She came to me in a dream…

“Lewarrin”

He became aware of the voice in that odd way that you might realize that a sound has been repeating for some time and you have only just made sense of it. For the small, dark-beared man, it was sleep that muffled his senses. But, for the first time in his 54 years that he could recall, he remained in a state of sleep but was perfectly aware of it. It was a surreal sensation, but not upsetting. It felt like a mild form of surprise, but it did not flash in and out as genuine surprise does. Milder yet still vaguely exciting. It was a feeling of foreknowledge that something important—something vital—was about to happen.

“What a rare dream this is,” Lew thought within the expectant silence of his unconscious. Somehow the thought felt wrong just like calling a bear a rabbit would feel wrong. The gnome searched his mind, trying to get a bearing.

The road… a foot train of pilgrims, making their way east to Bador. They were trail-weary and with only a few competent men to guard them. It did not take much talking to convince them that their path lay to south to Esanti. They would be safe there, for the time being at least. The sickness didn’t appear to be plaguing the City of the Wood, at least not yet.

But then the memory turned to nightmare. Orcs chasing children, cutting them down from behind. The screams of pain and terror. Lewarrin had thrown himself and Kitteh into the fray with a ferocity he hadn’t known that he had. He’d screamed his throat raw in those few moments of bloody slaughter that he and the others had wrought upon the orcs and their filthy champions. Again and again he suffered the wounds laid upon his eidolon to keep him in the battle, and Kitteh had taken a terrible toll on the monsters—claws and teeth a red wall of destruction, but the orcs and bug-a-bears just kept coming.

Anguish wracked his mind. Kitteh was dead! His beloved eidolon had suffered the dread pain of death. Because he was only partly in the world when he was slain, Kitteh was not truly killed. But Lewarrin had fully shared the eidolon’s senses as he died, and he knew it was a terrible experience whose horror would fade slowly, if it ever did. When he was able to summon his dearest friend on the morrow, they would have to have a long talk and sort things out.

“The one you call ‘Kitteh’, Lewarrin Grimmer, is called Avanada by her people. She is in My care this night, and I have given her peace and rest.”

“Great, my dream is talking to me.”

“You are in a state somewhere between dream and consciousness Lewarrin Grimmer. Your mind is as rational as it would be if it were awake. I am not a creation of your mind. I am simply speaking into it.”

“That’s exactly what a dream spirit would say.”

“Faith is not your best attribute Lewarrin Grimmer. I expected as much. This conversation will not fade as dreams do when you awake. But that will not be enough for you either, for you doubt the very substance that holds you world together. I will mark you and you will begin to believe.”

The gnome felt a point of searing brightness touch him. There was pain, but it was brief. Lew tried to force himself to wake, but nothing changed. That feeling of raw expectation lingered.

“It looks like I’m stuck here with you dream spirit, at least until this dream plays out. Please, go ahead and speak your piece so I can go back to the oblivious kind of sleep.”

“I am called The Dawnflower, and I would ‘speak my piece’ with you, Lewarrin grimmer, for I have need of you.”

“I’ve heard that term used before for one of the fanciful gods they bow to in this land, but I’m afraid I have prior commitments that I simply cannot break dear lady. I’ll be sure to look you up when I pass by this dream again, after I’m through.”

“I am the one that you have heard others speak of, Lewarrin Grimmer. I am the Bearer of the Flame; the Glory of the Rising Sun; the Bringer of Succor; the Radiance of the Light; the Redeemer of Lost Souls.”

“It must have taken a master scribe a full week to paint your title on the shingle outside your shop. Does it pay well, this radiating thing?”

“This day I will suffer your insolence Lewarrin Grimmer, for you do not yet understand the quality of your error. But please do not test my benevolence. You would not treat the lowest peasant thus.”

A moment went by as Lew tried to sort out the irony of being scolded by a dream spirit.

“Okay, my apologies. You’re right. I don’t treat people like that unless they deserve it. But you must understand that I do not acknowledge the existence of divinity. It is pabulum fed to the masses to keep them happy and compliant, but I will not comply. I am perfectly capable of building a philosophical foundation for sorting right from wrong. I do not need some slippery snake-oil salesman with a fancy robe to instruct me.”

“None need more than faith, Lewarrin Grimmer. It is enough. Even so little can be precious hard to find for some. But even you whose soul is ever-so-stingy with trust, have learned to give it. Trust is the handmaiden of faith. Faith is given without proof, but not without thought. Those who have faith in Me have reason for their belief. But reason alone is not sufficient. One must have love in one’s soul to open it to Me. One must seek redemption to be redeemed.”

 “Okay, let’s say for the sake of argument that you and all of the other gods really exist. So you are very powerful beings from other planes of existence. Even your priests say as much. You can create miracles, and you can teach your followers to do the same. But it’s just magic. You’re just harnessing the same elemental forces that I weave, only your weaving is much grander in scale. What makes you more than just another creature of phenomenal power?”

“Dear man, you are not ready for that lesson yet.”

“Ah, so I am not worthy of your beneficence then? I am not wise enough to appreciate the logic of your divinity?”

“Neither, Lewarrin Grimmer. You are not ready because you chose not to be ready. But I do not wish to debate you upon this question, as fundamental as it may be. You may believe that I am merely a being of great power if it pleases you. What I am to ask of you does not require your acceptance of My divinity.”

“What would you have from me then, Dawnflower?”

“The path that you are upon is grave and dangerous. It is laced with peril more dire than you can appreciate. And yet what you must do is of such importance, to fail will see our world cast into shadow for untold generations. I wish to aid your quest, though its nature is still a mystery to you. To aid I must have a vessel. To be effective, that vessel must be of good heart, and most of all willing to bear the responsibility.”

“How would this work, me being a vessel for your aid to our quest?”

“I will simply invest a bit of my power in you, Lewarrin Grimmer. It is a simple thing for Me, but without your faith in Me, it will take time.”

“Why don’ t you just give us some powerful magic to ensure that we can win any battle, or send a few of your better acolytes along on our journey to keep us safe?”

“Things of power come to those who are worthy of them. And despite what you may have read in storybooks, We may not direct mortals to act, in keeping with the Tenants of the Covenant. There are greater powers at work than even I can understand, Lewarrin Grimmer. Just as My followers must have faith in Me, I must have faith in these greater powers, for they are beyond wise.”

“Fine, but I’ll need some time to think about it.”

“You believe that you will awake in the morning and that all memory of this will have fled. But you will not, Lewarrin Grimmer. You will remember, and you will see my mark, and that will make you think aplenty.”

A white like exploded in the gnome’s head, sending him reeling into unconsciousness.

 

A new perspective…

Lew made his way carefully down the stairs at the Oakenwood Inn. The blasted dream wouldn’t go away. It bothered him that the tortured musings of his own mind were causing him distress and he wondered if perhaps… just perhaps… he was losing his mind. Was this what it was like—hearing coherent voices in your head that told you to do things that any rational person would reject, or more likely never hear in the first place?

He hopped up on a stool by the board and motioned to the innkeeper, then asked for some breakfast. The man gave him a strange look, but in a moment he had a plate full of peppery chopped potatoes and onions mixed with old ham that looked and smelled quite delicious after days of travel and battle. He made his way across the inn to a large table where a few of his fellows were already enjoying their breakfast.

“Wa..what’s that on your beard Lew?” the lad who went by the name ‘Wart’ asked. His stutter had diminished significantly since Lew had met the boy. The army should never have let him enlist, and that was the simple truth. He was good in a fight, but his innocence and naiveté were more of a curse than a blessing at time.

The gnome looked down at his curly, black beard. There was something in it he could not quite make out. He grabbed the beard and held it out where he could see it clearly. The blood in his veins froze. Some of the hairs were woven in a complex design that looked something like a figure with wings upswept, and the hairs were white as snow.  After a moment  staring at his beard , he noticed that the others were staring at him.

He grinned, weakly. “I must have had more to drink last night than I thought,” he mumbled, appearing to dismiss the matter and focus on his meal. But the food could as well have been shoe leather for all he tasted it. His thoughts were focused on the remember conversation with The Dawnflower.

When he was finished, he dismissed himself and went back into the stable yard. A moment later, the large, black-and-white striped form of Kitteh shimmered into being after he performed a simple ritual. Lew threw his arms around the beasts neck and hugged it fiercely.

“I am so sorry Kitteh! I will never ask you to suffer through that again! Please forgive me!”

“There is nothing to forgive. I chose where and when I will fight. That I always choose what you would choose for me to do simply proves that we are of like mind.”

“If I could have given you more of my blood, I would have. You were magnificent!”

“You gave too much. You put yourself in great danger. If you die, you will not come back.”

“I did what I had to do old friend. Here, let me heal what wounds remain.”

“I have no need. The Mother held me in Her arms and made me whole.”

“What… how… who is this ‘mother’?”

“She is the Bearer of the Light, the Glo…”

“She’s real?”

“She is.”

“She is one of your people then?”

“No, we are her people.”

“Wait, so you’re… female?”

“Quite. I am surprised you have not figure this out already.”

“Avanada,” the gnome said, as if trying a new coat on for size, “why did you not tell me?”

“You did not ask, and it did not matter. My devotion to you is not predicated upon gender.”

“But I love you, yet I love Lidya, and I must keep faith in that.”

“When you give love someone, does your capacity to love then diminish? Do you love your son less for loving your wife?”

