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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Helfdan" data-source="post: 1512627" data-attributes="member: 11732">Chapter 9I know its been a while, but here's the next chapter in the Age of Blood.  As the wise EGG would say: Come, gentle reader, and learn of the Fate of the Mestorien....*********************************************************Part 9:  Fate of the MestorienMy father:As you shall see it is only by the grace of holy Tilsman, Judge of Judges, that I am able to write once more.  In the past few days I have seen enough battle and death to daunt the bravest knight, which alas, I am not…  I last wrote of our encounter with the ogre warlord Koron – yes, father, it was a true ogre, straight out of a child’s horror tale.  After a great melee, he was slain, but at great cost:  for brave, tortured Landotharan Silvermoon fell, his chest crushed by the monster’s giant war-ax.  It was mid-morning when Baruk and I set about burying the fallen half-elf in the now-abandoned courtyard of Roedran’s demesne.  His heavy sword was left as a marker over the crude but efficient cairn the dwarf quickly assembled.  I did use his blade one last time, to reap the ogre’s head, for Segnarus had told us we should take it to claim a reward…  This was also painful, as Segnarus had fallen fighting the goblin warlock known as Berooz.  Oh, how foolish we had been!  Before the battle was joined, Koron had told us that he was allied with Denora, the mestorien priestess who sent us on these errands.  Thus we were doubly betrayed, as she had the holy relic we sought – the Goathian Bell – and we had left the body of Segnarus Mank in her care, believing her claim that somehow, she could restore him.  As I pondered on our foolishness, our losses, and my oath before Tilsman and Terferos to retrieve the Bell or die in the attempt, Baruk approached me, trying to hide a smile behind his short-cropped beard.  “The others are sleeping, Kalten.  Your magic did well.”  I of course refrained from repeating that I know nothing of magic, for this only seems to amuse the small sorcerer.  “I found something you may be interested in, though.”  And with these words the dwarf produced a silvery, rune-engraved horseshoe, identical to the other two I had collected.  “The third of Galanan’s horseshoes!”  I exclaimed.  “By my troth, this is a blessing!  Where did you find it?”  The dwarf was by then grinning in undisguised satisfaction.  “The ogre’s pouch, of course!  We need to collect the spoils of war if we are to survive, sir knight, quest or no!”  Then he turned serious.  “I cannot help but think you are destined to have these…  but at what cost?”  At that we were both silent, for the answer to that question would most likely be grim…  By dusk, the ranger and the priest had recovered from most of their wounds.  We had decided to wait out the night atop the barbican, for safety.  As we were preparing for sleep, Girion’s keen eyes spotted a small figure approaching the keep.  We all thought immediately of Berooz, who we were sure wanted revenge.  But the ranger was sure the creature did not move like a goblin.  After a brief discussion, the ranger hailed it…  and its answer was entirely unexpected: “Girion, I found you!!!   It’s me, Segnarus!”  However, the high-pitched voice sounded nothing like the ruthless thief catcher (who we had seen die in the ruins of the old city of Roedran).  As he approached into our torchlight, we saw a small figure, little more than half my height.  It was slight, with brown skin and hair, bright green eyes, and an enormous nose—yes, father, it was a gnome!  Truly a land of oddities, this Roedran was.  We let him into the tower, for despite Jerikas’s warnings of treachery, I could see no evil taint in the creature.      The gnome spoke quickly, insisting that Denora had ensorceled him, placing his soul in a gnome’s body, and of his harrowing escape from entangling vines and a giant snake.  He promptly showed that he seemed to know details about our travels that only Segnarus would know.  Matters were quickly settled when Girion affirmed that in his childhood, he had heard that the mestorien were indeed capable of reincarnation.  Thus we welcomed our unexpected friend warmly.  Jerikas was still grim, however.  For his prayers revealed that the thief-catcher had indeed been brought back from the dead, but in the process, his spirit had been bound to the land itself.  