The Forsaken One
Explorer
Wiiiiiiiii update 
Sins of Our Fathers II - New Art Uploaded - 1/25
Rhothaerill
First Post
Reading about Baden's adventures makes me want to play a dwarven fighter.
Nice, Destan.
Nice, Destan.
Tellerve said:
Yeah, 'flavor text' is pretty much the better part of it. While I wasn't present during this particular scrap, I can tell you that Destan regularly takes minor liberties with the story for the sake of drama. I know I wouldn't want it any other way. I doubt if most of us would still be reading if he tediously explained the blow-by-blow progression of each fight in mind-numbing accuracy and detail.
Also, what we all have to remember is that this particular part of the story happened over two years ago, and Destan's memory ain't so good. We have a system wherein Destan writes it like he remembers it, then either Baden or I land on him like a sumo if he drifts too far from 'actual events'. I think it's worked well so far. There's only been one occasion where we had to give him flack, and after he explained his changes we realized he was right.
John of Pell
re
Writing a D&D battle in detail churns out rather boring prose. Destan has given me a few tips. The next time I write a story hour, I am definitely going to use creative license rather than trying stick to the exact details of what occurred in the campaign. I tried that, and you often end up writing too much about battle.
Maladrac said:
Writing a D&D battle in detail churns out rather boring prose. Destan has given me a few tips. The next time I write a story hour, I am definitely going to use creative license rather than trying stick to the exact details of what occurred in the campaign. I tried that, and you often end up writing too much about battle.
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Destan
Citizen of Val Hor
JDragon said:
Hiya JD - the complete title is Valus: A Fantasy Role-Playing World Sourcebook. I think we wanted to make the title a sentence in an effort to distinguish it from Ebberon.
And Different Worlds is indeed the publisher, but they're not "open for business" yet. I think the book is actually due back from the printers today or tomorrow.The Forsaken One said:
I got a larger update in the works; not sure if it's "good", but - dammit - it'll be longer than this last one. I feel like I cheated a bit by calling the last post an update.
Celtavian said:
Amen, brother Celtavian! I think I'd be certifiable if I tried to detail all the fights in the campaign - especially those from this far back in time. I hate to pull the proverbial curtain aside and show the guts behind the story, but I'll do it anyway since there seems to be some interest in it.
As I mentioned, Josh (Baden's player) began keeping a PC journal after his fight with the cave troll. That is immensely helpful to fill in the many gaps of my memory. Here's what I had to work with on the Baden/Dreth fight.
Baden said:
So, you see, I changed some things. Not all of them intentional, mind you - I didn't have an intenet connection (and hence - Baden's journal) when I was typing some of it on my laptop.
I can only recall certain things from that fight - the dreth used magic, he had DR (one of the first baddies with DR that the Olgotha Brothers have faced), and he nearly killed Tamil with his poison touch. I used a weird type of poison - it did hit point damage, and required three consecutive Fort saves to shake off its effects. I know, I know - not very good 3E or 3.5E mechanics. Looks like I exchanged a wand for the sword and made his eyes amber instead of red. I also, it seems, added a wolven. Heh.
I remember Baden did most of the damage (thanks in part to his axe), and I remember it was a near thing as to whether Tamil would survive the poison ordeal or not.
The rest, as they say, is history.
In summary, I try to stick to the story as much as my memory and - in those scenes which include Baden - the journal allow. I do change some things, here and there, but I only do it for the story. And to keep me sane.
Take care!
D
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The Forsaken One
Explorer
Destan I'll get back to you later this week. I promised the stuff monday last week and it still isn't in, my appologies. I had a great gaming week planned but all drive for that disappeared when my girlfriend with whom I've been together for around 2 years decided to call it a day.
That kinda killed my happy happy joy week for me and my friends and I just took a week of nice and silent contemplation (and too much time behind my computer).
That kinda killed my happy happy joy week for me and my friends and I just took a week of nice and silent contemplation (and too much time behind my computer).
Destan
Citizen of Val Hor
Chapter VI
Baden had enjoyed a relatively remarkable string of good fortune.
First and foremost, despite all odds, the young Axemarch dwarf Tamil had been able to shake off the worst of the Dreth’s poison. Though his face remained a bit wan, and his movements somewhat sluggish, Tamil improved with each passing day.
Second, the weather – generally quite horrendous on the Weedsea during the month of Uktar – turned favorable. The four dwarves made good progress as they continued toward distant Val Hor. They were able to shave a number of days from their journey by crossing the fortuitously frozen Mead River.
Third, Hoth – and even Pemm – were turning out to be capable companions. Baden trusted them both implicitly. Baden slept comfortably, for the first time in weeks, secure in the knowledge that a vigilant dwarven sentinel stood the watch.
Something, Baden thought, had to turn sour. And so it did.
***
Baden shielded his eyes from the unseasonably hot sun. “They wear cloaks of white. That is no Tundreth color. Larrenmen wear black, Calahens green, and Cormicks…what damned color do Cormicks wear?”
“Red.” Hoth climbed atop the gentle bluff to stand near Baden. The bushy-bearded Ironfist dwarf studied the distant riders. “Those are not Tundreth horsefolk, Baden; they are elves.”
“Gammhedrel?”
Hoth shrugged. “Aye, mayhaps they are wood elves, though I doubt it. Them fairy folk don’t seem to like these open spaces any more than we do.”
Around the small company of dwarves, the Weedsea undulated in mind-jarring monotony. There were few trees and fewer scrubs. Hiding, Baden understood, was an impossibility.
In the time it took Baden to frame the thought, the white riders changed their course to close the dwarven position.
“Tamil, you’ve the best eyes of us all. Come take a gander, if you would.”
