Aneuram: Dark Dominion

<img src=Assets/mountain.jpg> You stand one of one hundred. Among the ranks of a full company of Templar knights from the majesty's Holy Church. Before you is the threshold of your first deployment. A seemingly ramshackle cabin of thick logs that appears to have shifted haphazardly with age. There is no door. One of the logs of the wall has broken and sits jagged-ended on the floor. It is a disguise for something much darker, as proven when two of your fellow knights enter with picks and set about breaching the floor until a set of stairs leading only to shadows is revealed. You are here for a necromancer. One of the Circle mages gone rogue, turned to dark and forbidden magicks. You had heard the stories of what you might face. Risen corpses. Enslaved mind-thralls. Things that should not exist on this plane pulled from their native hellscape of a dimension. The wards on your armor stand ready to protect you and your blade gleams with readiness to kill at your stroke. The necromancer would be stopped, by capture or by death. The stairs are only wide enough for two at a time and so your company aligns itself into pairs and you follow them, a steady march down into the unknown. [[Descend]]

The tunnels are long. Hanging lanterns at irregular intervals light the pale stonework. The clank of your boots and those of your comrades is loud in the cramped quarters, a disciplined and continuous march of steel. The runes on your armor glow faintly, as did those of the knights in front of you, a sign of some spell already trying to worm its way into your body or mind to impede your progress. "The path branches ahead!" Comes a call from the front of the column. "Lines one to twenty-five take left! Twenty-six to fifty take the right!" You know you are in line twenty-one. Those in your half file off to the left. Until they don't. The pair just ahead of you goes right. Did they mishear the order? Miscount their row that badly? You turn left, ready to take the correct path and call out their mistake, but there is no left. You stand before a solid wall. Where is the branch in the path? Did you somehow mindlessly wander that far without noticing? "What are you doing, rookie?" The man beside you bumps you with with his shield. "Do not hold up the march. This way." [[Follow]]

<img src="Assets/tunnel.jpg"> The illumination of lanterns becomes rarer. The clank of steel boots becomes lesser. The pale stonework making up the sanctum becomes endlessly repetitive to the point that you begin guessing what would cause its color. The tunnels wind in odd directions, sometimes in ways that feel as if they should be tying around themselves. Were you always this close to the front of the march? Left. Left. There should be more of you. It's too quiet. Right. You glance over your shoulder. There is no one there. Your own footfalls cease. You look ahead. Beside you. You are all alone. Some runes on your armor flare brightly and burn out of existence. The necromancer is trying to separate your company, to wear through your defenses until you are helpless against more powerful spells. [[Push forward]] [[Stay in place and call for regrouping]]

You push on. Perhaps you can meet back up with other knights eventually or, at worst, end up facing the necromancer yourself. A scream. Distant. Human. One of yours. Another rune burns away. Is the sound a trick then? Or is the necromancer finally attempting more active measures to repel your company? The path ahead branches. Left and right. Wait. Is this the same branch as before? Yes, the lanterns hang on the correct spots of each corner. You look behind you. Only the same darkness as before. When you look ahead again the right path is walled off, only the burning lantern signalling it had ever been anything but another patch of stonework. A thump from the other side of the new wall. A scream. The snap of bone. It goes quiet. [[Become lost]]

You call to your fellow Templars, hoping that by staying in place you will be easier to find. You yell their names up and down the tunnel. Try to figure out some way to articulate your position to them. The only replies you get are bouts of silence or dying screams. Footfalls echo from up ahead. Steel on stone. Another Templar emerges from the shadows. Their hands grip their helmet and cast it to the floor, the impact too loud in the confined space. Your own face stares back at you. A nod towards you. A small, secretive smile. They approach step-by-step, raising their sword and shield, the tip of the blade pointing towards you. [[Duel]] [[Run]]

The whispers begin soon after. Indistinct at first. Far away, like the screams. But as the runes on your armor peel away, they force themselves closer. You can make out words. Name the Templar that the voice belongs to. Sometimes they beg you for help. Sometimes a voice you didn't recognize promises that you were next. Your eyes begin playing tricks. A branch opens to one side only for you to meet a shadowed patch of stonework wall when you try to approach. A fellow Templar appears at the end of the tunnel, only for you to never get any closer until they simply fade away. Things crawl at the edges of your vision but you can never quite turn your head enough to see them. Serpentine shapes with strange arrays of legs. Vague insects with tendril mandibles that reach for you. There is something ahead. A body. The collapsed form of one of your fellow knights. Its weapons are gone and it lay limbs spread in all directions. The left arm is bent at an odd angle. [[Inspect]] <audio autoplay> <source src="Assets/whispers.mp3"></audio>

