From Honor's Journal

We traveled to the diviner’s library and found that the guardians had been corrupted and instead of helping us tried to kill us. We also discovered some of the Siscaria’s insect minions, who had been taken over by the power of the library. I myself was taken over a few times, feeling the intense desire to clean up the messes and protect the books. In the future, I will be careful not to touch the doors if we ever have to travel there again.

After dispatching the insects, including one very large one, we found the books we needed, as well as some spellbooks, some books on battle tactics, and a portable library. We also decided to take a huge tome (as in 6 ft tall) with us. Yberre found a cart and was pushing it along when we came to opening of the library. The red dragon statue/guardian had breathed fire everywhere, so we took that to mean someone unsavory had tried to gain entrance.

When we opened the doors we found Nixus Sly and a small army waiting for us. The men in the army looked haggard and strange, and some of them were foaming at the mouth. Yberre, quick thinking as always, used the huge book to block the many arrows and bolts that came flying towards us. Markus and Cluidhn blasted away at the army with fireballs, while Yberre was like a whirlwind with his blades. I barely had to do anything, for which I am very grateful.

Near the end of the battle, Nixus Sly himself came after us, and singled out Cluidhn. Sly seemed to be moving at a speed far beyond what was natural, as well as being clouded in shadows. I managed to get one or two swipes at him, and then suddenly the shadows around him faded and he cried out that he had been betrayed. He swore he would take Cluidhn down with him, but we struck him down before he could do so.

At the end of the battle we met Sly’s betrayer – a wizard who had been imprisoned by Sly with a magical collar. The collar was controlled by a ring, which Yberre cut from Sly’s body and gave to the wizard, freeing him. In exchange, the wizard gave us ample information about Sly, including a map of his hideouts in Valeria and Hibernia, and a map of his lair, including the location of a communication stone.

Apparently, Sly has been feeding eggs to men which allows him to control them. The eggs hatch into strange purple snakes, some of which we saw slither away from the men we cut down in front of the library. The provider of these eggs can be reached through this communication stone. The wizard also promised us he would not actively work against us in the future if he could help it, and he definitely would not for at least a year. I think better to have made an ally with this man, albeit temporarily, than to have fought him. He was clearly exceptionally powerful and I don’t doubt he could have killed us all right there.

The wizard also told us that Sly has continued to hunt for elves, wanting their blood for some nefarious reason. It might have something to do with a rumor that the elven diviners did not go mad when scrying upon the old empire. Sly was also looking for the old emperor’s crown, which might be in Lumen.

We looted Sly’s corpse, along with some of his other top agents who Yberre and Hralf had slain. From Sly I gladly took a magical rapier that seems specially designed to find all the squishiest parts of your enemy. After this we reported back to Gaius Wind and brought him all the books to look at, including the huge tome of monsters.

Among the items we found in the library was a bone with runes on it. Markus and Cluidhn both rolled the bone like a die and were granted some temporary powers. When we showed the bone to Gaius Wind he told us it was his and was in fact a minor artifact. As a finder’s fee he granted us amazing magical items, but not before Markus rolled the die one more time and was temporarily blinded. Oh, Markus.

After a few days of preparations, which included buying much needed supplies, we headed off by ship to Forge. The poor dwarves were terribly sea sick, and honestly I didn’t feel much better, especially when a storm hit. But this wasn’t just any storm – we were attacked by a huge, massive, immense, gigantic, I could on and on, sea serpent!

This monster seemed to be 200 feet long, maybe 50 feet in diameter. It banged against our ship again and again, finally causing the ship to break in half. Yberre, Cluidhn, Markus, and I were separated from the dwarves as the ship broke in two. My trusty necklace allowed me to breathe underwater which saved me from drowning, as well as allowing me to swim after Markus. The four of us held on to Yberre’s trunk as we watched, helplessly, while the serpent attacked the part of the ship where the dwarves were.

Golden Fire: The Journal of Cluidhn Malta'i'nour

Eastward bound, our heroes stopped to camp along the Vaewater, then rode through a mountain pass to the town of Gold, which used to be a legion camp south of a gold mine. We then took a shortcut to Lead, forded the Alewater and rode through grasslands to the town of Copper, another former legion encampment. We set up camp just off the road, between the Neckbreaker Peaks and the Great Woods. A traveler approached the fire, introduced himself as Maerk, and shared some of his high-octane ale with the dwarves, who tried to sell him a false story of our journey. Maerk said that he was headed south, and as the trio kept drinking, his enormous black panther approached and scared the wits out of everyone. Maerk said that she was his friend and that her name was Tigress, then he and the dwarves passed out in a drunken stupor.

In the morning, Tigress had killed and dragged back a lovely yak for us to feast upon. Our new friend Maerk noticed my lovely new scales, but resisted my sermon about Apsu, leaving with his giant cat. Humans... We followed in his footsteps along an animal trail, passing a waypost tree marked with an "O". Soon after, a giant form burst forth from the shrubbery, a monster with the body of a bear and the head of a giant angry owl. Hagbard smote the beast with a blast of divine sound, stunning it, then Hralf swung his mighty axe, slashing its face. Honor threw her dagger, scoring the side of its head. Hagbard burned it with magical acid as I made a beautiful shot from afar, sinking an arrow down to the fletching. The vicious beast bit Hralf's head, denting his helm, then impaled him on a massive claw and lifted him squirming off of the ground. Yberre took the opportunity to slash the owlbear's stomach open with his legion sword, then I put an arrow through its right arm. The bloodied beast dropped Hralf and ripped into him with claws. Hralf responded by sinking the spike of his shield into the monster's heart, dispatching it in a spray of blood.

We followed the owlbear's tracks back to its cave, only to find the corpses of its mate and baby as well as three goblin skeletons and some orgoshi arrows. I grabbed one of the obsidian-tipped, black-feather fletched arrows as evidence. Rummaging through a sack, I discovered a cache of silver coins, which we divided. Then we continued on our way for ten hours through the forest. We camped at an inviting clearing and slept unmolested. When we awoke, Yberre was flushed and sluggish, suffering from heat exhaustion. We resumed our trek, and as we left the edge of the Great Wood, we caught our first glimpse of Starshine, a mountain several thousand feet tall, the whole sculpted into a spiral. The lifting late afternoon mist revealed the coast and a small town at the foot of the spiral mountain surrounded by hundreds of different-colored tents, flying the banners of various noble houses. We made our way to the Brightstar pavilion and hailed Gaius Wind. He cast a spell of silence and described sightings of dark stalkers and orgoshi at the ruins of an old fortress at the southeastern edge of the base of Starshine. We told him of our triumphs and travails since our last meeting, and my entreaties for lamb went unanswered, offending me deeply.

Our band of heroes sallied forth to the southeastern reach, where Yberre's keen eye discerned a manmade wall fifty feet up, partially uncovered by a rock slide. Honor scaled the cliff and found a hole with a recently installed rope ladder. We climbed to the entrance and then down the rope ladder into a large room with two doors. After opening the door to the north, Honor set off a lightning trap that burned her and myself almost to death. It wasn't my fault this time, as I have begun to understand the dangers of doors. Hagbard healed us and Yberre smashed through the trapped door, revealing a large circular room with a cracked fountain in the center and four burly hobgoblins. The blaggarts fired arrows at us and loosed a giant hyena. Yberre was wounded by the beast and rushed up a flight of stairs to dispatch the archers. Honor dodged claws and sword as Markas and Hagbard launched magical attacks. Hagbard slew the hyena with an acid dart as Markas summoned a hyena to combat their hyena. Hagbard and myself slew a hobgoblin with acid and magic missiles as Hralf dispatched another with his waraxe. Markas was hit with an arrow as, up on the stairs Honor slit a hobgoblin's throat from ear to ear and tossed him down into the fountain. Markas's summoned hyena dispatched the final hobgoblin with horrific crunching and slurping sounds.

We broke into two locked rooms, finding nothing of note. Honor narrowly avoided an acid trap, opening a door to reveal two portcullises and a pair of arrow-pierced skeletons. Deciding to avoid the death trap, we returned to the circular room and addressed the door at the top of the stairs. Honor unbarred it from the outside in a feat of skill, revealing a long hallway with a cave-in at one end and a door at the other. Honer opened it, only to be attacked by three more hobgoblins. They triggered a trap that dumped Honor and Hralf into a spiked pit. In response, Hagbard and I assailed them with acid dart and longbow, knocking one of the craven beasts into the pit, which at this point was on fire due to a combination of alchemist's fire and lamp oil. Honor managed to get into the room with them and killed another. She pulled a lever, popping the floor back into place, which allowed Yberre to rush in and slash the remaining beast to ribbons. We looted the corpses and continued exploring. Honor disabled a second pit trap, and then a third, and then opened a door to reveal a giant tusked humanoid, almost as big as Yberre. As Yberre and Hralf stationed themselves on either side of the door, the monster swung a huge morning star around the doorframe and into Hralf. I smashed the beast with two magic missile spells as Hagbard healed Hralf. Yberre rushed in and and struck the bugbear, followed by Hralf with an axe blow, and as both attacked again, the beast struck my head. Angered, I grew my claws attacked, but my magnificent claws only screeched on its metal armor. The tusked giant swept its massive maul towards my face and my vision went white, then faded to black. I awoke, head ringing, to find that Honor had slit the monster's throat. -Praise Apsu for this victory and my survival-

Soldiers Log: Yberre Hammersmith

Now it seems fate has turned in my favor. A clear and present danger has presented itself and its name is my calling. War it seems, will come to the Empire. After arriving at Starshine, we reported our news of a potentially corrupt noble house working with the dark races and it seems that the presence is more than the simple force of assassins we suspected. Suspecting an army of some kind may be awaiting invasion, we have been sent by Gaius Wind as an advanced skirmish party to an old fort held by goblin warriors. We have met them in battle and these are not the small, savage, and simple goblins one might expect from tales of old. These are a warrior race with cunning, training and the power of steel.

This is the enemy of my fate, I am sure of it. This is the war of our vision, unfolding before us. This is the fate the that Gorum drew out for me so long ago. All he has taken from me and all I have endured shall finally be brought to a climax with this war and perhaps I shall be gifted with peace when it is through. I can feel the hand of Gorum possess me more with each battle. My steel grows lighter, the chain weighs less heavy on my shoulders with each drawing of blood and my blade grows sharper with every cleft of bone. Many will die in the days to come and many more will suffer. The power and the will of Gorum will determine the winner. I believe I am his vessel for reasons I do not know or even pretend to understand, but who am I to question the gods? My calling is war and my day is coming, I only hope that I will find truth and an answer at the end of this fate.