Tamil accepted Baden’s outstretched hand and allowed himself be half-pulled to the bluff’s crest. The young Axemarch dwarf, pale but alive, quietly studied the tableau. “Not all wear white. Them on foot wear green – Calahen clansmen, most like.”
“Whitecloaks on horseback, and greencloaks on foot. I like it not.” Baden resisted the urge to don his helmet and loosen his axe. “Tamil, down with ye. Tell Pemm to mind the ponies. Keep the beasts picketed behind us, in the gully. You stay back a few paces, crossbow ready.”
Baden pulled on a pair of gauntlets. “Captain Hoth, if you would, stay with me. If there’s to be trouble, kill the bowmen first, horses second. If they spread out and start firing arrows, ‘twill be an inglorious end for us.”
“Brilliant.”
Baden grunted. “I thought so, too.”
***
The riders stopped thirty paces’ distant. Hoth had been correct – the mounted warriors were elves. Tall, slender, wearing chain shirts, swords strapped to their saddles. Great bows peered over their shoulders. Surcoats emblazoned with a silver crescent. Eight of them, all told.
Tamil, also, had been correct: five Calahen clansmen, looking none too happy, walked in the wake of the mounted elves.
At least, they looked like elves – but the world seemed an odd place of late. Baden had fought a wraith-shadow in Borbidan’s Rest, had combated a horned devil and his wolven pack, and had faced entities that by all rights should have been languishing in the Abyss. Ilvar, no demons? Baden depended on the elf-spirit’s ability to detect outsiders, and it was best to be careful.
- None, Baden.
Baden took a last, long look at the unarmed and surly Calahens before staring upward at the lead elf. “I am Baden son of Banidon.”
“Why are you here?”
Baden swallowed a curt reply. By right and tradition, on the Weedsea, when one stranger gives another his name he should receive the same in reply. If Baden knew as much, the damned elves certainly should. “I make for the Coastal Road.”
“You are a stone dwarf. From what clan do you hail?”
Baden opened his mouth to reply, paused, and swallowed his words. He had thought the hurt of being a nil-thain was gone. It was not. “I know – you probably didna’ hear me. I said I was Baden son of Banidon.” The silence stretched. “This is when you tell me your name.”
“You are on the Weedsea, stone dwarf. These lands can be unkind to those who do not belong.”
“I’ll take that under consideration.”
The elf lifted the helm from his head – no, her head. Platinum hair spilled onto the lady-warrior’s hauberk. Her smile was as distant and cruel as the mountains to which she now pointed. “Why have the four of you climbed forth from your rat-holes?”
“I said we make for the Coastal Road. And the last I checked,” Baden looked sideways at Hoth, “the Coastal Road don’t run through the ‘Cor.”
“No, sure as shale it don’t.” Hoth hooked both thumbs in his belt and rocked back and forth on his boots.
The elf’s humorless smile, if possible, grew even colder. “These lands were not given unto durven, for your folk have always hid your brows from the glimmer.”
What in the name of hell… Baden tried and failed to hide his confusion. Enough banter. “We, ah, have been harassed by creatures. They are akin to wolves – but larger, worse. The beasts are lead by fell hunters wearing horned helms…”
Baden’s voice drifted off once he realized he sounded like a father telling a bedtime tale. Yet recognition had sparked in the elf-maiden’s eyes - Baden was sure of it. Those same eyes were hidden once the elf replaced her helm. The other riders fanned out behind her without being told to do so. “You three – and those who may be waiting in the gully below - shall accompany us.”
“If it’s all the same to you, we’d rather not.” Hoth spat on the ground. “I never did like elves. Calahens neither.”
One of the green-robed clansmen bristled. “If I stood before you with a sword, you would ware your words.”
“If you stood before me with your sword,” Hoth laughed, “you would not stand long.”
Baden stepped forward, consciously keeping his hands away from his axe. “Elf-woman, we have our own plans and shall go our own way. We wish you and…your glimmer…well.” Baden looked behind him and fastened an eye on Tamil. “Tell Pemm to ready the ponies. We ride.”
The elves watched silently, without moving, as Tamil and Pemm joined Baden and Hoth upon the ridgeline. Baden silently counted the beads of sweat he felt rolling down his side. At number seven, the female elf drew a sickle from her belt. She gestured toward the horizon in all directions. “These lands bask under the moonlight of Selûne, and we are in Her favor. You trespass, and must answer for it.”
Baden sighed. Moonies. He had never encountered elves of Selûne, but he had heard stories. Haughty as harlots, they were. But deadly, if the same tales were true. “Where would ye be takin’ us?”
The elf leaned forward and crossed both arms upon her pommel. She tipped her helm back to better look upon Baden and his fellows. “Mount up. For the nonce, you shall keep your ponies.”
Baden laid a hand on Hoth as the Ironfist Captain stepped forward. His words, when they came, were more for Hoth than they were for the elves. “The Coastal Road is to the south, and we are not against traveling in that direction.”
“Then we are agreed.” The elf’s grin was more sneer than smile. “Do try to keep up.”
***
Baden had never liked marble. It was too smooth, too difficult to work. He preferred rougher stone, as did most dwarves. Still, he had to admit good craftsmanship when he saw it – and he saw it here, in the Moon Temple of Selûne. The church lording over the foam-flecked waters of Mead Lake was as white and elegant as the proudest elf. Baden had watched the spires grow upon the horizon when they were still a day’s journey distant.
He could not help but feel coarse and brutish as he walked beneath the parapets and strode across immaculate courtyards toward the great hall. Baden now stood, flanked by his dwarven companions and the taciturn Calahens, in a grand foyer. The pristine, marble floor was flawless – save for the mud they had tracked upon it.