“No, but my love for them is different from one to the other.”

“Of course, and yet if you had a dozen children, you would love them all as you love the one. There is no limit to the heart’s capacity.  I do not threaten your relationship with Lidya. I love her as well.”

“Okay fine, but do me a favor and don’t tell Lidya that you’re female.”

“You wish that I not let the cat out of the bag?”

“Ahhhh… funny. Yes, I wish it. Gnome women can be remarkably stubborn when it comes to whom they consider to be competition.”

“The Mother marked you, here on your beard.”

“Yes I know. I don’t suppose she told you what she wants from me?”

“Of course. I will be a part of this, a necessary part.”

“I don’t understand. Why does she require anything from you to grant me a bit of her power?”

“Do you know of those of your craft called ‘melders’?”

“Synthesists? Summoners who fuse themselves with their eidolon’s?”

“Yes. These are the ones of whom I speak. This is something like what you and I must do.”

“No. I will not subsume you. It would be like killing you permanently.”

“It does not work that way. Even melders lose their eidolon when they sleep. But what I am describing to you is much more profound. The binding will take place in stages, and I will be assumed, not subsumed. But the process will be permanent.”

“I don’t understand this! Why is any of this necessary?”

“Your mind is too flawed to act as a vessel for The Mother’s essence. By melding, bit by bit, I prepare your flesh for her presence. You will eventually learn faith in The Mother, or we will all of us face our doom. But I have faith in you, Lewarrin. You are a good man, and too honest to deny that which is obvious in front of your face.”

“I cannot bear to lose you! I cannot imagine living my life without you.”

“I will always be there in your thoughts, even after binding. We will speak with each other just as we always have. If you wish, I can exclude a shard of my essence from the binding to maintain a physical presence. The Mother thought you might need such an artifice.”

“I’m torn… Avanada. Since the day I first summoned you, I have never imagined that my life would ever be anything other than you and me, together, dealing with whatever life throws at us. I know you say this will be just as good, but how can you know? What if it’s nothing like it was?”

“I know because The Mother tells me.”

“What if she’s wrong?”

“I have faith that what she says is so.”

“What if I die?”

“Then we both die.”

“You don’t understand. I cannot ask you to make such a terrible sacrifice. It is unfair.”

“It is you who do not understand. When I accepted your summons, I bound myself to you for good or ill. If you were to die this day, I would not survive past the next. Nor would I wish to.”

“Well you’re wrong about that.”

“I am wrong about what?”

“I understand perfectly. I could no more go on without you than could go on without me. If this is your wish—not hers; yours—then I will accept it.”

“It is Her wish and mine. Thank you for agreeing. She was not certain and you would. It was no surprise to me. I have the faith in you that She lacks, just as I have the faith in Her that you lack.”

 

A bump in the road…

Lew was so lost in thought that he completely forgot to be a mediocre rider and sat the great, white cat like he was born to the saddle. Those who looked to see what was wrong with the usually chatty gnome quickly recognized his over-the-mountain stare at nothing in particular and left him alone to his contemplation. Even Barb, known for never missing an opportunity to say or do the wrong thing, honored the bearded gnome’s unspoken desire for solitude and drifted off on a remembrance of his own—one involving a large yet not-completely-unattractive woman back at the Oakenwood Inn.

“Is it not a glorious morning for a ride, Lewarrin Grimmer?”

Lew twisted in his saddle toward the voice. A gnome woman of unsurpassed beauty with large, white-feathered wing and riding upon a cat much like Kitteh other than the fact it was wreathed in merrily burning flame rode beside him and slightly behind. She smiled.

The gnome fell from the white cat, making no attempt to roll or break his fall. He lay there stunned for a minute while Kitteh looked down at him quizzically. Suddenly, a large hand grabbed him by the coat and hauled him to his feat.

“Less drink and more sleep will keep you from falling out of the saddle Lew,” the warrior Nash said with a chuckle. Lew shook his head and beat the dust off himself. The burning cat and beautiful gnome woman sat on the side of the road, waiting for him. Nobody else in the group so much as looked at her.

Lew remounted Kitteh with as much dignity as he could scrounge and resumed his riding. The burning cat fell into an easy lope next to him.

“Am I so repulsive, Lewarrin Grimmer?” the voice asked playfully. Her lips moved to the words, but the sound wasn’t coming from her mouth. It was forming in his head.

“I wasn’t expected you, Dawnflower,” he thought at her, “Your form is absolutely perfect, as you must know, but it’s only a trick.”

“I find it amusing how such ‘tricks’ can often accomplish things that an army could not.”

“A very Gnomish philosophy, m’lady. Have you studied among the small-folk?”

“You Gnomes are not predisposed to worship. Neither are you predisposed to infamy. As a people, you are better and safely left alone.”

“Not worth the trouble?”

“Rather, a poor investment of my time, for the most part. There are exceptions of course.”

“Me? Even among Gnomes, I am considered remarkably irreligious.”

“It is not you opinions, but your spirit and kindness that make you suitable, Lewarrin Grimmer.”

“Has Avanada kept no confidence from you?”

“There is little she could tell me that I cannot surmise simply by looking at you, or looking at her. You are the sum of your experiences, young one, and I miss nothing.”

“Doesn’t that cat get hot?”

“You need not hide your discomfort behind humor with me Lewarrin Grimmer. You have no secrets from me. I know you from your most depraved moment to your most enlightened, and yet I believe that you can serve me well in spite of your many failings.”

“Well I’m baffled why you would spend time on such a fixer-upper like me who doesn’t believe you are more than just very skilled in magic.”

“I cannot teach you to understand that in a short time, Lewarrin Grimmer. Such a lesson is learned from within, and with the passing of time.”

“Do you get a lot of converts by alluding to the mysteries of life?”

Her face turned to the front. Each new angle was more achingly beautiful than the last. Lew felt a wave of profound sadness sweep over him. It made him feel harsh and cruel.

“Look, I’m sorry for being an ass. I may not believe you’re a goddess, but it is plain that you are the closest thing to one. Avanada loves you without reservation, and I would lay down my life for her a thousand times.”

“This thing that she has chosen to do cannot be undone. She will be bound to you unto death. When you pass through the veil, she passes with you.”

“She said as much.”

“Did she tell you that unbound she would almost certainly live as long as five Gnomes could hope to?”

Lew stiffened in the saddle and set his jaw fiercely. “I will not permit it. I will not be a party to it.”

“Who are you to command what she may or may not do? She is counted as wise among a wise people. She understands the stakes. She knows something of what will happen if you fail. She knows the cost, even if you succeed. But she is not afraid. She has made a courageous and selfless decision, but you, who say you love her, would take her choice from her and bend her to your will.”

“It isn’t like that at all. She is doing what she thinks you want her to do.”

“Of course she is. Have you never sacrificed for someone you loved?”

“Yes, but I do not put my loved ones in a position to sacrifice for me if I can help it.”

“No life is diminished by self-sacrifice. Are you the only one competent to make decisions, Lewarrin Grimmer, or do you trust those you love to decide for themselves?”

“You have a talent for arguing me into a corner with nowhere left to go.”

“The truth is a narrow path, Lewarrin Grimmer. Close your eyes but a moment and you will stray. Yet if you keep your eyes open, it is a simple matter to stay upon it.”

“You know that people are more willing to listen to your words when you don’t wallop them about the head and shoulders with them right?”

“I find it best if you resist with all your strength. Then when you break, you will be truly broken.”

“So I’m just a beast to be tamed to the bridle?”

“More a spoiled child, best handled by turning your own tiresome insolence back against you.”

“Ah-ha, I see what you did there.”

“As you were intended to.”

“And again!”

“You are too clever for me Lewarrin Grimmer. I will have to resort to more subtle methods to get you to recognize the truth.”

“Such as?”

“Such as letting you figure things out on your own.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

She slowed and then stopped, the reach out and grasped Lew by the shoulder. This close, she was infinitely more lovely than before, but her face was grim.

“I do not begrudge you your humor Lewarrin Grimmer, but understand that this business you are about is no game. There is no turning back from this path. It will be hard to make yourself worthy of Avanada’s sacrifice, but you must be no less than that.”

Lew’s gaze turned inward for a time. After a moment, he put his hand upon hers and looked into her eyes. “It is always easier to die for someone that to live for them, isn’t it Dawnflower?”

She studied him for a moment, then pulled his curly haired head toward her and kissed him on the forehead. “You are a good man, Lewarrin Grimmer, and not nearly as dense as you seem.”

He smiled as they began riding again. “I get that a lot.”

They rode for a bit, catching up to the others. Wart looked back at Lew with concern clearly on his face. The boy worried every time anyone behaved at all oddly, and Lew expected his behavior today seemed exceedingly odd. He smiled at the lad reassuringly. Wart did not seem reassured.

“I will take my leave now, Lewarrin Grimmer. The road ahead is treacherous. I need not tell you this but I will, for you must never forget. Too much depends upon you and your companions.”

“I hear you, Dawnflower, but don’t you need to zap me or something?”

“You’ve already been zapped young man. Do you think Goddesses bandy about kisses like a common tavern skirt?”

She smiled warmly one last time, then faded away like a morning mist, along with her burning cat.

He suddenly became aware of Kitteh’s thoughts, though he hadn’t realized they’d been silent.

“She was here, wasn’t She?”

