The Vlishgnath Chronicles

By Daniel Mitchell

Set in an immersive high fantasy setting, The Vlishgnath Chronicles follows the adventures of Sir Vlishgnath the Cleansing Light, a paladin sworn to service in the name of the deity Mithos. In The Exorcism of Drenton, Vlishgnath and his fellow church knights travel to Drenton, a village ravaged by famine and disease, and in the process of aiding the townsfolk uncover an ancient horror trying to awaken. In The Sorcerer's Dream, Vlishgnath encounters a powerful magic run amok, holding the trade hub city of Khaarm under its spell. The Frost Giant War finds Vlishgnath journeying to the frozen northern continent, answering a call to arms from an old friend in an ancient feud between the barbarians of the tundra and a court of frost giants. Lastly, The Dark Elf Rebellion brings Vlishgnath to the Greatwood, thrusting him into a war that has been waged for thousands of years between the peaceful surface-dwelling elves, and their ebon-skinned, cavern-dwelling counterparts. Included in this volume is an epilogue, written by the author exclusively for this quadrilogy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBookIt.com
• Release date: Apr 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9780988629295

Daniel Mitchell

Seduced by the book mobile at an early age, Daniel Mitchell grew up in a family composed equally of soldiers and teachers. He worked a variety of jobs from life guard stands to loading docks, managed the Oklahoma Shakespearean Festival, and spent some time in the oilfield building pipelines and perfecting the art of properly chosen expletives. For the last few decades he's been a public school teacher of English and Science in Oklahoma and Alaska. Happily married and the father of two children as shockingly attractive and intelligent as their mother, he holds a BA in English, an MFA in Fiction, has published his first novel, A Portion for Foxes, and is hard at work on the next one, Adelaide.

Book preview

America

Dedication

To my parents, who are entirely to blame for the way I turned out, and to Charlee, who lives with said results on a daily basis and hasn’t changed the locks yet.

A note from the author

A note from the Author

When I first submitted the beginnings of The Exorcism of Drenton, I didn’t even expect to actually be accepted as a series writer for BigWorldNetwork.com. Going from writing solely for my own amusement to working with a highly talented and dedicated team of editors was very intimidating at first, but they were very patient and understanding with me and I cannot thank them enough. While I’m on the subject of thanking people, I’ve got a few: my parents, for starters. I wouldn’t be where I am today were it not for them (in a literal and figurative sense). Charlee, my stalwart companion and the love of my life for keeping me organized. Everyone who gave me their support and encouragement throughout it all, I sincerely appreciate it. All my friends who cheered me on, and who helped inspire me along the way…thank you tremendously. A tremendous thank you to my good friend Brent and his company Sylvart Studios for making me look so dashingly handsome instead of just plain handsome. And lastly, to you, whoever you might be, for reading this. It is the realization of a dream for me, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Title

by Daniel Mitchell

BigWorldNetwork.com

Kansas

The Exorcism of Drenton

Episode 1

The very faint, weak-sounding knock one might expect from a small child echoed throughout the entry hall. Cleric Heros, a kindly old man with wrinkled features, gradually made his way down the long hallway that led to the massive front doors of the church. Old age having long since set in, the spring in the elderly cleric’s step had diminished considerably the past few years. The rapping noise sounded against the doors again as he began to draw near. Putting on his warmest smile and showing no signs of discomfort as he wrapped his arthritic hand around the iron ring, Heros pulled open the door, his voice sounding increasingly disturbed as he spoke.

Greetings, and Mithos’ blessings be upon you. I am Cleric Heros, and…erm, church services have concluded…for the…good heavens, young man, what has happened?!

The man standing before him looked barely capable of supporting his own weight, his clothing hanging loosely from his gaunt, emaciated frame, and looking to be the garb of the peasant class. Sunken eyes set in bruised sockets stared blankly at Heros, then quite suddenly rolled back in his head as the man lurched forward and went unconscious, his body going limp and falling into Heros’ arms. Heros groaned, his joints creaking as he braced himself to support what little the man still weighed, then reached up to tug on the emergency pull cord nearby.

Sir Vlishgnath, the Cleansing Light, sat alone along one of the presently near-vacant long tables that lined the church’s mess hall, a few other sparsely scattered members of the clergy taking a late meal as well. Church meals were notoriously lacking in flavor; a traditional thick, brown, and bland stew with unseasoned beef and chunks of potato served with some raw vegetables, a hunk of day-old bread, and a mug of water comprised the evening’s meal. Vlishgnath was halfway through his vegetables and was thoughtfully dipping a piece of bread into the flavorless brown stock when the emergency bell tolled. He frowned at his tray for a moment, at first due to his meal being interrupted, but then due to the begrudging admittance that it wasn’t much of a meal to begin with, before pulling on his gauntlets and rising from the table.

