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

[Haraash Saan]

None too pleased at being woken to pain, nor having been left to sleep for more than the initial night Zhontell saw fit to take his annoyance out on one of the ill Gerechians.

The condition of the four seriously injured knights had not improved over the last couple of days, in fact two of them had declined and were near death.

Unwittingly it was upon one of these that Zhontell chose to release his anger. He walked up to the sick and still sleeping man and gave him a sharp boot to the ribs. Wishing to cause the same distress he had felt to another. Why he chose to do this to a wounded man is beyond me.

The Gerechian spasmed sharply and then with a shudder moved no more. Zhontell had killed his man.

Abbott Yodfor leapt to his feet. “What do you mean by kicking my man?” he said, not realizing that the blow had delivered his comrades death.

Zhontell was also unaware of the results of his action and responded lamely, “I was just waking him. It’s time to move on.”

Yodfor looked at the man. His eyes widened and his top lip curled into a snarl as he realized what Zhontell had done. “You have murdered him.” He hissed.

Now Zhontell looked again at the man he had killed and saw that what Yodfor had said was true, “He was going to be dead soon anyway, It is no loss.” said the elf with callous stupidity.

The muscles in the Abbott’s thick neck tensed and a vein on his forehead raised to bursting point as rage built within him. He slowly walked to his horse and drew the mighty silver axe from its loop on the saddle and held it in both hands before him. There was no doubt as to his intent.

He addressed the rest of the Hydra in cool a measured tone, “Who of you wish to side with this murderous creature? Who of you is neutral? And who of you will stand with me and justice?”

Morgan was the first to reply, “He is stupid and careless, but I cannot allow you to slay my comrade.” He said bravely.

Moxadder chose to fill the silence next, “Per’aps if ‘e was to atone? Do some great deed in the name of Gerech?”

The Abbott stroked his chin in thought, “Will you commit yourself to a life of crusading with Gerech against the Dominion and Geduld?”

A contemptuous snort from Zhontell provided his answer.

Moxadder sighed, “I don’t want to, but as he,” he inclined his head to Morgan, “said. I’ll stand by a fellow ‘ydra.”

To fight would most likely mean victory for us, it would be four against two and both of them were injured, but it did not sit well with me. Whilst I did not like Gerechians, at least they acted against a common foe.

Seeing my doubt Yodfor said, “What would you do to me if I murdered one of your companions?”

It was a good question, and one I answered truthfully. “Kill you.”

“So whom will you side with?” he continued.

“Surely in this case violence is unnecessary. “ I said in a careful and considered tone. “Zhontell has made a dreadful mistake, but it was in no way his intent to kill your man. Can you not see that Zhontell is a warrior against the Dominion and Geduld and has countless times fought them. He is a tool in your war, even if not with your reasons. He, like us seek to remove their foul evil from the world.” I said.

“No I don’t.” interrupted Zhontell. “It is in no way my wish to exterminate the followers of a God.”

“What?” I spat. This was news to me. Through all our of our squabbling and individuality I had thought that the one consistent thing that gelled us together was our common hatred of the Dominion and Geduld. I was evidently incorrect.

“How can you say that?” I continued, feeling my own rage growing. How stupid was the elf? Not only had he outright rejected two possible ways to save his life from a religious zealot hell-bent on justifiable revenge, but now he spurned the very comrades who had chosen to stand with him.

“It is simple. I will not exterminate the Dominion or Geduld.” He said.

It was too much for Moxadder. He stepped back and raised his palms, “’e’s all yours Abbot. ‘e’ll not ever get my aid.”

Morgan sighed and shook his head, “After all that I have seen I could not now with a clear heart stand with you.” And he took step back to stand beside Moxadder.

The followers of Geduld have dogged us in all of our travels. They attempted to murder my King and myself in Halfast. They attacked those that I safeguarded in Montfort and sought to disrupt trade along my river. They successfully assassinated my King on their second attempt and now they had infiltrated my country with their troops. How could I stand by this Fey?

“I will not and cannot travel with you any longer. You spurn my beliefs and what we as a group are fighting for. You are no longer our comrade or a Hydra and I will in no way assist you.” I said before turning to Abbot Yodfor and saying, “Do what you will. My companions and I will not stand in your way.”

Throughout my impassioned speech Zhontell remain impassive. Bravely, and with more stupidity, he stood before Yodfor and said, “I’ll not fight you. This was an accident. I meant no harm.”

“Too late now. You have made your bed, time for me to make you lie in it.” He responded as he strode forward.

There was a blur of silver and Zhontell was knocked off balance. He righted himself and placed his fingers on the deep wound on his shoulder. ‘you cannot make me fight you.” said Zhontell contemptuously before he turned and fled into the forest.

“You cannot flee from your fate, may you die the coward’s death!” cried Yodfor.

My heart was momentarily heavy with darkness, such was the power of the curse that the Abbot invoked.

We never did get to find out what happened with Zhontell’s dreams when he was under the influence of the sleeping powder.

A strange uneasy wariness fell over the camp as we ate our morning meal and prepared for the day’s journey. No-one wished to discuss Zhontell’s hastened departure.

For me there was not much more to add, I had said my piece to Zhontell, and whilst I wished him no particular harm, he was now no longer a concern of mine. He had made his own choices and would live, or die, by them. However, I felt that his choices somehow had betrayed what the Hydra had come to stand for.

Throughout our many adventures we had developed a common goal. We were now single-mindedly unified against the Dominion and their god, Geduld. Zhontell’s contrary position had further clarified this for me and for my comrades. That day we stood united, closer than we had ever before.

 

[Quartz]

Ooh! I presume this was Zhontell's player leaving the campaign?

 

[Haraash Saan]

Ooh! I presume this was Zhontell's player leaving the campaign?

Actually no, that wasn't the intention. At the time the other players and GM thought that it was some very odd behavior from Zhontell's player. It was very much roleplayed as I've written it.

However, it did turn out to be that player's last session as they opted not to create a new character.

