Chapter 9
In the cold lightless depths of the end, an unlikely pair traversed the twisting canyons of blackened stone. Light green motes drifted from the sky as snowflakes, barely illuminated by a lonely light drifting through the darkness. The tall drifts were parted by a coughing, retching woman whose staff was illuminated by the head. Its isolated passage had carved a deep furrow from the tear she’d entered. Though she’d entered alone, another figure followed just behind her. A tall elvish gentleman with dark, braided hair that fell to the middle of his back. He was pale, with a corpse-like coloration to his lips and around his eyes. Nested in his sockets, rather than eyeballs, were orbs of orange flame that burned ineffectually against the darkness. His robes were extravagant, fur-lined and hung with belts that carried the reagents of a mage. Finally, a black leather-bound book gilt in silver hung from his hip.
“While I appreciate the attempt, letting her think you died is rather callous.” He observed to the blue-cloaked woman, who scoffed as she pressed on. The man jovially shrugged, floating through the drifts as if they meant nothing to him. Mara supposed that it didn’t, given he was meant to be here. “Far be it for me to lecture you on women, not my area of course. But still. You clearly mean a lot to her.” The man added, appearing before her with a broad grin. Mara started, waving her staff through him with irritation.
“You’re right. It isn’t any of your business. Try remembering your own name so I don’t have to awkwardly call you Ghost.” Mara scowled, climbing her way out of the drifts and onto a rock face. She scanned the canyon, searching for any sign of the staff. The spectral elf laughed somewhat, pointing over his shoulder with a thumb. Following his indication, Mara saw a cave that Renaud couldn’t possibly have seen through the tear. She coughed, vision blurring for a moment. “I don’t understand. This place makes even less sense than it did seventy years ago.” Mara complained, dropping into the snow once more. She made a hopeless noise of protest, throwing herself forward in defiance of the cold that gripped her.
“Makes perfect sense to me. You’d probably be dead many times over without me.” The ghost sneered, attracting an impotent whack of Mara’s staff. He laughed slightly before concern overtook his face, watching Mara weaken by the minute. She was more resilient than mortals had any right to be, but she was still only flesh and blood. Bodies didn’t last long where only the spirit could thrive. “No shame in going back. You can just say it launched you back out.” The elvish man bargained, watching Mara’s back retreat further into the cave he’d indicated. With a noise of frustration he followed, eerily floating through the drifts once more.
The cave was mercifully free of snow yet bore many stranger mysteries than Mara’s quarry. As she cast about for the Crook, she saw a light in the depths. She and her friend shared a concerned look before electing to follow the light deeper into the cave. Mara approached the back wall which had been cracked near enough in twain with a gap large enough for her to slip through. This gap held the light she sought and so, she crawled through with the ghost infuriatingly drifting through it as if it weren’t there.
Within the cave she had confusingly come into the quaint kitchen of her childhood. The low wooden ceiling hung with cookware and herbs of all kinds whilst the table had been set for two with steaming cups of tea prepared. Mara’s confusion was intensified even more by the necrotic poisoning of her recent escapade evaporating. Her ghost gave a gainful shrug and sat himself at the table with a mischievous grin. He clearly intended to play whatever game was afoot. Mara looked to her feet with irritation before seating herself and awaiting their ethereal visitor.
“Boldly you set foot upon this earth again. Wherefore have you come?” Came a familiar baritone voice. It was gravelly, ominous and emanating from all about her. The voice belonged to a creature Mara had only glimpsed in her previous visit to Annun. Yet the chilling vibration of its words cloyed at her thoughts, dragging and demanding her attention as if it were a snag line. Warily, she looked over at her ghostly companion to see him frozen with fear. A fear so mortal and terrible that it infected Mara, whose gut twisted in apprehension.
“We seek the Crook. It has lain interred in this realm, and we would see it returned.” Mara spoke truth, for she would gain little in lying to this creature. Whatever it may be, she sensed it caressing her thoughts as if viewing a tempestuous ocean through a window. It did not fear her, nor did it balk at her attempts to cast it away from her thoughts. Her ghost, she surmised, was enduring similar sensations as a pained expression took the place of his terror. In all her time with him, Mara had never known this man to pray. Yet here he was, silently whispering invocations of Arawn to deliver his soul from the darkness. The voice that lay in that same darkness, it seemed, would curdle his soul should it choose to. As Mara’s thoughts grew ever darker, the voice intruded with a rancorous rasp of mirth.
“You know not what you ask, child. The power of Annun would rest once more in the grip of a mortal.” The voice replied, extracting a momentary note of intrigue from Mara. It would seem historical attestations crossed that most impermeable barrier from speculation to fact. This creature, such as it was, had no reason to lie to them. “I speak in sooth to the children of Auryth for they are kin to the gods. We are all of one make. When once this Crook did shepherd the mortal peoples of your birth realm, it visited great sorrow upon the land. In the hands of the forsaken man, it would do so again.” The voice continued as a note of relish was slathered upon its words. It was as if it enjoyed the prospect of this pain. Mara inhaled deeply, finding to her relief that it came easily. She imagined she had this creature to thank for the air and acclimated conditions. She could think of nothing she could say to this creature that would grant her ingress to the staff. After all, it evidently had the power to shape Annun to its will and would not allow them close to it without some measure of test or proof.
“What would you have us do? Run back to the mortal realm empty-handed?” Mara tried to control her emotions as she spoke. Even as the words left her, she could feel disappointment and rage filling her. Rage that had been kept in check for the most part for nigh seventy years. The voice’s influence in her mind could feel the tempest take a more direct disquiet. “I was drawn into this realm against my will and spat out an abomination. I will have just compensation. I will be remarkable.” Mara growled through grit teeth, fingernails digging into her gloved palms with the audible creaking of leather. Her ghostly companion’s wide eyes turned to look at her with renewed fear and the subtlest of pleading expressions.
