The Scars Run Deep (Updated - 3/29/2004)

[Ruined]

14th of Chardot, yr. 150 A.V., continued

“So what will you do?” Tréan asked as she and Surielle walked through the woods north of Oakdale.

“It really depends upon what Solenus has to tell me. If my mother is dead, then I will know peace and go with you on your quest. If the path I follow leads elsewhere…” Surielle left it unfinished. She didn’t want to say she would abandon the quest that Gerad and Tréan had sworn to, but she knew that if pushed to choose, she would follow her heart. Bounty hunters may continue to follow her for her part in the flight from Quelsk, but they would find her harder to track than her friends. Once she returned to the safer woods of Darakeene, the ire of Calastia would mean little to her.

They moved into a clearing, following the path Snowmelt had forged ahead of them. Surielle had let her wolf roam free now that she knew what to expect in this edge of the Hornsaw.

As the pair reached the end of the clearing, something grabbed Surielle’s foot and pulled her up into the sky. She let out a cry as she was suspended upside down beneath a tree. Someone had left a snare, and it had caught her easily. She struggled to look around the clearing for assailants while trying to think of a way to break free. Below her, Tréan had her spear drawn, ready for battle. But the clearing was deathly quiet. After a few tense moments, Tréan began to laugh. It was infectious, and Surielle had to catch her breath to tell Tréan to help her down from the trap.

Once freed, Surielle helped Tréan to look around the clearing. She found spoor that marked a few dogs, most likely Thrain’s hounds. Underneath some brush, someone had stored three skins containing a sticky paste made for entanglement. It was harmless enough now, but it painted a scene of what could have been. Thrain alone was a tough adversary, but with snares and tanglefoot bags he and his hounds could have overpowered them all. The pair counted themselves lucky.

Solenus awaited them with cups of a strong tea. He was not alone. A woman with golden braided hair stepped forward and introduced herself as Caitlin, another druidess of Denev.

“The resemblance is remarkable…” she said, brushing aside strands of Surielle’s hair with a gentle hand. “You are the very image of Amara. I had thought Solenus to be exaggerating at first, but I should have known better.”

“How did you know her?” Surielle asked. Tréan remained silent by her side.

“She and I met in Zathiske, drawn together by common cause. Those were better days, when we were still young and lively, innocent of the horrors of the world. Of places like this,” she said, looking to the forest beyond where they stood. “Eventually we were called here to the Hornsaw.”

“There were seven of us in total, all druids drawn from various parts of Ghelspad and beyond. The calling… I cannot describe it. It is one thing to walk the land, knowing that Denev’s presence surrounds you. But this? It was a yearning to come here for an unknown purpose. Amara and I spoke little of it. We were called, and we came.”

“What happened to them?” Surielle asked. She did not wish to hear of her mother’s death, but she had to know the answers to her burning questions.

“First you should know of our purpose. Solenus told me you have heard the tale of the Broadreach Elves’ sacrifice.” They both nodded. “Yes. The ritual, Atarnoth Gran, means Renewal in elven. It was drawn up to fight the encroaching corruption of the forest. The elves were the only ones to use it, because they knew it would last many years and the shorter-lived races would not endure. They shifted themselves into great trees, using their roots to spread healing magic into the poisoned land. Nothing could harm the trees while they stood over the years.”

Surielle could see the horrors of that time etched in shadows on Solenus’ face. There was a knot forming in her stomach, pondering the fate of her birth mother.

“What was done with the original Atarnoth Gran was beneficial, but it was not enough to turn the tide for the forest. Their slow-working magicks stemmed the tide of poison from Mormo’s fall, but it could not stop it. We believed that a shorter, more powerful ritual might work where the original failed. Duly prepared, our group ventured into the forest. There are rumors of a single tree in the heart of the Hornsaw called the Great Sapling. It is believed to be the heart of the forest, and its roots connect with all life within. We intended to reach the Sapling, enact the ritual, and hope that it would work.”

“But you are here. What happened?” Tréan asked. Caitlin’s expression darkened at the question.

