Fortress Al-Mir

Master Inquisitor Darius Vrox limped across his temporary office within the Grand Old Church of Cliff City, slung a pack onto his desk, and sunk low into an old wooden chair. Not the most comfortable of accommodations. Still, he appreciated what little reprieve on his aching muscles the chair provided. One would think that returning to Cliff in his carriage would have provided ample opportunity to rest. He had sat for most of the journey. Travel, however, had a way of draining energy. Especially when it left him alone with idle thoughts, forcing him to confront one unpleasant fact after another as he reflected on the debacle in the Cursed Forest.

He was a rusted blade.

It wasn’t always this way. Fifteen years ago, when he had been scouted for and invited into the ranks of the Light’s Inquisitors, he had been a one-man army. An exaggeration to be sure, but he held little doubt that he would have been able to fight off all of Arkk’s orcs without too much trouble even without the help of Douglas. At some point, that changed. He had a feeling that he knew when, where, and why.

His own competence was his downfall. The Inquisitors did not have a tall hierarchy. Nevertheless, he had risen through it rapidly. In five years, he had been made Master Inquisitor. Along with that new title came assignees under his command. Namely the Purifier Agnete. From the moment she had been placed in his cell, his role had changed. No longer was he a fighter. He became an investigator. He lurked around, discovered plots and plans, and then rather than take care of matters himself, he threw the Purifier at them.

And why not? Her powers were monstrous beyond human comprehension. None could stand up to her flames and live.

When was the last time he had been forced to fight like that? Sure, he flung a few spells here or there and had always considered himself above average with a longsword but…

Darius removed his boots, letting him stretch out his feet.

He didn’t get much relaxation in before a knock at his office door disturbed him. Quickly, Darius sat fully upright and straightened his uniform. He pulled a stack of papers from his desk and a pen and started writing. “Enter,” he said, barely cognizant of the tip of the pen scraping across the paper.

Chronicler Douglas Greesom stepped into the room. Douglas had not come out unscathed from their adventures either. In fact, Douglas had the worse wound. His arm, wrapped tight and held in a sling, had been tended to by the local priest and abbess of Stone Hearth Burg, however, it would be quite some time before he was fully back to normal. The blow he had received from the orc’s axe had shattered his forearm.

Darius wasn’t sure if it was luck, skill, or divine intervention, but whatever the case, he was thankful that Douglas had only contacted with the haft of the axe and not the blade. Bone was harder to mend than a flesh wound but losing an arm entirely would have been permanent. In truth, both of them had escaped with relatively little harm. Something he probably owed to Arkk, disquieting as that notion might sound.

The presence of Douglas put Darius at ease—letting him drop his pen and cease the act of the ultra-dedicated inquisitor.

That ease quickly shifted to unease as Darius took in the stiff appearance of Douglas.

“I have concluded my report to the Ecclesiarch.”

Darius flicked his eyes to the golden necklace dangling around Douglas’ chest. The Ecclesiarch, barring unexpected movements, was down in the Bastion City, a star-shaped fortification nestled between three lakes in the middle of a desert. The capital of the Kingdom of Chernlock, home of the Temple of the Light, and the seat of power over the entire region. With the angled pendant on Chronicler Greesom’s necklace, resembling a mixture of the Three Symbols of Light, Douglas could receive revelation, power advanced miracles, and even commune with people in a location months of travel away.

It was a rare artifact, only wieldable by those with training in miracle usage. Chroniclers like Greesom did not grow on trees, though they were marginally more common than purifiers like Agnete.

“You spoke to the Ecclesiarch himself? Not an aide?”

“The Ecclesiarch is intensely interested in our operation and wished to hear the report in person.”

“Wonderful,” Darius said, removing his glasses as he began rubbing the bridge of his nose. “He was… displeased?”

Douglas snorted an ugly laugh. “Light protects. Between losing the Binding Agent and allowing our purifier to go rogue, it is a wonder we weren’t met at the gates by other inquisitors ready to clamp chains on our wrists. He already knew before I even had a chance to speak.”

