Goran was frustrated. He, a brave warrior groomed to lead, was lost. Since his defeat in the valley, seeing his people slaughtered by the greenskin, he was in denial because he failed his duty. Hundreds of years in the Soul space were a long time to come to terms with his failures. The time moved differently there, but it moved nevertheless, at least for him as a champion. The weaker souls just slept, but he knew. All these years, he came up with a perfect explanation of why he wasn’t the failure. He vowed to all the gods listening to take the revenge, and since returning to the Nexus, he did so. He led, he advised, he was the champion, one to create his own legend, to wash away his old sins. Sins no one alive remembered – losing the most critical battle in his life, one that led to the destruction of his people. It was unwinnable, he couldn’t find any other outcome, or so he thought.

So he went with the flow, joined the young chieftain in his challenges. Showed him the ropes and helped to overcome challenge after a challenge. Everything was just fine until they entered the challenge tower. Being thrown back into that nightmare, reliving it all again, was hard enough, but seeing Horn succeeding where he failed? It was too much.

The answer was so simple, bury the damn filth under a pile of rocks, and he - a trained officer, a veteran of wars didn’t see it. He failed yet again, in an even worse manner. All the painful memories were awoken, and he was thrown into his own personal hell. Reappearing back with the clan, he just couldn’t take it. When he heard there was a mighty beast in the keep, he just climbed the stairs ready to meet his destiny, at least until he’d be pulled back from the abyss.

But then, an unexpected happened. The mighty Gryphon told him something important, something he’d remember his whole remaining life. On top of that, he gave him a quest, one he was now following. It didn’t magically erase his guilt but gave him the bearing. He took one of the squads and departed into the wild. Leaving the clan wasn’t easy on his conscience, but he was sure Horn would pick up the slack. In the meantime, he had to prove to himself that he – Goran Steelriver – wasn’t the failure.

The beginning of the quest went smoothly. The entrance to the mines was just where the Gryphon said it would be. The skeletal guards weren’t too challenging; even the damn bats were just an annoyance. Now sitting on the top of a long spiral ramp, he saw his destination. A few dozen dwarves, humans, elves, beastkin, and gnomes toiled away on the bottom of a hundred-yard deep pit. Slaves of the dark lords of this valley. He wondered how they ended up in here. However, mostly he pondered how he could save them. They were mining the source of power and the greatest threat to the necromancers – Soul crystals.

These small stones were packed full of energy - life-giving energy. They were a primary ingredient in any healing potion and a power source for many wonderful artifacts. The Soul – the greatest power in the universe and a bane of undead. The animated creatures didn’t have one and couldn’t stand its energy. However, the dark mages found a ritual that corrupted these sacred crystals, turning them into a force of undeath. This allowed the few mages in the valley to amas such armies and to challenge the mighty guardians. At least that was the story that Gryphon told.

At least that explained the lack of skeletons in the mine. Beside the few guarding the entrance, there were none inside. However, there were a lot of guards. He counted forty lizardmen below. They were spread in groups on different levels, with half of them at the bottom. It wasn’t the first time he encountered them, and they were a vicious enemy. At six feet height, with scaly skin that served as an equivalent of leather armor and intelligence to back up their muscles, they were one of the favorite mercenaries in the Nexus. They came in a variety of colors, which also corresponded to their native talents. Here he saw black and green ones. The former could create a ball of darkness in front of them, while the latter spew acidic spittle.

Goran had only five dwarves, a single healer, a sergeant that doubled as a tank, and three damage dealers. Six against forty didn’t seem reasonable, but he was done with reasonable solutions. There was only a single way down, several feet wide path spiraling against the pit’s rim. They could block it, limiting the number of enemies coming at them if they didn’t face the lizardman. The bastards, with their membraned fingers, could produce quite a strong adhesive allowing them to climb on almost vertical walls with ease.

Charging down wasn’t an option. The slow push wasn’t an option, he had neither ranged warriors nor caster support to keep the high ground, and he was stuck. Sneaking around probably wouldn’t work, as his fighters weren’t the quietest. Sighing, he crawled back towards his men in the main corridor when his sight stopped at a large boulder. It was a surprisingly uniform cylinder, eight feet high and three wide. “Burry under a pile of rocks, he said. Let’s see how splashing them against one works.” Goran said to himself with a wicked smile.

3 hours, 43 minutes, and 12 seconds.

