16 - 11/20/25 : Victoria Amat Curam

"To everyone, he's a traitor worse than Areelu, but to me, he's still my brother. I couldn't leave him to suffer another crusade, bad lot that he is. I tried to talk him out of it, get him to escape Mendev and start new somewhere, but it didn't work. Now I've taken up here, trying to get him away from you. Of course he's done things in the past, but the crusaders just never cut him any slack. He tried for a decade to atone for what he did, then two decades, then three, and yet three more. Almost a century. And they still treated him like dirt."  

Joran Vhane

"As I'm sure you're aware at this time, while myself and the other Knight-Commanders are striking at the heart of Drezen's forces, the Condemned will be leading our frontal assault. I'm sure there are rumors for this reason, but I would like to make you all aware of an important factor before we begin, for you shall not be fighting alone.   Knight-Commander Fenrora has gained access to a unique benefit for this operation; the crusaders who fell in Drezen will be raised from the dead to fight amongst you again. I wanted to assure you that these are fully under our control and will not harm you, and it is because of this factor that you were chosen for this task. To put it bluntly, I could not trust the Sunlight Sword or the Eagle Watch to maintain composure. But the Condemned I know to be hardened in the face of danger.   To that end, I do not wish for you to be our sacrificial shield. For once, the crusade will be the ones doing your dirty work and take the brunt of the assault for you. No, what I want you to do is remember that the fall of Drezen is what made these Crusades what they are today. So I want you to take every slight that has been dealt to you in the name of Crusades, and remember that these demons are its source.   Let that be your blade as you carve through Drezen, and I promise by my authority as knight-commander that history will remember that it was the Condemned who led the valiant forces in retaking Drezen. Let them know that you are not to be taken lightly, that the Condemned cannot be stepped on, and let this be a new beginning for those the Crusade has forgotten!

