The Curious Happening at Haven Ridge

And so it was, that upon the darkest eve of all the days of the year, a half-dozen lost or wandering souls were gathered together in the common room with the staff of the Inn of Haven Ridge. The rain came down fiercely, hammering a constant staccato upon the wooden shingles of the roof beyond the second story. The storm had cut off any hope of travel or communication for two days and nights now. A time that seemed to extend on into forever for those few involved. But it was a wait that would soon come to an end.

All too soon the threat of the storm would pale in comparison to the unseen horrors waiting beyond the darkness. Outside the ground became a sickly sea of gripping mud. The air was scarcely thin enough to breath.

Within, the common room was lit and warmed by hearth light as well as the ensconced torches who cast their glare in conjunction with the fire in the pit throwing shadows of wondrous variety to dance around the walls. The confined feeling shared by those within left an air of claustrophobia that none could ignore any longer. And it was not until this point that the Innkeeper pulled his sight away from the emptiness beyond the darkened windows and looked to the room.

"This storm is insanity." He said with a sigh.

The blank faces of the patrons of the common room stared back at him as he made his rhetorical statement.

There seemed to be no respite to the brutal ravages of the weather or the near-unending darkness the thick cloud-cover cast down upon the mountainside Inn. It was almost as if the building itself was enwrapped in its own perpetual night.

The Inn Keep was a slight man of delicate frame and soft spoken by nature. He stood barely five and a half feet tall and weighed just enough to not be blown away by the powerful gusts of the storm's raging winds. He had inherited the business from his father who, in turn, received it from his father.

In a word, the Inn was old. Its foundations ran even more ancient still. Before the construction of the Inn, its locale was home to a private tower owned by a rich solitary scholar who was said to have dabbled in the ways of alchemy and of the darker arts of magic. For years on end he toiled alone in his lair attempting to bridge the metaphysical gap between this material universe and the realms that lay beyond.

It was an old story, almost a legend around these remote parts of the kingdom. But, at least it drummed up some otherwise unattainable business. The tale always came up as a means to entertain the patrons spending the evening even though there was dreadfully little to tell. No one ever knew what had become of the old hermit or his research. Only that a great storm saw his tower struck by lightning and the forest set a flame. The ruins remained for many years, until the kingdom sold the land to a wealthy ex-adventurer who built an Inn on the tower's exposed foundations. The rest, as its been said countless times, is history.

"There has been no end to this downpour," began a young-ish woman near the back of the commons. "Surely it will have to break soon… or perhaps not."

She sat properly and upright at a table by herself. In her hands, a tin stein of warm ale. Her skin was dark for a Nichiri woman. The color of a light mocha, accented by straight black hair that seemed to hang down just past her shoulders and deep brown eyes that sought to hide every ounce of emotion and intent that existed in her mind. She was dressed in plain but expensive traveller's attire that seemed worse for ware given that they had been worn for so long. Thick flowing, yet unadorned robes hung down from her slender shoulders covering and mostly obscuring the contours of her body. It kept form only due to the wide black leather belt that was fastened around her midsection. On the belt was held many pouches and purses, as well as a tan leather sheathe that held a long bladed, heavily ornamented dagger on her left hip.

"That’s a curious remark, milady" spoke another.

The rebuttal came from a man sitting at a table across the way from her. He too was dressed in well to do attire though his bore the royal crest of the Grudmashian King on his breast. The loose jerkin lay over a fitted suit of leather armor studded with metal plating and fasteners. A pair of beautiful master crafted swords hung gently at his side. On the table next to his meal of potatoes and salted beef lay his wide brimmed tri-corn hat with a great plume of gray-blue standing pointedly from the sash banded around its center.

The woman eyed him as if sizing him up for competition as she replied. "It would seem our curiosities are all we have to entertain ourselves, sir Knight."

"Ordinator, actually." He politely corrected. "Ignatius Craft, Royal Ordinator to the Throne of Grudmash and lord of the house of Craft."

The conversation was joined and the perceived tension dissolved in the blink of an eye. Her curiosity was peaked instantly as his well spoken, if not honeyed voice conveyed to her an instant sense of odd familiarity.

"And what exactly is the responsibilities of an Ordinator to the crown?" She asked.

He hesitated his reply for a moment, thinking back to the atrocities he had witnessed in his life serving the crown. Though he walked the path of honor and humility he had born witness to things that would drive a normal man beyond the brink of madness and depravity.

"I do as the crown asks." he stated plainly, as if to brush off any follow-ups to the questioning. "I am given a task and so it is done."

"I see," the woman answered, somewhat disappointed at the lack of response. "Forgive me, I do not mean to pry."

Realizing he had hurt her feelings, or at least came close, Ignatius quickly offered up an apology. "I did not mean to offend, miss. Suffice to say I have my reasons for not discussing the details of my duties."

She nodded silently and proceeded to sip again from her large stein. After a moment she looked to him again. "For the record, my name is Kirah Avangelis."

The name sent a sharp pang of recognition through him as he sat upright in his chair and transferred his complete attention to her.

"Avangelis?" he questioned surprised. "Of Rune? Yours is quite the famous house."

She was genuinely surprised that he had known of her family and their place of origin. The thought occurred to her that his company might prove slightly more entertaining then that of the empty chair before her, or next to her. As it would seem, she could almost feel his intentions towards her beckoning her for further conversation.

Some time passed in silence before the Ordinator worked up the effort to speak to her again. "If it pleases milady, I would come share your company and continue our conversation."

It was all the invitation she desired and gave him a happy nod as she watched him rise to his feet and approach her. He was taller than her by perhaps half a foot, but as he came close she saw he was considerably broader than previously thought. He was obviously a warrior of some caliber and well versed in a physical lifestyle.

He stood before her, across the table looking down upon her as he removed his long leather riding gloves he had been working his hands with previously.

"May I?" he inquired motioning to the chair before him.

"Of course," Kirah replied. "I've not dealt with an official of the royal courts in a while. Forgive me if I came off as rude."

He pulled out the chair and sat down before her in one fluid motion. He placed the gloves on the table beside him and fixed his gaze squarely on hers. "Again, it is I who should apologize for being short with a lady at any rate."

Attempting to break the tension further, Ignatius replied, "For the sake of tonight, let us say that I am no more an Ordinator of the royal courts than you are a Scholar of the City of Knowledge. Fair enough?"

A smile fought through from her normally cool disposition and she agreed.

"Are you not going to finish your meal you left over there?" She questioned motioning slightly over to his former seat where both his meal and his hat still sat forgotten.

Instantly, Ignatius became flustered, almost embarrassed at the thought that he had left his effects in the heat of the decision to attempt to flirt with the mysterious stranger. "I doubt it will wander. I'll get to it later."

Confident that he had bluffed his way out of his blunder, he smiled at her. A look that was happily returned as the lady again sipped at her beverage.

At this point small conversations had sprung up between the barkeep and her employer who stepped away from the window during the couple's dialogue. Two other men dressed in cheap riding gear and traveling with heavy packs stuffed to capacity quietly exchanged words with one another in a strange dialect that neither Kirah nor Ignatius understood.

The only other souls in the common room were an aged dwarven man, though it was apparent that his years had not completely dulled his physical capabilities, and his companion. He wore simple clothing, the dressings of a common traveler amongst his people, though the heavy chain and medallion to Terran, as well as his silvered Hammer he wore at his side marked him as an ordained priest of the Pantheon, a favored of the great Lord of the Mountain, Terran. His companion, more than likely an acolyte, was clad in clothes of a similar fashion though he lacked any of the symbolism or weaponry of his patron.

Lightning crashed outside, followed almost immediately by the booming of a peel of thunder. Moments later, there was another and another. Though it seemed impossible, the ferocious storm seemed to have gained in intensity. Great walls of rainwater rushed in from the side through the shutters of the covered windows. The floors all along the walls of the common room were dangerously slick with rainwater.

After another cascade of lightning bolts and deafening thunder, a scream was heard from the kitchen. The shriek carried for a second or two and it was all it took for Ignatius to be on his feet at the ready, a hand on the hilt of his prized long blade.

The Innkeeper was the first to barrel through the rickety door that led from the commons into the kitchen area. Though, even as he made his entrance, the petrified cook flew out through the same doorway like a bat out of hell. He ran like a man possessed through the common room, right into the end of Kirah's table, which stopped him dead in his tracks, folding him completely at waist level before he crumpled to the ground. Ignatius raced to his side and dropped to one knee beside him. The cook's face was nearly bleached white and his eyes were wide as saucers as he lay there hyperventilating.

