The End of Lyire

The hour was late, very late. It was almost time for the first rays of morning light to pierce the darkness and force back the terrors of the night to their lairs for another day. The sky was the color of newly lain pitch. Wind whistled through the long since empty streets and alleys. The sound echoed through the emptiness, crying out like the unseen formless souls who remained trapped in the timeless silence.

The town of Lyire that had once been a self sustaining logging community, had now been reduced to a silent Ghost town with only the whispering winds lending voice to the former inhabitants, forever stuck in the past. The dead barren trees bent slightly to the heavy winds that raced through the corpse of Lyre. Not a living being stirred in town. Not a human, rat, or insect retained a spark of life within the limits of town. Still, as the red sun began to peek over the desolate landscape, a single silhouette emerged on the horizon.

Its features blurred by distance and the bright light of the morning. Steadily the stranger approached the dead township and, unafraid, strode up the unkempt tan dirt road that led into the town proper. Tiny dust devils sprouted up along the roadside to meet his approach, summoned by the random brisk gusts of wind. It had been exactly a year ago today that he had strode this path for the first time and approached the reclusive town.

The dry patches of loose earth crunched underfoot, the weight of his boots forcing flat the unevenness of the road. Even now, he asked himself "Could the promise of power be worth the cost of an entire towns worth the souls?"

It was a question that the now silent town's former residents had answered poorly, indeed. Still though, enough time had been spent on reflection. There was yet a job to be done. It was not enough that the church of Lochrian had declared the town unsalvageable and had the area purged to ash. The source of the demonic infection needed to be sought out. The vessel of infernal power destroyed so that it might never again bring ruin to the lands of men.

As best could be remembered from his talks with the unaffected towns folk, the curious events began occurring in the town after a wayward adventurer who called himself Wolf hunted down and slew a feral dragon that had been laying waste to the outlying farmsteads. The beast was tracked to its nest where it was ambushed and destroyed. Amongst the refuse and remains littering the creatures sleeping area, there sat a curious piece of treasure. An idol barely a foot tall, fashioned from iron in the visage of a robed man carrying an opal.

Aside from the odd choice of its construction materials, the statue was special because, upon its liberation from the creature's lair, the large opal seemed to continuously shift its color depending on who came near to it. The slayer saw the statue as a grand symbol of his victory over the bestial reptile and dedicated it to the town in memory of those who lost their lives to the fell beast.

Though the gesture was sincere, it soon proved to be the beginning of the end of Lyire. With the small statue permanently set to display upon a pedestal in the town center, many wonderful events began to happen in favor of the town, and its people were truly blessed with good luck. Gardens grew impossibly fast and hearty, livestock prospered and trade routes seemed to be almost constantly traveled to and from the south gate pass. The times were never better.

There were, of course, a number of strange accidents and occurrences that had transpired within this time as well. Danith the baker lost an entire month's worth the profits as his many breads and cakes seemed to be ruined refusing to rise whenever he attempted to cook.

The town's grain silo burnt to the ground from an impossible lightning strike and, upon the attempt to salvage what remained of their stores, all manner of mold and fungus had grown within the silo's holdings.

The Constable and his deputy who looked into the matter seemed to sicken and die from exposure to the odd rot that afflicted the food. Though no record of events exist, it is thought that this was when the true nature of the idol started to manifest itself. Gavin Morgoth, a third generation lumberjack and a quiet, self maintaining man by reputation, reportedly way laid an errant tax collector from Vassar City and brutally eviscerated him spreading his entrails about the town square at the foot of the statue. He was apprehended and questioned by the newly appointed constable but would only rant and scream that tribute must be given to "He-Who-Commands-the-Harvest".

With frighteningly little concern, the dead tax man was forgotten, the woods man was left to hang for a day upon the gallows. And then it was over. The town began to prosper again and all was well. The next "accident" came in the form of Carl Sharn, the miller. While repairing a broken plank on the wheel mechanism, the worn poorly maintained cradle gave way crushing the unfortunate miller beneath his own livelihood. His broken and mangled corpse found its way downstream and into the small channel of water that ran beneath the small wooden bridge connecting the center of town to the large green, where the town conducted it's festivals and large gatherings.

Again, the bridge also overlooked the curious reliquary of the town. Slowly, an idea circulated amongst certain members of the community; namely those who stood to lose the most should the town fail or fall to ruin. The thought was that whatever had blessed Lyire with such wonderful bounties and gifts had become angry with a lack of tribute or sacrifice. If those who mattered little to the welfare of the town should happen to disappear or be stricken by "fate", then the town would not suffer and the being, whatever it might be should remain sated.

It was around this time that the stranger had entered the town of Lyire initially. It was just two days shy of the autumn festivus. The townsfolk were decorating and planning the weekends worth of the festivities. As he approached from the northern road in through the hilly pass known to some of the older merchants in those parts as Fellowship Pass, he could hear sounds of enthusiasm and excitement from the hustling masses eager to finish with the set up work upon the verdant green park overlooking the town center.

Progressing through the distance from Fellowship Pass to the fringe of town seemed to almost pass without a thought. The stranger stood upon the threshold of Lyire and for an uncountable instance, a feeling of icy dread washed over him. The sensation of a dozen tiny talons traced the flesh of his neck and back. The feeling made his step uneven and he stumbled a moment while on the path. As he quickly recovered his grace and looked again ahead, he was surprised by a dozen curious, leering, and silent faces suspiciously observing his approach.

They seemed to have come silently from nowhere in the span of a stumbling breath, yet still, there they stood.

"I say," The stranger began. "My name is Ignatius of the house of Craft. My official title is Ordinator and I have come in the name of our King, his majesty Satherion, the second."

