[dplax]

Andrion Wilgor

The outer walls are nothing more than rubble, torn apart by strong hands as if but cardboard. Those unfortunate few who had been between the inner walls of the temple fortress and the outer walls, left outside of the sealed gates, had been unable to provide even token resistance.

Powerful blows ring against the iron-shod wooden gates. No barricade on the other side, not even greatly reinforced could stand the onslaught for long. The ring of the blows against the wood is the only sound, blanking out even the frantic preparations of the defenders on the inside.

No alarm call is needed. The tearing of stone provides warning enough to those few dozen defenders the Order of the Holy Flame still boasts. Locked inside their temple they await the coming of whatever hammers at their gates. Paladins, clerics and even some rangers. Fear grips at the hearts of even the strongest, for never had such a foe reached these gates. Yet all are willing to die to protect the Holy Flame, buried deep beneath their temple. And they know with an inevitable certainty, their pulse beating with the rhythm of the rapid blows raining down on the gates that they will die.

Suddenly, with a prolonged creak and then the sound of steel torn from its casings in stone, the hinges of the giant gates bend and snap, one half of the wooden entrance crashing inward, wood splintering and breaking. The de-facto leader of the giants, first among equals since the demise of Terrakis, grabs hold of the other half of the gate with one hand and wrenches it out of its socket, providing passage for his companions, half a dozen of whom are already inside of the temple area before the defenders manage to fire off a shot, tearing through the meagre planks and tables that had been piled in front of the door.

Wards and protective spells are triggered, exploding, arcing towards the intruders but the giants merely shrug them off. Swords, hammers, axes and arrows land blows against them, but rarely does a hand manage to strike more than one blow. Rarely does a bow manage to fire more than half a dozen arrows. The shadow giants complete their task with a ruthless efficiency. They strike down the defenders one by one, not bothering at finishing off the wounded, for they do not pose a threat any more.

Compared to the giants the figure of the mage who enters the temple behind them is but small, barely a child in giant-terms. But the sight of a human being, who willingly accepted the creature he had become, and the realization of what he is and who he represents is more than enough to strike an even greater terror into the hearts of these last-ditch defenders.

Two dozen of them move to retreat into the inner sanctuary, the guarding place of the Holy Flame, to make their last stand there. Half a dozen make it, the others felled either by mighty blows from the mighty giants or, those unfortunate few who turned against the mage upon his entry, taken down by sparingly fired spells.

As the last of the defenders falls, his cries of pain finally silenced by a shattering blow to his head the giants turn to the small passageway the last protectors had rushed to. Fists and raised and blows start to rain on the rock surrounding the passageway itself. Not being able to fit into the narrow passage the giants seemed to be prepared to widen it sufficiently for them to get through. It could take days though.

Among the fallen, a younger paladin lets out a moan of pain. One of the giants, most wounded by the battle and not taking part in enlarging the passageway lazily lifts his fist, preparing to crush the unfortunate survivor.

"Wait!" the voice of the mage calls from not far away, "He might still be useful. His knowledge about what lies down that passageway," he says pointing towards the hammering and tearing giants, "might prove quite useful." The fist pauses in mid-air.

He is first among equals and he had been the first in combat taking the greatest damage from the pitiful defenders. His gaze switches from the young paladin, lying wounded in a pool of his own blood, to the magician standing two dozen feet away.

"We can get to the Holy Flame by ourselves," the giant says, pride in his voice.

"I do not doubt that. Doubting your powers would be an affront to the memory of Terrakis." He sees an approving glance in the eye of the giant at the mention of Terrakis and continues. "You'll take a long time to tear through all that stone and undoubtedly there are also traps, both magical and not down that passage. Not to mention the fact that I'm pretty sure that the Order of the Holy Flame were proficient enough to probably even have some guardian guarding the Flame."

From the wide eyes and the look in those eyes that the young paladin shoots in Andrion's direction the chosen of shadow has confirmation enough. "He can tell us about these defenses and I can get past them faster than you can tear stone. In this particular case being smaller is an advantage. Besides, if I fail, you can always get the flame by yourselves."

The giant looks at the mage for the first time as though he were more than just baggage tagging along on this venture at the request of the Shadow Mage. The paladin is roughly picked up and hauled from the pile of bodies he was lying in and thrown to the ground. Ignoring the grunts and shrieks of pain the giant places a knee on the chest of the paladin. Enough pressure to make it hard to breathe and cause great pain, but not enough to break the ribs and crush him.

Sensing his cue, the mage steps forward. "I'm not going to lie to you," he addresses the paladin. "You're not going to survive. You might even be willing to give your life for the god you believe in. Or you might be willing to give your life to protect the secrets of your order. It doesn't matter to me. The only action you can take before dying is to ease your own suffering. The flame shall fall anyway be it now, or whenever the giants reach your inner sanctuary. So why suffer needlessly?"

A distant gaze clouds the paladin's eyes. Without a doubt, preparation for what he was going to face. Andrion did not enjoy the shrieks of pain and inflicting the wounds he inflicted. He did not recoil in horror from torturing the man either. This wasn't pleasure, it was business. As an almost forgotten friend by the name of Tunninni (OOC: for more info on him) had once told Andrion, everyone had a certain threshold after which they broke. Everyone. For this young paladin, the name of whom Andrion does not even care about, that threshold is reached after just an hour and slowly sobbing, he blurts out all that he knew among cries for forgiveness from his god.

Finally the flow of information stops. Much was said and much possibly distorted, but the outline of the defenses was given. The mage wipes his bloody dagger on the torn sleeve of the paladin's shirt before resheathing it. Such a crude tool, but vastly effective for this type of work. Especially since his magical energy needs to be conserved for the trials ahead.

"Keep him alive," he says to the giant. "He'll get rid of a few of the traps for us." Once armed the traps could apparently only be disarmed from the other side. Triggering them with unfortunate victims was still a viable option though. While Andrion prepares defensive spells and summons skeletal helpers to trigger the traps the giants thrust the weak paladin into the passageway.

From the shriek that came barely a minute later he has finally been allowed to join his god.

The mage takes a moment to survey the temple area before stepping into the passageway. Apart from the shattered doorway with a lot of debris scattered around it, the vicinity of the passageway, where the giants still toiled and the area close to the altar where most of the fighting had taken place, the damage is minimal to the temple itself. Equipment and debris is scattered over the ground in a chaos, but it does nothing to tarnish the simple beauty that the place had once held. Flame motifs decorate the cracked altar and in those few torches surrounding it that have not been toppled over or broken, an exotic essence still burns, filling the air with a sweet smell.

He snaps out of his reverie. He is not here to enjoy the looks or smells of this place. He is not here for his own enjoyment. He is here to serve the one, who gifted him with his powers and who brought him back from the dead. Determination in his face and only a small bit of fear clutching at what is his heart inside of this body of shadow, he steps forward. The giants pause in their toil for mere seconds, allowing him and his skeletal helpers to pass through. Their steady fistblows providing a rhythm the once human mage follows with his footsteps he advances, always sending two of the skeletons in front of him.