"What happened?!" Ignatius roared. "Innkeeper! What did he see?"

Kirah dropped down beside the Ordinator and studied the terrified man with him. Her eyes traced over the man's shaking features and her hands shot to his face, touching his skin, feeling the icy, clammy texture of his pallid flesh.

"There’s nothing here," cried the Innkeeper back to Ignatius. "Nothing..."

"Nothing, indeed," Kirah began as she looked to Ignatius. "This man has been attacked."

As her exclamation was made, the cook's breathing ceased. His last breath, a final relaxed sigh that hissed out like air from the hole of a balloon.

"Priest, aid us!" Ignatius called out to the dwarf who was already on his way over to the man.

The dwarven priest sighed himself as he looked down at the man on the ground. "Sadly, there is no help for this man. He has left this world."

The Innkeeper stumbled back through the door into the common room, confounded and saddened to see the cook, his friend laying dead on the floor. Ignatius and the dwarf who called himself Gailien had arranged the body comfortably and joined each other in a brief benediction to honor his passing.

"Had he any family?" Gailien asked the Innkeeper.

"No," he said. "None at all. He slept on a cot in the back room for nearly five years now. Never sick a day..."

Sensing his immense feeling of loss, Gailien placed a reassuring hand up on the man's shoulder and gently attempted to comfort the man. "What is your name, son?"

"Mine?" the Innkeeper replied. "Marco."

The dwarf looked up to meet the man's eyes "Would you like to join me in a prayer for your fallen friend? The light of the pantheon shines on all our souls so long as we walk the path of goodness and righteousness."

"Yes," Marco replied, placing his hand atop the dwarf's on his shoulder. "Yes, I very much would."

As he and the Innkeeper strode past the now standing Ignatius and Kirah, he scowled curiously at them as if to say not to mention any attack in the presence of the grieving. The barkeep hurried to join them as well.

Ignatius and Kirah removed themselves from the area and sat down at Ignatius' former table. They sat in an uncomfortable silence for several minutes, quietly observing the rites performed by Gailien from their more distant vantage.

In hushed whispers the two spoke about the final moments of the unfortunate cook. Ignatius had been more than a little curious about her previous statement about the cause for the cook's condition.

His mouth came dangerously close to her ear as he tried to hush his voice as much as possible. "You said he was attacked," Ignatius began. "By what?"

Slowly she turned her face to meet his, far closer than standard protocol would allow and as she looked into his eyes, she breathed her answer as quietly as he. "I don't know."

She moved, dodging his face and bringing her mouth to his ear this time. "I have a gift of sorts. It is a power that has given my family its station in Rune for generations. I could... see his pain..."

She trailed off, her whispered voice cracking in and out as if the recollection was troubling for her. Ignatius sat confused, utterly lost in her cryptic response. He had expected some manner of forensic explanation or perhaps some simple piece of common sense logic that had previously escaped him.

Before he could muster a reply to such a statement, she continued "His spirit, his aura was faded to the point of being non-existent. It's as if something had sucked his very essence out of him."

Ignatius took his head away from hers and sat back in his chair to look upon her fully and from a small distance. The explanation was revealing indeed. It became clear to the Ordinator that the woman he was dealing with was what the Ordinators, as an organization, referred to as "Gifted". Although depending on their intentions and history it was no more of a glorified term for witch or sorcerer to him.

To date, Ignatius had met only a single magically inclined individual that had not met the business end of his ancestral blades. For him, magic was a drug that was ultimately corrupting to those who attempted to wield it. He did not deny its usefulness, nor did he despise its wide-ranging acceptance amongst the commonwealth of the human kingdoms. It was merely a personal gripe.

The previous elation of his company faded from her as she felt his impression of her change from desire and mystery to wariness and indecision. Her personality began to revert to her normal, closed off, guarded self.

Ignatius, ever a man of the world and a good over-all people person, composed himself and reserved his final judgment of her until after this "incident" had been resolved.

"So you were saying..." he offered with a smile.

The peace offering was not enough to reconcile her previous openness or put that warm smile back on her face, but the motion was accepted.

"There are creatures that exist amongst us that feed not on our physical forms, but our spiritual ones." Kirah began. "Sometimes they are attracted to the strong emotions people give off and take advantage of the momentary loss of control to feed on their energies."

"And you think that’s what happened to our cook here?" Ignatius questioned.

"I see no other explanation..."

A great gust of wind swelled suddenly, and raced through the commons, tossing papers and food scraps on to the floor. The surprise factor was enough to put even the dwarves on edge as they concluded their last rites for the late cook.

"There is an odd air in this place." Said Gailien. "I can't place it. But something is amiss."

Kirah could sense the power surrounding the old dwarf. He was no mere pantheon priest, but a chosen disciple amongst his people. She could see the essence swirling around him faintly in the ether and she had no doubt that he knew how to wield it.

He was right though, she thought.

The feeling in the place had become oppressive, like a stifling summer day, though an icy chill cut through the night, leaving a sensation of dread in its wake. The torchlight flickered and danced erratically from the wind, sending the shadows on the walls into spastic fits of crazed motion. All around the room, it felt as if there was a great pressure pushing out the air and it became difficult to breathe.

Kirah shot both hands up to her face as she felt a terrible pain manifest behind her eyes. A loud ringing resounded in her ears and a vision came to her. The cloudy sight through the ethereal vastness came into focus and the images assaulted her as she sat helplessly frozen in place. To Ignatius, it seemed as if his female counterpart had fallen prey to a seizure or something of the like.

But to Kirah, she was standing by Gailien, to his left. She watched in abject horror as the body of the deceased cook slowly lurched up into a sitting position, its again open eyes glowering with an intense green light.

Where once his features were handsome and human, his teeth had become elongated and jagged, the nails of his bony fingers had become talons. He reached out with surprising speed and grabbed hold of the Priest's seneschal. Blood instantly ran from fresh wounds where the thing's nails had broken flesh on the younger dwarf's arms. The sight of his precious fluids seemed to cause a frenzy in the monster as it opened wide its horrid maw and bit down into the meat of his shoulder.

A wretched scream escaped his lips as the viscera was torn from his body in heaping bloody clumps. Gailien spun around drawing his weapon on sheer instinct. His face ran utterly white as he beheld the horror of the grisly fate that had befallen his comrade. The beast was devouring the already dead body of his young compatriot when he brought his hammer to bare, and invoked the name of Terran as he swung for the thing's evil-looking face.

Kirah snapped out of her trance to find herself in Ignatius' arms as he gently shook her, trying in vain to rouse her from her current state. She jumped up and looked around frantically. Everything was as it should be, and there was no terror to be had anywhere in sight.

"What in the hell happened to you?" Asked the Innkeeper who had made his way over to her as her fit took place.

"... I'm sorry." She began. "I suffer from... fits from time to time."

Ignatius at once assisted her to her feet and released her knowing, all too well that something was greatly wrong.

"Marco, would you please fetch the lady some water?" Ignatius asked dismissively.

"Yes, of course." said the Innkeeper as he walked briskly away to get a cup.

Ignatius looked back to Kirah when he was sure that everyone else was out of immediate earshot. He stared at her intently, refusing to believe that there was anything natural to be had about what had just happened to her.

But before he could question her further, Kirah pulled her face close to his and began to speak. "It's the Cook, I saw his body rise up, like some beast from hell and kill Gaillien's companion. It was-"

No sooner then she spoke the words, did Gailien and his protégé walk past the deceased cook whom they had covered with a tablecloth on the floor. Kirah turned her head to look and met the gaze of a worried Gailien who could sense a terrible corruption in the air. He read her expression just as she read his, and before either could speak, the younger dwarven acolyte let out a piercing shriek.

The white tablecloth was stained crimson in spotty patterns and massive pools as blood poured down from the undead cook's chewing mouth. The body spasmed, twitching in its inhumanly powerful grip.

Gailien, allowing for no wind up, brought his hammer around and sent it crashing into the head of the risen creature. With surprising strength, he sent the much larger cook clear off the ground and crashing into the wall. The area where the hammer had struck, clearly identifiable by the depression left in the cook's remnants of a face.