“You meddled with forces beyond your ken and were paid your due compensation. In your arrogance and your greed, you sought beyond the veil.” The voice retorted sharply. Its mocking sadism turned had to cruel admonishment as its tone rose with indignance. The air around them became colder, stale and suddenly Mara found herself labouring to breathe. “Annun does not forgive your trespass. And it does not forgive your conceit. If you would have your compensation, as you name it, then you shall claim it.” The voice sneered as the cosy kitchen evaporated around them, leaving the pair in the darkened dust storm of the land of the dead.
In their new conditions, Mara felt once more the grip of necrotic energy upon her heart. With purpose, she began to draw upon every protection charm and energetic limitation Renaud had taught her. Her ghostly companion followed her determined walk with trepidation as they took their first shaking steps towards a black gate that loomed before them. Set upon a great rocky outcropping that oversaw the system of canyons they’d been trekking through, this once-hidden dark tower seemed to be constructed entirely from blackened metal. Twisted vines crawling along its length, vicious hooked thorns emerging with hungry intent. The dark, undead mockeries of life that could exist within this world would surely cut at her, draw her life away if they could.
“You couldn’t just play nice with the eldritch monstrosity in the land of the dead, could you?” The ghost spat as he began moving towards the black gate. As a dead man, he was at considerably lower risk from the vines and cruel thorns that made up the garden of the tower’s approach. “We could have crooned in its ear and flattered it until it handed us the staff. But no, once again Mara’s ego has to make both her own life and the life of her erstwhile friend massively difficult! Honestly, I’m glad you rejected Solvi. She deserves far better than a megalomaniac mage hellbent on curing herself rather than just accepting what happened!” The ghost ranted, half-heartedly examining the door’s locking mechanism as he did so. He noted that it would be quite simple to open if one were a ghost yet utterly impossible for a mortal since it required the ability to manipulate Annun itself. Quite ingenious if one were trying to make escape from Annun impossible. He momentarily set about opening it as Mara approached him with steel in her step before stopping.
“Of all people, you don’t get to talk to me about megalomania. Or Solvi. Remind me, who gave me the idea of converting necrotic energy to save our skins? Curious how you always remember things puissant to your problems!” Mara retorted before her shining staff pointed directly under the ghost’s chin with an angry shake. “When you hear their jeers and taunts, I’ll take your advice about moving on.” She added, her staff whipping to their obstacle with an agitated point, as the vines began to curl towards her. Their hunger was unmistakable and would surely attack her if given the chance. “Now open the damn door!”
The ghost sat there staring at her for a few moments before he placed a hand into the lock, preparing to manipulate it. He’d seen these mechanisms many times before even despite his failing memories. It would take but a moment to operate it. To that end, he had discovered a means to get what he needed from Mara.
“First, I would have the truth.” The ghost spoke dispassionately, his eyes taking a curiously cold aura despite being flaming orbs. “This staff was once used to cast down nations. What do you want with it? To be the most feared necromancer of the age? Because I have walked that road, Mara, and it damned me.” The ghost spoke with a shaking voice, as if confessing to some profound shame.
Mara’s eyes widened as twin realisations hit her. That the ghost had memories and that his extortion would see her swallowed by vines. She cursed him, demanding entry as her hands began to blast blue fire at the encroaching vines. She fought against them, shaking as thorns lashed at her legs greedily. They entwined her, forcing her to grab their stems and burn them directly. The intense heat did little to quell the pain of her energy expenditure. With a vicious snarl, she looked over her shoulder in abject fear.
“You’d trap us both in Annun over some absurd purity test?!” Mara shrieked, panic overtaking her as the vines merely seemed irritated by her flames. Desperately, she invoked one of her more powerful spells and put up a barricade of fire between herself and the vines. It bought her a few moments, at least. Her knees gave out all the same. Her arms were blistered with backfire effect and her legs had been scratched badly by the vines.
“You seek the staff of a god himself!” The ghost barked back, watching as the vines began to throw themselves upon the blue flames of Mara’s spell. Their bulk, rather than igniting, simply smouldered and smothered the flames. The mage looked back at her work with a whimper, seeing this predatory foliage close the distance between her and the door. She threw herself back, looking up at the unmoved ghost with pleading eyes.
“I just want him to be proud of me.” Mara snapped, confession tearing itself free of her mask. “He says I have such potential yet whenever I meet my sora’s eyes I only see disappointment.” She confessed, crying out with pain as more feeble blasts of fire left her hands, keeping the vines from wrapping about her once more. “Everyone sees me as the outcast but not him. He sees me for the elf I am. Without Renaud I would not have anything in my life. I owe him something more than- than this!”
The doors to opened, allowing Mara to fall inside. With a sharp retort, they locked tight. They slammed together with such force that stray vines were severed from their stems and sent withering through the air. By the time they landed upon the ground, they were nothing but desiccated husks. The ghost serenely committed to floating through the base of the tower, observing as the foyer ignited with torches. Mara simply lay on her side, weeping in pain and humiliation. She barely noticed that within this tower, the necrotic energies did not seem to be as deleterious.
The foyer they found themselves in bore an eight-pointed sunburst pattern upon its tiled floor. All about them, the dark metal had been wood-panelled to make it seem more homely with paintings of grand old elvish mages and dignitaries hanging upon the wall. There were several distinguished chairs that the ghost could easily see his grandfather occupying with a pipe and a tall glass of wine. Idly, he perused the bookshelf that had occupied the wall opposite this chair. He turned after a few moments, noting that Mara had regained her dignity and had since stood up. She had already begun to ascend the stairs without taking notice of the décor. She walked with laboured breaths and determined steps that the ghost had seen only during the war. The dogged persistence against your own screaming body that characterised the desperate march of dead men against an enemy they knew they could not defeat. He remembered well the night the Idharans had chosen to flex their might against the orsan war machine. Rather than surrender, the orsan people fought bravely. In retaliation, the Idharans had razed Karkun with such flames that they were visible across the channel. The ghost shivered, turning his attention to the books once more. Curiously, they were written in Elysian. He perused a few pages before Mara’s demanding call summoned him up the stairs with a grumble.
