Zad
First Post
The Final Story
OOC Notes:
Please refer to the end of this entry and/or following posts.
The Final Adventure:
A flash of light.
The sound of breaking glass, echoed dozens of times over.
The screams of people being struck down.
The earth, rising up. A sense of vertigo - falling, falling, falling. There will be only one chance, one hope for success. Scorch screams a final warning: “If we don’t hold, then it won’t work! We have to hold it for 30 seconds!” Blood is running out of his nostrils as he speaks, every word a labor. Everything is Shadow Dark and Burning Bright and it’s all spinning, spinning, spinning, spinning…….Satori*.
A sudden stillness and calm. Voices speak.
“I don’t understand any of this,” Dravot said.
“Yes you do. You’re just having trouble processing it. This is the difference between what you were and what you will become.” The voice was male, and had an undertone of impatience or arrogance.
“Lies. You cannot learn. You cannot become.” This voice was hissing and reeked of unconcealed malice.
“You can learn. You will become. I have faith in you.” A man’s voice now, warm and nurturing, and familiar.
“There are voices. You may hear voices. We cannot hear them.”
“What voices? What is he hearing?” This voice was male, calm and subtle.
“It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is his choices. Our choices are the only things that distinguish us.” Another man, but unfamiliar.
“Agreed. But he’s already made his choice. That should have been the end of the process.” A young male voice, stern and inflexible.
“What choice?!? When did I make it? You’re all talking but you’re not making any sense. I still don’t understand,” Dravot finally burst out.
“There is no true choice. Chaos and Order are illusions. Truth is an illusion. YOU are an illusion.”
“There are always choices. That’s the problem, and the solution.”
“Even Chaos is another kind of Order.”
“We’re still here because it’s not just his decision. It’s all their decisions. They’ve committed perhaps, but it’s not that simple.”
“Nothing is that simple.”
“Your riddles confuse him. He needs direct answers and you all stand on ceremony. He stands at the crossroads, and you point in every direction.” This was a woman’s voice, caring and yet annoyed.
“We cannot agree on Truth. That is the problem. We advise him as our nature’s dictate. Even you.”
“I do not pretend to know Truth. That is for your kind to determine. I know nothing of the firmament. I am only of the real, the physical, the Now. I am his advocate in this.”
“My advocate?” Dravot asked, still confused.
“You have always stood by my side, all of you. Whenever I have been threatened, you stood for me. So now, I stand for you.”
“But stand for me how? What is happening?” Dravot knew something large was at stake, but had no clarity on what it was.
“Your Death. Their Death. ALL DEATH.”
“Birth requires Sacrifice. All birth is a prelude to death. But all death is a prelude to new life.”
”You’re making a choice. Or you will. Or you have.”
“I can’t have done both. Which is it?”
”All three. You will chose, you have chosen, and you are chosing right now. This is the change you need to understand – the fact that time is an illusion. I am permanent but you are not.”
”We all die. It’s close, now.”
“You’re talking as if any of this makes any sense. It doesn’t. You’re just talking in circles. None of this means anything to me.”
“That is because you lack context. Everything becomes an enigma without it. You had it, but then you made a choice.”
“And the choice changed the context. When you changed the context, the firm becomes the firmament.”
“That’s the trick really. This particular choice allowed you to decide to never actually make the choice. It’s created a paradox.”
“A paradox? You’re saying that I chose to create a situation where I might not have made the choice? By making the choice itself?” Dravot at the same time felt he was close to understanding and yet still utterly without insight.
”Right. And because of that, the decision can be made again, or still made. It’s a loop. When you make the choice, you create the possibility to NOT have made the choice. That means you MAY not have made the choice… and thus you get to make the choice.”
“But why? Why would that have happened when I made the choice?”
”Because of that particular choice. Every time that choice is made, this happens. We’ve seen it many times before.”
”Many times. Sometimes for the better, other times for the worse.”
”If you make the wrong decision, it will be far far worse.” You could hear the smile in the entity’s voice at the thought of this.
”It’s not just any choice to make but that specific one that dictates your situation.”
“Are you saying this for every choice I make?”
”No. Just this specific one. By making it, you create the loop. By not making it, you allow someone else to dictate the answer.”
“This is going in circles. How do I get to make the choice?”
”Ah. For that, we need to go back to the beginnings. You need to understand the context. You need to understand their choices, to better understand yours.
”And when we go back, we need to go back far. Before you existed in fact.”
“How does that tie into my choice?”
”Because every choice that is made is the sum of the other individual’s choices. If your father had been content with two sons, or your grandfather had not been content with only two sons… where would you be today? Would you even exist?”
”That’s the thing you have to understand. That’s part of the wisdom we’re trying to show you.”
”Enough talk for now. Mysteries are meant to be experienced, not spoken about. We must travel back.”
“Back where?”
”We are unstuck in time. You need to understand this. By making the choice, you gain great power and then you gain great liabilities. Vulnerabilities. To know the future is to appreciate that the future knows you. The very act of knowing the future changes the future.”
“Wait. I think I remember, now,” Dravot struggled to recall, to comprehend. “I made a choice to… I chose to save the future, and thus I might have doomed it?”
”No. Therizdun has doomed it. But now that you know the future is doomed, you know you could save it, but since you know it is doomed, you have been fugued. Everything becomes ephemeral.”
“So why aren’t you all as confused as I am?”
”We’ve been doing this for a much longer time than you have.”
“Doing what?”
”Saving the World, dear boy. Saving the World.”
”The easiest way to explain this is to try and show you. Watch now.”
*Satori – a sudden spiritual awakening or realization
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When the forest rose up against them, screaming in agony, they scarce knew what to do. Many ran, though only a few had any hope of escape. Throughout the village, strange tree and wooden abominations attacked. The village leader, a druid named Mestarrin, made a final stand at the hill called Fortune’s Rocks. There he retreated with the few he had saved so far, several elves and half-elves, among them his own wife and child.
Dravot watched the scene unfold. He easily knew what the elves being slaughtered could not – their village was being attacked by Gulthias horrors and the attack was led by Taen the Clearcutt.
Mestarrin called out to the other elves, his voice shaking but trying to project strength. “These rocks are a sacred ring. If we can circle the ring three times, a fey spirit may come to our aid.” The elves needed no further order – they would all die if even one of their number could complete the ritual.
“I will stand here and attempt to hold them,” the druid said. Then he turned to his wife, their son in her arms “Stay near me, but not too near.” She only nodded.
Taen and her horrors pursued, but Taen at a more lazy pace. This village held no threats and she was content to sit back and watch for the most part. The fleeing elves had gone as far as they were going and were drawing weapons to make their stand. The elves steeled themselves even as they saw one of the twig blights leap forward and snap the head off one of their fellows with one bite.
Some of the elves began sprinting around the ring of rocks while others attempted to distract or stall the tree creatures, knowing it would cost them their lives. Mestarrin flung a small carved object at one of the larger tree creatures and a large tree immediately sprung up out of the earth under it. Taen merely shook her head at the simple-mindedness of this, and with a wave of her hand the tree shattered. Of course the falling tree and falling gulthite crashed down on another of her minions, smashing it to pieces.