Despite the force of the blow, it was on its feet in an instant, as if he had not even damaged it. The creature shrieked and hissed as it hunched over glaring at the dwarf.

It was all the notice Ignatius had needed and he was at once on his feet in a defensive posture, both his long and short blades were bared before him, prepared for any attack that might come his way. Quickly, he shuffled his way in front of Kirah to defend her from the thing.

"Gailien," he shouted. "What is it?"

But he was paying no attention to anything else in the universe, save the creature that just felled his only son. Tears stung his ruddy cheeks as they ran down his face and were absorbed by his thick salt and pepper colored beard.

His breathing was erratic as he struggled to gain control of his unconquerable hatred and rage. "Godless Abomination!"

Ignatius knew in an instant that the priest was in danger. He watched as the priest charged blindly at the beast, hammer held high, in an attempt to cleave it in half. All his training told him to stay put, but he simply could not allow the grief stricken dwarf to fall prey to his own weakness. Ignatius ran and leapt headlong at the monstrosity in an attempt to draw its attention.

As if guided by some sinister force, it swatted a massive talon-filled hand at him and batted the Ordinator out of the air like some insignificant fly. Gailien too found his attack to be folly as it side-stepped his charge with impressive speed and hissed as it reached out to grab a hold of the priestly vestiges he wore.

The Inn Keeper screamed in terror as he beheld his recently risen friend possessed by whatever force had taken hold of his corpse. It was too much for his fragile mind to bear, and despite a genuine desire to help the men locked in battle with the creature, Marco fell to the ground.

It was Kirah who took her precious few seconds to think, pouring over everything she knew about spirits and fiends. Almost before she knew she was doing it, the young sage found herself ripping open the container of salt from behind the bar, and launched it, as if her arm were a catapult.

The attack hit home, and the small wooden container shattered on the Cook's undead body. The salt spread like shrapnel from some primitive grenade, covering the thing's exposed flesh. It hissed like acid and smoked as the unsuspecting seasoning burnt the creature. It panicked at the pain and surprise of the attack.

High pitched squealing, like a stuck pig emanated from the Cook's caved in face. It yelled and looked around desperately seeking a means to escape.

"Damn you back to the abyss!"

Gailien raised his free hand and proceeded to sign the symbol of the high trinity in the air before him. He intoned several syllables that Ignatius had never heard before and reached out to touch the thing on the arm. It seemed powerless before him as it sank to its knees twitching and thrashing. It was unable to escape whatever power, the Priest had summoned upon it.

Ignatius ran up behind the thing and threw one quick, clean swipe with his long blade and cleaved off the creature's head. It rolled like a cannonball off of its cut moorings at the cook’s neck and fell to the floor with a loud thump. Moments later, its body, lifeless once again, followed suit.

Out of breath, Ignatius let down his guard and sheathed his short blade. Gailien was stricken, he found himself unable to move as the adrenaline fled from his limbs. The cold hard reality of his son had set in upon him and stood there frozen. Ignatius stepped forward, moving around the corpse of the creature to meet the priest. He reached down and put a reassuring hand on his broad dwarven shoulder.

"Are you alright, Father Gailien?" Ignatius asked.

But there was no response.

By now, Kirah had found her way back over to Ignatius' side, she carried with her a cloth towel that she offered to the Ordinator for his blade.

"I am sorry for the loss of your friend, Father." Kirah offered as she looked upon the Priest.

Coldly, he looked up to meet her gaze and he nearly hissed the words he spoke through choked breaths and teary eyes.

"Loss?" he began. "T'was my son. My only son, Daedric that died here tonight."

The shock hit home like a knife in her heart. If only she had been able to compose herself more quickly, perhaps she would have warned them. Perhaps they could have had a better chance. It was hindsight, of course. And she knew better than to fall prey to it, but it stung nonetheless.

"My deepest sorrow and condolences to you fath-" Ignatius said, but cut himself short at the realization that Daedric's body was nowhere to be seen.

Indeed, the two other individuals that had since weathered the storm within the common room had disappeared as well. All was not as it had seemed, that much was clear. But the situation seemed to be steadily getting worse, just as the storm outside raged on to a previously unseen level.

The winds grew to hurricane force and extinguished the torchlight as it ripped the shutters from their hinges and let in the stinging torrent of rain from outside. In the blackness, Ignatius could see only Kirah who stood beside him. As soon as the torches went out, she had grabbed for his arm and secured herself to him with a strength that had surprised the Ordinator.

"Father Gailien," Ignatius yelled. "We must move to the cellar with her and the staff! It's not safe here."

The Barkeeper was huddled in the fetal position behind the bar, where she had been since the start of the trouble. Kirah had seen her when she used the makeshift salt grenade.

Quickly, Ignatius and Kirah, walking hunched against the winds and rain, made their way over to her.

"We have to get below ground!" He cried out. The storm is too much."

She could not answer, petrified by the events that unfolded before her. She took several short breaths and pointed beneath her shivering form. As they followed her quivering finger, Ignatius and Kirah discovered that she had been sitting on a large trap door that, no doubt led to a wine cellar or shelter of some kind.

* * *

Marco's head swam. His jumbled thoughts churned and wound round in his head. As his consciousness pieced his mind back together, he vaguely remembered feeling as though he was plunged in a pool, the currents tearing him this way and that. He also remembered Ignatius, the stranger from the high court that visited his Inn only two nights past, when the rain first started.

Ignatius had rescued him from the rain while he was out of it. He slung the slender man over his shoulder and hefted him down into the basement through the door behind the bar, sealing it behind him.

Ignatius now stood with the Dwarf priest and the woman from before. They seemed to be heatedly discussing one topic or another, but his hearing had not fully returned to him yet. The sounds of voices came across as if through water and seemed distorted beyond recognition. As he concentrated, he shook off the surreal feeling of unconsciousness and the world around him again became clear.

The rain could still be heard falling above. The endless staccato of droplets beating down on the structure above, then echoing, distorted, into the chamber below.

"... I don't know, Ordinator." Gailien said, defeated.

"They were there when everything happened, then all at once, they disappear, fiends show up, and all hell breaks loose." Ignatius replied.

The dwarf sighed, confused by the strange turn of events and stricken with grief from the loss of his son. His mind tried to wrap itself around the scenario and analyze it, searching for a clue as to what may be happening. It was only too obvious now that the unspeaking, unfriendly, and rather abnormal pair of travelers that showed up right after the rain began had a hand in starting off the strange chain of events that had been set in motion here.

To add to the already vast expanse of unanswered questions, the location of his son's remains provided yet another set of quandaries. Ignatius paced back and forth, toying around with his own questions in his mind. The enigmatic Kirah walked the rhetorical path beside the Ordinator, doing her part to help him piece together the facts he had.

Marco, clumsily, made his way to his feet and walked slowly over to join the weary and rain soaked group. The cellar smelled of earth and rot. The dank nature of the room giving way to spores and patches of mold and fungus on the farthest recesses of the walls. Large wooden shelving housed countless bottles of wine bearing various vintages and origins from all over the commonwealth.

He moved past the nearly catatonic Barkeep, Ilsa who was sat up comfortably on an old heavy drop cloth by Kirah when she first helped her down into the cellar. She rocked gently back and forth mumbling some incomprehensible jumble to herself as he passed by. Ignatius had since ceased his pacing when he took notice of Marco's wakefulness and turned to face him.

"It's good to see you awake, Marco." Ignatius offered.

Marco accepted the humoring gesture and returned in kind. "Thank you, Ordinator."

"Ignatius is fine."

A peel of thunder resounded, albeit muffled, through the closed trap door. A sound so loud, that the insulation of the cellar from the Inn was the only thing that defused the sonic force enough to keep from deafening the gathering below. There was a succession of grinding and cracking sounds that made it quite clear to everyone that the building had been struck by lightning. The following moments told of the extent of the fire that began to burn above their heads.

"My family's business..."Marco began but trailed off as the words escaped him.

Father Gailien reached up to put a hand on Marco's shoulder. The reassuring notion was shrugged off as the weight of everything that had transpired tonight took its toll on the Innkeeper. He brushed aside the Priest's hand and moved away raising his hands to his face.

"Seven years..." the sorrow-stricken Innkeeper said. "It’s been seven years since my father handed this Inn down to me. Never in my family's history has anything happened to this place."

