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Chapter Text

Allessia knelt in silent prayer on a soft mound of grass, mouthing rehearsed words of worship. Her helmet was set delicately at her side, along with her heavy steel shield and morning star, both stained with goblin and worg blood. She wore her heavy half-plate armor with ease. The human’s blonde hair was flat and matted from the heat of her helm, but it slowly regained a curly bounce the longer she kept the helmet removed.

Ysuran picked bits of pine out of the center crease of his spellbook and his long dark hair, idly waiting for her to finish. It did not take long for him to refresh his spells, but he enjoyed the brief moments of tranquility between combat. Doug, his animated skeleton, was standing guard nearby, haltingly pacing and rattling as he looked for threats.

For each goblin they slew, they grew closer to the Red Fang’s lair, but the woods were deep and winding, so the pair had needed to take a rest.

“Helm protect those I cannot,” Allessia finished aloud, opening her eyes and letting out a deep, satisfied breath. She reached for her gear, looking back at Ysuran. “Are you ready to continue?”

Ysuran nodded, but spoke with a question. “Why do you pray so often, Allessia? You are already clearly a member of the clergy. Does Helm like to hear his own words so frequently?” Allessia shook her head before re-donning her helmet.

“It is as much for myself as it is for Helm. Faith is work, Ysuran. The joy of it is the joy of building a home, something that takes months or years to complete, through struggle and setback. I would have thought you could relate, the way you pour over your spells each night.” The cleric strapped her shield on, tightening the leather belts that kept it stable against her arm.

Ysuran shrugged. “My spells are tools. Were it easier to swing a blade or fire a bow, I would do so, but my talents lie in the arcane.” He placed his thumb and forefinger on his chin delicately. “And those talents just so happen to allow me to distance myself from something as indelicate as a hammer. Not,” he rushed to add on, “that I am ungrateful for those who do.” He gave her a sanguine smile as she rolled her eyes behind her helm’s face plate. “In any case, I would much rather purchase a home than build it myself.”

Allessia paused as she weighed her morning star, giving it a couple of swings to re-familiarize herself with its weight. “For me, every prayer is another nail in the boards of my temple. The larger it grows, the more I can invite inside.”

“Even a dealer in undeath such as I?” The cleric eyed the necromancer slyly.

“Even if I believed for a moment you had any such desire, I know you are not the type to be pressured so easily into faith. If you were to join the church, it would not be from any external invitation.” She held up a finger, her voice changing its timber and cadence as she spoke from memory - her ‘proverb voice’, as Ysuran had deemed it. “Our zeal is oft our undoing. We see the flaws in those we guard, and in our seeking we stray over the line into tyranny, or into causing strife, and so drift from the purpose and grace of Helm. Ardeacon Halholdaun.”

Ysuran nodded in understanding, using every piece of willpower he possessed to not roll his eyes. “Which is why you are... tolerant of myself and Doug.”

“I am tolerant of the skeleton because you insist on utilizing such a creature, and there prisoners are to be rescued.”

“Still, if I could animate even one more-”

“Doug has been enough so far. You have been a capable ally, but do not test our agreement.”

There was a moment of silence as Allessia quietly summoned the avatar of Helm’s blade to her side. It came with little fanfare, appearing in a brief flash of light, a bastard sword surrounded in silver flame.

“Perhaps Doug could wield your summoned blade, then.” Ysuran’s suggestion was taken as an order by the skeleton, who moved to grasp Ever Watchful’s handle - it floated higher, just out of reach of his bony hands. “They both could be made more effective through some... creative cooperation. A sword without a hand to guide it is the same as a warrior without a blade, no?” Allessia scoffed as the strange quartet began marching through the woods, Allessia in the lead, the blade at her side, Doug behind her and Ysuran behind him.

“Even if Helm’s blade could be held by it, the skeleton would likely turn to ashes upon touching such a divine instrument.” Doug leapt up with a rattle, trying to grab at the sword, which flew a few inches higher than the peak of the skeleton’s grasp.

