Cole

Much can be said about the Teotl. They are deigned amongst the “First Races of Domhanda” alongside Tuatha Elves, Dwarves, and Humans. The first races, so guided by their gods, to construct the first nations and borders. The participants of the Pantheon Wars. Unlike the other First Races, modern Teotl lingered on the borders of extinction.

Before the Elden Fae arrived, Teotl had the longest lifespan of any mortal race. Though they were always said to be oddly ageless, resembling dried corpses with triangle teeth. They were purely carnivorous and feasted on anything that wasn’t them, including other races. Humans that crossed Eiichiro Ocean found themselves chained as livestock and slaves.

Contrarians were always keen to point out that the Teotl were not entirely savage. Almost the entire history of mathematics and engineering could be traced to the works of the Teotl. The entire culture was obsessed with the creation of megastructures. Colossal buildings that defied reason in what they cost or how they stood. Some were livable buildings. Others took the form of bizarre geometric shapes that held no other reason for existence than to prove that it could be done.

In the end, the devotion to the construction of these structures drained the resources of the Slaughterstone Empire and the land of Athshin itself. Now they only remained as crumbling ruins in fields of dust. Forbidden from the general populace to enter.

Thinking on that, Cole felt himself among a fortunate few to see the interior of a Teotl structure. The interlocking stones, almost like puzzle pieces in how they connected, had once been concealed with paint and clay plaster that had decayed with time. The small sections of plaster that remained were choked with complex designs and symbols, each a masterclass of finite detail and would take hours to fully comprehend. Cole had brought paper and charcoal for rubbings of the interior and had so far only collected two before Rerume aggressively pulled him from the walls.

"Eyes ahead, not on the walls." Was the growl in Cole's ear.

Cole wasn’t certain why Rerume was still so tense. He could understand the initial suspense. All of their party had felt it when they first entered the courtyard that encircled the tower. Within moments of entry living skeletons clawed their way out of the surrounding dust and swarmed the group. It was an event that would make anyone scream, but that force was matchless to a molochan charge. Thezzus had brought four other molochans with him, trusted warriors he had known since Finis. When the undead rose, the five minotaurs formed a line, bowed their heads, and charged through the swarm with the ease of a fist through a paper wall.

This tactic, combined with the efforts of Cole’s group and the Lion’s Claw, allowed them to clear the courtyard quickly. Despite this easy victory, the atmosphere was still tense. The wind was blowing hard and could easily escalate into a duststorm. The tower had but one entrance, a rectangular arch through which none of the exterior daylight penetrated. Initial investigation of the first floor found the halls too narrow for the minotaurs to walk in anything but single file, so Thezzus left his comrades to secure the exterior while he ascended the tower with the others. Trub also volunteered to stay behind, citing that he would just get in the way. Before parting, Lyn had kissed his cheek with the promise she would be back soon, an act that shocked Cole more than the walking dead.

Past the ground floor of the tower they encountered more undead. More skeletons. Their bones showed scrape wounds from their sky burial by vulture. Two or three were genuine corpses, the sight of which Cole did not dwell on. However, there was a nagging feeling that something was off. This raid on a necromancer’s lair was not lining up with how any of them anticipated. They moved from dark hallway to dark hallway facing little true resistance. In line with teotl devotion to the creation over the purpose, the tower lacked any true rooms, only twisting hallways that circled the interior, ascending towards a domed tip. They had ascended through five such floors before Cole felt relaxed enough to make that charcoal rubbing Rerume ripped him away from.

“What was that the King of Sráid made us do?” When not in combat Frost walked with his nose tucked under his clothing. “A bath! Yes. When this is done we must all take baths. The stench of this place is...it hurts to smell.”

The request was punctuated by a horrible wail at the end of the hall. A single corpse shambled towards them. The maggot eaten body of a young duende. His eyes glowed an ethereal green. The slack mouth contorted to form the cry: “Turn back. Only death can be found ahead.”

The zombie’s head was caved in by the wooden shaft of Rerume’s spear.

It was a clean kill. None of the undead they faced required more than a solid blow to dispel. “I am Death’s agent and I will not be deterred.”