Dozens of white-cloaked devotees, mostly elves, whispered quietly with one another, their words and faces hidden within the shadows behind ivory-colored pillars. Baden felt his ears growing red, and vainly wondered just how he had allowed himself to be escorted into the heart of the Moon Goddess’ temple.
Before them was an alabaster dais, upon which sat an exquisitely beautiful elven woman. Silver filigree tied back her hair, making a face that might be graceful appear overly proud. Her skin was tight, her eyes unflinching. Behind her stood a whipcord thin elf, his own eyes nothing more than slits.
The Calahens were the first to be beckoned forward – thank Moradin – and Baden strived to hear the conversation which ensued at the foot of the dais.
“My lady,” began one of the Calahens, his accent harsh, “we are but-”
“You will address the Moon Priestess as San’a’lul.” The slender elf behind the throne spoke without emotion.
“Forgive me,” stammered the clansman. He nervously cleared his throat – once, twice – as he worried a woolen hat held in both hands. “Sans…sanahloll. Me lads and I got snared by the blizzard that came through her a few nights’ past.”
The woman spoke for the first time, her voice soft, soothing, clear. “What were you doing?”
“Hunting, my lady…sanahloll.”
“What were you hunting?”
The clansman was obviously unprepared for such a question. “Anything, sansahol - sanahloll. Elk, bison.” He shrugged. “We searched for food for our kin.”
“You were found on our lands, not your own. Why?”
“We lost our way in the blizzard, and lost our horses shortly thereafter. We had…we opened ‘em up and passed the night sleepin’ in their stomachs.”
A distasteful murmur arose within the nave. The priestess smiled. “Then you may go, and with our blessing. Come not again into Selûne’s embrace. I have spoken.”
The clansmen looked at one another, surprised. Finally, their spokesman bowed low. “Thank you, my lady sansaloll. We…we will go now?” It was question.
“Of course.”
The green-cloaked Tundreth men quickly filed past Baden, a few of them not troubling to hide their smirks.
The thin elf behind the throne raised a bejeweled hand. “Durven. You may approach.”
Baden and his companions walked forward and bowed as one with military precision. “I am Baden Dost, son of Banidon. These are my companions.”
“May the glimmer caress you, Baden Dost.”
Baden bowed again, buying time, uncertain. “We, ah, we make for the Coastal Road. Your patrol bid us come here, San’a’lul.”
“Why were you on our lands?”
Baden chewed his whiskers. “Forgive us, San’a’lul. We were making for the coast and knew not these lands were claimed by Moo-…” Baden shut his mouth with an audible snap of his teeth.
The priestess smiled, not unkindly. With her eyes never leaving Baden’s own, she said, “Your friend is hurt.”
Baden glanced at Tamil. “Aye, he had – has – a bit o’ poison still in him. San’a’lul.”
“We can heal him.”
Baden nodded guardedly. “We are poor.”
“You,” the priestess inclined her head toward Tamil, “come forward.”
Tamil stepped forward after waiting for Baden’s nod. The young dwarf bowed. “I feel…I feel fine. Just need a bit o’ sleep.”
The thin elf behind the throne opened his mouth but was silenced with a wave of the priestess’ hand. She stood and descended from the dais, the murmuring with the nave increasing as she strode toward Tamil. “You do not know the glimmer, but the glimmer knows you. Would you have the moon cradle your brow?”
“Uh…what?”
Considering the circumstances Baden thought Tamil’s question, though simple, damned appropriate.
“I am the High Priestess of Selûne, stone dwarf. You are within Her house now. She does not abide hurts caused by those who would spurn Her glimmer for eternal darkness.”
Baden watched Tamil blink like a confused owl for a few moments, then stepped forward. “San’a’lul, we have naught to pay you. We ask only that you allow us to leave your lands and continue on our way. I will…I will ask Axemarch to send any reasonable sum you demand for this courtesy.”
The priestess’ laugh was a cascade of tinkling jewels. She reached out, touched Tamil lightly on the hand, and murmured a word. Color entered the young dwarf’s face. “We require no payment from your clan, Baden son of Banidon. Your companion has been healed.”
Baden studied his muddy boots. She had healed Tamil, certainly, but…now what? “Thank you, San’a’lul. May we have your leave to depart?”
The elf smiled. “My captains tell me you were beset upon my strange wolves and horned warriors. Is this true?”
Baden nodded.
“Why?”
Baden blinked. “Why?”
“Why?”
“We did…we have met them before. Near the Duskingford. A guide told us they are known as wolven.” Baden looked helplessly toward Hoth before continuing. “The beasts are sometimes lead by creatures known as Dreth-”
The priestess’ smile faded. “I know this name.”
Baden licked his whispers, uncertain whether to continue. When the silence grew, he did. “We killed a Dreth and a few of his icy hounds south of the Duskingway. They had been following us, San’a’lul.”
“These creatures followed you onto our lands?”
Baden shrugged. “Aye, San’a’lul.”
The priestess nodded slowly, eyes intent on Baden. After a moment that seemed a lifetime, her smile returned. “Then you must answer for their presence, for you have brought a foulness into the glimmer. I have healed a hurt of your companion, and you shall heal a hurt of our church.”
Baden did not like the sound of that. Not at all.
***
“Thrice-damned pointers!” Baden threw his helm onto his bed. “They mean to use as mercenaries. No – worse than mercenaries! For they do not pay us a single coin.”
Hoth rubbed his chin. “No, they pay us with our freedom. We have no choice.”
Baden stared mutely at Hoth before looking to Pemm and Tamil. “I – we – must press onward to Val Hor. My companions have certainly already arrived at the White City. I like not this delay, and I like not being here.”
“Nor do we,” Tamil answered. “What is your plan?”
Baden unstrapped his axe, tossed it next to the helm, and walked to the far corner of the temple’s small bedroom. “Dammit.”
