The First Trail
The heroes departed Freehome under the cover of darkness, their path lit by the pale glow of Lytharae—a reminder of the looming threat of Avirex. Köykkä led the group with measured precision, his assassin instincts honed by years of experience.
Behind him, Sigfried, the grizzled mercenary, grumbled about the cold, though his hand never strayed far from the hilt of his massive blade. Ylva followed with her usual calm demeanor, while Seamus, Ulric, and El’randor flanked the group. Korppi brought up the rear, her eyes scanning the shadows.
“We’ll start with the one named Ashel,” Köykkä said. His voice was low but commanding. “She was the one who led the ritual. She’s clever and cautious, but she’s left a trail.”
Sigfried raised an eyebrow. “And how do you know that?”
“Because she was trained to cover her tracks. And I was trained by Dushyant to find people like her,” Köykkä replied, his voice tinged with grim determination. “We’ll find her in the ruins of Eldregast. That’s where the Kur’rah necromancers retreat when they’re wounded or need to regroup."
He looked to El’randor and Seamus. "We all have a history with this one. She betrayed us when the Hall burned to the ground, she planted the seed of darkness within me before I was slain by one of her agents in the capital, we have a score to settle.”
Seamus gripped his axe tightly. "Ashel," he spat, "I should have guessed."
The memories filled him with rage, the "Seer" who resided in the forest outside the capital had fooled Köykkä, fooled the entire band of allies at his side when they sought her aid in their search for Seamus a year prior.
El'randor gave him a knowing look, remembering well the day Köykkä’s lifeless body was carried back into the Hall of Heroes Tavern. Remembering the procession as his body was taken to the Seer for the burial rites.
He thought back on that night, trying to recall the faces of the strangers in the Seer’s camp who anointed Köykkä before bringing him to his earthen tomb. Had that all been a ploy? How did he not catch it? El'randor clenched his fists as he remembered the cold he felt wash over him as those robed figures laid Köykkä upon the stone slab. "Kur’rah prayers..." he grinded his teeth at the thought of what they must have done in the dark of that tomb after the allies left to return to the city.
"This one is personal." Köykkä’s voice seethed with hatred.
El’randor looked on as his trusted friend, the leader he followed for so long, now changed forever, led the allies onward.
As they approached the ancient ruins, the air grew heavy with decay. Köykkä signaled for the group to halt and crouched low, his shadow magic rippling faintly as he extended his senses. The ruins were alive with the faint hum of dark energy.
“They’re here,” Köykkä murmured. He turned to Ylva. “We’ll need your wards to suppress their magic. Seamus, Ulric, you’ll handle their acolytes. El’randor and Sigfried will cover the flanks. Korppi—you and I will take Ashel.”
Ylva nodded and began murmuring incantations. As the protective wards shimmered into existence, Köykkä melted into the shadows, his movements silent and lethal. Korppi followed, her blade at the ready.
In the heart of the ruins, the group confronted Ashel and her followers. Dark energy crackled in the air as the necromancers unleashed waves of undead against them. Köykkä moved like a shadow, his blades glinting as he struck with precision. His new shadow magic enhanced his speed and stealth, allowing him to phase in and out of visibility.
Korppi matched his intensity, her swordsmanship precise and fluid. Together, they closed in on Ashel, who summoned a spectral guardian to block their path. Köykkä’s shadow magic enveloped the creature, unraveling its form as Korppi’s blade struck true.
Meanwhile, Sigfried roared as he cleaved through undead with brutal efficiency, his huge sword a blur of motion. “This is what I signed up for!” he bellowed, a grin splitting his scarred face.
Ulric, partially transformed into his werewolf form, tore through the acolytes with savage strength, while Seamus’s axe crushed bone and sinew. Ylva’s wards shielded the group from dark magic, her calm presence a beacon amid the chaos.
El’randor’s pistols rang out, precise shots taking down necromancers attempting to flank them. “Köykkä, move faster!” he called, reloading with practiced ease.
Köykkä and Korppi reached Ashel. The necromancer sneered, her wretched hands glowing with deadly power. “You were always too proud, Köykkä. Too blind to see the greater vision.”
“And you were always too arrogant,” Köykkä retorted, his voice cold. His shadow magic surged, binding Ashel in tendrils of darkness. “Where is the High Necromancer?”
Ashel’s laugh was hollow. “You think you can stop him? You don’t even understand what you are.”
Korppi silenced her with a swift strike, her blade stopping just short of Ashel’s throat. “Talk.”
Defeated, Ashel spat out a location. “The Black Spire. That’s where he waits. But you’ll never make it there alive.”
Korppi’s blade finished the conversation, and the group patched their wounds, victorious but aware of the greater challenge ahead.
Köykkä lingered for a moment, staring down at the "Seer" from his past. She had been the catalyst for the series of events that pushed him into the depths of shadow. But this vengeance was only the beginning, he knew, as she was simply a tool of darker beings beyond her.
Seamus and El’randor stood by, waiting in silence for Köykkä to find closure. Flanking him, they walked quietly together - the last three agents of the Hall strode on, knowing fully well that this nightmare was far from over.
---
The Hunter Returns
The journey to their next target led them deeper into the wilderness. Köykkä had sent word to Dushyant, his former mentor, requesting his aid. They found him waiting at a crossroads, his lean frame cloaked in black. His eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence.
“So,” Dushyant drawled. “You finally need me again, Köykkä? Or have you grown soft?”
Köykkä smirked. “Still insufferable, I see. We’re hunting necromancers. Think you can keep up?”
Dushyant laughed. “Lead the way, Shadowborn.”
Their next target was Moryn, a necromancer known for her ability to bend spirits to her will. She had taken refuge in the Fenwood Swamp, a labyrinth of twisting roots and murky waters. Köykkä’s training as an assassin came to the forefront, his shadow magic allowing him to navigate the treacherous terrain undetected.
Dushyant’s expertise complemented Köykkä’s. Together, they eliminated sentries and traps with deadly precision, paving the way for the rest of the group. When they reached Moryn’s lair, the battle was fierce.
Moryn summoned spectral wolves to harry the group, but Ulric met them head-on, his werewolf strength overpowering the ethereal beasts. Seamus charged through the swamp, his axe smashing through barriers and enemies alike. Sigfried’s claymore was a beacon of destruction, and Ylva’s wards turned Moryn’s magic against her.
Köykkä and Dushyant confronted Moryn directly. Köykkä’s shadow magic danced around her attacks, while Dushyant’s daggers struck with pinpoint accuracy. Together, they overwhelmed her, forcing her to reveal the High Necromancer’s next move—a ritual to weaken the seals of Lytharae.