“Yes my Avanada, she was very much here.”

“She has that effect on me as well. Tell me, is it done?”

“It is. Any regrets?”

“Never. I don’t feel any different though.”

“I would say you don’t look any different, but you change appearance the way most people change their clothes.”

“She says I will diminish steadily until I’m just a puffball.”

“You will be a well-cared-for puffball.”

“I’m not bothered by the idea of being small. But I’m going to miss ripping the limbs off of orcs.”

Lew reached down and scratched the large cat behind the ear. “That’s my girl.”

 

We left Tradefree today bound for Avilton and Emmery Dock with full packs and ten gold sovereigns in each of our pockets, and a promise of ten more upon successful delivery of the writs within three weeks. That should be easy enough. Praamador is not that large a place and if we walk three miles each hour for seven hours a day, we can make an easy twenty miles per day and make it  in fourteen or fifteen days if this map is accurate. No matter, after seven years indentured to Mog the not-quite-so-Magnificent, I would happily do the job for free and forgoe the bonus just to get as far away from his bad breath and pompous pontificating as possible. If I never see the windy gasbag again, it will be too soon. I have taken the moniker “Ebuldev” as my arcanist’speligram. Much better than Mog by any standard. We only made fourteen miles but we’re just getting our “road legs” about us and should get better in time.

Okay, help me understand. People actually do this–“walking” routinely, even when not under the threat of death? Insane. Today was worse than yesterday and we barely made it to Baroontok in spite of pushing past dark. Nathanial, that’s our sword swinger and self-appointed moral guidepost, says this is the easy part. Ha! Easy my aching feet! He thinks because his father is a farmer that he has some kind of corner on home-grown wisdom or something. This is going to be a long trip. My other companions are Rachel, a rather attractive sneak thief, Glom, a “dwarf from da norf” and every bit the sour-puss his kind are reputed to be, and one Friar Magden of Bogwood, a fat old man who drinks.

It started raining today, only a drizzle, but the road turned to mud in less than an hour. A lot of traders come and go here, no surprise, but they tear up the road something fierce. They should take a holiday when it rains and let decent folk go about their business without having to tiptoe around the blasted ruts!! If I never have another boot sucked off my foot, it will have been a dozen too many. We made maybe nine miles today, and that was brutal. I can’t see how adventuring ever got a good reputation.

Saints protect me! This was the most horrible day of my life! We made it to the Lake Road cross just as the rain picked up and got cold. Four road bandits came out from behind trees as if from nowhere and held crossbows pointed at us. They weren’t like just some guys from around town. They were dirty and mangy and mean, and you could look in their eyes and see that they just wanted to rob us and slit our throats. You hear stories about Baynard of Habscow and how he steals gold from wealthy travelers and gives it to the needy, but these men weren’t like that. They kill for a living and you could tell they were good at it. The meanest looking one told us to put our purses and weapons on the ground and they would let us go. I prayed the others would do it, but they didn’t. Glomsaid some foul things and threw  his shield in thief faces. Bolts went flying and Rachel took one in the side and went down screaming like I have never heard anyone scream. I wet myself but I stood my ground and fought. I shot the leader with a dart and he was on me faster than anything I have ever seen. I thought I was going to die, but Glom was there of a sudden and his axe cut the man’s belly open. His guts were blue and they spilled on my feet. I threw up. I couldn’t even smell anything but they were blue. Blue? 

A silver mark to stay at the inn in Blue Lake. Outrageious, but I would have paid a gold after walking through the cold rain all day. We did pass a merchant headed to Tradefree but I’m feeling a lot better about our great victory against the bandits yesterday. I have to learn to take care of myself and avoid getting killed. I’m going to find a shield in this town and start carrying it around in case someone comes at me again. That and I am going to stand further back. 

The merchants at the inn told us that Broke Axel Road was impossible. We didn’t really believe them, but after an hour in that direction, we turned around. We saw a horse up to his whithers. Went south to River’s Edge instead. Nice place if a bit rowdy. They have some rooms here but they were taken so we slept in the loft and paid a silver to sleep away from the rain. Rachel was able to find two canoes for sale and we decided to paddle up the river through Wyrlyr’n Forest. Should be able to portage from the Lothendelle to the Erinwadle in a day and then down-stream to the Chessing.

Five days after the capture of Duke Christophe at Jasra's Chasm, in the village of Merrybrook in southern Belcar. Most of the people of the village have gathered to hear the beautiful boy, who is rumored to be an avenger of Pelor as well as a Knight of Veseareus, speak. A dozen or more of the gallant knights of Diston keep are tending their mounts on the north side of the village square. They are all business, but frequently glance to where the Mayor's podium has been set upon the platform, which was just hauled out from the storehouse not moments ago. 

At the front of the crowd, a few folding wooden chairs have been arrayed front and center. The portly mayor and his equally cherubic wife sit in two of the chairs, and a local Lord from River Run and his Lady are in attendance as well, their fine clothing providing a stark contrast to the villagers behind them.

On the south side of the square, a knot of grim-looking men appear to be having a quiet-but-heated debate next to their horses. One of the men standing in that group seems vaguely familiar, but his face is bruised and sullen, difficult to make out. His hands are bound together in front of him. The argument abruptly ends and a tall man bedecked in armor that gleams with a warm, inner light approaches the platform. The faces of those left behind are calm and without apparent emotion. They are as impressively appareled as the tall man, and one among them is eerily beautiful to look upon, though his face is somewhat gaunt and his eyes burn with the light of a fanatic. Could this be the "boy" that everyone is talking about?

But no. When the tall man reaches the podium, he takes the helmet from his head with both hands and gently places is upon the platform next to him. He stands and the gathered crowd takes a collective breath. There is no doubt that this is the boy. His face has the ethereal beauty of an angel. His long, red hair is rumpled from the helm, yet serves to accentuate the fineness of his features and the never-shaved smoothness of his skin.

A furious plague of whispers breaks out in the crowd. The boy's armor is enameled with the ancient sun emblem of the Knights of Veseareus, completely contained within the more-ancient sun emblem of Pelor, bronze on bright gold upon a white field. He seems to embody the essence of the old order and the eternal order in one person. The boy reaches his gauntleted hands toward the sky. "Great Father Pelor, Lord of sunshine and good harvests, I beseech you to aid me in speaking to your flock that they might hear me and believe." A visible glow springs up around the boy and then recedes.

"Come," he motions to those toward the back of the crowd, "Gather in toward me that I might share with you the blessings of Pelor and banish your afflictions." The crowd immediately begins jostling as some push their way toward the front. Nobody retreats though. Not all seem convinced but few are without their aches and pains and they don't wish to be left out if there is any benefit to be received. "Father, bless these people, your flock, and take from them their illness and hurts. They have ahead of them a trying time and will need their wits and their strong arms to aid them," with that, the boy sweeps his arms to either side and a visible wave of energy rolls out away from him, reaching to the back of the crowd. Two women fall to their knees and are helped up by those standing nearest. More than one careworn face in the crowd shows a tear as they react to what they have felt. Pains so old that they have been forgotten become starkly evident again when they are abruptly gone. One old codger toward the rear who'd long ago accepted that his days were numbered began blurting out "Praise Pelor!" at odd and inappropriate moments. Nobody seemed bothered.

The boy has everyone's attention now.

"Greetings and well-met, people of Merrybrook… Mayor Kitstock and his lovely missus, Lord Jon Haggart and Lady Melia Haggart. I thank you for lending me a moment of your valuable time, for I have news of great moment that I wish to share." Though the horsemen had been traveling with the boy for the better part of a week, they leaned forward visibly as he begins warming into his speech.

"My name is Theodore Ruuk. I am an avowed knight-errant of Veseareus. This emblem declares that allegiance. This greater emblem declares my allegiance to Pelor, to whom I pledge my life and my soul. The emblem of the order of Veseareus is completely contained by the emblem of Pelor, for all that the Knights stand for is contained within the beliefs of Pelor. If a Knight of Veseareus goes against Pelor, he has, by definition, gone against the Order, just as a farmer who sleeps to mid-day has gone against the precepts of his vocation."

"I belabor this point because it is fundamental to what I must tell you. Every man has two codes. He has the formal code of behavior that his occupation demands. He also has the code of his character–the code of behavior that he observes. Much that is wrong with Laramis today is inherent in this juxtaposition. When a man's character permits him to stray beyond the borders of his duty, he becomes corrupt and ineffective–even contrary–in those duties."

"This applies whether a man is born low, and you and I were, or high, as the Lord Haggart was. All men have a duty and an obligation to fulfill it, whether it be to till the earth, to sit a throne, or to pound an anvil."

"My companions and I have a duty as well. Our duty is to see the rightful King of Laramis crowned. We do not know who this man might be, or whether he will be a man of Belcar, or Edas, Kramus or even the Wastelands, but we do know what he will be. He will be a man to whom the station of King will be the greatest opportunity to serve the many good people of Laramis to their greatest benefit, and not one who sees the throne as an instrument to bend the people of Laramis to his will and for his benefit. If you are one who believes that the duty of the people to their King is servitude, I ask that you leave now, for my words will not fall kindly upon your ears."

The crowd murmured and stirred for brief moment, but none made to walk away. No man volunteers for slavery after all.

"I am heartened to see that the men and women of Merrybrook remain free in their hearts, and do not easily bend to the yoke. But not all in Laramis agree. I must tell you a story that show an example of one who disagrees most vehemently with what you and I believe."

