Nostrum: Tales of Valor

And So It Begins...

Liquid fire speckles the stone underfoot as freshly drenched torches illuminate jagged, damp cave walls. The sound of hard soles softly clopping against earth, and distant humming of winds seeking an escape from deep within the tomb fill an otherwise still atmosphere. The warm glow of each improvised tool offers only direction, as the destination ahead has already succumbed to a chill, not even the forgotten sunlight could have conquered. Four silhouettes cautiously slog further into the depths, remaining as close to each other as they can without risking restricting or startling one another. Keeping their lips sealed and their breaths muffled beneath fabric, they listen.

With a sudden pause and one finger raised in the air, the leading silhouette brings all others to a halt. Lifting his torch to just above shoulder level, he watches the darkness ahead of them shift about. With only his eyes and the tissue around each exposed, he maintains his composure. Trails of luminescent smoke churn, breaking away from a much larger body of it not much further ahead. The gray glow warns of a very near threat, but its wisdom goes unacknowledged.

Upon seeing such a barrier, the men's tired bodies find new vigor. Alert, armed with strange weapons, and unyielding confidence, they march through the fog. Whispers fill their ears as they do so, but stop once the fog is behind them. Now, being in a pocket too large for the far walls and ceiling to be seen, they ready their weapons. Their feet slosh about as they move further in, with a black liquid now surrounding the leathers of their boots, and releasing a putrid odor that not even their facial coverings could dilute. Suddenly, they hear it. The sound of something larger than themselves letting out a thick growl as it exhales through its maw. The intensity of sloshing grows, as the Unseen steps into it with them. All four torches follow as the thing makes a slow circle around them. The light, though it does not expose the beast's form, shines back at them through large, yellow eyes. Eyes that- with a single sharp breath from the Unseen- dart upwards and out of sight once more. The inky fluids ripple furiously, lapping over their boots as they wait to hear the monstrosity again, but only the briefest of moments pass before the man at the lead cocks back a curious crossbow and fires it overhead. As the projectile is released, sparks fly off the weapon, igniting a wick that streaks through the air.

"Scatter!" The lead shouts, sprinting towards where the Unseen had come from. The others disperse in opposing directions at his command, clearing the area in which they had been standing. Almost as soon as they do so, the beast above them screeches; Whether it be out of pain, as the spiky sphere latches onto its hide, or to strike fear in the men, is unclear. The ground quakes as the beast slams against it, creating waves as it does so, and more as it jerks its head from left to right, soaking the fur beneath its elongated neck. With another roaring screech as it spots the man that attacked it, the wick runs out. A blast- just big enough to stagger the mangy creature- lights up the cavern. An oily substance sprays in all directions from the point of detonation and immediately ignites. The beast squalls as the substance coats its soft underbelly and ridged torso, searing the exposed flesh and setting the fur aflame with fire raining down from what oil did not stick. As droplets hit the ghastly pool below, so does the beast. It flails about wildly in its distress, attempting to smother the flames.

"Now!" Shouts out another of the men, wielding a great, serrated cleaver. The blade- though god-like in size- raises above the man's head with ease. In unison with another who wields a similar weapon, he drops it against one of the beast's hind legs. In a furious rage, the monster lashes out at the nearest of the men in front of it, but the efforts are futile; As its vision is engulfed in the hellfire. Keeping the beast snared, both men at the rear press their tools further into the oozing wounds they had created, and with a nod to one another, they swiftly wrench them free. The beast's blood, indistinguishable from the pool it thrashes about in, runs unending.

Blinded, bleeding, and with its lungs full of vile waters, the beast continues its efforts. Dragging its mangled legs behind it, it slams its front claws into the stone, scraping at it for traction and gaining speed in the process. With one vicious swipe and an unexpected turn, the creature sends one of its assailants skipping across the muck and fastens its grip around the other. With a deafening bellow, its antlers shake and what fur remains around the face stands on end. The man struggles fiercely; Trying all that he can to loosen the grip, but as teeth like talons surround him, he accepts his fate. His legs shake harshly as the beast clamps its jaw shut, but they soon go limp as the Unseen raises its head and lifts its body using both front legs, preparing to swallow him whole. As it does so, the fourth of the men hastily hikes up the spine and sinks an ax into the skull. Following a sickening thud, bubbles form around the creature's nostrils as what air had been trapped in the lungs during its final breath is released.

