Colony of the Iron Men

														Colony of the Iron Men

															Part 1: Arrival

	Inquisitor Vahlen watched from the bow as the flotilla rounded the headlands and slipped into the calm waters of Silver Bay. To his right, dotting the south shore was the colony proper, the low wood and stone buildings that made up the township of Achen. To the left, along the north shore sat the squat industrial buildings and mounds of earth that marked the mine and Penal Colony 12. All around the bay, the land was sparse, rolling hills covered in a sea if unbroken scrubgrass and shrubbery under an unbroken gray sky.
The flotilla slowed swinging to the south shore and slid into the docks. Once the gangplank had touched down, Vahlen started into the town, flanked by his three Lieutenants, Ivar, Soren, and Svena. Behind them, the ships began to unload their passengers and cargo. Infantry began to fall into rank and file as they marched up the docks and into the town.
	Vahlen left them behind and moved along the wide cobblestone street. What would have been an avenue broad enough for a handful of carriages was clogged by ramshackle tents leaving only a few footpaths through. The air was a clogged with the din of people moving and chattering in the tent city, laced with the scent of sewage and sickness. As he made his way through, his eyes fell across a myriad of faces looking up at his dark armor and the glittering Imperial sigil on his breastplate. He saw a faint light of hope glitter in some of their sullen, morose eyes.
	He came to the town square, finding the tent city encompassing the tall stone edifice of the Colonial Office. He led his Lieutenants into the building and stood a simple atrium of carved marble and oak. The space was filled with queues of people backed up in lines stretching from the desks of agents and officiates of the colonial government. A man in a pressed and folded uniform marked by faded stains forced his way through the crowd and came to a stop before Vahlen.
	“Lord Inquisitor,” the man saluted. “The governor was awaiting your arrival in 2 days. He'll be ecstatic to see you've arrived early.”
	“Noted. Let us hurry because the streets are packed with the destitute and desperate.”
	“Gladly, if you'll follow me,” the orderly gestures and led Vahlen through the crowded atrium.
	They mounted the stairs and through an array of guarded doors before coming to the governor's chambers. The room was crowded by a gaggle of orderlies and officials bombarding a clearly overburdened man hunched over the wooden desk. The orderly who’d led them in broke away and rounded to the governor, whispering into the man’s ear. The governor pushed up from his seat and straightened out his shirt.
	“Gentlemen,” he cried above the clamor of the others. “The Lord Inquisitor has arrived and will need to be informed in detail about our...dilemma. You're all dismissed for now.”
	The gaggle of advisors and orderlies nodded and trailed out of the room, leaving only Vahlen, his Lieutenants, and the governor. Their host waved them into seats arrayed around the chambers.
	“You appear to be a busy man,” Vahlen started, taking a seat across the desk from the governor.
	“More and more everyday. The colony's become a supply nightmare and we're struggling to see everyone fed and housed somewhere.”
	“I take it this is related for your call for help?”
	“Yes.”
	“Then inform me, governor. What was so important as to summon an Inquisitor rather than a proper army.”
	“Monsters of a most terrible sort. They came from the north a number of months ago. They fell upon the penal colony while we were expanding the mines. A quarter of the guards and prisoners were killed. Those that survived claimed ghosts and figures shrouded by fog. We’ve been under siege since. The farms abandoned, the mines empty, our guards barely man the walls. Some nights, they slip in and kill even here, within the city and no bodies are left, only missing.”
	“Monsters, governor? I did not sail to the far side of the world for fairy tales.”
	“Fairy tales don't slaughter families and turn men to ash. Please, Inquisitor, we need help.”
	Vahlen at in silence, letting his mind run and ponder what had happened to the colony. He was sent to protect the colony by any means. His company was one of veterans and the capable and if these monsters were more than ghost stories, they’d fall in a volley of Imperial lead and steel.
	“And you will get it,” Vhalen resumed. “My company will camp within the walls and head out in two days time to deal with this...monster problem of yours.”
	“Oh! Thank Awen for this blessing,” the governor cried as he rose from his seat. “We'll pull from our rations to ensure your men are well fed-”
	“There is no need. My company is well-stocked. One thing I request is local guides to help us traverse the terrain.”
	“You will have them.”
	“The last thing I need,  governor, is any and all information about these beasts. Anything that can draw them out or drive them off and the like.”
	“I-I can't be of much help in that regard, Inquisitor. These beasts...they've been drawn and scrawled as shadows and spirits, swarming men or burning them to ash with flame. But I pray for your safety in this endeavor.”
	“And I pray Awen protects us.”
	Vahlen rose from his seat and strode out of the governor's chambers.

