⟬ Present time. ⟭
The Tactician appeared where everyone else had.
It was good to see him safe.
It was just a shame that he arrived to a battle, long after its conclusion.
He glanced over the fallen with eyes that glowed a peculiar gold.
There were no lanterns, nor did any light-enchanted equipment remain... but it seemed his eyes cut through the darkness, all the same.
Dozens of fleshy and skeletal undead bodies lay still, their weapons scattered upon the ground... More numerous were the splashes of ghostly essence, marking where the ghostly spirits, ally and enemy, had fallen.
The Tactician's gaze hovered over the single fallen Tyrion Legionnaire.
That person lied face-down, unmoving.
He didn't move to inspect it.
There were more enemies, elsewhere in the Halls. He didn't have the time to stay... nor was there anything he could do for that person.
The Tactician traveled through the empty catacombs, quickly but warily, to where he knew the underground river would be. When he shared the news of an exit, he had given the Brazen Guard hope. He had not proven their faith unfounded.
He encountered no more resistance... The dead in the catacombs remained dead.
The fight was over. Everything had been decided in that abandoned battlefield.
There was a hole in the floor, as if the stones had... dissipated, revealing the water rapids rushing below. It looked... odd... and there was an unusually high level of mana in the atmosphere.
Volatile, untamed magic.
Dangerous, but effective.
The Tactician checked his body, patting down his gear to ensure they were all in their correct places. He flicked his wrist and a package appeared in his hand, which he laid down in a conspicuous place.
They looked like some of his rations.
An offering of some sort? Maybe some of the beef jerky he was well known for?
He took a deep breath... and he plunged into the cool depths. Wherever the underground river would take him, it would be far away from these cursed halls.
He hoped the Tactician would arrive safely.
Karodin hoped... that everyone would arrive safely.
"Is that alright, lad?" The old dwarf asked.
Karodin noticed that his companion's form was far more transparent than it was when they'd first met.
The dwarf would pass on soon.
Karodin somehow knew that... his ghostly body would fade away, just the same.
"It's fine, Sir... I did my duty. They'll understand."
pαпdα-ňᴏνê|·сóМ ...
⟬ Suns later... ⟭
The Brazen Guard held a mass funeral for the fallen.
Felinus had been killed. Karodin had not returned. Some did not survive the water rapids.
Countless others would live on only in memory.
Though Guild Letalis had been instrumental in the Brazen Guard's escape from the Halls of the Dead Serpent... Tycon doubted that they would be invited to the Collective's next outing.
...or if the Kasydonian guild would survive as an adventuring company.
Tycon found some grim amusement in the fact that he'd seen the fall of not just one, but two Gold-Rank Tyrion guilds.
He had more important things to worry about. He and his guild needed to return with haste to the city of Silva.
When they made their way back, the camp was still set up... with those there none-the-wiser to the Stormbrands' betrayal. Tancred and his lackeys likely had access to magical stealth or speed... or the Bronze-Ranks standing guard were all effectively deaf and blind.
Recovering their horses, carriages, and supply cart, Guild Letalis set off almost immediately.
Their guild suffered a single fatality, a young man under Sergeant Cecil Salt's command. On the subsequent evening, Centurion Zenon spoke some kind words about the fellow.
He died in combat. It was an unfortunate casualty.
Tycon had nothing to add.
While traveling, footman Tanamar expressed his urge for speed... but the horses could not be hurried more than they had been.
They, too, knew what was at stake. They pushed themselves to their limits... Tycon had to ask them all to slow down, to reduce their risk of injury.
Otherwise, the trip back was taken in silence... idle conversation kept to a minimum.
The militaristic Zenon, Salt, and Raphael were exhausted-- mentally and emotionally drained, more than they were physically.
Even the normally chatty Athena had become listless. Tycon ensured Tanamar kept her company throughout the trip back. Though her own guild had suffered minimal casualties, the psychological burden on the young lady would not be small.
She was no stranger to seeing men and women fall in battle... but many recent deaths were people she had known well.
She would grow stronger from this.
...
When they reached the Silva, there was a thin plume of smoke billowing from somewhere within it.
Tycon already knew from where.
He told Athena to stay in the carriage.
The willful Frostblade refused.
He strongly insisted... and Tanamar urged her to heed his counsel.
Still, Athena refused.
Because of that stubbornness, she came across the sight of her dead parents. They were stripped naked, bloodied and crucified in front of the remains of her smoldering estate.
Her cries of anguish at that moment would live on in the nightmares of both herself and Tanamar for moons and epochs to come.
Those same, shattered-heart screams already haunted Tycon's nightmares... their origins lost to memory.
Tycon ordered Tanamar to carry Athena away-- to find an inn for them to retire to.
Athena wanted to take down the bodies herself.
Tycon refused.
She may have been the official leader of Guild Letalis, but considering the circumstances, he remained their acting Commander. With the threat of martial punishment, he would not have his direct orders questioned again.
A magical trap was set on the bodies.
Tycon had his men take cover as he shot Greer's bloated belly with his crossbow. The corpse burst like a boil, showering the ground with blood and rotten meat, simultaneously releasing a noxious green gas.
Zenon's wind magic kept them safe... and Tycon reloaded his crossbow and did the same to Lady whatever-her-name was.
Athena only needed to know that they were dead... and that they would be avenged. She did not need to see what their corpses had become.
Tycon, Lone, Raphael, and Zenon... Salt and his gunners... they would shoulder that burden.
Everything that hadn't been looted in the estate had been burnt.
The underground passageway had been revealed.
The Frost Stone was missing, the ice that surrounded it, forcibly broken open.
Tycon had thought it impossible to do, so easily. It was an unfortunate oversight.
He had not planned for his enemies to wield an unholy artifact weapon.
Filled with an annoyingly deep sense of regret, he called for Guild Letalis to withdraw.
There was nothing left of value in the Vanzano estate.
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