Aegis Returns

The hooded figure, legs crossed, spat vile mage-words out into the dark. Every burst of syllable from the figure's mouth was given coherence in the form of little puffs of dark prismatic iridescent that illuminated the otherwise lightless cavern. A small translucent halo of yellowish light appeared in front of the figure, gaining permanence with every passing moment and expanding in size. There was a low buzzing accompanying the growth of the halo which shook the caster to his bones.

The buzzing reached a feverish crescendo but as soon as it peaked, it stopped, instilling a disconcerting sense of quiet in the cavern, intermittently punctuated by the almost inaudible crackles of energy emanating from the halo. In the middle of the room, the halo had expanded into a hard oval, resembling a long ornate mirror, albeit framed by cackling yellow lightning rather than oak. This was no mere mirror, but a spell of communication. The field of vision the portal allowed its caster to see his audience. Five mortal men sat before him, but between them, they alone controlled the fates of the men and women of the Kingdom of Evernes. So much power in such useless flesh vessels, the figure mused.

On the left, bald, sweaty and sporting a big bushy moustache greying at its tips, was Lord Commandant Briggs Fortunim, commander of the Emperor's Legions and distinguished veteran of a thousand battles. He eyed the hooded figure with distrust and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The wiry looking woman with hair of bright auburn streaked with grey, dressed in billowing black robes on his left seemed to share his sentiments but where the military man conveyed veiled reservations towards the caster, the woman was openly contemptuous towards him. Eyebrows furrowed coupled with a perpetual scowl tattooed on her face, this had to be Grand Vizer Ambergen of Mazyr, Magus Supreme and the Council's advisor on all things arcane.

'We are parlaying with this thing?' Ambergen inquired accusatorily, her words dripping with obvious venom and hatred.

'Now, now Amber. Let us not be too hasty! He is just doing his job!' a bear of a man bellowed jovially. The hooded figure's eyes shifted to the right where a big, rotund bear of a man boomed with laughter. 'Don't shoot the messenger: don't they always say that?' the bearded human-bear thing shouted and laughed uproariously, slapping the stone table and whipping tears from his eyes as though he said the funniest thing in the world. His companions did not share his mirth and sat in stoic silence. Ambergen now directed her ire towards her colleague, looking at him with open disdain.

From what the caster gleaned from the intelligence procured, the large man clad in ornate heavy steel armour was Lord Templar Voist Bermont, or Bermont the Lionheart as he was known to the human populace. He was the military leader of the Faith of Fyr, and their de-facto representative on the Council. The quiet figure on Bermont's right winced as he let loose another volley of rambunctious laughter. This one was Spymistress Vo. She was of indeterminate age, with no known background and no information about who she was. Only information that was freely available to the hooded figure was her name and her position. She was a severe looking woman and wore her hair loose over the right side of her face. She grimaced slightly when Bermont let out another one of his booming laughters but otherwise betrayed no other expression, her face slipping back into neutrality.

'Come on Ambie, lighten up! It was just a joke. You godless magik users know about jokes, right?' Bermont chortled.

Ambergen bristled at the informal use of her name, scarlet rising to her ears at Bermont's slight. 'My dear Bermont, you wouldn't know a joke if it took your mother from behind and fu-'

Ambergen's insult was lost on her lips, as the regal figure in the middle held up a gauntleted hand for silence. With a steely gaze exuding from deep blue eyes, Emperor Cardnis Dragoon III, Twice Blessed, Emperor of the Kingdom of Evernes, leader of the Council and descendant of the Bright God, held the attention of the hooded figure and his servants at the table.

'Do your masters have a response to our proposal?' the Emperor inquired politely.

'I have no masters save for Nefal, may His Blistered Form always pulsate and excrete,' the caster intoned.

'Alright, sure, sure. But what of our proposal?' Bermont pushed on.

The caster left out harsh bark of laughter. Hands scarred by the marks of some blood ritual appeared from the robes, and pulled back the hood. A grotesque face, mutilated and flayed, whether by choice or otherwise, starred at them from lidless eyes, smiling a lipless smile. The warm yellow glow from the portal, illuminated his facial injuries even more vividly, adding an oily yellow sheen to it. The Council visibly recoiled at such a sight.

'WE THE CULT OF NEFAL, REJECT YOUR SO-CALLED PROPOSAL FOR ALLIANCE. YOU THINK YOU CAN BUY US WITH PALTRY GIFTS OF GOLD AND GEMS? I, HIGH PRIEST VOKSYK CURSE YOU MORTAL CRETINS IN THE NAME OF HIS PUTRIDNESS! WE SHALL SPREAD ROT ALL OVER YOUR SO CALLED ETERNAL KINGDOM AND CAST DOWN YOUR FALSE GODS! DISEASE AND DEATH WILL STAKE A CLAIM IN YOUR LAND AND IN YOUR HEARTS! YOU WILL WATCH YOUR CHILDREN SUFFER BEFORE YOU COME BEGGING ME FOR YOUR DEATHS!' Voksyk screeched.