Rerume continued past the corpse without second glance. Cole lingered to regard it. It's not often one looks upon the long dead body of a peer. Was the necromancer truly so powerful to command so many undead from his sanctum, even as far as Spiral City, yet still unwilling or unable to spare the arcana needed for anything other than a hackneyed warning?

Something heavy nudged his side. It was Thezzus’ knee. The minotaur was at the rear of their group and urged Cole to keep moving.

“Have you seen much death, Thezzus?” Cole asked the question as casually as he could.

Thezzus’s throat rumbled with thought. He rested his weapon on his shoulder, a two-pronged spear known as a molochan bident.

“None like this, and none until the revolt in Finis. There is death in the Molochan Reservations, but it’s death from infection and predation. We had guards, not soldiers. That was before the Order of Suffering. Those reservations became prisons, then battlegrounds, and then…well the last time I saw my home it was on fire, not sure what remains now.”

He made a quiet snort, a short laugh at something grim in his memory. “I was there when we broke the Order’s chains and fought to reclaim the reservations. That’s where I saw death more than any other time in my life. I felt hollow looking into the blank eyes of people I had known. I thought I would feel anger, rage, but instead I was sad. Heartbroken. When I saw the dead of our enemies I felt something different: fear. ‘These are the dead they’ll count’ I told myself. I’ve always been aware how things look to others, and I’m terrified of how history will remember what I took part in.”

Cole listened with an intent expression. “So how does history look upon you now?”

“In honesty I think the best outcome is that history forgets the Molochan Revolt, better that than it being another work of horror passed as history.”

Cole respected Thezzus. He seemed like a man that was content to being a first mate rather than a captain, only to suddenly have the mantle of leadership thrust upon him. He certainly inspired confidence where he could, even in shady characters like Fern and Pallet, who were now in Tauren Row providing company to Odile.

Stone scraped against stone. Pieces of the inner wall fell away to reveal flanking caches of walking skeletons that scampered toward the group with arms outstretched. As they had on the lower levels, the team set about eliminating one foe each. Cole was eager to show his improvement with the atlatl, but this time he restrained himself and watched. One of the weathered skeletons was targeting Lyn. She fumbled with her sword, which was jammed in the sheath. The skeleton was close enough to seize her, claw her, strangle, kill, anything, but all it did was jitter itself threateningly.

Eventually Lyn cursed loudly and simply detached the sheath from her belt to bludgeon the skeleton with that. As all the others, a single blow reduced the undead to a pile. Lyn spat on the bones. “It’s at least good stress relief.”

“That was once a person. There is no need to shame them like the necromancer.” Dirk picked up the offended skull and dabbed away the spittle.

“Then their loved ones should have chosen deeper graves.” Lyr retorted as he passed.

“—Or immolated them, as is coatlmade tradition.” Rerume concurred. “An intact body only encourages temptation from necromancers. I’ve never understood the concept of an earth burial.”

“In Fae’Riam we plant flowers over the dead. The body fertilizes new life and color.” Bréag answered. None of the Lion’s Claw were archers, but they still had a disused bow in their armory that he could take free of charge. He hadn’t fired a single arrow as far as Cole had seen.

“You seem bored.” Dirk fell in step with Cole. He had two balls of light orbiting his head. Miniature suns summoned through divine magic. Those two orbs provided all the light needed to those that could not see in the dark.

“Am I guilty for expecting more excitement? More pounding of my heart?”

“I question your character that you were expecting enjoyment from this.” Rerume remarked from his leading position.

They reached a set of granite stairs. Frost capped his nose tighter. He dropped to his hands gagging on his own breath. “I can’t go up there. The reek...it’s so concentrated.”

Even with the lax defenses they had seen, this warning was enough to make the group ready their respective weapons. Azeroth moved close to Frost. “It seems your new strength couldn’t extend to your constitution.”

That was enough for Frost to rip away from the floor. He sprinted past Rerume to be the first to the new level. He brandished his new axe, another weapon from the Lion’s Claw armory.

“You’ve really figured him out.” Cole said to Azeroth in passing.

Azeroth shrugged. “He grows on you.”

