Lord of Hosts

"Beyond this point dwell only the fell things," Viserys said, his eyes dark and swollen, grasping his longsword that seared his hand like a firebrand. "A few paces more, and the mist will roast us like a joint of meat."

Sir Vladimir nodded grimly. "Then we are fell things too." He drew the rope that bound them together. "Abide here, I will go on."

Viserys, weary and faint, knew the peril. None who delved this deep ever returned. He sank to the ground, his sword melded to his hand by the heat. Vladimir, advancing ahead, felt the rope tug and looked back.

"Viserys, do not forsake me. I must go deeper. Hold your..."

"Vor'motis!"

A voice boomed. They must have felt the rope pull and wished to know their doom - living or dead.

"Vor'motis!" The voice called again.

"Aye!" Vladimir answered for Viserys, who was on his knees, spewing out sha'drakthar. "Lengthen!" Vladimir commanded.

"Lengthen!" The order echoed from many voices above. A line of men, linked by a rope, formed a vital lifeline. As one man went deeper into the mist, he passed words along the rope, sending back dire tidings in case the fell things got them before they could flee. Each man in the line was a herald, making sure the news reached the beacon.

Through the mist he stumbled, Vladimir, a knight of the beacon's flame. His blood was black and thick, poisoned by the sha'drakthar that he breathed. He felt his life ebbing, and a dull pain in his heart. He did not turn his head to see his friend Viserys, who lay slain by the claws of sha'drakthar.

For long years he had served at the Beacon, a fortress of light and hope in the midst of the mist. He was a tall and strong knight, clad in gleaming armor. His eyes were blue as frost, and his face was hard as stone. He had no love, nor kin, nor home, but only the Beacon, the mist, and the Hellgate. He had never gone so far into the mist, where the Hellgate lay. It was his duty to guard it, to keep it shut. He had always feared to die without seeing the Hellgate, or the secrets of the mist- it was a bitter smile that he wore, for it was a twisted honor, a jest of his fate.

The mist was alive, and evil. It whispered and groaned, and made a dreadful sound, like a great beast drawing breath. He knew what it meant, and shuddered. He was near the Hellgate, the door to a world of terror and madness. He saw it before him, a rent in the fabric of reality. It spewed out sha'drakthar, a foul thing that corrupted all it touched. It wrapped him like a cloak, and smothered him.

For three moons, the mist had grown hotter, and the nights had been filled with cries and shrieks. The mist had spread beyond its bounds, a sign of doom. This had confirmed his worst fears:

"The Hellgate bleeds!" Vladimir cried, falling to his knees, his voice weak but quivering. "Fall back to the beacon!"

Fear seized him, thinking he had gone too fast and too deep for the human line to hear. Gathering all his strength, he repeated the cry with more urgency, "The Hellgate bleeds. R...!" Before he could finish, a demon beast, its wings a wicked blur, flew through the air with unnatural speed, tearing his head off in one swift and deadly stroke of its claws..

The mist was a shroud, hiding the horrors that lurked within. Eldora ran blindly, clutching the rope that bound her to the beacon. The rope was her lifeline, her only hope of finding her way back. But it was also a chain, a reminder of the fate she shared with her companions. She could hear their screams behind her, each one a dagger in her heart. They were being hunted, picked off one by one by the beast that stalked them in the fog.

She felt a tug on the rope, a desperate plea for help. She stopped, her breath ragged, her eyes wide with terror. She looked back, and saw a shadowy figure in the mist. It was one of her companions, still alive, but barely. He was bleeding from a dozen wounds, his armor torn and his sword broken. He reached out to her, his eyes begging for mercy.

Eldora felt a surge of pity, but also of fear. She knew that if she stayed, she would die with him. She knew that the beast was coming, and that it would not spare them. She knew that she had to make a choice, a terrible choice. She drew her longsword, tears streaming down her face. She whispered a silent apology, and cut the rope. She left him behind, a sacrifice for her own survival, a betrayal of the trust the rope represented.

She ran on, the severed rope trailing behind her. It was her guide, her only way to the beacon. But it was also a burden, a weight on her conscience. She whispered to herself, "What have I done?" She felt the guilt of her choice, heavy on her shoulders. She heard the echoes of her companion's screams, haunting her thoughts. They mingled with the ominous sounds of the beast, closing in on her.