You kneel and remove the helmet of the fallen warrior. Your own face stares up at you with lifeless eyes. Its throat is cut but no blood stains the floor beneath, as if it is an empty vessel. Its pupils shift towards you. "You shouldn't be here," it groans. Its expression shifts into a grimace, then half its face morphs into an unfamilar girl's you have never seen. Her half of the mouth opens too wide, stretching the skin as her pupil grow to full size, gazing pleadingly up at you. "Help me!" She wails. The bent arm of the corpse audibly snaps to point behind you, back the way you came. Something screams. Not a final death rattle this time. No, this is very much alive, a sobbing psychic cry that dissolves before echoing again. [[Into the breach]]

You quickly raise your own sword and shield, stepping forward to meet the mirror-faced specter. It is a strange battle. You know what they will do. They fight the way you do. They use the same opportunities to parry. When you drive your shield into a forward bash, so do they. They aim the tip of their blade at the same joints of your armor that you do. In time, their face takes on the same look of desperation and exhaustion that you are sure your visage holds. Their breathing syncs with yours until it sounds as if the two of you are one person. At some point, you lose your helmet. You aren't sure of how. The duplicate calls your name with wide eyes when you finally manage to gain the edge in grappling, entangling their limbs just long enough to lash a steel-clad elbow across their face, slashing them open and sending the warm bloodspray across your own face. The clone stumbles, desperately reaching out. "Rookie, don't do it!" They plead. You drive your sword into their throat. You choke as you feel steel breach your neck. The replica is nowhere to be seen as you look down and find your blade buried in your own flesh. You collapse, barely registering the sight of two Templars rushing down the tunnel ahead towards you. "Rookie!" The other one calls you by name in a fading volume as darkness creeps in from the edges of your vision.

You don't know what form of trickery this is but you know better than to engage with it. Necromancer's have tricks and traps beyond comprehension. It is best to not fight in whatever esoteric arena this one wishes to drag you into, an arena they have infinite advantage in. So you turne the other way and run. The footfalls of the replicated you never quicken and you soon leave them behind. There is something wrong with the air ahead of you. It...ripples. Twists. Faces open in silent screams, then dissolve in it. It expands and contracts like a breathing mass. [[Into the breach]]

A lone mage sits in the first thing you could call a room since you had entered the sanctum, a simple circle of a space made of the same stonework as you had encountered alng the way. A dozen tunnels veer off in all directions away from the room yet you are the only one who seems to have made it. The mage writhes and wails with animal panic, ankles and wrists bound to the limbs of a chair affixed into the ground by tree-like roots, a silver mask hiding her face. A nest of tubes is set into the mask, even the eyes and mouth, and run across the floor in winding trails only to merge into the walls. The air is heavy here, physcally distorting and dancing with hallucinations both visual and auditory. Her own screams mingle with a dozen other voices, some you knew and others you didn't. You see the death of several comrades reenacted by ghosts. One reaches for you. One cries for you to leave. She is being used as a battery, the necromancer having cast his spell and leaving this poor soul to keep it fueled. Another wail and something shatters like glass across some veil you could not see. Her limbs grow still even as her head and torso thrash in endless seizure. [[End her suffering]] [[Remove her from the chair and mask]] <audio autoplay> <source src="Assets/corruptscream.mp3"></audio>

There is little you can do to save her. The poor soul has been here for who knows how long, both her body and mind having been under endless esoteric assault in ways that you know you can't quite understand. Even if you were to free her, you doubt there is much of a person left in there. You are more likely to be left with little but an empty shell that could vaguely respond to external stimuli. A cruel fate, but necromancers have never cared for the state of their victims once their usefulness has passed. You at least want the end to be as painless as possible, so you lift your sword and angle the tip at her throat. Your thrust is true and her head falls to the floor with a twist of your blade. All the air rushes out of your lungs and you fall to a knee, the screaming of too many voices far too loud in your head, as if each one is attempting to escape your skull. Then it is over. Only silence. You offer a quick prayer to the deceased, knowing this is not the last obstacle you will face from the necromancer. [[Go forward]]

No one should suffer like this. You have seen the results of conventional torture before. This is a step beyond. The result of dark magicks that even the mages of the Divine Circle forbid from themselves upon threat of excommunication. The psyche. The soul. The mana of the mage itself. Necromancers can twist and torment all these pieces that you simply aren't able to see with mundane senses, and will do so until their victim is burned out to uselessness. You try to be delicate at first, but it becomes clear this apparatus is not meant to be removed. You have to use your dagger and an unfortunate amount of force to pry the mask off and her wrists free, the poor girl flopping to the floor as if dead, the silent streak of tears down her face the only thing telling you she is alive, though unresponsive. You can't exactly carry her with you, such extra weight would be a death sentence in this labyrinth, and she clearly isn't fit to move on her own. You make her as comfortable as you can given the circumstances, propping her against the wall and tending to what wounds the extraction from the chair had caused, and let her know you'll be back later. You still have to deal with the person behind this. [[Go forward]]

