Epilogue

The touch of divine arcana affects people in different ways. It can be as simple as your tongue becoming forked like a serpent’s, to your mind snapping and suffering terrible delusions. For Sere, her eyes have clouded over and her mind enfeebled by unnatural aging. Thalga has had her legs painfully transformed into a hoofed beasts.  Both are marked as cursed and flee to Rahan, the Adamant city. It is home to powerful sorcerers that may have the ability to cure them. 

***

Zorr turns to the setting sun, her kingdom lies that way far to the west. Memories not her own tell that it has been many centuries since her time. Her people are scattered to the wind; her beautiful city sunken beneath sand dunes. She cannot return to the realm of death now. A small voice within her mind, she who was Ikkag, begs for her body back. Zorr the Unyielding replies, “No. Not yet. I am not finished.”

***

Screaming winds howl across the barren wastes of the Godslands. Balphos shelters in the ruins of his own forgotten tower. Long since fallen into disrepair when he was imprisoned. The assembly has ruled he may return to his homelands, but he cannot be permitted unaccompanied into the Veiled Plaza. His betrayal is still fresh for the High Ones. For now it is enough. 

***

Far beyond the world, unseen by mortal eyes, a red star waits patiently. 

Ascension of the Masked God pt. 2

Zazinaeth gazes up at the Red Star of Phantos. His plans at long last will come to fruition. When he had first heard the demonic sphere call to him, he thought he had gone mad. Soon though, he learned to understand it…them, and that they wanted back what they had lost. Zazinaeth agreed to help, and in return the celestial object guided him to great power.

Had all gone to plan, Zazinaeth would have ascended as the Masked God. A title bestowed upon a Young One to assuage the High Ones fears of rebellion. With it came access to the High Ones power, their potent arcana all that was needed to restore balance. Balphos had been an unexpected fly in the ointment. No matter, his actions only delayed the inevitable and hid Zazinaeths machinations.

Even the actions of his sister Khana have proved useless. Her mortal champion fooled like so many others, targeted Balphos. Trapping Zazinaeth an unfortunate by-product in that ancient battle. Now he is free to complete his divine mission. No one can stop him this time.

With a thought he conjures the Mask. It appears instantly before him held in space with his powerful mind. Made from the collected arcana of all the High Ones, it will elevate him to their power. Zazinaeth grasps the artefact and raises it up to his face. Energy jolts between him and the mask. The Red Star of Phantos screams in his mind, “It is time.”

***

Ravirom’s drakehound familiar staggers to its feet. Phaal senses the connection to its master has been severed. Their pulverised body lays nearby, still gripping the Staff of Balphos. Something tugs at the familiar’s memory. Fragments from a time before, when it was not a minor spirit but a god.

Phaal moves to the staff and grips it in his jaws. White hot arcana shoots through its chest. The material and the spirit fuse together becoming a conduit for Balphos the Eighth, Master of the Azure Throne. The mortal form explodes and a great tongue-like mass grows, quivering and dripping with slime. It is topped with a titanic elks head and an impressive crown melded into its skull.

Balphos’ voice is a sound like no other heard. The language, unknown to all but the gods. Mortals scramble to cover their ears; it is unbearable. Those who are not fast enough, have their eardrums ruptured. The lucky ones are driven mad. 

“The assembly has reassessed their decision Zazinaeth. They have taken a new vote. You are denied the title of Masked God.”

Zazinaeth sneers, “It’s too late. I have the mask.” He presses it onto his face. Nothing happens. The deity tries again, still nothing. “No. NO. NOOO.” Lightning crackles, spreading like a spider’s web across the sky as Zazinaeth rages. 

Zorr the Unyielding seizes the opportunity to strike whilst Zazinaeth is blinded by frustration. Upon her spirit companion she swoops down towards him. She maneuvers to strike from the rear. One hand grips her bone ax and the spirit’s mane. In her other hand she levels the Mortalis Blade at her foe. Forged from the scales of Getxalor, the sword is the only thing that can kill a god.

Sensing the approaching attack, Zazinaeth turns to face her. Zorr is on him before he can do anything else. She runs him through, piercing the undulating swarm that is the gods abdomen. Zazinaeths swarm stomach blackens as Zorr continues past. The storm draws in on itself and vanishes a moment later. 