Clad in his family suit of armor, the exquisite set of full plate mail was masterfully crafted from adamantine. The cuirass itself was fitted with an outer layer of black leather, a pattern cut out of it to allow metal to rise up through it in his family crest. Intricate holy runes and symbols were painstakingly worked into the rest of the suit, the helm bearing neither crest nor plume but instead a pair of angelic wings on either side. Clasped to his pauldrons was an ankle-length pristine white cape, identifying him as the divine emissary of Mithos. Taking his kite shield up in his left hand, he tucked his helmet under his left arm and strode purposefully out of the mess hall.

By the time Vlishgnath arrived on the scene, a small crowd had already formed. Numerous paladins and clerics were blocking the main hall, all of them gathered around Heros and the wilted stranger. Those at the back of the group and subsequently nearest Vlishgnath immediately recognized him as he approached. The assembled clergy quickly parted to allow Mithos’ chosen champion through.

Assessing the situation through vibrant cerulean eyes, Vlishgnath’s normally soft features hardened into a cold, discerning visage. Kneeling down next to Heros, he spoke to the sickly man lying in the cleric’s arms with a gentle and comforting tone.

You’re safe now, friend. Tell me what has happened.

The man drew in a pained, rasping breath before coughing profusely. For a long moment he said nothing, continuing to stare off into space as if he had no awareness of the crowd gathered around him. Then, with unnatural slowness, the man turned his head to face Vlishgnath, his eyes flittering as if on the verge of passing out. Reaching out with bony fingers encrusted in soil, the man’s arm shook as it struggled to support itself, grasped Vlishgnath’s cape where it clasped to his pauldron, and made a feeble attempt to pull him closer. 

Vlishgnath obliged by leaning in so the stranger wouldn’t strain himself being heard. The man’s speech was forced and by the way he sounded was causing him a great deal of pain.

Drenton…everyone…dying…watching from the shadows… red… eyes…

That said, the man cut off, his eyes rolled back in his head, and his constitution gave way as he sank into unconsciousness.

Vlishgnath stood in the study of High Priest Vogoth, who was seated at his desk with a small assortment of high-ranking clergy gathered within as well. Amongst those gathered were Cleric Heros, who was already giving his first-hand account, Sir Grisbane, the Herald of Justice, Arch Cleric Angelis, Arch Cleric Rasthmus, Arch Cleric Brogam, and a young acolyte who had yet to receive his clerical robes. Brogam had appointed the young recruit to fill him in on the proceedings from time to time, as the elderly arch cleric was prone to dozing off sporadically.

As Heros finished up recounting what had transpired, Vogoth nodded solemnly, pausing for several moments to reflect before addressing the assembled clergymen. He had a soft, ponderous voice spoken with the deliberation of the inconceivably wise.

Where is the man now?

It was Angelis who answered, a very young man with feathered blonde hair, sky blue eyes, and a soft unimposing voice. He is in the infirmary wing.

What is his condition?

He’s been fed and is presently trying to sleep. Nightmares are causing him to awaken frequently, sometimes screaming and thrashing so badly he has to be restrained.

How is his mentality?

His mind may very well be destroyed, your holiness. We’ve yet to get any pertinent information out of him other than he hails from Drenton.

Grisbane cleared his throat and then spoke. His was the voice of a gnarled veteran combatant, having seen much and no longer easily impressed. Is Drenton even on any of our maps? I’ve never heard of it that I can recall.

Vlishgnath, his gaze never moving from the floor, responded. It’s a small farming town about a day’s ride from Ascention. In his condition it likely took him five or six to walk here. So whatever is plaguing Drenton, it will have had at least a week that we know of to grow in strength and influence.

Just as he finished speaking, the novice hurriedly whispered the recent proceedings into Brogam’s ear, the aged arch cleric yawning and rubbing his eyes before speaking in the bleary voice of one just waking up.

It seems to me that this would fall under the jurisdiction of the church. Our recently erected chapel there has been met with a paltry following at best. Assistance from the church would help them along the path to the true faith, as charity often does.

We do not offer assistance based on the number of converts we can draw in, Brogam, Angelis rebuked. We do it because it is the right thing to do. Because we must.

Brogam continued after pausing to yawn once more. Of course, Angelis. However, surely you cannot deny the people of Drenton will be more receptive to our sermons if they see us leading by example?

Angelis nodded his consent. 

I think we can all agree, said Vogoth, that at the very least a unit should be dispatched to Drenton at first light to investigate this plague our new guest has mentioned.

Grisbane nodded firmly. I’ll take three of my best men and ride for Drenton at dawn.

Then it is decided. You there, boy…awaken Arch Cleric Brogam and inform him of what has been decided so that he may retire from my study. I grow weary of his snoring.

The report came five days later, during which the stranger from Drenton remained bedridden and increasingly showed signs of having gone quite insane, yielding no other useful information. The report was delivered by one of Grisbane’s chosen men, Sir Thunderclese, the Divine Might of Mithos. A broad-shouldered, blonde-haired, and blue-eyed paladin, Thunderclese possessed the rugged sort of handsomeness that allowed him to be very flexible with the church’s laws of celibacy. Yet still, one could neither deny his devotion nor his service record, so his indiscretions were usually overlooked.