He came upon what appeared to be a lab of some kind replete with vials and beakers set on sturdy wooden tables with heavy books of notes in accompaniment. Several large apertures were set into the walls, sealed tightly with nullstun to contain powerful magical signatures that one might detect. Whoever had taken up residence in this place, Mara reasoned, did not want to be found. The ghost next to her curled a lip with a disgusted tut. He directed Mara’s attention to what appeared to be several suits of armour that, upon closer inspection, did not appear capable of actually containing people. Their attention however was immediately diverted by a groan that echoed from within the helmet of one of these constructs.
Propped up against the wall, its metal chassis was considerably more decorated than the others with additional bulk and armour plating along what Mara assumed were the essential areas of its head, chest and shoulders. What made the mages curious was not that this metallic creature could make noise rather that it chose to wear clothes. No mere automaton would bother with such trifles. In its hands it clutched their quarry, holding it like an infant. The Crook of Arawn rested against its chest, gripped tightly by shaking hands. The ghost and Mara shared a look before rushing over to inspect this creature at closer quarters.
“Given how swiftly you’re dying, take the Crook and leave.” The ghost instructed, casting a wary eye to the stairwell opposite their ingress. Despite his reticence, he could not deny his temptation. He now remembered the possibilities, memories flooding back. He experimentally grasped the head of the Crook. Mara made a feeble attempt at slapping his hand away, only for it to pass through as expected. She laid a hand on the automaton and exclaimed with surprise.
“It’s a person! There’s a soul in there!” Mara gasped, noting the feeble signs of life. If this creature were a human or elf, she would surmise it was dreaming. Existing in the hinterland between life and death, this creature could not endure for long. Yet it had endured for centuries, if the Crook’s disappearance was any measure of age. Regardless of whether the Crook was their saviour or not, they would not survive its removal. “We cannot condemn them to die. We must have the Crook and tin can both.” Mara commanded with determination, pulling the chassis onto her back with a mighty grunt. The ghost could not believe what he was hearing and unsuccessfully attempted to remove the metal person from her back. His hands passed right through, to his chagrin, as he realised that Mara was correct. This person was alive and somehow inhabiting the body of an automaton.
“Fe am disola, Ir. Fe nun differa e stassen.” The creature spoke under their breath, which Mara took to be the mumbling of a dream. She cocked her head to the side and attempted to interpret, yet even the protected halls of the tower could not inhibit the necrotic energy from muddling her wits. Her steps were faltering, laboured as she attempted to carry their new charge to the exit. Eventually, Mara found herself dragging the creature under their arms down the steps, their feet clanging loudly through the metal structure.
Above them, something stirred. A tinny, echoing bark sounded in the upper reaches, reaching the pair as a clarion call to abandon this strange person.
The ghost swam through the air as if he were a blampie building a dam to investigate the noise while Mara continued her dutiful work. The ghost returned as she reached the bottom of the stairs, having embarked on the duty of making an impromptu sled of the chair. She’d used her belts of reagents to tie the legs about her midsection and appeared to be waiting for the ghost’s return, that he might open the door.
“Forget the dead weight before we become dead weight. There’s Barghests atop this tower and they’re looking for us.” The ghost whispered in his most urgent tones, opening the door to the tower. He let loose an exaggerated sigh of dismay as Mara hauled her sled out onto the bare rock of the outcropping. Realising that his companion would not be swayed, the ghost thrust his hands into the locking mechanism in a desperate attempt at sabotage. They could hear the screeching scraping of the Barghests’ claws as they raked over the metal steps of the building above. Mara, rather than attempting to fight the vines, summoned the last of her strength and began to pelt her feet against the stone. She flung herself against the oncoming wind, chair bounding wildly behind her as their charge flailed in it. Helplessly strapped down, all their metal friend was capable of was the infuriating comatose babbling they’d been engaged in since the pair had absconded with them.
“Ghost, I hope you have the secret to flight stored in your duplicitous little brain.” Mara chuckled, directing her friend’s attention to a cliff face that the path diverted from. The ghost could see the merits to such extreme action, given their pursuers. Regardless, he did not know how to fly and screamed as much at the manic mage running headlong towards a cliff. Behind them, the braying of the Barghests had given way to their monstrous forms, shadowy and ravenous as they raced from the tower towards their quarry. Their canine bodies informed their purpose as the guardians of Annun, hunting down the living that dared to trespass.
With moments to spare, Mara knelt beside her sled and unbuckled their companion, hauling them onto her shoulder. With a few quick adjustments, Mara stood next to the sheer drop of the cliff with a sudden and very unenviable choice to make. She turned weakly to look at the ghost with a weary salute. Her body rebelled against even those actions, seeking the cold comfort of sleep before the necrotic energies of the land took her. The Ghost’s eyes widened as she took a step back, falling from the cliff.
There was a great detonation, the metallic person being flung over the canyons towards the gash in reality that they had emerged from. The ghost cursed his friend’s altruism before a second blast of magic was heard. His confusion was answered by the prone body of Mara flying towards the gash. He watched as it soared in a shallow arc over the canyons to the desolate plains of snow beyond before it impacted. As she did so, her body was sent careening through the snow with worrying rapidity before coming to rest just shy of the gash. As he gave chase, he saw two large craters carved from the cliff wall. She’d converted the necrotic energy of the stone to radiance. But, by the ghost’s reckoning, had underestimated how much it would catapult them. He came to land next to his friend with a sigh and a small smile, an easy laugh escaping his lips.
