Trudge

Many Times
Many Places

Trudge. Trudge.

A fresh-faced Ashen Iscariot marches in the middle of an ocean of Pale Guard, the majority of which tower a full head and a half over his still-growing frame. He is awash in the heavy thumping of footfalls and clanking of armor. His dingy half-plate keeps canting to the right due to the large hole in the left side throwing off the balance. Its jagged edges tell of the violence which removed much of the steel and much of the torso of its previous owner. As the right strap tightens down and flicks painfully over his shoulder yet again, frustration overtakes Ashen. He shoves his shoulder up hard to redistribute the weight and misses a step in the process, slamming into the ground and losing his breath. Darkness descends, as he’s instantly consumed by armored boots. The thumps perfectly in time with the pain that strikes his arm, thigh, low back, fingers. He scrambles to regain his feet, but only succeeds in rolling over and shifting the locations of the rhythmic pain. Fear begins to grip him, as his continued struggle against the unending march proves fruitless, and just as his panic reaches its peak, Ashen is mercifully offered a glimpse of the sky.

A calm besets him as his gaze affixes onto a single, black raven soaring high above it all.

Then another. And another. And another. Ravens flood the sky, blackening this tiny window of respite. Ashen reaches up desperately as the pain and darkness returns. He opens his mouth to scream, but is instead wrenched up from the earth as if he were lighter than a feather and placed on his feet. The enormous Pale Guard that exhumed him pushes Ashen forward, resuming his march alongside. After a moment, he turns and jabs Ashen in the chest through the jagged hole.

“Hrmph. Battle-tested. It will serve you well, Fledgling. And should you fall, retu dena corso.”

Ashen doesn’t respond, just looks to the sky, devoid of ravens, and marches on.

Trudge. Trudge.

An unblinking Ashen Iscariot marches towards the front of a sea of Pale Guard, the majority of which stand slightly below his full height. They’ve marched for two turns since last breaking camp in order to arrive well ahead of schedule. And what an arrival. Their vast numbers cleave through the scant undead milling about the overgrown villa and quickly overwhelm the grounds. Ashen’s broadsword cuts a downward angle through a half-decayed elf, releasing a stench which causes him to swallow hard and clench his nose. Regaining his composure, he notices the highest window of the villa fling open, revealing the wild-eyed necromancer they seek. His desperation is evident and unsurprising to Ashen, but the vile being does not flee this unexpected onslaught. He, instead, lifts a stave with a glowing point of light at the end and begins chanting.

Ashen smirks. The immutable trait common to all those who seek to escape death…. Hubris.

The necromancer is immediately torn from the sill by magical force, falling three stories to the compacted clay below. Ashen watches as Belloc Iscariot approaches the broken body, still clinging to life, lifting the shaking stave towards the Grand Knight. Without a flinch, Belloc strides forward, gripping the glowing point of light in his massive gauntlet and speaking,

“NECRO DU SORE KEEN RA BESTADEN TORLU. RETU DENA CORSO.”

His gauntlet tightens with a flash, as a pulse of energy splinters and shreds the length of the stave, continuing down through the necromancer’s arm. Ashen blinks. In that instant, Belloc had already removed the head of their foe and turned his attention to the remaining undead.

Trudge. Trudge.

A battle-tested Ashen Iscariot marches beside Belloc Iscariot, Grand Knight of the Iscariot Battalion of the Pale Guard, leading a small contingent through the necro-town of Desolé in search of Tem and Tema, the forsaken siblings of un-death. Their love of magical sigils and warding runes has transformed the town into a deadly maze, unsuitable for the full numbers of the Battalion. Ashen moves quickly into the point position. The decorative Raven emblazoned across his plate armor flicks and turns its head, scanning the alleyways with vigilance before letting out an ethereal caw as they turn the corner. There is just enough time for Ashen to raise his shield when the ornate, pristinely-balanced scales adorning the front takes the full force of the blast. He’s knocked off his feet and thrown back violently, barking orders mid-slide.

“RIN DA! RIN DA! TU LU, TEMA! PENSIVA COREN!”

Belloc and five Pale Guard split off down an adjacent alley. Ashen rises to his feet and motions for the remaining Guard to follow him down another path. The town is fraught with traps and pitfalls as they wind swiftly through the narrow passages, changing directions at the caw of Ashen’s armor, but always heading towards the sound of blades through flesh. They spill out into a courtyard just in time to see five Pale Guard stirring on the ground in convulsions, and Belloc Iscariot swinging a black war axe at the cause; a short, cloaked figure wearing a glowing necklace. Their hands extended, cupping a pile of black stones. The wing-like blade strikes the figure’s ribcage and is quickly slowed by a magical aura, arresting just shy of vital organs.

“TEM!”

A small voice cries, as a second cloaked figure leaps onto the back of Belloc and begins stabbing repeatedly into the crevices of his armor. Blood seeping from the gaps as the three are locked in struggle for what seems like an eternity. The spell finishes, and the four fallen Pale Guard twitch to their feet. Tem, axe still lodged in his side, points a finger square at Ashen and scowls,

“KILL!”

The pale ghouls turn in eerie unison and descend. In that same moment, Belloc bellows, releasing the battle axe and unsheathing a war pick with an ornate raven-head design. Tema stabs relentlessly, as he swings the pick down with force, splitting through Tem’s magical barrier and skull alike.

“NOOO!!!! YOU FUCKING VULTURE!!!!”

Tema wails and brings her blade to Belloc’s throat. With a flick, the air is filled with blood. Too much blood. Belloc stumbles. A ghoul slashes down the last remaining Pale Guard and joins the onslaught against Ashen. He swings his broadsword wildly; breathing heavily and losing focus.

Clutching a bloody, black stone, Tema sits perched atop an unmoving Belloc.

“YOU WILL NEVER REST, YOU CARRION DOG. YOUR CORPSE WILL FOLLOW ME TO THE END OF TIME!”

Ashen cuts through what was once Firas Iscariot and cries out as he sees Belloc’s body begin to twitch and convulse. There’s too many more. He cuts through Benri. And Telvir. And Rhod. Not enough time. The convulsions reach a crescendo and then… stop. Belloc’s lifeless hand falls open and two copper coins roll out, crumbling to dust with each turn. Tema looks perplexed, then enraged, beating on an unmoving Belloc.

“YOU DEAD FUCK! GET UP! I COMMAND YOU!”

Belloc, remains. The Pale Guard, remains. Ashen stands alone over Tema perched atop Belloc. She looks up and sees Tem’s necklace in Ashen’s hand.

“Wuh”

“Wait”

Ashen closes his fist and begins to squeeze.

Tema screams.

Trudge. Trudge.

Ashen Iscariot, Grand Knight of the Iscariot Battalion of the Pale Guard, marches beside Sever Iscariot through rain, muck, and bones. Burnt fields, barren mountains, desolate towns.

He stands over…

the Rat Mire Lich.

the dark warlock, Zengul.

a necromancer beyond age.

the immortal witch of Tor Engun.

Trudge. Trudge.

Ashen Iscariot, the raven upon his armor as still as death, marches through the dark.

He stands over, holding…

a glowing broach.

a necromantic rune.

an amulet of unending life.

a vial of viscous, dark red fluid.

Ashen Iscariot closes his fist and begins to squeeze.

Back to:

YMDT

Explorer

Trudge