Embedded Files
Prologue
Beyond sight, a conversation is heard as if through the resonance of the universe itself. A thing we ought not to be privy to but would seem to draw us to listen all the same.
“You do have a clear aesthetic.” A warm feminine voice spoke with a subtle sense of joy.
“Part of impressing others would be maintaining a believable image.” An energetic yet offsetting girlish voice replied. “Skulls, death, darkness can all be accented to, well, everything!” A brief pause. “Then we just add ice for flavor… or a lack thereof, you know what I mean. Artistry.”
The warm voice returned and rose in excitement. “How long do you think he’ll last before the others catch on? Matter of fact, who do you think will react first?”
Not hearing the question, the other spoke to herself. “He’s perfect. A marvelous weapon, twisted by hatred. Given an icy demeanor, and hell bent on destruction.” She praised her work. “Looking out into the expanse of the universe for inspiration, I can wow myself…”
A strange giggle rose and was cut off with a sudden response to the dangling question. “I’d bet your brother Esohr would act first. He’s never liked me… Which has always been a sad truth.”
She continued admiring her work. “When I take an outcast like this one and give them purpose, Esohr hates that. Look at what they’ve achieved with that Goliath horde. He’s made himself an army. They learn so fast!” A lingering pause, “now he’s using them to break Eone’s little zealots of light or whatever they named themselves… Ooo, maybe she’ll be the one to take notice… we haven’t played for a bit…”
A momentary pause before the warmer, jovial voice broke the first bit of silence. “Then I think you ought to be surprised and enjoy this, Orandr…”
“What is that? It’s… confused… No… It’s lost?” The energetic voice turned icy and shrill. She turned her attention away from her work.
“Most definitely lost, but that appears to be temporary for her.” The warmth is in contrast to the cold.
“WAIT A MINUTE!” shrill, almost grating.
“Quite temporary, it seems. Quite the crater she’s made there…” a warm wave on the senses, contrast between them.
The room goes cold, cold with anger, overwhelming the space. Work interrupted, plans interrupted, something is wrong. A sudden fit of giggles from the crisp voice and a sinister, playful, “I gave mine a dragon.”
“She has her faith.”
“Mine has drawn an army.”
“She seems to be drawing… friends.”
“The sword alone would give mine the upper hand… I’m starting to doubt what you’ve found is even going to stand up in that crater.”
“What did you call the accessory earlier? Flavor? Let’s see if she event wants a sword…”
“He is undying… he can’t be killed!”
“She won’t need anything like that, not at this rate.”
“We shall see, Valtia, but you do know I like a surprise.”
The room flared to life as fresh energy rushed past, feeling like wind, both blisteringly cold and soothingly warm. The energies swirled between the two voices as their attention now turned to what we are now able to observe.
A specific moment in time on the edge of a mountain tucked into a forest silent with the padding of heavy snowfall.
Chapter 1: Darkness
Darkness, no external senses to be felt, just a calm escape from whatever trivial thing held her chained and bound to the will of others. Her mind wasn’t at ease, she felt a distinct disconnect within herself.
The backbone of her existence had become her faith and right now it brought her no comfort, not anymore.
A feeling like her body had gone numb overtook her. Numb from the cold, something that never happens to one who was mountain-born, goliath-kin.
She was numb from the sight of her people slaughtered in an unnatural blizzard. The sight of them cut down by a unique blade with carved runes wielded by a deathly being in dark and cold armor. A visage of evil wielding a runic blade.
As untethered time lapsed, she reminisced on nights staring out into the dark sky, only to be taunted by evil at every turn. When she was bound to wait and to trust in her faith; trust that her goddess had a plan for her. When the company she found herself with had decided that her pursuits could wait and that setting their sights on lovers’ quarrels and local politics came before stopping a great evil, she abided by this call.
In this moment, cast in this sensory deprived state, she floated through memory and ruminated on her frustrations.
Her body began to shake to life, not gently. The tingling pins and pricks of sensation returned to her extremities… Waking up to hazy vision in a dark forest, middle of the night, if her internal clock was to be trusted.
The world around was a blur as a voice drew her back to focus. Panic and concern are laced in the voice of the soldier as they rocked her.
Once her vision cleared, she beheld the scene before her: a quiet night near a mountainside outcropping with a wall of forest trees not even one hundred paces away. Normally, this would spark a sense of safety; a forest wall and a mountain are comfortable terrain. She realized that the forest had only succeeded in hiding a threat that was now upon the men just down the path.
Before she was able to fully right herself to the situation, she heard fighting, screaming, and the sound of death. Shields battered, spears splintered, and as her eyes strained further and deeper into the darkness, the night gave way to large lumbering shapes blocking out torchlight.
Hulking figures appear to have overrun a group of soldiers who struggled and mounted a failing resistance. They were overwhelmed by whatever this threat was.
Torchlight was quenched by the cold snow as they were dropped and snuffed out one by one. The echoing thuds and resounding sounds of heavy weapons crushing the soldiers felt like slow drumbeats.
The voice of the man who was trying to waken her began to clear from the drone of battle that had filled her ears. Frantic shouts of “wake up! Get up! I’ve no idea how you got here, but we must retreat!”
As her muscles flared to life, she took stock of herself, her equipment, her position. She seemed to be all in one piece, sprawled out in what appeared to be a crater, as if she fell into a hole gouged out by falling boulders or siege equipment. She sat up, then shakily rose to her feet.
Standing a few feet taller than the soldier as he stepped back, almost falling out of the crater, he witnessed her full size.
“What… unit are you from… my… lady?” he stammered to ask and then shook his head. “Your armor doesn’t match, but you’re clearly not one of them. Come quickly!” and he turned to run. Parallel with the tree line, heading towards the retreating group of soldiers that she could just identify by their torchlight flickering between the trees.
These soldiers did battle with hulking shadows and shades.
The sound of a tree falling and heavy footfalls on snow covered ground isolated over the cacophony of fighting drew her attention as a large hulking creature slammed a great axe into the ground in front of the soldier who just woke her and with a quick glance up, she peered right into piercing icy blue eyes. She wasn’t the only one to catch its gaze. The soldier looked as well. The eyes seemed to bore into the man, who immediately began to lock up and freeze over. He turned his head towards her as his body was visibly freezing over. “Run!” he shouted before the ice overtook him, freezing him solid.
