Chapter 11 - Die Alten Hofs - WHQ - Sacrifice

 

Image - The Sacrifice of Eryndor Iluviel

The company approached the towering gates of the Labyrinth, where the Elven Guard stood in solemn formation. Their emerald cloaks shimmered faintly in the pale dawn light, motionless as carved statues. At their head was Galadran, Captain of the Guard, a figure of elven grace and steely resolve. His once-bright eyes were now dimmed by weariness, and deep lines creased his brow—scars not of battle, but of grief.

Galadran stepped forward as the group halted. His voice, though clear, was heavy with the burden of recent loss.

“Hail and well met, Jederman the Barbarian,” he said with a slow nod. “And with you, the company of the Alten Hofs. A noble band for a noble cause—if your hearts still burn with justice. But what is this? A dwarf among you?” His gaze narrowed, scanning the stout figure beside the others. “And where is Erendriel? For I suspect it is Eryndor whom you seek… and yet I see not his brother.”

Jederman stepped forward, his fur-lined cloak rippling slightly in the morning wind. His hand rested firmly on the hilt of his broadsword, but his eyes betrayed the pain behind his stoic exterior.

“Hail and well met, Galadran,” he replied, his voice low and gravelled with restrained emotion. “Aye, it is Eryndor we seek, and I fear the hour grows short. We dared not wait for Erendriel’s arrival—though know this: his heart grieves still and burns with the same fury as mine. Eryndor is my blood brother, and should he fall, it will be as if the last summer sun vanishes forever into winter’s void.”

The warrior’s jaw clenched as he took a breath.

“But let us waste no more time on sorrow. We are here to reclaim Eryndor or avenge him. We seek entrance to the Labyrinth. I, Jederman of the Ice Wastes, lead this cause. With me stand Helga, Knight Maiden of Bretonnia; Sindrass Tilbarg, Assassin of the Silent Blade; Gwendolyn, Woods Wizard of the Amber Circle. You know them. And our newest companion—Drugen Greyfoot, Dwarf Brewmaster, who has joined us with axe and cause alike.”

Galadran raised a silvered brow, a flicker of dry humour passing across his face. “A stout fellow indeed,” he murmured. “Despite his... vertical limitations. And judging by the clinking of bottles at his belt, he brings more than just courage—he brings his cellar.”

Drugen grunted. “I bring enough to toast our victory... or drown our sorrows,” he said. Then, without warning, he swung his axe in a blinding arc. The steel blade halted a hair’s breadth from Galadran’s cheek. Galadran did not flinch. His eyes stayed locked with the dwarf’s.

“A stout fellow indeed,” he repeated calmly, “with a stout axe arm to match. You'll need it, my friend. Both axe... and beer.”

Drugen grinned and lowered his weapon. “Aye... no doubt.”

After a moment’s silence, Galadran turned to the Guard. “So be it. Five seek entry—five names shall be bound.”

He stepped forward, lifting a silver vial and drawing a sigil in the air that shimmered like smoke before vanishing.

 

“You are marked,” Galadran declared. “Should you fall, your soul’s departure shall echo through the veils. Should you betray this realm... your oath shall burn you from within.”

With that, the Elven Guard stepped aside, and the way opened.

The company descended into the yawning mouth of the Labyrinth, torches flaring and boots echoing on the cold stone steps. At first, the journey was uneventful. They passed through the old Torture Chamber—still haunted by the grim remains of a long-dead wretch. The Neverloft still grew in thick green clusters by the rusted implements of pain. Gwendolyn collected a handful, murmuring, “Mixed with Cavemoss, it can cure even the bite of Iocaine.”

Their lantern pierced the darkness as they proceeded west, silence broken only by the creak of armour and the muttered prayers of Helga. Then came the orc ambush—six brutish warriors lunging from the shadows. Steel clashed with snarls. The Alten Hofs fought back with the grace of seasoned veterans. Sindrass struck from the gloom like a phantom. Drugen crushed skulls with savage joy. They emerged, bloodied but victorious.

Next came the Well of Doom. A tangled rope and hook lay near a heap of rubble. Gwendolyn took it, eyeing the shaft warily. “This may serve us yet.”

Then came the Monster Lair—an ambush by Vohrgath’s rear guard. Spears and arrows flew. The clash was brutal. Drugen’s axe never rested, and Jederman fought like a storm unleashed. Helga's shield protected them all, but wounds were many. They shared rations, wrapped bandages, and bound their wounds in silence. Drugen rummaged among barrels and shouted with satisfaction, “Hops! And brineweed, no less!”

Further south, they faced a T-junction. East lay the Corridor of Terror, where a deep Punji Pit barred their path. Cavemoss lined the walls. Sindrass shook her head. “Too risky. Another way.”

At a crossroads, they turned west—but were ambushed again, this time by Skaven. Swift, skittering death from front and rear. Jederman bled freely, but Gwendolyn’s magic seared and mended. Helga held the front, Sundras vanished into shadow, reappearing with each death stroke, and Drugen kept the rear in a whirling dance of steel.

