Chapter 1: The Shadow over Nevesk
Our last horse froze to death the night before we reached Nevesk. In hindsight, I should have taken it as the ill omen it was. At the time, it seemed another reminder that this world seemed to harbor a special hatred for mankind.
I and my two companions arrived at a tiny village, little more than a collection of hovels with a half-rotted stockade wall surrounding it, on foot well after nightfall, our packs heavy with what supplies could be carried by mere human strength. Njal walked in front, as was his want. Of the three of us, the barbarian warrior seemed not to notice the knee-deep snow he trod through. He sniffed the air, as if he could scent anything in the blizzard that'd fallen on us.
My other companion, the druidess Deidre, walked up to me and said, "Something is wrong here."
I nodded, trusting Deidre's nature magic-infused senses over Njal's repeatedly broken nose. I extended my Lightborn senses for any unsettling or unnatural auras. What my senses found was translated to me as a subtle hint of floral and spice hanging in the hair, as if I was scenting the remnants of a well made meal or a flower garden in the peak of spring bloom.
"I can't sense anything distinct," I replied, "but there is something here. I don't think this village is uninhabited."
Deidre looked at our surroundings. Despite it being the dead of night in the middle of a snowstorm, the vague outline of buildings could be seen in the faint moonlight.
"How can you be sure?" Deidre pressed. "There's no sign of anyone being here. Not even the hint of a lit hearthfire."
A cry of pain broke the relative silent. All three of us shoved our cloaks aside and reached for weapons. Njal moved immediately, following the sound to what appeared to be a shed. Deidre and I followed him, albeit a bit more cautiously.
Njal burst into the shed, twin axes in his meaty fists, ready to slay any foe that waited for him. As we came up behind him, I heard another voice, a man's, demanding who Njal was. Deidre fell in behind me, allowing me to take the lead, as was our usual plan. I was the face, Njal was the obvious muscle, and Deidre was the surprise sucker punch.
A man and a woman, both peasants wearing thick homespun clothes, stood over the slumped over form of a second man who wore the robes of a priest belonging to the Cathedral of Light.
I couldn't stop a small frown from coming to my face. I'd been hoping to avoid anyone from the Cathedral for as long as possible, if not entirely. Those fanatics of Inarius' personal cult were drunk on their own zealotry at the best of times, and this was not the best of times. If the Cathedral learned someone like me was here, near the heart of their power, things could get complicated fast. Complicated and bloody, if not downright lethal.
"What's going on here?" I asked, stepping to Njal's side.
"What's it to you?" the peasant man growled.
"Hush, Oswen!" the woman chided the man. "Don't be rude to guests."
As she spoke, I placed a hand on Njal's shoulder. The barbarian looked at me with a semi-feral glint in his pale blue eyes.
"Easy, big man," I said. "Let me handle this."
Njal nodded slowly and slackened his grip on his axes from white knuckled to merely tight, stepping back for me to take the lead.
"My apologies for our sudden entrance," I said to the woman. "We are travelers from afar. Our horses are dead and we've been walking since dawn with all the supplies we could carry. We would be glad for any hospitality you can offer."
The peasant man, Oswen, looked at us with unconcealed suspicion and hostility. The woman, however, smiled warmly as she replied, "Welcome to Nevesk, travelers. I am Vani, what passes for the mayor around here. We have little to spare but will share it gladly. Please, follow me."
Deidre abruptly asked, "Is your priest well? If not we have some skills in healing, both magical and mundane."
Vani stopped in mid-step and looked back at the priest, who seemed unconscious, and said, "I'm not entirely sure. We found him wandering towards our chapel, muttering about demons and damnation. He doesn't seem hurt, so I believe he needs rest more than anything else. Don't worry, Oswen will take care of him."
That answer seemed to satisfy Njal, who put his axes into iron loops set in his belt. Deidre seemed less assured but said nothing. For my part, I just wanted to get out of the cold.
