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Below is a single story hour post from an ongoing Savage Tide campaign. It was co-authored with one of the players. (The NPC Hesketh was inspired by user Humble Minion on the Paizo boards.) I post it here for your enjoyment. If anyone cares for more, let me know.
--
Flashback, part one:
Life at the Court of Stars had always been like dusk in the spring time. All around was wonderful, and there was an excitement for what was to come, whatever it may be.
My name is Usires Glassthane, son of Pendreck Glassthane also called “Brighthammer” for the mythic weapon that he wields in battle. I have to admit, he is an impressive Shiere, or as man would call him, an eladrin Knight. My mother is Ulyana, and she bears the silver cup for Queen Morwel herself!
Ahhh, Queen Morwel! Never will there be a greater beauty in all of Arborea. She is a paragon of gentleness, the wellspring of Arborean culture, and the cauldron from which we all drink to quench our thirst for the arcane. And as all young eladrin lads want, I knew very early in my life that I wanted to please her.
All eladrin aspire to find their place in the Arborean world of culture. After all, culture defines Arborea! Without it we may as well be drow!
Everyone does something. Some are painters, some sculptors, poets, and dancers. Although I knew that I would always take up a weapon like my father before me, I also knew that there was much more. I would sit for hours in the garden and tell story after to story to the toads and squirrels. I have heard my mother and father tell the story many times:
“Pendreck, your son was in the garden telling stories to the squirrels today.”
“That is quite humorous my dear.”
“But Pendreck, they were listening...”
For you see, I had not come into my magic yet. I used no power other than what I was born with, my bardic gift. My parents recognized the wild light of a bard's quest for tales, music, and chivalry in my eyes; and they knew that it would not be quenched.
If the eladrin know anything, they know what is beautiful. And the craftsmen and smiths of the eladrin are master artificers comparable to the forgelords of the dwurfolk on Oerth. And so my father had made for me a flute of the darkest witchwood and inlaid in silver a hypnotic swirling pattern that seemed to dance while I played it. And while I played, I could see the music swirl about me in a hypnotic maelstrom of sound. I memorized it. I felt it. I let it pass over me and through me. And then I traced it in the air with my blade.
The eladrin blademasters said they could not explain how I had gone from being a student like any other boy my age to a whirling prodigy with a sword. But I knew. The music guided me. It showed me how nature flows, and I just followed the path that it set before me. But that was my secret...
So I played and fought and I grew. But I did not go unnoticed. For Queen Morwel herself had heard me play as I grew. So it was that I was invited to court to play for them. And play I did! My heart burst with the power of music; and the excitement, fear, rage, thrill, and lastly sadness of the battles that I knew I would one day fight poured out of my soul. As my last note trailed away there was silence.
I opened my eyes and there upon her alabaster throne sat Queen Morwel, a tear running down her cheek. The court was amazed! And then the Queen stood, inclined her lovely head toward me, and retired to her chamber.
The queen had inclined her head to me! A gesture of the utmost gratitude from the Queen herself! By the end of the evening my back was bruised from all of the friendly pats I received from the members of court.
And so I attended court on a permanent basis. However, there was more to court than just pleasantries, gossip, and the dribble that eladrin males call poetry. There was also faith.
I had been a very single-minded child and followed the imaginary paths that I had set forth for myself. So when my parents would speak of Corellon, I paid little heed. But when the Queen herself spoke of Corellon, and I saw that she was humble before the thought of him, then I knew that I was missing a piece of my life that I must learn and let consume me.
And so I had found my muse. While I can look back with much joy at the affections that I felt and still feel for the Queen, my humble faith and caring of Corellon showed me the path of unconditional love and goodness. Corellon would be the light that I would use to navigate the ship of my life.
So I traveled to the Autumn City. It was there that I found a military brotherhood known as the Order of the Crescent Moon. These were warriors that had dedicated their lives to the service of Corellon while still serving the people of Arborea. They taught military prowess but tempered it with compassion and the desire to do good. I was welcomed into the Order with open arms and felt as if I had been one of their brethren for all times. I was instructed in theology, tactics, the arts, and bladecraft. I made many friends and was well respected for my lore and my skill with a sword.
I felt that I had truly accomplished something and knew that my life had purpose. So in the thirty-third year of the fourth century of the reign of Morwel, I returned to court to be with my family once more and display my baldric which was emblazoned with the Order of the Crescent Moon’s crest. For although I was but a squire in the order, it was no easy task to become one of the “Moon Brothers,” as they were called.
As I walked down the white pebbled path toward the court of Queen Morwel, I became more excited with every step I took. Beauty overcame me with each step I took. I could see the monolithic trees that surrounded the court, a bowl-shaped clearing in the middle of the Feywild. Small, delicate structures dotted the landscape of the Court of Stars, but the place where the Queen was attended by the eladrin host was left open to the brilliant stars.
Other eladrin walked casually toward court and spoke to me with much affection as they saw me. Some of the younger maids wished to kiss my brow and cheek in gratitude for taking up the baldric. I thought that unseemly for a respectable Moon Brother but did allow it. After all, one of them may be my betrothed someday, and I would not wish to seem arrogant.
As I reached the crest of the hill that led down to court, my senses were stunned with the beauty of it all. The entire area was lit with the meandering lights of pixies and sprites. Garlands and small silver bells were hung from the oak, ash, yew, elder, witchwood, apple, and pine trees that surrounded court. Great tressle tables, carved with elaborate hunting scenes, were laden with delicacies of all types: candied pears, roasted fowls, stewed roots, soups, breads, and of course the many varieties of tea that all eladrin are known to love.
As everyone ate and talked, a clear silver horn sounded, and the Queen's procession came into view. They were almost ethereal as they made their way down the winding path from the Queen’s vale. Beautiful courtesans and troubadours accompanied the Queen, her handmaidens and the esteemed warriors that have served her well. My father was among them, wearing his traditional black and silver, and shouldering his ever-faithful Brighthammer. My mother bore the great silver cup and was beautiful with her silver hair braided and wearing velvet blue and orange.
As the Queen entered the clearing, all bowed and she took the alabaster thrown with much gratitude, which was her way. All were given leave by the Queen's herald to continue and be merry.
That was when the darkness came upon us...
--
While the crew of the Sea Wyvern began the arduous process of filling barrels with fresh water from the river, Aust, Bowen, Garvin, and Urol rowed ashore to look for the ruined city of Huitzetlapan. Bleys joined them.
As they neared the beach, they saw a figure standing in the brush at the jungle's edge. It was an Olman man, jumping up and down and waving his arms at the heroes.
The man had long curly black hair stuffed into a battered steel helm and a long scraggly beard. He wore a bone breastplate, a feathered loin cloth, and ankle beads. In his hand was a thin, obsidian-tipped javelin.
Urol eagerly made contact with the native, speaking slowly and loudly in Olman while gesturing with his hands.
"We... come... in peace!"
The native answered in Keoish, in the same exagerrated style. "Very... nice... to meet you!"
"He speaks Keoish!" said Urol, astonished.
"What a lively boat you have dar," said the native, pointing toward the Sea Wyvern. "Nice boat. Very nice boat indeed. I come on boat like dat, except only person who live was me. I was de only one. Me and my cats." He spread his arms, drawing attention to several black cats milling about his feet.
"Come!" he continued. "Come to my house! I built it myself. Come!"
"What is your name?" asked Garvin.
"My name is Bukeenu."
"Bookie New?"
Bukeenu nodded. "Bukeenu. It is lively to have you here. Come to my house. I make tea."
"Tea?" said Garvin. "I would love some tea."
Bukeenu spoke incessantly as he led them along a trail through the jungle that ran parallel to the river. "It is so nice to see you!I have been here a long time. As I say, I come here on boat. Boat sunk. Everybody drown in de murky deep."
"What boat?" asked Garvin.
"Big boat. With sails. Dey let me ride down in de hold. Gave me jury."
"They gave you what?"
"Jury. Dey gave me bracelets..."
"Oh, jewelry!" said Garvin.
"Yes. Dey gave me jury. Dey gave me bracelets. Dey gave me--"
"Were the bracelets tied together so they wouldn't get lost, like this?" Garvin produced a pair of iron manacles.
"Yes!" said Bukeenu happily. "So generous. But everybody drown except me. Bukeenu did not drown. But I make songs for dem. I make songs for dem de entire way."
"So you are a singer of songs then."
"I speak songs. From de spirit world."
"Oh?"
"My cats teach dem to me. Dey are my ancestors. Dey are de spirit of my ancestors come back!" Bukeenu suddenly had a fierceness about him. "Dey teach me songs to keep de world in motion!"
"Will you speak one of your songs for us?"
"Oh yes!" Bukeenu shouted. "Come!"
Bukeenu and his swarm of cats led the group to a flat-roofed waddle-and-daub hut at the end of the trail. A crude ladder led up to the roof, while a door beneath the ladder led into the hut itself.
Bukeenu walked under the ladder and inside, motioning his new friends to follow. "You tell me what lively time you be having. Come!"
When everyone had settled themselves on the palm mats that passed as furnishings of Bukeenu's home, the native host began busying himself making tea for his guests while talking.
"Tell me why you are here." Before the others could answer, Bukeenu noticed Aust's alchemically silvered sword. "That is beautiful sword you have dare, sir. Beautiful! A friend of mine, we were travelling together, and he swung his sword, accidentally cut off his own head."
"Sounds like very bad luck," said Aust.
Garvin explained the bad luck he had been having lately with crossbows.
Bukeenu nodded knowingly. "I had a cousin. We were hunting one time. We both had de bow. He shot his bow. When he shot de bow, de string broke. Wrapped around his neck. Choked him to death. Dead. You hungry?"
Garvin nodded.
"I eat albatross."
"I love albatross."
"Me too. Albatross get de power from de spirit world, from de air, and gives power to me when I eat dem."
Bukeenu built up the dying fire in a stone-lined pit within the hut, and suspended a scrawny bird over it.
"I have albatross. You can have some. I have special rub I put on it. "
"A special rub?" asked Garvin.
"I make it myself. It is milky white."
Garvin shot the others an uneasy look.
"It is from coconuts," continued Bukeenu. "So tell me about your journeys. I bet you had a very lively time."
"Extremely," said Garvin. "Do you know of Xibolba?"
"Oh yes."
"We came from there a few weeks ago. We punched a hole in it. One lady died. But the dwarf who was with us said she hadn't really. And then he died, too."
"People around us seem to die a lot," said Bowen.
'That must be terrible," said Bukeenu. Then he declared that the albatross was ready to eat, and everyone tried some.
"Be careful," warned Bukeenu. "My mother, she die by choking on albatross. I was right dare and saw it. She was eating de albatross on two pieces of bread. And she choke on de bone. Poor Mamakass. Dat was her name."
--
Flashback, part two:
A scream was heard from above the hill that led to the court of the Queen of Stars.
Myself, my father, and a small band of warriors ran up the white pebbled path toward the scream, only to find a sight that we had hoped never to encounter. There in the middle of the path was a wagon made of rough hewn wood and course iron nails; it was laden with corpses. Eladrin corpses, piled the height of four warriors and twice as long. All were bare and bore a rune that was carved repeatedly over their entire bodies. If that was not bad enough, they had been sucked dry of blood.
I was stunned. “Father, what could have done this?”
My father turned to me with his face the color of milk and fear in his eyes. “Not what, my son. Who! These poor souls bear the mark of Pale Night. And if she has returned then all is lost!”
“But father, the demoness Pale Night is but a legend that parents used to scare their children!” Be good or Pale Night will get you, it was said.
“No, my son. She is real, and this is her mark.”
At this we heard the dark, slow laughter of the beast that had pulled this unholy abomination to the Court of Stars. A blind and hobbled fomorian was strapped to the cart like a beast and laughed with the mirth of an evil simpleton.
With a fluid motion, Pendreck Glassthane, the Brighthammer, unshouldered his mighty mallet and stuck the monster's head clean off. He then turned to the host of warriors. “We must tell the Queen!”
As the horror of what had just occurred began to settle there was much talk about Pale Night and what had occurred ages ago.
Pale Night was a demoness of such incredible power that she was able to tempt Queen Morwel’s first consort, Ascodel, with her unholy charms. He was lured into the layer of Pale Night's host, along with hundreds of young eladrin that Ascodel had convinced to accompany him. There they were cursed and enslaved. It was only when it was too late that Ascodel realized that he had been deceived and died trying to defend the young eladrin that he had led to their doom.
And so the eladrin waged war against Pale Night and her horde. For two hundred years the Harrowing of the Abyss waged on, until the greatest mages of the eladrin and their olven cousins wove such powerful magics that Pale Night was banished never to return... or so they thought.
Pale night was not alone in her sinister plots. She had five generals that served her and carried out her dark bidding. Their names were Fendalex, Whisper, Crumbledust, Hesketh, and Weevel the babyeater. These too were banished, as they were almost as evil and wicked as Pale Night herself. They feasted upon the blood of the innocent to fuel their unholy magics. Bloodmagic that only dark sacrifice would make strong beyond imagining.
As the frantic conversation pressed on, the Queen herself stood and raised her firm white arms, the golden arm cuffs glinting in the star light. “Pale Night has returned!”
The eladrin became utterly silent at her words.
Then the Queen continued. “We are the eladrin. We are the Star-blessed, and we will bring light to the World!”
At these great words the eladrin host cheered with all their hearts.
