Story HourPost your ongoing tales from your campaigns, and read those from others for inspiration. Lots of other RPG boards post "Story Hours", but this is where it started!
“This,” Torric opened the door, “is the common room.”
The stench of human sweat erupted from the chamber the moment the wooden door swung open. Soft groans and muted sobbing echoed throughout the area. The ambient light from the hallway poured into the windowless room, revealing thin beaded mats serving as beds for the three-dozen people.
Their faces were etched with despair and hopelessness. It was the hopeless gaze of those who had lost everything, including the fire to face the challenges fate had lain before them.
Just inside the door was an Ansharan, who stopped intoning his prayers at the interruption.
”This is Hurrold,” said Torric.
“Please, come in and close the door behind you,” said Hurrold.
Sebastian took a step backwards. “I’ll sleep upstairs, thanks.”
Before they could react, Torric closed the door, leaving Beldin and Vlad in the room with Hurrold.
“This chamber houses those pilgrims who do not have the funds necessary to pay for the better accommodations in the dormitories on the second floor nor the money to get back home,” said Hurrold. “These are truly the poorest and most destitute of Onara. We feed them and give them a place to sleep for free, but we do not have the wealth to do much more than that and to pray for their souls.”
A thin man, unshaved and unwashed, cradling a small child, came forward to speak with Vlad.
“I beg your pardon, noble sir. My name is Jozeph, a freeman from Milandir and one of the faithful of our Mother Church. As is written in our holy books, I have taken my family and set off on a pilgrimage to the First City. Our caravan, full of pilgrims from various parts of Milandir and even Ulfia, were beset by bandits as we were traveling across the plains of Dagha. Most of my fellows were slain. My family and I would have been killed too, had it not been for the Soldier-Saints of Dagha. They arrived and killed or chased off the bandits. In their kindness they treated the wounded and escorted us here to convalesce with the Ansharans.”
Vlad watched Jozeph apprehensively. The child reached out for him and grabbed one of Vlad’s fingers.
“Though we are very grateful to the monks and priests of the Suffering Goddess for their kindness these past two months, we are desperate to get home. I am not a rich man, but I do own a small shop where I sell my wares. I am a cobbler by profession and would gladly repay you in services or wares if you were to visit my store in Luchek. “
“That is not necessary,” said Vlad.
“I only ask for enough money to purchase a horse for my wife and child to ride and for some food for the trek.”
Vlad hesitated.
“Please kind sir, I beg of you. I don’t know how much longer we can stand to be in this place of misery and sorrow!”
“How much do you need?” asked Vlad.
“One hundred imperials.”
“Done!” Vlad handed him a coin purse from his belt. “Anything for a fellow Milandisian.”
A great cry of hope and despair went up from the room as Vlad handed over the gold. People mobbed them both with every sob story imaginable.
“My son is suffering from a strange disease!” shouted one.
“My grandmother will not last another night here!” shouted another.
“My father lost his arm to a troll!” shouted a third.
Vlad backed towards the door. “I…can’t help them all!”
Beldin cupped his hands to his face. “ENOUGH!”
They all quieted down, terrified.
“I am not without mercy. All your accounts will be settled. Be at peace and sleep well tonight, for it will be the last night here.”
Hurrold looked askance at the dwarf. “That’s over five thousand imperials!”
Beldin sniffed. “A pittance, for a dwarf.” He handed Hurrold a note for five thousand imperials. “Clean them up, get them out of here.”
“You truly a noble giant.” Hurrold bowed deeply before Beldin. “I am humbled by your charity.”
People began weeping and thanking Beldin, offering to wash his boots, braid his beard, polish his weapons. They had to leave the room.
“That’s an awful lot of gold,” said Vlad in disbelief. “Why did you do that?”
Beldin grunted. “There was a time when my race were the guardians of humanity. My clan has been so caught up with freeing ourselves from the Curse that we sometimes lose sight of why we were trapped in our dwarven bodies in the first place. Besides,” he adjusted his belt, “I have the change to spare.”
Vlad shook his head in disbelief as he followed the dwarf to the dormitories.
As they made their way around the Inner Ring of the Shrine, they came to a stone staircase leading upwards. At the base of the staircase, curled up in a fetal position, was a member of the Black Talon egg clutch.
“Calactyte?” asked Sebastian in surprise. “Is that you?”
The ss’ressen was shivering uncontrollably, its eyes rolled up into its skull.
A figure, hidden in the shadow of the staircase commented in a voice devoid of any emotion, “I have been watching the beast for the better part of the evening wondering if I should kill it put it out of its misery or let the cold do my work for me.”
Descending from the shadows, the speaker revealed herself to be an attractive elorii female. She wore little, with spiked shoulder guards, bracers, and knee-length black boots. Her long ponytail swished behind her, dyed purple and black. Her skin was a dusky gray.
She continued to speak as she walked towards Sebastian. “The atrocities committed by its kind upon my people though the ages are not easily forgotten. I have been pondering on whether the sins of a race should be borne by all its members or if the past should remain in the past.”
“You must be Ilovios. I understand that elorii have long memories. But you cannot punish one ss’ressen for the sins of an entire race. It will change nothing.”
“It will be one more elorii soul avenged.” Ilovios inserted herself between Calactyte’s shivering body and Sebastian. “And unlike your fleeting, mongrel race, one elorii soul is worth a thousand ss’ressen.”
“If you felt that way, you would have killed him outright.”
Ilovios jut out her chin. “The natural laws will decide whether it lives or dies.”
“Then who is to say that I’m not part of the natural laws? Perhaps I was fated to come here. I know this ss’ressen. His name is Calactyte. He has protected human and elorii alike. It would be a grave injustice to let him die here.”
“Then it will be a pity when he dies.” Ilovios smirked.
“Yes, it would.” Sebastian raised his hands, palms open. “But a watched pot never boils. Medicates privates.”
With lightning speed, Ilovios drew a dagger from her belt. But she looked at it curiously, as if she wasn’t sure why it was in her hand.
“Why don’t you have something to eat and leave the ss’ressen to his fate.”
Ilovios snorted at Sebastian. “Lucky for you, half-human, I’m going to have something to eat. Don’t touch that thing; leave the ss’ressen to his fate.” She shoved past him.
Sebastian let the breath out he had been holding. He rushed to Calactyte’s side and threw a robe over him. Beldin and Vlad joined him.
“What happened?”
“Just dealing with cold hearts,” said Sebastian. “Let’s get him upstairs to a fireplace where it’s warm.”
True to his word, Torric was up at the crack of dawn, ready to guide them to Quintus’ last known campsite.
“We will take care of Calactyte. He is still unconscious; it will take days for him to recover. It is not safe for him to travel until the worst of the storm passes.”
“Thank you,” said Sebastian. “I know you will treat him with as much kindness as you’ve treated us.”
Outside, a cold wind blew unmercifully and seemed to cut directly through outer clothing. Of the red snow, only a crimson, oily smear remained, giving the cracked and blackened landscape the appearance of a seeping wound.
“Why is that snow red, anyway?” asked Vlad.
