“End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path. One that we all must take.”

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King

The way toward the river was slightly sloped, and the city slowly diminished behind the low swell of a hill. Farms and fields alternated with a warehouse, a watermill, and a large tower that seemed positively ancient and perhaps not of human make. Alyssa inspected the dark grey stone and saw similarities to the lost elven city in the woods near Firswending; the elegance and ornamentation featuring vines and fruit seemed a bit atypical for the Nordmark she had gotten to know, too.

A small copse of trees, apple if she was not mistaken, came up as they traveled further.

As they entered the silent world between the bare branches, several large figures detached from the sparse shadows.

“So we meet again.” Mordrak, the giant wolf-tribe, bowed his head in greeting. Still clad in leather and furs, his long, matted hair hung to his shoulder blades while his face bore traces of his wolven ancestry with enlarged fangs and honey-colored eyes.

“As you no doubt intended.” Iseret grinned. “I hope Sirviel is well?”

“When I left, she was still grieving but hale.”

“I met you in the night. What do you want?” Alyssa asked.

“I wanted to talk to you. Did I not mention that?” Mordrak raised a bushy eyebrow, adjusting the weight of the battleaxe on his shoulder.

“You did.”

“Now, now. I was simply curious. I overheard your conversation and talked to Iseret here and your more nocturnal companion, who had some things to say about you.”

“Mh.” Alyssa tried to be casual, but the physical presence of the wolf tribe warrior was discomfiting her more than she would admit.

“You plan to cross the mountains?”

“We do.”

“Do you have a guide?”

“Duchess von Nordmark promised us a scout who would meet us before reaching the foothills.”

“Mh. She will certainly try. But you know that crossing those mountains is probably a one-way trip?”

Alyssa nodded.

“Good thing I was asked to have a look at the threat of Ulsolm. I could be that guide.”

“I don’t know…”

“You can trust him,” Iseret interjected. “Wolf-tribe won’t lie about that, and I fought beside him and Vanessa to protect a dryad acquaintance of hers.”

Alyssa looked between the two. “Then…thank you?”

“No need for thanks.” Mordrak made a noise like distant thunder, which was probably a chuckle. “It is on the way, and Sirviel would be cross with me if I did not offer help to her friends.” The fanged mouth opened in a somewhat friendly smile.

“Nice.” Mireille grinned. “I was sort of worried about that. I mean, Jamila would have tried to find someone, but would she have found a guide in time? Who is willing? But there is one thing I have to ask. What exactly happened to Jill? Did she not want to come along?”

Silence filled the open space.

Jill flourished her short sword and uttered a short prayer to Ielenia. The weight of her goddess’s gaze rested oppressively on her shoulders as she summoned more of the light energy to coat her blade. “Ielenia protects.”

Several guards and a hapless garrison mage ventured down the well-trodden stairs to the lower mausoleum, leaving behind the desecrated temple of Gesserach and the ashes of the former duke.

Somewhere down below, a hideous giggle sounded and echoed around them.

“Damn it all to the nine hells.” A grizzled guardsman swore.

“Language.” Jill could not abide blasphemy even as she understood the sentiment.

“Bah. Not even going to my death, I’m spared the nagging.” But a flash of sadness darkened his eyes as he said this.

The mage walking beside them scoffed. He was a young man just out of his teens with a bookish air and an ill-fitting leather armor hastily fastened over scribe's robes.

The other three guards were two women, both in their thirties with weather-lined faces and the lean musculature of a scout, and one portly younger man with impressive muscles more befitting a wrestler than a soldier.

Somewhere ahead, slow drips of moisture broke the stifling silence.

Shortly, they reached a hall from which several large stone portals led further into the darkness beyond the light they had brought with them. A few torches flickered feebly around a sarcophagus that seemed to have been used as a sort of table. Papers, scrolls, books, and alchemical paraphernalia were spread around on the available surfaces. A few coffins stacked in a corner bore a distilling apparatus; an old urn was standing upside down with a skull sporting bloody markings resting on the former bottom.

