Purity Inverse: Part I

[Damion Shargath]

Closed

The dark sky thundered above the maddened land, as did the horses hooves across the slowly softening ground. Armor plates clanked and equipment baggage shook in the wind. The osmium clad warrior was but a shadow in the eerie and gloomy setting. Not even the armored steed he rode atop, carrying the pale color of rotten flesh could be clearly distinguished as it was on the move. Its rider pressed his body unto the neck of his stallion as it sped through the morass. His destination posed a monastery in the middle of this swamp, one that was outlined by cliffs as deep as the mountains of Salvar were high, with walls as jagged as a pirates serrated blade, and weather as unruly as an ocean’s storm. Many a man has found his demise at this land’s brims. Whilst driven by curiosity to glance over the edge in order to reveal the connecting ocean they had gone unaware of the strong breeze creeping up from behind. The ferocious waves though, crushing against the near walls of the deep cliffs sometimes made it hard to differ from where the thundering actually came, from zenith or nadir – the heavens or the circles...



Damion,

I hope this letter finds you well and covered in the blood of your enemies.

Now, to business. I have heard of a lonely Monastery in the middle of the Vergaurdian Swamps. I have also received word that within this tainted church lays an artifact of great power. I doubt either the denizens of the church or the artifact's immediate guardians will pose any real difficulty, but regardless, I would enjoy your company in the short time it takes to retrieve it.

I do not believe that you will argue with a chance to... how would you put it... slay an inferior being? And I'm certain the occasion will arise. But the decision is yours. I will await you for several days. I trust it will not take you long to find a boat from Salvar, and I truly hate to pry you from your desolate home.

Travel in Concealing Darkness, my friend.
Lord Maxwell Faust.

Damion had received the letter only two short days ago as he was returning to his abode that lay in central plains of Salvar. Whilst reading it through, a slightly disgruntled look had spread across his face – considering leaving Salvar again after just having returned seemed so much of an unnecessary drag. Yet, he was not the one to turn down his best and possibly only friend. He had spent much time with Maxwell Faust, knowing that such a short notice could only mean something truly important. Without thinking about whether or not to, Damion immediately set off in the direction he came from, the western port of Salvar. The messenger that had handed him the letter lay frozen, and dead atop the ever-frigid ground of Salvar.

------------------------------------------------

Now Damion had found himself in Raiaera, traveling through darkness, as Maxwell had recommended – and the weathers had been most generous shrouding several days in thick fog and thunderstorms. Even now, as Damion rode through the Vergaurdian Swamps, rain droplets fell upon Salvic’s figure as his steed evaded trees and larger puddles. Almost each pound of a hoof was accompanied by the sound of thunder, shrouding it’s movement in strange silence. Having nothing else to do stay put upon his horse, Damion let his eyes wander and scan the area wildly. What he discovered in the distance was a dark shadow, it had the shape of a human, but moved ever so weary, completely unnatural. Something was strange about this area, some may have shuddered at the eerie scenery yet Damion put if off as rather comical. A cripple walking through a swamp, not his problem.

Suddenly a loud, crushing, bursting noise emitted from underneath the horse, ripping Damion from his tranquil thoughts. What flew up beside the halberdiers face was certainly not a twig as it drew some sort of liquid behind itself. A short glance back proved Damion’s assumptions to be correct. The shrill noises were screams of pain, and the shapes lying mangled as lifeless in the broth were not storm battered logs. They had been a pair of bandits or adventurers, obviously hoping to halt and steal the halberdiers horse for whichever reason. Now they were nothing but a stain on the horse’s leg and a piece of its hoof, logically making the shape which had been cast up aside Damion’s face a finger. The horse on which the halberdier sat upon had shown no remorse to the fools and simply stampeded onwards through the morass. The beast’s cruelty filled the warrior with pride, most certainly had he grabbed the best of the herd.

The desired destination had slowly come into view, proving the map that his comrade had folded and tied to the letter extremely precise. After having reached somewhat more solid ground again, Damion slowed the go of his horse. The relentless pounding of its hooves turned into a simple slapping noise. Before entering the clearing in which the monastery stood, Damion jumped from the back of his horse which halted almost directly after he made contact with the ground. Without even having to be called the horse returned to Damion’s side, allowing him to retrieve his halberd from its baggage straps. He had not trained the horse long at all, yet it followed his orders without even a word being spoken. Slowly, it then headed towards a tree and shook its head – obviously it had found a place to stay put. Damion made his way to the clearing, noticing at just this moment a horse to his right. It was snow-white of color and strapped in finely adorned saddling – somewhat the complete opposite of Damion’s horse. The saddles alone proved to the halberdier that his comrade, a true sword-master, progeny of the great Faust family, Maxwell Faust, had already arrived though he was no where to be found.

