Chapter Text
The titanic mace struck the robed man in the ribs, sending him flying backwards with a sickening crack. The merchant ran to his side, trying to help him up: his usual constant stream of harsh laughter and muttered prayers stifled and replaced with a pained wheeze. She desperately pulled at his robes, and looked up to see the monster that had struck him slowly stomp forward. Covered from head to toe in armour, the only hint to its identity was the raised visor in its helmet; revealing the dark, hollow eye sockets of a bleached skull. The animated skeleton marched forward, eyes fixed on the antiquarian, mace raised.
Just as she winced and prepared herself to duck, a tall figure strode forward to meet the oncoming brute. Spitting words in a long-dead language, the knight’s battered armour seemed to glow, a light with no source glinting off chainmail and dented plate. The skeletal giant slowly turned to glare at the crusader and, seemingly changing its mind, took its mace in both hands and swung at him. The knight held up his sword and braced himself: taking the blow in his chest, he slid backwards but stayed on his feet, iron boots screeching against the floor.
The antiquarian turned back to the wounded man lying on the floor. She had seen him take far worse blows than this, but now it seemed his legendary constitution was finally beginning to fail him. She fumbled for the censer hanging from her chains and found the familiar surface of the skull forming the top. She held it to her face, and started whispering a furious prayer. Fumes began to drift free of the skull’s eyes and nose and moved with purpose down to the fallen warrior. As the smoke reached his face, he took in a deep breath and began to cough. The woman sagged in relief, as the holy man slowly staggered to his feet and took up his barbed flail.
The flagellant turned his attention to the monster that continued to attempt to murder the crusader. He took his flail, wrapping the bladed chains around his scarred hand. Glaring at the skeletal brute, he snarled and crushed the thorn-like cords. The blood pouring from his mangled fist shone with light, and the giant stumbled as if it had been struck by a mighty hand. Before the antiquarian’s horrified eyes, the wounds and cuts covering the man began to stitch themselves back together: flesh joining flesh and knitting into thick scars. Most wonderous of all, the flagellant’s cracked and broken ribs began to adjust themselves and pop back into shape, pushing against the sides of his chest and propping them up. If it hurt as much as it seemed, the flagellant cared not: spitting a gob of blood to one side, he swung the flail from side to side and marched forward to meet the wounded.
Underneath the shared attention of both the flagellant and the crusader, the skeleton’s monstrous size proved to be of no intrinsic merit. As the monster finally hit the ground with a thunderous clash of bone and steel, it began to rapidly dissipate into a fine dust. The dust swirled, and streamed down the halls, heading deeper into the estate. The antiquarian sighed. A villain, temporarily defeated, but soon to return to trouble a future expedition
At least they left bountiful gifts. The crusader stepped over to where the corpses of the giant and its two companions had faded away: leaning down, he picked up a strangely shaped statue and held it up for the antiquarian to inspect. She nodded, grinning. A rare antique indeed, one that would fetch a fair price in the estate. Her grin faded. If they would survive for that long.
Perhaps they would not have to complete their mission. Her companions were injured, and their cart was almost full of heirlooms and treasure. It would not be so bad to return now: they would fail to map out all the ruins, but they would live to fight another day and the treasure should be enough to-
There is only one more room.
Paixdecour cursed, clutching her head. No matter how many weeks she would spend at the estate, she didn’t think she would ever become accustomed to foreign thoughts invading her head.
One last room, and your work here is done. Turn back, and the ruins will shift and change again, hindering future expeditions. Stay, and our map will be complete, the ruins will remain still, and your quest will be complete.
The antiquarian shook her head sharply, as if she were a beast bothered by a loud and buzzing fly. “We are all wounded and exhausted. This map will mean nothing if we perish. You ask too much, Heir.”
The flagellant, Guernon, stepped forward and placed one gnarled hand on her shoulder. “Do not fear, sister. The Light shall guide us through these halls. Let the adversary try and stop us, for our quest is truly blessed.”
She glared back at him and tried to ignore his bloody hand dripping on to her robe. Before coming to the estate, she had had little patience for the holy men and their ceaseless prattling. After so many miracles witnessed, she had found some faith in their “Light”. Whether or not this Light was benevolent, was a debate for another time. She had seen too many return from the dungeons crippled, and far too many not return at all, to believe in an all-powerful force that only held the best interests of humanity at heart. She turned to the crusader, silently leaning on his sword.
“And what of you? Do you too wish to carry on?” Banquemare looked down, considering his words for a second, then spoke:
“The flagellant speaks the truth. We fight with the grace of the Light at our sides. And we have not come this far to turn back now.” Paixdecour sighed, then threw up her hands in defeat.
“Then let us press on.”