This was not only a sin against Terferos, Caretaker of Souls, but the very Covenant of the Skies makes Terferos’s healing magic ineffective for the gnome.  It was obvious that the Terferian priest would never get accustomed to this turn of events, but Segnarus was plainly happy to be alive.  That night proved uneventful, at least for my friends.  I was kept awake for one reason: our battle with Koron.  As I told you in my last letter, we had essentially been defeated.  Jerikas, Girion, and Landotharan were down.  Baruk was in the rearguard, bravely hurling both spells and curses, and I was in the vanguard, alone, facing the huge ogre and 4 orc warriors.  But I still live, father.  Furthermore, I live because in that moment, I called for Holy Tilsman to judge us all…  and I believe he answered.  For even though my skill with the sword, and the strength of my arm, are greater than when we parted ways all those years ago, it is definitely not enough to prevail against such odds.  I thank the Keeper for his blessings, but I cannot help but wonder: why me? Why would a simple, exiled warrior, a mercenary in all but name, be so trusted?  How I miss your wisdom, father…When sleep finally found me, it was not restful, either.  Again I saw the magnificent steed running though the storm-laden southern plains, as if looking for something, or someone.  Next morning we awoke to yet another surprise… there was a stranger in our camp.  He was another half-elf, slight of build, with long blonde hair and pale complexion, with an uncanny similarity to our fallen friend Landotharan.  But Roedran is not a land of miracles, and Segnarus’s difficult and costly return was not to be duplicated.  We soon found this was Eithnelle Silvermoon, who was seeking his long-lost brother.  And it was our grim duty to inform him he had arrived less than twelve hours after his death.  Eithnelle was quiet at first, and asked to see the grave.  He took only Whispering Wind, Landotharan’s silvery circlet, to better remember his brother.  The half-elf composed himself, and asked our names.  Apparently Landotharan had written home about us, and he wanted to assign names to faces.  (Oh father, I hope you get to read these, and that I still make you proud).  He informed us that Landotharan had written about Simarul’s cult, and that their father (a powerful sorcerer) had sent him to gather information.  Eithnelle asked to take his brother’s place, offering his services as a battle-wizard (a term I’d never before heard, for since when are wizards interested in battle?  But I would soon learn of his prowess).  We resolved to trace Segnarus’s trail back to his place of captivity, as this was likely the best place from which to track down the treacherous Denora.  As we rode to Roedran town (where the gnome stated he had fought some goblins on his way to join us), Girion asked Jerikas a very important question: whether there was a way to atone for our sin against Terferos.  “This is very difficult,” the priest answered.  “Firstly, Segnarus’s soul must return to Terferos.”  The gnome squeaked at this, but the priest continued, uncompromising.  “We allowed this to happen.  The only way to atone would be to accomplish a quest for our church.  I believe that if we recover the Bell and save Medore, it may suffice.”  We all fell silent at this.  On reaching the abandoned city, Girion quickly picked up the gnome’s trail.  He led us deep into the south of the province, where all signs of human habitation had vanished.  Eventually we came to a broken tower, about 50 feet high, covered in vines and surrounded by heavy foilage.  The door was not visible through the vegetation.  The ranger referred to is as “The Old Post,” a watchtower ancient even in his childhood, before Roedran’s fall.  We soon determined it would take too long to cut our way through the thicket and into the door, and thus decided to climb.  Segnarus was concerned about the snake, but Eithnelle offered a simple solution: eldritch flight.  He spoke a charm, and suddenly, I could fly!  I carried Jerikas in his heavy banded armor, while our less encumbered companions climbed the vines.  The tower had no ceiling, and as I descended, I could see it had no floors save the ground.  It was a wide, circular chamber with a single large doorway (covered in thick vines) and broken stairs.  Other than thankfully unrecognizable refuse, the room only held a 5’ tall pedestal, around which was coiled an enormous snake, at least 15 feet in length.  No sooner we landed, the monster slithered at us fast as lightning, its fangs seeking to rip though my mail.   