As an aside, my personal rules for writing the story were based on making it as accurate as I could (within the constraints of Gerard's view of the world) to what actually happened.

 

[Haraash Saan]

Chapter 15 – Libraries, a place for quiet contemplation

As we broke camp and saddled the horses Morgan cried out in surprise, “Someone’s approaching!”

Following his outstretched arm I saw a burly man casually step into the clearing. His long vest of strange interlinked mail clinked against his powerful thighs as he strolled forward. He wore two sheathed swords on his belt and even though his arms swayed with each step his hands were never far from their hilts.

My own blade was out of its scabbard in an instant. Moxadder already held two daggers and Morgan had knocked and arrow to his bowstring. Stravarious just sneered.

“Hail Hydra!” spoke the stranger.

His familiarity did nothing to ease my mind. I tightened my grip on my sword as I replied, “Indeed you do hail the Hydra. Who are you and what is it that you want?”

“I am Kir and I bring word from Baron Yorath. He has not heard from you in many months and wishes to know of your intended actions,” he replied. “But of more immediate concern are the Barrow Dwellers that track you.”

“Track us?” spat Moxadder “They’ll not be following our trail.” He assured us that he had cleared the trail and that the warriors of the Dominion from Artyom Seth’s temple would not be able to follow us.

“I’ll grant you were clever, but your attempts did not stop those that are coming. There are at least five not more than an hour from here.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ” You can’t defeat them, not in the open, so we must run. Todesmagie’s Tower is no more than two days away. We may yet make it.”

My intuition told me that Kir spoke the truth, and I saw no harm in moving out, especially as we were practically ready to ride in any case.

Moxadder must have felt the same, for he looked at me and said, “I’ll look into it. You lot ride out and I’ll catch up.”

I agreed. There was no need to take unnecessary risks. I did not quite trust Kir, but I was sure that we were more than his match if it came to that.

Kir mounted Zhontell’s horse, Morgan led Moxadder’s and we rode out in the rough direction Moxadder, indicated.

The Gerechians led the way followed by Kir with the remnants of the Hydra trailing. Morgan whispered to Strav and I that he had seen Kir before, in the gladiatorial pits of Morannin. He was the apprentice to Riork, the famous gladiator whose bronze statue graced the arena in Halfast. If it were true, he may well be more formidable than I first imagined.

Light drizzle began to fall, only making us more uncomfortable and edgy. First there was the incident with Zhontell and now the appearance of Kir and his knowledge of the Baron and also warnings of foes previously unknown.

Two hours passed before Moxadder returned. “He’s right.” He said inclining his head to Kir, “There were a dozen cat like things. Each had two tails but stranger than that was that they walked on two legs. With them were five hooded men. I reckon it’s time to move on a bit faster.”

I saw Stravarious’s eyes widen at the word “Cat”. He would have to be kept in check. I still did not understand his hatred of the animals.

On Moxadder’s advice we pushed the horses into a trot and continued our journey from the hazy rain.

As we rode Kir told us a little of his tale. Like us the Baron was also his employer. He too was part of a gladiatorial company, Stilleta. We queried him on this and he explained that it was the Baron’s first company. They had been asked by Yorath to retrieve a parchment from a ruined manor in the heart of the Dominion lands. However they were discovered and were forced to flee. Only he had survived. From that point he had been operating in the Fastness with instructions from the Baron, via Lady Timandra. She had been in Morannin when she had instructed him to come and find us.

It was an interesting story. That, and his dagger that bore the spear motif of Yorath, eased our minds a little of most doubts we had of Kir, but not enough to be entirely trusting.

Later than morning we heard a strange shriek in the distance. I turned cautiously trying to place the direction it had come from. Lightning flashed several miles behind us. That was not a good omen.

The rain steadied and we heard no more from our pursuers that day. We decided to make a short camp to tend the wounded Gerechians and rest the horses.

Once again Moxadder volunteered to see if he could find any trace of our foes.

I found some shelter under a tree, and it was a small relief from the constant rain. Even if we had dared we could not have lit a fire. So instead we sat and shivered.

I had the unsettling feeling that I was being watched, but every time I turned I could see nothing but brush swaying in the breeze.

“What the?” began Morgan.

“What?” I said as I faced him.

“On Thuus’s sword I swear that there was a floating eye watching us!” he vehemently replied.

An eye? Floating? Surely he had been seeing things in the rain and encroaching darkness. However, I said nothing. This was not the time to cause internal strife.

Half way into our break Moxadder ran into the camp, mud splashing from every heavy footfall. “Mount up! They’re only minutes behind me and they’ve got wizards!”

That explained the eye Morgan had seen. I mouthed a prayer of courage to Thuus as I ran to my horse and swung into the saddle.

Yodfor looked grim. He drew retrieved his axe and quickly ended the lives of the three Gerechians that had to be tied to their horses. “They’ll slow us up, and now at least they can’t be taken by Geduld.” He said matter of factly.

Night fell quickly. The rain became heavier again and thunder boomed ominously.

Cries of “Eye!” came often, although I never saw one.

We rode slower than I would have liked, for the horses were exhausted and even then they often stumbled over unseen roots. At least our pursuers had the same conditions to conquer and would be making little if any ground on us.

A fork of lightening jagged across the sky as we crested a hill. Behind us more than a dozen figures trudged perhaps a mile away. I was wrong, they were gaining on us!

Mental and physical fatigue set in sometime well after midnight. In my minds eye I saw the laughing faces of cats mocking me from the trees and dismembered eyeballs dancing just out of my rapiers reach.

“Ride now! As hard as you can!” Kir’s cry cleared my delirium. The darkness and dissolved into a grey gloom. The rain still fell but it was morning.

Kir spurred his horse forward. The others followed. With a glance behind me I saw the catlike creatures running from the cover of the woods that we had just left. Cowled men followed in their wake.

My horse, sensing the urgency reared up on its hind legs, flailing its forelegs into the sky, before launching into a fast gallop. I did all I could to hold on, for I was no longer in control of the beast. Fear was its master.

