Tomb of the Dalmatia

The city of Zemiharos was now in sight, its constant full moon choking the evening’s eternally dark sky. Peter first noticed the sudden shift to evening around a half hour after their first ship docked right off the shores leading up to the city, where it was still early afternoon only minutes before. The ships made sure to stay out of sight as Peter gathered and divided his footsoldiers, with the majority joining Sir Bošnjak in his proposed frontal assault while the remaining joined behind Peter. He had around 2 dozen men with him, the majority simple serfs who were enlisted in a hurry from the Kraji armed with their makeshift clubs and bows, with around half a dozen knights from his personal guard, all carrying their newly made boomsticks, with their swords by their side and their longbows on their backs. Jakov, Father Debro and Tinnie joined behind him, though he knew it wouldn't be much help at slaying the striga themselves. He planned to lead his flanking party as a clean up once the fray was already in full effect. If Tinnie was telling the truth, he had a feeling Baba Roga would have more than a few safeguards in place

Peter crept through the forest where Tinnie had initially led them through, until they returned back to the withered entrance past the city walls. He had his men wait in silence, until they heard the boom from the decoy ship as their time to strike. Metallic screams in the distance filled the air, as they seemed to venture further and further out. Peter knew it’d only be a matter of time until the initial explosion would bring his battle to retake the city to life.

For a while there was nothing. Then an explosion of light filled the air, until the roaring boom of gunpowder took its place. It felt like an explosion of thunder on his ears, followed by the piercing cries of striga as they burned to silence. Peter then raised his fist and motioned forward, charging towards the statue that stared eternally at the city’s walls.

Peter and several men pulled back the dusty latch, until the ladder back down into the catacombs was freshly exposed to the outside world once more. With his lantern tucked away at his side, Peter stepped onto the rattling ladder steps, until he reached the floor of the tombs once again. He motioned for his men to move the trap door where he first met Tinnie, until the trick door exposed the circular walkway once again.

Tinnie yanked Peter to the right, “It’s this way, cover me.”

Rumbled and the dulled echoes of a striga’s shriek echoed in the background. Tinnie darted through the narrow passageways as Peter struggled to keep the imp’s silhouette properly lit as he shuffled behind him. The roaring boom from the gunpowder ship shook the catacombs. Several skulls and bits of dirt had fallen from above, making Peter all the more nervous that the passageways would give out, at least if they had a few more assaults on the city like that.

Tinnie stopped besides the crypt that held the most prominent of the Zemlharos’ families. He noticed several Zrinski, including Bronmir Zrinski, amongst the monuments. Tinnie kicked at one of the Božić caskets, breaking it open.

Jakov cut to the front of the squadron, ready to punt Tinnie where he stood. “Hey, just what do you think you’re doing? That’s my great grandfather’s tomb.”

Tinnie giggled to himself, “Is it?”

Instead, there was not a skeleton, but a lever. Tinnie yanked it, revealing a trap door. “The Daltmas were the oldest family in Zemliharos, though the Zrinskis made sure to bury their crypt above them. The symbolism is overbearing.”

Tinnie stepped down the decrepit stairs, with Peter following shortly behind. He had to duck down as the steps seemed to close closer and closer towards him. As he reached the bottom, Tinnie darted away, and Peter lit the torchlight at the entrance. Judging by the slew of cobwebs, he was the first person to do so in a very long time. In the center of the room stood a powerfully built sculpture of a man with a woman and two young girls, with two wolves guarding them.

“The Dalmata founded Zemiharos, though the Zrinski found the veins of silver that funded it. As the Dalmatas tried to lay a claim to it, soon the accusations of their communion with the striga grew from the Zrnsik, a family of Krsnik no less, until they were sentenced to death by pyre. The one on the left, her name has been lost to time, but she’s Baba Roga, I know it. I need you to open her sarcophagus, no remains will be found.”

Jakov leered at Tinnie, “I’ve never even heard such poppycock, how do you know all of this.”

Tinnie flicked back his hair, “Despite my youthful looks, I’ve been around for far longer than anyone in this room.”