There was silence throughout the cellar, broken only by the distorted sound of weather and the crackling of fire from above. The feeling of tension permeated the air and all shared it. There had been so much confusion and so many unanswered questions, that no one was spared the paranoid feeling of uncertainty and dread.

The cellar had begun to feel like a prison as much as a sanctuary giving a somewhat claustrophobic air that was shared all around.

"There is foul magic here." Gailien said under his breathe, as if it was a thought that had escaped his mouth.

"I believe that news would be somewhat dated at this point, Father." Ignatius commented with a sarcastic smirk.

Kirah looked up, distracted from her meditations by some unknown force. "No, he is right. The conditions we have fallen into speak tomes of magic."

"What are you talking about?" Marco asked.

"Seven years... Since your family gave you the business, seven of us left alive, and it is the seventh day of the harvest month, is it not?"

Gaillien's hands fell, his eyes speaking volumes of what his mind was concocting. "Dark Witchery has fallen upon us. Someone has gone through great lengths to orchestrate our being here tonight."

"But there are only five of us here." Commented the barkeep weakly from her huddled position in the dank corner of the poorly lit cellar.

"...But two yet remain unaccounted for." Ignatius pointed out.

"The foreigners...” Marco realized aloud.

A wave of understanding washed over the gifted minds in the small earthen room. It was well known knowledge to the practitioners and scholars of the occult that certain numbers, times and places can be used in rituals to channel energies and strengthen the powers of a witch or sorcerer to achieve otherwise unreachable results. To Gailien and Kirah the signs were revealing themselves like the tumblers of a lock.

Something sinister was coming.

Ignatius grasped at the very fringes of what they knew, but their words and looks quickly filled him in on the severity of the situation.

"The number 'seven' is a number of power in ritual magic." Kirah explained. "It corresponds to the number of gates through the abyss, as well as the number of immortals that sealed them to lock the evils of the underworld away from this plane."

Gailien picked up where Kirah had trailed off after a moment. "Heretics and witches use numbers to great effect through traps like this in summoning. Given the history of this location, whomever is responsible for this is trying to use us to fuel some manner of summoning."

"Magic...” Ignatius said with contempt in his voice. "Have you two no defenses against this?"

His question was almost accusatorily directly at Kirah and Gailien. He glared at them as if they secretly held the answer to the plight they now faced. Of course his anger was misplaced on his two companions, but having survived his ordeal in Lyire and taking into account the little he did know, it seemed a rational assumption to him.

Kirah took offense, nonetheless, to the Ordinator's accusation and responded in kind. "Have you not made any enemies in your time as Ordinator, Ignatius?"

Her loud tone and offensive standpoint had taken him aback all of a sudden. For a moment, Ignatius did not know what to say or how to respond. It was very true that he had run afoul of many breeds of evil in his career. The wererats of Skalve, The foul presence that corrupted Lyire and its maniacal cult, some of the most foul murderers and thieves in all of the commonwealth had bones to pick with him as they rotted, either in their graves or prison cells.

"You seek to blame magic for the world's problems, but you know nothing of its ways or the people who work it." Kirah raged. "There is no evil in power, only in weak mortals who fail to wield it properly."

Lost in her frustrations, Kirah almost missed the telltale sound of straining wood. It was subtle at first, slowly ticking and creaking as some external force manipulated it. But from where was it coming?

"Kirah, I-" Ignatius began in an attempt to apologize.

But she cut him off with a raised finger she shot to her lips as she listened for the sound. As they all stood in silence, the group waited. But there was no sound, no disturbance to be had. After several moments, Kirah began to feel foolish. Perhaps in all her anger, she heard a phantom sound.

...And then came the whispers. They were soft unintelligible sounds that felt like static in the ears of those who heard it.

Gailien, Kirah, and Ignatius all began to hear the strange voices.

"What is that?" The Ordinator asked.

The dwarf looked to Ignatius, utterly puzzled when he asked the question. Kirah was equally befuddled with his query. The voices were real enough, yet they did not exist on this plane. They were ethereal in nature and only those touched by magic and trained in its use were able to hear them. How then did this mundane Ordinator sense them?

Kirah, unable to contain it any longer, asked Ignatius "You hear them as well?"

At this point all the talk of sorcery and phantom voices became too much for Marco to bear. The nearly mad Innkeeper threw his hands in the air with frustration and let his fury loose on the three of them. Though he was, by all rights, a reasonable man, the events of the night as well as the tight space to which they were currently confined, had stripped him of any good humor he might have kept.

"Does any of this madness do any good?" he screamed. "All the talk of magic and evil, has any of it brought us any closer to finding a way out of here? A way to destroy those nightmares above us? Nothing of which you speak is worth anything right now."

He fell silent a moment, straining to catch his breath after his tirade had ended. It was the barmaid who spoke next, her voice weak with fear and subdued.

"He only means, it frightens us to have such little control."

"We are all fearful for our lives right now, and for yours." Ignatius said, trying to sound authoritative and sincere at the same time. "But screaming at us and belittling our discussions will not hurry us to an answer."

"Those things above us, I have dealt with their ilk before." Gailien said. "But they are seldom without spawn, and never without a creator. Those... things were set upon us, more then likely by those two foreigners!"

The voices suddenly reached a crescendo as if they cried out from surprise or excitement. It was in that instant that the far cellar wall looked as if an invisible force had slammed into it, knocking a thick layer of dust and gravel to the floor. Behind the obscuring detritus, hid the outline of what looked to be a hidden door of sorts. The bricks that made up the wall seemed to sit out of sorts as if they were set wrong.

"What is that?" Kirah said in surprise.

Marco stared for several moments at the unearthed secret portal that appeared within his basement. There came a profound curiosity as he approached the door and traced the seam with his finger. Kirah approached him slowly and quietly repeated her question to him again.

"Marco, what is this?" she asked, again putting her hand on his shoulder. "Where does it lead?"

"I don't know,” he breathed, scarcely above a whisper. "I've never seen it before."

Ignatius looked on as the discovery took place. He followed closely behind Kirah as she approached Marco and was the first to notice the newly revealed door begin to move. It was subtle and silent at first, widening the gap only slightly between the unmortared bricks where the door ended and the true wall began. But quickly as it revealed itself, the door slid swiftly apart and disappeared into the unseen slot in the corner of what would be the doorframe.

Beyond the open doorway was a heavy blackness that seemed to swallow the torchlight cast from the pair of sconces in the cellar section. An icy, dry wind blew up at Marco and Kirah like a warning not to enter.

Instinctively, Marco moved to investigate the new passageway, but Kirah looked down and snatched his arm, yanking him back painfully. On the floor beyond the door, a symbol was inscribed in some manner of thick pigment. It sat just barely visible beneath the thick layer of dust that had accumulated over the untold centuries of non-use.

"It's a devil's trap." Kirah said coldly. "It must have been put here to keep something in."

"What godless place is this?" Ignatius asked rhetorically as he stuck his head forward to examine the black passage that led down at a sharp angle into the darkness.

Marco looked back to Gailien who maintained his distance from the entryway. The priest remained silent even as Marco turned away to face Kirah and Ignatius once again. After a self-assuring breath, Marco explained.

"The Tomb of Samnus."

The reclusive mage of a time long past had owned this land and, indeed, disappeared one night and was never heard from again. Never in any retelling of his legend had there been any mention of a hidden sub-basement beneath the tower. Never any speak of devil's traps or walking dead.

"This seal was damaged,” Kirah said as she knelt beside the painted sigil.

Water had somehow managed to trickle in through the worn stonework of the sealed tomb. The old paint, or whatever it was, seemed to be unable to hold to the ancient floor. Looking to her left, the young mage found the thin stream of water that had come from the wall of the hallway beginning from a small break in the mortar of the ceiling bricks.

"The storm broke the seal?" Ignatius noted, keying from her movements. "What are the odds of that?"

"Too much," Kirah said. "This unrelenting storm may have been summoned. The thing that was kept here probably sensed the breach in the foundation."

"But why wait so long to do something?" Marco asked overwhelmed.

She shook her head once before shrugging in confusion. "Maybe it was weak, trying to build enough power to do what was needed."

"Maybe it was biding it's time until it had exactly what it needed to free itself from the shackles that Bastard Samnus put on it when he summoned it!"

The voice came from the barmaid who stood behind Gailien only a moment before. As the dwarf turned to address her, he was horrified to see her body levitating in the air, her plain beauty marred by the fact that her head was bent at an impossible angle. Her body, float as it did, hung lifelessly in the air as though some invisible force suspended it.

