“A monk? One from the monastery?” Owyn asks, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.
“That's right. His name was Lias, and he was undead, but still had his wits about him, like you. He gave us a rather lengthy confession of his involvement with the creation of this mist.”
“I knew those bastard clergymen had something to do with this.” Owyn remarks, visibly angry. “What did he say? I can't guarantee I can confirm much, as I didn't participate in any of their shady schemes while they were here, but I'll try my best.”
“He basically said that Grand Monk Selick from Evatica met up with Advisor Zellen Hayne here to examine some sort of holy relic that was discovered inside the mountain. Do you know about any of that?”
“I can confirm Selick came here about half a year before the mist appeared, and I do know of his frequent visits with Hayne and Archduke Westshire, but I didn't know of the nature of them.” Owyn strokes his bony chin as he tries to recall any relevant details. “I had heard rumors in passing about some sort of strange object being found in the mines, but I never found out the details, so this 'holy relic' is news to me.”
“Hayne and Selick never sought any sort of counsel with you about the object?” Veros asks, puzzled as to why the headmaster of the arcane school would be left in the dark. “If they truly found something that was magical in nature – holy or not – than surely you'd be one of the more obvious people to have involved with examining it.”
“Nobody ever brought it to my attention. Selick and Hayne kept to themselves all the time, barely left the castle. I would see those other monastery monks follow them around in the few occasions I did see them. I made several attempts to try and find out what was happening, but they were all extraordinarily tight-lipped. They didn't talk to me, my pupils, or any of the other teachers.”
“So Selick and Hayne were experimenting with a holy relic, and purposely blocked any mage from knowing about it?” Veros summarizes the new information, but he's unsure of how to process it. He looks back at Atticus, who has been quiet until now. “You have any ideas?”
The knight isn't quick to answer. He takes a moment to consider the zealots' potential motives before stepping forward and giving his thoughts. “If keeping mages out of the loop was a purposeful decision, then it means they probably could've done something to interfere with Selick and Hayne's plans.”
“We don't necessarily specialize in the tinkering with holy objects, so I can't imagine how we'd be able to interfere.” Owyn replies, tilting his head slightly in confusion.
“Unless it wasn't really a holy object at all, and they knew that. Or at least Hayne knew, and he needed people with enough knowledge of the arcane to help manipulate it, but not enough knowledge to stop him. Maybe the 'holy relic' detail was a fabrication to get the monks interested.”
“That's quite a theory, but I don't know enough to refute it. If it is a magical object, then what do you think it is?”
“A black crystal.” Atticus answers as bluntly. “There's nothing else that could cause this much devastation.”
“I see.” Owyn hangs his head, not surprised at all by the knight's proposal. “So, you think so too, huh?”
“You've considered the idea, as well?”
The decayed mage nods. “I have. Quite frankly, I agree that it is the only thing on this world that could spread such a foul curse, but I didn't know for sure how or why they would have it, and how the monks could be involved. But, in light of the details you've given me, it does seem plausible. The only other question left unanswered is: how did they manage to manipulate it in such a way that it didn't cause a natural disaster or wipe this side of Yhordran off the map, like black crystals of the past have done?”
“That, I have no clue about.”
“This careful deducin' is great and all,” Kellar interjects, “but why haven't you gone into the castle and found things out for yourself?”
“Because we can't.” Owyn responds casually. “Look.” He turns and points to the castle gates at the top of the long, sloped road. It's faint due to the distance, but a barrier of thick mist has collected around the building, making a second, smaller dome localized over the castle. “We can't pass that barrier – it's like a wall. Somehow it keeps us out, almost certainly because we're undead.”
“Oh.” The rogue becomes dejected. “Well, that's a pain of the ass. You all spent nearly seven months sitting around, unable to find out what the cause of the mist is, despite it bein' only a few steps away? Rough deal.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“It was driving us mad. We're physically so close to getting answers, and maybe stopping it, but that damned fog wall prevents us. We were actually beginning to consider manning siege weapons to try and attack the castle out of desperation, but the only thing holding us back from doing that is the fact that we don't know if that would somehow make things worse.”
“You might've made the right call in holding off.” Veros comments, trying to reassure the undead man. “If you can't get inside the castle, then you must not know what's happening inside, right?”
“That's true.” Owyn guiltfully admits. “We can't get into any position that allows us to see what's happening within its walls, so I can't give you any information that could help you if you venture inside.”
