The Siege of the Mine
The defenders landed on the beach under a swirling sky of amethyst clouds, the air thick with the whispers of the jungle. The forest seemed alive, its shadows shifting and twisting as though watching their every move. They had come to destroy the mine, the source of the mysterious black crystals that fueled Mortimer's dark ambitions. But as they rolled their cannons onto the sand, they couldn't shake the feeling that they were walking into a trap.
Mortimer emerged from the treeline, riding atop his deathcharger, its skeletal form wreathed in dark flames. His expression was one of mild amusement, as though their persistence was both admirable and irritating. "You have been given chances to turn back," he said, his voice calm but carrying an edge of menace. "Yet here you stand, determined to throw your lives away. I offer you one final opportunity: leave now, and live."
The defenders exchanged glances, their resolve unshaken. One of them, Arkais, stepped forward and lit the fuse of a cannon. The explosion echoed across the beach as the cannonball tore through the jungle, splintering trees and crashing into the distant fort. The defenders followed suit, their cannons roaring as they unleashed a barrage against Mortimer's stronghold.
Mortimer laughed, a cold, hollow sound that sent shivers down their spines. "So be it," he said, before disappearing into the shadows of the jungle.
The defenders pressed on, their cannons clearing a path through the dense jungle. The air grew heavier with each step, the whispers growing louder, more insistent. Suddenly, horns sounded from within the fort, and shadows arched through the sky. The defenders braced themselves, only to realize too late that the shadows were bodies—catapulted from the fort as a grim warning.
The defenders pushed forward, their determination unwavering. Finally, a cannonball struck the iron portcullis of the fort, the twisted metal groaning as it broke free. The portcullis was hurtled through the jungle towards the group, severing trees before landing at the feet of the commander. The forest seemed to whisper with the voice of Mortimer, "Come in. The door is open."
As they ventured deeper, pentagrams appeared on the ground, their lines glowing with an eerie light. Lightning struck nearby, and from the pentagrams emerged the Children of Azamul—Acolytes, Aggregators, Conjurers, and Arbiters. The defenders fought their way through, their progress slow but steady, their determination unwavering.
The defenders reached the heart of the mine, where Mortimer awaited them near a large blood pentagram. At its center stood a crystal obelisk, its surface pulsing with dark energy. Mortimer placed a hand on the obelisk, and the same figures from before materialized—Rafe Ward, Eoneleth Gallardo, and Kassandra Cynch, their faces pale and lifeless.
"We've seen this trick before," one of the defenders muttered, his voice tinged with anger and grief. But Mortimer only smirked, and the battle began.
The defenders fought valiantly, but the resurrected figures were relentless. One by one, the defenders fell, their wounds tended by their comrades amidst the chaos. Despite the overwhelming odds, their determination remained unbroken.
The battle in the mine was grueling, each strike against the resurrected champions feeling like a betrayal. Rafe, Eoneleth, and Kassandra—once friends and allies—now fought with a hollow, relentless fury, their faces twisted into masks of sorrow and rage. The defenders fought with heavy hearts, their blows landing with a mix of desperation and grief. Each strike was a reminder of what they had lost, but they knew they had no choice. Slowly, agonizingly, they brought down their former comrades, their sorrow deepening with every fallen foe.
When the last of the champions collapsed, the defenders stood amidst the wreckage of the mine, their breaths ragged, their spirits battered. They tried to retreat, to regroup and tend to their wounds, but as they approached the exit, Mortimer was there, blocking their path. He leaned casually against the stone wall, his deathcharger standing silently beside him, its hollow eyes glowing faintly.
"Did you enjoy that little... distraction?" Mortimer asked, his voice dripping with mockery. "Did you enjoy killing your friends? I must admit, I found it quite entertaining." He stepped forward, his grin widening as he saw the pain in their eyes. "Thank you, by the way. Your little invasion gave me all the time I needed to gather the final components from the mine. You’ve been most helpful."
The defenders, enraged, lunged at him, but their attacks were futile. Mortimer's form shimmered and dissolved into shadow, his laughter echoing through the cavern. Before he vanished entirely, he left them with one final, chilling remark: "What comes next is not your end..."
The group broke down the barriers blocking their exit, their minds racing with Mortimer's words. As they stepped into the open air, the whispers returned, louder and more insistent than before. "What comes next is not your end but the end," the voices hissed, their words carrying an ominous weight.
Then, Alex heard something else—a voice, faint but unmistakable. "Aren’t you forgetting your friend?" It was Mortimer's voice, whispering directly into his mind. Alex's bag suddenly grew heavy, its weight dragging him down. He opened it cautiously, his heart sinking as he saw what lay inside.
The head of Eoneleth stared up at him, their expressions frozen in sorrow. The other defenders gathered around, their faces a mix of horror and disbelief. From across the group the Commander’s pack writhed and from inside something said, "Don’t leave me here," the voice from the bag pleaded, sending a chill through the group.
Mortimer's psychological warfare knew no bounds. He had taken their fallen friends and turned them into tools of torment, ensuring that even in death, they would haunt the defenders. But the group was not broken. One of them stepped forward, drawing a holy sword from his sheath. The blade glowed with a soft, radiant light, its power designed to combat the undead.
"We will set them free," he said, his voice steady despite the grief in his eyes. The defenders gathered around as he performed a passing ceremony, the holy sword guiding the souls of Eoneleth, Kassandra, and Rafe to rest. Wisps of energy drifted from the heads, rising into the sky like ethereal flames. As the energy reached the clouds, the unnatural amethyst hue faded, and the sky returned to its natural state.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, Alex felt a hand on his arm. He turned to see the apparition of Eoneleth, his friend's face filled with gratitude and sorrow. "Thank you," Eoneleth said, his voice soft but clear. "You’ve set me free. But Mortimer... he’s planning something much bigger.”
Eoneleth's form began to fade, his energy leaving the mortal plane. He managed to utter a few final words before disappearing entirely: "The Soul Forge... blood... god... stop him...”
The defenders stood in silence, the weight of Eoneleth's words settling over them. Mortimer's plans were far grander than they had imagined, and the stakes had never been higher. They had freed their friends' souls, but the battle was far from over.
As they tended to their wounds and prepared for the next stage of their journey, the defenders knew one thing for certain: they would stop Mortimer, no matter the cost.