“One lives in the hope of becoming a memory.”

― Antonio Porchia

Twisting in the air like a marionette on a single string the corpse hovered over the deck. Abruptly the head tilted to the side an arm jerked up and a lance of dark flame shot forth- missing a banking griffin knight by a hairsbreadth some feathers withered at the tips.

“Fantastic, now we have dancing undead maidens. For fucks sake why am I not drunk!” The captain threw a loop of rope over the grip of the wheel and tightened the knot. Pushing levers and smashing a small crystal tablet the sound of the rotors rose to a pitched screech. “Damn piece of junk. If they had not impounded my Betsy!” He kicked a metal box several times until a rattling sound seemed to satisfy him. A fleshfiend with dried-out skin, staring white eyes, and rotting sinew visible through gaping holes stumbled from the darkened cabin behind him.

“AAAAAAH!” He grabbed a wand from his belt before he saw that the undead had no interest in him.

“Why!” The scream echoed from the cockpit.

Alyssa was conflicted. She was not completely sure that her void magic would not harm innocent bystanders. So she simply readied a firebolt as a familiar feeling washed through her body with refreshing coolness. Startled she realized that the mana in the surrounding area was contaminated by void energies- which did not bother her at all.

She hesitated again as she saw a group of armed soldiers attack a knight patrol but as one of the royal guards stumbled back with a bleeding cut on his throat she no longer worried about hurting people and loosed a streak of fire that burnt the face of the assailant some dozens of meters away. Screaming while trying to put out his burning hair the Nordmark fighter stumbled back his sword falling to the ground.

The seats became splattered with blood as Kettra joined the fray swinging her flamberge with abandon. A hit on her plate mail showed the reason for her lack of care as the blade simply bounced off with a ringing sound.

The fighting intensified as the civilians were evacuated toward the rear and the royal forces could make their strength felt.

An archer took aim and loosed his arrow at Alyssa. By luck or chance, the missile was deflected by the sword of another combatant and only grazed her cheek. Blood dripped from the thankfully superficial cut. Mireille looked furious and turned before summoning a bolt of lightning simply obliterating the soldier. The flash illuminated the area in sharp detail. A cold wind whipped between the columns and over the terraced stone seating which made fighting here treacherous. Mireille winced and shook her tingling hand. No time for regret, the next arrow could have hit.

No longer holding back Alyssa began the incantation for the third seal. Her face prickled where the light from Alea’s magic fell on her skin.

Darkness and light rose beside each other and on the edge of the line stood Mireille looking about vigilantly for any threat coming closer.

Two soldiers approached from the back Cyrus raised his long neck slit green-yellow eyes fixated on his prey as he jumped up and glided toward them. A cut was fended off with a swipe from his left wing, caught on the claws that sprouted from the first joint. Quick as a viper, his tail shot forward and punctured his foe's abdomen pumping poison into the wound. Twitching while frothing with black blood the man fell heavily and his companion retreated cautiously.

Iseret had drawn two long dirks and was guarding the three girls against anyone that came too near.

The elven corpse floated above the gondola sometimes there was a flash and dark lightning burst from her raised hand, the movements were jerky and stiff and she seldom hit, but what was touched by the energies of the void withered and died. A majestic griffin tumbled from the sky its chest bearing a deep wound as the rider screamed with fury and great translucent wings unfolded from a complicated magic circle on his backplate letting him drift after his falling mount.

Magister Illimen concentrated and opened his gate, flames billowed from his eyes and mouth, his hair turned red and smoke rose from his body. Making a throwing motion a mass of twisting flames shot forth and burst over the deck, sailors and undead burned like torches, tumbling about, some falling over the railing.

A flicker warned him before the lance of void energies shot in his direction. With his left hand he diverted the roiling darkness into the sky before returning the favor with several meteor-like balls of flame that ripped into the deck and the floating figure. Where he had parried flesh withered and blood dripped from his palm. With a dull roar, the flames ripped into dead flesh and a leg tumbled from the expanding ball of fire. But despite a missing leg and burning all over the undead puppet still fought.

Somewhere far to the west

A voice drowned the world in sound. “YOU VIOLATE THE DECREE OF THE FALLEN SON.”

The Heartstealer turned and her hands that gripped a simulacrum of shadow showing a twisting corpse missing a leg tightened unconsciously. “I have not left the city. You don’t have the right to chastise me!” Her voice was like the crackling of ice breaking, hurtful and cold.

For a moment there was silence. The presence pondered.

“DON’T LIE.” Malice seemed to infuse the words, “BUT THE PUNISHMENT SHOULD FIT THE DEED.”

She felt a deep abiding pain as her conduit was shut and the piece of her soul that let her reach across near a thousand miles was lost.