“One of the more insane things you’ve ever done yet, workable! Come, let us retrieve your new friend.” He chuckled, spying Mara’s body covered with snow. She’d done extremely well not to have broken anything. Well, nothing protruding. Yet as he spoke, she did not stir. Her body lay cold in the snow as he approached. Kneeling down, he saw that his friend was not merely unconscious, but barely breathing. She would live but for a few more minutes before Annun or her injures claimed her. With that realisation, the ghost’s face fell from its mirth to one of abject despair. He paced for a few moments, looking back at the metallic person they had brought so close to rescue. The hopelessness began to take hold as he saw the snows of Annun begin to bluster about him.
They did not howl and careen their way from within the canyons without purpose. For as the ghost began to scream and curse his luck, this realm and Mara’s hubris, the voice returned. The voice in the dark.
“The Crook shall be wielded by the forsaken man once more. In so doing, save himself and those dearest to him.” The voice taunted through its sinister laughter, causing the ghost to feel shivers of dread he thought his spirit incapable of perceiving. The voice’s presence reminded him of the cruel realities of what he was. With a cry of frustration, the ghost’s body began to dissolve into motes of light. Motes that slipped beneath Mara’s mask. “Know ye now the price of your arrogance. Thy name hath been carved into the book of the cursed dead.” The voice added, as Mara’s body began to convulse and twitch to its feet. As it turned, it drove itself towards the metal person which yet clutched the Crook in its hand. Mara’s hand took up the Crook, hauling the metal person over her shoulder.
“There is no price I wouldn’t pay for them. You should know that by now, old friend.” Mara’s voice spoke with sorrow, not looking back as her body hauled itself towards the gap in reality. With tears of desperation streaming down her cheeks, tears that the ghost hadn’t felt for centuries, he pushed the screaming muscles and shrieking bones towards salvation. He relished the pain, using its spikes and lethargy as swell and trough, pushing his vessel toward salvation. With a final screaming curse, he summoned the last of Mara’s strength to fling both of them through the tear and into the material world.
With a clawing gasp of Mara’s lungs, he breathed the blessed nourishing air. With her paradoxically numb and burning hands, he placed their rescued charge upon the ground next to the tear. As the necrotic energy filtered from Mara’s body thanks to the spells upon her flesh, the ghost spread his borrowed hands wide as if beseeching the heavens. The Crook spoke to him without words, guiding his thoughts and actions. A shining, clear purpose of magic filled him, and he begged but a moment longer. She had such strength. She rivalled his own at his zenith. What wonders she would work.
“I see you, Ardan. She is beyond you, just as I was.” The ghost smiled to himself before his eyes shut with reverie. Mara’s hands then came to rest upon the Crook, the edges of the tear beginning to effervesce with light. It resisted closure yet the ghost guided it to do so all the same. As the rest of the party crowded into the small room that held this aberration, they witnessed it slowly wink out of existence. With it went the thick clouds of necrotic energy that infused the room. They dissipated, unable to sustain themselves without fresh supply from the tear. With his work completed, the ghost nodded with satisfaction and released his grip on the body. With a whispering gasp, Mara collapsed to the ground with the crook clutched in her arms. The ghost did not leave, merely allowing the body to rest. He could not allow natural function to take over. Not with Mara so close to death. Yet even as the party crowded about her, he could feel his own strength waning. The words he spoke to the voice in the dark came to him as comfort rather than defiance, salving his beleaguered spirit. He could dimly hear the voice of Mara’s companions, allowing himself a smile. She would live. Regardless of anything that had transpired today, no matter what horrors awaited him in the hereafter, she would live. He owed her that at least. That small grasp at salvation, the ephemeral hope that she might be his successor.
“She has the staff!” Renaud shouted, half jubilant and half fearful as he knelt beside Mara. His face was the picture of disbelief, running his fingers over the Crook with reverence rarely displayed by one as cynical as Gaius Renaud. Arthur was there, unfurling an improvised stretcher of Solvi’s halberd and Renata’s staff slung with his own vestments. Carefully, with Solvi’s help, he pulled Mara’s body onto this misshapen carriage and hauled it onto his shoulders to match Solvi’s carrying height.
“Damn the staff, look at her!” Solvi barked at Renaud’s gushing, the pair of them hurrying towards the exit and any reasonable medical care she could be assured of. Renaud seemed to snap out of his daze, holding the Crook as he followed close behind. Fred had already run ahead, clearing debris and making a clear path for the pair. He waited at the platform that would take them to the surface with Renata’s frantic attempts at messaging the team above, to no avail. The thick black stone above them prevented any magic, let alone message spells, from working their way through. With the party huddled once more onto the platform, Arthur set about checking Mara’s body for injuries. He showed careful respect, refusing to remove her garments as he did so.
“Broken ribs, forearm. Severe bruising. Saying nothing on the damage the necrotic energy has done.” Arthur spoke grimly, splinting what he could with supplies from the medicine bag. As the platform came to rest, the party resumed its mad dash to the surface with even Renaud allowing himself a hint of panic. He fumbled with the door to the amphitheatre, casting it open after a few seconds of panicked fidgeting with the lock.
The room beyond had been upended from its original state. The great alabaster hounds had been laid asunder. Their ruined fragments were now shattered against the once beautiful murals. The benches which had once held the faithful were cracked and broken with rubble flung across the room to embed themselves in the hounds which had once antagonized them. As the party rushed headlong into the amphitheatre, they were brought to a sudden stop by the arrival of a great beast before them. Standing taller than even Solvi, a bestial humanoid monster with great horns and curved claws barred the way. Its great leathery wings spread wide as a horned tail lashed the air around it. Its clawed feet dug into the stone as if it were soil whilst its cruel black eyes bored into the group hungrily. Seared bindings etched into its skin burned as it raised its claws to strike.
Its stymied attack revealed behind it the true orchestrator of this chaos. A hooded elf barred the exit with her slight form. As the party watched dumbfounded, she plucked a red crystal from the bandoleer adorning her torso and flung it against the ground. Slithering from it, another hideous serpentine demon rose to join the fray. The demonologist had made her grand entrance at last.
