Deus Necros

The party drove the carriage until they reached the gates of the border city of Astra. The horizon had tilted into a wash of early morning light by the time the walls came into clear view, rising tall and aged, cut from stone darker than the earth it sprouted from. Their edges bore the cracks of countless seasons, but no wear in vigilance. Flags fluttered above, emblems of the Empire stitched in threads that caught what little wind dared pass between the battlements.

Several other carriages were already waiting, pulled off into dusty rows near the outer causeway. Their wheels sunk slightly in the dry, beaten road. Merchants and guards, pilgrims and farmers all waited together in varied degrees of patience or irritation. The atmosphere carried the restless hush of lines and thresholds. Horses snorted. Axles creaked. Somewhere behind them, a child wept in exhaustion and heat.

Most of the people here were probably moving out to the eastern side of the empire due to the rumors of the impeding war.

Time stretched with little ceremony as their party took their place in the slow-moving line, the hooves of their horses pawing softly at the stone. The sun crawled overhead, slow and unbothered, until its rays began stabbing straight down into the cloaks and shoulders of those unfortunate enough to stand outside.

Eventually, after what felt like the length of a sermon, their turn arrived. The frontmost guard, dressed in regulation steel with a tired expression carved into his brow, stepped forward with a well-practiced call: “Next carriage. Present identification.”

Timur, ever the professional, reached into his coat and retrieved a sealed parchment with the crest of Baltimore stamped clear upon the wax. “We’re from the house of Baltimore” he said with a curt nod.

The guard accepted the document without protest and began leafing through it while another moved to inspect the carriage. A second guard circled the rear with half-hearted interest, poking at the wheels, glancing into the back where the group had stowed their bags, and raising an eyebrow at the still-healing Redd, who sat slumped but awake.

It was then that Ludwig stepped out, more out of reflex than necessity. He was a bit worried about the fact that he had no identifications, and they were harboring a bandit. But the moment he stepped out, one of the younger guards at the side took a startled step back, eyes narrowing on the insignia still in his hand. Titania’s crest, still gleaming faintly from the sun’s rays.

“Wait,” the guard said, lifting a hand. “That mark…”

The older one looked up, leaned closer, and his tone changed immediately. “That belonged to the Holy Maiden herself, didn’t it?” His gaze swept Ludwig once, from boots to brow. “You’re with her.”

Ludwig inclined his head. “Briefly.”

“No need for further inspection. You and your group are cleared.” He gestured firmly to his companion, who stepped back from the carriage without further comment. “Move along.”

“Man having powerful allies sure does help a lot innit,” Timur smiled as he ushered for Robin to keep leading the carriage forward.

As they passed through the iron-barred gate beneath the arch of Astra, Robin turned toward Ludwig with an expression of mild disbelief, lips quirked in a dry smile. “Looks like that thing holds a lot of power. Better keep it safe”

Ludwig didn’t smile back. He turned the insignia lightly in his fingers, its etched surface warm against his glove. “Should only be the case. It belonged to the Holy Maiden.” A short pause, then he glanced at Melisande. “Though… she spoke like someone who’s been around for centuries. I guess… not human?”

Melisande, who had been watching the crowd shuffle beyond the wall, turned her head and shook it lightly. “Completely human,” she replied. “The Holy Order doesn’t have much patience for non-humans, especially when it comes to high posts. It’s policy. Politics, really. To ensure no other race claims authority over the church.”

“But doesn’t that contradict her… longevity?” Ludwig asked, brow furrowed. “She’s clearly ancient.”

“She doesn’t hold political power,” Melisande clarified. “She’s a sword. A banner. Not a bishop. She can’t make church law. She follows commands.” Her tone dipped slightly. “And she always has.”

“I see.” Ludwig let the thought linger for a moment. “It’s odd. She seemed more like a force than a person.”

Melisande looked ahead again, her voice quieter. “It’s a blessing and a curse. The mantle she carries, Holy Maiden, it binds her. In return, she serves the Four Gods. They grant her strength. And time. But I doubt she enjoys either.”

“How can one not enjoy a long life?” Robin’s voice came idly from the front, his eyes watching the passersby.

Ludwig’s gaze moved toward Celine, who stood with arms folded beside the horses, and then back to Robin. His frown deepened. “Ah… never mind,” Robin added quickly, clearing his throat. “Look, the teleportation gate’s up ahead.”

They moved through the widening streets of Astra until the great plaza came into view, where stone met steel and magic bled into craft. The teleportation gate stood at the center of the square, a towering circle of etched bronze and silver inlaid with runes pulsing in quiet rhythm. Around it stood a handful of armored guards and clerks, keeping track of usage and purpose.

The moment the group approached, one of the guards broke off from his position and strode over.

“Oh, it’s them!” he called out. “Come, come!”

“What is it?” Robin asked, already suspicious as he tightened his grip on the reins.

“You’re the ones who came with Lady Titania, correct?” the guard asked, eyes flicking across them. He held a small tablet of records.

“Yes… why?” Robin answered cautiously.

“Just formalities,” the guard assured, lifting a hand. “May I see the token, please?”

Ludwig held up the insignia. The man inspected it for only a second before striking a line through something on his list. “Perfect. You’re confirmed. Also… may I ask, who among you is Master Davon?”

Ludwig raised an eyebrow. “That would be me. Why?”

“The Holy Maiden recommends Peltora in Tulmud,” the man said as if that meant anything obvious.

Ludwig tilted his head. “Peltora?”

Robin, surprisingly, was the one to answer. “It’s the largest adventuring city in Tulmud. The Guild capital. Most quests across the empire are distributed there. They’re also the seat of one of the largest intelligence networks. The White Raven…”