Untitled

by Thomas Manhart

The following is my account of the happenings of June 16th, as instructed to commit to parchment by my supervisors as part of a report for his majesty, the High King of Mercia.

I believe I should start by stating that my men and I had, for the past few days, been scouring the northern part of the kingdom for a group of highwaymen that had been attacking caravans carrying goods from Sanguine to the northern villages.

Early that morning, I had dispatched scouts to look for any clues that might reveal where the thieves were hiding. Just before noon, one of the scouts returned to report that nearby villagers had seen a suspicious group of men heading into the dark forest near the Mercian border with Morak. ‘Suspicious, Indeed’ I had thought to myself, for it is said that only the most brave and most foolish tarry in that black wood.

Before long, we had packed up our camp and set out for the forest. With the Goddess’s grace, we traveled swiftly and arrived at the southern edge of the wood without incident. I had several groups of my men spread out and search the surrounding area, while my best soldiers and I began a journey through the dense, ominous woodlands. The trees that surrounded us were grim and tall, and the lush canopy kept out all but the most stubborn rays of light. Truly it is a dark forest, and its eerie silence, with neither sound of bird nor beast, is enough to trouble the heart of any man. But we traveled without confrontation and were unhindered in our search, though many a time we felt as though we might be being watched by eyes unseen.

At long last, we had a bit of luck, and we came upon some boot prints in a patch of mud. We followed the prints and the following trail of plants crushed underfoot until we came upon what appeared to be the remnants of an ancient road. We decided to trek westward along the road, drawing ourselves into the very heart of the wood. It seemed we traveled long upon the road, or I should say, what long ago had been a road, for nature had long taken back what was once hers.

We had almost given up hope of finding any more clues, when one of my men, whose eyesight is keen among men, spotted something peculiar up ahead. At first it seemed to be a great wall of twisted vine, but getting closer, it took on a dome shape. Indeed, it appeared as if the ground had swelled there amidst the trees and a hill of vines now occupied this part of the wood.

Something compelled me then, and I unsheathed my blade and struck at the vines. There was a most unexpected clang, the sort one might hear when a dropped sword collides with a stone road, as several vines shriveled and fell away. I reached with my hand and cleared away the exposed earth, revealing stone and mortar. We had found some sort of great ancient structure, long forgotten in the bowels of this foul wood. Having realized this, I had the men spread out and circle the mound in search of an entrance. It was not long before the men had found an outcropping on the southern side that stuck out from the dome’s otherwise perfectly circular footprint. We cleared away some vines and beheld two great doors that opened into an arched entryway.

As we carefully stepped inside, the light at our backs shone in revealing distinctly modern goods to our left and right. It was clear to us that we had indeed found our culprits hideout, but our thieves were not in sight. Traveling through the entryway, we quickly came upon a second set of doors that had been left open a crack. Thrusting those open, we stood in awe at what lay before us. Sunlight danced in through cracks in the great walls and holes in the magnificent domed roof, illuminating concentric rings of great columns. Some of these were cracked, others lay broken on the floor, but one could easily imagine how wondrous indeed it would have been in its prime. But there was a foul smell in the air, and a sense of dread filled my heart.

I bid the men light up torches so that we may better see, and, taking one in my left hand, I step wearily into the great room. As I walked forward, I heard a snap, as one might hear when a twig is crushed underfoot, and I lowered my torch to see what I had unwittingly stepped upon. There before me lay the brittle skeletal remains of a soldier that had fallen in battle many years ago. I called out to my men and had them spread out to see what they could find. Soon we learned that a great battle must have been fought in that very room, for all about us lay the skeletal, armor-clad remains of fallen Man and Ork, many of which had blades still clasped firmly in their bony hands.

We traveled along the walls, for there light was best, and took note of all that we saw. The architecture was very reminiscent of the Chaldean ruins in the southern plains, and I would dare say there was no doubt in my mind that this was some sort of ancient Chaldean structure. Along the walls there were paintings of gods and goddesses that I had never seen before, and before each there was an altar and an assortment of offerings. Indeed, the great domed building seemed to be a mighty temple, devoted to a veritable host of old gods and goddesses.