The creature before her let out an unnatural cry, filled with disgusting guttural sounds, and moved to strike at her next. Leveraging the massive gnarled great axe handle to attack.
Plate armor, unruly red hair, shield in one hand, holy mace in the other, a mountain-born member of Goliath-kin. The woman who stood before this giant dark foe was a devout warrior, a paladin, Helena Hellabore.
Helena raised her shield to break the creature’s eyeline and took the holy mace in hand and began to flex the muscles that had locked up during whatever curse came before breaking it with her will. Blocking the first swing of her enemy’s axe as it slammed into the ground, glancing off her shield.
Striking the creature with radiant imbued strikes, flashing with light, sundering the monster’s legs and arms. The monster lashed out multiple times and managed to catch Helena on a few of them, each strike that landed hit plate and well-trained muscle.
The heavy strikes pushed her through the snow, which forced her to rebuff and rebuttal. Her initial movements were slower than her normal pace, shaking off whatever sleep or fatigue numbed her body.
As muscle memory kicked in and the exertion warmed the stiff joints to action, the creature was soon outmatched. The glowing blunt head of the mace broke the rotted and disfigured bone, which ripped the unnaturally animated rotting flesh off. She finally crushed the skull of the monster.
Once the hulking monster stopped moving, she caught sight of others fighting on the tree line.
Chapter 2: Order
A force of fighting men battled more of the large undead creatures on the tree line. Clearly, they were losing.
Their standard, unrecognizable. Nothing about their armor or their colors was familiar to Helena. The one thing that was as clear as the glow of the two moons shining in the forest was their struggle. Recognizing that there were two moons instead of one was a surprise, but there was no time to contemplate astrology.
As she raced to aid the strangers, a familiar person burst out of the nearby pines. A man named Simon burst out of the brush, accompanied by the small fey known as Myth’ia. These were allies of Helena’s. How they were here was unknown. Reacting quickly to the scene before them with no time for questions or introduction, they set to saving the fighting-men; rangers, knights, their supports, all of which were being crushed by the frozen undead giants.
Helena charged in with shield and mace, Simon drew his crafted blade called Morning’s Edge, and the two began a coordinated assault on the monsters. Myth’ia flit between them, flying around blade and mace, releasing bursts of bright magic protecting her allies and the fleeing troops.
In the aftermath of relieving the undead giants of their unnatural life, the three felt a sudden shift in the battle as a whirlwind of snow revealed a man dressed in black armor, carrying an enormous sword, who introduced himself as Vorcal.
Sensing the evil on this creature - remembering the characteristics of the man who murdered her people, the malignant ice, the black armor, the weapon, the aura of malice, Helena glimpsed the visage of evil that haunted her nights. Pushing through the snow with Simon and Myth’ia following, the three engaged the black guardsman.
The black guardsman was overwhelmed as he tried to rebuke them. Simon’s blade pierced the gaps near his joints. Helena’s mace dented his armor and pushed him around. Myth’ia, a burst of magic, blinded him by turning his helmet around. The undead soldiers he summoned barely lasted seconds before they knocked him to his knees. His threat was neutralized. They wasted no time dispatching him and turned to go to the soldiers.
The unnatural blizzard slowed to a more mundane heavy snowfall. As the three pushed through the heavy snowfall to see an approaching lantern light as an armored woman on horseback rode through the snow to greet them. The woman introduced herself as Lady Commander of the Order of Light, Niamh. She ordered her troops to rally and reorient those that were saved by Helena and her allies.
Questioning Helena, Simon, and Myth’ia; where they came from, seeing their confusion as they looked at each other. Niamh suggested they travel with her and that their fighting prowess could be quite useful in the siege of the castle. They could rest and sort themselves out under her host.
Traveling through the forest, joining the Order of Light’s vanguard as Niamh spoke of her faith and the two parties found themselves a bit confused about the theology. Where Niamh heard Zeskyl, when Simon spoke of his faith to “Zahal”, she thought it strange the man apparently was a scholar in theology and even knew of the great devil from ancient history. When Helena referred to the divine entity “Fëa” whom she swore an oath to, Niamh could only relate it to her faith in the light of Eone. Being a Commander of the Order of Light, Niamh would not turn down even the strangest of assistance in her fight against the undead.
She led the three of them to a staging site, located in ruins outside of what appeared to be the shadow of a dark castle. The no man’s land was shrouded in dense fog and darkness. A place to rest was provided for the three as they sat by a campfire, recovered, and spoke of the oddity of their circumstances.
Realizing this was not the land they had last been on, the situation hung strangely in their minds. The current task of recovering and persevering through this threat was at the forefront of their minds, leaving the uncertainty for later.
Within a few hours, the sun began to rise on the other side of the castle and the score of campfires the three could see were now bathed in the dim light of early dawn and the forces began to mobilize. At the sound of a great horn, the three turned to see Lady Niamh on horseback, lining her forces to battle.
The fog and shadow across the field rescinded and revealed a near endless army of undead beings that appear to have been encased in ice and had been out there this entire time, lingering in darkness.
Chapter 3: Gate
The three rose and joined the front lines with Lady Niamh. She briefly explained that a lord of death is what they faced, and that failure was not possible. Rallying her men and sounding the charge, her knights and soldiery rushed towards the inanimate undead soldiers and as they approached, the ice shattered, sending fragments and shrapnel at the warriors. The undead then engaged in the battle.
When the two forces crashed into each other in full, Helena, her companions, Lady Niamh, and her well-trained knights of the Order of Light began to clear the undead threat, but it was slow going.
A deafening and powerful roar resounded from the cloud cover over the frozen no man’s land as a massive undead ice dragon erupted through and began to assault the knights, a shrieking roar that sent fear cascading through the soldiers’ hearts.
The dragon was not alone. A rider in frozen over jet black plate mail was astride the beast. The master of the castle landed his mount and introduced himself. A voice that magically boomed as if cast by thunder, “Your assault is futile.” A shout from an unknown soldier said, “Byleth! It’s Sir Byleth!!”
“This desolate field will be your grave. Shiver-Eye shall rend you and you shall then serve me.” His voice, booming like a storm, thunder during a blizzard, was not a shout but a flat statement.