“And where Pale Night goes, her unholy generals will shuffle behind her, spreading terror and destruction. We will meet them in the beginning and hunt them like vermin! They will still be weak from breaking the bonds of banishment. Now is the time that we strike!”
At that, the Court of Stars erupted in a war cry that would swell the heart of a dead man! The Queen then stepped down from the rustic flagstone dais that held the beautiful alabaster throne and placed her hand on the shoulder of every subject there as she walked among us. “Ten of you will be my champions. You will search in pairs, each pair looking for one of Pale Night’s generals. Who shall bear this burden?” she asked of the Court of Stars.
After all of the hands had been raised, and there had been many, the Queen made her choices. I was proud to see that almost every courtesan, troubadour, warrior, serving lad, and lady-in-waiting had raised their had to come to the defense of Arborea. Even Cloris Bent-Leg raised his frail, wrinkled old hand. He was a mere slip of a boy when the Harrowing raged but remembered the terror that it brought, and he swore he would never allow it again if he had breath in his body.
In the end exactly ten of us that were suited to go on the hunt. I was amazed and honored to be chosen, though I was only a squire.
The queen then took her place back on the alabaster throne and looked at us with much pride. I knew all nine that stood beside me, my father being one of them. All were courageous and skilled, good choices to battle the sinister shadow that had come back from the abyss.
As we stood there bowing before the Queen of Stars awaiting our farewell, she spoke words that stunned as all. “Bring the Anvil!”
These words made my heart race and my mind whirl. I could hear some of the bowing warriors next to me sob with emotion. The Anvil was only used to forge the weapons of heroes! Used only for those that were the best among us! My father had been the last when the smiths had used the Anvil to forge the Brighthammer.
Everyone was startled as the scraping of stone was heard within the dark forest. Twelve white bulls pulled the massive anvil into the middle of the Court of Stars for all to see. It was odd to see a thing of such rough ugliness set within a place of breathtaking beauty. But the power that was felt coming from the Anvil was almost disturbing. It’s size was enormous for an anvil, as tall as a horse's withers and twice as long as an elvish plains horse. It was black and pitted, made from coarse iron but was rimmed by glowing runes of power that stretched from butt to horn. These runes were ancient, not fully understood by our most learned scholars.
An elder smith came forward, garbed in white robes and black leather apron, holding hammers of silver, gold, and witchwood in each hand. As he approached the Anvil, it began to hum and pulse. The runes glowed a bright golden light, and it felt as if everyone’s heartbeat had fallen in to the Anvil’s rhythm.
The smith looked content at the response from the Anvil, and he gave a slight smile. He motioned the warrior on the far end of the line to come forward and stand before the Anvil. Abruptly the smith began to strike the Anvil with both hammers. Nine times he struck with each hammer, alternating hands. Something was forming on the Anvil. Something glittering and beautiful. On his last stroke he carefully laid each hammer on the Anvil’s face and held aloft a sword as beautiful as any I had seen. It was straight and sharp with a crossguard in the shape of rampant gryphons.
“Gryphon’s Claw,” he announced, and the warrior strode forward to take her sword. Again while the young warrior stood there, he smote the Anvil nine more times and brought forth a coat of silvery rings that shone like small points of light. “And a coat of stars to protect the Gryphon’s Claw.”
This continued throughout the night. A cart of tea was brought to all who held vigil with the warriors. Steel axe and helm of jade were next, then spear and girdle of blackest iron, witchwood bow and ivory quiver...
My father, since he carried the Brighthammer, was forged only one item. He was given a gleaming silver helm that looked as if it were made from overlapping leaves of the purest platinum.
Next came a sword with a wavy blade that licked of fire when you looked at it and a shield of the finest oak, twin daggers that looked quick and sharp, a barbed whip of red leather with a matching wand of red colored stone, and a lance of flowering wood and an enameled white shield.
As I raised my head to look about me, I realized that all eyes were upon me. I was the last to be gifted. The night was fading and morning approached. The smith had worked all through the night but seemed as fresh a lily after a spring rain.
The smith set upon the Anvil once more, each hammer still brilliant in the pre-morning light. Each ringing blow made my heart race faster. At the last blow I could see a reddish glow coming from atop the anvil. The smith lifted a shirt of fine copper scales, each scale engraved with knotwork. But the mail was not held together with leather and steel but instead by cords and rings of pure fire! Elemental fire held the scales together and the shirt burned with the red hot fury of a forge. When I took it in my hands the shirt of scales comforted into a soft red glow that came from under each scale. It was truly beautiful to behold. But what of my weapon? The weapon had come first with all of the others gifted.
As I marveled and wondered over my new armor, the smith began hammering again on the mythic Anvil, his blows more determined and careful than ever. His eyes wider than before as he worked. And on his last blow the morning sun crested the horizon and brilliant light appeared behind the smith, and behind him Queen Morwel herself. At that moment the smith raised a sword as white as snow and elegant as anything I had ever laid my eyes upon.
The new morning light struck the blade and it glowed with a purity that none had seen before. A ray of light shown through the opening that was the sunburst at the hilt of the blade and it settled upon my upturned face. Sounds of astonishment were heard at this apparent bonding between weapon and wielder. Then as the smith began to announce the weapons naming he was unable to speak out of pure astonishment. The assemblage looked upon the sword with stunned wonder. As if they could not believe it was real.
The Queen herself stood and announced to all gathered there and to the darkness as a warning: “Behold! The Sword of the Dawn!”
--
"What can you tell us about Huitzetlapan?" asked Captain Aust.
"Ah," nodded Bukeenu. "Old ruin under big volcano."
"Big volcano?" repeated Aust, worriedly.
"Big volcano. It is not sperming fire. Quit sperming fire a long time ago. Very dangerous."
"Huitzetlapan is where the fire god lives?" asked Garvin tentatively.
"Oh yes."
"Have you actually been there or been in Huitzetlapan?" asked Aust.
"Yes I have," answered Bukeenu. "I know de way."
"What is in there?" asked Garvin.
"Death and destruction."
"Really?"
"It is very lively time."
"How many people will we find there?"
"No people. Bukeenu is only one. People of de old ways, dey die out long time ago. Many years!"
"What happened?"
"Legend say demons dress up as men. Make people to stop de worship. Old gods very angry! People die out. Gods go away. Demons happy."
The others grew silent for a while, but Bukeenu could not help but express the joy within him. "I give you gift. All of you." He rummaged around in a back room of the hut and came back with a fancy mirror about two feet in diameter. Then he pointed to each hero as he counted silently in his head. Then he smashed the mirror with his fist and handed each hero a small shard. "You can look at yourselves in de shiny!"
The Olman didn't stop there. "You want I talk a little bit? Dis is part where you listen to me." He poured more tea, then produced a tortoise shell instrument and began to pluck it as he spoke. "Dis is song my ancestors teach me." He paused then continued in a sing-song voice. "I love to eat dem birdies. Birdies what I love to eat. Nibble on dey footsies. Bite off dey little feet. I love to eat dem birdies. Thank you."
Aust sipped his tea politely.
"What do you make this tea out of?" asked Garvin.
"Sea wad."
"Come again?"
"Sea wad. Is good. I drink it myself lots."
"Oh, seaweed!"
Bowen closed his eyes and prayed to the Oerth Mother to purify the tea, but strangely, nothing happened.
Bleys, too, asked a blessing over his meal, but he knew immediately that the prayer was impotent.
Aust steered the conversation back to the task at hand, explaining that the heroes needed to reach the shrine of the fire god.
Bukeenu indicated that shrines to gods were probably located in the tunnels beneath the city, at the heart of the volcano, and without much prodding, he proceeded to outline three ways the heroes might reach them.
The first route led from the beach to a moss-covered obelisk where a maze of winding trails began that led through the jungle on the east slope of the mountain. The trail led to a small lake high on the slope of the mountain, which emitted poisonous gas, Bukeenu warned. Beyond the lake lay the opposite slope of the volcano, which was the territory of a large tribe of fierce goblins. Bukeenu claimed that these warlike humanoids killed anyone who wandered into their lands. They awaited the coming of a messiah. Somewhere within the goblin lands was said to be a descending stair into the mountain, guarded by more goblins and many deadly traps.
The heroes didn't seem eager to take this route, so Bukeenu outlined a second possible way. This involved trekking to the ruins of the city-state to the ancient ballcourt.
"Old kings loved dey sport. Dey made men play de games with de wooden ball. But de ball, it be covered all over with de sharp blades. Very lively time. Now only one left dare is ghost."
"Ghost?"
Bukeenu nodded. He said that the ballcourt was haunted by a spirit. Beyond the ballcourt was the main temple to Heuheuteotl. But, Bukeenu said, the tunnels beneath the temple were almost certainly flooded.
Then he offered a third option. From the ballcourt, the heroes could travel up the slope of the volcano to reach the summit. The ascent would be treacherous, as the top 600 feet of the volcano was a cinder cone made of tiny razor-sharp rocks. He indicated that he might know where sturdier steps might lay hidden beneath the cinder cone, though. Once at the top, the heroes would need to find a way down the main lava tube, if a way down existed, to find any tunnel openings there, if any.
--
Flashback, part three:
<<Screaming and fire, all around me. My children were clutching themselves in agony and despair. How could I have led them here? To eternal damnation. As I walked forward to survey the terror to which I had been an accomplice, my bare dirty feet stepped upon something soft and wet. The body of a child, her pearly blue eyes dead and empty. Her small body had been mutilated, and her mouth was filled with black shiny bugs that seemed to fill her poor carcass. Her body seemed to move, but it was the bugs that were consuming her from the inside out. My children were being tormented by monsters all around me. I had done this. I had led them to their doom.>>
<<But there was also a peace that was with me. I looked at my snowy blade that was my eternal companion. Anarquelion hummed softly in my hand, and it remained pristine against the terrible landscape that surrounded me. A beacon of white to hold back the darkness, even for a brief moment. I had walked down a path of vanity and betrayal, of dark secrets and skullduggery. And Anarquelion had aided me. It’s pure white glow had grown shadowy and something lurked in it’s depths. I had traveled the roads that it had taken me over the years, and we had grown closer than any could imagine. And when I decided to travel a darker path, my glorious blade traveled there, too. It tried to reminded me of all the moments of righteous good that we had done, but my actions blew those deeds away like autumn leaves. And so it changed like I had changed. And I took demons as my friends.>>
<<But as I look at my handiwork and I repent for everything that I have done, my milk-white blade returns to me. It’s goodness a balm to my soul. "We shall defend, Anarquelion, as one being you and I, and if you exist long after my body rots away here in hell, perhaps I shall live on in your legacy." I walked toward the evil host that defiled my children, my gleaming white sword in my battered hand. I would kill as many as I could while my mind was still my own.>>
Even though the gifting ceremony had been ten days ago, I still could not take my eyes off of the milky blade that was now sheathed in tooled black leather and laying upon my bed. The weapon was truly exquisite. It was made entirely from what looked like white, opaque glass. But it was harder than steel and just as flexible. The sword's hilt was capped with a spray of finial work and the handle was smooth except for a cluster of runes that no one could decipher for me. The crossguard was the shape of half of a stylized sunburst, representing the sun cresting the horizon at sunrise. The place where the sun itself should be was actually a hole all the way through the sword. That was where the sun's rays entered to fall upon my face. The curving rays of the sun reaching out toward the blade. The blade itself was three finger widths wide and curved for slashing. The style of the blade seemed to be from a much earlier time. Eladrin blades were straight and elegant, thin and meant for thrusting and slashing. Blades like this were from a time when eladrin were more warlike and wielded heavier weapons that dealt slashing blows. The ornamentation of the hilt was similar to that on ancient buildings that had been around for centuries. It was sharp as a razor and never seemed to dull.
But the dreams after the gifting were another matter. Were these visions of things to come? I knew at it’s forging that the sword and I were meant to be together. But my dreams gave me a feeling that the bond that we shared was nothing. Deeper, holier bonds hid from us and I must untangle them from the mystery that surrounded my white glass blade. Something of my dreams tugged at my memories. I knew not why.
I had experienced nightmares every night after the gifting. Each time the sword gave me comfort and solice in my dreams. It was always there, my constant companion. Yet it was also like an elusive lover that gives just enough passion to make one yearn for more. It’s mysteries were palpable and ever-present. I had used my own spellcraft to try to unlock some of the weapon's lore. However, I was left with more questions and an underlying feeling that there were depths of potential.
The Ten had been ordered to prepare for the hunt fourteen days from the gifting. So I prepared everything I thought I would need for the journey. Of course the Sword of the Dawn and my new mail would accompany me. I also would take a pair of eladrin boots to aid in traveling, the uniform and baldric of my order, a stout green leather belt and matching pouches (all tooled with coursing hounds), black leather bracers and gauntlets, a small ivory tea pot shaped like a voluptuous mermaid with six small ivory cups in the shape of shells, plenty of tea saches, a travel journal and quill, a small pearl handled knife, my scarlet great cloak, my father's old steel shield that I used to use as a sled in the snow of Dragon Mountain when I was a lad, and my silver and witchwood flute.
The Ten assembled the next morning at the Court of Stars. All were present that had attended the gifting plus three times more. I was matched with the dark haired eladrin female that was gifted with the witchwood bow and ivory quiver. We would travel together on the hunt and act as protector to the other. She was beautiful with pale skin, raven hair, and silver eyes. I also appreciated the fact that her green leathers fit her quite well.
“I am Usires,” I said to her, as we stood waiting for the Queen.
