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“All right, pack it in!” Galparin called out over the valley as he stood in a short, makeshift outlook. Despite it only being mid-afternoon, the tall mountains on either side meant there was only a limited time his small group of historians had good workable light. Rohmel deep in her work lit up a lantern to continue a little longer waving Galparin off, while Merla and the Ranger Chasianna began packing their tools, and loading a demon’s armour along with pair of blades into a push cart to return to be base camp.

The camp was small but well setup, a large cloth awning stretched out from the back of the supply cart, covering a kitchen and a small dining table. Nearby was a wide but currently low fire campfire, housing an iron pot amongst the embers as another two hung from an otherwise empty spit. There were three tents, largest belonged to the historians where Galparin the boss of the expedition, his son Merlan and the apprentice Rohmel slept. Next was smaller but newer and more well kept, it housed beds for the Priest Curt Arturo and his Acolyte Talia along with a small shrine to Tyr. Third and final tent was more like a thick sleeping bag that belonged to Chasianna, Ranger of the Rise.

The historians returned to camp from the remnants of one of many skirmishes from the Ashlem war that ended 48 years ago, this expedition was one of many sent by both Covania and Oxtrad in a joint effort to document and recover artifacts from the war with the Nine Hells. Religious circles and the public opinion ensured all expeditions had to include at least a Priest or Priestess to ensure bodies are treated properly and are given blessings if a following could be determined.

Talia was busy chopping vegetables when Merlan dropped the blades onto the dining table. “Hey I just cleaned that!” she exclaimed at the clashing.

“Don’t fret, I’ll wipe it down before supper,” Merlan replied. Neither of them turning to each other, both involved in their work. “Think you’ll like these, unlike any other infernal blades we’ve recovered.”

She finished chopping a carrot and turned to Merlan to see his findings but couldn’t see past his brown tousled hair, he always seemed to come back in messier states over the last few days. Talia approached, patting his hair down a few times and tucking behind his slightly pointed ears before resting her hands on his shoulders. Peering over at the table, one might mistake the two swords as one if they were siting closer to each other. If not for the leather handle wrappings and sharpened edge might even mistake it for an eight-pointed star. One point extended to make the blade, one in the opposite to form a handle, and three remaining short points on each forming an aggressive hand guard.

Merlan was entranced by his findings. With a small wood pick he scrapped hardened dirt out of the fine details, revealing infernal writing, transcribing the text into a notebook. “Rohmel should be able to translate it. Seems to be an older dialect I’m not familiar with.”

“Can you do a rough translation?” Talia asked, now off to Merlan’s side with hands leaning on the table.

“Eh, not really, this part is newer language.” Merlan pointed to the back edge of the blades. “This one says Vincere, and this says Punire, both are followed by something about an immortal song. I could be wrong.”

Both Merlan and Talia were startled by a cough. Looking up they met Galparin’s eyes. “Talia, Curt is looking for you when done preparing dinner.” As he breaks eye contact with the two and toward the chopped bits on the kitchen bench.

“Of course.” Leaning away, she returned to the pieces on the bench, gathering them up.

Merlan watched her walk up to the two hanging pots, thinking to himself, ‘Be careful, it’ll be hot.’ As soon as the thought finished, he saw her shaking her hand away before properly wrapping the handle and succeeding on the second attempt. He shook his head in her direction, in return she gave a rude hand gesture to him before walking away. ‘By Tyr, she’s going to be the death of me.’ Now alone his attention drew back to the blades, as he studied and cleaned initially he thought it was a breeze through the valley but listening closer sounded more like a whisper.

“Merlan, what you have there?” Rohmel had returned

“By the gods! Will people stop sneaking up.”

“My apologies, didn’t realise I had.” Rohmel placed her lantern on the table.

Merlan leant back in his chair, “No you’re fine, just in my head trying to translate these older devil symbols.” he pushed his notebook away.

Rohmel spun Merlan’s notebook around, quickly reading and then studying the text on the blades, taking little note of the swords themselves. “Huh.”

“Something good?”

Rohmel brushed her hair away and adjusted her glasses. “The swords are brothers… no, twins. something song of death. My ancient infernal is rusty. To me, sounds like they were devils and someone admired them so much they made these instruments of demise?” Placing the one she picked up back down she locked eyes with Merlan. “These are unique, know what that means, either-”

“Not unique if there’s two of ‘em” Merlan butted in and continued before Rohmel could contest “Yeah I know, package it up or get the Priest to check it over.”

“Good man, you’re girlfriend has been not-so secretly been attempting identification magic, could try her.”

“She’s not my-”

“Sure.” Rohmel was already walking away. “I’m gonna wash up and see mine.”