Interlude: Sins of the Father
A battered fortress dominated the scene, its walls manned by deformed ogres. To the east seven small figures slowly crept up the rocky face, like tiny ants against the immense cliff. The watcher, a tall, stern faced elf with long silver hair, waved his hand in front of the image. The surface of the mirror rippled like water, the scene drawing back, fading to silver. Loric Tinvilludean watched as twelve of the eyes that ringed the mirror closed, then frowned at the thirteenth which remained stubbornly open. That eye, a strange violet hue with three pupils, erratically twitched and shifted. Sighing, Loric draped the mirror with a heavy cloth of gold. That infuriating dwarf had tainted the mirror, using it as a conduit and bridging the gap to the dark tapestry. Loric would have to do something about that connection, but that could wait until later. He had an appointment.
Loric strode to the center of the throne room, where the body of Queen Rhoswen lay where she had fallen. The corpse was bathed in the silver glow of necromantic energy which perfectly preserved her pale features. Even the blood pooled upon the cobbles still appeared fresh and vividly red. For the fourth time that day Loric checked the bounds and wards of the summoning circle, expertly etched into the stone floor a short distance away. Satisfied with what he saw, Loric carefully stepped into the center of the weave and began his incantation.
“Circe, Medea, and Hecate, The Three Fates, Masters of Time, The Three Who are One, by rite of Sinduri blood I summon thee!!”
Loric drew an iron knife across his palm, allowing one drop of crimson blood to fall. At its impact, the floor underfoot rang like a gong and the runes of the circle blazed to life. They traced a dizzying pattern across the floor, walls, and ceiling, centering on the prone form of Rhoswen’s corpse. With the ritual’s activation, a cloud of green-hued mist swirled in the air before Loric, coalescing into a heavy iron cauldron. Within the blink of an eye three women appeared around the cauldron, their gaze settling upon Loric within his ritual circle.
The youngest, a nubile blond teen spoke first “Ooh sisters, it seems my beauty has once again drawn another suitor. These Tinvilludean men can’t seem to get enough of us, right Medea”? Medea turned to regard Circe, hands resting on curved hips “Now child, you know that my bargain with the half elf has nothing to do with our deal with his father, besides we both know that a sophisticated client like Loric would definitely prefer my more worldly charms over your china doll features.” Circe turned upon her sister, eyes hard like green agates, but Hecate interposed her emaciated purple arm. “Sisters! We can discuss the merits of your charms another day. Today it seems we have business to attend to. Loric, why have you summoned us?”
Loric’s piercing blue eyes looked to the crone. “Hecate, I have procured the final component of the ritual, I wish to complete our arrangement.” With that Loric raised his hand, palm upward, and slowly curled his fingers into a fist. Rhoswens body contorted, crushed as if by immense pressure. The body let out one last gasp, a single puff of breath, which rose as a mist to be immediately captured by the swirling energy of the spell. Loric looked to the Fates. “I present the Last Breath of an Immortal Queen, Slain by Mortal Hands! Do you have the other items?”
The three Fates looked at each other. Hecate reached into the boiling cauldron, drawing out a golden crown and a blackened skull. Gesturing with a finger, the objects rose and floated into the ritual pattern, hovering over key points. “We give to you the Crown of a Prince Redeemed and the Head of a King, Freely Given. Are you prepared to pay the price?”
Loric gestured to his left, where his trusty bodyguard lay upon the floor, gagged and bound in chains. The elf looked at Loric, eyes frantic, streaming in tears. Loric’s gaze passed right over the prostrate form, with no more consideration than one would give to a fly. Loric addressed the Fates, “I offer to you the soul of my firstborn son. I admit he wasn’t my first choice, but his bloodline should be more than adequate for your needs. Like the others, he is of a noble mortal lineage and royal Sinduri blood. His loss will pain me but there are others to take his place.”
At his father’s words Maelfas kicked and strained at his bonds. Laughing Circe picked him up by his neck and slowly lowered him into the cauldron, feet first. Brushing his tear streaked cheek with one perfect fingernail, she whispered in his ear “Oh don’t worry my sweet, you’ll have an eternity of servitude to learn to appreciate what we offer.” With one last soul-wrenching moan that even the gag could not mute, Circe forced his head below the cauldrons rim, barely a ripple betraying the half-elf’s passage.
Loric watched him go, face betraying nothing. Hecate pointed a bony finger at Loric’s chest “With that you have given us all the spawns of your loin but one, and that one is already bound to us. Your payment has been given, our business is concluded. As I feel we have gotten the better end of this bargain, we give you this last piece of advice for free. Beware what you awaken here this day, for it is magic of the Eldest, long dormant and almost forgotten. Take heed, for if the scales of the worlds are tipped too far, the ripples will reach much farther than just your death.”
With that the green hues returned, swirling around the Fates, which vanished with nary a sound. Loric looked around the chamber: at the three slowly revolving objects suspended in his elder ritual, at the rune covered walls of of Cildureen, spawn of the world tree, and at the empty throne at the end of the hall.
A smile finally creased his impassive face……
The quake was felt across the Feywild. The leaves were shaken off the eternal boughs of the Summer court, the frost rimed limbs shattering in the Winter Court. Queen Mab stared outward from her icy hall, her eyes penetrating the veil of distance to the heart of the Fellnight Realm, where Cildurheen, spawn of the word tree awoke. Tearing itself from the earth, the newly born Sard, the most powerful of the Tarn, strode across the border into the Shadowfell, leaving a wake of devastation in its passing.
