“Having travelled through the Planes I can truly claim to have seen everything. Returning towards the lands from where my journey had begun, watching mortals, I often perceive them as their ancestors, repeating their lives over and over again. Worlds have changed... and yet they had not.

Were our minds not prepared for this? Have I been living for too long? Was the gift that we were granted just a curse?”

- Traveller’s Endless Journeys

As the gargoyle approached, Ion moved back trying to gain some distance. He casted Enfeeblement and used his cloak again to renew illusions around himself.

The small insectoid quickly destroyed two of his newly created illusions, while the greenskin closed in and forced Ion to block his clawed arm with Shield. The protective barrier shattered when the creature followed with his cleaver. Ion rolled on the ground trying to evade that strike, yet the blow still wounded him.

The insect jumped on top of him, trying to slash and pierce the wizard with claws. Ion barely dodged strikes, evading wildly on the ground. He grabbed the creature’s carapace and used Vampiric Touch, draining its vitality and healing some of his wounds. His opponent screamed in pain as it dissolved, but before Ion could stand up there was a menacing shape of the gargoyle standing in front of him.

Ion coated the creature with Web, hoping that after sapping its strength, his spell would be able to hold it for a moment. He had just enough time to stand up and retreat while preparing Scorching Ray before the greenskin set itself free. The wizard also channelled Mirror Image through his cloak for the third time this day.

The greenskin monster raised his cleaver blocking one of the rays, remaining two only barely damaging it, its skin only charred a little from the fire.

As the gargoyle tried to engage Ion again, it suddenly winced in pain as eerie sounds of high pitched voices sounded around, lasting for not even a second.

Before the creature recovered Ion heard Istaro’s malicious chant and gargoyle's frame suddenly shrank a bit as if a large part of the water inside its body evaporated. The cleric proceeded to fight in melee with the monster. For a moment a fear was visible in beast's eyes, as it was forced to dodge a glaive coated with dark mana.

Ion, being finally able to support the fight from a distance, casted Scorching Ray again, silently cursing gargoyle’s resistance to fire.

Almost at the same moment both Sae and Anton struck it from behind, causing the monster to roar in pain. When another attack from the clad in a dark energy glaive Istaro wielded connected, the greenskin screamed in rage again. Then it tried to do something Ion hadn’t expected – cast a spell. He immediately sent a burst of energy to Counterspell it, following once again with fiery rays.

After another round of their combined efforts, the gargoyle finally succumbed to its wounds, leaving nothing but a pool of dark ichor and its cleaver behind.

Ion exhaled with relief.

“Shit, I hoped to join that fight,” Nanoc ran towards them, seemingly unconcerned by many wounds on his body. Contrary to most of the fighters he used almost no armour.

“It would be something worth singing about,” he passed them and moved searching for different opponents.

Anton looked at Istaro suspiciously as the cleric healed them.

“Well, it looks like it’s over,” Istaro said looking around. He was right; only few small insects and one dog-like monster still struggled against caravan guards.

“That bastard cost me one of my swords,” Sae poked one of her blades with a finger and it crumbled into dust right before their eyes.

Ion couldn’t believe that a whole attack on the caravan hadn’t lasted longer than five minutes. Everything was still covered in a blanket of the night, no hint of sunrise approaching.

“Thank you,” he said, “I wouldn’t stand a chance against this creature alone.”

“I hope you won’t forget it when I would need some help,” the halfling smiled, “I need to check how the rest is faring, see you later.”

Istaro only nodded and went to join those who started to treat wounded.

“Just try to learn that spell I gave you,” Sae patted his shoulder, “If those rains continue, it will come in handy. And don’t forget it’s your fault I lost a sword today.”

She waved with the sword handle she still held in the other hand.

“Also, I’m not sure if you noticed it earlier, but Lyssa casted a Fireball today… Are you sure you are really a wizard? I should have considered giving that scroll to her…”

She left Ion with a stupefied expression and moved away humming a strange tune.

Ion noticed Hant who, despite being barely able to stand, was using his magic to heal Maval. She apparently survived greenskin’s surprise attack.

‘Don’t tell me he’s trying to pick her up now…’ Ion was amused for a moment.

Then he looked around the battlefield and froze.

It was a small one, at least comparing it to those Vision-he walked on, yet this time Ion was seeing it himself, his sight not filtered by that wizard’s perception.