“During the final days of the God’s War, a group of Kelekene elorii were caught outside of the protection of the Vastwoods by a legion of the First Imperium, called the Legion of the Storm Lord,” lectured Ilmarė. “Before this legion could attack, another legion appeared and demanded that the elorii be offered safe passage to the Vastwoods. This legion was called the Pride of Chendo. Their general argued with his counterpart but could not dissuade them from wishing to put all the elorii to the sword. That night, the Pride of Chendo attacked and decimated the Legion of the Storm Lord, forcing their retreat from the battlefield. The wounded Chendo general returned to the elorii and told them that they were free to enter the Vastwoods. But the Storm Lord had his revenge. The Kelekene, trapped by the Storm Lord’s troops, enacted the Kurenthe…the death curse. It devastated the area. Thus the Red Snow.”
Torric was unmerciful in his trek, setting a pace few could keep up with.
“Can’t we rest for a bit?” gasped Vlad.
“The weeping mother teaches us that a little hardship is good for the soul,” jeered Torric. “She strengthens us for the inevitable difficulty ahead.”
The day passed uneventfully and they made camp in a crag that protected them from the worst of the weather.
By the following midday, they reached the hillock that served as Quintus’ campsite. It did not take a seasoned veteran or acute perceptions to tell that a pitched and brutal battle took place here recently.
They wandered throughout the camp, searching for clues as to what happened.
“A raid,” said Beldin.
“Worse,” said Sebastian. “No bodies or survivors remain from either the attacking force or from the scholar’s expedition.”
Ilmarė held up some blood-spattered notes. “There are coins from the last dynasty of the First Imperium here, as well as the corpse of an ancient goblin. The notes indicate that this goblin was found by Quintus frozen in a ravine holding the bag of coins along with a symbol he identified as belonging to a centurion in the Pride of Chendo.”
“The amount of blood that dots the layer of snow in the campsite indicates that some people were killed and gutted,” said Vlad.
“Voei,” said Torric.
“What?” asked Beldin.
“Voei.” Torric shuddered. “Voei are huge brutes, some as tall as small giants. They file their teeth and are well known for their fondness for human flesh. The Voei normally range in the Fervidous Hills, but have been known to raid as far south as the Corlathian Mountains and as far east as Milandir.”
“And you think they did this?” asked Sebastian.
“I do. The Voei are savage brutes born without the slightest shred of human kindness or decency. Mercy at the hands of the Voei is a quick death.”
“I’ve found a set of tracks heading off into the Corlathian Mountains,” said Ilmarė. “So at least we know which way they went.”
“If Quintus’ expedition was taken by the Voei,” said Torric, “then I have little hope for their survival. If any members of the team were taken alive, they probably won’t be by the time you find them.”
“You’re really cheery, you know that?” muttered Beldin.
Torric fixed Beldin with a stare. “I have completed his task by taking you here. I must return to the Shrine.”
“Thank you,” said Sebastian. “We’ll take it from here.”
The Corlathian Mountain range was not just a series of high peaks. The foothills, where the expedition located their campsite, were full of crevasses, winding passages, ravines, and canyons. Outcroppings and ledges covered many of the trails.
Every sound was magnified throughout the valley. The ruins of an ancient temple, its back to the valley wall, loomed before them. They had to struggle through the hip-deep snow.
Ilmarė froze.
“What is it?” asked Vlad.
“Shh!” Ilmarė cocked her head. “Listen.”
“Sounds like…breathing,” whispered Sebastian.
Ilmarė pointed two fingers at her eyes and then at small plumes of steam coming from mounds of snow. The telltale signs of a mammal’s breath…
Beldin whirled, pulling out his axe and shield. Vlad did the same.
With a roar, Voei exploded from all around them. They wielded huge swords and clubs. Just as Torric had promised, the Voei were awful brutes with sharpened teeth and rippling muscles.
Sebastian spread his fingers before him. “Incendiares globus!”
The ensuing explosion tossed snow everywhere. There were roars and screams as the Voei reeled from the attack. Steam filled the air, making it impossible to see.
Strange chanting echoed through the valley. Then a whirling ball of fire scorched its way through the snow.
“That yours?” shouted Vlad.
Sebastian shook his head. “It’s a fire elemental. They’ve got a shaman!”
Beldin roared and faced it head on. The fire elemental reared up, switching from a ball of flame to a snake-like form. It hissed and crackled.
Ilmarė fired two arrows at once into one of the fog-shrouded forms. It shrieked and collapsed.
Beldin slashed Windcutter through the elemental. The fire separated and reformed.
A wolf’s howl and a bear’s growl came from beyond the mists.
“What the hell are they doing back there?” Vlad stumbled backwards from the tremendous blow of one of the Voei. He rolled to the side as a club splattered snow and soot everywhere.
“It won’t matter in a moment: Incendiares globus!”
More flames burned off the mists and snow, leaving the air clear. The elemental was gone. Smoldering corpses of large humanoids were all that remained.
“Good job.” Beldin patted Sebastian on the shoulder.
Ilmarė emerged from the ruins. No one had seen her enter. “I found Quintus,” she said grimly.
“He’s not with you…is he alive?”
The elorii’s features flickered something…was it concern? “You’d better see for yourself.”
Quintus was locked away in a side closet with only the carved corpse of his assistant as company.
“Easy,” whispered Ilmarė. She put her hands on his forehead, calling to the spirits of the air to heal him. “Easy.”
“What happened?”
“The Voei…” whispered Quintus. “They took us alive…planned to present me as a sacrifice for the tribal chief.”
“What…” Vlad looked down in horror. “What did they do to you?”
“On the second night following the raid, I tried to escape with my assistant…”
“The stories are true,” Sebastian said grimly. “They really are cannibals.”
“We were captured,” continued Quintus. “As punishment they killed the assistant. And then…and then…”
Beldin looked away.
“THEY ATE MY LEGS!” Quintus trembling hands felt at the stumps that were once the top of his thighs. “I’ll never walk again.” His eyes were filled with tears. He turned to Ilmarė. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Stupid human,” Ilmarė’s tone was soft, despite her harsh words. “Why are you apologizing?”
“I can’t…be the man I was.”
“None of that matters now.”
Vlad kneeled down. “Can’t you heal yourself?”
“You don’t think I tried?” Quintus looked at his hands, caked in blood and dirt. “Illiir has forsaken me!”
“What?” asked Beldin in disbelief. “Why?”
Quintus licked his cracked lips. “I was there. The Emperor accused Felician val’Mehan of conducting secret negotiations with the heretical priests of the Dark Triumvirate of Canceri. Calsestus branded the Patriarch a heretic and a traitor. Then…it appeared…”
“What appeared?”
“A Valinor. It was glorious, radiant, terrible…and it witnessed the Emperor stabbing the Patriarch through the heart. Then it declared him Chosen of the Pantheon. It said: Let none doubt that Calsestus’ will is the will of the Gods. Then they sent me on this mission. It was suicide…they knew it. My loyalties to the Emperor were in question. And yet I had to go. When my contubernium needed me most, my divine might failed. And now they are all dead.”
Vlad moved to get up but Quintus grabbed him by the collar.
