#58 In the Lair of the Warden
Their journey was uneventful apart from a few brief altercations with local dryads and a band of plaguebearers, which the skeletal warriors of the Lost Thorns quickly dealt with. Lady Beauvoir sensed that her pilgrimage to find the King of Thorns was finally drawing to its conclusion when Viktor Bract suddenly declared: "My Lady, we have arrived. Herein dwells The Warden."
Between the tangled trees she glimpsed the entrance to a cave, hanging with vines and choked with thorny undergrowth. To the vampire, the place looked no different from the rest of the foul, life-infested countryside they had walked through, but she was delighted to sense here the winds of Shyish. This was a place where ancient amethyst magic was manifest. She smiled to herself: even in life there was still death.
"Lead on, necromancer."
Bract pushed through the thicket into the mouth of the cave, his cloak snagging and ripping. Lady Beauvoir followed, drawn into the welcoming deathly darkness of the Warden's grotto. As they passed out of the light, the greenery thinned and became less of a hinderance. Before long, all was darkness, bare rock and black water. The muffling of Ghyran's oppressive life energy was such a relief to her undead psyche that Beauvoir could finally feel her haughty poise returning. The Soulblight Warden had certainly chosen a refreshingly morbid location for his lair.
By her wychlight, she observed the cavern widen into something like a large hall, at the end of which the rocky floor led down to an ominous opening into the innermost depths of the cave, an even blacker orifice from which emanated the enticing winds of amethyst magic.
Suddenly, out of the walls and up from the floor of the cavern a host of deathrattle soldiers emerged, swiftly ranking up in perfectly-drilled synchronicity. No mere skeleton troopers these, but an elite grave guard armed with heavy wight blades. In a flash she noticed their sigil - a thorny crown, identical to the symbol Paule Weiß had discovered on the Weirdstone of Barfun Moor. Here surely was the personal entourage of the King of Thorns! But of the Wight himself there was still no sign.
She could sense that this grave guard was under the control of a powerful will. They barred her way to the dark door into the heart of the Warden's lair. Viktor Bract had vanished, silently melting into the darkness.
"I am Lady Beauvoir, Sanguinarch of the Legion of Blood." Her imperious voice echoed among the stalactites. "I seek the Warden of Gulaab, King of Thorns."
Silent rictus faces stared back at her. Nothing stirred in the subterranean darkness.
She waited. But still no response. She tried a different approach:
"I bring tidings of the Cinquefoil."
Again the echoes of her words faded into silence. She was just about to repeat them when a voice finally answered. A cold and hollow voice; lonely and mournful, rasping with a hint of bestial madness. It came from the dark alcove at the back of the chamber behind the ranks of grave guard.
"I am Elohiim the Warden. Come forth Beauvoir. Let us speak together."
At an unspoken command, the grave guard moved in perfect drill to open a path before her to the deeper blackness of the Warden's inner lair. Lady Beauvoir walked forward to be enveloped by the darkness.
Comments
Post a Comment