Vlishgnath received his summons to the high priest’s study, arriving to find Thunderclese already standing at attention before Vogoth’s desk. With military formality, Thunderclese remained facing Vogoth when the door opened and closed, Vlishgnath falling in line next to him. For Vlishgnath, the act was out of respect rather than duty; as the divine emissary, he answered to no one but Mithos himself.

Yes, your holiness?

Vogoth looked up from the parchment laid before him, his expression grave, and spoke in a troubled tone. I’ve just received the report from the unit sent to Drenton. Things are more serious than we thought.

He handed the report to Vlishgnath, who laid his helmet down on Vogoth’s desk to take it in both hands. The report was penned in Grisbane’s handwriting and looked as if it had been written in a hurry.

--Field report as testified by Sir Grisbane, the Herald of Justice--

Unit arrived in the village of Drenton to find severe famine and drought. Approximately one-third of the town’s population has succumbed to starvation. Cause of devastation appears to be paranormal. Requesting following reinforcements:

Relief aid for remaining survivors

One (1) specialized division cleric (specified below)

>Interplanar hostility suppression unit

Due to the nature of the situation, immediate deployment will be necessary.

Scrawled at the bottom was Grisbane’s formal signature along with a makeshift seal made with his signet ring. 

Vlishgnath read the report over then addressed Thunderclese. What makes Grisbane so certain that there is paranormal activity occurring in Drenton?

Vogoth nodded to Thunderclese, indicating his consent for Thunderclese to turn away from him.

Thunderclese nodded in response, turning to address Vlishgnath. Once our unit arrived in Drenton, the severity of the situation was immediately made quite clear. According to one of the villagers who still had the presence of mind to answer our questions, famine and drought beset the town roughly two weeks after the majority of the population began having the same recurring nightmare: a glowing pair of eyes calling to them from the shadows, beckoning them into the darkness. I myself have witnessed firsthand that something appears to be moving from shadow to shadow, waiting until it knows it is in the corner of your vision where it cannot be seen.

Vlishgnath took a deep breath, turning and meeting Vogoth’s gaze. 

After a moment’s silence, Vogoth sighed, and then spoke. The church requests that Mithos’ chosen champion escort the reinforcements to Drenton and offer assistance if necessary. Will you answer the church’s call?

Vlishgnath grinned at Vogoth’s patronizing use of the church’s call for aid, to which Vogoth replied with a tired smile of his own.

Indeed I shall, said Vlishgnath. But I’m taking Sir Maximus with me.

Episode 2

I can understand why the church has requested your aid, Sir Vlishgnath, but why do you insist on bringing Sir Maximus along? To be quite honest, he’s rather intimidating…

Vlishgnath and Thunderclese strode down the hall, each with their helmets tucked under their left arms. Vlishgnath laughed mirthfully then responded in an amused tone, Maximus is an invaluable asset to the church. Despite what is said behind his back, I give you my personal assurance that his mandated time spent in meditation has not only done wonders in tempering his rage, but also softened some of the rougher edges of his personality.

While that may be marginally true, that sword he carries still terrifies me.

"Yes, but just think how our enemies feel."

When they reached the meditation garden, Sir Maximus was easily spotted. At a towering nine feet tall, Maximus looked as if he could easily weigh a solid 700 pounds. His fearsome suit of plate mail was forged from black steel, fashioned with wickedly sharp looking spikes in functional locations. He wore no cape, and slung on his back was the sword called Judgment, a massive greatsword that was a mere two feet shy of being as long as he was and roughly two feet wide along the blade. Appearing to be little more than a sharpened slab of black steel affixed to a long ebony handle, the vicious nature of the sword itself had left it pitted and scarred—no easy feat considering black steel’s indestructible nature.

Maximus sat on a stone bench with an almost ominous tranquility, the way one would expect an instrument of war to lay idle between battles. He never removed his helmet or armor—at least, not that anyone knew of—and sat facing a large statue of Mithos, his back to the two as they approached. Thunderclese halted before Vlishgnath did, Vlishgnath walking right up and addressing the imposing Maximus as the old friend that he was.

Hail, Sir Maximus! How go your daily meditations, my friend?

With a grumbling sigh, Maximus stood from his bench, glanced back at Thunderclese, then responded to Vlishgnath in a deep, guttural voice. Tiresome. More often than not I end up napping. I hope you have an assignment that gets me out of this garden. Judgment grows restless.

Thunderclese took a slow, measured step further back.

Vlishgnath chuckled, still laughing when he gave his reply. We’re riding for Drenton, and I talked Vogoth into letting you come along. We may meet some resistance, and we’re escorting an exorcist into the village. Sound appealing?

Maximus slowly nodded his approval, then glanced back at Thunderclese again. Your friend seems awful skittish. Is this his first assignment?

No, my friend, he’s just never seen you this close before, said Vlishgnath.