His proclamation was greeted with only silence. It was over the span of at least a half minute that finally an older looking man, most likely the foreman of the gathering, utterly changed his previously stone faced expression to one of joy and welcoming warmth.

"Hail Ordinator Ignatius of the noble house of Craft. For what reason are we given his majesty's direct attentions?"

Ignatius had been briefed previously regarding the historical reclusiveness of Lyire and was warned to investigate what warranted the sharp spike in commerce and population. The court of the local Duke was concerned that there may have been illicit activities or goods moving in and out of the town. questions flared around the disappearance of the estranged tax man who was supposed to have collected his due on his way back to Vassar. If only the problems would have fit the suspicions, the reality was far worse.

"I've come in search of a missing agent of the crown. A tax collector destined for Vassar from here. He was due back the better part of a months past."

Silence again blanketed the gathering. Everyone simply stared ahead as if awaiting someone else to answer. It was the constable who eventually worked his way to the Ordinator and addressed him officially.

"Master Ordinator Ignatius," He began.

"I regret to inform you but the Tax man in question was killed the eve in which he was to leave. A disgruntled, no doubt disturbed, member of our community attacked him some time after daybreak and murdered him in cold blood."

The constable trailed off as if suddenly at a loss...

"He was tried for his crime and executed summarily."

Ignatius stood speechless for a moment.

"And no word was sent that a royal servant had been slain?!"

"We had dispatched a messenger right after the incident, though I see now he was not received."

Ignatius stared long and hard at the faces of the towns folk staring back at him. He remained motionless, scarcely breathing as the depth of the situation hit him. His muscles twitched as he fought to calm himself in the face of these strangers, he could not let them see that it was personal.

"I understand." Ignatius said almost sounding out of place.

The Constable nodded and looked to the others as if to tell them to return to their chores. Without so much as a spoken word, the small crowd dispersed and went back to their preparatory duties. The constable approached slowly towards Ignatius, his look intent.

"Catch me in private, tonight. Outside of the north gate," the Constable whispered hurriedly as he passed by Ignatius. "There's much you should know..."

Curious as to the constables motives, the Ordinator cast the departing law man a confused glance and set off in search of the local inn.

* * *

The dark deserted streets lent voice to the last memories of the town, of fire, and violence; Of betrayal and insanity. Where dust had settled and over growth and ash now lay, at one time only a year before was overtaken by chaos and flame. The roads were eerily familiar to him as he plodded along the deserted main street of the town. In all the chaos, the Idol managed to disappear, lost amidst the towns violent death throes. The prospect of such an evil relic being relocated to another town, or worse, a city, was too great for the government not to step in and recover and destroy such a potent tool of evil. Immersed in his investigation of the area, Ignatius' mind took in the sights of the ghost town, remembering each and every event that transpired in the towns descent into madness.

* * *

The sky had been dark for about an hour when Ignatius left the quiet common room of the Inn where he had previously been passing the evening. He strode cautiously out of a side exit near the kitchen that led to the stables, although he took no mount. He was off to his rendezvous with the concerned constable. The way was dark, made all the worse by a starless night sky seemingly soaking up any ambient light as far as the eye could see. But as dark as it was, Ignatius was not so much a fool as to bring a torch or lantern. The constable was obviously troubled by those around him in town and didn't wish to draw any undue attention to either himself or the constable.

All around the Ordinator, the deafening roar of silence assailed him as he left town. No birds, or bats, no crickets. Nor even was there the occasional greenish flash of lightning bugs so common to these wooded parts. Outside of the north gate, up into the forest roughly half a mile, an old abandoned house sat nestled in the gnarled tree line. Its features were worn, its build, unimpressive.

Almost to the point of passing it by, Ignatius began to continue on, but stopped when his eyes picked up a movement from within the house. Something stirred in the darkness. Cautiously, the Ordinator placed a hand to the hilt of his short bladed parrying sword and, with his thumb silencing the blade's exit from its scabbard, he crouched low and stealthily advanced toward the dark home. The sword was familiar in his hand. It was a family sword set handed to him by his father and his father before him. It was perfectly weighted and sharpened to a near impossible keenness.

The blades of the set were identical apart from the lengths, but both were inlaid with beautiful, yet indecipherable runes and markings etched into the surface of the steel and inlaid with a brilliant silver filligrade. His eyes strained to see in the darkness, fought to discern the shapes and distances that the inky blackness of night cast upon the world around him. Illusory figures skulked around the periphery of the Ordinator's, normally well trained, vision. There was something off about the whole entire area. Ignatius had noticed it on his way into town, though it was not some one thing he could single out. This town just had some way of playing with your subconscious, making you uneasy without any provocation.

Silently he approached the home. His movements, well-trained and absolutely silent even among the unnatural silence around him. It had appeared that the dilapidated structure had been abandoned for some time, vines and rough shrubbery had begun to creep into cracks and crevices in the wooden planks. The forest itself seemed to be reclaiming the houses plot as its own. Feeling a disturbance behind him, Ignatius shifted his weight to his front leg pushing quickly forward as he reversed his posture and spun at the hip to face his flank, sword in rear guard facing his perceived threat. Only there was nothing to be found. Adrenaline rushed through him as his heart pounded and his vision narrowed. The sensation of danger sent a tingle through his arms and legs, the hair of his arms stood on end with anxious anticipation.

He stood frozen for a moment, focusing on listening to the world around him, waiting for his prey to betray their location through some noise or movement. But in the end, he stood alone. Convinced that he had been wrong or heard some phantom disturbance, the Ordinator shifted his weight smoothly back to his original stance and proceeded to continue to the house.