A large circle of runes glistening with mana dust took up most of the center of the hall. The imp cautiously leaned from behind a broken urn, giggling madly while pointing at them. One of the female scouts gasped as blood gushed from her nose and ears.

With a loud ‘twang’ the other scout loosed a crossbow bolt that thudded ineffectually into the urn splintering it further. The imp hastily vanished into the gloom.

“Ielenia! Illuminate the darkness and reveal thine enemy!” Light blossomed from the holy symbol worn around Jill’s neck and banished the darkness, but the corruption that hung thickly in the air smothered the pure radiance nearly as soon as it was cast.

The foremost scout shouted, “After it!” and skirted the bloody designs on the ground with careful but hurried steps.

From the darkness, several undead lunged at them but were swiftly dispatched with streaks of fire from the mage and several bolts from the crossbow-wielding soldiers. Jill slashed with her short sword, and the white light coating the blade lit the risen corpse of a corpulent burgher from within as she stabbed it deeply into its temple. “May Ielenia grant you peace.” She spat, somewhat out of breath, before all of them pushed deeper into the corridors leading from the crypt.

Soon, every sound from behind them became smothered by the stones around them, and the only noise was their strained breathing and the clanking of chainmail.

“Where to?” Jill asked one of the scouts, a short woman with red hair and weathered features, for they had reached a t-section.

“This way!” The scout pointed down the right passageway, and they quickly followed as she sprinted ahead.

The corridor led to an open portal. A large hall loomed behind the stone arch, only dimly lit by the mage globes they had with them. Everything had an aged feel and did look more like it was grown naturally than made by man.

“Stop! We should not rush in foolishly.” The mage gasped in between ragged breaths. He did not seem to have much stamina, and the running and fighting had taken it out of him.

Inside the hall was a central depression much like an amphitheater and opposite the archway they had entered a massive slab of stone rose into the still air. Runes covered the surface and glimmered wetly in the light.

Something giggled in the darkness, and a shrill screech assaulted their ears as the imp tried- again- to hurt them with his powers. The scout that had taken the lead grimaced in pain and stumbled back, clutching at her head.

Jill narrowed her eyes and then shot forward with startling speed, arriving much faster than anticipated by her opponent before the cowering devil. The small creature had crouched behind some fallen masonry, and the large eyes widened for a moment before the shortsword, still burning with white light, stabbed into its chin, exiting from the crown of its head. Like a fish on a stick, the imp struggled even as the wound was obviously fatal. Its claws carved into the priestess’s arm, but with a quick movement, she retracted the blade, and with white flames licking from the wound, the fiend began to disintegrate.

Looking around the hall the ground was strewn with rock debris. The sides were nearly lost in the darkness, but outlines of large portals could still be seen. On the ground, prayers for the departed were barely visible, buried by dirt, and made faint by time.

“Good. We have killed that beastly thing. What now?” The mage futilely patted at some dust on his sleeves before looking up at Jill.

“The elf. The former duke’s mage is still loose.”

A dark figure rose beside the granite stele and surveyed them disdainfully.

“Fools. Despicable etlō.” Yviander gestured at a stone portal to the far right of the hall, and with a groan, it ponderously began to open while the elf ducked back into the darkness. A large gauntleted fist grabbed the edge of the portal and, with a groan of mistreated stone and metal, wrenched it free.

A suit of armor ornate and clearly meant for more ceremonial occasions emerged from the darkness. Dust sifted from the surface a red, wet sheen covered the joints. With more power than grace, the metal-shod boots crashed into the ground.

Behind them, another portal swung shut, crashing into the stone frame and shaking the hall with the impact. Dust sifted from the far-off ceiling.

The mage steadied himself by grabbing onto one of the other guardsmen. His eyes went wide at the sight. “Oh shit.”

“You will die here, and perhaps then I can finally leave this blasted place.” Ivyander cursed before quickly twisting behind the stone slab as one of the scouts shot at him. The bolt sparked as it cut along the stone's edge.

The steel of the armor groaned, and with small pings, rust broke away with the movement, scattering on the ground. With a turn of the helmet, dark rivulets of blood began to run from the neck joint, further darkening the already dusty armor.