All I could see was my companions riding to what we hoped would be our salvation, the Tower.of Todesmagie. It loomed up in front of us, a beacon of light in the grey.

 

[Haraash Saan]

With another glance over my shoulder I saw that we had put some distance between the creatures of the Dominion. They themselves had given up the immediate chase and now walked, following us intently. Loping behind them was a huge figure that I had not seen before. It was at least one and half times the height of a normal man and perhaps twice as broad.

I finally managed to end the fight for control of my mount just as we approached the wide staircase that led to the only door. We dismounted and led the exhausted animals up to the large entrance.

Morgan pounded upon the thick oak, “Let us in! The forces of the Dominion approach!”

Half a minute elapsed with no response, so once again he hammered the door.

This time we heard the sound of sandals slapping on cobbles approach the door. A bolt clanked and two eyes peered at us from a peephole in the door.

“What is all this commotion?” queried a nasal voice.

“Good man, “ I began rapidly, interrupting Morgan before he could speak, “We are travelers that seek the knowledge of Todesmagie. And we seek entry to your Tower.”

“Hmm, I’ll have to check with Lord Steven.” He replied and his eyes disappeared from the slot.

I thrust my left hand into it just as he tried to slam the bolt home. I mentally praised Mortec’s handiwork as I continued, “Friend, we need to come in now.” I said with finality. “Just open the door. I am sure Lord Steven would not be unimpressed with our own information.”

“Umm,” he replied with uncertainty, “What information do you have?”

Morgan lost his patience. “Open the damn door! The forces of the Dominion are about to attack your tower!”

The Fastendian’s outburst shocked the man into action. He quickly raised the bar and urged us to come in before dropping it once more into place.

We were safe, at least for the moment. We were led down a covered causeway to a court yard within the tower. There was only one door in the courtyard and to one side was a small stable. Hrast took the horses there.

Our guide, a short thin man wearing robes and a talisman of Todesmagie around his neck, told us to wait there whilst he delivered our information to Lord Steven.

He quickly exited through the door. I heard a bar fall into place against it. We would not be able to easily follow him had that been our intention.

A few moments later we heard him call down to us, for he appeared in a window above the door through which he had gone. “Lord Steven says that Todesmagie will provide a solution.” And then he popped out of sight before we could hurl abuse at him.

Todesmagie will provide a solution! Thank you so much for your help oh mighty lord of knowledge.

There was a heavy thud against the main door. The Dominion had arrived.

We assembled ourselves as best we could with Kir, Yodfor and his only remaining companion, in the front rank. Moxadder, Stravarious and I made the next rank. Morgan stood off to one side. We all had our crossbows or bows loaded or knocked.

Several more thuds before an almighty crash. They were through.

Arrows and bolts flew down into the causeway. Screams of pain confirmed that at least a few of the missiles had found targets. Then with a rush the cats met the front line.

Yodfor fell instantly, and Strav capitalized on his demise. With a word a glowing curved sword appeared in his hand. He cocked his arm over his shoulder and with a blood curdling laugh threw it with all his might.

End over end the blade spun ploughing through the cat creatures before burying itself in the last one in the column. All that it struck yowled with pain. Whilst his magic took none down it certainly hurt at least half a dozen.

I leapt into the breech made by the fallen Gerechian and slashed wildly with my sword.

I drove home a sure strike. Inexplicably I missed my mark. Then I realized that the creature was shimmering, like the reflected heat on a hot summer’s day, making it nigh on impossible to focus on. It had no such trouble and it struck at me with its clawed hands and its tails. A tail hit me solidly numbing my sword arm.

Morgan cried out “Defend the Tower!” but his command was punctuated with a loud crack. The scepter of Artyom Seth was no longer and his command fell on deaf ears.

Kir threw a handful of dust onto his foe, and it was suddenly very visible, no longer shimmering like the one I faced. That was all Kir needed to cut it down.

As we fought these strange creatures I became aware of a low chant from the robed figures that was becoming louder. “Geduld acra nema.” Repeated over and over again.

I gasped as I saw ghostly dismembered hands appear in front of the chanters. Slowly they began to float forward as if their fingers dragged them through the air.

Kir let loose with a panicked swipe at one that hovered into range, but it missed wide of the mark. Suddenly the hand sprung forward digging into his breast.

Kir dropped one of his swords and clawed at his chest where the hand had struck. His feline adversary capitalized on his pain and lashed him with each tail. The Gerechian beside me slumped to the ground. From beside Kir, Moxadder also cried out in agony, another ghostly hand had found a victim.

I was instantly aware of yet another dismembered claw that floated inches from my chest. Before I could react it struck me. In a horrifying moment there was a wave of cold that passed through my body. I shuddered as I felt weakened and staggered against the causeway wall, managing limply to defend myself.

Moxadder was ashen. He had experienced the same mortifying chill as I had. Kir fared no better. He had also suffered several vicious wounds from the cat creatures that faced him. With Morgan no longer able to call on Artyom Seth’s scepter to enable him to command our foes our situation was desperately bleak.

The feeling of cold left me but the weakness had not. I could barely lift my blade. I was desperate. I lunged with all my might at my adversary but, as it had before, it disappeared and I missed, the thin steel of my blade snapped as it struck the stone floor. Laster had deserted me once more, or perhaps he enjoyed tormenting me.

Enraged I whipped out my spare sword, I now carried two blades for just this occasion, and once more launched myself at the servant of the Dominion.

Luckily I managed to land a few telling strikes by swinging full slashes rather than precise thrusts, that overcame the cat’s disorienting appearance, but it was Kir who felled him. He stepped over the corpse and strode forward. Was he mad? But then I saw his reason. There were already several of the beasts lying dead in the corridor. He wished to take the battle to them.

Sensing that the fight had turned to the favour of the defenders, the hulking man that waited behind his minions, grunted a single command, “Withdraw!”