Thunderclese smiled nervously as Maximus let out a dark sounding chuckle.

So where will we be meeting this specialized cleric? Thunderclese asked casually, having been very careful to put Vlishgnath between himself and Maximus as the three of them made their way towards the stables.

Apparently he’ll be meeting us at the stables, said Vlishgnath. Your horse should be fed, watered, and ready to head back out. Maximus’s horses should be yoked to the cart with the relief supplies.

Thunderclese quirked a brow. Horses? Plural?

Vlishgnath grinned. You don’t honestly expect a single horse to haul Maximus and all of his equipment, let alone on its back do you?

As they reached the stables, a young novice brought Thunderclese’s horse around, and another brought the pair of monstrous war horses that normally pull Maximus’s personal cart. The horses wore heavy armor akin to that which Maximus wore, their huge muscled legs suggesting they were bred for pulling power in lieu of top speed. They were hitched to a heavily-reinforced supply cart filled to capacity with food and barrels of clean water.

As Thunderclese took the reins of his dark brown horse, he looked around momentarily before addressing Vlishgnath in a puzzled tone. I don’t see your mount anywhere, Sir Vlishgnath.

Vlishgnath grinned at Thunderclese, digging into a belt pouch and retrieving a small figurine of a silver eight-legged horse with gleaming red eyes.

Thunderclese looked upon the statuette and chuckled in genuine amusement. Oh, I see. And how exactly do you propose to ride that to Drenton, let alone out of the stable yard?

Simple, was Vlishgnath’s response, holding the figurine up close to his mouth so he could whisper his command word quietly.

Immediately, the small figurine erupted into a rapid growth, practically springing from his hand as it grew into a full-sized war horse in resplendent armor. The creature still looked to be made of the same luminous silver, with glowing red eyes and eight legs. It looked around indifferently, turning its gaze upon Vlishgnath as he drew near, and seemingly bowed its head to him.

Vlishgnath addressed the creature in a respectful tone. Aramus, we ride for Drenton. We’ll be escorting a cleric and supplies. Are you rested?

In response, Aramus turned sideways and positioned itself so Vlishgnath could climb up.

Thunderclese looked upon the scene in awe, then laughed. Since when did the church start issuing such amazing trinkets?

Oh, you mean Aramus? Vlishgnath smiled, then slid his helmet down over his head. I found him at the cleansing of Dire Hill Cemetery.

Just then, a slow and purposeful set of footsteps signaled the arrival of the cleric. Standing almost a full head taller than Sir Thunderclese, the cleric wore no surcoat over his plate mail as clerics customarily did. His left eye was a solid white with a small black pupil dotting it, his right eye a sky blue glossed over in milky white. His upper lip seemed permanently split in a healed-over scar through which his teeth were visible. His bald scalp had a littering of scars where it had been lacerated and stitched back together. His plate mail, forged from dark grey adamantine, looked severely gouged as if something had tried to claw its way through it. Slung at his side was the most sinister mace any of them had ever seen, crafted as one solid piece from adamantine with a strip of brown leather wrapped around the shaft to serve as a handle. He bore no shield and led a horse as black as midnight by the reigns. He didn’t look directly at Thunderclese, but instead stared intently just off to Thunderclese’s side as if transfixed on something directly behind him.

For what seemed like a long, awkward moment, he continued to simply stare just behind Thunderclese thusly, Thunderclese shifting uncomfortably and even briefly glancing over his own shoulder. When the cleric turned to Vlishgnath, however, he immediately made eye contact and began signing with his hands in the unspoken language of the deaf.

Vlishgnath furrowed his eyebrows at first but then began to translate for the others. He says he is Cleric Euronymus, and he is honored to be on this assignment with us.

It was Thunderclese who asked the seemingly redundant question. So . . . he’s deaf, then?

In response, Euronymus looked towards Thunderclese again, shaking his head at something behind him before turning back to Vlishgnath and signing again.

No . . . he can hear just fine.

Then why does he sign with his hands?

With a toneless sigh, Euronymus reached up and pulled the layers of clothing under his plate mail away from his neck. What they saw underneath was truly disturbing to behold. The cleric’s throat appeared to have been rent open completely by someone or something using a vicious set of jagged teeth, the throat cauterized shut so he could continue to breath. Vlishgnath’s eyes widened slowly. Thunderclese gagged and nearly retched. Maximus simply chuckled, shook his head and climbed up onto his cart, the reinforced wooden structure still groaning in protest.

As the men made camp before their arrival in Drenton the following morning, they couldn’t help but notice the unnatural silence that had gripped the Drenton countryside.

It’s as if the animals refuse to get any closer, said the burly blond Thunderclese, poking absently at the fire. And why does Euronymus always retire to his tent so early?

Vlishgnath, seated on a stump with the sword Retribution lying across his lap, shook his head and continued to stare into the fire.

You talk too much, came the deep voice of Maximus.

Just another part of what makes me so charming, said Thunderclese.

I liked you better when you were afraid of me.