The Red Star of Phantos pulsates furiously, outputting wave after wave of sickening negative energy. It flickers and then fades from view. A death-like silence falls over the field. It is as though the world is holding its breath. Only the sound of water, remnant of the storm, is heard. The gathered warriors hold still, exhausted and battered.

Zazinaeth towers over the vista. His wound grows, the black spreading across his body. The Hundreds and thousands of bees that make up his form shrivel and die. Soon all that is left his crowned elk skull. It too blackens, and then disintegrates to dust.  

An unearthly screech rips through the valley. The crawling horde breaks. Beast men summoned for the battle twist and distort as their spirits are called back to the realm of death. Mortal mercenaries and traitors of Brüle turn on each other and flee. The sun sets on smoke, ash and ruin. 

Ascension of the Masked God pt. 1

The Vithé mountains shudder as another explosion rocks it. Its tip blasts into the sky, raining chunks of heated earth upon the Feathered Vale. Getxalor claws itself out of the mountaintop. Riding the ancient god of destruction is Ravirom. He clings onto the decayed scales of the Wyrmlich with one hand, whilst commanding it with the staff of Balphos. Overhead a dark storm rages with green lightning striking the titan.

***

Sere focuses the divine, but unstable arcana that courses through her. She imbues her blade with energy and takes a supernatural leap at the raging dragon. Her blade slices into the side of Getxalor’s head, carving off a horn in radiant and fiery sparks. Enraged, he crashes his skull into her, and sends Sere flying into the mountainside. The power of the divine protects her from death, but the impact destroys her armour and shatters her blade.

***

Munb-Ra drags himself along the back of the unliving titan. The lower half of his face is missing; torn off by Ravirom. All Munb-Ra had was his tongue, and it was taken from him. Ravirom then made him watch as the necromancer flayed Kyzel in an instant of dark arcana. Blood pools in his throat and causes a violent cough. Ravirom turns on the beast to face him when blinding white light stings their eyes.

***

Less than a dozen of Thalga’s men remain. She gathers them around her, and channels divine arcana through her and to her followers. Their bodies shimmer with supernatural strength as they lift up into the sky. Thalga leads the charge, thrusting her blessed athame into the monster’s throat. Her soldiers are as precise and their attacks bypass its steel-like hide.

***

Ravirom tumbles from the wyrmlich, casting a spell out of reflex that will protect him from the fall. There is an eerie quiet in his mind. His power has left him, as have the whispers that hounded his every thought. The storm clouds part for a brief moment to reveal a red star pulsing in the sky. He has a dim awareness of its significance, as his body smashes against the mountainous terrain.

***

She, who was Ikkag, now Zorr incarnate, looks down upon the melee. Her spirit companion has transformed into a huge beast amalgamated from a tiger, an eagle, and a shark. Zorr rides it through and about the storm watching as Getxalor is dispatched by the god-touched. She can sense Balphos is powerful enough to break free from his prison. Yet, he hesitates.

***

Balphos is no longer entwined with his fellow prisoner Zazinaeth. Searching about in the abyss he realises he is alone. After all these centuries he can be free, and yet something is not right. A weight looms over the tomb. Something old and forgotten has come.

***

As Getxalor falls the Masked God’s shackles break apart. Zazinaeth is free. Unburdened it manifests itself into the world. An undulating super swarm of bees massed into a human-like torso with a bull’s skull for a head. Almost as large as the downed titan, it issues a sonorous thrum that casts everyone to the ground.

Myths and Legends

*First twenty lines of Brüle creation folklore. as told by Natha the First.*

Long before the land, and sky, and sea had names, there was a vast emptiness. 

A void between darkness and silence. 

Of this nothing the chasm became and named itself Khaos. 

She was of the air and the gloom of fog and mist. 

And so Khaos thought, and felt, and knew all that was and will be. 

She was light, and darkness, and sound, and silence. 

Khaos roiled, parting and crashing against herself. 

From her came the Old Ones who numbered one hundred and eighteen. 

They called themselves Titans, and they squabbled amongst themselves. 

They were light and sound. 

Each built their own domains to defend against their brethren. 

