INCURSION
Dornavver, the blade of Imbrar’s forefathers, carved through the hobgoblin’s chest, searing organs and bone alike. Imbrar spun, blocked a strike with his gauntlet, and drove his shoulder into the attacker. Dornavver made short work of it as well. Imbrar pressed forward, swinging in a wide arc, injuring two more who charged in with reckless abandon. Their next breaths were their last.
With a brief respite, Imbrar surveyed the field. Smoke rose in curling wisps as dark clouds gathered, hanging low over battlefield. Somewhere further on, sparks of red light illuminated the fog.
His honorguard had been separated, overwhelmed by the sheer numbers, unable to maintain formation. To his left, Feldren leveraged his size advantage against a pair of the monstrous horde, kicking one off-balance, then headbutting the other into submission before his axe sank into their flesh. To Imbrar’s right, Leoda smashed her mace against the skull of one of the skirmishers with a holy fury, spraying blood and radiant light in all directions.
The hobgoblins charged on unremittingly, breaking like waves against Impiltur’s finest.
But they had only been the opening gambit.
Soon, the portal opened and the knights were swept away by the tide of the Abyss.
CERTAIN DOOM
“You will die here. What a waste.”
The voice wrapped around his mind. It had started a whisper. Now, it spoke with a calm, authoritative tone.
“I would save you. Give you the means to turn back the tide. To save your men.”
Imbrar tried to shut out the voice, tried to shut out out everything except the legions before him. Dornavver would earn its reputation that cursed day, casting down demons by the dozen. It was still not enough.
“If you do nothing, Impiltur will burn. The entire kingdom, lost.”
As one of the Bulezaus charged headfirst, Imbrar spun aside of their ram-like horns and cut at its legs. The minotaur-like demon howled in pain before rising to its full height, a good two heads over Imbrar, and jabbed quickly with a spear. Imbrar parried, but only just, and landed a gauntleted punch to its elongated jaw.
“Surely you, their king, would pay a small price to ransom them from certain doom?”
The Bulezau, momentarily dazed, inhaled sharply as Dornavver plunged through its gut. Black ichor spew forth, sizzling as it hit the barren ground. Imbrar kicked the beast back, drawing forth the still pristine blade of his forefathers. Three more of the loathsome monstrosities barreled down upon him.
“You will die here. Let me help you.”
BARGAIN OF BLOOD
Imbrar’s muscles screamed in agony. With some reserve of will, Imbrar managed to lift Dornavver once more, knocking aside a blow that would have cut clean through his neck. The blade trembled in his hand from the force.
The demons were closing in, frenzied by bloodlust and victory within reach. Imbrar had no way of knowing if any of his honorguard remained. Feldren’s bellowing warcry had long fallen silent. Leoda no longer radiated through the hordes of enemies. By Helm’s Watch, was there any hope?
“You remind me of a former version of myself, you know. So determined, so resolute. Like an ember against the roaring tide. I would fan that flame into a roaring pyre. Let me help you.”
The Bulezau roared, its jagged-edged axe spinning to meet Imbrar’s half-hearted attack. The demon pushed back, sending Imbrar stumbling to a knee.
“I will grant you power to destroy these abominations and slay the one who sent them. She draws near, assuming victory assured.”
The voice swelled in his mind, a pressure on his skull, a force of will overtaking his own. The dark clouds had completely consumed the battlefield, blotting out the sun itself. Heavy bolts of dark red lightning crackled and burned overhead.
The demon stood over Imbrar, giving a hard kick with its hoof. Pain shot up Imbrar’s spine as he collapsed to the ground, staring up at the broken sky silhouetting his executioner.
As the axe sheared his armor and splayed open his chest, Imbrar watched his grip on Dornavver falter. His vision blurred, his thoughts swam.
“What…do you require?”
DEMON'S BANE
Dornavver, the blade of Imbrar’s forefathers, carved through the demons’s chest, searing organs and bone alike. Imbrar spun, kicked the monster’s knees from under it, and as it stumbled, he chopped once more, severing its head from body. Necrotic energy emanated from the blade. Imbrar pushed forward, blood seeping from his eyes in thick, opaque tears. He slashed in a wide arc as two more monsters charged forward. Their next breaths were indeed their last.
Smoke rose in thick pillars against the unnatural clouds overhead. Bolts of red light crackled through the fog.
Before long, the king and his honorguard reached the center of the storm. Here, they found the source of the incursion. With the portal crackling and shimmering behind her, the succubus stood, watching Imbrar intently. A wicked smile of intrigue spread across her face.
Imbrar tightened his grip on his blade, his knuckles white beneath a layer of mud and blood. So much suffering at the hand of this monster. So much destruction across his kingdom. So many of his citizens lost. No longer.
Imbrar released a curse, shouting defiantly to the ashen skies as blood continued to seep from his eyes. With a fire coursing through his veins, Imbrar raised Dornavver over his head. The blade, his birthright, and now the physical manifestation of his self-afflicted damnation, gleamed through the surrounding smoke. The infernal script along the sword’s edge burst in crimson light as Imbrar carved the succubus in two, casting her and her armies back into the Abyss.