"Quiet, you two," Vlishgnath suddenly interrupted.

Maximus, still in his full plate, slumped down on a rock with a metallic clunk, exchanging a glance with Thunderclese before looking back to Vlishgnath. What’s wrong?

Again, Vlishgnath shook his head, listening for a moment before answering. Someone is listening to us.

Maximus looked to Thunderclese, who shrugged in confusion, then turned back to Vlishgnath. What is it?

I can’t say, but they’re very good at staying hidden.

Maximus let out a low growl. Shall we hunt them down?

Vlishgnath sighed, looked to the giant man, and smiled. I’m afraid we would never find them, my friend. It was only by chance that I heard them to begin with, and I imagine they will be gone already by the time I finish speaking.

Maximus let out another prolonged grumble.

Perhaps it was one of the townsfolk? offered Thunderclese.

Vlishgnath shook his head again. I doubt it. If things are as bad as they sound in Grisbane’s report, he’s likely got survivors barricaded in the church by now. You were there, Thunderclese, tell me…what was it like?

Thunderclese’s expression turned pensive, his tone taking on an almost mourning quality.

People were starving. The ones that weren’t mad with fear said they hadn’t been able to grow anything for months. People who went out at night often disappeared, and Baron LeFay sat idle while the people continued to suffer.

Did anyone make contact with the Baron?

Thunderclese shook his head and said, No. Our main priority was to secure the town and ensure the safety of its people.

Vlishgnath nodded slowly, then drew in a heavy breath and stood from his stump. Well, gentlemen…I suggest you get some rest. We’ll reach Drenton midday tomorrow, and I doubt we’ll be receiving a hero’s welcome.

Episode 3

As the small village of Drenton came into view, it was clear something had gone horribly wrong. Small, rustic dwellings that had likely sat upon lush, emerald-green grass now sat mired in mud, rainclouds blocking out the sun and precipitating lightly to perpetuate the oppressive feeling that emanated from the area. The four men stopped for a moment to behold the disheartening scene.

Thunderclese came up to stop next to Vlishgnath. It wasn’t nearly this bad when I left…

Vlishgnath nodded in acknowledgement, speaking in the cold commanding tone of a military commander. Helmets on!

Without hesitation, Thunderclese and Euronymus donned their headwear, while Vlishgnath did the same. Maximus, as always, was already in his full plate.

Thunderclese, lead us to the church.

Thunderclese nodded, and they slowly began making their way into the village. The streets were slick with rain, and most of the houses appeared abandoned. Signs of livestock being hastily slaughtered were present, and a good number of farm tools appeared as if they had been dismantled for parts. The only building made of stone was the church, which sat in the center of town and had been commissioned by the main cathedral in Ascention. It was purposely built large; in times of crisis, it could serve as a bunker for reinforcements and, in times of war, as a military foothold.

Vlishgnath, Maximus, and Euronymus continued following Thunderclese towards the building, until Thunderclese suddenly pointed and cried out, Look!

Vlishgnath turned his gaze just in time to spot what appeared to be a figure made from shadow disappearing around a corner at the end of a small path between two houses.

Dismount! Vlishgnath ordered, who slid from his horse with a natural litheness—the same grace absent in the way Thunderclese and Euronymus climbed down from their mounts, while Maximus stood from his cart and jumped down to the ground with a thud. Shields at the ready!

As the others stood on guard, Vlishgnath signaled silently for Thunderclese to follow, who responded in turn and fell in next to him. As they cautiously approached the corner of the house the shadow suddenly lunged forward from its hiding spot and dove straight through Thunderclese, continuing on through him and diving underneath the supply cart.

Thunderclese fell to one knee, dropping his shield from his left hand to support himself on the ground while he lifted his helmet from his head with his right, retching uncontrollably.

Vlishgnath stepped over to Thunderclese quickly, placing a hand on his shoulder and offering a quick prayer to Mithos. After a moment, his hand in contact with Thunderclese glowed brightly, and Thunderclese’s color returned.

Thunderclese spit on the ground one final time before standing up. "Well that’s new."

Silence! was Vlishgnath’s harsh response, for at that moment, Euronymus was fixated upon the supply cart where the shadow had disappeared.

The tall, grizzled cleric slowly drew his mace in his right hand and reached out with his left as he cautiously approached the cart. A hissing sound came from underneath, and in an instant several things occurred.

The area suddenly became dead silent. All color drained from the world, and the pressure rose so great that the others could feel their ears pop. A sickening, unnatural nausea washed over them all in waves, and, as if in slow motion, the form of a grotesque, purple humanoid with bat-like facial features and sinister red eyes began its desperate attempt to scamper out from underneath the cart.

Euronymus, who seemed able to move at somewhat quicker speed, reached down and grasped the creature by the throat, lifting it up off the ground and holding it out at full arm’s length. Then, as if being jolted back into reality from a nightmare, color collapsed in on the black and white bubble they had inhabited and the pressure dropped.