Fortunately, it seems as if dealing with the bound mage indeed broke whatever illusionary magick the necromancer had set. The voices are gone. Things no longer crawl at the edge of your vision. The sanctum even appears to have opened up, a web of tunnels finally larger than two people across and with several paths stretching ahead of you. Lanterns are not any more common, but there is enough for you to roughly navigate by at least. You soon hear voices again, but these do not sound disembodied. There is a bit of echo but you believe you can tell where they are coming from. Survivors? Hopefully more of your fellow knights. You ready your sword, just in case, and carefully weave you way towards the sounds of conversation. [[Find survivors]]

You stumble upon three others of the Templar Order. They appear rather haggard. One has lost his helmet, another is carrying his dagger with his sword nowhere in sight, and the third's armor has seen better days with how may dents decorate it. But they're alive. All three are paranoid of each other at first, with good reason given what you've seen, but seem to settle once you explain the lack of strange magick impeding you all now. It doesn't take long before everyone agrees to stay together and push on. You soon notice that perhaps not everyone escaped mentally unscarred from whatever they had gone through in the initial incursion. One of the knights, Tael you've learned his name is, periodically talks to someone who isn't there. The other, Narl, at first tries verbally to get Tael to stop and then cuffs him upside the head when it isn't enough. A scuffle ensues that you and the last knight, a young woman named Sarh, have to break up. Things only truly calm down when you notice something ahead in the tunnels. A roughly humanoid figure, though clearly something is wrong. They are tall enough that their head scapes the ceiling. Their musculature seems bulked yet formless, the bulges across their body fading and reappearing as if shifting between dimensions. You can't make out a face from this distance. "It obviously isn't real," Tael reasons, deciding to keep going as if the thing's presence simply isn't an issue. "Nothing else here was. Marjar here says it's fine so it's fine." [[Try to warn him]]

You attempt to let Tael know that the thing in front of your little group is no illusion but he pays no heed and both Sark and Narl are already readying themselves for a fight. The thing steps forward, closing the space with a still unconcerned Tael. He is dead as soon as they meet, his head seized as a handle to whip his body against the stone walls with a reverberating crunch. His armor and bones both crumple, the knight ending up in a broken heap. You run. Sarh and Narl run. [[Evade the thing]]

You try to lose the creature in the maze of tunnels available to you now. While you end up out of its sight, its footfalls never stop nor hurry. Whichever twist and turns you take, its footsteps will get further away only to eventually grow far too close again. You wonder if its has some sort of sixth sense to help track you and your companions. Narl suddenly slams into Sarh, driving her against the wall and aiming his dagger low. She manages to catch his wrist, grappling for control over the weapon. "What are you doing you idiot?!" Sarh yells. "You two are going to get me killed if this keeps up," he snarls. "So I'll take care of that. Cut your knees and leave you for that thing while I go deal with the necromacer myself. Your sacrifice will be worth it." "You've lost it!" Sarh tires to adjust her center of gravity, but it's a losing battle, the dagger slowly creeping closer to the less-armored back of her knees. "Rookie, help me!" [[Intervene]] [[Escape on your own]]

You push Narl away, only for the enraged knight to turn his anger on you. He lashes out, his blade aiming for your throat, and you have to parry him away. You call out to reason with him but it only appears to enrage him further. "Damn you!" He bellows. "Just die already!" You don't think he's sane he longer. He's tries to stab Sarh again, the point of the dagger scraping against her armor before he returns to you. His eyes are wild and feral, his lips pulled back to expose too much of his teeth. He grabs you and tries to find the gap in the waist of your armor but you do what you have to. Your sword blocks his forearm to halt his attack and you seize his wrist, twisting your hips just enough to gain space for your blade and sinking it into his waist instead. The rage and color drains from his face and he sinks to his knees. The creature chasing you emerges from around a corner not far away. You and Sarh run. It isn't long until you hear Narl's final scream. [[Make a plan to deal with the creature]]

You decide you're better off on your own at this point. Tael had clearly lost his mind, Narl has gone mad, and you can't be sure Sarh doesn't have some instability that just hasn't manifested yet. So you run. You hear the sounds of a struggle for a brief time. Shouts from both knights. The clank of steel on stone as someone loses either a weapon or piece of armor. Then the death cries of both. Seems the thing got to them before they could slay one another. It's clear you aren't going to be able to hunt the necromancer with this thing at your back. You'll have to deal with it by yourself. [[Lie in wait]]

