The Realms of Enlightenment: The Grey Companions

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #428] Unexpected Guests

Morier hesitated, waiting for more of the message but there was none forthcoming. He could sense the spell effect still lingering in his mind, waiting. With a glance at the others he said, "I accept," and the spell snapped off at once.

"What?" Huzair snapped. "What are you-?"

"We're about to have company," Morier snapped, cutting the mage off in mid-sentence. "A Wayfarer." Huzair's jaw dropped open.

"A Wayfarer Guide? Way out here?" he sputtered but there was no time to discuss it further before the air some ten feet before them began to shimmer. It wavered and glittered, growing brighter and brighter until, in the space of three heartbeats it was a solid pane of brilliant white hanging in the air in the general size and shape of a humanoid. There was a clearly audible POP! and an elf stepped out of the light holding a sheaf of papers.

She was dressed in the traditional garb of the Wayfarer Guide - an unassuming brown jerkin worn over brown pants and high brown boots. Numerous bags and pouches depended from the wide girdle she wore about her slender hips; a gold compass rose, the traditional symbol of the Wayfarer's Union, clasped her cloak at her throat. The same symbol was painted in the center of her forehead. She wore a rosy monocle in her left eye and she fixed this eye on Morier before consulting her papers.

"Morier Tulien?" she asked with a polite smile. He nodded and she stepped forward with the papers outstretched. "I have a delivery for you and I'll need you to sign here, here, and here." He looked at the papers; they were written in elvish.

"Delivery from who?" he asked, arching one pale eyebrow at her. She was fiddling in a pouch at her hip and shrugged in response.

"You'd need to take that up with the Travel Board, sir," she told him before finally producing an elegant peacock feather quill from a pouch that was much to small to accommodate it. "All I know is what's on the contract, I'm afraid. Sign here." She held onto the papers, but thrust the quill into his hand.

"Well, what's on the contract?" the albino asked, annoyance creeping into his voice. She looked at him quizzically then turned the papers around and examined them indignantly.



While Morier and the Wayfarer Guide went over the papers, the remaining members of The Order saw the shining outline in the air darken briefly and then emit another POP! as a weary-looking human stepped through the temporary portal and scan around him. He looked briefly at each in turn, before his slippery gaze slid off them. He seemed more concerned with scouting around them and looking into the background of the area rather than at the people standing before them. The same could not be said for Ayremac, Huzair, and Shamalin. They studied the newcomer with a keen eye to danger.

He stood in stark contrast to their wintery surroundings, like an ashen shadow in the expanse of white. His armor and gear - even his skin looked bleak and parched, as if the color has been drained from him somehow. Only his cloak seemed vibrant; it fluttered behind him, a brilliant white trimmed with blood red. His hair was a dark, matte gray and his three-day growth of beard was the same although the lines around his eyes and mouth suggested that he wasn't beyond middle years for a human. There were two scratches on the left side of his face, one above and the other below his peering eye and those slight wounds seemed not fully-healed although there was no blood on his face. The dark fingers of a tattoo peaked out from his leather gorget, extending a few inches up his throat on the right side.

He wore armor cut in the style of platemail, although the individual pieces looked to be made of some durable brown leather held together with clasps of copper. He carried a saddle over his left shoulder and a saddlebag hung down across his body adorned with the same brass "Valiant Vessel" logo as was on Huzair's Handy Haversack. Under his other arm was held a traveler's purse that bulged with something alive. A rune-carved warhammer was in his hand and a finely-tooled dagger with a distinctly elven hilt was sheathed at his waist.

After scanning the vicinity and seeing no immediate danger, he turned to the Wayfarer Guide, addressing her in fluent elvish, and extended his thanks with all the customary attachments that go with the lengthy elven protocols. Of course, neither Morier nor Huzair spoke elvish so it was unclear what was being said until the Wayfarer Guide looked one last time at the papers Morier had signed and stepped toward the glowing portal.

After the elf vanished with another audible POP! the newcomer looked down at his bag at his little gray and fat companion whose head was now thrust out as his twitching nose sampled the air. He patted the rat on the head as if to assure it that he thought them safe.

"Morier?" Huzair shouted, breaking the quiet moment. "What in the nine hells is this?" The newcomer looked up at the outburst and turned his attention to the eldritch warrior. When his gaze met Morier's, his eyes briefly softened with memory and he smiled.

"Welcome back, my friend Morier. It has been too long," he said in thickly accented common before shrugging off both his saddle and the bag with the rat inside. He opened his arms to hug Morier in a friendly embrace. "I think we have much to retell around a decent campfire here, although I must say that your color now finally matches the surroundings. You finally learned to blend in!" He smirked and winked as he stepped up and crushed Morier in a hug.

Morier returned the embrace hesitantly and briefly before prying himself away and looking at the man queerly. "What are you doing here?" he asked but before the newcomer could answer, Huzair called again.

