Sir Gerard d'Montfort - In his own words (a tale of Anka Seth)- Updated Nov 11th

[Haraash Saan]

What looked to be a large antechamber awaited us. Along the two side walls sat a row of benches, upon each one sat a variety of people. A lady of the night, rogues, merchants, even a priest of Laster, sat within the waiting room. All looked anxious and afraid. They did not want to be there, but it seemed that they had little choice.

Korb/Moxadder sat patiently on a bench near the doorway, no doubt having been the most recent arrival.

At the end of the chamber was a small podium, behind which stood an older man wearing grand robes of rich burgundy. On the lectern rested a large volume, an ink pot and a large colourful quill.

The robed man looked up at us slowly and opened his mouth to speak, but Moxadder interjected. “Forgive me men.” He apologized, “I told ‘em to wait outside, but ya knows ‘ow ‘ard it is to get good ‘elp.”

And then to us, “Sit ‘ere and shut up!” he ordered.

Biting my tongue at the role I was forced to play I did as commanded and took up a seat beside him as did Morgan. Argonne blinked stupidly for a moment before doing likewise.

Korb’s double beckoned us to crowd round him and he brought his finger to his lips. “Change of plan. I’ve managed to get an audience with the Master. I’ll see what I can find out and then we’ll just leave, quiet like.” He said in a whisper.

Moxadder was right. This was no time for a rash act. Firstly, there were too many for our small band to defeat, and secondly, what we needed was information, not violence. We needed to know more about the Master and the Orsa Terminus.

As soon as he had finished speaking, the door we had entered by opened and in strode Zhontell, the deceased barkeep over his shoulder. So much for no rash actions.

Moxadder leapt to his feet and in another moment of inspiration hissed, “What’re you doin’? What ‘ave you done?”

Zhontell stood mute, although I could see him taking in the situation.

Changing his audience, Moxadder bowed his head in supplication and then addressed the robed man, “Please forgive dis idiot for the interruption.”

The man behind the podium shook his head, “The interruption is not the issue here Korb. I think your problem is that he killed one of the master’s faithful servants. Why would he do that?”

“He refused me entry. My employer Korb had ordered me to attend him.” Answered Zhontell matter-of-factly.

Moxadder glared at Zhontell with a menace I had never seen him display before and then spat, “I’ll ‘andle dis.”

As he spoke he whipped a dagger from his belt, one of his favorites, and strode forward to Zhontell, jaw set in determination. With a rough push into Zhontell’s chest he forced the elf to stumble back through the door.

The door slammed behind Moxadder and then all was silent. No one in the room moved, all eyes turned to the door.

A horrid scream shattered the silence, and then the door suddenly flung open. Moxadder stomped back to his seat, bloodied dagger clenched tightly in his fist. “It’s sorted. I’ll explain it to da master.” He said to the robed man.

I dared not ask the Fastendian what had happened. I could see that he was still furious and I did not want to tempt his anger.

Moxadder paused as he passed me and turned to face me. An evil smile crept across his face and he casually leaned across and wiped the blood from his weapon on the leg of my pants.

I was horrified! How dare my trusted companion, a man I almost treated as an equal, treat me with such disrespect! I was so shocked that I could find no words or actions to seek retribution. I just sat completely rigid, every muscle tensed, such was my fury.

Moxadder ignored me completely, calmly play acting his role as Korb to perfection, and resumed his seat. It took a few minutes to regain control of my emotions and realize why he done it. But still, that evil grin was out of place. I swear that he had deliberately chosen me to clean his blade on.

After half an hour there was a piercing scream from the room beyond the podium. Taking this as his queue, the robed man called Korb forth saying “The master will see you now” then he drew a line across one of the names in his book. That was certainly one way to end an audience.

Moxadder rose and approached the door. Argonne stood, unbidden and followed. Moxadder pretended not to notice, no doubt seeking no more unusual interruptions.

“My man will come wit’ me. I wanna present ‘im to da master.” He said ingeniously.

They were ordered to leave their weapons in the antechamber, and after complying they boldly entered the master’s chambers.

Fifteen minutes passed. There had been no sign of Zhontell and I began to wonder if Moxadder in his rage had slain our comrade, but I dared not stand and check lest I once again draw unwanted attention. My thoughts were interrupted as the door behind the robed man opened and Moxadder and Argonne returned to room in which we waited.

Both were pale and Moxadder held his bunched and bloodied shirt tightly to his stomach.

Without a word they walked forward, Moxadder’s right boot squelching with each painful step, and left the antechamber. Morgan and I followed. I smelt an unpleasant odour that seemed to linger behind Moxadder, but I dismissed it because as I rose from the bench I caught a glimpse of a familiar face in amongst those waiting, Ship’s Cat.

Last to exit the room I shut the door behind me firmly before saying, “Ship’s Cat was in there!”

Morgan nodded in confirmation and said “Yeah, I saw her when we first went in.”

Zhontell was waiting for us and his face betrayed no sign of the Moxadder’s assault. His shirt offered more evidence, it was soaked in brown dry blood.

Without another word we departed and made our way back to inn, leaving the body of the barkeep unceremoniously in a corner.

We agreed to separate, and meet up later in another tavern, The Dueling Ducks, to discuss what we had learned. I stayed behind in the Rolling Lady to wait for Ship’s Cat and try to learn what she was doing here in Guerney City. When she’d left us she was some thirty days travel to the south west in Thessingcourt.

 

[Haraash Saan]

I managed to drink several goblets of reasonable wine before she finally appeared. She saw me at once and continued on her way out of the inn. Leaving my wine unfinished, I also exited the inn. She was waiting outside.

As I opened my mouth to speak she whispered harshly, “Not here.”

I nodded and told her to follow me, leading her to The Dueling Ducks. Inside we found the others waiting for us. They were huddled around a small table looking inconspicuous.