“I know,” she blushed. “I am Fenalia.“
As we looked at each other for seconds longer than was needed, I determined that we would get along just fine.
“Behold the compasses I bear,” stated the queen. “Each holds the blood of the demon you seek. It will take you to the plane on which they reside and glow when they are near.” The Queen’s expression changed to one tinged with sadness. “But know that many eladrin died long ago to obtain this blood for use in the hunt. Also know that while these compasses will take you to the hunting ground, they will not bring you back to Arborea. That you must figure out on your own.”
The Queen then gave each of us a small orb made of irregular green glass with tiny bubbles of air that riddled the surface. The inside was filled with a swirling silver flame. “Break this when all hope is lost," said she. "You will be protected and nothing may harm you.” And at those words the Queen did kiss us all upon the brow and bid us farewell.
After we said our goodbyes, Fenalia and I looked at the compass that dangled from my fingers by a silver chain. It was not actually a compass but a small orb of polished amber that was capped on both ends with a silver finial. Inside the amber was sealed a drop of blood no bigger than a raisin.
“Are you ready?” asked Fenalia.
I nodded.
We both touched the orb... and we were gone.
--
After their rest at Bukeenu's hut, the native led the heroes through a jungle trail to the outskirts of Huitzetlapan. There wasn't much left of the city except for mounds of brown stone overgrown with vines and the occasional carved stone block or figure. Soon, however, the foliage parted to reveal an open space that may once have been a courtyard, as evidenced by a few paving stones fitted together here and there on the flat ground, and by the remains of a low stone wall that once ran entirely around the perimeter. The jungle crowded in on the courtyard on three sides, and on the fourth side lay a heap of pitted stones that must once have been a structure of some sort.
While Bukeenu led the heroes across the courtyard, looking over his left shoulder all the while, Bleys and Bowen hung back, still wondering why their prayers continued to go unanswered.
"Do you think our prayers go unanswered because of the Olman?" asked Bleys.
"Either he or his accursed land."
While they were talking, a dark haired girl stepped out of the foliage to their left, her innocent face and lithe form half-concealed by a black cloak. She bore a small and wiry bow, to which she nocked a thin black arrow and aimed it at Garvin.
The arrow whistled by the blonde man's head, missing it by mere inches.
Garvin immediately dove behind an outcropping of branches on the other side of the ballcourt. Bowen, too, retreated into the trees to hide. Bleys tried his best to find a prayer that would work against the foe, but he had little luck.
Aust wasn't about to trust to magic. He drew his sword and charged up to the woman, readying to strike her down if she raised the bow again.
But someone, or something, beat the captain to the punch. A gut-wrenching scream rent the air as the young woman was jerked a foot or two into the air, hung there by something invisible that had suddenly ripped open her torso, splattering blood onto Aust.
Bukeenu stood at the other end of the court, nodding sadly as if he had seen all of this before.
The figure hung there, motionless in the air, her cloak fallen back from her head, revealing bright white skin, elven ears protruding through straight black hair, and silvery pupil-less eyes staring open in shock. Whatever suspended her in the air remained unseen.
Aust sidestepped the gruesome image and brought his sword down right behind the woman's body, expecting to discover the invisible fiend that hid there. His blade met nothing but air. Worse, he couldn't stop the swing in time, and he sliced deeply into his own thigh.
Bleys ran to Aust's side to help, but the prayer of healing he chanted caused new wounds to appear on the warrior's body instead!
Truly some sort of curse was upon the heroes.
The young woman descended slowly to the oerth, shuddered and convulsed for a second, then split open from shoulder to hip in a single violent motion! Gore spilled from her insides as she collapsed to the ground.
Blood pooled around the lifeless carcass as the heroes quickly regrouped at Bukeenu's side. Bowen began to tend to Aust's wounds through traditional means.
Then Urol broke down and began to weep. Tears streamed from his eyes. He was staring back at where the woman had collapsed. When the other heroes looked, they saw that, impossibly, the cleaved form of the elven woman had reassembled, after a fashion--the upper part of the woman's body was slightly out of alignment with the lower half--and she was standing up, her horrific entrails dangling from the massive wound she bore! She was stares imploringly at Urol, as if experiencing the worst loss anyone has ever faced.
As everyone watched, the grisly apparition moved toward the ruins bordering the northern end of the courtyard area, her feet barely touching the ground. When she reached a particular spot amid the ruins, the woman bent down and appeared to pick something up. Then she turned, took a step toward the volcano, and vanished into thin air!
"It looked like she picked up her arrow," said Aust.
Garvin searched the location where the spirit had paused. After a few moments, he removed a sleek black arrow from among the rocks. Its shaft was inlaid with silver tracery.
A half hour later, the heroes had climbed to the foot of the cinder cone at the top of the mountain. The native made a brief search among the sharp rocks and found the steps he had promised, large slabs of granite that had been set into the slope, presumably to provide the ancient Olmans with a safe way to reach the lip of the volcano.
Even though Bukeenu cleared the way, the others had a difficult time advancing up the steep slope. Bleys had the worst luck out of everyone, slipping on loose stones, being cut by the sharp rocks, getting volcanic dust in his eyes.
Finally everyone reached the top and looked down into the volcano's mouth. The shaft was about fifty feet across and went straight down. There was no easy, visible way to descend, and nothing to descend to. They spent an hour bickering about whether or not this was the right way to go, and how to find out. No one had brought any rope.
Eventually Bowen agreed to fly back to the ship in pelican form to retrieve rope. It took him two trips to get enough. Then, one by one, the heroes descended into the volcano's main lava tube. The air grew warmer the lower they dropped, eventually becoming quite hot.
Finally, they saw steam vapours rising from the surface of very hot water 300 feet down. A round opening, 25 feet across, led away from the main lava tube. The tunnel sloped slightly upward, and a stream of water trickled down through it.
As the heroes gathered at the entrance to the tunnels, they found that the stone surfaces were fitted together remarkably well, but most were covered with a wet, dark green slime. And there was a hissing sound emanating from deeper within the tunnel.
Bowen, Aust, and Garvin went first, exploring ahead as best they could. Bukeenu, Bleys, and Urol moved more cautiously.
High on both sides of the curved walls of the tunnel were alcoves, set about thirty feet apart, each containing a statue of ancient Olman design.
Several times the heroes tried to climb up the slippery sides of the tunnel to reach these alcoves. Most of the time these attempts ended with the climber slipping, falling down, and sliding some ways back down the tunnel toward the steaming pond.
As they progressed, they soon discovered the source of the hissing sound. Steam vented from small holes beneath the statues every so often, scaling all those nearby.
The forward trio reached the end of the tunnel many yards ahead. The way was blocked, and there appeared to be no exit.
Bleys, lagging behind in the second group, became aware of a different sound. Crying. He turned back to find the source, and he saw the elfin woman once more. She was floating slowly up the centre of the tunnel, ten feet off the ground. Tears streamed down her cheeks. As Bleys watched, she turned slowly, passed through one of the statues, and disappeared behind it.
Bleys called to the others, who began to assemble near the mouth of the tunnel where the woman had been seen. Once Garvin reached the alcove where the statue was perched, it didn't take him long to find a secret door in the wall at the back. He opened it to find a short passageway leading to a small room. Nearly filling the room was a reflective silver hemisphere, five feet tall and ten feet in diameter. Bleys and Garvin investigated the curious object, trying to find out whether it could be moved or opened in some way.
Then Aust pulled out the black arrow he had found in the rubble near the ballcourt. When he touched the arrow's point to the big silver object, the massive hemisphere glowed briefly and then melted away like mercury falling.
Lying where the hemisphere had been was the body of a grievously wounded elf lying in a pool of blood.
His skin was pale, and his hair was as fair as spun gold. He was wrapped in crimson greatcloak, beneath which he wore armour of fine copper scales held together by woven strands of materialised fire. His gloves and boots were of supple grey cloth, and on his white baldric was the sign of a sword and crescent moon.
Without even waiting to determine if the wounded elf was still alive, Bleys pulled out a healer's kit. The priest was about to mistakenly apply the wrong sort of aid, but Garvin recognized this and pointed it out. Together they stopped the bleeding. As they did so, the elven man began to stir. And he opened his glowing, pupil-less eyes.
--
Flashback, part four:
I had grown up around ancient forests and loved the feel, smells, and life that lived in them. However, jungles are something different. They are hot, sticky, unpredictable, and wet. But that is where Fenalia and I appeared, right in the middle of a jungle. So we followed the compass and let the slight glow of the blood inside show us the direction that we were supposed to go.
After winding our way through, under, over, and around all of the obstacles that barred our way, we came to a very alien city populated by a people that were too ugly to even describe. They worshipped primitive gods who demanded human sacrifice.
“Yes, this looks like the kind of people that a demon would hang about with,” said Fenalia.
I chuckled and we made our way through the jungle, toward the city in search of the dread demon Hesketh.
The city was built a distance from the shore at the base of an inactive volcano. The buildings included brown stone pyramids of varying size and style, as well as squarish buildings that were decorated with glyphs and designs of primordial beasts and totems. The city was awash with the natives. All were half naked, painted, and decorated with feathers, beads, gilded bones and pierced through the skin with ornamentation.
Docked at the shore was a flotilla of ships that seemed of a style altogether different than that of the city. These ships were long and sleek with sweeping lines and two square sails. The people that manned these ships were dramatically different from the natives of the jungle city. They were big men, tall and fair, with metal weapons and a cruel countenance.
As we moved closer to the city, we watched the interactions between the natives and the visitors. It is amazing what one can observe when hiding in the cover of a jungle and the tension is high between those that are being watched. While it seemed that the blond men were trying to get along with the natives, it was evident that it was merely a façade. They would be mannerly to the people of the city and then make jest about them in their group. The blond men would fondle lone women as they passed by or put a shoulder to someone elderly, seeming it to be an accident and then feign kindness as they helped them up off of the ground. The natives seemed to take them at face value and could not read their underlying brutality.
As we watched we saw a chieftain (we assumed this because his headdress was bigger than everyone else’s) emerged from a pyramid with a group of important-looking natives. They walked toward the shore. Walking up from the ships toward the chieftain and his retinue was a bigger blond man and four very brutal-looking henchmen. As the leader of the blond sailors approached, we could see that he was a strikingly good looking man, even for a human. His henchmen were mountainous, and their eyes shifted constantly.
“Usires, look,” whispered Fenalia. She pointed at the compass that hung about my neck. The drop of blood inside the amber was steadily glowing brighter with each step that the beautiful blond man took toward us.
“That must be him,” I said.
Fenalia nodded slowly. She looked like a beautiful predator as she hid among the lush foliage. She held her bow loose but ready, and every move and action was delicate but powerful. I found that Fenalia had a way of making me lose my concentration.
As we watched, the chieftain and what the man we guessed to be Hesketh conversed from a distance. After some parleying, the chieftain motioned the blond man toward the pyramid with a friendly gesture. The blond man glanced back at the gang that was his men and gave them a subtle sign with his hand. The men all gave a nod and nonchalantly walked away.
As night fell, we watched the foreigners mingle among the natives. Some of the blond foreigners would snatch young girls that were walking alone into the jungle. After a few minutes the young girl would unsteadily walk out and sometimes they wouldn’t.
“It’s hard to tell who the demons are,” whispered Fenalia.
We circled around to the back of the small pyramid that Hesketh had entered to see if anything could be seen of the fiend. There behind the pyramid was a courtyard lined with long torches and surrounded by a low stone wall. Standing in the courtyard by himself was Hesketh, drinking from a gold chalice and admiring the architecture of the pyramid with his back to the jungle.
“Perfect,” whispered Fenalia. “I’ll flank him and you take him from behind!”
“Fenalia, wait!” I said, but she had already vanished in a silent blur of silver lightning. “This doesn’t feel right...”
I drew my snowy blade and began to walk silently toward the courtyard. I would aim for the neck and then run him through. A missing head and a pierced heart should do the trick. When I was about twenty feet away, I took three silent running steps and leaped forward, swinging my sword in a backhanded strike and feystepped. I appeared right behind the villain, his exposed neck inviting my swift blade to bite deep. But it was not to be, Hesketh spun around at the last moment and parried my blade with a vicious looking dagger!
“Did you think I would not sense your presence, little one,” he said with a smooth, melodious voice.
I attempted a spinning riposte, and he easily blocked it, too.
As he chuckled and slowly shook his head at my feeble attempts, a sleek black arrow sprang from the side of his head. Fenalia stepped from the foliage, already knocking another arrow.
Hesketh opened his mouth, now filled with scores of long needle-like teeth and eyes as black as pitch, and hissed at Fenalia as she raised the bow for a second shot.
I took this moment to strike, slicing him at the knee, cutting tendons and bone alike. As Hesketh went down he said, “You wounded me! I cannot be hurt by ordinary weapons!”
I held forth the Sword of the Dawn and said, “This is no ordinary weapon,” and drew back for my killing blow.
A scream was heard to my left, a female scream, Fenalia’s scream. It stopped the world. It stopped my blow. It even stopped Hesketh for a moment.
There was Fenalia, suspended in the air, lifted up by the blade that had just erupted from the center of her chest. She whimpered as the demon henchman that had caught her unaware from behind rested his grotesque chin on her shoulder and licked the sweat from her smooth young face. The demon then set her down, pulled the wicked blade out of her back and cleaved her through from shoulder to hip. She was dead before both parts of her body fell to the ground.