Events unfolded at normal speed, Euronymus still holding onto the demon he had just snatched from the ethereal plane. The creature clawed wildly and frantically at him, snarling obscenities in the abyssal tongue and spitting at him, its claws leaving jagged marks in Euronymus’ black steel armor.

The three paladins watched on in a reverent fascination as Euronymus slowly made a sign of blessing, then raised his mace up high and brought it down upon the head of the demon, smashing its skull in. Yet still, it continued to struggle, no longer able to swear and spit, but rending and clawing with all of its strength at whatever part of the cleric it could reach. Several times Euronymus raised his mace in the air, bringing the brutal bludgeoning instrument down upon the demon’s head until the ground had been spattered with the black ichor that ran through the creature’s veins. Pieces of its skull and flesh sat in pools of blackness around Euronymus’ feet, while bits of the demon slid down the front of his plate mail.

Once the headless figure had quivered its last motion and gone still, Euronymus tossed it to the side like a rag doll. He then turned and reached out, pointing his open palm at the remains. After a moment, a divine white pillar of flame sprang forth from the ground underneath the corpse, burning bright and pure as it reduced what was left of the demon to ash.

What in the abyss was that?! came Thunderclese’s abrupt exclamation, breaking the shocked moment or two of silence that had followed the event.

Hah! Next time, save me one!

Maximus walked over, stamping down the demon ashes before turning to nod his approval to Vlishgnath.

Vlishgnath, however, was not so elated, for even as they spoke, he could already feel something very wrong. Euronymus felt it too, and before long they all saw what Vlishgnath and Euronymus were sensing: a half dozen more shadows darting around in their peripheral vision, circling them like a pack of wolves.

Vlishgnath’s voice rang out with the same unwavering urgent calm as before. Swords! Form up around Euronymus!

Thunderclese reached down, grasping the handle of his weapon and drawing a magnificent longsword from its scabbard. Maximus, who had been eager for this moment to come, reached back and unhooked the massive greatsword, Judgment, from the holstering contraption on his back, giving it a twirl above his head before bringing it to rest in a defensive grip in front of him. He turned and backed towards Euronymus as the shadows encircled the group more fervently.

Vlishgnath placed his fingers on the sword called Retribution, the blade recognizing its rightful bearer and practically flying from its scabbard. As Retribution was unsheathed, it glowed blindingly bright and rang out loudly, proclaiming its presence to all nearby. Shedding light even at midday, the sword let all who would oppose it know that Retribution was going to war.

Falling into a four man back-to-back formation, Vlishgnath and Thunderclese brandished their swords and shields, while Maximus dared any to come closer whilst he was wielding Judgment. Euronymus held his mace at the ready, scanning their surroundings.

The shadows were growing more aggressive, and Thunderclese did not care to feel the touch of the vile again. How are we to combat them? he asked.

Vlishgnath turned his head to the side so he could address Euronymus without taking his eyes off the creatures. Euronymus! Is there any way to draw them out of their plane all at once?

The mute cleric turned, looking at Vlishgnath for a moment to emphasize just how crazy the idea was, and confirming it with some terse and pointed signage.

Vlishgnath responded by shaking his head. I’m afraid we have no other choice! We can’t do anything about them in their current state! Bring them to the light, Euronymus!

The cleric nodded, and the world began going black and white as they all felt the pressure in their ears pop again, except this time the sensation radiated even more powerfully from the cleric, draining the world of color as it washed over the village. Every shadow it touched took the form of another of the purple-skinned demons with bat-like ears and glowering red eyes, their teeth bared as they began to advance on the men without fear. Then, the aura that had permeated from the cleric withdrew abruptly, returning color and normalizing internal ear pressure in the briefest of moments, and leaving six flesh-hungry demons stranded on the material plane.

Vlishgnath’s voice was ice-cold and hard as steel. Let’s clean up, gentlemen.

At that, he dropped his shield, pointing the tip of Retribution at the demon advancing upon him, who shrank back as it recognized the chosen champion’s weapon. There is not a demon in Hell who does not know the tales of a sword forged ages ago that drives the darkness away with its light.

Maximus was first to act. With a bestial roar, he charged forward, lifting Judgment high above his head in one fluid motion and bringing it down with all of his might. The demon was unable to escape its own momentum. Letting out a blood-curdling scream before being cloven in two from top to bottom, its wretched entrails and the black ichor that ran through its veins soon stained the soil.

Thunderclese, a skilled swordsman in his own right, took on an aggressive stance, keeping his shield up but advancing on the demon facing him. The creature slithered up to him on all fours, leaping upward and trying to throw the paladin off by slamming into his shield, then grasping onto the edges in an attempt to disarm him. Thunderclese responded in turn by dropping his shield, pivoting his stance, and thrusting from his broad shoulders, the point of his blade finding the demon’s throat and easily sliding straight through to the hilt. The creature flailed and clawed at him frantically, desperately trying to free the sword from Thunderclese’s hand. With an abrupt twist, Thunderclese doubled the size of the hole, turning the blade sideways so that as he withdrew and swung outward at the same time he nearly beheaded the creature, delivering a kick for good measure and sending the thing reeling back from him mortally wounded.