I drew Aerbrand, and smote it as I called on Barlam for strength.  As my friends reached the top of the tower, the monstrosity started wrapping me in its coils.  Its strength was awesome, and I felt all the air leave my lungs.  As I fought to stay on my feet, I heard Girion plying his mighty bow from the wall, and his arrows thunking into the beast.  I heard Baruk and Eithnelle chanting spells, and the smell of ozone filled the air as an arcane bolt of lightning fried the snake, but it was still alive, and crushing me, while its fangs rent the mail over my left shoulder.  At such close quarters your sword was useless, so I dropped it.  I reached for my silvered poniard, and fiercely stabbed until my right arm was freed.  As dark spots danced before my eyes, from lack of air, I thrust the knife one last time, into the creature’s head.  I fell to my knees, still fighting, before I realized the monster was finally dead.  Jerikas helped unentangle me, as I gasped for air, and asked Segnarus whether this was the snake he had mentioned.  We all laughed when Girion interrupted with a heartfelt “gods, I hope so.”  But our mirth was short-lived.  The witch was nowhere to be found.  But as the thief taker collected the gear he had left behind in his escape, Girion spoke dire words from his place on top of the tower wall:  several lions, large as warhorses, were approaching, led by Denora herself.  The ranger began plying his bow, almost faster than the eye could follow, and we could hear monstrous roaring.  And then by the mestorien’s will, the seemingly ancient vines at the doorway parted.      An enormous lioness was first in the door, pouncing straight at me, rending with claw and fang.  Only my cunningly wrought banded armor saved me in that initial onslaught.  Again Eithnelle chanted, and my hair stood on end as a lightning bolt slammed into the great cat.  Calling on Morcandor’s might, I raised your Aerbrand and cleft her skull.  I pulled the sword from the steaming wound and saw that Jerikas was holding his own against a second lioness, but a monstrous male had followed, and was clamping its jaws into Baruk’s shoulder, and pulling the dwarf from his feet.  I charged, and smashed its skull to icy bits with two savage blows.  I ran out the door to see Denora calling lightning from the skies to smash into Girion.  As she was rocked back by magical missiles form both Eithnelle and Baruk, I flew at her, calling on Tilsman, and sorely wounded the witch.  But a third lioness leapt at me in her defense, clawing and biting.  Jerikas prayed to Terferos, and a ray of holy light slammed into the mestorien, burning her.  This was followed by arrows and bolts from Girion and Segnarus, whereupon she staggered to the nearest tree, touched it, and by the gods, disappeared into it!As I fought the angry lioness, a small figure appeared at my side, none other than the goblin sorcerer Berooz.  “The foul wench should not get away!  Run after her!”  With this it pushed me aside, and hurled a bolt of lightning square into the chest of the last lioness, pushing her back.  Before she could recover, Baruk and Eithnelle finished her with magical missiles.  Only then we noticed that as the beasts died, they had returned to their normal size.  The goblin turned to us as we caught our breaths.  “Do not mistake me for your friend.  We have a common enemy.  She should be in the ruins of the Mestorien.  Beware, for her guardians will be near.”  Girion was the first of us to speak.  “Are other mestorien in league with her?”  “She probably is the last of her kind.”  With this, the goblin again vanished into thin air.  The ranger informed us it would be an hour’s ride, as Jerikas prayed for Terferos to heal our wounds (thankfully Segnarus was unscathed).  We then set out to recover the Goathian Bell.  The ride through the sweltering plains was uneventful, and quiet, for we were all deep in thought.  I knew this would be a special trial for me – my oath was to recover the Bell or die in the attempt, to find justice for Nikolas and safety for Medore.  Eventually we reached a thick forest, and the ranger told us the last mile or so would be on foot.  I left Stepper saddled but unhobbled, so that the bay stallion could survive if I did not return.  Girion led us quickly and unerringly.  After about half an hour, we came to a wide clearing, occupied by a large, domed structure.  It was built of stone, but was partially in ruins.  