  Tapping his chin, a knowing- curious look comes to his eyes as he studies the weapon.  Still holding the battered scimitar, he walks to the others.

     As they tend further to the halfling, the baying and howling of the escaped ghoul can be heard from outside the keep's walls.  The ranger looks to Calimar and motions toward the noise.  "Should we not tend to that?"

     Before the knight can answer, the noise becomes a snarling, vicious growl and then is cut short.  The silence is broken by the measured tread of a horse's hooves on the stones.  Through the gate, a figure rides on a bay stallion.  As he closes, you see the armour and tabard of a church knight on a wiry form.  The eyes beneath the chain mail seem self-sure yet reserved.  When near the group, he tosses an object with his free hand that rolls to Calimar's feet.  "I believe this is yours, sir."  Calimar looks down to see a severed ghoul's head resting against one boot.  As he kicks it away, the strange knight brings his slender form from his saddle and wordlessly moves to the injured halfling.

     Fearing the worst of a battle, Martin runs into the stables.  Near the doorway, he finds Shardis lying senseless against the wall.  Quickly checking him for injuries, he finds naught but a few scratches and some bruises, yet the ranger is motionless and cold to the touch.

     As he examines Shardis, Martin feels the crucifix grow warm on his chest for a second and a bright light flashes before his eyes.  At its warm burst, Shardis begins to move and groaning, he begins to stretch out.  "Anyone see that teamster's wagon that hit me?"

     Martin chuckles, "No wagons here.... are you alright?"

     Shardis shakes his head.  "Fine, other than feeling like I've had warhorses dancing on my skull."  He points out to the others.  "You might be needed out there...whoever it is got a bit chewed."

     Martin pats the ranger on the shoulder good-heartedly, and then hurries to the others.  When Martin comes close enough, he recognizes the battered from on the ground as Ilph, and kneeling next to him, a strange knight finishes the ritual of laying hands.  Father Martin moves in, and the strange knight stands to move aside.  Quickly assessing the situation, the priest nods.  The danger is past.  The healing prayers have eased the halfling's pain and shock; all that remains is to bring Ilph into the keep and tend to the binding of his wounds.  Yet again, he feels the warmth of the crucifix and is dazzled by its light.

     When the newly arrived knight stands, Rumil ambles up to him and offers his hand.  "My good sir, I see you are of the church like myself.  Might I have your name?"

     The knight takes the offered hand and shakes it for the briefest, polite moment.  "Greetings, I am Talen, a knight in the service of Monsignor Saerpens," his voice tinged with an unidentifiable accent.  "I assume you are members of Brother Castus' party?"  Rumil gives him a surprised nod.  "My lord the Monsignor felt uneasy over the fate of your party.  He chose to send me out to provide additional assistance should you require it."  He looks to the slaughtered horse, the fallen ghouls, and the injured party members lying about on the ground.  "Judging from the evidence, I would say his fears were well founded."

     Rumil chuckles at the apparently grim joke, but quickly stifles it when no hint of a smile crosses Talen's face.  He seems rather irritated by the newcomer's words, but he is not allowed to answer.  A terrified scream resounds from the keep, freezing everyone for a moment.

     First to move, the whip of a knight turns quickly to his mount, grabs his full helm and shield from the saddlehorn, and begins to stride purposefully to the stables.  "Pick him up," he curtly orders Calimar, pointing to Ilph.  "We must see what is happening and we dare not leave anyone behind."  He places his helm and stalks into the keep, not waiting for an answer.  All you can do is follow his commands as well as follow afterward.

     As the others hurry back into the keep, Squire Giles sleepily sticks his head out of the back of the merchant wagon.  Not believing his eyes at first, he rubs them and looks again to the eviscerated horse, ghoul bodies, as well to the strange bay horse standing patiently in the courtyard.  He mumbles as he pulls on his clothes, "I always miss the excitement."  Still grumbling, he sees to the stabling of the strange horse.

s the hellish smell and the shock of the supernatural fades, Cain and Durian move quickly to the stricken bard.  As the ranger kneels next to her, the half-elven knight takes her in his arms, and begins to speak softly in elven, hoping to ease her into consciousness with the soothing tongue.  Yet, to his dismay, she remains insentient, her face occasionally etched with fear.  As they watch, her fear grows greater.  With her breath rasping, she twists and claws with her hands as if fighting off some attacker.

     Holding her tightly, the knight looks up to his ranger companion.  "I fear it is beyond our power to help her.  We need to get her to Father Martin.  Perhaps a full priest can break this death of sleep.  Take her so I may stand."  The ranger nods, and takes the slack bard into his arms from the knight.  Durian rises to his feet, and helps the encumbered ranger to stand.