Ship’s Cat identified the Master as Decistratus, the name Polema had given us in the bandits lair. Ship’s Cat had left Thessingcourt soon after her arrival. Decistratus had found out about her whereabouts and commanded her to come before him. Whilst she was not a tattoo wearing member of Orsa Terminus, she knew of Decistratus and was scared enough to answer his summons. His interest in her was limited to the events that had occurred in Halfast some months before. Such was her fear of him that she kept no secrets from him. Decistratus was well aware of the activities of the Hydra and how we had ruined the first attempt on the Kings life.

We could hold no grudge against her, she did what she had to survive. After her tale she left us to our own devices fearing that we might be noticed together. We chose to retire to my quarters in the castle to hear what Moxadder and Argonne had learnt.

Decistratus had sat before them in a large chair, beside him lay two carefully groomed ornamental dogs. The room itself was empty other than his throne, although remarkably unusual. Two long pits of fire edged the walls leading up to his throne. Their flames licked and charred the images that were painted on the walls.

From their description I deduced that they represented the nine levels of hell, although strangely there was a tenth layer depicted. It had very mundane scenes, of note was a temple in Godsheim, Decistratus himself, the great temple of Gerech in Riverglenn, the Halfast arena and the walls of Morannin. All religious teachings that I had learnt taught of the nine levels of hell, each one for a different type of heretic. Devils were their keepers, and they ensured an afterlife of torment and pain. But never had I been told of a tenth level. Did the scenes illustrated insinuate that Anka Seth was a level of hell?

It occurred to me that this mysterious painting must be in someway tied to the man that sat before Moxadder and Argonne, for Decistratus translated from the Old Gerechian into ‘Ten Layers’.

Decistratus was initially suspicious of Korb/Moxadder but as our doppelganger managed to fumble through his tale of the bandits failure, told mostly with fact, his suspicion waned and was replaced with annoyance.

The lord of Orsa Terminus then suggested that Korb/Moxadder should be killed and Argonne take his place, Moxadder once again was inspired, no doubt because of his sudden impending doom. He weaved a cunning lie. The clever Irusdeshian came up with a scheme to impersonate me and take over Montfort. In the process he would capitalise on my obvious wooing of Gyda and seize the lands of Stowmarket as well.

The gleam in Decistratus’s eye proved that he was enamoured to the plan but it did come with a simple proviso, “Fail me again Korb and you will not get off lightly.” And to Argonne he added, “You had better be ready to take his place if need be.”

Whilst speaking one of his dogs had stood and padded over to Moxadder, sniffing him with great zeal. In the ultimate act of disdain it lifted its leg and relieved itself on Moxadderm urine running down his leg and into his boot.

The Master continued with an evil grin, “ Rufus is not amused by your incompetence. He wishes you to prove yourself to me. You must pay for your failure.”

Argonne explained to us that Decistratus had desired a simple sacrifice, a finger removed perhaps, but Moxadder failed to reach that safe conclusion and proceeded to disembowel himself, hence his obvious pain.

Surprised, but satisfied Decistratus called an end to the meeting and the pair left his presence.

 

[Zen_Pollo]

Great read! Keep it up!

 

[Haraash Saan]

Chapter 14 – When the Monk met the Gerechian



A bright morning greeted us as we prepared for our departure. Morgan had discovered that there was another Gerechian temple a days ride South East from Guerney City. We thought that it would be worthwhile to investigate it as we had learnt from our previous visit to an ancient temple of Gerech that the priests had devised a way to travel instantly between temples. If we could understand how they could do this then we might be able to magically travel to a temple near Morannin instead of trekking for a month or two to get there.

Mortec had completed my new wooden appendage and had enchanted it in such a way that I could force its fingers into desired formations. For example I could use my other hand to shape the fingers on the wooden hand so that they could grip a cup.

I could not thank the little gnome enough, so pleased I was with his generous gift.

“Think nothing of it Gerard. You will need all the help you can get.” He said.

“Unfortunately I cannot make this next journey with you. I have been summoned by the Order of Todesmagie and must answer their call immediately.” He continued.

My jaw dropped at this revelation. Mortec had been the sturdiest of my companions throughout our adventures. He was an integral member of the Hydra.

He smiled as he saw the shock upon our faces and said, “Fear not friends. Todesmagie shall be with you and it is my hope that I will soon be rejoined with you again. But I must do the bidding of my Order.”

Sadly we said our goodbyes to our stout comrade, wheeled our horses, and rode off through the southern gate of the city.

Argonne had a new beast, a giant black stallion with a splash of white on it’s nose. He noted my curiosity and chuckled, “I told you. Foeld has unfinished business for Zwingly.”

As we left the outer city and rode through farmland, my thoughts turned to Gyda. I already missed her, even though the night before we had passionately said our farewells. Over the last few weeks I had fallen quickly and surely in love and it was her that I would miss the most. What stung the deepest was that I was not even certain of when I would see her again.

I was so immersed in my own thoughts that the day passed quickly. That evening we rested at a roadside inn not far from the abandoned temple. We arrived there in the first hour of the morning.

Morgan’s Gerechian contacts had warned that it had been overrun by the unclean, but we had not expected to see monks of Hutenkama.

The temple was a basic wooden structure made with a slightly pitched roof. Before it was a small tent town, its occupants the brightly robed and very lively Hutenkamans. They danced about in their primal way, screeching unknown hymns and blessings between themselves.

It was some time before one actually noticed our gawping and approached us. “Do you seek a blessing?” he inquired.

“Er, yes. Yes we do.” Replied Morgan.

Quite pleased, the monk called some of his brethren and, after we parted with some significant coin, there was a small throng of them prancing about and painting our foreheads in a variety of earthen colors.

When they had finished I asked if it were at all possible to learn more of their culture, thinking that perhaps their own temple was built on the ruins of the Gerechian one we sought.

The original monk who had spoken to us cocked an eyebrow and said with skepticism, “Why is it that you are interested?”