And they did. They fled from the Tower. There was no way we could pursue them, for after a day a night in the saddle and now having fought for our very lives we had not the energy.

Behind us someone clapped. “Well done,” said Lord Steven. “Todesmagie has provided a solution”. He added smugly.

“Indeed he did,” rasped an old man that stood at Lord Steven’s shoulder. It was Ruftameon, the sage that we had met long ago in Baron Yorath’s library and to whom we returned a book.

I began to voice a thousand questions but Lord Steven only smirked in amusement. “There is time for questions later. Now you all should sleep.”

It was then that I realized that I was thoroughly exhausted. It had been days since I had slept and finally, with the excitement of our escape no longer fueling me, fatigue set in.

 

[Haraash Saan]

************************

Sunlight streamed into the sparse room that I had been shown to the evening before. A dreamless night had refreshed me and left me feeling better than I had done since before the assassination of the King.

By the time I found my companions in a large library, they had already breakfasted. Even Yodfor and his companion were there, looking a lot perkier than when I had last seen them being dragged into the tower by Morgan and the thin man that had allowed us entry into it.

We were left to our own devices until after luncheon when Lord Steven joined us.

“Lord Steven, thank you so much for your kind hospitality.” I said

“Weary travelers deserve respite,” he replied graciously, “whoever they may be. Todesmagie will not judge you.”

He paused, looking at me intently whilst stroking his short, trimmed black beard and saying, “But come now, I am told that you have knowledge that you wish to share.”

And so it was that I told him of the death of the King, our encounter with the agents of Dominion in the Gerechian temple, the ruins of Green Lady’s city and our most recent flight from the cat-like creatures and their masters.

If I had told Lord Steven anything that he did not already know I could not tell, for he raised not even so much as an eyebrow at my tale. Ruftameon, who had come into the room halfway through my discourse nodded occasionally, as if I was confirming something he suspected.

We spoke long into the afternoon, answering questions and asking our own in turn.

By now, the sun had slunk behind a low cloud in the west and the sky began its beautiful metamorphosis from blue through orange and dusky pink and finally into darkness.

A pounding on the bolted doorway below roused us from our intriguing conversation. The skinny man scampered off to fulfill his welcoming duties. Soon after, he re-entered the room and bowed low to Lord Steven, “A Mkilejthe to see you my lord.”

As his name was mentioned the enormous man that had led his beasts and wizards against stepped into the room. He was so tall that he had to duck to squeeze through the doorway, and so broad that he his shoulders brushed its frame.

In an instant a rapier flashed into my hand. Likewise my comrades sought their preferred arms.

“Gentlemen!” called Lord Steven loudly. “None shall harm my guests in MY house.” As he spoke he glared at each of us in turn. His gaze lingering longest on the hulking most recent arrival.

Mkilejthe the Fleshgolem, General of the Dominion, earlier in the day we had learnt our adversary’s full name, stood at least ten feet tall and wore a massive robe, secured with a rope. Its sleeves were so long that they concealed his hands and its cowl completely hid his face.

“What is it that I can do for you Mkilejthe?” Lord Steven asked, his voice now perfectly calm and hospitable.

“Turn them over to me.” Rumbled a reply that sounded as though the very earth had gnashed boulders together.

“I cannot force my guests to leave.” Countered Lord Steven, much to our relief.

“If they are not given to us by tomorrow evening, we will come and raze your tower” stated the Dominion general. “The choice is yours.”

With that he turned and descended the staircase.

Mkilethje’s request had left us stunned. It was a demand that would fall on deaf ears. It was preposterous that these men of knowledge would even consider giving in to the Fleshgolems’s command.

Lord Steven broke the silence, “I‘m sorry my friends. I will not risk the knowledge housed in this tower.”

I felt my jaw drop. I must have looked like a fool. Had I heard him correctly?

“You must leave here before dusk on the morrow.” Continued Lord Steven.

We were dumbstruck by his decision. Moxadder stalked from the room, no doubt to seek solace from some herbal remedy. Stravarious sat silently, his mask hiding any sign of emotion.

Morgan leapt up in a rage, fists clenched so tightly that they shook. “Throw us to the wolves will you?” he spat.

“We have no allies and seek no enemies. We only seek knowledge. “said Lord Steven calmly. “It is unfortunate that this has come to pass, but as I said before, I will not risk losing the knowledge we have acquired here.”

He would be drawn no further into discussion, and eventually he raised his palms and bid us good night.

Yodfor sat sharpening his sword with a whetstone unperplexed by Lord Steven’s declaration.

As I watched the head librarian exit the room I noticed that as he passed a shelf a book fell with dull thud to the floor. Lord Steven seemed not to have noticed and left the library.

I picked the book up and brushed off its cover with a kerchief. Embossed in gold on the ancient brown leather were the words ‘The Battle Circles of Thuus’. I idly turned to a page and read it.

‘Once activated the Battle Circle cannot be breached until the contest has a victor.’

Intrigued I read on. The Battle Circles of Thuus were used in ancient tournaments or to settle disputes. Consecrated by the priests of Thuus, the circle was laid out with ten standing stones. At the commencement of combat the circle would be activated by a Thuusian chant.

After the battle had commenced the circle would prevent most deceptions and death magics from profaning the sanctity of the combat. I prayed to Thuus that my interpretation of this was correct and that the Beasts of Zzart, as Lord Steven called the cat creatures, would no longer have their peculiar ability to seem to be in a place that they were not.

Most importantly there was a chapter on the locations of the ancient Battle Circles of Thuus and there was one somewhere very near the tower.

I called the others, all expect Moxadder, who was too addled to be of any use, and explained what I had learnt. In Moxadder’s absence Stravarious volunteered to find the stones of the circle outside the tower.

“I have some magics that will ensure that I am not discovered.” He said confidently as he strode from the room.

At one stage whilst awaiting his return we heard the screams of the cat-like creatures. It was not really that surprising, Stravarious had not doubt taken the opportunity to indulge his hatred of felines yet again..

