A tall man, taller in fact than any man she had ever seen – and that says a lot, when you’re an elf, at the center of the hold nods in his direction, and he understands his message has been delivered. She passes him, slumped on a bed roll, as she approaches the man.
“General?” Anneleigh asks tentatively, not wanting to offend should she have his title wrong.
“Come here, Ascended, and tell me what you have seen.”
Anneleigh approaches him, hands the sourcestone she collected from the defiant technomancy and tells her story.
“The defiant cowards are in Bloodmurk Grove? The heathens must have used their foul machines to slip past us under cover of night. Their betrayal will soon be rewarded with the swift retribution of the Ascended.”“Cyril,” called another formidable solider from near a second guarded entrance, “There is no time to think of retaliation now. The rift that brought us death is now spreading its decay across Telara. We must focus the willing on the destruction of Aedraxis, Orphiel and that rift.”
Cyril Kalmar nods in his direction and returns his attention to Anneleigh.
“The Vigil chose us for our innate abilities, our inherent power. It was no accident that they chose you. Will you help us? When the time is right, we will be on the side of justice for Telara, dealing the deathblow that rights the wrongs of Aedraxis. Evil will be held to account.”
Anneleigh nods, unable to speak, still unsure the Vigil made the right choice in here – despite her trials in this very field and her work throughout Ardenburgh.
“This gruesome field is where we all died, don’t you remember?” Cyril continues. “Aedraxis’s fleshless minions erupted from our fallen friends and now weaken the Ward further by birthing Regulos’s loathsome broad at our holy alters.”
He hands her back one of the sourcestone orbs she had collected from the technomancy.
“Take this. The spawn of Regulos will be drawn to it. When you place it on an Alter, they will not resist the opportunity to steal it back for their master. “
Anneleigh nods again and takes the orb.
“Don’t say much, do you elf?” Cyril says with a chuckle. “I understand. Ascension is quite an experience.”
Anneleigh holds the orb tightly and turns to leave, unable to come up with a retort that would land with good humor and enough bite to sting just a little. She leaves the safety of Valor Hold and tracks east towards a small outcropping of destroyed homes. There, among the trees, stands a deeply battle warn alter to the Vigil. Slowly, Anneleigh places the sourcestone onto its rightful place on the structure and kneels to pray.
Though her head is down and her eyes closed, Anneleigh is still able to sense the approach of the undead minions who have arrived to retake the sourcestone orb; their battle armor rattles over their skeletal figures, the rotting remains of their flesh giving off a pungent and acidic smell.
Anneleigh draws her dagger and takes a stab at the closer of the two. She is quickly over taken by the second, outnumbered and weekend by the initial blow. “This was foolish.” She thinks as she attempts to fight back. “Cyril could not have known, to be sure, but we should have at least held the possibility in mind.”
As quickly as she can manage while deflecting the attack, Anneleigh finds a large tree and positions herself with her back to the trunk, giving at least the illusion of defense on one side.
The undead legionnaire laughs; at least, Anneleigh thinks it is a laugh. It is hard to discern the noises made by escaping air from lungs that no longer breathe. Anneleigh defends herself as best she can. She is no longer in a position to wound the attackers, can only dodge and parry their attacks and hope to stave off her death until help arrives.
Her efforts soon take their toll on her and Anneleigh finds herself sliding towards the base of the tree, no longer in a fit state to stand. Kneeling near the roots, still dodging what blows she can, Anneleigh says a silent prayer to the Vigil; The whole Vigil.
Thedeor, god of the Sword, may you keep your faithful strong.
Mariel-Taun, goddess of the heart, may you bring us light in this darkness.Bahralt, god of the city, may you forever keep Ardenburgh safe.
Thontic, god of the sea, assist those who seek to re-establish Telara.
Tavril, goddess of the land, take pity on your faithful guardian.
Anneleigh looses strength in her right arm, heavy and tired from the battle. The first undead move to strike and their blow lands on the trunk just to the right of her ear. The second undead raises its axe above its head, directly above the place where Anneleigh has crouched.
There is a longer than natural pause. Anneleigh attributes this to the knowledge of her coming death. Almost every old legend she has heard of death speaks of a time of knowing, even when not in battle. She herself remembers the time of knowing during the battle that took her life.
The time slips by and the second undead drops to its knees and then falls flat on its face. Behind it, the giant figure of Cyril, now poised to strike at the first of the undead attackers. Anneleigh collects herself and takes assessment of her wounds while Cyril holds back the undead. She gets to her feet, finding one of her ankles, or possibly her shin, broken.
Clenching her jaw to move through the pain, Anneleigh takes up her dagger and stabs the undead where his heart would have been. Not surprisingly, this has little effect.
“Duck!” Cyril shouts, and then takes off the undead head with a single blow.
“I am sorry, Anneleigh, That I sent you out without your full knowledge of this plan. I knew though, that these undead, and that” he points over her shoulder, “spawn of Regulos himself would not attempt to steal this sourcestone if it was Marshal or I who placed it. They would have, correctly, sensed at trap.”
“So I was to be your bait, General Kalmar?” Anneleigh all but spits through her pain, “It almost backfired you know. “
He says nothing more, but takes a mighty swing of his sword and begins to battle the spawn of Regulos, a drake so massive it must be nearing its adult stage. Anneleigh takes one moment to re-center, one long deep breath and then presses on, using her dagger to weaken and distract while Cyril uses his sword to maim and wound. It is a hard battle, but soon the drake is dead, and not long after, Anneleigh blacks out and crumples to the ground.
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