“That man and stealth, what on earth is he always afraid of?” Damion chuckled, his thoughts straying from the matter at hand.

Knowing well enough that a briefing conversation would ensue, Damion fingered a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He inhaled the fine taste vigorously and exhaled with a shallow breath, making sure to surround himself in the smell. He finally had the chance to rid his nostrils of the pungent swamp stench. The armored warrior knew that his ally would emerge from the shadows soon enough. Probably the nobleman must have seen Damion coming before he had even spotted the monastery. Bracing himself for a sudden hand on his shoulder the halberdier waited, anticipating the congregation with his only true friend.

[Maxwell Faust]

"Answer me!" the figure demanded, leaving no confusion that if the specter did not reply, it would be struck down a thousand times, if that was what it took. When Maxwell Faust demanded a response, he was always given one... or it would be taken by force.

"I'll not ask again spirit..." Maxwell Faust, looking slightly worse for wear and sweating profusely, stood in the blackened hall of Faust manor. The transparent spirit, adorned by the garb of a powerful nobleman, just ignored him, never taking his eyes from the ivory keys of the harpsichord it played like a phantom posessed. The haunting notes filled the long hall, and the sound which normally would have made Maxwell calm and tranquil, only served to make him shift his weight from foot to foot uneasily. Clenching the hilt of his delicate rapier, so tightly that his knuckles began to turn white, the young noble could no longer keep himself composed. With the slender weapon held in a reverse grip, it plunged downward into the muscular back of the phantom musician, but the blow was not destined to land. Like a puff of smoke caught on the breeze, the specter was gone and the sword passed through harmlessly, connecting sharply with the keys of the harpsichord shattering them, and passing right through, burying itself almost to the hilt in the beautiful instrument.

A left eye twitched once, then twice. Lips curled back in an feral snarl, eyes narrowed and fists clenched and unclenched seemingly on their own at the frustrated fencer's sides. The blackened central hall of Faust manor seemed to fade away into blackness, and all that was left was that most beautiful of weapons, impaling the piano-like instrument easily, as though it were merely paper. It stood freely, like a grave marker embedded in an ivory cemetery.

The most primal animal would have been cowed by the scream of pure, unbridled rage that emitted from the nobles mouth, and then, he was lost to the blackness...

Maxwell awoke in a cold sweat. It must have been only slightly after midnight, because the moon still held strongly in the cloudy night sky. Looking around uneasily, the man silently scolded himself, hoping that he had kept his scream to his dreams, and had not given away his hiding place. How weak of him to let his emotions get the best of him, even in his sleep. It would serve him right, if some god-forsaken beast stumbled upon him. Emerging from the brush where he had concealed himself, the vexed knight looked about at his surroundings. The monastery was as he left it, and his horse, he could see from the shadows, grazed calmly, despite the thunderous roar that sounded from seemingly all around him, and ignoring the rain that pelted it relentlessly. He watched his horse - a pure white stallion - contently for a few moments, his ire slowly fading.

He would not sleep again that night, he knew. Nor did he believe he deserved the rest. Perhaps the next time, he would think twice before giving in to such foolish fantasies...

Seeing no point in dwelling on the past, Maxwell turned to the present. It had been two days since he had arrived at the building. He reached into a pouch that hung at his side, feeling for the leathery parchment. A map to a place of ancient power that hid within its walls, an item of untold power.

The thought of that power brought a measure of calm back to the excited knight, and his eyes narrowed again, this time envisioning the reward that had brought him here. Yes, he had been waiting two days and was growing quite eager. But... where was Damion?

Maxwell had known many humans in his life. He had associated both with nobles, serfs, kings, and paupers. Knights, and wizards (which the arrogant fencer openly distrusted and hated), but none had ever struck the young man's life as profoundly as Damion Shargath. At the very least, Shargath was a kindred spirit. A man forged in the same hellfire, and tempered by the same relentless hammer. The thought that Damion might have been unable, or unwilling to accept his offer to join him on this quest, truly pained him.

