Book 2 : Chapter 30

Jungfrau, Nussegrund

Mallorn the Elf

The symptoms of mana exhaustion were obvious if one knew what to look for.

A dull, throbbing pain that filled the body. A feeling of listlessness and fatigue that clung to one’s mind. Inconsistent sleeping patterns and spotty memory. A lack of any and all motivation to do anything combined with a gnawing hunger that hounded every waking moment, no matter how much you ate. 

It felt a lot like how he imagined depression might feel. 

He groaned and forced himself to roll. Thick blankets clung to his form as he shifted across a soft surface. He rolled until he left the edge of the bed entirely and dropped to the floor in a heavy, thumping impact.

The jolt of dull discomfort was enough to force him into full wakefulness again, which was immediately spent giving a pained groan and wondering where he was. 

In spite of his totally empty spirit, his gnawing hunger motivated him to push up from the floor and start rubbing at his eyes. Little bits of crusted nonsense was steadily wiped away, letting him get a half-decent view of his current location for the first time since he noticed he was awake.

He was sitting on the carpeted floor of a room he didn’t recognize, lit by noon sun leaking through thick curtains. He was still feeling rather sore, probably from the-

He shot up, banishing the lethargy of mana exhaustion with sheer will. His eyes shot around the room, scanning it for particular details that coursed through his mind like bolts of lightning. 

Where was Rayne?

He spied his golden axe leaned against the base of the bed and lunged over to seize hold of it, then using it as a crutch to stalk towards the door and toss it open. The familiar warmth of the handle immediately banished the cold ambience of the room.

He passed into the hall of an unknown building- the walls were of carved stones and the interior framed with heavy wooden embellishments. One side was lined with leaded window panes decorated with any number of tiny carvings, and the other side was decorated with shelves and cabinets containing a dizzying array of porcelain and fancy diningware. 

He dismissed all of that as irrelevant, and stalked through the carpeted hall with exacting purpose. 

Rounding a hall, he spied a small woman in the dress of a maid brushing a set of trophies and medals, humming to herself as she did. She was maybe half his height in absolute and had the ears of a rabbit stretching from the top of her hair. 

“Maid.” He called out in a stern manner. 

She jolted, clutching the brush to her chest and eyes darting over to him. She froze, eyes darting down, then back up to his face, then down again. “Ah- uhm…”

He ignored her hesitation. “There was a man who participated in the battle, Rayne the Bastard. Where is he? Is he alive?”

“Ah…” She looked flustered, glancing back up to his face then looking away. “Ah don’ rightly know sirrah, I- I can take you to Lord Yale- he uh… he may know…”

“Lead me to him- him or the Chosen Heroine, or the Paladin Orrin, or Wizard Marcus.” Mallorn’s mind began to catch up to himself, and he began to recite names that she might be familiar with.

“Tha Heroine should be enjoying a brunch at tha moment, in the…” She glanced down again, and flusteredly looked away. She began to fiddle with the hem of her short dress. “In tha dining hall… Are you- sirrah…?”

“Where’s the dining hall?” He asked quickly, leaning forwards.

She flinched back, cheeks bright scarlet, and silently pointed down the hall. “Ohn… on tha left…”

He stalked past her the moment that information was relayed, forcing his feet to not drag and ignoring the gnawing hunger in his gut for the time being. He needed to know. He needed to see.

He followed the sounds of conversation down the left-handed branch of the hallway path, coming eventually to a massive doorway covered in decorations that he didn’t care about. Throwing open the door, he stepped into the room loudly and cast his eyes around.

The Heroine was there at the table, along with a few of her friends, the general, and Marcus. A dizzying array of foodstuffs and wines were set out on the table before them, and a handful of maids paused while carrying trays to the table.

“Where’s Rayne!” Mallorn demanded at once, stomping up to the table.