Suddenly, A shadow fell over her, a dark and dreadful shape that blocked out the sky. A fiend, a monster, a nightmare. It had wings, wide and wicked, that beat the air with a terrible force. It had claws, sharp and savage, that tore the flesh from the bone. It had eyes, red and ruthless, that burned with a hellish fire. It had a mouth, wide and wicked, that spewed a stream of venom. It wanted her, it craved her, it would have her. It swooped down, ready to strike, ready to feast, ready to kill. She saw it, she sensed it, she knew it. She dropped to the ground, rolling and dodging, avoiding its attack by a hair's breadth. The fiend's venom hit the earth, sizzling and smoking, melting the rock and soil. She felt the heat, the pain, the burn. She rose, her sword in hand, her will unbroken.

But the beast was relentless, circling and diving for another strike. Eldora pressed on, determined to reach the beacon. She knew that the beast was waiting for another chance, that it would not give up. She braced herself for the inevitable doom, the beast's shrieks and wing beats growing louder, drowning her senses. As the beast lunged again, about to snatch her, a sudden flash of bright light pierced the mist. A hand reached out, holding a glowing crystal that shone with a fierce radiance. The light blinded the beast, making it recoil in pain. It retreated into the mist, unwilling to face the light.

Tharion's hand, the Lord Commander of the Sentinels who stood guard over the Beacon, seized her. He was old and battered, and his beard was as white as frost. He had been Eldora's master since she was condemned to the Beacon by the King of Drakonia, Thalador the Ruthless, who branded her a witch and a traitor. He had distrusted Eldora at first, but over the years he had come to cherish her and even doubt her wickedness. He had taught her all the secrets and arts of the Sentinels, who shielded the continent from the horror that stalked in the mist. He had come to save her and fellow survivors, who were assaulted by the hideous beast. But he saw the snapped rope that fastened her to the Beacon, and the blood on the end that joined her to another. He grasped her choice, and his face twisted. Eldora looked into his eyes, and felt a flood of shame. She wished she had not forsaken her duty.

But General Tharion was not one to brood on the past. He tapped Eldora on her shoulder, and said, “We must hasten on. It will return soon, and we cannot be here when it does.” He lifted her up, and led her to the beacon. They reached the security of its walls, and entered its doors.

"Seal the gate!" General Tharion shouted, his voice booming through the fortress.

Within the beacon, all faces were turned to Eldora and the rope. They beheld her wounds, her tears, and her shame. They beheld the rope, and they knew its meaning. They knew that she had forsaken her comrades, that she had chosen life over death. They weighed her, in silence or in speech, with pity or with scorn. She fell on her knees before General Tharion, seeking his pardon. She said, "General, I have failed you."

He gazed at her, and said, "Have you indeed, Eldora? This day, you have made a grave choice. Time alone will render its verdict." He spoke thus, and his hands found her shoulders, raising her from the ground.

"Live on, lass. Make your choice a road of honour." He touched her hair, fair and smooth, ere he departed from her.

In the shadowed heart of the Beacon, where the ancient pines stood sentinel, Eldora stumbled. Her armor, once a protective shell, now clung to her like a curse. The mail, forged in the fires of the beacon’s smithy, had become her tormentor. Its links seared her flesh, branding her with the memory of battle.

Around her, survivors gathered—a ragged assembly of souls scarred by the same devilish mist. They sought solace in the icy river, its waters a balm for blistered skin. Eldora waded in, her steps faltering, each movement a symphony of pain. The chill numbed her, but it could not extinguish the fire that raged within.

At seven-and-twenty, she was a sentinel—an oath-bound guardian of the Continent. Her youth was a rarity among their ranks, for most Sentinels bore the weight of years and memories. Eldora had heard the tales, whispered in hushed tones by hearthfire: the fell beasts that prowled the hinterlands, their eyes aflame with hunger. But hearing was not knowing. Not until she had faced them herself—their eyes like shards of obsidian, their breath a miasma of decay.

Now, as she submerged herself in the river’s embrace, the truth seared her anew. The burns on her skin were not mere scars; they were the price of survival. The bruises, like storm clouds, painted her body in shades of violet and indigo.