     Meanwhile, Lugnut rages about the room.  Having taken one look at the fallen human, the little kobold's face twisted into a mask of rage, with his eyes shining red and his sharp teeth gnashing together.  His voice hisses and spits as he hurls kobold oaths and curses as he runs about.  He shakes his fist towards the darkened stair, occasionally scoops up a loose bit of rubble or a fallen cross to hurl into its dark maw.  Finally, his agitation peaking, he zooms out of the main door of the dread room and disappears, although his curses can long be heard afterwards.

     As the knight and the ranger pick their way through the rubble back to the sleeping area, a helmed knight appears across the way, striding quickly into the room with his shield up and his hand on his sword.  As the dark room comes into sight, the forcefulness of his actions slow, stiffening as if in shock.  With his free hand, he doffs his full helm and stares back into the dread room.  "May the PaterOmni be with us, brothers.  It would appear we will be working hard in his service this day."

     Martin shoves his way past the frozen knight.  "Move aside, I need to tend to her."  Motioning with his hands, the priest calls to Cain, "Bring her over to the fire.  I need the light."  Then, in afterthought, he looks to Calimar, "Set Ilph on one of the bedrolls.  He will be fine for the time being."

     The ranger carries the bard to the still-lighted hearth and sits, holding her in his arms.  Clicking his tongue in agitation, Martin begins to look to the unconscious bard.  With his first touch, Doran begins to stir groggily, pulling tighter to Cain as if seeking warmth.

     The strange knight turns from the room with his face marked with confusion and concern.  "Pray tell, what conspires here?"

     Quickly, the story is told with many voices.  Sir Talen learns of your coming here in the storm, and the great booming noises that echoed from the bowels of the keep.  The attack of the skeletons, zombies, and some fell mockery of a priest is quickly added, followed as if in afterthought by the ghouls' attack on the horses.  With Cain preoccupied in soothing the still-groggy bard, Durian tells of the fell man that accosted them in the dread room with sorceries vile.

     Still holding Doran, Cain growls, "I say we go after him and feed him about three feet of steel...and maybe twist it about a bit."

     From her resting-place, Doran haltingly speaks up.  "I...I met that thing once.  It's no man."  As all eyes turn towards her, she pulls even tighter to the ranger, bringing a stifled grunt from him.

     His voice oddly softened, as if talking to a deer he might frighten away, Talen moves closer to Doran.  "Child, we must hear whatever you can tell us of this being.  They are only memories, and will fade away in the light of day."

     "That...thing..is a diabolus....a demon."  At that word, the clergy present cross themselves almost instinctively in protection.  "When I was younger, I was held--somewhere...," she pauses, shaking her head.  "...I don't know where."  She looks to her companions, "Remember those insect things I told you about?  Well, they used blood from me...'blood of an innocent', they said...to call it."

     Doran drops her eyes, and barely restrains a sob that is quickly followed by another.  Soon, tears are streaming down her face.  "W-when..h-he c-c-came, t-the Diabolus......h-he d-did things to me... h-hh-hurt me."  She turns her tear-streaked face to Cain's chest, and he can do nothing but hold her, rocking slowly.

     At the story, Talen's jaw tightens and his eyes flash in anger at the young woman's travails.  Martin is more explosive in his response.  "WE cannot allow this EVIL to remain...and we must destroy it now."  The priest gazes at the others.  "If we leave to seek more help, who is to say that more travelers...perhaps women and children won't stop here to rest.  No, it must be stopped and it must be stopped now.  Better to pay a fine to the Wardens than to shirk our duties as graduates of the Conlegium and sons... as well as a daughter...of the Church."  Martin falls silent, his eyes locked on the paladin and knights in the party.

     Calimar looks to the others, and they agree with silent nods.  With a flourish, the knight draws the First Thorn, its buzz filling the room, and salutes the priest.  "We are with you, Father."

     Her crying done, Doran turns back around.  "When I passed out, I saw this old man...in a sort of dream...he got rid of the scum. And told me that to defeat them, I must invoke the Covenant, but that Diaboli and their ilk seek to break it..." The bard's voice trails off, then she stiffens and exclaims, "Oh!!  I remember something!  When I was a captive, there were others, chained as I was!  You don't suppose--that this was the place.... What if the Diabolus still has female captives?"

