The newly obtained Clthic records had identified the mining fortress as Beggar’s Rock, once a flourishing iron mine several centuries ago. When the deposits were all but exhausted, the site was reduced to a simple castle of minor strategic significance. However, as noted in the parchment, the Clthics discovered that with additional tunnelling work, the mines of Beggar’s Rock led straight into a region of the Under. It was from here that they unearthed arcane artefacts.

Alric was hard pressed to choose only a handful of volunteers for the expedition. Seeing as only two Clthic Nuns defended the fortress when it was taken, it was obvious where the others were lurking. It would be an extremely dangerous endeavour that would pit any involved against the unrelenting might of the eldritch arts. So naturally, every Knight Thestor and Correntis insisted on going.

It was a difficult decision to make. The Under was a place believed to be connected to Hell, the domain of ogres and vahlnid. All followers of the Church were urged to avoid setting foot in there, meaning that none of the Churchsworn had any experience in navigating it. The druids, however, frequently visited the Under. It was a sacred place for them. Such backward beliefs aside, Alric was not blinded by his zelatory. He knew that the druids must take the lead this time.

He had decided on a contingent of twenty men, inclduing Lorenz, Matvey, and Petar, to accompany him. All of the others were incredibly disappointed, especially Baldwyn, who stomped away, kicking the dirt at his feet. The duty of being in command of Beggar’s Rock gave him motivation enough to cease his bawling.

As Alric's boots pounded against the mud to carry him forward, he saw that the entrance to the mines was crowded over by twenty two druids. Two of them were Carthei and Vontross, while the rest were Vaykorr and his Grue Ko'an. Their eyes lanced up at Alric and the six knights behind him.

"Shall we?” he asked them.

Carthei nodded and barked some words in her native language. The Grue Ko’an turned on their heels and filtered single file into the tunnel. The Thestors and Correnti soon followed, whispering amongst themselves about their unlikely allies. Before Alric joined them, he took a deep breath and peered over his shoulder. The keep of Beggar’s Rock, an imposing rectangular stronghold, stared back at him. There upon its face was the blackened corpse of the vampire, hanging by a noose. Both of his legs were blown off, his right arm severed, his left one violently mangled, and his jaw ripped from his face. Alric would never forget the sounds of his pathetic screams as the sun ravaged his naked body. He had one person to thank for those pleasant memories.

Alric turned back to the tunnel entrance and was startled to see Carthei still standing there. The Mnem’non was wearing Grue Ko’an shell armour, namely a piece that covered her breast. It was mostly covered by her heavy cloak. She cocked her head, prompting Alric for a reason for his procrastination.

He wanted to just ignore her and brush by…but there was a twitching within him that simply could not. He did not want to spend another second thinking of what had happened last night…but it kept returning to him. Despite her nature, her being a renouncer of God, Carthei had saved his life several times before the coming of the vampire. She easily could have killed him to defend the secret of the arcane, but she did not. “I…I shall forever cherish the sight of that abomination dying a slow and painful death.”

When he heard the words aloud, he couldn’t help but sigh in frustration. It didn’t quite sound the way he intended it to.

Carthei huffed in agreement. The bloodstained bandages that hugged her face the night before had been replaced with fresh ones. She had also lathered what little of her face that was visible with face paint, the same earthy brown pigment that she wore when Alric first met her.

“You’re welcome,” she said.

With that, the duo entered the caves. After following the tunnel, it opened up into a wider space. Barrels, pickaxes, wheelbarrows, and empty burlap sacks were scattered about. A single oil lantern kept the darkness at bay. Just before Alric was about to ask where all the other lanterns were, the druids all reached into pouches on their belts. They each retrieved a small cylindrical object.

He watched Vaykorr as he applied pressure onto a specific spot on the device. Alric and his Churchsworn all jolted backward in fright. “B-By the grace of God!” Lorenz hissed.

The tiny object emitted a brilliant light, many times brighter than any lamp or torch. It projected a circle of white on the stone walls. In the following seconds, twenty other spots of light snapped into existence. Each of the manhunters snapped the light emitters onto the lengths of their staves. It was rather ingenious. Wherever they pointed their weapons, the light would illuminate it.