															******

	The company formed marching ranks at the gates to the colony. They started out to the east, rounding the western shore of Silver Bay. The land was a rolling sea of scrub and grasses they swayed at the men's waists. Vahlen rode along the column, the heavy tramp of his warhorse falling on the stone road. The Inquisitor scanned over the column, surveying the men of his company.
	About 1000 men at maximum, the company was one Vahlen had led through a number of past campaigns and endeavors. Most of the company were the line infantry. 800 sons of the Empire plucked from the finest of hamlets and dales to wind up here on the far side of the world. They marched in step with Ivar, Brooksdown muskets and pouches of shot bouncing with each stride. Following the regulars were Svena's detachment of 50 Ironwing riders bouncing in their saddles, an auxiliary of tribal cavalry Vahlen had convinced to fall in line with in the company. Flanking and paralleling the company's route were 50 Rangers under Soren’s command. They were another auxiliary force pulled into the company through Vahlen’s battles against the southern desert tribes years ago. At the head of the march strode the 100 Black Talons, some of the elite corps pulled from the best of the Imperial army and under direct control of Vahlen. They were clad in the partial black plate armor that rattled with each step. They held their repeating rifles across their shoulders and sang a loud and rolling marching song that filled the air with an optimistic pride that the Empire's finest would not falter in their task. Trailing behind the company was a handful of supply wagons, laden down with their needs for a number of days.
	The march took them through the rolling coastal hills and to the north shore of the bay. The passed the empty towers and huts that marked the edge of the penal colony and continued north, away from Silver Bay. The march slowed as the rolling hills along the coast gave way to the foothills of some yet unnamed mountain range that stretched off to the northwest. It was here that the local guides stopped, refusing to continue on. They spoke of the monsters that lurk to the north, the ones that had slaughtered and besieged the colony. Vahlen couldn’t force them to stay, so the company would push on without them.
	Twilight had begun to fall across them as they came to a halt along the banks of a ford across a rushing mountain river. The far bank was a dark treeline choked tight by the thick canopy of cold pines and evergreens. The land sloped towards the current in a bowl of earth. Ahead of the company, the water giggled and laughed over a wide basin of stone and silt before running back down the foothills and towards Silver Bay. They fanned out, establishing camp on their side of the ford. They positioned the wagons to circle them with their backs to the ford and unloaded their supply. One by one, simple tents rose and cooking fires grew bright. Sentries fanned out around the camp as the twilight deepened into night. Above, the cloud cover broke fully, revealing a mass of glittering stars slowly arcing across their heavenly paths.
	Vahlen at in his tent, the flaps open at both ends to let some breeze through in the cool night. He scrawled a log of their journey into his journal and counted through a rough calculation of supplies and just how far they could march before needing to return to the colony or start feeding off the land. They could continue their hunt for a few weeks more, but then supplies would get low and force them back to the coast. Footsteps at the opening drew his eyes up to Ivar’s broad form.
	“What brings you to darken my tent door, Ivar?”
	“Curiosity, Vahlen. Some of the men are wondering what exactly we’re hunting out here. If it truly is some sort of monster, will our weapons work?”
	“Concerns are always warranted, but this is most likely some sort of new tribe. Remember, the frontiersmen thought Soren’s rangers were ghosts lurking in the sands and scrubland before we tracked him down and gave him a choice. Console the men, Ivar, and we’ll see this matter ended.”
	“I understand,” Ivar lingered before he resumed speaking. “But what if these monsters are real, Vahlen? Turning men to ash...I-”
	“If these beasts are more than just a panicked governor’s ghost stories, then we’ll fight them to the far corners of the world before we abandon our countrymen. Am I clear, Ivar?”
	“Like mountain water, Inquisitor.”
	“Now,” Vahlen pushed up from his bedroll. “What is tonight’s meal?”
	“Chip beef, salt cheese, and stale bread.”
	“Wonderful,” he replied, stepping out into the night air. The camp was lively as the men stirred about the cook fires. Beyond the lights sat the stockade of wagons and the tramp of the war horses about their hitching posts. The beef was dry and rough, the cheese bitter, and the bread hard on the teeth. Vahlen had lost his exact sense of time when the fire cry from the sentries rolled over the encampment.
	“-arms! To arms! Lights in the trees!”
	On a mix of instinct and drills, the men kicked into action, snatching up muskets and finding their firing lines in a matter of seconds. The 800 line infantry fell into 8 sections 2 rows deep and 50 men ride. Their officers barked pace and fired the first round of lightjars into the sky, bursting in a starlight that hung for a second at the apogee before slowly drifting back to the earth. From their stockade, 6 line sections fanned out to the flanks while the the last 2 took up position along the walls of the stockade. The Talons formed twin ranks at the base of the stockade with rifles at the ready. The rangers poured out along the firing lines while the cavalry rallied to their rear.
	Vahlen stood behind the Talons, scanning into the trees across the ford. The lightjars drifting overhead stretched the shadows of the pines into long, malicious shapes that fought and swallowed the light wherever possible. Amongst the gnarled mass of light and dark across the bank, a strange blue light slid out from behind a thick trunk, hovering in the shadow of a pine. Somewhere to its right, another blue light appeared from the shadows. Then a third appeared to the left. In ones and twos, more lights came into view, dotting the hillside until there were nearly twenty total, but Vahlen couldn’t tell what were the lights and what were tricks of the eye. Another set of lightjars bloomed to life above them and Vahlen could see one of the blue lights clearer now. They hovered above the ground amid a shuddering mass shaped like a man with his arms at his side.
	“What in all hell?” Vahlen muttered, pulling his breech pistol out and cocking the hammer.
	“Make ready,” Vahlen bellowed above the hiss of the sinking lightjars and the chatter of the men. All around, the men ready their guns, the front lines dropping to one knee as they waited for the next order.
	Across the ford, the lights began to creep down the far bank and towards the ford.
	“Halt or you will be fired upon!” Vahlen barked across the ford. “Halt, I say, or you...”
	The blue lights passed out of the treeline and came into clear view beneath the lightjars. The human shapes hovered over the ground, a writing gray mass standing as tall as a man, lacking any detail besides the blue light where the head should’ve been.
	“Company, aim!” Vahlen called again as the lights-the things- began to drift across the ford. The air hung silent and tense, heavy with the coming violence and the men brought weapons up to their shoulders.
	“First rank, fire!”

