AC2:Announcements - 2003/11 - War

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November Episode: "War"

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The night was clear and bitterly cold, though the harvest was barely in and the snows wouldn't arrive for weeks. Meryn rubbed his frozen hands together and swore under his breath. The discomfort meant nothing to him. In fact, it invigorated his senses, bringing his attention to that razor's edge of focus which made his sorcery so elegant…and so deadly. But his numbed fingers posed a different problem. Meryn's gestures would be clumsy tonight, his casting a split-second slower than usual. The old veteran frowned and hunched deeper in his robes.

From the darkness ahead, a familiar voice spoke, low and clear. "They haven't seen us. Come on, let's get a better look." Meryn shook off his unease and crept quietly to the edge of the bluff. His companion Tuperea leaned forward, his bright yellow eyes reflecting the feeble fires of the Undead camp below, his tail twitching eagerly. "Why do they light those fires? It is said the dead can see in the dark."

Meryn held a cautionary finger to his lips, and Tuperea fell silent. This was not the time for idle chatter. Still, privately Meryn wondered whether Tuperea had a point. Why were the Undead setting watch fires? What use had the walking dead for light and warmth?

"That is the one," Tuperea hissed. Simultaneously, Meryn spotted the portal that was their goal. Its swirling glow was mostly obscured by the hulking shapes of Undead sentries. Rotten-limbed revenants and rattling skeletal warriors stepped slowly and deliberately through the camp, scanning the night for enemies with their milky, death-clouded eyes. At the camp's gates, great stone heads with mouths of flame kept a silent vigil. Meryn had seen turrets such as these reduce powerful warriors to ashes in mere seconds.

"Do you think we can defeat them?" Tuperea asked. Meryn counted the sentries and exhaled softly. Aerfalle's numbers were superior and the turrets would make matters even worse, but few heroes on Dereth could match the duo's skills in combat. The odds would never be better. He nodded once, and Tuperea smoothly drew his twin enchanted blades from their scabbards. The weapons were bound to the Tumerok's own soul, relics of the ancient Fetterguard, and they seemed to vibrate in anticipation of the coming battle.

Tuperea slid out of sight, concealing himself in the shadows. It seemed that the whole world waited for Meryn's next word...

"Now!"

Meryn stood upright and raised his arms. His deep voice echoed across the encampment as he chanted the words of power. Immediately, half a dozen Undead snapped their heads around to focus on the intruder. Their captain, a corpse-pale mage in tattered robes, recoiled in alarm, then stepped warily forward. A lone human? What threat was this?

They don't know who they're dealing with, Meryn thought with satisfaction. A great gout of flame erupted from his hands and engulfed the nearest sentry, who fell back, shrieking. Before the guard's skeletal fellows could react, Meryn cast a second fireball at one of the camp's largest war tents. It went up like dry kindling. Confusion gripped the sentries, allowing Meryn enough time to immolate a third hapless revenant. Several of the stone heads loosed magical attacks at him, but he was already elsewhere, and the blasts washed harmlessly over bare rock.

Finally, the mage-captain of the Undead recovered his composure. He bowed his head, mumbling words in an ancient tongue, and a great streak of blue energy shot towards Meryn. The spell crackled and died almost immediately, defeated by layer upon layer of counterspells and charms. Meryn's response was a blast of chilling elemental water that caught the mage full in the chest. The ancient wizard struggled to move, fighting against Meryn's potent curse. I'm more than a match for you, old one.

Yet Meryn had no counterspell for the keen edges of Undead blades, and already several of the surviving sentries were struggling up the incline to where he stood. He was too busy dodging blasts from the stone turrets to deal with these nuisances. A putrescent-faced warrior with a pitted scimitar crested the bluff and grinned...

And was decapitated by a spinning whirlwind of blades. Tuperea exploded into action, dancing and darting down the incline as he hacked at the foul bodies of his enemies. They were utterly unprepared to cope with this new danger. Now Meryn was skidding and sliding down the bluff, trying to stay close to his partner. Whenever Tuperea seemed overwhelmed, Meryn somehow found the energy for another devastating blast of sorcery. He was exhausted, but their goal was mere yards away. If they could reach the portal, they would be in a position to slaughter any revenants who dared chase after them. He and Tuperea would seek out and destroy the crystal that powered the great stone heads, and a second wave of attackers would flood into the camp, dispatching the remaining defenders. The Archons' victory would be assured...

Success! Meryn exulted as he felt the familiar pull of portalspace engulfing his body. Moments later he stumbled forward into a vast, cavernous space. He sensed, rather than saw, the great arching roof of the subterranean vault, the miles of stone separating him from the world above. The cavern was unbelievably frigid and blanketed with an icy, putrid mist. In the middle, Meryn could make out a small fortress of some kind. Their goal was so near! But where was his partner?

He almost laughed in relief as Tuperea emerged from the portal. His Zealot friend was battered and bloodied, but still grinning with the joy of combat. The pair watched the portal warily for a few moments, ready to dispatch any pursuers, but it seemed the Undead knew better than to charge blindly into an ambush.

"Now we just need to find that crystal," Meryn grunted. He and Tuperea made their way cautiously towards the fortress. More perplexing watch-fires glowed dimly in the dank recesses of the cavern, but they saw no sign of sentries. Apparently, the defenders had not expected an assault to penetrate the camp above. Gradually, Meryn relaxed, enjoying his victory.

He stepped casually under a broad span of stone and into the courtyard of the miniature fortress. There was the crystal, several times as tall as a human, humming with restrained power. In moments, the camp they had fought so hard to infiltrate would be defenseless. He nodded once to Tuperea, and his friend leapt forth as Meryn began to weave a spell of destruction...

Suddenly, time stopped. Meryn couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't blink.

Watch out! He wanted to scream, but could not. Caught up in the excitement of the moment, Tuperea continued his advance on the crystal, raising twin blades above his head for a shattering blow. Then he, too, froze—not from the impact of magic, but from the shock of pain as an arrow pierced his armor, his back, and his heart. Slowly he toppled, and the eagerness faded from his eyes.

Meryn still couldn't move, but from the corners of his vision, he saw figures gathering from the shadows of the courtyard. A human with a tremendous longbow, wearing the colors of the Shadow Kingdom. A short, stubby Lugian in Dominion colors wielding a glowing rod. Others. He was too busy straining against his magical bonds to count them all.

The archer stepped in front of him, bowed deeply, and smiled like a hungry shark. "Well, well. A fellow Undead-hunter. It's a pleasure to meet you, stranger." Meryn could only croak inarticulately. "I know, the curse makes our meeting difficult. But then, what if you could speak? Would you greet me as a brother? Or roast me on the spot with your magic? No, I think things are better this way."

The watch-fires, Meryn thought. They were for the living, not the dead. We should have known Aerfalle would hire mortal mercenaries, just like the Archons. They were waiting in this abyss the whole time. They expected us...The humiliation of defeat lent strength to Meryn's silent struggle. Gradually, he felt movement returning to his fingers, his toes, his tongue. He must not let them notice.

The Shadow archer grinned widely and turned his back on Meryn. "Well, we have fulfilled our commission—as you have not—and I have a fair sum of gold to collect. I'll just return to the surface and inform your new master of his prize. Don't worry, he won't kill you. Not yet. Not until there is nothing left of your soul for the Lifestones to save..."

Meryn slowly flexed his ice-numbed fingers and summoned his last reserves of power. He had no chance of winning this battle, but he might have enough strength left to incinerate one arrogant bowman. And maybe—just maybe—he could win a clean death...