Chapter 9
In the cold lightless depths of the end, an unlikely pair traversed the twisting canyons of blackened stone. Light green motes drifted from the sky as snowflakes, barely illuminated by a lonely light drifting through the darkness. The tall drifts were parted by a coughing, retching woman whose staff was illuminated by the head. Its isolated passage had carved a deep furrow from the tear she’d entered. Though she’d entered alone, another figure followed just behind her. A tall elvish gentleman with dark, braided hair that fell to the middle of his back. He was pale, with a corpse-like coloration to his lips and around his eyes. Nested in his sockets, rather than eyeballs, were orbs of orange flame that burned ineffectually against the darkness. His robes were extravagant, fur-lined and hung with belts that carried the reagents of a mage. Finally, a black leather-bound book gilt in silver hung from his hip.
“While I appreciate the attempt, letting her think you died is rather callous.” He observed to the blue-cloaked woman, who scoffed as she pressed on. The man jovially shrugged, floating through the drifts as if they meant nothing to him. Mara supposed that it didn’t, given he was meant to be here. “Far be it for me to lecture you on women, not my area of course. But still. You clearly mean a lot to her.” The man added, appearing before her with a broad grin. Mara started, waving her staff through him with irritation.
“You’re right. It isn’t any of your business. Try remembering your own name so I don’t have to awkwardly call you Ghost.” Mara scowled, climbing her way out of the drifts and onto a rock face. She scanned the canyon, searching for any sign of the staff. The spectral elf laughed somewhat, pointing over his shoulder with a thumb. Following his indication, Mara saw a cave that Renaud couldn’t possibly have seen through the tear. She coughed, vision blurring for a moment. “I don’t understand. This place makes even less sense than it did seventy years ago.” Mara complained, dropping into the snow once more. She made a hopeless noise of protest, throwing herself forward in defiance of the cold that gripped her.
“Makes perfect sense to me. You’d probably be dead many times over without me.” The ghost sneered, attracting an impotent whack of Mara’s staff. He laughed slightly before concern overtook his face, watching Mara weaken by the minute. She was more resilient than mortals had any right to be, but she was still only flesh and blood. Bodies didn’t last long where only the spirit could thrive. “No shame in going back. You can just say it launched you back out.” The elvish man bargained, watching Mara’s back retreat further into the cave he’d indicated. With a noise of frustration he followed, eerily floating through the drifts once more.
The cave was mercifully free of snow yet bore many stranger mysteries than Mara’s quarry. As she cast about for the Crook, she saw a light in the depths. She and her friend shared a concerned look before electing to follow the light deeper into the cave. Mara approached the back wall which had been cracked near enough in twain with a gap large enough for her to slip through. This gap held the light she sought and so, she crawled through with the ghost infuriatingly drifting through it as if it weren’t there.
Within the cave she had confusingly come into the quaint kitchen of her childhood. The low wooden ceiling hung with cookware and herbs of all kinds whilst the table had been set for two with steaming cups of tea prepared. Mara’s confusion was intensified even more by the necrotic poisoning of her recent escapade evaporating. Her ghost gave a gainful shrug and sat himself at the table with a mischievous grin. He clearly intended to play whatever game was afoot. Mara looked to her feet with irritation before seating herself and awaiting their ethereal visitor.
“Boldly you set foot upon this earth again. Wherefore have you come?” Came a familiar baritone voice. It was gravelly, ominous and emanating from all about her. The voice belonged to a creature Mara had only glimpsed in her previous visit to Annun. Yet the chilling vibration of its words cloyed at her thoughts, dragging and demanding her attention as if it were a snag line. Warily, she looked over at her ghostly companion to see him frozen with fear. A fear so mortal and terrible that it infected Mara, whose gut twisted in apprehension.
“We seek the Crook. It has lain interred in this realm, and we would see it returned.” Mara spoke truth, for she would gain little in lying to this creature. Whatever it may be, she sensed it caressing her thoughts as if viewing a tempestuous ocean through a window. It did not fear her, nor did it balk at her attempts to cast it away from her thoughts. Her ghost, she surmised, was enduring similar sensations as a pained expression took the place of his terror. In all her time with him, Mara had never known this man to pray. Yet here he was, silently whispering invocations of Arawn to deliver his soul from the darkness. The voice that lay in that same darkness, it seemed, would curdle his soul should it choose to. As Mara’s thoughts grew ever darker, the voice intruded with a rancorous rasp of mirth.
“You know not what you ask, child. The power of Annun would rest once more in the grip of a mortal.” The voice replied, extracting a momentary note of intrigue from Mara. It would seem historical attestations crossed that most impermeable barrier from speculation to fact. This creature, such as it was, had no reason to lie to them. “I speak in sooth to the children of Auryth for they are kin to the gods. We are all of one make. When once this Crook did shepherd the mortal peoples of your birth realm, it visited great sorrow upon the land. In the hands of the forsaken man, it would do so again.” The voice continued as a note of relish was slathered upon its words. It was as if it enjoyed the prospect of this pain. Mara inhaled deeply, finding to her relief that it came easily. She imagined she had this creature to thank for the air and acclimated conditions. She could think of nothing she could say to this creature that would grant her ingress to the staff. After all, it evidently had the power to shape Annun to its will and would not allow them close to it without some measure of test or proof.
“What would you have us do? Run back to the mortal realm empty-handed?” Mara tried to control her emotions as she spoke. Even as the words left her, she could feel disappointment and rage filling her. Rage that had been kept in check for the most part for nigh seventy years. The voice’s influence in her mind could feel the tempest take a more direct disquiet. “I was drawn into this realm against my will and spat out an abomination. I will have just compensation. I will be remarkable.” Mara growled through grit teeth, fingernails digging into her gloved palms with the audible creaking of leather. Her ghostly companion’s wide eyes turned to look at her with renewed fear and the subtlest of pleading expressions.