'So… I take that as a no?' Cardnis Dragoon pursed as he relaxed into his seat.

Voksyk puffed up and begun to screech again. 'YOU HIDE BEHIND FALSE BRAVADO. MORE FOOL YOU, MORTAL EMPEROR. I CAN SEE YOU QUAVERING IN YOUR SEAT AT YOUR IMPENDING DOOM. I WILL WEAR YOUR SKIN AS CLOAK, AND THE SKIN OF YOUR CHILDREN WILL BE USED AS FLAGS FO-' the Council turned towards themselves and paid no heed to the grotesque man-thing screeching death and violence at them, and were talking in hushed tones amongst themselves.

'Wha-' Voksyk stopped midway into his tirade. He had not even gotten to the part where he will taxidermise their toes to use as sex toys for his harem of children.

'Alright, Mr High Priest Voksyk, I am afraid that we can't continue this conversation any further.' A new figure appeared in the periphery of his vision. A young woman peered at him behind half-moon glasses.

'What?' Voksyk was confused.

'Like I said, we can't continue this conversation any further.' The woman said matter of factly as she scribbled into a scroll while fiddling with what looked like a metal box with one too many metal components. The contraption was screeching at a high register and punctuated it with various beeps and boops.

'In fact, considering the threats you have made to us, the Council has deemed it best that we not leave any potential liabilities who could possibly, and I am paraphrasing here, spread rot, death and disease in the Kingdoms, unchecked. Isn't that what you said, Mr High Priest?'

'Uh, yes?' Voksyk was even more confused.

The young woman nodded absentmindedly, punching in digits into the contraption's panel slowly. 'Alright, in that case. We have seen it beneficial to our interests and the interests of our subjects to not take such threats lightly, even if they were made half a continent away over the Crystal Seas, and as such, we have taken it upon ourselves to exercise due diligence in facing any potential threats to the Kingdom and its subjects and will therefore be taking pre-emptive action.' She punched a large bronze button on the side of the contraption, punctuating her statement. 'Do you understand?'

A muffled blast rocked the cavern, dust and loose rock falling from the ceiling and coating Voksyk's bewildered ugly face. A heart beat later, the screams and death knells of his cultists were echoing throughout the cavernous tunnels and chambers.

'WHA-' Voksyk asked, incredulously.

'BASICALLY, Mr Voksyk. You made some very nasty threats and we think its best that we make sure those nasty plans of yours don't come to fruition.' The screams of his dying acolytes undulated across the stony rock, getting closer and closer with every second. 'Our Blade agents, representatives of our Kingdom's foreign affairs agency will be meeting you in about five seconds.' An acolyte rushed into his chamber, covered in blood.

'HIGH PRIEST! BY NEFAL, PLEASE SAV-'

With a loud whoosh, a spear found its way through the back of the acolyte's head and exited through the front, penetrating the eyeball on its way out. Blood splayed across the cavern walls and the High Priest Voksyk soiled himself.

'I apologise about how this situation has played out, Mr High Priest Voksyk, but you know, can't leave loose ends lying around.' the woman shrugged.

'Edna? Who do we have next?' the Emperor inquired off screen.

'Please give me a moment, your Highness.' Edna consulted her scroll, checking against a list of badly scribbled names.

'WHAT IS TH-' Voksyk started, standing up and running towards the portal. But the Emperor cut him off.

'Oh, and could you please turn the portal off? I tire of this rabble.'

'Yes, your Highness.' Edna acquiesced to her ruler's wishes. Turning towards the portal, she gave Voksyk a final non-committal shoulder shrug and with a snap of her fingers, the halo ate itself and disappeared.

High Priest Voksyk stood lost, mouth agape, a look of profound shock and disbelief etched across his face. He heard shadows moving behind him. He turned. Two masked figures in black, with green-gemmed googles, stood before him. They seemed to be dripping with moisture but it only took a moment for Voksyk to realise it was blood. One of the figures walked towards the dead acolyte and with a curiously dry sucking sound, pulled the spear out of the back of the dead acolyte's head. Voksyk soiled himself again and he turned to run. A flash of steel and Voksyk's head was separated from his body, trailing black blood from its severed end. A third figure wielding daggers of dark obsidian flicked the late Voksyk's diseased blood on to the ground.

