They had arrived before the graves had been dug.
Six riders on powerful warhorses, the legs of the beasts melting into a ghostly blue haze shortly before their massive hooves. Motionless as the rubble strewn about the Keep itself, they simply observed. Not even the harsh autumn wind shifted their heavy cloaks as Blackstone stared at them from the battlements with several of the remaining nobility.
“I don't like it. Something’s off.”, spat one of the surviving commanders a dozen feet down to the right of them.
“Oh? Something's off?”, King Angnar began sweetly before snarling at the man, “Is it, perhaps, the fact the destriers have no Gods damned legs?”
Blackstone ignored them and simply focused on the arrivals. They had not moved since assuming their position, in any capacity. Not even the warhorses' flanks twitched in the cooling night air. Blackstone heard the murmur of the other men planning a strategy to approach the riders but couldn't listen to it fully. He'd gotten a sinking feeling in his gut the moment he laid eyes on them.
Blackstone had seen that terrible stillness before.
“They remind me of Kallio.”
The conversation collapsed instantly, with several smaller conversations tripping over the debris as everyone turned to look at him with obvious fear. He turned from the wall and looked to King Angnar while the king stroked his red beard nervously.
“...I'm going to go out to them. This has something to do with that creature, I'm sure of it.”, Blackstone ground out as he stiffly pushed through the crowd, “Dead things seem to take offense easily, don’t accompany me if you cannot hold your tongue.”
The score of men parted to allow him to pass, with three of the senior knights falling into step with him after only the slightest hesitation. Several other men at arms stared firmly at their feet in shame, unable muster the courage to face such monsters again so soon. Blackstone and the knights declined to don armor or even remove the peacebonding from their weapons before riding slowly out of the gates.
The riders moved then and matched the pace of Blackstone and his group before halting at a respectful distance from the gates. Blackstone’s group neared theirs just as the moon began to rise over the keep walls behind them and cast everything in a thin silver light. The strangers were armored head to foot in thick dark metal that made Blackstone feel itchy somehow as he examined it.
Blackstone motioned for his men to remain where they were as he nudged his own steed forward a short distance while one of the figures did the same. His suspicions were confirmed as the leader met his gaze with an unblinking blue glow.
“The Dreadwatch extends its greeting, human.”
The man's voice reverberated oddly in the open air and Blackstone's hackles raised along with the hair on his arms. The emissaries' tone was civil but lined with steel and Blackstone did not doubt the riders would fall upon them with fury at any provocation. Blackstone silently prayed that these creatures were similar enough to the one that had destroyed them as he quickly decided a plan.
“King Angnar extends his greetings and mourns that he cannot also extend his hospitality. Our kingdom has suffered an attack and none are allowed to enter the keep until the dead have been laid to rest, as is our custom.”, Blackstone spoke with great formality and held the riders gaze unwaveringly.
“Indeed? Fel magic and death hang heavy over you, boy. Tell me, what drew the Warlocks ire? It has been an age since fearful whispers of emerald flame have reached our ranks.”
The uncanny stillness of both mount and rider continued to unnerve Blackstone as they replied. He considered lying to the creature, or simply avoiding the question altogether. Instead he simply launched into a brief explanation. He told them of the girl, the house, the withered archmagus who called himself Kallio and his insidious menagerie of summoned creatures. He maintained his formal tone throughout, remembering all too well the instant offense the ancient archmagus had taken to his disrespect.
“You said he sought the Tear of Life? Tell me of this artifact. The Warlock would not move for petty trinkets.”
“Who is this Warlock? Truly.”
The rider moved then, the fractional tilt of their head communicated volumes of disbelief against their stillness. They returned almost immediately to their former position before they spoke slowly, as if to a child.
“The Warlock, Kallio of T’va. Tell me of this artifact the Warlock sought.”
Blackstone burned the words into his memory before speaking, “A violet gemstone that allowed the wielder to draw in ambient mana to supplement their spellcasting. Used to safeguard the kingdom since its founding. His minion kept referring to it as a Seed.”
The rider did not reply for some time before they wheeled their steed away and returned to its fellows. As it turned it remarked to Blackstone a final time as they departed.