When the rest of the party reached the next floor they found Frost’s confidence boost hadn’t lasted. He was bent against the wall dry heaving with the rhythm of an enthusiastic drummer. A pool of his bile stained his feet. The reason for his behavior was obvious. This floor was clogged with bloated corpses. None were reanimated. Cole watched carefully, but the only movement was the swarming flies feasting on the bodies. His sense of smell was not as powerful as Frost’s, but sight alone made him want to relieve himself the way the wecher had.

“Could everyone here do me a favor?” Cole distracted himself with conversation. The ceiling was the only place not crammed with corpses, so he looked there. “If any of these get up, could you…not attack them?”

Thezzus chuckled. “Come again?”

“Have you noticed that none of these undead will actually touch us? It's like they can’t or won’t. Am I mistaken? Anyone here actually make contact with one that wasn’t with the end of your blade?”

The team thought about his claim. Dirk was their de facto leader, and he concurred the sentiment.

Rerume twisted the pole of his spear. “Any undead is a blight to the Vulture Mother’s vision. If any of these beings raise, I will not hesitate.”

Cole breathed deeply, then regretted it as the rotten air filled his lungs. “Fair enough,” he said after a bought of hacking.

There was no clear path through the corpses, so they had to choose their footing carefully. Cole nearly slipped on a rubbery outlaid palm. He kept looking to the walls expecting a window, but Teotl never used windows in such buildings. Windows were a structural weakness.

“Where could he have obtained so many fresh bodies?” Bréag used the end of his bow to move offal from his path. If the sight of so many corpses offended him, he did not show it.

“These are the people who did not survive Solind’s raids.” Rerume didn’t need to watch where he stepped, he found his footing naturally. “I should ignite this tunnel now and rob the necromancer of his vault.”

“That would do little for our ability to press forward.” Dirk remarked in a warning tone. “The Teotl make structures like this airtight. The smoke would put us among the dead.”

A dull moan rippled through the hall, multiplying into a discordant harmony that was all around them. Cole jumped when he saw the body closest to him lurch upwards to stare at him with rheumy yellow eyes. The group closed together as more corpses reanimated. The entire hallway was alive with the undead.

“Great time to test your ‘theory’” Lyr snapped in Cole’s ear. For the first time Cole heard an emotion in his voice, and it was annoyance.

Cole laughed nervously. He had hoped for a single instance to test with, not a horde that outnumbered and boxed them in. Behind him Frost doubled-over to vomit again. Rerume breathed sparks on his spear tip to ignite it. Bréag met Cole’s eyes with concern.

“Are we really doing this Dirk?” Lyn looked to her commander.

“Hold yourselves, but be ready for anything.” The dwarf held out a firm arm to keep her back.

The horde kept shambling towards their group, pressing them tight enough to be shoulder to shoulder. The moans rang their ears and the stench riled their stomachs. The instinct to flee or fight burned in each of their hearts. Cole was no longer certain of his theory. There had to be a breaking point. Exhaling all of his breath he charged five feet into the wall of corpses.

And the wall parted to accommodate him.

The realization that he was not being torn apart caused Cole to laugh like a madman. The horde was still threatening. The corpses around him made swiping gestures, but none actually made contact. The others watched him with wonder. Even Rerume froze to process what he was seeing. Dizzy with confidence, Cole walk back to the group. The zombies once more moved aside.

“I...what does this mean?” Thezzus reached out to touch a zombie. It pulled away as if afraid, though it still gnashed its teeth and waved its bloody fingers at him.

“Something is stopping them from harming us.” Dirk relaxed himself. He pulled on his speartip of a beard. “Is it something we have done? No...I don’t believe so. Is there a third-party we don’t know of staying the necromancer’s hand?”

Frost wiped his chin. No longer afraid of the creatures, save for their smell, he probed their limitations by moving into the crowd and waving his hands all around him. “I think this is the necromancer’s doing. It’s a snarl without a bite. A warning that’s all sound.”

Rerume broke his silence. With a furious cry he drove his spear into the gut of a swollen zombie. The zombie ceased moving and became and inert corpse once more. The surrounding horde did not alter their behavior.

“He’s built a horde, but the horde is toothless. Why?”

