The Silver Prince tapped his fingers on the table as we waited for the last of the adventuring groups in the town to arrive. There were still a few in the city independent of my company, but I knew that my force alone easily represented half or more of the actual forces that our collected groups would provide, and provide we would in the case of emergency, it was part of the contract for entering the city at all.

As the last of the groups sat down and turned towards the podium which had been hastily erected in the yard before his keep, the Silver Prince took the stage, though he was shrouded in a fog of shifting magic that made his true form somewhat obscured.

“As some of you have already been told, there was a breach at the south-east gate around an hour ago by a group of what I expect were powerful necromancers, or possibly undead. You all are going to take your groups and drive them out of the city.” The Prince said simply. “I do not know where they have gone, as the city itself foils my attempts to divine their location, however, I believe there are several likely targets. They are certainly not here to collect Grimmash.”

There was a great mumbling at that, mostly in surprise at the appearance of Necromancers, the dark wizards were an exceedingly rare group, even in comparison to other spellcasters, as the Church of Light dispatched inquisitors to hunt them down and root them out with the same fervor it dealt with demoniac cultists. They had been numerous and powerful in the days of Old Mirno, but since its fall they had been illegal most everywhere.

“I believe the most likely locations for them to attack are the great temple of Ulthos, the Vaults of the Greater Royal bank, and the Kehlon arena. In all likelihood, none of you have been that far into the city. They are all near its core and swarmed with the undead besides, but it is imperative that they not be able to secure any of these locations for themselves, as there are powers in all of them great enough to make even a weak necromancer powerful, and they are reported to have at least one Wraith at their command, so they are likely not weak.” His eyes turned towards me. “Father Abbot, I would like you to lead this expedition. The size of your group and your own abilities make you an ideal match for such foul sorcery.”

“Certainly.” I nodded, standing up from my chair, though a good part of the crowd might still need to crane their necks to see me. ‘No, this isn’t going to work.’

After a moment of thought, I hopped off of my chair and ran about to the stage, where the Silver Prince stepped back to allow me to speak.

Frowning sternly, I put on my best priestly voice and internally said a short prayer that my words should strike true, I felt a swelling of something in my soul, and I knew that my words had his blessing.

“As many of you know, Necromancy is the sorcery of dragging souls from their rightful place in the afterlife and shoving them into corpses to animate them into a crude panoply of life. It is Anathema to God and his will to bring the righteous to his side in death, and as such, he wishes for it to be eradicated from this earth. If this then is the wish of God, let us see it done, and swiftly, less this disease grow into plague and threaten all of Mirno with damnation.”

There was a general sense of affirmation to that, and I nodded sharply, continuing keeping my back straight as I spoke. “Now, all of you are likely already aware of skeletons and the ways to fight them, since they are the majority of the foes within the city, so I will not waste your time discussing them further in a pointless manner, however, who among you as ever fought a wraith?”

When nobody raised their hands I nodded, trying to keep the frown up so that the assembled people would take me seriously. It was easier here then it had been in Brindon, owing to my company and its presence, but I still did look a child, and was treated as such an unfortunately large part of the time.

“That’s understandable, I have not either, Wraiths are a particularly rare malevolent form of undead that is believed to form when a vengeful ghost manages to succeed in driving their target to suicide, the ghost undergoes a sort of metamorphosis, and becomes able to interact with the physical world, that is at least the belief of most reports on the subject. Powerful Necromancers can bind these wandering creatures to their will. What is sure, and what you must remember is that they are not entirely physical creatures. While their weapons can hurt you, your weapons cannot hurt them, unless the weapon in question possesses a soul or magic itself.” There was a dismayed mumbling at that, but I quieted it with a hand. “As such, you should leave contending with Wraiths and the like to me or other spellcasters, and if you must engage one without a magic weapon, then you are better off beating on it with your bare hands, as your own soul will allow you to affect it in some capacity.” I paused for a moment, thinking, “Also, if one of each of your parties comes to me, I can bless a few of your weapons with the Purifying light of God. Every party should have at least one person able to contest them.”