"What is going on?" the mage protested and this time his voice was joined by both Shamalin and Ayremac.

"Yes, what is this?" the cleric asked.

"Who is this man?" said Ayremac.

The man bowed and addressed the three saying, "I am 'Sadlar' Ahlear Marhaun of the elven house Marhaun. For those not familiar with the term sadlar, it is an honorary title in elvish defining someone who is easy with horses, most often a scout or ranger..." His voice trailed off then, as blinking he took in each of the members of The Order and the weapons they brandished. His rat, gray and fat and easily the size of a small dog, had wriggled free of his carrier and rubbed against Ahlear's feet. The man smiled.

"I think I have to introduce my companion as well," he said. "Here is Nibble, my loyal ratty friend and companion on my travels." Nibble stared at them with its beady brown eyes, sniffing intently in the air and holding some indefinable piece of food in one of its paws. After a moment it went back to contently scuffling against Ahlear's leg. Ahlear bowed again for the both of them and then looked up at Morier.

"So, what's with the drawn weapons and the paranoid looks?" he asked with a smile. "I thought I was the only one here who had any reasons for being so paranoid." Saying that the smile abruptly faded from his bleak face, replaced with a bitter scowl.

"We lost two of our own last night," Morier told him absently.

"Vanished entirely while on watch. And this boy-" The albino turned to indicate the spot by the fire where the boy had been seated but there was nothing left there but an overturned cup of tea. Anania, who had crept closer to meet their visitor, turned, saw the boy gone and raised her bow. Her expression was stricken as she scanned the distance.

"There!" she cried, moving toward the keep with an arrow drawn back to her ear. Ayremac saw what she had - a small, dark shape hustling through the blowing snow toward the crumbling fort. "I think I can still bring him down. What is your order?"

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #429] Showdown at the Gate

"Non-lethal shot... if you can," Ayremac said, spread his wings, and shot skyward after the boy. Ayremac flew a lot faster than anyone could run through snow, but the youth had a big head start and it seemed unclear whether the boy would reach the keep or Ayemac would reach the boy first.

"Is that boy not part of the group?" Ahlear asked. "Why is he running?"

"Stop the boy from making it back to the keep, Anania," Shamalin said, ignoring the newcomer's confusion. "It's possible that he's taking information about our numbers and weapons back to buy favor from Sir Alechtus."

"No. Let him go, beautiful," Huzair countered. "I do not think he is a threat. He already gave us the info he had. I can find out the rest from Sparky." The elf maid ground her teeth.

"Morier?!" she said urgently. "What is your order?"

"Stand down!" the albino said at last. "He's scared. Let him be. He's provided us with enough information, and it sounds like whatever is inside there is far scarier than the lot of us." Anania nodded and lowered her bow.

"As you say," she muttered and returned to silently breaking down their camp. Huzair, however, regarded the eldritch warrior slack-jawed.

"Holy crap! You agree with me?!" the mage exclaimed. "I thought I was going to have to jump on Anania to stop her." Morier spared him a side-long glance before striding toward the keep, one hand shading his crimson eyes.

"Do not worry, love," Huzair purred to Anania, "I can jump on you later if you like."

"Morier, are you sure this is the right course of action?" Shamalin asked, hustling in her heavy armor to keep up with Morier's pace. "We don't really have surprise on our side altogether, but wouldn't it be better not to run the risk that the boy betrays us? I trust that Anania can make the right kind of shot. And I can heal-"

"He's just a boy, Shamalin," Morier growled as he pulled away from her with annoying ease.

"Perhaps she is right, Morier. If the boy is not part of your group, might he be a spy who, seeing what he thinks are reinforcements, runs off to snitch?" Ahlear offered. His own armor encumbered him far less than Shamalin's did her and he was able to keep pace with the albino without difficulty.

"Look, Ahlear, I mean this in the best possible way," the eldritch warrior snarled, "but you have no idea what's going on here. So save the advice."

"Morier, can you and your group give me a short rundown on the previous chain of events that led to this location and the effects of the Keep?" Ahlear asked, unperturbed by the albino's curt attitude. "Did you parlay with the ruler of the keep or something?"

"I'm not sure this is really the time to explain all that," the eldritch warrior said, peering ahead toward the keep. "Just follow my lead for now."

"I am not trying to insert myself too easily into your group, Morier," Ahlear said in thickly accented common, "but seeing you just lost two members, I am a welcome addition, if for the rest of the group a little unknown?"

"Ahlear! Now is not he the time to-" Morier started to snap, but Huzair's call silenced him
.
"Hey, whitely!" he shouted. "Ayremac says we better hustle up there."



