Private Research on Undeath Entry 1

[Danaeyl]

With the return of the Preceptor, and renewed alliances, I can drive my full energy into this most urgent scholarship without the crippling spectre of internal disruption. I expected his wrath for losing control of the flock as badly as I did, but he seemed pleased with my efforts. This is no small relief, and the Preceptor sees me ready to begin my trials soon.






For now, my preliminary readings in the libraries of the Northern Chapter and from what I have gathered in secrecy from Trinsic's libraries have been heavy, slow, and mostly unfruitful. I retread much ground over and over, confirming what we already know. One piece of information alone doth give me hope and cause despair in equal parts. It is already known that the undead can not truly die. Should they be struck down, they will, in time, be reanimated. In the face of such an enemy, what can man do? Art we doomed to inevitable entropy at the hands of a ceaseless enemy? Though the factual records indicate no answers, the bards tales sing darkly of souls sealed in the Well, placed into vessels again and again directly by the Guardian. An endless army. Whilst these are just fables, wisdom can oft be found in such places. If so, is it possible to devise a method to permanently destroy an undead?

My tutoring at Trinsic hath taught me well that with the right questions and the right methodology, no answer can elude the light of knowledge. To know the answer to this question, I must know more of an arisen skeleton's connection with permanent undeath, and ultimately its connection with the Well. My feeling in my gut is that these answers can not be found in dusty scripts, but that I must find their Necropolis, and make out with the information I seek. What foul secrets await me in the depths?

Ostendit tela partier.

Amendment: It occurs to me as I lay awake that the Yewish Inquisitor's abilities would be of great aid in identifying and procuring this information. I shalt seek him out with haste.


 

[Danaeyl]

With the Preceptor's...reluctant...approval I sought out the wisdom of our Sisters on my plan to gain insight into undeath. I invited the new Squire so that he might be ingratiated in the Order. I did make my case most forcefully, but Augustine did seem ill at ease, much like the Preceptor.





To what end is such caution to serve? We shalt all be so cautious whilst the favoured children of the Guardian doth grow ever bolder? The time for action is now! I agreed to let Augustine confer with her Sisters as to my intentions, and the manner of my approach. They intend to discuss whether I should go alone, and seemed to suggest they intended to join me.



Though I said I would allow them to confer on this, I will not allow the Sisters to come. The risk of failure is too great, and I will not have their holy souls damnation on my hands.



Despite my impatience, I would not embark on this journey without their Holy blessing. I am sure they will see the truth.





The Squire did seem most concerned with my plan also. Yet another urging of caution! However he learns quickly and I anticipate his trials will begin soon so he can begin exploring his role in the Order as an Initiate.



Likewise, I hath provoked the Preceptor by proclaiming myself ready for my own trials, and hath overstepped most gravely, yet strangely, I care little. Despite my recent insubordination, he could not deny my service to the Church, and with Avatar's guidance I will soon don the garb of the Blackmantle, and set forth to RIGHTEOUSLY perform his DIVINE Will without hindrance.  

I await my Sisters' Holy wisdom.

Dominus illumination mea.

[Danaeyl]

As the deep blackness of late night enveloped Cove, the moon barely visible through thick clouds, Danaeyl stood at the doors of the Chapel, hood drawn tight, sword on his back and shield at his side. Peering up the stairs of the chapel he gently swung the double doors open as quietly as possible so as not to wake her. She had given him a wide berth since he had snapped at her over Garshinkle's lifeless body for her delay in giving his quest her blessing. Still she does not, even after this terrible night. He saw fear in her eyes when she looked in his. But her fear is misplaced, and it should be directed at the Guardian spawn at our gates.

She had not been in Cove long, but the unspoken tension between them was almost palpable after Saerandir left for the evening. He knew her careful disposition would lead her to tarry endlessly over giving her approval and blessing, if not outright denying it. This was time he did not have. This was time that nobody in the North had. Head low, he took off at speed over the Chapel grounds till he reached the cover of the forest, looking back to the Chapel window for a giveaway sign of candlelight and her face at the stained glass. But the Chapel remained dark and all was well; he was away. He had not forgotten the lessons of his life as a ranger but his thoughts cascaded erratically as he tried to lightly jog over the forest floor, finding himself encumbered by his heavy armour. Slowing and looking at an ornate scroll hidden away in his cloak pocket he paused. He did not know what would happen when he reached the Yew Crypts and carried out his plan, but he knew it must be better than this. He pressed forth, expression grim.

As the forest grew thicker and his steps slowed, he thought back to his last meeting with Hugo. He had cautioned of his rash nature and willingness to go to any lengths to defeat evil. In part, he was right, but for all Hugo's strength, he was as slow to act as the rest. Yet... Hugo had seen many days and fought this battle many times. Doubt began to enter Danaeyl's mind deep in the forest. His rage abated slightly, replaced with confusion, as the words of the Preceptor and the Cleric rang though his head. Falling to his knees, he screamed at the black sky. 'I KNOW NOT WHAT TO DO, please show me...please.' His words echoed throughout the enclosure, but there was no reply; nothing except images of Garshinkle's broken body contrasted with the words of his Brothers and Sisters. There he knelt for much time, till finally through the noise he heard Hugo's voice firm in his head. 'I will not be here forever, Initiate. Think of the future of the Order before you do anything to needlessly endanger thyself.' He thought too of the promise he had made to Augustine just hours ago, and of her poorly concealed fear. Fear of....him. What was he becoming? Hauling himself to his feet, he turned on his heel and slowly began the walk back to the Chapel, his mind wrought with confusion but, worse, his heart wracked with the pain of loss, and the agony of failing a loved one.