"What in the name of-"

The barmaid's lifeless head turned in his direction glaring through glowing white eyes. "Speak not the names of your oppressive celestial upstarts here!"

Gailien recovered from the shock of seeing the dead girl levitating at his side and gripped his holy sigil with his right hand as he roared at the abomination before him. "Tell me your name, Demon!"

"You keep your commands to those to whom they matter, Priest! Your faith will not save you!"

"Be done with this poor girl, let her body go so she might find peace in the arms of Gaia and her family!" Gailien commanded, crossing himself in the symbol of the holy trinity.

"You are all mine this night." The thing hissed.

As Kirah beheld the spectacle in terror, she began an invocation to surround herself, Marco, and Ignatius in a protective energy field. Drawing in the energy from around her, she was careful not to pull from anywhere near the demon, lest she invite it inside herself.

"The ritual has begun." The demon voice said. "This girl is mine."

The barmaid's body convulsed violently, her limbs flailing involuntarily with the cascade of spasms that ran through her body. Her head shot up to look upon the dwarven priest with a look of sheer horror. The features of her face contorted in all manner of unnatural expressions as her vocal chords gave voice to an unearthly shriek that shook Gailien to his core. As her flesh turned ghostly white, her lifeless body fell to the floor.

As the corpse of the barmaid lay sprawled on the cold cobblestone of the basement floor, the disembodied voice of the demon could still be heard echoing in the small cellar.

"Behold your villains, fools." The spirit laughed evilly.

As the creature spoke, the door that led up to what remained of the Inn, flung open as if something meant to rip it from its very hinges. From the raging maelstrom, another two dead forms collapsed through the opening and hit the floor with a tremendous thud.

The two strangers were horribly disfigured by whatever torturous punishments the demon had visited upon them. Flesh was torn from their face and body in long strips with lashes from some manner of whipping tool apparent on their ruined clothing and skin. As their unholy forms showed signs of reanimation, the barmaid too had begun to stir.

All sound seemed to be swallowed up by the torrent of rain and wind that raced in from the open doorway up and even the noises of groaning and growling from the freshly risen corpses could scarcely be heard over the clamor.

"The foreigners!" Ignatius cried out while trying to herd Kirah and Marco into the "tomb" passage. "The spirit has betrayed them!"

"Gailien, into the passage now!" Called Marco.

As Gailien backed his way towards Ignatius and the rest, another form fell from the cellar door. It was the corpse of Daedric, though it was not a lifeless husk. It too, began to pick itself up and glare menacingly through dead eyes at his father.

"...My son," Gailien whispered mournfully to himself. "I'll not leave you to this accursed fate."

From Daedric's ashen lips, a dry raspy moan escaped. His features formed an immense expression of rage and anger as it began to move in his father's direction, an entourage of undead in tow. Gailien closed his eyes as he spoke a silent prayer to Lochrian for strength. He asked the god of valor and battle for the strength to smite the blasphemous creations before him and the power to deliver his son from the curse that had been forced upon him.

"Lochrian!" Gailien screamed as he raised his weapon above his head and charged fearlessly into the fray.

With tears in his eyes, the Priest of the Pantheon fought for the retribution of his son's immortal soul. The sharpened talons of the undead reached out for him, intent on tearing the flesh from his body. As the battle was joined, the dwarf's mighty morning star came around and connected with his son's shoulder and neck. The bones were crushed to splinters under the force of the blow and the stout body of the dwarf corpse was thrown against the wall. It bounced off of the crude wooden shelving and fell to the floor as Gailien followed through with a back swing at the next bloodthirsty ghoul in line.

Three pair of wickedly taloned hands proved too versatile to be evaded completely by the Dwarf's clumsy form. Pain echoed into his brain as jagged nails bit into the flesh of his shoulders and arm. They had him! Surprising strength yanked him off of his booted feet and dragged the Father ever closer to the throng of snapping, drooling jaws.

Gailien shut his eyes as he prepared for the death he knew was coming. Another pair of claws grabbed at his legs as he was taken by the pack of ghouls. His son still "lived" and was trying to get a piece of him as well.

"Not today, Gailien!" Screamed Ignatius as he pulled with all his might at the dwarves shredded clothing, trying desperately to drag him back away from the horde. "You're not dying yet, Priest. We may still have need of you..."

Kirah assisted as best she could. With the force of her will, Kirah pulled at the matter that made up the series of wooden shelves along the left wall. The temperature of the room grew cold as the energies of the area became focused on the heavy wine racks. They began to shake and waver, the delicate glass bottles crashing to the floor. Then, as the ghoulish things moved towards Ignatius and Father Gailien, the whole series of racks fell forward, thrust by the unseen presence of The mage's will and slammed into the shambling horrors.

"Can you repair the seal?" Ignatius asked fervently. "Is it possible?"

Kirah looked at the ruined devils trap on the damp floor. As it turned out, only a small section of it was damaged, and repairing it was not beyond her power. It was rather, the means with which she need fix it that bothered her. The seal must be made in mortal blood.

"Yes, I can." She began. "Give me your hand, Ignatius."

"What?!"

"Give me your hand now!" Kirah screamed as she reached for his right with her left and drew a small ornamented dagger from her belt.

The blade ran across his skin so keenly, he scarcely knew she had split his flesh until the red blood began to flow. It welled up quickly in the small wound and ran down his fingers, dripping onto the floor. She procured what she needed between her fingers and dropped to her knees.

Retracing the smeared pattern on the floor, Kirah noted in her mind precisely how much blood would have been required to create a seal this size. Truly, someone would be near unconsciousness at its completion... Or they used someone else's.

As she reworked the image his Ignatius' vitae, a strange unease welled up in her. His blood, though it was completely normal upon initial inspection, seemed to carry with it a curious feeling, a taint. His soul was strong, she could feel that the moment they met, but this was something else, something hidden.

As she finished her work, an effort that took her skilled hands less then a minute, she could see the power of the sigil flare to life in her witch-sight; the term given to the ability to sense and see the workings of essence or mana in the world and people. The evil spirit seemed to feel the effects of the ward's power even from its, somewhat, distant position across the small basement. The invisible entity shrieked and fled in a great gust of wind to the upper level. The animated corpses stopped short of the blood symbol, its elaborate shapes pulsing with eldritch energy that seemed to repel the evil.

"Ignatius, your blood...” Kirah began, confused by the strange power she felt.

Ignatius shot her a hurried glance; his attention focused on the undead that stood just beyond the barrier. Despite their best efforts, the ravenous creatures could not pass through over the sigil at their feet and as the realization came, a temporary sense of security washed over them.

His confusion at her unfinished statement was plain on his face. "What of it?"

"...Never mind." She replied, shaking her head.

She had not the words to explain the alien sensation she had felt or the presence that seemed to loom over her, unseen in the shadows of her mind. There was only the indescribable unease that filled her with worry after having come into contact with the taint in his blood.

"Are we safe?" Marco asked frantically, looking back and forth between the ghouls outside of the hallway and Kirah.

Kirah took a breath casting her gaze down again to the blood seal. "We should be. This is a very powerful seal, whoever placed it must have had tremendous knowledge of warding and spirits."

Ignatius looked behind them, down into the inky darkness of the ancient tomb. The air was dry and stale with a complete lack of any breeze that told him beyond questioning that there was but one way out of this chamber and it was the same way they had entered.

"Lets investigate this area. Perhaps there will be something of use to us down there." Ignatius suggested, pointing down towards the dark stairwell.

Removing a small flint-box from a pouch on his belt, the Ordinator knelt and set it down on the floor beside him. He then wrapped a small cloth around an old ensconced torch that had sat unused for countless decades and preceded to prep the tool, quickly creating a blazing light with which to lead the small group down into the depths of the structure in search of what, he was not sure.

Though the slavering of the creatures could be heard from above them, the group descended down the gray stone stairs that seemed to stretch on forever. The torchlight cast a deep orange glow, illuminating the cramped stairwell around them. Dancing lights flickered here and there giving the illusion of being underwater in the firelight. After a descent of nearly a sixth of a mile, Ignatius came upon the shattered remnants of a heavy wooden door. Its rusted iron moorings lay horribly bent, their rivets popped out from a tremendous force against them.