Hesketh took advantage of my weakness and despair at seeing Fenalia murdered. I was knocked backward by a blow so powerful that a kick from three horses would have been more welcoming. As I landed on my back I knew that ribs had been broken and I bled from the mouth. I could heal myself in time but not while being pursued.
Three demon henchman bounded out of the jungle where Fenalia lay. She never had a chance. All of this had been staged.
Hesketh also stood, his wounded knee shifting and slithering beneath his now ruined leather greaves.
I had seen enough battles to know that I was wounded and outmatched. So I ran, fleeing among the buildings that nestled into the side of the volcano, hoping that I would find an escape. As I caught my breath I would feystep to put more space between me and the pursuing demons. They gnashed their teeth and bellowed, morphing into more gruesome predatory forms as they chased me.
The next thing I knew I had descended a long stairway into a labyrinth of caves, statues, tunnels, and grottos leading deeper under the volcano. I ran into the first carved archway that I came to and plunged forward through the welcoming darkness. My ribs burned like fire, and I continued to cough up blood. I could see in the dark so my path was easily traveled, but demons can see in the dark too. I could hear them. They were in the same tunnel as me, tracking me. I was like sweet meats to them. They thirsted for my eladrin blood.
I ran until I could run no more. Statues of some pagan gods lined the passage and behind them the stone was cut in an irregular fashion. I found a statue that had a larger opening behind it and there I hid. I used the blessings of Corellon to heal my broken ribs and staunch the bleeding that was coming from my mouth. However, even healing magic can be exhausting. I could run no more. Fighting one opponent might have been possible, but not four, with one of them a demon of considerable power.
I could hear the footsteps of the demons coming down the hallway. Razor sharp talons scraped against the wall. They laughed among themselves. What sport I must be to them. What a pretty prey I am compared to the sickening bone ridges and fetid breath that make up their race.
I could see them now around the feet of the statue. Their bodies scarred with dark arcane symbols and lash marks. And behind them, like the master to a pack of dogs, strode Hesketh. His long blond hair now hung to his waist in greasy locks. His brow protruded over his eyes, and his chin was elongated to triple its length. Small hornlike spurs dotted his forehead, and his teeth were rows of inch-long fangs. He was sickeningly gaunt but powerful, and his hands ended in wicked looking talons.
The demons stopped in the passage and sniffed around, seeming to detect nothing, perhaps since the entire place smelled of sulphur and strong incense. Then as one, each of them slowly turned their head and looked straight at me. I knew that I was doomed.
But then I remembered the orb! The last gift that Queen Morwel gave to us. ‘When all hope is lost’ were her words. So I reached into my pouch and pulled forth the orb. How could so small a thing be my salvation? As the vile beasts from the pit surrounded my hiding place, I smashed the green glass orb onto the black volcanic rock at my feet. Silver fire flared all about me! Surrounding me and creating a dome above my head! I could see through it and the demons were in a frenzy! Their slashing and bludgeoning--and even the dark arcane spells from Hasketh--could not penetrate the silver fire dome that was my sanctuary. I stood for one drowsy moment watching the demons try to get to me so they could tear me to shreds and eat my bones.
But it seemed so far away now and alas, to sleep seemed the most proper course of action.
Sleep inside my world of silver fire.
Sleep with demons at my doorstep.
--
Suddenly awakened, Usires stood, clutching his glass long sword and pointing it at those crowded around him. "Where is she who wields the witchwood bow?" he yelled in a strange dialect of Sylvan. "Where is she who bears the silver cup? Where is the Brighthammer?" He screamed, "Speak!"
Garvin was the only one who understood the man's archaic words. He responded calmly, warily. "I do not know who you mean."
"Where is the eladrin?" demanded Usires.
Garvin guessed he was referring to the ghostly female archer. "She seeks you."
"Of course she does! Where is she now?"
"We do not know. We followed her here."
Usires caught sight of the black arrow in Aust's hand, and memories began to flood into his mind. He seemed to grow despondant. "She is dead."
"What happened?"
"She was killed." Usires' voice was weak.
"By whom?"
"Demons." His eyes shifted, as if he was remembering more events from the past. "She was killed by demons."
"Her spirit is restless."
"What is he saying?" interrupted Bleys.
Garvin briefly explained to the others what Usires had told him.
"Ask him how long ago this happened," instructed Aust. Garvin relayed the question.
Usires examined his wounds to gauge how much time had passed since the ambush. "Yesterday, I think. Yet now it is a brand new day and--" Thoughts of Hesketh and his hunters returned to him. Garvin had the look of one of Hesketh's men about him, though his dress and manners were different. Usires raised his sword again. "Who are you people?"
"We have been sent here to break the seal," said Garvin.
"The seal of what?"
"The seal of the fire god."
"Did you come here with Hesketh?"
"We know no one by that name," said Garvin. "Who is Hesketh, and for that matter, who are you?"
"I am Usires Glassthane, Sword of the Dawn, Demonstalker, Troubadour of the Court of Stars."
Through Garvin, Usires was introduced to the rest of the group. When Bowen approached in carver lizard form, Usires prepared to slay it until he was convinced it was an ally in an altered shape.
Usires looked at Aust. "You walk two worlds. You walk with Corellon, and you walk with Lolth."
Garvin translated, and Aust admitted the truth in the words. "I did not choose my bloodline."
When the introductions were over, the eladrin swordsman said, "Hesketh is a demon." From beneath his shirt he pulled a small amber pendant suspended on a silver chain. He studied it for a moment, then put it away and sheathed his sword.
"Why do you seek this demon?"
Usires explained that his queen had sent him and his companion to hunt this minion of their dreaded enemy, Pale Night.
"We too have been sent here," said Garvin, "by the ancient Olman gods." He tried to explain how they had explored other ancient Olman ruins, breaking seals and awakening the vestiges of gods.
Usires was not interested in the Olmans or their gods. "Hesketh is in the guise of man of your race, tall, with fair skin and blond hair like yours. Have you seen him?"
"No. From where did he purport to hail?"
"He hailed from the 471st layer of the Abyss!" Usires seemed to grow impatient. "I must find my comrade. We have work to do."
"Your comrade?"
"My comrade. You saw her. She wields a bow made of witchwood. That is her arrow. I must find her, and we must be off. I do not have time to exchange pleasantries with you."
Garvin paused. "She is dead," he reminded Usires gently.
"You found her body?" Usires grew despondant again.
Garvin relayed how the spirit of the female archer appeared to them in the ancient city. As the ghost story progressed, Usires filled in the missing details of her demise.
"Her spirit relived this same terror in our presence," said Garvin. "Then she rose, moved to where her arrow lay, and disappeared. When we reached this tunnel, she appeared again. It was by following her that we came to where you lay."
"I see." Usires nodded. "She looks for me."
"We found you encased in a great silver orb. Was that of your doing?"
"My queen's."
"To protect you?"
"When all hope was lost." Again, Usires grew impatient, as if time was of the essence. "I shall mourn my comrade when my work is done. Hesketh cannot have gone far."
"Can we assist you in hunting this demon?"
"If you offer help, then I shall accept it. However, we must make haste. I saw his ship in the harbour. He cannot have gone far. Do you have a ship on which I can pursue him? When you spoke with the people of the city, before you came here--"
"There are no people left in the city."
"Where have they gone?"
"It is a desolate ruin."
"The blond-haired men?"
"We have not seen anyone besides the spirit of your good lady and the survivor of a shipwreck."
"Then they have left."
"Tell me, Usires," said Garvin. "When you fought with Hesketh, was the courtyard in which you did battle fitted with stone, well trimmed, and beautiful?"
"Yes, behind a small pyramid and lined with tall torches."
"It all stands in ruins now."
Usires was taken aback. "How could the demons have destroyed a city in a day?"
"And caused centuries of overgrowth?"
"The natives who live here--"
"--are no more."
"Were they enslaved?"
"We do not know. We arrived here just this morning. I fear that time has passed you by, Usires. The great society you speak of no longer exists." Garvin consulted with Urol, who confirmed that the Olman Empire fell a thousand years ago.
"But my wounds are fresh!" cried Usires. "Surely there is time to catch Hesketh. Let us hurry."
"We are here to break a seal," said Garvin, holding his ground. "We will not leave until that is done."
"What is this seal you speak of?"
"It is one of seven. They are the subject of an ancient Olman prophecy. I have a feeling this prophecy may intertwine itself with your mission in some way." Garvin related the prophecy.
Usires listened but did not comment. "Then let us break this seal."
Garvin warned Usires against using magic, then the group exited the chamber.
Though they had changed from when he last saw them, Usires explained where passageways could be found leading off the main tunnel.
The heroes found a secret door behind the statue Usires had pointed out. It led to a roughly hewn cavern, unfurnished but for two stone chairs or thrones facing each other across the empty expanse of the chamber. On the far end of the cavern were a pair of heavy bronze doors, intricately carved. Bowen reported that they radiated abjuration magic, while the stone seats radiated illusion magic.
Try as they might, the heroes were unable to open the doors, and searches of the thrones and the rest of the room turned up nothing.
So the heroes rested briefly. Usires shared tea with the others.
At one point while the others were idle, Bleys sat in one of the stone seats, and he urged Urol to sit in the other. When they did so, they perceived that a portion of the cavern had been hidden from their sight. Within one wall was an expansive archway, and beneath it was ensconced a tall idol of a horned fat man holding a bowl in his lap. Across the idol's chest were words in ancient Olman.
Bleys quickly drew the attention of the others.
Garvin translated the writing: "Brightly plumed bird, flutters in its nest, licks the petting hand, dies at rain's behest."
Usires thought that perhaps the riddle referred to fire. The other agreed and began to piece together what they thought might be instructions. Following this logic, the heroes applied flame to the bowl, which seemed to light easily even with no apparent fuel. Then one of the heroes held his hand in the fiery tips of the bonfire, before quenching the flame once more with water.
A click was heard, and the bronze doors creaked open slightly.
The heroes gathered their gear and resumed their exploration. After passing through a couple of rooms where it appeared some sort of animal had once lived, the heroes passed through a single door into a square room, fifty feet on a side. All of the walls were of worked stone. In the exact centre of the room floated a twenty-foot cube, also made of closely fitted stone. The cube was about fifteen feet off the ground. A flickering light danced on the ceiling and walls, as if cast there by an unseen fire atop the cube. There appeared to be no exits.
While the others heroes remained below to search for hidden passageways and other secrets, Garvin and Usires used the feathered cloak from Tamoachan to rise to the top of the cube. There they saw a round, fiery symbol floating in the air a few feet above the top of the cube. By now they had become familiar enough with the seals of the ancient Olman gods to recognize one when they saw it, though they had never encountered one made of fire before.
The heroes tried many ways to break the seal, but nothing they did seemed to affect the magical burning ring of fire. Garvin went so far as to stand within the flames for almost half a minute, enduring severe burns, in an attempt to satisfy the fire's hunger.
Finally, the ranger pulled out the magical emerald that Balama had referred to as the Rain Tiger.
Usires examined the stone, a blue gem cut in the shape of a jungle cat, and he confirming that it had the ability, as the heroes had previously suspected, of allowing a spellcaster or priest to store magic within it simply by focusing on it while casting. Conversely, the magic could be drawn out simply by calling out, "Ocelotl ic motecpac." Garvin understood these words to mean 'the reign of the tiger.'
Usires said two magical effects were stored within the gem. One spell dispelled other magic effects. The second and stronger spell could bring someone back to life from just a portion of the remains.
Usires held the emerald toward the flames and spoke with words, willing the gem to dispel the magic of the seal.
The flaming symbol vanished.
With the magic sigil that had kept it aloft now dispelled, the hovering stone crashed to the floor, narrowly missing Urol! Chunks of shattered stone flew in every direction. Before the dust had settled, those left in the room saw a large crack in the block, revealing a hollow, fire-lit interior.
From inside the block came strange words in a harsh tongue.
Bowen and Aust leapt through the door into the narrow hallway through which the group had come, just as a curtain of fire sprang up from the doorway, its flames burning horizontally into the room, rather than straight up.
Bleys and Urol stood watching the flames as the chanting within the cube grew louder. Suddenly a huge blaze erupted in their midst and took on a humanoid shape. It turned slowly, backing Urol in a corner and pummeling him with large fiery fists.
On the other side of the room Usires and Garvin dropped to the floor and looked around the corner of the massive block. What emerged from the crack, still chanting in its strange tongue, was a horrific snake-man made of fire, magma, and smoke. From the waist up, it resembled a red-and-black man with fiery hair and beard. From the waist down it was a glowing serpent of magma. All over its body were short, spine-like appendages that burned and steamed. In its hands it clenched a twenty foot long spear of blackened steel.
As Bleys and Urol retreated from the fire elemental on the other side of the room, Garvin squared off against the avatar of Huehueteotl himself, whose spear flashed back and forth like a deadly, darting tongue. An intense heat radiating from the avatar scorched everyone in the room, and the next thing everyone knew, the snake-man exploded in a ball of flame!
"I am awakened," came the hissing voice in each person's head. "Return my tongue to the flameshrine on Thanaclan."
As the smoke cleared and the heroes recovered their senses, they saw that all of the flames had died out. The avatar was no more, and with him went the fire elemental and wall of fire he had summoned.
The interior of the hollow block was lit by an ornate torch, revealing a small mound of treasure, including over 1000 pieces of silver, 150 or more pieces of gold, a grape-size fire opal, a pea-sized black star sapphire, a pea-sized fire opal, a delicate gem-encrusted wine cup, a smooth jade-inlaid wine cup, 2 stoppered clay vials, and two scrolls containing prayers to Huehueteotl.