“I will not let this quest be in vain! While others foolishly searched for some sign in the valley below the Corlathians, only I was able to decipher the secret of the living ice. The ice has moved up and down the sides of the mountain, scouring it of all remains and artifacts; pushing downwards in times of intense cold and retreating upwards during warmer ages. Given the proof provided by the corpse of that grotesque goblin, I know that their final resting place is close at hand.”
With that Quintus, pulled from beneath his tunic a golden emblem upon a gold chain. There, in the center of the gilded disk, was an inscription in Ancient Altharin.
Ilmarė squinted at it. “It reads: Judgment tempered by mercy, fury tempered by clarity. It’s the credo of the inhabitants of the lost city of Chendo.”
“I know where the Pride of Chendo lies!” Quintus’ eyes were wild, desperate. “The glacier did move the remains up the mountain range. We must move quickly!”
The other stood up. The proud legionnaire was still on the ground, helpless.
“Let me help you,” Vlad lifted Quintus up. “I can fashion a harness. It’ll be just like Calactyte and Kham all over again.” He tried to make a joke, but nobody laughed.
Ilmarė looked away from them as they set off again up the mountain.
The last week of travel had been one of the most perilous periods they ever faced. Besides the treacherous terrain, howling winds that threatened to blow the unwary off the mountainside, and the constantly looming risk of an avalanche, packs of winter wolves have been hounding their every step.
“The wolves seem to possess inhuman cunning,” said Beldin. “They’re always just out of sight.”
“They’re extremely intelligent,” said Ilmarė. “The fiercest of Osalian’s children.”
“Well, they’ve avoided every trap we’ve laid out for them,” said Vlad.
“Perhaps they are waiting for the mountain itself to finish you and then dine on your still-steaming corpses,” said Ilmarė.
They ignored her.
Finally Quintus yelled for a stop. Wracked with excitement, he pointed up a sheer escarpment.
“There…up there! We are very close now.”
“I don’t see a path leading upward,” said Beldin.
“Nor do I,” said Sebastian. “But I know how we can get up there.”
Ilmarė snorted. “Even I do not know all of Osalian’s secrets. Surely you have not mastered flight.”
“Not with magic.” Sebastian addressed Quintus. “You’re not the only one who lives with shame over his appearance. I’m about to share with you something I’ve kept secret for awhile now.”
Sebastian threw off his cloak.
Vlad gasped.
A pair of large bat-like wings unfolded behind the dark-kin. “I have learned that one man’s deformity is another man’s gift.” He unspoiled a rope from his belt pouch. “Observe.”
And with a mighty heave, Sebastian launched himself into the air.
“I suspected,” said Beldin, huffing and puffing up the cliff face. “I’m surprised you kept it secret this long.”
There was a history of keeping secrets between the dark-kin and dwarf that strained their relationship.
“I can’t fly, exactly. I can glide. Up and down. I get very tired, although my wings grow stronger every day. Perhaps one day, I will be able to fly.” Sebastian seemed almost wistful.
“It is a gift indeed.” Quintus spoke over Vlad’s shoulder, connected by his harness. “But one that would not be looked kindly upon by everyone.”
“That’s an understatement,” added Ilmarė.
“I do not think my…disability, will be so charitably received.”
As they moved further up the mountain, the wind picked up. Visibility alternated between hard and difficult.
During one of the still moments, a red-stained snowdrift of immense proportions caught their eye. Nearby, the sound of braying was dully heard over the howling of the wind.
Beldin inspected the snowdrift. What first appeared to be a buried log or stone quickly revealed itself to be…
Beldin took off his helmet and bowed his head. “A giant.”
Sebastian froze. “Is he…”
“Quite dead. The corpse is covered in cuts, gashes, and lacerations. He lived long enough to get away from his attacker and finally fell here.”
Sebastian looked around. “Where is that braying coming from?”
Ilmarė pointed. “There. It’s a goat.”
The braying belonged to a young goat with a leather collar. As Sebastian approached, it backed away tentatively.
“This is going to sound strange,” said Sebastian, “but I think the goat wants us to follow it.”
“That wouldn’t be any stranger than the rest of this trip,” muttered Ilmarė. “Fine, let’s follow the goat.”
The small animal led them down a snow-covered trail, barely visible through the snowfall. After a few minutes, the kid stopped and brayed louder. The kid has led them to a tiny crevasse.
“There’s someone down there!” shouted Vlad.
A boy, unconscious, was wedged into the bottom of the crevasse.
Beldin looked at Sebastian. “Think you’re up to it?”
“Let’s hope so.” Sebastian threw off his cloak and unfurled his wings again. He descended the crevasse, flapping his wings for lift to slow his fall.
A few minutes later and he emerged with the boy.
“His leg is broken.” Ilmarė put her hands on the boy’s leg. It glowed with a soft purple light. “There.”
The boy’s eyes fluttered open. He feebly attempted to crawl away.
“Be calm,” said Ilmarė. “If we were going to kill you, you’d be dead already.”
“That’s not the kind of diplomacy I had in mind.” After ensuring that his wings were once again tucked beneath his cloak, Sebastian kneeled in front of the boy and smiled. “We mean you no harm.”
The boy barked something in a different language.
“That’s Ancient Altharin,” said Ilmarė. “A very odd dialect. Let me speak to him.”
She spoke something to the boy. He seemed to calm down. After speaking with him at length, she addressed her companions.
“His name is Hinod. He was leading a herd of goats back to his village when he fell through a layer of ice and slid down into the crevasse. He would like lead the us back to his village.”
“Anything’s better than this mountain,” said Vlad.
Sibling Rivalry: Part 12 – The Village of the Sheliac People
The boy led them down an invisible trail through a series of small caverns and out into a surprisingly warm valley.
The sounds of goats and yaks braying echoed through the canyon walls. A curtain of mist rose up from the numerous rents in the valley floor, obscuring the humble mud and stone shacks that dotted the landscape.
“Hinod?”
A woman’s voice calls out the boy’s name as she came and swept him up in her arms. Through tear-laden eyes, she thanked them in her clipped language.
From the center of the village, a number of men are emerged from their huts. They were a short-limbed people, obviously human, but of a strange mix. Dark, matted hair and a broad flattened nose was a common trait that both the men and women of the village shared.
“They’ve got gold necklaces and jewelry that they can’t possibly have made themselves,” Beldin whispered to Sebastian.
“That’s the same metallurgy and color of the gold as the Centurion medallion I discovered,” whispered Quintus. “They were obviously made by the same craftsman – or at least the styles are similar.”
Sebastian nodded.
“Ilmarė, ask to speak with their leader,” said Sebastian. “We need to know how they got the jewelry they’re wearing.”
Ilmarė shot him a glare. She spoke over her shoulder, and soon was ushered into a hut. While they waited, the villagers offered them a hardy meal of goat and yak stew that do much to chase the chill from their limbs.
Eventually, the elorii returned.
“These are the Sheliac people,” she said. “They were occasionally threatened by the snow goblins, but they have not been seen since the Grey Lord sent a storm to shatter their home.”
“The Grey Lord?” asked Vlad. “Who is that?”
“Hurrian,” said Quintus. “The Storm Lord is often depicted as wearing a cloak of gray clouds.”