But betraying his companions would not bring Garshinkle back from the dead, only satisfy his desperate pang for revenge. He would not abandon the bonds of fellowship forged in the threats to the Order, and bring ruin to it from within. He would swallow his rage and his pain, and wait. He prayed dearly that he did not have to wait long, and that his road was the True one.

[Danaeyl]

With his Sister's blessing the time had finally come. Gathering his weapons and carrying his helm under his arm, Danaeyl made the sign of the Ankh slowly and muttered a short prayer and descended the Chapel stairs. Augustine had left it open to him whether he should go alone or not, and he had, perhaps foolishly, decided that this was his cross to bear. If his plan backfired, it would be only he who suffered.

Though fate had another plan in mind, for as he made to leave Squire Joachim knelt praying at the altar. Danaeyl observed him curiously from the steps, waiting for him to finish. He was quiet, and fresh faced, and Danaeyl wondered if he had the fortitude for the Order. He had recoiled when he had spoken of his plan before, Yet, it was wrong to mistake quietness and caution for weakness or cowardice, and as the Squire looked up from his prayer he saw only commitment in his eyes. It was clear that this was a sign from Avatar.




Marching from the Yewish moongate the duo walked in grim silence, but beneath his helm Danaeyl was grinning darkly. Too long had the Undead attacked without fear. This was the first step in showing them it. Arriving at the Crypt, they began to dispatch the mindless undead attracted by the Crypt's foul aura.




Going deeper into the Crypt the evidence of the Arisen became clear. They would have to be careful indeed. The Squire was clearly unsettled, but held his nerve.




They at last came to a host of graves, some of which lay open already. Searching for their target, they traveled into the deepest depths of the crypt and heaved open a grave. All the souls in this place were damned and served the Guardian. But they only needed one to talk...




The decomposed skeleton of this poor soul lay motionless. Satisfied, Danaeyl brought forth the ornate scroll with a flourish. The holy inscription on it the fruits of many weeks' labour. He only hoped now that it would work.





As the chant echoed through the empty crypts, they both stood there in silence. For a moment, it seemed it had not worked, but then...





The tortured soul emerges from the darkness, but for a time only engages in mockery and riddles. Its nature was not entirely clear, for it did seem pained and aggressive both at once. There was no time for pity for this wretched creature, for they had a task to do. The foul spirit spoke of the return of the Ancient One, all such we hath heard before, but seemed to suggest that its return would be facilitated...by war. To the young warriors' mutual confusion the spirit suddenly seemed agitated and fled before another word could be forced. As the spirit dissipates Danaeyl shouts in anger and frustration; their quest had failed.






As the pair turned to the source of the cracking wall, they both gripped their weapons tight as an Arisen pushed itself through. Eyes narrowing under his helm, Danaeyl grimaced. This was not his first encounter with this one, and he was powerful.





The fiend did not waste time on words, and launched itself at the Squire with incredible speech and strength. Though we cut it, its wounds sealed themselves quicker than they could deliver them. Joachim fought bravely, and together they almost brought the monstrosity down; but a jagged cut to the Squire's leg put an end to this as he fell bleeding to the floor. Cackling, the abomination left down the hall. Sparing one look back at Joachim, rage and foolishness overtook Danaeyl's mind and he tore through the crypt in pursuit of the foul Arisen.






Mind clouded by the red mist, his swings became erratic, taking the Undead off guard momentarily, but soon enough the ageless fiend brought the inexperienced Initiate low. Bleeding badly, and drained of all adrenaline, he began to crawl back to the Squire. As he hauled himself across the crypt floor, he waited for the inevitable blade in his back...but it never came. The Arisen had gone, simple laughing and telling him that 'he knew his name'. He did not know what this meant, but he had to get himself and the Squire out of here before more fell upon them.





Grimacing in pain as he climbed the stairs down, he saw Joachim lying unconscious and bleeding. Had he not been here, there would have been little hope for survival for Danaeyl. He saw now that below his quiet insecurity beat the heart of a warrior. They had learned nothing, and had almost lost much, and still might if they did not leave soon. Attempting to haul Joachim to his feet, the spirit emerged once again from the dark. This time, their discourse bore fruit. All was not lost. It spoke of a sword that could destroy the Ancient One and other Arisen. It said that this was an old Avatari relic, and that we had forgotten it..how can this be? Grimacing, Danaeyl resolved he must report its words to Hugo and heed his thoughts, for this was far beyond his knowledge.




Attempting to bandage the Squire as best as he may, the binding broke and the spirit faded away. The pair slowly made their way from the crypt, both leaving a trail of blood in their wake, but Joachim especially in a bad way. They stumbled into the open, the morning sun had broken...how long had they been in there? As they travelled they came across multiple animal corpses and hides, and they both knew they were being watched from the shadows.




Why did the fiends not attack? What foul intent did they have? This was too much to think of now, and after delivering Joachim to the Good Doctor, Danaeyl collapsed in a stone chair in the Chapel, frowning deeply, and began to pen his report to the Preceptor. All things considered, things could have ended much worse. They had made a significant step in bringing the Arisen to their knees this day, though the words of the fiend echoed in his mind. What did he mean he knew his name? Why had he not killed him in the crypt? Much left unanswered.