Golden Fire

Our destiny grows ever more convoluted, the workings of Apsu complex and beyond mortal ken. This chapter of my journal begins with that most hackneyed and overused human literary convention: "It was a dark and stormy night"... My band of intrepid adventurers found ourselves assembled on a beach in a storm, investigating a shipwreck, the wreck in question determined by Honor and Markas to be the "One of Seven", a cursed Tirynthian legion ship bearing house Brightstar markings. This ship had drifted from the northeast and had been missing for five years. The crew were all dead, and according to Hagbard, had all died of old age at the same time. The rest of the ship lay partly submerged out in the surf.
Doughty Yberre swam out to the submerged wreckage and dragged out the captain's chest as Hralf attempted to assist, slicing himself on sharp coral. The recovered chest contained a map, a nautical chart, log, shipping manifest and a sum of platinum coins. At this point we decided to enter the wreckage on the beach. Honor checked the door and we entered. My gaze was drawn to a glowing door, so lovely... I am told that I was burned and knocked unconscious at this point by some foul necromantic curse. As I lay charred and unmoving, Hagbard drew upon Torag's power to heal me. My friends investigated the interior, found two sarcophagi, and were attacked by magical poisonous snakes.
When I awoke, the snakes had disappeared. Honor opened the middle door, revealing a corpse on a bed manacled to the floor by chains of silver. The dead man's notebook contained information about a recovered relic and a Mistress Phaedra, and the same symbol branded on the late and unlamented mustachioed half-elf. As we left the wreck and stepped back out onto the beach, we heard a ruckus. The cursed ship's dead crew had risen as undead and attacked the work crew. A fierce battle ensued.
The skeletal warriors attacked. Hralf threw a magic stone, disintegrating one, then I incinerated two more in a blast of Apsu's fire. Hagbard called on Torag's fury to destroy several more undead, and the rest fell in turn to Hralf, Yberre and Hagbard. Hralf found a silvery dragon scale and Yberre dragged the unopened sarcophagus out onto the beach. We opened it and found a perfectly preserved corpse. Hagbard used a divine scroll to ask the corpse, Constance Goodfellow, last surviving heir to the late Emperor Constance Tertius Septimus, some questions. We used the scale to open a magic chest which contained a scroll, a gem-tipped rod, and shattered crystal shards.
We awoke to a red sun and the sight of a south-faring fleet of New Tirythian warships, probably from Tridens. Returning to the church of Torag, we discovered that someone or someones had broken in and slain our captive dark creeper and several acolytes. Rushing to the church of Sarenrae, we found our werewolf to be missing as well. Very troubling. We headed to Brightstar manor, only to find it shrouded in a magical fog. Cautious and concerned, we entered the catacombs through our secret path and entered Brightstar manor's subterranean tunnels from below, feeling our way through the mist-filled halls. A woman's voice echoed through the halls, taunting and cajoling us to continue.
At the top of a flight of stairs, Honor was ambushed by goblins. Yberre kicked in a door, allowing me to kill a goblin with an amazing shot from my longbow. As Hralf killed a goblin dog below, we finished off the stinky little buggers. Wary of the enchanted fog, we went back down the stairs, descending into a room previously undiscovered, a burial chamber partially filled with water. In that room, my spirit swelled with joy, for the lone occupant was a dragon hatchling! An evil black dragon hatchling, spewing and burning us with vitriolic acid, but a dragon nonetheless. Honor dove to the center of the room, striving to clear the room's central drain as the rest of us assailed the beast. I smote the black hatchling with Apsu's claws and shot an arrow into one of its wings, and then, just as it breathed acid mist at Hralf, Honor and myself; Yberre leapt from a high alcove and beheaded the beast with a valiant stroke and a spray of ichor.
As we returned victorious to the manor, we found a wounded and disheveled Brian Brightstar, who had been held captive and tortured by the woman who had introduced herself to us as Alyssa Brightstar. We now know her to be an impostor. Under torture, he had given up the secrets of the house to her. We entrusted him with the sarcophagus containing Constance Goodfellow, and enlisted his help in locating our missing werewolf. And thence to bed, as we must journey to Starshine to meet with Lord Tennyson Brightstar and the esteemed Gaius Wind. I shall sleep well, my faith and devotion to Apsu strengthened by the sight of a dragon and the courage of my companions... -Apsu guide his children, and spread his wings above-

Golden Fire: the journal of Cluidhn Malta'i'nour

Truly, Apsu's blessings are upon me. Another of the Maker of All's gifts has revealed itself. Yberre, the bearded ones and myself awoke at Brightstar manor to find that Honor had vanished on family business. Uncowed by the lack of thief and mage, we descended into the catacombs via a secret door. We were ambushed almost immediately by two dark stalkers, whom we assailed and bested with sword and sorcery. One we slew, and the craven beast's body exploded with blinding light. The other, we subdued and bound with strong rope, to answer many questions. I learned a valuable life lesson: do not, no matter how tasty it appears, lick a glistening oily substance off of a dark stalker's knife. It makes one feel ill.
Hralf and Hagbard discovered an ancient imperial map room and encountered an Empress's ghost, as above Yberre and I were attacked by a skeletal Praetorian Guard; no mere husk, but a skilled and powerful swordsman. It was then that I felt new power flow through me and Apsu's will smashed the foe's grinning skull into powder. We claimed our treasure: an ancient helm for me, a magical breastplate for Hralf, and a lovely sword of the legion. We then ascended to the surface once more, dragging our captive on the stones.
The priestess of Sarenrae was not at the temple, and the lone acolyte was less than helpful, so on Hagbard's notion we strolled to the temple of Torag, there to meet the dwarven high priest. A crusty sort, he examined (and battered) our captive, healed (and battered) myself and proceeded to pay a very lackluster sort of attention to Hralf and Hagbard's pleas to send blah blah to Forge blah. Aside from the sharp pain in my shins, a dreary experience overall. The priest agreed to watch and interrogate our captive, and we took our leave.
Our captive secured, we decided to investigate the Medusa's Eye, the ship whose sigil had been on the werewolf's crate. We met with dockmaster Joseph, a rotund man whose considerable girth exceeded his helpfulness. He did, however, tell us of the fell ship's captain's sour reputation, and recommended a local watering hole as a possible source of information. The rheumy-eyed old barkeep at the run-down bar pointed us toward some drunken dockworkers, whom Yberre charmed with his silver tongue. Armed with more information, we set out on a reconaissance of a certain warehouse connected with the Medusa's Eye.
The building was large, locked and had no clear windows through which to spy a glance of the interior. We decided to wait for Honor to return before attempting to gain entry. We hied to our next destination, a much smaller warehouse. Upon investigation, we dicovered some dead beggars outside. This gave us all the reason we needed to search within. We discovered a reeking charnel house, filled with butchered bodies. The centerpiece of this grim tableau was my nemesis, the mustachioed half-elf, pinned to the wall by large nails. He had been mutilated at length with surgical instruments, whereas the other bodies that littered the room had been murdered by some sort of animal or monster. As the bearded ones ran to fetch the Guard, we discovered a unique left-handed stabbing dagger. Our friendly guard captain informed us that this sort of dagger was the hallmark of Nixus Sly, an underworld leader and the mustachioed half-elf's boss. So the veils are parted, allowing clear sight...
A charred, burned-out ship all thought to be the Medusa's Eye drifted into port, but our keen eyes detected facets of new planking that suggested the wreck to be a sham, designed to convince any interested parties that the Medusa's Eye was no more. A devious and deceitful piece of work, rather in line with what we had heard about the captain's character. So, upon Honor and Markas' return, we stand ready to raid the warehouse, explore the catacombs, and make it to Starshine in time to meet with Garius Wind and prevent an underdark uprising before the full moon. I am confident that Apsu will bless these endeavors and grant me the strength to prevail. -All praise to the Maker of All-

Golden Fire: the journal of Cluidhn Malta'i'nour

I feel stronger, more... vital. After our bloody encounter with the undead in the undercity warrens, we returned to Brightstar manor to rest our battle-weary bones. Upon awakening, we realized that the mercurial Markas had disappeared, off on another errand for the wealthy Brightstars. We met with an eminent diviner, Garius Wind, and agreed to meet in Starshine for the full moon, where we will trade information for gold. My kin will be assembled there, and the thought of seeing my family plants ice in my soul. The bearded ones returned, having been deported via the devious machinations of my personal bane, the mustachioed half-elf, who I have marked with my claws. With Hralf and Hagbard, we set out to give the elven zombies a bloody release from their undeath. With Honor guiding the way, we returned to the sacrificial pit where we had fought the horde of zombies. Constantly dealing with illusions, we entered the burial chamber, only to be surprised by traps. Hagbard, previously wounded by runerock, was felled by a dart, and I managed to feed him a curative draught. Honor, Hralf & Yberre bested a very unfriendly door and we entered another section of the underwarren, traveling beneath the sacrificial pit. At first we were glamered, but stolid Yberre broke the illusion. A hideous altar was revealed, and the righteous fury of Apsu flowed through me. Dragon fire smashed and burned, and a place of evil worship was cleansed from the world. Honor led us again, and a long walk led us to an abondoned warehouse containing a crate stamped with a medusa symbol. Hoping for gems and gold, I naturally jimmied it open. Something with metallic wings blasted out of the crate and flew skyward, occupying the dwarves for a time. But the real cargo was still in the crate. A crazed, feral human wrapped in rags. He tried to eat Honor, and thus I fired an arrow at the cad. At this point, his eyeballs went black and he howled, body contorting and crackling as he shapechanged into a monstrous wolf-thing. My companions reacted like veterans; I burned the beast, Hagbard assailed it with magical darts of acid, and Honor slashed it with a beautiful silver dagger. It tried to run, but brave Yberre and Hralf coralled the creature. The wolf-thing sprinted to the corner and gave us its throat. As it melted back into manform, we were able to talk with him and ascertain that he had been kidnapped, was unaware of his lycanthropic condition, and had been starved and poisoned by the crate's other monstrous occupant. There was only one course of action left to us. We bound the wretch and brought him to the temple of Sarenrae for succor. The priestess was happy to heal us and promised to do her best for our prisoner. We left her with a small fortune and found a hero's bow, suitable for my strength. We then returned once more to Brightstar manor to rest once more. Hmm... mustache, a shadowy cargo ship, evil creatures under the manor, a trip to Starshine; this is getting very intricate. My priority is still to find the fair folk and release them from undeath... -Apsu guide our path and grant us glory-

Golden Fire: the journal of cluidhn malta'i'nour

The reek of the undead clings to my nostrils, a constant reminder that
three of the Folk remain in a twisted mockery of life, in the dank
underbelly of this stinking city. In typical human fashion, the city
government deported the bearded ones who possess not just expertise in
navigating the underdark, but an avowed specialty in the eradication
of the undead. I have seen many things in my long years, but never
such directed, cunning malevolence. What disgusting, unholy beast lies
beneath the blood-soaked grate? And what twisted intellect spawned and
commands it? The valor of my companions in that room of death made my
blood sing, and it is good to stand alongside the mage from Apsu's
dream-sending. A sense of destiny marks our band of heroes, and I am
certain that the Maker of All will give us the strength to burn out
this foul threat to the innocent. The mustachioed half-breed's face
lingers mockingly in my thoughts; it seems that he is but a thread
that shall lead us to a weave that shall lead us to the hand that
guides the weave... -Apsu's golden wings above me, Apsu's golden
blood within me-

Soldiers Log: Yberre Hammersmith

Destiny seems to have split our dream asunder and I fear it bodes ill for my fate. I do not understand the will of Gods. When I think they have laid a path before us, it is then blown to the mists. When we seemed first on the eve of uniting our Sextet of Dreams, the Dwarven duo were taken from us. Sent far to Forge, I fear what will become of us with the circle joined and then broken. Perhaps Forge is where we must journey.