“There were seven of us, aye, yet the ritual only required three of us. More would be better and all would have willingly joined in, but we were realistic. The horrors inside there…” She paused, seeming to relive that day in her mind. “Some of the dangers we passed as only servants of Denev could, bending flora to our will and rendering poisons inert. Others were more of a physical conflict. A monstrous beast, one of several, grabbed me and broke my form. Limbs were crushed, my back broken. I should have died.”

“We had agreed that our most potent healing magicks should be conserved for the good of the whole. I was first to fall. I would have gladly perished to see the job done. Someone in the group healed me enough so that I could care for myself. I begged them go on, as more enemies approached. No one wished this, but it was for the good of the forest.”

“I’ll wager that more perished as they moved further into the Hornsaw. No others emerged here. I’ve sensed a change in the forest over the years, so I believe they were successful.”

Surielle was amazed. Her mother had sacrificed her life for the will of Denev to heal the land. Would she have had the courage to take such a quest?

“You said your version of the ritual was shorter. The one Solenus was involved in was for nearly a hundred years.”

“It was a tricky business, altering the ritual in such a way. We originally estimated thirty years. The more scholarly ones among us would know more, but I was the one left behind.”

There was an uneasy silence in the grove. Surielle looked about, her gaze moving from Caitlin to Solenus to Tréan.

“If I were to venture in after Amara, there is nothing I could do to free her?”

“Doubtful. The Atarnoth Gran was designed to resist the interference of the greatest titanic servants,” Caitlin said.

“And you would surely perish in the attempt,” Solenus added. Tréan laid a comforting hand against Surielle’s back.

“We will do whatever is necessary for you. You know that.”

“There is nothing I can do now,” Surielle stated. “We will do what is needed for the Globe, and then I will return to save her.”

 

[Ruined]

15th of Chardot, yr. 150 A.V., continued

The day wore long in Oakdale. Gerad had walked the town twice over, but felt uncomfortable in the midst of its people. The ladies and he were here visiting a man no one but they knew existed. Their purposes and discoveries could be shared with no one outside of their circle. Every action was masked with deceit. Silas would have done well here, Gerad thought.

Surielle and Tréan had returned from the north woods bearing grim looks. They told him of the effort the druids had taken years ago, and the possible fate of Surielle’s mother. Given this information, Gerad was very surprised to hear that Surielle intended to leave with them. They talked it over outside of Kelkarrin’s obscured tower, with Surielle presenting her thoughts: Either her mother was trapped in a ritual that she was not prepared to dispel, or she had perished in the attempt. Surielle was not ready to handle either outcome. The current task ahead of them was a worthy one, and she was glad to travel with them.

The trio was admiring the playful antics of Snowmelt when a chilling cold wind whipped across them. To Gerad, it felt like he had been thrown naked into a frozen lake. Within seconds it had passed, but everyone seemed to feel the effect. Even Snowmelt stopped her caterwauling and whined at Surielle.

“What was that?” Tréan asked.

“Whew. That felt too cold for the middle of Summer.” He rubbed his arms, trying to soak in some warmth from the sun. The door to the tower opened, and Liam peered out.

“Did everyone just feel something dreadfully cold?” They all nodded their assent.

“You felt it inside?” Surielle asked.

“Yes, we all did,” he replied. The door opened a bit wider, and they could see Kelkarrin towering over the halfling. There was a wild look of dread in his eyes.

“Everyone, to the top of the tower. Follow me.”

Spiral stairs led up past many floors that Gerad had not encountered. He couldn’t help but wonder how the top of the tower would be. Would the enchantment persist, making it look like they were standing on top of nothing but air? Gerad did not think his mind could handle the change. Fortunately, when Kelkarrin opened the trapdoor to the roof, there were visible flagstones and low, crenellated walls.

Atop the tower, they gathered around a shallow pool of water five foot in diameter. Frost had rimed over the top, but it was quickly separating and melting in the sunlight.

“We must know the source of that wind. This pool is enabled for scrying.” He moved over, stirring some of the ice pieces with his staff. “One of you should look. I have nearly spent myself on research today.”

No one readily volunteered. Gerad truly hoped the old man didn’t mean him. He had not an inkling of how magic was done and cared not to involve himself in such matters. Mages were almost as bad as archers. Almost.