Hoth chuckled. “That does not sound much like a plan to me.”
“Dammit!” Baden bellowed. Hoth’s attempt at humor only further incensed him. He was sick of priests and gods and elves and…
“Let us review what we know.” Baden kicked a chair toward Hoth and bid his companions to take their seats. “The Moonies want us to take care of some warriors that have holed up within one their shrines. They will not do it themselves because they are forbidden to spill blood on ‘sacred’ ground.”
“Or so they say,” Hoth added cheerfully.
“These mercenaries,” Baden continued, “are not rabble. They are Apians from across the water. Have any of you fought Imperials?” Baden looked about the room. “Nor have I. But I have heard they know which end of a sword is used for stickin’. This is not our fight, and I would not die for a purpose…for a purpose I do not share.”
Pemm spoke for the first time since entering the temple. The glum-faced dwarven priest had been extremely quiet. “I respect the Selûnites and their reluctance to stain holy ground.”
“Moonies,” Baden replied. “They are Moonies, Pemm.”
The dwarf shrugged. “You choose to call them that.”
Baden shared an exasperated look with Hoth. Pemm, Baden had firmly come to realize, was one strange bird. “Yer damned right I do. They hold us here against our will, Pemm. If I can combat them with nothing but insults, then I will.”
Hoth sighed. “The Apians need not be killed. We have only been tasked with getting them to depart the shrine.”
“So they can be filled with arrows the moment they step from sacred ground?” Baden scowled. “Tell me, Hoth, would you leave the shrine?”
“When the growlin’ from my stomach grew loud enough – yes, I would leave.”
Baden nodded. “Right. But we have to face them on the morrow. Before the moon is next full. I doubt we can place much trust in the fact that they’ll starve between now and then.”
Tamil frowned. “Why are Apians here, anyway?”
“My head is poundin’ already without having to worry on that matter. Damned Imperials should have stayed on their own side o’ the Conomorra.”
“But they did not,” Pemm unhelpfully added. “They are here. And they must be dealt with.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“I did not know we had chosen sides.”
“We chose sides the moment that elf priestess forbade our departure.” Baden glowered at Pemm. “You would do well to remember as much.”
Hoth stood and stretched. “So…on the morrow we will face these Apians, spill their blood if such is needed, and then be on our way. Yes? Good. I bid you all a good night.”
Baden watched as his companions quietly filed from his bedchamber.
Moonlight came upon him quickly, sleep did not.
***
Baden found himself telling a stranger who he was for the third time in as many days.
“I am Baden Dost, son of Banidon.” Baden half-expected the man not to understand the Valusian tongue, but was surprised.
“I am Pandios of Margive.”
“I do not want to kill you.”
“Nor I you.”
“Then it seems we have a problem.”
Pandios smiled. His face, despite a number of scars, was kind. “Indeed.”
Baden sighed. He could not help but study the man before him with open eyes. Baden had never met an Imperial. Pandios wore a bronze-hued breastplate and skirt that was once white but now appeared brown from grime and dried blood. A short, stabbing sword hung from his belt. His helm was tucked under one arm, as was Baden’s.
Behind Pandios stood his men, and Baden had rarely seen a more bedraggled bunch. They had obviously suffered before reaching the ‘safety’ of the Selûne shrine. There were seven of them, two of which – Baden thought – would not last the night. Their armor was similar to Pandios’ and equally covered in old blood.
“Your men are hurt.” Baden jerked his chin behind Pandios toward the assembled Imperials.
“We have endured worse.”
“Why are you here?”
“That is a question I cannot answer. I ask your forgiveness.”
Baden nodded. These were military men, and this was their officer. In light of the trials they must have faced, Baden was impressed to see the resolve in their eyes – even those who appeared to be near death. If Apia is filled with men such as these, we had all best hope they keep their feet on the mainland.
Baden stroked the butter in his beard. He had not unstrapped his axe, and wanted to delay the inevitable as long as possible. Baden realized, with no small amount of surprise, that he had no desire to kill this man. “Well, I’m open to any suggestions you might have.”
“Let us fight, then, Baden son of Banidon. And know that I hold no rancor toward you. Should you slay me, my spirit will not avenge my death.”
Baden did not know how to reply to that, so he said nothing.
The dwarf helplessly looked about the nearby grounds. The Selûnite shrine was nothing more than a pillared gazebo on a small, flat island of marble. A causeway, no more than ten feet wide, stretched from Lake Mead’s southern shore to the shrine. On the far side of bridge, behind Baden, the inspiring church of Selûne rose toward the morning clouds. Baden had hoped the journey to the shrine would allow him time to think things through. He was sorely disappointed.
“Maybe,” Baden began, an idea forming, “we can prevent some bloodshed.”
Pandios nodded, waiting. “So long as no dishonor falls onto myself or my men.”
The Moonies grew restless on the lake’s shore. Damned near four hundred of them had shown for the morning’s ‘festivities’. Baden looked over his shoulder and swallowed a number of choice words he felt like hurling their way. His eyes searched for and found the high priestess. “San’a’lul! I would have a word with you, if I may.”
The crowd grew louder, angry. But the priestess walked from the throng, stepping onto the causeway some hundred feet distant but coming no further. “Speak, Baden. I will listen.”
“If these men agree to leave,” Baden called, furiously framing his words even as he spoke them, “will you let them pass in peace?”
“We shall not. They have spilled the blood of glimmerfolk, and their blood must answer for it.” The priestess smiled. “The moon travels in cycles, Baden, always in cycles. Acts must be answered in kind. Always.”
Baden glanced at Pandios, judged the man, then turned his back on the Apian. He pushed his way through his fellow dwarves before stopping. “If I fight this man, would our blood be enough to satisfy…to satisfy your goddess?”