     This added bit of information starts a new level of angry mumbling, but Sir Talen motions for silence.  "Gentles, we face a quandary."  He motions to the collapsed wall where the undead emerged.  "Our opponent can likely send forces against us at any time or anywhere while we are within this place.  No doubt should we try to rest to recover our strength; he will send more of his minions to attack us.  Yet some among us are depleted in strength and body, and we dare not leave them behind."

     He pauses as if in thought.  "Gentles, I believe despite this, our best plan is to move forward and confront this Beast.  We gain nothing from delay, except to allow our opponent time to recover his strength.  We must face this creature and send him to his reward.  To do less would leave this Beast free to inflict more of his torments upon innocents such as Bard Doran."

     A hearty chuckle from across the room draws everyone's attention from the knight.  Now awake and grinning broadly, Castus sits on his bedroll.  "Talen, I had almost forgotten your oratory talents.  My friend, you missed your calling.  Your sermons are better than many I have heard."  Castus begins to rise to his feet, causing Martin to start towards his patient, but the burly monk waves him off.

     "I'm fine, Martin... In fact, I'm better than fine."  And it is true.  As he ambles over to the fireplace, Castus seems somewhat different, stronger, almost glowing with health and confidence.  Pausing only to fill and light his pipe, he looks around to all of you, noting Doran and Ilph's conditions with a concerned frown.  "Listening to you, it seems I missed a bit.  I wouldn't go off half-cocked, though."

     He turns toward the strange knight.  "Aye, Talen, you forget one thing.  By my guess it's still the middle of the night, is it not?"  Talen nods.  "Well, they call them creatures of the darkness for a reason, sir knight.  We can rest until morning, and when the Allfather's sun is high in the sky, we will be at strength and he will be weakened.  All we need to do is find a way to ward..."

     While Castus speaks, Lugnut runs up to him and pulls on one hand.  When the monk looks down, the kobold chatters, "Bad door... Have I oil...fire...fire...burn them up."  With a big toothy grin, he insistently tugs the monk to where he can see the dread stair.  Sitting there almost patiently, the monk sees a big barrel of oil, a lit lantern, and a hatchet.

     Grinning broadly, the monk pats the kobold on the shoulder, and turns back to face the others.  "I believe this little fellow has provided the means to hold the stairs.  He and I will remain awake to guard you through your rest."

     Talen turns to address Castus directly.  "Brother, I believe it would be best if you used your healing talent on our fallen."

     Castus' eyes grow big for a second, and then he begins to chuckle, slowly building into an outright belly laugh.  In a moment, the monk's laughter rolls like peals of thunder, driving away any shadows that remain.  He laughs so hard that he is forced to sink to the floor, tears streaming down his face.  All the while, the grim knight stands not comprehending the monk's mirth.

     After a moment, Castus stops and while wiping tears from his cheeks, he shamefacedly looks to the knight.  "Sir knight, I'm not an ordained priest.  Ever since we first met in the Monsignor's service I have meant to correct your misconception of me.  I'm a lowly lay monk, a simple sinner seeking peace with God ...and avoiding enemies while doing it.  If I had not involved myself in earthly indiscretions unknowingly with a certain Baron D'artmour's wife, I'd still be a leftenant in Guard of New Aveon."   His face saddening, he shrugs, "I am what I am.  What healing I know is the basics that every soldier knows.  I hope I have not disillusioned you, my friend."  With that, he turns to the others, his military service showing in his voice.  "Now the lot of you, find your beds.  Tomorrow I feel will be a long day."

     Trusting his words, you set about retiring again.  Weapons and armour are set aside.  Filth and gore-encrusted clothes are removed  (Of course, Doran goes to the other room as before -- with a guard.), and some time is spent scrubbing off the sordid remains of the battles with a bucket of chilled water brought in by Squire Gilles.

     As this all goes on, Martin tends to the battered halfling.  After carefully removing his savaged armour and shirt, Martin cleans his wounds and binds the worst of them with bandages.  Throughout, Castus watches the little collector, and when Martin departs, he approaches and nudges Ilph with one boot.  "Don't try to con an old thief.  You don't seem to be in any shape to fight. I suggest you stay on the surface with Lugnut and Squire Giles."  Not waiting for a response from the unmoving halfling, he goes and gathers his shield and mace to begin his night vigil as the others settle into their bedrolls.

orning comes seemingly too early, brought to your attention by several soft tugs on your blankets.  Opening your eyes, you find yourself face to face with Lugnut, one of his many-toothed smiles welcoming you to the day.  As you sit up to rub your eyes, yawn a time or two, and stretch the kinks from your spine, he steps back and patiently awaits for you to fully wake.  When your eyes focus clearly, he hands you a mug of strong steaming tea sweetened with honey and then totters away to wake his next 'victim'.