“I will try, if you will show me the way,” Surielle said, stepping up to the pool. Following Kelkarrin’s guidance, she knelt on the flagstones before the pool and placed her hands on the stone lip. Kelkarrin did not ask for silence amongst the group, but everyone presumed it was necessary.

“Relax your mind. Think of the world from on high, your sight soaring across the land. Follow the wind…” The mage guided her with practiced ease, focusing his vision upon the waters of the pool. Gerad found his eyes locked on the waters as well. The flakes of ice floated in the clear waters, drifting in patterns, and behind them he could see the reflection of the blue sky and drifting clouds. The clouds increased their pace, and when he looked to the sky Gerad found that the two images did not match. The image in the water blurred and shifted until it looked like it was the vision of an eagle soaring across the landscape.

“Slower, slower,” Kelkarrin cautioned Surielle. “You go too fast and you won’t find what you’re looking for.” His direction must have worked, for the images of blurred landscapes began to slow. It continued for another minute, then stopped. The scene had changed from grassy meadows to land with an obvious dusting of snow.

“Snowfall? It’s the middle of summer!” Gerad said. He spared a glance at Liam and Tréan, who were both stunned, seeing the same vision he did.

“Where is this?” Liam asked.

“To the East. Calastia, perhaps Lageni,” Kelkarrin responded. He leaned close to Surielle, speaking in calm low tones. “See if you can find the center of the snows. I know this is taxing you, but you have the power to do this.”

Gerad could see the mixture of discomfort and determination on her face. Her eyes remained focused on the image in the pool. Snow-covered ground began to roll across the pool’s surface, making Gerad feel a bit dizzy. Eventually she stopped its progress as she found what she sought.

An army.

Gerad recognized the banners immediately. The red dragon across a black field adorned with crossed swords marked the Second Battalion, a sizeable infantry unit from Calastia. He said as much to the group.

As the vision soared above the army, everyone could tell that they were positioned in a large circle that showed no signs of snow. The numbers looked staggering, but it was the circle that worried everyone.

“They have at least one portion of the globe,” Kelkarrin said, dread evident in his voice, “And it looks as if they intend to use it.”

 

[Ruined]

16th of Chardot, yr. 150 A.V.

Sleep had not come easily for Gerad. His room was much more comfortable than the barracks he used to share, and the tower, while unfamiliar and mysterious by nature, was as comfortable and pleasantly appointed as the home of any lord. The visions he had seen in the scrying pool atop it were what had him rattled. Calastia marching to war bothered him on a base level. He had been trained for just such a purpose, but other than skirmishes and patrols, they had not seen action on a scale that large. The army they saw in the vision was meant for siege on another country, perhaps Durrover or Vesh. Gerad had studied enough history of Ledean times to know the consequences war brought, and like it or not, he still had people he cared about in the Calastian military machine.

He had haunted the stairs of Kelkarrin’s tower, careful not to disturb anyone in his passing. Gerad had not been the only one up for the night, for he’d found Kelkarrin’s bedroom open and lit. They had spoken of the army and possible consequences of them having the globe, none of which were reassuring. During the conversation, Gerad had spotted an oddity in Kelkarrin’s room, a double-bladed sword. Normally Gerad would have scoffed at such an impractical weapon, yet he sensed that the old mage could do considerable damage with it. Kelkarrin wasn’t built like a warrior, but he had seen great battles – Gerad was sure of it.

The night passed more easily after that, and Gerad found himself late for the meeting Kelkarrin had called them to. As he climbed the spiral stairs that encircled the tower, he stopped to look out of an exterior window at the wonderful view. The fields surrounding the tower were clear, bereft of the vineyards that sustained Oakdale, so the villagers rarely strayed near the hidden tower. A shambling form moving within the fields drew his gaze. He focused his gaze and realized it was Nieman, the taller of Kelkarrin’s apprentices. Nieman struggled with a large rucksack on his back as he walked away from the tower. Was he leaving?

Gerad resumed his pace up the steps, taking two at a time, until he arrived at a wide room that supported by marble pillars. Kelkarrin and Liam stood in the center of the room, while Tréan, Surielle, and Snowmelt watched from the side. A ceremony involving the two wizards was in progress. Gerad moved to stand beside Tréan and watched in silence.