The guard seem willing to aid us here and with them we have shared blood against the terrible dead. The power of steel in the hands of the willing seems able to conquer the restless dead that appear to guard our sly deceiver, and I wonder how long he can call on the fallen to aid him. I think this bodes well for our future endeavors, but I fear without direction we will soon share the fate of the good men already fallen attempting to discern the true face of our enemy. I willse my sister again, but I think not so soon as this. Erastil will watch my back while Gorum guides my hand through some terrible fate I think. Blood and many moons will yet reveal the will of Gods. Father steel my heart and keep to Mother if you are able.

Soldiers Log: Yberre Hammersmith

Fortune seems to have turned in my favor of late. After wandering without any real purpose for since being freed, I seem to have fallen into some action of genuine interest to me. I do not yet know what will occur, but I smell the clever scent of fortune on the winds. I shall have to be wary of the company I have fallen into. My golden companion does not seem to have the kindness that Bannion did. While good natured, the magic that seems to corrupt his flesh seems also to affect his demeanor. Under duress, I was forced to restrain him from slicing a child's throat when he felt threatened. I am concerned how far this condition will progress with him, but he seems to be some key to a mystery I do not yet understand and it seems many different forces are interested in obtaining him. I do not see how keeping him safe can not somehow result in our benefit in the long term. For so many to be interested, whatever this great value he has is, it must eventually reveal itself.

The woman who calls herself, Honor, appears to be of ranking merchant blood. While she appears to be of simple motivation, her ties to the halls of wealth and power can only work to our advantage as this mysterious series of events continues to unfold. I must keep an eye on the acquaintances those ties bring or way. She apparently keeps company with a Wizard that may be able to shed light on our recent series of events. Be wary of Wizards with unreliable Origin, my father would always say, and this one appears to be something of a shady character from what little I have heard. We shall see.

My greater concern is her Dwarven consort from Forge. A holy man and a hunter, their zealousness is matched only by their obvious inexperience in battle. They seem to be on a quest to rid their home of some ancient evil and they have sworn to protect the woman for some part they believe she must play in that. The holy man is a healer and welcome in any fight, but I am sure I must teach these strange fellows the ways of war if we are to survive the coming days. Perhaps this is the will of Gorum, I do not know. Still, I can not deny the excitement I have. May Erastil watch over me and Gorum guide my hand, I feel I am embarking now down a road sure to end in glory and riches or on my shield. I shall find my destiny.

Golden Fire: The Journal of Cluidhn Malta-i-nour

{scrawled in a mixture of elven and draconic}
After being saved by my new brother-in-arms Yberre, we trudged east along the baywater, across the farmlands to the human city of Valeria. At the outskirts, we made camp. That night, I had a vision cloaked in a dream. I awoke as a legionnaire, wearing a strange helm of elven craft, standing with a rank of battlemages as a vast host of monsters approached. In concert with the mages, I smote the evil beasts with spells powerful and arcane, and in the press of battle I found myself standing with a fantastically armored Yberre, and those whom I know know to be Honor Brightstar and Markas Serpenthelm. A monstrous insect approached, enormous and beetle-like, and menaced Yberre with a wicked claw. My battlespells skittered off of it's chitinous hide, and it knocked my friend to the ground and pinned him there. As it prepared a death blow, an axe whipped head over haft through the air and smashed into one of the beast's legs. Two dwarves in shining armor trundled up to the beast and dispatched it in a flurry of blows from axe and hammer. As they smote the evil thing, a great dwarven host followed them into the fray. The tides of battle shifted then, and revealed a new and greater threat. A horde of humans, mingled with a few dwarves, elves and halflings, their eyes dead and soulless, their faces fixed masks of evil and hate. I recognized some of my kin from the sylvan wood, but they were possessed with some malevolent fury. The horde approached... And I awoke with a gasp.
Across the campfire, Yberre had awoken as well, his brow furrowed. Somehow, we had shared the dream. I can only guess that great Apsu had sent us this vision, to warn us of a future threat both vast and terrible. Unsettled, we slumped back into our bedrolls. After a day of wandering, we came upon an inn called The Other Slice, and secured temporary employment with the matron, a large human woman known as Lady Anna. Yberre would cook and I would clean in exchange for meals and lodging. It wasn't long before Honor, a human female who shared our vision, showed up at the inn and engaged Yberre in conversation. I gathered that they had been slaves on the same island, and knew each other somewhat. Then two bombastic dwarves showed up, one bellicose, the other scruffy. Their names were Hagbard and Hralf, and they had been sent to hire Honor for something or other. There was alot of barking back and forth in dwarvish, a language I have never bothered to learn. The strange thing about them is that they were the two dwarves from the vision, the ones who had saved Yberre from the giant beetle-thing. The dwarves rented a room for the night and we went upstairs to try to figure out what in Apsu's golden lair was going on.
Suddenly, there was a scream from below and as we rushed into the hall, Honor was hit by a crossbow bolt. Hralf ran down the stairs and stood in between my bow and the enemy, a frustrating situation to be sure. Yberre tried to yell tactical advice to everyone, but the dwarves and myself ended up downstairs, covered in blood with crossbow bolts whickering in from the windows. A mustachioed half-elf wielded a scimitar and buckler with incredible skill, dodging my sorcerous fire and then attempting to drag me from the inn. I scored him deeply with dragon's claws and then a cloud of mist filled the inn. The human scum escaped by the time Yberre had donned his chain mail, leapt from the second floor, and raced to the front door. The city guard came and were about as useful as city guards ever are, and dragged us to their barracks. From there, Honor tooks us to the palace of her family patriarch or something, and Brian Brightstar fed me drugged meat and asked useless questions about my homeland. That night, Honor and Hralf followed some filthy creature from the underdark as it delivered a scroll case to a Lord Tennyson, king of her house I think. These humans breed like rabbits and have more titles than blades of grass. The following morning, as we all stepped outside to meet with a troop of mercenaries who were to guard us against further attack, I saw a bright splotch of fresh red blood upon the lawn. As we looked for the missing mercenaries, we were attacked once again, this time by a group of slavering zombies. An armored Yberre led the fight, and we massacred the foul things. And then, more human guardsmen showed up and accused us of murder. Honor was able to sway them with her silver tongue, and we ended up at another barracks.
Apparently, this mustachioed half-elf had told the guard that we were killing humans at the estate. His warning came a good ten minutes before we were attacked, so we know that this villain is in league with the necromancer(s) who summoned the undead. We then paid to have the underdark scroll translated and it read "Great lords of the sunshine realm. Greetings from the king of lesser darkness. On next predator moon, entreat with me and you and your kin may be spared. Those who do not will surely die. My head is swimming now with all this unfamiliar intrigue, but I know one thing: this mustachioed halfbreed and his leader Praxis or Pring or some such, they will answer some questions for us or they will meet a swift and bloody end. Apsu bring me justice and safety. -Year 3585, city of Valeria-

Origin of a Warrior: Yberre Hammersmith

Born to the son of a smith in the small village outpost of Geantautomne in Southern Hibernia, Yberre Hammersmith was born into a life of hardship. Geantautomne was a village of fiercely independent Hibernians who resented the Empire. Living a simple life of farmers and trappers, most the people of the village lived on self subsistence and trade with the local hill tribes. Yberre's parents, Remy and Martine, lived in a life of relative comfort for this village, owning a home of hardy thatch and mud. Martine was an excellent cook, and though the family often had to forage for food in the wild during lean times, they always ate good food.

The life of a smith provided regular income for Remy as a small imperial fort was being built to watch over the locals, and the legion had regular need for iron braces and nails as well as horseshoes, weapons and armor to outfit their men. Since Remy had to buy most of his iron ore from the legion and then sell the crafted items back to them, his profits were slender, but in that part of the Empire, any source of regular work was a great boon of security.

It was this relationship with the Legion and the relative comfort that came with it that made many of the least fortunate people of Geantautomne envious and distrustful of the Hammersmith family. Constantly exposed to torment and abuse from the older children, Remy took his son into the smithy to protect him and begin his learning the trade at the tender age of 8. Remy raised his son with a nose for fine steel, and Yberre fell fast in love with the art of blademaking. He spent many long hours pumping the bellows for his father, while Remy pounded and folded the ore, filling the long days of toil with ancient tales of Giants and Gods to teach Yberre wisdom. After years of working barrow and bellow, Yberre had grown enough to lift his own hammer, and spent many long hours mastering the folded mystery of a brilliant blade. In very short time, Yberre grew from the slight boy of his youth, to a hulking young man hardened by the toils of the forge.

At the age of 16, with the small fort complete, Yberre was delivering an order of iron goods to the Legion when the officer in command, Tibertine Aurelicus, noticed the strength and size of the local boy and solicited him to join the legion. After a long discussion with his family, they decided that to join the Legion would be an opportunity for Yberre to rise up above their simple lifestyle and find a kind of security unknown in their village. Yberre trained for 2 years with the legion and was granted his sword with the highest honors for courage and strength in combat.