																Part 2: Slaughter at Narrow Ford

	The rippling cracks of volley fire destroyed the still of the night. The slugs peppered the nearest of the things, denting the gray hide or deflecting with a short burst of sparks. The things halted, but didn't seem at all fazed by the volley. The men stood, frozen by the wave of dread that fell across them.
	“They're bulletproof…” Ivar muttered somewhere to Vahlen’s right.
	Silence returned to the air only for a moment. A menacing hum flowed over their lines, growing steadily in pitch and frequency. The things seemed to shudder where they floated, vibrating faster and faster before the hum reaching a sharp, piercing whine that dug invisible blades into the men’s minds, twisting deep with vicious waves of pain that lit across their bodies.
	“Sec-second r-r-rank,” Vahlen fought against the stabbing pain lancing in his head and down his back and arms. “Fire!”
	The volley crackled out and, more dispersed and inaccurate as the men recoiled and keeled from the pain. Those shots that hit bounced away into the night.
	The things continued forward, crossing the ford. Just then, the whine stopped and the flames poured forth. The roiling jet of burning blue flame poured from the lights, sweeping across the earth and igniting the grass into dancing golden flames.
	The first ranks of men scrambled with their rifles, ramming shot and powder down the muzzle of their Brooksdowns and fixing bayonets when the second volley of flames came. The azure jets reached out, engulfing the men they touched in tongues of flame. The ranks wavered as the burning men flailed beneath the azure fire and collapsed, turning to ash where they stood. Cries of panic arose through the ranks as the jets fell silent and left gaps carved into the firing lines. Then the things resumed crossing the ford, billowing steam about them. The wretched things dropped low to the ground and broke into a strange, slithering charge.
	“Fire at will, fire at will!” Vahlen cried, forcing the growing fear of his situation down inside.
	Along the line, section officers barked the command, but the men faltered. Those that had reloaded fired wildly, trying to stave off the things. Some fumbled their shots, missing wide of the things. Others knew they didn’t have time and instead braced their rifles and threatened the things with glinting bayonet under the dying lightjars still drifting above their heads. It was then that the cavalry charged.
	The 50 Ironwing riders poured through the gaps in the firing lines and around the flanks with sabre, pike, or carbine in hand. The heavy thunder of the warhorses stirred the infantry and Talons on and drawing a cheer from the men about them. They rode down the things with intent to kill and trample. The cavalry had cut the distance from the company to the abominable things by two-thirds when the blue flames returned.
	The first incinerating bursts cut down a handful of the horses, tossing their riders beneath their comrade’s hooves. The rest rode on, determined to avenge the dead among them. The many-pronged charge closed at the meet the things at melee range. As the spear reached out and the sabres swiped at the things, the blades passed through without impact. The things reached out with arms or tendrils from their mass, cutting them down with unseen blades. As the moments passed, the cavalry dwindled in number cut down or burned to ash by the things. It was then that the things turned and charged towards the line infantry. The first ranks had reloaded, bringing their muskets up and letting another volley ripple into the night.
	The shots ricocheted yet again across the beasts, save for one at the far flank. The beast wailed and the light exploded, the form withering and falling to the earth. The rest of the line was not so lucky as the things collapsed upon the men. Swaths of infantry were caught by the azure flames and fell were they stood, but then the things closed to melee. They ripped men limb from limb with long, lashing arms. They entabled men in dozens of vicious tendrils, carving them like slabs of meat with silent efficiency. Cries of fear and panic arose along the ranks as bayonets glinted and thrusted into the growing carnage.
	Vahlen looked on in the center, firing towards the things with his pistol. He barked orders from the walls of their stockade down to the Talons as they rifles fired volley after volley. The things hadn’t charged the stockade, instead pressing hard against the line infantry to the left and right, arrayed in faltering ranks as the things ripped and tore through them. The cries grew worse as the left gave way, the infantry and rangers breaking as they scrambled back, away from the ford and away from the things.
	“Hold, damn you,” Vahlen bellowed as his left flank disintegrated beneath the whirlwind of flame and death.
	“The left is lost,” Ivar cried. “We need to retreat, Vahlen.”
	“And retreat where, Ivar? These beasts will run us down.”
	“But at least we will not die here!”
	Vahlen broke his gaze of the slaughter around him and weighed his options swiftly. Retreat back would be a run across the rolling hills with little cover and reprieve. They could rally, and fight across the ford and seek shelter deep in the mountains, but it would lead them deeper into the things’ territory.
	His attention was drawn back to the battle as the right flank collapsed, the men routing back up the slope away from the ford as the things culled through the ranks with blade and flame. With both flanks gone, the things pushed around the stockade in pursuit of those fleeing.