The priestess raised a hand to silence the onlookers. “It would, Baden Dost. But blood is not enough. We must have death. Yours, or his. It makes no difference to the glimmer.”
Bugger your damned glimmer. “Then you will let the victor – and his companions – depart this place? Safely?”
The priestess nodded. “I have spoken.” She drifted backward from the causeway without further comment.
Baden fastened an eye on Pandios. “There is no dishonor in this. Do you agree?”
“I do.”
“You may choose your champion.”
“I would not choose another to meet a fate I am not prepared to face myself.”
Baden had thought the Apian might say that. But it made it no less difficult to accept. “Whatever happens…whatever happens – know that I did not wish it to be so.”
“Nor I.” Pandios drew his sword. “One request, Baden son of Banidon, I would like to ask of you.”
“Ask.”
“I have a wife, two sons, a daughter. They have missed the face of their father for quite some time.” Pandios smiled as if at a pleasant memory. “If I fall, I ask that you send word to them of my death.”
Baden was silent for a long, long time. He contemplated turning and charging, axe raised, into the crowd of Moonies. But…he could not. Not with his companions from Olgotha awaiting his return. “I swear it will be done.”
Pandios’ smile grew. “My men will tell you where my family may be found, should you be the victor here. I have fought many men, Baden son of Banidon, and killed them all. I have not been troubled by any spirits thus far, and would keep it that way.”
Baden pulled on his helm and drew his axe, fingers wet with sweat despite the autumn chill. “You’ve nothing to fear from my spirit, Pandios. If it is my fate to be sent from this world, I’ll not be eager to be returnin’ to it.”
“Good.” Pandios no longer smiled. “I salute you.”
“And I you.” Baden swallowed, his stomach uneasy. “Come now - let’s do this thing.”
Baden had enjoyed a relatively remarkable string of good fortune.
First and foremost, despite all odds, the young Axemarch dwarf Tamil had been able to shake off the worst of the Dreth’s poison. Though his face remained a bit wan, and his movements somewhat sluggish, Tamil improved with each passing day.
Second, the weather – generally quite horrendous on the Weedsea during the month of Uktar – turned favorable. The four dwarves made good progress as they continued toward distant Val Hor. They were able to shave a number of days from their journey by crossing the fortuitously frozen Mead River.
Third, Hoth – and even Pemm – were turning out to be capable companions. Baden trusted them both implicitly. Baden slept comfortably, for the first time in weeks, secure in the knowledge that a vigilant dwarven sentinel stood the watch.
Something, Baden thought, had to turn sour. And so it did.
***
Baden shielded his eyes from the unseasonably hot sun. “They wear cloaks of white. That is no Tundreth color. Larrenmen wear black, Calahens green, and Cormicks…what damned color do Cormicks wear?”
“Red.” Hoth climbed atop the gentle bluff to stand near Baden. The bushy-bearded Ironfist dwarf studied the distant riders. “Those are not Tundreth horsefolk, Baden; they are elves.”
“Gammhedrel?”
Hoth shrugged. “Aye, mayhaps they are wood elves, though I doubt it. Them fairy folk don’t seem to like these open spaces any more than we do.”
Around the small company of dwarves, the Weedsea undulated in mind-jarring monotony. There were few trees and fewer scrubs. Hiding, Baden understood, was an impossibility.
In the time it took Baden to frame the thought, the white riders changed their course to close the dwarven position.
“Tamil, you’ve the best eyes of us all. Come take a gander, if you would.”
Tamil accepted Baden’s outstretched hand and allowed himself be half-pulled to the bluff’s crest. The young Axemarch dwarf, pale but alive, quietly studied the tableau. “Not all wear white. Them on foot wear green – Calahen clansmen, most like.”
“Whitecloaks on horseback, and greencloaks on foot. I like it not.” Baden resisted the urge to don his helmet and loosen his axe. “Tamil, down with ye. Tell Pemm to mind the ponies. Keep the beasts picketed behind us, in the gully. You stay back a few paces, crossbow ready.”
Baden pulled on a pair of gauntlets. “Captain Hoth, if you would, stay with me. If there’s to be trouble, kill the bowmen first, horses second. If they spread out and start firing arrows, ‘twill be an inglorious end for us.”
“Brilliant.”
Baden grunted. “I thought so, too.”
***
The riders stopped thirty paces’ distant. Hoth had been correct – the mounted warriors were elves. Tall, slender, wearing chain shirts, swords strapped to their saddles. Great bows peered over their shoulders. Surcoats emblazoned with a silver crescent. Eight of them, all told.
Tamil, also, had been correct: five Calahen clansmen, looking none too happy, walked in the wake of the mounted elves.
At least, they looked like elves – but the world seemed an odd place of late. Baden had fought a wraith-shadow in Borbidan’s Rest, had combated a horned devil and his wolven pack, and had faced entities that by all rights should have been languishing in the Abyss. Ilvar, no demons? Baden depended on the elf-spirit’s ability to detect outsiders, and it was best to be careful.
- None, Baden.
Baden took a last, long look at the unarmed and surly Calahens before staring upward at the lead elf. “I am Baden son of Banidon.”
“Why are you here?”
Baden swallowed a curt reply. By right and tradition, on the Weedsea, when one stranger gives another his name he should receive the same in reply. If Baden knew as much, the damned elves certainly should. “I make for the Coastal Road.”
“You are a stone dwarf. From what clan do you hail?”
Baden opened his mouth to reply, paused, and swallowed his words. He had thought the hurt of being a nil-thain was gone. It was not. “I know – you probably didna’ hear me. I said I was Baden son of Banidon.” The silence stretched. “This is when you tell me your name.”