--
Flashback, part one:
Life at the Court of Stars had always been like dusk in the spring time. All around was wonderful, and there was an excitement for what was to come, whatever it may be.
My name is Usires Glassthane, son of Pendreck Glassthane also called “Brighthammer” for the mythic weapon that he wields in battle. I have to admit, he is an impressive Shiere, or as man would call him, an eladrin Knight. My mother is Ulyana, and she bears the silver cup for Queen Morwel herself!
Ahhh, Queen Morwel! Never will there be a greater beauty in all of Arborea. She is a paragon of gentleness, the wellspring of Arborean culture, and the cauldron from which we all drink to quench our thirst for the arcane. And as all young eladrin lads want, I knew very early in my life that I wanted to please her.
All eladrin aspire to find their place in the Arborean world of culture. After all, culture defines Arborea! Without it we may as well be drow!
Everyone does something. Some are painters, some sculptors, poets, and dancers. Although I knew that I would always take up a weapon like my father before me, I also knew that there was much more. I would sit for hours in the garden and tell story after to story to the toads and squirrels. I have heard my mother and father tell the story many times:
“Pendreck, your son was in the garden telling stories to the squirrels today.”
“That is quite humorous my dear.”
“But Pendreck, they were listening...”
For you see, I had not come into my magic yet. I used no power other than what I was born with, my bardic gift. My parents recognized the wild light of a bard's quest for tales, music, and chivalry in my eyes; and they knew that it would not be quenched.
If the eladrin know anything, they know what is beautiful. And the craftsmen and smiths of the eladrin are master artificers comparable to the forgelords of the dwurfolk on Oerth. And so my father had made for me a flute of the darkest witchwood and inlaid in silver a hypnotic swirling pattern that seemed to dance while I played it. And while I played, I could see the music swirl about me in a hypnotic maelstrom of sound. I memorized it. I felt it. I let it pass over me and through me. And then I traced it in the air with my blade.
The eladrin blademasters said they could not explain how I had gone from being a student like any other boy my age to a whirling prodigy with a sword. But I knew. The music guided me. It showed me how nature flows, and I just followed the path that it set before me. But that was my secret...
So I played and fought and I grew. But I did not go unnoticed. For Queen Morwel herself had heard me play as I grew. So it was that I was invited to court to play for them. And play I did! My heart burst with the power of music; and the excitement, fear, rage, thrill, and lastly sadness of the battles that I knew I would one day fight poured out of my soul. As my last note trailed away there was silence.
I opened my eyes and there upon her alabaster throne sat Queen Morwel, a tear running down her cheek. The court was amazed! And then the Queen stood, inclined her lovely head toward me, and retired to her chamber.
The queen had inclined her head to me! A gesture of the utmost gratitude from the Queen herself! By the end of the evening my back was bruised from all of the friendly pats I received from the members of court.
And so I attended court on a permanent basis. However, there was more to court than just pleasantries, gossip, and the dribble that eladrin males call poetry. There was also faith.
I had been a very single-minded child and followed the imaginary paths that I had set forth for myself. So when my parents would speak of Corellon, I paid little heed. But when the Queen herself spoke of Corellon, and I saw that she was humble before the thought of him, then I knew that I was missing a piece of my life that I must learn and let consume me.
And so I had found my muse. While I can look back with much joy at the affections that I felt and still feel for the Queen, my humble faith and caring of Corellon showed me the path of unconditional love and goodness. Corellon would be the light that I would use to navigate the ship of my life.
So I traveled to the Autumn City. It was there that I found a military brotherhood known as the Order of the Crescent Moon. These were warriors that had dedicated their lives to the service of Corellon while still serving the people of Arborea. They taught military prowess but tempered it with compassion and the desire to do good. I was welcomed into the Order with open arms and felt as if I had been one of their brethren for all times. I was instructed in theology, tactics, the arts, and bladecraft. I made many friends and was well respected for my lore and my skill with a sword.
I felt that I had truly accomplished something and knew that my life had purpose. So in the thirty-third year of the fourth century of the reign of Morwel, I returned to court to be with my family once more and display my baldric which was emblazoned with the Order of the Crescent Moon’s crest. For although I was but a squire in the order, it was no easy task to become one of the “Moon Brothers,” as they were called.
As I walked down the white pebbled path toward the court of Queen Morwel, I became more excited with every step I took. Beauty overcame me with each step I took. I could see the monolithic trees that surrounded the court, a bowl-shaped clearing in the middle of the Feywild. Small, delicate structures dotted the landscape of the Court of Stars, but the place where the Queen was attended by the eladrin host was left open to the brilliant stars.
Other eladrin walked casually toward court and spoke to me with much affection as they saw me. Some of the younger maids wished to kiss my brow and cheek in gratitude for taking up the baldric. I thought that unseemly for a respectable Moon Brother but did allow it. After all, one of them may be my betrothed someday, and I would not wish to seem arrogant.
As I reached the crest of the hill that led down to court, my senses were stunned with the beauty of it all. The entire area was lit with the meandering lights of pixies and sprites. Garlands and small silver bells were hung from the oak, ash, yew, elder, witchwood, apple, and pine trees that surrounded court. Great tressle tables, carved with elaborate hunting scenes, were laden with delicacies of all types: candied pears, roasted fowls, stewed roots, soups, breads, and of course the many varieties of tea that all eladrin are known to love.
As everyone ate and talked, a clear silver horn sounded, and the Queen's procession came into view. They were almost ethereal as they made their way down the winding path from the Queen’s vale. Beautiful courtesans and troubadours accompanied the Queen, her handmaidens and the esteemed warriors that have served her well. My father was among them, wearing his traditional black and silver, and shouldering his ever-faithful Brighthammer. My mother bore the great silver cup and was beautiful with her silver hair braided and wearing velvet blue and orange.
As the Queen entered the clearing, all bowed and she took the alabaster thrown with much gratitude, which was her way. All were given leave by the Queen's herald to continue and be merry.
That was when the darkness came upon us...
--
While the crew of the Sea Wyvern began the arduous process of filling barrels with fresh water from the river, Aust, Bowen, Garvin, and Urol rowed ashore to look for the ruined city of Huitzetlapan. Bleys joined them.
As they neared the beach, they saw a figure standing in the brush at the jungle's edge. It was an Olman man, jumping up and down and waving his arms at the heroes.
The man had long curly black hair stuffed into a battered steel helm and a long scraggly beard. He wore a bone breastplate, a feathered loin cloth, and ankle beads. In his hand was a thin, obsidian-tipped javelin.
Urol eagerly made contact with the native, speaking slowly and loudly in Olman while gesturing with his hands.
"We... come... in peace!"
The native answered in Keoish, in the same exagerrated style. "Very... nice... to meet you!"
"He speaks Keoish!" said Urol, astonished.
"What a lively boat you have dar," said the native, pointing toward the Sea Wyvern. "Nice boat. Very nice boat indeed. I come on boat like dat, except only person who live was me. I was de only one. Me and my cats." He spread his arms, drawing attention to several black cats milling about his feet.
"Come!" he continued. "Come to my house! I built it myself. Come!"
"What is your name?" asked Garvin.
"My name is Bukeenu."
"Bookie New?"
Bukeenu nodded. "Bukeenu. It is lively to have you here. Come to my house. I make tea."
"Tea?" said Garvin. "I would love some tea."
Bukeenu spoke incessantly as he led them along a trail through the jungle that ran parallel to the river. "It is so nice to see you!I have been here a long time. As I say, I come here on boat. Boat sunk. Everybody drown in de murky deep."
"What boat?" asked Garvin.
"Big boat. With sails. Dey let me ride down in de hold. Gave me jury."
"They gave you what?"
"Jury. Dey gave me bracelets..."
"Oh, jewelry!" said Garvin.
"Yes. Dey gave me jury. Dey gave me bracelets. Dey gave me--"
"Were the bracelets tied together so they wouldn't get lost, like this?" Garvin produced a pair of iron manacles.
"Yes!" said Bukeenu happily. "So generous. But everybody drown except me. Bukeenu did not drown. But I make songs for dem. I make songs for dem de entire way."
"So you are a singer of songs then."
"I speak songs. From de spirit world."
"Oh?"
"My cats teach dem to me. Dey are my ancestors. Dey are de spirit of my ancestors come back!" Bukeenu suddenly had a fierceness about him. "Dey teach me songs to keep de world in motion!"
"Will you speak one of your songs for us?"
"Oh yes!" Bukeenu shouted. "Come!"
Bukeenu and his swarm of cats led the group to a flat-roofed waddle-and-daub hut at the end of the trail. A crude ladder led up to the roof, while a door beneath the ladder led into the hut itself.
Bukeenu walked under the ladder and inside, motioning his new friends to follow. "You tell me what lively time you be having. Come!"
When everyone had settled themselves on the palm mats that passed as furnishings of Bukeenu's home, the native host began busying himself making tea for his guests while talking.
"Tell me why you are here." Before the others could answer, Bukeenu noticed Aust's alchemically silvered sword. "That is beautiful sword you have dare, sir. Beautiful! A friend of mine, we were travelling together, and he swung his sword, accidentally cut off his own head."
"Sounds like very bad luck," said Aust.
Garvin explained the bad luck he had been having lately with crossbows.
Bukeenu nodded knowingly. "I had a cousin. We were hunting one time. We both had de bow. He shot his bow. When he shot de bow, de string broke. Wrapped around his neck. Choked him to death. Dead. You hungry?"
Garvin nodded.
"I eat albatross."
"I love albatross."
"Me too. Albatross get de power from de spirit world, from de air, and gives power to me when I eat dem."
Bukeenu built up the dying fire in a stone-lined pit within the hut, and suspended a scrawny bird over it.
"I have albatross. You can have some. I have special rub I put on it. "
"A special rub?" asked Garvin.
"I make it myself. It is milky white."
Garvin shot the others an uneasy look.
"It is from coconuts," continued Bukeenu. "So tell me about your journeys. I bet you had a very lively time."
"Extremely," said Garvin. "Do you know of Xibolba?"
"Oh yes."
"We came from there a few weeks ago. We punched a hole in it. One lady died. But the dwarf who was with us said she hadn't really. And then he died, too."
"People around us seem to die a lot," said Bowen.
'That must be terrible," said Bukeenu. Then he declared that the albatross was ready to eat, and everyone tried some.
"Be careful," warned Bukeenu. "My mother, she die by choking on albatross. I was right dare and saw it. She was eating de albatross on two pieces of bread. And she choke on de bone. Poor Mamakass. Dat was her name."
--
Flashback, part two:
A scream was heard from above the hill that led to the court of the Queen of Stars.
Myself, my father, and a small band of warriors ran up the white pebbled path toward the scream, only to find a sight that we had hoped never to encounter. There in the middle of the path was a wagon made of rough hewn wood and course iron nails; it was laden with corpses. Eladrin corpses, piled the height of four warriors and twice as long. All were bare and bore a rune that was carved repeatedly over their entire bodies. If that was not bad enough, they had been sucked dry of blood.
I was stunned. “Father, what could have done this?”
My father turned to me with his face the color of milk and fear in his eyes. “Not what, my son. Who! These poor souls bear the mark of Pale Night. And if she has returned then all is lost!”
“But father, the demoness Pale Night is but a legend that parents used to scare their children!” Be good or Pale Night will get you, it was said.
“No, my son. She is real, and this is her mark.”
At this we heard the dark, slow laughter of the beast that had pulled this unholy abomination to the Court of Stars. A blind and hobbled fomorian was strapped to the cart like a beast and laughed with the mirth of an evil simpleton.
With a fluid motion, Pendreck Glassthane, the Brighthammer, unshouldered his mighty mallet and stuck the monster's head clean off. He then turned to the host of warriors. “We must tell the Queen!”
As the horror of what had just occurred began to settle there was much talk about Pale Night and what had occurred ages ago.
Pale Night was a demoness of such incredible power that she was able to tempt Queen Morwel’s first consort, Ascodel, with her unholy charms. He was lured into the layer of Pale Night's host, along with hundreds of young eladrin that Ascodel had convinced to accompany him. There they were cursed and enslaved. It was only when it was too late that Ascodel realized that he had been deceived and died trying to defend the young eladrin that he had led to their doom.
And so the eladrin waged war against Pale Night and her horde. For two hundred years the Harrowing of the Abyss waged on, until the greatest mages of the eladrin and their olven cousins wove such powerful magics that Pale Night was banished never to return... or so they thought.
Pale night was not alone in her sinister plots. She had five generals that served her and carried out her dark bidding. Their names were Fendalex, Whisper, Crumbledust, Hesketh, and Weevel the babyeater. These too were banished, as they were almost as evil and wicked as Pale Night herself. They feasted upon the blood of the innocent to fuel their unholy magics. Bloodmagic that only dark sacrifice would make strong beyond imagining.
As the frantic conversation pressed on, the Queen herself stood and raised her firm white arms, the golden arm cuffs glinting in the star light. “Pale Night has returned!”
The eladrin became utterly silent at her words.
Then the Queen continued. “We are the eladrin. We are the Star-blessed, and we will bring light to the World!”
At these great words the eladrin host cheered with all their hearts.
“And where Pale Night goes, her unholy generals will shuffle behind her, spreading terror and destruction. We will meet them in the beginning and hunt them like vermin! They will still be weak from breaking the bonds of banishment. Now is the time that we strike!”