"First I will introduce the characters. I and my friend Link who stands there yonder are Edassians by birth. Fleet and his following man are tribesmen from the Maze Mountains. Bliz is a white elf from the Wastelands. Roevar is from Kramus. We have another companion from Belcar and one from Edas, who are not traveling with us today. We are a diverse group, as any can see, but one that has suffered many losses since the start of the orc uprising."

"Blessed Broth Milos was slain by a Dragon in the Maze Mountains. Salvador Damingo fell in the Great Forest. A'rok Jonatan Bernardo died in the Battle of Brewford. We lost the white elf Dreyefel to the cave giants of Jagsra's Chasm. The dwarf Tanu'uk was killed by the demon-men who haunt the depths of the earth. But the lost companion that I wish to tell you about is Tucco, the Druid of the Great Forest."

"Tucco joined us in that great expanse of ancient wood to the east, where many have gone and few returned. He was a good and steadfast companion and we would not have lived through the travails of the Swamp of Evernight without him. It was he who bore a relic of great power for us for the benefit of Laramis after it was taken from the dead hand of the Orc Warlord, Grush, the perpetrator of the uprising. No man may claim to own a storied item of such power, only bear it as nobly as possible in the service of all men."

"And yet there was one man who sought to own it for his own power, though it was not entrusted in him, and he shed not his blood to obtain it. He sought to do murder and then thieve it for himself. To our great despair, he succeeded in the first, if not the last. We know not who gave the order, but we will give you the information that we have so that you may judge for yourself."

"Tucco was lured off by a mysterious message in River Run and was killed before the rest of us could locate and rescue him. He fought to the end and slew one of his captors, but the others overcame and murdered him with knives. We arrived hot upon their crime and managed to slay another as they fled, with their hands still bloody."

"We found upon the body of one of the assassins the mark of a long forgotten guild of muderers for hire, the Dagger Eye guild. I have here a bit of the hide of that monster, preserved for your evidence. Please pass it around and my pardon to the ladies here. The last one killed was recognized by a local man as a member of Baron Hamilton Jovus' personal bodyguard. We have since confirmed that identification with numerous others."

"We knew that Baron Jovus had issued a warrant for our arrest before Tucco was murdered. That warrant charged us with the crime of spying for Edas, which we knew was a charge of convenience, as we'd done no such thing. This charge was the excuse that Baron Jovus used to justify his declaration of war against Edas. That declaration was false. It was part of a plan to force Edas to its knees so that Baron Jovus might strip it of its wealth and declare himself King of all Laramis."

"Baron Jovus charged his son, Duke Christophe, with the duty of carrying out our capture and arrest, among other things. We believe that it is Duke Christophe that revived the ancient band of assassins and dispatched them to murder Tucco and retrieve the artifact. We had evidence, but not proof, that this was so."

"We do know that it was Duke Christophe that dispatched Judge Tantalor to kill my companions, but the Judge underestimated their abilities and was himself slain."

"When my companions returned to the East after stumbling upon and slaying a Paladin of Neruul and his cult near the Chasm, they found a battle raging between Belcarian and Edassian forces. You have all heard of this battle no doubt, but I would have you know that the mighty army of Belcar was not defeated by superior forces or more skilled warriors–Edas was all but beaten when my companion arrived. General Bernardo had been slain and the Edassians fought what they knew was a battle they must lose. I know their mind because I was one of them. General Bernardo's blood spilled upon me when he fell. We were a wretched lot."

"But the companions arrived and slew Judge Wellington and Belcar's General, though General Bernardo's son A'rok was himself slain. The Belcarian army's heart was broken. Knowing their cause was not just, they lost the will to continue butchering their fellow Laramisians and retreated to the west, leaving the field to Edas. Let me reiterate. Belcar chose to quit the field; they were not routed."

"Two fine generals and countless brave soldiers died upon that bloody ground–the price of Hamilton Jovus' greed and ambition. You must judge for yourself the righteousness of his actions, but I have judged for myself and found him wanting."

A scuffle breaks out on the north side of the square between the bound man and those holding him. It is brief.

"I joined my companions after the battle, admittedly a poor replacement for the fallen A'rok Bernardo. Alas, duty does not always call upon us to replace lesser men. We journeyed again to the west to retrieve another relic from the depths of Jagsra's Chasm."

"We fought through great dogs that breath fire; wall-climbing giants that rend men in two with their powerful arms, and demon men called 'Cambions' that dwell deep in the dark heart of the world. We befriended a small scavenger who led us to the lair of Jagsra where we slew his dragon and then brought down Jagsra himself."

"But Jagsra is immortal and cannot be slain my man or beast. When we bested him, he was forced to give us the relic that we sought. This relic rightfully belongs to the True King of Laramis, and will be surrendered to him after he is coronated."

"When we emerged from the Chasm, we were confronted by none other than Christophe and a platoon of heavy horse, along with the two living Judges left to Laramis and their men. We showed to them the Great Shard of Krandasius, and the Judges both confessed that the time of the Judges had come and gone, and they rode off with their men to rule Laramis no more."

"Duke Christophe, your patron and master, Lord Haggart, demanded the Shard from us and tried to take it by force. But his men knew thievery when they saw it, these fine Knights of Diston Keep, and they ceased their assault when the Duke was defeated. Again, they were not beaten by military prowess, but convinced by their own sense of decency and goodness to stop. We saved the Duke from death and he stands there, our prisoner being conveyed to a place where he will be given a fair trial, witnessed by these soldiers and such dignitaries from Belcar as choose to attend. He is charged with murder by proxy and attempted theft by proxy. He is further charged with attempted murder and attempted theft. You may not be accustomed to the high being subject to the law the same as the low, but that is natural law, and one that the True King of Laramis will see to."

"You may look upon me with a sly eye and wonder who this 'True King' might be, and wouldn't it be cozy if he happened to be a man of Edas? I tell you in the name of Pelor that I do not know who this man might be. I do know that those who toil to reunite Laramis under the True King are from all lands, and that all lands will have fair say in who is chosen. Our King will not be a despot. He will not be a thief or a murderer. He will live by the law and be subordinate to the law as all men must be. Our King will love the good men of each land equally, Kramus as well as the Wastelands, Belcar as well as Edas."

"We, my companions as well as the Knight of Veseareus, beseech you to hold to what is true and right in your hearts and to accept no sovereign who seeks to reign for his own sake. I do not ask that you march in open rebellion of your Baron, only that you abide until the time comes to make a choice, and then to choose wisely. I ask you to do nothing that is not righteous in Pelor's eyes, only that you see clearly and without presumption."

"Thank you good people of Merrybrook, Mayor, Missus Kitsock, Lord and Lady Haggart, for hearing me out. I wish you the best of fortune in your dealings and depart from you in peace. I will remain in Merrybrook only long enough to answer any questions that any of you may have and then we must ride. Pelor's blessings to you my friends and countrymen."

As the boy picks up his helmet and returns to his companions, a group of people from the crowd follow him, including the Lord and Lady Haggart. For the next hour, many questions are asked of him and the others, although Duke Christophe has to be gagged early on after far too many threats. When the companions mount and ride away, many in Merrybrook are left pondering the days to come and what their role should be in the future.

 

Theodore awoke with a start. For a moment, his mind dulled by sleep, he was unable to make sense of what he saw. Then it came back to him in a tumbled rush: underground, Ygsra’s Chasm, the elf of the wastelands dead, his body ripped open by the savage cave-dwelling giants.

The dry heat was tolerable but oppressive in its monotony. Sweat and grit in equal measure coated his exposed skin. They’d all taken such a beating in that fight, but the death of the elf seemed to take something from the others that they were clinging to desperately, some feeling of hope perhaps that this fight was survivable. Dreyafel had been with them from the start, and now he was dead. First A’rok, then Drey, before the damage to their hearts could heal.

There, in the dim light to his right, a movement. Straining his eyes, Theodore could just make out the dwarf, Tanu’uk, slowly rocking back and forth while rubbing his calloused hand on the storied flail from the city of the dead. Talsma must have all the charm of this place, and could not be more deadly. The dwarf peered intently into the darkness, his miner’s eyes able to see as a man might see at dusk.

There, on the opposite side of the cavern, slept the Cleric, Roevar. He worshipped Vecna, and Theodore had decided from the moment they met that he’d have to kill him. Theodore was given by ritual in his initiation ceremony the ability to see the evil in a man manifest as a nimbus of sickly yellow light around him, but when he gazed upon the sleeping man, there was nothing. That should indicate that he was not, in fact, an evil man, but it wasn’t that simple. A priest would always manifest an aura as his God would, and Roevar’s God was evil. He was disguising himself. Why made little sense. He should manifest evil, and he must know that Theodore and Jorack would expect him to, even if he was not. But Vecna is the damnable God of secrets, and any priest of his would keep a secret when letting it out would serve him better.

Slowly, so as not to draw the dwarf’s attention, he slid the blade of his hand-and-a-half sword from its sheath. His stocking feet made no noise as he gingerly picked his way across the cavern, perhaps five yards across. Here by the cleric he was out of the dwarf’s sight.