“The pieces of jewelry are spoils taken from the snow goblins. They can take us there.”
“Let’s go,” said Quintus. “There’s no time to waste.”
There was an awkward moment, where Quintus had to be lifted up by Vlad and refastened to his back. He was hardly in a position to tell anyone to go anywhere. But for once, even Ilmarė complied without complaint.
The further they traveled up the mountainside, the worse the weather became. The wind picked up, gusting at times as fast as fifty miles per hour. The temperature had dropped to a bone-chilling ten degrees Fahrenheit.
They came to a wide chasm some, one hundred and fifty feet wide. Spanning it was a bridge made of ice. On the other side of the chasm, the mountainside continued with a large round ledge and an even larger cave entrance.
“That’s got to be it!” shouted Quintus. “We need to…” The rest of his explanation died in his throat as a monstrous shape began to form from out of the fog.
“Troll!” shouted Ilmarė. She drew her bow and fired. The arrow stuck in the long-nosed, slouching thing but didn’t stop it. It ambled across the bridge on its knuckles, gorilla-like, screeching as it came.
“I’ve got it.” Vlad drew his sword and shield and stepped forward to face the beast. It backhanded him and he fell, sliding perilously close to the edge of the bridge.
“Careful!” shouted Sebastian. “I can’t use my magic here or I’ll collapse the bridge!”
Beldin stepped forward. “Leave it to a dwarf to take care of a troll.” He drew Windcutter. “Come on then, beast. You’ll not be knocking me down so easily!”
The troll roared and charged forward. Beldin ducked low and hacked at one of its legs. The troll howled in pain and spun, slapping Beldin sideways.
True to his word, Beldin didn’t fall down. He merely slid upright across the bridge. He flew right off the edge but buried Windcutter blade into the side. The dwarf dangled over the void.
The troll turned, grinning with a mouthful of needle-like teeth. It leaned forward to leer at Beldin, savoring its prey.
With a mighty lunge, Vlad slammed into the troll’s backside with his shield. The thing shrieked as it flew end over end, past Beldin, and disappeared into the howling white winds below.
Vlad offered Beldin a hand up.
“Thanks,” said the dwarf. “Let’s not speak of this ever again.”
Sibling Rivalry: Part 15 – The Tomb of the Frozen Gods
The sound of ice being struck and chipped echoed just above that of falling water in the distance. A sudden crack of a whip punctuated the intensity of the incessant groans and whimpers indicative of those forced into labor.
There were a dozen pale white goblins being forced to chip into the northern ice wall by a strange-looking beast. It had a long nose like a troll, but that was where the similarities ended. It was over seven feet tall, almost as wide, and had a stony gray carapace that covered its shoulders, back, outside of its arms and legs, its chest, and the back and top of its head. Its hands ended in four thick talons, also covered in the same hard carapace. Its broad face was slashed open by its toothy maw with a large nose topped by two piercing orbs, denoting a cunning mind and completing its menacing countenance. It was dressed in leather boots and a gold and mauve tabard cinched at its thick waist by a broad metallic belt.
“Singarthan trolls,” whispered Ilmarė. “I’ve never seen one before.”
Inside the far wall were scores of skeletal remains dressed in the armored regalia of legionnaires of the First Imperium.
“The artifacts!” shouted Quintus, betraying their position.
The goblins shrieked as the Singarthan turned to face them. They fled in a panic.
The troll dropped its whip and drew a huge blade. Vlad dropped Quintus unceremoniously to the ground.
“I know how to deal with the likes of you,” said Beldin a little forcefully. He hefted Windcutter in one hand. “Come on!”
The troll roared and hacked downwards with such force that it knocked Beldin’s shield out of his hand. Vlad came up behind it, but it backhanded him with one stony fist. He fell to the ground with a grunt.
Sebastian pointed a finger at the troll. “Radius Incensio!” Searing trails of flame spiraled towards the troll.
The Singarthan extended one palm and the fire dissipated harmlessly in an arc before it.
“What are these things made of?” Sebastian shouted in disbelief.
“It is a Singarthan of the warrior caste,” said Ilmarė. She fired two arrows, but they bounced right off of the troll’s carapace. “It is bred for battle.”
Vlad rose to one knee just as the troll struck again. The sound of metal on metal reverberated throughout the chamber from the impact. Vlad flew upwards and back, landing near Quintus. Blood trickled from his nose, ears, and mouth.
“Quintus!” Ilmarė fired two arrows, but they ricocheted off of the troll’s carapace. “Help Vlad!”
“I can’t! I can heal no one, not even myself!”
“Have you ever considered that the valinor was false?” shouted Ilmarė. “That the reason Illiir took away your spells is because you followed the Emperor’s orders? Think! Duty and allegiance aren’t everything!”
The troll turned to face Vlad’s unconscious body. Quintus crawled over to him.
“It was Umor, Quintus! Umor is manipulating everything! The Unspeakable One wants a war, he wants Arcanis weakened so he can invade!”
“Illiir,” whispered Quintus, “I know that you have forsaken me, but Vlad is a good and noble man. Let your will be done through me.” He put his hands on Vlad.
The Milandisian’s eyes fluttered opened. “You…healed me?”
“Not a moment too soon!” shouted Quintus. “Look out!”
Vlad grabbed Quintus and rolled to the side as the Singarthan troll’s blade rent the ice floor. It turned to finish them off…
Only to fall backward, Windcutter buried to the hilt in its skull.
“They have a weakness at the back of the neck,” sneered Beldin. He yanked the axe out before the troll had even fallen to the ground. “It’s the only way to kill them.”
“This is the place.” Quintus pointed at the artifacts entombed in the ice. “We must start digging immediately.”
“Let’s make sure there aren’t any others like these,” said Ilmarė. She disappeared around the corner. When she returned, the elorii was ashen-faced.
“What?” asked Vlad.
“Three more. The only reason they didn’t come in already is because there’s a waterfall between us and them. It drowns out all noise.”
“Speaking of not being interrupted,” Sebastian pointed in the direction where the goblins fled. “Incendiares globus!”
The tunnel collapsed on the muffled screams of the goblins.
“We can’t handle three!” said Vlad. “We could barely kill one of them!”
“But we have the element of surprise,” said Quintus. “Gather round: I have a plan.”
Ilmarė hopped down from the cavern ceiling. She nodded at Quintus. “It’s ready.”
Vlad and Beldin took up a position in front of the tunnel. Beldin held only his axe Windcutter in both hands, glowing with magical a force field that illuminated him. He almost looked like a celestial giant of old…only smaller. Sebastian stood behind them.
“Ready?” asked Quintus. He sat behind Sebastian on the cold ice floor.
“Ready,” they said in unison.
“Ilmarė, go.”
Ilmarė took a deep breath and sang. She sang one long, pure note and held it. It reverberated throughout the chamber.
A few seconds later, the shadows of the Singarthans were visible in the tunnel. Hear song was audible even through the roaring of the waterfall.
The first troll rounded the corner. Ilmarė raised her voice to a higher pitch. The huge weakened stalactite above the troll cracked from the note.
The Singarthan looked up just in time to be skewered by the stalactite. It was buried under the rubble.