This confusion was enough to stay his hand, despite what he had said earlier. The group moved through the crowd of undead. There was still uncertainty in their movements. To all appearances the zombies wished to harm them, but none acted on it.

Eventually the zombies dropped of their own accord. Whatever power animated them was leaving. The chorus of moans stopped. In a matter of seconds the greatest danger in the room returned to not tripping on a corpse. The buzzing of flies joined the buzzing of questions passed between the group as they offered their theories on what awaited them ahead.

At the stairs Bréag broke ranks. He held up his hand to keep the others from following. He was part way up the stairs, ears tilted upwards and breath held, before he explained his behavior. “There are people up there. Living people. I can hear their whispers.”

Rerume requested how many he heard. Cole felt a swell of nostalgia. This reminded him of their entry to Outpost Onx. That tense encounter with the crossbowmen was more dynamic in Cole’s memory than it likely had been. It was one of the parts of this adventure that he had practiced for his recounting to others. He could picture Lara and her roommates hanging on his every word.

The fantasy was enticing enough that Cole forgot his surroundings and hardly noticed the others passing him to edge their way up the stairs. Cole twirled his atlatl and followed the end of the procession. His quiver of darts bounced on his hip, as did the unused sword Rerume had forced upon him two weeks ago.

Bréag became very still. He exhaled and shut his eyes and turned both ears towards the floor above. Frost was about to ask what the elden was doing, but Cole cupped a hand over his mouth.

“‘The horde is done.’” Bréag muttered in a rushed breath. He was relaying conversation he was hearing. “‘I didn’t hear combat so they must have run away.’”

“‘Can’t say I blame them. I can’t get through that floor fast enough. Even without Corban raising everything.’”

“‘I will not complain a word. This is easier than what Tohl had us doing to those villages. Someone still has to-’”

Cole pushed himself to the front of the group. He reached out for Bréag. “Did you say Tohl? Did one of them say Tohl?”

The name was still fresh in his mind and to hear it in this context made him oblivious to what he was interrupting. He shook Bréag until his eyes fluttered open. Language was lost from him for a moment, so deep he had been in his trance.

“Someone’s coming.” He whispered.

Cole’s question was lost to time. Approaching footsteps diverted his attention. A cloud-scaled coatlmade rounded the bend of the spiral staircase with a lit torch. When he saw the cluster of nine intruders he froze long enough for Bréag to strike him with two arrows.

The guard pressed against the wall, but the arrows did not strike deep enough into his scales to kill him. Quickly, Cole loaded a long dart into his atlatl. Following the instructions he had been given by the Sons of the Oldest Legion, he performed an overhead swipe with the tool, stopping just as it was parallel with his body. The dart arced high, coming close to kissing the ceiling, and struck the coatlmade just below his neck. That was the attack that killed him.

“You’ve gotten quite adept at that.” Bréag remarked. He faintly gestured to Cole’s darts.

“I did once I properly learned what they are.” Cole nodded at Azeroth, who didn’t notice.

Lyr and Dirk went to the slumped body of the guard. “His uniform matches descriptions of the attackers that would prelude the barbatus raids.”

“Then we have a foe that will fight back.” Frost brandished his axe.

Thezzus rapped on the wall with the shaft of his bident. He wanted the group’s attention. “Fight with half your strength where possible. If there’s a greater conspiracy at work, then I’d prefer a few for interrogation.”

They considered Thezzus’ words, but none verbalized agreement. Assuming their chance of surprise was lost, the group of nine charged up the remaining steps. The next floor they entered was lit by low-burning candles. Bedrolls and boxes of rations were pressed against the wall in an orderly row. The empty boxes had been converted to chairs and tables for the black clad bandits. For the first time in the tower the stench of the dead was gone and the floor was clean of gore and offal.

There was a brief cry from the nearest guard when the group ascended the final step. Azeroth snatched the back of his head to slam his face into the wall. The guard fell back with shut eyes and a broken nose.

“That’s one for you.” Azeroth shrugged to Thezzus.