SENTIMENTAL LUXURY
As a cluster of candles burned low, signifying the late hour, Ehmar continued to pour over the blueprints on his desk before him. He paused, tilted his head, and had to admit that he had little idea what to make of them.
“Erm, what exactly am I looking at here?”
“I think it’s how we mitigate the hemorrhagic feedback.” Merissen answered, sitting opposite him. Her words pressed together in her eagerness to explain her work.
“These schematics are for a device. Think of it like a, uh, a lightning rod for the worst parts of using hemocraft. The searing headaches, the boiling flesh, the… burnout. All of it would get trapped in the device instead.”
Ehmar grimaced at the mention of burnout, Leoda’s final moments too fresh in his mind.
“I learned enough to know magic doesn’t like being ‘trapped’,” he said, pushing his grief into a corner of his mind, forcing his focus to the matter at hand. “What would happen to it? To the wearer?”
”That’s the beauty of the device.” Merissen said, pointing to a scribbled notation in the schematics.
“If properly attuned to it, the user would be able to slowly, and more safely, siphon back the built up magical overcharge. It would ensure that blood spilt for hemocraft could be recycled. It would make the entire process a closed loop. Or close to one anyway.”
Ehmar was far out of his expertise, but responded with a thoughtful nod. He glanced over the schematics again without much further insight. His sister had always been more of the scholar.
“You said you had good news and bad news.” Ehmar said. “I presume this is the former.”
“The bad news is that, so far, none of my prototypes have worked. The materials, they aren’t strong enough. Or more precisely, aren’t concentrated enough, to safely capture, store, and then cycle the magical energy. It requires a metal of quite pure, excellent quality. And gems of particular clarity to correctly refract the excess energy.”
Merissen paused. Ehmar thought she was just catching her breath after rattling off her explanations, but caught a sense of uncertainty as she proceeded.
“ I know it’s too much to ask. We can’t afford the raw materials. But I don’t know anywhere else we’d—”
“If you believe this will work, I trust it will.”
Ehmar opened a secret compartment within the bottom drawer. The arcane lock clicked and fizzled as he released the spell. He drew out an adorned, claw-footed golden chest and placed it on the desk.
”Sire, are you sure? I … did not want to ask such a thing of you, but I didn’t know how else we would…”
Ehmar opened the box, noticing the age and wear on the purple velvet interior. From it, he lifted a crown, still as radiant and magnificent as the coronation ceremony. He could hardly feel more the opposite.
“I am not your sire.” he said. "Not anymore.”
Ehmar held out the crown with a lingering reverence. Merissen hesitantly accepted it, then pulled it close, inspecting the metal and the inlaid gems intently.
”This is a relic of another life,” Ehmar said. “And we do not have the luxury of sentimentality, no matter our station. Take it. From my past, build our future.”
INVESTITURE
With a single word, the room erupted in crackling streams of light.
Ehmar steadied the surge of magic, pushing and guiding his lifeforce into the weaving of the spell. The sigil he wrote into the air sizzled and then faded as the investiture took hold, wreathing him in protective flames. The embers swelled to the intensity of a wildfire, but Ehmar only felt their warmth like a welcome hearth after a cold, bitter day.
Ehmar held his concentration, watching Merissen take notes from a safe distance. Blood trickled from his hand, but no other side effects ensued. Just to be sure, he cast several cantrips while maintaining his focus on the investiture. And still nothing.
No headaches. No burns. No hemorrhaging.
The flames abruptly extinguished as he reached the spell’s limits. The room fell quiet and dim once more.
The medallion felt warm to the touch, the gold still shimmering in the low light. The gems, a pair of deep, crimson rubies, fashioned as the eyes of an abstractly monstrous face shone bright and menacing as if harboring a torrent within.
These gems had seemed more mundane when they were mere ornamentation. Not unlike Ehmar, they had found a new purpose.
“Incredible. You’ve outdone yourself, Merissen. We can make more of these, correct?”
“With the proper materials, yes, it is entirely reproducible, just requiring time for the enchantment process.”
“We’re going to need more crowns.”
BITTER INEVITABILITY
Ehmar paced his office as twilight spread across the sky behind him. The gold medallion swung gently beneath his clenched fist.
“Am I understanding correctly?” he asked. “You do not believe these medallions will work for expanding our ranks?”
“That’s my concern, yes.” Merissen responded, once again seated across from his desk with her notebook in her lap. “We are unique, the eight … seven of us. We were transformed by the contract.”
“New recruits will be similarly bound.”
“It won’t be that simple. We can naturally bond with the medallions because of our physiology. We were fundamentally, physically altered by the pact. The parts of us that were changed, that’s what lets us attune to the medallion without —”
“But those who join our ranks won’t be similarly altered, you’re saying.”
“That is my hypothesis.” Merissen confirmed as she flipped to a different page of her notebook.