You limp along the tunnels, hoping your feigned injury is enough to fool the thing stalking your Order. Sarh follows along in parallel pathways, ready to leap in when the time is right. It doesn't take long before you hear signs of the creature. Breaths far too deep for human lungs. Footfalls too quiet for something that large. You slow a bit, your head on a swivel. Fortunately, the thing is clearly not interested in being subtle, striding towards you from the tunnel directly at your back. Perfect. You shakily turn, lifting your sword at the thing as if the move is a great strain. It reaches out for your head, likely to do the same as it had to Tael. Sarh drives her blade into its back, the steel sinking halfway into its phasing muscalature. Some sort of blue ichor spills from the wound but the creature shows no distress, only pausing and looking to her instead of you. Sarh is momentarily stunned by the lack of damage but quickly yanks her sword free and tries again, this time burying the blade in its arm. It uses its free limb to grasp her arm and send her across the nearest tunnel branch into the wall with a thud that lets you hear the breath driven from the knights lungs. "The...head," she manages to get out, struggling to her feet. "There's something in...its head." You spot what she's talking about. A fleshy, stump-like protusion bulges from the thing's skull. You step forward to take your shot at it but she shakes her head and grasps her blade from the floor in trembling hands. "Just leave me," she wheezes, readying herself for a last stand as the creature approaches her. "Crossbow. There should be...a crossbow in the tunnels. Stick to the left. That's where I saw it. As for you-" she finally turns her gaze to the monster. "Come get me. You'll have to earn my death." [[Look to make her sacrifice worth it]]

You stand just beside a tight turn in the tunnels, a small aclove of shadows between the lanterns that you hope will be enough to hide you. Your blade is raised upright against your chest, ready in the knowledge that you likely only have one attack to assassinate the thing stalking you. Its sounds eventually reach your ears. Deep breathing akin to an overgrown beast. Footsteps quieter than something of that bulk had any right to possess. It gets closer. Too close. Closer still, you're sure you should be able to see it by now. It draws into view for only a moment but that is enough. You leap upon the creature, driving your sword downward like a stake. It breeches the thing's hide, sinking halfway before becoming stuck. Blue ichor leaks from around the edge of your blade and you have only a moment to notice that the monster doesn't seem too concerned with the wound before it twists its shoulders and you are sent into the nearest wall without your weapon. Pain flares in your back and ribs as you scramble to your feet, stumbling down a different direction in haste. You have to get a different weapon. You noticed the odd bulge to its head that seemed to pulsate in front of your brief glance, betting that it would have some effect on the creature's vitality to remove. [[Scavenge a weapon]]

You manage to find the crossbow. It's understandably one of the smaller models given the mission it was taken into, but it looks to still be in good condition. You doubt its former wielder is as lucky and silently thank them for at least leaving you this. From there, it is a game of patience. The creature is unsubtle, but also slow and with a myriad of directions to approach from in the spiderweb that the tunnels have become. You put your back against a wall that you think gives you the most coverage but hold off loading the crossbow to avoid possible strain on its mechanism from sitting idle. Time loses meaning without markers for the passage of it. The sun. A dial. It's impossible to tell how long you kneel there. A scream echoes from somewhere and you are unfortunately sure that it was not an illusion this time. Another, closer this time. It becomes a morbid way to track the creature's progress towards you. A third dead. A fourth. The footsteps are audible to you now. Somehow lumbering in pace but light in reverberation. You secure the crossbow into a drawn position and rest the bolt in its place, pressing the weapon's stock against your shoulder. You'll only have time for one shot. The thing stalking you materializes in a tunnel to your left as if from shadows, its bulk shimmering and shifting again. You twist and take aim, spotting the pulsating parasite clinging to the creature's skull. You take a deep breath. Let it get closer. Just as it breaches the edge of the enclave you chose for your stand, you fire. [[Claim the rewards of your patience]]

You practically stumble over the corpse of one of your own knights but quickly spot one thing useful on them. A still full bag of javelins. Short, sensible for the cramped quarters they were going to be used in, but heavy and plenty sharp. Looks like this poor soul didn't get the opportunity to make any use of them but it just means more ammo for you. You fix the pouch across your torso as best you can to avoid another flare of pain and make the morbid decision to use the body you source your new weapon from as a lure. You rapt their armor with a quick strike, wanting the creature to find you quicker. It hasn't seemed concerned about traps so far and you doubt it will start now. Your hypothesis proves true when you only need two more calls for the thing to walk forth from the shadows between lantern placements. Its form, anchored in both reality and a dimension existing just across an unseen veil, ebbs and flows. You cock your arm back as soon as you see it, knowing you'll likely need more than one javelin to do the damage needed. That's why you have more than one. [[Barrage the monster]]