Several bolts and a missile made of flickering fire impacted without much effect.

The hulking metal creature moved toward them with slow, steady steps, but the hall offered enough space to avoid it. So far.

Another bolt struck exactly the slit in the visor, sticking from the helmet like a strange branch from an iron tree. With a casual motion, the armor grabbed the offending piece of wood, ripping it free without breaking stride. Some blood splattered on the ground, and an angry-sounding rumble leaked from somewhere within the metal.

Fire licked at the legs and chest as the mage tried to find a weakness. Soon, the young man was panting hoarsely, and the armor was slightly singed.

Jill looked around, and as Ivyander looked from behind the slab of stone, a quick flick of her left wrist sent a knife shooting in his direction.

“Distract it for me. I will try to bring it down.” The priestess whispered furiously.

With a short nod, the group began to pepper the slowly nearing construct, and as a fire missile burst on the helmet, rocking the being back, Jill jumped forward, passing the creature before jumping on its back.

Grabbing the helmet, she yanked it back with one hand, clamping her legs on its shoulders before stabbing her shortsword, flaring with white radiance into the exposed neck joint.

With a rumbling roar, the creature grabbed her and ripped her loose before throwing her against a nearby column. The impact rattled the damaged stone, and a sharp crack signified a bone breaking as Jill gave a pained gasp, not having enough air to scream.

Trudging toward her, the armor pulled back its right arm for a finishing blow.

The female scout that had suffered under the sonic attack of the imp ran forward and pulled her to the side, eliciting a scream as the fist impacted the stone column. Shattering the damaged structure, the fist became stuck in the wreckage, and the blood-soaked abomination roared as it tried to pull free.

Dust sifting from above made the mage look on in alarm. “Back! Run! The ceiling!”

With a grinding noise and cacophonous crashing, the ceiling collapsed on the struggling suit of armor, burying it under tons of rubble. Stones rained down on the group of guardsmen but did no more than cut and bruise.

Stone dust hung heavy in the air as the last piece of masonry settled in place, covering the entrance completely.

Coughing while holding their cloaks before their faces, the group looked stunned at what had happened.

“Damn it!” One of the male guardsmen cursed. “Is there another way out?”

“What’s with the elf? He still here?” The female scout asked.

From behind the stone slab came a hacking cough and Ivyander cautiously looked around the edge a grimace on his face. “There might be.”

Taking a few uncertain steps toward the elf, the guardsmen that had been talking raised shields and swords in his direction. “What do you mean by that?”

The grimace became more pronounced, and with another cough, the elf spat on the ground before sighing. “It means I know of a possible exit, but reaching it will require more than one person.” He looked resentfully at the still smoldering spot where the imp had been.

“Truce?”

Jill spluttered and tried to say something but broke into a hacking cough, spitting out dust flecked with blood.

The members of the group looked at each other. Silence reigned. Another piece of stone settled with a harsh grating sound before the pile of rocks became still once more.

The mage swallowed nervously and then nodded. “We can agree to a temporary truce if you know a way out.”

Jill was shaking her head at that, but with another deep cough, she jolted her injured leg, and her eyes rolled back as she passed out.

Evening found the group of friends in a snowed-in dell between sharply rising wooded hills.

“Why did we not stop at the last village?” Mireille grumbled.

“Oh. I did not realize that would be a problem.” Mordrak chuckled. “They don’t normally like to see Wolf-Kin in the civilized…” He grinned more broadly,”...south.”

“That’s a shitty excuse. And you are grinning! It's not even true, is it? You are doing that just to pull my tail!” Mireille got more incensed as she talked.

“Maybe?” The giant wolf tribe blinked innocently before Mireille hit him on the lower arm, still too small to comfortably reach his shoulder, eliciting more chuckles.

Alyssa could not suppress a smile at their antics, and even the dead-tired Alea’s mouth curved slightly.

“Let’s make the best of it and camp here.” Iseret precluded any further discussion. Her voice cut softly but firmly into the bickering of the two.