They became the Earth, the Sea, and the Firmament.   

Khaos saw her children war, and was disgusted by their actions. 

She was darkness. 

And so Khaos gathered her children and swallowed them. 

They churned within her making a gizzard ball.

Four Old Ones saw their mother’s plans and hid in a temple built by their disciples. 

They were darkness and silence. 

When Khaos was done she returned to the void and slept.

And the four Old Ones emerged from their sanctuary to rule the cardinalities. 

*Fragment from the Kebbite book of Law.*

Assemblies, Chapter 1, Verses 18 – 26

1. Whispers of the High Ones concerns came to the Young Ones. 
2. Amongst them was Zazinaeth, eldest child of Thraoila the Torch Bearer. 
3. Zazinaeth approached his father, bowing low as a dutiful son should. 
4. “Father, I have heard the High Ones are displeased with their children” spoke Zazinaeth. “What cause have they against us?”
5. Thraoila reponded, “My son, it is said that your numbers are growing. My brothers and sisters fear you will overthrow us and wish to strike first.”
6. “Peace, my father.” Said Zaainaeth. “I hold the High Ones in awe, as do mine. Perhaps I can offer appeasement?”
7. Thraoila looked upon his son and asked, “What appeasement could you offer us?”
8. Zazinaeth replied, “Father give us a purpose. Today we are listless as a ship without a sail. Give us domains that will divert us. But, also give us hope of rising above our station.”
9. The Torch Bearer shook his head ———

The Once And Future Queen pt. 3

*Excerpt from the Dacixith. The great tome of Xtheke law, religion, and history.*

Zorr, Chapter 20, Verses 160 – 185

1. Zorr of the Ulyth wastes, and thief master of Sebekt held off Balphos’ host for seven days and seven nights. 
2. And so she saved the lives of many and the city did not fall until all was abandoned.
3. And so she rallied the unhoused and led them to the kingdom of Xtheke and demanded succour. 
4. At this time Xtheke was ruled by Virtue of Il-Sek, He of the Enduring Dunes, Sacred of Appearance, He who is Just, Son of Il-Sek, Bhes-em-hat, beautiful of forms.
5. And his Vizier Izzthex, Servant of the Seven Orders, sat at the Pharaoh’s side.  
6. Bhes-em-hat, offended by her words, sent out his youngest son, Ibbhes, to turn her away. 
7. They dueled from morning until night, and then to morning again.
8. Zorr fought with just her throwing club until the youth smashed it from her hand. She would not yield and they fought for another night and day. 
9. She gouged his eyes out on the morning of the third day. 
10. Izzthex advised He of the Enduring Dunes to heed her call. Bhes-em-hat sent out his second son in reply. 
11. Mighty Bhesnakht rode out to meet Zorr, and they too battled. Into the night their duel lasted. His sword taking her right foot at the ankle. She again refused to yield.
12. Zorr broke his leg and crippled him. Bhesnakht surrendered and was banished by his father.
13. Once more Izzthex advised He who is Just to listen. And again Bhes-em-hat ignored the plea and sent his eldest son, Bhesnak-hat, to finish this woman. 
14. And so Bhesnak-hat came forth in golden armour and spear.
15. Zorr tired of the trials and called upon Khana the Huntress to aid her. She slew a singing wolf and drank its blood, and she was blessed with the wolf’s form. 
16. Bhesnak-hat speared her left elbow, severing the arm. Zorr would not yield.
17. He smashed her teeth. Zorr would not yield.
18. He cut off her ear. Zorr would not yield.
19. And so she howled and bit out his tongue. She threw him to the ground and broke his ribs, and she bit off his nose. 
20. Bhesnak-hat begged for mercy, but she had none left to give and she devoured him whole. 
21. The people of Xtheke feared they had angered the gods and opened the city gates to Zorr and her followers. 
22. Izzthex came to her and used his healing arts to mend her. He told her he was of her people and pledged himself to her. 
23. Bhes-em-hat in his final cowardice leapt from his tower and ended his reign.
24. Zorr and her followers took Xtheke and proclaimed herself Bel-Zorr of the Ulyth Wastes, Priestess of Khana the Hunter, Thief Master of Sebekt, Barbarian Queen of Xtheke, Zorr the Unyielding.
25. Here she prepared the final stand against the Crawling Horde. 
26. So it is said in the book of Writings. 