She showed Ehmar a series of recipes. He did not recognize many of the ingredients. Those he did recognize had been toxins he had been taught to identify in the royal court. Those days of study felt far more distant a memory than the years between suggested.
”But the tinctures I’m producing could mimic the transformation,” she continued, pulling Ehmar from his memories. “If I were able to conduct a few exp—”
“No one undergoes the transformation until we are certain we know how it works.” Ehmar said as he offered Merissen back her note. He resumed pacing, his hands clasp behind his back in a tight grip.
“How else am I to add to our ranks?” she questioned. “You said so yourself, we’re running out of time. The contract is quite clear.”
“I will not risk innocent lives to test your ideas when the consequences of being wrong are disfigurement and damnation.”
Merissen paused.
“I don’t require innocent lives,” she said, her voice flat and measured.
Ehmar stopped in his well-worn path. He held up the medallion, the oni’s ruby eyes glaring back at him.
“Do what you must. But your subjects must know the purpose, agree to the terms, and be willing to go through the Rites if they are successful.”
“Those conditions will make it harder to find subjects,” Merissen protested. “It’ll slow down my research. Considerably.”
“It is the only way. For as long as I am here, we will not damn another unwilling soul to this life. You’re dismissed.”
Merissen gathered her notes, gave a hasty salute, and departed, shutting the door behind her.
Ehmar turned to look out over the city. The sun was nearly set. The buildings below cast long shadows over the city and its citizens. Alone in his office, he let his shoulders slump and released a heavy sigh. There was still much work to be done, but he found his tired mind wandering to the corners he had walled off. In the quiet moment, the regret and grief he set aside welled up like a river against a dam.
Ehmar wept. For Leoda, whose absence clung to him like flames to kindling; for Merissen, Feldren, and the rest, ashamed they had been unknowingly ensnared by the devil’s bargain along with him. He wept for those who would soon share a similar fate. He wept for the bitter inevitability of it all, resigned to knowing that even death itself would not be a relief.
SURVIVE
“No further reports from the western woods, my liege.”
Ehmar nodded to Renald from the head of the worn, wooden table, the map of Impiltur unfurled between him and his lieutenants. They each wore variations of simple leather armor in muted greys and blacks. They’d found mobility served them better than the stalwart steel plates of their former years.
“And what of the southern gap?” he asked, turning to Feldren.
“Nothing the outpost couldn’t handle. No signs of incursion.”
“Excellent. And what news from the coast?”
“Three contracts completed this month.” replied Merissen. “A hydra that has stymied trade along the river, a hag that had taken a liking to kids from the smaller villages, and a—“
The door swung wide, rusted hinging groaning. Drenth pushed back the cowl of his grey cloak, sweat across his forehead, his light curly hair matted flat. The young hunter caught his breath and extended a parchment towards Imbrar.
“A message, sire. From Aren in the capital. Said it was critical.”
“Read it aloud, Drenth,” said Ehmar.
The hunter unrolled the document hastily and started, not hiding the effort to steady his voice.
“Ilmara knows. She has called in the Knights of Holy Judgment for a full on assault, hoping to wipe the crown’s hands clean of the matter. We should prepare for the worst.”
“The Knights of Holy Judgment?” Renald asked. “Elzira’s crusade? The queen certainly has a sense of irony.”
“I’m afraid there’s more, sire,” Drenth said sheepishly, reading on. “They are already within Impiltur’s border, riding hard. They’ll be on our doorstep by morning.”
“They were eager for the work, it seems.” Ehmar said flatly. He stood and began to pace behind his chair, the torchlight casting shifting shadows against the stone walls of the chamber.
“Hell’s curses upon them, traitors and deserters all,” said Feldren, slamming his fist against the table. His goblet rocked from the force, splashing burgundy wine across the parchment in front of him.
“Deserters? You’re taking something that happened 200 years ago awfully personally,” Merissen replied with a chastising look as Feldren wiped the parchment clean with his sleeve.
“If the Knights hadn’t abandoned Impiltur, we’d never have needed to—.”
“They were gone long before that.” Ehmar interjected. “None of these knights had anything to do with it.”
“They are all of the same ilk. Chasing money under the pretense of protection, pursuing power for their own ends, building their ranks off of the desperate and —”
“Careful, you sound like the crown justifying our extermination,” noted Renald.
“It’s entirely different, they—”
“It’s doesn’t change the facts. They are here and we need a plan.” said Ehmar. He stopped pacing and stood with his hands on the back of his chair.
“We do not have the resources to prepare for a siege,” Renald stated, flipping through the ledgers in front of him.
Ehmar considered the map before him, measuring the miles between their headquarters and the sea. He already knew the answer, but hoped he was somehow mistaken anyway.
“Nor do we do not have the time to mount an escape,” he said, “especially with our hunters scattered out on contracts.”
“So we stand and fight and hope it’s enough?” asked Merissen.
“We could try to negotiate with the queen directly.” suggested Renald.
“We should take as many of them to hell with us as we can.” declared Feldren.
