Chapter 6: Battle in the Depths

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From farmland’s edge to marsh’s heart, their solemn march began,

Through brambles thick and shadowed pools untouched by pure hand.

The swamp stretched wide, a choking mire, where sunlight scarce could breach,

Its trees like gnarled sentinels, their branches like longing hands did reach.

Each step was met with sucking mud, the stench of death’s decay,

Where reeds hissed soft in ghostly winds and led their path astray.

Eliwen’s censer burned incense and herbs, its fragrant smoke a ward,

Against gloom that sought to shroud their steps and lead them untoward.

The ghost drifted ahead unseen, his hollow voice their guide,

For secrets lost to living eyes lay beyond the veil where spirits hide.

“Ahead,” he murmured faintly soft, “a clearing lies, defiled,

Its stones are carved with runes profane; the air itself feels vile.”

And lo, the path grew darker still as twilight dimmed to black,

The party paused to mark the signs of foes that hid their track.

A half-sunk spire, a shattered gate, a whiff of iron blood

All spoke of necromantic craft polluting swamp and wood.

The paladins exchanged grim nods; their steel now bore the weight,

Of knowing that this lair would hold the echoes of their fate.

At last, they reached the outer ring, where ruin choked the land,

The swamp gave way to broken stone, defiled by necromancer’s hand.

Graves upturned and shattered tombs lay scattered in the mire,

Where ghastly forms in armor and rags marched grimly for their sire.

The ghost returned with whispered dread, “Their forces gather near,

A tide of thralls, their numbers vast, their purpose sharp and clear.”

Theodric raised his blade aloft, its relic fire ablaze,

And shouted, “Strike with Phoenix flame; let light consume this haze!”

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They charged into the waiting dark, a clash of steel and cries,

The living braced ‘gainst rotted claws as sparks lit midnight skies.

The swamp itself seemed keen to writhe, as shadows stretched and grew,

Yet Aeron felt a burning strength upon which gracious bellows blew.

Steel clashed with bone as knights advanced, undead lines fell away,

But each fresh wave renewed the horde, mocking the efforts of the brave.

Eliwen’s prayers burned bright in gloom, banishing lesser thralls,

Amelia’s healing soothed the knights who otherwise would fall.

The ghost slipped through the warring lines, intangible, unseen,

Undoing wards from behind shrines, erasing words obscene.

At last they reached the temple’s heart: a shrine of evil steeped in dread,

Where swirling vapors coiled around the lich-lord’s loathsome head.

His voice rose like a thousand woes, echoing tombstone calls:

“Fools, you cannot halt my reign; this realm to me shall fall!

I was once a priest of flame, betrayed by prideful kin,

They cast me out; I turned to death, and now the dead shall win!”

The knights attacked with righteous zeal. The lich unleashed his might,

And putrid green flames corroded steel in swirling vile delight.

One knight collapsed as curses struck, bones splintered in a crash,

The lich laughed deep with hollow eyes, fueling each sick spell’s lash.

Aeron, compelled by Phoenix’s spark, lunged for the lich’s cloak,

But vile magic roiled, sapping strength; he swayed as though he’d choke.

Then came the ghost, with sorrowed cry: “I’ve known despair too well.

No more shall hopeless gloom define my soul in this black shell!”

He danced about the lich lord’s form, obscuring undead sight,

Allowing Aeron space to strike with all his mortal fight.

Sword bit deep in lich’s side; the fiend howled in savage rage.

Yet swirling dark consumed the floor, a twisted war they waged.

At last the lich prepared a blow that seethed with baleful gloom,

Destined to smite the meddling boy to an unholy tomb.

But Aeron summoned all his faith, felt Phoenix flames ignite,

His armor glowing white-hot bright, devouring dead of night.

He drove his blade beneath the rib of that decaying frame,

His life’s breath nearly spent in turn, consumed by holy flame.

The lich’s shriek tore through the hall, and cracks in runes ran deep,

Unholy wards collapsed in ash, his hold refused to keep.

The temple shook, foul energies undone by Phoenix grace,

And spectral lights drained from the thralls that swarmed the shattered place.

In silent hush, the lich’s bones crumbled, a final wail undone,

Yet Aeron lay pale, mortal wounds marking that he’d not won

The right to live unscathed. Life slipped away from battered chest,

Leaving Theodric, Eliwen, and Amelia, against sorrow’s grip to wrest.