The Vale

The Crypt,
Currently

The spectres, no more faces of death and but only ancient hide, steel and leather, immediately brought their arms to bear and advanced. Not with any semblance of coordination, rather just purpose; they seemed not to display anything other than their obsessive need to fulfill their purpose here as the crypt's wardens. So single-minded was it that they heard not the reason of Valmjr and feared not the sword of Cesar Bolivar, the latter's whose blade - wreathed in magic - echoed off the breastplate of the first armored body to meet him and the words of the former not even eliciting a response from any.

Of the two figures before the sailor, the lead one drew back with its sword and, with ethereal grace in spite of its bulky armor, swung deftly. For a moment the spirit possessing the suit glinted into existence and winked out, the blade it bore missing the man as he hastily stepped back to avoid the impending strike. Yet, just as the tipsy bard thought himself safe, the edge wheeled back with astounding speed only to miss again by the grace of the light. At least now it proved these crypt keepers were not to be taken lightly, to which Valmjr had almost assuredly known before; anyone or anything set to defend this tomb was, undoubtedly, a skilled warrior in life.

The second soldiering suit of armor, one made up of decayed hide, lifted its axe and brought it toward the Ysgardian with all force its unbodied self could manage; ready as he was, Valmjr's own axe Hela caught the blow and shrugged aside the attack like a steel bear. Carrying through, the broad, twin-headed weapon careened aside, only for the hide gloves wielding it to change its trajectory and swing again. As with the many matches the arcane warrior had in bouts of battle throughout his mysterious life, he was more than prepared for the methodical, relentless manner in which the spirits fought. They hadn't that glimmer of life to them any longer, no unpredictability, no surprise.

However, the last two of the guardians - those nearest the doors at the end of the musty hall - armed themselves with a handful of javelins, arrows and a bow. Birbin was quick to note this and with the alacrity of any keen gnomish mind, began a spell. Muttering and drawing his hands out and up before him, crafting something in his mind's eye and with fingers outstretched mimicking that shape, he conjured up a shimmering image that wavered like heat until it became quite real; a soldier of some sort, dressed in much the same armor as the phantoms albeit far more alive and youthful. Without delay, the new ally roared to life with a battle cry and prepared his axe.

"Joyous combat, friends!" His bearded mouth grinned as the two foes beside him were forced to contend with his presence.


@Cu Chulainn, @Gordian Nought, @Hekazu, @JBRam2002, @Rig

The booming sound from the downstairs area had most definitely not been a welcome addition to the rest. Theodore reacted reflexively, pulling his mask back down on his face and darting for the stairs down to the crypt, hoisting his crossbow before him and leaning against the corner of the doorway. "I'll go see what in the name of the Light that was. It sounded like it was close. Wrap up your breaks as quickly as you can, we may need more able bodies on the field at any moment!" he delivered his improvised field order before turning the corner and rushing down the stairs, only to find himself joining up with the earlier expedition right at the bottom. They had not got too far, had they?

The situation had taken a turn for the worse though as he had predicted. He quickly pulled his mask off and slammed it to the side of his bolt case, pulling out the first bolt the case would provide in the same move. It was one of those he had acquired from the upstairs area, he could feel it in the feathers. That was of no real consequence though as he aimed his weapon at the new sort of ghastly axe wielding figure. Less of a shadow it was, but yet just as hostile.

Divine insight flooded into him, but nothing in it really alerted him against taking the shot. The targets were more living suits of armour than anything else. He steadied his weapon carefully, not wanting the bolt to snap into the neck of an ally, and let the projectile loose. It was a remarkably straight shot, punching itself into the armour the ghost was wearing. It jutted off in a weird angle, but he was sure it had pierced the target's defences. But since they were ghastly beings, he wouldn't be too surprised if they would not show signs of getting harmed. He was way too used to that by this point anyway.

To his benefit, the spectre within the suit vanished while crying "I see... only... the truth now..." into the air. He cranked the reloading mechanism as the pieces of equipment rained against the floor. One down, who knows how many still remained. He could not see. But assuming the target had not yet been harmed, they did not appear to be too tough. Easier to kill than the shadows. The thought saddened the templar.