As he neared the entrance, Ignatius found the front door to be half open, mysteriously held ajar, as if inviting him into the impenetrable blackness within. Two quick breaths and he slinked his way through the available opening, taking care not to disturb the worm eaten wooden door from its position. Within the confines of the small hovel, Ignatius froze to adjust his sight to the new level of darkness. Standing in the small living area, the young Ordinator found strange markings lining the walls within. They made odd shapes and odd angles that he had never before seen. Their obscene existence scarred his mind, viewing the strange shapes hurt his eyes, and his ears began to ring. Then the whispers began... The words came on what could have only been a stale breeze, they wheezed and rasped in the faintest ways barely being noticeable beyond the deafening silence.

Before Ignatius could think better of it, he dropped his precious sword as his hands sprung open and grabbed his head. His movements, no longer his own, he began hysterically screaming and clawing at his face. He lost his balance falling to the floor, but it was in this second that a pair if arms grabbed him from behind, snaking around from under his arms to behind his head. The unseen assailant dragged him from the house kicking and screaming like a demented Madman, until, several yards from the house, he found himself cast to the floor.

"Silence, Ordinator." The Constable pleaded. "I hoped to prepare you before you found this godless place. But they found me out and I had to escape."

Even as Ignatius had heard what the Constable had to say, he could not find the strength of will to stop himself from wailing in terror. Bloody nail marks were raked down the side of his face, made by his own hands. It was as if the glyphs he saw ripped the very sanity from his mind.

The Constable shook him violently, slapping him hard in the face and wrestling his hands away from his bloodied head until finally the constable had pinned him on the floor, completely incapacitated. "Ignatius!" He yelled. "We must be on the move. They'll no doubt be headed this way soon."

No longer waiting for a conscious response from his delirious companion, the constable flew to his feet and grabbed Ignatius by his shoulders lifting him off the ground and onto his shoulder. The carry was awkward, as Ignatius was a little bigger than the more lithe Constable, but adrenaline accomplished what the lawman could not. Ordinator in tow, the horrified Constable took off into the night, deep into the forest and away from the town.

* * *

Ignatius vaguely remembered his ride through the forest atop the shoulder of the brave Constable. Or the look of those blasphemous characters that drove him mad. When first he looked upon the alien shapes scrawled all over the walls, he had sworn that it was not the writing he saw, but felt the presence of a beast so vile behind them, that he was overcome by the sheer power of whatever it was.

There was a voice too. The whispers... They spoke in tongues never heard before by Ignatius, yet, in his mind, he gleaned their dread meaning just the same. "He comes soon. He comes for you..." They taunted. "The Great Devourer comes to consume all he sees. He who Commands the Harvest, a harvest of souls!"

It was almost enough to make him quiver. A rush of chill air raced across his back. Instinctively, the Ordinator spun on his heels, drawing his weapon and brandishing it in front of him. Yet he stood alone.

Of all the odd happenings in Lyire, that was what he hated the most. The irrational, unexplainable disturbances that distracted him. It was then that a very real sound came from behind him. A sound of falling planks crashing to the floor of the abandoned general store.

"So I'm not alone here..." He whispered to himself.

The sun began to slowly creep over the eastern horizon bathing the land in hues of navy and pinks. The pastel colors silhouetted the old store building as it stood facing the west. The structure seemed more imposing than the others and whatever was hiding within seemed only to increase the sense of dread Ignatius felt as he walked towards the dark store.

Upon a closer approach, Ignatius felt his stomach churn and bile well up in his parched throat. A sickeningly sweet stench tinged with the acrid scent of copper permeated the area. As the clues fell into place in his mind, the young Ordinator became immediately aware of that with which he was dealing. The lack of wildlife, the absence of bodies, the unseen presences... There were necromantic magics at work here.

Never before had he been exposed to the sight of truly sinister magic. The healing powers of the priesthood was the closest Ignatius had ever seen. It became clear to him that steel was a sorry defense versus magic of any kind, but where strength fails, cunning shall prevail. Ignatius bore with him his faith in the power of the Pantheon and, with a final breath, he sharply inhaled and kicked the locked wooden door in with all his might. Shattered bones and small scraps of rotted meat sat in sparse heaps about the floor. Human and animal bones alike mingled together as testament to the voracious appetites of whatever called this place home. It would seem that whatever this creature was, it either evaded the agents of the church when they purged the town of the idol worshipers, or it came after.

Off in the far corner of the room, blocked partly from sight by the store counter, a large hole was seemingly clawed through the wooden planks. As well as the earth beneath. Loose piles of dirt and splinters had showed the Ordinator that this was done, perhaps not hastily, but with a preternatural swiftness and strength. "May the blessings of the pantheon be upon me." He whispered as he grabbed an unused torch from the wall sconce and searched his belt pouch for his flint striker.

He ignited the torch with two or three good sparks from his flint and proceeded over to the underground entrance. Putrid musty air wafted up on a foul wind and the distant sounds of talon scratching rock sounded not distant enough.

Quietly, Ignatius tossed the torch down into the pit before jumping down himself. With a muffled thud, his worn leather boots touched ground and he landed frozen in a crouched position. In his right hand, he grasped his blade, his left reached down fervently searching for purchase on the grip of the torch. Once he felt the rough, uneven grit of the wood in his hand, he tightened his grip and thrust it out in front of himself. Casting an eerie orange glow down the claustrophobic tight earthen tunnel.

The area was so confining, it was that whatever dug these tunnels surely must have been moving on all fours. All the way down the small passage, Ignatius could make out humanoid hand and foot prints showing a disturbingly wide and fast gait that whatever made them was capable of when in a hurry. Deeper in, he could still hear the scratching and panting that whatever lived down here was producing, although it was much further away now. The feeling of being so confined mixed with the dread of discovering what manner of thing makes these burrows its home was beginning to tax the Ordinator's mind.

