Continuously striking at the fiend that appeared to be the last thing to stand between them and total victory, the thing did not speak out as Griswold had given it an answer. Finding it to be somewhat rude since it was the creature itself that had inquired in the first place, it just added to the list of reasons why he was going to keep battering the thing until there was nothing left of it. As his allies’ constructs were being destroyed around him, he barely even felt it when Aamon and Ardere appeared near them, and a burst of energy pushed him back. Pissed off over the fact that he had not managed to bust through the shield and destroy the shade with his own hands, Aamon stepped out in front of all of them, instructing them to stay behind him as he went in to seemingly put an end to everything.

Speaking in a language he knew in part as it was one of the various languages that had been used within the haven he had grown up in as a child, he could make out that it was him cursing the shade of the devil, but not much else beyond that point. Clearly being a far older version of the language he had grown to know, it went to show just how far the elven race had deteriorated over the past few hundred years, and that much of it had likely started with people such as Aamon, Ashford and Varisse’s defeat at the hands of the demons. While he still possessed his strength, which was likely going to deteriorate over time if he stopped using it, Griswold fully intended to lay further hate upon this “Hammel”, though the release of energy from the entire arena that surrounded them made it virtually impossible for him to move towards his enemy, as well as the enemy turned ally standing next to it.

As the shade of Hammel began to fade away and their surroundings collapsed, the half-elf did not fully grasp what had happened with Ardere and Aamon that had turned the defeated archdemon back into an elf, though one thing was quite clear. Whatever was holding the lot of them here was coming undone as all of the elven spectators seemed to have been lending a hand to Aamon as he landed the final blow. As his strength was slowly coming undone, part of him wanted to try and keep the former archdemon from being crushed under the rubble that was coming down all around them as he still had a great deal of questions with regards to everything that had happened hundreds of years ago. He wanted to know whether or not his own line was linked to that of the fallen elven kingdom, or if the blood of elves had been watered down so much that it was virtually impossible to figure out whether or not this was the case.

Not able to make it there in time as the rubble came down and something snatched him away, a bright light and the sound of a choir washed away his sense of sight and hearing, only for it all to return a moment later.

As his senses returned to him, the first and foremost thing he noticed was that they were no longer in the arena, and wondered if they were still even in the tower at all. More than that, as he looked around him, seeing various weapons, suits of armor, ancient scrolls and a bunch of trinkets, baubles and other treasures of old, he saw Ardere and Cyrus, as well as a returned Varisse. But not Charles or his spirit. Uncertain as to why he had not been taken to this place along with the rest of them, or why Varisse had come back from the dead, Griswold took a bunch of steps forward before sitting down in a pile of gold coins, rubies and other gemstones. While there had been more comfortable seats on his life, he did not even feel it as he thought about Charles being gone, as well as the things he had heard before everything had faded away. And of all of the things he heard, the devil threatening the souls of all of his people was somewhat unsettling.

It made him wonder if maybe that meant that it was going to come for the souls of all elves, as well as those that were mostly human but had some elven blood running through their veins. As someone who had both elven and dwarven blood in his veins, that meant Griswold himself would become a target as well at some point, which meant that he was going to have to do a lot of training. For if he had learned something here in the tower, it was how amazingly little his own strength meant in the face of an archdemon or the demons that served under them. After all, the only demon he had managed to kill was one that had already been beaten up a great deal by an archmage, with one of the other demons more or less beating him up and blowing him across the room while the head honcho had shattered his blade and used him as a punching bag.

And while he knew that it was incredibly unlikely that a devil was going to take the time to come for him personally when it somehow managed to fully manifest itself in the material world, the sheer amount of demons within this tower alone proved that they really did not need to. They had plenty of followers of sufficient strength to take him down with very little effort. So if he was going to keep protecting his kind, the people of the forsaken realm he felt rather responsible for, as well as himself, he could not remain as he was now. He would need to get stronger, and he would need to get stronger fast, even if that meant consistently throwing himself into potential life and death situations, forcing himself to become stronger, think better and faster and develop his magic into something far more prominent…. And he would need to get himself a new blade.

As the overall vibe of the room started dawning upon him after he had sat there brooding for a while, it started dawning upon him that if Charles wasn’t here, that he might very well have perished when the arena collapsed. And after the extent he had gone to to let Ashford flow into him and fight against Aamon together, that did not seem like the kind of ending he deserved. That said, few ever got the end they deserved within their line of work.

So as he heard Ardere’s conversation with Varisse, and how the later seemed to not be able to leave for the afterlife, it made him wonder whether or not she was even supposed to. After all, the three of them were in this place, and he himself was not entirely certain as to whether or not any of them could leave this place. For if this was still part of the tower, chances were this room might have been covered under several tons of rubble, which would make leaving rather troublesome. Wondering whether she might have been staying behind as a means of getting them out after some time had passed, Griswold spoke up from his uncomfortable seat, leaving the brooding for later.