@Rig - Next up!
@The Harbinger of Ferocity

Valmjr's attempt to talk the spirits down failed. Somehow, he knew it would be pointless, but the idea of having to attack his own made him give it a try, at least. The spirit guardians approached, taking swinging their weapons at both warriors but failing to land a strike. The two at the far end of the room maneuvered to arm themselves with javelins, while the little gnome summoned some sort of guardian spirit himself.

As Valmjr was readying his next attack, the guardian burst away into nothingness, its armor clattering onto the ground in front of him. The Ysgardian glanced over his shoulder in time to see the masked man reloading a crossbow. Without thinking, as his mind now ran off of reflexes learned from countless battles before, Valmjr moved up to the Spirit attacking the swashbuckler.

As he was swinging his battleaxe at the new target, something in him caused him to hesitate. Though he was mostly working off of reflex, some part of his mind still felt this was wrong. He should not be fighting his own. He was fighting to protect them, after all. To protect these very crypts the guardians existed for. Hela clanged off the armor, failing to strike any vulnerable part of his opponent.

"Hells..." Valmjr muttered under his breath, before gritting his teeth and preparing to react to the spirit's strike.

Cesar grunted as his attack bounce’s off his opponent’s. With a tipsy sway, however, Cesar managed to avoid the retaliating blow of the spirit’s attack, grinning confidently. As he opened his mouth to rebuke with clever words, the spirit swung once more at the bard, almost surprising him. The spirit with the axe went on to attack Valmjr, this time, leaving Cesar’s grasp, but not without an opportune strike, its back facing the swordsman. Despite this, however, its armor still managed to deflect his strike.

These are skilled warriors, indeed.

Cesar raised Jarlbane to strike the spirit he is fighting, once again, focusing his might in order to strike a blow mighty enough to go through its armor. Alas, however, even one of Cesar’s stronger blows were no matcn against its armor. Cesar cursed to himself as his eyes darted the room to find some sort of tactical ground. Aside from the warrior they were facing, two other spirits had positioned themselves at the rear, with only Bourbon’s conjuration to confine them in any way.

Cesar braced himself before making a dash towards their rear formation, swinging Jarlbane in a complex matter, managing to deflect the warrior’s attempt to stop him from proceeding.

”I’ll take the ones in the back!” Cesar called, giving the two ranged warriors a fierce look as he continued to break the distance.

”Come on! Strike me!” Cesar hissed, gripping Jarlbane with both hands as he prepared to deflect any of their blows.

The Vale

The Crypt,
Currently

The ancient spirit obliged the young man's command with all the force and fury expected with a soldier of this sacred ground in this realm of battle. Drawing back its fist, using the bow as a shield across its body, it struck with a tremendous hooking punch; all of its weight into the blow, pivoting on its plate and rotted fur boot. Cesar, perhaps not expecting his words to have nearly as much authority and awesome power as they did, took the full brunt of the swing to his shoulder. Pain, emptiness, then action poured out from him as his senses were called to the forefront, especially as his body turned and began to lean further and further back, the rest of the bludgeoning fist sailing just inches from his face as he dodged what only would have been a more brutal blow.

Leaning so far back as he was, supported only by his legs, the sword Jarlbane rest against his chest until he snapped back up with more vigor than he had somehow already displayed. The armored spirit, its ghastly face peering from behind the helm, vanished again - not seemingly aware of what a tremendous feat of skill the man displayed in not being thrown violently to the ground from such a mighty, unexpected punch; the bard might not have looked it outwardly, but inwardly he was far more sturdy than just that.

"Yes, yes, brother!" The body beside Bolivar cheered, raising his shield to deflect a blow from the other attacker then side stepping yet another - the point of a javelin lashing out at him. Deftly fighting, the pair seemed to have wholly preoccupied the two foes at the end of the hallway, just before the mouth of the doors and another set of steps leading downward into a dark unknown.

Not alone himself Valmjr, with the aid of Hela, ably dueled his own enemy; his strike bouncing off the armored plate, clipping bits of the decayed hide straps from it, he could anticipate the enemy's attack. Soon the sword came, then again, the first far too close for comfort and the second well beyond the foe's reach. As it were really, this combat was as familiar as it could be - the endless sparring he had endured and seemingly endless days preparing for battle with his brothers - for both better and worse. Nothing unexpected was to come, but at the same time, his heart still held that recollection that these were his own; the honored dead, no less! What a thrill to fight such unspoken heroes, yet what pain to do so when they do not even truly recognize him or his unquestionable mission!