	He had to make a decision or they'd be encircled and burned in the stockade. The enemy was behind them now, so there was only one way out.
	“Ivar, we're retreating. Rally the men still with us and cross that ford.”
	“The ford?”
	“Yes. The beasts are behind us so it's the only route open. We'll try to lose them amongst the mountains.”
	“Understood.”
	Ivar turned away, sprinting along the remnants of the firing lines, pulling those that could walk back to the stockade. Vahlen leapt down amongst the Talons and reloaded his pistol. He waved the men on, shouting and barking as the men scrambled to the ford in a hastened march.
	The men began to slog through the current, fighting the rushing, knee deep water to stay upright and not be swept downstream. Looking over the array before him, Vahlen counted roughly 100 men in total, but he wasn’t sure how many would survive the retreat. He stood at the bank of the ford, looking back towards the stockade as the last of the lightjars began to burn out above them. The dark night closed around them again when the first flames began to grow and roar within the stockade. Behind them, their supplies, their food, and their ammunition burned away in the night.
	Against the growing pillar of flame, three of the things, came back into view. They stood translucent, glittering where the fire light passed through them and drowned out that haunting blue. The three things charged down the slope towards the ford.
	“Ivar, firing line!”
	Vahlen turned, trudging into the current, feeling it pull on his legs as he struggled across the slick, moss-covered stones. Ahead of him, Ivar had pulled almost a quarter of the men and had them form ranks in the current. The Talons that made the first rank brought their rifles to bare, letting off swift volleys of fire at the three charging things.
	The rounds hissed past Vahlen with a sharp crack of the guns. The shots bounced and ricocheted off like they'd done before. Vahlen fired shot after shot with his pistol, staring down the things as they neared. Suddenly, a stray shot hissed past, finding a mark amidst the blue lights that at where a man's head should. A flash of light and sparks as the thing wailed and faded into the ground.
	“Aim for the light!” Vahlen bellowed back, bringing his pistol up to fire again. “Aim for that damned maddening light!”
	The two things that remained continued on, reaching the bank of the ford and floating across, above the crackling water. Vahlen backpedaled as he fired, working to keep his distance.
	The pair drew closer, emitting that sharp, piercing whine again as the flame jets lanced out, igniting the water around Vahlen in scalding steam clouds. His skin burned, the deep stabbing pain flooding his body as the clouds enveloped him. He collapsed, falling into the violently heated water, rolling with the current. Under the surface, Vahlen bounced and rolled against the stony bottom. He gasped on reflex, sucking in a lungful of water before he caught himself against a boulder.
	Vahlen forced himself to the surface, coughing up the water in his lungs. He greedily took in air and opened his eyes. The pair of things had split up, one drifting towards Vahlen while the other continued towards the survivors on the bank. He pushed himself up onto his feet, leaning against the boulder to keep himself steady. As the thing drew closer, he brought up his pistol and set the simple sight on the thing. He pulled the trigger, hearing only the click of an empty chamber.
	The thing was within a dozen feet when he began scrambling to reload, fumbling to find a cartridge. A momentary reprieve came when the thing froze in place as another volley of rifle fire poured out over the ford. The other thing was shredded by dozens of shots with one striking true against the damned light, felling the thing into the ford. The thing looming towards Vahlen resumed, continuing to close the distance as Vahlen slammed a fresh cartridge into the chamber. The thing reached out, its limb morphing into a strange undulating tentacle.
	The war cry from the left drew the thing’s gaze, turning to find Ivar diving at the thing with bayonet fixed. The glinting blade plunged into the thing while it retaliated with its tentacle. The writhing limb coiled about Ivar’s throat, strangling the man as it lifted him from the rapids. In a frozen shock, Vahlen watched as the tentacle split and felt its way across Ivar’s scarred face before penetrating through his eyes, his nose, and through his pain-contorted mouth. The thing let a deep, rumbling thrum flow out as it stared at Ivar, the man writhing and convulsing in the grasp of the thing.
	Vahlen pushed up from the boulder, bringing his pistol to bear on the thing.
	“Release my friend, you unholy thing!”
	He fired at point blank range, the shot shattering the horrendous light and disintegrating this thing where it stood. Vahlen caught Ivar as he fell from its grasp, seeing his eyes dark and breathing ragged as he carried his Lieutenant to the bank. Soren had rallied the survivors on the bank and helped carry Ivar up from the current.
	“How many men do we have, Soren?” Vahlen asked.
	“40 Talons, 36 infantry, 12 rangers, and no cavalry.”
	“Svena?”
	“Either dead or far from here. What happened to Ivar?”
	“I...I don’t know. That damnable thing strangled him, but he doesn’t appear dead. Bind his wounds and pick carriers. We won’t leave him for those things.”
	“Understood, Inquisitor."

