Dark Armor: Violations

"Put your mask back on," said Pallian, as the carriage shifted again and its wheels bumped against the ground. He lifted the helm and let it once again enclose his head. 

Beside him, Ashmiren nodded and slipped her mask into place. 

"Both of you seem to be skilled at blending into the shadows," he continued. "Can you conceal yourselves when the doors open, and follow unseen while I return the armor to its place and try to uncover what exactly just happened?" After the Grandmother's work, Pallian was no longer certain that he didn't possess such talents himself... but even if he did, this was neither the time nor the place to invoke them. 

"I can certainly try," said Ashmiren, while Ember responded with, "I will keep us hidden."

"All right. Stay secret; stay safe. I'll let you know when it's safe to show yourselves."

The carriage rolled to a stop, and a low boom -- more felt than heard -- indicated that the gate to the crypt had closed behind it. The carriage door swung open, and the Black Knight stepped out. 

He was not surprised to see Tybben, hairless and dog-headed and dressed in an ornate red robe, waiting as his boot touched the ground. He was surprised to see a double-dozen dead ancestors gathered behind the disfigured servant. Still, this was the crypt and these were his people; even in his role as the Black Knight, he was not forbidden to speak to them. "What has happened?" he asked. "What brings you all here?"

Three of the dead started forward; four more pulled them back. Tybben said, "The Emissary has arrived at the Obsidian Citadel. It has forced the gates, and battle rages within. The Wizard-King remains absent, as does first-prince Ravaj. The Amedin commands the defense, but without the royal family or their champion..."

The Black Knight nodded. "My friends," he called quietly, "I need you."

Ember and Ashmiren stepped out of the coach as if they'd never been hidden inside it. The long-dead lords and ladies drew back as they came to stand beside him.

The Black Knight looked around at his dead ancestors. "We will need someone to carry us to Obsidian Citadel," he said. "Someone who can pass its defenses, and doesn't fear death. If you can hide yourself and be ready to bring us back afterwards, all the better." 

There was a brief moment of stillness and silence; then one figure, who was very nearly a skeleton, hawked and spat. "I'll take you in, lad. Dakrin Eld, your great-grandfather's brother. I can carry your friends as well, and I might even be a bit of help myself." He grinned, or at least Pallian thought he did; the movement of that nearly-fleshless jaw might mean anything. "And if I die at this, it's a good death in defense of the realm."

"I'll follow your lead," said another, whose bones were still clothed in flesh. "If you can get us there, I'll protect you as best I can."

"A third," said a woman's voice, firm and solid despite the nearly insubstantial figure who spoke. "I haven't dissolved anyone into mist in centuries. Let me help." 

"Uncle," said Pallian, before this could get out of hand, "How many of us can you carry?"

Dakrin Eld looked around. "The six of us," he said. "It gets too risky after that."

"Then come forward," Pallian said, trying to sound certain and commanding when he was uncertain and even utterly baffled. "Let us counter this threat." Please let that sound inspiring, and not like something from a tale for children...

Dakrin Eld stepped forward. The other two ancestors followed him. Pallian, Ashmiren, and Ember stepped forward to meet them. "Let's do this," said the ancient skeleton, and lifted a hand. 

The world swirled away around them.