“Sometimes I wonder why we spend all this time writing reports.” Darius reseated the glasses on his nose and looked over Douglas. “Well? I presume we’re off the job?”

“Not quite.”

“Oh?”

“The Oracles are growing increasingly concerned. An event, the details of which I was not made privy to, occurred just after we lost the Binding Agent to Arkk. To quote the Ecclesiarch: ‘The Stars have begun to churn and broil.’” Douglas shook his head. “I don’t know exactly what that means.”

“A being from beyond the stars and churning stars? I would say there is a connection there.”

“Indeed. Unfortunately,” Douglas said with a shrug, “we will not be receiving reinforcements or a replacement for Agnete. There is… something else going on. The Golden Order of Evestani has ceased communication with the Temple of the Light. The Ecclesiarch is concerned. It seems as if the other inquisitorial cells are being rerouted to Bastion.”

“The Golden Order… their order was the power behind the war, was it not?”

Douglas dipped his head in agreement. “We are not being recalled. Our directive is to recapture or kill our lost purifier in the hopes of that shifting event being reverted or stalled. Priority on the being remains high though not quite as high as Agnete. I dare say faith in our ability to handle it has been diminished.”

“I see. Presuming Arkk has taken control of Agnete—” A fairly safe assumption given the lack of a conflagration consuming the central Duchy. “—our objective has hardly changed. We track him down and he leads us to the purifier.”

“We are more aware of what we face. Losing Agnete is problematic but we know her capabilities and have countermeasures for her, albeit less effective than the Binding Agent.”

“Indeed,” Darius agreed. “The orcs pose little problem. I shall have to refresh my memory of a few choice spells.”

“The Light protects. Gorgon will not be a problem either.”

“That just leaves Arkk, the strange abilities he demonstrated, and his pet horror from beyond the stars.”

Douglas nodded his head. “An opportunity for redemption beyond the handling of Agnete?”

“We focus on our primary directive, of course. If the opportunity of which you speak presents itself, who are we to ignore it?” Darius stood and cracked his neck from side to side. The sensation of fatigue vanished from his bones, replaced with a sense of renewed purpose. “Your injuries,” he said, looking at the broken arm of his chronicler. “Were you told how long they would take to heal?”

“Optimistically, three months. It is my hope that the local bishop can keep that optimistic schedule on pace.”

“Very well. Three months. Not a lot of time but time enough.”

“Sir?”

“I have been lax,” Darius said, stalking over to the window of his office, looking out over the city of Cliff. “Too reliant on the powers of a monster to fight my battles for me.

“It is time we change that.”

And so we arrived late in the evening. The hired orcs were most efficient and eager to put down the local wildlife threatening our camp. They were invaluable throughout the expedition in keeping the rest of the crew safe. You have my compliments.

Upon dawn the next morning, we approached the ruins for the first time. To our great surprise, they were hardly ruins at all. Preserved through the ages, the black marble displayed little evidence of any erosion or deliberate harm. The ziggurat’s smooth walls looked as if they had been freshly carved by stone masons a mere week ago. Yet, through the means detailed in my notes, I was able to determine the age of the structure to be approximately eight hundred years. Not quite the pre-Calamity ruins I had been hoping for but still a significant historical find.

The first week, we spent our time solely examining the exterior of the structure. We took measurements and fully examined the ziggurat. It turned out to be much larger than my research would have indicated. I am unsure how the ancients managed to build it, even now. There were no seams or evidence of assembly. The pyramid appeared entirely carved from a single stone. The highlands where we discovered it contained no other black marble in the area leaving the source of the material’s origin a mystery.

It was with deep and profound regret that we believed our expedition to be at an end then and there. With the pyramid being a single, uniform structure with no openings and no designs leading to clues as to its purpose, we thought to pack up camp and head home. It was one of your orcs that proved invaluable in discovering the way forward. The evening before we were set to depart, Gratt’an stumbled across a similarly designed slab of stone a mild distance from the pyramid itself. This slab was not one uniform monolith but, instead, a door.