Righteous boots scrape against the deadened, grey soil of the fields of battle. Mustered from the brief flash of hope that was kindled in Kenabres, the army of the Fifth Crusade stands within shouting distance of their target; the Fortress of Drezen. Ninety years have passed since the folly of Staunton Vhane saw the city fall into Abyssal hands, and three crusades have failed to breach its walls. As each soldier grasps their blades, nocks their bows, and straightens their shields, the oppressive, unspoken question hangs heavy in the air; will this offensive be any different than any others that fell short of the gates of Drezen?   From the sky, droplets fall. Crusaders throughout the decades have come to fear what terrible trick the Worldwound may play upon them, what foul substance may rain down upon them from the unholy clouds above. There is an almost collective sigh of relief among the crusaders when they realize it is simply rain. What would normally be the nightmare of another army is the saving grace of this one, a lucky break amidst the demonic terror that lies before them.   At the fore of the crusader force, the common soldiery stands shoulder-to-shoulder with the hardened warriors of the Condemned. The great gate of Drezen can be seen from their position, and the weight of the battering ram seems to increase tenfold as the soldiers lay eyes on the snarling demons standing guard on the fortresses' walls and on the fields surrounding them. Sensing the great apprehension hanging in the air, the two heroes chosen by the Knight-Commanders step forward to address the brave folk that will soon follow them into the crucible of war.   "You know, we had fighters like you Condemned lads, back in the days of Old Sarkoris." Ulbrig speaks aloud. "Men who had their chains taken, and then given swords and axes. The younger fighters used to look down on them, disregard them for not being 'true warriors'. On the eve of battle, I would always remind them that we all bleed the same blood. The road you walked to get there doesn't change that."   As he speaks with the voice of a seasoned warrior and leader of men, the chieftain pounds a fist into his open palm, and his hands slowly begin to morph into rough talons. "So let me tell you this; I'm honored to shed that blood with you today! Let our claws and blades tear through the flesh of oglins and the traitors who serve them! We'll send them packing with a roar, and starting with this place, we will see Sarkoris green again!"   A pair of feathered wings sprouts out from Ulbrig's back as he hunches over, taking his griffon form and unleashing a powerful screech. The soldiers cheer in response; although separated by culture and two centuries of time, they draw valor and courage from the chieftain's words. Their other commander looks at the gathered soldiers and smiles for a moment, trying to choose her words carefully.   "I'll be honest, I'm not the best at speeches." says Seelah, the kindly paladin and champion of Muir. "Especially when I don't have a tankard in my hands! But that's alright… because I can let the words of the goddess speak for me."   She draws her blade and takes a kneeling stance, bracing her weight against the grip as the tip of the sword gently pierces the earth below. The soldiers see her evoke the symbol of Muir; a downward pointing sword on a red backdrop, imitated before them by Seelah's fluttering crimson cloak.   "I will learn the weight of my sword." Seelah speaks aloud, with a shout that is somehow gentle. "Without my heart to guide it, it is worthless - my strength is not in my sword, but in my heart. If I lose my sword, I have lost a tool. If I betray my heart, I have died. I will have faith in the Muse; I will channel her strength through my body. I will shine in her legion, and I will not tarnish her glory through base actions. I am first into battle, and the last to leave it."   The soldiers, many of them faithful followers of the goddess, begin to bow their heads and softly recite the oath back to their leader as she speaks the holy words.   "I will not be taken prisoner by my own free will. I will not surrender those under my command. I will never abandon a companion, though I will honor sacrifice freely given. I will guard the honor of my fellows, both in thought and deed, and I will have faith in them. I will be temperate in my actions, and I will strive to emulate Muir's perfection. When in doubt, I may force my enemies to surrender, but I am responsible for their lives. I will never refuse a challenge from an equal. I will give honor to worthy enemies, and contempt to the rest. I will suffer death before dishonor."   Seelah takes a moment, whispering a prayer softly beneath the din of impending battle before rising again. "I know that my brothers in the Condemned have been given many promises. I know that it can feel difficult to believe that those above will ever forgive you. I know that the road seems long and endless. I know better than most; I once lived as a thief, a common criminal, and I have unrighteous death on my conscience. I ask that you look to that long path to redemption - and see that it ends at Drezen. I'm not a queen or a lord, not a priest or a sage, I can't promise you pardons or a spot in the heavens. But I can promise you this - Muir will smile upon us as we fall upon that gate, and our blood spilled today will secure peace for those who come after us. We've been given a chance to make this a better world; let's take it and make it happen!"   With a cheer, the gathered warriors of the Fifth Crusade draw their weapons and align themselves in formation. Ulbrig looks to Seelah with his piercing griffon eyes and lowers his form, inviting her to climb atop his back. Seelah gladly does so, and strikes a gallant figure as she readies the Ranseur of the Gargoyle from atop Ulbrig. The paladin takes a horn from her belt and raises it to her lips, calling forth a thunderous bellow that signals the attack. As boots begin to tear across the fields, the crusaders and demons alike all know that the siege of Drezen has begun.   All the while, the ground beneath them rumbles, as the bones of the past slowly rise to the surface, as if to answer the call to battle…

The sounds of battle still echo in your ears, dulled though they are by the walls of the dismal, poorly-lit tunnels that pass you by as you descend into the depths of Drezen's dungeon.   "It sounds like it has begun." Sosiel says quietly. "Shelyn preserve them, give them courage and fortitude on this bloody day."   Regill readies his weapon, his glowing yellow eyes making his focused glare visible even in the deepest darkness. "Yes. We should proceed without delay. Our intelligence was lacking - we have no solid estimate of the forces lurking within Drezen. Every moment that the Sword of Valor is not flying overhead is a renewed chance for disaster."   Even in the low light, Sosiel's contempt at this sentiment is evident. "You should have faith in the soldiers, Paralictor. They've fought hard to get here. Their faith is strong. Their spirits will hold. They'll give us the time we need."   "I do not place my trust in emotional sentiments. I place value in sharp weapons, sturdy armor, and sound tactics. This is hardly the ideal offensive, and the demons will see this. It is our imperative to make up for this deficit by taking the Sword of Valor rapidly, and in so doing, break the enemy's morale." Regill states matter-of-factly. "I trust you will act with the diligence that this imperative demands, priest."   "Of course." Sosiel states through gritted teeth. "Shelyn, grant me your boundless patience."   Soon, you reach the end of the passage, and with a gentle push, a section of stone wall is pushed aside, allowing you your first look at the dungeons of Drezen proper. The oppressive atmosphere is made immediately evident; everything before you is bathed in an omnipresent, reddish haze, like blood distilled into heavy fog. Soft whispers seem to emanate from the walls themselves, a cacophony of quiet unholy prayers and distant screams of agony. This place has been deeply steeped in the Abyss, and has been left to ferment for ninety years.   You can practically feel your spirit buckling under the weight of the darkness before you. Hilda, that familiar taste of blood rises to the roof of your mouth, the metallic tang bringing to mind the pervasive Abyssal corruption that runs deep in your soul and permeates your body. You realize that it would be best to finish your business here as soon as possible, before something horrible is drawn from you and breaches the surface.