‘That seems to have reassured them, good’ Keeping the morale high was going to be very important, especially once we started losing people, which was probably inevitable given how far we were going to be driving into the city.

“In that case, gather your parties and return here in fifteen minutes, we will gather and enter the city then, once I have said a prayer for your protection.”

As most of the groups departed, I turned back towards the Silver Prince. “I take it you won’t be joining us?”

“No. I am having time enough now keeping the warding up over the entire city. They tore part of it open when they broke the seal I had placed on the gate.”

“They broke your seal?” I raised an eyebrow, I had thought the Silver Prince an extremely powerful wizard. “I may not be able to handle them then.”

“They used an artifact to do it, the man reported some sort of bell-toll before the gate tore open.”

“Ah… I will watch for that then.” I stepped down off the stage, “I will see them gone to the best of my ability, in God’s name.”

“In whoever’s name, I just want them out of my city.”

I nodded, turning away from the wizard, and towards Mary, Karsten, and Strong, who I had brought with me to the meeting as my officers. “Karsten, Strong, get the company moving, Mary, run to my room and fetch my herb sack, I’ll need to prepare a salve to bless their weapons.”

“Yes Father,” Karsten nodded, “You want the Elf too?”

“Yes, absolutely, every spellcaster we can get. If there are any injuries I’ll treat them as we move.”

“Understood.”

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This was urgent, and the first real test of my company, and of my command.

I would not fail them.

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Harald wasn’t entirely sure what had prompted him to join the growing company under the young priest who had healed him. Oh, there was debt, certainly, but he didn’t lack so greatly for gold that he felt the need to throw himself into the service of anyone that did him a favor.

Perhaps it was the childlike appearance of the boy, some triggered need to protect one of the only humans he had met that was shorter than himself.

Or perhaps it was that the boy was stonking powerful.

“Blessings be upon you all as you undertake this holy task, let the light of God take form in protecting you. Leshania Fo Wolno”

There was a glimmering light on the boy's hands that spread out into an aura around the soldiers as he reached out and touched each of them in turn. There were perhaps a hundred and fifty in all, and the young priest looked utterly exhausted by the end of it. Leaning heavily on his walking stick by the time he came around to shield his own officers.

He looked a bit guilty with his big eyes as she shook his head to Harald. “Sorry, I don’t think I have enough left in me to put a shield on you Harald, at least not one that would stay any real length of time.” The boy sadly smiled “I’ll recover a bit as we push into the city.”

“It’s foolish to exhaust yourself on these men Church-Child, your powers are far better suited to this task than theirs.”

Ah, and there was his one regret with joining the company.

The Knife Ear.

The elves were a contentious people, always moving about alone, or in small bands, never saying fixed as they ought to, and their wiles had led many men and dwarves to their deaths in pursuit of stopping greater calamities, without ever revealing to the men or dwarves why they were being forced to give their lives.

They were manipulators of the highest sort and lacked the honor to be fair and earnest with their own subordinates, he found it no surprise that this one was inclined towards leaving the men unshielded to die.

Thankfully, the boy-priest was having none of it.

“My God is that of light and mercy, and purifying the darkness takes a second seat to the preservation of the faithful. I will not lead them to their deaths without first trying to save them.”

“This darkness may be greater than you know if it is the reason I came here, as I suspect it is, Church Child. Who knows what horrors these Necromancers may yet inflict on the innocent should they escape with their prize.”

“Then I won’t let that happen.” The boy said, matter of factly, turning away and straightening his back, despite his evident fatigue. “Karsten, Strong, come on, let's get everybody moving. The longer we wait the more dangerous this will be.”

The Warrior’s sensible as any, fell in behind their master, with the shorter one offering him a supporting hand.

‘Well, maybe, it was just loyalty.’ Harald chuckled as he surveyed his now blessed bullets.

‘That ought to be worth something.’

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Agamemnon dug in his heels, knocking the skeletal drake aside with a contemptuous twist of his mace. These spawn of the guardian were more dangerous than the worthless skeletons outside, but nothing when compared to his own power nonetheless. Still, they were numerous, and even with the prodigious abilities of himself and his companions, their progress through the temple had slowed to a crawl under the continuous attacks.