Ehmar weighed these options, meeting the gaze of each of his lieutenants in turn.
“We do what we do best — survive.”
SOLEMN RETREAT
As the docks of Cormyr took shape along the horizon, Ehmar couldn’t help but look over his shoulder, watching the rolling waves below the thick fog hanging over the Sea of Stars.
Somewhere far to the east, his sister celebrated a pyrrhic victory by the honorable Knights, purging the land of hemocraft and more importantly, Ehmar’s legacy. He had no doubt the citizenry would join in her relief and gratitude. Decades of defending his people from demons and other monstrosities had done nothing but reveal the hatred and intolerance within.
Ehmar gripped the pommel of his blade with a white-knuckled fist as he remembered.
The raid came swiftly in the early hours. Battle rang out under a crimson sun that painted the eastern sky in flame and fury. The morning shone radiantly off the polished armor of the horse and riders, carrying banners of Helm, Tyr, and Torm. Before the roosters called, the clanging of steel and the crackling of spells ushered in the new day. A day of blood and death, a day of broken blades and splintered shields, a day of mutual defeat and solemn retreat.
The battle was gruesome and bloody from the first clash. Two forces of highly trained warriors evenly matched in their skill and ferocity. Both tried to press short-lived advantages and both attempts were repelled. The result was significant losses on both sides.
As the fallen began to outnumber the living, Emhar urged the Knight’s leader to parley. The conversation, much like the fighting, was an impasse of even footing. Eventually, if only to avoid assured mutual destruction, they came to an agreement. They would honor their dead. Then, the hunters would retreat, casting themselves into exile beyond Impiltur’s boundaries. The Knights would not give chase and would assure the queen the contract was fulfilled.
It was a deal that should have been made at the start. Instead, he’d lost dozens of good hunters. He had failed them.
And now, where was he to lead this order? The truth was, he could not plan the path before him. He and the hunters would continue traveling westward, further distancing themselves from their reputation, the Knights’ reach, and Ilmara’s political sway. They would continue taking on contracts, hopefully earning enough good will to find somewhere to settle. Then, perhaps, they would be in a position to try and rebuild the order.
Profane Souls, she had called them. A fitting name, he had to admit. She’d always had a way with words, biting though they may be.
GREATER THREAT
Ehmar stepped through the threshold, his infernally enhanced eyes immediately adjusting to the low light. In the late afternoon, the bar was quiet between the lunch and dinner crowds. Ehmar nodded to the barkeep.
“Looking for a few rooms for the night, if you’ve the space.”
The burly figure wiped sweat away from his upper lip and pushed aside stray greying hair back behind his ears. He started to nod, but took a lingering look at Ehmar, squinting. He scrunched his face in disgust as he realized what stood in his doorway.
“Your kind ain’t welcome here. Best you be on your way, freak,” he said in a hoarse voice.
Ehmar took a step forward, practicing restraint to keep his hand from resting on the pommel of his blade.
“My kind? I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“This is an inn for honest folk. Not monsters.”
“I assure you, good sir, my coins spends the same.”
The barkeep narrowed his eyes, scowling. “And for your coins, I’d empty out my bar. So best be on your way.”
Ehmar loosened the knot on his coin purse, letting the coins clink together in his palm.
“If it be the price of a full bar, we can pay that.”
The barkeep’s brow furrowed, his face reddening. He reached for something beneath the bar.
“We?! No, One of you is far more than enough! No, no, get out of my bar or I’ll have the guards drag you out like the cur you are.”
Ehmar let the response wash over him and held his tongue. He spun on his heel and exited the tavern.
Beneath the modest wooden sign, Feldren waited. Ehmar shook his head and turned towards the city gate. They’d reached the opposite side of town without finding a stranger that would take them in, even for all the coins they carried. Again.
A century spent as vagabonds, ridding the lands of hosts of monsters and fiends, and still they were perceived as the greater threat.
“Another night sleeping in the snow, then.” Feldren muttered to himself. “Damnation.”
REFUGE
Ehmar joined the line of farmers, herdsmen, and merchants winding in front of the northern gate. The line moved at a consistent, orderly pace, matching the city’s supposed penchant for procedure. He hoped they were as diligent when it came to their defenses. Ehmar passed the time evaluating the gates and ramparts, assessing the equipment carried by the guards patrolling the walls, and drawing battle formations along the hills. Before long, he and the other hunters were next in line.
“Welcome to Elturel. State your name.”
“Ehmar.”
“Well met. What is your place of origin?”
”Impiltur.”
”Not every day we hear that one. What brings you to Elturel?”
”Refuge.”
“Ah yes, that sounds lov— I’m sorry, refuge?”
The guard lifted his eyes from his logbook. His lips curled in a familiar expression of surprised distaste. The Blood Hunters hadn’t taken contracts this far west before, but their reputation seemed to have preceded them.
Ehmar felt the guard’s eyes trace the scars along his cheeks, avoiding making eye contact with him. Ehmar’s sunken, yellow-eyed glare did not win him many friends. Behind him, Merissen cleared her throat, breaking the guard’s attention.