At that, the Court of Stars erupted in a war cry that would swell the heart of a dead man! The Queen then stepped down from the rustic flagstone dais that held the beautiful alabaster throne and placed her hand on the shoulder of every subject there as she walked among us. “Ten of you will be my champions. You will search in pairs, each pair looking for one of Pale Night’s generals. Who shall bear this burden?” she asked of the Court of Stars.
After all of the hands had been raised, and there had been many, the Queen made her choices. I was proud to see that almost every courtesan, troubadour, warrior, serving lad, and lady-in-waiting had raised their had to come to the defense of Arborea. Even Cloris Bent-Leg raised his frail, wrinkled old hand. He was a mere slip of a boy when the Harrowing raged but remembered the terror that it brought, and he swore he would never allow it again if he had breath in his body.
In the end exactly ten of us that were suited to go on the hunt. I was amazed and honored to be chosen, though I was only a squire.
The queen then took her place back on the alabaster throne and looked at us with much pride. I knew all nine that stood beside me, my father being one of them. All were courageous and skilled, good choices to battle the sinister shadow that had come back from the abyss.
As we stood there bowing before the Queen of Stars awaiting our farewell, she spoke words that stunned as all. “Bring the Anvil!”
These words made my heart race and my mind whirl. I could hear some of the bowing warriors next to me sob with emotion. The Anvil was only used to forge the weapons of heroes! Used only for those that were the best among us! My father had been the last when the smiths had used the Anvil to forge the Brighthammer.
Everyone was startled as the scraping of stone was heard within the dark forest. Twelve white bulls pulled the massive anvil into the middle of the Court of Stars for all to see. It was odd to see a thing of such rough ugliness set within a place of breathtaking beauty. But the power that was felt coming from the Anvil was almost disturbing. It’s size was enormous for an anvil, as tall as a horse's withers and twice as long as an elvish plains horse. It was black and pitted, made from coarse iron but was rimmed by glowing runes of power that stretched from butt to horn. These runes were ancient, not fully understood by our most learned scholars.
An elder smith came forward, garbed in white robes and black leather apron, holding hammers of silver, gold, and witchwood in each hand. As he approached the Anvil, it began to hum and pulse. The runes glowed a bright golden light, and it felt as if everyone’s heartbeat had fallen in to the Anvil’s rhythm.
The smith looked content at the response from the Anvil, and he gave a slight smile. He motioned the warrior on the far end of the line to come forward and stand before the Anvil. Abruptly the smith began to strike the Anvil with both hammers. Nine times he struck with each hammer, alternating hands. Something was forming on the Anvil. Something glittering and beautiful. On his last stroke he carefully laid each hammer on the Anvil’s face and held aloft a sword as beautiful as any I had seen. It was straight and sharp with a crossguard in the shape of rampant gryphons.
“Gryphon’s Claw,” he announced, and the warrior strode forward to take her sword. Again while the young warrior stood there, he smote the Anvil nine more times and brought forth a coat of silvery rings that shone like small points of light. “And a coat of stars to protect the Gryphon’s Claw.”
This continued throughout the night. A cart of tea was brought to all who held vigil with the warriors. Steel axe and helm of jade were next, then spear and girdle of blackest iron, witchwood bow and ivory quiver...
My father, since he carried the Brighthammer, was forged only one item. He was given a gleaming silver helm that looked as if it were made from overlapping leaves of the purest platinum.
Next came a sword with a wavy blade that licked of fire when you looked at it and a shield of the finest oak, twin daggers that looked quick and sharp, a barbed whip of red leather with a matching wand of red colored stone, and a lance of flowering wood and an enameled white shield.
As I raised my head to look about me, I realized that all eyes were upon me. I was the last to be gifted. The night was fading and morning approached. The smith had worked all through the night but seemed as fresh a lily after a spring rain.
The smith set upon the Anvil once more, each hammer still brilliant in the pre-morning light. Each ringing blow made my heart race faster. At the last blow I could see a reddish glow coming from atop the anvil. The smith lifted a shirt of fine copper scales, each scale engraved with knotwork. But the mail was not held together with leather and steel but instead by cords and rings of pure fire! Elemental fire held the scales together and the shirt burned with the red hot fury of a forge. When I took it in my hands the shirt of scales comforted into a soft red glow that came from under each scale. It was truly beautiful to behold. But what of my weapon? The weapon had come first with all of the others gifted.
As I marveled and wondered over my new armor, the smith began hammering again on the mythic Anvil, his blows more determined and careful than ever. His eyes wider than before as he worked. And on his last blow the morning sun crested the horizon and brilliant light appeared behind the smith, and behind him Queen Morwel herself. At that moment the smith raised a sword as white as snow and elegant as anything I had ever laid my eyes upon.
The new morning light struck the blade and it glowed with a purity that none had seen before. A ray of light shown through the opening that was the sunburst at the hilt of the blade and it settled upon my upturned face. Sounds of astonishment were heard at this apparent bonding between weapon and wielder. Then as the smith began to announce the weapons naming he was unable to speak out of pure astonishment. The assemblage looked upon the sword with stunned wonder. As if they could not believe it was real.
The Queen herself stood and announced to all gathered there and to the darkness as a warning: “Behold! The Sword of the Dawn!”
--
"What can you tell us about Huitzetlapan?" asked Captain Aust.
"Ah," nodded Bukeenu. "Old ruin under big volcano."
"Big volcano?" repeated Aust, worriedly.
"Big volcano. It is not sperming fire. Quit sperming fire a long time ago. Very dangerous."
"Huitzetlapan is where the fire god lives?" asked Garvin tentatively.
"Oh yes."
"Have you actually been there or been in Huitzetlapan?" asked Aust.
"Yes I have," answered Bukeenu. "I know de way."
"What is in there?" asked Garvin.
"Death and destruction."
"Really?"
"It is very lively time."
"How many people will we find there?"
"No people. Bukeenu is only one. People of de old ways, dey die out long time ago. Many years!"
"What happened?"
"Legend say demons dress up as men. Make people to stop de worship. Old gods very angry! People die out. Gods go away. Demons happy."
The others grew silent for a while, but Bukeenu could not help but express the joy within him. "I give you gift. All of you." He rummaged around in a back room of the hut and came back with a fancy mirror about two feet in diameter. Then he pointed to each hero as he counted silently in his head. Then he smashed the mirror with his fist and handed each hero a small shard. "You can look at yourselves in de shiny!"
The Olman didn't stop there. "You want I talk a little bit? Dis is part where you listen to me." He poured more tea, then produced a tortoise shell instrument and began to pluck it as he spoke. "Dis is song my ancestors teach me." He paused then continued in a sing-song voice. "I love to eat dem birdies. Birdies what I love to eat. Nibble on dey footsies. Bite off dey little feet. I love to eat dem birdies. Thank you."
Aust sipped his tea politely.
"What do you make this tea out of?" asked Garvin.
"Sea wad."
"Come again?"
"Sea wad. Is good. I drink it myself lots."
"Oh, seaweed!"
Bowen closed his eyes and prayed to the Oerth Mother to purify the tea, but strangely, nothing happened.
Bleys, too, asked a blessing over his meal, but he knew immediately that the prayer was impotent.
Aust steered the conversation back to the task at hand, explaining that the heroes needed to reach the shrine of the fire god.
Bukeenu indicated that shrines to gods were probably located in the tunnels beneath the city, at the heart of the volcano, and without much prodding, he proceeded to outline three ways the heroes might reach them.
The first route led from the beach to a moss-covered obelisk where a maze of winding trails began that led through the jungle on the east slope of the mountain. The trail led to a small lake high on the slope of the mountain, which emitted poisonous gas, Bukeenu warned. Beyond the lake lay the opposite slope of the volcano, which was the territory of a large tribe of fierce goblins. Bukeenu claimed that these warlike humanoids killed anyone who wandered into their lands. They awaited the coming of a messiah. Somewhere within the goblin lands was said to be a descending stair into the mountain, guarded by more goblins and many deadly traps.
The heroes didn't seem eager to take this route, so Bukeenu outlined a second possible way. This involved trekking to the ruins of the city-state to the ancient ballcourt.
"Old kings loved dey sport. Dey made men play de games with de wooden ball. But de ball, it be covered all over with de sharp blades. Very lively time. Now only one left dare is ghost."
"Ghost?"
Bukeenu nodded. He said that the ballcourt was haunted by a spirit. Beyond the ballcourt was the main temple to Heuheuteotl. But, Bukeenu said, the tunnels beneath the temple were almost certainly flooded.
Then he offered a third option. From the ballcourt, the heroes could travel up the slope of the volcano to reach the summit. The ascent would be treacherous, as the top 600 feet of the volcano was a cinder cone made of tiny razor-sharp rocks. He indicated that he might know where sturdier steps might lay hidden beneath the cinder cone, though. Once at the top, the heroes would need to find a way down the main lava tube, if a way down existed, to find any tunnel openings there, if any.
--
Flashback, part three:
<<Screaming and fire, all around me. My children were clutching themselves in agony and despair. How could I have led them here? To eternal damnation. As I walked forward to survey the terror to which I had been an accomplice, my bare dirty feet stepped upon something soft and wet. The body of a child, her pearly blue eyes dead and empty. Her small body had been mutilated, and her mouth was filled with black shiny bugs that seemed to fill her poor carcass. Her body seemed to move, but it was the bugs that were consuming her from the inside out. My children were being tormented by monsters all around me. I had done this. I had led them to their doom.>>
<<But there was also a peace that was with me. I looked at my snowy blade that was my eternal companion. Anarquelion hummed softly in my hand, and it remained pristine against the terrible landscape that surrounded me. A beacon of white to hold back the darkness, even for a brief moment. I had walked down a path of vanity and betrayal, of dark secrets and skullduggery. And Anarquelion had aided me. It’s pure white glow had grown shadowy and something lurked in it’s depths. I had traveled the roads that it had taken me over the years, and we had grown closer than any could imagine. And when I decided to travel a darker path, my glorious blade traveled there, too. It tried to reminded me of all the moments of righteous good that we had done, but my actions blew those deeds away like autumn leaves. And so it changed like I had changed. And I took demons as my friends.>>
<<But as I look at my handiwork and I repent for everything that I have done, my milk-white blade returns to me. It’s goodness a balm to my soul. "We shall defend, Anarquelion, as one being you and I, and if you exist long after my body rots away here in hell, perhaps I shall live on in your legacy." I walked toward the evil host that defiled my children, my gleaming white sword in my battered hand. I would kill as many as I could while my mind was still my own.>>
Even though the gifting ceremony had been ten days ago, I still could not take my eyes off of the milky blade that was now sheathed in tooled black leather and laying upon my bed. The weapon was truly exquisite. It was made entirely from what looked like white, opaque glass. But it was harder than steel and just as flexible. The sword's hilt was capped with a spray of finial work and the handle was smooth except for a cluster of runes that no one could decipher for me. The crossguard was the shape of half of a stylized sunburst, representing the sun cresting the horizon at sunrise. The place where the sun itself should be was actually a hole all the way through the sword. That was where the sun's rays entered to fall upon my face. The curving rays of the sun reaching out toward the blade. The blade itself was three finger widths wide and curved for slashing. The style of the blade seemed to be from a much earlier time. Eladrin blades were straight and elegant, thin and meant for thrusting and slashing. Blades like this were from a time when eladrin were more warlike and wielded heavier weapons that dealt slashing blows. The ornamentation of the hilt was similar to that on ancient buildings that had been around for centuries. It was sharp as a razor and never seemed to dull.
But the dreams after the gifting were another matter. Were these visions of things to come? I knew at it’s forging that the sword and I were meant to be together. But my dreams gave me a feeling that the bond that we shared was nothing. Deeper, holier bonds hid from us and I must untangle them from the mystery that surrounded my white glass blade. Something of my dreams tugged at my memories. I knew not why.
I had experienced nightmares every night after the gifting. Each time the sword gave me comfort and solice in my dreams. It was always there, my constant companion. Yet it was also like an elusive lover that gives just enough passion to make one yearn for more. It’s mysteries were palpable and ever-present. I had used my own spellcraft to try to unlock some of the weapon's lore. However, I was left with more questions and an underlying feeling that there were depths of potential.
The Ten had been ordered to prepare for the hunt fourteen days from the gifting. So I prepared everything I thought I would need for the journey. Of course the Sword of the Dawn and my new mail would accompany me. I also would take a pair of eladrin boots to aid in traveling, the uniform and baldric of my order, a stout green leather belt and matching pouches (all tooled with coursing hounds), black leather bracers and gauntlets, a small ivory tea pot shaped like a voluptuous mermaid with six small ivory cups in the shape of shells, plenty of tea saches, a travel journal and quill, a small pearl handled knife, my scarlet great cloak, my father's old steel shield that I used to use as a sled in the snow of Dragon Mountain when I was a lad, and my silver and witchwood flute.
The Ten assembled the next morning at the Court of Stars. All were present that had attended the gifting plus three times more. I was matched with the dark haired eladrin female that was gifted with the witchwood bow and ivory quiver. We would travel together on the hunt and act as protector to the other. She was beautiful with pale skin, raven hair, and silver eyes. I also appreciated the fact that her green leathers fit her quite well.
“I am Usires,” I said to her, as we stood waiting for the Queen.
“I know,” she blushed. “I am Fenalia.“
As we looked at each other for seconds longer than was needed, I determined that we would get along just fine.
