“The First Palymir Expedition was an ill- fated attempt to explore the deadlands. According to rumors at the time, many speculated that it was a magi circle in the far north that experimented with travelling to different dimensions that caused the emergence of the Dark Tide. Demons released from their caustic realm into ours. It was that magi circle that also caused the Comet of Jezura to crash into the earth, shattering the northern landmass and creating the Cursed Sea. The same circle that the expedition set out to find. And though tragic, I pray they never find such a thing. ”


    - Lord Angrov Payton, Pathfinder’s Guild, “From Beyond The First Age: Palymir”


    <hr><hr>


    A searing beam of light blinded him, Viktor shielding his eyes even as a few others cried out in surprise, caught off guard by the blast. He was the first to ready himself when the light began to fade, his sword already back in combat position. A few of the templars pushed themselves back up, joining him in a defensive half circle.


    The giant had exploded. That much he could tell by all the bits and pieces left around them. What he didn’t quite comprehend were the dozen or so armoured figures that had appeared from behind the giant, from inside where the barrier ward had been.


    Their armour was both pristine yet decrepit at the same time. An odd mix of chestplate and other singular pieces of armour strapped around their arms. Their heads were covered completely by faceguards from their crested helmets that were almost reminiscent of Imperial designs. Perhaps it was the style or shape, yet he couldn’t help but feel like there was something off about them.


    They were also armed in the Imperial fashion, yet also not quite. Their swords were not quite the gladius used by the Imperial legionaries. A little too long, almost like someone had tried to combine a sword and a spear but shortened it anyway. Their shields were, however, wholly unique. A large oblong almost ovoid piece of shaped metal. A distinctive enough look that separated it from any military that he knew, although it did seem far more tribal in appearance. Interesting.


    “I take it your aren''t allied with them?" Viktor asked, hoping to both ascertain if they had a new threat.


    The lead armoured figure looked down at him, the soldiers all standing almost a head or two taller than even the templars. Minotaur height even, but they don’t have Taurox’s build.


    “No.” It croaked.


    The warrior shifted, tense, uneasy. Though their weapons were not pointed at the templars, from what happened with the giant. Viktor suspected that they had something else watching over them.


    It’s voice was raspy, almost like they had recently finished bellowing out orders. Or an argument… hmm. Viktor flicked the viscera off his blade and sheathed it, holding both hands up in a display of peace. His body language indicates reluctance. Could it be that our mysterious contact the supplies are for isn’t him, but someone else? Intriguing. He motioned for his templars to stand down and whistled out loud for Lionel to hear.


    From the treeline, the other inquisitor directed the rest of the convoy forward. The Meltonian knights, clearly out of their depth, poked and prodded at the corpses arrayed across the battlefield. Honor has a place, but it is not here.


    “Purpose.” The lead warrior demanded.


    His armour shifted with his every movement. The squeaks of old leather underneath the metal echoing just enough for Viktor to hear. He tried to disguise his examination of them, his eyes scanning the terrain. But in truth he had followed the noises and found little scuffs and markings. Some nothing more than battle damage, others however, seemed like symbols of a sort. He looked back towards the rest of the convoy, how convenient. Lionel’s right hand is a historian. Too co convenient. He growled.


    “We sent a communique that we’re here to assess the situation around the mountains. In return,” He pointed to the goats, “We have brought some supplies and goods as tokens of goodwill and to trade, if need be.”


    The armoured figure seemed to sigh. Or whatever it was that allowed it to breathe. It turned to one of its compatriots, the two muttering something amongst themselves. Though Viktor was no stranger when it came to regional dialects across Cyndralia, he could not deduce what they sounded like. Only that there were many grunts and accented words. He paused, accents, accents… Frostwind tribals? No, he tried to listen in, too flowery, excessive. Hmm, excessive but accented… elvish? He furrowed his brow, too broad shoulders, far too much for the Adornari.. A different subspecies perhaps?