“Ah, well, just a thought.” Echoes of goblin speech and growls pierced through the woods. “Looks like it’s time to get back to hammering nails, hm?” Allessia looked back at Ysuran’s grin, halfway between sarcastic and genuine.

“Helm grant me patience,” Allessia responded, rapping her shield with her weapon. “Helm grant me strength. We should make haste. We do not know how long those prisoners have, nor what tortures they endure.” The sounds of goblins grew louder, and a dozen shapes began appearing between the trees.

“Haste, you say?” Ysuran flipped through his book. “I have just the thing.”

Chapter Text

Allessia Faithhammer had recited the first five litanies of vigilance, scrubbed off most of the char marks that obscured the holy symbol set into her shield, and picked the last of the wooden splinters that had found their way into the cracks in her armor, but Ysuran was still pouring over that book.  It had been nearly 30 minutes, now, and she was getting anxious.  The cleric of Helm eyed a table near the hidden entrance that had led the adventuring duo to this secret study, and wondered if the furniture might yet turn hostile.  This whole place was nothing but animated objects filled with a lust for violence and flaming balls that sprouted like destructive weeds from every wall and pillar.

And the room felt unholy.  Ysuran had insisted that they would be safe in the hidden study, but Allessia could feel danger in the air.  It pricked at her skin and made her heart thrum in her chest, so much that she thought her scorched and scarred full plate might start ringing like a steel drum.  It was the only normal-looking room in this hollow castle, with bookshelves carved into the walls and a large writing desk dominating the center of the room, and a single stuffed velvet chair that Allessia’s companion had confidently flopped into immediately upon entering.  Doug stood stock-still near the entrance, his bones blown apart more than once by the flame-spewing traps that the group had found waiting for them in the hold.  Ysuran reassembled him as necessary, but Allessia had found it more practical to wait until an empty set of armor or an uncanny chair set upon them to summon Helm’s blade to their aid.

“I do not mean to rush you, Ysuran, but I think we may not find what we need, here.  Do you really think that Lyran would have left notes on how to disarm his mystic locks unprotected?  Or if it is here, what if there are traps we simply did not see?”  She brought a heavy gauntlet up to her mouth, and it binked against her helmet.  Chewing fingernails?  She had not done that since she was an acolyte.

“Now, now, Allessia, please—I told you when we entered here, if there were traps the old necromancer had set, they would have been sprung by now.  No wizard wants to disarm and re-arm such things in their own study, and even self-exclusionary traps are unreliable.”  He flipped another page, his forest green elven eyes staring with unblinking comprehension at the musty parchment.  The wizard had said he was capable of taking in an entire page’s contents in just a few seconds, a speed reading technique that he had forgotten the origin of.  Allessia found it disconcerting.  “Any traps placed on these scrolls would have long worn away.  Parchment doesn’t hold sigils well.”  He paused.  “Well, unless-“

“Helm save us, necromancer, I was looking for some reassurance, not another danger that I cannot strike down without it burning away another chunk of flesh!”  She could feel sweat dripping down her neck, thoughts racing.  Was she about to lose Ysuran in a flash of flame?  Any one of these pages… She looked around the room.  There were so many pages.

“And, to be frank, I do not have the highest degree of trust that Jherek is not going to use this orb for nefarious purposes.  If it is powerful enough to enable all of the traps in this blasted place-“ she caught Ysuran’s eyebrow raising as he flipped a page, “-excuse my language, but I am not so sure that any good could come of such a thing.”  The cleric’s voice lowered conspiratorially.  “We may need to be careful we are not in the shadow of a double-cross.”

“The man said it was not for nefarious purposes, and I see no reason to disbelieve him.”  Ysuran flipped the last page of the book and then shut it with sudden determination.  “This place is making you paranoid, Faithhammer.  It’s no wonder why—I believe Lyran’s remains are buried in the cellar.  He was strong with the weave and the necrotic arts, so my hypothesis is, his spirit is still holding the enchantments over the door to the observatory, and all of these animated objects.”