“Got it!” cheered Vlad. “That’ll teach—“
His celebration was cut short by a massive sharpened spike that pierced his shoulder, pinning Vlad to the wall ten feet behind him. He gasped in pain.
“It’s got a crossbow!” shouted Quintus, stating the obvious. “Beldin, stop him!”
Flames spiraled towards Sebastian. He dove to the side. “And a sorcerer!”
“That’s a Singarthan of the Arcane Caste,” said Ilmarė. “Sebastian, don’t let him cast another spell!”
The second Singarthan troll barreled forward. It dropped a huge crossbow and drew a massive axe. Beldin looked tiny in comparison.
The dwarf ducked low and rolled as the axe swipe missed him. He hacked at the Singarthan’s heel, then dove to the side again.
Sebastian lifted his arms. “Multimodis Oris!”
Three ghostly pairs of jaws shot out from the folds of his robes. The arcane Singarthan roared in pain.
Beldin dug in as the second troll’s blow came. The field of force around him dissipated, but the dwarf held his ground. “My turn!”
He hacked again hard at the troll’s foot. It skipped backwards to avoid the attack.
Ilmarė fired two arrows. One of them struck true, spinning the arcane troll from the force of the attack. That was all Sebastian’s ghostly jaws needed; they were on the troll like wolves on a carcass, biting and gnawing even as it thrashed helplessly beneath them. Then it lay still.
“Truce!” shouted the remaining troll.
Sebastian paused. Vlad yanked the crossbow bolt out of his chest. He slid to the ground.
Ilmarė knocked two more arrows. “Don’t trust it. It will turn on us later.”
“Truce,” it bellowed again. The Singarthan dropped its axe to the ground.
Beldin looked back at Quintus. He was busy healing Vlad.
“Let us hear what it has to say,” said Quintus.
“You may take this outpost and anything else in it. I only ask for free passage from here and the heart of my brother of the Arcane Caste.”
Sebastian’s hands were still up, ready to cast a spell. “Why do you want the heart?”
It looked at Sebastian curiously. “How else may I ascend to the next Caste?”
The troll’s efforts in chipping away at the ice took in a mere hour what would have taken them ten. It left without another word.
“We should not have let it escape,” said Ilmarė. “I don’t trust those monsters.”
“The Singarthan was just a warrior following orders,” Quintus said softly. “He was no monster.” He turned to Vlad. “Please, take me over to the chest.”
Vlad carried him over. Quintus passed his hand over the clasp. It glowed with a warm, ruddy light.
“Our efforts have not been in vain.” Quintus’ voice cracked. “We have unearthed the legacy of an honorable and just family and have put right an ancient wrong that was committed. According to family legend, after the end of the God’s War, the champions of the Gods were chosen and were touched by the power of Their Valinor to create the Val families.”
Ilmarė sneered. ”I know this story all to well.”
“The chosen of Nier, however, fell in battle against the forces of the Unspeakable One. Rather than take him from his rightful place in the Paradise of the Gods, Lord Nier chose to anoint both of his children, Virdan and Emman, with His power as one was equally as worthy as the other. While both manifested power to control Lord Nier’s holy flames, Virdan manifested power that augmented his unmatchable prowess in battle. Emman manifested those abilities that best complemented her grace and speed. Then the Gods left Mankind to craft a magnificent new empire.”
“Though the Val families had been blessed by the glory of your so-called Gods, they still held in their bosom the baser emotions that even to this day hold sway over all mankind,” said Ilmarė ruefully. “I remember their petty squabbles as if it were yesterday.”
“The Lady Emman was an untamed beauty, wild and passionate like the val’Sheem, but equally thoughtful and graceful, a worthy bride of Imperators -- or so the first lord of the val’Assante’ felt. In order to woo her, the first Imperator gave the val’Emman family and all its subjects the fertile land to the south of the Corlathian Mountains, in the area now west of the Coryani Empire. This infuriated Lord Virdan, who had originally been promised those same lands. During one tempestuous night in court, Lord Virdan demanded the lands of his sister and was not only denied, but also ridiculed by the entire court. Incensed, Lord Virdan cursed the Imperator and vowed that neither he nor his would ever be part of the Imperium. That night, the entire val’Virdan family as well as all its vassal families and subjects abandoned the fledgling Imperium and struck off to the East.”
“If I remember my history correctly,” said Sebastian, “Lord Virdan founded his own small kingship in the lands stretching from what is now northern Canceri east to the city of Erduk in Hinterlands.”
“Correct. The Imperium prospered, expanded, and eventually abutted the lands of the val’Virdan. Though they were unequaled in battle, after many years of prolonged fighting, the val’Virdan family finally fell to the combined might of the Imperium. Their lands were absorbed into the Imperium and the Imperator decreed that the val’Virdan family would be enslaved and forced to defend the empire that they so hated. Centuries of abuse at the hands of the Imperium eventually resulted in the forging of Leonydes val’Virdan, the Sword of the Heavens, and his resultant insurrection against the Imperium.”
“That explains a lot,” said Vlad. His people had fought Leonydes before.
“During the Sword of the Heavens’ attack, the forces of the val’Emman family were targeted for complete annihilation as the hatred of Lord Virdan had been nurtured across the years, through stories told to children and then repeated to their children and so on. A disgruntled military officer, Jharek of Chendo, made a pact with the Sword of the Heavens. His legion, whose name has been lost through the ages, would lead a portion of the Nierite army through the mighty city’s defenses and capture it with a minimum of bloodshed. The Sword of the Heavens agreed, but the plan went awry and the city was instead sacked.”
“I expect nothing less from a Nierite,” said Vlad.
Quintus looked at him strangely. “General Jharek, whose name is now synonymous with traitors, was appalled. He had envisioned being appointed prince of the territory. Instead, he precipitated the destruction of the city and the eradication of the culture of the area. He and his men marched from the city, the weight of their deed weighing heavily upon them. Whenever they were asked the name of their legion, they merely answered, “We are the Doom of Chendo”. Eventually they arrived at the city of Enpebyn and tried to redeem themselves by becoming the eternal guardians of that city.
“Redemption does not come so easily,” said Beldin.
“Unbeknownst to Jharek, at the command of the Prince of Chendo, another legion had fled the ruin that was being visited upon that doomed city. With them, they carried a chest containing the sum of all the writings and teachings of Chendo. This vessel, called the Ark of Knowledge, was in their possession when they were set upon by a Nierite legion somewhere in this area. A lone survivor from the Nierite legion eventually made it back to the First City and told his tale before dying from exposure and his injuries. He related the battle and told of the Nierites’ destruction, but the Pride of Chendo’s victory was short-lived as a terrible blizzard moved in. Only his faith in Nier was able to keep the frigid weather from killing the young soldier out of hand. He reported that the last he saw of the members of the Pride of Chendo, they were going up the mountainside -- trying to find shelter where none existed. And thus the last of that noble family and province was wiped clean from history and any mention of it was expunged by the decree of Leonydes val’Virdan himself.”
“And that’s the Ark of Knowledge?” asked Vlad.
Quintus nodded. “What I first called the Ark of Knowledge is correctly called the Ark of the val’Emman. Once sealed, only one of the blood may open it without destroying its contents.”