     By the hearth, Castus putters around with numerous pans and pots, stirring one here, tasting another there.  As you watch, the smell of breakfast wafts over and sends your long-empty stomach to rumbling.  Seeing your expectant looks, the monk pauses to smile at you; "Breakfast will be a bit.  Why don't you prepare yourselves and give your equipment a check?  It's about three hours past dawn.  I figure we'll descend about noon, so take your time.  This is too important a thing to rush."

     After dressing and splashing a little water into your faces, the lot of you moves to where your arms and armour are precisely arranged.  To your surprise, you find the weapons sharpened, oiled and rust free.  Likewise, your armour has been scrubbed and oiled.  Everything shines like new.  Castus notices your surprise, "The Squire, Lugnut and myself had some long, boring hours to tend with.  We decided to make sure everything there was in fighting trim."

     As armour is put on, harnesses tightened, and new edges tested, Folly walks over to Cain.  The mage holds out the battered scimitar that he found in the stables.  "Ranger, I do believe this is more suitable to you.  I know it may not look like much, needing repairs and all, but this blade has some special properties of some sort.  I have not been able to fathom the type of enchantment, but you are welcome to it."

     As Calimar moves to put on his chain mail, Squire Giles comes up to him bearing the banded mail captured from the orcs.  "Sir, last night, I found that someone had started cleaning this armour, and I noticed that the rose and vine design on its chest-plate matched that of your new sword, so I finished the job and gave it a good polish."  The armour gleams in his hands.  "It would provide better protection than the chain, and better suit your station, Milord."  With that, he leaves the armour and returns to his duties.

     While the others make what preparations to descend into the depths, Ilph awakes and painfully pulls himself from his bedding. Wearing nothing but his breeches and the bandages covering his torn torso, the halfling slowly makes his way over to the busy monk and his pots of bubbling food.  He gratefully takes a mug of sweet tea offered by the kobold.  With obvious keen interest, Ilph stretches his neck to see if he can glimpse what the monk labors over.  "What's to eat?"

     The monk looks down at the halfling.  "Well, we got oatcakes with honey, bacon, and mush with brown sugar, raisins and such. Will that suit you, Master Ilph?"  With that, he looks up and sees the others finishing their preparations.  Waving his hand, he calls, "Food's on...come over and eat your fill."  As they approach, Castus and the squire fill trenchers and wooden bowls with breakfast.  Lugnut weaves in and out of the legs of the taller party members, filling empty tea mugs with more of the sweetened hot beverage.  The next several minutes are silent except for hurried, loud chewing.

     As everyone starts to slow, Castus wipes up the last bit of honey with a piece of oatcake and pops it into his mouth.  Sitting back with his mug of tea, he looks to Father Martin.  "Father, I thought we might take one last breath of air before we go down.  Would you do us with a prayer while we are under the AllFather's bright sun?  It might do the soul some good before we go down and face the unknown."

     Not bothering to pause between bites, (OOC:  It has been along time between meals, after all...), the priest nods at the monk's suggestion, and then both of them return to the meal with a fury.  After several more minutes and several more platefuls,Castus sits quietly, sipping his tea until everyone finishes.

     Taking up his helm and mace, the monk stands and motions for the squire and kobold to take up the dirty dishes.  "Giles, Lugnut, and Ilph...because of his injuries...shall remain up here to guard our supplies and mounts."  He looks to Cain and Folly, "I suggest that you two leave your animals behind as well.  They don't seem to take too well to the supernatural...."  Cain nods and gives one last pat to Stannous as Folly sets aside the clinging ferret.

     With a placid look on his face and his prayer book in his hands, Father Martin rises and motions for everyone to follow. "Let us adjourn outside for that prayer that Brother Castus suggested."  Everyone rises, takes up their burdens and follows the priest as he leads you through the keep and out its main doors.  Outside, the courtyard is still damp from the night's storms, but the skies are blue and filled with a bright warming sun.

     The priest turns and motions downward.  "Kneel and let us pray."  He watches as everyone genuflects and crosses themselves before beginning.  "Pater noster qui es in caelis, Sanctificetur nomen tuum.  Adveniat regnum tuum.  Fiat Voluntas tua sicut in caelo et in terra..." He continues for some time.  As he rolls through the liquid sounds of prayers in Church Imperial, you find your souls lightened and it lets you ponder the day ahead.  He finishes, crosses you all in blessing, "In nomine Patri, et Filii et Spiritui Sancti, excedete hic locum in pace."