The Once and Future Queen pt. 2

****

Over 1000 years ago.

**** 

The Menagerie of Sebekt is considered one of the great wonders of the world. A public botanical garden filled with exotic beasts from distant lands. Creatures like the basilisk, griffon, and manticore can be observed in specialised enclosures. Animals like the elephant, baboon, and wildcat whilst more mundane, but no less rare, roam freely in the exhibit. The garden’s most well kept secret is that it also houses the Sebekt Thieves Guild. 

Zorr staggers away from the figure lying prone on the floor of the hall. She is below the menagerie in a makeshift chamber that serves as the guild’s commons. The figure before her is that of the Thief Master, Garmul the Gardener, leader of the thieves guild. They are not alone here, for their duel has been witnessed by the guild council. Zorr has won the right of challenge, which, according to the guild code means she is the new Thief Master. 

The young huntress joined the guild almost four years ago. Her tribe was displaced during the wastes invasion by the Crawling Horde. With few prospects for a barbarian priestess, she resorted to thievery to survive. She was recruited by Garmul himself when he caught her picking his pocket. Impressed with her skill and daring, he personally mentored her. 

Her abilities as a hunter proved invaluable and she quickly rose through the guild ranks. Within a year she challenged for the position as Garmul’s lieutenant. She won easily. Something that surprised very few in the guild council. The thieves saw an increase in profits almost immediately.

Tears run down her cheeks, and blood oozes from the wound in her side. Her heart hammers away at her chest threatening to burst through. The axe she wields drops to the floor, her fingers numb. Bile rises in her throat and she vomits onto the already filthy ground. She has killed her dearest friend.

For nearly six months Garmul and her had been at odds. Rumours whispered the Crawling Horde were making its way into the Al’Carr desert. Zorr pleaded with Garmul to help the city prepare a defence. Her concerns were dismissed as fear mongering. The huntress had seen first hand what the crawling horde were capable of, and knew the Sebekt was ill-prepared for the doom approaching. 

When the rumours became fact, she begged him to reconsider and again he refused. Garmul argued that the city was already heavily fortified and there was no cause for panic. With each passing week the horde inched closer. Zorr was not alone in her concerns and soon the guild council had sided with her. All that stood in the way was Garmul, who would not bend in his decision. So Zorr and the council plotted his removal. 

Under the code a challenge could only be issued in the presence of at least two other council members. They had arranged for all to be in attendance under the guise of a meeting to discuss new enterprises. Garmul did not suspect a thing. When Zorr issued the right of challenge she gave him no time to consider the implications.

Yet, his reflexes matched her own and she lost the surprise. Two quick strikes with his dagger reminded her how canny a fighter Garmul was. Both attacks landing in the exact same spot on her side. With her life at stake she recovered and hacked at him with her axe. She buried it into his left knee. 

Zorr’s axe, forged from the femur of a mummified ancestor, inspires magical dread into those it harms. Garmul, unaware of this weapon’s ability, had not protected against it. He scrambled away as waves of fear cowed him. Zorr stalked forward and brought the axe down again aiming for his torso. Garmul raised a hand in defence and lost it at the wrist. He screamed in anguish and fell backwards, blood spurted from the stump that had been his left hand. 

“I’m sorry my friend.” Zorr speaks with a hoarse throat. “You would not listen.” She leans down and places her axe blade to his throat. “Please forgive me,” her voice quivers as she slits his throat open. 

The Once and Future Queen pt. 1

****

Over 1000 years ago.

**** 

The Ulyth wastes stretch out as far as the eye can see. A nomad lays still upon a granite boulder. She is Bel-Zorr, an initiate to the goddess Khana the Hunter. High above, vultures circle, impatient for death’s arrival. Sweat trickles off the young woman’s brow.

It is a warm spring morning in the wastes. Already, the coolness of the night gives way to a scorching day. Moisture that has begun to condense is quickly evaporating. Soon the boulder will be hot enough to cook meat on. Bel-Zorr wipes the sweat away and gazes out upon the barrens.