“Maybe the reason why she can’t leave yet is because none of us might be able to get out of here once she’s gone. Aamon told her to take us here, so maybe she’s the only one who can get us back out. And I can’t speak for all of us, but it’d be a bummer if she left and we’d have to stay here for the rest of our lives, for however long that might be.”

Even as he spoke, he realized the weight of his words, especially given the knowledge that Aamon had just died, Ashford had died, a whole army of elven souls had just passed on to the next world and Charles might have joined them in passing. Believing he spoke for all those that remained that he was not looking forward to dying such a stupid death after all they had just survived, perhaps it was best if Ardere stopped trying to send her soul to the next life before she had fulfilled her purpose here. Turning his attention towards the woman, he believed the fair thing was to let her know what he felt, albeit only part of it. Not been the touchy feely part, he could clearly feel how his regular mindset was coming back as the sea of emotion was settling and disappearing behind the usual barriers that kept them at bay.

“That said, while you’re still here woman, I wanted to thank you for your sacrifice, and i'm sorry you died. There’s even a small chance that I might have been wrong about you after all, so do with that what you will.”

Believing that these words might suffice, the elven mage kept an eye on however things might develop in this room from this point onward. But one thing seemed certain, regardless of all that had happened, the worst was finally behind them. For now at least.

1560 (27300)

Ardere, Griswold, Cyrus…

Varisse looked at the three royal knights…her crying soon lightened to a sob as she heard their words. She could not speak to them, not yet anyway and she would just nod to the three of them and offer a small, yet sincere smile. If spirits could show true emotion, she would, but alas as it was soon pointed out that they were safe she smiled to the three of them before pressing her right index finger on each of the men, over their hearts as a pulse would run through her ethereal body to theirs…they would now receive their answers…



Aamon stood at the window of his palace bedchamber…he wore a worried expression as he looked out onto the land. His vantage point afforded him the luxury of utilizing his keen eyesight. His people were worried about the demons that were threatening their existence. They were the last bastion of defense for the country. Atlantis was in danger, and the dwarven cities were troubled by their own misfortune…the humans that the three races oversaw were mostly none the wiser, but there were a few that offered aid as they were close enough, but some…became bigger hurdles than their own frame would suggest…

His wife, the queen was fast asleep…he was not going to worry her, but there was something there…it was not visible to him at first, but the presence could be felt. Aamon sleep was troubled that night with nightmares of death and destruction. The next morning when he dressed and made his rounds after breakfast he was stopped by a young elf male…Hammel, the apprentice to the elven high priest of Sylph. In an audience Hammel discussed the king’s nightmares, knowing enough about them that the king was caught off guard. Hammel’s smile was that of a man that was playing his cards right, using the guise as a practitioner of faith Aamon asked for the strength to weather the storm of his nightmares.

Hammel took advantage of his king, underlying a perceived blessing with a practiced hex that was only given by a devil…Hammel had succumbed to a demonic possession early on in childhood, he was always practicing dark arts, and his own little family were just puppets that were made after the devil possessed the small child.

The king was fooled and soon possessed by Hammel, the little priest that was once the shell of the devil caught fire as soon as the transfer was over, a signal that brought about the calamity that would soon shape the whole continent…the time of magic rose, and myths were created as the devils and daemons were beaten back…

Aamon caused the deaths of millions, fear…fear led to destruction and destruction led to the further ascension of The Devils. Aamon was watched closely, but after killing his son, Varisse absconded with the body of her beloved…their child…born as a fatherless bastard cursed his heritage…fled to Atlantis after he was old enough, and with the grief of a family lost Varisse was soon found by Aamon once more, and Ashford, now a mutated shell of his former self…with memories that were both his, and not his own. Varisse was a lure, the last of the full blooded elves, a curse bestowed upon her, the “mark of the champion” to use for when Aamon needed that last soul to conquer his enemies. Aamon though in his cursed soul knew that what he wanted more than anything was to be bested in combat…to be free of his pain, but as a final parting…lingering bit of the curse of the mark of the champion was that Varisse’s soul was forever locked with away to watch the world until the last Devil was locked away…

This secret was now given to the three remaining knights, and Varisse held out a scroll for each of them, a wax seal keeping the scroll sealed, once they opened their eyes they could open the scroll if they wanted…but Varisse was already moving towards the lone throne in the center of the room amidst all of this treasure.