'Huh. This one died easy.' remarked the largest of the three, wiping the bloodied spear and picking the dead acolyte's eyeball off the tip. It came off with an obscene squelch and landed with a wet thud on the cave floor, its juices mixing with the rapidly congealing blood of the high priest.

'They all die easy, Yof. It's the killing part that's hard.' remarked the small figure at the entrance of the high priest's enclave. He holstered a repeater crossbow across his back, and squatted over the high priest's rapidly decomposing body. The body was undergoing rapid decaying, the already grotesque flesh of Voksyk melting into a pool of its own fluids and giving off vile humours.

'Nasty business this sorcery thing, innit?' he prodded the vaguely humanoid skeletal remains of Voksyk with a spare bolt. The bones gave way with a slight push and mixed in with the grey and brown soup that was formerly Voksyk.

'Stow it, Aldren. We aren't done yet.' Voksyk's killer snapped at Aldren.

'Yof, how many on your side?'

'Two score, about one or two made it to the western tunnels.'

'Ald?'

'I got ten coming in from the east. No escapes.'

'That leaves the remnants in the western tunnels.'

In the dark dimness of the tunnels, the flurry and clatter of steel armaments and bestial shrieks of vengeance echoed down towards the trio of assassins. The remnants of the cult had regrouped and were seeking revenge for the trio's impudence.

'On cue.' Yof rumbled as he unsheathed a wicked two handed-axe from his back-straps.

'What's the plan, Jan?' Aldren inquired, unsheathing twin blades with dramatic flourish, the metal cutting through the air in tight arcs.

'They die, 'Jan Cardnis, remarked casually as she stretched her sword arm and readied her scimitar. She stalked towards the growing sounds, Aldren and Yof following her with large smirks on their faces.

The remaining acolytes pushed through the tunnels with fervour and rage. They were going to find the assassins and make them pay for the deaths they had wrought. They were a massive group, all torches and weapons at the ready. The group found Jan and Aldren waiting for them at the end of the tunnel before the high priest's enclave. A more coherent and tactical mind would have realised that the two agents before them were clearly baiting them into the tunnel. But years of death magiks had rotted away all cogent mental faculties and at the sight of the two agents, their lust for revenge overwhelmed them and they rushed forward, keen for blood.

The agents exacted a bloody price for the acolytes' folly. Jan and Aldren met the acolytes head on, forcing them to fight two abreast in the cramped tunnel. Their weapons hacked and slashed, yielding a bloody harvest as the front most acolytes were slain, their toxic life juices splaying across the tunnel walls. Jan deftly parried a poor slash from an axe and flicked her blade into the face of her assailant, her blade slicing the acolyte's face open. The acolyte's death gurgle was cut short as Aldren cut him down, his blade almost bisecting the acolyte from shoulder to hip. One fell, then two, then three and their numbers began to dwindle. The acolytes found themselves being slaughtered by the two assassins. It was a violent ballet of death and dismemberment as they weaved and ducked between stabs and slashes, rewarding such attempts with graceful flicks of their blades, slicing open a throat here, disembowelling a stomach there, their lithe figures dancing through falling bodies and severed limbs.

A priest adorned in the filthy robes of their order, was at the back, forcing the surviving acolytes forward, threatening all sorts of punishments if they took another step back. His promises of castration to the next coward who retreated turned into gibbering cries of shock and fear as the hulking figure of Yof grabbed him by the head and dashed his brains onto the hard rock. The backline of the mob faltered and started pushing forward, terrified of the hulking giant who had sneaked behind them through another exit, eager to get away from a most violent death. Where Aldren and Jan exemplified grace, elevating their sword-work into an art, Yof was the antithesis to their movements, heavy and brutish swings of his orcoid axe cleaving and cutting a swathe through the backline of acolytes. Violence was visited upon the remaining acolytes and in a few short heartbeats, the tunnel was a mess of body parts, the trio of blade agents wading through ankle deep gooey blood towards the last acolyte.

The last acolyte, a vaguely humanoid female, swung her torch and dagger wildly at the agents.

'BACK! BY NEFAL GET BAC –

Aldren slipped under her guard and smashed a gauntleted fist into her face, bones and teeth audibly crunching as the acolyte dropped. The armoured boot of Aldren descended upon her face as she was kept in place, her face partially submerged by the blood of her brethren, as Aldren half-heartedly attempted to drown her. The acolyte frantically struggled against Aldren's weight but to no avail.

'Now,' Jan crouched before her and whispered, a dagger in her hand, 'assuming you want to live, you better tell me the truth. Which tunnel does Voksyk keep his valuables in? All you need to do is to point.'

The half-submerged acolyte, her desperate attempts for air bubbling against the thick noxious blood, urgently pointed to the eastern tunnels.