Drifting by her side is Vaar, her spirit companion. A formless wraith of fur and claws. Known as a fetch, it has been with her since birth. Only people with the ‘Sight’ can naturally bond with these beings. Called Uumbo by Zorr’s people, they are also referred to as Elves.

Upwind from her is a troupe of Quongarra, man-sized rodents that leap about on powerful hind legs. Bel-Zorr is not after them. Nearby, another hunter slinks its way towards the grazing animals. A solitary Thynaka, or singing wolf, stalks. This is the woman’s prize.

Hunting the predator is a rite of passage for all initiates of Khana. It is her final test to become a priestess. Since the age of eight, Bel-Zorr has trained in the mysteries of the Hunter. Today she will be considered an adult among her people and the voice of the goddess. To fail would see her family disgraced and herself outcast.

“Vaar,” she whispers. “Grant me Khana’s grace.” The fetch purrs as it channels divine arcana into a spell. The effect takes a moment but then a shiver runs down Bel-Zorr’s spine, as energy suffuses her body. She is enchanted with increased reflexes for a moment. Hopefully, enough for her to win the day.

Bel-Zorr raises her throwing club. The Thynaka is almost in range. A strike from the club should stun the animal, maybe even break bone, but won’t kill it outright. For that, she will use her battle axe. A large quongarra buck stands up on its hind legs and sniffs the air. In an instant, the wolf bursts from its cover and sprints the last few yards.

The huntress flings her club at the speeding predator. It bludgeons into it’s side. The animal yelps and staggers about from the attack. Quongarra leap away, bounding into the distance at breakneck speeds. A vulture calls out; death has arrived.

Bel-Zorr springs to her feet. Her ceremonial headdress flaps with the movement. She raises an oval shield that lay beside her. The woman throws herself off the boulder and lands in a crouch before the club makes its connection. Her bone hafted axe ready, she rushes forward.

She utters a howl and swings her axe. The thynaka twists to the left, turning her strike into a mere glancing slice. With a snarl, it leaps up at her. Sliding her feet, she shuffle steps back. She raises her shield up in the same moment.

The singing wolf slams into her. The beast’s jaws snap against the shield. Stumbling, Bel-Zorr is driven back several feet. Lowering her stance, she stalls the momentum. She repositions herself to hold steady.

Her whole body is shaken side to side as the predator tries to tear the shield away. The wolf’s frenzy makes it hard to strike. Bel-Zorr tenses her shield arm and lifts. Her muscles protest, but she ignores the strain. The wolf, its jaws still locked onto the shield, is raised off the ground.

Bel-Zorr shoves back. Throwing the shield and wolf away from her. She springs forward as the beast hits the ground. The shock distracts it from her attack. Before the animal can stand up, she brings the axe head down, burying it into the belly of the creature.

Life and death embrace on the Ulyth wastes. The singing wolf’s yelp cuts short. The axe has nearly severed the animal in half and it dies instantly. Blood and viscera spill out onto the rocky ground. Vaath floats to her side and purrs. Bel-Zorr sings for the wolf spirit to find peace.

When her prayer is done, she works fast to skin the wolf’s pelt. Vultures have already landed nearby. As soon as she finishes, she lets them have it. She drapes the skin over her shoulder, ignoring the blood sticking to her. After a quick look for her throwing club, she heads back to camp.

She is greeted with song and dance. Her people celebrate the kill and witness her final initiation to priesthood. As an adult member of her tribe now, she will drop the informal ‘Bel’ from her name. Today, she will be forever known to outsiders as Zorr. As the light fades from the day’s celebration, few notice a distant red star grow larger.

Echoes of the Void

Rain lashes against the gathered warriors. Lightning splits the sky. For an instant the plateau is visible. In the still image a war camp sprawls. High above looms the Vithé Mountains.

An ear-splitting clap of thunder sounds in almost the same moment. Many of the warriors cover their ears in pain. A few are knocked to the ground. Captain Thalga does neither, such is her focus on the layout below. Darkness returns an instant later.

Thalga turns to face her Lieutenant. Talking in the storm is near impossible so she uses War Guild signs. “Pass out the athames, but don’t consecrate them until we are on the plateau.” The power of the black handled blades are a potent weapon against undead. Yet, they are also a beacon to sorcerers once activated.