    The figures regarded the gathered group for a few more moments. One thing he did notice was that they seemed to be standing in the cold uncharacteristically still. Whilst his templars were well trained and hardened, they were still subject to the elements and tended to respond in kind. The armoured figures however, acted more like constructs than anything.


    “What’s going on, Lord Inquisitor?” Lionel finally caught up, his assistant not far behind.


    “Remember the briefing?”


    “Aye.”


    “Well, it would appear we are close to our objective..” Viktor tilted his head towards the warriors..


    “Charming.” Lionel grunted, “Orgrid!” He called out to his subordinate.


    The historian gingerly passed the templars, a little bewildered at being called to stand before the assembled warriors.


    “Sir?” Orgrid tried to hide his concern.


    “Stick close, we might need you soon enough.”


    “Uhh, of course.”


    A rush of air sent snow billowing down all around, creating a mini snow storm that blanketed the templars. There was another bright yellow flash, this one cutting through even the sky as the crimson clouds began to part, allowing for faint rays of sunlight to briefly hit the accursed lands below.


    “All. Come. Now.” The lead warrior commanded.


    Viktor shared a glance with Lionel, both Inquisitors expressing their own levels of doubt at the order. Not that it would’ve stopped either of them. They were too close to unravelling the mystery of this strange tribe and however this strange barrier of theirs kept the darkness at bay.


    “Be ready.” Viktor warned.


    “Naturally.”


    The two grunted, Lionel passing on an affirming nod.


    “Alright!” Viktor called out, trying to summon the attention of his convoy.


    A few of the templar squad leaders huddled up,


    “Listen up, we’re moving into unknown territory, even more so than before. Stay sharp, stay focused.”


    A few of the templars tapped on their chests to produce a few clanks. Viktor nodded professionally. He then turned to the giant lead warrior and moved to follow, the convoy falling in line quickly enough.


    The armoured warriors barely uttered a noise as they passed by.


    Stepping into the interior of the barrier, Viktor was struck by just how lively he felt just by being inside. He had almost forgotten what lightness felt like with the heavy air of arcane corruption taking over most of the mountain. The snow here was pure white, a sign that whatever darkness snaked across the land outside, it hadn’t managed to make its way in here, yet. And though the outside of the barrier was surrounded by the never ending flurries of snow, in here, there was a calmness that he didn’t expect. A sense of serenity, the feeling that this is what a trip through the mountains should’ve been like.


    It was a bizarre sensation, and the relaxed atmosphere only made him feel more uneasy. In this line of work, the more peaceful something seems, the more secrets there are to find.


    <hr><hr>


    They hadn’t just stepped into a sanctuary, they had stepped into a different land altogether. Although the snow beneath their feet felt and looked like the same that was outside, the land itself seemed to just appear the further in they walked.


    Viktor finally understood why someone might call these the cursed lands or why it had been so hard for anyone to even comprehend this place.


    The deeper they walked into the zone, the more ruins and signs of civilization they found. Following what he presumed was some path buried beneath the layers of snow, the amount of little huts, hamlets and even houses that seemed to just appear out of nowhere to the left and right. Most however, were in varying states of disrepair, age and the elements had worn them down to the barest of foundations. That said, there were still dozens upon dozens of wooden houses, some old stone ones that incorporated the ruins into the architecture. A mixture of pragmatic and desperation filled creations.


    What shocked him even more was how some of them actually had the occupants still present, a few curious heads poking out to check up on the commotion. They look like a ragged bunch of peasants or slaves. Mostly human though. Just how did they even manage to survive here? In such numbers at that.


    He wasn’t sure what impressed him the most. How what looked to be a city’s worth of people was artfully hidden away up in one of the highest mountains in the Frostwinds, or that they seemed to be surviving here, if not exactly thriving judging by the copious amount of ruins. But that too, was something he noted. At least, based on the historian’s reaction to the architecture. Orgrid seemed almost too fascinated with the buildings, the man acting as if he had noticed something that the others might not have.


