Caleb's Journey

How Gods Die

Torches alight, down the steps the troop tromped. Lord Lestrade and Sir Kyme led the pack, torch in the left hand, sword in the right, with their shields strapped to their backs. They were ready for anything. Their plated mail armor produced a distinct clanking sound with every step they took down the grimy, cobwebbed passage. Clearly, the element of surprise would not be on their side, but they trusted in the cold steel in their hands to compensate for the loss of stealth. If one is ready for anything, how ready are they for nothing? For having reached the bottom of the stairs, they saw no guards, just a closed wooden door and another stretch of hallway. As they walked along the wooden door opened of its own accord and a calm voice bade them to enter the room.

“

Wait for us,” Lord Lestrade said. “Kyme, Vintus, with me. We’ll check this out. Welkin, Sneed, guard the hallway in case an undead enemy emerges.” All of the knights followed his orders and the trio entered the room. There, seated on a black onyx chair with purple velvet pillows sat a man clad all in black attire, holding a wine glass in his hand. Just now he was tracing the rim of that glass in a clockwise motion with his index finger. The room, some thirty feet wide by thirty feet deep, quite commodious, was well lit with candles burning on sconces. The trio noted a few stacked bookshelves, a couch upon which to lie, a dining table covered with a fine purple cloth, and lustrous marble floors.

“

Who are you,” Lord Lestrade demanded, tossing his torch to the ground and readying his shield. His men did likewise.

“

I’m death,” was the reply he received.

“

Does death have a name?”

“

Not that it matters to you mortal,” the being said as he rose from his chair, “for none of you will leave this room, but know that the dread of many, Nostarius, is your killer. You have friends outside, I smelled them

, not the I required my superior senses, what with your clanking armor. Fear not,

I’ll see to them soon enough.”

“

Flank him, fellows, I’ll take the center. My blade, Darkslayer, was made to vanquish creatures such as this,” Lord Lestrade said.

“

Aye,” so was Wolf Hunter added Sir Kyme.

“

Then our game begins,” said Nostarius. He snapped his fingers and his chair became empty, as if he vanished into thin air, but instead he reappeared behind Sir Vintus, grabbed that knight by the neck and with all of his might and malice, violently and rapidly turned Vintus’ head to the left, breaking his neck and killing him instantly.

The two remaining knights whirled about just in time to witness their friend’s demise. Lord Lestrade was closer to Nostarius and he rapidly moved forward, with his shield raised. Sir Kyme approached as quickly as possible so as to flank the fiend. The two knights moved in concert as the vampire eyed them.

Kyme made the first move, swinging his sword at the vampire’s chest, the blow being sidestepped. Simultaneously, Lestrade swung his sword and the speedy vampire turned his body quickly enough to suffer a slight slit across his left bicep. Blood trickled from the wound.

“

Knights, to your commander,” Lord Lestrade barked. He knew he needed more help to overcome such a threat. It’s a wise leader who admits to needing help and calling for it.

Then he felt a great pain in his stomach from a kick administered by Nostarius. So strong was the blow that it dented his armor, and sent him airborne, the knight landing some fifteen away from where he was standing. Slowly, he rose and spat blood in pain and anger. He was furious and wanted to run this fiend through.

In the meantime Sir Kyme took advantage of the vampire focusing his attention elsewhere and thrust his sword towards the vampire’s back. Alas for Sir Kyme, Nostarius’ keen senses and quickness allowed him to dodge the blow. The situation turned even worse for the knight as the vampire seized his arm, stared into his eyes as he uttered an incantation that heated the knight’s armor to a boiling point. Sir Kyme screamed in pain and agony and began tearing off as armor as quickly as possible.

“

I thought you were a bit overdressed,” quipped the vampire. Sir Kyme couldn’t hear him over his own screams. Sir Anvar entered the room as did Sir Sneed along with Sir Welkin.

“

Welcome, guests,” the vampire said as he took a bow. Lord Lestrade had gotten to his feet and the three other knights, shields raised, began to creep towards the vampire. Caleb and Malakael entered the room and tried to help Sir Kyme get out of his armor as that same knight continued wailing, but the armor was so hot to the touch that they could render him little assistance and, though it burned his hands, the knight tore at his armor. Malachael had the presence of mind to remove his cloak as a means of protecting his hands from the heat and dragged Sir Kyme out of the room.

