Seraph’s heart pounded within her chest, surged on by the promise of combat and the finality of the coming battle. She was a Champion of Jahenna, sworn to uphold the tenets of the merciful goddess while also passing judgement upon the tyrants of the World, yet for all her imbued power there was little to be done that would calm her nerves.
At her hip, the fabled Sword of Oaths, forged centuries ago for the sole purpose of slaying the greatest of evils, to be wielded by the truest of heart alone. As Seraph hammered a powerful kick into a portcullis of shimmering onyx, her hand shot to its hilt.
“Prepare to die, warlock, your—“ The air was heavy with the ethereal smoke; incense, perhaps. It was heady, dizzying even, and by the grace of her holy boons was Seraph not floored by the potency of it. Wisps of hazy purple funk trailed up to a plafond of polished onyx. It shimmered like the open void, riddled with gleaming gems of all shapes and sizes. Was she in the right place? Was this not the heart of the Dark Cathedral?
Beyond the miasmic haze, a voice as smooth as a polished pearls passed a quizzical query to another unseen stranger, “I beg of you, Lord Sobek, do pass that most corpulent blunt. You’re hogging, my good fellow.”
Seraph could scarcely make out two figures, shrouded in shadow save for their eyes. One pair were as twin emeralds, flickering with unbridled eldritch energy, the other a single crimson orb, possessing a smoldering yet seductive glow. They were seated across one another at a small table, each man taking leisurely drags from a most generous of spliffs.
Seraph’s confusion was not long lasted. She raised her luminous blade and parted the occluding mist with a rousing — yet rather self-righteous — speech, “In the name of Jahenna I shall see justice served! Prepare to meet your doom, war—“
“Goodness, girl, control yourself. Do you wish to kill the vibe?” A tower of azurite plates, the Dread Sorcerer Sobek lazily slumped into his throne of finely carved bone. Horrible magics thrummed from his armored form in aural waves, though they seemed to have little effect at the moment; a kaleidoscopic sheen of harmless energy. He was ancient, undoubtedly immortal, and had gained a reputation throughout the realms for his debased defilements of the natural order. Yet here, in his sanctum of sanctum’s, Seraph beheld a beast of lethargic repose, disinterested entirely in her arrival.
To his side, reclining against a pile of velvety pillows, a creature of mythic beauty lounged without a care in the World. The paladin knew of him too.
It took a long drag, holding the vapors in for a moment, before releasing a satisfied sigh; enormous incisors flashed at the edges of his pearlescent smile. “Amazing! Absolutely amazing, my friend, the ickiest and the stickiest!” A contended smile lingered upon the creatures face, his single remaining eye a slitted orb. The arch vampire turned to Seraph was a bemused smirk, “Did you order delivery, as well?”
Sobek offered a dismissive wave, muttering through a lungful of heady fumes, “Oh, no, that would be our guest. She’s company, Count Nikolas, not food.”
What absolute madness was this? Seraph had prepared herself to face down with one of the foulest villains of her time. She was prepared to die in battle if her Goddess required it, but two? “You work in tandem, devils? I have no other choice than to strike you both down, even if it takes the last drop of my blood.”
“That does sound lovely.” Nikolas licked his fangs with a serpentine tongue, eyeing Seraph like a starved animal. Even in the face of a smiting blade, the immortal’s apathy remained a damp cloth upon Seraph’s flickering flame. She had come for battle, not to be humiliated! Her life, decades of back-breaking pain and discipline had sculpted the daughter of a common whore into a warrior of the highest faith. She was of middle age, a mote of dust in the context of these timeless terrors, but this was to be the culmination of her adventures, the final test; how could they dismiss her so easily? Perhaps a scolding would do, yes.
“Both of you have ravaged this world for centuries, perchance millennia, committing every sin known to Jahenna and countless more! For too long have you gone without consequence, preying upon the weak and innocent, spreading your pestilence further with every breath taken! But fear not, for I am Seraph, Champion of Jahenna, and I will deliver you both unto her judgement. Prepare—“
Nikolas let out an exasperated groan, rolling his single eye about its socket, “Must you go on like that? Did you rehearse the entire way over here, or merely the first five minutes? Sobek dear, can we please rid ourselves of this interloper?”
The sage sorcerer raised an enormous gauntlet as to silence the both of them, “No. No killing today. No anything. Come, little girl, the wine is mellow and the herb the loudest. Save the dramatics for your mother.”
He turned to the eye-patched vampire, a throaty chuckle ensnaring from the depths of his hollow breastplate, “Is that the saying, old friend.”
“No, no, no. It is ‘save the drama for your mama’.” Nikolas corrected the elder undead, though he shared in the laughter regardless.
Seraph stood, dumbfounded. She held fast to her shining sword, though its light flickered with every burst of laughter from the two miscreant evils. Why weren’t they fighting? Had they lost their touch? No, that wasn't it. Sobek was legendary, and Nikolas was infamous for his brutality. Were they mocking her? Playing some game? Seraph grit her teeth in frustration, raising the Sword of Oaths to point at the Dread Sorcerer, who barely acknowledged her presence. This was madness! Insanity! Seraph's heart pounded against her ribcage, fueled by the fires of indignation and righteous fury.
Sobek waved again, pulling the hero onto the tips of her booted toes and towards their crystaline round table in an effortless flick. Im an instant, the war-played paladin was seated atop a similar throne of ivory, squarely between the magus and the leech.