It was luck like this that favored the defenders for a time. The druid’s animal companion wolf and eagle managed to make a stand against the plant horrors and hold them back, along with a flaming sphere from the druid. The elven defenders alternated between running madly around the circle of standing stones and engaging the twig blights that got too close. When her forces thinned, Taen growled in annoyance and brought more out of the earth. They were able to easily slip under the crawling mass of vines and underbrush conjured by the druid and continue to hack at the defenders.
Dravot watched. An elven child. A village destroyed by Taen. He was watching a scene from a century ago – the destruction of Aethramyr’s home.
With a final gasp, one of the elves managed to complete the third circle. Time stood still.
A tall elf appeared in the circle, the embodiment of all things elven. He spoke softly to the few elves left alive.
”All those slain in this village will be avenged. Those of you still alive will soon come to my halls. I cannot save you, but I can save the child.” The elf took the child from his frozen mother’s arms and held him. ”This child will avenge your deaths and go on to do greater things. He is an instrument of a greater plan. As much as it pains me to allow it to happen, this is the only way it could be. He is the one who will drive the final blow to end a war that has gone on for centuries. When the time comes, he will remember this – what happened here today. It is his purpose.”
“He will remember you. And he will remember that it must be his blade that strikes the final blow.”
The elf faded away, and gracefully time resumed. Taen did not perceive the elf or the stoppage of time, but her patience had been exhausted. With a few profane words, she destroyed all life on the hilltop, animal and plant alike.
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That’s how things occurred, years before your birth. Even then we were working against the Shadow King, years before he existed. It is a delicate dance we perform. As delicate as the preparations you made two days ago when it became apparent that the final Shadow Conflict had begun.
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Chance looked at the shadowy cracks that seeped darkness where the Judges had once been. “Well this sucks.”
Scorch agreed. “It does. By my figuring, we have three days before the Prime and the Shadow Plane merge.”
I was unsurprised. The universe had too fine a sense of irony to let Meltorannan’s statements go unchallenged. “Dravot and Aethramyr, you should retrieve the theerparts and cleanse them with the Orb of Sol. Scorch, Bolo, we must contact Boccob and learn the details of how to seal Therizdun back in his prison.”
I was surprised that Boccob made himself easily available and there were no riddles or mysteries to cut through. He explained the mechanics to Scorch and Bolo – the ritual itself was simple enough. But there was more to it of course.
”It is too late to address the problem here. You must go to the shadow plane and deal with the breach there. You must weaken or destroy the Shadow King before you will be able to close the prison. Go to the Spectral Citadel where the leak manifests itself. The plane of Shadow abuts the prison you see. Render him vulnerable, then use your energies against him.”
Sendings came pouring in from allies and not a few enemies. All of them were marshaling their troops and were ready to place them at our disposal. The metallic and the chromatic dragons were mustering flights to support us, as were all the major churches, the elves, and practically everyone I could think of. Scorch even contacted the Burning Skin, now the “Johnathan” of the Valley of the Mage who leapt at the chance to offer support and make peace with Scorch.
It took over a day for us to gather our strength for this battle. It was not possible to move such a large force directly to the shadow plane but we did establish a link of portals through Sigil. While we did this, Valanthe went to muster what aid she could on the other side.
She was able to slip onto the Shadow Plane and make her way to Sceadutine. At first the city looked as if it had been destroyed but as she got closer, she saw that it did still stand, though had recently paid a terrible price. The crystal defenses were either destroyed or laying inert on the ground. The walls were shattered in spots, and it seemed as though an army had driven into the heart of the city like a spike. But the city had not been obliterated – defenders still manned the walls, though they had the look of doomed men on them.
Valanthe learned that the Diamond Prince had been taken. An army unlike any they had faced before assaulted Sceadutine, driving itself deeper and deeper into the city. It seemed that their only quarry was the Prince and once they had him, they withdrew. The ranking Captain said that the Prince was moving up the tower to activate the crystal defenses – something only one of the royal family could do – when he was taken.
The Captain showed the same doom as his men – without their Prince and their defenses, they were simply waiting to die. Valanthe told them what was at stake, and that only depressed them further. Valanthe was not about to abandon them however, and was suddenly determined to activate the crystal defenses. “It wouldn’t be the first time I had to convince magic that I was something I’m not.”
She ascended the central spire, which was broken off towards the top. Fortunately the remaining floors held the controls she needed. She approached them cautiously, unsure of the consequences of being rejected by the enchanted crystals. After careful examination, she calmed her mind and waved her hand over a group of nine crystals. The crystals pulsed once in response, then slowly began glowing brighter.
Valanthe was suspicious. “That was a little too easy.” Before she could think on it more, there was noise outside. The massive inert crystals that had crashed to the ground had begun humming and rising once more into the air. Once there, they began cracking and shattering into pieces – no, not pieces. Transforming. Each crystal unfurled wings and took the form of a crystal dragon. They ceased floating and began arcing through the air in graceful banks. One of them swooped towards the shattered half-tower where Valanthe stood watching. It hovered in the air and bowed its long neck.
“Princess, we are at your command.”
“I am glad, for our need is dire. But I am not your Princess. I have only deceived your magics. Will you help me defend the city and free your Princes?”
“We will aid you, for we must. You are the Shadow Princess, hidden on the Prime away from enemies. We shall obey.”
Valanthe was unfazed. I suspect she had wondered about this for a long time. “Guard the city until my return. Then we shall attack.”
The crystal dragon nodded once. “It shall be done.”
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Finally we were ready. Nearly every resource of the Prime had been placed at our disposal. I had been awake for nearly a day and a half coordinating the legions but we had run out of time. The time to attack was now.
The transition through Sigil went smoothly. The Lady of Pain, wisely I thought, raised no objections to such an army moving through her realm, even ignoring Dravot’s brief presence. Some things are not worth putting up a fight over. Soon our army was on the shadow plane and moving to the Spectral Citadel. Waiting for us was a large force of shadow creatures – demons and undead and all manner of wicked things.
There was no hesitation, no negotiation, no parley. The two armies crashed into each other in a battle that would decide the fate of several planes and perhaps the universe. We joined the fight but held our greatest power back for what we knew would come. The Shadow King’s army was fearsome but not nearly so much as our forces and in a matter of hours the shadows were routed.
As they parted we could see the Spectral Citadel. It was a fortress made of pure Isometril. Around it, was a wasteland. Nothing lived, nothing moved. Bodies of all manner of creatures could be seen, but all were dead for no visible reason.
A squad of paladins from the Theocracy offered to take the vanguard position. They were protected from death magic and were prepared to lead the assault. Aethramyr nodded at their commander and the group moved in. They were protected, but not nearly enough. Not only did they die horribly as they approached the citadel, but their souls were pulled out screaming and sucked inside.
The power was staggering. Having seen it, Dravot understood now. This was divine power of the highest magnitude. It was not “simple” transvalent magic – there was no counter, no escape. It was absolute. Anything that approached would die.
We pondered it for a time, some of the finest minds from the arcane and divine working together to form a counter, but there seemed to be no flaw – it was absolute by nature.
Nature, however, thought otherwise. “Can it kill you if you’re undead?” Bolo wondered to himself.
“Yes,” a voice said in his head. It was familiar.