Floundering, as Birbin was prone to do for a tiny man of great passion and kindness but little skill, he raised a single hand again and gestured by his hip with another, bringing up some sort of arcane energy from the air and ground. A familiar purple glow illuminated from the lower gesturing hand, wisping around his body and soon flew like a bolt out toward the unliving soldier of Ysgard responsible for striking the fire-heart bard. It struck with perfect accuracy, something magic oft did, but whatever was to have happened seemed to do... nothing, nothing at all.

"They won't fall for tricks! Mind-magic is no good!" He hastily said, not even sure as to what that meant himself.


@Cu Chulainn, @Gordian Nought, @Hekazu, @JBRam2002, @Rig

The situation in the floor below was, for the lack of a better word, chaotic. Weapons were swung repeatedly, yet only one participant had fallen. To top it off, as far as Theodore was aware that was the only hit that had landed in the entirety of this combat. He grimaced slightly as he prepared another bolt, yet again one of the ysgardian models. They seemed to be sticking out a bit further, he noted as he laid his eyes on the next target and took aim.

However, the differences in the designs of bolts was not what one was supposed to be doing when shooting, rather his attention should have been on keeping his weapon straight. The pull on the trigger was a bit too forceful, which caused the weapon to be tugged towards the side. This in turn had the bolt approach the target at an inopportune angle, the whole series of unfortunate events leading up to the bolt deflecting off to a nearby wall. If his ears served, it snapped into pieces after impact. He bit his lip, withholding a curse. They would triumph sooner or later, he was certain. It was only a matter of time.


@Rig - Next!
@The Harbinger of Ferocity

The fight continued. The bard, having taken off down the crypt towards the guardians at the other end, was currently engaged. The mage, Birbin, having done the same. The foe Valmjr faced swung at him, the warrior's faithful battleaxe barely deflecting the first blow. The second swing went wide, making it easy for the large Ysgardian to dodge.

As Valmjr dodged the second attack, another bolt whistled past his head. While normally such a minor distraction would hardly register to the experienced warrior, the wind created by the the bolt flying past him caught him off guard, for at that same moment Valmjr had lifted Hela above his head to bring down upon the Guardian with all his strength. The bolt, however, caused him to hesitate just the slightest bit, and the ax came crashing down, missing the guardian, clanging off the crypt's stone floor.

---

Cesar gritted his teeth, flourishing Jarlbane as he recovered from avoiding that blow. While the bard was rather impressed by how easily he avoided that blow, je feels like if he continues dodging attacks like that, he’ll kill his back when he’s older.

Cesar will have to end the fight, soon, then...

”You hit pretty hard...” Cesar said, before raising his blade to the air. ”Jarlbane!” The swordsman evoked, his already dazzling blade slowly being sheathed in green flame. A second later, Cesar swung Jarlbane in a downward cleave with all his strength, with the intent to cut through his opponent.

The breakthrough in fortune at last turned the tides, so fittingly for the man who was once captain. His glinting sword striking one foe, its blade now aflame, the armor failed to shrug aside the assault as it had done to the lesser blows; it cascaded to the ground in a heap, the phantom exorcised from it. Perhaps to the man's surprise, the leaping fire from his sword dashed itself against the other which too surrendered its ghost. Javelins, arrows, bows, swords, armor, all of it fell with a loud clatter throughout the underground of the crypt, some of the odd bits rolling down the stairs just beyond the bard.

Both spirits fading, the first moaned pained words in its echoing and otherworldly voice, "How I have... failed... all of... my brothers..." only then for the second, as the flames engulfed it before winking from existence, to give another dying breath; "... they are righteous..."

”... But I hit harder.”

Cesar smiled proudly at his mighty strike bringing both spirits down. The swordsman turned back to the others, brandishing his sword as he approached the remaining soldier’s flank.