    It was therefore all the more absurd when a faint wall of snowy mist swirled ahead of them, cutting off the path forward. The armoured warriors stood silently in front of the snow wall, only one of them breaking off from the group and entering it.


    What could only be described as an incomprehensible ritual occurred. The warrior chanting in some long forgotten tongue. At first there was nothing, the warrior simply wandering back out, now covered in head to toe with snow. Then the world seemed to shake as the secrets of the ancients revealed themselves. The wall of snow seemed to dissipate, revealing a massive towering rocky peak. Upon that rock, coiling around it like a serpent was a carved path, the first distincitve sign of infrastructure in this forsaken land.


    Glancing upwards, he couldn’t tell how far up it stretched, only that a faint cloud cover stopped him from being able to see the top. Besdie him, Inquisitor Lionel let out a soft whistle. Viktor simply pointed at the thing, prompting his compatriot to frown.


    “Stuff like this… you only read about in legends. Some ancient megastructure or sky fortress. To think I’m seeing one right now is… unnatural. One might even say there’s likely foul sorcery at play.” He grunted.


    “Undoubtedly.” Viktor agreed, “Though we are here as diplomats, so perish the thought that we can accomplish anything else here. Besides…” He turned to peek at the historian, “I suspect there is far more at play here than either of us might anticipate.


    The other inquisitor let out a non-committal grunt. It wasn’t reassuring, but he supposed it would have to make do for now. I swear, if he does something to jeopordize this.


    “Up.” The leading figure ordered, and the convoy obeyed.


    Together, the supersized warriors began ascending the mountain. The incline was steep but not unbearable. Viktor felt an unreasonable warmth when walking the path, the questioning movements of his companions showing him that he wasn’t the only one. Stranger still were the little bits of plants and vegetation that lined the sides of the path. At first, he thought they were simply another result of magic, something sprouted because of whatever arcane energy was flowing through the place. Only after stumbling past a particularly well organized row did it click in his mind. Crops, they have crops. On a mountain path?!


    The ones undoubtedly the most surprised were the mountaineers. Mostly Frostwind tribals, not only have they breached what they themselves termed the accursed lands. But they had now also stumbled upon what could arguably be one of the largest organized settlements even further up the mountains than where most of the clan holds were situated. That only gave Viktor more questions that he wanted answered. Namely, just how in the hells did a place this organized not attract any attention? Even for the mountains this remote, surely there’d have to be more than just rumors and ghost stories. He chewed on his lip, what do I even put in my report? That we just found a whole civilization? Up near the peak on one of the most treacherous mountains?


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    It all felt like some preposterous flight of fancy or tales of lost treasure shared by adventurers. But as he climbed up the mountain, he was more certain than ever that none of this appeared to be any sort of illusion spell or false reality. That the stony ground beneath his boot, the arcane touched air around them, were all real.


    Questions stacked themselves up within his mind as he tried to analyze everything. He began ascribing mental notes to every little detail, crafting a map of the area and its points of interests within his mind. With how quiet the warriors had been, he suspected that they weren’t exactly open to questions.


    He didn’t know how long they spent on the ascent until they stumbled onto a clearing carved from the mountain itself.


    “Stars above.” Orgrid exclaimed, his mouth hanging open.


    Viktor looked at him and kept his thoughts to himself. But he understood the feeling.


    A massive structure dominated the inside of the mountain, protected by the sides and the rest of the mountain above it. Massive stone pillars stood at the ready, including two decorative statues the size of a town house though they had seen better days, considering one was missing half its torso. What appeared to be an abandoned fountain also sat at the center of the entryway, massive double doors on the left and right by the statues. Strange murals dotted the outside, some crude form of decoration likely depicting warriors or heroes. They sat alongside little bits of script etched onto the stone itself, the lettering all but unrecognizable.


    To the left of this structure was a small looking building carved out of the mountain. It was significantly smaller and looked far more utilitarian than the main building. More of the armoured warriors stood near the entrance to the structure, a few human servants even walking around at the front of the building. Those were the ones most surprised to see the convoy, both groups staring at each other before the servants hastily disappeared back into the buildings.