Her scream of pain shattered the eardrums of the few living beings that called the city of broken ivory their temporary home. Ice sleeted from a broken sky. Winds tore into the scraggly vegetation and leveled trees to the ground. Full of agony that transcended the mere physical the lich screamed her pain and hate at the uncaring lesser god.

“JUSTICE HAS BEEN DONE. REMEMBER AND REPENT.” The presence faded.

The corpse suddenly lost its tension and simply fell to the burning deck bouncing a few times before coming to rest against the side of the cockpit. With a flash, the flames devoured the dead flesh- unnaturally fast- and a specter made of darkness and flames rose from the wreckage. Cackling madly it dove over the side for the crowds of people fleeing towards the city.

The magister frowned torn between attacking the airship swiftly nearing the ground or following the specter. He cursed and followed the specter.

The vampire reveled in the carnage as he ripped the head of his bloody axe from the cooling corpse of the stone-branded he had been fighting. All around him the blood and bone creatures ravaged the fallen. He was well aware of his role as a terror weapon in this conflict and content to play his part. A thing made of dozens of gaping mouths in a barrel-shaped torso lifted from the ground by six legs tore into something behind a turned-over cart.

The greasy merchant hastened behind the soldiers guarding the noble’s seating wringing his hands in a display of abject gratitude the young guardsman impatiently pushed him further along not noticing the dark glint in the heavyset man’s eyes.

A wrapped package hung from his belt unnoticed in the commotion.

Carl looked at his father and said calmly, “We should put our grievances aside for the moment. We need to stand united against the foes of humanity.”

Vilander looked at his sincere eyes and wavered for a moment. “Prove yourself and we will see.” Unconsciously he relaxed his vigilance a bit and gestured to the knight at his side to go help with the fighting. Mostly there were scattered undead, some spirits, a group of unholy monsters, and the Nordmark veterans. He rubbed his brow to alleviate his mounting headache.

Carl still looked as if he wanted to say something so he asked him harshly, “What do you want? Was there anything unclear? Go and fight or don’t but you should know what is the right thing to do.”

There was a whining sound and suddenly a storm of glasslike shards erupted behind him, several rings and jewels on his person activated and energies discharged harmlessly into the ground. A heavy force smashed into him and he nearly fell holding himself upright by grasping the seat beside him. A nondescript man in merchant's clothing stood some way down the hill holding a crystal and metal apparatus that was partially melted and still smoking. Several guardsmen aimed for the assassin as he felt a biting cold on his back, turning around he saw his son looking at him with an indifferent expression. There was a bit of blood on his fingers and there was screaming but why was it so far away?

Vilander Andrealphus Constantin von Margrinar protector of humanity, successor of fallen Allisair, holder of the one blade tried to grasp whatever pained him but could not reach, and then he lost the strength in his limbs and the ground suddenly rushed up to meet him and the cold and weakness were all-encompassing as he fell into darkness.

The airship chose this moment to crash into the ground plowing a deep furrow into the earth as clods of grass and twigs flew everywhere. The sound was deafening and the balloon was ripped free at last to sail into the heavens while two of the rotors spat meter-long sparks of lightning before beginning to burn. The madly laughing captain jumped from the ship and tried to flee.

The sides of the gondola, already damaged spat out scores of undead warriors as well as several frost elf mages that supported them.

From the city came reinforcements in the way of cavalry followed by several wagons drawn by automatons.

Alyssa finished the incantation and a lightless oval rose before her. With another spell she slowly inserted her left hand and like the petals of a horrible flower unfolding tentacles of void-matter shot forth and entangled the enemy soldiers. Alea directed the eye of Arun and flashes of short-lived intense radiance lanced into the bodies of the undead, leaving smoking craters behind.

Lieseleta screamed as she saw her father fall. There was a shortsword sticking from his back piercing his heart from behind. Carl turned and gazed at her and for a moment he looked as he had when she was still a child running to hide in the library to escape the etiquette lessons.

Then the moment was gone and Jera pulled her back as several knights protectively flanked the prince who called, “The king has been wounded. Repel the attackers!”

“No!” Lieseleta tried to run forward but was gripped tightly and could not tear loose.

Jera hissed, “We have to get to safety first- if you run over you will be killed!”

“Father!” Her sight blurred and with some surprise, she found that she was weeping. She had never thought much about death, her own or her families until the assassination attempts and the death of her brother. But even then her father had always been immortal in her mind. Perhaps it was the distance he had between himself and his children, perhaps it was the resolute overbearing demeanor he sometimes had but she could not believe that he would be gone. Perhaps he could still be saved?

Dragging the princess Jera directed the other members of her small squad to cover her.

Snowflakes fell silently into the blood spreading beneath the king dissolving without a trace.