Vara sprinted across the burned fields, her feet throwing up small puffs of dust. Her breath came ragged as short, and the wound in her side twanged with pain. It would need looking to, but not yet. There was more important now. She had to warn them.
Behind her, far behind, she heard a mournful howl, inhuman and piercing, echoing through her bones, and dragging her thoughts to the battle.
The regiment of Crusaders marched into Kwythellar. The city, evacuated in haste, was as of yet intact, aside for a few fires started during the escape. The Crusaders, in practiced order, set up barricades in all of the main streets, brining down buildings, heming the Sheim forces, funneling them in towards the Center of the city, where the Largest part of the regiment was waiting.
The howls renewed her vigor. She stopped a moment, reaching for her canteen, forgetting she had drunk it empty earlier. Then, deciding that speed mattered more than anything, she undid the clasps of her Oath Taker armor, and slid it off, stroking the filigreed runes inscribed on it for the last time. As she took off, the Howls sounded again, closer, accompanied by the stench of Sulfur.
From the hills surrounding the city a low, constant chanting drifted down. The words, demonic in origin, rippled with power. They seemed to draw every evil impulse out of the city and hang it in the air in a sulphurous cloud. The crusadors shifted nervously, many praying out loud to Junil, calling his blessing. These prayers were echoed more forcefully by the Priors behind the lines, chanting to strengthen the resolve of the men. The oath takers paced back and forth, reminding the men by their sole presence of the oaths they had taken at the beginning of the campaign.
Night had fallen and day had risen twice since the battle, and, though she had run nearly constantly, sustained by her faith in Junil and her hope, she saw no changes in the parched ground. It was hard to believe that these were the same lush Kuriotate farmlands that the Bannor crusade had crossed earlier the same week. Of course, farmhouses still stood, but instead of inviting lights and friendly families, they stood abandoned and twisted.
The cloud hung over the regiment for nearly the whole day. As dusk set in, though, the grey color deepened and tinged red, as if with blood. It thickened, and then disappeared. Some of the crusadors cheered, believe Junil to have intervened. But the confessors knew better. They Chanted in unison, trying every blessing they knew to try to stop what was coming. But in vain. As their voices rose to the heavens, the ground beneath their feet crumbled.
It had been days since Vara had eaten, but still she ran. She knew she must have left kuriotate lands long past, and be in her Bannor home, but nothing looked familiar. The landscape was no longer empty, devoid of life, though. A thin growth of wiry plants covered the ground. With every step she took, they cut into her legs and feet. She knew she was leaving a trail of blood behind her, but she didn’t much care, anymore.
From the chasm into which most of the regiment had vanished rose the innumerable hordes of hell. As minor minions and hell hounds broke loose, above them rose the largest Demon any of the bannor had seen. With a roar, he let loose his forces on the tattered remnants of the Proud Bannor Army. In the mere presence of the envoy of the Lord of Hope, the aged wood of the city buckled and smoldered, bursting into flame. The sky itself darkened with the smoke.
Vara stumbled, and, around her, as she struggled to get back up and keep going, she heard a manic cackling. Howls sounded around her, and with a soft padding, a pack of hell hounds appeared out of the darkness. She pulled a blessed knife from her belt, but knew it would be useless. As the laughing continued, she noticed that the hell hounds were restrained on chains of molten fire. From the darkness appeared a shadowy figure, with a long spear in hand. The only light coming from his person were his eyes, glowing a dull red. “You didn’t think you could truly escape the forces of the Infernal, did you?”
As the Crusaders died around her, Vara had felt someone tap her shoulder. Commander Valin Phanuel Oathtaker, General of the Army was behind her. “Run,” he screamed through the sound of chaos.
“what? Vara cried.
“Run! Warn them that Lord Hyborem has moved on Erebus. Do not stop. Do you so Swear?”
“I do!”
“Then I, as an oathtaker, do accept your Oath. Run, and do not Stop until you have succeeded. May Junil be with you.” He turned back towards the battle, and she turned away, to run. For a moment, she turned back and paused, to Look. And in that instant had crossed eyes with a demon crawling out of the pit. As she turned, it smiled at her. Around it, a pack of hellhounds fought.
The demon smiled at her cruelly. “Poor, Poor, fool. You will have eternity to lament your mistakes.”
“Never!” Vara screamed. As the holy runes flared on her knife, she swung it at the demon.
He parried her strike easily, seemingly without thought. “Oh, do give up. This is tedious.”
“No!” Vara’s eyes glowed with righteous anger. “Never. I give my soul to Junil. Your demon lords can go back to hell without it.” And with a quick prayer, she stuck the blade into her own heart, dying as the demon howled in rage.
I can't remember, do the Balseraphs use the French voice files?
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