The bolt strikes true, the steel tip tearing its way through the interdimensional parasite, its ruptured form emitting a psychic scream that distorts your senses. You hear the color of the darkness around you. You feel the iron taste of blood on your bare skin. You smell the crossbow clatter to the ground and your head somehow stumbles along the ground in place of your feet. The scream goes silent. You are on your hands and knees. The creature is on its stomach, face down and with a fist-sized chunk of its head now missing. Yet it is not yet dead. It actually...speaks. Sobs. Thanks you in a broken, stuttering voice. [[Inspect this...person]]

Your first javelin is slightly off, striking the creature's forhead. The blow halts its momentum at least and it takes the time to yank the weapon from its skull. You launch another before it has dropped the first, the tip lodging into its eye socket this time. You see the parasite you are hoping to strike recoil, thin tendrils peeling from the skull and a scared, numbing screech echoing out. Your muscles fumble. The new javelin in your hand feels heavier than lead. Your vision goes grey, even your eyes trying to give up on your as colors fade. Your tongue tastes like ash. But you refuse to die here. You stumble back, just enough to escape the worst of the parasite's panicked defense, and practically collapse to a knee as the javelin scrapes the parasite's strange flesh. The damage causes its defense to quieten, to waver. Even the creature's steps become ridden with uncertain paralysis. You grit your teeth, fourth javelin in hand, and cross the distance between you and your enemy quicker than you thought was possible. You shove the tip of your weapon up and directly into the root of the parasite this time. It dies with a cry that sends you down on both knees, your mind screaming to escape your brain. Your skull wants to spilt and you have to physically hold it together, able to feel the stitches stretching across the bone. It all goes quiet. You are left kneeling at the head of...a human? A too-large portion of their skull is missing but their voice appears intact enough to use, sobbing words of thanks spilling from their lips. [[Inspect this...person]]

The person, a young man as far as you can tell, has shrunk so much. His form is withered, spectral muscle gone and leaving only thin sacs of deflated flesh. The wound in his head is somehow perfectly round and bloodless without the parasite bound to him, more of a void than actively damaged. His teeth are gone and his gums a pale grey drained of color. His eyes are clouded, blind. You briefly wonder if he ever saw or if what was done to him robbed him of his sight like it clearly had so much else. It strikes you as odd how still he is. He hasn't moved his neck to look up at you. Hasn't tried to stand. Only his breathing lets you know he is alive. "It doesn't hurt," he says, a tear slowly rolling down colorless cheeks. "I...I can't feel anything." Your own breath shudders. You gingerly bring a finger to touch his head. He doesn't react. Even when you brush the hole in his head he gives no acknowledgement. "Can you help me?" He whimpers. "Please. Help me." You aren't sure if he means to kill him or carry him away. He doesn't clarify. Maybe he doesn't know either. Could his life be restored? Or would he only exist as a voice trapped in flesh unable to even feel sunlight on itself? Would death in such a case be the most merciful thing you could grant him? [[Grant him freedom from his destroyed mortal shell]] [[Give him the opportunity to be restored]] <audio autoplay> <source src="Assets/dyingmonster.mp3"></audio>

You're not proud of having to do this. But the fact is this young man's body may not be possible to repair. The magicks that necromancer's embrace are forbidden for good reason. Even if handed over to the best Circle you can find, there is the very real possibility they tell him the same thing you are thinking and help him shrug off his mortal coil. You would rather not put him through the hell of existence he currently endures any longer than necessary. You unsheathe your dagger. "I'll make it quick," you promise and raise the weapon above his head. "T-Thank you," he sobs. You aren't sure if it's in gratitude or that simple universal fear so many things face before they die. Either one, as well as both at once, would be perfectly reasonble in his situation. You drive the dagger down, tip angled to ensure his brain stem is impaled, until you feel the steel hit the stone beneath you. It's over. His suffering is through. [[Wade deeper into this accursed place]]

You don't want to end his chance at life before he can even try again. It is a possibility that his form is too broken even for mages to restore. But there is also the chance that they manage to, if not fully heal him, as least offer him a life that he will simply need help living. You quietly shush his sobbing and hook your arms under his as gently as you can. "I'll help you live again," you promise. "C-Can you?" "I have to try." His body is fearfully light, reminding you of firewood for the hearth more than any fully grown adult should, and you manage to carry him to the beginning of the current spiderweb configuration of tunnels for easier retrievel later. You rest him in what you hope is the most comfortable position and dive back into the corridors you came from. [[Wade deeper into this accursed place]]