“Er.” I bumbled not anticipating that there would be any chance that we would be able get any information from them. I had expected a simple ‘No’.

Recovering, I continued, “We wish to learn more so that we too may follow your path.”

Even as I spoke the words I cringed inwardly at that lack of plausibility of what I had said.

But to my relief the monk beamed a smile at us and said, “Excellent! You must see the Oracle!”

With that he turned and gestured for us to follow him through the tent city of the Hutenkamans. Stravarious was in no way interested so he decided to stay with Hrast who was tending our horses.

The interior of the wooden structure was simply adorned with colorful hangings but little else. We were led through the temple and down a staircase into a warren of stone chambers.

What was once a natural cave structure had been crudely worked into a series of rooms. Our guide pointed out simple facets of the Hutenkaman’s way of life of the as we walked. It was a basic existence but relatively self-sufficient. Although I did wonder what they did with all the money they accumulated from their customers.

After passing through a couple of rooms we stood in a large chamber. Along its center stretched a deep pit that was too wide for a man to jump across. On the other side of the pit were some expensive furnishings amongst which a small robed figure absently wandered.

As we watched in silence I noted that the cushions and divans that were scattered about the inaccessible half of the room were actually quite mottled with age. Some were torn and all were well worn.

The place had an evil stink about it. Undoubtedly from the small piles of waste and decaying food that lay strewn about.

Upon the walls were crude representations of the symbols of the gods. All ten were represented, but strangely there were four more designs alongside them. One I had seen before on the garments of the barbarians that we had slain at the siege of Montfort. The others however remained a mystery to me.

“Oracle.” Called out the monk that had brought us before him, “These people wish to join The Beast.”

His words triggered a memory. I recalled that the Hutenkamans were also called ‘The Beast Cult’ and that they awaited the ‘coming of the Beasts’, whatever that might be.

The robed figure ceased his meandering and turned to face us. Thin scaled hands reached out from within the sleeves of his robed and pulled back his cowl.

I breathed in sharply. The creature was like nothing I had seen before. Other than his eyes, lips and two small slits for nostrils his head was featureless. There was a slight sheen to it caused by the reflection of the torchlight on the pale scales that covered him.

He regarded our group for moment before staring at each one of us in turn.

The Oracle spoke with a lisp like drawl, in a language I had never encountered, to Morgan before he turned to Moxadder.

Moxadder muttered an incantation under his breath as the creature spat out the same sounds in regard to the Irudeshian.

“’e said I’m not worthy.” translated Moxadder.

Moxadder confirmed that the Oracle had said the same of Zhontell and myself before pausing as he considered Argonne and hissed his proclamation.

“’e could be worthy but ‘e ‘as chosen another path.” said Moxadder

His assessment over, the Oracle turned and resumed his meandering.

“The Oracle has decided, you are not worthy.” Said the monk as he gestured for us to leave.

“Really? How unfortunate.” I said with as much sincerity as I could muster.

“Please could you tell me about those symbols?” I asked as I pointed to the four unknown designs, ignoring his gesture.

“The last,” he said of the one I had recognized, “is what I have heard the Oracle call ‘The Wickerman’, a deity worshipped in wilds by the barbarians of the steppes. The others I know nothing of. They were drawn by the forefathers of the Oracle.”

I turned once more to regard the Oracle and addressed the same question to him.

He looked at me for a moment before continuing walking. I tried in each of the languages I knew but it was to no avail, he paid heed to me no more.

There had been no evidence that this place was a Gerechian temple. It certainly did not have the same well fashioned interior as the Konstatine Seth’s temple we had been chased into by the rat plague. Still, I was intrigued and wished to learn more.

“My Hutenkaman friend,“ I said as I beamed a smile at the monk, “would it be at all possible to see more of your wonderful culture? Even though the Oracle has deemed that we are not worthy to join you, I would very much like to learn all that I can of your ways.”

He was happy to oblige my request. We saw a few rooms of little interest, the kitchen, living quarters and the like, before he took us to a remarkable cave that had been much less, if at all, worked by man. Within it rested perhaps fifty intact three foot tall stone eggs. When asked, he explained that these were the eggs from which the Oracles were hatched. When the current Oracle passed on the Hutenkamans would forcibly break open an egg and a new Oracle would take the deceased one’s place.

At the other end of the cavern was a tarnished metal door. The monk told us that it led to a large empty chamber that they did not use. I asked him if we could explore it and he simply shrugged and said “There is nothing there, but if you must examine it please do.”

We stepped through the nest of eggs and after the significant efforts of Morgan, Moxadder and Zhontel, the door creaked open.

 

[Haraash Saan]

Great read! Keep it up!

Its really encouraging to get the feedback Zen_Pollo. Appreciate it, thanks.

 

[Haraash Saan]

Morgan pulled a torch from its bracket and we ventured into the room. The monk had been incorrect, it was not a large chamber at all, it was massive! We walked for a few hours, curious as to what purpose the massive cavern had, along the wall edge before finally seeing daylight ahead of us. It came from a cave mouth that sat a hundred feet above the great forest that spanned from Halfast all the way to Montfort and beyond. Moxadder muttered another charm and proclaimed that he would explore the outside of the cave. Standing at the edge of its mouth, he simply placed one hand on the outer wall of the hill that we were within and began to climb up its sheer face. I had seen him do this only once before, when we had been in the palace fighting the ghost of General Narblec.

Zhontell, not to be outdone, used more natural means to achieve the same result. Whilst I saw no benefit of a second climber, it seemed he wished to prove a point.

Before long the two returned saying that we had come through the hill that the Hutenkaman temple stood in front of and that, obviously, the land sloped away quite steeply into the forest.

Argonne, who had been quiet throughout our journey through the caves finally spoke, “I feel nature callin’ me. I must go.”

“What do you mean?” inquired Morgan curiously.