Quietly, Theodore said a few short catechisms. They were simple rituals that provoked profound affects upon him and his weapon—fortifying him, protecting him. He was filled with the power of Pelor, the Sun God, and few could stand against him. A short prayer and his blade began to glow with a blue light. The intricate lattice of ice crystals that perpetually coated the blade stood out in bold relief as the light shone through them. The never-dull edge of the blade always appeared sharp as a razor, but now it gleamed to make a razor seem blunt.

He knew some of the others might try to stop him, but others would not, and one might even attempt to help. But this filthy cleric was a cancer in their group and he must die if the group was to survive. Theodore knew he had to do this thing before it was too late. There would never be a better opportunity. He raised the glowing blade high and felt his arm shoulder and side muscles bunch with the effort of the start of his swing.  It was a powerful feeling, enhanced by the considerable blessings bestowed on him by Pelor’s beneficence.

A searing flare of light appeared to the left. There was no pain; no noise, just the flare. Theodore immediately came about to face this new threat. Standing down the corridor stood a man of light, gleaming in the darkness with a pure and white glow, his face a thing of unearthly beauty and majestic white wings protruding above his shoulders. Magnificent.

Slowly, the wings spread out, unfurled, at least twelve feet from tip to tip. “I would speak with you for a time, young Theodore,” the voice struck his mind like painless slaps, a voice humming with power and dignity, vibrant with both hope and threat. The angel extended his hand.

Theodore fell to his knees and pressed his forehead against the uneven stone. Suddenly, a warm hand, infinitely strong, grasped his should and raised him up. “My name is Moh’gel and you will not bow to me. I am not Him. He told me not to come to you. I have defied Him by coming here.”

Hesitating, Theodore reached out to the angel. The large hand enveloped his, and then they were somewhere else. It was a great hall, unlike any he’d seen in life, but one such as he would imagine could be made only if the elves conspired with the dwarves to make something that pleased them both. Gleaming pillars of white marble, carved with an intricate lattice of such delicacy and precision as to make all other sculptures seem gross and malformed by comparison, stretch a hundred spans to a ceiling of grand arches forming kaleidoscopic patterns.

“Is this…. Is this His hall?” the young paladin stammered, overawed.

“It is mine, young Theodore,” the pulsating voice struck him again, as if some rod of infinite force had been laid upon his soul, just to impress, not to harm. “His is beyond your capacity to understand, or to comprehend. To see it would destroy you. Please sit,” Moh’gel gestured to a comfortable divan that had not been them a moment before.

Theodore sat promptly, his wits having finally caught up through the shocks of this place and this being.

“I know what mission you are on, young Theodore,” the angle said, without further preamble, “and I do not approve of it. You would slay that priest, based on a suspicion, but though the priest would be dead, suspicion would thrive after you slew him, and it would slay you all.”

“But…”

“I will speak Theodore. Do not interrupt me again,” Moh’gel admonished, interrupting his objection, “You believe that you have been given sanction by the Knights, but you hear what you wish to hear. Their instruction to you was to save this party; to do what you must to make it whole again. You have been too long mulling the idea of ‘doing what you must’ and not enough time pondering the goal you wish to achieve. To achieve unity among your new brothers, you must form a bond. If you destroy one of them, even one that some among you suspect of foul intent, you will have put unity beyond any recovery, and the quest must then fail.”

“Tell me Theodore, have your vows to the Knights caused you to forget who your Master is?”

“No Most Holy, I would die a thousand deaths in agony if He wished it!”

“You would die for him, and yet you kill for them, though they did not ask it of you.”

Theodore began to speak and visibly restrained himself.

“Though you are but a child, you are no longer innocent and must learn responsibility for your actions, as you will be judged by them. It is good that you are capable of learning and changing your behavior when shown the error of your ways. Murder is a sin that cannot be forgiven, even if sanctioned by your mortal masters, even if committed against one who is almost certainly deserving of death. Almost is not sufficient. You must know or you must relent!”

“He loves you, young Theodore, with the love of a father for a favored son. He loves you, but He despairs that the harm done to you whilst in His care is beyond His ability to heal. Alas, He has been too long from the close presence of men, and has forgotten the strength that is their salvation. I have not forgotten, and therefore I do my Father’s work for His benefit, though I may be punished for it. Our father is most merciful however, and I expect I will be forgiven for my transgression.”

“I believe your heart is still pure, young Theodore, but tilting on the edge of corruption, and that it is better to put you back upon the path of the righteous than to allow you the freedom of damning yourself. Understand that I care not for the fate of this sinful priest. I care for those in your brotherhood who depend upon you and who all of mankind depend upon. I care for the many good and righteous people of this world. Most, I care about you, as I am your Mach Denar.”

Theodore rose, knees trembling, and embraced Moh’gel. His head barely reach the angel’s chest. Moh’gel  gently folded his arms and wings around the young paladin and, for a moment at least, it seemed that the nimbus of light around the angel extended to him as well.

Theodore felt something deep inside his chest fuse together as if it had been broken for so long that he’d forgotten it was there. He felt suffused with light—with hope and joy and all of the goodness that he didn’t know he had left behind. The air around him began to shimmer until there was nothing but inescapable, undeniable light.

Suddenly he stood in the darkness again, the familiar dry, hot air of the cave all around him. He caught himself before he fell. His sword glowed blue still.

There was a rustle of movement at his feet. “If you’re going to kill me with that thing boy, would you hurry up and get it over with? If not, please put it back in its sheath so I can sleep. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow and I need my rest if I’m going to be any good to anyone.”

Theodore felt the heat of shame on his face. “I am so sorry Master Roevar,” the young paladin said earnestly. He knelt down and put his hand up on the old priests head and let the divinity of Pelor’s grace wash away the weariness from the man’s eyes.

“You go to sleep now, and rest,” Theodore whispered, “you are safe now. You are safe.”

"Too many…. I…. my people," the old man said to himself, staring blankly through the room into the vastness of a world only he could see with his watery eyes. His words were barely audible over the creak of his rocking chair. He didn't move his gaze a bit as the big man passed in front of his chair and kneeled beside him, taking his hand.

"You are a hero to your people, Lars, and a legend to us all," the big man had grayish skin and features not well-constructed, but his voice was kind and sincere. His smile was at once startling and charming–the deep and peaceful snow after a blizzard. Lars did not acknowledge the small spectacle, but continued to rock back and forth, back and forth.

"Amon nak. Habbin nak," there was no indication that he realized his words sounded like gibberish. But the big man, though surprised, did not look confused.

"Yes, the only good orc is a dead orc, Father Krollos. But I am orc only by blood and that just a part of it. I am the orphan of a raid as well, just like the crying baby in the stories."

A moment passed.

"Baby… the world is cold and gray as ash, but the baby is hot and fire red. He died…"

"No, Father Krollos, he did not die. You saved him. You named him Chance and he leads your people."

"Chance," the name came out a sob, "His first and my last. I couldn't save him."

"You saved him just fine Lars, just fine," the big man replied, squeezing the old man's hand once more before standing and going to rejoin the conversation at the other end of the room.

Slowly, back and forth, back and forth, the weathered chair rocked. Minutes passed. The sound of spring rain began pattering on the wooden shingles.

"He saved me," the old man said to himself, as a tear rolled down his dry cheek.

The blade of grass broke the shackles of the ice and snow and stretched toward the sun.  Spring was coming and soon the snows of the Spine would melt and the nearby river would be gorged with churning water.  A well muscled chestnut stallion wandered over and ripped a mouth full of the newly born grass from the ground and chewed gratefully.  Fresh greens had been long hidden on the journey from the Wastelands. 

  Upon the steed sat Shavas one of the most seasoned Elf rangers of the wasteland tundra.   His stark white hair and pale skin gave away his heritage upon first glance.  The white Elves of Madra were avoided by most and respected by all.  Their skill with bow and blade were second to none and it was said that even the dreaded blood hunters stayed clear of their path.  Shavas waited patiently for the fur wrapped human to approach as his chestnut grazed.  The four dwarves behind him took the short break to raise their skins of ale and rip off a chunk of dried meat and stale bread.

 “Greetings ranger, what brings you to this bleak and desolate place?”  The human was large by all measure and his voice was strong and confident.  He knew of the white elves and his respected them as they were do but he wasn’t custom to fear.  To live this close to the chasm and the Spine you had to be tough.

 “We seek passage into the chasm.  I am Shavas Fourwinds of house Madra.   Who might you be?”

 “Names Agrus, been trapping in the spine for nearly ten years.  Tis my first time meeting a White Elf but sadly not the first time I’ve met someone fool enough to enter  Jagsra’s chasm..  Ya know what’s down there do ya?”

 “Yes Agrus I am well aware of the Titan king of the chasm.  We seek his counsel and if refused, we seek his blood.”

 Agrus’ brow furrowed deeply.  He then looked past the White Elf at the dwarves beyond.  It was plain to see that they were hardened by many battles and their gear shone brightly in spots and glowed lowly in others.  These were not just any adventures, they were rightly trained and death gleamed in their eyes.  Still Agrus could not help a doubtful shake of his head.

 “Ya got a serious look in your eye friend and your companions look as though they could slay a thousand Orcs but it would be against my good nature not to try to get ya to think of someth’n better then going down to the Titan lair.”

 “Consider us warned friend.  Now, how about showing us the way down the chasm?”

 “One more question first.  Why would a wasteland Elf be a come’n through the Spine?  The dark lord of Grim Dragas ain’t one for folks traveling through his mountains and I’m thinking a white elf in particular would set a hot coal under his foot.”

