Unbound

“We hold here! Hold it, or else we lose the district entirely!”

Kossryn, Captain of the Watch, rode down the line on her Avum. Her sword was high and her armors scuffed, but they had survived the enemy’s initial thrust into Birchstone. The city gate had fallen, but then it had not yet been truly repaired. The watchtowers themselves were still slag, and much of the wall itself. There was nothing to stop the bastards from charging through the breach.

Hundreds of the Watch died to their golden blades, cut through just as easily as the laborers hauling stone. The people had run, funneled toward the district gate as fire rampaged across the streets. Many more had died to panic than enemy Skills, but the how meant little to the bodies strewn across the cobblestones. Smoke clouded the skies now, and though it was mid-morning the city remained shrouded in false night.

Above, the smoke split into concentric rings to reveal a bright blue sky. Through those gaps, sunbeams filtered through, warm and bright as summer, as the tromp of heavy boots echoed across the chaotic streets.

They had come.

They marched through ash choked streets, across burning courtyards, but they remained untouched by filth or flame. Their armor was white, but their cloaks…those told the true story. were stained by the blood they spilled. Two thousand, four thousand, eight. Ten. Ten thousand Inquisitors, the least of them advanced to high Journeyman Tier.

Many were bathed in the golden glow of the sun, while others wield swords of flame, and a few at the front shimmered with a radiance that was blinding to look upon. Those were the Inquisitors, possessed of far greater powers than any among the Watch.

Her only hope was the wall at her back, unbroken and layered with defensive enchantments. All that remained of her battalion stood strong before the locked and reinforced inner gates. They could not let the redcloaks into the next district. Too many citizens crowded within. The fires would… Bile rose in Kossryn’s throat, sharp and acrid, but she muscled it back down. She would not falter.

Kossryn gritted her teeth at the redcloaks’ approach, the leather interior of her gauntlet grown slick with sweat. She tightened her grip on her sword, lifting it one more time. “For Birchstone! For Red Shield!”

The redcloaks surged and the Watch met their charge with the clang of steel and flash of discharging Skills. Dwarven voices roared defiance, and the Inquisition met them with sunlit flame. Kossryn slapped aside an Initiate’s blade, scoring a strike against their groin and bringing another to their knees. All along the line, the Watch held.

“Enough.”

Kossryn had barely registered the voice when she was blinded. Darkness consumed her vision, followed closely by the savage pain of melting high steel armor. She shrieked, unable to bear it, but the molten metal clung to her no matter how furiously she cast off parts of it.

“We waste time,” said the voice again.

A roaring note cut through the fog of her pain. The voice spoke again, but Kossryn couldn’t make out the words. All she felt was heat.

And then nothing.

“They are defeated, Lady Chosen!” Bellar cheered as he marched from the front lines. He was spotlessly clean, as were all those blessed by the Light, and he flashed her a broad smile. “Your power turned them to little more than char, Lady Imara, and those that remain have scattered, soon to be picked off by our forces. You have taken the first district.”

“We waste time here,” she said.

Bellar nodded, the epitome of gracious understanding. “Indeed. But the city must be expunged before we can take the Clan Hold properly. Just as you What if the Gnome is hiding among them?”

Around her, small fires sprang up atop the slagged cobbles, burning without fuel. The sunlight that streamed between pillars of dark smoke brightened, until the glare of it was too much even for Bellar to withstand. Imara felt a dark pleasure at seeing him wince.

“We are wasting time,” she repeated, before lifting her bare left hand. The gauntlet had been lost during her impromptu flight, and it exposed heavy scars and too-pale skin before it welled with a golden radiance brighter than anything else the paltry Inquisition could muster. It resolved into a beam of near-white light, tearing through the reinforced gate like flame through paper. Wards snapped, stone caught fire, and wood turned to crumbling ash as she guided the beam in a zig-zagging line.

The gate fell, cut into burning chunks.

“Come, Bellar. Or be left behind.”

Imara marched through the flames, heedless of their fury, and directly into the path of a force of Ironclads and Watch members. They hesitated upon seeing her, craning their necks to meet her hidden gaze, and a few even turned and ran.

“Flee, Dwarves. Flee and have your lives. I’m only here for the Gnome.” Then, in a rumbling growl, she added, “And the Fiend.”

Many scattered, but not all. Those that stayed drew their weapons and readied a variety of Skills that cast their own, impure light.

“Very well,” she nodded. “Then die.”

> Felix signed.