“I mean that I have to leave. Now. Don’t know when I’ll be back, but I’ll find you.” As the woodsman said this he stepped from the cave mouth.

Horrified we crowded the lip of the cave mouth and stared as he fell, cloak whipping about him. As we watched he thrust his arms out, and from them sprouted long feathers. His body also transformed, into that of a sleek and powerful eagle. His final he threw his head back to reveal that he now resembled a hook beaked eagle. His wings pushed once against the air rushing past him and suddenly he soared up and flew above us. With a farewell screech he disappeared into the sky and out of our sight. And so it was that the second of my companions had departed in the space of two days.

Saddened by his sudden an unexplained exit we returned our attention to the cave. It had been a frustrating experience so far. We had only been able to search one wall as the other was too far to be seen by our torchlight. Annoyed and angered at the situation I whipped out Eldritch Light, and tangible tool for the destruction that I wished to cause, and yelled, “I wish we had more light!”

As if in response to my command the blade of the sword began to glow, emitting a bright, powerful light. It was much stronger than that given by a torch and it allowed me to walk along the center of the chamber and see both of the side walls. So that is why Rumscully Jack’s sword was called ‘Eldritch Light’, it provided a magical light source. All this time I had thought it just a name of fancy.

Perhaps half way through our return journey we came across a mound of rocks that appeared to be piled in the center of the room. The mound was perhaps wider than four men laying head to toe, just as high, and at least fifty feet in length.

There was no evidence of a cave in as the ceiling was still whole. It was a curiosity that Moxadder and I wished to investigate further. However hard labour was what was required to move the rocks, and hard labour and I do not walk the same path. It was then that I recalled a magical summoning in a book that I had read in Leathes Abbey. Concentrating I recalled the words of the spell and somehow, managed to summon two man-at-arms! I dubbed these dutiful servants Pierre and Michel and put them to the task of removing the rock pile. I wished to see what, if anything, it buried.

After half an hours digging they had not uncovered anything but more rocks, and Morgan was frustrated by their lack of progress. “We should go!” he said angrily, “We have been away too long and are achieving nothing!”

I had no chance to reply, because Pierre cried out, “Sir! We have found something!” And they had indeed, and I could not help myself looking at Morgan and smiling smugly.

In the large hole that they had created was a solid stone monolith. Further digging revealed that the monolith was detailed with what appeared to be scales.

Whilst my interested was piqued Zhontell took this discovery somewhat differently. “We should go, now!” He said, rising panic evident in his tone.

“What? Why?” I asked incredulously.

“Because I have seen this in my dreams.” He replied.

We all looked at him quizzically and thought the same thing; “Dreams mean nothing.”

Reading our skepticism he continued, “I had a dream the night before we left Guerney City. I was in a dark tunnel and in it was a gigantic beast. I knew it would kill me. This is that beast!” He said, obviously frightened at the premonition of his death.

“This my friend,” I said in a measured tone as I tried to calm myself from the rising anger within me, “is just a big carved rock. It is not alive and it will not kill you. Shall we get back to work?”

But he would have none of it. He was near panic and was demanding that he leave at once.

Annoyed and angry at his silliness I snapped at him, “Fine! Leave brave adventurer. Flee the stone. Be a coward!” I spat viciously.

I had shamed him and he would say no more, but he did stay with us.

Another hour or so of moving rocks and we had unearthed what I can only describe as the head of a massive lizard. Its teeth were longer than my legs. While quite impressively detailed, it was in no way alive, despite Zhontell’s fears. It was a monumental carving of a beast, perhaps the very Beast that the Hutenkamans awaited the return of.

My sword hand and my upper forearm both suddenly felt very hot, and I realized that Nifus Nex and Ssaruss Ssni had stirred.

“Ssir Gerard.” Hissed Ninfus Nex excitedly, “You have uncovered one of uss!”

Puzzled, I prompted him to go on and he revealed some most startling information.

 

[Haraash Saan]

According to Ninfus Nex, in the time before man walked upon the face of Anka Seth, it was ruled by a race of enormous winged beasts called Dragons. What we had thought was a carved stone statue lying before us, was in actuality the body of one of those magnificent creatures. For many centuries they did as they pleased, untormented and untamed. The fourteen Gods came and disliked what they found, Dragons doing as they pleased with the world.

So powerful were the Dragons that the some of the Gods hatched a plan to eradicate them from the world so that they themselves could claim it and give life to new races without threat of having them devoured. One Goddess, Kalseru, warned the Dragons of the plot against them, but it came too late. For her efforts she was not heard of again.

The other Gods had orchestrated to tear the souls out of the Dragons, and that was exactly what they did. The Gods had not anticipated the strength of the Dragon’s souls, however, and found they could not destroy them. Instead, through their divine powers they housed them in the bodies of tiny serpents. Over ages they had been forced to serve many masters and now those very serpents served the Order of the Wyrm.

I stared at the little snake as he hissed through his fantastic tale. Never before had I heard of Dragons! Nor the sacrilegious thought that there had been a power before the Gods themselves had come!

The two serpents were bombarded with questions, but they knew little more. They suspected that if they found their own bodies they could once again join them, with significant divine or arcane assistance, and become Dragons, but they knew not where their own bodies lay.

When we asked about the Oracle, Ninfus Nex explained that its kind were just lowly servants to the great Dragons. The stone eggs we had seen were laid by the Dragons themselves, for they could chose what they gave birth to.

Thinking that there own bodies were destroyed Ninfus Nex and Ssaruss Ssni were quite keen to see if they were incorrect. If they could be found then they could regain the power that they once held.

It dawned upon me that finding their bodies may not be that difficult. If the Hutenkamans worshiped the Beast, then wherever they had temples it was likely that we would find the body of a Dragon. Perhaps these Dragons could be valuable tools for us in a war against the Dominion?