    Letting the awe settle down, the lead armoured figure then turned to the group with a declaration. “Your leaders will come talk, the rest may camp here. The air is warm and you will be unharmed.”


    The group remained unmoving at first, even Viktor having to take a moment to process the abrupt request. He did recover and snapped the others out of their bafflement with orders of his own.


    “Sergeant Lundgrin, get everyone settled and set up. Lieutenant Gallus, Lionel, Orgrid, with me.” He commanded.


    Like a spell having been broken, the rest of the group all jumped into action at once. The templars busied themselves with unloading the capzel goats and setting up a small base camp. The templar lieutenant and the other two fell in behind Viktor, with Lionel shooting him looks of both concern and interest at their surroundings.


    “Ready?” The armoured figure asked.


    Viktor nodded for the group.


    “Then come and be honored, outsider. For you will meet with the Droanania. Pay your respects well.”


    There it was, an accented word, now much clearer than before but equally indecipherable. Used in context, he could at least determine that it likely meant leader or commander. Viktor bowed to affirm the message, the other three joining him soon enough.


    “Follow.” The armoured figure grunted, and pushed open the doors to a strange new world.


    <hr><hr>


    The historian was beyond giddy, they had stepped in what felt like an immaculately maintained ancient hall. Parts of it were damaged by time itself like a few more damaged statues and statuettes that decorated the place. But they stood in stark contrast to the dim candlelight flickering across the interior, illuminating rows of pews and side rooms and side passages. A temple or monastery, this high up, this large? Fascinating.


    There was a hallowed silence that stalked its halls, their footsteps echoing loudly against the tiled floors. The armoured figure suddenly came to a halt, startling the group as they hastily followed it in stopping.


    “Wait here. Do not wander.” The figure announced and walked down the hall, past the pews and past the lectern that stood in the center of the room.


    The four of them traded looks. Was this a test?


    They had been brought into the temple and left alone. No other guards were in sight nor did they manage to catch a glimpse of any parishioners or other civilians. They had been warned to not wander but assumed that this initial hall would be fine.


    Figuring as much, Lionel shot him a knowing glance. This might be their own chance of gathering what clues and cues they might need before the meeting with whatever a Droanania might be.


    “Search the room, see if you find anything interesting. Hints of identifies, beliefs, or any texts and scripts.” Viktor ordered.


    “This is a church isn’t it sir?” Lieutenant Gallus asked.


    “That’s what it looks like. Could be a cathedral too, this is only the entrance hall.”


    “Damn.” The templar hissed, “Must’ve taken some serious manpower to carve this into the mountain.”


    “Our thoughts exactly, lieutenant. But for now, let’s try to find something that might tell us more about this place. Murals and the like as well.”


    “Aye, sir.” The man saluted.


    The group naturally split up to try and look at different areas of the hall. Each of them walked with no small amount of trepidation and awe as they examined the massive stone hall.


    He could make out faint inscriptions mostly worn down by time. Written in a script he didn’t recognize. He debated calling over Lionel’s assistant but found the man engrossed in whatever wall tile he was looking at.


    Viktor continued looking around the place, finding little points of interest though nothing worth a second glance beyond for archeological reasons. He almost sighed before a small thought struck him, temple, huh?


    He turned his gaze skywards and found himself staring at the ceiling. Classic. Much like the churches and cathedrals that he’d been in before, up upon the ceiling was a massive fesco that rested over the center of the room. However, much like the rest of the place, time had also taken its toll. Much of the colour had already faded, and parts of it seemed to have splintered off over the course of however many years this has been here.


    “Sir, sirs!” Orgrid called out.


    At once, the other snapped to attention and hurried over to the historian.


    The man’s expression was split in-between worry and excitement.


    “What is it?” Inquisitor Lionel demanded, “Spit it out.”