As he tried to focus his vision, the voices began to once again whisper their murderers lullaby anew. No longer faint or raspy, the voices were quite coherent, as if they may actually have been in the cave with him. "He comes to us..." "The Harvest begins..." As the disembodied voices bellowed, Ignatius closed his eyes, fending them off, determined to force them out of his head so that he might continue.

* * *

The exhausted Ordinator woke up, his vision hazy. The world swam in a void of inky darkness until eventually the scenery took form and he beheld his savior, the Constable crouched low before him looking all around, anxious as if he expected to be set upon by God-knows-what at any minute.

"Where are we?" Ignatius asked.

The constable shot a feverish look at him, taken by surprise by the question. "We are in some ruins outside the city. They don't seem to come here." Ignatius had to fight to keep his cloudy head focused on the conversation.

"They?"

"The townsfolk,". The Constable began. "I remember playing here as a young lad and feeling safe. It was the only place around that I haven't seen them come near in the forest."

Regaining some of his composure, Ignatius sat himself up a little as began to work out some of his aching muscles with several small stretches. "You say they, but did I not see you with "them" when first I arrived here?"

Suddenly, the constables eyes narrowed and a hot defensive tone flourished in his hushed voice. "Yes, of course you did! What else was I to do?" He asked demanding.

"They would've killed me and sacrificed me to their -whatever the hells it is... Or worse."

"Worse?" The constable cringed at the thought of what "worse" meant too him.

"At some point after people began having their wishes granted by whatever is doing the granting, a creature showed up in town."

Ignatius began to interject, but the Constable shot up a hand as if to tell him to wait. "It first appeared in the old mines that were used to found Lyire. But they were closed when they ran dry. They ran directly under the town and then out to the river."

"Okay, what was it?". Ignatius asked.

The Constable drew in a deep breathe and shuddered as he voiced his reply. "It is a massive shapeless thing. It looks like a huge rolling pile of flesh and teeth."

The response was not what the Ordinator had expected to hear. Even as he tried desperately to wrap his mind around what his companion had said, his thoughts drifted back to the nameless thing in his vision at the old house. No words could ever hope to describe the horror that resided in that memory. No healing could ever lift that visage from his mind.

"Once that... Thing made itself known to the town's leaders, every "gift" they would offer they offered directly to it. They refer to it as "The Vessel"". The Constable explained. "I think it all springs from the statue that man brought back from the Dragon's cave."

"A statue?"

* * *

No, he told himself. That monstrosity is dead. The constable and I destroyed it... Even now he stared down into the darkness of this fresh dug tunnel and wondered what type of foul creature could have been responsible for it. As he pondered the tunnel's destination, he almost didn't hear the faint scratching and tapping coming from ahead. The tunnel was so dark, even the bright orange flare from the torch could not permeate more than two or three yards ahead. So it was with great surprise that, from out of the darkness, a great hiss preceded a man-sized humanoid form leap like some savage predator from further down the cave. It flew at him in the darkness like a stalking cat making its kill, claws spread out in front of outstretched arms, an all too human mouth full of broken, jagged and cruelly pointed teeth. The flesh that remained on its desiccated body was pale white and pulled taut over muscles hardened by advanced rigor mortis.

The stench of decay poured off of the dead-man-that-was-not-dead, flooding Ignatius' senses. His eyes watered and he felt his gag reflex kick in as he felt bouts of dry heaving contesting to choke him with the dead things hand wrapped around his neck. The world swirled around as up became down and the background and foreground became indifferent from one another.

This creature fought with the savagery of a starving wild beast. He felt his head and shoulders gunned up and down repeatedly as the dead man struggled desperately to strangle the life out of him. When the initial grapple began to go against his aggressor, Ignatius tried with all his might to deadlift the corpse-thing and make it to his feet again. With one legs now under him, the Ordinator heaved with all his might and raised both it and himself off the ground.

It was then however that his momentary victory was officially short-lived. The battle had been thus far a test of strength, but quickly became a contest of speed. The creature loosed its grip of Ignatius' throat and shot out a powerful hand to grab an arm. Once his wrist was caught in the thing's vice-like grip, it pulled the appendage straight for the creature's wide open mouth.

It was in that moment that the Ordinator made his move. The weight shifted away from his center as the thing went to bite him, in one massive motion, Ignatius kicked up as hard as he could, throwing both himself and the dead thing end over end until Ignatius now pinned it.

Without even thinking on it, Ignatius' hand shot down to his belt and pulled the dagger of his family blades. Barely a heartbeat passed and the weapon was embedded hilt deep through the lower jaw and up into the brain cavity of the dead-thing. For several moments, the body twitched and convulsed, spastic movements and nerve jerks the only thing it was capable of.

Then there was nothing.

Whatever it was, it was no longer. Feeling confident that the beast was dead, Ignatius made his way to his feet and with all haste made his way down the tunnel. He scurried about on all fours, his eyes darted back and forth, scanning the darkness for any hint of movement. Every minute he spent in the damp tunnels it began to feel as if the earthen walls around him, would collapse in on themselves and swallow him up into the earth beneath Lyire.

* * *

The Constable related the story of how the stranger had come into town and dispatched the monster that terrorized the countryside. He explained how the man who called himself "Wolf" dedicated the small statue to the town when he returned with the beasts head...

"And now it would seem that we are beset by some manner of curse or another.". The Constable finished.

Trying to get an understanding of the events that transpired, Ignatius asked any questions he could think of. "And this "Wolf" didn't ask for anything in return for ridding you of something like that?"