“Ah, very well.” the guard said, ”Elturel welcomes, uh, all in need to safety.”
“And we are grateful for it. It’s urgent I speak to someone regarding the city’s defenses.”
The guard continued to eye him, hesitant.
“It’s regarding our… business. I assure you, it is to Elturel’s safety that I inquire. Please.”
The line behind Ehmar had begun to stretch further along the road as more carts and caravans came to a halt, growing impatient.
“Fine. It’s my captain you’ll want to speak to,” the guard obliged, waving to a door over his shoulder. “Tell him whatever you need. But I didn’t send if you, if he doesn’t like what you have to say.”
Ehmar nodded and stepped through the gate. Adjusting his pack, he glanced over his shoulder.
Against the soft glow of near morning, dark clouds gathered, hovering over the hills.
Maybe nothing. Probably not. She was close.
Maybe he should have stayed dead after all.
HUNTED
“A demon? Really?”
Captain Preskal sat behind a pristine, polished desk of dark wood. His office was the definition of order. Matching bookshelves mirrored one another along the walls between the door and the desk. They were filled with files and logbooks and accented with various trinkets and commendations, all of which gave the appearance of intentional arrangement and thoughtful inclusion. The room was otherwise empty and unadorned, save for the desk and chairs surrounding it.
Ehmar stood opposite Preskal’s desk, pack still across his shoulder and covered in dust from the morning’s travels.
”Not just any demon. This succubus is a lord of the Abyss. She commands legions.”
”And they’re hunting …you?”
Ehmar nodded. ”I’m a Blood Hunter. I'm not doing my job if I don't have a legion of demons chasing me.”
”And yet you seek refuge here.” the captain stated, not making an effort to mask his frustration.
Putting thousands of innocents in harms way.”
”We had nowhere else to go.” Ehmar admitted. “No defensible position. No army.”
Morning light spilled in through the window behind Paskal. Fractured by the unnatural clouds looming over the hills, the glow cast the office in equal parts radiant sheen and deep shadow. Particles of dust hung in the air.
Captain Preskal let out a sigh, his nostrils flaring. “If what you say is true, doesn’t seem I have much of a choice.”
”I can help your men prepare. This isn’t the first time.”
“You buy your protection with their blood. This city will resent you.”
”That’s usually another sign that I'm doing my job.”
THE OLD DAYS
From atop the northern ramparts, Ehmar watched as the roiling clouds drew closer, coalescing together into a wave of darkness. Thin streaks of crimson lightning skittered across the plains. The incursion would be upon them by nightfall. Behind him, the heavy footfall cadence signaled Feldren’s approach.
“My Lord, are the Hellriders ready?”
“How many years and still the old habits?”
”My apologies, Lo- General Ehmar. It’s just the battle. The preparations. Feels more like the old days.”
“Were they so.”
”You think she’ll show? This time feels different.”
”She’ll show. When she does, the Hellriders will buy us time. We make straight for Soneillon.”
”Will we be enough? Last time it took —”
”We’ll be enough because we have to be.” Ehmar gripped the hilt of his blade, the family crest pressing into his palm. He couldn’t let his thoughts linger on the last incursion, on Renald and his sacrifice. He set himself to evaluating the stage of battle set before him.
Feldren turned, looking back over the city, himself wiping away a tear when he thought Ehmar wasn’t looking.
Word had spread; the streets were empty save for a handful of patrolling riders. Columns of men and riders anxiously awaited the assault outside the city. From here, Ehmar could smell their fear, like a pungent musk. Soneillon’s forces would sense it too. They would be in a frenzy, salivating.
It was up to him, Feldren, and the few that still remained to cut off the incursion before Elturel paid too heavy a price for their protection.
“And if we succeed, what then?” Feldren asked, recomposing himself.
“Then we’ve bought ourselves more time. And that’s all we can hope for.”
Thunder boomed in the distance. The clouds burst with crimson light. The sky fell dark and the Abyss charged to meet them.
FLIES AND ROT
Beyond the hills north of Elturel, the hoards charged unremittingly, crashing into shields and spears of Hell Riders and Elturen knights. Blood-slicked soil and boot-flattened grass made for a treacherous field of battle as the sun sank in the western skies somewhere beyond Baldur’s Gate.
Ehmar plunged his knife into the demon’s eye as it shrieked in revolt. In a frantic flail, the creature thrashed, spinning away from the Blood Hunter. Ehmar grimaced as the barbed tail of the bulezau dug into his back. He could feel the poison pushing through the dozen newly opened cuts. In hours, boils and welts would cover his body, if he were lucky.
And with my luck, I’ll likely end up spewing flies and rot before morning the Blood Hunter thought to himself.
The creature’s rotting flesh burned in Ehmar’s nostrils, the sharp stench reawakening his senses. He slashed quickly as the creature swung back around to face him, but it was just beyond his reach. Flies swarmed around the gouged eye where Ehmar’s knife remained lodged.