The table was silent, looking at him, eyes wandering around like they were looking upon an alien. The Heroine’s face went red. The necromancer sunk low against the table and hid her eyes beneath her hat. The elves froze and their ears danced in alarmed patterns. The mostly-naked barbarian woman gave a chuckling smile and pointed to the side.

He turned to follow it, eyes coming to land upon the highly amused face of The Bastard, sitting against a long and low couch with both arms in braced slings and one leg propped up on a low cushion. He was being hand-fed by a bewildered looking Dordi, who was bizarrely missing most of her spidery lower half. Instead, only a pair of strange grasping appendages remained near her waist and forelimbs were covered in a chitinous black carapace.

Rayne opened his mouth to say something, only to be cut off as Mallorn seized him by the shoulders and pulled him into a firm hug. “Yo- woah!”

Mallorn took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled. Rayne chuckled somewhat nervously. “I’d pat you on the back friend- but my arms are useless for a few hours yet.”

Mallorn huffed and pulled away, patting him on the shoulders. “Scared the shit out of me when that tower fell.” He admitted with easy vulgarity and a blooming smile. “You asshole, you made me worried!”

“I had nothing to do with it!” Rayne protested with a growing smile of his own. “That maniac with the magic sword did it, not I!”

“That’s true I suppose- it's good I killed him then.” Mallorn chuckled, pulling back completely and shaking his head. 

“For whatever ‘killed’ means to a ghost, that is.” The barbarian woman called out with a laugh and a little toast of her wine cup. “The witches still haven’t figured out how to get him out of your trophy, shadeslayer, shows how useful their magic is.”

“You- you wouldn’t be any more helpful to Sir Mallorn you-” The little necromancer began to rant, before glancing over to him and growing silent, before coughing and pulling her hat down over her face again. 

“He’s still infesting my armor?” Mallorn asked with no small annoyance. He huffed irritably and shook his head. He glanced over to the mostly silent Dordi, and at her distinctly new arrangement of legs. He smiled and nudged her shoulder playfully. “I see you redeemed yourself- at least enough to get new legs. Good work- I can’t call you fat anymore.”

Dordi stared for a few moments longer, then huffed irritably. “It’s impolite to comment on a woman’s weight, you know?”

“I know.” Mallorn nodded with a smile, provoking a rousing laugh from the crippled Bastard. He chuckled along, stepping over to the dinging table and grabbing a breadroll to start devouring. “Still, looking good Dordi! You’ll convince the Bastard into your bed in no time!”

“Your obsession with this topic is irksome, elf.” Rayne’s chuckles dried up and he gave a flat stare.

Mallorn stuffed his face with another breadroll, barely getting through the first one before he was chowing down on the next. “Where’s Orrin, Lir, and Henry?” He asked through a mouthful of bread. 

“Lir has passed.” Marcus stated bluntly.

Mallorn stopped in his chewing briefly, then slowly finished his mouthful of bread and swallowed. A somewhat more somber look came over his face as he turned towards the wizard. “...He’s dead?” He asked again for clarification.

Marcus nodded somberly. “Orrin is making arrangements for his body to be sent back to his family- Henry took it upon himself to retrieve our cart and pull it to Jungfrau, last I checked.”

Mallorn’s ears flickered. “...Where is he? I’d like to see Lir off.”

Marcus raised a brow, then nodded at him. “While undressed?”

Mallorn blinked, then glanced down at himself.

He was entirely, completely, totally naked. The faint chill in the air, banished by his grip on his axe, had been the normal air against his bare skin the whole time. 

“Ah.” 

“You didn’t notice?!” The necromancer asked with a scarlet face, slamming her hands on the table and leaning forwards. Mallorn stared at nothing for a moment, slowly nodding. 

It was probably a bit too late to cover up and keep his dignity at this point. He also didn’t know where his clothes were. He took another bread roll and started eating it. 

Rayne collapsed back with a long, rolling laugh. 

