Silver Bayonet - Castle Fier: The Graveyard

 The ascent was punishing for Raskolnikov following his ‘tussle’ with that Wehrwolf - his insouciant understatement a very English quality he thought to himself.  He really ought to research his genealogy, surely there was a rakish English Lord somewhere in his line…..

He occasionally glimpsed the black floor of the forest below as they toiled up the mountainside.  His men were all silently relieved to leave that suffocating arboreal darkness behind but daren’t not contemplate what blasphemy lay in wait for them in the icy air of the crags and ruins of Castle Fier…..

Al-Ghamdi was trying not to think of that damned forest nor the cursed cadaverous fortress ahead but just each tortuous step he was forcing himself and his men - no, comrades - to take.  Nothing short of the Glory of the Caliphate and survival of humanity was at stake.  If only those blockheaded Orthodox Slavic Pigs realised this they might stop trying to murder the Turks and focus on the devils and demons which run amok in this heathen land.

The crooked towers and spires of the black castle seemed to grow out of the very rock of the mountainside.  From their respective approaches it was impossible for either Turk or Russian to truly comprehend the geometry of the place and work out the most efficient route.  As they neared they became aware they were already in the outer perimeter of the place.  Not so they’d properly notice; once great walls - barriers to a superstitious and fearful outside - were little more than crumbled and shattered stone.  It was misty and foggy despite their altitude and it took some time for them all to realise they were in the castle’s graveyard - traditionally located outside the main compounds of any fort or castle.

There was only rudimentary understanding of what their mission demanded.  They knew Castle Fier had been the redoubt of the mysterious and sinister Marcea Lupul who - local legend had it - had been vanquished and despatched to a fiery hellish pit - by avenging Crusaders centuries earlier.  The mystics, occultists and seers had foreseen that Marcea Lupul’s son is buried in the castle graveyard, the grave reputed to contain secrets of unimaginable power - Raskolnikov and Al-Ghamdi needed those secrets.

How could somewhere so holy feel so possessed and oppressive - this place was a corruption of the holy order of things whether you were Orthodox or Saracen.  But which grave was the one they sought?  The unhallowed ground was strewn with toppled and broken grave stones and collapsed crypts and mausoleums.  The Turks and Russians tentatively approached from opposite sides - there was an eerie vale of clinging death fog suspended two feet above the ground making all shapes - organic and inanimate alike - seem like ethereal shadows…..

What was that… a scurrying, a rustle…a shape darting captured out the corner of the eye of the most observant.  Rats! Vermin! The size of a dog…..  

The Turks despatched the abomination as soon as it scurried towards them - Salim Selim the sharpshooter.  The Russians were less efficient - the normally reliable peasant Platon Karataev missing twice before obliterating the vermin.

As the others ventured forwards an apparition revealed itself to them standing next to one of the crypts towards the centre of the graveyard.  Was this the shade of Marcea Lupul’s son, defending his final resting place?  

While some of the Turkish party entered the south-east side of the graveyard through crumbling walls the ghoulish apparition made for a breach where Raskalnikov and Illyich were probing.  Meanwhile Drubetskoy and Yegortych were scouting the far western perimeter unaware the Ottoman Janissaries and sapper had a similar idea.

Al-Ghamdi and Son of the Mesoptamian desert Ibrahim Al-Masri had pierced the south-east corner manoeuvring behind any standing gravestones or discarded boulders.  From what seemed the plague-ridden earth itself a tattered being emerged straight towards them.  Pyotr Luzhin, further to the west from Razkalnikov, had gained ground in the graveyard and was taking shelter behind a decayed tree not to arouse the senses of the apparition when he was similarly assailed by another of these grotesque beings. Al-Ghamdi, with support from Al-Masri, vanquished the foul being but Luzhin, isolated, was less fortunate, and was felled by the ghoul who had immense strength.  At the same time Razkalnikov and Illyich were among the graves when another hellish being launched itself from what seemed the very earth.  Fyokla Karamazov loosed accurate fire upon Oman Ibn Yusuf who foolishly had ventured out of cover, inflicting significant damage.  In the southern sector Salim Selim was targeted by another of these blasphemous tattered ghouls - where had they all come from, other than the Kingdom of Beelzebub.  Confusion reigned.

Razkolnikov triumphed.  The ghoul who had felled poor Luzhin had now broken beyond the walls though and was heading towards Razkolnikov, Illyich, Karataev and Karamazov.  Selim Salim had defeated the ghoul but the horrific apparition had now taken up on the crypt next to his position.

Drubetskoy and Yegortych tentatively passed through what would once have been the West Gate into the graveyard but which now was jumble of stone and decayed wooden beams.  Mahmoud Al-Masri was in the Grenadier’s sights and Drubetskoy did not miss.   Ali Khalifa and Rashid Ibn Yusuf held a position around the broken down wall at the southern edge of the grave yard.

Selim Salim was now hunted, or so it seemed, by the apparition and what appeared to be a long-dead Crusader from the attack on Castle Fier all those centuries earlier.  Surely this was his end!

Razkolinokov, fresh from despatching the ghoul, now had to contend with what appeared to be a Wehrwolf, so familiar from the forest, but this one was discoloured, mangy and…..rotting.  By all the Saints an Undead Wehrwolf, what Blasphemy!

Illyich saw off the ghoul making for their small party but was injured in the melee, while Razkolnikov fought off the Behemoth to save his men.  Drubetskoy and Yegortych were confronted by another of these vile creatures but were able to bring devastating musketry to bear before it was on them.  Selim Salim fought bravely against the Revenant and apparition and amid all this confusion Al-Ghamdi scoured for Marcea Lupul’s sons grave when a true leader would have battled to save his men.  The coward uncovered those secrets and couldn’t get away from that accursed place fast enough while Turk and Russian were battling the very forces of The Abyss.  He made no effort to save Selim Salim who fell under unrelenting pressure.  

Razkolnikov, for all his maddening strength, was finally overpowered by the Grotesque ALREADY dead Fenrir, but Karamazov and Karataev were able to concentrate a torrent of disciplined musketry and stave off certain death for not only Razkolnikov but quite possible themselves.  This had been a bloody encounter leaving the Russians with nothing to show for their stoic heroism other than further wounds to Razkalnikov, a true leader of men.  The consensus was that he would recover in time.

The Turks, while relieved that Salim and Mahmoud Al-Masri would recover, were left with a deep and unsettling fear that Al-Ghamdi was someone who would sacrifice all of them to garland his reputation and save himself.  Comrade?