Horn was once again standing on the top of the walls. The clean-up was done, with piles of bones scattered everywhere. A few dwarves were pilling them in the gateway to limit the already narrow path. Behind him, the dead were gathered on a funeral pyre. They’d be burned right away, with the ceremony delayed until the challenge finished. He didn’t want a second round with zombies. The only positive downfall from the attack was a hefty balance of Essence. The tax was working nicely. He couldn’t use the extra Essence his warriors earned, as there was no donation chest in the keep, but the tax alone gave him almost thirty thousand to play with. He replenished his crafters and workers up to what he came into the challenge and even had a few thousand spares to recruit a few more fighters. The downside was that they were all on first levels instead of tenth. But some things couldn’t be helped.

However, seeing the valley, he knew it wouldn’t be enough. The movement started less than half an hour after the last battle. At first, he couldn’t believe his eyes, but every passing second the situation hit him. It seemed like the whole valley sprung to life. Hordes of skeletons appeared in and out of the fog. They were counted in thousands, gathering into larger groups every passing minute. The army arrayed against his tiny clan was astonishing, creating yet another unwinnable scenario. Again in these past few days, a scene out of Star Trek came to mind, but how could he cheat this time?

He wasn’t sure, and the timer entered the final three hours. In his mind, the attack should start in an hour or so. His troops were still resting, but the news of the horde gathering behind the walls had already circulated the clan. The message in front of him was proof of that.

The clan is in grave danger and knows about it. The forces arranged against it bring doubt into hearts and minds. (-10 morale until the threat is dealt with)

Your clan morale changed: Happy(+12) -> Average (+2). Productivity neutral, crime possibility neutral, your citizens will follow you unless it directly endangers them.

He wondered about making another speech but decided against it. He just didn’t find words necessary to rally himself, not even thinking about the clan itself. He looked for a solution, but in the meantime, prepared a game plan similar to the previous one. Funnel the enemies, keep the walls secure and just ride it out. It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t even achievable, but at least it gave his troops something to do.

Looking back at the courtyard, Horn saw one of the miners approaching. A short conversation later, he finally got some good news. They punched through the wall in the basement and found that secret room behind. As Yellowrock was still out cold, after straining himself in the last minutes of the battle, Horn was free to explore it.

A quick walk through the demolished keep was brief. He again took in the almost peaceful scene of the main hall, where dinner was about to be served, and groups of his dwarves gathered chatting with little care. Or at least, that was the first impression. But when he looked closer, he saw them huddling a bit closer, whispering with some gloom looks. There was a feeling of unease in the air. Grunting, he just kept walking, only to yell in surprise and pain as he kicked the piece of brick. Waving his fist at the ceiling, he saw the awful state of the building. It was a miracle it was still standing.

The room behind the altar was a small one. Bricked walls were empty save a few wall mounts for torches. A stairway led somewhere further downward. Following the stairs, he entered catacombs. The stairway changed into a corridor, dug in the rock—a long passage, with niches in both walls and rows of stone caskets on them. With hundred years of dust coating everything in a thick layer. The stale air smelled of decomposing bones – just a crypt. The corridor went on for a few hundred yards, ending in a larger room with a sarcophagus in the middle. A stone tablet sat in front of it, with remains of old writing on it, but the time made it unreadable. The room itself was pretty spacious, at least a few dozen yards across. Beside the coffin, there wasn’t anything in it.

Horn’s feelings were mixed. On the one hand, there wasn’t anything interesting in here. On the other, it was probably the trump card of the Necros. He could imagine them raising all these dead to attack from behind. He was almost about to order desecration of the graves but then thought how his clan might react to that. He was sure that wasn’t something viable on the table. Instead, he took a moment, sat down next to the old grave, and closed his eyes. He needed a solution. There wasn’t the slightest chance in hell his hundred would be able to withstand the attack. But he couldn’t believe that the challenge was unwinnable. It wouldn’t make sense. He pulled up his quest, looking for clues.

New quest: The cycle of undeath

You came across a cult of necromancers that found a forgotten Soul well. They wanted to use it to summon an unstoppable army of soul wraiths. However, their attempt was foiled by one of the last Gryphons alive. The mighty beast made a nest in the top level of the old keep, waiting for her children to hatch. The necromancers worked a long time to overcome that challenge, spreading throughout the valley and raising their hosts of the undead. They worked on the ritualistic curse to weaken, kill and corrupt the mighty guardian. Your tribe arrived just after the ritual, the guardian is dying, but with her last strength, she activated the Soul well to summon new defenders. The undead army is on its way. Protect the Soul well until the summoning finish, destroy the cult and save the last Gryphons’ hatchlings.

Objective: Defend the Soul well for 3 hours, 24 minutes, and 21 seconds

Bonus objective I: Find and kill Necromancers. Progress: 6/12

Bonus objective II: Protect at least half of Gryphon’s eggs. Progress 15/15

Failure: Allow the necromancers to complete a ritual at the Soul well.