“We shall seek the sign of the Warlock in your lands. Do not trouble us.”
His teeth clenched together angrily but he allowed none of it to reach his face as Blackstone offered a short bow before returning to his own men. Their faces were confused and nervous but they held their tongues all the way back to the safety of the walls before bombarding him with questions.
He ignored them as he approached the King and much of the group he had left not long before.
“They sought the creature that did this, and asked of the Tear. I recommend we simply command our men to ignore them, for our own safety. I expect they will be gone soon, we're of no real interest it seems.”, Blackstone reported tersely as soon as King Angnar was within earshot.
The King cursed under his breath and turned to Blackstone's father with irritation on his face.
“Your family held that artifact for hundreds of years, is there anything you have been keeping from us? Clearly the Tear was no simple artifact.”
Blackstone's father opened his mouth to reply before he was cut off, “No, not the Tear. The Seed. My Lord, when I was held hostage by the Warlock he said…”
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King Angnar seemed as if he was going to become cross for a moment before curiosity got the best of him as Blackstone paused to consider his words.
“He said we are all squatters in the bones of the Old Kingdoms, that we had forgotten our history. He spoke as if he knew the man that Grandfather Tenebri spoke of so often.”
Even Blackstone's father seemed interested now as Angnar simply gestured for them to follow as they returned to the curtain wall to oversee the repairs. Magelights lit the inner courtyard with warm yellow light and the group resumed their previous positions.
“I don't see where you're going with this Blackstone. When was the last time you slept, boy?”, Angnar asked in a tone that was equal parts concern and command.
“What if he was right? Grandfather Tenebri’s magic, whose name my family bears, is the result of recreating magic from tales of the Warlocks era. It was impossible without the Tear, Tenebri admitted as much. But they're the same, you see? They are from the same world. If he said it's a Seed…”
The silence grew for several seconds before Angnar nodded grimly and finished the thought for him, “What grows from a seed like that?”
“I think I know how to find out”, Blackstone replied cautiously as he turned to stare his father in the eyes.
_____________________________________
Snow drifted through the air in dense, heavy flakes that obscured everything from sight. Even the howling wind did not serve to clear the sheer density of it as all but the largest landmarks were devoured by the unforgiving whiteness of the tundra.
A black portal formed suddenly against the vast nothingness at the roof of the world as six riders pounded through the gate at a dead sprint, their mounts devouring the distance between them and the horizon. The warhorses simply plowed uncaring through the deep snowdrifts, often vanishing entirely before exploding out the other end with blue flame pouring from their nostrils.
They neither tired nor slowed as they raced across the infinite bleakness of snow and ice until an obelisk of stone appeared through the swirling storm. The lead rider took a horn from his belt and blew one long blast, a deep mournful sound that echoed back to them faintly. They urged their steeds to even greater speeds as a vast shape became visible though the storm for just a moment.
Finely hewn dark rock, gilded white bone, and banners dark with purple trim revealed itself between flurries of snowflakes. The ziggurat floated above a large square platform a mile below it as the forces returned. The riders leapt onto the platform and blurred away, their forms collapsed into wisps of blue energy. Soundlessly they were deposited on foot high above on the massive island in the sky.
They marched with mechanical precision to deliver their report, their captain simply nodding and leaving to alert his own superior who repeated the process. The entire fortress slowly came alive as increasing numbers of armored figures began to appear from within the depths of the stone construction. Skeletons grafted with gold and electrum swarmed in orderly lines from the depths of the structure and cleared away ice and snow that fell for long moments before breaking against the ground below.
Deep within the ziggurat the fires burned with a pale blue flame that shed no heat into the air around them. Legions of undead worked tirelessly as they relit great forges and fit pale men and women into their armor as they stood unmoving as winter ice. They assembled in the courtyard as a small army, the ranks straight and formations flawless. Calvary formed the bulk of their numbers with those not on horseback carrying huge weapons strapped across their backs as they stood uncaring in the cold.