Flurried footsteps and grunted curses followed. The guards had their weapons with them, but none were prepared for the sudden attack. It was difficult to count of how many there were. They dressed identical and were retreating behind the curve of the hall. Two of their rank, cloud coatlmade with white scales, linked arms and unleashed their breath attacks together. It was a storm of chilling vapor that condensed to ice on contact. The intensity of the cold caused Cole to drop his weapon and shelter his hands. He and the thinner-skinned members of the party shrank from the cold. Frost laughed proudly and marched against the cold wind, his grip tight on his new axe.

Likewise, Rerume had ignited his spear and advanced forward. A bubble of steam coated his head as he exhaled heat to counteract the cold. Once at the minimum distance he lobbed his spear forward into the chest of the left coatlmade. Frost tackled the second.

There was an urgent cry down the hall. “Smoke em’ out. Smoke em’ out! Tohl will replace everything. Let them all burn.”

The guards had constructed a low barricade out of their supplies. Once Cole’s group rounded the bend a torch was thrown, igniting the crates and blankets into a wall of fire. Black smoke filled the hall. From the other side of the flames, the bandits threw wooden planks and other flammable materials that caught the beds lining the walls.

“They don’t care much for their own living space.” Lyr remarked after scurrying away from the flames that now flanked them.

Cole was about to concur, probably something witty, but something blunt and on fire struck his forehead. His vision blurred. He stumbled in the direction of the walls, but collapsed to his hands before reaching them. He shook himself hard. A body fell in front of him. Lyn. She curled into a fetal position, face strained with agony from the dagger in her breast. His eyes turned to what was behind her, the path they had come from. A wall of flesh was moving towards them. The horde of bodies from the floor below were funneling into this hall.

In his haze of pain Cole couldn’t understand what this accomplished. They had proven that the undead wouldn’t harm them. Then he saw the first zombie ignite from the flames in the room.

“Go forward!” He bellowed at a volume that quaked his throat.

The others saw the advancing horde and understood. Dangerous as it was, they couldn’t wait for the flames to die. The only path was through the barricade of fire. The group hacked on their own breaths as the smoke grew thicker.

“Your hammer.” Thezzus reached out to Dirk. When Dirk didn’t respond Thezzus roared it. “Your hammer!”

Dirk passed the weapon to Thezzus, who carried it with one hand. He pounded on the exterior wall until it cracked and fell away, creating a minotaur sized hole for the smoke to escape through.

Meanwhile, Frost shifted himself before charging shoulder-first into the barricade. Embers and splinters showered his thick fur. He whirled around, brandishing his axe to the guards that set upon him. Azeroth was at Frost’s side in moments. He even leapt over the crumbling barricade to deliver a falling punch to one surprised guard.

Lyn wailed. She was attempting to sit up. The dagger in her chest was surrounded by a moat of deep red stains. Her teeth clenched so tight a needle couldn’t pass between them. Cole scrambled to her. He didn’t know how he could help, but he often found it was comforting to know someone saw your pain.

“What do you need?” He asked, eyes laser-focused on the dagger.

“I need this to not be in me.” Lyn blithely responded.

Cole nodded that he would help and agreeing that his previous question was foolish in hindsight. A new set of hands slapped his away from the dagger’s hilt.

“Leave it in. She’ll bleed more otherwise.” Bréag commanded.

Cole winced by proxy as he looked to Lyn. At the other end of the hall Thezzus used the reach of his bident to keep the horde of flaming zombies at bay. Dirk shouldered his hammer and joined Azeroth and Frost against the guards. In this burning, bloody battle it seemed unlikely Thezzus would get his targets for interrogation.

“There’s a path…” It was Bréag that said it, his voice trailing off.

Cole followed his gaze. Past the wall of fire, where the fighting was thickest, there was a thin opening along the left wall that led directly to the stairs. Without confirming what he was doing, Cole moved to a running stance and charged for that slight path. For a moment the way was blocked by the body of a guard, but a green hand seized their collar and pulled them back into the melee.

Before he knew it, Cole was through the fire and the flames, his legs taking the stairs two at a time. He left his atlatl beside Lyn. His hand flew to his sword. He didn’t know what lay beyond, but he had to be armed for it.