The Vale

The Crypt,
Currently

Now a lone soul, trapped within a suit of armor worn in life, battled against far superior foes who additionally outnumbered it several fold. It fought with all the same mindless fury of any spirit shackled to a purpose, good, bad or otherwise. It drew up its axe, its ghostly face taking shape again beneath the steel helm, it swung wide only to miss the fellow warrior of the realm and came around with a step toward Cesar; it connected and landed a vicious strike of its axe. Again the bard felt alive, a surge of both physical and spiritual adrenaline racing through his veins, as he stumbled to catch himself. The armor then, pivoting back, exposed itself to the bard and chose to focus upon its most obvious foe in the giant of a man, Valmjr.

"Hang on friend, Birbin will send help!" The wizard yelled in his soft voice, that which still carried sincerity despite its childish nature, before pointing a finger at the armsman. He gestured there after to the battle and took a few cautious, wisely placed steps back while he was at it. The soldier charged forth in response, his boots crashing across the floor as he raised his shield.

"Any scar worth owning is earned, brother!" He cried out, swinging the round bulwark and striking the armor. The suit turned and prepared its weapon; now was the time for the men to attack.


@Cu Chulainn, @Gordian Nought, @Hekazu, @JBRam2002, @Rig

The battle was nearing its end, Theodore could see clearly what these phantoms were made of. He knew that he was a more accurate shot than what he was as a swordsman, but with the conglomeration of people around the remaining phantom, he could not take the risk of hitting an ally with a shot rebounding from the wall. He slung the carrying strap of his crossbow over his shoulder and ran in, drawing one of his two shortswords. He would not have time to don them both, but he was competent enough with just one as well.

Or that was what he hoped for at least. The blade struck against the armour of the ghastly creature, the templar doing his best to drive it where his divine insight suggested he do. The challenge was real, but if he only could puncture the surface, he knew this would be it. These creatures did not seem to be of the most durable sort, they were only hard to harm. And he swore to Light, he was doing his darnedest to drive this strike through.


@Rig - Next! @The Harbinger of Ferocity

Valmjr weaved and parried, facing his ghastly foe. The familiar feeling of the warrior's high, as he thought of the rush of adrenaline and focus that he felt when his life was on the line, began to push all thoughts of harming the crypt guardians out of his mind. He was regressing to a more primitive state, one of kill-or-be-killed. One he knew very well, a feeling in his body that had kept him alive in the endless battles of Ysgard this long.

The flaming green blade tore through the other two guardians. The masked man attacked the foe that Valmjr currently faced, not landing a hit but distracting it as the swashbuckler moved up to the same target, buying Valmjr the opening he needed. With one might swing of Hela, he sent his trusty battleaxe crushing through the spirit's armor and...body. Valmjr let out a warrior's yell of triumph, and now all feelings of regret in fighting the crypt guardians was gone from his mind. He would stop what ever or who ever got in his way if it meant saving his home from the forces of darkness on the surfaces above.

The Vale

The Crypt,
Currently

"... we were... mistaken..." The lamenting spirit's voice rang softly in the men's ears, soothing like a cool stream to a burn. The chaos and fury of battle was over and all now that remained was the tranquil thereafter.

Birbin's ally nodded, saluting across his chest with weapon in hand and creating a audible clatter, offering only then the final added words of; "It was an honor, continue to fight well."

Then, he too like the spirit, vanished albeit with only a glimmer just as he appeared; the man was all but gone, yet some fragment of him was as tangible as anything else in the world. This only became more clear as the last bits of armor clattered to the floor, all that now remained of the sacred ghost of the crypt. Their defeat was sadly a needed one, but a sobering one all the same; that there was more to come.

The Heroes of the Kingdom of Light and their new company had survived again, this time with perhaps more purpose in this realm - a more clear direction for themselves and their quest.


@Cu Chulainn, @Gordian Nought, @Hekazu, @JBRam2002, @Rig

>Collaboration between @JBRam2002 and @Gordian Nought.

The ferried quartet’s disturbance of the primal crypt resulted in a hazardous, audible fray among those beyond the grave’s portal, spirits pledged to guard the catacombs of their fellow brethren. Unaware, the reincarnated cleric attempted to glean the uncouth fracas below. Was it a quarrel among the gnome and Valmjr? Or were there other voices besides that of Theodore and Cesar, mounting a conflict of incorporeal humors and ether. The ancient young Aasimar stood, immobile, as forbidden tree, adjacent to the tearful Katia, weighing the consequences of the mortal taste which reaped not only darkness but also death of this very Eden. The woe and loss of such blissful thrones were cast out by the insurmountable scourge of shadowy muses, preventing any reasonable and hopeful restitution. However, the pangs of magic, swords and shields suggested a different variety of battle, unified against an unanticipated friend, deceived by the intrusion of their sepulcher.

