This is Part Three of my pbp playthrough of A Single Moment RPG with a friend. One player is in green, the other in red. Check out Part 2 here.
CHAPTER THREE
Virtue / Justice
Key Focus / "The Moment You Crossed The Line"
This is about doing what must be done, making the hard choices.
I remember that which you did that began all this…
After a few years of searching, we had finally found the Balrog that had killed my brother. Artrail, Tristan, and a few others had blocked off this large abandoned cathedral on the outskirts of the city. It was impressive, it had large stained glass windows outstretched to the heavens, now tarnished with cracks and broken glass. The pristine white paint on the large stone walls now flaking off and discolored, and the stone itself cracked and falling apart. The door, nearly ten foot tall of solid oak reinforced with iron plates, worn down but holding strong.
Artrail and Tristan stand at the main entryway. Wearing the signature breastplate of the Sword Saint, a red plate with golden trim with a blue sash that runs across the chest, while brandishing the large two handed bastard sword, the Heirloom of the Lionheart. Artrail had directed the legion officers to cut off the other entrances.
Waiting for the signal of the other members Artrail kicks the door open.
As the door slams open, Tristan releases a burst of light that seizes any Demons within the foyer of the destitute cathedral. Instantly three lesser ones are dematerialized, while a fourth held by a cackling line of blue light. Showcasing incredible growth and control in the ways of Chanelling, Tristan became one of the foremost Templars within the Legion, a special Order comprised of particularly gifted Knights in the way of Channelling and Magick.
The rest of the Knights watched a scene that had become quite familiar over the past few years of this campaign. Tristan approached the Demon, twisting and bearing down on the ethereal leash of energy he was bound in, and interrogated the foul creature. "Where is your Master, imp?" A response barely escaped its leathery lips before its body was engulfed in black flame. Tristan held it's neck, even through the Flame, with a face of intensity that burned just as strong before pulling away at the last moment.
"Come, this way" the Templar pointed towards the crossing.
Artrail still impressed by the sight of Tristan's released conviction, knowing that his own Channeling skills pale in comparison. They continue on deeper into the abandoned sanctuary to a large cross section of hallways. To the left and right were paths that ended with doorways and the center path leads to a stairway deeper beneath. Artrail signals to two group of men to handle the left and right corridors while leaving only Artrail and Tristan to continue toward the staircase and descend deeper.
The farther they go, the deeper they descend, the more corrupt the building looks. The once burning torches and empty sconces, darkened black and twisting. The stone blocks, pulsate like that of a beating heart. The darkness becoming full and enveloping, with no more aid of sunlight to pierce it through. Artrail says a command word "Orgath, awaken." and his sword burns bright with a divine flame, illuminating the pathway.
"I see you've been practicing." Tristan says to Artrail as the two descend into the darkness, the shadows dancing menacingly on the walls of the stairwell. "Everything we've worked towards has led to this moment. Are you ready to end this once and for all?
"Oh this? This is different than your normal channel. Leopold actually withheld this secret for all this time. Orgath is the true name of this blade and this is just one of its few handy tricks."
"Yeah," He pauses briefly, "I am ready to sever this beings ties with the material plane." As Artrail clenches tighter on the hilt of his blade, the radiant flame begins to flicker sporadically, bearing a striking resemblance to his emotional state. "But tell me? Why do you still risk so much? You have a family at home now."
"That's *exactly* why I risk my life. To end this, once and for all. Make no mistake, you were born into this world with Leopold as your brother, but he died as one of mine. Vengeance for his death means more to me than anyone else in this world."
Tristan pushed past, igniting his gauntlet in a smoky blue flame to light the way as the stairs lead into the crypts. "And like I've said before, cutting off the Demon from this plane might not be enough. I think I've figured out a way to destroy it for good."
The two descend into a thin but long hallway, the walls filled on either side with ancient obsidian statues of the deities of the realm, that reach high into ceiling. The poses of these statues seem to connect in a high arc above, creating a pathway of outstretched arms, swords, staves and wings. They follow on the blackened marble floor and the deeper they get, the higher the temperature begins to rise.
Artrail now following behind Tristan, head through a large open archway presented by two larger statues, one of a demon and one of an angel seeming to interlock in combat. The chamber opens wide and what was once nothing but darkness, now has a warm orange glow. As the two approach the Balrog is crouched forward leaning on one of his large hands. This beast stands about eighteen feet tall and shaped as a humanoid, with dark crimson, leathery hide. Long patches of flesh covered with roaring flame, it outstretches from the forearm and elbow, shoulders and skull. Ramlike horns spout from the bridge of its eyebrow and curl back around its ear. Sprouting out of its back are large, batlike wings that carry the embers from its body.