A few hours later he returned and proclaimed that he had found all of the stones and uncovered them from the overgrowth that had hidden them.

There was nothing more that we could do, so we each headed to our beds and restless sleep.

************************

 

[Haraash Saan]

We stood within the perimeter of the battle circle. Morgan had strung his bow and absently strummed its string, all the while staring coldly at the trees in the distance that sheltered our adversaries. Stravarious casually sat upon a near by standing stone that marked the border of the circle, his great crossbow loaded and resting on his lap.

Moxadder, hopped from one leg to another and clapped his hand across his chest and arms in an effort to fight the autumn chill.

My rapier was in my gloved hand. I swished it twice in impatience. When would they come?

And then, as if my thought had prompted them, they came.

They approached in a rough line. The remaining Beasts of Zzart in the center and the wizards on either flank. Mkilethje, like most generals, led from the rear.

They strode forward in calm and measured steps. They sensed victory, and why should they not? They more than doubled our number.

Unwittingly they entered the circle. I voiced a quick prayer to Laster and begged for some luck before joining Morgan, Moxadder and Stravarious in the Thuusian chant that we had learnt the previous evening.

“We the brave stand before you mighty Thuus.” Our chant began.

“We call upon you to bless this Circle. Those with courage shall be victorious.”

A loud snort on the northern edge of the circle caused me to look up. A fine black charger with a white flash upon its nose galloped within the standing stones. The steed looked remarkably familiar. Its rider wore strange armour of gnarled wood and guided the horse toward us.

“Those without shall perish.” We called in finality.

Was the new arrival friend or foe? I shifted my stance so that if need be I could more easily react to any malicious actions.

A sudden gust of wind rushed through the circle, sending my broad brimmed hat sailing off my head and tumbling through the grass, and the standing stones each radiated an unearthly blue light. The Battle Circle of Thuus was sealed.

The minions of Mkilethje were momentarily confused. One of the mages regretted it. He was peppered by two of Morgan’s arrows in rapid succession, the bolt of Stravarious and another pair of arrows from Moxadder. The battle had commenced.

I leapt forward to meet one of Zzart’s creations. Quick as lightening I pierced it twice. As I suspected its unnatural abilities did not confound us within the Battle Circle. I skipped nimbly away as it clumsily waved a paw at me. It earned two thrusts for its trouble, the final one skewering its throat.

“What sort of strife are we in now?” called the rider. The familiar voice revealed him to be none other than Argonne!

At the other end of the circle Mkilethje’s conjurors were bewildered as to why the magics they attempted failed. I could see them mouthing incantations and weaving complex gestures with their fingers but nothing seemed to happen. Nothing, that is, until a huge flame erupted from the earth beneath one and enveloped him. He let loose a chilling cry of agony before his charred body slumped forward still smoking. It seemed Argonne had no issue calling forth Foeld’s power.

Finally the Dominion’s wizards found something that they could do. Coloured glowing orbs appeared in their hands. These they launched at Argonne, who they realized and been the perpetrator of their comrades demise.

An arrow, closely followed by another, whooshed passed my ear. A cat screamed as the two shafts from Morgan’s bow thudded into it in mid pounce. I dove to my left, landing gently on my shoulder and immediately rolled into a fighting stance. There was no need, however, Morgan’s arrows had struck true and the creature lay dead.

In thanks I pretended to doff a hat, I had not yet reclaimed mine, but saw Morgan struck by a strange orb of power, staggering him. His bow slipped from his fingers. Two cats bounded forward on seeing his predicament. They leapt high and pounded into his chest spending him sprawling. He forlornly tried to throw one of the beasts of him, but it was no use, they tore him to shreds with claw and fang. There was a sudden movement in my periphery. I twisted aside as a claw lashed out at me. My thoughts of Morgan disappeared as I fought for my own life.

Their numbers dwindled rapidly as the Hyrda’s collective fury at losing Morgan was unleashed. Soon only Mkilethje stood before us.

I gasped for breath. My left side ached, a wizard had blindsided me with an energy orb that had knocked me from my feet.

The point of my sword probed forward, seeking for an opening in Mkilethje’s defense. His underlings lay strewn about the battle field whilst the those of the Hydra still standing encircled the General.

My remaining comrades had fared no better than I, each of them bore a variety of wounds, all except Argonne that is. Perhaps it was his armour, or perhaps he had hung back and called upon his earth magics to aid us and hence steered clear of confrontation, I do not know.

Mkilethje looked worse than all of us. He had been struck by steel and magic time and time again. Our blades had bitten deep but it he seemed impervious to their effect. Moxadder, Kuruul and I provided a feeble frontline to distract him from the more effective magic of Stravarious and Argonne. So far we had succeeded and they had worn him down considerably. His skin was blistered from a constant barrage of flame conjured by Argonne and Stravarious continued to siphon his strength.

The General’s huge club thumped into the space I had recently occupied. If the Dark Elf and the Woodsman could not bring him down soon I would be too fatigue to dodge another thundering swing.

Another assault by Argonne and Stravarious saw the giant stagger. I considered calling on him to yield, but thought better of it. He had provided us with no options, and in the end he was our most hated foe, a servant of the Dominion. He deserved no mercy.

His massive club swung up, preparing to unleash an almighty blow. It was the opportunity that we had waited for. Moxadder leapt at the Fleshgolem’s back and buried a dagger from each hand into it. Yodfor hacked at his stomach and I managed to drive my blade into his flank.

But it was a green ray the burst from Stravarious’s gloved palm that knocked the General down. With a muted groan Mkilethje shivered, dropped his club, and fell to his knees, all strength sapped from him, before finally toppling forward and kissing the bloodied dirt.

There was a crack of thunder overhead. The standing stones briefly flared into incandescence before disappearing altogether. We were victorious, but at a dreadful cost.

 

[Haraash Saan]

What was left of Morgan lay beside his broken bow, trampled in the battle. His chest did not move and his face was drained of colour. Argonne, who had been first to arrive, knelt above him muttering a strange incantation.