“Who is that?” Bolo asked.
“Can’t say. That’d be breaking the rules, which I’m doing enough of as it is.”
Bolo smiled to himself. Olidamarra. “So don’t stop now. You have an idea.”
“I do. You’ve died so many times already, what’s a few more?” the voice said.
Bolo shrugged and started walking, but the voice objected. “Not like that though.”
Bolo was confused, but he knew in his heart there was an answer. Nature had the key. He began casting the powerful spell that would allow him to change his shape utterly.
And this was all the prompting nature required. Green energy splayed out in all directions and Bolo’s form burst and grew.
Where the druid once was, now stood the Tarrasque.
Bolo lurched forward, and as it entered the profane area, he took only a few steps before he collapsed and died.
And seconds later, he got up. For that is the nature of the Tarrasque. He took a few more steps, and died. And then a few more, and died. And again, and again, and again. Until finally he was at the wall of the Spectral Citadel. Once in contact with the mass of Isometril, he was protected from the death wave. He began ripping and destroying, shattering the walls of the citadel. The death wave was tied to the building itself, and as he destroyed it, the field was breached. A gap opened, and the army streamed forward.
Defenders were present but the undead were no match for the avenging forces that lead our assault. For us, the true target was the citadel itself. As more of it fell, the breach grew and more of the army streamed in. We were taking losses but we were killing ten for every one of us that fell, and we were pushing the defenders back.
Soon a report came to us – they were unable to enter a central chamber. Aethramyr put a hand on the commander’s shoulder. “This is for us to do. Where we must go, you cannot follow.”
Scorch frowned for a moment, then looked around and ultimately settled on the Burning Skin. “Take over command of the mages til I get back.” The Burning Skin was startled but nodded.
We came to the door in question and breached it. Inside was a grand hall with isometril columns and a marble isomeril floor. Rainbow light was playing off of several large crystals hanging in the air. Trapped within each was a human, unmoving. Each crystal was a different vitaesis – these were the prisons of the Shadow Princes.
I hesitated for a moment when I remembered that thanks to the Celenean, I probably had the power to release them. Sure enough, the magic worked and the Diamond Prince slid out of the crystal gently to the floor. He was physically well but his mind still reeled from the imprisonment. Each of the Princes was released in turn and escorted out of the hall.
It was time.
From everywhere at once, the air filled with the sound of a droning whirlwind. A dull roar at first, it builds in intensity, growing louder and more cacophonous with each moment. The Spectral Citadel’s grand chamber seemed to become less distinct, with only the floor, the giant crystals and huge columns remaining. The walls and ceiling disappeared, leaving only a vast emptiness in their wake. The grand darkness was filled with a swirling vortex of ghostly chaos, the screams of the maddened and the tormented filling the air. Billowing clouds of spirits fly in every direction, issuing forth cries of confusion and pain as their trajectories are twisted by the vortex, some pulled into while others are just flung back into chaos. We were transfixed and unable to move.
At the center of the maelstrom was something spinning. It took my eyes a moment to fully comprehend what it was. Lashed to a huge loop, was a human-looking form, shadowy and indistinct. Its hands and feet were bound to the great wheel, which was laced over and over again with some sort of web of delicate wire or wrappings. The figure writhes and struggles, though whether from anger or pain, I could not say. It was lit from behind by some great bright light, far distant. As we watched, a shadow of sorts issued forth from the being.
The shadow took on a life of it’s own, swirling into the maelstrom of chaos, spinning away from the bound figure on the loop. It wound its way towards us like a snake. It was composed of insects or tiny beings, their minute swarming forms crawling within. As it drew nearer, I suddenly realized that it is not comprised of insects, but instead of bodies all clinging together in a shambling form, and a sense of the scale of what I was witnessing came to me. The swirling mass of tormented bodies streaked toward the remnants of the grand chamber, the screams and cries of those within rising like a tide. It smashed down like a waterfall onto the chamber floor with a wet slap, some of it’s bodies bursting like rotten fleshy balloons.
Even as I tried to find the will to move, I simply could not. The horrible construct shifted and flowed, the bodies inside filled with naked and in many cases decaying bodies, constantly in motion into and out of the central mass. It shuddered, and began to assume a physical shape, like a giant human body built from the dozens of bodies that cling to each other, even as they move. But no ordinary bodies – I started to recognize individuals within the hape of the abomination.
In the right hand at the palm was Taen the Clearcut, her flesh scored by acid and flame, tearing at the bodies she twists next to from behind eyes filled with madness and horror. At the jaw, was Sebastian the Bastard, his body half-skeletal from his dark pacts, his price now paid. At the hip I saw the Red Lord, clawing for position, even with his eyes gouged out. Where a foot might be, was the assassin Red Bone trying to claw her way free. The evil orc druid of Vecna and Gulthias throttled each other, even as they try to crawl free of the construct’s chest. On the right shoulder I even saw the flayed form of Fraz Urb’Luu, a unwitting pawn at last. Around its mouth the Shadow Taker’s worms crawled in and out.
Two deep holes in its head sat as empty sockets for its eyes, with only a faint and indistinct red glow to indicate actual presence there. The hole that passed for a mouth is simply a gaping maw of darkness into which some bodies and worms crawl in and out. This then was the true form of the Shadow King, in all of his horror. This then, was the face of madness. A strange noise issued forth from the tormented screaming of the souls that comprise it, and I realized it was a voice made up from dozens of voices speaking slightly out-of-concert with each other.
The ending of thousands of stories, all with the same bitter end. Like them, you will be dragged down to HELL. Like them, you will learn the meaning of madness. Once my master is unleashed, all will fall to shadow and chaos. You do not possess the instrumentality to assail me. Strike me if you will, I cannot be hurt by the likes of you.
We didn’t say anything. We didn’t need to. We attacked.
The Shadow King was a conglomeration of twisted beings and perhaps it was right that we could not assail it directly. But we could assault the creatures that composed it, and we did.
Light blasted forth from Dravot, and Gulthias and Redbone immediately fell into ash. Scorch, now knowing the nature of the ShadowTaker, attempted to disjoin the magics that held the wormlich together. Unfortunately the enchantments proved to strong and the attempt failed, though he felt he had been close. Aethramyr moved towards the right arm and sliced Taen the Clearcutt into pieces. Valanthe released the full power of Shadowcut on the Red Lord, and I fired a full volley of arrows at Fraz, each one enhanced by the most powerful spells I had.
The ShadowKing screamed and twisted as pieces of his body fell away. He spoke a profane word, we ignored it as it crashed on to us.
I continued to fire arrow after arrow into Fraz, and was joined by Valanthe. Aethramyr closed his eyes for a moment and conjured a mirror from the dreaming. He heaved the mirror like a large disk and landed it between Therizdun and the unspeakable light source behind him. The ShadowKing screamed and shrank, the lack of light eroding the god’s shadow, and he collapsed to half his former size.
Scorch, not content with his first effort, surprised us all, casually remarking “I wish that disjunction had worked on the ShadowTaker.”
And so it was. The worms flew off in every direction, smashed and burned from the terrible powers within the chamber.