Yberre settled into life at the garrison with his duty firmly in mind and all was quiet in his soldiers life until a particularly bad winter left the ground frozen through spring planting and many livestock dead. The hill tribes, desperate with starvation, had risen up to pillage what they could from and settled land. The people of towns and villages had no choice but to join the marauders, or be killed. When they came to Geantautomne, the Hammersmiths resisted. When the barbarian horde reached the fort, they laid siege to it that lasted 3 days, but with only 20 men to hold off the efforts of hundreds of barbarians, the outcome was inevitable. Most fo the Legionnaires were slain, but wounded and alive, Yberre was not killed as he was a local.

Spared for his local ties, but still hated as a soldier of the Enemy, Yberre was sold into slavery with some others off the western coast to pirates who traffic in human flesh. Brought to a secret and infamous pirate island, Yberre was kept as a slave for 5 long years by his captors until the Imperial Navy located the secret base and liberated all enslaved there. Once brought ashore, he was asked by the Legion as capture din the line of duty, was granted 5 years of back pay with valorous service compensation and offered a chance to return to the Legion. Tired of servitude after long years of slavery, Yberre opted to seek out his own way and retired from the Legion. With what gold he had, he invested in hearty arms and armor, and went to go find his way in the world with dreams of some day having a simple place of his own, a place where he could lodge travelers, hear about the world, serve fine food and never have to wander far from home, wherever it might be.

In looking for work, Yberre came across a group of pilgrims traveling across the Empire who needed a bodyguard and though they had little money to offer, Yberre gladly took the work to give him some direction. It was in this job that he came to his current companionship. Keeping guard at the front of the caravan, the party was forced to stop to shouts of, "thief, murderer, devil!" Rushing to the main store wagon, Yberre found a large group of pilgrims had gathered around a strange gold tinted fey being. He seemed confused and out of sorts, while the pilgrims in a fanatical fury, seemed determined to hand him for being an instrument of devils. As the lynch mob closed in on the frightened elfen creature, Yberre saw a great injustice unfolding before him and felt he must intervene. With a drawing of steel and a bellow only a man of his stature might be able to muster, Yberre demanded the pilgrims cease their assault. WIth a flip of coins to the paymaster to return his wages, Yberre took his new found companion and they set off away from the fanatics to find their next untold fate...

The Tale of Cluidhn Malta'i'nour

As a child in the forested elven lands of northwestern New Tiryns, Cluidhn always knew that he was different. Other elves perceived him as an odd one, a dissonance in nature's harmony. He looked different. Beautiful in the elven way, yes, but somewhat... predatory. His movements more like a bird of prey than his graceful kinfolk. His skin a rich buttery gold, his hair gleaming blond, and his eyes an unnatural yellow hue. A gold like one sees in a wildfire, tinged ever so slightly with angry flakes of orange and red. Cluidhn's father Camwyllhs had left during his seventh summer to attend a distant relations' funerary rite in the old lands. He never returned. That summer, the changes began in earnest. Cluidhn's sleep was filled with powerful dreams, every night beginneng where the previous had left off. In these dreams, he possessed the same mind and soul as his earthbound elven form, but his body and experiences were those of a golden dragon hatchling. He broke free of his shell, he squalled for mother, he learned to fly, to hunt, to breathe fire. Enormous elder dragons recited the sagas of creation: how Apsu, the Waybringer, Creator of All, mated with Tiamat to create the first dragons; how Dahak, their first son, betrayed Apsu, poisoning the thoughts of his kinfolk and creating the first chromatic dragons, traitors to the race; how mighty Apsu defeated Dahak in battle, only to be betrayed by Tiamat before Dahak could be slain. Cluidhn's days were spent under elven tutelage, learning the ways of nature, but his heart was filled with fire. The fire of dragons. The breath of Apsu. By his twenty-fifth year, his mother and uncle's interest had focused on his tradition-minded older brother Cadrithon and animal-loving younger sister Tylemyr. Nobody was inclined to speak to the strange-looking boy, easier just to avert one's eyes and go about one's affairs. Cluidhn began to hike to the coast for "meditation retreats" every fortnight or so to escape the ever increasing social awkwardness and exclusion. He found a small cave in a cliffside and built an amateurish little altar, with a crudely hand-carved driftwood dragon to represent Apsu in the back wall of the cave. He would sit there, with Apsu at his back, staring out at the horizon over the ocean, wishing for even just a glimpse of a dragon. This went on fore some years, and the dreams started to come less and less, until Cluidhn's sleep was just sleep and his days dripped slowly by like spilt honey from a table's edge. Cadrithon was confirmed in the path of priesthood, and Tylemyr had begun to excel in her training as a ranger. Then, as things often do, everything changed...

One day, eager as always to practice her training, Tylemyr followed Cluidhn's trail and discovered his sanctuary. Instead of confronting him, she returned to the elfwood and spoke to their mother and Cadrithon of Cluidhn's heresy. The following morning, Cluidhn awoke in his little cave to the pinch of spearheads at his neck. Pinned to the floor by three rangers, he could only watch in astonishment and horror as Cadrithon destroyed his crude altar and prepared to smash the small idol of Apsu that he had lovingly crafted. Seeing the statue of his deity in his brother's vengeful grasp, Cluidhn felt his body convulse. Suddenly, he was filled with an indescribable power. He screamed as fire rushed through his veins and burst forth from his hands, filling the cave and burning everyone and everything inside it. The magic was glorious and, even as his flesh was seared, his soul was flushed with the sorcerous fury. Then all went dark as a spearbutt smashed into his temple. Cluidhn's second awakening that day was a painful one, hazy and confusing. He had been bound and gagged, blindfolded, and tied to a brushwood litter, his burns unhealed. The post-concussion nausea was amplified by the bouncing of the litter as he was dragged through the woods by his outraged kinfolk. After an eternity, the torment ended as the litter was flung to the ground. His blindfold and gag were ripped away. Blinking, he realized where he had been dragged. The sacred circle, a ring of trees where the druids and priests conducted the rituals and mysteries of the elven ways. His extended family looked down at him, faces drawn and grim. His mother leaned forward and spat. "We no longer know your name." As all present turned away in disgust and took their leave, Cadrithon cut Cluidhn free of the litter and freed his wrists, saying "The elders have spoken, he who was once my brother and is no more. If this one is seen within these woods after this day, he will be hunted and slain." Cadrithon yanked his brother to his feet, cuffed his head, and pushed his face close, baring his teeth. "Now run from here, and let not thine feet soil this place again. Run!" Cluidhn ran. He ran until his feet bled. He ran to the coast and he followed the ocean south until he fell. And then he slept. And he dreamed of fire. He was twenty-seven years old...

Cluidhn continued south until he had left his woodland home far behind. He left the coast and headed east. He would go to the mountains. He had seen a faded mural once that showed dragons in flight over the Emperor's Teeth, the imposing mountain range that dominated the island. Surviving by his wits, he scaled the rocky heights, searching for dragons. He found only hardship and starvation. On several occasions, he thought that he saw dragons in flight, only to be crushed with despair upon realizing that they were wyverns, distant cousins to dragonkind, brutish and small. He reached a mountain pass where the rains fed the Sidhe's Blood River. He followed the river, and weak with starvation, he collapsed and lost consciousness. He awoke, choking. An ugly, apish lout was trying to kill him! "Hold still, ya daft elfling, I'm just givin' ya some porrridge! What's yer name, pointy-ears?" said the lout. "I am Cluidhn. I name myself Malta'i'nour." "And what in all the hells does that gobbledygook mean?" "It is elven for Golden Fire." And so he met Aelfred. A half-orc, plying the river in his tiny merchant vessel, bringing the trade from distant Forge and up and down the river. Aelfred, a child of rape and a half-orc, preferred the sailing life to farming or mining, and had sold his mother's cottage and field to buy the Lady Grey only six months before he found the half-dead elf splayed out on the riverbank. He took Cluidhn on as his first mate and taught him the ways of the river and how to use a dagger for more than just carving dragons out of driftwood. The two outcasts formed a complex bond that evolved first into friendship, then into brotherhood, and eventually a father-son relationship as Aelfred grew into middle age and his friend remained a youth. Aelfred enjoyed listening to Cluidhn's tales of dragons and dreams, and life settled into a comfortable routine. For seventy years, Cluidhn lived on the Lady Grey with Aelfred, and as the young elf became an adult, Aelfred became a withered old curmudgeon, salty and brusque. In the summer of that seventieth year, Aelfred died in his sleep. Cluidhn buried his friend as he had always wanted, laid on a blanket on the deck of his beloved ship, and set adrift on the great sea for one last voyage with the Lady Grey. Mourning his friend, and feeling his hundred years, Cluidhn set out on another great journey, alone once again...

He spent many years in the Carven Plains, a vast expanse of tree stumps as far as the eye could see. It was hard to imagine that this desolate, dusty place had once been home to the elves of New Tiryns. It was here that an outcast could eke out a meager existence, taking hunting trips to the sparse woods by Aelfred's beloved Sidhe's Blood river and selling meat and hides to the other outcasts. Over time, though, Cluidhn proved too strange even for the denizens of the Carven Plains. Even with his lack of wisdom, he eventually picked up on the dirty looks and threatening gestures of the folk who called that tortured land home. He decided to make for the city of Gold, and set out once more. He reached the city of Tin and fended off two brigands, a tough and a wizard, who thought him an easy mark. The power flowed through him once more. His hands became dragon claws, and he gutted the wizard and wounded the other, who ran off screaming "Murder! The elf has murdered Indragor!" The wizard's pouch yielded bread, silvers, and an ivory scroll case containing a magical scroll. Knowing full well how the townsfolk were likely to treat a gold-skinned elf with bloodied hands, Cluidhn ran from Tin. As he reached the lake, he heard the baying of dogs in the distance. He shucked his boots and ran southwest in the shallows, evading pursuit. He made his way to the woods in twilight, and slept in the crotch of a tree. As the sun rose over the lake, he examined the scroll. As his brow furrowed with concentration, he felt the power surge within his chest. His eyes tingled, suffused with sorcery, and suddenly he could make out the words and meaning of the arcane symbols. This was a spell that would create a ball of fire, and cast it towards an enemy, where it would explode into a huge magical bonfire. Cluidhn's eyes widened as more of his destiny became clear. He stuffed the scrollcase into his pack and set out southeast along a river, toward the city of Gold. As he approached the city, wrapped in his cloak and wide-brimmed hat, he spotted his erstwhile assailant of the day before, his wounded arm in a sling. The tough was talking to a group of guardsmen, gesticulating wildly with his unwounded hand. Cluidhn pulled his hat a little further down and left the road, skirting the city and walking to the eastward side. There, he saw a line of pilgrims resting next to their wagons and cooking supper. He sat down nearby, and waited for dusk. As one driver rustled around in his wagon, Cluidhn spotted a glint in the fading sunlight. The wagon was filled with golden ore! Cluidhn flashed back to his childhood dreams. He was a young golden dragon, curled against his mother's side on a vast mound of coins, jewels, and precious metal ores. He felt so warm, so comforted by his mother's presence, so loved... "What in the burning eyes of Rovagug? Thief! Thief! There's a bloody thief in my wagon. He's trying to steal our ore!" Cluidhn snapped awake, bleary-eyed and confused. A small horde of dirty pilgrims and drivers grabbed him and yanked him out of... a wagon? "What? No! I'm no thief! I was just trying to warm myself..." The driver interrupted, "This halfwit must have fallen asleep whilst trying to steal our gold! Let's hang the blighter!" Other voices joined in and began chanting "Hang the Elf! Hang the Elf!" Then a deeper voice drowned out the crowd...