We stood beside our fallen comrade each left with our own thoughts. He had been brave and loyal. I could not have asked more from him. Even this day he had saved my life with his quick hand and uncanny eye. He was a stout companion and one that I would miss.

“Stop moping!” commanded Argonne, “He is only recently dead, I can feel that his soul clings to the world to which he was born. If you leave me be I may be able to call him back.”

Only after Argonne confirmed that, Foeld willing, he could revive Morgan, did I manage to mouth silent prayers. First to Laster for the luck he granted me and also because he saw fit not to cause my blade to break as they had on so many occasions in recent times. Then to Thuus for granting us the courage we needed to succeed. And finally to the earth spirit to give Argonne the power he needed to bring back our friend.

While Argonne tended Morgan, Moxadder scoured the field for the spoils of battle. He found a rapier of unusual quality that he gave to me. “Should replace your broken pin-pricker.”

It was made of a strange black stone that Lord Steven told me was virtually unbreakable. It was indeed the perfect weapon for me, although something told me that if it could be broken I would unfortunately find a way. Carved into the blade was the word ‘Switch’. The swords pommel was a silver skull that I sensed radiated magic.

Later, after consultation with his books, Lord Steven told me that the black blade was an ancient artifact that granted the power to absorb the magical properties of another sword, hence it’s name.

At Lord Steven’s suggestion a mass grave was dug. “I will consecrate the ground and ensure that they’ll not rise again to cause more anguish.” He said.

It seemed to me that he was suddenly taking an interest. He revealed the Mkilejthe was not in fact dead, but temporarily unconscious. However, instead of removing his head and burning the body as Stravarious volunteered to do, Lord Steven proposed that the Fleshgolem could be pressed into his service.

“If you allow me I can use Mkilejthe. I have a large library and an enormous amount of work to do. I am quite sure that he would make a fine assistant.” He proclaimed.

When questioned how he would be able to control the General, he smiled and from within his robes he produced a simple leather collar. Seeing our skepticism he said with a grin, “Please, do not be concerned. I have been saving this item for just such a special case. It will allow me complete control over him.”

We conceded to his request, as it was a much simpler proposition. In return for our gift of the General, Lord Steven informed us that if we skinned the Beasts of Zzart that we could get their pelts tanned and made into cloaks that would provide their wearer with similar disorienting abilities as the cats had themselves. Moxadder went to work skinning the strange animals, for other than Argonne he was the only one with the skill for such a task.

The afternoon progressed and storm clouds thickened in west. They rolled in over the mountains. Thunder rumbled, lightning cracked and then the rain poured.

All bar Argonne sought the refuge of the Tower but he still crouched in fervent prayer to the earth spirit Foeld. His fingers began to trace patterns in the mud, patterns that were almost instantaneously covered again by the thick ooze that the battle circle was becoming. He continued unperturbed.

As the storm reached its peak the woodsman threw his arms, outstretched into the sky. “FOELD! REBIRTH HIM!” he screamed, ending the ritual that had taken the best part of the day.

As if in reply the sky roared and in a blaze of light a bolt of electricity cut through the air and struck the earth that Argonne had been working. He was thrown back, arms flailing before his body struck the mud some fifteen feet from where he had worked his rite.

The mud boiled and steam spewed forth and suddenly, from the point of the lightning strike, a child’s hand burst from the earth. Argonne was instantly back on his feet, showing no ill effects. He grasped the wrist, it’s hand in turn locked onto his wrist and with a mighty haul he dragged out a child from the earth.

Hands on knees it began coughing dirt and filth from its mouth. The rain began washing away the mud from its naked body and it began to examine itself. Looking first and its hands and feet and then finally noting that Argonne towered at least two feet above it. It began to cry, sobbing uncontrollably.

Argonne scooped it up, hugging it to his strange armour and sheltering it in his cloak, then ran to the tower.

I had been wrong. This was no child of man, it was one of the little people, a Halfling. They were a strange race that looked more like elf children than men. Slight of build and with slightly elongated features, they were noted in the Fastness for their nimble fingers and their keen eyes. Small colonies existed there and they fought the Dominion with as much passion as the men of that realm. Acting as scouts and hunters they had a reputation as being formidable foes.

“Foeld granted us our wish. He has returned Morgan.” Announced Argonne.

Morgan? Surely it could not be, but it was. The brave Fastendian had been reborn in the form that Foeld had thought was most appropriate, that of a Halfling.

Whilst we were initially startled by the returned Morgan, we were also overjoyed. However it was him that I feared for.

I had no cause for concern for he was of staunch stock. His family had stood the walls of Avinal for generations. He was determined to adapt and learn what this body could enable him to do.

 

[Haraash Saan]

The following day we rode to Riverglenn to restock and supply before continuing our long journey to Morannin.

It was during that ride that we could finally question Argonne as to where he had been since mysteriously flying away from the temple of Hutenkama. He revealed little, however, saying that he had needed to refresh himself and immerse himself in Foeld.

The Gerechian crusaders, a little more rejuvenated after a days rest, accompanied us, determined to present us to their masters for judgment of our heresies in the temple of Artyom Seth.

It annoyed us somewhat to appear to be in their power, prisoners as such, but we had decided the previous evening that it would be easier this way. We did not desire to be persecuted by the Gerechians. They might be extremists and very much insane, but they were renowned fighters and could very well be a valuable tool in our fight against the Dominion. So we bit our collective tongues and allowed Yodfor to take us to the temple of his master.

The grandiose twin cities of Riverglenn were split by the mighty Anderrin river which blasts through a jagged spire of rock some hundred feet into the air before crashing back down and flowing on once more, weaving its way intothe country side. This spectacular natural wonder greeted us as we made our way into the city. On the eastern side of the great river the tall, beautiful spires of the Elven Lords, last bastion of their race. It overlooked the structured and regimented city of men, the most militant in Guerney.