“You are on the Weedsea, stone dwarf. These lands can be unkind to those who do not belong.”
“I’ll take that under consideration.”
The elf lifted the helm from his head – no, her head. Platinum hair spilled onto the lady-warrior’s hauberk. Her smile was as distant and cruel as the mountains to which she now pointed. “Why have the four of you climbed forth from your rat-holes?”
“I said we make for the Coastal Road. And the last I checked,” Baden looked sideways at Hoth, “the Coastal Road don’t run through the ‘Cor.”
“No, sure as shale it don’t.” Hoth hooked both thumbs in his belt and rocked back and forth on his boots.
The elf’s humorless smile, if possible, grew even colder. “These lands were not given unto durven, for your folk have always hid your brows from the glimmer.”
What in the name of hell… Baden tried and failed to hide his confusion. Enough banter. “We, ah, have been harassed by creatures. They are akin to wolves – but larger, worse. The beasts are lead by fell hunters wearing horned helms…”
Baden’s voice drifted off once he realized he sounded like a father telling a bedtime tale. Yet recognition had sparked in the elf-maiden’s eyes - Baden was sure of it. Those same eyes were hidden once the elf replaced her helm. The other riders fanned out behind her without being told to do so. “You three – and those who may be waiting in the gully below - shall accompany us.”
“If it’s all the same to you, we’d rather not.” Hoth spat on the ground. “I never did like elves. Calahens neither.”
One of the green-robed clansmen bristled. “If I stood before you with a sword, you would ware your words.”
“If you stood before me with your sword,” Hoth laughed, “you would not stand long.”
Baden stepped forward, consciously keeping his hands away from his axe. “Elf-woman, we have our own plans and shall go our own way. We wish you and…your glimmer…well.” Baden looked behind him and fastened an eye on Tamil. “Tell Pemm to ready the ponies. We ride.”
The elves watched silently, without moving, as Tamil and Pemm joined Baden and Hoth upon the ridgeline. Baden silently counted the beads of sweat he felt rolling down his side. At number seven, the female elf drew a sickle from her belt. She gestured toward the horizon in all directions. “These lands bask under the moonlight of Selûne, and we are in Her favor. You trespass, and must answer for it.”
Baden sighed. Moonies. He had never encountered elves of Selûne, but he had heard stories. Haughty as harlots, they were. But deadly, if the same tales were true. “Where would ye be takin’ us?”
The elf leaned forward and crossed both arms upon her pommel. She tipped her helm back to better look upon Baden and his fellows. “Mount up. For the nonce, you shall keep your ponies.”
Baden laid a hand on Hoth as the Ironfist Captain stepped forward. His words, when they came, were more for Hoth than they were for the elves. “The Coastal Road is to the south, and we are not against traveling in that direction.”
“Then we are agreed.” The elf’s grin was more sneer than smile. “Do try to keep up.”
***
Baden had never liked marble. It was too smooth, too difficult to work. He preferred rougher stone, as did most dwarves. Still, he had to admit good craftsmanship when he saw it – and he saw it here, in the Moon Temple of Selûne. The church lording over the foam-flecked waters of Mead Lake was as white and elegant as the proudest elf. Baden had watched the spires grow upon the horizon when they were still a day’s journey distant.
He could not help but feel coarse and brutish as he walked beneath the parapets and strode across immaculate courtyards toward the great hall. Baden now stood, flanked by his dwarven companions and the taciturn Calahens, in a grand foyer. The pristine, marble floor was flawless – save for the mud they had tracked upon it.
Dozens of white-cloaked devotees, mostly elves, whispered quietly with one another, their words and faces hidden within the shadows behind ivory-colored pillars. Baden felt his ears growing red, and vainly wondered just how he had allowed himself to be escorted into the heart of the Moon Goddess’ temple.
Before them was an alabaster dais, upon which sat an exquisitely beautiful elven woman. Silver filigree tied back her hair, making a face that might be graceful appear overly proud. Her skin was tight, her eyes unflinching. Behind her stood a whipcord thin elf, his own eyes nothing more than slits.
The Calahens were the first to be beckoned forward – thank Moradin – and Baden strived to hear the conversation which ensued at the foot of the dais.
“My lady,” began one of the Calahens, his accent harsh, “we are but-”
“You will address the Moon Priestess as San’a’lul.” The slender elf behind the throne spoke without emotion.
“Forgive me,” stammered the clansman. He nervously cleared his throat – once, twice – as he worried a woolen hat held in both hands. “Sans…sanahloll. Me lads and I got snared by the blizzard that came through her a few nights’ past.”
The woman spoke for the first time, her voice soft, soothing, clear. “What were you doing?”
“Hunting, my lady…sanahloll.”
“What were you hunting?”
The clansman was obviously unprepared for such a question. “Anything, sansahol - sanahloll. Elk, bison.” He shrugged. “We searched for food for our kin.”
“You were found on our lands, not your own. Why?”
“We lost our way in the blizzard, and lost our horses shortly thereafter. We had…we opened ‘em up and passed the night sleepin’ in their stomachs.”
A distasteful murmur arose within the nave. The priestess smiled. “Then you may go, and with our blessing. Come not again into Selûne’s embrace. I have spoken.”
The clansmen looked at one another, surprised. Finally, their spokesman bowed low. “Thank you, my lady sansaloll. We…we will go now?” It was question.
“Of course.”
The green-cloaked Tundreth men quickly filed past Baden, a few of them not troubling to hide their smirks.
The thin elf behind the throne raised a bejeweled hand. “Durven. You may approach.”
Baden and his companions walked forward and bowed as one with military precision. “I am Baden Dost, son of Banidon. These are my companions.”
“May the glimmer caress you, Baden Dost.”