<img src="Assets/ghosts.jpg"> You aren't quite sure when the change happens. It was likely something slow and piecemeal, an easy thing to achieve when the passage of time is as distorted as it is down here. You notice that the tunnels have become more like...a home. Or a facsimile of one at least. There were rooms with furniture, though mismatched and bearing what looked uncomfortably like working organs and staring eyes. Stairs that led up to an inky void or a sky with teeth in its clouds. Hearths with flames of mixed colors and a dozen faces that grinned at you from the embers. "Damned hunter! Your kind deserves death!" You perk up, quickly slipping through several rooms with your head on a swivel for the source of the noise. Your count of how many could be left of those that deployed besides yourself had become woefully ill-informed and you would welcome any of them right now. You finally spot the speaker roughly three rooms away, a man a bit older than yourself in armor that was rather beaten but still whole. He appears already engulfed in battle, raising his sword to block a blow, and you break out into a run to aid him. You only glance an axe coming down towards the block for a moment before it is suddenly buried in the man's ribs from an upward angle. You hadn't even managed to track the warrior changing the attack. It had gone right through the armor too. Forged, sanctified, and runed steel, sundered as if made of parchment. The Templar chokes on his last breath and falls. The axe is yanked from his side, its wielder striding into view. A man, young and dressed in a rough black cloak. His face holds a wrathful snarl. "Your Order was warned. Should have stayed in your precious churches." A smaller woman steps out beside him, her own robes an ash grey and a tome of some sort held in her arms. "I normally mourn the dead," her eyes roam the corpse of the fallen knight. "But the Templars have earned their demise." You recognize this type of pairing. [[Run, as your training told you to do]]

You pick a direction that isn't towards the duo you just witnessed and let your legs carry you as fast as they can. Envoys of the Black Temple. Some obscure occultist city-state that no one of Aneuram truly understood. Your Order had a rather ugly relationship with the group stemming from a blood-feud decades or even centuries ago that you had never been told the root cause of. But you were told about the fact that they always send pairs of hunters and priestesses into the world as their representatives and to avoid clashing blades with these envoys by any means necessary, resorting to outright cowardice if need be. The Black Temple had apparently once nearly exterminated your Order and maintained a sacred vow to continue the efforts if paths crossed. You now understand why. Fortunately, your target was not the hunter or priestess but the necromancer. [[Avoid one danger while tracking the other]]

While the necromancer isn't exactly safe to battle, he will certainly be much more vulnerable to your blade once you push through his tricks and protections. You think fear is starting to set in for him. You notice glitches in the rooms every now and then. Not illusions, but static. Flaws, as if small pieces of control are slipping. You have to be careful now too though, slower. The necromancer could ambush you as easily as you could him. And while the hunter and priestess are likely not here specifically for you, you notice they didn't give chase despite certainly having heard your retreat, they obviously will not hesitate to end you should your paths cross. You notice the billow of robes in the corner of your vision, disappearing to a room towards your left. You raise your weapon in readiness and give chase. [[Finally find the cause of your misery]]

It takes some twists and turns. You nearly lose him when the rooms repeat and you cross the same chair three times in a row. Just another glitch. Despite what's happened to you so far in this place, you're still fitter than the necromancer. A downside of being so well-versed in magick. It leaves much less time for the physical conditioning a warrior of your training receives. So when your chest heaves with deep breaths, you keep going. When you hear the same noise from him, he falters. He twists and lashes out with a sort of carving knife in desperation, aiming for your throat. It isn't difficult for you to adjust your grip on your sword and sever his hand at the wrist for the attempt. He screams, tumbles to the ground. You follow, ready to finish him before a weight crashes into your back. It snarls and screeches as you hit the wall, the necromancer taking the opportunity to scramble away, his stump of a limb clutched close. [[Grapple with your attcker]]

Sam Barnett Aneuram: Dark Dominion Genre: Fantasy/Horror References Sounds 1. Whispers. freesound_community. Retrieved from: https://pixabay.com/users/freesound_community-46691455/ 2. Corrupt scream. CANNIBAL_REN. Retrieved from: https://pixabay.com/users/cannibal_ren-49310811/ 3. Dying monster. freesound_community. Retrieved from: https://pixabay.com/users/freesound_community-46691455/ Images 1. Cabin.pg. alexvi82. Retrieved from: https://pixabay.com/users/alexvi82-14826205/ 2. Passage stairs.jpg. Henning_W. Retrieved from: https://pixabay.com/photos/tunnel-passage-stairs-castle-6839115/ 3. Ghostly room.jpg. Mysticsartdesign. Retrieved from: https://pixabay.com/users/mysticsartdesign-322497/ [[First Deployment]]

Some malformed, child-sized imp with translucent flesh screeches and scampers up your body, small claws raking ineffectively at your armor. It seeks the more exposed meat of your head and you drop your sword and clutch its wrists, swinging it around into the wall. Its small form thuds and it snaps at you in retaliation, pointed fangs coming inches from your face. You whip it into the ground, a sudden crunch letting you know you did damage. It is slow to get up, allowing you the moment needed to bring your foot up and back down, ending its life. You drop to a knee to catch your breath. [[Track the blood trail]]