The spiral staircase went for longer than the previous levels. The walls drew closer. The only sound Cole could hear was his own breath. Sweat flew from his smoke stained face. If he could reach where the necromancer dwelled and —somehow— slay them, then the army of undead would cease and his allies, his friends, could fight easier. He could be a hero.

The tower’s summit stole Cole’s breath. A room perfectly circular with a matching vaulted ceiling. Here was the only space on the tower with true windows. Each was spaced at exact intervals, with beautifully painted frames that were individual in their colors and the diagrams displayed. Outside the sun was setting, which ignited the space with lilac color. The flat desert of Athshin was infinite in all directions from this tower. Cole felt if he stayed here, he would never tire of looking at that view.

But there was more than the gorgeous view. There were tables and slabs with dead bodies carefully laid on them. Books were stacked on the ground with no shelf. A chalkboard showed the wear of numerous erased theorems. Caked blood and bone meal painted the floor with no attempt of cleaning.

And at the center of this room was the necromancer. The prosopon with the name of Corban. Cole had never met a prosopon before, but he had heard second-hand accounts and read much on their culture. Corban had assembled his body out of cloth linen. Each stretch of material was wrapped tight around a slender body, but in the gaps created where one ribbon ended and another began it was clear there was nothing underneath. A Prosopon’s body is a psychic thing, constructed and draped with clothing for the comfort of others. The trailing ends and loose threads of the cloth wisped in the air as if in an updraft. All of this built to the centerpiece of any prosopon, their handmade mask that acted as their face. Fittingly to his profession, Corban had constructed his from a polished coatlmade skull.

Corban was bent over one of the tables, studying the dead till the very end. Cole paused to catch his breath, giving the necromancer time to turn to him.

“Here you are.” The lips of the mask did not move, but the voice came from it all the same. It was not a voice Cole could replicate. Like chords from a mandolin contorting into recognizable speech.

"Here I am…” Cole’s own voice trailed off breathlessly.

“And you are here for…?”

“To kill you.” Cole said what he felt was impressive, but the words came out meaningless.

“The chance was high that you were. I was just curious.” Corban stepped away from the body on the table, a freshly dead phyrn. “Why though? What have I done?”

“Necromancer....things.” Cole stuttered. It was difficult to conjure a succincter way of putting it, but he regretted his phrasing.

“You speak of how I have raised the dead. I cannot deny that, but I have taken great measures to ensure that no one has been harmed by my actions.”

A scaled hand forced Cole aside. It was Rerume. His cloak was singed and several trickles of blood trailed down his arms and face. His spear had gone out and his mantle of bronze feathers was askew.

“This is the necromancer?” He would only look at Cole with a side glance.

Cole fumbled with his words. “Yes, but-”

Something was welling in his gut. The same thing he had felt when he had spoken to Gorn.

Rerume exhaled what little fire he had left to his spear. The tip ignited into a welling flame. Cole shouted to hold him back. Rerume’s eyes sparked fury, but he held to hear what Cole would say.

“What do you mean you've taken measures?” Cole asked Corban.

Corban’s body language showed that he was only slightly perturbed by Rerume’s arrival. He removed his bone mask to reveal what was hidden behind it. The core of a Prosopon, their true body, is a shard of living crystal exactly twenty-one centimeters long and eight centimeters wide, protected by the body they construct. Corban’s shard was green like his arcana. The outward face of the crystal had an engraving on it: A symbol of a hook surrounded by chain-shaped runes.

Cole recognized the symbol. “That’s the Brand of Pacifism!”

The crystal tilted forward in a replication of a nod. “It is not the exact brand found on that which you call Marids, but the effects are much the same. I willingly took this mark onto my core. That is how I have assured none have been harmed by my research.”

“I don’t believe you.” Rerume growled smoke. He advanced towards the prosopon.

Cole lunged forward. He grabbed the loose fabric of Rerume’s cloak. “I think he’s telling the truth Rerume. None of those zombies would harm us.”

Cole was shocked by how hard Rerume struck him. It was a backhanded punch that bruised Cole’s cheek. “Necromancy itself is violence to the dead it violates.”