A New Age, A New Saga

An Era of Peace

The empire had ruled peacefully for almost two thousand years since the Day of Just Rebellion at the end of the last great war.

The House of Constance ruled for 17 generations since the fabled Constance Primus united all the islands of the world in peace.

It was a time of hope. It was a time of magic.

The magi of all nine mysteries and the churches of all the gods of Good and Law worked together in unprecedented harmony. Together they brought forth miracles and wonders, all but ending famine, disease and suffering.

The empire expanded into the four corners of the realm.

An Age of Reason

Once the expansion reached the eastern and westernmost reaches of the world, the expansion of the mind began.

Emperor Aeterna Primus funded the building of the schools. Colleges and universities sprang up across the lands, spreading learning on a scale previously unthinkable. Scholarships were available to any able and willing to learn.

The most influential of these centers of learning were the Scholasticas of Civitas, Arcana, Deus, Scientia, Tridens and Fortis and they ruled modern thought for nearly nine centuries.

The world was on the brink of something only previously dreamed of by idealists. This something was so powerful, so alluring, yet so ephemeral that to say its name was to snuff it out.

The Dawn of Flame

To this day it is not clear where the Students of Flame came from, though we have had generations to study events.

In over 100 cities, flames erupted. First there were the physical flames, in every case, they started with the libraries and universities. Once the knowledge was burned, the granaries and the food storehouses came next. A few of the more prepared towns managed to put a halt to things before the flames spread too far, but the effects were nonetheless disastrous. In the more remote reaches, whole cities were lost.

Famine erupted across the lands. Millions died of starvation, pestilence, looting and war. The flames of chaos spread between the cities. Some nations rebelled.

Tiryns herself did not suffer any of the direct consequences, but the indirect losses were catastrophic. The island had long since become dependent upon regular supplies of food, spices, luxuries and the like. Faced with this, Empress Aeterna Decimus Tertius chose to create the outposts. The cost was tremendous and the payoff immediate.

Thousands of ships sailed carrying hundreds of thousands of soldiers, building materials and orders to create an outpost at every port, at every major intersection and near every city. Responding to chaos with overwhelming force, Tiryns quickly re-established order and peace, of a sort. Those who resisted were slaughtered. Those who refused to pay the taxes of food and goods Tiryns demanded were quickly removed from power or killed.

It was not all blood and tyranny, however. The soldiers put an end to the chaos, ensuring regular shipments of food and medicine got to those who needed it most. The famine passed. Law and order were restored. The ships of Tiryns brought soldiers, medicine and some learning to the islands. The ships returned with food and goods. A form of balance was restored.

It couldn't last.

...

About five years ago, we saw the last ship of Tiryns come and go. Several expeditions were mounted. None returned. The diviners worked their seeing magics. Those that lived clawed out their eyes or simply lost their minds.

Now, there are whispers of war brewing in the eastern continents. Local governor's are grabbing up and hording resources and power. Many claim the right of Tiryns when they do so, but few believe Tiryns will ever return.

In some cities, the people speak openly of casting down the legions. Still others grumble for conquest.

A report came to my desk yesterday speaking of dark creatures being seen in the north. If the reports from the south are to be believed, the Orgoshi have returned as well.

One way or another, the Third Age of Tiryns is over.

The Darkness Within

During the four days he has to contemplate prior to leaving for the island, Matthias meditates as he did before. Only this time, instead of entering Constantine's vision, he descends into his own dark dream.

There is a flash and suddenly he is standing in a courtyard before a great temple, much like the one inside the Crystal Tomb. Only with more shadow than he remembers, seeping out from behind closed doors and high in the ceilings as he walks through the open doorway. The golden light of Pelor still glows from the central altar but it is different somehow. Its light is now darker, almost gritty, the illumination dulled.

Upon the altar is a large gold and black sunburst, the holy symbol of Pelor. The light seems to emanate from within it. Steeling himself for whatever might lay ahead, Matthias walks to the altar and peers down at the symbol. The holy symbol is actually loose, and not, as he first thought, a piece of the altar. It hums a little as he approaches.

The humming noise increases in intensity. The light seemed to be pulsing in time to the vibrations. Matthias reaches out and touches the symbol and with a sigh the humming stops, and he feels a jolt of energy flowing into him.

A voice echoes inside his head, speaking in a strange tongue. Matthias ponders to himself the meaning behind the words but realizes that the tongue is nothing he understands, yet the voices seem slightly familiar, almost comforting in a way. But these thoughts are quickly forgotten as the light diminishes in intensity, and golden flares start washing like waves up his arm.

In a flash, with his finger still on the holy symbol, he realizes why the voice sounds familiar. It is not words it is speaking, but the sounds of magic. Specifically, these are the sounds of the healing fires of Pelor.

This magic is dark, not tainted but angry. The magic is filled with all the rage of the burning sun, filled with life-giving and life-destroying power. The symbol seems to grow hotter as the moments tick by.

Matthias pulls his hand away, startled by the sudden intense heat. Immediately he feels a sharp pain all throughout his body, as though tearing away all the muscles, all the flesh, all the sinew in one moment. He doubles over, kneeling in front of the altar.

This is when he sees the cracks spreading on the golden face of the altar, cracks pulsing with an eerie red glow. Matthias senses something is wrong and backs away from the altar, but when he reaches for his mace and shield, shocking realization hits him.

No shield. No mace. Just himself, his robes, and the connection to his god. Looking again at the altar, a feeling washes over him, and he knows.

It is sick.

It is dying.

“It is you, Matthias.”

There is a voice, talking to him, whispering thoughts.

It's difficult to differentiate between the voice and his thoughts. Even as he listens hard, he can barely make out the whispers.

"Heal me. Embrace me. Call me brother. Pick me up, and carry me into the world as your own. Heal the sick, taste the rage. Embrace it, and by doing so, be cleansed."

The statues of angels all seem to watch in anticipation. Matthias bends down and picks up the symbol and holding it between his hands places it against his breast, pressing it against himself in what seems an effort to become one with it. As Matthias places his hand upon the holy symbol, the burning sensation starts again, almost immediately.

Gradually it increases as he strains to lift the unbelievably heavy thing. Finally, with a great heave, he slings it around his neck where it drops, without a single bounce, to hang upon his chest.

Matthias stands, breathing heavily for a moment, but realizes the ordeal is not over. The heat from the symbol suffuses him, but a new sensation is now radiating from the altar itself.

The cracks in the altar are spreading visibly now, and as they spread, Matthias feels cold running up and down his body, prickling his skin. The chill spreads out, engulfing the room. The red light within the cracks darkens and begins to throb in a slow rhythmic pulsing.

Almost like the beating of a heart.

At once Matthias knows what he must do: heal this sickness, purge the altar of the darkness, and set everything back into balance.

Matthias raises his voice above the noise to call out for Pelor to bring life, and, reaching for the altar his hand unconsciously brushes the holy symbol at his chest, its weight still dragging against his neck. There is a flash of golden energy and he feels as though his limbs are burning themselves away in the pure fury of it.

And then there is a silence.

So profound is the sudden quiet, that Matthias finds himself holding his breath for fear of breaking it. A moment passes as the red light seems to ooze back into the altar. Some of it drips down upon him, seeping into his flesh before he can move. Where it touches Matthias, he feels the anger and the rage all over again. But that too becomes quiet, until all that is left is the lightly throbbing weight of the holy symbol, pulsing in time with the light from the altar.

The pure, golden light. Unbroken, unmarred, uninjured.

His breath escapes, and he awakens. Matthias clutches for the symbol around his neck.

It's still there.

So heavy.

But it feels right, somehow.

A Little Treachery To Top Things Off: Part 1

In my most recent journal entry, journal entry 8, which was some time ago, I mentioned – a bit sarcastically -- how the mentality and actions of our party had shifted a bit and taken on a slightly more loathsome approach to what used to be general survival and adventuring. One of the lines that I wrote describing this was “a little treachery to top things off ...” It turns out that I was actually right, even if I was being a bit sarcastic. But I was right in completely the wrong way. And I am one of the worst offenders in our party when it comes to treachery. But I feel that my treachery is the right thing to do.

Where I last left off, we had arrived at the tower and met Matthias Lateralus, a heavily armored, squeaky-clean cleric who attracts light. After he presented his orders to a captain, we were to attend an audience with Lord Marius Wind, a half-mad, totally pretentious human arcanist who is very likely a strong diviner. He claimed that we (the party) were bound to the mysterious map-amulet, which he called a “key”, that we took from the Ogre captain that we previously killed. We were all to become initiates of The Tower, at least for the time being, and in service to The Tower, we were to pursue the goals of The Tower regarding this amulet and the Crystal Tombs, finding out its nature, its story, how to use it and how to find the Crystal Tombs that it could be used on. It turned out that this amulet was a key to one or more of the Crystal Tombs and that the Orgoshi might already posses one or more other keys to The Tombs.

Our first task in this mission was to seek out Baron Wolfrun in The Tower barrows, as he might have known something about the location of one or more of the Crystal Tombs. The Baron, like all inhabitants of the barrows, was apparently living the high-life as a ghost of his former self. So, with the assistance of The Tower's resources, we set out to pursue the baron a few days later.

The barrows were a ghastly place, dark and constantly shrouded with what appeared to be a living mist. Undead things stalked the ruined waste of the barrows and were attracted to the life-force of our party members. Things even stranger than the undead, very much alive, not dead, grazed among the dead and sometimes fed off of them.