Vani lead us to what passed for the village inn. Barely larger than a house, with a lit fireplace and about a dozen villagers packed inside, the frigid atmosphere seemed only partly negated. Every pair of eyes looked at us with the dull gleam of the down beaten, appraising us wearily, not unlike the gazes of hungry wolves eyeing a bear and judging their chances.
"Pyotr!" Vani said, looking at the man behind the bar counter wearing a stained apron and wiping a mug with a clean rag. "We have guests!"
"Guests?" Pyotr grunted. "Must be my lucky night."
Vani looked at us, still smiling kindly as she said, "Please, make yourselves comfortable. We have stew, ale, and good company!"
Vani's cheery demeanor seemed enough to satisfy the villagers we weren't a threat or prey, so went back to their drinks and muttered conversations. I and my companions sat at the bar. One exchange of coin later we had steaming bowls of stew in front of us. Said stew consisted almost entirely of watery broth with thin slices of vegetables and stringy bits of mew swirling around, but compared to field rations and scrawny rabbits, it could've been a king's name day feast for all I cared. The ale wasn't too bad either, even if it tasted funny.
Probably a result of being watered down to extend supplies, I figured after a small sip.
"So what brings you to our frozen corner of the Fractured Peaks?" Pyotr asked us as he returned to cleaning mugs. "Going to Kyovashad to listen to the Reverend Mother's sermons?"
"No," Deidre said. "The barbarian and I are looking for the Bear Tribe. We were told they were in this region."
"I see," Pyotr replied. "What's your business with them?"
"This brute and I are betrothed," Deidre explained, placing a hand on Njal's tree branch thick bicep. "He wishes the ceremony to be done by the shaman and chieftain of his tribe."
Pyotr looked over Deidre and said, "You're from Scosglen, judging by that bur in your voice. You're also a druid if I'm not mistaken. Rare as hen's teeth your kind are these days."
Deidre nodded. "The Days of Ash are long over, but the scars of Astaroth's reign of terror run as deep as mountain stone. The few remaining Druids have either moved on or are scattered across our homeland, trying to do what good they can."
Pyotr nodded with a grunt, commenting, "I've heard much of the same whenever news from Scosglen arrives. The few merchants who still manage to come this way have only grim news to share. Talk of rampaging goatmen and werewolf attacks in broad daylight and worse!"
"They speak truly," Deidre sighed. "The Khazra no longer fear the Glenfolks's wrath, and what's worse, the spirits of our ancestors are rising with bloody vengeance in mind for the living. Right now, living with nomadic barbarians seems a kinder fate for our children than eking out an existence in Scosglen."
"Well, I wish you fair fortune and many children," Pyotr sighed, putting down the now clean mug and picking up another. "What about you, sir knight?"
"Hmmm?" I grunted, caught about to swallow a mouthful of stew. My kind had gone wandering as I listened to Deidre tell her story, waiting for the food to cool enough to not scald my mouth. I put the spoon and its contents back in the bowl, replying, "I'm not a knight. Just a sellsword passing through."
"And I'm a warg's whelp," Pyotr laughed. "Your cloak can't hide all that armor your wearing, or the shield on your back, and I can see some kind of priestly crest on your breastplate. If you're not a knight, what are you?"
I sighed, closing my eyes and considering what to say.
"Wait," Pyotr said, dawning comprehension in his eyes. "I knew I'd seen that crest before! You're a Crusader of Zakarum!"
"I
was a Crusader of Zakarum," I said, not seeing a point in trying to deny it. "Now I'm just another mercenary who just knows how to invoke The Light."
"I thought the Knights Penitent wiped you all out some years past."
"They all but succeeded as far as I know," I replied. "I was in what used to be Westmarch when Zakarum lost the war with the Cathedral of Light, and then Caldeum sealed its borders to everyone. As far as I know, I might very well be the last survivor of the order."
"That's a grim fate if I've ever heard one," Pyotr said. "So what's your business here? Planning to join the Cathedral?"