Fraz was the only major creature left and it only took one more concentrated assault to destroy the former demon prince. The shadows remaining were clawing and scratching to stay together without the presence and substance of the more powerful beings. They desperately tried to cover a gaping hole in his chest, trying to conceal and protect a crystalline heart.
This was our moment, and no word needed to be spoken. Five of us, as one, focused our power into Aethramyr, channeling the power of our Marks and our entire beings. As one, logic, spirit, nature, darkness, light, and metaphysical came together into the Paragon for a single strike to save the world.
Shatterspike hit the crystal heart, infused with all our power, even as it was destined to do. And the heart shattered.
A flash of light.
The sound of breaking glass, echoed dozens of times over.
The screams of people being struck down.
The earth, rising up. A sense of vertigo - falling, falling, falling. There will be only one chance, one hope for success. Scorch screams a final warning: “If we don’t hold, then it won’t work! We have to hold it for 30 seconds!” Blood is running out of his nostrils as he speaks, every word a labor. Everything is Shadow Dark and Burning Bright and it’s all spinning, spinning, spinning, spinning……
And now, finally, Dravot understood. There was context.
The destruction of the Shadow King will… would… did trigger the release of an overwhelming amount of divine energy. There was a choice to be made. The choice that the gods were advising him on. If the energy is released, the Shadow Plane will be destroyed, and possibly the Prime as well. The alternative is for Dravot to take this energy into himself, and in doing so become a full-fledged god. But by doing so he must sacrifice any vestiges of his mortal existence. The choice is not his alone. All of us have to chose. We must all accept. If we do, it may mean our own destruction as well. Our survival is unlikely.
Dravot, will you make the sacrifice?
“Yes.”
Bolo, will you make the sacrifice?
“Yes.”
Valanthe, will you make the sacrifice?
“Yes.”
Aethramyr, will you make the sacrifice?
“Yes.”
Kayleigh, will you make the sacrifice?
“Yes.”
Scorch, will you make the sacrifice?
“Feh.”
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Few people on the Prime ever understood what had happened. Many, in fact, found themselves unable to even remember what had happened. While what occurred was something of a scholarly fact, only those who were powerful enough or protected enough remained aware of the finale of the Shadow Conflict. The gods had provided the servants of Gelban with a final boon – that of anonymity.
Of Aethramyr, little is known to those beyond the Lendore Isles. After the Shadow King was defeated, it is said that the Paragon retired to resume the teachings of the Dreamer, that her followers might ever remain vigilant against the rise of nightmare. Some say that when Shatterspike was sundered, he swore to never wield another blade. Others claim he had it reforged, and used it to carve a new Rock of the Testing, which rests in the Dreamer’s Temple even now. The Paragon maintains the Silvering Shrine, and it is rumored that he occasionally confers with the great wyrm’s spirit, lending sage advice to supplicants one day of each year, to commemorate the wyrm’s final days. Sailors have been known to tell tales of the great Wolves of the Lendores, who answer directly to the Paragon, roaming the hills and always keeping a toothy vigil against evil.
Even more mysterious was the fate of Kayleigh Ladanna'al, so mysterious that many claimed there was more than one. Some spoke of the Champion Consort herself, wife to the Second Prince and mother to the heirs to the throne of Celene. Raven-haired and hot-tempered, many claim she could be often seen at court, indulging the Queen. Others claimed to know of a different Kayleigh, the Celenian Reborn. Appearing at times of great need with important advice and sometimes mystical help, the snow-tressed Leshay was said to appear whenever Celene was faced with great danger, a holy avenger and advisor to her people. Where the truth may lie was never truly certain.
The druid Bolo is, of course, widely known. The Skinwalker is known far and wide by reputation, if not by sight. It is said that wherever malevolent creatures threaten nature with harm, he would soon appear. Legend holds that the Blood of Dydd eventually learned of the whereabouts of the Ancient Wyrm, Ashardalon. Hiding within the madness of the Rift Canyon, Bolo entered its horrible confines alone, dressed only in his humble druid’s robes. For three days, the sounds of battle could be heard. On the fourth day he returned, dragging Ashardalon’s head as a trophy. It is said that he took it to the Land of Black Ice and entombed it in a frozen prison as a warning to those who would thwart the natural order. From that day forward, he swore to swell the ranks of the druids once more, and it is said he has walked that path evermore, never resting for more than few days, except to return to his circle in Rhuun Kazai.
The name of Scorch is well known throughout the Flanaess as the most powerful wizard in a guild of powerful wizards. That Scorch single-handedly revived the mages of the Flanaess into a new age of cooperation is the stuff of history books, though few truly understand how he managed it. Little is known about him or his motives, something that the Guild Minister has worked laboriously to effect. It is said that no spell may scry him, nor is there any divination that can reveal truths about him. Some say this is the result of binding powerful planar beings; while others claim Scorch has the blessings of powerful gods to his name. Still more think that Scorch is some sort of a myth. It is most likely that Scorch himself was the source of this tale, as one thing all accounts agreed on is that Scorch generally wanted to be left alone.
Throughout the Flanaess, evil mages would go to sleep and have nightmares about the woman known only as Valanthe. Each account of her sojourns painted a different picture of the mysterious thief, but all agreed on one thing: she had a passion for robbing wizards. Tales imagined her as a demon, a being of shadow, a gloom or worse. It was said she had taken a dragon for a lover and learned from him the secrets of their kind, making her all the more dangerous. What she did and where she went, none could say, though at times it seemed that she was in several places at once, harassing the pompous and the powerful. Tales say that she eventually returned to the Tomb of Horrors and cuckolded Acererak in his own lair, simply for the thrill of doing it. If orphanages and hostels of Tritherion across the Flanaess woke up one morning to find lavish magical treasures on their doorsteps, helping them pay for their charitable works…none sought to question the origin of their funds. The Horned Society, in particular, would find her to be a difficult problem that led them to ever more extreme and extravagant, and ultimately futile acts to belay her. Tales say that the lived in fear of their lairs being laid bare by a thief in the night who could strike at any moment and leave no trace. Whether or not these tales were true, it is a certainty that this was the way that Valanthe wanted it.
Finally, the ultimate fate of Dravot is the subject of canon throughout his churches about the Flanaess. His holy see has risen to encompass the virtuous Shining Knights of Dravot, based out of Ekbir’s Towers of the Dawn and Dusk. Temples devoted to him can be found throughout the lands, either on their own as chapels within Pelor’s great temples. Some stories claim that Dravot separated his spirit into a separate vessel and became a King, while others claim that he renounced all worldly passions that he might save the world with his sacrifice. The scriptures of the church of Dravot say nothing to either point, nor are such questions ever answered by auguries. What is known is that no personage less than Iuz himself became the direct and opposite enemy of the church of Dravot, and the Old One and Saint Dravot are known to have personally clashed on more than one occasion.
Of Meepo, little is said, other than that he continued to reign as Chief of Kobold Country for many days and that his rule was just and truly full. Different stories describe him being full of different things, however. It is widely considered fabrication that he had anything to do with the liberation of Geoff or the defeat of Orcus, but the general populace does believe that he ruled by divine providence and that Rhuun Kazaii enjoyed some form of protection that certainly reflected well on the chief. In the years that would follow, Rhuun Kazaii would never truly grow that large, but it always remained interesting.
