Chapter 4 Part 1: Three Thousand Year Jealousy

Xavos crashed to the bottom of the damaged stairway brushing aside the scrapes of ladder left over from the extreme violence issued against that part of the hull of the great ship. His acolytes and last bodyguard were using their blessed weapons to slow their descent along the walls of the maintenance passage, and so landed lightly behind their teacher. Xavos used his great sword infused with the fires of stars and heaven to cut and burn through the solid walls of kiloth oak. Revealing a shadowed room lit by fires of dark and blessed magic alike in the chaos of battle.

The force of Xavos’ rage crushed a troop of goblins on the other side of the wall who must have been attempting to avoid the front lines, or flank around to get at the children and woman in the back as was their way. The thought would have warmed the Arch Paladin’s heart if he wasn’t focused on the call for avenging blood. Until it was satiated he would have no rest. Good thing his target given to him by the Heavens wasn’t hiding his presence. There the monster was exchanging blows with the Crown Prince Viborth, heir to the high throne of the deep, who was wielding holy weapons from their royal armory.

The Paladin recognized the relics at once. They were the Halberd of Soul Searing Jalaster made by the same master craftsman and priest of old who forged Juradill the Troll Cleaver in Xavos’ hand, and the once ceremonial dagger of the first Arch Paladin of the Sea Dwarves Ire of Lamentations.

These would normally be wielded by the nearest paladin or acolyte, but given the circumstances Xavos wasn’t going to complain. Truly Viborth would have made a prime Paladin if he wasn’t destined for the throne so the weapons were not butter knives in his hands. Still, there would be only a throne of empty dead ships if the battle went on for much longer.

The Paladin had seen these struggles before. Here in the belly of the Ark of Xarmon upon the galleries and feasting tables with the many now shattered onyx chandeliers and reliefs of dwarves of days past would be the end of even a masterful warrior as Viborth. Great men at arms had much strength and skill, but a battle with an elder undead was as much spiritual as it was physical.

The Crowned Prince was slowing as his soul and mind strove mightily against his foe. Xavos could hear his shouted prayers to the Almighty echoing through the second Heaven as the young dwarf begged for aid. Viborth knew he was flagging in the face of the mighty blows of the vampire who was summoning cursed hounds of yore with three heads and reviving them as soon as they perished with a twisted smile on his corrupted visage. Each hound exhausted the soul and will, dragging the body ever toward the grave. An effect only days of prayer and fasting can completely erase, but the memory of their gripping madness never fully left a thinking being's mind.

The vampire’s black on black eyes showed a malevolence that swallowed light in every direction he searched. The undead was no normal elder. All bloodsuckers had the pale complexion which they could readily hide with spells and other tricks to infiltrate the abodes of the living, some even had the cursed eyes hinting at the power and corruption beneath. However, only the eldest vampires could boast an endless stream of familiars and hounds as each being took time to master and break in their undeath. Only a very ancient wretched creature indeed could have dominated so many creatures and fiends into his thralls.

Another mystery was solved upon viewing the solid but short statured fiend. He was a dwarf and one the Arch Paladin had known in life. One who had a personal grudge with the royal house of the sea dwarves. Ure the cursed duke of the Spire of Skewers. No wonder a simple shaman was sent to kill the sleeping Arch Paladin who they doubtless expected to still be in stasis long enough to slaughter before his power awoke, and not the master of this force himself. This vampire had a grudge to settle with his old Lord.

Ure was a fool in life as he was in death. and his many years of undeath had not increased his wisdom. The Duke should’ve taken the larger threat himself, and truly the battle may have gone ill if done in a rush while Xavos was still disorientated from the awakening after stasis for what must have been many years. But instead the bitter little undead dwarf had chosen to end personal grudges with his old Kierter. Still obsessed with petty squabbles of court like dandy or a woman of uncouth nature. Xavos felt nothing but contempt as he gazed at Ure’s new body and soul given over to darkness and decay. Some fools really would stay the fool no matter the time to reflect on their idiocy.

“Ure tal Urien you are as pathetic in undeath as you were in life when Shethane Bryithilia rejected your poultry offers of union,” Xavos called out in the most demeaning voice in his repertoire. Not so hard a feat given just how little respect the Arch Paladin had for the Duke, and now even less with his poor command and dependance on power rather than leadership.

The self content smirk on the face of the fiend changed to instant uncontrollable rage at the sound of the truth on his now wretched black ears. Even after all this time the monster had yet to come over his childhood flops. The boy was an elder undead yet still a spoiled child. Evil wasn’t always so pathetic, but at times they made the job of Paladin easy with their contemptible weakness and petty nonsense. He most likely agreed to be a vampire just to gain the power to slaughter his liege lord and father of the Shethane who had spurned him. Childish and foolish brat as always.

“She ripped out my heart as you did nothing Xavos you arch of a fake and useless church!” The vampire with monstrous demigod-like powers stamped his foot like a toddler angry at his mother for denying him a pastry. This was going to be easier than Xavos had expected. The truth will set you free, or destroy you under its weight in the mirror. And none escaped the truth forever.

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