"No, actually he refused payment." The Constable answered with a puzzled look. "He said our invitation to return was enough...".

Ignatius pondered the statement the alleged Wolf had made. "What a curious request to make. Most of those mercenary types value gold above their own mothers. But to seek acceptance from strangers?" The conversation trailed off.

For many long minutes the two men sat in a horrific silence. They stared at one another with unwavering concentration until one of them thought they had heard a noise when they both dropped down to the dry crumbling earth and lay hidden by the ruins. It was not until an hour or so had passed that the constable sighed. A sound like a dying man defeated escaped his lips.

"What's on your mind, Constable?". Ignatius asked, more as a diversion from the monotony of hiding then any actual concern.

"My sister. She's still in the town. They took her a week ago today. They kidnapped her from my home and made her like them."

"How do they make you like them?"

"By making you wish near the statue and then making an offering of blood." The Constable confessed defeated.

The idea was undeniably flawed to Ignatius who asked. "Well, if she doesn't make the sacrifice, will she not remain her own person?" The Constable sighed.

"Only until they torture her into doing it or kill her trying..." The last statement hung in the air for what felt like forever.

The silence roared like a raging storm and it was at that point that Ignatius drew in a big breath and cast his gaze towards town. "I guess we'd best not tarry here long if we are to save her then."

He said giving the Constable a reassuring half smile.

"You'll help me?". He asked, shocked by the Ordinator's decree.

Ignatius nodded. "I can't think of any other reason to die today. Why not?"

The two warriors made their way to their feet and dusted themselves off. As Ignatius began to lead the way back to town, the Constable grabbed his right wrist. "I believe you dropped something, Ordinator."

As Ignatius began to question him, the Constable revealed an all too familiar blade from the ground where he had sat. It was his family's parry blade.

"You dropped it during your episode at the woodsman's house. I figured you would want it back..."

"Thank you, my friend.". Ignatius said. "Let's go get your sister out of there."

Without the utterance of another word, the two men started off in the direction of Lyire, steeling themselves from the fear and doubt that bombarded them almost as badly as the whispering things that taunted them ruthlessly in their heads. Along the way back, a curious thought occurred to Ignatius. It bothered him as long as he had been in the town, but had not thought to ask until now.

"How is it that I have seen no children in town?"

The Constable looked to his new-found partner and sighed. "As it would seem, the children were immune to this power. At first, they ignored the children. But when too many began questioning the adults, they were led away and taken to a place where they couldn't make any trouble for the people under sway of this thing."

"And where might that be?" After a moments pause, the constable replied.

"The Pit of Belkur. Its a section of the mines that the town has used as a storage facility since the actual mines closed."

Ignatius thought to himself that the constable probably came up with the idea. It was the easiest way to keep the children safe. A quarry can't catch fire, or collapse in on them and if it is a storehouse, then much of the winter month's food stash is there. Truly a good idea.

“The Pit of Belkur, huh?” Ignatius questioned rhetorically. “We should probably see to their safe escape before we go stirring the hornet's nest.”

The Constable tried to form a protest, but his innate sense of duty fought it back. He knew in his heart that his first and foremost duty should be to the safety of all the town's young rather than simply his own sister.

“You are right, Ordinator.-”

“Please, you may call me Ignatius. You and I serve the same King and bleed the same red.” Ignatius nodded as he spoke. “Do me the honor of being my equal and perhaps we may survive this.”

The Constable stood up straight and tall, honored by his partner's words. “Very well, Ignatius. The Pit is actually not far from here; perhaps a mile west and north.”

“You said the townsfolk don't come to this place, right?” Ignatius asked, a plan forming in his mind.

“No,” The Constable replied. “They avoid it like the plague.”

“So then, we might bring the children here while we liberate your sister...”

The simplicity of the plan was surpassed only by its genius. The potency of the old ruins has held the townsfolk at bay since the whole mess had begun, surely it would protect the children while he and Ignatius rescued his sister.

* * *

Time seemed to pass unbelievably fast, while not moving at all in the subterranean tunnels. Quiet skittering echoed through the desolate passageways and seemed to come from everywhere at once. Unintelligible whispers played on the edge of Ignatius' psyche.

Although it could not have been possible, it would appear that the creature was somehow still stalking the ruins of Lyire. The signs were as unmistakable as they were apparent. The beast must still have lived somewhere beneath the ruins of the fallen township. By some dark miracle, the Thing had again manifested itself.

Within the ever-confusing confines of the dark labyrinthine tunnels, Ignatius made his way towards where he had perceived the town center to be. The hand-dug passages wound this way and that, and though he was no longer shaken by the alien whispers and menacing feelings that assaulted every fiber of his being, he pressed on fearlessly.

Minutes passed like hours as his pulse pounded in his chest. Phantom images manifested and disappeared on his visions periphery as he moved in the shadowy abyss. Every now and again, he swore that he could feel someone touch him on the shoulder or leg. Though he was, of course, alone in the tunnel.

One further turn around the bend, and the tunnel opened itself wide to reveal a chamber as big as the Imperial Amphitheater in Rune. His foot steps echoed in the silent vastness of the cavern. Each foot fall resounding as three or four as the sound reverberated off of the walls.

Peering into the blackness, Ignatius' vision adjusted and allowed the light-less environment to reveal itself to him bit by bit. For in truth, there was almost an ambient light suffused to the area. He could make out shapes on the floor of the chamber scurrying about. In an instant he fell as still as a statue as dropped to the floor.

“Had they heard me?” He thought.

Forcing his senses to their mortal limits, Ignatius craned his neck around the rock formation behind which he sat. He looked again and saw that there were at least four figures now standing before a large reliquary where was seated a strange man.