Sir Sneed rushed the vampire so as to create a diversion. Nostarius snatched the shield from his hand and punched him in the helmet, denting it and sending the knight tumbling into a bookcase. Nostarius noted the number of foes as the knights still capable of fighting started to encircle him. Sir Anvar and Lord Lestrade were closing in on him and it would only be a moment before Sir Sneed and Sir Welkin would be able to press the attack as well.

With a word from his mouth, Nostarius snuffed every candle in the room, leaving all of his foes confused. The vampire had no need for the light and in the darkness he made his move. He grabbed Lord Lestrade by the neck, tore the sword from his hand and shoved it upwards through his stomach until it stuck out of his back. Lord Lestrade cried out in agony and fell to the ground, dead. At this point Candellah, hoping to help, had entered the room and used her minor magic to illuminate the vampire’s lair just in time for all remaining to see their leader and friend lying on the floor before them.

Malakael’s blood rose to a fevered pitch. “Leave us,” he shouted. “I’ll deal with this vampire. Clear the room.”

A stunned Nostarius paused for a moment and replied, “By all means, everyone else please feel free to leave while I am overcome by a monk.” He even managed a chuckle, “I’ll see the rest of you very soon. None of you will leave this place. You have come to your grave.”

“

If only I was just a monk,” Malakael said. “Then, you’d have a chance of beating me. I recognize you by your arrogance and cruelty, Nostarius, but do you know me? Has the name Malakael

the Mage Hunter ever come to your ears?”

“

It has, he was a wizard of some minor repute who vanished decades ago. I thought someone had put him out of his misery,” Nostarius said with contempt and disdain.

“

He was dead, but your actions and demeanor have raised the devil in him, which was long since departed. He

will be the death of you.

Vampire, you called down the thunder from the sky and you will feel its wrath.”

Growing even more smug Nostarius laughed a sinister laugh, “I’ve met many now dead people, dead by my hands, who made long-winded speeches or idle threats. Look at this floor. Am I on it? No, only the dead bodies of your friends litter it. Instead of drinking your blood I think I’ll break your body as well as your spirit and dine on your screams of agony. Haughty mortal it is you who have sought this fight. Defeating you will only add to my greatly renowned name.”

Mystic energies coursed through Malakael’s body, bathing him in a glowing blue light and his eyes became yellow sparks. “Vampire, the time of your death is nigh. Let’s quit talking and see who the better being is.”

Nostarius snarled, revealing his sharp fangs. With his already demonstrated supernatural speed he rushed at his foe and was met with a powerful smack across his face. On the other side of the room Malakael now stood, laughing. “You need more tricks than speed to overcome me you imbecile. You aren’t the only one who knows how to move with super speed.” Forked blue streaks of magical energies surged forth from Malakael’s fingertips at Nostarius, but so fast was that create that he leapt towards a wall, bouncing off it to evade the attack. He returned fire with a volley of flaming orbs, shot from his left hand, that found their mark and set Malakael’s clothes aflame.

Malakael winced in pain as the flames singed both his clothes and his flesh. Seizing the opening, Nostarius rushed his stunned foe, grabbed him by his brown shirt, and slammed him into a wall. The monk coughed up blood as the force of the blow had cracked a few of his ribs. As he was spitting blood the dreaded vampire next swung him by his shirt and brought him crashing into the ground. Blood met marble with a sickening thud.

Malakeal felt disoriented as the pain coursed through his body. However, the years he had spent studying hand-to-hand combat as a monk aided him. He quickly stood on his hands and wrapped his legs in a scissor like fashion around Nostarius’ head and flipped that being onto his back. While physical maneuvers failed to harm his adversary, it gave him time to regain his composure and sense of balance.

Emboldened, Nostarius eyed his foe like a wolf eyes a lamb. Confident that he had demonstrated his puissant skill in combat

, he considered Malakael all but defeated. In his estimation the outcome had been decided. “Too proud to know when you’ve met your better, you vain fool. I am quite enjoying breaking you apart. Maybe with the help of those knights you would have stood a chance. Pity that

. I face so few real challenges and you’ll die in here alone.”