We spent most of the day passing through the outer edges of the city of men. It was huge. Housing a population larger even than that of Guerney City, it seemed to sprawl endlessly. Eventually we arrived at the temple of Arkadiy Seth, the center of Gerechian faith since the fall of the Connvocation. Imposing statue-like men stood blocking its entrance. Their polished breastplates emblazoned with Gerech’s symbol, twelve straight arrows radiating from a single hub.

At the sight of Yodfor they lowered their swords and stepped aside without a word. Yodfor guided us through torch lit corridors to a large stark chamber where more guards stood stony-faced. Upon a single throne of ancient timber sat a man in simple white robes.

Yodfor did not break stride, nor succumb to any sense of ceremony. He walked right to the foot of the throne and said, “My lord Eamos. I present Sir Gerard d’Montfort, Moxadder, Stravarious and,” he paused for the first time betraying some uncertainty, “Morgan the Halfling.”

We each acknowledged our names as they were called out. Argonne, who had not entered the Aryom Seth’s temple, stood silently behind us.

Yodfor continued, “These five are charged with sacrilegiously entering the temple of the great Seth Artyom.”

“A most serious charge.” Said Eamos in a soft and genteel voice. “What say you?”

“Lord Eamos,” began Morgan, “We entered the temple to purge it of the evils that we had heard had taken it over.”

“And why would you, a heretic, care for the well being of one of the Connvocation’s temples?” asked Eamos.

I interrupted Morgan and said, “Because we hate the Dominion, and it was the Dominion that had taken up residence in your temple.”

“Is this true Yodfor?” queried Eamos.

“We certainly found them fighting the forces of the Northern Hordes. And it is true that they fought bravely.” Replied the Crusader of Light.

“And is it not true that since then we have fought by your side against the Dominion.” I added. “And is it not true that we disabled the General Mkilejthe? We are your allies not your enemies. Drop this charge and let us be on our way.”

Eamos ran his ran from his cheek to chin and pondered what I said. Unfortunately, his thoughts were disturbed when Argonne said aloud what we were thinking. “Yes you stupid gits! Stop all this foolishness.”

“We went into your temple and purged it of the Dominion. Where is mighty Gerech now in this hour of need? I’ll tell you where, in a great big rock, and that is where he has been hiding for the past one and a half millennium. Gerech’s in a rock. Gerech’s in a rock." chanted Argonne as he danced a little jig.

Inspired his rant continued, raising into a fervor pitch, "I mean how hard is it to get in and out of a rock? Not that hard I tell you. Even I can do it." He snorted “And, anyway, if it wasn't for your meddling we wouldn't even be in this position in the first place. It’s the self righteous ambitions of you and your Seths” he spat with scorn, ”that have lead to this situation. I mean how contemptible to actual lock all the things that you didn't like into an ever increasing number of holes in the ground, and actually think that one day they might NOT want to come out and kick your miserable self flagellated arses! I will not wait judgement from the moral equivalent of a psychotic rat troll. You can stick Gerech were he fits. His only use now is as a parchment weight" With that final statement he turned and began to march from the room.

Eamos, to his credit, had obviously heard this type of thing before. There was no anger in his voice when he simply called for the guard. Four burly sorts strode to Argonne.

Sensing that Argonne would cause great havoc if they barred his way I leapt in, “Come now. My friend is but a yokel and has no real understanding of the wider world. “ Argonne stopped and shot me a glare, but I continued regardless. “He speaks of the ill informed that have yet to move on from blaming the Convocation for the rise of the Dominion. This is a new age and we all have a common enemy. To succeed we must work together.” I pleaded. At least my last words were true if the others were mostly a lie.

The Gerechian Lord raised his palm and ordered his guards to stop. “Let him go.” And with a conceited smirk etched upon his face Argonne left the temple.

Eamos then continued, “I suspect that you entered the temple of Artyom Seth for other reasons than those you have mentioned. My lord Gerech has left me with some power at discerning your lie. Tell me now why it is that you entered our holy site.”

I saw no point in continuing our roundabout conversation. “It is true, we did have another purpose. To discover the temple’s Star Chamber and use it.”

Eamos and Yodfor both exchanged a quick look. That piece of news certainly sparked an interest in our calm interrogators.

“You, Sir Gerard and Morgan come with us.” Said Eamos as he beckoned to Yodfor to join him.

He led us through a door to a small antechamber and said. “Tell me what you know of the Star Chamber”

There was something in his voice that compelled me to answer him. I told him what we had learned from Lord Steven and also from piecing together the information we had garnered from our journeys. To activate the Star Chamber the pedestal that symoblised the temple to which one wished to travel must have an offering of the same nature as the Seth’s favoured device. For example, a scepter would be needed to travel to the temple of Artyom Seth. Ointments be smeared on the foreheads of the travelers and they must also carry with the actual artifact of the Seth whose temple was to be traveled to, just like the scepter of Artyom Seth or Valentin Seth’s mask, both of which Morgan carried.

To say that the pair of Gerechian’s were astounded does not do justice to the distance their jaws dropped. Their calm exterior’s melted, and it took them a moment or to reconstruct their personas.

“You knew that and sought to use the Star Chambers?” Yodfor asked incredulously.

“Yes indeed. Our plan is to get to Morannin, as you know. But if we knew that Artyom Seth’s temple was safe then we knew that we could come back to it via Rodian Seth’s temple in Morannin.” Lord Steven had provided us with the knowledge that Rodian’s temple was somewhere near Morannin.

“That raises another point,” said Eamos, his composure regained, “You have two artifacts of Gerch. What are your intentions for them?”

“I thought that was obvious. We intend to use them to activate the Star Chambers. And no, “I continued, pre-empting the question forming on Eamos’s lips, “we do not intend to give them back freely.”

I admit to a touch of nerves as I took a stand. I had meant what I said but I prayed that it would not come to violence.

My prayers were answered. “I am sure you fully appreciate that we could take them off you.” Said Eamos.

“You could try!” bristled Morgan, who was still very attached to the artifacts of the trapped god.