"I'm looking for someone who doesn't want to be found. My last lead said Kyovashad was my best place to start looking."
Pyotr nodded, seeming satisfied at that, which I appreciated. Usually when I told people I was looking for a fallen archangel, they either treated me like a barely-sane lunatic or directed me to the fortress of Kor Valar, where Inarius held court and ruled his rapidly expanding territories, all conquered and administrated by his Cathedral of Light.
"Well I wish you luck, Sir..?" Pyotr said
"Arne. Arne Hardwynson," I replied. I looked down at my untouched stew, feeling my appetite gone as memories I'd done my best to bury surfaced. I stood up and said to my companions, "I'm gonna turn for the night. See you two in the morning."
They both nodded, Deidre wishing me a good night, and I stalked upstairs.
The inn's second story boasted a grand half-dozen rooms for guests, all of which were tiny and sparsely furnished to the point of being essentially empty. In my room I found one small, thin mattress covered by a partwork quilt, a tiny stool with an unlit candle atop it pretending to be a nightstand beside the bed, and enough space in one corner for me to pile my armor and gear. The only illumination present was the pale moonlight filtered in through a locked window encrusted with frost.
Slowly, I took off my war gear. I'd been stuck in my armor for almost three weeks now, not daring to take it off to wash or even sleep. This world, called Sanctuary, was anything but. For as long as the world existed, danger had been a constant outside the walls of civilization, and often even within. In these terrible days of shattered kingdoms and rampaging demonic warbands, safety had become a fever dream.
However, right now, I didn't care if all the Prime Evils marched on Nevesk. I would get some sleep outside my armor tonight and get some proper rest.
I did make one concession to safety. I put my sword and shield on the side of the bed opposite the window. If needed I could rise and grab them in a moment's notice.
All of my clothes had a desperate need to be laundered, so I would sleep in what I was already wearing; A simple black cloth tunic with the stylized sunburst and cross of the Zakarum Church along with black cloth trousers.
As I sat on the side of the mattress I found myself taking my sword and resting it on my lap. My eyes went to the wheel-like pommel. Instead of the typical symbols of the Zakarum faith, the pommel bore the quasi-figure eight symbol of the Horadrim, complete with a ruby inlaid within the top loop on both sides.
"Where are you hiding, Tyrael?" I asked the symbol, as if it could reach out to the man, once Archangel of Justice, that I had spent the last fifteen years seeking out. "Why do you not want to be found now? After all that's happened? We need you, Tyrael! The Horadrim are gone! Where are you?"
Exhaustion and a lingering cold festered in my bones and muscles like a cancer, suddenly hitting me like a tidal wave. Putting the sword down, I laid down and tried to empty my mind, like my mentor taught me, to bring on a restful, dreamless slumber, though right now I'd settle for merely dreamless. My dreams came rarely, and when they did they were more akin to nightmares.
Tonight a dream came to me. Or perhaps a vision? I saw the mighty fortress of Bastion's Keep on fire as the Demon Lord Azmodan's army assailed it, trying to pry it open to get to the Black Soulstone contained within. I saw the mortal men and women who defended the Keep, fighting valiantly if futilely. No garrison of mortal soldiers, even on in a mighty fortress like Bastion's Keep, could keep out the demons forever.
Not on their own, at least.
Leading the main counter-attacks from the keep were two figures, seemingly human but not. One was Tyrael appearing as a gigantically tall mortal in ornate golden armor and wielding his angelic longsword, El'druin. I recognized him from my mentor's stories of the once Archangel of Justice, and they suited him well.
The other figure I recognized immediately from memory as my mentor, Dame Jehanne de'Aubert, also known as The Nephalem. Though clad in onyx black plate mail, she practically glowed with holy power equal to Tyrael's as she slew and smote like an avenging angel herself!