“Yes, Mom,” Mireille grumbled before quickly hurrying into the woods, seeing Iseret’s less-than-amused gaze. “Going for some firewood!” Her voice drifted back to them between some still swaying bushes.

Alyssa laughed at that and shrugged at Alea’s curious look. “How long until we reach the mountains?” Turning toward Mordrac, she raised an eyebrow.

“Mh. If we manage to hold our pace.” His eyes drifted over Alea, showing some skepticism. “Three days at most. We will reach Fernhome the day after tomorrow. They are the last real town before the mountains proper. Feeling restless, little witch?” He grinned without malice, but his eyes mustered her seriously.

“Don’t call me that. If I stay another two years at the academy, I’m an initiate magus.” She replied without heat.

“Not blessed by the spirits and grasping for the powers of the night-wind. Witch it is.” He nodded before gesturing at his companions, three wolfkin men and two women. Reacting quickly, they began to prepare a campsite.

“I will go for a walk,” Alyssa mentioned before turning and walking into the thicket.

Alea sighed and patted Butler One’s arm before nearing the makeshift fireplace. Several large stones ringed a small depression where wood had been piled in a cone ringed by a few coals. With a gesture, a wolfkin woman spoke a short, melodic-sounding phrase, and a small flame flared from her fingertips, igniting the dry kindling at the center.

Gazing at the growing flames with covetousness, Mireille would understand Alea sat down as near as she could endure. Flames baking her from the front while her back was feeling the chill even through the magically enhanced clothes.

Butler One dragged a wooden log over to her, brushing it free of dirt and snow before arranging it for her to sit more comfortably.

“Thank you.” The spider on her shoulder made a little curtseying motion, eliciting a snort from Mordrak, who was regarding the whole production with amused interest.

Alyssa trudged through the snow, pushing thin branches away from her face, trying to avoid the inevitable whiplash. Soon she reached a small frozen pond green leaves frozen beneath the ice visible where the wind had pushed the everpresent snow to the side.

“Asandria?”

‘Yes?’

“What do you think of the ghost?”

‘I think it is a possibility. You simply lack the refinement to use void magic for healing, even of your own undead form. You can only let it do what comes to it...naturally.’

“Mh.”

Grabbing the carved skull from her bag, she set it on a mound of snow, contrasting the yellowing bone with the dazzling white of the frozen ground.

Pushing her spirit at the connection to the ghostly maid, the thin form of the old woman materialized. Hazy in the remaining sunlight.

Hissing as she backed into the shade of a nearby tree, the old ghost huddled in the darkest parts and shivered. “Why has Madam called Gaddy? Why must it be in the accursed light!” She ducked as soon as she said those disrespectful words as if expecting a beating.

“I did not think about it,” Alyssa replied honestly. With a gesture and a few words, dark mists spread from her outstretched hands, covering the area around her in ashy, dark shadows. The ghost quickly slipped closer, and some tension left her gnarled form.

“Thank you, my Lady, thank you.” Bowing obsequiously, she nevertheless had her eyes fixed on the girl before her.

“I need you to fix my other wounds.” Alyssa grimaced.

“As the Lady commands.” There seemed a bit of hidden joy but also malice in the reply. “But I have to see the damage first. If you will.” She stepped a bit closer, her clawed hands slowly neared Alyssa’s clothes.

“Wait! I will do it myself.” Self-consciously, she removed her cloak and coat, then stripped her shirt, exposing her thin, nearly emaciated-looking upper body. The skin shone whiter than the snow, but underneath the skin, runes of darkness floated barely visible but impossible to overlook at the same time as if she was covered by dense writing or a jigsaw puzzle. The jewel in her wrist gleamed darkly.

“May I?” The ghost shivered in barely suppressed agitation.

‘May as well.’ Asandria sighed.

“Do it.”

Claws came for her, and each prick pierced more than her skin as the torn flesh of her breast and neck was pulled together, made whole once more.

Grabbing her rolled-up shirt, she pushed it between her teeth, and for a long moment, hours, minutes?

There was only the pain.