												Part 3: The Valley of the Iron Men

	The survivors scrambled away from the ford, moving higher into the mountains and staying to the cover of the dense forests. They hadn’t seen a hint of the things from the ford, those that they didn’t kill themselves had disappeared, either into the land itself or in pursuit of their former comrades. In their solace, they had taken the chance to cover as much ground as possible via a forced march through the steep peaks and down into their current shelter, a series of shallow caverns lines the southern face of a ridgeline. Their meal was a humble one, the remains of stale bread and dried meat from their kits. It had been stretched by rationing and supplemented by foraging and scavenging but it wouldn’t last much longer. The wounded treated what they could, but the infection was setting in. They had 91 when they left the ford, but 8 had succumbed to injuries and 11 others were rendered useless by the infection and wounds.
	Vahlen sat at the cave entrance, looking over Ivar as he fought with his bread. His Lieutenant had been still save for the rise and fall of his breathing. He had been silent since the thing strangled him and violated his face, and since he seemed to sleep like a stone. A mask of pale bandages circled his head and face, stained by the yellow-gray ichor that leaked where the thing had accosted him.
	“Ivar, old friend. I hate to see you like this,” Vahlen confided. “This whole campaign seems folly now. I lead our company to that ford. I treated these things like some common wolf. Now we stand devastated, our friends dead or dying, and you like this.”
	He sighed, looking out over the small trees and dense brush that covered the slope before him.
	“I know I made a bad call leading us into this, but there has to be a way out, a way to win.”
	He looked back down to Ivar, to the bandages that had turned black about the eyes and mouth. The thick ooze began to soak through the bandages and tinge the air with the scent of metal and rust. Vahlen rose, watching as ivar’s body shuddered on his stretcher and a croaking voice began to speak.
	“My eyes…”
	“Ivar, your eyes were gouged by that thing. By Awen, I'm glad you're awake-”
	“My eyes can see...Can see it.”
	“It? Ivar, are you alright? How many fingers am I holding up?” Vahlen asked, holding three fingers up towards his Lieutenant.
	“Something great, Vahlen. Something truly great. I only wish you had the eyes to see it,” Ivar replied. He at up from the stretcher, rising to his feet.
	“If only you could see it, see the deep beauty of it all…” Ivar trailed off as he turned and started to climb along the ridge away from the cave.
	“Ivar, hold damn you.” Vahlen tried to catch his Lieutenant, holding him where he stood, but Ivar always broke free and pushed on to the crest of the ridge. Vahlen wheeled around and returned to the caven.
	“Soren, you're in command until I return. I'm taking 10 rangers with me.”
	“What for, Inquisitor?” Soren asked from the rear of the cave.
	“Ivar’s awake, but he's run off up the ridge. I'll go bring him back even if I have to bind his hands to his legs.”
	Soren nodded, helping round up the 10 volunteers and equipping them for the trek. They loaded a few days of rations in case it took longer than expected. The small group set out, hurriedly making their way to the crest of the ridge. Above the treeline, their pace was quick, further helper by picking up Ivar’s trail. He had begun stripping the bandages from his face, leaving signs of his passing as they continued on.
	Ivar had followed the ridgeline up the slope, towards the looming shadow of a massive mountain they had taken to calling Whitehead from the peak passing well above the snowline. The trail continued to where the ridge joined back with the steep, jagged slopes of Whitehead and shifted to the right, moving across a series of high, treeless glades rife with biting insects and whistling grasses.
The hours dragged on as they pursued Ivar, slowly gaining ground as the bandages became wetter with fresh ooze and stains across the grass and earth. They laid eyes on him as the first inklings of dusk began to close around them. The forests below their high perch glistened in the starlight with dew and rainwater.
	He was kneeling at a crest in the glade, head hanging low and arms draped across the ground. Past him, they could see the ground fall away down another slope. They approached slowly, keeping rifles at the ready as they neared. The air has silent, without wind or birdsong as they reached Ivar. He was muttering and gurgling in some deep, unknown tongue before breaking through with bout of clairvoyance.
	“-I see it, the beauty of the black stars. Do you see it-yes I see it-”
	“What happened to him?” one of the rangers asked.
	“I know not what has happened, but I know those things are responsible-”
	“Inquisitor-” Another ranger spoke uo.
	“Hold that, ranger. It appears as though madness has claimed Ivar and I'm dreaded by the thought of what crosses his mind. Bind him. We'll return to the camp-”
	“Inquisitor!” the ranger interrupted again.
	“What is so urgent?” Vahlen barked as he wheeled to face the ranger.
	The man stood at the lip of the slope, pointing down into the valley. Even under the darkening moonlight, Vahlen could tell how pale he’d become. His arm trembled as he gestured down the slope. They group moved to the top of the slope, peering down into the valley below. They muttered silent prayers and made the sign of the Trinity when they saw it.
	The valley below was narrow and deep, trapped between two curving ridge lines that connected Whitehead to its northern neighbor. Amongst the dark trees and stone, they swarmed like ants. Hundreds if not thousands of the blue lights, the abominable things, pulsing as they shifted and spiraled about the valley floor. They swirled and circled the metal trees and bare stone boulders that covered the floor of the valley. They ebbed and flowed up the valley walls like a tide, breathing in and out with the rhythm of a giant lung they couldn’t see. The air hung with a heavy thrum that rattled the men to the bone, flooding their hearts and minds with dread. The company had been devastated by 20 of the things. What chance did they have now.
	Beyond the valley, they saw it. The spire of black stone, catching the moonlight along its face as it rose from the neighboring mountain. The damned blue light pulsed from the dozen minarets that rose from its peak. The thrum seemed to echo and grow from the spire, quaking the earth at their feet.
	Vahlen turned away from the valley, cursing his luck and praying under his breath. He looked back at Ivar, the Lieutenant had raised he head, leaning back in his legs. The man’s eyes were nothing but black pits in his skull that poured forth the same accursed blue light. His nose and mouth seeped the black ooze and stank of rust. Ivar was gone, replaced by whatever these things had made of him.
	“Oh,” the Ivar-thing cried, rising to his feet and starting down the slope and quickly passed out of sight. “Oh, it's beautiful. If only you could see it, Vahlen. They glitter beautifully in the darkness, a thousand of them!”