Baden bowed again, buying time, uncertain. “We, ah, we make for the Coastal Road. Your patrol bid us come here, San’a’lul.”
“Why were you on our lands?”
Baden chewed his whiskers. “Forgive us, San’a’lul. We were making for the coast and knew not these lands were claimed by Moo-…” Baden shut his mouth with an audible snap of his teeth.
The priestess smiled, not unkindly. With her eyes never leaving Baden’s own, she said, “Your friend is hurt.”
Baden glanced at Tamil. “Aye, he had – has – a bit o’ poison still in him. San’a’lul.”
“We can heal him.”
Baden nodded guardedly. “We are poor.”
“You,” the priestess inclined her head toward Tamil, “come forward.”
Tamil stepped forward after waiting for Baden’s nod. The young dwarf bowed. “I feel…I feel fine. Just need a bit o’ sleep.”
The thin elf behind the throne opened his mouth but was silenced with a wave of the priestess’ hand. She stood and descended from the dais, the murmuring with the nave increasing as she strode toward Tamil. “You do not know the glimmer, but the glimmer knows you. Would you have the moon cradle your brow?”
“Uh…what?”
Considering the circumstances Baden thought Tamil’s question, though simple, damned appropriate.
“I am the High Priestess of Selûne, stone dwarf. You are within Her house now. She does not abide hurts caused by those who would spurn Her glimmer for eternal darkness.”
Baden watched Tamil blink like a confused owl for a few moments, then stepped forward. “San’a’lul, we have naught to pay you. We ask only that you allow us to leave your lands and continue on our way. I will…I will ask Axemarch to send any reasonable sum you demand for this courtesy.”
The priestess’ laugh was a cascade of tinkling jewels. She reached out, touched Tamil lightly on the hand, and murmured a word. Color entered the young dwarf’s face. “We require no payment from your clan, Baden son of Banidon. Your companion has been healed.”
Baden studied his muddy boots. She had healed Tamil, certainly, but…now what? “Thank you, San’a’lul. May we have your leave to depart?”
The elf smiled. “My captains tell me you were beset upon my strange wolves and horned warriors. Is this true?”
Baden nodded.
“Why?”
Baden blinked. “Why?”
“Why?”
“We did…we have met them before. Near the Duskingford. A guide told us they are known as wolven.” Baden looked helplessly toward Hoth before continuing. “The beasts are sometimes lead by creatures known as Dreth-”
The priestess’ smile faded. “I know this name.”
Baden licked his whispers, uncertain whether to continue. When the silence grew, he did. “We killed a Dreth and a few of his icy hounds south of the Duskingway. They had been following us, San’a’lul.”
“These creatures followed you onto our lands?”
Baden shrugged. “Aye, San’a’lul.”
The priestess nodded slowly, eyes intent on Baden. After a moment that seemed a lifetime, her smile returned. “Then you must answer for their presence, for you have brought a foulness into the glimmer. I have healed a hurt of your companion, and you shall heal a hurt of our church.”
Baden did not like the sound of that. Not at all.
***
“Thrice-damned pointers!” Baden threw his helm onto his bed. “They mean to use as mercenaries. No – worse than mercenaries! For they do not pay us a single coin.”
Hoth rubbed his chin. “No, they pay us with our freedom. We have no choice.”
Baden stared mutely at Hoth before looking to Pemm and Tamil. “I – we – must press onward to Val Hor. My companions have certainly already arrived at the White City. I like not this delay, and I like not being here.”
“Nor do we,” Tamil answered. “What is your plan?”
Baden unstrapped his axe, tossed it next to the helm, and walked to the far corner of the temple’s small bedroom. “Dammit.”
Hoth chuckled. “That does not sound much like a plan to me.”
“Dammit!” Baden bellowed. Hoth’s attempt at humor only further incensed him. He was sick of priests and gods and elves and…
“Let us review what we know.” Baden kicked a chair toward Hoth and bid his companions to take their seats. “The Moonies want us to take care of some warriors that have holed up within one their shrines. They will not do it themselves because they are forbidden to spill blood on ‘sacred’ ground.”
“Or so they say,” Hoth added cheerfully.
“These mercenaries,” Baden continued, “are not rabble. They are Apians from across the water. Have any of you fought Imperials?” Baden looked about the room. “Nor have I. But I have heard they know which end of a sword is used for stickin’. This is not our fight, and I would not die for a purpose…for a purpose I do not share.”
Pemm spoke for the first time since entering the temple. The glum-faced dwarven priest had been extremely quiet. “I respect the Selûnites and their reluctance to stain holy ground.”
“Moonies,” Baden replied. “They are Moonies, Pemm.”
The dwarf shrugged. “You choose to call them that.”
Baden shared an exasperated look with Hoth. Pemm, Baden had firmly come to realize, was one strange bird. “Yer damned right I do. They hold us here against our will, Pemm. If I can combat them with nothing but insults, then I will.”
Hoth sighed. “The Apians need not be killed. We have only been tasked with getting them to depart the shrine.”
“So they can be filled with arrows the moment they step from sacred ground?” Baden scowled. “Tell me, Hoth, would you leave the shrine?”
“When the growlin’ from my stomach grew loud enough – yes, I would leave.”
Baden nodded. “Right. But we have to face them on the morrow. Before the moon is next full. I doubt we can place much trust in the fact that they’ll starve between now and then.”
Tamil frowned. “Why are Apians here, anyway?”
“My head is poundin’ already without having to worry on that matter. Damned Imperials should have stayed on their own side o’ the Conomorra.”
“But they did not,” Pemm unhelpfully added. “They are here. And they must be dealt with.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“I did not know we had chosen sides.”
“We chose sides the moment that elf priestess forbade our departure.” Baden glowered at Pemm. “You would do well to remember as much.”
