One Templar in the halls of the tower caused no eyebrows to raise. Two Templars were just guards, going from one place to another. Three might have been a casual meeting. However the ringing tromp of six was another thing entirely. Six, then eight moved as they marched through the halls. The faces of the few without helmets were grim lines, and gauntleted hands were gripped tight on the hilts of weapons. They marched in perfect formation down the halls of the Tower and mages scattered before them. Not one wizard wished to be in the way of such a grim seeming phalanx, though they all knew what it meant. There was mischief in the tower. Someone had been found practicing something they were not supposed too. Someone was to be punished, and the Templars seldom took chances with those that would do mischief right in their own tower. Not anymore. Not after what happened in the last blight.
One of the Templars gathered by their leader on the march was Aurin Demarc. The young man frowned slightly, having once more forgot his helmet. His head was still foggy from the other day, but it was clear enough to know just what all this was all about. He marched easily with his grim faced brothers, his hand twitching slightly. An apostate? A blood mage? A demon? What was in the tower that drew the ire of so many of his armored brothers. He didn’t know just who or what it was, not yet at least. He knew that they were a fool to have done this under all the eyes in the Tower.
They marched towards the store rooms, and as they did Aurin felt the hair raise on the back of his neck. “Weapons out.”, growled out the veteran at the head of the group and the soft whisper of blades being drawn filled the room. Aurin hung back, eyes narrow as he stared at the wall of debris and junk there. Maddening lights flickered from the cracks in the area, and the keening wail and acrid stink that came from there gave a hint that all was not well. The first Templars stalked towards the room-within-a-room intending on surprising whoever worked the magic. However suddenly all went quiet for a split second…
…and then exploded.
A flying debris filled the air as the walls of junk came apart. The men in the small area were thrown to the ground, and even outside the store room Aurin had trouble keeping his feet. His features tightened in anger as he noted his fallen brothers. All were moving, but slowly. His steps increased in speed as he closed, one hand coming up to grip part of the ruined hiding place as he stepped though the rent in the wall. His eyes widened as he noted the pair of bodies. Neither were moving. One was recognizable.
“Constans.”
There was volumes of pent-up hate in that hissed out set of syllables as his hands twisted on the hilt of his sword. Please. Please Constans. Don’t be dead.
Don’t be dead before I can kill you.
He stalked over towards the fallen mage, his eyes on him. He could be dead, he could be unconscious. The Templar stopped for a moment, glaring down for a moment at what could be a dead body. Slowly and deliberately he drew back one armored boot and then brought it with great speed to deliver a kick to the man’s ribs.