A battered fortress dominated the scene, its walls manned by deformed ogres. To the east seven small figures slowly crept up the rocky face, like tiny ants against the immense cliff. The watcher, a tall, stern faced elf with long silver hair, waved his hand in front of the image. The surface of the mirror rippled like water, the scene drawing back, fading to silver. Loric Tinvilludean watched as twelve of the eyes that ringed the mirror closed, then frowned at the thirteenth which remained stubbornly open. That eye, a strange violet hue with three pupils, erratically twitched and shifted. Sighing, Loric draped the mirror with a heavy cloth of gold. That infuriating dwarf had tainted the mirror, using it as a conduit and bridging the gap to the dark tapestry. Loric would have to do something about that connection, but that could wait until later. He had an appointment.
Loric strode to the center of the throne room, where the body of Queen Rhoswen lay where she had fallen. The corpse was bathed in the silver glow of necromantic energy which perfectly preserved her pale features. Even the blood pooled upon the cobbles still appeared fresh and vividly red. For the fourth time that day Loric checked the bounds and wards of the summoning circle, expertly etched into the stone floor a short distance away. Satisfied with what he saw, Loric carefully stepped into the center of the weave and began his incantation.
“Circe, Medea, and Hecate, The Three Fates, Masters of Time, The Three Who are One, by rite of Sinduri blood I summon thee!!”
Loric drew an iron knife across his palm, allowing one drop of crimson blood to fall. At its impact, the floor underfoot rang like a gong and the runes of the circle blazed to life. They traced a dizzying pattern across the floor, walls, and ceiling, centering on the prone form of Rhoswen’s corpse. With the ritual’s activation, a cloud of green-hued mist swirled in the air before Loric, coalescing into a heavy iron cauldron. Within the blink of an eye three women appeared around the cauldron, their gaze settling upon Loric within his ritual circle.
The youngest, a nubile blond teen spoke first “Ooh sisters, it seems my beauty has once again drawn another suitor. These Tinvilludean men can’t seem to get enough of us, right Medea”? Medea turned to regard Circe, hands resting on curved hips “Now child, you know that my bargain with the half elf has nothing to do with our deal with his father, besides we both know that a sophisticated client like Loric would definitely prefer my more worldly charms over your china doll features.” Circe turned upon her sister, eyes hard like green agates, but Hecate interposed her emaciated purple arm. “Sisters! We can discuss the merits of your charms another day. Today it seems we have business to attend to. Loric, why have you summoned us?”
Loric’s piercing blue eyes looked to the crone. “Hecate, I have procured the final component of the ritual, I wish to complete our arrangement.” With that Loric raised his hand, palm upward, and slowly curled his fingers into a fist. Rhoswens body contorted, crushed as if by immense pressure. The body let out one last gasp, a single puff of breath, which rose as a mist to be immediately captured by the swirling energy of the spell. Loric looked to the Fates. “I present the Last Breath of an Immortal Queen, Slain by Mortal Hands! Do you have the other items?”
The three Fates looked at each other. Hecate reached into the boiling cauldron, drawing out a golden crown and a blackened skull. Gesturing with a finger, the objects rose and floated into the ritual pattern, hovering over key points. “We give to you the Crown of a Prince Redeemed and the Head of a King, Freely Given. Are you prepared to pay the price?”
Loric gestured to his left, where his trusty bodyguard lay upon the floor, gagged and bound in chains. The elf looked at Loric, eyes frantic, streaming in tears. Loric’s gaze passed right over the prostrate form, with no more consideration than one would give to a fly. Loric addressed the Fates, “I offer to you the soul of my firstborn son. I admit he wasn’t my first choice, but his bloodline should be more than adequate for your needs. Like the others, he is of a noble mortal lineage and royal Sinduri blood. His loss will pain me but there are others to take his place.”
At his father’s words Maelfas kicked and strained at his bonds. Laughing Circe picked him up by his neck and slowly lowered him into the cauldron, feet first. Brushing his tear streaked cheek with one perfect fingernail, she whispered in his ear “Oh don’t worry my sweet, you’ll have an eternity of servitude to learn to appreciate what we offer.” With one last soul-wrenching moan that even the gag could not mute, Circe forced his head below the cauldrons rim, barely a ripple betraying the half-elf’s passage.
Loric watched him go, face betraying nothing. Hecate pointed a bony finger at Loric’s chest “With that you have given us all the spawns of your loin but one, and that one is already bound to us. Your payment has been given, our business is concluded. As I feel we have gotten the better end of this bargain, we give you this last piece of advice for free. Beware what you awaken here this day, for it is magic of the Eldest, long dormant and almost forgotten. Take heed, for if the scales of the worlds are tipped too far, the ripples will reach much farther than just your death.”
With that the green hues returned, swirling around the Fates, which vanished with nary a sound. Loric looked around the chamber: at the three slowly revolving objects suspended in his elder ritual, at the rune covered walls of of Cildureen, spawn of the world tree, and at the empty throne at the end of the hall.
A smile finally creased his impassive face……
The quake was felt across the Feywild. The leaves were shaken off the eternal boughs of the Summer court, the frost rimed limbs shattering in the Winter Court. Queen Mab stared outward from her icy hall, her eyes penetrating the veil of distance to the heart of the Fellnight Realm, where Cildurheen, spawn of the word tree awoke. Tearing itself from the earth, the newly born Sard, the most powerful of the Tarn, strode across the border into the Shadowfell, leaving a wake of devastation in its passing.