 “The dark lord, as you call him, is no bother to me.  I travel as a light wind, neither kicking up dust nor drawing a wandering eye.  Besides, my friends here have been hardened by the Spine and fit the task at hand well.  Let’s just say their skills are especially fine tuned for dealing with a titan.”

 “Aye, I see you’re meaning Shavas Fourwinds.  Now let’s discuss the worth of what I’m about to show ya’s.”

 ————————

Grutt had been spurting out curses since the last attack. His arm had been broken in three places and he was none too happy about it.  The Chasm giants they had encountered did not fight like typical giants.  Their strength and size was a match to their above land brothers but they moved with a quickness that at first had taken the dwarves by surprise. 

The human, Agrus, had led them to a hidden entrance to the chasm that would have taken months for them to find on their own.  They had left their horses behind and begun the difficult travel through the uneven tunnels down into the chasm.  Shavas had let Grutt lead the way as Dwarves eyes are much better in the nearly complete darkness in which they traveled. 

 It was Drin that first smelled the giants and gave warning, nearly too late mind you, but a warning it was.

 “We got trouble lads, on your axes and keep you wits about yas!” 

Three giants came rushing in from the side halls that intersected the path. The giants wore no armor but they had great agility, using large hands and feet to grip rock as if they were empowered with spider climb.  Grutt turned with his axe just as one of the giants flew in, feet first.  The massive feet grabbed Grutt by his arm and shoulder as easily has his father might back when he was a small one in the clan.  The momentum of the giant slammed Grutt to the ground there was a loud snap as his arm broke and twisted in a gruesome unnatural way.

 Magis and Krod had readied themselves and were facing the western hall.  The giant coming towards them had missed the timing just a bit and had lost the element of surprise.  Still both dwarves stared in disbelief as the large giant both ran and pulled himself along the wall with amazing speed; alternating between his feet and his free hand to fly along the floor and walls.  The giant’s style was more like that of an ape than a giant but the dwarves supposed it bled the same color red as every other giant they had killed in their long careers.

 The giant caught Magis’ axe in the shoulder as he rushed in and that was quickly followed by a glancing blow from Krod that nearly missed altogether.  Magis dodged skillfully as the giant tried to knock him to the ground with his feet much like what had happened to Grutt. 

 From the path straight away came the third giant.  His skin was much darker than the others and he spit curses as he raced down the hall.  He grabbed the wall with his feet near Grutt and the giant now standing on top of him and launched himself ahead towards Drin and Shavas.  Shavas fired three arrows at once, connecting twice with great precision.  The giant seemed not to notice.  Drin had been ready too and connected a solid blow with his axe into the giants’ chest.  Not many naturally living things could have taken the combination of damage and lived, but this giant seemed none the worse for it.  He had pushed off the wall with a mighty surge of strength and came down with an over-head swing of his great club and smashed Drin in the shoulder.  Drin’s magic armor took most of the blow but the damage was still substantial. 

 The giant’s feet held Grutt in a vice, the great club slammed into his already broken arm and again the arm buckled breaking in two more places.  Grutt cursed loudly and slammed the back of his head on the stone floor in anger and frustration.  The giant grinned with delight as the dwarf remained helpless, held firm by the giant’s weight. 

 Magis and Krod seemed to be having the most success.  They moved in unison as they danced skillfully around the giant, flanking him as they swung their great axes.  The giant was proving difficult to get a solid blow on as his quickness was unlike any creature of this size they had seen before.  The giant’s club found its mark once in Krod’s stomach and then twice against Magis’ right leg.  The last blow was brutal and Magis grimaced as his leg armor buckled and cut deeply into his thigh. 

 Drin met the darker giant’s chin with the spike in the middle of his axe blade with his signature uppercut maneuver.  The six inch spike drove through the soft skin below his jaw and blood shot from his mouth.  The skilled dwarf then swung low and was shocked as the giant gracefully leapt above the arc of the blade unscathed.  Back to back retaliatory blows sent Drin back three feet in his stance, something that had not happened to him since his was a youngling. 

 Shavas had surmised that a divided approach would simply result in the death of them all.  The dark giant fighting  Drin was obviously the most skilled and seemed the most able to take damage and a lot of it.  Drin could hold his own; at least for another moment or two.  The best thing Shavas could do was try to free up some help.  It was obvious Grutt would be of little use so the white elf focused his efforts on the Giant in west hall fighting Magis and Krod. 

One after another his arrows flew true and struck the giant with a great thud.  One especially well placed shaft drove deep under his arm pit and caused the critically damaged giant to howl in pain.  Still the giant would not fall and Shavas started to think it all over as he reached back for yet another arrow.  This one gleamed a pale green light and its head sparkled with magic.

 Grutt was near death.  Once again the blood thirsty giant on top of him slammed him with his club.  Twice in the shoulder and one devastating blow to the side of his head, his helmet flew from his head and skittered across the floor.  Grutt could do little more than curse his assailant as blurred dizziness filled his eyes and the room began to fade.

 The giant fighting Magis and Krod instinctively turned as Shavas had fired arrows into his side and Krod took full advantage of his momentary lapse.  Krod’s massive arms brought the axe in a full arc from near the ground up around his head and full into the giant’s back.  He made contact with the chasm giant’s spine between his shoulder blades and buried his axe deep.  Spinal cord severed the giant dropped into a lifeless heap.

 Magis wasted no time as he leapt forward to help  Drin.  The giant’s long reach caught him by surprise as he took a blow to the ribs as he rushed in.  Off balance, he missed the dark skinned giant completely.  Shavas was yelling above the fray, “Drin, you must get to Grutt and be quick about it!”

 The dark giant wheeled on Magis and Drin took the opportunity to break away and rush to Grutt’s aid.  Meanwhile Krod stepped in and took his place opposite Magis against the giant leader. 

As Drin rushed in the giant standing on top of Grutt took one last swing landing a solid blow against the Dwarf’s unprotected head.  Satisfied the Dwarf was dead he turned to face the charging Drin.  Drin presumed that Grutt was dead and fury filled him as he leapt into the air, axe arcing over his head as he came upon the giant.  The axe hit the chasm giant squarely in the chest and his sternum shattered with the impact and the blade severed his heart.  Blood shot forth in waves completely covering both Drin and the fallen Grutt.  Glassy eyed the giant fell back his head cracking loudly against the wall.

 The tide was now fully turned.  Skilled or not, one giant was no match for the white Elf archer and three skilled Dwarves.  The dark giant managed another solid blow to Magis and a parting shot to Krod before he finally fell to a volley of arrows closely grouped around his neck and face.  The entire battle had lasted less than thirty seconds but the bloodshed and damage was massive.

 Shavas quickly ran to the battered and presumed dead Grutt.  He quickly rummaged through his backpack whispering a prayer to Corellian has he did so.  He pulled out a potion of blue liquid and poured it down the Dwarf’s throat.  A few tense seconds past by before Grutt’s eyes blinked and then opened wide.  His arm was already repairing itself and his cracked skull was mended. 

 “Ah tis good to see you live my friend.  Much too close for my liking and yours too to be sure.  I had hoped to not need the potion until we were much further along in our journey.  The stakes have gone up considerably.”

 Drin spoke up having finally caught his breath, “We need rest Shavas.  Tonight we rest and in the morning we can continue the search for this Titan you speak of.”

 

 Agrus saw the staggering white elf from a distance.  His armor was badly damaged and his right arm hung loosely by his side. His mouth filled with tabac, Agrus spit a wad of brown into the melting snow.  Pulling his donkey behind him he approached the elf, gently shaking his head as he approached.

  Shavas gave no appearance of noticing the mountain man but as he approached he dropped to his knees.  Up close the truly horrific nature of the elf’s wounds could be seen.  Several large gashes could be seen through his no tattered chain armor.  Blood trickled slowly from a few and one had caked over with puss from infection.  One hand was mutilated as if crushed in a vice and covering of bruises disguised his otherwise albino features. 

  The white elf held his bow in his good hand though there appeared to be no arrows left in his quiver.  Staring blankly ahead Shavas mumbled enough for Agrus to make out that the Dwarves had all been killed. 

 “I’m frightfully sorry to see ya in such shape good elf.  The chasm is a place of death to be sure.  I’ll be sure to say a word or two for your dwarven friends in my prayers.”

Shavas said nothing.

 “Did you at least find the Titan?”

 “No.  We never even got close.”

 Agrus said nothing else as he carefully lifted the white elf onto the back of his donkey and turned west toward the spine.

The sulfur whiff announced her presence even before the startled wave of excitement washed through his solar. For the servants and laborers that tended to the chambers and worked the stone walls and polished marble floors, the priestess was one to simply acknowledge with a bow of their head. For those less accustomed to the unnatural intrusion, respect was paid with open mouths and uncertain eyes.

 

With her sword braced point to the floor before her, the Elvin priestess lifted her head and stood from her bended knee and basked in the respectful attention of those about the great hall. The sword shimmered as she twisted it effortlessly and doused its radiance into a silver lined sheath extending from her lithe frame. Her armor matched the glow of her sword, thin and parchment-like and holding firm like a layer of skin yet showing no sign of succumbing to her movement. Kitrahlmina stood and looked about the new high temple and the elves that looked on and with a gesture, returned their veneration. All bowed away to return to their tasks save one young elf that held her knee and continued to look to the ground. The priestess stepped to her and removed her silver-lined glove before bringing her hand to the chin of the young elf. She lifted her head and brought her to her feet. The servant was a young and pretty elf and softened once she met the eyes of the priestess. Kit looked into her eyes with a soft smile and hesitated before she leaned in and softly kissed the girl on her mouth. She released her chin and put her hand to her cheek before turning away to the front of the solar.