Together they charged the demonic hordes, leading those soldiers of the garrison who could be spared in a charge to secure the bridge leading to the infernal crater at the heart of Mount Arreat, where Azmodan commanded his armies. The soldiers they brought with them seemed able to do more than guard the flanks and try to keep up as Tyrael and Jehanne cut through the demons like a sharp blade through rotted sackcloth.
I've been to Bastion's Keep,
but I wasn't even born when this happened, I thought to myself.
What is going on? Am I supposed to see something?
Whatever it was, I never saw it. I awoke with a start from a rapid tapping at the room's single window brought me back to full awakeness. In one fluid motion I rolled out of bed, keeping it between myself and the window, and drew my sword from its scabbard. Taking a two handed defensive stance, I focused on the window, prepared for any threat that might be there.
On the other side of the window, illuminated by a beam of moonlight, was a humanoid figure swaddled in ragged clothes and furs, much like the villagers of Nevesk wore. I saw a slender, pale face semi-hidden by a thick, weather-stained scarf. Intense gray eyes stared at me, and I extended my Lightborn senses out to the figure. Immediately I confirmed it was human and not a demon in disguise, and her eyes were not the blood red that was the trademark visage of all vampires.
That did not mean the figure wasn't a potential threat, however.
"Please let me in!" the human, a young woman by the sound of her voice, begged. "You're in danger!"
"Who are you?" I demanded, staying exactly where I was.
"Not so loud!" the woman snapped back. "My name is Zofia. This village is controlled by demon worshippers, and you and your friends are in danger! Please let me in before they come back or someone sees me!".
My first instincts were to open the window and assure Zofia that all would be well, but hard-won experience reminded me that even if she was telling the truth, she could very well be one of the cultists, send to get me to put my guard down and lead me into a trap.
"Please!" Zofia pleaded, more desperately now. "They already have your friends and are going to sacrifice them! I swear by the Holy Father Inarius I'm telling the truth!"
After a moment of silent thought, I sheathed my sword, but kept it on hand to use if need be. If Zofia proved to be a skilled liar, she wouldn't be the first one to pull a fast one on me, but she wouldn't be the final one.
I unlatched and opened the window, then stepped away, both to make space for her and to give myself some room to maneuver if need be. Zofia hopped inside as soon as she had space to enter. Shivering and patting off snow from her shoulders, she peered out the window, as if checking to make sure she hadn't been spotted, then closed and locked it.
She took off her scarf and breathed into her cupped hands to warm them. She looked young if a bit malnourished, but the first thing I noticed was her eyes. She had intense gray eyes with a hard edge to them, but not empty. If anything, they were overflowing an aura of life and energy and determination.
In such close proximity I barely had to touch my Lightborn senses to detect a powerful will inside her. I suspected she had an intellect and mind to match. In these kind of villages, women like her would either be burned as witches or revered as wise women. In the wider world, they became powerful leaders and magic users.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" Zofia demanded, her posture becoming tense and guarded.
"Your pardon," I replied, shaking my head to bring it back to the present. fixed her with an intense look of my own and said, "You said this village had been taken over by demon worshippers, and my friends have been taken to be sacrificed. How did that happen?"
"They were drugged through their food and drink," Zofia explained. "Vani and her cultists do that to every traveler comes through, or anyone they think is a threat. They take their victims to a nearby barn that's not a stone's throw away to be sacrificed. Then they take the bodies to the abandoned watchtower to be fed to their pet demons and undead. Usually the victims dont make it to the rooms before they pass out. When I saw you in here, I knew I had to take a chance."
More questions came to me, but prudence put them to the side. Right now I had to save Njal and Deidre.
"Where are the cultists now?" I asked.
"Vani took most of them to the watchtower to summon their master so he can kill you. Her brute, Oswen, is in the barn with your friends. Three of the rank-and-file thugs are downstairs to keep an eye on you."
As she spoke I buckled my weapons belt on and took up my shield. I had no time to don any of my armor, so I had to hope speed and surprise would see me through.