Malakael ignored the words of his combatant. Instead, the blue energy around his body pulsated and expanded. “I needed time to do this,” he said. “Shira,” was the magical word he shouted and the energy that surrounded his body exploded throughout the room with the force of an unleashed maelstrom. The concussive force shattered most every object in the room. Tables, chairs, and bookshelves turned to splinters. Nostarius’ throne tipped over.

What of the arrogant vampire? His clothing was ripped apart until it was little more than pieces of fabric draped about him and he, dazed and confused, stumbled about, powerless to act. He fell to his knees and put his hands on the floor, trying to regain his equilibrium.

Malakeal picked up Lord Lestrade’s sword and marched over to the vampire. With a swipe of the blade, the use of this weapon which was forbidden by his order, and slashed the back of both of the twisted being’s hamstrings. Then, he kicked Nostarius in the back and that being fell face first onto the ground. Blood freely flowed from the deep cut and all Nostarius could do was writhe on the ground in agony.

“

Know that I baited you and let you think you had defeated me, dark one. Now, you get to face justice or at least my version of it. He lifted up the vampire and held his throat in an enchanted, powerful grip. “I mean to steal your essence. You have dined on countless others so I am going to dine on your energies and add them to my own. As you feel the life draining from your body, a torturous death, pray to Uua for mercy, a mercy you have denied all you have faced.”

Calmly, he pried open the vampire’s mouth and lowered his head until their lips almost touched. Then he uttered an incantation while the battered Nostarius struggled in vain to free himself. Malakael began to drink in his foe’s dark energies as they left his body in a black cloud and entered Malakael’s body. That fiend’s body became rigid and his flesh began to shrivel. A tear rolled down his left cheek as he reflected on his life. In a moment all that remained of the reviled creature’s body was nothing more than a lifeless husk. Callously, Malakael cast the body aside. As he left the room, he picked up Lord Lestrade’s sword and closed the door.

Everyone had waited outside of the room to see who would emerge victorious. Knights had their swords at the ready, Caleb felt frustrated that he had no magical sword, and Candellah was tending to Sir Kyme’s wounds. All felt joy when they saw Malakael emerge. However, they noted a changed nature in him. His eyes still had that yellow sparkle and his countenance was fierce.

“

Nostarius has killed his last victim,” Malakael said. “Here,” he remarked as he tossed Lord Lestrade’s sword to Caleb. “Maybe it will help you. We’ve got an immortal being to try and kill. He’s down the hall. Let’s give him what he deserves, a long overdue trip to the NetherRealmRealm.

What remained of the group, Malakeal, Caleb, now armed with Darkslayer, Candellah, Sir Anvar, an injured Sir Sneed, Sir Welkin, and a blistered Sir Kyme, headed down the hallway, torches ablaze and ready to face whatever lies beyond the corner of the underground dwelling. What lay ahead was two hulking masses of pure obsidian. These humanlike creatures, so thick that standing shoulder to shoulder the duo nearly blocked out the large wooden door behind them as they guarded their master, awaited all trespassers.

“

I’ll handle the golems and protect Sir Sneed and Sir Kyme. You guys just get through that door and do your best. Uua bless you.” Malakael commanded. As the group approached the golems those beings’ eyes opened and their red eyes flickered in the darkness.

Malakael wasted little time in keeping his word by raising his palms towards the duo and shooting each of them with a blast of concussive force that knocked the golems to the ground and stripped some of the stones right off of the wall. “Everyone who can run now is your chance

. Go!” The force rays he shot continued to pulse forth he now tilted to pin the golems to the ground. “I will hold them for as long as I can,” said Malakael, the strain of the effort showing itself in the muscles stretching on his neck.

With great alacrity Caleb, Candellah, Sir Welkin and Sir Anvar ran the length of the hall, with Caleb leading the charge. When they neared their destination, he lowered his shoulder and leapt past the flailing arms of the golems, crashing into the wooden door and busting it open. There in the center of the room, catatonic on a large slab of marble lay Xerax.

“

What now?” asked Sir Anvar

“

I’ll stab him through the heart with Darkslayer,” Caleb replied. “That way, Lord Lestrade can have a hand in bringing this nightmare to an end.” The strong, young warrior gripped Darkslayer with both hands, the muscles in his forearms tensing as he turned the blade downwards. With all of his might he plunged the sword into the center of Xerax’s chest, but the blade stopped sharply as it touched Xerax’s flesh. It was like trying to plunge a sword into an anvil.