Ehmar led with his ancestral blade once more. As the bulezau lept out of the way, the Blood Hunter took advantage of the created space and lunged for the knife, clasping it in a blood-soaked hand. With a strength enhanced by hell itself, Ehmar drove the knife further into the demon’s skull. The monstrosity clawed at his arms, trying to drag him off, but he held in place, heaving his entire weight behind the knife as both demon and slayer collapsed to the ground.
Just as the demon brought it’s tail around for another strike, the knife’s hilt broke through the eye socket with a sickening crunch. The blade sank into the demon’s brain. Ehmar pressed deeper, not relenting until the body fell limp.
Ehmar caught his breath, muttering a spell to himself to slow the toxin spreading through his veins. His eyes instinctively watered as the summoned hellfire burned away the poison within him. He regained his composure just in time to face a pack of demon dogs who had caught his scent.
NEW TACTICS
Smoke rose around Ehmar where the fiery breath of the hell hounds had reduced what little underbrush remained to ash. He wiped Dornavver clean of their dark icor.
They needed to hurry and find the succubus wherever she hid behind her armies. She’d sent demons to seek out the blood hunters, engaging them without trying to overwhelm them. Sonellion wanted them distracted. The longer she could drag out the fight, the more Elturel stood to lose, and the hunters by association.
The sound of an approaching gallop interrupted his thoughts.
Captain Preskal turned his grey warhorse aside as he drew near, shouting over the chaos of the battlefield.
“They’ve taken the High Overseer! He was last seen being dragged this way, but the men giving chase have fallen.”
Ehmar spun on his heels and scanned the hills. *Since when in the bloody nine hells did these bastards take a hostage?* He couldn’t remember the last time he saw the demons executing new tactics during an incursion.
His infernally-enhanced eyes dilating, Emhar scanned through ranks of the abyssal invaders. Cresting a hill, a trio of babau hoisted a robed figure overhead. The portal was just beyond the next ridge.
“He’s there, along the eastern ridge! Feldren, Merissen, to me! Preskal, have your men form a column and —
“You won’t reach them in time! Phantom can carry another, but we—”
Ehmar growled, but nodded in agreement.
The horse flared its nostrils and snorted, but accepted the new rider and charged headfirst into the swarms of demons.
PEACE, FLEETING
See:
II.Lore Ehmar's Contract
TAKEN
Ehmar’s heart sank. Standing alone in the bed chamber, the day’s events suddenly made a sickening sense.
Instead of the usual army, she’d brought only a handful of her abyssal legion. They’d all been disguised or transformed, integrating into the city. Probably watching them. Until, of course, they started burning and tearing Elturel down from the inside. But it had all been a distraction, a feint so she could deliver a more devastating blow.
Ehmar allowed himself a moment to confirm what he already expected. Signs of a struggle. Imiara was a fighter, none would deny. No blood or ichor, just toppled furniture and scattered toys. They’d try to go out the window but it didn’t work. So they’d gone through the streets. He turned on his heels and launched himself back down the stairs and out the door back into the chaos that filled the streets.
Shouts of terror and confusion rang out across the holy city. Ehmar disregarded them. The knights and riders would see to the citizens. Just outside, Merissen watched Ehmar expectantly.
“She’s taken Imiara. Get the others, I’ll give chase.”
“It’s a trap.”
“I don’t care.”
Ehmar turned away from his lieutenant and descended into the river of fleeing Elturians.
Even in the chaos, his hemocraftic senses led him true. He closed his eyes. He heard his daughter’s panicked muffled cries growing fainter. He smelled the smoldering brimstone of the demon dragging her away as she hid in some mundane human form. He tasted the storm on the air that had heralded her arrival and clung to her as she moved somewhere through the frantic crowd.
Another thundering crash erupted, closer now, perhaps only the next block over. Screams swelled from the east, sending the crowd into a renewed frenzy. Caught between two groups pressing in from different directions, Ehmar drove a shoulder through the man in front of him, offering a rote apology as the man stumbled to the ground behind him.
Ehmar knew he lagged further behind the succubus. He redoubled his efforts, ignoring as his lungs burned and his sides screamed in resistance. The Blood Hunter fought the crowds further into the town center but came to a sudden stop when the infernal trail turned abruptly into an empty alleyway, shroud in swirling shadow. Ehmar unsheathed Demonbane, but the familiar crimson glow did nothing to push back the tendrils of darkness spilling from the narrow alleyway.
“She wants me to know it’s a trap.” Ehmar muttered to himself as he stepped into the shadows. He still didn’t care.
FACADES
Before he reached the other side of the darkness, Ehmar found himself wrapped in arcane energy. A flash of swirling purple light broke through the shadows. The temperature dropped suddenly. He broke into a cold sweat as he took in his surroundings, his grip still white-knuckled around Demonbane’s hilt.