We had been searching the chamber for more than half the day and it must be have been close to evening, so with nothing more to be gained from the corpse of the ancient Beast, we returned to the Hutenkamans.

We found a good two dozen of them in various states of bliss. Some lay snoring peacefully, others just sat cross-legged on the dirt with a smile upon their faces. They surrounded a giant water pipe, its mouth piece being casually passed between those that had not lost consciousness.

The air was heavy with the all to familiar aroma of Devil Weed, Moxadder’s drug of choice. It became clear on what they had spent their earnings on.

There was little point staying there as they were in no fit state to answer my queries regarding other Hutenkaman temples, so we went outside to join Hrast and Stravarious, both of whom had been minding the horses.

“About time you lot reappeared,” said Stravarious. “Whilst you have been prancing about with the cultists I have been doing some investigating of my own.”

Without giving us a chance to pass on our own findings, he briskly walked off behind the temple, urging, “Come on, follow me.”

I sighed at his impatience but wondered at what could get the usually quiet Stravarious so energized.

As we rounded the final corner of the temple we understood what he was excited about. In the side of the hill were two massive steel double doors, covered with rubble and debris at their base. Emblazoned on the doors was a familiar symbol, twelve arrows that radiated from a central hub; the mark of Gerech. Stravarious had found the Gerechian temple that we had sought.

We stepped carefully up to the doors, noticing that the Hutenkamans had used the place as a privy. I made sure to hold a particularly thick kerchief over my nose and mouth so that I could not inhale the foul stink.

The doors were so heavy that it required everyone’s strength to swing one open. It protested our efforts but finally creaked open enough to allow us entrance to the Temple of Artyom Seth.

As we gathered our breath, either sitting on the rubble or leaning against the doors for support, Morgan spied dust churned up from the hooves of horse on the road from GuerneyCity.

They were headed to the Hutenkaman temple so I asked Moxadder to take a discreet look at who they were. The Irudesian slunk off without a sound and disappeared into the undergrowth.

Not five minutes later he reappeared, “Bloody Crusaders of Light.” He said as he cleared his throat and spat his disgust into the dirt.

It was most likely the same Gerechians who had told Morgan about Artyom Seth’s temple. We decided that they would not take kindly to us if they were to discover us entering the holy site of their God so we leapt through the opening we had made and with a mighty effort pulled the door shut.

Once again Eldritch Light provided us comfort and illumination in the deep darkness. Now it was Morgan who took the lead. He placed the mask of Valentin Seth on his face and commanded it to lead us to the transportation chamber we knew was housed in each of the Gerechian temples. If we could unlock its secrets then we might be able to return here from another temple if the need arose.

Only a few paces into our journey Morgan stopped us. “I sense that there are others here, and they are saturated with the foul reek of the Dominion. We must tread warily.”

We moved carefully through the ancient ruin, heeding Morgan’s warning. Evidently it had been sacked many years ago, but had then remained undisturbed for a long time. We stirred a thick layer of dust from the stone cobbles as we strode down corridors and through rooms.

Morgan led us down from the upper level and into the depths of the temple. We came to a place that was a replica of the storage room where we had battled the undead Priest Holton in the temple of Konstatin Seth. The star chamber, as the mask had called it, was at the end of the corridor that led from this room.

As we filed into the room Moxadder hushed our murmurings by softly ordering for our silence. We fell quiet. I could see him straining, listening for something ahead.

He gestured us to come close and whispered, “I am sure I heard voices ahead, but when we stopped talking so did they.”

All it took was a collective glance at Moxadder to send him on his way. He sighed and shrugged and skulked off into the shadows.

A few minutes later he returned bearing bad news. “There’s an ambush being set for us.” He whispered. “Must’ve seen our light.” He added matter-of-factly.

“Not seen the like of ‘em before neither.” He continued, “Big lads they are though, and damned ugly. ‘Round a dozen of them.”

How was it possible for them to have gotten here? I thought. It was Morgan who provided the obvious answer.

“They must have come from another temple.” He said.

 

[Haraash Saan]

It was quickly decided that we would stay here for a while before heading back to the top of the staircase to lay our own ambush, whilst Morgan would return to the temple of the Hutenkamans and ask the Crusaders of Light for assistance. It was doubtful that our small band could take that many down in a combat without their help.

Unfortunately our wait at the top of the stairs was all too brief. Morgan had not yet returned with aid when we heard the heavy thud of hobnailed boots climbing the spiral staircase. Then in a rush they were upon us.

Whilst my comrades downed the first ranks, we were soon struggling to maintain our supremacy.

Moxadder had taken several wounds and suddenly he flew into a blind rage. Instead of biding his time and striking like a serpent at his foes weak spots he flailed with his knives. His ferocious onslaught took down several of the enemy but in turn his recklessness allowed them injure him further.

A large body appeared before me and with a war cry I thrust at an opening in its heavy breastplate. The blood rush made my strike err and stab the armour instead. Such was the force of my thrust that Eldritch Light bent, and to my horror, snapped, just as it had when I fought the bandits in the forest of Montfort.

The ugly brute grinned evilly and took a swipe at me. I was too shocked to evade his blow and it hit me solidly in my left arm. Warm blood oozed from the wound.

It was Zhontell that gave me time to reach my saddle, for we had taken our horses into the temple so that the Crusaders of Light did not know we were there, and retrieve a spare blade. His fist smashed into the jaw of my opponent cracking it and dropped him to the ground. In the next instant Zhontell leapt further into the fray.

To my complete frustration my second blade suffered the same fate as the first. It was as if Laster himself, after turning me away from Pandemonium two times, had finally deserted me (or was that readying to welcome me). I was to die weaponless in an ancient temple, useless to my friends.

Determined not to give in to Laster and his tormenting games, I foolishly threw the hilt of my second broken sword into the nearest enemy. It only acted to draw his attention to me. I fumbled for my crossbow and a quarrel to load it with as he took a menacing step toward me. He got no further for Kuruul leapt high and his powerful jaws clamped tight on his throat, tearing it open. I had been saved once more.