Helena, with her divine powers from Fëa still in question, briefly faltered when attempting to summon her flying warhorse to her side. A fleeting sense of failure, concern, confusion, gave way to comfort when she saw him appear. Gritting her teeth, she then took to the skies. Astride Menowyn, Helena charged into battle with her allies closely behind her.
As soldiers began to reform their ranks and were quickly being overwhelmed, Myth’ia channeled her magical powers and began to rain destruction down on the unending waves of undead. The evil that swelled the ranks of the enemy’s army was being battered by the flaming barrage. The small flitting form of the fey creature concealed an unimaginable power. The soldiers and paladins rallied back and filled the gaps created by the divine barrage. The fight went on.
Helena reached out a hand to Simon and, as they clasped gloved hands, Menowyn kicked hard to the ground, flexed wings, and was sent soaring to the sky. They met the dragon and his rider in the skies over the battlefield; throwing Simon, who quickly drew a dagger out to stab into the side of the dragon, anchoring himself to it.
Repositioning to the other side, Helena drew her mace and positioned herself to strike at the rider. Sir Byleth did not turn his head when the first strike came in as the dragon’s wing pushed it away. Forcing Menowyn to keep his rider balanced, while she released his reigns to fight with both hands, trusting him implicitly.
With treacherous footing and only a dagger to keep him attached, Simon grappled and climbed his way from the tail, making his way towards the rider. Every move was earned as he precariously clung to the creature, with the rider constantly just out of reach. The Morning’s Edge still managed to find weak spots on Shiver-Eye; the problem quickly became apparent that it wasn’t hitting it but hurting it, that would be a challenge.
As the dragon’s wings flapped and ice shards flew down to the battlefield, killing friend and foe alike, Helena and Menowyn chased and continued to strike towards the rider, but the dragon’s serpentine movements made it near impossible to strike him. With a deep inhalation the dragon gave a mighty breath and the battlefield below was covered in ice but also a myriad of ailments as some soldiers’ flash froze, others fell unconscious or dead, and some appeared to suffer some form of mania–acting erratic. This allowed even the weaker thralls of the undead army to overwhelm them.
With Myth’ia’s continual bombardment, the soldiers managed to survive the dragon’s onslaught. It was in the blink of an eye, Myth’ia was once again riding with Helena, on her shoulder, as she appeared to magically “step” to her allies. With a clever shift from Menowyn, he placed Helena in position to strike Shiver-eye, and the radiant mace cracked hard into the wing of the dragon, causing it to stutter and draw its attention now to her.
Simon pulled himself up and dashed forward towards the rider and thrust his sword expertly at the deathly knight in his saddle. Simon would have likely flown off from the force, had he not found the resistance of Byleth’s blade, parrying the thrust to the side and then catching him with his offhand to hold him up, it was then that Shiver-eye stuttered and Simon was able to break free.
The dragon rolled and as Sir Byleth faded from Simon’s reach, he suddenly found himself grasping at air. Without footing, he leaned fully into free fall.
The claws that came - lashed out at Menowyn where Helena interceded by leaning hard to put her shield down between the monster and her mount. One claw was enough to push the shield from her arm back against her chest, the second ought to have torn her arm clean. As she looked over the shield, it was then she saw the mouth opening to bite. Helena reacted by swinging her mace, with a blinding light from her shoulder. The dragon recoiled, and the teeth flew past. The light was not from the radiant mace, but from Myth’ia.
Shiver-eye continued the steep roll and flew down past the battlefield, turning on the soldiers.
As Helena’s vision cleared, she could see Simon soaring through the sky towards the ground. Menowyn had already started the dive in reaction, and they were able to catch Simon swiftly.
The dragon then soared towards the stone wall driven by its master. The creature then landed on the edge of the stonework, watching down over the battlefield.
When Helena and her allies looked over the battlefield, the paladins of the Order of Light had managed to smash through the forces and were storming the gate. Niamh, on her warhorse along with her most trusted warriors, was leading the charge.
The dragon roared as the soldiers turned their eyes to the sky and leveled their shields, preparing for another exhalation. It never came. The dragon turned and slinked over the wall and the moment was… unsettling.
The undead outside the gate had been routed, and the soldiers continued to secure the gate as Helena landed with Menowyn and they prepared to breach the gate. Niamh approached; they were ready to breach the gate; she wasn’t sure what was on the other side. She couldn’t ask them for more. She didn’t seem to need to, as they seemed determined.
Chapter 4: Bridge
Shattering the gate and pushing through and seeing hordes upon hordes of undead monsters. All of which created a path for them to proceed across a large bridge over a chasm. The Order of Light breached and began to watch as the standing undead legion was not engaging. The knights stood ready should Helena and her companions need them. This was a strange situation.
Helena astride Menowyn, Simon, and Myth’ia all proceeded onto the bridge, knowing that they were springing the obvious trap that lay ahead.
From the darkness of the cloud cover, Shiver-Eye dropped from above to strike out against them, lashing out with tooth and claw. Helena raised her shield as it took more of the abuse, her plate denting as the heavy claw threatened to force her into the stonework of the bridge. Simon dove to the side and quickly dashed along the stonework railing wall of the bridge, jumping a claw strike, before seeing the dragon bite the wall behind him.
When Shiver-eye crushed part of the stone in its jaws was when Simon saw his opportunity, turning on his heel to thrust with the Morning’s Edge, aiming for the eye but not hitting, still puncturing into the dragon and as it pulled back, he leapt to its shoulder. With a mighty thrust of its wings, it lunged upwards.
The dragon lifted off the bridge with Simon once again on its back, but Helena didn’t need to usher Menowyn on. He was already in pursuit. With no rider to focus, Helena was able to assault Shiver-eye with impunity. Her mace finding the dragon and after being primarily on the defensive, it was a good feeling to be on the attack.
As the dragon rose into the air, Simon clung to his blade on the shoulder. When the dragon leveled out and Helena began to strike, he took his opportunity to stab into every calculated weak point he could find.