"Inquisitors!" It exclaims, "You dare charge into my dark domain!" The power radiating from this monstrosity creates a heavy pressure weighing on both Tristan and Artrail.
Artrail sprung into action as they had prepared, dashing towards the balrog swinging his flaming blade in a wide arc. As they had done hundreds of times before, Tristan begins drawing the binding sigils as Artrail presses the attack. For the first time in years, however, Tristan hesitates, and the sigil flickers. Even as Artrail squares off against the demon up ahead, Tristan could hear that familiar whisper of that eldritch voice creeping into the shadowy recesses of his mind once again.
"Youuuuu will faaaiilllll them alllll" the demon whispers into his soul. "Yooouuuu are weeeaaakkk...."
Artrail's divine blade and the Balrog's demonic flaming blade interlock for a moment. Waves of energy crackling out as flaming lightning spouts from the weapons, burning small chasms into the walls and floor. What's going on Tristan? Artrail being pushed down into the floor with immense pressure from this huge demon.
Tristan's incantation finalizes. Dozens of large spectral weapons created from a blue divine light surround the Balrog, they pierce down into the ground in various angles and lengths. The demon bleeding as the blades pass through a slash through various parts of its body. The demon pinned to the ground with Artrail along with it. The hilt and hafts of all of these spiritual weapons begin interconnecting with one another as a thick energy based chain spears out into one another and then into the ground, creating a large energy based webbing.
Artrail shouts out "DO IT!!! FINISH IT OFF!" and the Balrog follows, "Yesssss. DO IT!" And lets out a deep and hearty chuckle.
Hearing Artrail's voice snapped him out of his stupor. Tristan's eyes focused and he uttered the final words of the incantation. A bright flash of light filled the crypts as the demon was suspended by a prism of divine energy. Tristan focused and held the magic bindings in place as Artrail regained his footing. This was it. They were about to end a several year long campaign against the forces of darkness. They were going to get revenge for Leopold, whose death still weighed heavy on both men.
"Leave this place, bastard, and never return." Artrail shouted. Then, turning to Tristan, he gives him the acknowledgement to complete the ritual just as they had planned, and send the balrog away from this plane.
But he could not. Tristan knew sending him away would only mean the demon would inevitably return and continue this cycle of darkness once again. He had to destroy him. Tristan knew it was his fault that Leopold died, and only he could make it right.
And so he continued with a new spell. One that he had been working on in secret, that not even the other Templars had seen. Wisps of energy swirl the demon's eldritch prison as they pulse and grow. With each trace of his finger and utterance of the next Power Word, the prism of light around the Demon grew more and more intense.
The immense power began crackling with this fierce red and gold divine spark. The energy generated at the central point of the prism created this vacuum of pressure. The Balrog's form began to shift and pieces of flesh began to shred from the demons core. Radiating divine energy began turning a shade of black as it pulled inward into itself.
Artrail steps back holding his sword up defensively as the room begins to swirl from this immense power. Dust and loose debris is picked up and tossed around until suddenly it all converges into the center of the prism. The spiritual blades break down into radiant spikes and pierce through the barrier and creature within. A cascade of light and dark energies converge into the center of the Balrog. It's form being pulled apart by this massive power. The dark energies create this strong gravitational focus while the radiating divine energy breaks down and severs the demonic flesh.
As the surrounding eldritch magic is condensed into this imploding prism of light and dark, the demon within becoming nothing more than particles and vapor. The pulling power within the room picks up, Artrail stabs his sword into the ground for stability. Even Tristan is right on the cusp of being pulled forward, with beads of sweat rolling down his face and pulling off into the gravitational vortex.
The energy coalesces into a small bead of energy before being released into the crypt with astounding force, sending Artrail flying back toward the opening archway. The floors and wall begins forming large gaping cracks as the building seems to be at its end.
Artrail looks up from the rubble to see Tristan straining against the magic energy at the center of the room. Within the light prison what was once the form of a leathery winged, horned and clawed demon now was only filled with a swirling pool of dark energy.
The sheer force of the vortex was blowing away hair and loose articles as Tristan struggled to inch ever closer to the coalescence of magic before him. Laboriously he extends one hand. His face twisted and grimacing from the burning cold pain racking him as he reaches forward.