The cleric let out a small sigh of relief.  “Ah, well.  I am glad your time reading that tome was not wasted.”

“Oh no.  It was on one of the first scrolls I looked at when we got here.”  Ysuran grinned.  “A good wizard has an instinct for which pages hold the most important information.”

“What?”  Allessia clenched her fists tightly.  Surely Helm would overlook one gauntleted slap of a necromancer.  “Then why do we dally in this haunted study?”

Ysuran held up the book he had just read.  “I found this to be quite compelling.”  Allessia leaned forward to read the faded title.

“The Lonely Bones: A Necromantic Orgy of…” her fist was trembling with anger.  “The sharp stone in your boot seeks shelter from the rain,” she muttered quietly.  It was the only alternative to shouting any number of blasphemous phrases.  “Is this a joke?  We are in enemy, evil territory, and you would just sit and read some pornographic-“

“I found the romance between the young handmaiden and the necromancer’s army of intelligent skeletons to be quite tender and tasteful, and if there were some unholy danger in this study, it would have revealed itself by now.  Isn’t there some Helmian verse about not judging a book by its cover?”  He stood and stretched while Allessia continued to suppress her rising anger.  “This hold has been hard on both of us.  It’s important to know your limits, and when to take some time to recharge.  Take your mind off of the dangers.  It’s not easy putting Doug back together every time he is deconstructed, I’ll have you know.”

“And who is going to put me back together!?”  The necromancer gave an incredulous look as he pointed toward the eye-clutching gauntlet that Allessia had so lovingly cleaned.  “I could not take my mind off of the evil radiating from this place with all of the fiction in the library of Neverwinter.”  The cleric uncomfortably shifted her weight as she replaced her battle-worn helmet atop her head.  “But maybe you are right.  We have found one fight after another since we left Baldur’s Gate.  It has not been easy to keep the blood off of my weapon.  Metaphorically speaking.”  She glanced at the broken armor that had assaulted them on their way to this place.

Ysuran surreptitiously placed the tome into his pack and fished an iron key from its depths as he walked to the entrance they had yet to investigate, casually sliding it into the lock of the oaken door.  “Of course I am right.  I’m always right.  You need to learn how to relax, Faithhammer.  You’ll do no good to Helm if your heart explodes from all this stress.  You really should give this book a read when we next make camp.  You can’t spend all of every day building and cleaning your house of faith.  Sometimes you need to kick up your feet and let the place get a little… messy.”  With a wink, the necromancer turned the key and the lock unlatched with a soft click.  “Now come along, Doug.”  The skeleton rattled as it dutifully marched up next to his master.

“I am not even going to ask how long you’ve had that,” Allessia said, unclenching her fist and taking a few steps towards the door.  “Let us rid this place of the evil that mechanises it.  That will bring me great relaxation, I assure you.”  She let out a tense giggle, and Ysuran laughed.

“Once again, we find common ground.”  The elf boldly opened the door, and the trio walked forward.

A cold wind ruffled the loose parchment on the writing desk.

“Congratulations.  I am Lyran, and this is my home.”  A deep voice seemed to make the room vibrate as Ysuran took a step past the threshold.  “You are the first to find my private study.”  The pair turned to look at the ominous figure that had materialized behind them.  A dark skull, a golden crown, black robes lined with red and white runes of grim arcana.  Allessia gritted her teeth, and Ysuran let out a small chuckle that could not hide his suddenly shaken nerves.  “It’s unfortunate that this will be your last great accomplishment of this lifetime.”

Ysuran looked from the lich to Allessia, and held the gaze of her sharp blue eyes, peeking out from the slit of her helmet.  His own deep green eyes sparkled for just a moment.

“With haste?” he asked, hypothetically.

“Great haste,” she added.