The band descended into the mines, their way painted by the unyielding light of sorcery. Alric could sense the unease permeating the souls of his Churchsworn brothers. He could hear Petar hastily reciting prayers under his breath. Matvey held an effigy of the Pillar in his left hand, massaging it in order to quell his uncertainty. Lorenz constantly flexed his fingers, filling the tunnel with the sound of stressing leather. Each of them had their visors raised in order to see.

The smell was also not pleasant. Each warrior’s armour had been coated with unzym, a foul paste that Carthei insisted would help defend against arcane energy. The once chrome surface of the knights’ armour had been rendered a sickly yellow by the oily substance. It reeked of ash, burnt meat, and molten animal fat. Alric stared at Lorenz’s back as he crept forward. He looks as if he had gone swimming in a sea of butter.

Also quite strange was the fact that each knight also brandished a kite shield. Matvey, as a Knight Correntis, would be used to using a shield since he did not wear full plate. The Thestors on the other hand were not. Full plate made shields mostly redundant in conventional battles for the most part. If your armour gave you sufficient protection, you would be better off devoting both hands to a larger more powerful weapon, especially if your enemy was also clad in similar armour. On this occasion though, the shields had been painted with unzym as well, giving the knights another layer of defence against magic. Alric found it awkward to hold a shield while fully armed; he constantly whacked it against the walls of the tunnel. He had modified his shield by cutting a notch in its side; room enough for him to fit the shaft of his staff to be able to fire without exposing himself. He also cut a narrow slot in the top of it so he could see from behind it.

After what felt to be an eternity of wandering an endless tunnel, murmurs crept back from the front of the line. Alric tried to look over the heads of those in front of him to see what all the fuss was about, but he saw nothing. He would not have to wait long. Surely enough, another cavernous space welcomed him.

The druids’ lights painted the pockmarked stone walls as they swept their staves about. Alric’s eyes followed them, marvelling at the sheer size of the space. However, something in the far end of the cavern made him stop dead in his tracks. A circular plate on the wall stood a storey high, looming over the group. There was a single deep line in the panel that cut diagonally through it…almost as if it was a massive door of some kind. Alric’s brow tensed and his mouth opened slightly. It was made of metal, that much was clear. It was laden with familiar letters and characters…but what they meant was another thing entirely. Some of the phrases were written with massive, bold letters while others were tiny, almost illegible.

He read the words:

‘TERESHKOVA LAUNCH CENTRE- SERVICE AIRLOCK EAST’

‘CAUTION- CHAMBER MAY BE PRESSURISED- DO NOT BREACH’

‘NO STEP’

‘WARNING- BULKHEAD OPERATED BY HEAVY MACHINERY. KEEP CLEAR WHEN CYCLE IN PROGRESS’

‘MOVING PARTS- DO NOT TOUCH’

“What in the name of…” Alric whispered. It was all meaningless gibberish.

The Grue Ko’an were clustering by the door, readying a kerst. Alric watched as Carthei and Vontross hurried over to them, the former snapping angrily in the druid tongue. After a heated conversation with Vaykorr, he waved off his men and they stepped aside. Carthei approached the door and inspected it.

“What exactly are we gazing upon?” Lorenz muttered.

Petar drew the Sign of the Pillar. “I know not, brother…but perhaps the Pillar was not the only thing God left behind. Perhaps we stand at the gate of another heavenly remnant.”

Alric turned to his brothers and held up his hands. “My brothers, restrain thyselves. For all we know, this could be a door to Hell. Let not thy passions mislead thee. The Devil preys upon those who are eager.”

As his brothers trembled in the presence of the monolith, Alric hesitantly approached Carthei and Vontross who were at the very foot of the object. Carthei was hunched over at the corner of the thing, fiddling with something on its surface. Vontross stared at Alric as he came closer. The Thestor asked, “What is she doing?”