OOC Notes:
Please refer to the end of this entry and/or following posts.
The Final Adventure:
A flash of light.
The sound of breaking glass, echoed dozens of times over.
The screams of people being struck down.
The earth, rising up. A sense of vertigo - falling, falling, falling. There will be only one chance, one hope for success. Scorch screams a final warning: “If we don’t hold, then it won’t work! We have to hold it for 30 seconds!” Blood is running out of his nostrils as he speaks, every word a labor. Everything is Shadow Dark and Burning Bright and it’s all spinning, spinning, spinning, spinning…….Satori*.
A sudden stillness and calm. Voices speak.
“I don’t understand any of this,” Dravot said.
“Yes you do. You’re just having trouble processing it. This is the difference between what you were and what you will become.” The voice was male, and had an undertone of impatience or arrogance.
“Lies. You cannot learn. You cannot become.” This voice was hissing and reeked of unconcealed malice.
“You can learn. You will become. I have faith in you.” A man’s voice now, warm and nurturing, and familiar.
“There are voices. You may hear voices. We cannot hear them.”
“What voices? What is he hearing?” This voice was male, calm and subtle.
“It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is his choices. Our choices are the only things that distinguish us.” Another man, but unfamiliar.
“Agreed. But he’s already made his choice. That should have been the end of the process.” A young male voice, stern and inflexible.
“What choice?!? When did I make it? You’re all talking but you’re not making any sense. I still don’t understand,” Dravot finally burst out.
“There is no true choice. Chaos and Order are illusions. Truth is an illusion. YOU are an illusion.”
“There are always choices. That’s the problem, and the solution.”
“Even Chaos is another kind of Order.”
“We’re still here because it’s not just his decision. It’s all their decisions. They’ve committed perhaps, but it’s not that simple.”
“Nothing is that simple.”
“Your riddles confuse him. He needs direct answers and you all stand on ceremony. He stands at the crossroads, and you point in every direction.” This was a woman’s voice, caring and yet annoyed.
“We cannot agree on Truth. That is the problem. We advise him as our nature’s dictate. Even you.”
“I do not pretend to know Truth. That is for your kind to determine. I know nothing of the firmament. I am only of the real, the physical, the Now. I am his advocate in this.”
“My advocate?” Dravot asked, still confused.
“You have always stood by my side, all of you. Whenever I have been threatened, you stood for me. So now, I stand for you.”
“But stand for me how? What is happening?” Dravot knew something large was at stake, but had no clarity on what it was.
“Your Death. Their Death. ALL DEATH.”
“Birth requires Sacrifice. All birth is a prelude to death. But all death is a prelude to new life.”
”You’re making a choice. Or you will. Or you have.”
“I can’t have done both. Which is it?”
”All three. You will chose, you have chosen, and you are chosing right now. This is the change you need to understand – the fact that time is an illusion. I am permanent but you are not.”
”We all die. It’s close, now.”
“You’re talking as if any of this makes any sense. It doesn’t. You’re just talking in circles. None of this means anything to me.”
“That is because you lack context. Everything becomes an enigma without it. You had it, but then you made a choice.”
“And the choice changed the context. When you changed the context, the firm becomes the firmament.”
“That’s the trick really. This particular choice allowed you to decide to never actually make the choice. It’s created a paradox.”
“A paradox? You’re saying that I chose to create a situation where I might not have made the choice? By making the choice itself?” Dravot at the same time felt he was close to understanding and yet still utterly without insight.
”Right. And because of that, the decision can be made again, or still made. It’s a loop. When you make the choice, you create the possibility to NOT have made the choice. That means you MAY not have made the choice… and thus you get to make the choice.”
“But why? Why would that have happened when I made the choice?”
”Because of that particular choice. Every time that choice is made, this happens. We’ve seen it many times before.”
”Many times. Sometimes for the better, other times for the worse.”
”If you make the wrong decision, it will be far far worse.” You could hear the smile in the entity’s voice at the thought of this.
”It’s not just any choice to make but that specific one that dictates your situation.”
“Are you saying this for every choice I make?”
”No. Just this specific one. By making it, you create the loop. By not making it, you allow someone else to dictate the answer.”
“This is going in circles. How do I get to make the choice?”
”Ah. For that, we need to go back to the beginnings. You need to understand the context. You need to understand their choices, to better understand yours.
”And when we go back, we need to go back far. Before you existed in fact.”
“How does that tie into my choice?”
”Because every choice that is made is the sum of the other individual’s choices. If your father had been content with two sons, or your grandfather had not been content with only two sons… where would you be today? Would you even exist?”
”That’s the thing you have to understand. That’s part of the wisdom we’re trying to show you.”
”Enough talk for now. Mysteries are meant to be experienced, not spoken about. We must travel back.”
“Back where?”
”We are unstuck in time. You need to understand this. By making the choice, you gain great power and then you gain great liabilities. Vulnerabilities. To know the future is to appreciate that the future knows you. The very act of knowing the future changes the future.”
“Wait. I think I remember, now,” Dravot struggled to recall, to comprehend. “I made a choice to… I chose to save the future, and thus I might have doomed it?”
”No. Therizdun has doomed it. But now that you know the future is doomed, you know you could save it, but since you know it is doomed, you have been fugued. Everything becomes ephemeral.”
“So why aren’t you all as confused as I am?”
”We’ve been doing this for a much longer time than you have.”
“Doing what?”
”Saving the World, dear boy. Saving the World.”
”The easiest way to explain this is to try and show you. Watch now.”
*Satori – a sudden spiritual awakening or realization
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When the forest rose up against them, screaming in agony, they scarce knew what to do. Many ran, though only a few had any hope of escape. Throughout the village, strange tree and wooden abominations attacked. The village leader, a druid named Mestarrin, made a final stand at the hill called Fortune’s Rocks. There he retreated with the few he had saved so far, several elves and half-elves, among them his own wife and child.
Dravot watched the scene unfold. He easily knew what the elves being slaughtered could not – their village was being attacked by Gulthias horrors and the attack was led by Taen the Clearcutt.
Mestarrin called out to the other elves, his voice shaking but trying to project strength. “These rocks are a sacred ring. If we can circle the ring three times, a fey spirit may come to our aid.” The elves needed no further order – they would all die if even one of their number could complete the ritual.
“I will stand here and attempt to hold them,” the druid said. Then he turned to his wife, their son in her arms “Stay near me, but not too near.” She only nodded.
Taen and her horrors pursued, but Taen at a more lazy pace. This village held no threats and she was content to sit back and watch for the most part. The fleeing elves had gone as far as they were going and were drawing weapons to make their stand. The elves steeled themselves even as they saw one of the twig blights leap forward and snap the head off one of their fellows with one bite.
Some of the elves began sprinting around the ring of rocks while others attempted to distract or stall the tree creatures, knowing it would cost them their lives. Mestarrin flung a small carved object at one of the larger tree creatures and a large tree immediately sprung up out of the earth under it. Taen merely shook her head at the simple-mindedness of this, and with a wave of her hand the tree shattered. Of course the falling tree and falling gulthite crashed down on another of her minions, smashing it to pieces.