He could make out no discernible features from this vantage, but it was in his concentrated state, that he did not hear the quiet foot falls of two more creatures loping up from behind him.

With a silent leap, the two creatures took to the air and tackled Ignatius ramming hard into his back and hips. The three forms rolled in a massive tangle down the steep rock slope until at last they were stopped by the floor. Rolling to his feet, Ignatius leapt back, to put the wall at his back, and drew his blades. Gleaming, even in darkness, his long and short blades threatened to cut even the hardest material with the lightest touch.

“We have a visitor, it would seem.” The seated figure stated, almost happily from his vantage. “Bring him here.”

“Yes, come at me!” Ignatius roared. “Which do I send screaming back to hell first?”

The stranger chuckled in the darkness as Ignatius felt his eyes burning into him. “A spirited one at that. No doubt it was you that burned my little town to the ground, was it not?”

“The town was never to be yours, heretic!” Ignatius spat as he swung his long blade in a downward arc at the first of the reaching arms that came for him.

With a loud thud, the severed pair of limbs fell to the ground, twitching and oozing a thick black ichor. Half a second later, his short blade shot up from his other hand stabbing the length of its blade through the thing's lower jaw and up through its skull. In the span of a heartbeat, the body fell limp.

Stepping out with his off leg, Ignatius withdrew his short blade, and whirled both arms around in a wide arc, slashing a second creature to his other side at the chest with the parry blade, and beheading it with the long one.

“Two down” Ignatius thought to himself.

The Ordinator risked a glance over to the mysterious man in the dark who seemed completely unmoved at the sight of his minions being slaughtered. The third ran at the Ordinator and, with split second timing, swatted away an expertly executed strike with the long blade across its midsection. Ignatius was turned around, his back now to the monster before him. It was all the opportunity it needed, and proceeded to sink its teeth into the Ordinator's shoulder.

The bite sent a pain racing through Ignatius' arm and up into his neck. The feeling of his flesh being ripped into by jagged teeth and pulled from his body sickened him as much as it was excruciating. The injury was repaid with a swift short blade through the skull. The body fell to the floor with no animating force left within it. It, just like all the others, was no more than a husk again.

Breathing heavily and bleeding from over a dozen deep gashes in his shoulder, Ordinator Ignatius Craft turned his whole wrathful attentions on the stranger before him. Where once his entourage of ghoulish monsters stood with him, now it was only he. At this range, Ignatius was able to measure his foe up much more clearly. He was not as tall as Ignatius and less broad, but had a shape to him that indicated was in very good physical shape and not to be underestimated. His hair was long and dark, pulled tight neatly behind his head in a long ponytail. Tattoos began at the top of his neck, just below his ears and descended below the collar of his shirt.

“You are the Wolf, I presume.” Ignatius said through his teeth as be bared his blades, pointing the long blade accusingly at the man.

“Yes,” he began. “I am Wolf... At least here in this town.”

“I killed that ungodly creature beneath Lyire. What matter of madness is this?”

Wolf took in a breath. “I doubt you would have the intellect to understand. But I believe you are looking for this.”

From behind his rather unimposing form, the man who called himself wolf, manifested a smallish statue.

“Your people searched high and low for this, Ordinator.” Wolf whispered.

“Your point?” Ignatius grunted.

Wolf seemed to allow himself a chuckle before bearing an accusing stare at his adversary. “You think they could have found it if I did not wish it to be found? This is far too valuable a piece to be handed over to Runian Knights and a temple that would've surely attempted to destroy it...”

Ignatius waited patiently for the braggart to make his point. Every passing heartbeat, every breath hissed through clenched teeth pushed him a little closer to attacking the man.

“You've witnessed it's power first hand, Ordinator. You of all people should have respect for such raw, unbridled power.”

Ignatius saw, he remembered, and he knew the truth of Wolf's words. It was a vessel of great power. It ripped a hole in the very fabric of reality and summoned the shapeless beast that demanded tribute and worship.

“It is pointless to try and fight us.”

“Us?”

Standing tall, increasing his form slightly, Wolf threw his head back triumphantly. “We are the Disciples of the Devourer. Even now, my brothers are elsewhere in Grudmash, and Nichir, even Alvandar is not beyond our reach. We call to It through our tributes and sacrifices to come deliver us from this world of weak, mortal flesh.”

Scarcely able to swallow, his throat dry from fear as much as exertion. “What in the hells is It?”

“Surely you remember your run in with it's spawn on your last visit, Ordinator...”

* * *

“Constable!” Ignatius screamed as he ran headlong towards the monstrosity that towered before him. “Grab your sister and let us be off from here.”

After the securing of the children, he and the constable had set out double quick to retrieve the lawman's sister from the grasp of the enthralled towns people. What they had found however, was nothing short of nightmarish. Some manner of bizarre ritual was being carried out by the citizens of Lyire. There was blood and braziers everywhere, orgies of men and women locked together in a ball of nude, wet flesh writhing and pulsing on the stone floor of the quarry. They chanted in an unknown tongue as they continued their many unspeakable acts. Although the words and sounds were lost on him, Ignatius could feel the weight of some manner of energy bearing down, as if the cavern were electrically charged. The power played with his psyche as he bore witness to it. In the Ordinator's mind shapes and strange alien sounds began to manifest.

He saw a surreal and twisted landscape superimposed over his very vision as the facade of the cavern melted away. There were blue suns and violet skies that was streaked with colors that have no name. Fauna grew, the likes of which defied logic.

There was a wrongness inherent in the very fact that such a place would exist it permeated Ignatius as he fought back for control of his mind. There was a subtle calling, something on the edge of his awareness that beckoned him. At first it came to him as another phantom native to whatever illusory hell he was beholding, but after several seconds, it seemed almost familiar to him.