The angelic shepherd released the sickle granting streams of light into the abyss of the reliquary. Immediately sheathed, Wick glanced at the visage of the monk, a Sinai of inspiration where divine commandments flowed and crossed the inquisitive creases of fitful mirth belonging to a disguised oracle of the Gods. This Tabaxi stumbled upon her meditation in that tranquil garden outside of Turyn. Her flight into the reborn warlock’s life was that of an ancient ode, adventurous, soaring, yet original, unattempted in prose or rhyme.

“I’ve blinked.” The aged librarian spoke, discerning, as they sampled their respite, the ruckus beyond. “Fruits wither into seeds of fear, as we remain here dormant. We as supplicants should offer flesh and silver. Flowers and blood. Their lurid altar seems to have seized the offered propitiation, resounding with unspoken promises.” She gestured to the commotion afar, perceptibly ending its self-reverberating toils and yells.

"If they need us, they will ask," Katia replied quietly, leaning her head against her friend's shoulder. "I have had quite enough killing for the morning, although I doubt it will end here. A brief rest is all I require." She was loathe to make any such demands and felt guilty that she wasn't aiding her companions in their conflict, but the battle was quickly over. Thirty seconds of inaction, leading inevitably to hours of self-doubt and guilt, but she was too exhausted in this state, both mentally and physically.

"How can we keep doing this, Milya?" she asked softly, staring straight ahead. "These shadows... what if they are alive? What if they are fighting us out of fear or self-defense? Still, it is either us or them... but I would rather our fighting cease. What use is it if we save a world, but lose our own soul?" She sighed before standing to her feet. "Come. Our brethren need us."

The pair waltzed slowly, descending into the defended shrine of Ysgard. The staccato of their footsteps echoed against the silence of vanquished adversaries. Noting Theodore and Cesar in arms, the diviner beckoned, "Hail, friends. What mystery has crept upon the curious?"

For her part, Katia stood just behind Wick, arms crossed in disapproval as she surveyed the fight's aftermath. "Would it have hurt you to wait a moment?" she asked. "The next time you run ahead without knowing what lays before you, it could be your last."

Theodore had surveyed the room where the four men had done battle against the four spirits... and there had been that one spirit as well, but it was different from the rest. Something told him Birbin might have had their hands in the game. The Scourge Aasimar began sliding his blade back into its scabbard as he heard footsteps approaching from the stairway. It was only friendlies that way, but he still turned to confirm, only finishing setting his blade away once he indeed confirmed the friendly faces of the hyperactive feline and her more collected scholar friend. Oddly enough, Katia seemed just as calm as Wick for once. She had shown surprising amounts of that quality as of late.

While Wick spoke, Theodore snapped shut his bolt case and placed his mask back onto his face. He finished this automatic process once she let out the final syllables and was even about to answer when Katia took the stage with her tongue. Theodore nodded at her words and turned to the three that had ran in before anyone else: "I applaud your sense of duty, but I do distinctively remember saying rushing would not be the smartest of ideas. Luckily you were not too deep when the troubles began... and equally lucky was that nobody got seriously hurt. At least we benefited some from the risk." He would not need say more. He had already spoken his mind and Katia had reminded them of it. But as had been taught to him, start with positives, fill in the negatives, end with positives.

He glanced towards the stairs, though nobody would see the curious look in his eyes through the mask. "Do you think the other two would be heading down on their own, or shall I go fetch them?" he asked, ever ready to do the legwork required. Anything to further the cause of the Kingdom of Light. Except rushing headlong to unknown territory. That was just silly.

The Vale

The Crypt,
Currently

The wizard Haemar, who had been surveying some of the blades found among the overturned Hall was so entrenched in the depths of his study that when he turned to mention a minor discovery he had progressed on, he found no one but his friend in the paladin. Blinking a few times, the elf surveyed the scene and shook his head, commenting off-hand to the woman that sometimes he found himself too enthralled with this new and strange place; how they arrived here, how the sun seemed to linger, how the beasts of the land would return to life again, how the culture here he could compare to nothing of.