I could see Moxadder was bleeding from several wounds as he single handedly held off three assailants. One presented his back nicely to me and with a wolfish grin of triumph I took aim. As I loosed the bolt the bowstring twanged, snapped in two by the pressure. The bolt fell useless to the stone floor. WHEN WOULD THIS INDIGNITY END!

“What have I done to offend you Laster?” I screamed in frustration and fury as a dug into my pack for another bow string.

Suddenly Morgan appeared holding the scepter of Artyom Seth high above his head, “I command you to cease fighting.” He ordered.

Just as I had done when we fought the ghost in palace of Thuurland II I was overwhelmed by his sheer presence and for an unknown reason I felt compelled to listen to him. I felt my eyes drawn to him, like those of a doting dog watching its masters every move.

Everyone, barring Zhontell, seemed to have listened to Morgan’s command. All lowered their weapons and just waited for him to utter more words of wisdom.

Zhontell, however, used the moment to full advantage. He launched a savage attack on the opponent nearest to him. Morgan also saw the advantage once more uttered a command, “Hydra’s defeat our foes!”

My companions, now free of his first order went about his second with gusto. Unfortunately the slaughter was short lived for from the bottom of the stair case I heard a word of power and suddenly our foes were active once more.

Morgan was quick to resume control. He ordered our foes to retreat down the stairs, and in doing so gave Kuruul, Moxadder, Stravarious and Zhontell a much needed respite, I was still struggling with my damned bow thanks to Laster’s pranks.

From beyond the corridor in which we fought we heard the clanking of armed warriors. As we looked to the source of the sound we saw fourteen crusaders round the corner.

With a quick glance the lead knight surveyed the scene and muttered with disdain, “Best run off and leave this to the experts.” Before he and the other crusaders marched down the staircase.

Morgan seeing that we were injured, especially Moxadder who was ashen and was bleeding freely from at least a dozen gashes, and in exhaustion cried out, “Hydra, I release you!” and then said, “Time to leave.”

We took his advice and ran from the temple as fast as we could dragging our horses behind us. Even as our boots slapped against the stone I heard the clash of arms from down the staircase. The Gerechians had engaged the forces of the Dominion. Morgan yelled back one final command, “Forces of the Dominion, drop your weapons".

Our flight was almost complete. I could see the massive doors open before us, when Moxadder stumbled. He crashed to the cobbles and was almost trampled by the steed he had been dragging behind him.

Morgan threw the reigns of his horse to me and then crouched and felt Moxadder’s pulse for signs of life. “He’s alive. Zhontell, carry him!” he barked urgently,

He then grabbed Moxadder’s horse and commanded “Let’s go.”

The sun was already low in the sky when we emerged from the Artyom Seth’s temple. Morgan was doing what he could for Moxadder, who now lay on his back, arms folded across his chest.

“His wounds are significant, but I have made sure that he’ll not bleed.” He said. “I don’t know how long he’ll be out, so get him ready to travel, we may have to ride out in a hurry. Gerard, you and I are going to find out what happened to those Gerechians.”

Morgan had really grown in recent weeks. It began during the defense of Montfort, where he inspired the men and defended stoutly on our makeshift wall. Now, in times of turmoil he had taken charge and led us to safety. The young warrior, defender of Avinal was now truly a leader of men and it is without shame that I followed him once more into the heart of the temple.

 

[Haraash Saan]

Swords drawn we crept down the corridors, bypassing rooms and heading straight to the staircase that we had held. Halfway to the stairs we he saw a flickering light bouncing of the walls. It was accompanied by the heavy clank of metal.

We doused our own torch and ducked into an alcove, ready to ambush whoever it was that labored toward us.

From our nook we spied six of the Gerechian knights. Each carrying another over their shoulders. Still wary, we stepped from our concealment.

They stopped, regarding us a moment before one of their number, a large bear of a man gruffly pronounced, “Turn around. Be gone from our temple.”

“Just here to offer our assistance.” I responded.

“It’s not needed. We can take care of our own.” He replied in turn.

I was not impressed. Even a Gerechian could acknowledge that we had held the gathering forces of the Dominion. Sensing my rising annoyance, Morgan filled the silence.

“Of course. We were just making sure that you didn’t need our aid.” He smiled, “You seem to have defeated those that we had left.” He added.

“Nay, only held them at bay for a moment. We must leave our temple. Their numbers are too great. We can do no more good here.” said the large man.

I opened my mouth to utter my contempt, how could they not have defeated unarmed foes, yet once again Morgan managed to interrupt me. “Then truly there is no aid we can offer.” He then turned and with a nudge prompted me to retreat back to the fading daylight.

As it turned out the Gerechians had already entered the temple and were fighting the creatures of the Dominion in other chambers even as Morgan had initially set out to look for them. Their horses, unseen by the Fastendian, had been hidden in the brush near the entrance to the temple.

From one of these the large man retrieved a double bladed silver axe. His companions laid the deceased that they had been carrying in a row.

Curious I asked what sort of rite they were doing. “A cleansing.” was the curt reply.

With that, their leader, the man that had spoken to us, quickly raised the axe. It reflected a blood red tinge as it reached the zenith of its ascent. The sun had set leaving dark crimsons and vibrant oranges on the horizon. In the next instant it flashed down, through the neck of one of the fallen, biting deeply into the dirt. The man’s head rolled off to the side, lifelessly gazing at the wondrous spectacle of nature that was painted in the sky.

Too shocked at what had happened, I could not tear my gaze from his grizzly work as the remaining five bodies were likewise decapitated.

Seeing my expression of horror he grimly said, “They have been touched by Geduld. We must ensure that they do not return under his influence.”