Frantically, the remaining three lift the corpse as best they can and open its stomach. Foul contents spill out, but none are unlike those around them.

"Marne? Marne, look at me!" Pushing the others aside, the second man throws down his cleaver and holds up Marne's weary head. "Marne, keep your eyes open. Let me mend you." Reaching for a vial with contents of a deep red, the man pulls it from his belt and pops out the cork. Marne stops him from doing any more than this by placing a pale, weak hand over the opening.

"No... it's too late for me. I-I made a mistake."

"Nonsense! Drink!"

Marne refuses the brew once more before pulling the black fabric that shrouds his lower face down and taking a shallow breath.

"My wounds are fatal... and... even if they weren't-" Marne looks down at the gashes that had been made in his torso and begins coughing abruptly. "I got its blood inside of me. There is nothing you can do, Brother. I'm finished." Marne wheezes, struggling to breathe as the second man closes his own eyes and turns his face towards the others.

"Belial, you know what must be done."

Belial opens his pained eyes once more, glaring deep into those of the man who led Marne to his death. He then looks back at his brother, whose lips have turned white, and shakes with remorse as he lets the back of Marne's head submerge in the filth at their feet.

"Belial?" The lead asks.

"Silence, I must be the one to do this." Keeping his eyes on Marne's malformed pupils and acknowledging the changes that have already begun, he makes his choice. "Let out your breath, Brother. Rest. Then, take another."

Marne does as Belial requests, but before he can inhale, Belial pushes his face beneath the surface. Marne's body becomes tense, but his diminished strength gives him no other choice than to take in the inky bile. As the shock sets in, a dull crack becomes audible, and Marne relaxes. Belial silently shudders before standing, retrieving his cleaver, and heading back the way they came; Never-minding the lack of light to guide his way. The fourth sighs as he kneels alongside Marne's body. Then, he begins to pray. The lead allows him to finish whilst pouring a clear beverage over both corpses. As the fourth stands upright and steps away from their fallen, the lead lowers his torch, allowing only the flame to touch the ick. The surface erupts into a blaze that climbs over both masses, consuming every bit of them that remains visible. The two then turn away, venturing back themselves.

* * * * * *

"Was it real? What I believe I just witnessed? What I believe I... did?" Belial wonders, gazing up at the pale moon as his companions emerge from Marne's final resting place. "Tell me, Briar."

The one who led them sighs lowly before wedging his dying torch between two large stones and stepping nearer to the grieving Belial.

"It's a risk we face often and a fate that is all too common."

Belial scoffs, removing his arrow-tipped hat as he does so. Spite poising his face as he studies each crease in the skin that makes it.

"This Oath can be quite difficult to bear at times."

"But an Oath, it is."

Belial nods knowingly before placing the accessory back atop his silver hair.

"Truer words could never cut so deep on any other night... prior to this one." Belial turns back to the moon as Briar's hand rests against his shoulder.

"I'd think it wise of us to continue on." The third's voice calls out. "Best to not upset The Council with these results." Lighting a freshly drenched torch with the embers of Briar's, the man starts off towards their left.

"Cronn's right. We should keep moving." Briar retraces his steps and rekindles the flame of his own. Then, assists Belial in doing the same before catching up with Cronn.

As a column of smoke rolls out from the cave's mouth, the trio travels in its usual silence; But this time the atmosphere is heavier, and the silence is deafening with such fresh grievances digging at the backs of their minds. Knowing the odorous, churning cloud behind them will tell The Council of their woefully successful hunt, they accept that they must be the ones to speak of what costs have come from it.