“Ignatius!” Cried the constable as he watched his partner stand frozen in place before the might of the beastly monstrosity that lumbered toward him.

“Ordinator, Move!” He shouted again.

This time, in a combined effort of his own will and the Constable's calling, the Ordinator was freed from the mental grasp the creature held on him. Where once there was a seething mass of sex crazed bodies, there was now a massive roiling Anathema of putrescent grays and greens comprised of an almost liquid form save the tentacles and eyes that seemed to be everywhere in a constantly shifting pattern.

Ignatius leapt out of the way. Avoiding the embrace of an extended tentacle destined to wrap him up and draw him into the creature. Through the shifting flesh of the thing in front of him, a massive maw opened revealing an impossibly deep and dark void of a pit. From within a thunderous sound began to issue forth.

It was a tangled mass of a hundred voices horribly distorted by some unknown factor. “They... are... mine...”

Disgusted and driven half insane by his brush with the creature previously, Ignatius drew his blades and swung artlessly in front of him trying as hard as his body would allow to sever any appendage that came near to him. Swinging blindly Ignatius backed up until he could feel his friend beside him.

“How can we kill it?” Ignatius pleaded to the Constable. “Such a thing should not exist. Its just... wrong.”

“We have to get out of here! This town is lost.”

“No!” Ignatius screamed as he pinned the Constable to the stone wall at their backs. “This thing must not be allowed to remain!”

The Constable was little better off than Ignatius in regards to his panic, but simply did not show as much outwardly. “It cannot be fought here, Ignatius. We must flee or become part of that thing.”

A scream rang out as the two men debated. The constable's sister, who had been positioned behind her brother previously, began to scream hysterically as another of the thing's pseudopods drew near to them. Ignatius lashed out with his long-blade and sliced cleanly through the thick membranous tissue that made up the body of whatever it was. The dead piece fell helplessly to the stone floor and dissolved in seconds into a foul smelling pool of ichor.

“Come... to... us... Ordinator...” Growled the chorus of voices. “Your... death... will... be... it's... strength...”

As it spoke a second voice,unearthly and evil began to chant over the comments of the collective one. It used syllables that hurt to listen to. Static electricity filled the chamber and all at once, the room was ablaze all around the creature. Every stony protrusion and outcrop was wreathed in unholy flame. The shock wave of the invocation sent Ignatius and company hard against the wall. Three tentacles shot out from the body of the beast and attempted to entangle them yet again.

“Run,” The Constable exclaimed to his sister as he shoved her up onto her feet and pointed down the corridor from which they entered. “Get the hell out of here!”

“Burn it all!” Ignatius called to her as she fled. “Burn it all to the ground, the whole town is tainted!”

“Let's be gone, my friend.” the Constable pleaded. “We'll bring the whole town down upon its head. With nothing left to feed it, it will die.”

Ignatius thought for a moment and nodded. “We'll cut it off from its worshipers. If it hasn't already devoured them all.”

Hopefully it still needs them... Ignatius thought dreadfully to himself.

The survivors of the death of Lyire scurried hastily out of the cavern as fast as their flailing appendages would carry them. Ignatius and the Constable were preceded by the Constable's younger sister as they fled through the opening in the hillside that led into the previously abandoned mine. Its mouth was braced with massive wooden beams supporting a decrepit, yet functional awning of flat rotting cross beams and shingles.

“We'll need to seal this off.” Ignatius said, frantically looking around for a way to bring his suggestion to life.

The answer made itself manifest a few moments later. Black powder drums, lined up neatly alongside the left hand side of the entryway. An idea was forming in the constable's overworked brain. When all this madness began, the first “converts” sent for blasting powder and other demolition materials to delve further into their failed mine. As it turns out, the group found whatever they were looking for before running out of supplies.

In the moments he spent forming his thought, the Constable found that Ignatius was already acting on his intentions. The Ordinator's deceptively thin frame hefted one large heavy barrel after another rolling them into the entryway of the mine. The Constable quickly followed suit until nearly the full dozen were rocking on their sides in the mine.

With one last look into the inky darkness of the cave, Ignatius spoke to his comrade devoid of emotion. “If you would, Constable.”

The Constable of Lyire pulled open a pouch on his belt and drew out his flint striker. He knelt quickly to the ground and proceeded to send a small shower of sparks raining down on a small trail made from the last barrel thrown in place.

In the explosion that followed, the small mouth of the mine fell down upon itself sealing within all the horror and insanity that sought to escape.

* * *

“I remember,” Ignatius said.

With a sigh, the man who called himself Wolf shifted slightly in his stance allowing him to lurch forward as he spoke. “I was very surprised to learn that you were able to banish the vessel with no magic to aid you or preparation fall back on.”

“I have my faith in the Gods to empower me. All you have is the honeyed lies of some forgotten fiend.” Ignatius replied, taking a step towards Wolf.

Sensing the upcoming conflict, Wolf offered up one final bit of conversation. “So how is the Constable? And his sister?”

Enraged by the question, Ignatius took another step forward, and another as he spoke. “Dead. The Constable anyway. But you knew that, didn't you?”

“Of course,” he confessed. “I summoned the creature that ripped his heart out as he lay sleeping in his bed. Though, I must admit, I know not what happened to the girl.”

“Don't worry,” Ignatius shot back at him. “she is not your concern.”

There was only a precious few feet separating the Ordinator from his quarry. He could feel the heat coming off of Wolf's anxious form. The sweat beaded on his foe's forehead, his body reeked of earth and decay, probably from his association with the dead things he controlled. The situation was about to escalate, Ignatius could feel it.