    “It’s about the inscription on the side of this urn, look!” The historian pointed.


    The others followed his gaze, finding a relatively ordinary looking urn with more of the strange script.


    “I see an Urn, Cairnmaker, be more specific.” Lionel growled.


    “Tch, can’t you tell? This urn, it’s made almost like a replica of older elvish styles. See?” He pointed to the two handles attached to the sides of the urn, “They’re flared, like wings almost. It’s definitely a deliberate choice and just not all decorative, I just know it.”


    “And what exactly would that mean?” Lionel pressed.


    Viktor pursed his lips, even before the historian replied to the other Inquisitor’s question. He had an inkling of what was about to come next.


    “It means, boss.” Orgrid rolled his eyes, “That this urn was made at a time when copying elvish designs were popular.”


    “And considering that humanity is friendly with the elves, relatively speaking. There has not been an elven renaissance or exploration of elven styles that have become haute couture for at least a century or two.” Viktor added his own speculation.


    Orgrid nodded excitedly at Viktor’s addendum, “Exactly! So whoever designed and made this likely came from at least a century ago, if not more.”


    “Huh.” Lionel grunted, “And how does that help us, exactly? They liked elvish things, good to know, I suppose. But that doesn’t have much to do with this unless…”


    “Unless…?” Orgrid looked almost eager for the answer.


    “Unless you’re telling me that this place might be far older than that.”


    Orgrid nodded, “We’d have to imagine that an almost fanatical effort must’ve been put into creating such a place, and then filling it with elvish or replicant elvish artifacts and decorations. Thus it stands to reason that this could very well be meaning that this temple is far, far, more ancient than we thought.”


    The four of them stared at the urn for a few moments. Older than we thought… but I already feel like it’s pretty damn old. How much more ancient can this place get? And to still be in such decent shape.


    “But surely there’d have been some traces of this place?” Lieutenant Gallus voiced his concerns, “If what you say is true, and I do think so as well. It would also mean that they’d have needed to collect a tremendous amount of manpower and supplies to just start carving out the side of a mountain, let alone more a… a… civilization of sorts.”


    “Huh, the lieutenant raises a good point.” Viktor chimed in, “We didn’t find any records of this place or much activity at all in this region. Minus the occasional traveler or tribal that warns people to stay away from the frigid north.”


    “Gah!” Orgrid angrily scratched at his scalp, “It seems you guys misunderstood me a bit. When I meant old elvish design, I meant old elvish designs even for the elves. That is to say, something that might be considered an artifact even for them.”


    “So… old even for the elves… are you suggesting, perhaps, that this place was built…” Lionel tried to pry more information out of him.


    With such an enraptured audience, Orgrid was more than happy to oblige, the man’s passion seemingly ignited by this singular urn.


    “Yes! Before the most recent rounds of Imperial Adornari conflict at least. I would say that even then, replicating old Myndiri designs were still not in vogue for them. So probably at least three or four centuries ago, if not even further back.”


    Lionel nodded approvingly at his knowledge, though Victor could tell the other inquisitor was still a little bit confused about everything.


    Before any of them could continue, the ever familiar clanking of metal boots echoed back down the hall, though this time multiplied in number.


    Despite his reluctance to leave the urn, even Orgrid hastily hurried back to the area in front of the lectern. The group waited, wary about whatever was to come.


    “I present the Droanania.” The familiar armoured figure announced.


    The group watched as three armoured warriors emerged from down the hallway. Two more carrying a veiled palanquin. Little excessive for indoors use.


    Amongst the warriors, one looked distinctively different from the others. Though he sported a similar plumed helm and face mask. He was clad from head to toe in enclosed plate armour. It was also decorated with a variety of what seemed like awards or accolades. His color scheme too, was far more of an imperial red than the more neutral greys and yellows that the other warriors wore. Striped pauldrons also likely indicated their ranks, the strange warrior’s showing off a striped pattern with a variety of different colours.


    Only now did he realize that this meant the strange warrior was the commander and that the convoy and party had followed a foot soldier.