We survived many deadly encounters in the barrows, yet we lost three of our horses in the mix. On our way we encountered some smugglers who were masquerading as Watch members. We passed them by after a brief chat the first time that we encountered them as we were not certain what their situation was and did not want to get involved until we understood more of what was going on. The second time that we ran into them, they attacked us, which was a bit ill conceived on their part. We killed them all except for one, who it turned out was actually a scout for The Watch. Eventually we arrived at the baron's ruined mausoleum and spoke with him. He was very friendly and open with us. He agreed to help us obtain the location of one of the Crystal Tombs if we did him a favor. That favor was to rescue his “girlfriend” -- an elven vampire -- from a witch on the coastal edge of the barrow.

So, we traveled on through the barrow. On our way out, we passed through a strange valley where a large skeleton with glowing, yellow eyes watched us from a distance while we camped. The skeleton warned us off of the land, stating that we did not belong there. We continued on to the coast, then followed it until we reached the small fort that the witch inhabited. It turned out that she had four bone hydras guarding the fort, plus a score or two of other undead creatures. We watched for a while and tried to track their pattern as they made their rounds, but determined that an all-out distanced assault was the only way to deal with them.

So, we lured them out and let them storm us from a few hundred feet away. I threw as much as I could at them with my spells and when they finally reached us, we had to fight them face-to-face. The battle was gruesome. The enemy horde consisted of four bone hydras and at least twelve undead humanoids. Eight of the humanoids were elemental types consisting of four electrical and four fire. The other four were heavily armored. We destroyed them all, but a few of us almost died in the battle.

After the battle against the undead, we passed the wall of the fort and worked our way into the keep. The keep was heavily trapped, yet very lightly guarded within. The traps were rather deadly and complicated, but that was little trouble for Gideon, though there was one particular trap that he had to sneak through and find a hidden side passage around for the rest of us. There were false doors and dead-end rooms that were trapped. The ground story of the keep was completely disused and decrepit. Gideon worked his way through the maze of traps and rubble and led us through safely. It appeared that a long time ago a battle took place at the fort and a last stand was made there. The remnants of those deceased and the overturned tables was indicative of this. Constantine found the body of what looked like a paladin who fought until his last dying breath to hold the keep against its attackers. Constantine was rather taken by the scene and felt that it was necessary to give the paladin a proper burial and prayer. and led us into the second story of the keep. Gideon took a dagger off of the paladin's corpse, seeing that it was a very fine dagger that would suit him well in combat, I suppose. He's definitely put it to good use since then. We hauled the paladin's corpse off into a side room, with the intent to take it back to The Wall with us after dealing with the witch.

After moving the paladin's corpse, Gideon led us up a stairwell to the second story of the keep. There we saw what appeared to be a very well-kept, clean environment that someone obviously lived out of. A chambermaid walked out of a door as we stepped onto the second story from the stairs and she greeted us kindly. Yet, she seemed to not entirely aware of everything. She seemed to be almost like a mindless automaton living only based on strict instructions. She she idly dusted and cleaned just about any object that was close by, including Constantine himself, without much thought or effort. She asked us if “the mistress” was expecting us. We did not know how to respond to that, but she was off to clean another room in the blink of an eye, not waiting for a response from us. Constantine seemed a bit offended that the chambermaid felt it was necessary to dust him off. He is a bit vain at times.

It seemed that there were no traps on the second floor, as at least one living being was residing up there it was safe to reason such. So, we wandered a little more freely. We found a bedroom with a skeleton in it and the skeleton suddenly sat up and then the door slammed shut. After that, we could not get the door open again. Then strange things started happening. It seemed that the air changed, became tighter, closer and more menacing. And a scream ripped through the upper floor, as if from all around us at once. Then, it seemed as though time was counting down, there was a timed “ticking” sort of sound, I believe, which rang through the upper floor at intervals. The whole event was very strange and difficult to follow. It is even more difficult to describe the event now, as some time has gone by since then.

We worked our way through other parts of the upper floor and Gideon took off on his own to investigate the area and the source of the scream. Nell, Matthias, Constantine and I all went together to check out the main room of the building. There we found the elven vampire – she certainly was beautiful – chained to a platform at the center end of a room with a black veil draped between four posts above her to shelter her from the sunlight. And, before the platform, the chambermaid stood in one place, her eyes closed, swaying while an apparition of another woman also swayed in the same place as her, but slightly out of sync, so that the two women appeared to shift and meld between and to each other. And then she saw us. The apparition looked directly at us. One of us shot an arrow at the chambermaid and the apparition, as they appeared to be one, and the apparition screamed as the chambermaid fell to the floor. The scream ripped through the air again like it had before and the door to the room, which we had not entered yet, slammed shut. Again, we could not get the door opened. We attempted to beat the door down, but it was being held by a mystical force. Again, it seemed like something was counting down, and when the end of the count was reached, the door could be opened again. When we opened it, everything in the room was normal and silent. The chambermaid lay on the floor, barely breathing. Nell, Matthias and Constantine rushed into the room. Matthias assisted the chambermaid while the other two secured and freed the vampire. I stood guard just outside the door while Gideon investigated one of the other rooms.

Just when Nell, Matthias and Constantine were about to leave the room, the apparition appeared again and the door slammed shut to the room, locking Gideon and myself out while trapping the other three in with the apparition. Even though I was outside of the room, I could hear the apparition talking as though she were right next to me. She called us thieves and trespassers. Then she accused us of working for her “him”. It turned out that the “witch” was actually the original wife of Baron Wolfrun and she was the one who captured the vampire that was the “girlfriend” of the baron. When she was referring to “him”, she meant the baron. Obviously this happened a long time ago and now the wife of the baron, much like himself, was a ghost and a very vengeful and powerful one at that.

While the three were trapped inside the room, the ghost apparently possessed Nell and used her body to attack Constantine and Matthias, almost killing the both of them. They managed to flee from Nell and then the ghost lost its grip on her body and Nell was herself again. But, before long, the ghost possessed her a second time. The situation was ugly. Gideon ran off to do something, at the time I did not know what, while the spirit talked to us all as a disembodied voice. I ran off to see what Gideon was up to (I was not aware of the fact that Nell was possessed) while Matthias and Constantine tried to avoid being killed by Nell. I found Gideon attempting to open the door to the bedroom with the skeleton in the bed. I went to assist him and as I arrived, he had successfully opened the door to the bedroom. He cautiously crept inside the room and went to grab a storage chest when the skeleton suddenly sat up and looked directly at him. Gideon reacted quickly by smashing the skeleton to bits with the large, heavy chest. This seemed to end the entire haunting and, as a result, began the collapse of the entire fort. Carrying the vampire “girlfriend” of Baron Wolfrun, wrapped in the dark veil to protect her from the sun, and carrying the unconscious chambermaid, we all rushed outside just before most of the keep collapsed into indistinguishable rubble.

We rested for the night, then continued our trip, bringing the vampire to the Baron's ghost. The Baron, who was quite happy, had us simply stuff the vampire into a hole in a wall for the time being. The whole situation was a little creepy. After that, he informed us that he did not know the answers that we needed, but he told us that he could direct us to a “friend” who knew the answers. So, he gave us a large, strange and magical lock and sent us off to a sectioned-off valley in the barrow.

We traveled on again, and when we arrived at the valley, we realized that this was the same place we had passed the outskirts of on our way to the witch's keep, where the strange skeleton had warned us off. This time, the skeleton (all of the skeletons, it turned out), was somewhat accepting of us because we possessed “him”, as it referred to the lock. The skeleton who had warned us off before, directed us to a barren portion of the valley, an area where all of the land was completely lacking of any kind of animal or plant life. Once we passed the threshold of this place, I felt disconnected from the world, as if my elven roots of life could not be maintained on this soil and, should I lie down there or spend too much time there I would cease to continue on living in any way, shape or form. Were I to die there, my essence would never leave there. The feeling was very unsettling. But I think I now understand something very significant about my people, the elves, and how it is that we exist in this world.

Once within this strange, barren land, we spotted a platform and a large pile of rock. As we approached the platform, the rock-pile came to life. The creature was very strange, but not very difficult to dispose of. We destroyed it in short order and continued on to the platform. Gideon, being the more daring member of the party, mounted the platform and investigated. After determining that everything was safe, he took the lock, which was given to us by the Baron Wolfrun, and inserted a key that he found on the platform into the lock, which caused a burst of light and energy, resulting in Gideon, as fast as he is, jumping off of the platform to get out of the way, releasing the lock and leaving it on the platform. He cautiously crept back up onto the platform and, after a moment, started talking to someone. So, we all climbed up onto the platform to see what was going on.

When we got onto the platform, there was an apparition there. The apparition was that of a royal and regal-looking man in his middle years. He spoke to us openly and warmly. It turned out that he was Emperor Lonton III. He spoke to us of what the empire used to be, and we spoke to him of what the empire is today. He was very disappointed with the current state of the former empire and imperial land of Tirynthia, but we urged him to explain to us the nature of the Crystal Tombs and how to locate them. He could only remember the location of one Tomb, as The Tombs were created long before his reign in The Empire, which he indicated was somewhere near Bayview and that the key that we possessed, was very likely the key originally “tuned” to open this particular Crystal Tomb.

After speaking with the emperor for a while about current and past affairs, he bestowed upon us his former vestments and royal weapons, which had been resting on this platform for ages and were completely undamaged or time-worn. With his last efforts before fading away for eternity, he bid us thanks and farewell, and we did the same for him. After this, we all set out to return to The Tower, each of us a little dumb-founded and consumed with our own thoughts on what had transpired. We learned a lot from The Emperor. Gideon seemed to pull his own personal knowledge and awakening from the encounter, which seemed to trigger a very deep change within himself. Constantine seemed to be much more prideful and determined in his decisions and, perhaps, his path in life, yet at the same time, a little disappointed in something. As for me, much of this I already had knowledge of, or had enough to figure some of the details out, from all of my knowledge of history and book reading. I just did not understand the depth of it all. And these newfound depths seemed extremely treacherous. What exactly befell The Empire? How did everything spiral so far out of control? The Watch, The Tower and The Empire had become completely divided and all that was left of the empire as a whole was purely an illusion maintained by a king who was simply a glorified ambassador of these bits and pieces of the former empire, attempting to keep the citizens from noticing the complete collapse of the imperial system. The various remaining facets of the former empire (The Watch, The Tower and the king) were constantly at odds with each other, and perhaps even silently warring with each other. Eventually this would all fall apart. With rumors of dealings with the Easterners and the Orgoshi Ogre captain's words of an age-old “empire” of Orgoshi and/or Wastelanders pulling together and becoming stronger and preparing for all-out war, these “complications” within the Tiryns empire were certain to be the deciding factor in whether or not Tiryns civilization would continue to hold together through the coming trials. I found this knowledge to be a little depressing.