Shiver-eye’s head thrashed side to side, eyes darting to each of them. To add insult to injury, Myth’ia seemed to be pushing out healing energies to her allies. She was healing the wounds on all of them, even Menowyn. Shiver-eye brought its wings down hard which raised it above all, but Simon and it then inhaled deeply which caused the air to freeze rapidly and then it exhaled a miasma of ice, smoke, and dark energies. Helena raised her shield and blocked her face, Myth’ia’s form, and tried to turn Menowyn to protect him.
The energies slammed into them, excruciating and inexplicable pain arched through them as Helena tried to redirect the energies with the face of her battered shield. Menowyn neighed, and it seemed like the torrent of pain would never end, that they would not be able to withstand it. Seconds felt like centuries, until Helena’s eyes opened, and she saw Myth’ia on her shoulder finish her spell and the darkness gave way to iridescent light as the pain seemed to flash away as a bubble appeared around them, with a film that made even the stormy blizzard look a rainbow.
They were wounded, but they weathered.
As Helena lifted her eyes back to the dragon, she noticed that Simon was no longer attached. She began to search the area quickly. Running on instinct, Menowyn lunged up at the dragon, forcing Helena to retrain her focus back to the dragon. Trusting, hoping, Myth’ia would spot Simon.
As Helena charged Shiver-eye, she slammed her mace into its body again and again and despite the radiant energies of the magical mace rending chunks off it; she didn’t appear to be slowing it down at all. As she breathed in deeply, knowing that the rebuke was to come.
Once again, tooth and claw, striking out at both mount and rider. Helena shifted to put her shield between its claws and herself and then her mount. Her shield was holding, but she began to doubt how much more abuse it could take. The bite caught Helena’s mace arm and shaking almost pulling her from the saddle, maintaining her grip somehow, and using that opportunity Shiver-eye used one of its back claws to kick up and cut into Menowyn, hoping to end the flying mount and force them to land.
With a loud neigh, the flying warhorse endured.
Cracking joints as Helena forced her hand to flex around the mace, locking her grip. She shifted to clear her vision of the battered shield, setting her eyes on the dragon and just beyond it was when she saw it. A hand on the edge of the bridge, followed shortly by Simon pulling himself up from the edge of the endless chasm beneath.
Helena leaned forward in the saddle and Menowyn flew under the dragon’s wing and Helena leaned in to smash at the same spot she’d been hitting, the first strike hitting the scales and rending yet more undead flesh but still not even slowing the beast. She turned her eye to the joint on the shoulder and she felt herself begin to utter a prayer; she cut herself off, expediting her strike to hit the shoulder.
A small shutter was the only reward as the dragon turned to renew its assault on them, rolling backwards and letting its wings curl in as it fell the distance down to the bridge with a massive thud, preparing to lunge at its prey. The sinewy muscles in its legs flex and coil like a spring. An envenomed dagger flew and struck the dragon in the face, surprising it. Before it could even become aware of Simon, he ran along the wall, leapt, and lunged with the Morning’s Edge.
Thrusting at the chest segment that Helena had been bludgeoning to stab in. Then a riposte, to stab further in. Piercing through to the unnatural engine within - the dragon’s heart. The sneak attack and critical strike were overwhelming, and the monster pulled back and the muscles it had prepared to leap spasmed. It stumbled, falling off the bridge into the near infinite chasm below.
Chapter 5: Sacrifice
With Shiver-Eye defeated and the armies of the undead still onlooking and still presenting a path forward, the three of them began to move towards the door to the castle proper. Taking to the sky so that the flying warhorse could carry them into the skies above the keep.
They approached, only to witness a barrier. Undeterred by this, they charged forward with a plan to see if they could toss the acrobatic Simon through the barrier. A plan made of reckless abandon or maybe just something concocted in the post battle high.
When they got close to the upper section of the barrier’s dome shaped top, they tossed Simon.
He collided with the barrier and began to bounce and roll down the side, unable to find purchase or something to cling to. Helena urged Menowyn to a dive and Myth’ia clung to Menowyn’s mane as they soared down. Perhaps it was overconfidence or that battle high clouding their judgement because catching Simon this time was proving to be incredibly difficult.
Menowyn was in a full dive now, as Helena reached out and caught Simon, but now Menowyn was carrying the three of them and they were now crashing. He opened his wings in an attempt to change their course away from the chasm. The sudden and unnerving sound of bone snapping and the chaos of unstable flight as Menowyn now attempted to land with broken wings and uncontrolled speed. Myth’ia took flight with her own wings to get clear.
The full dive now chaotic, Helena tossed Simon onto the bridge. Then she braced for the crash.
Menowyn positioned himself fully between Helena and the ground and as he landed. His body caught Helena’s protecting her from the brunt of the collapse, the sudden tumble forcing Helena’s face into Menowyn’s neck. This forced her eyes shut and the shrill sound of painful neighing Helena dreaded never came as the body beneath her cushioned the crash before fading as the summoned mount, iron willed and noble, sacrificed itself for her.
Regrouping, taking the moment to respect the sacrifice of Menowyn, knowing that even though he returned to the realm, he was from and could be summoned again… that moment came at great pain and that deserved reverence.
They set their eyes on the castle gate itself.
Chapter 6: Whispers
The bridge still had countless undead thralls, some easily as tall as two-story buildings, others made up of piles of bones turned into siege engines, all standing at attention but not moving. This force outnumbers the standing soldiers ten to one, based only on what was seen. What lay unseen could easily alter those odds.
They met no resistance all the way to the gate. Having expected a magical barrier of some kind, or even just a massive lock, they were caught by surprise when the gate opened on its own by some kind of enchantment, and let them in.
After entering in to the keep proper, there were no enemies visible, but the sound from the ramparts told that they were not alone here. In order to find their enemy quickly, they opted to split up and rely on each other to rejoin quickly. Helena took to the left, while Simon and Myth’ia took the right.
The castle continued to be devoid of life and undead. The air in this space was well below freezing and every drop of sweat from exertion flash froze. They had to be quick.
When Simon and Myth’ia traveled along a rampart and into a door leading to another section of the keep. As Simon began to pick a simple lock leading further in, Myth’ia felt a presence and a dark force as the world around her seemed to slow, the voice of Sir Byleth resonating in her mind, speaking solely to her.