Corban replaced his mask, which lilted to one side as he observed Rerume. “Is it? I recognize the symbols you wear. I mean no disrespect to your divine, but observation proves you wrong.”

Corban raised his hand. The phyrn on the table rose to mock life.

“If I bring harm to any being of the mortal plane then I shall be punished by the gods, yet raising a corpse is not harm.” He picked up a curved blade, what he had used for dissection, and stabbed the phyrn several times. “Neither is damaging the corpse. ‘Harm’, it seems, is dictated by whether there is any soul to experience it. What Wechuge call the Spirits. What is left after the soul passes to the Sunless Border is, for lack of a more respectful phrasing, unfeeling meat and bone. If you were to die, what would be left behind is not you. What was ‘you’ passed to the next realm. If your Goddess were concerned with the preservation of the body after death, then they wouldn’t have requested it be made a feast for scavengers, or buried for rot and worms to abuse.”

Rerume roared. He charged forward spear first. Before it could reach, Corban’s body peeled apart into a cloud of whirling cloth with the crystal core at the center. The cloud flew through the air and reformed closer to Cole.

“Then why are you doing this?” Cole asked Corban.

The bone mask tilted to Cole. Prosopon have had centuries since the destruction of the Far Gate to master the art of gesture. To convey emotion on still faces. “My people have only one goal in our infinite existence: to reconstruct the Farthest Gate and return to our own plane of existence: Shen Lǐngtǔ. The shards of the shattered gate have flown far and embedded deep into the crust of this realm. There is no incentive for the races of Domhanda to aid us. So we find incentives. Means to trade for what shards have been found, and what shards may be excavated. Mine is to find a means to resurrect that does not require the assistance of a Divine.”

“Resurrection by arcana?” Cole squinted.

“Impossible. Only through a Divine can a soul return to the mortal plane.” Rerume barked. He was furious that both Corban and Cole were defying him.

“Is it impossible, or have you deemed it so because you have only known the first school to resurrect? I theorize otherwise. Arcana can replicate the abilities of Divine, Agnost, and Element magics, why should resurrection be the one ability it cannot copy? I needed subjects for my study, and for that I allied myself with a man named Tohl Bahn.”

“There’s that name again.” Cole snapped his fingers at Corban. “Who is Tohl Bahn?”

“He means to puppet a self-destructive state upon Athshin. I had no interest in his goals, but he assisted me with mine. He gave me bodies, paid me in shards, and provided the guards you faced below. But now I think our alliance is ended. If I leave this tower it will be to find a more peaceful partner for my research.”

“You will not escape me!” Rerume charged again. This time his spear tip passed clean through Corban’s chest. The cloth the prosopon built his body from caught fire. The strands of grey cloth consumed themselves like the wick of a candle.

Corban looked to the spear in his middle, then to Rerume.“This body is a temporary thing. Unlike you, my soul is the solid crystal behind my mask and history has shown it indestructible to conventional means. Try as you might with all your anger, you cannot kill me in a way that matters.”

Rerume screamed. He stabbed again and again, catching more of the prosopon’s body on fire. Through the flames of the decaying body Cole saw the inert corpse of the phyrn on the table. Before Rerume could stab again Cole stepped in front of him and deflected his spear.

“You dare…” Rerume gaped. Smoke streaming from his mouth.

“He’s innocent. You don’t have to hunt him. He’s just...trying to exist.”

Rerume stepped back. He shut his eyes tight to think over the situation. “Your misplaced sympathy will get you killed in this world.”

He pointed at Corban.

“Vulture’s cry, Vulture’s cry,

Tell me the next to die.-”

While Rerume recited his Oath of Enmity, Cole turned to Corban. “There was a baihushen. Their --Her-- name was Preta, from Dyair Nast monastery. She wanted your help.”

Corban’s body had burned to just the mask and crystal core. “Dyair Nast? The Deadstone. I have heard of it. That would be a great tool for my research.”

Rerume finished his oath and pounced forward. Cole dove aside. There was nothing of Corban worth striking. The stinger spear passed empty air and struck hard on the stone floor.

“Tell me your name.” Corban ignored Rerume. The floating mask faced Cole.

“Cole...the Wanderer” Cole answered breathlessly.