With the aid of all five orcs and several of the workers we brought along, we managed to pry open the door and breach the interior.

What we found was unlike anything I have witnessed in my thirty-nine years. A complex labyrinth of corridors and rooms. Most were, regrettably, empty. Their contents decayed beyond any reasonable identification. The full details are attached but I will call special attention to three rooms in particular. One, a room with a large crystalline archway, covered in strange patterns and designs. I have shipped off sketches of the designs to the Cliff Academy in the hopes of uncovering the nature or purpose of the archway—I am not a spellcaster myself nor were any on our expedition—but they have yet to return my missives. I will send another letter to you with their results if they ever come.

Another of the rooms of interest was a simple octagonal chamber containing nothing but a deep pit leading far into the mountain. Although we made efforts to discover where the pit led, we were unsuccessful. We brought with us an excess of rope in the anticipation of requiring it and yet it was not enough to reach the bottom. Combined with a lack of volunteers—many of our work crew found the pit eerie and unsettling—we were forced to leave it alone for the time being.

The final room was, I believe based on the maps we created, the interior of the great pyramid that began this whole endeavor. Hollow, the interior walls were covered with thin plates of gold pressed into the walls, forming a massive mural. Attached are sketches but I must confess that they are embarrassingly inadequate compared to witnessing the actual room in person. I am sure that interpretations of the mural will continue for decades among my colleagues but I thought I would offer my view of the events depicted.

It begins with sixteen stars hanging in the sky, arranged in an even, equal circle. There are people, humans—possibly also demihumans and beastmen—worshiping the stars. Perhaps icons of an ancient religion, now long dead. All seems peaceful until three of the stars fell away from the others.

The early portions of the mural depict death and destruction. Life withering away, the sky falling to the ground, civilizations collapsing to dust. Given the Calamity occurred only a few hundred years prior to this structure’s construction, I am certain that those portions of the mural are depicting the fall of magic and the destruction wrought during those trying times.

There appears to be a brief period of rebuilding following that collapse. It wasn’t a long time. Rather than fall prey to another Calamity, however, it seems that man fought against man. Wars erupted among various tribes. A depiction of what I believe to be a dwarf dominated a significant portion of the mural, being killed off by the spears of one of the armies. This might represent a leader falling or, possibly, represents the time the dwarves went extinct. Supporting evidence for the latter includes depictions of several other species, few of whom I recognize, also being killed off.

It is well known that many magically sensitive species perished in the Calamity and its aftermath. However, most scholars agree that they went extinct due to the lack of magic. The mural seems to indicate that they were killed off. This contradicts everything we believe about the era. If my interpretations are correct, of course. As I said, these are just my preliminary thoughts, shared with you since you expressed an interest in the outcome of this expedition. I am unsure of the truth of the depicted events or the interpretation.

Unfortunately, the mural ends abruptly. There were no signs of battle within the pyramid or the rest of the structure. No remains left behind or anything indicating where the people inhabiting the pyramid went. It is possible they abandoned the location, fought in one of the depicted wars elsewhere, or even lost the technology or expertise required to continue updating their mural.

Nevertheless, this mural is a most wonderous find. Following the Calamity, recordkeeping and chronicling fell to almost nothing, leaving the era as a Lost Age. This is, I believe, the most complete record ever discovered of the era and yet it was discovered without written word to confirm what the imagery depicts.

Per our agreement, I have spent the last month compiling my notes. You may find the finer details beyond the above summary attached to this missive. If you are interested in more details, additional interpretation of the ruins, or further discussion, you may write to me or visit me directly in the Bastion City. I make my home at the Archives and Museum of National History.

Thank you for your support in this expedition, Mister Arkk and Company Al-Mir.

Ramis Phonk, Historical Curator of the Crown.

Pale, milky eyes turned away from the twinkling stars in the night sky.

Wind and snow ravaged the Forlorn Mountain’s peak. A harsh, biting cold that would send most mortal races to an early, frosty grave. Even the mighty bonfire of the Hightop Shrine, ever burning with a dragon’s heart at its core, did little to ward off the chill. Yet Priscilla stood from her meditative cushion without the slightest tremble, unfeeling of the harsh snow.