“Yes we could try and our numbers would dictate that we would succeed.” Continued Eamos, raising a hand to stop the impeding interjection of Morgan, “However, I have listened to what you have said and I have seen the truth in your hearts. You are not our enemies and we do indeed share a common foe. I will allow you to use our temples.”

He added, “And more than that I will take you to Vronburg, that will significantly reduce your trip.”

So the Gerechians had at least recovered one item they had lost, the armour of Pyotr Seth, lord of the temple near Vronburg.

I was only partially correct. “For I am the Eighth Lord of Light, Pyotr Seth, and I will ensure that you arrive safely.”

It was our turn to be shocked. Before us stood one of the twelve Seth’s! A man from an age before our own. A man kept alive for an eternity by faith and his god’s last remnant of power.

“Fyodor,“ said Eamos, addressing the man we knew as Yodfor. “I know that you trust them, let us hope that your trust is not misplaced.”

This was another surprise. Eamos had just revealed that Yodfor was none other than Fyodor Seth, another of the original Lord’s of Light!

And so, after much discussion it was decided that we would leave in a few days, allowing us to gather supplies and at least rest for a day before once again setting off into the wilds.

The only sticking point was Argonne. Initially the Seth’s were adamant that he could not enter another temple, but eventually we convinced them that he was of more use to us than they knew. So it was that on the proviso that he be blindfolded during his journey in any temple, that Argonne could travel with us.

 

[Haraash Saan]

Over the next three days we left each other to our own devices. My first business was to find a suitably skilled tanner to prepare the skins of the Beasts of Zzart, and then a tailor to create our cloaks. The remaining time I spent with a jovial wizard by the name of Kasrian who was willing to teach me some of his magics in return for some of the spells that I had mastered.

It was wonderful not to have to travel and to be able to study and learn new magics, but more importantly to ignore the heavy burden of our quest. But all too soon the time was spent and we were once again set for another journey.

We stood deep within the temple of Arkadiy Seth within its Star Chamber. It looked identical to the one we had seen in Konstantin Seth’s temple in Yorath.

Morgan took charge of our preparations. First the Halfling anointed us with the oil that was found in drums in the entrance hall to the Star Chamber. We knelt so that he could mark our foreheads with the stuff whilst he muttered a short Gerechian prayer. The oil stung our skin. It was as if Gerech himself was protesting that heretics were being blessed in his name. Its effect on the blindfolded Argonne was even more pronounced. He screamed violent curses and thrashed in agony as the viscous liquid touched his skin, causing cracks and blisters.

Eamos grinned slyly throughout the woodsman’s ordeal. No doubt relishing the heretic’s pain.

Next, from a sack that Morgan dragged beside him, he produced a small replica of each of the artifacts that represented the Seths and placed the in the corresponding indentations on pedestals in the center of the chamber.

There was a low hum and suddenly from the pedestal’s platform a red glowing bridge appeared. It stretched out to one of the doors that encircled the room.

Eamos said, “Come now. The portal is active.” and walked onto the incandescent path. I shared a nervous glance with Moxadder and then followed the Crusader.

Without hesitation Eamos swung open the door that the bridge led to and passed through it. Again Moxadder and I exchanged a dubious look. He shrugged and followed Morgan who had already boldly stepped into the darkness. I went next and then Stravarious who held a cord that was tied around Argonne’s waist. Each of us tugged hesitant horses in toe.

I felt strange. My foot did not find anything to stand on, yet I did not fall. I took a tentative step and felt the same sensation. It was as though we walked on air.

The darkness that enveloped us suddenly looked like the night sky. Pin pricks of light in on a pitch-black canvas.

As we moved forward the stars began to spin as if whirling around a radiating hub that we walked on. Soon they moved so fast that they appeared to be huge circles of light that surrounded us. The glare was so bright that I was forced to squint and shield my eyes.

We traveled like this for what seemed to be hours and then suddenly the circles of light slowed and once again became stars. Quite quickly they too faded and the deepening darkness once more surrounded us. A door in the distance opened and light spewed forth, illuminating the darkness but revealing nothing. For there was nothing to see where we were, just an infinite empty space.

I stepped through the door that Eamos held open for us and was most relieved to have my foot touch something of substance. We had entered another Star Chamber. This one had a blue glowing path that led to the raised platform in the center of the circular room.

“You are in my temple now.” Said Eamos. “I trust you’ll not disturb anything and do remember to keep your comrades’ blindfold on until you leave this place.”

I heard Argonne grind his teeth at Eamos’s last remark but wisely he said nothing.

“I give you one final piece of information.” said Eamos. “You will find it difficult to use Rodian Seth’s Star Chamber, for Rodion Seth is alive and well, although long ago he shed his Gerechian heritage. He now goes by the name Mecros and is one of the Black Lords.”

With that, Eamos turned on his heel and stepped once more through the doorway, pulling the door closed behind him.

The Black Lords were familiar to us. Fallen Gerechians that hated the Dominion but realised that they could not quash it without Gerech’s power. So they had found some other divine or mystical ally. They were the ones that aided Yodfor when he called out for their help at the banquet when King Thurland II was almost assassinated and they were the ones to be our opponents in the the Halfast Games, a round from which we wisely withdrew.

We had already avoided the Black Lords once in Halfast. It seemed that we were destined to at least meet with one in Morannin.

With the aid of Eldritch Light, whose magical properties I had transferred to my new black blade Switch, we quickly traversed the familiar layout of the Pytor Seth’s temple. The Gerechians, masters of order, had only one design for their temples. We had now been through four of the Seth’s temples and each had been laid out identically.

Puffs of dust rose into the air as we trod through corridors that had been unused for a century. There was no evidence at all that the temple had been occupied or even visited since the fall of the Convocation.

Soon we stood before a pair huge bronze doors, beyond which lay open plains. We would travel south, to the river Narn, the natural border that separated the Dominion and the Fastness. It took all our strength to tug the massive metal doors inward enough to allow our horses the room to squeeze through.