The holy warrior eyed the weapons that were trained on him and considered his odds. Three bows and a spear were aimed at his heart, and while he imagined that he could survive an attack to lay into these men with Windblade if it came to it, he wasn't sure that was the best course of action. His opponents seemed little more than armed peasants, frightened and ill-fed. Their superior numbers would not long stand against his superior skill and it seemed a trifle base for him to even try.

"Guys," he muttered into the Ring of Communication again, "I've got a situation here."

"Let Gialf go, angel," the man with the spear said, his lips pulled into a snarl behind his full red mustache. "If angel you be. Such behavior seems ill-suiting a member of the heavenly host." Ayremac noticed that the large man's left arm ended not in a hand but in a grisly stump of scar tissue.

"Two of our number have been taken. Perhaps slain," the holy warrior said, releasing his hold on the youth as he spoke. Gialf immediately darted behind the assemblage of warriors and through the narrowly-opened gate.

"Not by us," the one-armed man said flatly. "We've had our fill of outlanders and would have you gone. It gains us nothing to attack you." The holy warrior noted that the spear the man held in his hand did not waver from Ayremac's heart. His eyes, however, flicked briefly over the Officer's shoulder at the sound of the others' approach.

"Stand where you are or by Brogine's teeth I swear we'll use yer angel here for target practice!" the one-armed man shouted.

"It is clear that you are in need of a healer," Shamalin said. "I have experience and can help you." Ayremac heard her take another step forward and saw the mustachioed man's arm tense in readiness.

"I said stay where you are!" he shouted. "The plague's run its course here and we don't want any outsiders bringing it back to our door!"

"Two of our own are missing," Morier said and the man snorted.

"Check the firepit!" he said, nodding his head toward the charred ruin where Huzair had found the burned remains of the Sanctifier. "That bastard Alechtus dumped another bundle there before taking off north again!"

"Sir Alechtus is gone?" Shamalin asked, while Morier and Huzair stepped away to check the firepit. The one-armed man nodded and spat once into the snow.

"He took the last of the horses and headed north some time before dawn," he said. "And good riddance, says I!"



"No one listens to the best plan ever made," Huzair groused to Morier as they walked the dozen paces to the firepit. "Why do I even try? Oh well, at least I will not waste the spell and-"

The mage's voice hitched in his throat as he looked down at the body of Ixin Chaririejir.

"Damn it," Huzair whispered and the mage thought that he could hear Morier's teeth grinding against each other as the albino's jaw clenched with emotion.

It looked as though Ixin's body had been stripped before it was wrapped in its makeshift funerary shroud. Of Karak, there was no sign.

 

[Hairy Minotaur]

Isn't that the 2nd recent (as far as the SH goes) death Ixin's player has had to contend with?

So, was there a battle that's left to the imagination in the SH, or were these players tired of their current characters and needed a way out?

 

[Jon Potter]

Isn't that the 2nd recent (as far as the SH goes) death Ixin's player has had to contend with?

Well she had Ixin die and Lela die and Ixin die again.

So, was there a battle that's left to the imagination in the SH, or were these players tired of their current characters and needed a way out?

Well, the part where she dies was back here. So it's not left entirely up to the imagination. But the second part is also true... sort of. She and Karak's player both realized at about the same time that they couldn't realistically devote the necessary time to the game. So I gave them an out.

But we haven't seen the last of either character... but you'll just have to wait to find out what I mean.

 

[mdougherty331]

Happy GM day. It has been a pleasure playing over 10 years now. I am dying for a face to face, but this will have to do for a while I am sure.

 

[Kristeneve]

Yes, Happy GM Day Jon! Thanks for keeping us alive.

 

[Jon Potter]

Thanks for the GM's Day messages, guys. But please don't thank me for keeping your characters alive; I'm doing my best to kill them off, really.

(And I've got a reputation to maintain around here.)

Now... on with the show!

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #430] Breaking Up is Easy, part 1

"Shamalin, Fly boy," Huzair shouted over his shoulder. "Ixin's body is in the pit. It looks as if she was run through." Shamalin let out a small cry of alarm and clanked over to where the wizard stood. Morier turned aside, a grimace on his face as she slowed at the edge of the fire pit.

The cleric stared in silence at the body Huzair had discovered and waited for the rush of emotion to hit her. But the riveting sense of loss she had felt so poignantly after the events at Miller's Pond eluded her. She glanced around guiltily, reading anger and frustration in Huzair's dark face. And yet, she felt nothing.

The newcomer, Ahlear looked over Shamalin's shoulder and sighed. He mumbled something under his breath about nature seeming hungry this time of year but Shamalin's mind was focused too intently on the numbness in her heart for her to hear his words clearly. With a deep sigh, she bowed her head. Eerily, Ixin's words resounded suddenly in her mind: "It sounds like you do not have much in the way of feeling left in you. You are clearly a survivor. That is a smart survival strategy." Sick with her own lack of feeling, Shamalin reached her hand out to hover over Ixin's body and began to pray, both for Flor's
blessing and Ixin's forgiveness.