As you follow the stains left behind by the necromancer's severed hand, you begin to notice an oddity, concerning even for what you have seen so far. The rooms are losing their place in reality. Furniture and walls droop as if melting. Uneven holes in the walls peer into realms that hurt your eyes to look at, the geometry of their existence simply wrong. You understand why when you stumble upon the necromancer. He is using the wall to support his weight, the bleeding of his wound staunched by strange fused scar tissue, but his steps remain shaky. He seems to hear your approach, looking over his shoulder and thrusting his remaining hand in your direction. A swirling shadow blooms on his palm and a clutch of writhing tendrils emerge, trying to force their way past whatever dimensional barrier their master is breaching to summon them. You doubt there are any remaining runes on your armor to bolster you against such an attack so you make use of the one thing youe have, launching your sword at the necromancer point-first. It strikes his shoulder, not doing significant damage but veering his aim enough to allow you to close distance and tackle him to the floor. The steel of your gauntlets thunk against his skull as you rain punches down on him. He makes a last desperate attempt to fight you off, grabbing your neck from below, but you seize his wrist before he can bring his magick to bear, pinning it and using your free hand to continue the barrage. Things break quickly. His nose. His jaw. His orbital bone. You stop when his breathing is impaired and uneven, hauling yourself off of him to retrieve your sword and finish the job. "Please refrain from ending his life." You pause, weapon in hand, and turn around. The Black Temple duo. You don't know if you have the energy to run this time. But they don't appear hostile, the hunter's axe remaining held at his side. "We would like to study him. Live subjects are preferred," the priestess finishes her request. [[End the necromancer yourself]] [[Let them have him and leave on your own]] [[Let them have him and leave with the masked mage]] [[Let them have him and leave with the ruined man]] [[Let them have him and leave with both]]

You came here to see the necromancer face justice. No more, no less. No freedom, no torture. So you deny the request by plunging your blade into the necromancer's heart. The hunter lets out a growl that sounds disturbingly non-human. The priestess appears more disappointed than angered. "That is...unfortunate. The corpse is still usable but results will be limited." The hunter at her side moves forward. The priestess catches his arm. "They may be a Templar but they can still be useful," she says and looks to you. "We believe you are the last of those sent here. Let your church know not to bother with this site any further. We will scrape it for useful information then set it to the torch. The problem will be taken care of." [[Impale her]] [[Leave on your own]] [[Leave with the masked mage]] [[Leave with the ruined man]] [[Leave with both]]

You decide to let them have him. It isn't worth the fight and you won't weep for whatever suffering this man endures at their hands. You've done your duty. You give the pair a nod and turn away as the hunter kneels down and raises his axe to begin immobilizing the necromancer. Getting out is a fair bit easier than coming in. You aren't sure how but things seem to lead you astray less. Passages don't loop around themselves and you swear entire tunnels have vanished. You emerge into moonlight. How long were you down there? Unfortunately, you seem to be alone. You're the only one who made it. You manage to haul yourself up on one of the wagons you came here in and grab the horses reins to coax them into action. What you do from here is up to you. Maybe you return to the church and give your report, continuing your crusade to protect Aneuram. Maybe you take this wagon, sell your equipment, and disappear into a new life, not wanting to inevitably repeat this experience. Your destiny is in your hands.

You decide to let them have him. It isn't worth the fight and you can't say that you'll weep for whatever suffering they inflict on him. You give the pair a nod and turn away as the hunter kneels down and raises his axe to begin immobilizing the necromancer. Navigating your way out is easier than it was coming in, several pieces of the sanctum seeming to have simply vanished while the paths you take no longer warp and wrap around themselves. You manage to locate the mage you left behind earlier, hauling her limp form onto your shoulder. She is still breathing but seems to have not recovered any further. You hope there is still something left of her mind to recover. By the time you emerge back outside, it is night. You appear to be the only one who made it, the wagons that brought here still standing empty. You set the unconscious mage on the nearest one as gently as you can and climb on yourself, taking the reins to spur the horses to action. You'll need to bring the mage to the nearest Circle citadel to get her any possibility of help, but from there who knows? You can return to the church to continue as a Templar. You can sell what you have and disappear. You can ply your trade as one of many mernenaries in Aneuram. It's up to you.