“Trying to open it. In your language, I suppose it would be called something like ‘great gate’,” Vontross muttered. He jerked his head toward the Grue Ko’an and continued, “Those barbarians have no foresight. If they tore it open, anyone could simply wander down here and pilfer the relics. We must open the vorthel carefully so we can shut it once we are done.”

Alric tilted his head straight up. He felt like an insect before the great gate. Now that I am beneath its majesty…I cannot help but feel that it is divine. Only the Pillar hast instilled within me such a feeling of insignificance.

He brought his gaze back down and walked over to Carthei accompanied by Vontross. Gazing over her shoulder, Alric could see her tapping against a flat surface on the gate. It was completely smooth but glowed with blue letters and symbols. The glyphs did not float in the air like the ones commanded by the Tethspeakers, they were instead trapped on the tablet like letters on a page.

“Give the vorthel a moment to exhale,” Carthei said, backing away from the glyph tablet.

Alric cocked his head as he watched the panel. There was a number upon it, but it changed every second. It was counting down from twenty.

A high-pitched hiss almost made Alric trip over himself and tumble onto his back. Fortunately, he managed to catch himself. Four jets of white steam poured from the corners of the great gate like geysers. Alric, with his face warped in confusion, turned to Carthei and Vontross. They had their eyes closed and a hand pressed against their foreheads as they chanted something together.

The Grue Ko’an did not appear to be engaging in the same ritual; they casually stood about, appearing as if they were aching to find something to attack with their magic. The hissing faded, plunging the cave into another deep silence. A pair of orange lights suddenly flashed on, accompanied by an incessant trill. Alric was glad that his helmet was on, otherwise he would’ve had to cover his ears.

The great gate split from its diagonal seam and slowly parted. Tremorous rumblings pulsed through the ground.

Carthei and Vontross opened their eyes and bowed. Beyond the opening gate was a hallway lit by dull red lights. Dirt, wagon tracks, and footprints littered the otherwise pristine interior. Led by Carthei, the Grue Ko’an eagerly marched inside, followed by the very hesitant Thestors and Correnti.

The hallway itself was not very large; it was cramped when all forty something warriors stood inside it. Alric leaned to his right to get a view of Carthei at the very end of the chamber. She was seeing to another of those glowing tablets upon the wall. “The vorthel will now shut with us inside. After it inhales for a moment, we will be allowed to pass.”

She spoke of it as if it were alive. Well…Alric thought about his thrysteen. It required a heart in order to operate, much like any living thing. Was it possible that this great gate had a heart of its own? These magical artefacts threatened to change the way he saw the world…and it frightened him.

A bone-shaking ‘thud’ indicated the door of the great gate shutting behind them. Alric swallowed, trying to distract himself by staring at the druids’ dancing white spots of light plastered on the ceiling by their staves.

All too quickly, the other side of the great gate gave way. Lines were drawn on the surface of the floor by the light that seeped in. The group continued ahead, making the dull red melt into cool white. Alric squinted as he tried to make sense of what he saw.

He felt foolish for being impressed by the previous cavern. This was the largest space Alric had ever seen; it likely stretched for many leagues in every direction. Its ceiling was entirely smooth, spherical in shape. It made him inclined to think that it was no natural formation. That it was built. His attention dripped downward and fell upon a mystifying sight. A tower stood in the centre of this vast room, illuminated by lights shining upon it from below. Columns of purest white stretched up toward the false sky. The thick foundation of the structure tapered to a blunt point at its height.

Vaykorr spoke; Alric could only assume that he was issuing orders to his men by how he was pointing ahead. Curiously, Alric spotted a tiny red dot on his chest. It jittered about as it trailed upward towards his neck. The Thestor squinted and leaned closer. It was then that he saw Carthei inhale sharply to shout, but the sound never came.

The leader of the manhunters was thrown off his feet by the unseen attacker, spurring the remaining warriors into motion. They bounded for the closest piece of cover they could find; for Alric, he dove behind a strange metal wagon. When he tried to get to his feet, his boots slipped against the smooth surface of the ground and he stumbled for a moment.