“Your strength and gifts are wasted on your companions. You are beholden to them as if a slave… You were a payment. One for a debt you never took on. Is this truly the life you’ve accepted? You lack your own purpose, control, you are a pawn…”
Myth’ia replied calmly and resolutely until the voice faded. Whether she was shaken was yet to be seen.
Sir Byleth then spoke to Simon, moving his dark voice through the energies of the forsaken castle onto him. As Simon worked the lock of the door with his lock pick, his focus blurred, and he heard the words spoken only for him.
“Once again, you find yourself sidetracked from where you were meant to be. Quest after quest, journey after journey, none of them of your choosing. You hold a blade you were meant to forge, instead it was crafted by another’s hand. Your grandfather left you the task, your family looked to you to complete it, and here you are holding another man’s masterwork with only your permission as proof of your hand… You slink through the shadows but the one shadow you can never escape is that of your family’s legacy that you failed to fulfill.”
Simon replied. With a flourish, he opened the door before him. They then entered the castle, the voice whispering to him growing quiet.
Helena made quick work of each room and moved almost fervently to the other side of the keep, having been a bulwark she was now on the hunt, a fire inside her pushing her beyond the unnatural cold and driving her tired body forward with resolution.
Sir Byleth spoke to Helena, finding her alone in the castle, walking through the winding pathways and drawing closer to the massive central courtyard.
“Your heart burns for vengeance and I will enjoy snuffing that out. You’re here because you failed, you failed to protect your family, you failed as a wife, and most importantly… you failed at a mother’s first and only duty.”
The low rumble of the voice returned after a brief pause, but it was no longer alone.
“You failed to uphold your faith to the one you swore to, your goddess. The one who looked at the world you resided in as if it were a series of dominos ready to fall for her amusement.” The words began to come from two sources, Byleth and another. Icy and shrill, akin to a crazy young girl, and entirely otherworldly.
The feminine voice stood alone, now rising to a crescendo. “She set creation into motion and let those pieces fall as they may, only then she watched it as a spectator, a neglectful mother to all, even her divine children were meant to suffer under her neglect…”
The otherworldly, shrill voice seemed to breathe deep and sounded like it was having fun.
“How fitting a path for you… You left your family to suffer. Much like she left her children to suffer.”
The lower rumbling voice of Byleth spoke. “I don’t see why your faith in her is weakened. She lacks love, fitting for you. That should galvanize your devotion to her.”
Helena pushed through the dissonance of the multiple voices and rebuked them, only to hear Byleth’s voice return alone.
“A true death knight is born of a failed paladin; you are far more befitting the title than I, as your faith is forsaken.”
Chapter 7: Courtyard
Helena found her way to the main gate to enter the courtyard, located on the backside of the keep. Simon and Myth’ia found themselves entering through a side door and looking around cautiously. They took their time in searching for any sight of their enemy; they were eager to destroy the evil lord, but they were not ready to be reckless, like the barrier, again. The courtyard was devoid of anything of note and the next step would be to search inside the keep further.
Grouping together in the center of the courtyard to discuss their plan. With a thunderous smash, a blade, one etched with glowing runes, crashed deep into the ground between them.
As they turned their eyes down towards it in reaction, energy exploded out from it. Ice, force, and dark waves of biting lashing energy cut into all three of them and forced them back, carving into them and even drawing fragments of their life force from their body. When they opened their eyes after the initial blast, they saw the owner of the blade pulling it out of the stonework floor.
Clad in rime coated onyx black armor, a permeating aura of frost, and the sword’s runes flaring to life as the black metal shone. The gauntleted hand pulled the sword out of the stonework. Each rune flared to life as if breathing in the very destruction it wrought to the terrain and those around it. Strong pulling forces swirled around it.
The air pulled from their lungs forced them to breathe deeply, drawing in the thin, frigid air. Forced to flex fatigued muscles in protest at their task ahead. The fire inside began to burn brightly in each of them as they focused on, for the first time in a long time, a single call to action, kill the death knight.
This was his chance to speak or monologue. He did not.
Helena dropped her mace, the one she had held in a vice-like grip for most of this day. She drew out a precious keepsake, a doll from her family. With it held tight in hand, she searched deep within herself, seeking strength, strength to deliver justice.
Prayer had escaped her, as if every thought towards her previous chat-like prayers to Fëa came with unease, like what she had planned for Helena was never this, that the grander scheming was an ever out of reach lesson veiled in half truths. The rabbit hole of doubt would open itself before her racing mind, Helena felt a warmth within the doll, she felt every beat of her heart, as her eyes looked down to the doll she held and then back up to the evil that stood before her.
Sir Byleth lashed out with his gauntleted fist to interrupt the prayer, as if to strike her out of her pointless praying.
Before his hand could connect, Simon plunged his blade between the plates of his armor, forcing him to push Simon back and forcing the Morning’s Edge out. That demanded Byleth’s focus for this instance. The death knight took his great sword in hand and swung it wide, building momentum and forcing Simon and Myth’ia to step back simply from the force of the windup and the dark magic that permeated the air. Simon began his attack again, with Myth’ia darting to his side to engage.
It seemed that after every well-placed strike, the monster that was Sir Byleth would lash out a response, be it impossibly fast sword swings or heavy-handed gauntlet punches.
Helena quickly placed the doll in her shield hand, locking the gauntlet around the hand strap and protecting it as the warmth radiated into her hand and she felt the strong drumming of her heartbeat, a moment that seemed to ebb on for far too long. Stepping forward to reach for the mace, having forgotten, she dropped it, but having no time to pick it up from the ground, she lunged forward to catch the first of many great swings of the runic blade with her battered and nearly sundered shield.
Head pounding, heart racing, and as she felt the impact of the runic blade, she looked at the back of the shield where in her hand she saw the hand stitching on the doll. The minor details suddenly came to razor focus as she breathed in the biting air. She was at the top of the mountain; she had wanted this fight, and she was still pressed to wait and try to find a way with past divinity forsaking her.
The blade drew back from her shield, Helena expected an opportunity to strike, or for Simon to… or Myth’ia to… what she did not expect was the heavy downward strike from the evil, runic great sword that was now racing towards her. Feet firmly planted, shield arm flexing in desperation and trying to beat the impossibly fast swing.
Helena was too slow to react.