“You meddled with forces beyond your ken and were paid your due compensation. In your arrogance and your greed, you sought beyond the veil.” The voice retorted sharply. Its mocking sadism turned had to cruel admonishment as its tone rose with indignance. The air around them became colder, stale and suddenly Mara found herself labouring to breathe. “Annun does not forgive your trespass. And it does not forgive your conceit. If you would have your compensation, as you name it, then you shall claim it.” The voice sneered as the cosy kitchen evaporated around them, leaving the pair in the darkened dust storm of the land of the dead.
In their new conditions, Mara felt once more the grip of necrotic energy upon her heart. With purpose, she began to draw upon every protection charm and energetic limitation Renaud had taught her. Her ghostly companion followed her determined walk with trepidation as they took their first shaking steps towards a black gate that loomed before them. Set upon a great rocky outcropping that oversaw the system of canyons they’d been trekking through, this once-hidden dark tower seemed to be constructed entirely from blackened metal. Twisted vines crawling along its length, vicious hooked thorns emerging with hungry intent. The dark, undead mockeries of life that could exist within this world would surely cut at her, draw her life away if they could.
“You couldn’t just play nice with the eldritch monstrosity in the land of the dead, could you?” The ghost spat as he began moving towards the black gate. As a dead man, he was at considerably lower risk from the vines and cruel thorns that made up the garden of the tower’s approach. “We could have crooned in its ear and flattered it until it handed us the staff. But no, once again Mara’s ego has to make both her own life and the life of her erstwhile friend massively difficult! Honestly, I’m glad you rejected Solvi. She deserves far better than a megalomaniac mage hellbent on curing herself rather than just accepting what happened!” The ghost ranted, half-heartedly examining the door’s locking mechanism as he did so. He noted that it would be quite simple to open if one were a ghost yet utterly impossible for a mortal since it required the ability to manipulate Annun itself. Quite ingenious if one were trying to make escape from Annun impossible. He momentarily set about opening it as Mara approached him with steel in her step before stopping.
“Of all people, you don’t get to talk to me about megalomania. Or Solvi. Remind me, who gave me the idea of converting necrotic energy to save our skins? Curious how you always remember things puissant to your problems!” Mara retorted before her shining staff pointed directly under the ghost’s chin with an angry shake. “When you hear their jeers and taunts, I’ll take your advice about moving on.” She added, her staff whipping to their obstacle with an agitated point, as the vines began to curl towards her. Their hunger was unmistakable and would surely attack her if given the chance. “Now open the damn door!”
The ghost sat there staring at her for a few moments before he placed a hand into the lock, preparing to manipulate it. He’d seen these mechanisms many times before even despite his failing memories. It would take but a moment to operate it. To that end, he had discovered a means to get what he needed from Mara.
“First, I would have the truth.” The ghost spoke dispassionately, his eyes taking a curiously cold aura despite being flaming orbs. “This staff was once used to cast down nations. What do you want with it? To be the most feared necromancer of the age? Because I have walked that road, Mara, and it damned me.” The ghost spoke with a shaking voice, as if confessing to some profound shame.
Mara’s eyes widened as twin realisations hit her. That the ghost had memories and that his extortion would see her swallowed by vines. She cursed him, demanding entry as her hands began to blast blue fire at the encroaching vines. She fought against them, shaking as thorns lashed at her legs greedily. They entwined her, forcing her to grab their stems and burn them directly. The intense heat did little to quell the pain of her energy expenditure. With a vicious snarl, she looked over her shoulder in abject fear.
“You’d trap us both in Annun over some absurd purity test?!” Mara shrieked, panic overtaking her as the vines merely seemed irritated by her flames. Desperately, she invoked one of her more powerful spells and put up a barricade of fire between herself and the vines. It bought her a few moments, at least. Her knees gave out all the same. Her arms were blistered with backfire effect and her legs had been scratched badly by the vines.
“You seek the staff of a god himself!” The ghost barked back, watching as the vines began to throw themselves upon the blue flames of Mara’s spell. Their bulk, rather than igniting, simply smouldered and smothered the flames. The mage looked back at her work with a whimper, seeing this predatory foliage close the distance between her and the door. She threw herself back, looking up at the unmoved ghost with pleading eyes.
“I just want him to be proud of me.” Mara snapped, confession tearing itself free of her mask. “He says I have such potential yet whenever I meet my sora’s eyes I only see disappointment.” She confessed, crying out with pain as more feeble blasts of fire left her hands, keeping the vines from wrapping about her once more. “Everyone sees me as the outcast but not him. He sees me for the elf I am. Without Renaud I would not have anything in my life. I owe him something more than- than this!”
The doors to opened, allowing Mara to fall inside. With a sharp retort, they locked tight. They slammed together with such force that stray vines were severed from their stems and sent withering through the air. By the time they landed upon the ground, they were nothing but desiccated husks. The ghost serenely committed to floating through the base of the tower, observing as the foyer ignited with torches. Mara simply lay on her side, weeping in pain and humiliation. She barely noticed that within this tower, the necrotic energies did not seem to be as deleterious.
The foyer they found themselves in bore an eight-pointed sunburst pattern upon its tiled floor. All about them, the dark metal had been wood-panelled to make it seem more homely with paintings of grand old elvish mages and dignitaries hanging upon the wall. There were several distinguished chairs that the ghost could easily see his grandfather occupying with a pipe and a tall glass of wine. Idly, he perused the bookshelf that had occupied the wall opposite this chair. He turned after a few moments, noting that Mara had regained her dignity and had since stood up. She had already begun to ascend the stairs without taking notice of the décor. She walked with laboured breaths and determined steps that the ghost had seen only during the war. The dogged persistence against your own screaming body that characterised the desperate march of dead men against an enemy they knew they could not defeat. He remembered well the night the Idharans had chosen to flex their might against the orsan war machine. Rather than surrender, the orsan people fought bravely. In retaliation, the Idharans had razed Karkun with such flames that they were visible across the channel. The ghost shivered, turning his attention to the books once more. Curiously, they were written in Elysian. He perused a few pages before Mara’s demanding call summoned him up the stairs with a grumble.