“Liam Brightmeadow, I release you from service. Let us end the bondage of master and servant.”

With that, both Kelkarrin and Liam pulled their left sleeves back, revealing intricate tattoos. Gerad stared at the designs, absently rubbing the armguard on his left arm. From this distance their tattoos did not appear identical to the one he kept hidden, the one given to him by that slitheren witch, but the similarities were frightening. As Gerad watched, the pair spoke in harmony, using words that meant nothing to his ears. There was a brief sensation of power, and the tattoos began to melt from their arms. After the ritual concluded, Kelkarrin smiled and clasped hands with Liam.

"Where is Nieman?" Kelkarrin asked the group. Gerad decided to speak when no one else responded.

"I saw him leaving the tower by himself. He carried a large bundle on his back." It was a long moment before Kelkarrin responded.

"That is disturbing. We have not severed the ties between us," Kelkarrin said, moving to open a shuttered window.

He means the tattoos, Gerad thought. "Beg your pardon, Kelkarrin, but I must ask: What is the significance of the tattoos you shared?"

“Ah yes, I explained it to the others before you arrived.” Kelkarrin pulled back the right sleeve of his robe, revealing another tattoo composed of red and yellow swirls and black lines. It too was different from the one Gerad wore. “It is an Apprenticeship Bond. It protects master and apprentice from harm from one another’s magicks. You see, as youths are learning their skills, they have a propensity for accidents,” he shot a coy look back at Liam, “such as setting laboratories on fire.”

“I warned you I was unable to control that evocation.” Liam retorted, his cheeks reddening. Kelkarrin smiled.

“Alas, it seems that Nieman has left without ending our agreement.” Kelkarrin seemed to catch something in Gerad’s eyes as he spoke. “Why do you ask, Gerad?”

Gerad hesitated for a moment, and then pulled the bracer from his wrist. Beneath was the serpentine form of the tattoo. There were differences in design and coloration, but the placement and overall form of the two were the same. “Chardun’s torment…” Kelkarrin cursed under his breath and stepped back. He brought his hand up and wove a spell. Gerad flinched, hoping the mage would not blast him from his tower. Gerad was untouched and he felt nothing odd from his tattoo. Kelkarrin paced the room, looking for unseen assailants. Satisfied, he returned to stand before Gerad.

“How long have you had that, and where did you get it?”

Gerad told the tale of how the white slitheren had marked him with the spell. He had tried to remove it with no success, so he had hidden it for years. It occasionally made him uncomfortable, but he noticed no ill effects. Surielle and Tréan each took turns examining it, as neither had seen the marking before. It was a reminder to all that there were still secrets among their tight knit group.

“It is a perversion of the Binding, but similar enough in nature. Such spells can be used to look in upon the ‘apprentice’, if one is capable of scrying. The spell I work is consensual. It cannot be cast upon one without their blessing.”

“I did not want this – you may be sure of that,” Gerad protested. The mage nodded. “Is there something you can do that can remove it?”

Kelkarrin ran his fingers through his silvering beard. “I can try a few spells, but I have my doubts. The Binding I use can only be removed in the presence of both involved. Until I see Nieman again, I fear this will mark me. It is of little concern for me, but your marking may prove difficult to undo.”

Conversation shifted to other topics, affording Gerad time to speak with Liam. He would not be traveling with their group. He was freed from Kelkarrin’s service, but he still had a task that Kelkarrin wanted done. The halfling would not speak of details, saying that the matter was ‘very hush-hush’. Gerad allowed the subject to pass, and both of them agreed that they would see each other again.

They had discussed the matter and determined that the Last Watchtower was the best place to begin searching for any clues as to the Globe’s whereabouts, even though the trail was over a century cold. Once more recalling the strange, baleful lights he had seen atop the accursed tower, Gerad found himself oddly heartened to know that Kelkarrin would be joining them.

 

[Surielle Moonshade]

More please!

 

[Ruined]

Big two-parter here. The continuation will be posted in a few days.

17th of Chardot, yr. 150 A.V.