She braced, closing her eyes. All in this mere instance, she expected to return to whatever darkness brought her here, and then there was the awful sound of magical metal clanging against magical metal. The sound caused her to open her eyes, where she saw a familiar magical suit of armor between her and the death knight holding the blade in between their crossed forearms against the magic of their plate. The helmet turned slightly to acknowledge Helena before they guided the sword away and this moment was reset with a recent addition of yet another ally, Artemis, moved to strike out at the death knight, striving to aid their companions.
Helena’s body was tired. She withstood countless hurdles. The physical strikes of hulking giants, the dragon’s tooth and claw, and every creature on the journey. The spiritual, where she had climbed a mountain after waiting for what felt like eternity. Waiting patiently, trusting in her faith in Fëa to give her this chance after all that time. A chance that never happened, that would never happen.
Everything hurt, everything protested, her boots felt like they were lashed to boulders, her pauldrons dangled loose, her shield was scrap, her weapon lost behind her in the blizzard, she stood in this isolated thought as the warmth in her hand and the pounding in her heart reverberated in her ears, a drowning sound, pressure, overwhelming and yet akin to a war drum, persistent and powerful.
Darkness and death swirled around her; she no longer felt the cold. She only saw visions of her friends before her, each singled out and executed by the death knight. That alone or isolated, he would overwhelm them. She saw the faces of her family; she saw other goliath-kin that had turned monstrous; she saw vision after vision.
In desperation, she recalled the Order of Light, their goddess, Eone. Maybe they would answer? How would she pray? How would she ask? Desperation causing her mind to race further and faster.
She dug deep within herself where she would cling to the faith she knew, where once she would talk to Fëa like mother to mother, now she pleaded with her to answer her prayer just this once.
It was in this swirling darkness, this mental prison, that Helena made a choice.
In an attempt to regain focus, to break out of this nearly endless mental trap, she banged her chest with her gauntleted hand and tugged down at the now ill-fitting plate armor and as she did her fingers found the strap that held a pendant of seven interlocking circles, and she tore it from her neck.
If all she had to use was her own strength, it would be enough.
Lifting heavy legs, forcing muscles to act, she broke out of her thoughts and into action. Light burst forth from her chest plate, centered above the heart, a beacon. Lashing over her armor with each step as divine energies poured out. Each step grew lighter, but no less thunderous, as she began to close the distance.
The light tendrils pulsed from her beating heart, wrapped her chest and expanded out behind her, forming long ribbons of ethereal and divine light. Lashing about as if the energies within could not be contained any longer.
The light binding the armor and mending it and cascading up over her head as the unruly red hair grew to a lion’s mane behind her. The rolling red curls forming a banner, a standard one could rally to.
The lights bloomed into wildflowers throughout that mane and created a strange sense of beauty in ferocity.
It was a matter of a few steps, but Helena interceded and blocked the next swing of the death knight’s great sword as it nearly caught Simon on his step back. The battered shield she carried was now wreathed in radiant light, as she pushed the enemy’s blade back. She instinctively reached behind her, drawing out a sword of her own. It pulsed with radiant and divine magics.
Battle clarity, purpose, and strength now fueled Helena.
The death knight battered them all with the raging blizzard and after each had their chance to lash out at him, he would strike back at them, the runic blade sapping energies and the blistering cold of bearing simply in this space was drawing on them.
Helena’s elder champion form gave her many benefits, as she seemed to be recovering quickly, but even given that, Sir Byleth began to focus on her. After Simon, Artemis, and Myth’ia would strike at the death knight, Sir Byleth would then take every opportunity to attack Helena. With dark magic surrounding him and drawing on her allies, his blade was homed in on her.
The companions fell into a synchronous assault, when Helena would weather deep cuts and dark magic strikes Myth’ia would channel powerful healing magic to aid her. When Helena could not block a powerful strike, Artemis would intervene. When Helena’s sword would knock Sir Byleth’s momentarily to the side, Simon would capitalize and strike before darting out of reach.
The fight became a whirlwind of sparks, snow, and each moving around one another. The constant draining magic turned this into a war of attrition for them, where Myth’ia would flit and dance around the battlefield keeping the rest fighting and negating Sir Byleth’s impact, continued the exchange.
Each strike from her companions lead to the death knight striking back at them, his speed unrelenting as dark magic surrounded him and constantly radiated a foul shroud. The runic blade carved into them with the blade itself, and the dark sweeping necrotic damage that followed drained and pulled at their life force.
With Helena’s bolstered champion form, she was the target of his wrath, and she was forced to weather many of his strikes. Channeling her divine energies to restore her own health, Sir Byleth relentlessly struck at her.
With Simon and Myth’ia working to take the opportunities they could, the sheer speed of Sir Byleth’s responses to every one of their actions had worn on them. Simon’s footwork was excellent, but the monster before them capitalized on this with the frozen earth beneath him and knocked Simon down. With Myth’ia responding to protect Simon, the death knight turned his full attention back to Helena.
In an instant, the death knight was directly before Helena and with strong strike with the pommel of the blade to her torso, followed up by a disorienting shoulder tackle that sent Helena sprawling, she struggled to rise to her feet quickly.
Sir Byleth capitalized on this opportunity and darted forward to fulfill his promise to snuff out the fire of her vengeance. His runic blade hummed with vile darkness and practically removed the light from the world around them as he slashed in a dramatic overhead form to cleave her in half from top to bottom.
The light from inside her radiating out of her shield allowed her to block it, as her boots crushed the stonework beneath her from the sheer force of the strike. As she pushed back up, forcing herself to stand to her full height.
The blade arched up and around. Then Sir Byleth dragged it on the stonework in a circle around himself as an unholy darkness formed and lashed out at all of them. They all attempted to dodge and weathered the destructive force as the miasma clawed and burned at them, only to fade into nothingness. They each began their own retaliatory assaults against the vile creature.
Simon, struck at the knight’s calves tripping him making him more vulnerable to the others, only to feel the heavy gauntlet of the knight grab him by the foot and drag him down, but with a flourish Simon broke free from sight as a small bat like form darted away into the snowstorm.