When we got back to the tower, we informed Lord Marius Wind of what transpired, and most of what we learned, particularly the pieces about where The Tomb was that our key was “tuned” for, but we left a lot of the uncomfortable details of our knowledge and experiences out of the conversation. The Lord Wind decided that it was appropriate for us to prepare to journey to The Tomb and secure its contents before the Orgoshi empire did. So, we prepared ourselves over the next few nights, and rested up. But, as we planned, I don't think that either one of us was prepared for the treachery. For our treachery.

The Fox and the Shadow

'A Fox swimming across a rapid river was carried by the force of the current into a very deep ravine, where he lay for a long time very much bruised, sick, and unable to move. A swarm of hungry blood-sucking flies settled upon him. A Hedgehog, passing by, saw his anguish and inquired if he should drive away the flies that were tormenting him.

"By no means," replied the Fox; "pray do not molest them." "How is this?' said the Hedgehog; "do you not want to be rid of them?' "No," returned the Fox, "for these flies which you see are full of blood, and sting me but little, and if you rid me of these which are already satiated, others more hungry will come in their place, and will drink up all the blood I have left." '

----

Thus read the introductory page to the first translation (Circa 1401 TR) of "The Fox and the Shadow", but no children's story was contained within those parchment pages. Indeed, the book itself, bound in ornately worked bronze, with depictions of shadowy forms who seemed to be screaming in unbearable torment, was itself enough to ward off most casual scholars.

But, hidden within the pages of fairy tale, gibberish and seemingly random babble, were these words:

"The Fox came with losing case,
He smiled at the Shadow Man.
Whispered words, a sweet embrace,
Beneath the dark, he ran.

With trepidation and remorse
The Fox and Shadow ride.
Overcome by force,
The Shadow must abide.

All was quiet for a span,
Until the Fox he fled.
Fox devoured Shadow Man,
Then in moments, thousands dead."

While obviously prohpetic in some fashion or another, it was not always clear to whom the prophecy applied, nor even what era it would apply in. Prophecy, as any good student will know, has a way of revealing itself while further clouding its meaning in obscurity.

Indeed, after careful study of the book, it became clear to me that many of the ramblings and seeming "gibberish" of the book, were the keys to understanding both the hidden meanings inside the prohpecy and to discovering the era in which the prohpecy could take place.

It wasn't until many years later that I discovered, with shock, my own name hidden inside the text. Imagine it, I who have been to a thousand gatherings of the Society of Sensation, I to whom death itself holds no more mysteries, surprised by a book of prophecy I read in my youth! Yet there it was, clear as day, "Marius Wind" and next to it, my real name which, for obvious reasons, I do not record here.

I have come to believe, over long study, that the prophecy refers to a family in the Well. Perhaps a living member, or one yet unborn. I know also that the "thousands dead" to which it refers will come to pass regardless of fulfillment of conditions, yet none will believe it so. As is usually the case with prophecy, this seems to set only the conditions under which the next events may come to pass. This particular prophecy is actually the keystone event for a group of events which must come to pass.

--- Excerpt from the diaries of Marius Wind, entry dated 1543, TR

The old man's bushy white brows drew together, his face darkening. This was not the sort of expression commonly seen in the courtyard, and it seemed for a moment as though the blooms on the flowering starbursts looked on disapprovingly. It was not really the sort of thing suited to such a lush garden, with it's vibrant flowers, and bright shafts of sunlight. Truth be told, the expression did not look quite right on the old man's face either. Compared to the generous laugh lines etched into his face, the creases forming on his forehead looked like a thing which simply did not belong. Or, perhaps, like a thing long out of practice, nearly forgotten. His shining blue eyes, and the healthy waves of his silver hair further lent to the impression of a joyous presence out of step with his expression. The colorful fish in the fountain gaped at him openly. But the fish gaped the same way at everything, so it was hard to tell how they really felt about the matter.

“The story you have asked for is not an easy one, children.” The old man finally said, his somber expression lightening somewhat. The circle of young people, not children in truth, stirred uncomfortably, clearly not accustomed to this darkness on their storyteller's face. One young woman rose up on an elbow and spoke, the light of mischief in her eyes.

“No Caeda,” the old man said, starting out of his reverie ”it is not because I am old! By the Chalice, sometimes I think I remember the old stories better than I remember this morning.” Still propped on her elbow, the girl spoke again, the same twinkle in her eyes.

“No, Caeda, that does not mean I cannot remember this morning!” The old man harrumphed through his snowy mustaches and settled back on the edge of the fountain, drawing his exquisite cloak about him as though against a chill. “It is a hard story because it tells of a hard time. A sad time. Most of all, a complicated time. Too complicated for children, unless told by a far wiser tongue than mine.” This was too much for the gathered young ones, and they began to clamor to hear the tale, protesting that it was unfair to tell so much but refuse to finish.

“Oh don't start in!” the old man replied grumpily ”You all know I'm going to tell the story, I'm just working my way up to it” He drew in a deep breath, shifting his cloak back to his sides, and smoothing his features back to their usual gentle smile.

“This story is an old one. Older than your parents, and some of your grandparents. Maybe even older than that. It was around the time of the Day of Just Rebellion, though we didn't know about any of that yet. I was still with the five companions back then, before we even had that name. Before we had any name really. Ah, the five companions: Penelope Plainsworth. Raised as a noble in the old empire she was. Not much of a dancer in those days, though don't tell her I said that. I've rarely seen her equal on the field of combat, not to mention at the arm wrestling table. This was before she got married of course, though confidentially I very much doubt she ever got rid of that old hammer. Matthias Lateralus, in those days, had to have been the strangest Priest I have ever know. I suppose the Sun Father knew even back then what was coming, but at the time the leniency he was shown was a strange thing to behold. Erhvior was the first elf I had ever met, and seemed a madman to me at first. As I came to know him, and later others of his kind, I realized that I had been wrong in this. He was in fact a madelf.” The old man paused with a wrinkling of the corners of his eyes to allow for the laughter this provoked. Raising his hand, he continued ”He was not then who he eventually became, no more than any of us were. Erhivor was, perhaps, closer then than the rest of us though. . .” Again a pause for gentle laughter, and he continued. “Gideon Fox.” The old man pursed his lips, a haze crossing his eyes. “What can one say about Fox in those days? He was a trial back then, and a burden, handy as he was with a knife. From the first day we met I held out hope that he could rise above his upbringing, and reveal the good man behind the screen of filth. Unfortunately he knew this, and I think the fact that it was my wish was the largest impediment he faced in realizing that potential. Always a stubborn, and ultimately prideful man, Fox.” His eyes cleared for a moment, then took on an even darker cast.

“I was not then the man you have all heard so much of either.” His eyes cleared for a moment, showing a glimmer of humor “I do not think I was ever the man some of those stories tell of. Though should I meet that man I would like to shake his hand! You all know I began my life as a foundling, left on the steps of a cathedral a few days after the comet entered the heavens. What you may not have heard is that it was not a cathedral of the Invincible, but rather of Ariad the False. No, no, it is true! For the first fifteen years of my life I was raised by his false priests, many of whom were good men. I believed in him with all my heart, for I had been taught that other gods were either his faces to other peoples, or demons attempting to lure us away from the truth. In fact, despite what you may have been told, I was wholly faithful to him, or at least to the idea of him, until we met the shade of the ancient emperor Lantan III, but you have all heard that story already, too many times, I shouldn't wonder.” There was a shifting from some of the young men, that story was a favorite, but the old man went on.

”I have told you often enough what it feels to have a part of the Arch Paladin within my breast. The fullness, the certain knowledge of my own completeness. There is nothing that can compete with the gifts of the Invincible, but my first taste of this feeling came before I entered his service, or knew more of his glory than his name. So fierce was my belief in The False, and in the Empire that his grace had spawned, or so I had been taught, that I did not feel the emptiness, and I tasted a portion of what it is to serve a just god. What is it to serve a just god? I cannot speak for the servants of other Gods, nor for the Priests. For the Paladin of Heironeous, it is not only to know you are never alone, but to feel it to your very bones. Every moment of my life, waking or sleeping, I bathe in the presence of my lord. He clears the blinders from my eyes, and lends his strength to my bones, my toes, and my mind. If I were to tell you how old I am, children, you would not mind me calling you such, I think.

“To compare the feeling of serving The False to this, is to compare a sliver of light creeping in through the wall of a filthy basement with the full glory of noon, but I cannot think of another way to explain it. It was a feeling certainly, and there were gifts, certainly, but such a pale shadow, and no sense of companionship. But once, never having seen the sun, I looked through that crack, and thought this was all the light there was in the world. But even this was nothing compared to the time between.

“The Arch Paladin had sent me signs that I walked the wrong course before Lantan ripped the scales from my eyes, but I was too blind to see them. When the old Emperor revealed the falsehood of Ariad to me, he set the foundation that another would later use to reveal the falsehood of the Empire. When this was done, the wadding of false belief was torn from within me, and I sagged against the inner emptiness. I survived, as you can see of course” Here there was more laughter, relieved for a break in the bleakness that had come to dominate the old man's tale “but I was not certain that I would. Oh the learning of man did not desert me,” a gesture of his hand released a small bird made of lightning to sparkle for a moment in the air, “but I tell you now that the knowledge to topple a city's walls is of little help in a battle in which you are the battleground. It is little consolation when that which you are missing is not some prize to be won from a keep. Needless to say, I persevered, but it was not easy.

“During that time, as we, The Five, scrambled through the wreckage of the old empire to assemble to the tools we believed we would need to rite it, I cast about for the path to the invincible within myself, but I could not find it on my own, not quite. I am told now that I came closer than any other the Priests have heard of, but it is simply a path one cannot walk alone. It was just before we entered the second Crystal Tomb that a very strange man showed me the way.”The old man paused, wrinkling his nose. “I almost wish I could avoid telling this part, but it is probably important, even if I cannot divine how.”