Something had broken its way out of whatever had laid beyond. Of that, the Ordinator was sure. As they approached the doorway, the distinct smell of sulfur permeated the air.

"Brimstone...” Kirah breathed.

In her mind's eye she could feel the heavy sensation of terror and woe that was felt here so long ago. Moving beyond the ruined door, the mystic brushed her right hand along the wall as she entered the room and began to walk the perimeter, staying within Ignatius' torchlight. The chamber was barren, save a few rotten wood tables, sparsely decorated with ragged alchemical gear. Alembics, mortars and pestles, ruined papers; impossible to read littered the tabletops and floors. Kirah's mind filled with random scenes from the past and emotions felt long ago. It required a tremendous force of will to control the visions and review them logically.

Warm, wet, blood ran down from her left nostril as she fought hard to gain a hold on the power she tried to use. She could see the whole tragic story of the owner of the tower unfold before her. Such pain and anguish, the man who owned this tower was no mage, he was a slave to whatever this entity was. All those years he had made himself a name as a sorcerer, he had bound a demon to him through a pact and used its power to become wealthy and known.

When at last the time had come for him to pay his dues to the creature, he had locked himself in his laboratory and sealed the creature's escape so that it might never seduce another into a similar path. Trapped beneath the ground, the creature vented its fury and summoned massive storms and disasters to befall the tower in hopes of releasing itself. Though the man died shortly after he made the devil's trap, the entity kept him around, stuck in a condition between life and death for many years, torturing him over and over again.

The ingenious nature of the devil's trap is that, the sigil is defended from the creature's hostile magic and physical manipulation. Thus they can do nothing to remove it. The demon had spent so much energy trying to force it's way out of the prison, that it had exhausted itself and fell dormant, effectively regenerating its power, slowly over time.

Ignatius put a hand on her shoulder and shook her, as she stood frozen in time, her vision freezing her in place. "Kirah, are you alright?"

She shook her head, blinking away the after images of her post-cognitive experience. "I'm fine. Thank you, Ignatius."

"This is the Mage's lair, eh?" The Ordinator questioned, scrutinizing the room for anything of any use.

"He was never truly a mage, just a man who gave up his soul to be known...” Kirah began and started to recount to them the story she had experienced previously.

By the end of her tale, on which she credited herself a very good storyteller, the group had come to learn the truth about the alleged Sorcerer of Havenridge. He turned out to be little more than a weak man who sold his soul for power and tried to make it right, paying with his very life and soul.

"He trapped it down here,” Ignatius began. "But it’s out now and we must find a way to contain it again."

"How?" Asked Marco as he took a seat on a large wooden stool nearest the far workbench.

"That I don't know." The Ordinator replied, defeated.

He looked to Kirah, admittedly it had been more out of a reactive desire to look upon her more so than to find an answer in her. But the scowl he received spoke volumes of her frustration and anger at him for presuming that she knew about demons simply because she could work magic.

"Don't look at me, Ordinator! I don't have the answer for this. I know very little about demons and devils. Such things are well beyond me and, truthfully hold little interest to me." Kirah ranted.

"I apologize, Lady Avangelis." Ignatius stressed. "I was wrong to have made presumptions about you because of your talents. A thousand times I apologize, but now is not the time for petty squabbles."

The air grew thin and icy in the darkness of the ancient tower's bowels. An unnatural presence filled the room and frost began to materialize on the surfaces of the stonework. The survivors of the Inn could see their breath begin to manifest wispy clouds that dispersed as quickly as they came. All manner of logic could not account for the sudden change in temperature and Ignatius, as well as Kirah began to search for the source.

"...Your time grows short indeed." a wheezing voice hissed from a previously unseen hiding spot.

The room was large and rectangular, with the far corners cloaked heavily in shadow from the waning torchlight. It was within these shadows that an emaciated figure, hunched and decrepit, crawled forward to greet the group. As it's features came into sight beneath the soft fire's glow, it was immediately apparent that the form was the reanimated figure of, what could only have been, the "Wizard" Samnus.

As it entered the light, the dead mage brought his hands up to shield his face, seemingly petrified by the fire. His ashen gray skin was pulled taut over its decaying muscles and bones, much of which was clearly visible beneath the torn and tattered flesh. Cloth that was once a vibrant crimson hung loosely in flaps of dull brick red and even grey with dust and dirt. Thin, brittle icicles hung from his sharper features.

"You must escape this place." Samnus said. "Long have I been imprisoned here. Long have I listened to its maniac ravings about it returning to its home plane."

"It speaks..." Ignatius gasped.

The very premise of such a creature being sentient and capable of emotion went against everything that Ignatius had known. He took a step back, dropping into a defensive posture as he cocked his head quizzically to the side.

"How would you have us do that?" Kirah asked as she looked on in a mixture of wonder and horror.

"I can feel it near you, though I don't know who holds it." The corpse said, looking from one to the next. "The silver can harm it. Banish it. But it must have a body, one to inhabit so that we might trap it."

Ignatius instinctively put his right hand down onto the pommel of his long blade in its sheathe. "My family's swords are etched in silver. My father used to tell me these blades could kill nearly anything. Such was our family's blessing."

"You speak lies, corpse!" Kirah exclaimed, realizing what Samnus had meant when he spoke. “It considers sacrificing one of us to kill the thing."

Samnus merely shook his head as he looked upon Kirah's nichiri features a light with fury. "For one so strong, it surprises me that you don't have the will to fight it." Samnus' once meek and raspy voice became clear and domineering, his entonements booming around the chamber. "It will kill you to a man to complete it's ritual and open a rift to its home! Those sort of things open both ways. So there’s no telling what it may release during it's escape!"

"So you'd have one of us die to see the demon killed?" Kirah accused. "He seeks to summon the demon into one of us, bind it, and then kill them!"

The decaying Samnus looked scornfully towards Kirah as she spoke out against him. "I gave my life to fix the disaster I created by summoning that... monster. Don't you think I've observed some contingencies in the time I've been trapped down here?"

"I think that those who become undead and consort with demons think only of themselves and their own power." Kirah snapped defensively. "We've no way to even know if he's in league with the demon!"

"Will it work?" Ignatius asked plainly. "Are you certain it will destroy the thing?"

"What?!" Kirah exclaimed, shocked that he would even consider the proposition.

Gailien looked away as he fought back the urge to charge forward and smash the undead thing into oblivion. "This thing is an abomination! Its very existence is an affront to the heavens. You cannot seriously be considering trusting it."

There was a moment when Ignatius contemplated drawing his blades and carving up the corpse mage as he would any enemy, but something stayed his hand. It was a curious and verily, murderous proposition, but a sound one, nonetheless. Try though he might, he could not counter the logic of the plan with any valid arguments.

Ignatius looked curiously at the Priest. "Why not?"

...

"For once, it seems like a clear course of action. Trap the monster in a body, and kill it." Ignatius reasoned out loud. "And it is what will happen... to me."

Kirah gasped at the Ordinator's selfless exclamation. To be brave and noble was one thing, but this was madness and she would not stand for it. The sudden appearance of the, nearly mummified, corpse form of Samnus just seemed too convenient, too staged.

The Nichiri mage pointed an accusing finger at Samnus as she spoke to Ignatius. "No one here will let you die for the sake of the rest of us."

"This is not up for committee." Ignatius said plainly. "And, as a servant to the crown, it is not only my duty... But a privilege to die for people such as you." He looked at Kirah, a sincere smile across his face. "You have awakened something in me... Don't make me second guess it."

"What?" She asked, confused about his curious confession.

Again, the Ordinator smiled and told her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You were offended when I shied away from you because of your... talents."

"Yes," she snapped, annoyed. "Its become a common occurrence in my -"

"So, I feel as though I am supposed to do this. I... feel a strange certainty that it should be me."

Samnus intervened in the discussion shortly after Ignatius had finished making his point. "Not to weigh a decision such as this, but the ward will not hold the ghouls indefinitely. They are a hybrid entity and are not completely protected against."

Marco paced around his area near the wall opposite the cadaverous mage, Samnus. His expression was one of abject terror as his eyes bounced from one person to the other, in time with the conversation. In his mind the undead wizard was as big a threat as the ghouls that clamored upstairs, trying to get in.

As Samnus looked to Ignatius, the undead creature became suddenly repulsed as he neared him. It's inspections with inhuman eyes had discovered something yet unknown that distressed it. It shook its head as if to deny some unasked question and he backed away from the Ordinator.