The death knight rose quickly from his kneeling state as his head turned quickly to track the bat, but was suddenly disoriented by the small form of Myth’ia blocking his view. With a growl, his offhand coalesced into dark energies. The strike meant for the fairy met resistance as the armored form of Artemis once again interceded, stopping him. Myth’ia now circled behind the creature, only to channel her own magics into Helena and the rest of them to heal them all.
The battle was shifting to the favor of the companions, and it was then that Sir Byleth began to speak again. Challenging them with the statements he made earlier, targeting them as he swung his flaring rune blade, punched, and parried. Each action and reaction now came with insults and curses.
Chapter 8: Fight
Each swing of the rune blade left a dark miasma that seemed to be rending the surrounding air, as if ripping the fabric of reality apart. The blizzard raged as the wind responded to these fissures and whipped around, making the battlefield a blur. Magical metal clashed against magical metal, magic and steel clashed back-to-back. Everything was exchanged, strikes, spells, and words.
“You are all vermin and will make for excellent thralls once you fall here.” Sir Byleth smugly stated as he sidestepped Simon’s blade, only to slam his rune blade into Helena’s side. She switched her form, using the sword different from the mace she carried for so long, and lunged piercing into the death knight’s side. As she did, she channeled her will and divine energy into a smiting blast from her sword. Sir Byleth took the attack in full before he grabbed her pauldron and dragged her down and into the cold fog that came from his dark helmet as his red eyes bore into her eyes.
“You are stalling the inevitable. I am undying, and you have already fallen from your grace.” As he held tight to her pauldron, she leaned in, and shoulder tackled him back over Simon’s outstretched leg as the knight looked like he was about to topple. His form hazed and then he shifted and where he would have fallen, he now stood. The rune blade moved before eyes could catch it, and Artemis was once again moving to protect Simon. The blade smashed into Artemis’ magical armor and the magic of the blade seemed to bite and claw at his armor. “Soulless suit of armor.” He chided, coldly. “You won’t protect them forever.”
Blasting them back as they turned back towards Helena. “Embrace eternal damnation.”
Sir Byleth felt the sting of the Morning’s Edge again but gave no reaction to Simon as the death knight moved with unnatural speed and made three rapid strikes at Helena, the first knocking her shield to the side, where her fist clenched on to the doll. The second strike cut back across her body, left to right, before he stepped close to her and used his fist to punch her plate right where the light was emanating from, smashing the darkness of his gauntlet into it.
Helena used the back of her sword hand to knock the gauntleted punch up and away and then ducked under to slash at the death knight’s chest in return. Metal clanged on metal and death knights’ armor now began to hang loose. From Simon’s jabs between the plates cutting the strappings, to the constant radiant strikes of Helena. As she used the shield to slam into his chest and push him back, Simon and Artemis sprang into action. Simon, stabbing expertly into the back of the death knights’ leg to disable him, while Artemis punched with his magical gauntlets against the death knights’ arm and sword hand.
The full assault caused Sir Byleth to shout in pain, an unnatural rending of sound, for the first time in this fight and as he swung his offhand at Simon, Myth’ia flashed brightly as grasping vines pulled his hand aside. The sword hand went to swing the blade in a wide sweep, but Artemis’ strike caused the blade to fall free and lodge itself in the ground before Helena.
Helena looked at the hilt of the rune blade before her that flared with dark magic and an evil aura, the smell permeating it an offense to her divine sense, but in that rancid evil, a strange alluring sense. The sword was calling her, beckoning her to take it into her hands. Helena stepped forward, sheathed the radiant blade she carried on her back, and opened her palm to towards the blade. A strong sense of evil, that terrible scent, but compelling and alluring underneath the disgust.
Sir Byleth, bent out of shape by the gimping strike to his leg from Simon and those disorienting strikes by Artemis and Myth’ia’s vines, turned his eyes towards her. Turning to Myth’ia “You are nothing but a joke, a replacement, a payment!” The vines pulled down on his arm, he turned his head to Simon. “You stab me with HIS blade, not yours. You carried plans to a master smith, and you are merely a courier. Your family is embarrassed of you… you are nothing!” He stepped as his leg failed him, but he rose to fight the pull of the vines, and then his free arm reached out and grabbed Artemis’ by their chest plate and pulled them unnervingly close. “You… hiding in your shell because, like Simon, you’ve done nothing, are nothing, and you think you can protect people hiding behind that shell?” Sir Byleth slammed his helmet against Artemis’ “Hear me, elfling… you are pathetic.” Artemis, with magic armor flaring, held the death knight’s only free arm to hold him down for Simon or someone to strike.
As the death knight spoke, they all went to take their opportunity to attack him again, but they paused, as a strong blast of wind pushed passed all of them for only a few seconds, turning their attention to Helena, the source of the wind.
Helena had wrapped her hand around the hilt of the sword and her eyes were fixated on the relic. It flared with dark magic and the runes flared into a bright, chaotic flash. She drew the blade up from the stonework of the courtyard and lifted it before her face. As the radiant light pulsating from the heart of her chest plate and the ribbons of light flared behind her wildly. Tendrils of dark energy lashed out from the blade around Helena’s hand and bore into her. Her eyes went white as even at a distance it appeared as if veins ran with blood colored black. She stepped with purpose towards them, and the wind continued to pulse. The light on her heart began to shift in shades, flickering from white to red, to a crimson.
Held by Myth’ia and Artemis, Sir Byleth looked at Simon, eyes flaring triumphantly.
“Behold… your champion has fallen. She has found her faith, in darkness, in Orandr, in…”
The rune blade pierced the plate of the death knight’s chest, dark blood pouring out the back as the runes flared and power channeled through the blade. The white eyes of Helena bore into Sir Byleth as her grip tightened, and she twisted the large blade, carving the hole larger. The pulsing crimson light from her chest flashed with blinding white light that coursed over her and through those ribbons of wings, and down her arm through the rune blade. The tendrils burned off her gauntlet.
“I am Helena Hellabore… I have struggled to rid this world of darkness, of evil… to protect others as a mother does! I am more than what I gave Fëa and her order of paladins… I am my own light and now you now know my power, but it is not in vengeance.”
The light pushed through the blade like a conductor as the runes flared with bright white burning light. The sword began to crack as she channeled every ounce of her divine magic through the blade and the blade could not contain the smiting power, cracking, and then breaking into pieces inside the death knight.