Vlishgnath and Euronymus advanced on their own demons. Euronymus grasped his mace in both hands, holding it in a low back position pointed at the ground behind him. The demon ran up on him quickly, staying low to the ground on all fours as the others had done. Just as it began to rise up to make its move on him, Euronymus brought his mace up in a forceful diagonal swing, catching the demon just under its chin with such heft that he brought the creature up to a full standing position. Continuing the momentum by swinging around in a complete 360 degree rotation, Euronymus lifted the mace high above his head before bashing it down into the creature’s chest, caving it in and spewing ichor everywhere as the demon’s form went limp and it collapsed to the ground.

Vlishgnath, however, stood in a relaxed pose with his shield down at his side. He kept the point of Retribution pointed at the demon, and for several moments it seemed to be debating whether or not to advance on one of the others instead. But upon hearing the death thralls of its companions, the demon’s courage became fueled by the desire for revenge. Putting all of its weight onto its back legs, it lunged into the air, its three-clawed hands reaching forward as it descended towards him at chest-level with the intent to latch on. Vlishgnath reacted in an instant, spun around, and brought his shield up. With a cracking thud, he slammed his shield into the demon’s side, knocking it prone to the ground. With the grace of a dancer, he continued the movement and brought Retribution around, spinning the blade in a full circle and a half as the handle moved nimbly through his fingers to an upside down grip, and drove the point of the blade straight through the center of the demon’s chest. As Retribution bit into the demon’s flesh, the creature howled like none of the others had, the blade paralyzing it with searing pain. A sharp twist severed any connections the demon’s heart had to its body, Vlishgnath pausing only for a moment to ensure the creature was not moving before pulling Retribution from its chest, bringing it back to a proper upright grip with a flourishing spin, and turning to face the remaining two demons.

One leapt at Maximus, thinking to capitalize on his overexertion with such a massive sword. It landed on Maximus’ right shoulder, its claws digging in to the joints of his armor and trying to scramble its way up his arm towards his head. Maximus reached over with his left hand, grabbing hold of one of the creature’s ankles and ripping it from his side the way one would a troublesome burr from his clothing. Held dangling above the ground, the demon waved its arms and free leg wildly. Maximus let out an angry growl, reaching forward and grabbing one of the demon’s arms and pulling in opposite directions with all his might. The shoulder joint parted from the torso, and the demon wailed as ichor poured to the ground from its severing limb. Tossing the arm aside, Maximus grabbed ahold of the other arm and did the same. Then he let the thing drop head first, the demon frantically trying to stand itself up but unable, having never been without arms before and incapable of finding its equilibrium.

As Maximus loomed over the demon, it looked up at him and spat, swearing at him one last time. Maximus simply shook his head, brought his massive plate mail boot over the top of the demon’s face, and stomped down with all his weight, spewing ichor and bits in a radial pattern.

The last demon had been watching carefully, and knew which of the four men to move in on. Waiting until Euronymus had exhausted himself, it swooped in and dive-tackled the cleric, knocking him prone on his back and pinning his arms with its knees. It moved quick to pry Euronymus’ helmet from his head before mounting a full assault on his unprotected face with its claws, tearing and rending flesh at a frenzied pace.

Vlishgnath, turning just in time to witness this, drew back Retribution and hurled the weapon at the demon, the sword spinning tip over end through the air and leaving a trail of light as it soared at the creature. The tip of the blade caught the demon in the side of the head. Its form went limp almost immediately, allowing the momentum of the thrown blade to carry it off of the cleric and collapse on the ground. The divine weapon sizzled as it seared the flesh inside the dead creature’s skull.

Vlishgnath and Thunderclese rushed forward, fearing the worst.

Euronymus was not moving.

Episode 4

Both men sheathed their weapons, dropping their shields and removing their helmets as they reached Euronymus. Thunderclese looked horrified, a drastic contrast to the concerned yet composed Vlishgnath.

Is he dead?! Thunderclese’s voice trembled slightly. It was no light thing when a brother in arms died in combat, and even though the culprit had been slain, any death was too good for those creatures.

Vlishgnath waved Thunderclese away, leaning in closely to check for signs of life. After a moment he sat up. No. He lives. But we need to get him into the church immediately. Grisbane is the best healer I know, not including clerics.

Thunderclese nodded, and the two men moved into position to transport their injured comrade.

Maximus! Vlishgnath called back. Gather up the bodies and burn them! There should be kindling in one of our saddlebags. Then load our shields and helmets with the relief supplies, and bring the cart around to the church’s back entrance. Aramus!

Upon hearing its name, the eight-legged silver horse casually walked up to Vlishgnath, seemingly unfazed by what had transpired.

Stay with the horses, my friend. Watch over them.

In response, Aramus turned and walked over to the other horses, and indeed began to herd them around to the back of the church.