“You see, to tell it properly, it was not a man who showed me the way to Heironeous, but rather a tree. A talking tree in fact.” The youngsters eyes widened in incredulity, but the old man did not pause for questions. “When The Five first encountered him, he was caught in the ground by his, ahem taproot.” There was a ripple of laughter at this, then a larger one as the audience grasped the allusion. Again the old man hurried before questions could b asked. ”We freed him of course, the codes teach us to ease what suffering we can. In thanks he gave us directions to approach the Tomb without having to slaughter a garrison of soldiers who's only crime was obeying orders. He also um, did a very peculiar, and rather ungainly sort of dance around me, that had the effect of thinning the divide between the earth and the Heavens, for just long enough that a piece of the Arch Paladin could sweep into me. Personally, I think the Spirits responsible for maintaining the divide simply forgot their duties in a fit of hilarity.” The old man sprang from his perch with surprising grace, and imitated the rigid capering of the treeman all those decades ago. The audience, frozen between being puzzled and being amused, burst into hilarity at this spectacle. The old man's eyes retained their usual sparkle when he stopped dancing, his lips curving into a smile. He essayed an exaggerated shrug, spreading his hands. “As I say, there is a reason I was shown grace in such an unusual way, but I am at a loss to explain what it may have been.” His smile broadened. ”Perhaps it was for no reason other than to bring these smiles I see now. I shall have to tell that story more often, I think, and then perhaps I shall find out.” He fingered the small broach holding his cloak closed thoughtfully, them smiled broadly again. “All right you rascals, what will you hear next then?”

Exerpts from the Chronicles of Gideon Fox: Fireside Contemplation

It's funny how things develop, how life experience influences who you are and what you become. The thing is you can always look back and see so clearly the path that brought you to where you are even though the markers may not have let you know where you were going. The frustrating thing is, even with the path behind you being so clear, you usually can't get much of a good hint where you are going. Sometimes I wonder if I'd be better off sleeping through the quiet times by the campfire, the late night watches that leave little room for anything, but self reflection and a sharpening of blades.

You see, where I grew up, a man took pride in his ability to do more with less. Not an unusual way of thinking in a place where most had little or not enough. To show skill with simple tools was more greatly admired than to be the fellow with a new tool or convenience to get things done. A carpenter skilled in the old ways with a keen eye, axe and hammer earned more respect than a new age craftsman with his fancy blades, drills and planes. The same rules applied to one of the most renowned of trades in The Well, the Enforcer.

It was common knowledge that you could cover a man with a small fortune in armor, give him a great huge blade worth a month of working man's wages and turn him into a war machine to enforce your will upon whomever you wished. Now a man worthy of respect, a man of cunning and guile to be admired and feared could enforce his will with deadly efficiency in a much more modest fashion. He could use something light and common, cheaply gained, easily transported and concealed, a man of true grit and dangerous demeanor could turn his will on the blade of a simple knife. Jorlax the White was such a man in my City.

Known high and low as a man to be feared, I personally saw him dispatch opponents with a knife on three different occasions as a boy, two business and one personal. All in public, all became a part of his legend. I studied those moves, I learned how to move like him, how to hold a stick in the same way, how to make that blade a part of me. I wanted to be like him, I wanted to be a knife fighter and a man to be feared. I made it my life's obsession. Funny thing the determination of youth is after a while you just fade into being. In the years since I've known the blade, I started looking to prove I had what it took. To count every fight as a notch on my belt and another trophy for my own personal abattoir. I've survived on the razors edge for quite some time now, killed great warriors, and unspeakable things, enemies of which I had not even dreamed existed. I've seen magic and revolution and been held in audience by the dead Emperor of old and somewhere along the way I forgot about trying to be a killer. That's the thing I see know when I look back in my minds eye. I remember now the images of Jorlax I saw as a child and I realize that he is clumsy to me. I see what he was and know that as I am now, I could take him as he was then. I have reached that place of manhood where I have forgotten to try and become what I desire and it is in fact because I have become it. Now with my kingdom in shambles I am what I had wanted to be, but still I have no direction, there are no signs to this path, and I can not help but wonder where it is that I go...

Nell's Diary

14^th of Octumbre, 1581 TR

Dear Diary,

What the hell is wrong with men?

First they promote you (2^nd Lieutenant, Junior Grade), and give you a beautiful shield (another family heirloom), and then they completely ruin the moment by accusing your companion(s) of betraying the empire. At least, that’s what my uncle Percival did. He’s a captain, and I’ve never met him before. He’s hardly ever mentioned at home; I think he and Father had a falling out of some sort.

But that’s not even the worst of it. After vigorously defending my companions’ honor, I was told that my “friends” had stolen away, WITHOUT ME, after strict orders not to leave Bayview. They didn’t even bother to leave a note! Is this what I get for my loyalty? I understand if there was a dire emergency, but if they had time to pack up their belongings then they had time to WRITE A BLOODY NOTE. It didn’t have to say why they left or where they were going, if such information was too sensitive, but it could have at least said, “Sorry Nell, we had no choice but to leave now. We would never abandon you without a good reason.”

Men. Honestly.

My uncle instructed me to go after my companions and make sure they did not let the key to the Crystal Tomb fall into Orgoshi hands. I asked around town to try and find out how and why my companions left. After talking to a drunkard, I discovered that he had ferried them across the sea. When my uncle confronted me about my progress I instinctively lied. But I’m not a good liar, and my uncle wrested the truth from me.

I’m still not sure why I lied. I think I was partly humiliated to discover that my companions had up and left against orders and without leaving an explanation for me. I was hoping the drunk had overheard their conversation, that they had left a message for me with him, or that they had at least mentioned feeling guilty about leaving without me. Alas, they did neither. The other reason I tried to lie to my uncle was loyalty. It’s ludicrous to suggest that I should be loyal to my companions above the Watchguard, especially my uncle, but when you travel day and night with a group of people, relying on them to watch out for you and looking out for them in return, enduring countless dangers and injuries, it’s incredibly hard not to put your loyalty to them above all others. I couldn’t fathom that they had left without good reason.

But I digress. After discovering where they’d gone, my uncle instructed me to follow and bring the key and my companions back, whether they wanted to return or not. I was given a party of a dozen soldiers, and I was expected to lead them. Being promoted is wonderful and filled me with pride – actually owning up to the responsibilities of my new rank made me nauseous. Thankfully the sergeant was very knowledgeable.

We were ferried across the sea as my companions had been. We knew the general direction they would be heading. Later that day, as we trekked across the snow, the ground suddenly gave way beneath me. I dug my armor into the ice and managed not to fall down a long tunnel. I did, however, lose my grip on my maul, and it slid down the passageway. I could just see it at the bottom, and decided to go after it. Just as I was reaching for my beloved maul, I heard a growl coming from two glowing blue eyes. The eyes belonged to a huge white wolf, which proceeded to lunge for my throat. I seized my maul and attacked.

This amazing creature, aside from being a wolf, which is dangerous enough as is, could breathe gusts of icy cold air! When he tried to harm me with this power, however, my armor protected me. Then I noticed something even more peculiar – the wolf look puzzled by this. But he continued to attack, so I continued to defend myself. Eventually, when I was about to make the killing blow, the wolf cried out, “Deal!”

Turns out these white wolves can also speak in the common tongue. Needless to say, I faltered. When I regained my composure, I spoke with the wolf. His name was Rolf (you have to really roll the r, so it sounds like growling). He wanted to make a deal with me. In exchange for sparing his life and dispatching of his pack’s Orgoshi master, he and the other wolves would lead me to my companions. This seemed like a good deal to me, so I accepted.

I shouted up to the soldiers to wait for me. Then I followed Rolf to the den of his shaman master. Well, the “shaman” turned out to be nothing more than an Orgosh (of the small, extremely annoying kind) with a few potions, like some alchemist’s fire. He would wave his arms about and chant nonsense before throwing the potion, pretending as if he’d cast a spell. My armor protected me from his mixtures as well as it had against Rolf’s icy breath. I dispatched the “shaman” easily, and quite impressed the wolves. They even took to calling me “Mistress,” which I really enjoyed, to be perfectly honest.

True to their word, the wolves found my companions’ trail and tracked them to a valley. The valley was filled with dead bodies. Some were Orgoshi, some were human; some were Easteners, and some bore flags and banners with emblems I didn’t recognize. Upon closer inspection, it looked like the “valley” had actually been created by a powerful spell. At the center there was a huge pile of bodies. Every minute or so, the pile would quiver. I didn’t know what was underneath, but I had no desire to find out. Rather than walk across the valley to the other end, the soldiers and I traveled around the edge.

When we got to the other side of the valley, we found a body that seemed to end halfway. Now, he wasn’t cut in half in the way you normally see, where the guts are hanging out and there is blood everywhere – he just abruptly ended at the torso. When I tried to walk around him, I disappeared from the soldiers’ view, and inadvertently discovered an illusion. On one side there was a view of snow and trees. But when you stepped past the invisible barrier, the Crystal Tomb came into view.

The soldiers and I marched onward toward the Tomb, but before we reached the gate we could see two creatures guarding the entrance. They were monstrous; slightly translucent blue skin covered their massive bodies. Even from a distance I could see their mighty claws and teeth. They paced in front of the door, their long arms almost dragging on the ground. I knew there was no way we could defeat them.

But past the monsters was the only way through. I froze, couldn’t make a decision. So the sergeant made one for me. He said, “We’ll fend them off while you run through.” Then they charged. As I ran past them into the Tomb, I could see in my peripheral vision the monsters tearing the men apart. Not one survived. If my companions had just waited for me, I could have gone with them and no one need have died. That’s all just wishful thinking now.

Anyway, the Tomb was a labyrinth. I had no idea how to find my friends. I meandered through the halls, past several menacing stone statues that decided I was trespassing. After battling several of these annoyances, and feeling that I was completely lost, I finally found my “friends.” Well, they had no excuse for leaving me, other than it was “urgent.” Apparently it was the type of urgent that allows you time to pack, but not to write a note. Not only did they have no excuse, they weren’t even really sorry! The only one who actually apologized in so many words was Gideon. Gideon. What is the world coming to?

To make matters even worse, they didn’t have the key anymore. They traded it for another. They traded the key that I supposed to retrieve with men from some other empire that I didn’t even know existed. Apparently the Tomb we were in did not hold magic that would be helpful to us, but the new key opens a Tomb that will be helpful.

I should have arrested them right there, I know, but I couldn’t. Despite what they’ve done, I still believe that they have the Empire’s best interests at heart, and they are my friends. We’re on our way back to Bayview now, and I know that we can explain it all to Uncle.

Somehow it’ll all work out.