"Eldora, I deemed you fallen." The voice, keen as a blade's edge, pierced her fleeting peace. Aldritch stood there, a tall lean shape with his curling brown locks, his eyes wide with wonder. His face, once dear, now marred by sorrow, bore a question he feared to speak. He had been exiled to the beacon for a slaying he forswore, he was the latest comer of the beacon, he came 2 moons ago and had not found his place or yielded to his doom and ever spoke to Eldora of his hope to flee the Beacon soon.

"If I fell, who would guard you from your own folly?" Eldora's answer was faint, broken by moans of hurt. She had known Aldritch since their youth, when they played among the lichen-clad stones of the Drakonian Palace's court. Now, their parts had changed. She was the tried warrior, and he the novice. She saw not in Aldritch one who had the might to slay another, he was clever and wise but never stout and had no such will in him.

Aldritch’s gaze rested on her bare form, the lower half of Eldora’s body sunk in the frozen water. pity was all over his face as if he wanted to bear her wounds and sores. “It will soon be over,” he said, his voice a murmur lost in the wind.

“What will?” Eldora’s bewilderment matched the storm clouds above.

“The General summons you, Clean yourself,” Aldritch ordered, “and join us in the war hall.” His words lingered in the air, dark and full of meaning.

Anon, Eldora came into the war nest, fair and clean as a morning star, her slender form clad in leather breeches and jerkin. The hall, that oft was filled with many voices, now whispered with the hidden lore of few, and only two chairs out of thirty and more were taken. There sat Tharion the General, and with him, Aldritch, a learner, who had no right to share in such weighty matters.

Welcome, Eldora," General Tharion said, gesturing for her to come closer. The vast war nest had more than thirty seats, but the emptiness made the meeting more solemn.

"You summoned me, General."

"Aye, that I did. Tell me, Eldora, do you ever dream of the world beyond these walls?"

The question startled her, and she felt a surge of fear and curiosity. She had spent most of her life within the beacon, a massive tower that stood on the edge of the world, guarding the Hellgate, the portal to the abyss. The beacon was her home, her duty, her prison. The lands beyond it were like faded memories, or stories from a book.

"I... I do not, sire."

General Tharion studied her, his eyes piercing. He knew the price of Sentinelship, the isolation, the sacrifice, the madness. He knew what it meant to give up everything for a cause that few understood or cared about.

General Tharion gazed at her with keen eyes, as if he could see into her soul. He knew well the cost of Sentinelship, the loneliness, the renunciation, the madness. He knew what it meant to forsake all for a doom that few perceived or heeded.

"Eldora, I have a quest for you. A quest that may alter the fate of the world."

"What quest, General?"

"I bid you to be the herald of ruin, Eldora. I bid you to bear a tidings to all the kings, queens, barons, and lords of Hibernia. A tidings that will make them quake, or make them rise. A tidings that will say - the Hellgate bleeds! A tidings that will warn them of the shadow and the war that are nigh."

"Sir, the Continent is a land of strife. There is slaughter, famine, death... I see no path for a lone woman like me to traverse such perilous realms."

General Tharion strode to Eldora, his hands on her shoulders, his voice grave and stern.

"If you yield to fear, Eldora, you will not greet another morn. I have chosen you for this mission because I trust you, and I hope you will trust yourself. And you will not go alone; Aldritch will go with you."

Eldora looked at Aldritch, feeling his dread and his faith. He nodded, his eyes valiant.

"Aldritch?"

"The lad has the best lore of the lands we forsook - lore that time has snatched from us all. He will be your guide."

"How will I tell them that my tidings are true?"

General Tharion walked to a hidden spot in the great hall and from a dark recess he brought forth a bright silver coffer with runes upon it that he had kept secret. He set it down on the table and unlocked it with a key. And lo! there shone before their eyes the famed sword, Vor'ithrindel. He drew it out with reverence and laid it in Eldora's hand.

Eldora felt a thrill run through her, and her fingers traced the ancient runes that glowed on the blade. This sword, of which the old tales sang, once in the hand of the first Etherheart, Zehir forged of black iron and dragon-fire. Now it was hers to wield.

"Show them this, and they will heed your tidings. Perchance they will join us to face the bane that looms over us all."