“Drink. Relax. Nikolas, pass the blunt. Little girl, do try to enjoy yourself. If you continue to glare at us, your face may just remain like that, and what a tragedy that would be…” Sobek spoke without turning his gaze, the plate armor which encased his titanic form seemingly alive with cosmic energies. Seraph found herself unable to move, locked firmly within the confines of her ivory seat by invisible bonds. She struggled against the sorceries, though her efforts proved fruitless. With a resigned huff, Seraph relinquished her weapon to her side. What else could she do? Jahenna willing, she would find an opportunity to strike.
Nikolas smirked at the paladin, offering the burning blunt to her, "Would you care for a puff?”
“Never. For all your sins…This is how you idle away.”
“Suit yourself.” Nikolas was wiry yet ethereally beautiful. Graceful beyond compare, elegant yet deadly. A long mane of silver hair fell like spider-silk across his shoulders, accenting the pitch of his finely pressed suit as a glimmering star would against the blackness of space. Seraph did not trust herself around his allure, nor Sobek's apparent might. She had been prepared for battle, not whatever this was. How could she get out of this situation? She hadn’t the slightest clue.
Sobek took a pull from the spliff, leaning back into his throne. A cloud of indigo vapors escaped beneath his helm, filling the air with an earthy scent. “It’s quite funny, how the Goddess of Judgement sends these mortals time and time again. Tell me, Seraph Liala of Geldburg, how many of your ilk do you believe I’ve fought over the years?”
“How did you—“
“A dozen? Fifty? A hundred?” Sobek continued without pause, ignoring Seraph mid sentence, "Yet here I remain. Do you know why, child?"
Nikolas chimed in with a sultry purr, "Because you're simply the strongest."
"No. Well, yes, but there's something else. It's simple, really." Sobek reached towards the paladin with an enormous gauntlet, idly patting her atop her crimson curls, "Jahenna sends her best after us because she knows we are the strongest. If we could be felled by any mortal champion, then wouldn’t that mean we aren’t worth fighting in the first place? We are immortal beings and eternity is a mighty long time. The sun rises and falls, civilizations in its wake, and yet we remain. This celestial tit for tat is nothing special or new — you are not special or new — I’m sad to inform. You believe that your Goddess sees you a champion, perhaps, but the Gods are as deluded as we must surely be for continuing to persist. Lady Seraph, you may not see it, but you are but another incarnation in an endless cycle, and o’ how we’ve grown bored of it.”
“Yes, quite bored.” Nikolas stretched while nodding in agreement.
“So between our own bouts of pointless insanity we find the time to revel in the finer things. Otherwise, what’s the point?” Sobek shrugged, taking another drag, "So relax, Seraph Liala of Geldburg. Enjoy yourself, live a little. Your Goddess will send another after you fall, and evil will persist as it always has, as we always have."
Seraph sat, stunned silent by Sobek's revelation. Was he right? Jahenna was benevolent, merciful, just. Could she be wrong about her champion? About the eternal struggle between good and evil? Seraph felt a tug at her wrist, snapping from her epiphany only to realize that the Sword of Oaths was now in Nikolas' hands.
"Give that back!"
Nikolas sniffed the weapon curiously, giving the blade a few playful swings, "Such a lovely thing, this, should we add it to the collection, good friend?”
“Throw it with the rest of them.”
Nikolas obliged, tossing the holy relic with such indifference that it shattered Seraph’s heart. It clattered amongst a previously unseen pile of swords, spears, maces and flails; a mound of artifacts treated as refuse. Seraph felt tears welling at the corners of her eyes, the reality of her situation dawning upon her. Had she failed her Goddess? No, worse. Jahenna had never seen her champion as anything more than a plaything in her own endless crusade. Her life, her purpose, meaningless. Seraph choked back a sob.
“No, no, no, now she’s crying. I didnt sign up for this, Sobek dearest, what do we do? Oh, goodness, don't cry little girl, please...please...no..." Nikolas looked to his peer for support, panic setting in at the sight of Seraph's sadness.
Sobek grumbled beneath his helm, waving a hand once more, "Here, dry your tears.” The handkerchief materialized before Seraph, soft silk embroidered with a fine lace. “Take a hit, please, it’ll calm your nerves. If it helps, we don’t kill all of those that come, only the particularly noisy ones.”
The vampire added, “Indeed.”
“After you collect yourself, you can pick whatever tool you’d like from that pile and resume your little quest; we wouldn’t deprive you of a good death, if that’s what you seek. Or we can negotiate a new arrangement for you. You’ve been such a good sport about this whole thing that Nikolas and I would support whatever you’d like to do after the fact. If anything, it’ll give us something to do. We’ve got all the time in the world, isn’t that right, you adorable bloodsucker.”
Nikolas nodded enthusiastically, flashing Seraph a reassuring grin, revealing the monstrous length of his fangs.
The implications of such an offer were stupefying, setting the teetering paladin’s mind ablaze with possibility. She’d the chance to die nobly, but what lies beyond her life of servitude, what had she forsaken all these years? Was devotion not its own reward? The conflict raged within. Seraph dabbed at her eyes with Sobek’s handkerchief, struggling to collect herself amidst the swirl of emotions. She snatched the spliff from Nikolas, taking a desperate drag.
Her lungs burned, coughing madly as the potent herb filled her senses with warmth and relaxation. Seraph doubled over, hacking smoke from her lungs and nostrils. The impact was immediate, as if she’d inhaled undiluted star-stuff, the very firmament of reality. The veil of time, place and duality was ripped aside as deific clarity blazed within the mortal’s skull. How had the lich and his companion inhaled this god-ash so freely? Seraph’s eyes swirled with a mercurial glow, her blessed constitution the single reason she’d maintained even a fragment of her sanity. The vampire patted her back with genuine concern, cooing soothing words into the hero's ear, "There, there, little girl. You'll be alright. Say, do you suppose we should have warned her, Sobek?"