Morgan later confirmed that he himself had seen the stout men of Avinal do the same on those killed by the priests of Geduld during the Dominion’s assaults on the city. “Uncleansed they could return as the walking dead, undead servants of the Dominion.” He explained.

After his men pillaged their dead comrades the large man introduced himself, in a roundabout way. “I Abbot Yodfor, Son of Light and servant of the almighty one true God, I hereby arrest you for crimes against the one true God.”

“What?” I cried out incredulously. “On what charge and whose authority?”

“Entering holy ground and desecration of that holy ground. You are heretics and must be punished for entering our temple.” Abbot Yodfor replied.

This was an outrage! The Gerechians were tolerated in Guerney but by no means respected. They had no authority to charge any with their laws, and I told the Abbot as much.

He would have none of it. Not surprising when you consider that I was dealing with a religious zealot of the God that had caused the creation of the creatures of the Dominion. Bloody Gerechians.

“You will come with us to Riverglenn to stand before Eamos and answer these charges.” Continued the Abbot.

It was Morgan that again interjected with calm reason. “Abbot Yodfor, you can see I wear the tokens of Gerech.” He still wore the mask of Valentin and the Gerechian breastplate looted from the temple of Konstatin Seth. “And I bear Artyom Seth’s own scepter. I will not allow myself or my comrades to be forcibly arrested. How do you propose that you and, what, one other injured man arrest us?” asked Morgan. It was true. Their four remaining companions could barely stand let alone force us to do something we did not wish.

“We have no desire for violence. We also travel to Riverglenn. We will agree to come with you as companions for the journey and will see your Eamos on our arrival there.” He added diplomatically.

The Abbot glanced about at his fellows and with a sigh conceded the point. “I agree to these terms. But we had best make haste. They”, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the temple, “will not be long in reorganising and leaving the temple.”

He was right of course. He had already indicated that there were many more inside. We warned the Hutenkamans, who were still in a drug induced state, that they best flee, strapped Moxadder and the four unwell knights to their horses (so that their hands were bound to their feet under their horses’ belly) and set off into the ever encroaching darkness.

Abbot Yodfor was convinced that the Dominion forces that we had unearthed would pursue us, lest we spread word about them, so we decided to ride through the night.

We stopped after midnight when Moxadder’s cursing alerted us that he had regained consciousness. Once his wounds were tended to by Morgan, and he had taken a few ‘medicinal’ herbs, we explained the situation. Although he cocked an eyebrow when told we were technically under arrest he said nothing. I think that the herbs may have had something to do with his calm disposition.

“Abbot Yodfor?” he inquired of us. We confirmed that that was the crusader captain.

And then he addressed the Abbot. “I know you. ‘member the baquet at the ‘Alfast Games?”

Yodfor looked at Moxadder intently before suspiciously replying, “Yes.”

“Well it was me that asked you for ‘elp to kill those Geduldian monks.” Said Moxadder. “You’re one of them Son’s of Light from the Games.”

“Ah yes,” Abbot Yodfor responded. “I thought you looked familiar, you’re a long way from Halfast.”

“As are you.” I added with finality. I wished to share no information with the Gerechians. Who knows what they would do with it?

Our mounts moved off slowly, Moxadder covered their tracks behind them for perhaps half and hour before he too remounted and we continued our journey.

Exhausted, dawn offered a few hours respite, for we had not slept since the previous night. Abbot Yodfor and Morgan changed the bandages of the Gerechians as best they could, but they were not healers, just battlefield medics. I doubted they would all last the trip to Riverglenn.

We traveled through the untrailed forest into the early evening, avoiding the road so that we would not be so easily followed. The only occurrence of note was that we passed what looked remarkably like a menhir, similar to that of Lorcan the Druid. Wisely none of us made comment of it to the zealots.

We made a fireless camp by a creek and ate unpleasant rations in silence. Our tiredness had not improved either the Hydra’s or the Gerechians mood with one another.

Zhontell interrupted our thoughts. “I’ve seen this before. I’ve dreamt it.”

Not another dream! The last one almost ended in the elf running away in fear from a pile of rocks. Admittedly, there was something under them, but it was in no way going to harm us.

“This stream leads to a lake. At the edge of the lake is a boat. We must find the boat.” He continued.

Our questions would get no more from the stoic fey. In the end I think curiosity overrode our fatigue and doubt (perhaps it was that we wanted to finally prove Zhontell wrong) and we set off again into the night.

 

[Haraash Saan]

Another two hours following the stream and, much to my surprise, we found the lake. We would have made quicker time but we avoided using torches and the moon was clouded and provided little light for us to navigate by.

The lake was strangely still and there was an eerie feeling about the place. No frogs croaked and no fish splashed. It was as though nothing lived there.

We split up to skirt the banks and search for the fabled boat. Another hour and Zhontell was calling for us to join him. When I arrived I could see a dark shape in the water. He had indeed found the boat, but from the look of it, it had long ago sunk and was now partially submerged.

Zhontell waded into the freezing waters and secured some ropes to it. These in turn were tied to our horses. With significant effort, they slowly pulled the wreck from the mud in which it had been glued.

It was a longboat, perhaps big enough to hold thirty people. To me it looked more like a coastal vessel than a river boat, but the sea was a long way off. It was covered in thick, oozing mud and its figurehead had been broken off.

The figurehead was obviously important to Zhontell, for he immediately asked us to help him search for it, whilst he himself dove into the lake to scour its bottom.

We had no luck in the reeds and rushes on the banks, or even in the surrounding grasses. It was nigh on impossible to find anything in the dim light.

Moxadder stripped down and dove in to help Zhontell. For my part I conjured a magical light that I placed on a stone and threw it into the water so that the pair had some way to see what they searched for.

Almost immediately after the light had entered the water a carven figure of a winged woman broke the surface of the water. Following it came a gasping Zhontell. Once again the fey had found the missing piece to a puzzle only he understood.