"What have you brought with you?" it asked hissing as it withdrew. "You've been touched by something... Something I've never seen before."

Utterly confused and not only a little bit shaken, Ignatius questioned Samnus' curious exclamation. "What are you talking about? Touched, what does that mean?"

Samnus' reactions became terrified as it back away from Ignatius' approaching form. "I—I don't know. You keep away from me!"

"What in the hells is he talking about?" Ignatius asked, looking to Gailien.

The Dwarf priest looked on in quiet disbelief with a small amount of confused amusement at the sight of the Lich-wizard backing itself away from the Ordinator. It was true, as the dwarf thought, in hindsight, the Ordinator's presence had a subtle discomfort inherent in it at all times to him. More than once, he had felt the unseen force of his person even before, Ignatius had entered the common room. A note to be investigated at a later time, Gailien thought.

"There will be no sacrifices of blood for any reason on my watch." The old dwarf announced. "If that god-awful thing wants back to the Hells from whence it came, so be it."

Gailien sat down on the floor and unslung his holy symbol from around his neck. The heavy chain slid smoothly across the skin of his neck as he raised it over and off of his head. He brought the iron pendant to his lips before gently arranging it on the ground in front of him and began to chant.

Ignatius knew the prayer; it was a common homage to Gaia and the Pantheon. He began to intone along with him, seeking solace in the familiarity and serenity of prayer.

"...And so it was that with his hammer and his blade, Lochrian held back the curtain of shadow that sought to dethrone the most holy order from their rightful rule of the heavens. Gaia blessed the earth beneath his feet and Dakkor willed against the darkness, matching his infinite power against the infernal forces of the abyss. In this most-holy trinity, I find my strength, my wisdom, and my salvation." They prayed together as Ignatius knelt down opposite the priest; and then there was silence.

Samnus was weak, having been held imprisoned for so long. The prayers stung his unholy flesh like some invisible weapon and he withdrew to a far corner as quickly as he could. Though he refused to cower, his undead frame raged against the power of their words.

"Does the light of the gods pain your accursed soul, creature?" The Dwarf asked, knowing well the answer.

There was another, more dangerous way to rid them of the demon. Gailien knew he could banish the entity, exercise it and send it back to its plane, but it would require letting it in and confronting it and its horde directly. The other problem was the thing that called itself Samnus. Was it really as weak as it was letting on or did it have some nefarious scheme yet to be revealed? He could, indeed be in league with the entity and merely trying to play them for fools.

Gailien ran through a checklist mentally of everything he would need to perform an "off-the-cuff" exorcism. He was dreadfully unprepared, and if the demon was indeed as powerful as this Samnus creature said it was, the margin for success would be slim indeed. His holy symbol shone in the dim light, nearly glowing against the darkness, the metaphor made him smile.

The Gods be with us, he thought.

In his kneeling position the Dwarf prostrated himself before the makeshift reliquary of his faith. Leaning forward, his nose just brushed the dirty ground and his eyes held shut, Gailien summoned all the power he could muster. Kirah felt the sudden surge and knelt beside Ignatius.

She bent to Gaillien’s will and leant her strength to his, her greatly enhanced essence flowing out of her to join with his own. Mages called this pooling, a common practice in ritual magic.

"Ignatius, for this to work the beast must be allowed in here with us." Kirah began, the sound of uncertainty in her voice. "We will need you to breach the ward and defend us while we attempt to bind and banish the demon."

The Ordinator looked to them both in disbelief. "You want me to let the creatures in here?" He asked nearly sarcastically. "Your plan is no safer than his."

"I trust Father Gailien." Kirah replied.

There was nothing more to be said. Ignatius knew a battle he couldn't win when he saw one and she was such a fight. Everything about her cried out control and discipline. In that, Ignatius could find no fault.

"As you wish." He said.

Rising from his place at the ritual base, Ignatius felt a hand touch his, delicately at first, but its grip was firm. Kirah had reached out and grabbed hold of his hand. Her eyes met his as he looked to question her, but her voice was the first to be heard.

"Be careful." She said.

Ignatius smiled, allowing his confidence in his abilities as well as the unfamiliar bravado of being eyed by a beautiful woman fuel him on. "I will."

Gailien looked to Kirah, opening his wizened eyes as he began to instruct her in what to do. "I'll need you to assist me in controlling the power we'll need to bind the creature. We must encircle it in our will and trap it. Once it is exhausted, I can banish it."

"I understand," Kirah replied, taking a cleansing breath to center her.

"It must not be given any chance to bring its power to bear against us or we will not survive. It will lie and promise, threaten and twist words. Listen to nothing but me." Gailien finished. "The same goes for you, Ordinator."

"I needn't be reminded of the words of demons. Thank you, Gailien."

And so it began…

Marco, caught between being near the stairwell where Ignatius would unleash the ghouls, or having to take up a position near the thing that called itself Samnus, reluctantly made his way over towards the dead thing. It seemed to barely notice him as he moved towards it, but simply being in the vicinity of the creature sent a nearly painful chill through his bones. It was no chill wind or cold spot that made him feel such cold, only the presence of the thing before him.

"Marco..." Samnus whispered. "I've heard you managing your business above my head for years and your father before you."

He looked at Samnus in fearful disgust. "What of it?"

"Not a thing." Replied the shrugging corpse. "I find it saddening that such a hard working family would be so stricken by such bad luck."

Their conversation was quiet, unnoticed by the would-be exorcists or the Ordinator who were out of earshot. An odd expression washed over Samnus' decaying face and Marco couldn't tell if it was concern or a mockery of pity. It disturbed him, nonetheless.

Samnus smoothed out the tattered rags that were the remnants of his robes with the decaying remains of his hands. But it was clear that as he did his best to fix his clothing, his nearly skeletal hands were busy searching for something. From a hidden fold or pocket within what remained of his clothing, Samnus produced a small leather pouch with all manner of symbols stitched into the outer face with thick cord. He waved it around gently as he showed it to the disgruntled innkeeper.

"You may have this," the undead mage said nodding towards his trinket. "A gift, to atone for my blight upon your livelihood."

"What is it?"

Samnus replied. "A small token of my regret for destroying your business. Place it, hidden, in your next and luck will find you."

"Ignatius, now!" Gailien cried out.

The Ordinator drew his blades and raced to the top of the stairs. The blood seal remained and, beyond it, the ravenous horde of wicked looking undead growled and hissed at him in hungry anticipation. The adrenaline surged and his grip tightened on the masterfully crafted weapons.

The rough treaded sole of his boot grated against the blood mark on the floor, smearing and scratching the dried crimson on the stone floor until it ceased to maintain the image it was made to be. The acrid smell of static and copper filled the air and Ignatius knew, in an instant, the seal had been breached. The taloned hands of the undead shot out, reaching and slashing at him, followed by a chaotic tangle of bodies barreling forward. In the narrow stairwell, Ignatius had the advantage, they were completely feral and each tried to climb over or through the other to get at him. His blades sang through the air, their quiet whistling interrupted by the sick chopping sound of silvered steel cutting through muscle and bone.

As he fought on to hold back the tide of dead flesh, a great swell of force shot forward from behind the dead things and sent both they and the Ordinator crashing down the stairs. He and the ghouls were a tangle of limbs in a heap at the base of the stairwell. A wispy laughter echoed in the stone room as a vaporous incorporeal form glided towards the chamber floor from above.

"It's here," Cried Marco as he thrust the trinket Samnus had given him into his pocket and scrambled under a table.

Samnus raised his arms above his head and began to focus himself. Swirling streaks of ether began to trail around his hands; shades of purple and dark blue flecked with tiny arcs of electricity funneled themselves into a central gathering point between his hands.

"Feel the sting of the power you bestowed upon me, Demon." Samnus called out as he unleashed the terrible power he had summoned at the formless fiend.

It was but a momentary distraction, but time bought nonetheless. The swirling burst of energy slammed into the area that the fiend's presence had occupied. It screamed from some invisible mouth and the apparition flared with destructive forces, its own form struggling to maintain its integrity after the blow.

A moment later, the demon returned fire.

Two smallish bolts of black flame streamed out from the vaporous mass and found their mark in Samnus' husk. Bits of dead flesh burned like parchment as the evil demon's power seared his unliving body. The concussive force from the attack sent Samnus into the air and hard into the wall above the table where Marco had been hidden.