It was luck like this that favored the defenders for a time. The druid’s animal companion wolf and eagle managed to make a stand against the plant horrors and hold them back, along with a flaming sphere from the druid. The elven defenders alternated between running madly around the circle of standing stones and engaging the twig blights that got too close. When her forces thinned, Taen growled in annoyance and brought more out of the earth. They were able to easily slip under the crawling mass of vines and underbrush conjured by the druid and continue to hack at the defenders.
Dravot watched. An elven child. A village destroyed by Taen. He was watching a scene from a century ago – the destruction of Aethramyr’s home.
With a final gasp, one of the elves managed to complete the third circle. Time stood still.
A tall elf appeared in the circle, the embodiment of all things elven. He spoke softly to the few elves left alive.
”All those slain in this village will be avenged. Those of you still alive will soon come to my halls. I cannot save you, but I can save the child.” The elf took the child from his frozen mother’s arms and held him. ”This child will avenge your deaths and go on to do greater things. He is an instrument of a greater plan. As much as it pains me to allow it to happen, this is the only way it could be. He is the one who will drive the final blow to end a war that has gone on for centuries. When the time comes, he will remember this – what happened here today. It is his purpose.”
“He will remember you. And he will remember that it must be his blade that strikes the final blow.”
The elf faded away, and gracefully time resumed. Taen did not perceive the elf or the stoppage of time, but her patience had been exhausted. With a few profane words, she destroyed all life on the hilltop, animal and plant alike.
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That’s how things occurred, years before your birth. Even then we were working against the Shadow King, years before he existed. It is a delicate dance we perform. As delicate as the preparations you made two days ago when it became apparent that the final Shadow Conflict had begun.
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Chance looked at the shadowy cracks that seeped darkness where the Judges had once been. “Well this sucks.”
Scorch agreed. “It does. By my figuring, we have three days before the Prime and the Shadow Plane merge.”
I was unsurprised. The universe had too fine a sense of irony to let Meltorannan’s statements go unchallenged. “Dravot and Aethramyr, you should retrieve the theerparts and cleanse them with the Orb of Sol. Scorch, Bolo, we must contact Boccob and learn the details of how to seal Therizdun back in his prison.”
I was surprised that Boccob made himself easily available and there were no riddles or mysteries to cut through. He explained the mechanics to Scorch and Bolo – the ritual itself was simple enough. But there was more to it of course.
”It is too late to address the problem here. You must go to the shadow plane and deal with the breach there. You must weaken or destroy the Shadow King before you will be able to close the prison. Go to the Spectral Citadel where the leak manifests itself. The plane of Shadow abuts the prison you see. Render him vulnerable, then use your energies against him.”
Sendings came pouring in from allies and not a few enemies. All of them were marshaling their troops and were ready to place them at our disposal. The metallic and the chromatic dragons were mustering flights to support us, as were all the major churches, the elves, and practically everyone I could think of. Scorch even contacted the Burning Skin, now the “Johnathan” of the Valley of the Mage who leapt at the chance to offer support and make peace with Scorch.
It took over a day for us to gather our strength for this battle. It was not possible to move such a large force directly to the shadow plane but we did establish a link of portals through Sigil. While we did this, Valanthe went to muster what aid she could on the other side.
She was able to slip onto the Shadow Plane and make her way to Sceadutine. At first the city looked as if it had been destroyed but as she got closer, she saw that it did still stand, though had recently paid a terrible price. The crystal defenses were either destroyed or laying inert on the ground. The walls were shattered in spots, and it seemed as though an army had driven into the heart of the city like a spike. But the city had not been obliterated – defenders still manned the walls, though they had the look of doomed men on them.
Valanthe learned that the Diamond Prince had been taken. An army unlike any they had faced before assaulted Sceadutine, driving itself deeper and deeper into the city. It seemed that their only quarry was the Prince and once they had him, they withdrew. The ranking Captain said that the Prince was moving up the tower to activate the crystal defenses – something only one of the royal family could do – when he was taken.
The Captain showed the same doom as his men – without their Prince and their defenses, they were simply waiting to die. Valanthe told them what was at stake, and that only depressed them further. Valanthe was not about to abandon them however, and was suddenly determined to activate the crystal defenses. “It wouldn’t be the first time I had to convince magic that I was something I’m not.”
She ascended the central spire, which was broken off towards the top. Fortunately the remaining floors held the controls she needed. She approached them cautiously, unsure of the consequences of being rejected by the enchanted crystals. After careful examination, she calmed her mind and waved her hand over a group of nine crystals. The crystals pulsed once in response, then slowly began glowing brighter.
Valanthe was suspicious. “That was a little too easy.” Before she could think on it more, there was noise outside. The massive inert crystals that had crashed to the ground had begun humming and rising once more into the air. Once there, they began cracking and shattering into pieces – no, not pieces. Transforming. Each crystal unfurled wings and took the form of a crystal dragon. They ceased floating and began arcing through the air in graceful banks. One of them swooped towards the shattered half-tower where Valanthe stood watching. It hovered in the air and bowed its long neck.
“Princess, we are at your command.”
“I am glad, for our need is dire. But I am not your Princess. I have only deceived your magics. Will you help me defend the city and free your Princes?”
“We will aid you, for we must. You are the Shadow Princess, hidden on the Prime away from enemies. We shall obey.”
Valanthe was unfazed. I suspect she had wondered about this for a long time. “Guard the city until my return. Then we shall attack.”
The crystal dragon nodded once. “It shall be done.”
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Finally we were ready. Nearly every resource of the Prime had been placed at our disposal. I had been awake for nearly a day and a half coordinating the legions but we had run out of time. The time to attack was now.
The transition through Sigil went smoothly. The Lady of Pain, wisely I thought, raised no objections to such an army moving through her realm, even ignoring Dravot’s brief presence. Some things are not worth putting up a fight over. Soon our army was on the shadow plane and moving to the Spectral Citadel. Waiting for us was a large force of shadow creatures – demons and undead and all manner of wicked things.
There was no hesitation, no negotiation, no parley. The two armies crashed into each other in a battle that would decide the fate of several planes and perhaps the universe. We joined the fight but held our greatest power back for what we knew would come. The Shadow King’s army was fearsome but not nearly so much as our forces and in a matter of hours the shadows were routed.
As they parted we could see the Spectral Citadel. It was a fortress made of pure Isometril. Around it, was a wasteland. Nothing lived, nothing moved. Bodies of all manner of creatures could be seen, but all were dead for no visible reason.
A squad of paladins from the Theocracy offered to take the vanguard position. They were protected from death magic and were prepared to lead the assault. Aethramyr nodded at their commander and the group moved in. They were protected, but not nearly enough. Not only did they die horribly as they approached the citadel, but their souls were pulled out screaming and sucked inside.
The power was staggering. Having seen it, Dravot understood now. This was divine power of the highest magnitude. It was not “simple” transvalent magic – there was no counter, no escape. It was absolute. Anything that approached would die.
We pondered it for a time, some of the finest minds from the arcane and divine working together to form a counter, but there seemed to be no flaw – it was absolute by nature.
Nature, however, thought otherwise. “Can it kill you if you’re undead?” Bolo wondered to himself.
“Yes,” a voice said in his head. It was familiar.