"Follow me," I said. "If any fighting happens, stay out of the way."
Zofia nodded, her intense gray eyes suddenly shining with hope.
I marched downstairs, not bothering with any pretense or attempt at stealth. I saw the innkeeper, Pyotr, still behind the bar cleaning his crockery, but now positioned to keep an eye on the stairs and all the entrances. I also saw two villagers sitting at the bar, both of whom I didn't recall seeing before. Both had large hunting knives on their belts and iron-banded wooden cudgels resting on the bar next to their tankards. Both turned in their stools and glowered at me.
"Something wrong, Sir Arne?" Pyotr asked, sounding surprised to see me up but not betraying any indication of worry. Just like any innocent innkeeper would do. When he saw Zofia behind me, all pretenses fell away.
"Zofia?" he said in surprise inflected with hostility. "What-"
As I reached the bottom step he looked into my eyes and saw my intent. He snarled to the other cultists, "The bitch's blown our cover! Kill her, but take him alive!"
With an effort of will, I infused my shield with a small measure of Lightborn magic and threw it at Pyotr. The shield flew at him with unerring accuracy, slamming into his neck. A sickening crunch of breaking bones and shattered cartilage filled the air as Pyotr's throat was pulped. He fell to the ground like a string-cut puppet.
The two cultist thugs only had time to squawk in surprise before my shield abruptly flew at them. Within three seconds, the three cultists lay dead where they stood or sat, all with broken necks or shattered skulls. The iron tang of spilled blood immediately filled the air.
"Angel's Breath!" Zofia gasped, covering her mouth. She didn't seem disgusted so much as shocked and amazed. "How did you do that?"
"That's a secret of the Zakarum Crusaders," I replied as I summoned my shield back to me. Without even having to focus I grabbed it out of the air by the interior grip. "Nobody outside our order is allowed to know how we do it."
Zofia nodded, looking at me thoughtfully. It caused a notion to pop into my mind, which I did not dismiss immediately, but filed away for later.
We left through a set of double doors, wide enough for a decently-sized hand cart to be brought through, and well disguised. Once we were outside, I saw the barn. Zofia hadn't been exaggerating when she said it'd be a stone's throw away.
I ran towards it as fast as I could. Steeling myself to charge headlong into pitched battle, summoning up my reserves of Lightborn power, I kicked the barn doors in. The poorly maintained wood burst open and the doors swung wide on rusted hinges, and for a moment I was blinded by the intense lighting within the bar.
My eyed adapted quickly, my drawn sword and shield at the ready for battle. Inside I saw what I could only describe as a macabre slaughterhouse for the butchering of human sacrifices.
The barn had only four people within, but was far from empty. Placed against the walls were barrels packed with human arms and legs. Among them were disemboweled torsoes, all visibly cleaned out of entrails and picked clean of bones, sat in neat stacks at orderly intervals. At the far end of the barn were two small stacks of dirty human skulls sitting on either side of an ornate altar. An aura of decaying flesh and the scent of fouled blood had an almost tangible present.
I heard Zofia mumble a prayer to Inarius shortly before becoming violently sick. I felt a pang of empathy for her situation. The first time I'd seen what a well organized demon cult could do to its victims I'd had the exact same reaction. Only through hard training and constant exposure allowed me to be as calm and collected as I was right now.
"Arne?" A woman's voice, Deidre's voice, asked. "Is that you?"
I brought my focus back to the immediate and saw four people at the end of the barn, where the two skull stacks stood on either side of a terrifying demonic statue. Two were Deidre and Njal stood up, relaxing from battle stances no doubt caused by my sudden entrance. The third was Oswen, who lay in a heap on the floor with clear signs of his skull having just been smashed in. The fourth person was the old priest we'd discovered with Vani and Oswen when we'd entered this damned village, now clear eyed and holding a spiked mace with blood and brains dripping from it.
"Aye," I told Deidre, "It's me. Thought you two might appreciate a rescue, but it seems I was beaten to it."