—

“Orrin.” Mallorn called out, now clad in spare trousers and cotton shirt generously donated from Rayne. It was clearly a bit too small on him, clinging to his frame and tight around the chest, but it was better than coming to such a situation while entirely naked. 

Orrin turned from a cart holding a rough hewn coffin. He had been in the midst of some conversation with a man at the head of the cart. The paladin smiled at his approach, and nodded, but it was clear his heart wasn’t in it. “Sir Mallorn, good to see you! I hear that you slew that ghastly leader of theirs!”

Mallorn nodded shortly and wiggled one hand. “For a given definition of slay. His spirit is trapped within my armor at the moment, supposedly.”

Orrin raised a brow and tilted his head, then nodded slowly. “I see… It’s made of dragonhide, isn’t it? If the leader was likewise dead, then it stands to reason he could have some power over it.”

Mallorn shook his head. “I’m not certain of the specifics yet…” He lingered on the word, then turned a deliberate eye towards the coffin on the back of the cart. “I heard what happened to Lir.”

A dull throb of hate pulsed through his heart.

Orrin nodded sadly, turning his head back to the coffin and laying a hand upon its lid. “Yes… He is… past from this world.” Orrin maintained his composure with admirable dignity, only hesitations conveying the full extent of his somber misery. “I’m arranging for his body to be sent back to his family, with condolences attached.”

“...May I see him?” Mallorn asked quietly.

Orrin glanced to him, then nodded slowly. His hands reached out to unlatch the side of the coffin, then slowly open it up and ushering him forwards. The paladin did not look down at the corpse himself, looking off to the side and down. 

Mallorn stepped forwards.

Sure enough, the corpse of Paladin Lir lay in the hastily-hewn coffin of pinewood. His long face was peaceful in death, with eyes and mouth closed, and only the barest scent of rot beginning to creep up through heavy perfumes and bundles of strong garlic. His armor was removed and secured in a trunk, exposing his torso and a few daily garments. 

The torso was a mangled field of rends, tears, and violence. A brutal series of canyons and caverns carved into flesh and kept suspended with pillars of bone. It was plainly obvious what his cause of death was.

This was the second time this happened.

In some ways it was easier. Prior experience with death blunted the impact, to a degree, and left him standing firm instead of shuddering with directionless rage.

Experience did nothing to dull the wellspring of hot, black rage that slowly filled his gut and crept up into his breast. Slowly he reached out, placing a hand across Lir’s cheek and holding it briefly, feeling the horrid cold with his own flesh.

That cold tempered his rage, stoking the fires and making them burn even hotter. 

The hand clutching his golden axe shook briefly, barely restrained at his side. 

“...Who killed him, do you know?” Mallorn asked with a terrible calm.

“Vampires. Vampires under the service of Lord Dey, whose fortress lies somewhere north of the Twistwood.” Orrin recited with exacting phrasing and judgement, as if he had been turning the same thought over in his head time and time again. 

“Another creature I’ll have to remember to enjoy, when I destroy them next.” Mallorn muttered, letting his hand fall away from the paladin’s deathly masque and pulling back. He didn’t think at all about the last vampire he killed, but that was before they had decided to take a friend from him.

Now it was only a wasted opportunity. Just like before, he didn’t enjoy destroying it enough. 

Just like before, someone died when he wasn’t there to stop it. 

He wasn’t there. 

“Enjoy it because you have destroyed evil.” Orrin stated in an understanding but firm tone. He shut the coffin lid again and began to lock it once more. “Do not enjoy it to satisfy revenge, friend.”

“Don’t give me a speech about how revenge is wicked, Paladin.” Mallorn replied with a terse annoyance.

“I did not, and nor will I.” Orrin replied with a somber shake of his head. “Revenge, when exacting and precise, is merely justice by another name. Enjoying revenge, however, is a tempting chalice.”

Mallorn narrowed his eyes at the paladin, who reached forwards and placed a hand on his shoulder. With a firm gaze of his own, the paladin continued. “I will be seeking them out, just as you will I imagine, and I will be greatly satisfied to execute them for their crime of murder. But slaying them just because they happen to be a Vampire- that part is irrelevant.”