"No..." the young noble spoke the word aloud, a faint smile spreading across his pale lips. Damion would be there. Just as Maxwell would be in Salvar without the least bit of prompting, should Shargath have desired it.

As if on cue, and summoned from the very pits of hell, a truly morbidly colored horse and its rider emerged into the small clearing before the monastery and cliff face. Maxwell noted, with more than a little amusement, the blood and bits of brain matter hugging the horse's hooves.

Waiting a few moments, concealed in the shadows, Faust allowed Damion to take in his surroundings before stepping forward, an even larger smile parting his lips, showing his perfect white teeth that shined in the moonlight. The armored man took a drag from a lit cigarette, apparently knowing - and why should he not? - that Maxwell was about. Maxwell spoke, already forgetting his previous troubles at the sight of the confident warrior.

"Well met master Shargath..."

[Damion Shargath]

Only short moments later, after resting his feet upon the wet ground his companion, Maxwell Faust parted from the shadows beside. With a clearly visible grin the nobleman greeted the misanthropic warrior. Not long to wait Shargath’s companion received a reply.

“Lord Faust,” Damion chuckled in return, the sophisticated tone in which he spoke was most comical.

“How did the roads from Salvar find you?” The blonde haired man asked, wondering of his comrade’s trip.

“Not exactly challenging I must say. I had a bit to fight with the weather, yet the regions’ skies have been generous.” Shargath spoke in a vivid tone, “Cloaking me in thunder, rain, and mist. Yet those who glimpsed my route, worry not, met my blade…no blind passengers.”

A short moment of silence ensued as Maxwell peered passed his armored comrade with a raised eyebrow, accompanied by a knowing grin. His vision was directed towards the bloodied hooves of Shargath’s new stallion, which had only shortly before crushed a pair of adventurer folk.

“Ah yes. Two rather brain vacant beings trying to escape this frothier swamp,” Taking a short pause of words to chuckle in a low tone, he turned his head to look at the proof himself, “...mentally incompetent scum...I wonder what absurd state of desperation it takes to drive a man to throw himself before a sprinting stallion...yet it takes not much to drive the weak hearted to their limits.”

“True enough my friend, but now to the business at hand.” Maxwell took a moment to clear his throat, whether pausing for dramatic effect, or because the excitement was building in his throat, was uncertain.

“Correct. So...” Damion paused for a moment, reaching for the cigarette with his left hand. Silently he picked it from his lips and cast it into one of the many boggy puddles about. As it contacted with the frothy water, the burning tip immediately died out with a sharp hiss. Having endured a short briefing, basically repeating what stood in the letter one thing still remained unclear to the halberdier. “What exactly lays inside those walls that captures your interest so, Maxwell? It is rare that I see you so anxious...”

Maxwell smiled wryly, as if keeping a joke to himself. "As I said... an object of great power,". Changing the subject abruptly, Maxwell turned away to the face of the monastery. "So how should we go about entering?" he asked.

With a smile on his face and a shake of his head, Damion began to speak, “...I recommend the obvious large gate in the front face of the massive granite block across the clearing...”.

The rain pelted down upon the warrior’s relentlessly. Bit by bit the chunks of intestines and brain slid from the hooves of Shargath’s horse, washed away by the downpour. Inch for inch the barrage of rain cleansed the warrior’s armor, most proficiently, by sifting through every slit, creeping through every little space between his chain mail’s links. Damion sent one last glimpse into the depths of the morass behind. With a fluid motion, he then swung his halberd vertically behind himself, water droplets being cast into the air again becoming an indifferent part of the rain once more. With a powerful stride he then set foot towards the monastery.

Thunder underlined their slapping footsteps across the overgrown and flooded path which led to the Monastery. The halberdier had been left completely in the dark as to which artifact they were hunting. That though, only managed to spark his interest further. Yet, the Salvic youngster was not all too much of an idealist. He remained realistic as to what it could be, that lay locked away inside of this massive granite walls, isolated from the rest of this eerie scenery. Possibly the item had long lost its power and rotted away within a set of moldy catacombs, it was an option he considered.

Headstrong, expecting the door to give in, Damion raised his left arm in order to barge through the portal. Yet as his open palm met the chilled steel portal, the entire man came to an abrupt halt. The armor upon his arm ran back against the shoulder plates behind, sounding a loud clattering. With a perplex expression on his face the Salvic warrior forced his arm forth once more...in vain. Slowly he let his arm slide back to his side, rain droplets departing from his fingertips. With a now expressionless face, Shargath’s head turned from left to right, examining the door thoroughly. Was there a wedge? Lock? Lever?