He came upon what appeared to be a lab of some kind replete with vials and beakers set on sturdy wooden tables with heavy books of notes in accompaniment. Several large apertures were set into the walls, sealed tightly with nullstun to contain powerful magical signatures that one might detect. Whoever had taken up residence in this place, Mara reasoned, did not want to be found. The ghost next to her curled a lip with a disgusted tut. He directed Mara’s attention to what appeared to be several suits of armour that, upon closer inspection, did not appear capable of actually containing people. Their attention however was immediately diverted by a groan that echoed from within the helmet of one of these constructs.
Propped up against the wall, its metal chassis was considerably more decorated than the others with additional bulk and armour plating along what Mara assumed were the essential areas of its head, chest and shoulders. What made the mages curious was not that this metallic creature could make noise rather that it chose to wear clothes. No mere automaton would bother with such trifles. In its hands it clutched their quarry, holding it like an infant. The Crook of Arawn rested against its chest, gripped tightly by shaking hands. The ghost and Mara shared a look before rushing over to inspect this creature at closer quarters.
“Given how swiftly you’re dying, take the Crook and leave.” The ghost instructed, casting a wary eye to the stairwell opposite their ingress. Despite his reticence, he could not deny his temptation. He now remembered the possibilities, memories flooding back. He experimentally grasped the head of the Crook. Mara made a feeble attempt at slapping his hand away, only for it to pass through as expected. She laid a hand on the automaton and exclaimed with surprise.
“It’s a person! There’s a soul in there!” Mara gasped, noting the feeble signs of life. If this creature were a human or elf, she would surmise it was dreaming. Existing in the hinterland between life and death, this creature could not endure for long. Yet it had endured for centuries, if the Crook’s disappearance was any measure of age. Regardless of whether the Crook was their saviour or not, they would not survive its removal. “We cannot condemn them to die. We must have the Crook and tin can both.” Mara commanded with determination, pulling the chassis onto her back with a mighty grunt. The ghost could not believe what he was hearing and unsuccessfully attempted to remove the metal person from her back. His hands passed right through, to his chagrin, as he realised that Mara was correct. This person was alive and somehow inhabiting the body of an automaton.
“Fe am disola, Ir. Fe nun differa e stassen.” The creature spoke under their breath, which Mara took to be the mumbling of a dream. She cocked her head to the side and attempted to interpret, yet even the protected halls of the tower could not inhibit the necrotic energy from muddling her wits. Her steps were faltering, laboured as she attempted to carry their new charge to the exit. Eventually, Mara found herself dragging the creature under their arms down the steps, their feet clanging loudly through the metal structure.
Above them, something stirred. A tinny, echoing bark sounded in the upper reaches, reaching the pair as a clarion call to abandon this strange person.
The ghost swam through the air as if he were a blampie building a dam to investigate the noise while Mara continued her dutiful work. The ghost returned as she reached the bottom of the stairs, having embarked on the duty of making an impromptu sled of the chair. She’d used her belts of reagents to tie the legs about her midsection and appeared to be waiting for the ghost’s return, that he might open the door.
“Forget the dead weight before we become dead weight. There’s Barghests atop this tower and they’re looking for us.” The ghost whispered in his most urgent tones, opening the door to the tower. He let loose an exaggerated sigh of dismay as Mara hauled her sled out onto the bare rock of the outcropping. Realising that his companion would not be swayed, the ghost thrust his hands into the locking mechanism in a desperate attempt at sabotage. They could hear the screeching scraping of the Barghests’ claws as they raked over the metal steps of the building above. Mara, rather than attempting to fight the vines, summoned the last of her strength and began to pelt her feet against the stone. She flung herself against the oncoming wind, chair bounding wildly behind her as their charge flailed in it. Helplessly strapped down, all their metal friend was capable of was the infuriating comatose babbling they’d been engaged in since the pair had absconded with them.
“Ghost, I hope you have the secret to flight stored in your duplicitous little brain.” Mara chuckled, directing her friend’s attention to a cliff face that the path diverted from. The ghost could see the merits to such extreme action, given their pursuers. Regardless, he did not know how to fly and screamed as much at the manic mage running headlong towards a cliff. Behind them, the braying of the Barghests had given way to their monstrous forms, shadowy and ravenous as they raced from the tower towards their quarry. Their canine bodies informed their purpose as the guardians of Annun, hunting down the living that dared to trespass.
With moments to spare, Mara knelt beside her sled and unbuckled their companion, hauling them onto her shoulder. With a few quick adjustments, Mara stood next to the sheer drop of the cliff with a sudden and very unenviable choice to make. She turned weakly to look at the ghost with a weary salute. Her body rebelled against even those actions, seeking the cold comfort of sleep before the necrotic energies of the land took her. The Ghost’s eyes widened as she took a step back, falling from the cliff.
There was a great detonation, the metallic person being flung over the canyons towards the gash in reality that they had emerged from. The ghost cursed his friend’s altruism before a second blast of magic was heard. His confusion was answered by the prone body of Mara flying towards the gash. He watched as it soared in a shallow arc over the canyons to the desolate plains of snow beyond before it impacted. As she did so, her body was sent careening through the snow with worrying rapidity before coming to rest just shy of the gash. As he gave chase, he saw two large craters carved from the cliff wall. She’d converted the necrotic energy of the stone to radiance. But, by the ghost’s reckoning, had underestimated how much it would catapult them. He came to land next to his friend with a sigh and a small smile, an easy laugh escaping his lips.