Alric looked back at Vaykorr. His body was enshrouded by smoke…but he moved. Groggily, he sat up. It was a miracle. However, it was then that Alric saw that Vaykorr’s armour was covered in ash. The unzym did what it was intended to do; soften the damage dealt by the arcane missile. But, in doing so, it had boiled away.

Another volley came, one that was not obstructed by unzym. The first blows that struck his vormata sizzled and melted their once smooth surfaces. The ones that followed punched directly through them, setting fire to his blood and incinerating his insides. The Grue Ko’an chieftain exploded, showering the pristine floors with blood and insides.

Alric took a deep breath, lowering his visor and unslinging his thrysteen. Holding it in his right hand and his shield in his left, he shimmied to the edge of the metal wagon. He held the kite shield up in front of him, locked his staff into the notch in its side, and peered through its vision slot as he inched himself out from behind cover.

Friendly thrysteen and rython shots lanced over his head and into what appeared to be a glowing blue bubble of light. The attacks washed over it harmlessly as it did nothing but flicker. When the onslaught abated, a Clthic Nun emerged from the bubble and unleashed a handful of bolts. One of them struck Alric’s cover, punching straight through it and searing the ground behind him. The knight gritted his teeth and rapidly squeezed the handle of his thrysteen.

Of the five shots he let off, two of them were on target. However, the Nun simply pulled backwards into the protective bubble and the thrysteen bolts were reduced to trails of smoke. There was no use. Unless the party came up with something, their inferior cover meant that they would all be struck eventually.

Alric stared at the bubble as rython shots, speeding as fast as rain, slammed into them without effect…but the barrel of the Nun’s thrysteen periodically passed through without any effort at all. Is it perhaps…

Alric retreated behind cover and glanced around. To his left he saw Lorenz and fifteen knights gathered behind the melted corner of a blocky building across the way. On his right, Petar, Matvey and another dozen knights braced themselves behind an overturned metal wagon. “Brothers!” shouted Alric.

The knights all peered at him, helplessness welling in their eyes. Their reluctant leader cried, “Art thou servants of the Lord, eager to lay down thy lives to fulfil His will!? If the answer is yes, heed my words, for I am in need of thee!”

Each man stood straighter. “Allow us to unleash a volley onto the enemy while thou storm their position! They will not escape the wrath of God, not this day, nor any day to come! Lend me thy strength, O pious brothers!”

Lorenz growled and slammed shut his visor. “For the grace of the Father!”

He leapt from safety and barrelled forward like a bull, flanked by the other brave Thestors and Correnti. Petar and Matvey’s crowd followed suit. Alric popped out, his shield raised, firing his thrysteen as fast as his finger could allow. The druids heeded his example, causing clusters of light to converge on the bubble like a forest of needles.

When the knights, shields and weapons in-hand, reached the barrier, the arcane bombardment stopped. Alric’s heart froze as he watched his brothers sprint headlong into the ball of light. The knight at the head of the formation disappeared. Then the next, then the next. They all piled inside.

The Grue Ko’an roared as they mantled their cover and charged ahead. Alric joined them, ejecting his spent heart and sliding another one into place. After what happened the previous night with the vampire, he would never forget to replenish it ever again.

The bubble shuddered and failed, revealing what was transpiring within. The dozens of knights hacked away at the handful of Clthic Nuns. They fired back with their thrysteens. Shields were set alight and discarded, successfully saving the lives of their wielders by way of their unzym coatings. Several knights were knocked to the ground, their armour smouldering, but they promptly emerged unhurt for the most part. After a matter of seconds, it was over. The brutalised corpses of the Nuns spilled their guts across the ground.

Carthei caught up with Alric and gave him a respectful nod. “That was a sight to behold. The Pale Spire awaits us,” she said, pointing to the tower in the centre of the sprawling cavern.

Alric walked into the midst of his brothers. “Let us toss the rest of them into the pits of Hell, brothers. We shall leave none standing.”

An enormous chorus of bloodthirsty cries filled the cave. The Clthics would now know that their end was swiftly approaching.