													Part 4: To The Spire

	“We can’t stay here,” Vahlen started, standing before the remnants of his company. “Even if those damned monsters don’t come for us, food will dwindle, and winter will trap us in the mountains. But with how many of them we saw, our route out of these mountains may draw them to us. Beyond that, the threat to the colony is still present regardless of our survival.”
	The night had closed in, turning the cave entrance into dark, all-consuming maw that swallowed the faint glow of the campfire. Vahlen swallowed hard, piecing together the weight of his own words in his head.
	“Even if we survive our retreat to the coast, those abominations very well may pursue us or destroy the colony in its entirety. Which is why I must ask this of you, my devastated company: Will you follow me back into that valley? Will you follow me into that unholy spire to seek some answers from this nightmare and carry out our orders or die trying? We swore an oath to protect the lands and peoples of our empire from all enemies and this is no different. We must put an end to this menace here or else more will die beyond our maimed thousand. So I say again, which of you men will take your guns in hand and follow me back into that valley? I give you all this choice now, flee back to the coast and pray the monsters stay in the mountains or follow me into that valley to try and find an end to all this. If you wish to leave, do so now. All I ask of those leaving is to help carry the wounded away from this accursed place.”
	Vahlen looked over the glowering eyes of his men before him, looking up from the cramped cave floor lit by the scattered firelight. They sat in silence for a second before a few stirred, several of the line infantry rising and slinging their packs and muskets into place. They turned in a shameful silence towards the wounded, picking the stretchers up and starting off into the night. This slow diaspora continued for some time, cutting the remnants down to 51 men. Vahlen counted his blessings that those who fled carried away all of the remaining wounded.
	“Those who stayed, know this: There is no retreat now, no way out save victory or death. By Awen of the Light and by Emperor Herst, we shall fight on. At dawn, we’ll depart and move towards that spire. Entering the valley itself is death without question, so we’ll march along the ridgeline. Awen willing, we will move unnoticed to the spire and find whatever we’re looking for there. I bid you a deep sleep and to rest well because tomorrow, we march towards Hell.”

															*****

	The morning light was dying behind the growing clouds and wind rolling from the northern mountains. The clouds were heavy and gray as they climbed against the mountains. The first pale wisps of snow fell about the men as they marched along, pulling the dirty and stained uniforms close for some scant warmth as the harsh wind tore at them. Vahlen cursed to himself as the weather only deepened their sorrows along the way.
	The hours passed like they had when pursuing the Ivar-thing before they slowed and stopped at the lip of the valley. Whitehead stood behind them, blocking the worst of the snow and wind as the remnants looked out at the Spire. Below them, the things swirled and writhed through the snow-dusted trees and rocks. The men murmured and prayed as they stared down into the glittering lights and thrumming cacophony that droned on through the air.
	Vahlen took the lead with Soren close behind, leading the 51 men to the left, along one of the ridgelines the formed the rim of the valley. It was slow progress, their march bogged by the piling snow drifts that hid the imperfections of the land, sinking them to their waists in the damp, white stuff. They clambered over unseen boulders and laid guidelines across treacherous rutts and ankle-breaking pits hidden by the ever-falling snow.
	The storm grew worse as they drew closer to the Spire. The snow fell in heavy, blinding sheets that clung to them, melting and soaking the already cold uniforms into frigid messes. The thrum became louder and louder with each passing minute as they pushed on towards the Spire, deepening the seeds of dread sprouting again in Vahlen’s gut. It seemed as if the mountains themselves were alive, conspiring with the monsters to stop the remnants in their quest.
	“Damn it all,” Vhalen cursed, the seeds of dread growing only to be snuffed by something stronger and more ferocious. An ember flickered inside Vahlen, stoked by his blossoming hatred for the cold and those damned monsters. “Damn it all!.I’ll see this valley burn and these mountains ground to dust before I yield.”
	It was them that the thrumming died out. For a few tense seconds, the only sound the remnants heard was the howl of the wind, pulling at them and roaring in their ears. Then a new noise rose to meet their ears. Creeping up from the valley came a whine, faint and low at first. Their ears strained to hear it before it grew, becoming sharper and louder as the blue lights froze and turned, facing up the valley wall towards them. The whine grew maddening, stabbing into their ears as the lights began to flood up from the valley floor towards the men.
	“They saw us!” one man cried. “They’re coming for us!”
	“Run, dammit. Run for the Spire!” another bellowed.
	Around him, Vahlen’s men jostled and scrambled past him towards the looming Spire. They slogged through the drifts in a panicked rout over the final stretch where the ground seemed to level out around the base of the Spire. Even through the driving snow, Vahlen could see the sharp, angular sides reaching up into the heavens like a black diamond swallowing any light that touched its surface. From below, the whine came, louder and closer, as the first glints of the blue lights glowed against the snow drifts leading into the valley.
	“Form ranks!” Vahlen shouted, drawing his pistol. “Form ranks and fix bayonets, you curs. If we’re to die here, then by the Three it will be with our guns in hand!”
	The man scrambled, bringing their muskets to cold, damp shoulders and formed a tight semicircle with their backs to the Spire. They wiped the snow away from their eyes and shuddered where they stood. The first rank sank into the snow while the second rank stood behind them, rifles at the ready.
	They held firm as the first few of the abominations crest the snow drift. They shifted and shimmered in the wind as the whine crescendoed. The blue lights grew brighter as the things surrounded them, slowly closing in and forcing them to shrink the semi-circle back against the Spire.
	“First rank, fire!” Vahlen roared, followed by the rippling cracks of musket and rifle fire. The monsters recoiled as the rounds pierced, spalled, and ricocheted away. A handful of the lights shattered and faded into the snow, but the others continued their advance.
	“Second rank, fire!”
	The men fired, their shots spraying into the endless wall of lights and writhing forms that encircled them.
	The semicircle tightened, forcing them shoulder-to-shoulder as they pressed back against the glass-smooth surface of the Spire. The man rammed shot and powder into their guns, muttering prayers and curses as the maddening whine drowned out the howling wind, piercing into their ears and minds.
	“Fire at will, dammit. Send as many of these monsters to Hell as you can!”
	The things pressed in again as the remnants fired stray and wild. The shots met mixed results, scattering some of the countless lights or simply angling off into the storm. Vahlen took a step back as the semicircle closed in again, feeling a void behind him where the Spire wall had once been. He spun, finding himself in an opening into the Spire that stretched deeper into the structure. Looking back to the opening, he saw his men collapse. Some fell back into the opening while the others were cut down when the things lunged.
	Vahlen fumbled with his pistol, bringing it up to fire, expecting the surging monstrosities to pour into the opening like a destructive tide. But the tide never came. The things froze at the opening, leering in with their haunting azure lights. Vahlen looked over the scattered number before them. They stood 23 in total in the opening, the rest lost within that endless mass of the blue lights. He turned, looking deeper into the Spire, finding the opening lit from above by pale azure flowers that blossomed from the ceiling, glittering in and out in an entrancing rhythm.
	Something deep in Vahlen’s mind compelled him to take a step deeper into the Spire. He wasn’t sure if it was duty, fury, or something within those maddening lights, but he took that step deeper in. Then another. And another. Before long, the 23 remaining men under his command followed Vahlen deeper into the Spire; they were entombed in near silence, save for the click  of their footsteps and clatter of their equipment.