“I see you do know of her.” Wolf smiled. “Send her my regards, Ordinator.”

Ignatius reared up, driving back his long sword to bring it around in a wide arc, his target being Wolf's unguarded neck. Preternaturally fast, Wolf pulled a concealed short blade with his left hand and brought it around in a small arc reverse of Ignatius' strike, parrying the death blow with little effort.

“Assuming you live, mortal.”

“I'll see you in hell!” Ignatius roared in defiance.

The battle was joined. Wolf drew out a second short-blade, a mirror copy of the first from a small scabbard at his back. He leapt back from his position assuming a defensive posture, bearing the two blades reverse gripped before him. He snarled in an almost inhuman manner at the Ordinator who sought to take his head. Ignatius gave him little quarter to recover and pressed the attack forward. He swung fiercely with both his long and short blades crossing his body in long, fast diagonal strokes so as not to invite a parry/thrust.

His skill was awe-inspiring and his strength fearful as he tried savagely to increase his offensive advantage, but the man who called himself Wolf was no amateur and dodged left and right,falling back as Ignatius pressed on, allowing his opponent to over-swing each time, hoping to tire the Ordinator. Wolf's Movements were conservative and graceful. He glided through battle as a dancer would perform upon a stage.

“You cannot beat me, Ignatius.” Wolf spoke softly. “You will be my greatest sacrifice to He-Who-Commands-the-Harvest!”

The Fight raged on as Ignatius, untiring, continued to rain mighty blows at his opponent. One slash, two slashes, a left spin and rear stab all knocked aside by Wolf's careful defense. It was upon Wolf's first return attack, that he made a fatal mistake. He parried Ignatius' flurry of attacks and saw the Ordinator's exposed back. He seized the opportunity and brought forward his left hand blade to skewer Ignatius. Anticipating such a presumptuous response, He threw his shoulder into Wolf as his weight shifted to strike and twisted, putting his short-blade hilt deep into Wolf's chest. As he slammed the weapon into his enemy, he felt the sternum buckle and crack under the weight of the strike and his muscular response trying, vainly, to force the foreign object from his body.

On his face, Wolf wore a look of utter surprise. The excruciating pain filling his senses overtaking the shock of having been run through by his opponent. For a moment, He waited patiently as if the power he served as going to absolve him at any minute. After only a few heartbeats, the horror of the realization came to him that he was indeed to be the next sacrifice.

“If I am to be... My master's next offering, I go... Willingly and... with no... regret.”

Ignatius turned around, withdrawing his blade and allowing wolf to fall to his knees. The walls of the area began to crack and shake, as if the foundations of the earth itself were threatening to buckle. The air of the cavern was thick with the scent of ozone and decay as a great voice rumbled in unintelligible syllables and sounds.

“There will be no more offerings tonight, or ever again.” Ignatius replied to Wolf's monologue.

Ignatius lowered his weapons from Wolf's collapsed and dying form, sheathing the blades as he moved towards the reliquary allegedly responsible for this creature's presence. He lifted the weighty statuette with both hands and looked at it. The alien features resembled nothing that Ignatius had ever beheld before. It was little more than a random mass of tentacles in the rough shape of something humanoid. The only other discernible features of the thing were two large bat-like wings protruding out from the writhing mass of limbs. How the townsfolk ever saw fit to display something so foul in the town center was as unimaginable to him as worshiping the damned thing.

He lifted the disgusting statue over his head and threw it down with all his might, smashing the stone monstrosity to pieces on the natural stone floor. As the statue shattered, a huge explosion rocked the cave and the disembodied voice cried out in pain so fiercely, Ignatius' eardrums bled from the force. Even in his temporary deafness, the world raged around him, reality seemed to ripple and distort as the forces of this world fought to hold back the invaders from another.

To Ignatius, this was the end. Madness sought to overtake him as reason fled in the face of such unspeakable beings and places as what was shown to him through the torrent of power. Landscapes whose arrangement and make up defied natural laws, things that should never have been.

And all at once, it was done. The ferocious storm of alien energy ceased and dissipated, leaving behind only an eerie silence and stillness that permeated every stone and body around him. He was alone amidst the corpses of his victory and the lack of the prize he came for.

Up until now, he was unclear why the ecclesiarchy would have ordered him back to the dead town of Lyire. Why such an article as that statue would be sought. Ignatius' training and loyalties made him want to believe that they desired it to destroy it, but if what Wolf had said was true, then the repercussions could be far ranging indeed.

What if the court had been infiltrated by these infernalists? Could it be possible that the King's trusted cabinet could be infected with these nihilistic cultists? There were questions now. Too many with answers that Ignatius wanted not to think of.

This was to be the beginning of one man's journey into the depths of madness in service to his beloved king and kingdom. Ignatius Craft, Ordinator of the Grudmashian court, hereby made a silent and secret oath to exterminate these vile cultists wherever they may lie and fight back the unspeakable hordes of abominations that lay in wait just beyond the veil of our world.

For now, there was much to be learned and there is but one place in all the kingdoms of man where someone could find information on such monstrous things, Rune, the city of Knowledge, seat of power of the Runian Templar Knights. Home of the most vast collection of literature ever assembled by mortals.

The journey is a long one from the ruins of Lyire to the massive stone walls that surround the city of Rune. One rife with danger and things best left where they lie in the dark places of the kingdoms deep forests and mountains.

The sun was rising ever higher overhead as Ignatius, filthy and bleeding climbed out of the claw-dug, earthen tunnel he first descended into in pursuit of the corpse creature. The ruins of the town shown brightly in the early morning sunlight and, for a moment, despite the horror of the memory of what happened here, Lyire seemed at peace.