“One of the more insane things you’ve ever done yet, workable! Come, let us retrieve your new friend.” He chuckled, spying Mara’s body covered with snow. She’d done extremely well not to have broken anything. Well, nothing protruding. Yet as he spoke, she did not stir. Her body lay cold in the snow as he approached. Kneeling down, he saw that his friend was not merely unconscious, but barely breathing. She would live but for a few more minutes before Annun or her injures claimed her. With that realisation, the ghost’s face fell from its mirth to one of abject despair. He paced for a few moments, looking back at the metallic person they had brought so close to rescue. The hopelessness began to take hold as he saw the snows of Annun begin to bluster about him.
They did not howl and careen their way from within the canyons without purpose. For as the ghost began to scream and curse his luck, this realm and Mara’s hubris, the voice returned. The voice in the dark.
“The Crook shall be wielded by the forsaken man once more. In so doing, save himself and those dearest to him.” The voice taunted through its sinister laughter, causing the ghost to feel shivers of dread he thought his spirit incapable of perceiving. The voice’s presence reminded him of the cruel realities of what he was. With a cry of frustration, the ghost’s body began to dissolve into motes of light. Motes that slipped beneath Mara’s mask. “Know ye now the price of your arrogance. Thy name hath been carved into the book of the cursed dead.” The voice added, as Mara’s body began to convulse and twitch to its feet. As it turned, it drove itself towards the metal person which yet clutched the Crook in its hand. Mara’s hand took up the Crook, hauling the metal person over her shoulder.
“There is no price I wouldn’t pay for them. You should know that by now, old friend.” Mara’s voice spoke with sorrow, not looking back as her body hauled itself towards the gap in reality. With tears of desperation streaming down her cheeks, tears that the ghost hadn’t felt for centuries, he pushed the screaming muscles and shrieking bones towards salvation. He relished the pain, using its spikes and lethargy as swell and trough, pushing his vessel toward salvation. With a final screaming curse, he summoned the last of Mara’s strength to fling both of them through the tear and into the material world.
With a clawing gasp of Mara’s lungs, he breathed the blessed nourishing air. With her paradoxically numb and burning hands, he placed their rescued charge upon the ground next to the tear. As the necrotic energy filtered from Mara’s body thanks to the spells upon her flesh, the ghost spread his borrowed hands wide as if beseeching the heavens. The Crook spoke to him without words, guiding his thoughts and actions. A shining, clear purpose of magic filled him, and he begged but a moment longer. She had such strength. She rivalled his own at his zenith. What wonders she would work.
“I see you, Ardan. She is beyond you, just as I was.” The ghost smiled to himself before his eyes shut with reverie. Mara’s hands then came to rest upon the Crook, the edges of the tear beginning to effervesce with light. It resisted closure yet the ghost guided it to do so all the same. As the rest of the party crowded into the small room that held this aberration, they witnessed it slowly wink out of existence. With it went the thick clouds of necrotic energy that infused the room. They dissipated, unable to sustain themselves without fresh supply from the tear. With his work completed, the ghost nodded with satisfaction and released his grip on the body. With a whispering gasp, Mara collapsed to the ground with the crook clutched in her arms. The ghost did not leave, merely allowing the body to rest. He could not allow natural function to take over. Not with Mara so close to death. Yet even as the party crowded about her, he could feel his own strength waning. The words he spoke to the voice in the dark came to him as comfort rather than defiance, salving his beleaguered spirit. He could dimly hear the voice of Mara’s companions, allowing himself a smile. She would live. Regardless of anything that had transpired today, no matter what horrors awaited him in the hereafter, she would live. He owed her that at least. That small grasp at salvation, the ephemeral hope that she might be his successor.
“She has the staff!” Renaud shouted, half jubilant and half fearful as he knelt beside Mara. His face was the picture of disbelief, running his fingers over the Crook with reverence rarely displayed by one as cynical as Gaius Renaud. Arthur was there, unfurling an improvised stretcher of Solvi’s halberd and Renata’s staff slung with his own vestments. Carefully, with Solvi’s help, he pulled Mara’s body onto this misshapen carriage and hauled it onto his shoulders to match Solvi’s carrying height.
“Damn the staff, look at her!” Solvi barked at Renaud’s gushing, the pair of them hurrying towards the exit and any reasonable medical care she could be assured of. Renaud seemed to snap out of his daze, holding the Crook as he followed close behind. Fred had already run ahead, clearing debris and making a clear path for the pair. He waited at the platform that would take them to the surface with Renata’s frantic attempts at messaging the team above, to no avail. The thick black stone above them prevented any magic, let alone message spells, from working their way through. With the party huddled once more onto the platform, Arthur set about checking Mara’s body for injuries. He showed careful respect, refusing to remove her garments as he did so.
“Broken ribs, forearm. Severe bruising. Saying nothing on the damage the necrotic energy has done.” Arthur spoke grimly, splinting what he could with supplies from the medicine bag. As the platform came to rest, the party resumed its mad dash to the surface with even Renaud allowing himself a hint of panic. He fumbled with the door to the amphitheatre, casting it open after a few seconds of panicked fidgeting with the lock.
The room beyond had been upended from its original state. The great alabaster hounds had been laid asunder. Their ruined fragments were now shattered against the once beautiful murals. The benches which had once held the faithful were cracked and broken with rubble flung across the room to embed themselves in the hounds which had once antagonized them. As the party rushed headlong into the amphitheatre, they were brought to a sudden stop by the arrival of a great beast before them. Standing taller than even Solvi, a bestial humanoid monster with great horns and curved claws barred the way. Its great leathery wings spread wide as a horned tail lashed the air around it. Its clawed feet dug into the stone as if it were soil whilst its cruel black eyes bored into the group hungrily. Seared bindings etched into its skin burned as it raised its claws to strike.
Its stymied attack revealed behind it the true orchestrator of this chaos. A hooded elf barred the exit with her slight form. As the party watched dumbfounded, she plucked a red crystal from the bandoleer adorning her torso and flung it against the ground. Slithering from it, another hideous serpentine demon rose to join the fray. The demonologist had made her grand entrance at last.
