I know, I know, most of you have probably already seen this on Blogger. It’s a little bit of a mess, but I’m going to be moving most, if not all of my Blogspot content here to wordpress over the next few days. If you enjoy it, please comment and share. Thanks
Aravos had been a paladin once, a defender of good and a powerful champion of the light. The Bulwark had been his home and defending the Kingdom of Stone, his life’s work. Now he was imprisoned, trapped in the sunless depths of the king’s dungeons. The cell was small, barely wide enough for the elf to stretch out on the chilly floor. The only light came from the ghostly blue runes etched into his silvery, metallic skin. Hunger gnawed at his belly; he couldn’t remember the last time the prison wardens had brought him food. Not that it mattered much now, not with the dark magic that kept him alive. Well, sort of alive.
His keen ears caught a distant sound and he frowned. The tap tap of boots on stone grew closer and he stood wearily, the heavy chains that bound his limbs clanking loudly as he moved against the wall. Torchlight stung his eyes as the door slammed open.
“So you are still alive,” boomed a deep voice. A paladin in shining, golden armor stared at him with cold eyes, flanked by a pair of knights.
“Ser Halvor,” Aravos replied cooly. “It seems that death has not seen fit to claim me yet.” He narrowed his eyes. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
“The king requests your presence,” Halvor grunted. He stepped aside. “Though why he wants to have an audience with a traitor is beyond me.”
Aravos shuffled out into the hall, trying to ignore the knight’s drawn weapons. He was thin, little more than skin and bones and between the large soldiers and the massive paladin, he looked even smaller. He winced as one of the knights pushed his shoulder with a plated hand. His eyes flashed and he shot the man a dark glare. Less than a year ago he would have towered over the man, dressed in his own battle armor. Now, the man glared back and shook his sword.
“Move!”
Halvor hesitated by a heavy door. “It’s daylight. If you go out in the sun will you survive until we reach the palace?”
“I’m a Deathknight, not a vampire,” Aravos growled. “And I’m undying, not undead. There’s a difference. The sun’s no threat to me.”
“You fought for the damned king,” snapped the paladin. “You lead the undead against your own brothers, you commanded them… you are no different from the rest.”
“My will was not my own,” said the Deathknight, squinting his eyes against the blinding sunlight. “You know that as well as anyone. When Ser Zeffron freed my mind I turned myself in to the Church of Light. Does that sound like the undead to you?”
“Shut up,” rumbled the paladin. He started to continue but was cut off as screams and cries rose from the city below. He hefted his hammer and gestured at Aravos. “Get him out of here! Now!”
There was an explosion that shook the ground, knocking the weakened prisoner to his knees. The knights swore and grabbed him by the arms, hoisting him back to his feet as the paladin sprinted away. Aravos resisted feebly, helpless against their strength.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “What’s happening?”
“Don’t you already know?” snarled one of the soldiers. “You’re one of them!”
“Quiet!” cried the other. “Just help me get him to the palace!”
Aravos would have whitened if he hadn’t already been the color of pale silver. “The undead… they’ve breached the Bulwark.”
A second explosion rocked the ground and Aravos fell a second time. “They have throwers,” he panted. “That means it’s an invasion not a raid. You need to kill the commander, break their strength!”
One of the knights stopped and leveled his blade at Aravos’ throat. “You were their leader once! Why don’t we just kill you? How do we know that you aren’t causing this?”
“We take him to the king!” said the other, urgently laying a hand on his companion’s arm. “We have our orders!”
“Killing me won’t make a bit of difference,” Aravos said calmly. “You need to get these people to safety before the wall falls.”
The knight’s blade wavered. “They won’t make it through the wall… they can’t….”
Aravos bared his teeth in disgust. “You’ve never even been at the front lines have you? Do you even know what those throwers are casting? Didn’t you hear me say that the undead are already inside?”
Something slammed into the walkway ahead of them, throwing them to the ground and showering them with dust. The knights lurched to their feet, raising their weapons as a hideous shape emerged from the choking dust. Its flesh was putrid and discolored, crisscrossed with oozing scars, held together by sloppy stitchwork. Its hands were gone, replaced by rusted iron hooks. A single milky eye rolled in its socket, locking on the knights and the prisoner as they shifted nervously. Aravos could see the blood drain from their faces as the monster moaned.
“It’s a flesh golem,” he said quickly, wishing fervently for a blade of his own. “An abomination! Strong but slow! Don’t let it get you in a corner!”
The first knight swore and charged recklessly, driving his blade into the creature’s barrel-like chest. It roared, more in rage than pain, and swatted the knight with a heavy arm, catching him in the stomach with the hook and hurling him into the air. It pulled clumsily at the blade in its ribs, slashing its own flesh as it hooked the sword’s hilt and tugged it free. The weapon clattered to the floor covered in black ooze, forgotten.
“Take the legs!” Aravos yelled to the surviving knight as the undead thing shuffled forward. “Knock it down and take its head!”
The man yelled and darted forward, ducking a wild swing from the beast’s hook hand as he hacked at a monstrous leg. It growled and stumbled, crashing into a wall as it waved its arms, keeping the knight at bay. Aravos gathered his strength and ran forward, throwing himself at the fallen sword. The knight, too distracted by the undead thing’s deadly hooks to notice the elf, cried out in pain as a blow caught his shoulder.
Aravos swore and snatched up the dead knight’s blade, nicking his thumb with the keen edge. He traced a rune on the hilt, feeling the magic in his runic tattoos begin to awaken. The red symbol flashed and the Deathknight cried out as the magic flooded his body, swelling and healing his withered body and filling out his gaunt frame. The crude rune flashed a second time and icy chains spat from his outstretched hand, wrapping around the golem and pulling it to the ground. The knight yelled in triumph and brought his sword down in a sweeping arc, parting the beast’s head from its shoulders. It fell to the ground with a wet thump, still bound by chains of frost.
“Is it dead?” asked the knight, menacing the fallen golem with his gore spattered blade.
“Yes,” Aravos replied, examining the fallen knight. “But there are more of them. We need to get to the wall and kill the horde’s leader.”
“What about him?” asked the knight, gesturing at the fallen soldier. “Is he…?”
“Gone,” Aravos grunted, gently closing the dead man’s eyes. He stood and spread his manacled hands. “Come on. Let me out of these, we need to get to the gate.”
Within the Endless Skies 