 

Malzhyr watched the approach of his sister, the constant ambassador to the mainland of Mythgar and truly revered by Kaydree Lightwind, the Elvin overlord of the whole of the land. Lightwind found his title accepted by the greater magistrates and those that ruled but was disquieting among many that took up swords and spades to shape the land. With her platinum locks falling about her dark eyes it was apparent to see why Lightwind sagaciously entrusted his sister to bridge the relations between men and elves.

 

He put out his hand to accept her and they embraced. Through his thick tunic he could feel her Elvin steel against him, light and unyielding and nothing like the steel armor he donned each day while riding through the rebuilding of Imperial City.

 

“Impressive,” she said taking in the vast ornate archway and the balcony beyond. Stepping out to the balustrade the city rose up to meet her view and she could not conceal her surprise. “Most impressive, little brother.”

 

“They work hard, day and night. No bard or other minstrel is employed anywhere outside the city for a hundred leagues. That combined with no small number of clerics has made it an effortless task to secure the laborers. For an island that was reduced to gravel by the Tarasks we have had quite the resurgence of those that wish to have their races and lands represented.”

 

“Two months past you didn’t have a roof and you towered over this island. Now our temple has grown considerably and is in danger of being thrice overtaken. And…and did the dwarves finally arrive?”

 

“They did. Last to join, certain of some agenda by the governing party in Mythgar. I had to deliver the land deed myself. Once they elected to show they outwardly shamed most all other builders. And now their hall and temple are setting a fine standard. Yet still, what our sister saw in them is at times beyond my understanding.”

 

“The dwarf Timm was no better. While a fair ally, his comportment was truly as vulgar as their race has ever known.”

 

The two looked over the city. The sun had begun to fade, casting web-like shadows of the scores of scaffoldings across the vast open square that centered the city. Temples of the gods along with halls of ruling cities of Mythgar stretched deep from the center, illuminating the castes and races where they were to unite and preserve the governing laws of the land and beyond. In the center marked the outline of what was to be the foundation of Imperial City. The Hall of Kings was still in its base stages, the hall that would mark the centerpiece of a city that would be home to each race of Mythgar. The two focused on the broken ground below them.

 

“So the Hall should be complete before my next visit?”

 

“How many weeks do you plan to be away?” he answered. “Not a bad resurgence for a city that also lost one hundred for every one that survived.”

 

“Though there were survivors, Malzhyr.”

 

“Torrin did not survive. He fled long before the Terasks ever set foot on this land.”

 

“Which brings me to my visit. Reasons other than to witness your stellar progress.”

 

“I’m aware. You have issue with the reward we’ve placed upon his head. That we raised it to such a level that he will escape no notice.”

 

“Ten thousand crowns, Mal? You’re inciting madness as good men leave their fields and families and band together to hunt a ghost. And should they find him, there will be no survivors. I visit many townships across this land and the first question is not about our new leaders and religious freedoms, it’s about that ridiculous bounty placed on a man they cannot best should they ever be misfortunate enough to cross his path.”

 

“I accept such risks. Our task must be to allow all of Mythgar to know such a danger exists and to shelter our people from such would be the far greater crime. Better for them to die in an attempt to preserve this world rather than allow the greatest evil this plane has known to pass into a dark and simple legend.”

 

“I believe Leviticus might disagree with your naming Torrin as our greatest evil.”

 

“Leviticus never presented himself as a benign ruler of Mythgar. He wore the face of evil where all could see it. Torrin hid his behind an Elvin wife and children, one child that paid for his evil with his life.”

 

“There are other ways, Malzhyr. There were those that survived the Terasks that still reside here. One comes to mind that resides in the first dungeon you built.”

 

“Though we have not executed those guilty of aiding him in his tyranny, I am far from able to forgive and release those that positioned themselves in his council.”

 

“As you say. Yet your clemency, like your honor, knows no limits, little brother. You should use that to your advantage.”

 

 

The small man sat idly across the great table from Malzhyr. Pale and wiry, the man now carried the hard lines of a prisoner subjected to the extended care of a gaoler. The elf monarch sat silently, vividly remembering the heavyset steward holding court before the criminal Torrin, entertaining his position by inviting so much evil to the meeting that it spurred the elf to act out. An outburst following the revelation that Torrin’s half-elf son had been abducted by an evil even greater than those that enslaved the land under the druid-king’s rule. Malzhyr’s actions produced a dozen tanshee to draw back against him and hold him in their sights well after the room emptied.

 

“You surround yourself will evil, steward. Your court is a mockery.”

 

“You stand at death’s door, elf. You would show great wisdom in holding your tongue.”

 

“Two choices lay before you. Have your beasts strike me down as your druid-king would have you. Escalate your war quickly and bring upon yourself the wrath of the elves.”

 

“You say nothing to save yourself, elf. Most would agree a war is already in our midst.”

 

“And in succession, bring a sentence of death upon the evil druid-king’s missing child. I would speak with the child’s mother, the lost elf maiden. Surely any can see that our weapons are of no small chance. Only my party holds the power to secure the youth from his abductors,” Malzhyr spoke confidently. “Only my party will bring him back alive,” he lied.

 

“Then bring him back, elf. The mother mourns her loss yet does not entertain those that are traitors to the throne. And killing you and your party would be…premature. I allow you to live so that you may serve our needs. My seers tell me you will contest our enemies. So live today and be gone from Imperial City by sunrise.”

 

 

The man looked squarely at him, his eye brows now a stark white matching the tuffs of hair spilling out from what remained attached to the aft crown of his head.

 

“It still haunts you, elf,” he said through a voice that carried the sound of crushed glass, years from that of a steward that held the druid-king’s court. “All of it, I would surmise. From the elf wife that he took to the child you could not retrieve. And most sharply that his absence continues to disturb all your moments of reflection. There can be no tranquility. No distancing yourself from the wretchedness of this past.”

 

“You overstate yourself, steward. We have bested all of it. The terasks, the destruction, renaming of the cities, brought together the land divided and eliminated the tyranny. From all of which there is no mark of Torrin’s reign left in all of Mythgar. His legacy is finished. His legend is nothing. Far too much lays ahead for the people of this land. We have repealed the rewards. We have deemed him powerless. Pomp and deception were his only weapons and once we as a people disavow ourselves from his sickening reign we fully expect to never again see the cowardly imp about our lands.”

 

“Then you are wise, master elf, and you give me great reconciliation for my decision to spare your life. That is, if you can truly allow yourself to let go.”

 

Malzhyr stood and stepped back from the table. He removed a weathered purse that held a small amount of coins and flipped it onto the table. “Your sentence is served, steward. But this city is no longer your home. So live today and be gone from Imperial City by sunrise.”

 

 

Malzhyr returned to his solar where Kit stood waiting. “How fared your munificence?” she asked simply.

 

“Graciously received, sister. And I told no lies to accomplish our subtle task.” Malzhyr pulled free a folded silk patch and passed it to his sister. “Taken by the guards during his retrieval. He leaves with enough coin to allow him travel, yet not enough to rouse suspicion.”

 

She opened the cloth and viewed the lock of white hair matted into the fold. “Then we will watch our fine steward,” she said again folding the cloth. “Watch him from a distance and see to which ports his travels take him.” Kit turned and walked back toward the dais inside the solar. Malzhyr watched her as she again removed her long sword and pointed it to the floor before taking to one knee. “I’ll return in a fortnight.” She looked about the room and let her eyes fall on the young elf that froze in her steps once Kit took to the dais. Kit returned her look to meet her brother’s eyes. “Perhaps slightly sooner,” she said and with a brisk flash she was gone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A re-write of the journal entry of Lt. Lars Krollos, one of only two survivors of the slaughter at Oak Tree Cross.

I have lost a bit of myself this day.  I rather important bit so it seems to me.  The part of me that keeps it all together; keeps reality from detaching from me no matter the horrors I witness.  I can still hear the baby crying.  I can feel the tears running down my cheek only to be redirected by the sticky blood splattered across my face.  Not my blood, no not my blood.  I’m fairly certain that I walked past the crying baby without much more than a dull stare.  The image of the child’s mother is burned into my mind though.  Her lifeless hand still resting on the child’s head as if to let it know that everything would be ok even as her other hand rested on a gaping wound in her neck in what was a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood.  I know her but I cannot recall her name.  I feel the tears but little else, my arms are numb and my sword drags behind, held in my hand by instinct alone.

 The orcs swarmed into the village as a crazed horde; their teeth gnashing and their spears and swords finding soft targets among the simple folk here. They reveled in the chaos, howling in their madness, as they ran their blood stained weapons through men, women and children without discrimination.  They seemed to be without end as they poured out of the darkness.  How many did I slay?  The ferocity of the battle leaves me with little detail.  I remember falling villagers and orcs, many of the orcs falling at my feet.  My sword worked in a blur of motion; training and instinct took over at some point when my natural limits should have long been exhausted.  One after another they fell to my blade yet I could not save my people.  The sun crests the horizon, mocking the devastation with its beauty, dawn reveals the slaughter.