Thea in turn shrugged with a sigh, her arms folded across the gleaming steel of her breastplate, a ring about her back now bearing several hands worth of the javelins she had so desired earlier. They were crude wood things with metal heads, hardly finished just as the monster slayer's bolts were, but they would suffic. So she joined her companion and set down the stairs too until they met with the rest of their fellows.

That short delay led them into the conversation being held then, arriving on the note of the gnome's reply to the masked templar; "No need to worry now, all friends have arrived!"

He adjusted his hat and looked over the crypt's passage, littered with scattered armor and weapons, nearly the entire thing turned upside down short of the bones of the dead which remained quite still. Visibly the gnome was pleased with this, for he hurried over to one of the stone slabs and surveyed if any disruption has affected the deceased. Pleased it hadn't, the small man nodded with a smile and returned back to them, whispering now.

"Birbin thinks we only disturbed the ghosts, but who knows what else is down here?"

The detective skills he displayed were... less than revolutionary, but even the purple wizard seemed to realize the value of caution here.


@Cu Chulainn, @Gordian Nought, @Hekazu, @JBRam2002, @Rig

---

The bard looked around the room once the last enemy was felled. These apparitions... these Ysgardians, were sworn to defend their inner sanctum from unwanted intruders. Their dedication to defending the last of what remained theirs served as a grim reminder to Cesar of the fate of his and his allies’ own world. If only Cesar was more vigilant to defend against the darkness... No, if only he were stronger...

One by one, Cesar’s allies arrived into the room soon after the fighting reached its end. Cesar wiped Jarlbane off with his wrist, dismissing the dazzling lights that danced around his blade. Sheathing his sword, Cesar kneels down to the spirit they had just fought. He admired how they fought, letting their armor take the blows instead of avoiding them, powering through whatever pain or injury they might have suffered. Admiring their fighting spirits, Cesar had decided to pick up the fallen warrior’s off-handed gauntlet, strapping it onto his own hand.

”You may be busy defending this tomb, honored warrior,” Cesar began to speak, as he worked on putting on the gauntlet, ”But now you may also aid us in taking the offensive against the forces of evil.”

When that was all said and done, the swordsman stood up, looking at his recently arrived and rejuvenated allies.

”We had managed to prove ourselves as worthy warriors to the guardians of these crypts. You all managed to rejuvinate your lost energy, now, did you? Looks like we took care of two things at the same time, and with none of us worse off from it. And now we are all together. Whatever lies ahead, be it ghosts, ghouls, or goblins, our combined strength and resolve will push us through these crypts and uncover whatever lies ahead!”

"Ah, there you are", Theodore commented in a relieved tone while adjusting the carrying strap of his main weapon against his shoulder as he noted Thea and Haemar joining up with the rest. He was sure they had heard his suggestion of him heading up to fetch them, so he bothered not repeating how he would have been just about to head for them. Instead, he turned his focus to the stairs deeper into the tomb. "Since we are all here, we could indeed head on", he replied to Cesar's suggestion. Now he could approve of such actions, with the full force of their group ready to roll. Well, as full as he could manage with his limited reserves of magic anyway.

He took point for the time being, though he would be ready to relinquish the position if anyone showed signs of preferring it to him. Once at the bottom of the stairs, he drew one of his shortswords to prepare himself for close combat, but leaving the other sheathed for multiple reasons. First things first, he needed a hand free to cast the spell that he had chosen to employ once more. These spirits could be nothing but undead after all. Second, from one blade he could easily transition to using his crossbow if that proved advantageous. Not as simple with two out, while he could still draw the second without much of a hassle.

He drew a sign in the air and murmured a few words in Celestial: "Oh Light, show me where Darkness lurks and shine bright where your presence graces us." He could feel the magic flow through him. It was more than likely that this place would be consecrated, so he would be more surprised if the spell wouldn't tell him so. But now he would know whenever another spectre would appear and want to cut the lives of him and his companions short.