Reward: New clan members (wave 4/5), Hidden

Bonus reward I: Hidden

Bonus reward II: Friendship of the young Gryphons, Blueprint for Gryphon’s Nest – Tier 4 building

He smiled seeing the update of dead Necromancers, he could only claim to add a single there, but his champions had killed a few more off. Still, half of them remained. In the end, he only had to stall for time. But holding the line for two hours didn’t seem possible, and there was nowhere to retreat, or was there? He looked around, taking the space in. They might just fit in.

Horn got to his feet and began sprinting back to the keep. There was a lot to do.

“What do you mean by it can’t be done?” Horn asked for the third time.

The stocky bare-chested dwarf in leather work-pants on suspenders replied while scratching his hairless face. “This old piece of hoomanish’ architecture,’” He made air quotes, “is just too unstable to do so. You want it to come apart at the wrong moment?”

“Listen - Grom, was it?” Horn said, wondering about his damn luck again. As a reward for defeating the wave, he got access to another bunch of summons. The list remained the same, but he already knew who he needed – the builder crew. However, as its leader stepped out of the Soul well, he knew it would be another instance of his cursed luck. The dwarf was almost naked, save for thick working boots and leather trousers hanging on suspenders. His impressive muscular bodybuilder-like body said a lot about his vanity, but adding to that complete lack of any hair made his figure grotesque. The guy didn’t even have eyebrows. On top of that, a large tattoo on his arm of what could only be a crossbreed of a shark and a dolphin completed a picture.

Fifteen minutes later, they were still arguing about the task at hand, “I really don’t care how you do this, but that has to be done. Or rather you take your chances with the undead army coming this way?”

“Listen, BOY, I ain’t doing shit. My boys and I are the best in the market, and we won’t touch failed projects!” Grom answered, pointing with his chubby finger.

“Pff, you say you’re the best, and a small job like that scares you off? What a poser, then go hide with the rest!” Horn shouted back,

“Scares me off? You little maggot! Nothing scares Grom’s building incorporated!”

“Prove it then, or get the hell out of here!”

“Fine! But if this whole thing collapses on its own, killing all of us. I’ll be haunting you through eternity!”

“Be my guest!” Horn replied, barely hiding a smile.

Sigrid was looking through a bountiful stained glass window into what she believed was once a monastery’s main hall. However, it seemed to be adapted to other ways. Plush furniture created an expensive and tasteless living room. With styles mixed up and more golden ornaments per square foot, then anyone should be able to endure. In the middle, around a heavy marble table, six Elves in dark robes discussed something. Sigrid couldn’t understand the language, but based on a map with figurines on it, they were planning an assault on the keep.

The room was well guarded, with a dozen armored skeletons spread around, posing as inanimate armor pieces. Only their glowing eyes betrayed them as more than furniture. On top of that, she saw several lizardmen patrolling the courtyard behind her. At any commotion, she’d be swarmed. She could only wait. Patience was important virtue on the hunt, and it was exhilarating to be on it again.

Getting here wasn’t too tricky. The clan’s pathfinder was worth his money, quickly plotting route avoiding roaming undead. Rockbitter, the sergeant that went with her, also proved to be skillful in stealth, well as soon as she convinced him to leave behind half the armory he took with him. Both of them were now waiting on a ridge a few dozen feet above. The monastery was placed at the feet of a mountain, partially embedded into it. She was lowered by them to the roof and arrived here - at the location of her target.

Having a moment, she went back into what happened in the past hours. Being back at her last assassination brought back a lot of memories she preferred to remain buried. She was so naïve back then, sure of her own importance in the world, of being able to change the course of history. In the end, it was all one big lie. She was a paid thug, maybe the brotherhood started as a noble organization, but the corruption and greed changed it. Her own crusade to right the wrongs failed, and the consequences.

Even thinking about them brought a grimace of pain to her face. She was captured, and she paid the price. An example for the rest, they said, as they dumped her broken body at the steps of the order of white quill. Small mercy - Sigrid the cripple – a title that remained with her until the end of her life. But that was the history. Now she was back in her prime, with a whole new life ahead of her. With a boss that didn’t judge, he didn’t even wince at seeing her with a bloody dagger. She wouldn’t lose this chance. The Sparrow would fly again.

Smiling under the hood, she checked her daggers. Maybe she was missing some of the old skills, perhaps she wasn’t in the top form, and her reflexes were dulled, but she was more than enough for a bunch of Elves. They ought to make some kind of mistake, and she’d be there to exploit it.