Of Swords and Song

The mournful winds howled across the fractured lands of the Shattered Realm. Though the terrain was known to break and reform, and the Void would shift, the wind was ceaseless, relentless, and it tore against the cloak upon Azim's back.

He stood atop the crumpled remains of a spire upon the jagged edge of the Void - nought but the swirling abyss of chaos on the horizon. Below him, the remnants of a primordial city lay scattered, and gorged upon by the tendrils of corruption creeping over it.

Most of the old world was gone, but Azim was of the Untethered Order - paladins sworn to the Oath of Ancients, and thus protectors of its Remnants. Once there had been many. After an era of fighting the Gross - creatures of decay born from the Sundering, only four remained.

Azim raised his hand, a silent signal to his brother Ni'ell, who stood close by in the shadow of a broken gate. He responded with a nod, his long black hair whipping at his face. His lute, usually carried upon his back, was instead cradled in his arms. He plucked a single chord, and the wind carried it to Ofemia, stationed further away near a bridge spanning a deep chasm into the churning Void.

Ofemia, ever vigilant, retorted with a series of beats upon her drum - the precise sequence relaying her observations.

And finally, Maior remained as a ghost in the dark, unseen and wily. Like all initiates, her role as the smallest and youngest was reconnaissance - to be as close as possible without attracting unwanted attention.

She observed the Gross from above, surveying from the rooftops or balconies of the outer city. Their forms shifted unpredictably, sometimes grotesque parodies of beasts of the old worlds, other times amorphous masses of dark energy. They lurked among the ruins, looking for Remnants to devour, whether it be pottery, statues, parchment - anything hewn by human hands that contained within it the mark of a creator's soul.

Azim gazed upon the crumbling city below. He could almost picture it in its former glory, yet he was of the Survivors. Thousands of years stood between him and any experience of civilization. So much had been lost in the Sundering.

He grasped the hilt of his sword tightly, the desolation before him reflected in the blade. Ni'ell's expression mirrored his.

Among the many vows of the Untethered was one of silence - out of necessity. The Gross were drawn to the human voice, as it itself was an echo of the soul. And so they communed through hand signs, or their instruments for greater distances. They moved unseen and struck with deadly precision, vanishing before the Gross could unleash their full power.

A quake shook the spire. Azim sheltered himself with his cloak as dust and debris fell like rain. He took out his flute, conducting a song of warning that called his order to attention. The land was shifting again, they were running out of time.

The ground shuddered more violently. Cracks carved up the spire walls, threatening to send Azim plummeting into the void. He braced himself and leapt to a stable platform, flute clutched in his hand, and his song drowned under the noise.

From his vantage point, Ni'ell watched the smaller Gross suddenly stand on alert, converging upon the fissure opening in the heart of the city. Wicked tendrils clawed out of the cobbles, followed by mouths and eyes - a colossal, writhing mass of rot and corrosion. Sickly green light pulsed across its body, which grew and snaked across the ground like grasping vines.

It had been centuries since they last bore witness to the birth of an Aberration. They had hoped they'd seen the last of them. Azim's stare grew cold and distant as the faces of a dozen lost companions flashed before his eyes. His hands trembled around his instrument.

The rhythmic beat of a drum snapped him back to reality. Ofemia had seen it, and was ready in position for their attack. Aberrations were significantly larger than most Gross, and their very presence warped reality, but their size and slowness made them easy targets.

Maior, still unseen though ever-present, reported via her trumpet that the Aberration was on the move - headed towards the bridge, directly for Ofemia.

Azim recognised that they couldn't slay the creature on their own. Their strength lay in taking advantage of their fractured surroundings, using a coordinated effort to lure it into a precarious position. The bridge would work perfectly, but first, they needed Ofemia to get to safety.

He signalled to Ni'ell. He nodded back, and hurried down the slopes into the city. Ni'ell would create a distraction, then Ofemia and Maior could get in position, and Azim would deliver the final blow.

Ni'ell took to the flat rooftop of an old courthouse and gathered his nerve. With a deep breath, a furious cry escaped his lips, one that echoed with the resonance of the Void itself.