---

”I cannot leave…not until the last Devil is locked away, such is the curse of the mark of the champion…which I now passed to you Crimson King…Aamon may be gone, and he may have taken Hammel with him…but I cannot join my beloved Ashford…or my son…none of them…I cannot leave until I see the devils defeated…inside those three scrolls are teleportation seals to transport each of you back down to the ground amongst your other knights…I hope that the visions you seen explain it all…my reasoning for killing, Ashford’s betrayal…Aamon’s reason for creating the battle tower…it was all to keep the souls of the fallen safe…he did it so the devils could not grow by devouring them…losing his mind to the years…the lifetime of corruption. Now that everyone is at peace…you all deserve reward and rest as well…I have compensated each of you for your bravery.” She would then pull the chain some as it seemed to grow just a little longer, the hole in her chest where her heart was seemed to ebb with a red glow. Should Cyrus choose to look down, Asford’s sword was gone, and to all three of them…the room looked a little more empty than what it was when they first arrived.

”Now go…I will be interested to see how the three of you all handle the remaining threats…” She said as a tear would fall from her left eye, she turned away from them so they could leave…it was as though she could not bear it any longer…

WC:954
TWC:26,527

As everything unfolded in front of his eyes, the way out became visible, meaning the three of them were luckily not forced to stay here, locked away in whatever this place was. Listening on as Varisse did her say on the matter, it appeared as though she was going to have to stay here until the last of the devils had been vanquished. Huffing a bit as that implied a bunch of mortals were going to have to do battle with a devil they could not even reach when it was merely a shade standing in front of them, as well as what sounded like multiple others beside the one they had just “met”, Varisse was likely going to be staying here for a very long time. But there was another way for this to end, and it was something he was sure Ardere understood as well. Given how he had been branded with the mark, that meant that if he died, the mark would disappear and Varisse would get her freedom back.

Believing that Ardere would have picked up on it himself, there was no real reason for him to further sour the mood by raising this point, given the man might just be chivalrous enough to end his own life for her freedom. Not feeling like being the reason why the guy might stab himself with his own blade over a person they had met ever so recently, Griswold rose from his uncomfortable seat as he looked down at his hands. As he did, he could tell that they were no longer trembling as they were before, nor could he feel the same kind of emotions he had been feeling throughout most of the day. If anything, he was back to his regular old self, the person that wasn’t anywhere as driven by emotions as most mortals were. Quite delighted about having his sense of control back, there was something out of the ordinary, something he hadn’t felt before.

On one hand, he felt a sort of strange wispy presence, something so light it was weightless and incredibly hard to grasp. On the other hand, he felt something inside of him that was a lot heavier, but equally difficult to ascertain in terms of its nature. Where normally he could only feel a strange kind of flameless heat inside of his core, it was as if that heat had split up into two separate entities, though the heat itself was still there at the center of it. Not really sure how to explain it to himself, he sure as hell had no idea what to tell the others, nor did he want to alarm them as to the possibility of there being something wrong with him. No, he was going to have to figure this one out for himself as soon as he got out of here and got himself a couple of much needed hours of sleep. After all that had transpired, he couldn’t just leave without saying a word.

“You can leave it up to that guy to figure out a way to eventually free you from this place, but until that moment comes, you’ll just need to sit tight. As for the rest of you, I imagine you might want to take the downtime that comes next to get as familiar with your abilities as you can. After all, it seems we’ve got some Devils to hunt.”

Speaking with regards to Ardere and his urge to do what was right, Griswold didn’t think there would come a time where he would give up on freeing Varisse. But what was important for him right now was to figure out how this whole place had affected him, to find exactly what about him had changed to the point where he could actually feel it inside and out. Wandering around the room for a bit while he made his way towards the exit, he took a bunch of baubles and trinkets that seemed useful, believing neither Varisse nor Aamon would be able to make use of it anyway. And with that, the first of the bunch took his leave.

[EXIT]

Roll Numbers:
29
17
13
17
4
25

[googlefont=Poppins: 400, 400i, 500, 500i, 600, 600i, 700, 700i, 800, 800i, 900, 900i][newclass=.cyrustext]font-family:Poppins;[/newclass][newclass=.cyrustext::-webkit-scrollbar]background-color:transparent;width:3px;[/newclass][newclass=.cyrustext::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background-color:transparent;width:0px;border:0px!important;[/newclass][newclass=.cyrustext b]color:#dd9d2b[/newclass][newclass=.cyrusstats]font-family:Poppins;[/newclass][newclass=.cyrusstats::-webkit-scrollbar]background-color:transparent;width:3px;[/newclass][newclass=.cyrusstats::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background-color:transparent;width:0px;border:0px!important;[/newclass][newclass=.cyrusstats b]color:#ffbd46[/newclass]

Rolls: 4, 10, 23, 12, 1, 7