Quintus passed his hand over the lock once again. The latch glowed and a loud click rebounded through the icy chamber.
“Years ago, when we were in Grand Coryan, I did not know where the Ansharan Gate was, do you recall?”
Ilmarė nodded. Vlad strained to remember.
“That is because I am not from Grand Coryan at all. I lied to you, ashamed of my heritage. I am a descendant of the val’Emman as are probably many who now call themselves val’Virdan.”
Quintus triumphantly threw open the lid. Instantly, a crystal jewel the size of a human fist floated up out of the chest, sparkling with a warm ruddy glow from within.
“And now, with this, the Mentagi, the legacy of the val’Emman family can be rediscovered and their descendants may take their rightful name once again!”
Quintus grasped the Mentagi crystal. A brilliant white light spread from his hands to his arms, and then engulfed his entire body. He floated up in the air. The divine energy was so bright that they all covered their eyes.
When they opened them, Quintus stood before them on his own two legs. He looked like a warrior of old, accoutered in the armor and weapons they discovered hidden in the ice.
“Quintus,” said Ilmarė. “You have been reborn!”
Vlad peered at Quintus. “And your eyes are gray. That means…”
“Quintus is now a val,” said Sebastian with a smirk.
The trip back through the portal was as disorienting as ever. Once they regained their bearings, Decimus was standing before them.
“This is not the same portal chamber,” said Ilmarė.
“Welcome back, my friends. I feared that you might choose the Gracchi offer instead.”
“We talked about it at length,” said Sebastian. “But ultimately, I would rather support a rebel than a tyrant.”
“Where are we?” asked Vlad.
“You are in Nevanne. I apologize for the deception. My employer did not feel it safe for you to return to Savona and instead sought help from an ally.”
“Who is this ally?” asked Beldin.
Decimus began to speak and then was cut off by the sound of marching feet and the opening of the portal chamber’s heavy door.
General Menisis val’Tensen entered with a small entourage of men.
“Welcome back from your mission. I’m sure you did not expect to arrive in Nevanne. However, his Eminence, the Archprelate of Beltine, felt it might be more prudent for you to come here rather than for you to return Enpebyn. Please tell me, did you succeed in finding the val’Emman’s Mentagi?”
Quintus saluted Menisis. “How do you know of this mission? Why are you interested in it?”
“Those are all legitimate questions. Decimus’ patron, the Archprelate Morushun val’Ishi, told me of your mission. The Emperor is either under the sway of malignant forces or has gone insane. His Holiness believes that should the Mentagi fall into the Emperor’s hands, he will allow those of the val’Emman family access to it only if they swear fealty to him. I do not wish to see a people freed from the mists of history only to be enslaved as janissaries of a madman.”
“So it is open rebellion then,” Quintus said quietly.
“You must understand that I have reports of legions deserting their posts and returning to their founding city. Further reports tell of small clashes between Coryani legions in the outskirts of the Foundry as well as a very troubling mention of the disappearance of an entire legion in the Western Marches. With such chaos rippling through the Empire, I’m sure you agree that Nevanne is a far safer place for your discovery than those contested regions.” He nodded at Decimus. “Decimus has a letter from the Archprelate corroborating what I just explained.”
“About our payment…” added Vlad.
“The artifacts are property of Quintus’ expedition and by extension, they become the property of the Archprelate. You will be compensated as promised and be given leave to go as you wish.”
Quintus cleared his throat. “I have nowhere else to go. I would stay here and help, if you will have me.”
Menisis assessed Quintus. “You look different, Quintus. Stronger. We would be glad to have you. And the rest of you?”
“We’ve got a friend to catch up with in Altheria,” said Sebastian. “We need to leave at once.”
“I understand. You will be escorted with all due haste. The sooner you’re out of Coryan, the better. The Emperor will not soon forget this slight.”
The esteemed general nodded again to Decimus and then marched out the way he came. Decimus and the others followed after him.
“Ilmarė, wait.”
The elorii paused. Quintus and Ilmarė stared at each other for a long moment.
“When I had heard you were poisoned in Milandir, I feared the worst. I went on this quest with the hope that I would find you. And then this all happened.” Quintus hugged her to him. “When I was in that closet, when they were cutting me up…all that kept me going was the thought of you. You were all I could think of, even though I knew you were a thousand miles away. And you found me. You found me.”
“I'm sorry,” said Ilmarė. “I'm sorry...”
“Hey...hey...it's okay!” He hugged her tighter.
“Your new body is different…so thin,” said Ilmarė. “Am I hurting you?”
“No…no…it feels good...” He hadn’t been hugged or barely touched in so long.
Ilmarė disengaged and looked at him with a familiar smile.
“Back soon, you said you'd be back soon.”
“I know. I was on a mission I couldn’t share with you. With anyone. The contubernium were my family. With you gone, they were my world. Now they’re gone too.” Quintus met her gaze, looked her over with a smile. “You look...wonderful. I like your hair.”
“I’ve…I’ve found someone else,” Ilmarė said softly. “An elorii.”
“I thought you might have.”
“I would never –“
“I know.”
“I didn't want it to happen. It just did. One day Persius was there. He took care of everything. He took care of me. I was…broken.”
“It’s been so long. Are you married?”
Ilmarė shook her head. “It’s more complicated than that. Some day, I will explain it to you.”
Silence.
“We’ve changed a lot, haven’t we?”
“We have indeed,” said Ilmarė. “You and I are more different than ever.”
“And yet, far more alike.” Quintus laughed. “Now I’m a val in service to a rebel army. And you are trying to help save humans from ssanu.”
Ilmarė’s expression turned serious. “Umor has grown so bold as to manifest as a Valinor before the Emperor. The Gods War is at hand. We may not see each other again.”
Quintus smiled sadly. “Then this is goodbye. Farewell, Ilmarė. Take good care of Kham and the others.”
“Someone has to.” She squeezed his hand briefly. Then she turned and walked out of Quintus’ life.
Quintus stood there, uncertain and unwilling to step into his new life right away.
Decimus stuck his head back in the room. “Come, Quintus. We’ve got much work to do and little time to do it.”
“Right,” said Quintus. He approached the two legionnaires who flanked the doorway.
They both saluted him. “For duty and honor!”
Quintus blinked back tears of surprise. Finding his voice, he shouted,”For duty and honor!”
This is a Year Two Living Arcanis adventure, “The Serpentine Path” by Derrel Weaver, set in the Arcanis setting. You can read more about Arcanis at Onara Online. Please note: This adventure contains spoilers!
Our cast of characters includes:
• Dungeon Master: Michael Tresca (http://michael.tresca.net)
• Beldin Soulforge (dwarf fighter/dwarven defender) played by Joe Lalumia
• Bijoux (fihali druid) played by Melissa Tresca
• Calactyte (ss’ressen barbarian) played by Joe Tresca (portfolio banking investing mortgage credit at creepyportfolio.com)
• Ilmarė Galen (elf bard/fighter/seeker of the cerulean sign) played by Amber Tresca
• Kham Val’Abebi (val rogue/psychic warrior) played by Jeremy Ortiz (http://www.ninjarobotstudios.com)
• Sebastian Arnyal (dark-kin sorcerer) played by George Webster
• Vlad Martell (human fighter) played by Matt Hammer
I was happy with the way this adventure turned out. It was a four-part marathon played on President’s Day weekend. Everyone’s playing for keeps this go-round, and it shows.
