A group of half a dozen halberdiers was pushing through the soldiers of Wesley's company. Oswald's men were now sitting and over a handful of campfires around the recently captured altars, effectively blocking the way to the ruins. The irregulars among them spat curses at the gold-armoured cohort pushing through the throng.
"Make way for the wizard!"
Battlemage Ernest Rosengart and Gunmaster Wolfgang Fersen walked with the halberdiers towards the altar ahead. After receiving word of Captain Wesley's success, Rosengart and Fersen had travelled to the site with all haste, eager to purify and verify the authenticity of the key they were carrying. The press of bodies got even thicker near the ruins as they went.
"Of all the captains we sent out there with their companies to seek out altars in Hysh, it had to be Wesley to find it?" Wolfgang muttered as the halberdiers pushed aside yet another militiaman who refused to give way.
"That man's not exactly known for warm welcomes."
"I... am just as agitated by the fact as you, Wolfgang. But... I do have faith in Oswald's skills. Just... look at how few men he lost in the attack," Ernest pointed out, nodding at the mass of men they were pushing through.
"A fair point," Wolfgang replied, looking around him and making silent calculations.
"Only a dozen or so missing. And you said they were fighting... seraphon?"
"That... is what the runner told me. Oswald... is a cold and efficient man, Wolfgang. We... would do well to remember that," Ernest summed up as they arrived at the altar.
Captain Oswald Wesley was sitting on the ruined stone steps leading to the altar under an ancient archway. He was picking at his brimmed hat's enormous feather thoughtfully.
"Gunmaster. Wizard," he nodded at the scholars as the halberdiers parted, letting them through. Ernest and Wolfgang both muttered a short reply.
"Certainly took your time. There's the altar you asked for," Oswald continued, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.
"All yours, gentlemen."
"You... have our thanks, Captain. Wolfgang... would you be so kind as to wait here? This... has nothing do with mathematics, I'm afraid," Rosengart said, handing his staff over to the Gunmaster.
"Fair enough," Fersen replied, straigthening his monocle and taking the stave.
Rosengart reached to his belt, taking out his grimoire and the ornate key. He took a deep breath and started up the steps. His softsole boots whispered smoothly against the rough surface of the stony steps, the only sound to accompany him to the centre of the ruins. There stood a simple altar made of stone slabs, emanating a faint but clearly untainted trace of magical energy, visible only to his mage-sight. Ernest laid his spellbook on the altar, placing the key down next to it, and opened the tome.
Filipping through the yellowed pages, he finally found the correct incantation. Tracing the swirly arcane text with his finger, he began reading it out loud. At first his voice was slow and stammering, but as he reached the bottom of the first paragraph his sound became deeper, more fluent. Arcane syllables rolled from his tongue, his free hand making complex gestures in the air beside his head. He could feel the power within the altar stir, as if awoken from centuries of slumber.
As his incantation grew in length, volume and complexity, Rosengart could make out glowing runes on the altar's stone surface. They were emerging in ones and twos from the depths of the rock, once more visible where they had once been carved. The runes indicated this altar belonging to an ancient guardian entity of flora and fauna. A single name, carved in broadly chiselled symbols above the other runes, came visible at last. Ernest read it out loud at the end of his incantation.
"...Taal!"
The power within the altar swelled, sending waves of energy snaking up the sides of the stone, visible even to the mortal eye. These tendrils reached up for the items placed upon the altar, and Rosengart quickly snatched his grimoire up. The energy engulfed the key laying on the stone, nibbling at it, caressing it. Ernest could feel the attention of something immensely old and powerful drawn to the altar. Shivers went down his spine.
Then suddenly the tendrils of energy withdrew, leaving the key lay on the stone unharmed. Ernest blinked his eyes. The runes were gone, and the energy within the altar was once again only a faint trace. He walked up to the key and laid his finger on its golden surface hesitantly. It was warm. His vision blurred and his mind swam with visions of encroaching danger. He saw a malicious force drawing closer to their physical location. Blood. Death. Their quest was in danger.
Rosengart shook his head and his vision cleared. He was holding the key in his palm, its worn surface smooth against his skin. The artefact was still there. It was authentic. It was what they'd been looking for. Ernest raised the key towards the sky, blinking his yes in disbelief.
"Praise Sigmar..."
Fersen was leaning on Ernest's staff as the mage returned to the others.
"There he comes," the Gunmaster noted, straightening his back.
The nearby soldiers, bodyguards and Captain Wesley all turned to the approaching wizard.
"Well?" Oswald demanded.
"Did my men die for nothing?"
"They... did not, dear Captain. This... key is the actual artefact we need to access the dungeo in which our quest's goals lie," Rosengart replied, drawing relieved sighs and cheers from the surrounding freeguilders. Wesley smiled and Fersen hugged one of the halberdiers in his joy.
For a moment he let the men enjoy the success, to savour the progress they were making. Then he held up his hand to silence them. His expression was grim.
"There... is one more thing, a piece of information I gained from the entity I contacted. I... am afraid there is a host of enemies approaching this location, seeking our doom. This... entity saw fit to warn us, as it is possible the purification ritual drew this foe's attention."
The gazes of the men dropped to the ground. All the joy and excitement from mere moments ago was gone, replaced by anticipation of battle... and fear of death.
"Forewarned is forearmed," Wesley stated, placing the brimmed hat on his head.
"With the reinforcements you brought we have a fair chance of survival. Unless it's Chaos," he shrugged.
"Then we're screwed."
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