“Who is that?” Bolo asked.
“Can’t say. That’d be breaking the rules, which I’m doing enough of as it is.”
Bolo smiled to himself. Olidamarra. “So don’t stop now. You have an idea.”
“I do. You’ve died so many times already, what’s a few more?” the voice said.
Bolo shrugged and started walking, but the voice objected. “Not like that though.”
Bolo was confused, but he knew in his heart there was an answer. Nature had the key. He began casting the powerful spell that would allow him to change his shape utterly.
And this was all the prompting nature required. Green energy splayed out in all directions and Bolo’s form burst and grew.
Where the druid once was, now stood the Tarrasque.
Bolo lurched forward, and as it entered the profane area, he took only a few steps before he collapsed and died.
And seconds later, he got up. For that is the nature of the Tarrasque. He took a few more steps, and died. And then a few more, and died. And again, and again, and again. Until finally he was at the wall of the Spectral Citadel. Once in contact with the mass of Isometril, he was protected from the death wave. He began ripping and destroying, shattering the walls of the citadel. The death wave was tied to the building itself, and as he destroyed it, the field was breached. A gap opened, and the army streamed forward.
Defenders were present but the undead were no match for the avenging forces that lead our assault. For us, the true target was the citadel itself. As more of it fell, the breach grew and more of the army streamed in. We were taking losses but we were killing ten for every one of us that fell, and we were pushing the defenders back.
Soon a report came to us – they were unable to enter a central chamber. Aethramyr put a hand on the commander’s shoulder. “This is for us to do. Where we must go, you cannot follow.”
Scorch frowned for a moment, then looked around and ultimately settled on the Burning Skin. “Take over command of the mages til I get back.” The Burning Skin was startled but nodded.
We came to the door in question and breached it. Inside was a grand hall with isometril columns and a marble isomeril floor. Rainbow light was playing off of several large crystals hanging in the air. Trapped within each was a human, unmoving. Each crystal was a different vitaesis – these were the prisons of the Shadow Princes.
I hesitated for a moment when I remembered that thanks to the Celenean, I probably had the power to release them. Sure enough, the magic worked and the Diamond Prince slid out of the crystal gently to the floor. He was physically well but his mind still reeled from the imprisonment. Each of the Princes was released in turn and escorted out of the hall.
It was time.
From everywhere at once, the air filled with the sound of a droning whirlwind. A dull roar at first, it builds in intensity, growing louder and more cacophonous with each moment. The Spectral Citadel’s grand chamber seemed to become less distinct, with only the floor, the giant crystals and huge columns remaining. The walls and ceiling disappeared, leaving only a vast emptiness in their wake. The grand darkness was filled with a swirling vortex of ghostly chaos, the screams of the maddened and the tormented filling the air. Billowing clouds of spirits fly in every direction, issuing forth cries of confusion and pain as their trajectories are twisted by the vortex, some pulled into while others are just flung back into chaos. We were transfixed and unable to move.
At the center of the maelstrom was something spinning. It took my eyes a moment to fully comprehend what it was. Lashed to a huge loop, was a human-looking form, shadowy and indistinct. Its hands and feet were bound to the great wheel, which was laced over and over again with some sort of web of delicate wire or wrappings. The figure writhes and struggles, though whether from anger or pain, I could not say. It was lit from behind by some great bright light, far distant. As we watched, a shadow of sorts issued forth from the being.
The shadow took on a life of it’s own, swirling into the maelstrom of chaos, spinning away from the bound figure on the loop. It wound its way towards us like a snake. It was composed of insects or tiny beings, their minute swarming forms crawling within. As it drew nearer, I suddenly realized that it is not comprised of insects, but instead of bodies all clinging together in a shambling form, and a sense of the scale of what I was witnessing came to me. The swirling mass of tormented bodies streaked toward the remnants of the grand chamber, the screams and cries of those within rising like a tide. It smashed down like a waterfall onto the chamber floor with a wet slap, some of it’s bodies bursting like rotten fleshy balloons.
Even as I tried to find the will to move, I simply could not. The horrible construct shifted and flowed, the bodies inside filled with naked and in many cases decaying bodies, constantly in motion into and out of the central mass. It shuddered, and began to assume a physical shape, like a giant human body built from the dozens of bodies that cling to each other, even as they move. But no ordinary bodies – I started to recognize individuals within the hape of the abomination.
In the right hand at the palm was Taen the Clearcut, her flesh scored by acid and flame, tearing at the bodies she twists next to from behind eyes filled with madness and horror. At the jaw, was Sebastian the Bastard, his body half-skeletal from his dark pacts, his price now paid. At the hip I saw the Red Lord, clawing for position, even with his eyes gouged out. Where a foot might be, was the assassin Red Bone trying to claw her way free. The evil orc druid of Vecna and Gulthias throttled each other, even as they try to crawl free of the construct’s chest. On the right shoulder I even saw the flayed form of Fraz Urb’Luu, a unwitting pawn at last. Around its mouth the Shadow Taker’s worms crawled in and out.
Two deep holes in its head sat as empty sockets for its eyes, with only a faint and indistinct red glow to indicate actual presence there. The hole that passed for a mouth is simply a gaping maw of darkness into which some bodies and worms crawl in and out. This then was the true form of the Shadow King, in all of his horror. This then, was the face of madness. A strange noise issued forth from the tormented screaming of the souls that comprise it, and I realized it was a voice made up from dozens of voices speaking slightly out-of-concert with each other.
The ending of thousands of stories, all with the same bitter end. Like them, you will be dragged down to HELL. Like them, you will learn the meaning of madness. Once my master is unleashed, all will fall to shadow and chaos. You do not possess the instrumentality to assail me. Strike me if you will, I cannot be hurt by the likes of you.
We didn’t say anything. We didn’t need to. We attacked.
The Shadow King was a conglomeration of twisted beings and perhaps it was right that we could not assail it directly. But we could assault the creatures that composed it, and we did.
Light blasted forth from Dravot, and Gulthias and Redbone immediately fell into ash. Scorch, now knowing the nature of the ShadowTaker, attempted to disjoin the magics that held the wormlich together. Unfortunately the enchantments proved to strong and the attempt failed, though he felt he had been close. Aethramyr moved towards the right arm and sliced Taen the Clearcutt into pieces. Valanthe released the full power of Shadowcut on the Red Lord, and I fired a full volley of arrows at Fraz, each one enhanced by the most powerful spells I had.
The ShadowKing screamed and twisted as pieces of his body fell away. He spoke a profane word, we ignored it as it crashed on to us.
I continued to fire arrow after arrow into Fraz, and was joined by Valanthe. Aethramyr closed his eyes for a moment and conjured a mirror from the dreaming. He heaved the mirror like a large disk and landed it between Therizdun and the unspeakable light source behind him. The ShadowKing screamed and shrank, the lack of light eroding the god’s shadow, and he collapsed to half his former size.
Scorch, not content with his first effort, surprised us all, casually remarking “I wish that disjunction had worked on the ShadowTaker.”
And so it was. The worms flew off in every direction, smashed and burned from the terrible powers within the chamber.