“Behold the compasses I bear,” stated the queen. “Each holds the blood of the demon you seek. It will take you to the plane on which they reside and glow when they are near.” The Queen’s expression changed to one tinged with sadness. “But know that many eladrin died long ago to obtain this blood for use in the hunt. Also know that while these compasses will take you to the hunting ground, they will not bring you back to Arborea. That you must figure out on your own.”
The Queen then gave each of us a small orb made of irregular green glass with tiny bubbles of air that riddled the surface. The inside was filled with a swirling silver flame. “Break this when all hope is lost," said she. "You will be protected and nothing may harm you.” And at those words the Queen did kiss us all upon the brow and bid us farewell.
After we said our goodbyes, Fenalia and I looked at the compass that dangled from my fingers by a silver chain. It was not actually a compass but a small orb of polished amber that was capped on both ends with a silver finial. Inside the amber was sealed a drop of blood no bigger than a raisin.
“Are you ready?” asked Fenalia.
I nodded.
We both touched the orb... and we were gone.
--
After their rest at Bukeenu's hut, the native led the heroes through a jungle trail to the outskirts of Huitzetlapan. There wasn't much left of the city except for mounds of brown stone overgrown with vines and the occasional carved stone block or figure. Soon, however, the foliage parted to reveal an open space that may once have been a courtyard, as evidenced by a few paving stones fitted together here and there on the flat ground, and by the remains of a low stone wall that once ran entirely around the perimeter. The jungle crowded in on the courtyard on three sides, and on the fourth side lay a heap of pitted stones that must once have been a structure of some sort.
While Bukeenu led the heroes across the courtyard, looking over his left shoulder all the while, Bleys and Bowen hung back, still wondering why their prayers continued to go unanswered.
"Do you think our prayers go unanswered because of the Olman?" asked Bleys.
"Either he or his accursed land."
While they were talking, a dark haired girl stepped out of the foliage to their left, her innocent face and lithe form half-concealed by a black cloak. She bore a small and wiry bow, to which she nocked a thin black arrow and aimed it at Garvin.
The arrow whistled by the blonde man's head, missing it by mere inches.
Garvin immediately dove behind an outcropping of branches on the other side of the ballcourt. Bowen, too, retreated into the trees to hide. Bleys tried his best to find a prayer that would work against the foe, but he had little luck.
Aust wasn't about to trust to magic. He drew his sword and charged up to the woman, readying to strike her down if she raised the bow again.
But someone, or something, beat the captain to the punch. A gut-wrenching scream rent the air as the young woman was jerked a foot or two into the air, hung there by something invisible that had suddenly ripped open her torso, splattering blood onto Aust.
Bukeenu stood at the other end of the court, nodding sadly as if he had seen all of this before.
The figure hung there, motionless in the air, her cloak fallen back from her head, revealing bright white skin, elven ears protruding through straight black hair, and silvery pupil-less eyes staring open in shock. Whatever suspended her in the air remained unseen.
Aust sidestepped the gruesome image and brought his sword down right behind the woman's body, expecting to discover the invisible fiend that hid there. His blade met nothing but air. Worse, he couldn't stop the swing in time, and he sliced deeply into his own thigh.
Bleys ran to Aust's side to help, but the prayer of healing he chanted caused new wounds to appear on the warrior's body instead!
Truly some sort of curse was upon the heroes.
The young woman descended slowly to the oerth, shuddered and convulsed for a second, then split open from shoulder to hip in a single violent motion! Gore spilled from her insides as she collapsed to the ground.
Blood pooled around the lifeless carcass as the heroes quickly regrouped at Bukeenu's side. Bowen began to tend to Aust's wounds through traditional means.
Then Urol broke down and began to weep. Tears streamed from his eyes. He was staring back at where the woman had collapsed. When the other heroes looked, they saw that, impossibly, the cleaved form of the elven woman had reassembled, after a fashion--the upper part of the woman's body was slightly out of alignment with the lower half--and she was standing up, her horrific entrails dangling from the massive wound she bore! She was stares imploringly at Urol, as if experiencing the worst loss anyone has ever faced.
As everyone watched, the grisly apparition moved toward the ruins bordering the northern end of the courtyard area, her feet barely touching the ground. When she reached a particular spot amid the ruins, the woman bent down and appeared to pick something up. Then she turned, took a step toward the volcano, and vanished into thin air!
"It looked like she picked up her arrow," said Aust.
Garvin searched the location where the spirit had paused. After a few moments, he removed a sleek black arrow from among the rocks. Its shaft was inlaid with silver tracery.
A half hour later, the heroes had climbed to the foot of the cinder cone at the top of the mountain. The native made a brief search among the sharp rocks and found the steps he had promised, large slabs of granite that had been set into the slope, presumably to provide the ancient Olmans with a safe way to reach the lip of the volcano.
Even though Bukeenu cleared the way, the others had a difficult time advancing up the steep slope. Bleys had the worst luck out of everyone, slipping on loose stones, being cut by the sharp rocks, getting volcanic dust in his eyes.
Finally everyone reached the top and looked down into the volcano's mouth. The shaft was about fifty feet across and went straight down. There was no easy, visible way to descend, and nothing to descend to. They spent an hour bickering about whether or not this was the right way to go, and how to find out. No one had brought any rope.
Eventually Bowen agreed to fly back to the ship in pelican form to retrieve rope. It took him two trips to get enough. Then, one by one, the heroes descended into the volcano's main lava tube. The air grew warmer the lower they dropped, eventually becoming quite hot.
Finally, they saw steam vapours rising from the surface of very hot water 300 feet down. A round opening, 25 feet across, led away from the main lava tube. The tunnel sloped slightly upward, and a stream of water trickled down through it.
As the heroes gathered at the entrance to the tunnels, they found that the stone surfaces were fitted together remarkably well, but most were covered with a wet, dark green slime. And there was a hissing sound emanating from deeper within the tunnel.
Bowen, Aust, and Garvin went first, exploring ahead as best they could. Bukeenu, Bleys, and Urol moved more cautiously.
High on both sides of the curved walls of the tunnel were alcoves, set about thirty feet apart, each containing a statue of ancient Olman design.
Several times the heroes tried to climb up the slippery sides of the tunnel to reach these alcoves. Most of the time these attempts ended with the climber slipping, falling down, and sliding some ways back down the tunnel toward the steaming pond.
As they progressed, they soon discovered the source of the hissing sound. Steam vented from small holes beneath the statues every so often, scaling all those nearby.
The forward trio reached the end of the tunnel many yards ahead. The way was blocked, and there appeared to be no exit.
Bleys, lagging behind in the second group, became aware of a different sound. Crying. He turned back to find the source, and he saw the elfin woman once more. She was floating slowly up the centre of the tunnel, ten feet off the ground. Tears streamed down her cheeks. As Bleys watched, she turned slowly, passed through one of the statues, and disappeared behind it.
Bleys called to the others, who began to assemble near the mouth of the tunnel where the woman had been seen. Once Garvin reached the alcove where the statue was perched, it didn't take him long to find a secret door in the wall at the back. He opened it to find a short passageway leading to a small room. Nearly filling the room was a reflective silver hemisphere, five feet tall and ten feet in diameter. Bleys and Garvin investigated the curious object, trying to find out whether it could be moved or opened in some way.
Then Aust pulled out the black arrow he had found in the rubble near the ballcourt. When he touched the arrow's point to the big silver object, the massive hemisphere glowed briefly and then melted away like mercury falling.
Lying where the hemisphere had been was the body of a grievously wounded elf lying in a pool of blood.
His skin was pale, and his hair was as fair as spun gold. He was wrapped in crimson greatcloak, beneath which he wore armour of fine copper scales held together by woven strands of materialised fire. His gloves and boots were of supple grey cloth, and on his white baldric was the sign of a sword and crescent moon.
Without even waiting to determine if the wounded elf was still alive, Bleys pulled out a healer's kit. The priest was about to mistakenly apply the wrong sort of aid, but Garvin recognized this and pointed it out. Together they stopped the bleeding. As they did so, the elven man began to stir. And he opened his glowing, pupil-less eyes.
--
Flashback, part four:
I had grown up around ancient forests and loved the feel, smells, and life that lived in them. However, jungles are something different. They are hot, sticky, unpredictable, and wet. But that is where Fenalia and I appeared, right in the middle of a jungle. So we followed the compass and let the slight glow of the blood inside show us the direction that we were supposed to go.
After winding our way through, under, over, and around all of the obstacles that barred our way, we came to a very alien city populated by a people that were too ugly to even describe. They worshipped primitive gods who demanded human sacrifice.
“Yes, this looks like the kind of people that a demon would hang about with,” said Fenalia.
I chuckled and we made our way through the jungle, toward the city in search of the dread demon Hesketh.
The city was built a distance from the shore at the base of an inactive volcano. The buildings included brown stone pyramids of varying size and style, as well as squarish buildings that were decorated with glyphs and designs of primordial beasts and totems. The city was awash with the natives. All were half naked, painted, and decorated with feathers, beads, gilded bones and pierced through the skin with ornamentation.
Docked at the shore was a flotilla of ships that seemed of a style altogether different than that of the city. These ships were long and sleek with sweeping lines and two square sails. The people that manned these ships were dramatically different from the natives of the jungle city. They were big men, tall and fair, with metal weapons and a cruel countenance.
As we moved closer to the city, we watched the interactions between the natives and the visitors. It is amazing what one can observe when hiding in the cover of a jungle and the tension is high between those that are being watched. While it seemed that the blond men were trying to get along with the natives, it was evident that it was merely a façade. They would be mannerly to the people of the city and then make jest about them in their group. The blond men would fondle lone women as they passed by or put a shoulder to someone elderly, seeming it to be an accident and then feign kindness as they helped them up off of the ground. The natives seemed to take them at face value and could not read their underlying brutality.
As we watched we saw a chieftain (we assumed this because his headdress was bigger than everyone else’s) emerged from a pyramid with a group of important-looking natives. They walked toward the shore. Walking up from the ships toward the chieftain and his retinue was a bigger blond man and four very brutal-looking henchmen. As the leader of the blond sailors approached, we could see that he was a strikingly good looking man, even for a human. His henchmen were mountainous, and their eyes shifted constantly.
“Usires, look,” whispered Fenalia. She pointed at the compass that hung about my neck. The drop of blood inside the amber was steadily glowing brighter with each step that the beautiful blond man took toward us.
“That must be him,” I said.
Fenalia nodded slowly. She looked like a beautiful predator as she hid among the lush foliage. She held her bow loose but ready, and every move and action was delicate but powerful. I found that Fenalia had a way of making me lose my concentration.
As we watched, the chieftain and what the man we guessed to be Hesketh conversed from a distance. After some parleying, the chieftain motioned the blond man toward the pyramid with a friendly gesture. The blond man glanced back at the gang that was his men and gave them a subtle sign with his hand. The men all gave a nod and nonchalantly walked away.
As night fell, we watched the foreigners mingle among the natives. Some of the blond foreigners would snatch young girls that were walking alone into the jungle. After a few minutes the young girl would unsteadily walk out and sometimes they wouldn’t.
“It’s hard to tell who the demons are,” whispered Fenalia.
We circled around to the back of the small pyramid that Hesketh had entered to see if anything could be seen of the fiend. There behind the pyramid was a courtyard lined with long torches and surrounded by a low stone wall. Standing in the courtyard by himself was Hesketh, drinking from a gold chalice and admiring the architecture of the pyramid with his back to the jungle.
“Perfect,” whispered Fenalia. “I’ll flank him and you take him from behind!”
“Fenalia, wait!” I said, but she had already vanished in a silent blur of silver lightning. “This doesn’t feel right...”
I drew my snowy blade and began to walk silently toward the courtyard. I would aim for the neck and then run him through. A missing head and a pierced heart should do the trick. When I was about twenty feet away, I took three silent running steps and leaped forward, swinging my sword in a backhanded strike and feystepped. I appeared right behind the villain, his exposed neck inviting my swift blade to bite deep. But it was not to be, Hesketh spun around at the last moment and parried my blade with a vicious looking dagger!
“Did you think I would not sense your presence, little one,” he said with a smooth, melodious voice.
I attempted a spinning riposte, and he easily blocked it, too.
As he chuckled and slowly shook his head at my feeble attempts, a sleek black arrow sprang from the side of his head. Fenalia stepped from the foliage, already knocking another arrow.
Hesketh opened his mouth, now filled with scores of long needle-like teeth and eyes as black as pitch, and hissed at Fenalia as she raised the bow for a second shot.
I took this moment to strike, slicing him at the knee, cutting tendons and bone alike. As Hesketh went down he said, “You wounded me! I cannot be hurt by ordinary weapons!”
I held forth the Sword of the Dawn and said, “This is no ordinary weapon,” and drew back for my killing blow.
A scream was heard to my left, a female scream, Fenalia’s scream. It stopped the world. It stopped my blow. It even stopped Hesketh for a moment.
There was Fenalia, suspended in the air, lifted up by the blade that had just erupted from the center of her chest. She whimpered as the demon henchman that had caught her unaware from behind rested his grotesque chin on her shoulder and licked the sweat from her smooth young face. The demon then set her down, pulled the wicked blade out of her back and cleaved her through from shoulder to hip. She was dead before both parts of her body fell to the ground.
Hesketh took advantage of my weakness and despair at seeing Fenalia murdered. I was knocked backward by a blow so powerful that a kick from three horses would have been more welcoming. As I landed on my back I knew that ribs had been broken and I bled from the mouth. I could heal myself in time but not while being pursued.