Sweat beaded on the brow of an exhausted Surielle. The sun was just beginning to rise, sending fresh warmth across her skin as she knelt on the flagstones atop Kelkarrin's tower. She had worked for much of the night, practicing with the scrying pool after a weary Tréan had shambled off to bed. Surielle knew it could take years to master such a skill, but she wanted to have enough proficiency for the mage's plan. The others quietly assembled and joined her at the pool.

Kelkarrin nodded at her, signaling that it was time to begin. Once more she peered into the waters, willing her vision away. The waters began to blur, pulling away from the tower and moving east. Despite a night of focusing on locales she knew and trying to see them through the pool, her attempts still failed more often than not. She redoubled her efforts now, bringing to mind someone close to her heart. The waters swirled, gaining colors until they displayed a forest scene.

In the pool a vision of Brianna, peacefully sleeping on a bower of soft moss, begin to form. Surielle felt a pang of guilt spying on her friend while she slept, but this was what was needed. As her concentration lapsed, the pool began to fade back to water, but she forced aside distraction and brought back the image.

"Is that good?" she asked through clenched teeth, not daring to look away from the wavy image.

"It is perfect," Kelkarrin said in a reassuring tone. "Everyone gather near." And so they did. Surielle felt their presence, keeping her vision fixed upon Brianna. Kelkarrin spoke a sharp series of unfamiliar words, his voice resonating with power. The waters began to swirl and bubble, and Surielle grasped the side of the pool. A force wrenched her away from the tower and then stopped suddenly. She felt jarred, but the movement was not enough to throw her from her feet.

They were now in a forested glade, nowhere in sight of Kelkarrin's tower or Oakdale. Before them lay a cold campsite, and the stirring form of Brianna, awakened by their sudden arrival. Above them, Brianna's hawk, Glory, cried out a warning. Brianna leapt to her feet with her scarlet hair falling into an unruly mess. The small robe she slept in hung open, leaving little to the imagination. Surielle caught Gerad trying hard to look elsewhere and smiled.

"What?" she stammered, caught between clutching her robes and preparing to fight. When her eyes fell upon Surielle, she exhaled loudly and eased her shoulders.

"I'm sorry to rouse you, Bri," Surielle said, walking forward to embrace her friend. "We needed a focus to bring us this place, and I was able to find you in a scrying pool."

After brief introductions were made, Kelkarrin and Gerad took their leave, heading to Zamon to acquire a boat with which to cross the river. It allowed Surielle and Tréan time to talk with Brianna and catch up on events of the past few weeks. Brianna was amazed at the dangers they had encountered and of the grave news regarding the Globe and the Calastian army. She had spent most of her time cleansing and warding the grove near Quelsk. Sadly, she told Surielle that there was no further sign of Maximillian, who had last been seen sinking into the earth in an effort to stop the foul servant of Gaurak. It seemed his sacrifice was a final one, sending him on to the next cycle of rebirth. The grove was now healing properly, and Brianna had contacted another druid to assume her duties, so she could return to Darakeene.

When asked, Brianna remembered seeing the spectral glow from the direction of the Last Watchtower, but she did not know the source. Her campsite was less than an hour north from where she had seen the luminescence. She asked what lay inside the Watchtower, but they had no good answers for her. They all agreed that it was undoubtedly evil.

The men returned after a few hours, both sweating in the growing heat of the day.

"We've acquired a boat large enough for the five of us," Kelkarrin said, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Good then," Brianna said, rising to stand before him. "I didn't plan on staying behind."

"Actually I was referring to the wolf. She's nearly as large as Tréan."

Both Brianna's and Tréan's cheeks colored.

"You came to my campsite, so obviously you needed me. You just do not realize it yet." Brianna turned and began to break her small camp. Surielle gave an apologetic look to her friends. She knew Brianna, and she wasn't about to be dissuaded from going with them.

***

Tréan was one of the last to disembark from the boat as they reached the western shore, taking great cares not to soak her armor. She had spent far too much time scouring her chain mail after the pisceans had dragged her under. It was not a task she wanted to repeat. Sparse clouds rolled across the sky, trying their best to obscure Madriel's glorious sun.