He was hearing pained cries of wounded begging for treatment, seeing blood and pools of dark ichor sprawled around. There were also smells, fetid, vile, that of charred skin. Worse still, bodies of people, some he still remembered talking just yesterday, were now lying unmoving, pierced by monsters, missing their limbs. He barely stopped himself from vomiting.

Ion looked up to the dark, rainy sky trying to calm himself.

‘How can one ever get used to the sight like that?’ he tried to ignore smells assaulting him as he breathed hastily.

Looking back on the area, Ion saw Istaro gently touching one of the unmoving figures, who after a moment twitched and suddenly gasped for air. Then the cleric moved to another corpse doing the same, yet seemingly without an effect. He opened a small book that was attached to the side of his armour and noted something inside before moving on. Darren and Dorian were similarly seeking those they were able to help, trying to rekindle life in the fallen.

“…No, no, they can’t die…”

Ion heard Lyssa’s teary shout and saw her kneeling near one of the mercenaries, repeatedly pushing divine energy into his body. Then she moved towards another, trying to do the same. Ion remembered them as the two sentries who were attacked by insectoid monsters at the very beginning of the fight.

A precious gem she kept between her hands finally dimmed, losing all light stored within.

“Help me, I’m sure you can do something!” She cried, looking expectantly towards other people who treated wounded.

“They are beyond our ability,” a gnome cleric said sadly, “Better focus on those who still can be saved,” he weaved towards people who still struggled.

“You are a priest longer than me. I saw some who were able to truly Resurrect the fallen, why don’t you do it too?” she shouted at the gnome tearingly.

“Child, it’s not an ability that is commonly given by the gods,” Istaro said calmly; Darren nodded to his words, “And even if such a blessing would be granted to you, what would you do with it? Would you run around, trying to raise everyone?”

“As if you knew!” She answered angrily.

“Life is just a process of seeking the place for one’s eternal rest. It is naught, but a brief aberration in the eternity of death, for even gods will eventually perish. Every being ceases its life at an appointed time…”

“Appointed time? They were murdered!”

“Maybe their lives were just destined to end here? Would their prolonged existence serve something more in the grand picture? Maybe by dying today, they will be able to achieve more, for their deeds will be remembered by us?” He touched his book, a skull on a parchment, encircled by a snake biting its tail on its cover, “If not for the absoluteness of death, would we even try to make life matter? Look at those foolishly believing they can evade death, dedicated only to prolonging their lifespans. Seek longer living races, even gods; they mostly stagnate, unwilling to move, to change. For every being at some point starts to strive for the order, for the finality and the fixedness that can only be found in death… They yearn for it, even if they are too afraid to affirm that…”

A brief silence that followed the speech was interrupted by Darren.

“I won’t try to pretend that I agree with all of what you said… but nature keeps balance; as there are spring and birth, so there must also be winter and death; it’s nature’s cycle that continues…” the gnome’s voice started to slowly fade away.

****

He was watching a military funeral.

A stream of the fallen carried by their companions. Another blow to the Empire, for they were unable to resurrect everyone. He stood with other wizards; their presence was meant to raise soldiers’ morale. Clerics were performing rites, yet he was barely paying any attention to them.

‘Should I present results of my research to the Council?’

A shiver ran through his spine once again as he considered what his newest thesis might imply.

‘Maybe that’s just too far-fetched conclusion?’

Yet he knew that this explanation was the most logical one, for everything.

‘If we manage to keep them under our control, we could turn the tide of war…’

He tried to put his analytical mind to work and pushed unwanted thoughts away.

‘How many will try to gain power from such an opportunity? Many others will surely be willing to sacrifice themselves, knowing what awaits those who they love if the invaders continue...and betting that they turn successful after the ritual. Yet won’t this solution turn into an even greater danger later?’

****

The vision ended as fast as it appeared. Ion could remember nothing substantial from it, yet he was still overwhelmed by the strange mix of fear, uneasiness and… anticipation? pride?... that Vision-he felt while considering implications of his newest research. Ion sat down, breathing deeply and trying to calm himself.

“You seem unwell…” Arde channelled a healing spell towards him, “Strange, it doesn’t seem to have any effect… Have you been badly wounded? You are so pale… I should call someone able to also restore your blood…”

“No need,” Ion said weakly, “I’m just shocked seeing how many have died here.”

“First time is always the worst,” the paladin said simply, “But to be honest when the assault ended, I supposed it would be much worse. Only nine people and few horses really died.”

After a moment of silence she continued.