The priest looked at me with open hostility, and then I remembered my tunic had the sunburst and cross of the Zakarum Church stitched with gold thread on its breast.
"You are a brave man to show yourself here, infidel," the priest growled. "Brave or foolish. What's your business here?"
"He's with us, "Deidre said. "He's a friend and ally."
"Then you keep bad company. I remember seeing him with you two, yes, but he is the only one of you three not to be drugged and dragged here. Why's that, I wonder?"
"I barely drank a sip and ate nothing," I told him. "I went immediately to bed, and was able to waken when one of the villagers who still had courage and faith in the Light woke me."
"Is that so? How convenient. Too convenient, perhaps!"
Njal abruptly said in a deep, rumbling of a voice like that of an approaching thunderstorm, "Have a care, honored elder. Arne is my battle brother and a true believer in the Light. I vouch for him."
The priest glared at Njal, while Deidre and I looked at the massive barbarian with slack jawed amazement. Njal, ever a man of few words, had said next to nothing in the past three weeks. Not since we left Scosglen behind. To have him say so many words in my defense was a miraculous event by itself!
Deidre recovered her wits first and said, "Arne did go to bed without supper or even finishing his drink. He has also been our constant companion for more than a season now. If he is a secret demon worshipper, he's one of the craftiest and most dangerous ones ever to live."
The priest stopped glaring at Njal to look at Deidre searchingly. Eventually he sighed, rubbing his eyes as weariness overtook his stance, saying, "Very well. If you two vouch for this heretic, I will tolerate his presence in the Holy Father's heartland for now."
"My thanks," I replied, unable to hide a snide sarcasm in my words. I didn't much care for priests of any order or faith, finding them too often preachy and annoying. The Inarian clergy, however, where fanatical and dangerous. I'd seen the handiwork of their zealous proselytizing, and its victims, far too often to just let his remark about being a heretic go unchallenged.
The Inarian priest glared at me, as did Deidre.
I heard footsteps in the snow behind me. Zofia came to stand beside me, wiping the last strands of vomit from her chin with her scarf. She looked around at the gruesome interior of the barn again. Suddenly she focused on the demonic statue behind my companions and the Inarian, and gasped, "That statue! It looks the same as the demon who corrupted Vani and the rest!"
I looked at the statue and felt the blood drain from my face as long forgotten lessons came flooding back to me. I spoke my thoughts aloud in a hoarse whisper, "That is Lilith, the daughter of Mephisto. She was who the cultists were dedicating their sacrifices to."
"You are correct," the Inarian priest said with a nod. "We should get out of here, now! Before the rest come back."
"Agreed," I replied, turning to go back to the inn to retrieve the rest of my gear.
"Wait!" Zofia cried, grabbing my arm in a strong, two handed grip that even a grown man would be hard pressed to match. "You can't leave! The demons that Vani is bringing from the watchtower ruins will kill everyone in Nevesk if you go!"
"So?" the Inarian asked with an arrogant disdain. "This whole village is damned. Let the demons burn it all to ash!"
"Not all of us fell to damnation!" Zofia retorted, still looking at me with those intense gray eyes of hers. "Only a handful of our people were corrupted by that demon, Lilith, but she left her pets to help Vani and her cultists keep control over the village. We have over a score of families still faithful to the Light of Heaven here who couldn't flee or fight back. Please, save them!"
I suppressed a sigh, exasperated at myself more anything else. I replied, "I will do what I can, Zofia."
"Thank you!" she sighed, suddenly grabbing me in a strong bear hug. It caught me off guard, and I felt more than a little ashamed at how quickly I'd tried to turn and run from danger. Even if I claimed to be a "former crusader" of a broken order, I had never formally broken or forsaken my vows, and I found I would not do so now.
I told Zofia, "Go tell everyone to hide in their cellars if they have room. Otherwise, go to the inn. We'll make that our base camp. Quickly, now! Time is fleeting."