This war with Ssethregore is a huge deal in our campaign; it ties up Dril, Holden, Kham, and Calactyte’s story arcs, concludes with the reemergence of a major villain, and sets into motion some cataclysmic events that will have far-reaching repercussions.
And oh yeah, characters are gonna die. This is a war, and with war comes sacrifices…
Kham stood before in a reception room, created specifically to impress visitors. It was in the typical Coryani style, with lounges and low tables, cushions and tapestries. He hated it.
Luca Gracchi reclined on a divan, watching Kham with partially lidded eyes. She was still attractive despite her years. Her arched eyebrows were carefully plucked, her eyelids exquisitely painted, her curly wig the brightest red. Luca’s erotic skills were legendary, and her age was seen as little hindrance to a woman so schooled in such arts. Her political influence was due largely in part to her bedroom prowess.
She was also Kham’s mother.
“It’s nice of you to visit,” she sneered at him.
Kham grabbed a bottle of Savonan wine from a slave who held it at the ready. He took a swig. It took a lot of alcohol to deal with his mother. “Yeah, well, I was in town and with dad dying and all, I thought it was time for a reunion.”
Luca barked a laugh. It was very unladylike. “You would do that. You wouldn’t attend your own father’s funeral, just to embarrass me.”
“Me?” Kham stopped drinking to look at her incredulously. “Don’t you mean us? I was out saving the world. What was your excuse?”
“That’s precisely the point.” Lucca sniffed. “I expected you to represent the family because I couldn’t be there myself.”
“And why not?”
“Don’t get fresh with me, boy. You know precisely why not.”
Kham put one finger to his forehead. “Ah yes, let’s see if my val gifts do me justice.” He closed his eyes. “Right.” He opened them again. “Because it wouldn’t do for a lady who consorts with Coryani senators to be seen in Altheria.”
Lucca’s lip tugged slightly at one corner. “Perceptive as ever. You’re right, I couldn’t go. With civil war looming no loyal Coryani in her right mind would travel. Besides, the Altherians have recalled all the Shining Patrol and every able-bodied Altherian citizen.”
Kham blinked. “Since when?”
“Since this week. You’ve haven’t heard? While the Emperor has to deal with that traitor Menisis, Altheria’s been fretting over the Ssethregorans. They think war is afoot and they’re mustering arms to prepare.” She waved the whole issue away with a gesture. “It’s just a matter of time, really.”
“So that’s what this is about.” Kham’s expression hardened. “You want me to go back to Altheria as a citizen.”
“Of course. The least you can do is visit the site of your father’s grave. Fortunately for you, there was no body, so you were excused from bathing your father’s corpse.” Lucca’s lip sneered in contempt.
“Since when are you so concerned about religion?” Kham peered at Lucca. “You’re not worried about father at all. You’re worried about Pallas.”
Lucca’s lips became a thin red line.
“You’re afraid I’m going to say something bad about Pallas. And you don’t want word to get out about it.”
“Our family has suffered enough embarrassment,” she said in low tones. “We don’t need anyone branded a traitor.”
Kham stood up. “Well, mother, you don’t have to worry about that. I was planning to go to Altheria all along, to pay my respects, to dad AND Pallas.” He grabbed the wine bottle from the startled slave.
Kham was about to leave when Lucca’s voice stopped him. It was kind, soft, a rare display of weakness. “One more thing, child.”
“Yes, mother?”
“Did you get him?”
“Dad’s killer?” Kham didn’t turn around. “Yeah. I blew his head right off.”
Her eyes brimming with tears, Lucca’s face split into a grin. “Good boy,” she whispered.
He left. Lucca wiped her eyes with a silk handkerchief provided by a slave.
“Did you spike the wine?”
The slave nodded. “Yes, domina, exactly as you asked. He will sleep for days.”
“Good,” she smirked. “Kham’s friends might make some poor choices, but I’ll not have my son committing treason against the Emperor.”
The city of Althre’ was truly a wonder to behold. Althre’ was a mountaintop labyrinth composed of sculpted rock and delicate-looking bridges that stretched for miles, connecting the expanding boundaries of the city. Every building was a function of beauty and utility. Every piece of stone was a carved work of art, every street a wonder.
Sebastian, Beldin, and Vlad had wandered for several days through the city in awe. At first, there seemed to be too many scenic wonders to visit. Kham, delayed for days by his mothers actions, eventually met them there. He acted as their guide, showing them such wonders as the Vault of Memory, the Vault of Utility, one of the Shrines of the Gift, and the Great Library of Althares.
“Normally I’d take you to see the Council of Wisdom,” said Kham with a bit of pride in his voice, “but they’re in session and admittance is forbidden except for official business. I’ve got to go visit the Grand Church of Althares.” He nodded at a restaurant labeled, “The Hand of Fate.” “You can hang out here until I’m finished.”
Kham led the way into the restaurant, only to discover that The Hand of Fate was being used as a wedding reception for a priest of Althares.
“What are those nine owls for?” asked Vlad.
Kham craned his neck while he waited for the restaurant owner to meet them. “Those? That means this is the priest’s ninth wife.”
“Ninth wife!” Sebastian peered into the room with consternation. “Did he kill the other eight?”
Kham smirked. “Worse. He just married them.”
“Nine wives,” said Beldin in disbelief. “Now that’s stamina.”
The busy restaurant owner had a hushed conversation with Kham. Eventually, Kham won the argument.
“They’re busy, but the cuisine here is excellent and I called in a favor. Try to stay out of trouble.” With a wink, Kham left the restaurant.
A waitress took them over to a rickety-looking second floor rear balcony, away from the wedding party. Once the table was prepared and food was delivered, the servants quickly left them to their meal.
“Dril’s supposed to meet us, right?” said Vlad. “I hear Calactyte and Bijoux will be joining us too.”
“Yes. Ilmarė is leading them separately on a caravan headed for Semar,” said Sebastian. “I advised Calactyte against coming to Althre’, but he insisted. It’s a bad time to have scales in a city like this.”
“It’s a beautiful city,” said Beldin. “Even by dwarven standards.”
The view from the balcony was breathtaking. Portions of The Great Stair were visible. They could make out the bustling traffic that wound its way along the carved stone stairway, passing under the magnificent trio of waterfalls known as the Tresses of Saluwe’. The mist from the waterfalls was reflected in the early morning sunlight, creating a huge rainbow that framed the scene and provided a calming ambiance.
The view was so beautiful that it took a moment for raised voices below the balcony to register.
“I’m not interested,” said a firm, resolute voice. “Now get lost.”
“I know that voice. That’s Dril!” exclaimed Vlad.
“Listen friend,” responded a silky smooth voice. “Travel through the mountains is a dangerous prospect without proper protection. Perhaps you should reconsider our offer.”
“I am NOT your friend,” said Dril. “And I am NOT interested.”