Three demon henchman bounded out of the jungle where Fenalia lay. She never had a chance. All of this had been staged.
Hesketh also stood, his wounded knee shifting and slithering beneath his now ruined leather greaves.
I had seen enough battles to know that I was wounded and outmatched. So I ran, fleeing among the buildings that nestled into the side of the volcano, hoping that I would find an escape. As I caught my breath I would feystep to put more space between me and the pursuing demons. They gnashed their teeth and bellowed, morphing into more gruesome predatory forms as they chased me.
The next thing I knew I had descended a long stairway into a labyrinth of caves, statues, tunnels, and grottos leading deeper under the volcano. I ran into the first carved archway that I came to and plunged forward through the welcoming darkness. My ribs burned like fire, and I continued to cough up blood. I could see in the dark so my path was easily traveled, but demons can see in the dark too. I could hear them. They were in the same tunnel as me, tracking me. I was like sweet meats to them. They thirsted for my eladrin blood.
I ran until I could run no more. Statues of some pagan gods lined the passage and behind them the stone was cut in an irregular fashion. I found a statue that had a larger opening behind it and there I hid. I used the blessings of Corellon to heal my broken ribs and staunch the bleeding that was coming from my mouth. However, even healing magic can be exhausting. I could run no more. Fighting one opponent might have been possible, but not four, with one of them a demon of considerable power.
I could hear the footsteps of the demons coming down the hallway. Razor sharp talons scraped against the wall. They laughed among themselves. What sport I must be to them. What a pretty prey I am compared to the sickening bone ridges and fetid breath that make up their race.
I could see them now around the feet of the statue. Their bodies scarred with dark arcane symbols and lash marks. And behind them, like the master to a pack of dogs, strode Hesketh. His long blond hair now hung to his waist in greasy locks. His brow protruded over his eyes, and his chin was elongated to triple its length. Small hornlike spurs dotted his forehead, and his teeth were rows of inch-long fangs. He was sickeningly gaunt but powerful, and his hands ended in wicked looking talons.
The demons stopped in the passage and sniffed around, seeming to detect nothing, perhaps since the entire place smelled of sulphur and strong incense. Then as one, each of them slowly turned their head and looked straight at me. I knew that I was doomed.
But then I remembered the orb! The last gift that Queen Morwel gave to us. ‘When all hope is lost’ were her words. So I reached into my pouch and pulled forth the orb. How could so small a thing be my salvation? As the vile beasts from the pit surrounded my hiding place, I smashed the green glass orb onto the black volcanic rock at my feet. Silver fire flared all about me! Surrounding me and creating a dome above my head! I could see through it and the demons were in a frenzy! Their slashing and bludgeoning--and even the dark arcane spells from Hasketh--could not penetrate the silver fire dome that was my sanctuary. I stood for one drowsy moment watching the demons try to get to me so they could tear me to shreds and eat my bones.
But it seemed so far away now and alas, to sleep seemed the most proper course of action.
Sleep inside my world of silver fire.
Sleep with demons at my doorstep.
--
Suddenly awakened, Usires stood, clutching his glass long sword and pointing it at those crowded around him. "Where is she who wields the witchwood bow?" he yelled in a strange dialect of Sylvan. "Where is she who bears the silver cup? Where is the Brighthammer?" He screamed, "Speak!"
Garvin was the only one who understood the man's archaic words. He responded calmly, warily. "I do not know who you mean."
"Where is the eladrin?" demanded Usires.
Garvin guessed he was referring to the ghostly female archer. "She seeks you."
"Of course she does! Where is she now?"
"We do not know. We followed her here."
Usires caught sight of the black arrow in Aust's hand, and memories began to flood into his mind. He seemed to grow despondant. "She is dead."
"What happened?"
"She was killed." Usires' voice was weak.
"By whom?"
"Demons." His eyes shifted, as if he was remembering more events from the past. "She was killed by demons."
"Her spirit is restless."
"What is he saying?" interrupted Bleys.
Garvin briefly explained to the others what Usires had told him.
"Ask him how long ago this happened," instructed Aust. Garvin relayed the question.
Usires examined his wounds to gauge how much time had passed since the ambush. "Yesterday, I think. Yet now it is a brand new day and--" Thoughts of Hesketh and his hunters returned to him. Garvin had the look of one of Hesketh's men about him, though his dress and manners were different. Usires raised his sword again. "Who are you people?"
"We have been sent here to break the seal," said Garvin.
"The seal of what?"
"The seal of the fire god."
"Did you come here with Hesketh?"
"We know no one by that name," said Garvin. "Who is Hesketh, and for that matter, who are you?"
"I am Usires Glassthane, Sword of the Dawn, Demonstalker, Troubadour of the Court of Stars."
Through Garvin, Usires was introduced to the rest of the group. When Bowen approached in carver lizard form, Usires prepared to slay it until he was convinced it was an ally in an altered shape.
Usires looked at Aust. "You walk two worlds. You walk with Corellon, and you walk with Lolth."
Garvin translated, and Aust admitted the truth in the words. "I did not choose my bloodline."
When the introductions were over, the eladrin swordsman said, "Hesketh is a demon." From beneath his shirt he pulled a small amber pendant suspended on a silver chain. He studied it for a moment, then put it away and sheathed his sword.
"Why do you seek this demon?"
Usires explained that his queen had sent him and his companion to hunt this minion of their dreaded enemy, Pale Night.
"We too have been sent here," said Garvin, "by the ancient Olman gods." He tried to explain how they had explored other ancient Olman ruins, breaking seals and awakening the vestiges of gods.
Usires was not interested in the Olmans or their gods. "Hesketh is in the guise of man of your race, tall, with fair skin and blond hair like yours. Have you seen him?"
"No. From where did he purport to hail?"
"He hailed from the 471st layer of the Abyss!" Usires seemed to grow impatient. "I must find my comrade. We have work to do."
"Your comrade?"
"My comrade. You saw her. She wields a bow made of witchwood. That is her arrow. I must find her, and we must be off. I do not have time to exchange pleasantries with you."
Garvin paused. "She is dead," he reminded Usires gently.
"You found her body?" Usires grew despondant again.
Garvin relayed how the spirit of the female archer appeared to them in the ancient city. As the ghost story progressed, Usires filled in the missing details of her demise.
"Her spirit relived this same terror in our presence," said Garvin. "Then she rose, moved to where her arrow lay, and disappeared. When we reached this tunnel, she appeared again. It was by following her that we came to where you lay."
"I see." Usires nodded. "She looks for me."
"We found you encased in a great silver orb. Was that of your doing?"
"My queen's."
"To protect you?"
"When all hope was lost." Again, Usires grew impatient, as if time was of the essence. "I shall mourn my comrade when my work is done. Hesketh cannot have gone far."
"Can we assist you in hunting this demon?"
"If you offer help, then I shall accept it. However, we must make haste. I saw his ship in the harbour. He cannot have gone far. Do you have a ship on which I can pursue him? When you spoke with the people of the city, before you came here--"
"There are no people left in the city."
"Where have they gone?"
"It is a desolate ruin."
"The blond-haired men?"
"We have not seen anyone besides the spirit of your good lady and the survivor of a shipwreck."
"Then they have left."
"Tell me, Usires," said Garvin. "When you fought with Hesketh, was the courtyard in which you did battle fitted with stone, well trimmed, and beautiful?"
"Yes, behind a small pyramid and lined with tall torches."
"It all stands in ruins now."
Usires was taken aback. "How could the demons have destroyed a city in a day?"
"And caused centuries of overgrowth?"
"The natives who live here--"
"--are no more."
"Were they enslaved?"
"We do not know. We arrived here just this morning. I fear that time has passed you by, Usires. The great society you speak of no longer exists." Garvin consulted with Urol, who confirmed that the Olman Empire fell a thousand years ago.
"But my wounds are fresh!" cried Usires. "Surely there is time to catch Hesketh. Let us hurry."
"We are here to break a seal," said Garvin, holding his ground. "We will not leave until that is done."
"What is this seal you speak of?"
"It is one of seven. They are the subject of an ancient Olman prophecy. I have a feeling this prophecy may intertwine itself with your mission in some way." Garvin related the prophecy.
Usires listened but did not comment. "Then let us break this seal."
Garvin warned Usires against using magic, then the group exited the chamber.
Though they had changed from when he last saw them, Usires explained where passageways could be found leading off the main tunnel.
The heroes found a secret door behind the statue Usires had pointed out. It led to a roughly hewn cavern, unfurnished but for two stone chairs or thrones facing each other across the empty expanse of the chamber. On the far end of the cavern were a pair of heavy bronze doors, intricately carved. Bowen reported that they radiated abjuration magic, while the stone seats radiated illusion magic.
Try as they might, the heroes were unable to open the doors, and searches of the thrones and the rest of the room turned up nothing.
So the heroes rested briefly. Usires shared tea with the others.
At one point while the others were idle, Bleys sat in one of the stone seats, and he urged Urol to sit in the other. When they did so, they perceived that a portion of the cavern had been hidden from their sight. Within one wall was an expansive archway, and beneath it was ensconced a tall idol of a horned fat man holding a bowl in his lap. Across the idol's chest were words in ancient Olman.
Bleys quickly drew the attention of the others.
Garvin translated the writing: "Brightly plumed bird, flutters in its nest, licks the petting hand, dies at rain's behest."
Usires thought that perhaps the riddle referred to fire. The other agreed and began to piece together what they thought might be instructions. Following this logic, the heroes applied flame to the bowl, which seemed to light easily even with no apparent fuel. Then one of the heroes held his hand in the fiery tips of the bonfire, before quenching the flame once more with water.
A click was heard, and the bronze doors creaked open slightly.
The heroes gathered their gear and resumed their exploration. After passing through a couple of rooms where it appeared some sort of animal had once lived, the heroes passed through a single door into a square room, fifty feet on a side. All of the walls were of worked stone. In the exact centre of the room floated a twenty-foot cube, also made of closely fitted stone. The cube was about fifteen feet off the ground. A flickering light danced on the ceiling and walls, as if cast there by an unseen fire atop the cube. There appeared to be no exits.
While the others heroes remained below to search for hidden passageways and other secrets, Garvin and Usires used the feathered cloak from Tamoachan to rise to the top of the cube. There they saw a round, fiery symbol floating in the air a few feet above the top of the cube. By now they had become familiar enough with the seals of the ancient Olman gods to recognize one when they saw it, though they had never encountered one made of fire before.
The heroes tried many ways to break the seal, but nothing they did seemed to affect the magical burning ring of fire. Garvin went so far as to stand within the flames for almost half a minute, enduring severe burns, in an attempt to satisfy the fire's hunger.
Finally, the ranger pulled out the magical emerald that Balama had referred to as the Rain Tiger.
Usires examined the stone, a blue gem cut in the shape of a jungle cat, and he confirming that it had the ability, as the heroes had previously suspected, of allowing a spellcaster or priest to store magic within it simply by focusing on it while casting. Conversely, the magic could be drawn out simply by calling out, "Ocelotl ic motecpac." Garvin understood these words to mean 'the reign of the tiger.'
Usires said two magical effects were stored within the gem. One spell dispelled other magic effects. The second and stronger spell could bring someone back to life from just a portion of the remains.
Usires held the emerald toward the flames and spoke with words, willing the gem to dispel the magic of the seal.
The flaming symbol vanished.
With the magic sigil that had kept it aloft now dispelled, the hovering stone crashed to the floor, narrowly missing Urol! Chunks of shattered stone flew in every direction. Before the dust had settled, those left in the room saw a large crack in the block, revealing a hollow, fire-lit interior.
From inside the block came strange words in a harsh tongue.
Bowen and Aust leapt through the door into the narrow hallway through which the group had come, just as a curtain of fire sprang up from the doorway, its flames burning horizontally into the room, rather than straight up.
Bleys and Urol stood watching the flames as the chanting within the cube grew louder. Suddenly a huge blaze erupted in their midst and took on a humanoid shape. It turned slowly, backing Urol in a corner and pummeling him with large fiery fists.
On the other side of the room Usires and Garvin dropped to the floor and looked around the corner of the massive block. What emerged from the crack, still chanting in its strange tongue, was a horrific snake-man made of fire, magma, and smoke. From the waist up, it resembled a red-and-black man with fiery hair and beard. From the waist down it was a glowing serpent of magma. All over its body were short, spine-like appendages that burned and steamed. In its hands it clenched a twenty foot long spear of blackened steel.
As Bleys and Urol retreated from the fire elemental on the other side of the room, Garvin squared off against the avatar of Huehueteotl himself, whose spear flashed back and forth like a deadly, darting tongue. An intense heat radiating from the avatar scorched everyone in the room, and the next thing everyone knew, the snake-man exploded in a ball of flame!
"I am awakened," came the hissing voice in each person's head. "Return my tongue to the flameshrine on Thanaclan."
As the smoke cleared and the heroes recovered their senses, they saw that all of the flames had died out. The avatar was no more, and with him went the fire elemental and wall of fire he had summoned.
The interior of the hollow block was lit by an ornate torch, revealing a small mound of treasure, including over 1000 pieces of silver, 150 or more pieces of gold, a grape-size fire opal, a pea-sized black star sapphire, a pea-sized fire opal, a delicate gem-encrusted wine cup, a smooth jade-inlaid wine cup, 2 stoppered clay vials, and two scrolls containing prayers to Huehueteotl.