@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Cu Chulainn

The Vale

The Crypt,
Currently

For one reason or another, the steadfast Valmjr bit his tongue on the nature of taking the trophy from the fallen spirit. Perhaps it was the desires and intent of this outsider to the land that struck a familiar chord with him, that his ancestors and brothers before him would love to adventure on and see the world to come rather than be infuriated at having their resting place disturbed. It made more sense to him that they would rather be honored in such a way, even with a momento.

Both the arcanely inspired paladin and benevolent wizard agreed... to Theodore at least, though Thea shot Cesar are narrowed stare. It was the suspicious look that scrutinized him not only for running off, at least with allies as it were, but for picking through the sacred dead. She said nothing else and went on her way, not more than a few steps behind her beloved slayer of monsters. Haemar followed just behind whilst their newcomer gnome remained at the rear.

Descending the steps, the templar soon discovered before him another hallway that led off to the left and the right. Dark as pitch down here was it, it seemed they might well have vanished into the darkness...

Valmjr, but a man in the dark, commented without err with his practical way, "It is dark here... should not be, I add. At least as I know it should be lit."


@Cu Chulainn, @Gordian Nought, @Hekazu, @JBRam2002, @Rig

“Those who flaunt in shadows within cavernous steeples would do well to remember the dawn’s virgin stare.” Her scepter of insight began to glow with a brilliant exodus of radiance, hoping to illuminate the dual lanes, apparently less traveled, before the wielder of Hela. “The path to verity seems to have many branches. Do these routes hold a dark toll, Valmjr?” The cleric sensed the dismay splintered by the query. She offered another inquisitive suggestion. “These trails breathe broad and heavy air. Must we each suffer a tomb on the road to the next life?”

Wick’s ambitious aim opposed not the monarchy of the hero of Ysgard in this lair, but she was wary of the potential impious war that the wardens of light may have to attempt again in vain. She knew the reckless abandon of entering headlong mandated a choice, delving deeper into hideous ruin and vanquished combustion. Her grimace, betwixt of obdurate pride and steadfast patience, tormented the baleful eyes of the gnome.

Hoisting a piece of string and the ashen staff, murmurs whispered an unspoken conjuration. The reborn sage shared one of her sling’s bullets, seemingly cupped by a shapeless anthropomorphic force. Soon, the familiar snowy eagle materialized upon an imaginary shoulder as more luminosity spilled into their vicinity. The smirk flattened and steered away from Birbin, tracing her pupils from his pointy hat, onto her amorphous creation.

“Let keen eyes and unseen hands carve the way ahead.”

The Vale

The Crypt,
Currently

“The path to verity seems to have many branches. Do these routes hold a dark toll, Valmjr?”

"If the honored dead have anything to say, the toll might be more trial by combat." The burly man's voice came in return, hushed and calm, not displaying an ounce of worry. Instead in the wake of his words, Valmjr's strong hands eased and flexed upon his trusted axe, "And in this land, the next life is never far, friend."

"Their magic is really weird."

Birbin's soft voice whispered, adjusting his hat as the spells took shape and admiring the display, standing now beside the warrior who was near thrice his height and several times over his build. The warrior of the realm nodded with a slight chuckle in his throat; no disagreement to be had that the outsiders were strange, very strange. They fought well and had good hearts, that was what mattered to the man and certainly the gnome as well. This was to ignore the obvious in that it would be quite unlikely they would succeed here with the encroaching darkness outside without their aid.

It was then the invisible perch found itself gliding gently across the battered stones and drifting among them like any of the other ghosts of old, traveling down the left path. Atop it, the keen eyed avian - allowing its master to see through its eyes - sat patiently and attentively, none bothered by the strange trip. What it beheld then was a far, far larger tomb, arms and armor cast to the floor and the subtle signs of battle. Clearly someone else had been present, just as they expected and was foretold. There were smashed jars and old pottery that laid still beside the inlets of the crypt, some skeletons in their burial shrouds atop the stone slabs, but no overt danger as of yet.

Unaccosted even now, the pair continued their bearing witness until they beheld a final door ajar; a gap permitting only a faint, split ray of light to creak through; firelight, rather torchlight, that flickered and lived yet. That must be where the source of the troubles in the tomb traveled. The place perhaps the mysterious Green Man or other unknown figure had ventured.


@Cu Chulainn, @Gordian Nought, @Hekazu, @JBRam2002, @Rig