“Well, we were able to come this far. I think we can manage.” Veros turns and looks back at his comrades, who gaze at the building with eyes that are steeled with determination, though also not necessarily free of doubt. “Is everyone ready? We can't stand around and waste too much time.”
“As I'll ever be.” Royd answers, lacking his usual confident voice, but his stone-faced expression suggests a firm willingness to proceed.
“We should get this over with.” Kellar remarks, growing increasingly anxious. “The more we wait, the more I'll start second-guessin' myself.”
“It's a very imposing-looking castle, isn't it?” Zyra comments, staring at the ominous dark beam shooting from the middle of the massive keep. “But nothing's going to be solved by just standing around.”
“Indeed.” Erik voices his agreement. “It was quite a trek to reach this point. We shouldn't hesitate while we're so close to the end.”
Veros turns to the black-clad knight. “And you?”
Atticus doesn't respond immediately. He gazes at the erupting miasma for a moment and turns to the veteran. “Let's go.”
The veteran's lips curve into the smallest smile, as if amused at himself for thinking his comrade would give any other answer. “I guess that settles it, then. No more waiting around. Let's head inside.”
“I'll accompany you up the path.” Owyn states before turning to the small crowd of fellow Armasstadt citizens. “Everyone stay here, continue your usual duties. I'll guide our visitors as far as I can.”
The other undead folk quietly accept their order. Though their faces are so rotted and decayed and their expressions are so sullen, the tiniest glint of hope can be seen igniting in their eyes.
Leaving their horses near the massive entrance, and taking only their weapons, the Mistwalkers decide to continue towards the supposed resolution of their journey, which is mere steps away, but obscured behind a mysterious magic barrier, and inside of a towering castle. Step by step, they climb the cobblestone stairs that reach higher and higher levels of Armasstadt's mountainside geography. Every fifty or so steps is punctuated by a flattened landing area that intersects into another road leading east and west along the circular layout of the city's foundation.
As they pass each level, they peer into the empty streets; rows of abandoned homes stretch as far as the eye can see, until the curve of the street removes them from view. Some of them even bear plant growths on their exterior walls, displaying a clear lack of maintenance. Even the slabs of cobblestone in the ground have traces of weeds sprouting from the cracks. It truly does seem as though the handful of sapient undead standing back at the portcullis are the last of the Armasstadt citizens. Practically overnight, this bustling northern metropolis with well over a hundred thousand inhabitants was reduced to what is now little more than a haunting ground, populated by a small group of people who are kept alive by a curse.
“Owyn.” Veros speaks up as they continue their climb towards the castle. “What happened to all the inhabitants after they died? Surely there must've been many bodies left in the wake of the spreading mist?”
“Despite how futile it was,” the decomposing mage begins, “many people down in the lower rings tried to make an escape, trampling over each other with either their own feet or their horses'. The portcullis was left open for days after the miasma appeared, and many of those who lost their minds simply wandered out of their own accord. Once the majority had left, me and a few others closed it and began searching for other survivors throughout the city. We killed the straggling mindless husks we ran into, and dumped their remains outside the walls by the wagonful.”
“That's... quite a task. It must have been taxing, both physically and mentally.”
Owyn casts his gaze downward slightly and shakes his head. “That's putting it lightly. I knew a lot of the people whose bodies I threw out; neighbors, colleagues, even some pupils. There used to be more of us, you know – survivors. We used to number in the hundreds, but as you can tell, we slowly decay, mist or not. Eventually, when we decay enough, our mind finally goes, and we lose the sense of humanity we had been able to hold on to. Many survivors started out 'normal', so to speak, but after they rotted enough, they became hostile, and needed to be put down.”
“That's terrible.” Zyra comments. “I'm sorry you all had to wait so long for people to reach you.”
“Speaking of waitin',” Kellar interjects, “did any of you try to head south at all? Just to contact anyone?”
“A few did leave, as they became increasingly desperate.” Owyn responds. “But as you might have guessed, they never came back. The rest of us ultimately decided to stay here, in Armasstadt. We figured that if someone did manage to reach us, they'd want to know about what had transpired here, even if the information is paltry. Plus, we figured that there must've been more undead roaming the lands if the mist had indeed spread to other villages. We just had no idea it spread so far.”
“I don't blame you for staying put and holing up here.” Veros states. “A lot can happen in the hundreds of miles you'd need to travel to reach the living.”
“A true point. But there's little we can do here after we've taken the time to clear the city of hostiles. As undead, we don't eat or sleep. We just stand around and wait, hoping for help to arrive. As you can imagine, the last six months felt like much longer than that.”