“You are a curious sort, Cole the Wanderer. I hope we meet again.”

The bone mask fell to the ground, shattering. All that was left of Corban was his core. The Brand of Pacifism seemed to shine. The gem flew out the window and into the sunset. Cole felt a smile brewing on his face, until he recalled he was sharing a room with Rerume.

“Making friends of necromancers is not the path you should tread.” Rerume growled low and furious.

Cole licked his lips. He still believed he could talk Rerume down. He put away his sword, but then froze when he saw Rerume was a single thrust away from piercing his heart.

“What you have done… it defies rationality. You have denied me my duty as an Avenger. Me. I traveled with you, shared meals with you, protected you, and you spit on that…”

It was difficult, but Cole kept eye contact with Rerume. “He didn’t mean harm.”

“He’s a necromancer!” Rerume’s voice crashed into Cole like a solid wall of ice. “They. All. Must. Die. That is the life I have sworn to, the life I must live, and you denied me! Look at the corpses that surround us, the dead we passed to reach this point, is that the work of someone on the side of good?”

“I don’t....I don’t know!” Cole shouted louder than he intended. He had to match Rerume’s intensity. “But if he was innocent and I let you destroy him, or even done it myself, what does that make me?”

His eyes drifted to the window Corban had flown through. “I wish he was as wicked as every necromancer of every story I’ve read, but when I saw he wouldn’t harm us...how could I be the one to attack first?”

Rerume lowered his spear. He cursed to the floor. “He deceived you. He deceived you because you are a child. A child in a man’s body with a weak bleeding heart. My duty can’t allow for that. I will hunt him until my own soul passes, because that is the task charged by my God.”

Rerume walked to the stairs. For a moment, he and Cole occupied the same stone, only an arm’s length apart. Rerume would not look at him. “Our association ends here.”

It was only a few moments after Rerume had left that the sun finished setting. The blue hues of night air matched the ice in Cole’s chest. Slowly, achingly, he left that room as well, descending back into the tower.

He was relieved to find that everyone had survived the fight below and the state of the hall told a story he wished he had been present to witness. It seemed the moment Cole had reached Corban’s sanctum, the zombie horde ceased once more. Pushing the fight to the stairwell allowed them to avoid the flames and the bandits were dealt with in turn. In fact, in the chaos of that scene none but Bréag knew Cole had left, and none had noticed Rerume do the same.

They had seen Rerume on his descent, once the battle was won. He had aggressively marched past all of them, ignoring their questions and concern for what had happened above. Cole glumly explained his part in allowing Corban to escape, and how Rerume could not forgive him for that. Frost, Azeroth, and Bréag could not reach a consensus as to how they should feel about that, but all agreed Cole wasn’t to blame.

As for the Lion’s Claw and Thezzus, they would have to deliberate the validity of Cole’s claims. They were protectors of the common people and only had Cole’s word that Corban was a benign threat at best. More than anything, they were relieved that the issue had ended. The fire had killed any guards spared, disappointing Thezzus, but at least he had their master’s name to go on. Each member of the group presented themselves to Dirk so that he could assess their wounds. Lyn needed the most medical attention due to her lost blood. Cole offered his shoulder to help her walk. The tourniquet crafted by Bréag pressed into his side as she leaned on him.

When they reached the cool air outside the tower they saw no sign of Rerume. His conviction to leave them must have driven him far despite his exhaustion. The four molochans at the tower’s base had established a camp and prepared dinner. They had reached out to Rerume when he exited the tower, but he brandished his weapon at them and screamed foul words in New Queztal. It was enough for the molochans to decide he wasn’t worth pursuing.

They rested at their camp for a scant few hours, then began the silent march to Spiral City. Cole used the silence to run through variations in retelling this day. He kept circling through versions where Rerume was more manic, or Corban more saintly, or himself more active. If he had never questioned Corban’s motives then this story would have the valiant ending he imagined, where he and Rerume defeat the necromancer together.

Though he was flanked by friends, he felt as alone on that road to Spiral City as he had from Outpost Onx to Ramuf.

And once more a question drifted to him from the back of his mind.

Am I a good person?