The smell of smoke and death still reaches me as I fall to my knees.  Lifeless lumps of flesh, human and orc alike, litter the landscape.  There is no movement.  Still the baby cries, but in the distance now.  I have stumbled a great distance, trying in vain to find refuge from the nightmare.  As I stare blankly back across what was once my home there is a strangely welcome calm.  Death has claimed the battle field now.  I notice the slight gashes on my arms and legs and one across my chest but I feel no physical pain.  My mind struggles to hold on; it would be so easy to step into the blackness.  Perhaps I could hide there and forget.  I cannot.  Somewhere in the smoldering ruins a dead mother holds her child.  I force myself to my feet and once more stumble into the battlefield.

The dream, the memory, is always the same.  

 

The ghoul hounds picked up Leviticus’ trail almost instantly.  Together they raced to the rough orange colored stone wall wailing as they ran.   Their howls were chilling to hear and lesser men may have succumbed to fright.   As they reached the wall they both zeroed in on one of the nondescript holes and then changed back into mists. 

 Namblin, a mere step behind, took the charred coal marker in his hand and marked the spot.  “Here drink these and be quick about it, the hounds will not wait”, Namblin pushed small potions into the hands of the other three.  “Now follow quickly”, the same instant the words left his mouth the gnome shimmered and then became a swirling mass of misty substance.

 The hounds vanished into the hole as tendrils of smoke.  Vlad did not hesitate; he slammed back the potion and threw the empty bottle to the ground where it promptly smashed to pieces.  Bravo and Rush gave each other a quizzical look and then in near unison, shrugged their shoulders and downed the potions. 

 Moving in gaseous form was nothing new for the foursome which proved vital.  At every turn they were greeted with a massive web of tiny veins going off in thousands of directions through the surrounding stone.  Without a trail it would be impossible to track the vampiric demon.  Namblin led the way seemingly linked to the hounds in some way.  The others forced themselves to move in the unfamiliar state relying heavily on their abilities to sense small traces of the magic left behind as the previous gaseous form passed.

 Suddenly they were inside a dark stone-walled room.  The large room was fit for a king, a king in hiding.  Priceless tapestries and equally valuable art adorned the stone walls.  Exquisite furniture matched the room’s elegance, tables and worked iron sconces held lanterns and glowing orbs of magic light.  In the center of the room a pool twenty feet across glowed from the brilliant blue liquid it held.  As Bravo, the last to enter the room, reformed the action was in full swing.  Bravo felt a great tug as he was hit with a spell.  He knew the spell immediately, dimensional anchor.

Vladimir was embroiled in combat with an enormous creature that surely inhabited the darkest pits of hell.  It was a monstrous demon that stood twenty feet tall.  Its skin was a blotchy combination of black and green.  The demon’s jaw jutted out an arm’s length exposing long sharp teeth, black liquid ran from the creatures jaw as if a spicket had been left on.  The liquid smoked a bit as it spilled to the floor creating a plum of green smoke, the acid could be heard hissing as it burned the stone floor.  The demon’s long arms ended in taloned hands that gripped great axes whose blades looked to be made of adamantine. 

 Thirty feet behind the battle between human and demon stood Leviticus.  His wounds fully healed and a great grin dominating his face he worked his hands as if casting yet another spell.  Rush stood off to Bravo’s left working furiously as arrows left his bow in a blur and raced toward the demon.  One after another they struck and yet the demon seemed not to notice.  Vlad had several major gashes in his armor and it was painfully obvious that the demon was gaining the upper hand.

 “Shazorix has been waiting years beyond counting for chance such as this Vlad.  I am so pleased that it is you who will satisfy his desire to extinguish life”, Leviticus laughter echoed in the chamber as he seemed to near insanity.  Then with a quick jester and a word the spell left his fingers.

 Rush howled in pain.  Forced to his knees the Elf strained against the deadly spell.  Tinya rested in his hand so close to being launched and now at the mercy of its master who struggled to hold to consciousness. 

 Bravo cursed at the choices before him, none of them good.  He had no time to decide between various courses of action however and launched a spell at the Demon in an effort to save Vladimir.  The spell struck and the Demon grimaced as some good amount of strength was taken from him.  Vlad deflected a blow from one of the great black axes and followed with a series of strikes each one penetrating the flesh of the Demon.  Acid shot from the wounds splashing Vladimir with the deadly stuff.  His skin bubbled on his arms where parts of his armor no longer protected, his element protection exhausted. 

The Demon made a sound that can only be described as a laugh though the acid that ran freely from his mouth gave it a strange gargled sound as if he were drowning.  The axe in the creature’s right hand crashed into Vlad’s side, slicing through his armor with ease.  The sound of breaking ribs was audible enough for Bravo to hear and recognize the sound.  Blood gushed from the wound and the great warrior’s arms went limp but his legs stubbornly refused to buckle.

 For the first time in more years than he could count Bravo felt helpless.  He could not save Vladimir and he knew that his spells would find little purchase against a prepared Leviticus.  The dimensional anchor sealed his fate; he would be unable to flee.  This is how it would end he thought; in the hall of a demented vampire where none would ever know his fate.  Still he worked his hands for yet another spell; perhaps he could take his pound of flesh before darkness came.

 “This ends now brother”, a booming voice sounded from the rear of the stone room.  Bravo’s eyes went wide at the sight of a weathered old man with a bald head and bright silver eyes. 

 “Frank?” Bravo whispered to himself in disbelief. 

 A burst of light leapt from the new arrival and encircled Leviticus.  Arcs of electricity and racing shards of light shot back and forth between the Silver-Eyed Mages.  Leviticus howled in anger, his hands curled into contorted claws as his spells refused him.  “NO, Krytus, you must…re….release me”, Leviticus struggled with the final words as his life force began to leave him.

 “I have watched you ruin the lives of too many, watched you destroy without cause.  I cannot allow our brotherhood to be remembered as you are.  Your debt must be paid”, Krytus spat the final words as the strain of the link between he and Leviticus grew.  His teeth ground as he willed himself to push on.

The power of the connection between the two was overwhelming.  Bravo could feel his arcane powers being drained from him as if a great vortex had been opened, devouring the very essence of magic from the room.  Rivers of sweat ran down Krytus’ bald head as he struggled to force his will on his demonic brother.  Blood ran from his right nostril and dripped from his lip as he grimaced with the effort.

 The Demon too could not help turning to see what caused such a powerful flux of power.  Seeing Leviticus in danger the great beast turned to slay the old man who seemed to be the cause.  He took one step and Tinya exploded through the back of his head.  Her gleaming tip exited his forehead, her shaft stuck in the brain stuff inside.  The Demon’s eyes tried in vain to see what had caused such a punch to his head as the blade erupted from his belly.  Vlad also recovered and with both hands on the pommel he had shoved his sword through the Demon’s back to exit the other side.

 The demon toppled and slammed lifeless to the ground.  Near death himself, Vladimir stepped on the Demon’s back and with some effort, drew the sword from its back.  Slowly he walked toward the two silver-eyed mages, the gash on his side flowed with dark liquid that now coated his leggings.  As he approached Leviticus the vampiric mage struggled to turn his head.  His eyes screamed of pain, veins bulged on his face and hands while the cord between he and his brother robbed him of life.  Unable to speak Leviticus mouthed, “Please….end….me”. 

 “My pleasure “, Vlad spat as his sword cut an arc though the air and with deft aim removed Leviticus’ head cleanly from his shoulders.  The magical vortex between the two silver-eyed mages abruptly ended in a blast of light sending Vladimir off his feet to land on his back on the hard stone floor.  Krytus stood, waivered for just a moment and then fell face first to the floor.  His head made an audible crack as it smashed against the stone. 

 Bravo and Rush raced across the room to Vladimir.  Rush bent down and raised the warrior’s head with his hand.  Vlad’s eyes opened and a slight grin crossed his acid marred face, “We did it.  Tell me the bastard is finally dead.” 

 Instinctively Rush looked over his left shoulder at the lifeless bodies of the mages.  “He is dead my friend.  You however are not so lucky, drink this liquid and we will have you dancing a jig in no time”.

 “If it is all the same to you”, Vladimir struggled, “I think I will put an end to my own travels here and now.  Tis time for me to see those I love who have long since passed.  My vengeance has given me life for far too long and it is time for me to go.”

 Bravo looked over at Rush the bottle of healing in his hand, “Seems a damn fool thing to do.  Why not go home and die a natural death with a cool mug of ale by your side?  There will be an eternity to see those you love and time to love again while you’re here.”

 Rush rested a hand on Bravo’s forearm, “He speaks as a man who has lived his life to the fullest Bravo.  There is wisdom in his words.  Let him go.” 

 As Bravo shook his head Vlad’s fingers worked at a small pouch on his belt.  Whispering he poured the contents of the pouch into Rush’s outstretched hand, “Give this to that little bastard Namblin.  Tell him I said he’s a fool and a person of his size should really consider the circus.”  Vladimir smiled and content to embrace the unknown he drifted away as if to go to sleep.

 Rush looked down at the ring, a simple, yet beautiful thing.  It was a ring made of strange black stone with rivulets of orange here and there.  “Well worth the price I would say eh Bravo.”

 “I’m not so sure, it was a costly hunt my Elvin friend.  Now let us go home.”