Arrows rain down upon the shields of the crusaders being led to the western wall by Erodel Zanec. The frontal assault has taken the attention of the majority of the demonic forces, but there was never going to be a way to conceal an entire saboteur force on the open plains.   "Hold! Hold fast!" Erodel shouts above the din of combat. Another arrow splinters against his broad shield. His heartbeat quickens and his mind conjures images of that fateful day in Kenabres, as the blade of the balor fell upon him while fire rained from the skies.   But his spirit remains firm. Today was his second chance, the opportunity to make something of his mysterious resurrection. He had failed Alita - he would not fail again.   Or at least, so they thought. Moving like dust on the wind, the mongrelmen of Neathholm cut through the battlefield like blades through wheat, turning the broken remains of century-old siege engines and fortifications into hiding places as natural as their caves below. The scouts of the Eagle Watch follow their example; though the two forces are quite different on the surface, they are both surprised by their natural chemistry and similar tactics. All of them warriors of Kenabres, the combined force slips into the shadow of the western wall with their smokepowder charges in hand.   "Quickly! Light the fuses!" Wenduag hisses. "Today will be the day that the toplanders see the ferocity of the Neathers! We will fall upon the demons and bathe in their spilled lifeblood! They have given us the corruption of the abyss that lurks in our veins; now let's give it back!"   Without sufficient resistance, the saboteurs are easily able to place and ready the charges with great alacrity. The ensuing explosion sends dust and bricks dozens of feet into the air, as an entire section of the western wall collapses into rubble. A hole wide enough to fit ten men has been punched through, and the forces at Erodel's command seizes the opportunity. "For the Queen! For Mendev! For Kenabres!" He yells as he launches himself into the fray, his sword becoming the first to draw demonic blood through the breach.   The western front is struck hard by the flanking maneuver, and the resistance at the gates buckles as confusion begins to flood the ranks of the demons and their cultists. It is in this moment of vulnerability that the final gate is splintered by the crusaders' battering ram, and the crusade forces begin to pour into the courtyard from two sides.   It is at this moment that the bones of old finally begin to breach the earth. Hundreds of skeletal hands rise and claw their bodies out from their mass graves, wearing armor and wielding arms of crusades long past. The courtyard is soon swarmed with undead warriors who join the battle without so much as a word, and the crusaders brace themselves, even strike against the skeletons that march forward; until they notice that the skeletons are ignoring them entirely, focusing their attacks entirely on the demons and the crusaders.   "That must be Alanis'... 'spirits'. Huh." Seelah says with a scowl. She spits off to the side and tightens the grip on her ranseur. "Muir forgive me, but if it saves our soldiers…"   Ulbrig shudders beneath her, and she takes a deep breath. "Yeah." she says, more to herself than anyone else. "Better them than our boys and girls. We'll have to hold one hell of a cleaning party after, but for now…"   Seelah raises the ranseur into the air as Ulbrig takes off to do a quick tour around the courtyard. "Crusaders! Take heart!" she shouts. "The spirits of crusades past have risen to join us! Let them be our shield as we drive the demons back into the abyss from whence they came!"   The words ring true and dispel doubt in the crusader ranks, who quickly begin to work around the undead soldiers that have bolstered their retinue. Yet Seelah knows that, deep within, a small bit of the light within her has been snuffed, never to return.

"Every betrayer has their own sob story to excuse their actions. And each one thinks they are different from the rest, that they alone should be understood and shown mercy. I am sick of hearing it. Everyone Is Guilty but Me. I've lost count of how many of you 'innocents' I've sent to the chopping block. They should have been executed just for denying their responsibility, never mind all their other crimes."