You decide to let them have it. It isn't worth the fight and you won't lose sleep over whatever suffering they inflict on him. You give a nod to the pair and turn away as the hunter kneels and raises his axe to begin immobilizing the necromancer. Finding your way out is easier than it was coming in and you manage to locate the broken man you had left earlier. You throw him over your shoulder with concerning ease, his weight below what you would even consider survivable. Yet he still breathes and so you bring him with you. It is night time when you emerge, the wagons you rode here on standing empty still. Seems you're all that's left of the deployment. You get the ruined man onto the nearest wagon and join him, spurring the horses to action with the reins. You'll have to bring him to the nearest Circle citadel for him to have any hope of recovery but from there is anyone's guess. You could report back to the church and continue as a knight. Sell your equipment and move on to a new life. Become one of the many ubiquitous mercenaries in Aneuram. It's your decision.

You decide to let them have him. It isn't worth the fight and you won't be upset at them making someone like him suffer. You turn away as the hunter kneels down and raises his axe to begin immobilizing the necromancer. Navigating the sanctum seems easier now, paths no longer wind around and entire empty sections have disappeared, but you end up needing to take time to grab both of the people you spared. Fortunately, neither is very heavy but they are dead weight that you try to be gentle with in order to not cause any more damage. The moon is high in the sky by the time you emerge back outside. It seems you are the only one, the wagons that brought your company here standing empty still. You heft the two on your shoulders into the nearest wagon and climb on, taking the reins in hand to spur the horses to action. Getting them to the nearest Circle citadel is the first priority but after that is up to you. Perhaps this experience has steeled your resolve as a Templar. Perhaps you would rather ply your skills as a mercenary with no allegiance. Perhaps you want to start over entirely somewhere else. The future is yours to decide.

These people have killed some unknown number of your fellow Templars. You can't even be sure if them or the necromncer is responsible for the lion's share of the death that has happened today. You aren't willing to forgive that. The tip of your sword lances out at the closest of them, the priestess, only to find the blade gripped by the hunter mere inches from her chest. You try to drive it the rest of the way, to yank it back and wound his hand, but his hold on the sword feels stronger than the steel it is made of. He bares his teeth, a mouthful of curved fangs glinting momentarily, and twists. The blade snaps. You have only a moment to try and pull your arm back before the hunter's axe arcs through the air. You feel the cool touch of steel at your neck, a fleeting pinch, and everything goes dark.

Getting out is a fair bit easier than coming in. You aren't sure how but things seem to lead you astray less. Passages don't loop around themselves and you swear entire tunnels have vanished. You emerge into moonlight. How long were you down there? Unfortunately, you seem to be alone. You're the only one who made it. You manage to haul yourself up on one of the wagons you came here in and grab the horses reins to coax them into action. What you do from here is up to you. Maybe you return to the church and give your report, continuing your crusade to protect Aneuram. Maybe you take this wagon, sell your equipment, and disappear into a new life, not wanting to inevitably repeat this experience. Your destiny is in your hands.

Navigating your way out is easier than it was coming in, several pieces of the sanctum seeming to have simply vanished while the paths you take no longer warp and wrap around themselves. You manage to locate the mage you left behind earlier, hauling her limp form onto your shoulder. She is still breathing but seems to have not recovered any further. You hope there is still something left of her mind to recover. By the time you emerge back outside, it is night. You appear to be the only one who made it, the wagons that brought here still standing empty. You set the unconscious mage on the nearest one as gently as you can and climb on yourself, taking the reins to spur the horses to action. You'll need to bring the mage to the nearest Circle citadel to get her any possibility of help, but from there who knows? You can return to the church to continue as a Templar. You can sell what you have and disappear. You can ply your trade as one of many mernenaries in Aneuram. It's up to you.

Finding your way out is easier than it was coming in and you manage to locate the broken man you had left earlier. You throw him over your shoulder with concerning ease, his weight below what you would even consider survivable. Yet he still breathes and so you bring him with you. It is night time when you emerge, the wagons you rode here on standing empty still. Seems you're all that's left of the deployment. You get the ruined man onto the nearest wagon and join him, spurring the horses to action with the reins. You'll have to bring him to the nearest Circle citadel for him to have any hope of recovery but from there is anyone's guess. You could report back to the church and continue as a knight. Sell your equipment and move on to a new life. Become one of the many ubiquitous mercenaries in Aneuram. It's your decision.

Navigating the sanctum seems easier now, paths no longer wind around and entire empty sections have disappeared, but you end up needing to take time to grab both of the people you spared. Fortunately, neither is very heavy but they are dead weight that you try to be gentle with in order to not cause any more damage. The moon is high in the sky by the time you emerge back outside. It seems you are the only one, the wagons that brought your company here standing empty still. You heft the two on your shoulders into the nearest wagon and climb on, taking the reins in hand to spur the horses to action. Getting them to the nearest Circle citadel is the first priority but after that is up to you. Perhaps this experience has steeled your resolve as a Templar. Perhaps you would rather ply your skills as a mercenary with no allegiance. Perhaps you want to start over entirely somewhere else. The future is yours to decide.