An unnatural grey light illuminated a forest clearing surrounded by thin, leafless trees growing in dense thickets, their branches woven around each other like the knotted tail of whips swaying menacing in the breeze. Ehmar stood in soft, dry moss and undergrowth. In front of him, in the center of the clearing sat a sprawling heap of books, parchment, and scrolls.
Before he could examine further, his nostril flared, picking up the familiar brimstone scent of his fiendish mark.
“Sonellion,” Ehmar growled. “Give me back my daughter.”
In the silence that followed, Ehmar felt each heartbeat thud against his ribcage awaiting a response.
From the other side of the clearing, stilted footsteps approached, dragging against the fallen leaves underfoot. From the shadows of the brushwood, Imiara approached. She stared, her eyes a pair of dull onyx, her head tilted to one side. She wore her training leathers, but they were scorched beyond repair. Her scalp was a mess of matted hair and dried blood, where portions had been torn from her scalp. Her skin was covered in sores and welts. Her mouth was stitched shut.
Ehmar’s breath caught in his throat, but he forced himself to steady. *This was an illusion. One of her tricks.* He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of unsettling him.
“Drop this facade, demon. Show yourself!”
“Of course, my liege.” said the visage of his daughter as it morphed and shifted.
Her posture straightened, her shoulders snapped backwards as wings protruded and folded behind her. She grew into a taller, fuller frame of pearlescent maroon. Her tattered hair brightened to crimson, held back by a four-pronged crown. The ruined leathers gave way to a plunging dress of green and gold detailed with gems. A wicked smile spread across Soneillon’s face, accenting her high cheekbones.
“Where’s my daughter, crone?”
“That’s no way to speak to your gracious host, Imbrar. Where are your manners?”
“Must have left them back in Elturel,” he said, raising Demonbane to her throat. The blade’s infernal script illuminated with sanguine light in the demon’s proximity.
“An easy mistake to make. You were in quite the hurry.” said Soneillon, taking a step closer to Ehmar, the tip of his sword now digging slightly into her neck. “And here I have been less than cordial myself. Allow me to be the first to bid you welcome.”
“Where are we?” Ehmar demanded, already exasperated with her pretense. He should cleave her neck in two and be done with it. But he was as good a captive until he knew what she’d done with Imiara. He’d have to play along.
“The little slice of the infinite chaos known as Spirac.”
“So you dragged us to the Abyss? For what?”
“Well, I’d seen all the pathetic excuses for a home you’d found over the years. I thought it was past time to show you mine after all these centuries. Every time you so cruelly cut me down, this is where I returned. You’ll find it has a certain, irresistible lure to it, if you spend enough time exploring it.”
Soneillon fixed here eyes on his as she toyed with the fabric along her gown’s revealing neckline.
“I think I’ll pass on the tour.” Ehmar asserted, maintaining her gaze.
“So upright. So dutiful.” Sonellion clicked her tongue. “If only that sense of loyalty had been enough to save—”
“Her name is not for your forked tongue to utter.” Ehmar pressed the blade, holding the edge just above her shoulder. “Do not test my patience further. Where is Imiara?”
“Oh, fine, if you’re going to be so insistent.”
The image of the sucubus in front of him flickered. Behind it, the true Soneillon appeared, dropping her invisibility. Her illusive image dissipated, leaving Imiara standing between them. *Damnation, I could have killed her.* Imiara shuttered, pleading to Ehmar with her mother’s eyes as tears welled up within them.
“Let her go.”
“Put down your sword and take off your medallion. Then, I’ll be happy to oblige, my liege.”
Ehmar seethed, clenching his jaw. He let his sword fall into the moss. He hoisted the medallion over his head, the ruby eyes of the oni shimmering in the unnatural silver glow of the woods. He released it, the chain clinking against the blade where it landed.
The sucubus released her captive with a shove. Ehmar caught her in an embrace. He wiped the tears from her eyes with his thumbs, brushing her auburn hair from where it stuck to her cheeks. She buried her face in his chest, wrapping her small arms around his torso as far as she could reach.
“Now what?” demanded Ehmar, looking back to the fiend. “You’ve had your fun. How do we get back?”
“Oh, not all of us are going back.”
“That’s it? You just leave us here to die?”
“Well, that’s up to you, really. If I were you, I would start reading. One of these parchments will teleport you back. One of you.”
Soneillon snapped. The pile in the center of the clearing ignited and roared to into a sudden blaze, sending dark smoke rising into the dull twilight sky.
“Oh, and I would hurry. Did I mention these woods are the favored hunting grounds of more than a few demon lords?”
Soneillon’s stepped back with a self-satisfied smile. Her deep maroon skin took on a lighter hue. She grew taller, her limbs contorting as bones expanded within. Her face lengthened and a beard sprouted from her chin as she took on a more haggard, self-serious expression. It was as if Ehmar looked into a mirror.
“Meanwhile, we have other places to be.”
Another burst of purple arcane light burst in the air and the succubus disappeared.
FUNERAL PYRE
The fire raged. Plumes of smoke swirled in the air, burning Ehmar’s lungs. He gathered up Imiara to move her to the safety of the treeline as she squirmed and fought him the length of the clearing.