“Nothing...” Damion remarked in dismay, running a hand through his wet hair. “The humiliation...”

“There. Follow me my disenchanted friend.” The Faust progeny suggested to his flawed companion, as he began to make his way towards a more distant corner of the clearing.

Only short steps after following his companion, Damion could see that there was some sort of depression in the ground. Seeing his friend submerge into it, he decided to follow the one and only man he trusted without hesitation. They soon both found themselves halted by a steel gate, taking the time to wipe the rain from their faces. The finely gowned man knelt down and examined the gate in front of them, his knee sinking into the muck below their feet. The metal bars that formed the gate were completely overgrown and filthy, making them an almost indifferent part of the darkness that they guarded. Yet they also seemed fully intact, this was underlined as Damion’s comrade grabbed a bar and hammered it back and forth full throttle.

“...the only thing is this lock. I wonder how we could solve -” Maxwell’s words were cut brutally by a loud crash.

Damion had driven the butt of his halberd down unto the lock with full force. Sparks shot about, illuminating the tunnel beyond for a short second. The metal seal flew from the gate it was to keep sealed into the frothy water below with a plop. Without a word, the combatant raised an armored leg and smashed the barred gate open with a forceful kick. Droplets of water rushed upwards into the air, colliding with the figures that stood before. The armored warrior sighed and peered into the darkness beyond.

“Think that split second too long, and you’ll come that lifetime too short...”

Bunny Appoved

[Maxwell Faust]

Doing well to hide his grin as his powerful counter-part shattered the seal on the storm cellar, Maxwell tentatively ran his hands over one of the two heavy oak doors set into the ground. Heat and the constant moisture from the nearby sea had made the doors swell together tightly, and Maxwell had to regroup his strength to tug the stubborn portal open. A sharp tug yielded no results, but he would not appear weak in the face of his dearest friend. He breathed deeply and clasped his hands over the iron handle, setting his feet wide, and yanking as hard as he could. Surprised, he fell backwards as the door completely broke free of its rusted hinges and the other flew open wide, revealing a set of moss-covered stairs that descended into the bowels of the massive building.

"It just needed a little convincing," the cocky noble said, his lip curling back in a smug grin.

With a shrug to Damion, he produced a small torch from his horse's pack and lobbed another to his ally, as if the though whole thing was the beginning to a game which was getting more interesting with every passing minute. However, he did pause for a moment before descending into the darkness. It was told that ancient ruins were guarded by more than just foul creatures. All manner of traps and pitfalls could have been rigged to those stairs, dropping the two companions more than a hundred feet into a chute that would carry them out the side of the cliffs, to be dashed to pieces against the jagged rocks below, and sucked out to sea by the pull of the ebbing tide.

The swordsman forced those thoughts aside though. He had to. There was no room for second guessing in the game of adventuring, where a split second could mean the difference between life and death. Whether mechanical or animal, the headstrong noble always took obstacles head on, and refused those second guessing at every opportunity. Maxwell and Damion would be the best, because they were the strongest, and there was no strength in doubt. Despite the fact that he seemed sure of every action, he could not deny that he did not know exactly what to expect in the ancient place. A place that, standing alone in its foreboding surroundings, seemed as much an enemy, as the denizens within it.

In truth, The nobleman did not exactly know what great artifact lay within the walls of the monastery, nor its location, or what manner of ghouls and goblins might be guarding it, despite what he lead his partner to believe. However, if there was one thing that the Faust's had come to be adept at sensing, it was power, and the entire ancient stone structure positively teemed with it.

The stairs descended ten feet below Althanas' surface before leveling out into a long stone corridor. Pausing only to put a spark to the torch with his tinder box, Maxwell pressed fearlessly down the hall, so determined and lost in concentration to look back to see if Damion was in tow. The hall leaked water from the brewing storm outside, between its tightly laid bricks and the torchlight danced down the hallway eerily. Once again, the young master had to push aside thoughts of an untimely end at the point of a rigged spear or arrow. In spite of the ominous shadows and feel of danger though, the hallway ended as abruptly as it had started and opened up into a wide stone room. Scanning the new area quickly, Maxwell stopped, appearing somewhat anxious, and had mind to wait for his partner. A dexterous hand fleeing to the hilt of his rapier, Faust felt somewhat insecure at the sight before him; row after row of granite burial caskets.