Hoth stood and stretched. “So…on the morrow we will face these Apians, spill their blood if such is needed, and then be on our way. Yes? Good. I bid you all a good night.”
Baden watched as his companions quietly filed from his bedchamber.
Moonlight came upon him quickly, sleep did not.
***
Baden found himself telling a stranger who he was for the third time in as many days.
“I am Baden Dost, son of Banidon.” Baden half-expected the man not to understand the Valusian tongue, but was surprised.
“I am Pandios of Margive.”
“I do not want to kill you.”
“Nor I you.”
“Then it seems we have a problem.”
Pandios smiled. His face, despite a number of scars, was kind. “Indeed.”
Baden sighed. He could not help but study the man before him with open eyes. Baden had never met an Imperial. Pandios wore a bronze-hued breastplate and skirt that was once white but now appeared brown from grime and dried blood. A short, stabbing sword hung from his belt. His helm was tucked under one arm, as was Baden’s.
Behind Pandios stood his men, and Baden had rarely seen a more bedraggled bunch. They had obviously suffered before reaching the ‘safety’ of the Selûne shrine. There were seven of them, two of which – Baden thought – would not last the night. Their armor was similar to Pandios’ and equally covered in old blood.
“Your men are hurt.” Baden jerked his chin behind Pandios toward the assembled Imperials.
“We have endured worse.”
“Why are you here?”
“That is a question I cannot answer. I ask your forgiveness.”
Baden nodded. These were military men, and this was their officer. In light of the trials they must have faced, Baden was impressed to see the resolve in their eyes – even those who appeared to be near death. If Apia is filled with men such as these, we had all best hope they keep their feet on the mainland.
Baden stroked the butter in his beard. He had not unstrapped his axe, and wanted to delay the inevitable as long as possible. Baden realized, with no small amount of surprise, that he had no desire to kill this man. “Well, I’m open to any suggestions you might have.”
“Let us fight, then, Baden son of Banidon. And know that I hold no rancor toward you. Should you slay me, my spirit will not avenge my death.”
Baden did not know how to reply to that, so he said nothing.
The dwarf helplessly looked about the nearby grounds. The Selûnite shrine was nothing more than a pillared gazebo on a small, flat island of marble. A causeway, no more than ten feet wide, stretched from Lake Mead’s southern shore to the shrine. On the far side of bridge, behind Baden, the inspiring church of Selûne rose toward the morning clouds. Baden had hoped the journey to the shrine would allow him time to think things through. He was sorely disappointed.
“Maybe,” Baden began, an idea forming, “we can prevent some bloodshed.”
Pandios nodded, waiting. “So long as no dishonor falls onto myself or my men.”
The Moonies grew restless on the lake’s shore. Damned near four hundred of them had shown for the morning’s ‘festivities’. Baden looked over his shoulder and swallowed a number of choice words he felt like hurling their way. His eyes searched for and found the high priestess. “San’a’lul! I would have a word with you, if I may.”
The crowd grew louder, angry. But the priestess walked from the throng, stepping onto the causeway some hundred feet distant but coming no further. “Speak, Baden. I will listen.”
“If these men agree to leave,” Baden called, furiously framing his words even as he spoke them, “will you let them pass in peace?”
“We shall not. They have spilled the blood of glimmerfolk, and their blood must answer for it.” The priestess smiled. “The moon travels in cycles, Baden, always in cycles. Acts must be answered in kind. Always.”
Baden glanced at Pandios, judged the man, then turned his back on the Apian. He pushed his way through his fellow dwarves before stopping. “If I fight this man, would our blood be enough to satisfy…to satisfy your goddess?”
The priestess raised a hand to silence the onlookers. “It would, Baden Dost. But blood is not enough. We must have death. Yours, or his. It makes no difference to the glimmer.”
Bugger your damned glimmer. “Then you will let the victor – and his companions – depart this place? Safely?”
The priestess nodded. “I have spoken.” She drifted backward from the causeway without further comment.
Baden fastened an eye on Pandios. “There is no dishonor in this. Do you agree?”
“I do.”
“You may choose your champion.”
“I would not choose another to meet a fate I am not prepared to face myself.”
Baden had thought the Apian might say that. But it made it no less difficult to accept. “Whatever happens…whatever happens – know that I did not wish it to be so.”
“Nor I.” Pandios drew his sword. “One request, Baden son of Banidon, I would like to ask of you.”
“Ask.”
“I have a wife, two sons, a daughter. They have missed the face of their father for quite some time.” Pandios smiled as if at a pleasant memory. “If I fall, I ask that you send word to them of my death.”
Baden was silent for a long, long time. He contemplated turning and charging, axe raised, into the crowd of Moonies. But…he could not. Not with his companions from Olgotha awaiting his return. “I swear it will be done.”
Pandios’ smile grew. “My men will tell you where my family may be found, should you be the victor here. I have fought many men, Baden son of Banidon, and killed them all. I have not been troubled by any spirits thus far, and would keep it that way.”
Baden pulled on his helm and drew his axe, fingers wet with sweat despite the autumn chill. “You’ve nothing to fear from my spirit, Pandios. If it is my fate to be sent from this world, I’ll not be eager to be returnin’ to it.”
“Good.” Pandios no longer smiled. “I salute you.”
“And I you.” Baden swallowed, his stomach uneasy. “Come now - let’s do this thing.”
Last edited:
Dougal DeKree
First Post
“I know – you probably didna’ hear me. I said I was Baden son of Banidon.” The silence stretched. “This is when you tell me your name.”
A dwarf lecturing an elf on being polite...simply great!
Thank you for the update, Destan!
A dwarf lecturing an elf on being polite...simply great!
Thank you for the update, Destan!