At last, they entered a small chamber to rest. Bottles lined a table. Thirsty and weary, they each took a drink—but some bottles were foul. Gwendolyn coughed and doubled over. “Poisoned... fools' draught,” she spat.

In the corner, Bloodgrass glowed crimson. It was harvested and bagged, even as dread news fell upon them.

(WHQ Game Note – At this point in the game a dice roll in the power phase to determine Eryndor's fate showed that he had been sacrificed)

A scream echoed from the deep. A soul snuffed out.

Jederman's roar of grief shook the walls. “Eryndor! No!” He turned, his voice ragged. “We finish this. For him.”

They pressed on to a guard room. Chaos warriors met them. Jederman was lost to berserker fury, cutting a bloody path. Helga’s sword was red with fire, and Sundras’s blades drank deep.

A foul hiss filled the chamber as a dead body from a former battle released a toxic cloud. Sundras staggered, choking, but waved them on. Jederman didn’t pause. He stormed into the final chamber—only to freeze. Eryndor’s body lay on a blood-stained altar. Priests stood poised with daggers. Guards formed a wall, and behind them loomed a conjured Troll, summoned by fell ritual.

Then came the rumble. A deep growl from the stone itself.

Jederman turned—just in time. The chamber groaned, trembled... and collapsed. Stone swallowed altar, priests, guards, troll—and Eryndor.

Justice, perhaps. Or fate.

Jederman stood, frozen.

The others caught up, watching in silence as he stared into the dust-choked ruin. Gwendolyn laid a hand on his shoulder. “He is gone,” she whispered.

Jederman clenched his fists. “Then Vohrgath’s victory will be short. Let us leave this tomb. The tale must be told to Erendriel.”

Together, they began the long climb back toward the light.

(WHQ Game Note: As often happens in the turning of cards and the roll of dice, chance took a hand. The cave-in sealed not only the quest’s premature end—but its justice. It was perhaps an anticlimactic ending, but all foes did perish and The Alten Hofs did endure to fight another day. Much gold and some glory were gained)

The sun had dipped below the western hills when the Alten Hofs emerged from the dark maw of the labyrinth. Their armour was dented, blood-stained, their faces shadowed with sorrow and fatigue. The once-bright banners they had carried were now torn, the colours dulled by soot and gore. At their front walked Jederman the Barbarian, his lantern dim, his great sword sheathed but stained with dried blood. No one spoke as they crossed the wild heathlands toward the forest realm of the Elves.

The trees of Elvenwood parted for them, as if the forest itself recognized the weight of their return. Moonlight laced the branches above, painting the path in silver. At the edge of the glade, where moss-covered stones marked the boundary of the Elven sanctuary, a solitary figure stood waiting, Erendriel.

Clad in robes of deep green, his silver hair loose around his shoulders, the Elven ranger stepped forward. His bow was unstrung. His sword sheathed. His eyes, ancient and keen, scanned the group—and then fixed upon Jederman.

"You return," Erendriel said. "But not all return."

Jederman met his gaze and stepped forward, unflinching. He drew from his belt a small leather pouch, bound with a silver thread. Within lay a carved wooden amulet, stained with blood—Eryndor's.

"Your brother fought with honour," Jederman said, voice low and rough. "He gave all. His death was not in vain. We went to save him—but fate had other plans."

Erendriel took the pouch, fingers trembling slightly. For a long moment he stared at the amulet, then closed his eyes.

"I felt his passing," he whispered. "Like the breaking of a string within my soul. I knew. Yet some part of me hoped..."

The others stood in respectful silence. Gwendolyn bowed her head. Helga removed her helm. Sundrass crossed his arms, saying nothing, but his posture was that of mourning. Drugen grunted, not unkindly, and took a long swig from his flask.

Erendriel opened his eyes. They glistened but did not weep.

"He died resisting Vohrgath?"

"He died a hero," said Gwendolyn gently. "To the very last breath."

Erendriel nodded once. "Then his soul is among the stars."

There was a pause.

Then Jederman spoke again, his voice steadier now. "The labyrinth took him, yes. But it also took Vohrgath's priests. Their chamber collapsed. The idol room is no more. Justice was done."

"And Vohrgath?" Erendriel asked.

"Unseen. Escaped perhaps. But not forgotten."

A silence stretched, filled only by the gentle whisper of the forest.

"Then our work is not finished," Erendriel said at last. He slipped the amulet into his cloak and looked toward the distant horizon. "My brother walks the star-path now. But his murderer walks still. And I would follow your path, Jederman—to its very end."

Jederman nodded. "Then the Alten Hofs welcome you again. We are fewer now, but fiercer still."

The companions clasped arms, one by one, as the stars bloomed above.

And beneath the ancient trees, the vow of vengeance was renewed.