The Faust family had always been superstitious, even by the standards of their sleepy little kingdom, and the sight before the young swordsman unnerved him more than a little. Maxwell turned to Damion, comforted by the sound of his heavy, clanking armor as the warrior progressed down the hall behind him.

"We should make for the door on the other side of this area. I do not like the air here. It smells of death, but also of life. I can not explain it. I just know we must leave..." he was stopped abruptly by the sound of sound of stone grating on stone behind him. Or, perhaps it was just his imagination.

[Damion Shargath]

Maxwell dipped down the dark and musty stone stairs, Damion followed. The torch he had been passed by his friend Damion kept unlit as they could possibly require a fully intact one during a later point in time. With the pace Maxwell had set it seemed to Damion that he paid no heed to possible hidden traps. That matter though was none of his concern, the faith he laid within his ally’s hands was incredibly strong. Besides that Damion had too strong a feeling that this quest, his quest, would not end now, not that abruptly. Additionally the enclosing brick walls seemed solid enough anyhow. The only true threat was the slippery moss covering parts of the small stairwell, and the water running across it that made it even more so. It was rather unlikely though that two warriors, the stature of Maxwell and Damion, would lose composure over slightly unctuous ground.

Soon enough, and rather instantly the stairs ended, leading into a dark room. The only source of light was Maxwell’s torch, truly it was not much, but enough to vaguely distinguish the surroundings. Boxes for the dead, Maxwell came to a halt. A myriad of coffins stood about the room. They were the first things Damion perceived after entering the strange room. Secondly he took notice of the approximately eight foot high ceiling, a pleased smirk crossing the halberdier’s face. The height of the ceiling would grant Damion enough space to swing his halberd vertically if necessary. It didn’t take long for the rotten smell of the vicinity to tint Damion’s mind with unease, something most unusual was in the air. It wasn’t death, nor was it life, yet there was no logical in-between either. Out of no where, hand resting upon rapier, Maxwell spoke words of unexplainable concern...

“I can well associate with the elusive feeling which plagues your mind Maxwell...” Damion muttered in reply, leaving the sound of dripping water, scurrying rodents, and shifting stone roam freely through the air.

Suddenly something caused Damion’s gaze to dash to his near right. The sound of grating stone was followed by an incredibly loud burst. The lid of the shadowy casket nearest to Damion had shifted from its pot and collided with the floor. A dismal figure reached out from the concealing darkness, its crippled hands licked to life by the dancing orange light. It seemed, for the unidentified being, a true tribulation to bring itself into a sitting position. Slowly but indispensably it then began to rise to its feet, revealing its horrid visage to the dim light of Maxwell Faust’s torch. The head of the being was half in complete decay, one eye dangling from its socket. The creature’s skin was of a yellowish green, tearing at its jaw as it began to moan in awful tones. Its knees still angled, struggling to achieve a standing position it outstretched a mangled hand towards the angst ridden warrior. Fingers twisted in unthinkable ways, finger nails...well - mostly absent, it began to twitch.

“Disgusting...” Before thinking any further, Damion decided it best to dispose of the creature, “Go back where you came from, you miserable excrement of the purgatory.”

Damion rushed upwards the butt of his halberd, seconds later it collided with the being’s skull. A flesh tearing sound emitted as its putrid skull departed from its body, splinters of bone and wads of brain flew and spattered about. Disemboweled, the creature’s body thudded limply to the halberdier’s feet.

“Scum!” There had been no emotion in Damion’s words, only pure hatred.

After the stirred up dust of the fallen coffin lid began to dissipate the warriors eyes grew wide in disbelief. Gritting his teeth, extruding his jaw line, the warrior observed six, eight, a dozen, if not more of the impaired creatures rise from their coffins. The creatures moaned dreadfully as their bones burst apart in their efforts to regain posture. Their rotten vocal cords composed a morbid lullaby, a serenade of the damned as they arose to their crippled feet. One by one they had been awoken from their sleep, and seemingly they weren’t too joyful about the fact. Their bodies reeked of decaying flesh, forcing the angst ridden warrior to wrinkle his wrinkle his nose in disgust. What was to come next, he wasn’t sure, all he knew is that what was currently coming had to be taken care of…fast.