Ignatius wrestled frantically beneath the demon with its minions who eagerly sought to devour his flesh. Teeth and talon swiped and snapped from every direction at once, as his clothing was shredded and fresh cuts began to well up with hot blood. Still he battled, paying no heed to the pain that tried to steal away his focus.

Finally his hand found purchase on the hilt of his long blade once more and he forced it up in a wide arc, carving the head from Daedric’s neck and freeing himself from the brawl he found himself in. With a final loud grunt, Ignatius picked himself up off of the ground and seized his short blade with his free hand. He stood hunched low, his blades readied before him. He waited for nothing, as soon as his thoughts were collected, the bloody Ordinator charged at the tangle of undead carving and cleaving like an insane butcher breaking up a carcass.

Despite the horror around him, Ignatius found himself smiling as he tore the bodies asunder. He was losing control, frenzied. Even when he had battled the Wolf and his undead minions, he had not felt this. It felt good, powerful. Something fueled him on in his savagery and he wanted more.

"We pray, humble and righteous before your divine presence. We offer ourselves and our spirits freely to your service. O' merciful lords we ask you to rid us of the presence of thine enemies who stand to defile your grand garden." Gailien continued.

"Heed our prayer." Kirah responded as the ceremony required.

"Cast out this foul denizen of the pit, even as I offer to take it into my body, let it not corrupt and defile my soul, but fall before the might of my faith and the power of the Trinity!"

"Heed our prayer--” Kirah responded, but cut herself short as the Priest's words sank into her brain. "Gailien don't..."

The Dwarf was already on his feet, his symbol of the Trinity still arranged on the floor where he had left it.

"I command ye’, demon! Give me your name and be delivered from your debased existence! I command ye’ in the name of Lochrian, I command ye in the name of Gaia, I command ye in the name of Dakkor!" The Dwarf shouted at the fiend as he raised his hammer, the head poised in its direction. "Tell me your name and be gone from the mortal plane!"

Kirah had never been witness to an exorcism before. She could see absurd amounts of energy barely contained in the Dwarf's stout form. The pulses and flares making him seem to be alight with holy power. He held more ambient essence in himself now, than the largest congregation of mages Kirah had ever seen assembled, and she could only stare in awe.

"There is no light in your heavens. The Gods have no interest in the likes of you anymore!" The demon bellowed.

"Spare me your lies! Tell me your name!" Gailien hollered, still pointing his hammer at the thing.

It roared, as if in pain, as Gailien pressed his attack and repeated the question. The form began to diminish, dispersing its once dense cloud-like form. Kirah could see the energies clashing and the power that the Priest had brought to bare relentlessly ripping the demon's form apart piece by piece.

"Your name!" He roared again at the fiend.

The flickering cloud sank to the ground, rolling waves of thick black mist, struggling to maintain itself. Kirah could see that Gailien had won. The demon was bleeding its essence as if it had been dealt a mortal wound.

"In the name of the Battle Father Lochrian I command ye, give to me your name." His voice was confident, calm as if dealing an enemy the fatal blow in words alone.

The mist form of the fiend dissipated into nothing, leaving behind only an oily residue that reeked of sulfur.

"Raizielle." a strange voice whispered, defeated.

Thin wisps and tendrils of smoke retreated up the stairs like rolling waves of dark water in reverse.

Ignatius cleaned the gore from his precious blades and walked to meet Gailien in the center of the room. Kirah leapt from her position at the holy symbol and nearly flew to Ignatius' side as he closed with the exhausted dwarf.

"Good work, my friend." Ignatius congratulated.

"Indeed, we actually emerged victorious." The dwarf replied surprised at their triumph over the demon Raizielle. "I am honored to have gone into battle with such noble people as yourselves."

Looking around, a worried look washed over Kirah's serene features. Ignatius could sense instantly that something was amiss as he watched the change in her.

"What is it?"

"Where are Marco and Samnus?"

They were gone. No clue was left to attest to the fact that they had ever been there save the damage that the undead Samnus had caused when he was flung into the wall. Bits of broken wood, the shattered remnants of the alchemy table littered the floor. Broken alembics, glass vials, heating stands and more were strewn about the area in pieces, but there was no sign of the Innkeeper or the undead Samnus.

"They're gone...” Ignatius said, bewildered.

"Perhaps the seal kept more than the demon trapped down here." Kirah figured. "I think we were played for fools so he could make good his escape."

Gailien sighed. "Well, to whatever end, we've survived and the demon is gone."

"Let us leave this accursed place." Ignatius said beckoning to Kirah with his arm.

At the risk of being forward, Ignatius draped his arm around the young mage's shoulder. She received it well, and with a mutual exchange of smiles, they exited the ancient chamber with Gailien trailing just behind.

Outside, the storm had cleared. The fresh sun, still rising over the black silhouette of the horizon. The sky, a myriad of drab colors ascending to the sharp pinks and oranges of a beautiful morning sunrise. The mountain birds could be heard in the trees and the heavy rains had doused the fires of the remains of the inn.

Using what they could from the remains of the Inn, Ignatius and Gailien made decent burials for those who had fallen in the night. The earth was wet and soft which made digging easy, and as Ignatius patted the last gravesite flat with a scavenged shovel, Gailien spoke the final rites, making the sign of the trinity before him in the air.

Upon their completion of the sad task, Ignatius offered his hand to Gailien, who had counted his own son amongst the number put into the earth. Gailien accepted solemnly, taking the Ordinator's hand and pulling him in to hug him. The embrace was not unexpected and Ignatius returned the embrace to comfort his friend. When the moment was over, Gailien gathered his few belongings and headed out. A brief wave of good-bye and the dwarven priest was on his way deeper into the mountainside. The Ordinator then turned his attentions to a patiently waiting Kirah who stood just a few yards away from the burial site.

"I was hoping you wouldn't curse me or something for being so forward earlier, milady. But, having been through so much in such a short time--" Ignatius began with a grin.

Kirah put a single finger to the Ordinator's lips to silence him. "I might have let you steal a kiss, Mr. Craft." She said smiling all the while. "I guess we'll never know now."

Without another word, She turned away from him and began to walk towards the path that led away from Havenridge, down through the Veldon Pass. She knew it was Ignatius' direction as well and it came as no surprise when she heard the welcome sound of his boots sloshing through the muddy path after her. He grabbed her by her right arm, stopping her short. With a quick shift of his weight, he spun her around to face him.

"I hope you know, the way I've let you bewitch me goes against everything I've ever believed."

"Because I'm a mage?"

"Because you've stolen my heart, and I'm powerless to deny it to you.” he said with a smile.

She stood speechless for a moment; taking in the words he had told her. The feeling was, of course, mutual and her spirit soared at the confirmation that he felt as she did.

"I don't know what to say." She replied.

Ignatius sighed as he locked his eyes to hers. "It would be complicated. My life is not one easily shared... or wanted."

"We'll see, Ordinator Craft. It's a long walk to Rune, I'm sure we can figure it out." Kirah said allowing herself to sink into his arms. "Now, kiss me quick before you lose another chance."

Knowing when to obey a direct order unquestioningly, Ignatius did as he was told. He linked his gaze to hers and leaned in as she closed her eyes. Her soft warm lips meet his and he felt the earth fade away. There was nothing else to be had in that moment. The entire world was held at bay as they shared their moment. Each one drinking in the other's presence. For the first time in his adult life, Ignatius Craft knew true peace; if only for an instant.

Rune lay somewhere ahead of them. The City of Knowledge was awe-inspiring in everyway imaginable, but still rife with intrigue and dangers of it's own. If there were answers to be had, the Sages of Rune were legendary and would be sure to have some measure of insight or knowledge into the matters he had discovered in Lyire.

For Kirah, Rune held both her family and her home. It had been years since last she had journeyed to the massive stonewall of the city. Long since she walked through the Street of Kings where the majestic Manupkan Library stood, looming over many of the other structures of the city.

These sights and many more would soon be visited upon them on their journey, which, for the time being, they walked together. But a shadow loomed in Ignatius' mind as they made their way down the mountainside.

There was something inside him that fought to come out. He felt the rage rise to the surface when he fought the ghouls before. The whispers in the dark, and the entity that visited him in the forest. The answers he sought became ever more desperate in his mind.

Answers that must lie in Rune...