Bare feet stepped around the bonfire until Priscilla stood at the very edge of the Hightop Shrine. Sightless eyes looked down the side of the mountain, spotting the faint lights from the fires of the village at the base. She stepped forward until her black toenails hung just over the edge. Taking a breath, Priscilla leaped forward.

The sheer cliff face rushed past as Priscilla dove. The gale around her felt almost calm and serene as it carried her along, letting her skim past the rocky surface. As the lights in the distance grew larger and the ground grew closer, onyx-scaled wings spread out behind Priscilla, turning her freeform dive into a controlled descent. Gliding in lazy circles over the village, she eventually reached the ground. Priscilla’s feet touched down in the shallow snow just outside the smallest hut in the village.

Taking a step, Priscilla’s foot slammed into something cold and hard. Metallic clanging skipped across the ground even as she hissed at the mild pain of stubbing her toe. Whatever she kicked slammed into the side of the hut with enough force to shatter a plank of wood.

She heard a door swing open.

“Who—What? Pris? What are you—Hide your wings,” a shocked and confused voice demanded.

Priscilla’s sightless eyes looked up to find the burning heart of a woman standing before her. Her lips parted into a smile filled with sharp teeth. “No. No need to hide.”

“No need? Pris… Have the centuries finally driven you mad? You’ll attract poachers.” The burning heart approached and Priscilla felt a comforting arm settle over her shoulders as the other woman ushered her inside the hut. “What are you doing down here? You can’t stand the humans.”

“We’re leaving.”

“Pris, please. I can carry you back up the mountain—”

“No. I won’t go back. The stars have begun to change. Can you not feel it as well? The ancient magics are stirring.”

The burning heart in front of Priscilla shuddered with her words. “I… You’ve seen it?”

“I’ve seen the stars, yes.”

“You’ve claimed this before.”

“Twice.”

“Both times, wars started. We died. Fought for nothing.” The burning heart turned away. “Nothing changed.”

“Nothing will change unless those who can make the change act.”

The burning heart turned back in a bout of anger. “That is clearly not us.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.”

“I… I won’t do it. Not again.”

Priscilla blinked, milky eyes trailing after that burning heart. “Pardon?”

“There are so few of us left. Throwing ourselves away chasing the past? We’ve tried—”

“You… are abandoning the pact?”

“Pact?” The burning heart scoffed. “What pact? A pact needs cosigners. We’re all that’s left.”

Priscilla stared at the burning heart, watching the flames coil and twist. Pain and anguish, hope and despair…

Priscilla stood and turned away. “I see.”

“Do you?”

“Of course I—” Taking a step, Priscilla’s nose slammed into a wooden pillar within the hut. “Oof.”

“Pris. Go back to your mountaintop. Please. If… if this turns out—”

“You’ve lived with these humans long enough,” Priscilla said, rubbing her nose. “They have been a bad influence on you.”

“You… won’t harm them. Not without going through me.”

Priscilla turned her head, raising an eyebrow. “Cute that you think you can stop me.”

“Pris!”

“But I won’t.” Reaching out her hands, Priscilla felt around the small hut until her fingers found the door latch. “I can think of no greater punishment for one such as you than to live among humans. Enjoy your time.” Priscilla threw open the door, barely feeling the cold bite of the bitter weather against her scales. “Or, should I say, enjoy their time.”

Slamming the door shut hard enough to knock snow off the rooftop, Priscilla turned her gaze around the human village. This late at night, everyone was indoors. Probably. No one was there to see her wings spread wide. Probably. She took off to the skies where she made a lazy circle around the village, picturing a glacier of ice sliding into place, entombing the entire habitation for just a moment before angling her flight off to the west.

Or… did she need to be going to the east?

Priscilla swung her flight around and immediately faceplanted into a tree. Sliding down the trunk, she landed flat on her back. She stayed there for a long moment, staring up at the burning stars overhead.

“This,” Priscilla said, frosty breath escaping her lips, “might be hard without help.”