     As everyone rises, Castus stands and covers his bald pate with his heavy helm.  Looking around to see all is in readiness, the monk restlessly smacks his heavy mace against one hand before hanging it from his belt.  Taking up his shield, he slings it across his back and then turns to the others, his voice barking orders, "Well, let's get this over with.  Move into that blasted horrific room and we'll form up in a line to go down."

     Each pausing to take one last look at the sun, you enter the keep and make your way up the hall.  With a twinge of hesitation, you enter the dark room, where some of the zombie bodies still twitch.  The monk callously kicks one and grumbles, "Should've burned these things last night."  He turns back from the twitching mass of flesh.  "All right, since there's more of this sort down there," he kicks at the broken zombie, "we should load the front with the Church knights and Father Martin, put Doran and Folly in the middle, and have more warriors.... including Rumil, to the back.  Just in case some of these deaders hit us from behind."

     The monk turns to Talen.  "Of the Church knights here...you are the closest to getting your spurs.  You take lead."   (OOC: Royce, Talen wouldn't refuse now, would he?)   The grim knight nods and moves with sword drawn to the gaping maw.  When everyone forms up behind him, he begins to move down the darkened stair.

     Barely more than two feet wide, the steep stair seems like a cramped narrow passage into the bowels of the abyss.  Armour scratching against the claustrophobic walls, you spend four twisting flights placing careful steps on narrow stairs.  When the descent begins to seem ndeterminable, the stairs come to a small passage that opens into an extremely large room, (#1 on map), lit by glowing orbs placed about on the ceiling.  On the east and the west sides of the rooms, two large piles of rubble about the wall from some long ago ceiling collapse.  The south wall is marked with three sets of doorways, the south-central one having been torn from its hinges.

     As you all begin to fan out into the room, the southwest and southeast doors swing open with a violent bang.  Out of the darkness, two score or more of decaying undead flood from the rooms.  As they shuffle and moan towards you, a scrabbling comes from the rubble piles.  Stones are tossed over and rumble to the floor as a score of skeletons rise from the stone piles.  Castus bellows, "Fall back and form up to hold these things back!"

     However, as the things close, something seems wrong with their dead movements.  The zombies twitch and spasm, some even falling helplessly, as if not in control.  If anything, the skeletons are worse.  As they jerkily stalk towards you, some lose cohesion and fall to pieces, while others lose just bits here and there.  When they come into the influence around the paladins, the disruption becomes that much worse, and their movement halts.

     Castus grins at Talen, "See... the cursed things are barely in control here.  Our Father's touch can be felt even this deep.  Chop the moldering things down!"  The monk wades in with his crushing mace, sending a zombie or skeleton down with every blow.  Seeing his success, all join in the destruction of the unresisting dead things.  Within minutes, the floor is scattered with bits of twitching, rotting flesh and powdered bone.  Not one of the things remains standing, and no one is harmed.

     Castus doffs his helm and wipes his sweaty brow as the last of the things are finished off.  He points to the now open doors. "Shardis, Rumil...check those rooms out.  I don't want anymore surprises."  In a moment, you all regroup towards the center of the room.  Shardis and Rumil report the rooms (#2 and #3) to be long abandoned barracks filled with rotting bunks, a firepit, and a privy each.

     Castus replaces his helm and points to the south hallway.  "I guess that's where we go.  Form up."

     Knights and priest in the lead, the party makes its way down the narrow hall.  When it spreads out, the leaders stop at something curious on the floor.  (See #4 and the puzzle page). Filling the entire passage, and running more than twenty feet down its length, there is a sentence carved in stone and then 2'x2' tiles with letters.  Beyond it, there is another ruined doorway and a stair descending.

     Martin comes forward and kneels down to read the words. "Promittite Unum in SUUM Nominem... Send forth One in HIS Name.  What could it mean?"

     Castus wanders forward and with his mace, gently taps a tile marked with the letter "G".  The tile falls away, revealing empty darkness.  No sound of it hitting anything is heard.  The monk jumps back, "By the Hells, whatever it means...we better figure it out or we're not going any farther!"

     Shardis suddenly gasps and points across the trap.  "Look at that!"  As everyone looks up, a misty phantom takes shape amidst the rubble by the ruined door.  Dressed like a church knight, it silently hews away at unseen opponents with a glowing blade. His/its face is twisted as if fights hard pressed, slowly giving way towards the stairs.