“You would be wise to accept our protection, MERCHANT. We know your guards have deserted you. You NEED us. Or do you expect your beloved Althares to send you replacements falling from the sky like rain?”
Several other voices burst into laughter.
“I’ve heard enough—” Vlad kicked back from the table, rising from his chair. As he did so, the rickety balcony gave way with a loud CRACK!
Vlad and Beldin tumbled forward with a crash, smashing into seat cushions on the floor. Sebastian, his wings freed from their confines, slowly floated down to the table below and landed at its center before the startled men.
Sebastian addressed Dril, hands on his hips. “You rang?” he asked with a smirk.
Dril’s right hand tightly grasped the hilt of a scimitar on his left hip, but with Sebastian’s arrival, his demeanor changed. Dril loosened his grip and a broad smile creased his face.
“As a matter of fact, yes. Althares always provides for his faithful.” He nodded at Sebastian. “Thanks for dropping in.”
Vlad and Beldin got their feet, weapons at the ready.
The six light-skinned men who had been accosting Dril were startled by their arrival. They all wore long swords, heavy chain armor, and green tabards that bore a four-fingered claw insignia. They looked at each other, and then silently turned to leave.
“Sssuit yourssself MERCHANT!” one of them snarled over his shoulder. “You’ll be sssorry!”
The other members of the group quickly gathered their friend and disappeared in the crowded streets.
Vlad watched them go, filled with a creeping dread. He had heard that lisp before.
Kham dreaded attending the Grand Church, but he knew it fell to him to perform the ritual for his cousin and, by proxy, make up for his absence at his father’s ceremony. Kham held the incinerated remains of Pallas high above his head. Mourners he had hired surrounded him.
Kham chanted the Altharu Akbar:
Praise be to Althares, Lord of the Universe,
the Mercygiving, the Merciful!
Ruler on the Day for Repayment!
You we worship and You we call on for help.
Guide us along the Straight Road,
the road of those whom You have favored,
with whom You are not angry,
nor who are lost!
He concluded the prayer in Altherian with “Assalamu alaikum.” It translated to, “peace be with you.”
The funeral procession traveled slowly from the Grand Church to the gravesite, in a horse-drawn hearse. Kham walked beside it in silence.
The val’Abebi gravesite was enormous. Although devout Altherians believed that extravagant decorations were unnecessary and could be better spent on the needy, val vanity required something more. They were covered in small domes called makaams. Unlike traditional graves, Altherian graves were always elevated at least a foot above the ground so that none could walk over it.
Normally, handfuls of soil in the grave would be poured on the face of the corpse, but there was no corpse. Instead, Kham took the ashes of Pallas and poured them into a small hole.
“We created you from it, and return you into it, and from it we will raise you a second time,” chanted Kham.
The Priest of Althares said more prayers.
Kham addressed the small crowd of men who had gathered there. Cousins, nieces, nephews…there were many that carried the val’Abebi name who didn’t know each other directly. It didn’t matter; they still came to pay their respects.
“Pallas was a good man, who died in a strange land. But he was doing Althares’ will. A true patriot, he loved his country and died protecting it. When the valinor judge his life, I am certain they will not find him wanting.”
In truth, Kham wasn’t so sure. It was believed that two valinor judged each Altherian after death, quizzing the deceased about Althares. Worse, the dead were supposed to be able to hear the words of the living. If Pallas had any chance of getting into heaven, Kham would have to only think good thoughts about him.
It was easy to believe Corinalous, a virtuous man, would pass the test of the valinor with ease. But Kham wasn’t so sure about Pallas. His cousin believed he was right in killing ss’ressen eggs.
The question was: did Althares agree? Kham thought about that as he left to meet his companions.
Following the winding caravan trail was not a difficult task. Though the trail snaked its way around various mountain peaks, it was very well traveled and maintained.
Vlad patted the corded neck of the stallion beneath him. “These horses are amazing.”
Dril allowed himself a smile. “They’re the best trained horses in Onara. I’ve taught them several tricks, in fact.”
“Have we much further?” asked Sebastian. He had to ride in the cart, as no horse, not even Dril’s legendary mounts, would carry him.
“We should meet up with the caravan bound for Klos Ka’Ra tomorrow…” Dril trailed off as he focused on a lone figure on the trail ahead.
A very old man leaned heavily on a gnarled walking stick as he made his way down the road.
“This is the path, yes, the serpentine path…creatures of light and creatures of night, either may lead you to sorrow. For they wind together down a serpentine path, and the rest of Onara will follow!”
He broke into hysterical laughter and a coughing fit.
“He’s blind,” said Vlad.
Noticing Vlad, the old man became agitated. He began another conversation with himself. “Eh? You? Do I know you? No, it can’t be. I saw you in Semar. Or, will I see you in Semar? How can you see if you are blind? Ah, the light of Illiir illuminates all. But is that now or later? Hmmm. Strange…are you late, or early? Shouldn’t you already be in Semar? I’m hungry! What’s for supper?”
Vlad and Dril exchanged glances.
“Heed his words,” said Beldin softly. “I feel a kinship with this creature. It only wears the cloak of a man.”
“Great,” said Kham. “So I guess we better feed him then.”
They dismounted and began to make camp.
Despite his blindness, the old man had an uncanny knack for following people with his head, clearly addressing them. “The trees have ears and the rocks have eyes,” he said to Dril. “The sticks are snakes! I tell no lies!”
“I believe you,” Dril said semiseriously. He preoccupied himself with tethering the horses.
“The knowledge you seek is found within,” the old man said to Beldin. “Be true to your heart and redeem your kin!”
“I am doing my best,” Beldin said morosely.
“An ancient evil is stirring. Semar is not the prize.” He addressed Kham. “Hidden within is their goal—more power than you realize!”
“Uh huh,” said Kham. He took a swig from a wineskin. “This is great! He’s got a saying for everything. Hey old man, tell me about this one!” And with that, Kham lifted one leg and let forth a rip-roaring fart.
The old man sniffed the air. “There once was an Altherian monk, whose foot odor rivaled a skunk. He’d go down to the stream, and scrub his feet clean, and the river would stink for a month!”
Kham broke into a giggling fit. “See?”
“The dread king has been weakened but his reach yet extends,” the old man told Sebastian. “Your very survival, upon discretion may depend.”
Sebastian shook the wings from beneath his cloak. “It’s a little late for that, I’m afraid.”
“Nothing for me?” Vlad asked, a little irritated.
“An emperor most foul will sunder the pact, cowering in fear when promised to act. Causing Hurrian’s chosen much devastation, loyalties split along with a nation. Blood will flow from brother on brother. First one war, and then another.”
“Sorry I asked,” muttered Vlad.
“This is great!” Kham was clearly entertained by the whole spectacle. “Tell us more old man!”
“Dark deeds are needed to combat the One Nameless. Absorbing the elemental essence, the gods of man are blameless!”
“Ha!” shouted Kham, sloshing his wineskin. “That’s what I’ve been saying all along!”
“Watch the babbling idiot,” Dril told Vlad. “I don’t want him wandering off in the middle of the night and getting himself hurt.”
“What about the old man?” asked Vlad with a smirk.
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