More lightning flickers and thunder growls. The storm is not letting up. Lieutenant Ell Azenn, a dark skinned man from Al’Carr, salutes and relays the orders. Behind Thalga the Company of the Wolf prepares for the raid. The words of the Masked God echo in her mind.

****

One Month Earlier…

The field is lost. Fire and steel has obliterated the border village. Thalga lays atop a pile of the slain. She is mortally wounded. Her light dims as a new day dawns.

A voice calls to her from across an infinite void. It sounds like smoke and blood. Thalga opens her eyes to see a darkened chamber. A mask lays upon an ornate sepulchre. Whispers crawl and writhe towards her.

“I. Am. The. Masked. God.” The words are uttered in a strange stilted accent. Each punctuated by a sense of doom.

“Ravirom. Comes. For. Me.” Behind the voice a steady buzzing thrums with intensity.

“In. The. Vithé. Mountains.” Thalga is fractured across time and space.

“You. Must. Stop. Him.” The sun, moons and stars chase each other across the sky

Then she shuddered awake. Her wounds now scars. She could feel herself being drawn to the mountains. Thalga knew that the mask could not fall into Raviroms hands. Its power is uncontrollable by any but a god.

****

A hand on Thalga’s shoulder wrenches her back to the present. Ell Azenn signs to her, “We are ready Captain.” He motions to the assembled. These were all that stood in the way of the worlds end. Thalga wondered not for the first time if this would be enough.

Daughter of the Sand

“Give me the axe,” The priestess of Getxalor cries out.

Ikkag grits her teeth and glares, “Pull me up first.”

The two women face off aboard a speeding, arcana powered sand barge. Ikkag hangs precariously over the side deck. Her knuckles white as she grips the railing. The priestess stands above, their robe flaps in the wind. Beneath them the dune sea of Al’Carr whips by in a blur.

In Ikkag’s other hand she wields an axe made of bone. It is the sacred relic of Zorr the Unyielding. With it Ikkag had hoped to resurrect the long dead queen. Somehow though the ritual didn’t work. If she lived through this she will have some strong words for a certain occultist in Rahan.

Smirking, the priestess says, “It’s over. Give me the axe and I shall spare you.”

The barge jolts, weakening Ikkag’s grip on the rail. A strong wind knocks the craft again and dark clouds loom on the horizon. She can’t hold on much longer. The priestess leans closer, her hand stretched out to take the axe. Ikkag searches for a way out.

Giving up the axe might save Ikkag. Keeping it means denying the Crawling Horde its power. She can drop it, but then what had all this been for? And if she falls her death would be meaningless. She can not bring herself to yield.

The priestess, seeing her offer rejected, scowls. She rakes her nails across Ikkag’s face and screams in rage. “These is no pit deep enough in Sudrins realm that will torture you as I will.” With that she makes an arcane gesture and calls out a name, “Vixna.” A devilish imp of a creature crawls out of her skin.

Ikkag stare’s in horror as the monkey shaped thing takes a ragged breath. Unlike a natural creature this is furless with pitch black skin and pale pink spider veins. It has a vestigial pair of arms hanging limply out of its back. A thin layer of clear liquid oozes from its pores. From its forehead severe ram horns curl, and for a mouth it has insect-like mandibles.

It waves its hand over the railing. A nail loosens and slides free. There is a simultaneous pressure to the sole of her foot. It increases sharply and flesh tears. The pain takes a moment to register and then she screams and shakes.

The pain blinds Ikkag. She flails about and her grip slips. In a panic she swings the axe. It strikes the side of the ship and buries itself deep. Above her the priestess cackles and their familiar chitters.

Something brushes against her axe hand. Glancing up she sees the imp has come closer. It appears to be preparing to bite her fingers. Ikkag slaps at it, and it recoils. Taking one last look down at the sand dunes speeding past, Ikkag makes her decision.

With the strength she has left Ikkag grips the axe with both hands. Swinging her body she builds momentum, one, two, three. On the third swing back she raises her legs, and prepares to plant her feet on the hull. The imp claws and bites at Ikkag’s fingers. A crack of thunder obscures the priestesses’ shouts of anger.