    “Outsiders.” The strange warrior turned his withering gaze upon them.


    Viktor was unfazed, replying only with a formal bow.


    “I can handle matters from here.” The strange warrior turned to the original one before switching to whatever language it was that they used amongst themselves.


    The more plain looking one that had originally guided them here crossed his arms and bowed towards the other one. Exchanging a singular phrase before turning around and marching out the main door.


    The four that remained said nothing until the doors had closed. A soft whisper echoed from the palanquin and Viktor watched as the commander leaned in, grunting and nodding a few times.


    Satisfied by whatever he had heard, the commander motioned from them to approach. Viktor and the others did as needed, though he could see how both Lionel and Lieutenant Gallus seemed ready to draw their weapons should the situation necessitate. Though I doubt we’ll stand much of a chance if they can repeat what happened with the ogre.


    “The… ahem.” The commander coughed, trying to adjust something, “Our leader, the princess has bid me to act as the messenger for our conversation. I believe that will be satisfactory?” A princess? Royalty? Up here?!


    “It will,” Viktor replied. He seems a little more… uncertain. Are they foreigners perhaps? They do have a different language in use, that much is clear. Though their common is... fine.


    “Good.” The large warrior grunted, “Introduce yourselves and state your purpose, outsiders.”


    “At once.” Viktor confirmed. “I am Viktor von Krantz, a huntsmaster of the Inquisition of the Church of Astralis.” He then gestured towards the others, “This is my college, Senior Inquisitor Lionel and his assistant, Historian Orgrid Cairnmaker. The last one is my bodyguard, Templar Lieutenant Gallus Linlee. All of us currently work in service of the Church of Astralis.”


    The commander gave no reaction, instead, leaning back over to listen to the princess in the palanquin. Those two exchanged a few words, taking a minute or two before they came to some form of accord.


    “I am, in your tongue, a general. My name, in your tongue, is Kermenadies. I am the head of our princess’s royal guard and arm.”


    Viktor lowered his head respectfully.


    “Now, what is your purpose here.”


    Viktor sighed for the first time in a while, they were about to have a long discussion.


    <hr><hr>


    “And you believed we were cultists?” Kermenadies asked after he recounted their journey and what information he could share.


    His tone was calm, almost too calm, and Viktor couldn’t quite gauge whether the man was annoyed or not.


    “That was the original assumption, but we didn’t know much about this area at the time.”


    “And you were not supposed to.” The commander stated plainly.


    “I understand, but we have. And so we brought supplies and materials as a gesture of goodwill and to show that we have no intent of causing a conflict here.” Viktor calmly anwsered.


    The man translated something for the palanquin and received a lengthy reply in response. This one seemed to make him doubt himself, the armoured figure shifting almost in disappointment.


    “My lady has given your permission to use the facilities here as you see fit. Consider this an act of thanks for your tribute.”


    “Of course.”


    “Onto more important matters, what exactly is it you want to accomplish here?” The commander asked.


    Viktor paused, Lionel shooting him a wary look. In theory, they weren’t supposed to so easily disclose Inquisitorial missions. But in a case like this, Viktor supposed they didn’t have much other choice if they were truly seeking for a more peaceful resolution to matters at hand.


    “We wish to learn more about your arcane magic and how it seemingly keeps not just the undead, but also elements of the Dark Tide away.” He confessed.


    Kermenadies conferred with the princess some more. This time, there was an air of combativeness in his body language, his tone far sharper than but moments ago. Eventually, it nearly escalated into a full blown verbal confrontation.


    The commander almost walked away at one point in some display of disgust or dissatisfaction. But eventually he calmed down and looked towards Viktor and the others.


    “The princess would like to speak to you about your proposal.” He growled.


    Viktor and Lionel both instinctively glanced at each other. It was a small win, they had managed to get a foot in the door. But based on how dissatisfied that the commander appeared to be at their involvement. He wondered if the path ahead was only about to get rougher.