The continued adventures of not Vikings

[Zwiche]

Proceed from where we were

Rob stares into the castle.  Everything behind him, the battle, the screams of dying men, the call of action against the Lich Lord, all fades into a quiet blur.  Every second seems to last a minute, and every minute an hour. What secrets are hidden in this corrupted heap of stone? he wonders.  If I should delve into the belly of the beast, will I find the King's crown?  Will that crown bring peace to the growing murmurs of discontent, or will it ignite a firestorm that tears my country in two.

His hands grip the hilt of The Rising Dawn compulsively, as if to squeeze out the life of the liches who cursed him, of the soldiers who killed his men during the Crusade.  He rages against himself.  Why is he stuck standing here?  What force holds him back, preventing him from discerning the inside of the castle?  Could Themis be so cruel?  And then a new worm of doubt enters his mind as a worse alternative occurs to him: what if there is one greater than Themis?  Some capricious power that created the world for its own amusement. Themis and Man would be but toys for its own pleasure, to use and discard when it becomes bored.  No! Such a thing would be too cruel.  No being would be so malicious as to place him here, at the very cusp of his triumph, and then force him to stand still, motionless, unable to see or interact with the outside world.