												Part 5: Under The Black Stars

	The opening led them into a wide tunnel, the walls carved outward in strange curves around them, funneling them ahead. The lights above swam and spiraled across the black ceiling above, glittering like the night sky above them.
	“What is this place?” Soren asked, match Vahlen’s mechanical pace along the unnatural tunnel.
	“I have no answers, Soren. But whatever this place is, it is tied to those dreadful things.”
	“Yet they can’t enter after us.”
	“I doubt they’d need to. Our exit seems to be limited to behind us. If we don’t succumb to whatever unseen horror lies ahead, we’ll either starve in here or die to them out there.”
	Ahead, the tunnel ended, opening out onto a large circular platform that rimmed an immense pit. Creeping slowly to the edge, Vahlen cast his gaze down through the opening. The chamber became a chasm leading straight down to some unseen abyss far below the mountains. Down amongst the black, the blue lights fluttered and blinked in and out like lightning bugs swarming and dancing deep out of sight. Vahlen was unsure as to what was making the lights move and dance, but he knew deep inside he didn’t want to know.
	Turning his gaze up, Vahlen gasped. High above him, the spire tapered off into a black abyss lingering above them. The walls of the Spire shifted in the darkness, seeming to twist about the deep, circular chasm gaping before them.
	“Torches,” Vahlen turned to face his men, their awestruck, haunted eyes darting and tracing the shadows and lights about the void. “Dammit, you curs! Torches, lanterns, anything! We need more light.”
	Some of the company unslung their packs fishing out whatever they could find. Small whale oil lamps and simple firewood torches were lit and passed around, giving them several glowing points of warm firelight amongst the abyssal ocean they stood in. Slowly they turned from the chasm and moved clockwise about the pit. Their pace careful, treading light to not disturb anything lurking beyond the edge of their light.
	Their slow march halted at the far side of the pit. There the circular rim split where two ramps jutted up, forming two contra-rotating helixes that snaked up towards the peak and down into the abyss of the Spire.
	“Which way, Inquisitor?” One of the Black Talons asked.
	“I-I don’t know,” Vahlen replied, glancing down into the pit.. The pit in his stomach deepened, dropping down into that horrid, glittering abyss below. What had he done, not just to himself, but to the men who followed and trusted him. The heavy hand of death hung about his shoulders as he looked down into that dark maw as it swallowed the scant few beams of warmth their torches and lamps throw out.
	“At this moment,” He resumed. “I am filled with a terrible dread about this place. It is not built by the hands of men or shaped by hands of nature. This is beyond anything I could have known or fathomed.I pray you forgive my failure, because I feel I have only led us to our tomb.”
	“The Gods will decide if this is our tomb,” Soren spoke up. “Until death claims us, we still have a duty to perform, Inquisitor. You spoke those words to us before and we stayed to see this through...Your orders, sir?”
Vahlen let a heavy, rattling sigh flow from him. He threw his head back and stared up into the empty space above him, weighing his options against the gnawing horror inside him.
	“Awen, guide my hand true,” he muttered before turning back to his men. “I will ascend the Spire and I will take half our rank with me. Soren, you will take the other half and descend the Spire. You have discretion to destroy whatever you encounter down there.”
The men nodded and the company split quietly. Soren’s group took half of the lights and started down the spiraling ramp. Vahlen started upwards, following the ramp upwards along the clockwise slope. The process was slow, going around the pit again and again as their torches began to dim, burning low against the oppressive dark enveloping them. Vahlen slowed, looking down into the pit, his eyes straining to pick out a light from the darkness. Far below, he could spy Soren’s group inching along, a minute ember floating in that night beneath them.
	He stepped back from the edge and continued up the ramp, casting his eyes up to catch the faint glow growing above them. It sat stationary above them, hanging over the center of the pit based on how it stayed to their right no matter how far they climbed. The light grew brighter with each loop complete until the form came into view. It was a massive orb, sitting above them that thrummed in low, slow waves before rising to a quick peak and fading again. Every few seconds the thrum grew and died as they neared, reaching a point where the ramp stopped climbing, spitting Vahlen and his cohort out onto another ring platform almost level with the orb.
	By now the torches had died and been cast down into the pit. The lamps grew low, burning the last of their fuel as exhaustion coiled about the men. Movement across the pit caught the light of the orb and their eyes. Something was pacing along the ring, coming towards them. In the low light, the figure was hunched forward, jittering and jolting with every step along the smooth surface. As it rounded to their side, they could make out the shape of a man trodding along before becoming the Ivar-thing as it straightened out at the edge of their lamp light.
	“You came,” The Ivar-thing smiled, its voice almost familiar with the underlying ring of metal in its sound. It flashed a wide grin, some of its teeth replaced with glints of blue light that glowed like its eye sockets did. As they looked over the Ivar-thing, they could see were skin had succumbed to something dark that caught the light and was dotted by the damned azure glint.