'Thanks.'

Jan nodded to Aldren. The agent lifted his boot and stamped repeatedly on the acolyte's head, her brittle bone giving way with a wet crunch. Her struggles ceased and all was quiet in the tunnel.

'Alright, Yof with me, we are going to peruse their hoard while Ald cleans up. We head out in five turns.'

The blade agents moved purposely through the dark, Yof and Jan headed to the cult's trove of treasure whilst Aldren set about placing several charges of gnomefire in the tunnels.

..................

Dawn broke over the red stone of the G'oltoum Peaks. The light bounced off the canopy of the rainforest, as the jungle surrounding the cult's stronghold slowly stirred to live. The brilliance and cleansing warmth of Sol was a welcome respite to the carnage that occurred a few hours before, as the Blade agents exited the tunnels.

Aldren had set up the charges and when they were a safe distance away from the mouth of the cave ignited the charges. The magewords 'Immol' breathed into the ignition stone set off the charges, and the earth shook as the gnomefire incinerated and collapsed the cult's stronghold. A wave of dust and debris kicked out from the mouth of the cave. The surrounding flora reverberated with the shockwave as the various fauna jittered in shock at the blast. When the dust settled, the chittering of the jungle resumed its peaceful rhythm and all calm in the tropical rainforest. They made their way to where their horses were tied up some hundred yards away, and proceeded to de-kit and ready for the journey back to the Western Eye.

At the cult's trove, though they found nothing of import that their masters would have deemed to be of interest, there were child-slaves hiding amidst the chests. These poor wretches were ritualistically blinded and scarred and used as fodder for the death magiks that the cult practiced. Yof and Jan quickly put them to the sword. They were beyond saving, their minds and selves warped and twisted by the profane magiks practiced upon them. 'This is a more merciful end,' Jan had told herself, but her reassurances sounded empty.

Yof was brooding, the sour distaste of killing innocent lives transparent on his face. Yof was green, directly drafted from the ranks of the Legion. He had only been with the Blades shy of five moons and it was evident that he was not yet accustomed to wetwork. It was not for anyone, Jan admitted, it was one thing to slay a foe in combat but there was little peace to be found when you had to kill children. However, as Blade agents it was a responsibility they had to carry in protecting the interests of the Throne, and self-doubt in this line of work usually meant that one's head could be easily separated from his or her shoulders.

She tapped the giant on his shoulder and cocked an eyebrow. Yof started as though he was about to voice his disgust for what had transpired, but he held his tongue, nodding mutely and holding her gaze. Good enough for me, thought Jan.

'Get the caster up.' Jan commanded. Yof grunted in assent, and proceeded to set up the caster. That should take his mind off things for awhile. Aldren looked to Jan questioningly from his horse and Jan motioned in code 'slaves'. Aldren nodded sympathetically and went back to de-kitting. Aldren would probably take Yof to the taverns to unwind when they were properly debriefed. He was caring in that sense. But she would still have to talk to Yof about any doubts he had, she could not risk any bleeding-heart sympathies in her team.

'Casters up.'

Jan walked over to Yof. The caster was up and running, emitting a dull hum as its internal engines ran. This gnomish contraption was not dissimilar to the one Edna was using. She punched in series of runes and it screeched metallically as it attempted to connect with the receiving caster. After a series of eccentric noises, a green light on the panel blinked. Jan spoke into a receiver.

'Potentate, Aegis returns.'

'Aegis returning, violent delights?' the voice whispered in reply.

'Potentate, violent ends.'

'Aegis, Potentate kens.' Jan was about to end the session when the voice at the other end interjected.

'Aegis, Potentate regains purpose. Dragon descends upon the earth. Aegis complies?'

Jan paused.

'Potentate, dragon descends upon the earth upon?'

'Aegis, descended upon Sea-bream Ov Yon. Sea-bream Ov Yon.'

'Potentate, Aegis acquiesces. Flagon willing?'

'Aegis leaving, Flagon willing. Potentate praises thy.'

The line went dead. Jan furrowed her eyebrow at the news. Aldren and Yof stood next to her, overhearing the exchange. Both looked equally concerned and curious.

'Boss?' Yof questioned.

Jan put the receiver back and faced her team. She begun to re-wear her armour and re-holster her weapons.

'We got a new mission. Highest priority. Something big has happened. We are leaving on the first ship outbound tonight. We will get the brief on the ship'

Both Yof and Aldren shared a look. This was unprecedented for Blade agents who just finished a top priority mission. There was usually time to resupply and debrief, and usually downtime for a few days at least.

'Where we headed to?'

Jan grimaced, staring at the blood red peaks of G'oltoum.

'We are headed to Weya.'