Xerax’s eyes shot wide open and he sat bolt upright. Caleb froze for a moment, stunned at the outcome of his action. Sir Anvar swung his sword in an attempt to decapitate their foe. The outcome was identical to the one that Caleb experienced. The blade bounced right off of Xerax’s neck and he remained unscathed.

“

You dare to strike the person of Xerax you arrogant mortals! Did you think you could sneak into my lair and slay the Lord of the Undead? I am a god! No weapon can harm me.” He grabbed Sir Anvar’s blade, ripped it from that knight’s hands, and threw it across the room.

“

Golems come to your master. It’s beneath me to even waste my time killing you,” Xerax said as he moved from the bed to the floor, standing up in the process. He was shocked when his golems failed to appear. “So, you’ve bested my bodyguards. It matters not. I’ll just have to kill you myself.” He shot a bolt of lightning at Sir Anvar and Sir Anvar raised his shield to protect himself, but so potent was the bolt that it melted that item and what remained of it fell from that knight’s hand. Being clad in metal Sir Anvar suffered a great electrical shock from the blow, knocking him to the ground and incapacitating him.

Caleb wrapped his strong arms around Xerax and slammed him to the ground. Xerax shot an icy stare at Caleb, like he was looking right through the young warrior. “You dare to put your hands on the Lord of the Undead, a prince of noble birth. Your death shall be slow and torturous. With strength that surprised Caleb, his foe shook loose and flung the warrior onto the ground. Next, he uttered an incantation that placed Caleb in a magical cage.

Sir Welkin thrust his sword into Xerax’s stomach, the blade bouncing off of that being. Xerax seized Welkin and blew a cloud of black dust into that knight’s face that wafted through the openings in his helmet and made it impossible to breathe. Xerax released him while that knight grasped his throat and struggling to breathe gasped as he choked to death.

Only Candellah remained to face him. “Aren’t you a pretty one,” he remarked with a caustic tone. “I get so few female visitors and yet I sense something different about you. Pity you won’t be staying long enough for me to study that difference. I applaud all of your efforts to reach me. It can only mean that you’ve also slain Nostarius. To get this far only to fail must be truly heart rending.”

The tip of Candellah’s staff shone with a bright white light, something it had never done before. She felt the presence of the Goddess and her fear was removed. She pointed her staff at Xerax and a beam of white light issued forth from the staff and struck the Lord of the Undead in the stomach and singed his flesh.

“

Impossible,” he uttered in with surprise in his voice. “I haven’t felt pain in millennia, woman. You’ll suffer for this affront.”

She ran over to Caleb’s cell and touched it with her staff. The magic in her staff destroyed Xerax’s construct. “He wears the Tear around his neck,” she shouted. We need to get it from him.

Xerax fired blue flames at Caleb, who dodged them as he rushed towards his unliving foe. Caleb leapt and tackled Xerax and the two began to grapple. Candellah, who at this point was bathed in white light, came and placed her hand on Xerax and he began to weaken and writhed in agony. This gave Caleb the upper hand that he desperately needed in the struggle and he ripped the necklace from Xerax’s throat.

“

Open the vial,” Candellah commanded, gaining courage from an unknown place. “Now, make him drink it.”

Tried though he might to break free, Xerax, found another man seizing his body. It was the injured Sir Anvar who had wrapped his arms around the Lord of the Undead’s legs. Caleb, now in possession of the vial, opened it, and was barely able to force the smallest drop of it through the fiend’s clenched lips and teeth. It was space enough, for as soon as the blue liquid entered his body, Xerax grew weaker and Caleb was able to get a full draught down his throat.

Xerax’s body began to convulse violently, the force of which shook both beings from holding onto him, sending them tumbling across the room. As for Xerax, his body began to shrivel up as he screamed in agony. The blue liquid he swallowed began to shine in his innards, opening holes in his flesh and rays of blue light poked out through those openings, filling the room.