I was examining a painting of a great warrior god when the men called out to me. They had found stairs at the northern end of the room which led down into the blackness beneath the temple. I went over to them, took a torch and cast it down the stairs. As the light bounced down to the basement level, rats and insects fled into the shadows. The stairs, carved of stone, looked to be in fine condition, and I was about to lead the men down them when I heard a voice call out to me. “What is it?” I replied, thinking one of the men had found something else. The men eyed me suspiciously, for none other than I seemed to have heard the summons.

The voice called out to me again, this time more clearly and distinctly feminine. I was compelled to investigate the center of the great room, which remained unexplored and veiled in shadow. I bid the men take great care and begin searching the underground while I went over to investigate what lay hidden in shadows of the great temple. I drew my sword and, with a torch in my left hand, I walked over to the center of the room. Before me stood the darkened inner most circle of columns, each with mounted torches waiting eagerly to be lit. Raising my own torch to their height, I walked carefully around, igniting them all.

In the center, now clearly illuminated, lay a great altar, encircled by the great pillars and a host of candles. Stepping up to the altar, I noticed it was bathed in a crimson hue. The flickering light of my torch danced and reflected in the pool of liquid that lay in front of me. I knew something was terribly wrong, for there was no mistaking that crimson lake. It was surely the blood of a recent sacrifice, but what had been sacrificed, to whom, and for what purpose?

Again the female voice called to me, and it was as if she stood right above me. As I looked upward toward the ceiling, the last rays of the setting sun filtered through the gaps in the walls and the magnificent painting upon the ceiling was revealed to me. There I saw the image of a powerful goddess. But lo, it was not the Lady of Light, for she was iron clad and her hair was raven dark. Her maille was of a blackened hue, with many a ruby accent stone. In her right hand, she held a scepter raised toward the heavens, and her left hand lay open, reaching out to me. I stood motionless, staring upon her, and I believe non shy of Sir John, Duke of Malregard, who founded our great kingdom, would have been able to resist the entrancing nature of her dark and terrible beauty.

As night began to fall, I could almost discern the flicker of a wicked grin upon the lady’s face. One of my men cried out from the underground and I was freed of my enchantment. I hurried over to see what was wrong. Two scurried up the stairs, frighten as small children during a thunderstorm. They had found the thieves, they said, but they were naught but lifeless bodies now. But that was not all, they hesitated any finally said that they had awakened some evil lurking in the catacombs below. It had taken a few of the men by surprise and now they were no more, slain by wicked creatures that lurk in the shadows below.

The men did not wish to stay in this evil place, and I doubt they would have even obeyed a direct order to remain. As the last bit of sunlight failed, I called out to the remaining men to head for the exit. With naught but our torches to guide us, we moved as quickly as we might toward the southern hallway through which we had entered earlier. As we passed one of the inner set of columns, one of my soldiers fell as if his legs had been pulled out from under him. I turned to face him and beheld a skeleton with eyes of flame. One of his bony hands was wrapped tightly onto my soldier’s ankle and the other grasped a sword, raised and ready to strike. I dove in the way and parried the blow, smashing the ghoul’s bony arm. The skeletal warrior released my soldier, who got up and headed for entryway with great speed. With another lucky blow, I smashed the skeleton and it fell lifeless to floor. As I passed by the altar, I saw more of the skeletons coming to life, their eyes flickering in the darkness. I made a dash, passing the outer columns on the southern side and smashed a skeleton just getting to its bony feet.

I called out behind me, but there was no answer. Whatever men were left alive had already made it out and awaited me there outside the accursed temple. As I passed the inner doors, I turned around and shut them tight. With the help of my remaining men, I blocked the doors with a great table that had been sitting in the entryway. Thinking that would have to suffice, we took off down the road with great speed. By the grace of Morgaine alone, we found our way out of the wood and to the campsite set up by the men awaiting our return.

Such are the events of the 16th of June as I recall them. I sincerely hope that my account is of use to those who are preparing the report of military activities to the king. I apologize for any vagueness in the matter, for my memory on many things is far from perfect.

Thomas Maridus
Captain of the 21st Legion
The Order of Malregard