Vines covered its walls, and plants peeked out from many holes in the stone.  Through the open doorway we could see rays of the afternoon sun illuminating the inside through rents in the ceiling, but all we could spy was a stone platform surrounded by a small moat filled with murky water.  We each made preparations to enter.  I prayed for holy Tilsman to ward me from evil, and to bless your sword Aerbrand in the coming conflict.  As we made for the entrance, Berooz once more appeared, but only stayed long enough to say: “Remember what I told you about the guardian.”  As Segnarus climbed to the roof with his crossbow, to work as a sniper, Girion and I led the way into the temple.  Denora was not alone.  Girion obviously shared my reaction to her companion, as I heard him whisper “Tilsman have mercy…”  It was an immense, monstrous feline, almost my height at the shoulder.  It had a long body with bold stripes, and paws the size of bucklers.  Horned ridges were plain down its back, but most impressive were the twin curved fangs, large as sabers, that adorned its slavering maw.  Yet even more terrifying were the intelligence in its eyes, and the fact that it could TALK…  “I will give you one chance to leave unharmed – otherwise you die.”  Denora smiled at me seductively, and added “or you can join us…”I could barely contain my wrath.  “We will give you a chance to live, if you give us the Bell.”  “The Bell’s purpose will not be achieved in your hands,” she answered.  “Nature will rule.”  “Then we shall have to battle,” I answered quietly.  Girion leapt forth, plying his bow with blinding speed, and twice wounded the beauteous witch.  But she gave as good as she got, for lightning once more slammed into the ranger from one of the rents in the dome.  The great tiger leapt forth, mauling both the ranger and I, as we hacked desperately with Renmemnion and Aerbrand.  Jerikas joined us, as Baruk and Eithnelle hurled magical missiles into the fray.  The battle was intense, for the monster was incredibly powerful, and I could feel my ribs crack every time the claws or fangs smote my cuirass.  Also, the ranger and I were frequent targets of the witch’s unholy lightning.  Girion called on Tilsman, and the blessed sword of tears twice scored the beast along the flank.  For a moment the monster ignored me, and pounced on the ranger.  I took this opening calling on Tilsman and Iolanthes, to repeatedly drive your freeezing sword into the beast.  I managed to drive it back, bleeding and stumbling, but Girion was unmoving.    As the massive tiger growled, and prepared to pounce on me, it was hit by a volley of glowing orbs from Baruk and Eithnelle, which put paid to it at long last.  But we were far from safe, for Denora still stood.  Little beauty was left to her; she was now wholly a killer.  She screamed unholy words, and a column of fire rained on the dwarf and the half-elf.  Jerikas and I charged, but she adroitly parried our attacks with a scimitar, and called more lightning down upon us.  But alone, she could not stand against five.  Our mages sent bolts of acid into her, driving her back.  As Jerikas batted her sword aside, I put a hands breadth of Aerbrand into her shoulder, demanding her surrender.  Her insane scream was an obvious refusal, but Baruk put an end to the matter with a final brace of fiery globes to her chest.  We quickly checked on Girion, who thankfully was still alive.  As Jerikas healed him, our eyes were drawn to the back of the temple.  There it was: The Goathian Bell.  It is 6’ tall and 5’ wide, made of a beautiful, unearthly golden metal.  It hangs within a wheeled wooden structure, which according to Jerikas was crafted from the roots of Naend, the tree used to hang the souls of the newly dead.  Legend says that if the bell ever touches the floor, no mortal can lift it.  Thus we finally recovered the Bell.  More than happy, we were relieved at this point, and still stunned over all the meaningless death we had both witnessed and delivered.  We had little time to rest, for the lives of 10,000 Medorians depended on our prompt return, with the Goathian Bell in tow.  Curiously, the mestorien witch had a parting gift for me.  For on her corpse we found the fourth of Galanan’s horseshoes.  I know not their usefulness yet, but somehow I think it is tied into my recent dreams…  I hope, as always, that this letter finds you well, father.  As always, know that my prayers are with you.  Pray for me, father.  Pray for us all.</blockquote>

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