Paranoid, the Lord of the Undead wrapped his arms around himself, trying to stop the injuries and use his magic to heal himself. He sought utter incantations, but they died on his lips. He shriveled even more and the light inside of him grew brighter and brighter until it began to burn away his flesh from the inside, destroying his innards. “I can’t die,” he said, the words falling harmlessly from his lips. In vain he struggled to reach his table and grab a potion. It was too late. Soon, nothing more than a skeleton of him remained and that skeleton quickly turned to dust.

In the hallway, without the power of their master to animate them, the golems ceased to resist Malakael’s attack and instead, lay there motionless. Much to the great surprise and joy of the soldiers doing battle with his skeletal legions, they suffered the same effect as their master’s bodyguards. The skeleton horde that was overwhelming the south wall all fell to the ground, devoid of any animation. All threats from Xerax vanished that quickly.

The group of heroes that remained in the hallway all made their way down the hallway and into the room of Xerax. They marveled at what they beheld, a creature of legend reduced to a pile of dust. While Caleb recounted the tale of events, Candellah saw to the wounded, using her magic to heal their wounds as best she could. Malakael told Candellah that her powers must have come from Uua and that’s why she was able to harm Xerax. “She is not of this world, so anything from her would hurt him. True white magic has returned to Mithkre,” was his logical explanation.

“

Uua had a grand purpose in all of this. Look at how the events unfolded. A great artifact was stolen and placed in the hands of a dreadful being. We became united to venture forth and recover what was lost. Instead, we used that item to destroy an enemy to all peaceful races. Her wisdom exceeds our grasp. Bless her. You, Caleb, and Sir Anvar you are heroes.”

“

We are all heroes,” Caleb replied. If you hadn’t dispatched of the vampire or the golems we would all have perished in Xerax’s lair. Each of us had a part to play and we all mourn the loss of our friends. Noble were their deaths and not in vain. Now, let’s go home. We have much to share with his majesty’s court.”

“

Nothing sounds better, after we bury our friends,” said Sir Kyme, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Lord Lestrade was my mentor and I shall always miss him.”

Meanwhile, back at Attalis, the defenders of the south wall universally cheered as the skeletons inexplicably became lifeless. They didn’t question their good fortune, praising Uua instead. Seizing on this unexpected event, Sir Samsuran ordered that group of soldiers to abandon their posts and engage the foe outside of the walls. “They wanted a fight in the field,” he shouted, “let’s give them their wish!”

Angry and ready to bring the conflict to an end, the soldiers shouted in agreement as they raced for the gate. The horses were hitched to the gate and opened it with all due haste. Once outside of the castle walls, the pikemen formed into their columns and the archers marched behind them. Proudly and confidently they marched past the piles of bones they came first upon the ogres attacking the east wall. Archers, under command from their captains, loosed a lethal volley into the ogres’ ranks and thinning their numbers.

Ogres turned to see themselves now fighting battles on two fronts. Gnolls faced an angry giant who was smashing their ranks with his club. As the pikemen marched forward in unison, jabbing their pikes at the ogres, they began to inflict heavy casualties on them as the ogres were in disarray.

“

The day is lost,” Eman-Sadal remarked to Skarlarth. “I can sense that my army is gone and we are outflanked. Your ogres are getting mowed down. There is no other option for us, but to leave.

Then, Skarlarth did something he had never done before as an ogre chief, he ordered that retreat be sounded. As soon as the horn blew, Skarlarth struck Eman-Sadal

in the head with his mallet, knocking him to the ground and cracking his skull. He continued beating the lichmaster until he was out of breath and the body was unidentifiable. It was a means of venting his frustration as well as showing his kinsman that he exacted revenge for all of them against the one who had led them to this failure.

Sir Samsuran, weary of so much bloodshed, let the ogres and gnolls scurry through the many trenches they had dug without being harried by archer fire. He ordered his men back into the fortress. He decided his men had had enough combat to last them until some other threat appeared and that it would be a long time before ogres or gnolls dared venture forth and challenge the might of the armies of Victor IV.

That evening the defenders of Attalis had a great feast to celebrate their victory. They toasted Graygrim for slaying the dragon and toasted each other many times over for feats of bravery, for fallen comrades, and for the ensuing peace. The giant broke bread with them, drank ale from a tankard, and watched the men sing and dance, but said very little. Then, while they slept, he slipped away in the middle of the night.