Peter looked to Father Debro. He nodded and stepped towards the catacomb. With a single strike from his staff, the sarcophagus broke open. Not a body remained, but it was small, small enough for a dwarf like Tinnie to fit comfortably inside. He looked towards Peter. “No matter what happens, no matter what you hear or see, I must remain in this tomb until the sun breaks. All will be for naught if I’m interrupted."

Peter nodded as Tinnie stepped into the opening and lied down in the tomb. Peter shut the sarcophagus until the tomb snapped back into place. Tinnie’s shrill laughter muffled under its weight. A deep violet hue emitted from the tomb and a shrill cry boomed throughout the tomb, causing the dirt to shake.

Peter turned to Father Debro, “Can I trust you to watch this tomb?”

“With my life.”

Peter nodded and turned away from the High Priest. He stepped up the stairs with Jakov, as his squadron of men waited for him at the top of the crypt. A shrill metallic screech soon boomed through the catacombs. If Tinnie was telling the truth, he knew it wouldn’t be long before the striga would swarm the crypt ground.

Peter turned to Jakov, “Pull the lever, block off the entrance.”

Jakov looked towards Peter with hesitancy, but Peter made sure to keep his head firm. If they were going to survive this, they needed to take every precaution, even if it risked burying the two alive in these long forgotten crypts. Jakov pulled the lever and the trap door covered the Dalmatia grave once more. He then replaced the cover on his family’s casket.

The shrill only grew as Jakov finished his deed. Several of the Kraji’s guards stepped forward, boomsticks in hand, ready to blast away at whatever monstrosity came through the darkness.

When the first stirga revealed itself as it approached their torchlight, Peter barely had the time to register it, before the booming smoke from the boomsticks roared through the tomb. In their brief flash, Peter saw the striga thoroughly decimated from the blast, sending bits of it across the catacomb walls. However, the barrage of gunpowder, caused the passageways to shake and crumble as more dirt fell from the sky. By the amount of sediment spreading across Peter’s face, he knew it was only a matter of time before the walls gave out. A violent vibration emitted from under them, while Tinnie’s maniacal laughter seemed to echo in his head while that same violet mist seemed to spread around them.

“Advance, don’t break until we’ve reached the cathedral above.”

Peter stepped over the clawed guard, and splattered striga before breaking into a sprint to keep up with the guardsman. Soon a couple more striga stormed towards the caravan of men looking to return topside. Peter could already see the bits of moonlight that eeked from the shattered doorway back to the cathedral above. Several more flashes from the remaining boomsticks echoed around them, but one striga still charged forwards. A Kraji guardsman took his now empty boomstick and smited down on his target on the pointed part of his boomstick, like he was playing the world’s most deadly game of wack-a-mole. It hit the creature cleanly across the face with nowhere to dodge, killing it upon impact. However, Peter could still feel the bit of sediment and dirt caking upon his face. He turned behind to see the roof itself collapse onto the ancient crypt, burying it in the rubble. Peter matched the Kraji guard’s sprint as he dashed for the moonlight in an attempt to not find himself forever buried in this tomb.

As Peter’s caravan reached the opening to the cathedral, the rest of the catacomb’s walls collapsed in on the entrance, shooting up one final geyser of dirt, before emptiness followed.

“Well, looks like we’re not leaving the way we came in.”

While the bodies of the High Priest Roko and the striga he slayed were no longer in the cathedral walls, the place appeared nearly untouched otherwise from when he last entered, save for the Anointed’s pyre being thoroughly destroyed. Outside was a much different story. The cries of men and beast echoed though the cathedral, with the sounds of tearing flesh coming from all different directions. Several of the Kraji’s guards abandoned their boomsticks and climbed their way up the rafters, getting in place so their longbows could be pointed at the main tower. Peter collected his breath, pushing out the times he saw the bloodbath of Zemliharos end with his soldier's demise. Soon his bear form took shape, its light radiating the walls as he saw Roko do all those evenings ago. Peter then charged forward, ready to face the endless night head on. Only he could bring the sun back to Zemliharos this time.