He had to do what needed to be done to complete the ritual. Beads of darkness lance over his hand and arm chipping away at the gauntlet, searing through the layers of mail and chain and leather and even flesh like a hot knife through butter, burning and scarring and twisting the flesh with dark magic.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Artrail yells over the pulsating howl of crackling necrotic energy. "THIS ISN'T THE WAY, YOU CAN'T USE DEVIL MAGICK AGAINST THE DEVIL."
The corrupt energy overwhelmed Tristan. His arm already being ripped asunder, the rest of his body soon to follow if it continued much longer. It was accomplished, the balrog had most certainly met it's demise. The overflowing magic still disrupting the chamber and the back wall begins crumbling down. Tristan so focused on the destruction of this creature that his being was now becoming the catalyst to channel the magicks. It was tearing him apart. That's when Artrail slammed his gauntlet into his longtime friends back. From the exertion of the channeling Tristan was in no form to take a physical hit.
Tristan collapsed to the floor, and the errant energies released outward, carving large fissures into the chamber. Artrail scoops Tristan up and throws him over his shoulder, looking back at his blade left punctured into the blackened stone floor in the center of the room. "Our job is done." A small orb of magick remains tearing this once beautiful architectural wonder, pulsing waves of energy and sprouting large crackling beams all around. Artrail hurried down the hallway and back up the staircase where they ran into Virgil and the other knights. The building collapses inward, stained glass sprays all around, just as the knights free themselves from this nightmarish prison.
Tristan opens his eyes and the world painfully came crashing back to him. Around him his vision was filled with death and destruction as Knights scurried about to remove debris and save the ones that had been trapped beneath the collapsed cathedral. His sense of hearing was assaulted with by men barking orders, weeping, and the crunch of glass and rubble as the rescue efforts continued. It smelled of death and ash. And like a javelin of lightning the pain racked his body when he tried to prop himself up, causing him to fall over into a heap. He looked down to see his right arm completely burnt and horrifically mangled by dark magick.
Looking down at the condition he was in, he almost didn't notice Artrail burst into the tent. For the first time since they were kids, Artrail had shed his stoic demeanor and was yelling at him. The last thing he remembered before blacking out was trying to complete the spell that would destroy the Demon then it came rushing back to him. He's still alive. He shouldn't be. If the spell had worked the way it was supposed to the balrog would have been bound to his own body giving it flesh and blood which should have been destroyed in the ensuing release of energy for good.
He looked up at Tristan and weakly forced out the words, "What...happened? What did you do?"
The sounds of chaos rained all around. Soldiers screaming at one another. Parts of the building still crumbling in. Artrail looking down upon Tristan, "You know what happened. I did what had to be done." Artrail stood over his comrade, blood pouring from wound beneath his ear. His once glorious breastplate, full of gashes and burn marks from the large flaming saber of the demon. A torrent of thoughts rushed through his head. Why would he do this. We had a plan. You acted too reckless. "I STOPPED YOU, that's what I done."
Tristan struggled to his feet, barely holding himself up through sheer force of will, gritting his teeth through the pain. "No. You stopped what needed to be done." And with that Tristan pushes past him and slowly makes his way out of the tent, but not before stopping, and without even turning to utter with great strain, "I'm sure Leopold would be proud of us both. May he rest in peace."
Head low and shoulders sunken, Tristan trudged away.
A deep realization came across Artrail's face. Tristan wanted to sacrifice himself. But why. He has a family. The power of his channeling is far greater than that of the other templars of old. Artrail takes a deep breath and plops on his butt leaning into the palms of his hands. Now what.
Later that week, the Falconne's had thrown a banquet in honor of those lost to the evil scourge and to celebrate the victory of the Legion of Judgement. Artrail, carrying the scars from his battle across his chest and arms, socializes with the guests. He carouses with the elites, nobles and the heads of the church as it had seemed that he had garnered unlimited favor. Everyone attended, from the ground knights to the legion's templars, everyone except for Tristan. Artrail carried on with his night until the party died down, only then did Virgil pull him to the side and inform him that Tristan was done, that he had wanted no more.
That day, henceforth known as The Day of The Black Flame, was the last that Tristan had called himself a Knight of the Legion of Judgement. He left his position with the Templars, his city, and his family and retreated into anonymity and hiding. From that day forward, he moved in secret to research and untangle the mysteries of the demon's magic. He knew with the spell unfinished, somehow, someway the demon would find a way to return and his life's obsession became exploring the darkness in the name of saving the rest of the world from the danger they thought they had prevented.
CHAPTER END
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