The Aberration and the other Gross turned tail and ran for the source, buying Ofemia precious seconds. She leapt across the bridge and scaled the nearby clock tower as Ni'ell guided the creatures away - along the remains of what once had been a flowing river. Instead the water flowed up into the Void, thundering over his cries, and catching the Gross that foolishly threw themselves into it.

Ofemia struck her drum with a ferocious rhythm, urging the others to begin their assault. Maior took out her crossbow, armed it quickly, and took aim. The bolt crackled with electricity as it struck - infused with the Thunderlight that few could command - Maior was one of these few. As it made contact, the Aberration reeled, letting out a roar that shred the fabric of the Shattered Realm, and lashed out, its tentacles whipping towards the initiate. She zipped between roofs and floating debris, joining Ofemia's battle song with a series of toots upon her trumpet.

The Gross chased after - their fury split between her and Ni'ell, greatly thinning their numbers. But the Aberration's tendrils closed in on Maior, and the path ahead grew riskier with each step. It cut off the pillar that should have served as a platform, and she turned on a dime, gulping back air as she headed into the unknown.

Azim panicked. He lost sight of her as the Aberration tailed her along the side streets and forgotten roads. Ni'ell was occupied enough with the flood of Gross chasing him upriver. His lute thrummed with chords and notes to a ballad for aid.

Ofemia drummed louder and faster, and Azim met her gaze from a hundred meters away. His heart pounded in his chest. Watching the Aberration fleeing further from the bridge in pursuit of Maior, his hands shivered - the cold metal of his flute greeting him with a hideous silence.

With a long, harrowed sigh, he returned his instrument to his back, drew his sword again, and shut his eyes.

His voice began low and unsure - answering the song with the lyrical melody it longed for. He sang in the tongue of his ancestors, with words that had not been spoken for centuries. All Remnants of the old world were precious, but this was priceless.

Within a few moments, the Aberration, and all Gross within the city had their attention upon him. Ni'ell, Ofemia, and Maior all froze, listening with the sinking dread. Their instruments fell quiet, yet the voice carried the song by itself alone.

Blade in hand, Azim began his charge, his words carrying him down into the city, directly towards the Aberration. Its core revealed itself - pulled towards the most potent Remnant of the human soul. It would draw in Gross from miles around. Azim didn't flinch.

His companions let his actions sink in, and then joined in with his song once again. A steady drumbeat, the gently strummed chords of a lute, and the resonance of a trumpet in perfect harmony. They followed the Gross as they fled in his direction, cutting down as many as they could as they converged upon the Aberration.

The light bent and split in its presence, and the wind twisted around as it made itself become the heart of the tempest. Azim skillfully climbed to the top of the tallest building around, his song coming to a crescendo, and the glow of the Aberration's core glimmering in his eyes.

He leapt, his sword commanding a deadly song of its own as he struck with a precision honed from a millennia of hunting the Gross, targeting the vulnerable centre within the Aberration's chaos.

His aim was true. The Aberration shrieked, a sound that mimicked the agony of a dying star, before it imploded, collapsing into a swirling vortex of energy that steadily twisted itself into nothingness. Silence fell upon the Shattered Realm, broken only by the mournful wind.

The remaining three paladins took down the Gross in their path, and hurried for the place where their comrade had fallen. His song had ended. He lay upon the fragmented ground, his body aglow with the glimmers of the Void. The Gross that lingered in the city had lost interest, and returned to harvest whatever scraps remained about the city; yet the companions knelt before their friend, their brother, and wept, playing a quiet symphony.

As they lingered at his side, the Void retreated from him, and he took a breath. They beamed as he edged himself upright, embracing him tightly. He offered a warm smile, though it waned as he noticed that his attack had cost him an arm, and his sword. He found the flute at his back crushed and scratched.

They each mourned what he had lost in silence, still they were glad of what had been spared.

Their campaign would not end quite yet. They took a moment to collect themselves, held up their instruments, and began a new song.