Fraz was the only major creature left and it only took one more concentrated assault to destroy the former demon prince. The shadows remaining were clawing and scratching to stay together without the presence and substance of the more powerful beings. They desperately tried to cover a gaping hole in his chest, trying to conceal and protect a crystalline heart.
This was our moment, and no word needed to be spoken. Five of us, as one, focused our power into Aethramyr, channeling the power of our Marks and our entire beings. As one, logic, spirit, nature, darkness, light, and metaphysical came together into the Paragon for a single strike to save the world.
Shatterspike hit the crystal heart, infused with all our power, even as it was destined to do. And the heart shattered.
A flash of light.
The sound of breaking glass, echoed dozens of times over.
The screams of people being struck down.
The earth, rising up. A sense of vertigo - falling, falling, falling. There will be only one chance, one hope for success. Scorch screams a final warning: “If we don’t hold, then it won’t work! We have to hold it for 30 seconds!” Blood is running out of his nostrils as he speaks, every word a labor. Everything is Shadow Dark and Burning Bright and it’s all spinning, spinning, spinning, spinning……
And now, finally, Dravot understood. There was context.
The destruction of the Shadow King will… would… did trigger the release of an overwhelming amount of divine energy. There was a choice to be made. The choice that the gods were advising him on. If the energy is released, the Shadow Plane will be destroyed, and possibly the Prime as well. The alternative is for Dravot to take this energy into himself, and in doing so become a full-fledged god. But by doing so he must sacrifice any vestiges of his mortal existence. The choice is not his alone. All of us have to chose. We must all accept. If we do, it may mean our own destruction as well. Our survival is unlikely.
Dravot, will you make the sacrifice?
“Yes.”
Bolo, will you make the sacrifice?
“Yes.”
Valanthe, will you make the sacrifice?
“Yes.”
Aethramyr, will you make the sacrifice?
“Yes.”
Kayleigh, will you make the sacrifice?
“Yes.”
Scorch, will you make the sacrifice?
“Feh.”
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Few people on the Prime ever understood what had happened. Many, in fact, found themselves unable to even remember what had happened. While what occurred was something of a scholarly fact, only those who were powerful enough or protected enough remained aware of the finale of the Shadow Conflict. The gods had provided the servants of Gelban with a final boon – that of anonymity.
Of Aethramyr, little is known to those beyond the Lendore Isles. After the Shadow King was defeated, it is said that the Paragon retired to resume the teachings of the Dreamer, that her followers might ever remain vigilant against the rise of nightmare. Some say that when Shatterspike was sundered, he swore to never wield another blade. Others claim he had it reforged, and used it to carve a new Rock of the Testing, which rests in the Dreamer’s Temple even now. The Paragon maintains the Silvering Shrine, and it is rumored that he occasionally confers with the great wyrm’s spirit, lending sage advice to supplicants one day of each year, to commemorate the wyrm’s final days. Sailors have been known to tell tales of the great Wolves of the Lendores, who answer directly to the Paragon, roaming the hills and always keeping a toothy vigil against evil.
Even more mysterious was the fate of Kayleigh Ladanna'al, so mysterious that many claimed there was more than one. Some spoke of the Champion Consort herself, wife to the Second Prince and mother to the heirs to the throne of Celene. Raven-haired and hot-tempered, many claim she could be often seen at court, indulging the Queen. Others claimed to know of a different Kayleigh, the Celenian Reborn. Appearing at times of great need with important advice and sometimes mystical help, the snow-tressed Leshay was said to appear whenever Celene was faced with great danger, a holy avenger and advisor to her people. Where the truth may lie was never truly certain.
The druid Bolo is, of course, widely known. The Skinwalker is known far and wide by reputation, if not by sight. It is said that wherever malevolent creatures threaten nature with harm, he would soon appear. Legend holds that the Blood of Dydd eventually learned of the whereabouts of the Ancient Wyrm, Ashardalon. Hiding within the madness of the Rift Canyon, Bolo entered its horrible confines alone, dressed only in his humble druid’s robes. For three days, the sounds of battle could be heard. On the fourth day he returned, dragging Ashardalon’s head as a trophy. It is said that he took it to the Land of Black Ice and entombed it in a frozen prison as a warning to those who would thwart the natural order. From that day forward, he swore to swell the ranks of the druids once more, and it is said he has walked that path evermore, never resting for more than few days, except to return to his circle in Rhuun Kazai.
The name of Scorch is well known throughout the Flanaess as the most powerful wizard in a guild of powerful wizards. That Scorch single-handedly revived the mages of the Flanaess into a new age of cooperation is the stuff of history books, though few truly understand how he managed it. Little is known about him or his motives, something that the Guild Minister has worked laboriously to effect. It is said that no spell may scry him, nor is there any divination that can reveal truths about him. Some say this is the result of binding powerful planar beings; while others claim Scorch has the blessings of powerful gods to his name. Still more think that Scorch is some sort of a myth. It is most likely that Scorch himself was the source of this tale, as one thing all accounts agreed on is that Scorch generally wanted to be left alone.
Throughout the Flanaess, evil mages would go to sleep and have nightmares about the woman known only as Valanthe. Each account of her sojourns painted a different picture of the mysterious thief, but all agreed on one thing: she had a passion for robbing wizards. Tales imagined her as a demon, a being of shadow, a gloom or worse. It was said she had taken a dragon for a lover and learned from him the secrets of their kind, making her all the more dangerous. What she did and where she went, none could say, though at times it seemed that she was in several places at once, harassing the pompous and the powerful. Tales say that she eventually returned to the Tomb of Horrors and cuckolded Acererak in his own lair, simply for the thrill of doing it. If orphanages and hostels of Tritherion across the Flanaess woke up one morning to find lavish magical treasures on their doorsteps, helping them pay for their charitable works…none sought to question the origin of their funds. The Horned Society, in particular, would find her to be a difficult problem that led them to ever more extreme and extravagant, and ultimately futile acts to belay her. Tales say that the lived in fear of their lairs being laid bare by a thief in the night who could strike at any moment and leave no trace. Whether or not these tales were true, it is a certainty that this was the way that Valanthe wanted it.
Finally, the ultimate fate of Dravot is the subject of canon throughout his churches about the Flanaess. His holy see has risen to encompass the virtuous Shining Knights of Dravot, based out of Ekbir’s Towers of the Dawn and Dusk. Temples devoted to him can be found throughout the lands, either on their own as chapels within Pelor’s great temples. Some stories claim that Dravot separated his spirit into a separate vessel and became a King, while others claim that he renounced all worldly passions that he might save the world with his sacrifice. The scriptures of the church of Dravot say nothing to either point, nor are such questions ever answered by auguries. What is known is that no personage less than Iuz himself became the direct and opposite enemy of the church of Dravot, and the Old One and Saint Dravot are known to have personally clashed on more than one occasion.
Of Meepo, little is said, other than that he continued to reign as Chief of Kobold Country for many days and that his rule was just and truly full. Different stories describe him being full of different things, however. It is widely considered fabrication that he had anything to do with the liberation of Geoff or the defeat of Orcus, but the general populace does believe that he ruled by divine providence and that Rhuun Kazaii enjoyed some form of protection that certainly reflected well on the chief. In the years that would follow, Rhuun Kazaii would never truly grow that large, but it always remained interesting.
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