As they crested a large hill, Tréan could see the disheartening field that surrounded the Last Watchtower. Bones protruded from the ground at odd angles, along with rust-coated weapons and armor. The battle must have had thousands of combatants, all now intermingled in unrest. So many years had past and no one had come to properly bury the dead. She could understand long-forgotten tombs under the earth not receiving attention from her order, but this field was mere hours from living settlements.

From the cracked ground amid the battlefield rose a tall obelisk of grayish-black stone. Tréan found her eyes watering if she looked at the tower for too long. From this angle, she could see no doors or windows breaking the stone surface. Her eyes traveled up to the top of the tower, which was concealed in an unmoving patch of darkness. This place was anathema to everything that walked the lands of Scarn, breathed its air, and craved the light of day.

"Charming place," Gerad said, grasping his spear with both hands. "What should we be looking for?"

Kelkarrin shielded his eyes from the sun as he examined the watchtower.

"The field and tower is rife with necromantic energy, but I see nothing that brings the Globe to mind." He took a few steps toward the tower, stopping just short of a skeletal hand resting lazily on the desiccated soil. Tréan was ready to caution him against moving farther in. The last thing they needed was to accidentally awaken the dead that were rumored to roam at night. "No, we're looking for history. If we can determine what happened here when the globe was sundered, then we are better equipped to search for the missing half."

"Do we go into the tower?" Brianna asked.

"It is likely our best source of lore. Yet how do we enter?" Kelkarrin pondered. No one in the party was able to see an entrance. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

"There may be an entrance at the top," Tréan hazarded. Kelkarrin nodded.

"I can fly up with a few of you in tow." The mage scratched his beard absently as he looked at each of them. "Two of the women. Gerad I'm sure your arm would be useful, but I can only heft so much weight with the spell."

"No worries, Kelkarrin. I will wait here, and search through the bone yard. There may be things of worth to us found here."

"I will go," Surielle said.

"As will I," Tréan added. "Gerad, darling. Please be wary of the dead. You yourself told us of how these bodies roam the night."

Gerad looked at Brianna who would be staying with him. "We'll be careful. This is not a place where I wish to fight."

They gathered in silence as Kelkarrin prepared his spell. Tréan had enhanced her vision to spot the restless dead, but there were no abominations to be seen in the bone yard. Charms were called forth to enhance their abilities and to mask their presence from the dead. Kelkarrin finished his spell and extended his hands out to her and Surielle. She immediately felt buoyant, as if she were floating on the surface of a lake. Kelkarrin gently pulled her and Surielle into the sky toward the top of the tower.

They flew above the tower to inspect the top before landing, and Tréan could see the cloying, choking essence of death swirling throughout a sphere of darkness there. The darkness didn't cover the entire top of the tower; an outer ring about fifteen feet wide was untouched, leaving them a safe place to land. Kelkarrin pulled her and Surielle forward, aiming for the untouched space.

Suddenly, burst of purplish energy pulsed from the tower, sending a wave outward that passed through all three of them. It was cold, but Tréan felt no illness accompanying it. However, it disrupted whatever spell Kelkarrin used to keep them aloft, and the three of them tumbled from the sky.

***

Gerad slowly walked through the field of bones, focusing more on the refuse at his feet than on Brianna. He did not like the awkward feelings she brought out in him. It was a weakness that distracted him from his duties. She was very attractive, but he had been with women before. Why should this one make his heart quicken in his chest?

"Be careful. That's a rusty blade." He pointed to an orange spear tip half-exposed under a mound of scrub grass. "A wound from such a blade could give a man lockjaw." She's a healer - she would know that Gerad. Idiot.

"Thank you," she said politely, flashing a smile beneath her reddish curls. There was a loud noise from the top of the tower, and they both looked up to see a flash of purplish light.

Gerad could no longer see his friends.

The ground rumbled and lines of purple streaked down the sides of the tower and across the ground. One came perilously close to where he stood, but it did not hurt him. The ground pitched and heaved, throwing bones in all directions. Gerad tried to reach Brianna, but fell to his knees from the unsteady ground.

"Brianna!" he called, but he could barely hear his own voice amid the rumbling. He pushed himself to his feet again, but there was no sight of her. "Brianna!" he called again. He took another tentative step, and the ground gave way beneath his feet. Gerad fell into darkness.