Light and Shadows

Taking the Tremaculum

Takes place several months after the imprisonment of Denathrius.

The Maw. It was as dark and harrowing as Renathal remembered. And standing on the ramparts of the Tremaculum, gazing out over the endless expanse of screaming black lurking on every side of the fortress, even the Dark Prince could not suppress a shudder.

Convincing himself to return here had been no small task. All those hazy, horrid memories of his imprisonment - the helplessness, powerlessness; stewing in his own misery and madness, convinced he would never escape - he was able to keep them at bay in Revendreth where he had no end of distractions and little time for dark reminiscences. But now... being back here, where it all happened.... it no longer felt like a distant fever-dream, but an all-consuming nightmare.

Renathal hurled another bolt of vermillion anima magic at the Mawsworn in the fortress below him in an effort to thwart his growing despair. He had hoped the presence of so many friends and allies would make a difference. Just down the ramparts was Theotar's indomitable tea party, an oasis of peace in this stronghold of misery; in the other direction, the Curator, whose determination to join the fight in spite of her own torture in Torghast had bolstered Renathal's resolve to come as well. And everywhere he looked, the Ardenweald defenders' sparkling lights and high battle cries brought pockets of laughter to the bleak desolation. He paused in his spell casting and gazed wistfully around, trying to let the sights cheer him, strengthen his courage, anchor him to existence outside the Maw.

But, as he watched his friends, old and new, being slowly smothered by the Tremaculum's miserable air, Renathal feared he had made a mistake in bringing them here. He had led them into a hell from which there was no escape. The Mawsworn simply kept coming, no matter what power he threw at them. However many he destroyed, more waited in their wake - a vicious, unending sea of blades and chains and cruel magic. His small band of defenders would never be enough to push them back. And even if by some miracle they did -

Another distant roar echoed from across the battlements, a reminder of the guardian of the Tremaculum, merely biding its time before it chose to descend upon them in fury and demonic flame. The familiar tendrils of despair Renathal thought he had cast off when he escaped the Maw crept across his chest once more.

This damned darkness would swallow them whole.

Then Burly Hurly's rumbling basso echoed up from behind him, followed by a clatter on the ramparts and a light oof, and Renathal's mouth twitched in the shadow of a smile. The Maw Walker's voice always conjured that expression from him, like one of her many little useful spells. He turned, watching her right herself and smooth down her robes, a small self-deprecating smile gracing her features at her less than elegant entrance. She caught him staring and winked.

"You started without me?"

It was no real reproof. Her voice sparkled with humour, and the tension in Renathal's shoulders eased a fraction at the sound.

"I am afraid our friends from Ardenweald simply could not wait. But rest assured, there is still plenty for you to do."

Something of his earlier dark mood seeped into his voice, and the Maw Walker's face shifted into its usual expression - smoothly impassive; what Renathal once read as lack of interest and now recognised as focus, her pale eyes drinking in every detail. She stood beside him, surveying the carnage taking place in the fortress below.

"How goes it?"

"Our enemies currently surround us on all sides. Their forces are seemingly endless."

"Nothing is endless."