Under torchlight Hrast quickly reattached it. He had some carpentry skill learnt in a former life. As soon as the figurehead was in place the boat began to change. The mud that filled its deck seemed to melt away and the paintwork that time had worn or flaked away slowly began to reappear. A pattern of bright green interlocked leaves soon decorated a bright white hull. The figurehead too had taken on a new guise. Its wings were now the browny-grey of an eagle. Its face was a healthy pink and the dress it wore had the same bright green of the pattern ringing the hull. Around its neck was a carved medallion, and on it was a symbol that we had seen before. It was a green circle with leaf like patterns protruding inward, just like one of the symbols in the Oracle’s cave.

No sooner had Hrast affixed the figurehead then the boat began to move of its own volition. Slowly at first, but then with increasing rapidity, it slid across the grass toward the lake.

Zhontell was quick to act. He jumped inside it as it passed him, falling clumsily onto the deck. He stood and threw his arms into the air and yelled an unrecognisable command. The boat responded and ground to a halt only a few feet before the waters edge.

“Quickly!” cried Zhontell urgently, “We must be away.”

Moxadder, Morgan and I exchanged glances and collectively sighed with resignation. Then, with our horses in tow, we boarded the unusual vessel.

The Crusader’s said nothing, looking uncomfortable as they too clambered aboard. I remarked to Yodfor about this and he replied, “We don’t like using heretic transport, but you are our prisoners and we’ll not let you escape.”

I chuckled at his persistent insistence that we were his prisoners. We all knew that we stayed for convenience and that if we chose to go our own way we would be victorious in the inevitable confrontation.

The long boat could not hold the deceased Gerechians horses, so they were set free to roam the forest, probably a lot happier too for not having to carry the armoured Gerechians.

At Zhontell’s command the boat slid gently into the lake and once more it began to increase in speed. It entered a small river that exited the lake and sped along as if acting on its own free will.

I took the opportunity to rest, and as my eyelids slowly closed I saw that the entire inside rail of our longboat was carved with simple animal shapes and symbols. My dreams were of the carved creatures acting as if they were alive and in their own habitat. Bears fished in rivers, eagles soared seeking rabbits and deer grazed on lush grass, oblivious to everything.

I slept well that night.

A movement woke me. The boat had bumped against a landing. I stood and saw a marvelous sight. As far as my gaze went to the north there was an ancient ruin. The remnants of stone buildings and pillars lay before me, crumbled through the millennia. Vibrant green creepers and vines clung to everything.

I alighted the boat with my companions. There was no doubt that this had been its destination. The river flowed no further, it turned quickly into a swampy marsh. Tussocks of reeds clumped together, islands of vegetation in the still waters.

We spent the rest of that day exploring the ruin. Zhontell confirmed that it was elfish in design and construction, but even he was in awe of its age.

After midday we had managed to arrive at the center of the city. A large tumbled down building, the biggest that still at least partially stood yielded only a little information as to who the inhabitants had been.

Morgan discovered a life sized statue that had toppled and was overgrown with grass. When he cleared it he discovered that it was another representation of the lady on the figurehead. It was carved predominantly from some semi-precious stone, but was way to heavy for us to lift and carry with us, much to Moxadder’s annoyance. We left her resting where she lay.

In the same area Morgan also found an emerald inlaid box. On its lid was the same religious symbol that had been displayed by the figurehead and the statue.

There were no obvious hinges or lock, yet it could not be opened. I then recalled that an obscure magic that I had learnt from one of the many magic books that we had found on our travels. I began the incantation as I stretched my fingers out and then, above the box, made a circular pattern in the air with my hand. Finally I delivered the last verse of the spell, and rapped the lid once with my knuckle.

There was a scraping noise and the lid lifted from the box. We crowded around to see what treasure awaited us. It was neither gold nor jewels, it was simple a white powder.

Quick as a serpent Moxadder struck. In one smooth motion, learnt from years of practice, he grabbed a pinch of dust and snorted it.

His eyelids drooped and a silly smile crept onto his face before he dropped to his knees and then planted his face into the moss at his feet.

Morgan reassured us that he was alive, but then startled us by saying that he was very much asleep. He gave a sharp kick to Moxadder’s ribs and with a groan the Irudesian woke. “What’dayoudo dat for?” he asked, “Dat stuff is fantastic!” he added as he groped for the box.

I swiftly pulled it away. “Sorry Moxadder. Until we know more about this I do not think we should be sampling it carelessly.” And, much to his dismay, I pushed the lid back on the box.

We continued our exploration through to the other side of the city and other than finding a few places were we found carved animals, just like those in the boat, the only other thing of interest was a medallion of the green circle. It was soon discovered that it acted as a key to the box. When it was pressed into the corresponding symbol on the lid of the box, the lid was able to be eased off. Unfortunately a slip of the tongue alerted Moxadder to the news and, knowing his drug appreciating ways, we were very mindful of his proximity to the box.

That night, wishing to discover more about the mysterious powder, and after ignoring Moxadder’s pleas to be the test subject, we agreed that Zhontell could inhale a dose.

He lay down and placed the powder on his tongue. In an instant he was sleeping soundly. We all followed his cue and also sought sleep, although the more natural kind.

The next morning Zhontell still had not woken and I decided to further our experiment. We tied him to his horse, just as Moxadder had been when he had been unconscious, careful not to wake him, and then mounted our own horses and set of into the forest, leaving the magnificent ruin behind us.

That day and following night passed without incident, and still Zhontell slept.

In the morning I begrudgingly allowed Zhontell to be woken. I was none to pleased, firstly because I preferred the Fey’s company when he was asleep, and secondly because the experiment had not been concluded. He had displayed no adverse effects to the enforced and extended sleep, but neither had he woken of his own accord. I could only conclude that the sleeping dust put anyone that inhaled or ingested it into a deep sleep that could only be woke by a solid impact. It was Morgan that delivered the required impact, a boot to elf’s ribs.