“Cheer up, I heard from Anton that you fared great against the one that was commanding their forces...”

Before Ion could answer he heard loud voice of Milas.

“So, does anyone has any idea what we just faced here?”

“Fiends,” said Dorian simply.

“That’s true,” Arde nodded, “That’s why I was able to sense them gathering around our camp.”

Various scared voices sounded around.

“I think that those might have been Daemons.”

"And what are fiends if not demons?"

Some uneasy laughs started.

"Not demons but daemons. There's a difference," Ion could barely hear someone’s voice because of a commotion.

“Silence!” Milas shouted, “What were you saying?”

“Daemons,” Reria said louder, “are something akin to henchmen among denizens of the Soul Planes.”

She paused for a moment, waiting for people around to calm down again.

”I think we were attacked mainly by Skeroloths, some Canaloths and Mezzoloths assisting them. The winged one who led them was probably a Nycaloth.”

“Wounds we saw on the dead waystation guards could have been made by their claws and those tridents,” Nanoc commented.

“And from where do you know that?” Maval, who now stood beside Milas supporting herself on a staff asked suspiciously.

“Well… my master dabbled in the demonology.”

Maval wanted to pursue the topic, but Milas interrupted her with his hand.

“So, do you have any idea why they were there?”

“Well, the most obvious answer would be that some wizard hired or coerced them to serve him…” Milas needed to calm people around to allow the girl to continue, “But I doubt it, there was just too many of them for a single wizard to summon. And contrary to what I know they seemed quite weak…”

“Weak?” Unbelieving voices could be heard.

“You might expect a better fight than that from demonic mercenaries,” Nanoc laughed.

“Exactly. So either the wizards contracting them struck a fairly bad deal, or daemons just used a rift that opened from their Plane to come here and train. Travelling on their own might have left them weakened. Still, they might have hoped to just have some fun killing around.”

“That turned quite badly for them,” Thaleus joked, “None of them survived their training.”

He kicked two collars of daemonic hounds to accent his words. People around cheered for a moment.

“You can’t really kill a fiend here, they may only lose some belongings which they brought to our Plane," Reria waved towards weapons laying around.

“They will simply reform in the Soul Planes,” she finished, stopping the last laughs, “But from what I heard there is some kind of ancient magic forbidding those who died from coming here again for one hundred years…”

Ion heard someone coughing.

“I sent a message to the guild informing them about recent events,” A merchant left his wagon. Ion couldn't remember how the trader assisting them was called, “As we managed to win against the demon threat, we shall continue, for our cargo is crucial for Rikse’s war efforts…”

“…and your pocket’s wellbeing…” Thaleus said just loud enough for nearby mercenaries to hear.

“We shall bury the fallen and continue forward. When we finish our task, one day you will say to your children that you fought demons and turned victorious! Know that when Rikse manages to fight off the orcish threat, it's because of your efforts!” he continued in a similar fashion for some time.

As Ion was quite close to the point from which merchant gave his speech he heard him mumbling quietly when returning to his wagon. “…after using all those magical devices today we must arrive on time if I want to keep a reasonable profit to myself… and if I find the idiot who prepared the contract and put a clause which obliges us to provide clerics with material components to their spells, I’m going to strangle him! No more magical communication now, only pigeons from this point, that should reduce costs a little…”

The equipment daemons brought was split between squads that claimed a kill. It was rather crudely made, non-magical and according to Thaleus, even materials used to make it weren't something special in Rikse. Even so, they still hoped to make some profit selling them to a collector.

When it came to possessions of those who died, they were distributed amongst their friends or squad members. In case that none of those still lived, any caravan member could take whatever he wanted.

The only exception was the equipment they used in their last battle. The warrior shouldn't leave the world bare-handed, the caravan members claimed.

'Would it be similar if they actually had something worth taking?'

The chainmail one of the fallen warriors wore was in pitiful state, rust and holes everywhere. Leather armours of other warriors might have salvageable pieces, yet most of the caravan members already had similar or better equipment.

Afterwards, clerics blessed corpses of the fallen so they wouldn’t return as undead or stay as tormented spirits.

During a short ceremony, Istaro read names of those who had died, praising their life in accordance of what he heard from mercenaries that knew them or just describing how they fell in combat if there was no one who knew them.

“They died so that we may still serve.” He finished rites and funeral pyres were lit. Ion had the feeling that the priest’s interpretation of those words was more ominous than most mercenaries wished for.

Then the caravan started its journey again.