	“You came to see them, didn’t you?” It asked, locked its gaze on Vahlen. “You came to see, too. Come, come quick. I have so much to show you!”
	The Ivar-thing twisted on its heels and started its twitching trod back around to the far side of the orb. Several of the men brought their muskets up, but Vahlen waved them down, starting after the Ivar-thing. It led them to the far side of the orb and away from the pit. Before them stood a triangular portal leading to an incline up into a dark chamber devoid of light.
	“What happened to Lieutenant Ivar, sir?” one of the men asked in a sharp whisper from behind.
	“Those monsters outside did this, but what they did eludes me. Keep your weapons ready, we may only have one chance to end all of this.”
	It lead them through the portal and into a room whose walls were built from dozens of interlocking triangles. They climbed the incline into the shadowy chamber and froze when the first flash of light ignited the room. Long snaking arcs of burning blue light poured forth from the wall ahead of them, licking and lapping at the walls around them. In the light, Vahlen laid eyes on the Ivar-thing kneeling before another form against the wall where the blues arcs emanated from.
	The black form undulated what it floated above them as it glittered in the flickering light. It shifted between shapes, branching out into a sprawling tree of twisting, gnarled limbs that squirmed with a symmetry about the trunk. The tips of each limb glowed with light before they folded inward, and the form changed again, taking on a monolithic, featureless form that grew even taller to tower above the men. A deep rattle filled the room, rebounding off the triangular walls. The long, whipping arcs of light continued their wild movements, marking and painting the walls with grooves burnt into the smooth surface.
	“Come…” The Monolith beckoned, pulsing with that same compelling light that drew Vahlen in earlier. “Come stand before us.”
	Vahlen relented, stepping closer to the Monolith, feeling a pressure roll over him as several of the azure arcs left the walls and slithered close to him. The knot in his stomach grew deeper as his mind grew slow and clouded. This thing that stood before him reached deep within him, looking, prodding, observing with unknowable means and tools. It delved further into him, hunting for something when he opened his mouth to speak.
	“What are you, abomination?” Vahlen asked, his hand coming to rest over his pistol.
	“Something great,” The Ivar-thing answered for the Monolith, rising to its feet and facing Vahlen. ”And you will see, Inquisitor.”
	It reached out with its long, mangled arm that wavered with a grotesque black ooze as it brushed against his face. Vahlen drew his pistol, feeling the burning force on his wrist as the azure arcs coiled around his forearms, trapping his arms by his side before the Ivar-thing stepped closer, his hands closing around Vahlen’s face. His face burned with the piercing pain light across his skin as its hands morphed into the wriggling tentacles that burrowed into his skin. The pain worsened as his vision grew dark. The last thing his eyes took in was the Monolith fracturing under a torrent of musket fire, the glassy black surface sparking and splintering from the fire as a fearsome beam of blue light pierced up towards the roof.
	“Do not panic, all shall be at peace soon,” The Monolith spoke as much to his ears as to his mind.
	His world was lightless chaos as his men fired again and again, shouting and bellowing against the unseen horrors encircling them, but the shouts and war cries soon subsided to screams of pain and terror and the rifle reports ceased. For a moment, a cold silence gripped him before a deep thrumming returned to his ears and his mind, washing over him like a gentle tide.
	The blinding dark of his gaze soon broke, filling in with the smallest pinholes of light, piercing through the black veil over his eyes. Bit by bit, this continued, pouring out a starfield before him, painting his view with rolling clouds of glowing gases and dust. Soon, he could grasp what he saw, the tapestry of the heavens reaching out into the boundless sky.
	The thrumming around him increased, mixing with other scattered noises that bombarded him as he looked out onto the heavens. They squealed and hummed, chirped and whistled, drummed and rattled, melding into a maddening cacophony about his ears. It drifted as the noise played on, harmonizing and mixing to become a symphony. A chorus of tones and pitches, of voices and murmurs sang to him as he looked onto the countless stars dancing and swaying before him. He watched, tracking their motion for seconds or minutes or however long he observed, seeing the pattern to it all rise before him.
	Even amongst the overwhelming points of light painted before him by the countless stars. He looked through the lights, finding the hidden gems that hurtled about the void on their own plots and paths, the thousand black stars burning through the empty spaces between space. He watched the black stars engulf the points of light and spit them back out, singing as they went. Looking on from his perch within the Spire, Vahlen could feel his gaze slip, jumped out to the black stars to watch young worlds flirt with life and perish. Some rose to become gods in their own right while others merely floundered at the start, but they all succumbed to the song of the black stars as they passed by.
	Vahlen felt something within him, looking out to the great painting before him. He felt that familiar dread return, marred by what the Monolith did to him in that room. But his dread was not along, joined by a horror and a fascination by what he saw from his perch. He was scared and alone, but he didn’t care. He looked on as the black stars continued on their way across the heavens as the words escaped what was left of his mouth.
	“Oh! It’s beautiful!”