Fortunately, none of them were in particular danger of tiring, even in the face of such an onslaught.

“This is unacceptable.” He said at last when a small gap in the enemy presented itself. “Bellanjia, surely you have some way of more quickly disposing of this riff-raff.”

“And what would you have me do, Agamemnon? Shoot out blasts to knock this building down upon our heads? No. You if any of us need to take this seriously.”

He felt his cold temper flare at the insinuation but did not have time to speak before the next wave was upon them.

“This is ridiculous, and it will be daylight soon, we cannot afford to tarry here lest the Silver Prince come here and confront us himself.”

Before their argument could escalate any more, the old artificer cut in, overriding both of them with a wry chuckle.“We are nearly there as it is, that is why they are growing so frantic.” A withered hand pointed to the next room, where a circular alter stood in the center of the floor, a deep pit at its center. “The Curse Lies beneath, and so too does its guardian.”

“About damn time.” Bellanjia cursed, burning away the spawn that crawled from the mouth of the pit like rodents. “I was beginning to think this mission was a waste of resources.”

Agamemnon for his part stared at the pit, he could see the magical darkness seeping up out of it, tearing from its depths like a poison that soaked the rest of the city with its taint. “No. What we came for is here,” he said plainly. “Nothing else could be so foul.”

“Indeed.” The artificer nodded. “You lead, Death Knight.”

“Aye.”

He stepped up to the altar, scattering what skeletal spawn was still trying to climb it’s walls, before throwing himself into the pit below. A living man would fear it, but in his death, there was little left to fear.

His Sabaton’s clanked down onto ancient, rotten soil as his burning eyes surveyed the chamber. It was a tall room, perhaps sixteen-feet high where he sat, enclosed on three sides, and opening into a much larger central pit, where, suspended above a pool of inky-black ichor, sat the source of the curse which held the city in its grasp.

There, atop an ancient altar used in rituals that had not seen the light of day since he was yet alive, lay the corpse of the tyrant Nevan, pinned there by his own sword. His lips had for a millennium been frozen in place with the shape of the last curse he had uttered to doom the city that revolted against him.

Even for the undead, the air was foul here, a creeping, oozing darkness that clawed even at his unliving senses. A feeling of wrongness that screamed of danger, even to the dead. As Bellanjia drifted down beside him, floating with her magic, he raised his mace and shield that his companions ought to stay back.

Carefully, one step at a time, he trod forward on that packed and ancient corpse-dirt, his eyes scanning the depths of that impenetrable pool beneath the altar, far beyond where his eyes could see. He stood at the edge and he waited, scanning for any sign of movement that would reveal the Guardian.

He did not have to wait long, as the ichor swelled up beneath him, bubbling like hot tar and spewing forth in a great eruption as the beast emerged.

The Creature before them had once been a dragon, indeed, he had seen it before, the horrifying mount of Nevan the Tyrant, Syrrax. Even then she had been an evil thing, long and sinuous, with wicked teeth that could snap down to bite even a mammoth in half, and wings that darkened the Skies of Mirno on many occasions as he led his host for war. She had been known as the devourer of children, and her rider had ensured that she lived up to her name.

The Monster she was now was far worse. Swollen and horrifying, she was still alive, by some fell magic, her empty eye-sockets doing nothing to suppress the green fire that leaped from her jaws like spittle, bathing the entire chamber in unholy light. Her Teeth had grown distended and long, hanging from her mouth at odd angles so that her gluttonous and half-decayed jaws could even close. Her Long and serpentine neck was covered in odd growths and fins that seemed to protrude at all angles, and her torso and arms were swollen and flabby but seemed filled with the black ichor of the pool below, dripping it out at odd points as if it were her blood.

She opened her mouth and her roar shook the very foundations of the chamber, echoing throughout the ancient blasted halls like a siren to draw yet more of her ghastly puppets against them.

He batted his mace against his shield in a challenge, undeterred by the might the ancient beast displayed against him.

After all, he had been the one to put out her eyes in the first place.

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