Alright. I’ve got him under his shoulders, you get his legs, Vlishgnath said to Thunderclese. Lift.

The two of them hoisted Euronymus up off the ground and carried him hurriedly past Maximus, who had begun dejectedly kicking the bodies of the slain demons into a pile. He tossed one of the arms he had ripped off one of the demons to join with the rest of what was to be quite a fire.

Once they reached the church, Vlishgnath knocked forcefully on the heavy wooden doors, and after a moment a small window swung open. A terrified-looking villager peered through the hole and spoke in a stammering voice.

W-Who are you?

Thunderclese sighed in exasperation, but Vlishgnath spoke in his calmest, most reassuring tone.

We are with the church. We need you to let us in; we have supplies, and our friend here was injured battling the shadows that plagued your town. We need to see Grisbane.

His tone and words had their desired effect; the man nodded enthusiastically, and in a moment they could hear the heavy wooden pillar that barred the door shut being removed. The door swung open, and they rushed to get Euronymus inside.

The man who had met them at the door called out, Sir Grisbane! More men from the church are here!

The figure of a man in full plate, hunched over a sickly person lying on a makeshift cot in the corner, stood up and turned around. At first, Grisbane smiled with relief, but upon noticing what the two men were carrying, his expression quickly grew worrisome again.

What in the name of Mithos happened to him?!

Without so much as smiling, Vlishgnath responded as they moved Euronymus over to rest on a cot that one of the less-injured villagers graciously and even enthusiastically gave up without so much as being asked. We took care of your demon problem. Can you help him?

Is he alive?

Yes.

Then I can try. You there! Boy! Bring me some bandages and a basin of clean water!

While Grisbane set to work, Vlishgnath moved to sit on the floor, resting against a wall with his head leaned back and his eyes closed. He drew up his right knee and laid his arm upon it as he waited.

Sir Grisbane! a man yelled in the distance. There’s an enormous man at the back door! Says he’s with the church! Should I—HE’S COMING IN!

Vlishgnath chuckled silently to himself. It’s all right! He is with us!

Several minutes later, Thunderclese slumped down next to Vlishgnath, having gone to assist Grisbane and sighed heavily. Some fight, huh?

More of a skirmish. How is Euronymus?

He’ll live. May even look a bit prettier. Grisbane is getting him cleaned up, patched, and into some spare clothes. He should be resting soon.

Vlishgnath nodded.

What’s this about Grisbane now? Maximus said as he joined them, pulling up a wooden stool and taking a seat in front of them. He was visibly tired, although he would never admit it.

I was asking how Euronymus was doing, said Vlishgnath.

Ah, he’s a tough one. Looks like he’s been through worse.

Thunderclese nodded knowingly, grasping his throat while sticking his tongue out and making a groaning whisper the way Euronymus would.

Grisbane approached them with a frown. Show some respect, boy.

Thunderclese quickly dropped his hand, his face returning to normal. Yes, sir.

Vlishgnath quirked a brow, looking up at Grisbane. How long have you been holed up in the church with these survivors?

Grisbane reached up, rubbing his gray bearded chin a moment. We started moving people in once we got here. Things were bad, but they’ve gotten a lot worse. I can’t help but wonder if our arrival has something to do with it. They seem to be reacting to us being here, almost like some sort of defense. How many did you encounter outside?

Half a dozen.

Grisbane nodded. There were only a couple when we got here. We had no way of fighting them though, so I pulled everyone back to the church. We’ve been holding out as best we can, but you came just in time. Well done fulfilling your assignment, Thunderclese.

Thunderclese nodded formally. Thank you, sir.

Vlishgnath mulled the information over for a moment before addressing Grisbane again. Has there been any word from Baron LeFay?

None. I can’t even say with any certainty that he and his people are still alive, and I haven’t had the men to check on them. Sir Aureius has fallen ill ever since one of the things dove straight through him like water through a sieve.

The same happened to Thunderclese, though he was able to recover much quicker, said Vlishgnath.

Grisbane looked to Thunderclese and grinned. He’s of a hearty constitution, that’s for sure.

Something like this doesn’t just happen overnight though, Vlishgnath persisted. If Baron LeFay was made aware of this, why did he not do something about it? At the very least he could have petitioned the church for aid.

Hmm...you know, I hadn’t stopped to consider that, said Grisbane. I’ve been busy tending to wounded and calming near-hysterical villagers. I’ll ask around, see if anyone knows anything. Do me a favor and keep Maximus with you. He’ll scare people, and they’ve gone through enough.

Vlishgnath, Thunderclese, and Maximus sat at a table, both Vlishgnath and Thunderclese carefully cleaning the black ichor of the demons from their blades. Their shields and helmets rested on the floor next to their chairs. Maximus sat on a barrel, the table almost down by his knees, with Judgment leaning against the stone wall behind him.

Grisbane appeared, reassuringly guiding one of the village women towards the table. Her expression was apprehensive, and she looked from armored man to armored man timidly as she folded her arms beneath her