“Isn’t it a crime to be undead in the Empire?” Mallorn pointed out with a small sneer. “I remember Lir speaking of that- him or Marcus, I can’t recall.

“It is, if not properly accounted for and taxed, and they will be brought to justice for that as well.” Orrin declared. “But I would seek justice for Lir regardless of who or what slew him in such a matter- because it is the deed that matters. The deed and not the man.”

Orrin’s hand fell from his shoulder, and he gave a firm, uncompromising nod. “They must be properly accounted for- death for death must be in accordance- if I allowed myself to enjoy it because of what they are and not what they did, I’d fear myself falling into a terrible path, and losing my god-given strength…”

Orrin gave a rueful chuckle. “It’s why I didn’t join the Legions as a boy. Demons are the sole exception, wicked without compromise, and I was never truly comfortable with that. I much prefer dealing with other creatures- they have potential for righteousness, even if they squander it at times.”

“...You’re not going to convince me to not enjoy striking down evil, paladin.” Mallorn shook his head and turned back to the coffin, black rage rolling in his breast.

“By all means, enjoy the death of wickedness all you like, Sir Mallorn.” Orrin smiled slightly. “Simply endeavor that you strike them down because they are wicked, and not because they are related to something wicked that harmed you in the past. That’s all I caution.”

Mallorn let out a long, low breath and nodded sharply. He supposed that made sense, it was the same reason he didn’t mind Dordi’s presence despite the supposed evil that everyone else spied in her. “I see. I’ll agree to try- for friendship’s sake if nothing else.”

“Don’t worry too greatly in any case- wickedness is worn on the skin in most cases.” Orrin shook his head, then reached into his pouch to extract a small sack of coins and hand it off to the man at the head of the cart. “Your payment, goodman, I was distracted from it.”

“No worries, sers.” The man at the head of the cart was a grim looking fellow, with a pitch black uniform and pale features. He wore just a little bit of armor, in the form of sturdy leathers and a black horned helmet, and held the reins to a pair of donkeys. “These things take time, I know.” 

“Stay safe along the roads, corpseman.” Mallorn warned with a short incline of his head and a scowl. “Remnants of the cult might be lingering.” 

The ghost of a smile passed over the grim looking man’s face. “Worry not, ser elf, I’m an old hand at this business. I’ll get him where he needs to go.”

With that the donkeys began to pull forwards, dragging the cart with the corpse of his friend along with them, slowly making its way around the bend, towards the center road, and out the gates leading south from the town. 

Mallorn watched the cart go for some time, as did Orrin.

“...You are welcome to join me, in expedition to this castle of Lord Dey.” Orrin stated plainly.

Mallorn nodded slowly, then sighed and shook his head. “It will be by the will of the Heroine- I am bound to her by divine quest now. Where she goes, I must go, until the Demon Queen is slain.”

“I understand.” Orrin replied with a firm nod. 

“I will request it of her, however, with all the persuasion I can bring to bear.” Mallorn continued, turning an eye towards the paladin. “If the vampires were here, then they were almost certainly working with the cult. If they have another stronghold to the north, then that means our duty is not yet done- the cult survives still.”

There was silence between the two men for a few long moments, only the celebratory bustle of the city around them was heard.

“I would appreciate that.” Orrin replied quietly, then shaking his head firmly, he continued with forced bombast. “But first- I hear that the gentlemen of Jungfrau are hosting a festival to celebrate our victories here! Who are we to deny them their heroes?!”

“The day after I lose my most expensive suit too!” Mallorn shook his head with a faint smile on his face and a jest in his tone.

Laughing, the two men made their way back to the house of the nobleman who was giving them room and board.

Underneath his merriment, a coiling serpent of black fire twisted in his breast.

A serpent Mallorn recognized as hate.