Ikkags feet connect with the ship. Her injured foot flares with pain, almost causing her to pass out. She puts all her strength into pulling the axe from the ship’s hull. Every muscle in her body strains, and at first it seems that she can not dislodge it. Then the barge shakes again, the axe frees itself and she becomes weightless.

Wind and sand assault Ikkag as she falls. Time seems to slow for her. A bright light flashes in the sky. Lightning streaks towards her. Thunder booms in its wake.

On the sand barge the Getxalor priestess, Rebb, rages and sulks. She had been so close. Ravirom will not be pleased. Her failure here would assure a quick death. In petty anger she directs her familiar to hex a deckhand.

Lightning crackles and thunder roars. A figure materialises on the ships deck. Rebb turns her fury towards the interloper, “Who dares board without permission?”

The figure stands stall. She is a woman of imposing stature with broad shoulders. Her skin is a bronze hue common to the peoples of the desert. She is dressed for war with a leather tunic and helm. In her hands she wields a bone axe that glows with power.

Rebb is taken aback by the sight of the axe. The woman speaks, her voice reverberating with energy. “I am Bel-Zorr of the Ulyth Wastes, Priestess of Khana the Hunter, Thief Master of Sebekt, the Barbarian Queen of Xtheke. I…am Zorr the Unyielding.”

Dark Guardians

“Run!” Munb-Ran screams. He drags his wounded companions along the corridor. Kyzel is bruised and beaten from the fight. Branmers leg is broken. They stumble as fast as they can. Four animated skeletons bear down on them. 

These undead are cursed guardians of the dungeon. Each one wields a rusted sword and wear scraps of leather armour. Their bones click and clack with sinister intent. The skeletons’ only goal is to keep intruders from the Masked God. 

The companions had encountered them in a ruined laboratorium. Where six of the creatures rose up from the chamber’s detritus. Their attack is sudden and swift. The trio managed to down two. But retreated when it became clear they were outmatched. 

Now they run through dim-lit passages, pursued by death. Munb-Ran rounds a corner and into a gate. He shoves Kyzel and Branmer towards it. Placing himself between them and the undead. “Kyz, get that gate open. Bran, stay behind me.”

The skeletons crowd around him. -Slash- His left arm stings. Munb-Ran sucks the air between his teeth, “Kyz hurry up!” -Slash- Now his right leg.

“It’s stuck.” Kyzel calls back in a panic. 

-Slash- Across his chest. “I can’t hold them. You’ve got to move it now!” Munb-Ran demands. He hears Kyzel strain and grunt. Distracted, the skeletons press their advantage. 

A figure dashes past him. It is Branmer. He crashes into a skeleton. Munb-Ran cries out, “No!” There is nothing else he can do. 

Branmer and the skeleton fall to the ground. A sword sticks through the warrior. The skeleton, trapped beneath the corpse, flails uselessly.

Stone and metal grind. Kyzel roars as she raises the gate high enough to slip beneath. “Come on” she screams at Munb-Ran.

He takes a last look at his fallen friend. Kyzel calls again and he leaps after her. The remaining skeleton warriors try to go through the gate. As mindless automatons they are incapable of higher reasoning. With no way back, Munb-Ran and Kyzel must keep going. 

Luminescent moss lights the way. The passage leads to an oval shaped chamber. At the opposite end is a ceremonial platform. An ornate sepulchre rests atop it. The room is twice the height of a person, and five times as wide.

They have gone through three torches since entering the dungeon. Three hours more or less. Both are near the end of their limit. “Let’s rest here. Just for a minute.” Munb-Ran suggests.

Kyzel nods and leans against the wall. She lets herself slip down to the floor. Munb-Ran crouches beside her. “I’m sorry. About Branmer. I know you two had become close.”

Her eyes widen, “You knew?” 

Munb-Ran clicks his tongue. “He was my friend too. It’s okay. None of my business anyway. But, I am sorry.”

They look away from each other. In the silence both leave words unsaid. It is disturbed by the sound of sword against bone. Someone else is down here. The skeletons are defeated and the new-comer is heard scrambling beneath the gate. 

“Well,” Munb-Ran whispers. “It could be worse.”

Kyzel raises an eyebrow.

“It could be raining.” He quips.