Hundreds of blue eyes shone unobscured through the storm, fixed upon the balcony cut into the steps of the fortress as it slowly rose above the storm and the air grew thin. Spiderwebs of frost formed across their armor but still they remained motionless, no clouds of breath emerging from their helmets. As the sound of the storm receded a battalion of heavily armored, hulking figures emerged from the darkness of the doorway with a single figure at their center.
The woman was of average height, hair a pale shade of gray that reflected the blue light of the torches her honor guard carried as she strode out into the night. She carried a horned helmet under one arm as the other rested upon the pommel of the blade that hung at her hip. Her armor glittered as every errant snowflake struck it, tiny ripples of blue light expanding from every contact in a hypnotic rhythm.
Her guard spread out, boxing her in as she stepped out onto the balcony and approached the edge. She saluted her troops, banging a fist against her breastplate as they returned the gesture with a deafening crash before all returned to silence.
“The Warlock walks the earth once more, our Riders have confirmed the rumors. The Tomb lies empty. Tellura City brought to ruin, the Darkstaff reclaimed. The Isle of Kor ravaged and sunk beneath the waves, the great seal unbound and prison emptied.”, her words reverberated in the still crisp air as she paused to allow them to take in her words before continuing.
“Greystone Keep has been gutted. The survivors spoke of a withered magus, served by twisted creatures and wielding emerald flame. A gemstone was taken, pale violet in the form of a teardrop.”
At those words the blue light flared in the army's eyes, shining like the cold stars in the sky behind them as the ziggurat rumbled under their feet. The land slowly lurched under them as the massive fortress revealed its greatest strength and began to move. Blue energy ran from the stone at her feet like water, pouring down the steps of the temple-like structure. It cascaded down the steps on either side of her to wash over the boots of the men and women standing at attention before her, their armor soaking in the energy.
“The Dreadwatch Rides Forth!”, she howled and placed the helmet up on her head.
Spikes of graven bone gilded with arcane metals detached silently from the structure, the decorations falling through the storm to be pulled together by some unseen force. The liquid blue energy spilled from the edge of the fortress in a waterfall of wailing spirits, the souls pouring into the bones as they fell.
“Emeriss! Emeriss! Emeriss! We Ride Forth!”
The chanting of the dead filled the night sky as a single gigantic wingbeat sounded from the storm below them.
_____________________________________
Leyla chattered happily to Iskra as the demon rested on the table before her, its eye fixed nervously upon the imp that sat perched mere inches away. Zeptik’s face was frozen in a menacing grin, unblinking and malevolent as he gazed at the weaker demon with a hungry eye. The girl didn't seem to notice as she frequently included him in her conversation, seemingly delighted at his sudden interest in her and her new ally.
Mirriana stood at Teachers right side as she always did while he watched the scene unfold. He had been quite insistent that she eat and rest after the ritual, intercepting her while she sprinted to find Mirriana in the lounge. He'd simply stepped out of the air before her with an amused expression and announced that it was now time for the evening meal and collected the protesting girl and her confused new Contract.
Leyla ate noisily, barely tasting the stew as she attempted to convince the floating skull
“Come on Iskra, it's good! Mirri makes the best food! I'm the only one that ever eats unless Zeptik tries to steal my food! If he can eat it, so can you!”
“Master, I do not possess a body. Neither do I possess a tongue or a stomach. I must insist that Master follow the Teachers commands and…eat all her food like a good student.”, the skull trailed off lamely with a snap of his beak.
Leyla frowned at him and looked away snottily as she crammed another spoonful of stew into her mouth before freezing. She turned back to face Teacher with a stunned expression on her face as she pointed with a spoon that dripped onto the table, Iskra dodging the falling food with a squawk of surprise.
“Teacher, your friend's picture is glowing!”
Zeptik froze on the table, spinning to face the tapestries so fast his tail nearly knocked the bowl of stew from the table as Kallio stood, the throne line chair he had been resting in clattering away against the floor as Mirriana's hands flew to her mouth in shock.
The tapestry of a pale woman drawing a blade from within an open grave was lit from within, her eyes and blade glowing with a faint blue luminescence as frost formed on the wall around it.