Artemis, Myth’ia, and Simon began to move back, not lowering their guard. Helena knelt and grabbed Sir Byleth by his chest plate, as loose and sundered as it was, and pulled him close. He spoke first, dark blood dripping from his helmet. He growled and stated, rising in energy and volume, a death rattle. “You forget… I am undying! I will take you all with me!” a sphere of darkness in the center of his body began to form as the light was sucked in to the black hole forming, the companions looked down but there wasn’t enough time to step back or to pull Helena back as the surrounding area began to chill rapidly well below freezing and then as the black-hole seemed to draw in light, sound, and everything around. Helena could sense the confidence in Sir Byleth and that he’d be brought back to his undeath in time, and this would not be his end. Helena’s white eyes returned to her natural green as she smiled in this moment looking at the sundered vile death knight before her in his confidence. “It is not in vengeance, but in forgiveness. I forgive you.” She put her forehead to the helmet as her green eyes met his -the red light of his gave way to the irises and blood-shot eyes behind them. She saw fear in those eyes.
The dark sphere exploded outwards with necrotic energy corroding and biting at everyone as their world began to go dark and they turned to protect themselves from the death rattle, only to feel a sudden an unnatural warmth as the darkness was pushed away.
The moment that came after felt unusual. The courtyard was quiet. Everyone could hear their breathing, their hearts pounding as they slowed to a rest. The quiet after a hard-won battle was like no other silence.
Helena’s form shifted from the impressive lion’s mane and powerful light back to her dented and damaged armor and the shield slung to her arm looked as if it was mangled by machines. The sword she carried remained on her back, tucked under her unruly, normal hair. She still knelt before the body of Sir Byleth as it began to shatter methodically and take the form of dust. She knew that the death knight before her would never rise again and that he was free from his fate. She turned to look up at her allies, who stood haggard, but clearly triumphant, on the field of battle. As she was still smiling softly and a sense of achievement filled her heart, she stood and then the tall, strong goliath woman hugged her companions.
Chapter 9: Aftermath
The castle began to crumble, the undead that remained around were turning to dust, and as Helena released her companions, they all set in motion to run and escape the castle. They ran through the keep rapidly to the gate as the castle fell to ruin behind them, falling into the strange expanse that created a near infinite pit behind them. Racing through the gate and over the bridge, they raced to the main gate as the bridge collapsed behind them, blood pounding, lungs burning. They all rushed through the gate.
As Helena crossed the threshold of the gate, expecting to see the Order of Light and their soldiers, she was surprised to see a field. She blinked and then spun in a circle to take in her surroundings. Her companions were gone, the gate was gone, the surrounding land was a massive field. It was not winter but summer, just before the fall harvest. She rubbed her eyes and then looked over herself to see her armor was gone, replaced by work clothes made for ease of movement and not for war. The sword she had been carrying moments ago, gone.
She made her way down the hill and ran her hands over the tall grown wheat and, as she flexed and felt, her muscles lacked the aches from years of wearing armor daily, and the aches and pains from the battle that was just moments ago. It was intoxicating, the warm breeze comforting, and as she closed her eyes to take in the sounds of the world around her, she was caught off guard by the sound of laughter in the distance and the sound of splashing water.
Helena continued forward towards the sound with eyes closed, letting the sensory deprivation empower her hearing, until she stepped towards the edge of a pond. Opening her eyes to see a small girl sitting, impossibly, on the water. Not in the shallows, but as if directly on top of the water. Brief confusion becoming amusement until it dawned on Helena who she was looking at.
Eyes opening wide in amazement, Helena’s jaw dropped and then broke into a grin as a muscular lizard man slowly raised his head above the water, a little goliath girl with tangled flaming locks securely seated on his back.
“Oh, look Zoaho, your mom came to play too!”
Helena laughed. Then, from around the pond, near a small, thatched roof house, came a tall man carrying a small boy on his shoulders. The sun seemed to shine even more brightly as the figures united on the shore.
Helena was home.
Epilogue
Once again, we can hear a conversation that resonated through the universe. As if we’ve returned to the seating box of a great arena.
“He was flawed. I love my flaws; it adds to the variability. The unpredictability. There was no weakness, flaws yes, weakness… no.” The girlish voice mumbled cold and calculating, as if talking to herself before it rose to a shout, turning and echoing.
“I want a do over! I have another… I have several! Far superior ones! Valtia, this is just the beginning!”
The tension was palpable, but it was incredibly one-sided as the other voice spoke warmly. “Did you see? All she had to do was go back to her roots, back to her nature, back to the love she carried with her!” Warmth and excitement clashed with cold frustration.
“You don’t though, my dear, not now at least. Your plans for this Sir Byleth to ruin Eone’s faithful warriors and then bring about an everlasting winter were too perfect for me to ignore. How could I not find a champion of my domain, of love and of fate?”
“You gave her allies!” The icy voice seemed to turn as if looking for something in their workspace.
“She did that herself; she drew them to her cause. I merely permitted them through and to return to the land that was. Let’s not forget, you gave him a dragon.”
“You gave her a sword!” the sound of a foot stomping with an audible heel clack.
“Oh! Did you not see how quickly she stowed that away just to pick up…” The energy in the room clashed like a cold front hitting a warm front. The unseen smirk on Valtia’s face was the epicenter of the tornado that formed as Orandr practically growled.
“It wasn’t my best blade! It was crafted for war! Full scale war! To wow armies, not to duel!” Orandr practically screeched incoherently, frustrated.
“It worked marvelously. Watching it crack under her conviction was an absolute joy.” Valtia let out a haughty giggle.
The voice of Orandr grew quiet and malicious.
“Do. Over.”
“Winter is ending dear, spring is coming, I’ll be sure to tell Enyran when I see them.”
The chaos of the tornado swirling in the room, as their energies clashed, dissipated immediately. The soft but purposeful footfalls walking past us, a subtle sense of acknowledgement.
The last thing heard was the voice of Orandr shouting.
“Silranas! Get in here. We’re rectifying this, now!” Shrill and determined.
A dark masculine voice “Yes mistress, what is your bidding?”
As Valtia’s footsteps faded behind us and we began to feel our senses weaken, the last words can be heard before nothingness.
“We’re making blades.”
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