Vess moved like liquid silk, her armor making not a single sound as she sped toward the trio of guards. She was upon them in a fraction of a second, her bare hands making contact with two of their skulls before striking the third directly below the sternum. Armor or not, the guards were Journeyman Tier, and they folded to Vess’ Adept Tier Strength. Unconscious, she caught them all before they could clatter noisily to the ground.

“Great job,” Felix said as he and Pit hustled forward. He took two of the stocky Dwarves from her, hefting them by the back of their plate armor. “This is the third storage room, right?”

“It is.” Vess rustled along one of their belts and pulled free a ring of keys. “Quickly. Through the door.”

She opened the doors with the keys and slipped inside. Pit and Yintarion followed, padding across the ground and flying through the air, leaving Felix to carry the unconscious guards with him.

He shut the door just as the thunder of booted feet approached down a separate hallway, engaging the lock with quick fingers before all four of them all but froze in place. The steps grew louder, more frantic, but then they faded as the group of guards kept moving.

“Not Forge Knights.” Felix let go of his pent breath, and Pit basically melted into the ground with relief. “That was close.”

“The guards are swarming across every inch of this place,” Yintarion said, alighting on a stack of dusty bottles. Aside from the light that leaked under the door, it was dark within the storage room, but that wasn’t a problem. “We are lucky most have been too preoccupied to notice us.”

“They are afraid,” Vess said.

“They should be.” Felix stretched his Perception out, through the door and into the halls beyond. The four of them had traveled through miles of corridors and pass-through chambers in order to reach their location, but still the ballroom was only three floors below them. Thanks to the high tier materials the palace was made from, Felix’s senses were limited to a smaller scope than normal, but even that was enough to know the place had been thrown into utter chaos.

The moment those bells began ringing, Forge Knights had appeared to usher the nobles to saferooms. The Hinterlord himself had never returned. Thinking fast, Felix had shrouded all of them in his Abyssal Skein and followed Laur’s directions to get them away from the ballroom as quickly as possible. That, however, was where their paths diverged. The Chanters had left to contact their scattered team, and Felix and Vess were tasked with securing a path to the fault in the wards that Laur was so certain of—a path that grew more crowded the further up the palace they traveled.

Felix listened a while longer, fingers twitching as they waited. Tzfell had told them of this storage chamber and suggested it as a meeting point for their team. “I can’t sense many more guards in the halls nearby. One, maybe two but—wait. No. They left too.”

“Where are they going?” Pit asked.

“I don’t know. To defend the Clan Hold gates?”

“Those gates were strongly defended. I doubt the Hinterlord would divest himself of his private army just to give the Hold a few more defenders.” Vess was pacing now. “Where could they be going?”

“Either way, it’s good news for us. Our friends’ path will be clear—oh.” A weight lifted from Felix’s chest. “They’re here. Same floor, closing fast.”

They had to wait a minute or two, but soon there came a familiar rhythmic knocking on the thick door. Felix suppressed a disbelieving laugh before unlocking and opened it enough to let Beef, Evie, Harn, and the two Chanters into the cramped room.

“Shave and a haircut?” Felix asked.

Beef grinned. The guy was draped in a long dark cloak that only kind of hid his massive horns. “Two bits. Heard it in a really old movie once.” His grinning stopped as the door shut. “Why’s it so dark in here?”

“Up your Perception stat,” Harn said. “What’s the move, kid? I don’t wanna be locked in here long.”

“We find the weak point in the Undermount’s wards, we go in. The Claw is set?”

“Yeah. Set ‘em up nice with their escorts and all our supplies. Beef put a little fear into the smugglers though. Should keep ‘em on their toes should any of ‘em get ideas.”

“Plus, Hallow’s Multipede is waiting for them on the other side.”

“Good.” Felix grunted. “Laur?”

The Elven Chanter’s face was flushed and his hair was a mess, but he straightened his robes before striding to the door. “Follow me and please move quietly. The weak point is above us.”

Abyssal Skein!

The cold, oily touch of Felix’s Void Skill settled on them all, driving a shiver from most of them. Especially Yintarion.

“I dislike that greatly,” he said with a basso rumble. “It feels…unnatural.”

“Learned it from eating a Void beast. It’s not natural, but it’s our best defense.” Felix looked at them all. “I’ll hold Abyssal Skein as long as I can, but everyone that has one, use your Stealth Skills.” After flaring his Perception for a moment, Felix unlocked it and pulled it open. “Lead on, Laur.”

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