“I want to help!” she protested. “I can help!”
“I can’t protect both of us from the flames! Stay here, out of sight. I’ll be right back. I promise.”
Ehmar set her down. The medallion warmed against his chest as he wrapped himself in the investiture of flame. It did nothing to push back the suffocating smoke, but at least he didn’t have to worry about burning alive. For now.
He set himself to digging through the heap of parchment. Many pages crumbled to dust in his hand or were already ashen remains beneath his boots. He could only pray the teleportation spell was still intact.
Minutes passed as he delved through the burning materials. He tossed books aside, many of them texts he recognized. An entire dossier of documents were genealogy reports full of familiar names. The next pile of pages were schematics and blueprints, all of them in a script he knew. Then he sifted through documents with his own signature on them, contracts and requisitions. Finally, he came to letters he’d written to his beloved Qira. He pulled these from the flames, smoothed them out, and tucked them into his armor.
As he looked up from his search, eyes watering incessantly from the smoke, the twisted humor set in. This heap of parchment was made from his accomplishments, his memories, his legacy. She’d built a funeral pyre out of his life and left him to burn in it.
His mind flooded with a jumble of wistful memories, regretful lessons, and lingering grief, but his hands and eyes still worked through the remaining pages not yet consumed by the flames. Even as his thoughts wandered, the work went faster now. He could immediately toss aside anything familiar, anything related to his family, the order, or their histories.
He stopped. His thoughts snapped back into the present. A single page, barely still intact, was entirely unfamiliar to him, written in a script he had only seen in passing. He stood from the flames, surrounded by smoke, and darted back to Imiara.
PROMISES
Blood trickled from Ehmar’s eyes as he coerced his mind into comprehending the alien language before him. He recited the incantation, the foul abyssal words peculiar and acidic on his tongue. Portions of the script had been singed away, leaving him to puzzle over how to fill in the gaps. He stumbled over how the words tangled his tongue, forcing him to restart, each attempt more frantic than the last.
Smoke rose in thick, dark pillars. It coalesced into dense clouds hovering over the clearing, a beacon to whatever monstrosities roamed these lands.
Finally, mercifully, he got through the spell. Beside Imiara, violet runes illuminated the charred clearing. Ehmar blinked away a tear of relief.
He knelt before his daughter, letting the investiture fall as he clutched her.
“It’s going to be okay. I’m getting you out of here.”
“You have to come with me! I can’t leave you!”
“What I have to do is protect you. The portal will close behind you. But I’ll find my way back to you.”
“It’s not fair! You can’t stay!” Imiara cried into his chest, her entire body trembling.
“It’s not fair, but it’s the only way.” Ehmar squeezed her tight, then held her face in his hands as he spoke.
“I need you to do something for me. Promise me. Keep the sword safe. Never—
“Your sword?! You need it!”
“I need you to keep it safe. It’s the order’s one way out.”
Imara’s brow furrowed in confusion, but she nodded, fighting back her tears.
“Promise me these three things. Keep the sword safe. Never say the rites. And never go looking for me.”
“I..I promise.” she managed as a bout of hiccuping sobs overtook her words.
“Good. Now, you need to tell—”
An arrow splintered the trunk of a nearby tree.
“You must go. Now.” Ehmar said as he pushed the flat of his blade into Imiara’s arms.
Another arrow whizzed by Ehmar’s shoulder.
Ehmar got to his feet, moving Imiara toward the teleportation circle. He wrapped his hands around hers.
“I love you. I’m so proud of the—”
Imiara’s face contorted in pain as an arrow struck between her ribs. Blood soaked the shirt beneath her leathers.
“No!” Ehmar shouted, but there was little to nothing he could do. He had no potions, no supplies, no spells to heal the wound. He did the only thing he could. As his vision blurred with tears, he gave his daughter one final look and then shoved her backwards into the teleportation circle.
“I’ll always be with you. I promise.”
He could only hope she heard him as the purple swirls of arcane energy encircled her and carried her away.
Written in common in the final page
I kept my promises, papa.
I kept your sword safe. Even if sometimes it felt like it was the other way around.
I never said the rites, but I defended Elturel the best I could anyways. You made it our home, even when you thought you couldn’t. Maybe you were right, given what became of everything. I didn’t understand, how could I. But having my own family now, I see. I never realized the burden you carried or the weight of your decisions. I don’t know how you did it. But I’m trying to follow the example you set.
I guess the one promise I didn’t keep is that I never stopped looking for you. In the little cafe where you used to buy my hot chocolate. Outside the keep where we’d play fight with sticks. In the quiet around a campfire, like the hearth where you’d tell me make believe.
Even when I followed the Order to Baldur’s Gate, I would see a glimpse of you in a kind stranger’s face. In the hopeful expressions of the orphans. In the face of your grandson and all the little ways he’s brave every single day.
I wish you’d gotten the chance to meet him. But I know, wherever you are, you’re still with us and watching over us. Just like you promised.
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