When she was done, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Ahlear's weathered face looking down on her. "Do not worry if you feel numb," he said and she jumped at the man's comment. He held up a hand to allay her fears of a telepathy. "I can see from your face that you are weary of the death that lies before you and the others, perhaps, in the past. But it is not up to you to shoulder the burden of guilt all by yourself. Life gives and takes. Even as Ixin and Karak move on, you have been blessed by receiving my presence. But with the loss of two we still have to burden up, all of us, because I cannot shoulder the effect of two by my own presence."

Shamalin looked at him blankly and he turned back toward the keep, pausing only to make a gesture over the drakeling's corpse, saying, "May the afterlife be as gentle for them, as life was harsh on them."

"Wait," the Mercybringer protested. "That gesture you made... Did the elves teach you spellcasting?" Ahlear nodded.

"My mother taught me the basics," he said. "But it was actually a human who helped me find my path through life." Shamalin looked for some sort of holy symbol on him, but apart from a torc around his neck he wore no jewelry that she could see.

"Which, if any, of the gods do you serve?" she asked and Ahlear turned more properly to face her.

"Shamalin, in priciple I do not - nor does any other druid - have to serve any of the gods," he told her. "But as it stands, I did vouch to one particular goddes, namely Akadi, mistress of Air, as I think air is one of the four key elements needed for continued life." He turned an envious eye on Ayremac standing some dozen paces away and added, "And I always had the wish to fly about with wings of my own."



"There, angel, it is as I said," the one-armed man growled, gripping his spear tightly. "Alechtus murdered your friends, now leave us in peace." Ayremac held up his hands in a calming gesture.

"Put your weapons down, please, " he said. "We will leave you, but we have questions first."

'Sir Alechtus,' Morier turned the name over and over in his mind as he made for the gate. It was familiar, but where had he heard it? He could even hear the same disdain the boy had spat out when using the title 'Sir', but somewhere in the blur of the last hundred moons, he couldn't recall where that familiarity had its seed and so he tried to force the thoughts from his mind.

"Yes," Morier said as he stepped up. "What of Karak? Did anyone see him?" The leader scowled at the eldritch warrior and shook his head. Neither he nor the men and women with him put down their weapons.

"We've seen nobody but you lot and that devil, Alechtus!" the red-haired warrior said.
"Sir Alechtus," Morier repeated, and it stopped his mind in its tracks. It was Arwold Wyverneye's voice he heard, as he said it, he was now sure of it.

"Aye!" the man at the gate said. "He did call himself 'Sir', though he were unlike any knight I've ever encountered."

It had been while Morier was explaining to Wyverneye about Ledare's death that he had spoken of this man. Alechtus had sought Ledare... something about a sword. Tiny shards of the story came rushing back to him: a half-crazed leader of a group called "The Order of Endings", a halfling named Harcourt... foggy at best. The sad truth was that he hadn't been paying close attention to Arwold when he recounted where he had been prior to taking over as the caretaker of the Manor, but now he wished he had.

"Tell us anything you can about Alechtus," Ayremac suggested. "I want to know every item you saw on his person. What did his weapons do or look like? And especially - and please try to remember clearly - what did he say he was going to do?" The man bared his teeth and glared at Ayremac.

The lone detail that stuck out now was Wyverneye's description of Alechtus' "otherworldly strength" when he went into one of the fits of rage to which he was apparently prone.

"There was little about his person that was remarkable apart from that damned sword! I've never seen its like and hope never to again," he explained, spitting on the ground in a way that reminded both Morier and Ayremac of Karak. "Called it a runesword, he did. And he was always talking to it like it was a living thing, which I suppose it may well have been. The damnable thing answered him often enough."

"But there was nothing else you can think of?" Ayremac pressed. "Did he use magic? What about his armor?"

"He wore light armor - a shirt of chain only. No shield. But his kit isn't what'll give you the trouble," he snorted. "The man - if man he be - was well and truly mad - going on half the time about running from the Sanctifiers after he'd already killed them all. He went completely berserk when he saw Lannet and crushed the little guy to death beneath Voril's anvil. He picked the thing up over his head and threw it at Lannet; and I'm talking about the big anvil. It was the most amazing and horrible thing I've ever seen." Ayremac glanced at Morier, but the albino seemed too consumed with his own thoughts to
glance back.

A chill traced its way up Morier's spine. They would have to act, he knew, and he turned without aother word and headed for their camp.

"What were his plans? Did he say?" the holy warrior asked, looking puzzled after the retreating eldritch warrior. The red-haired man shook his head.

"As I said, he spoke with Chag's tongue[1]. We did our best to stay out of his way, not sit and chat with him," he said. "And you'd do well to take the same stance. Nothing but ill can come from that madman." Ayremac sighed and nodded curtly.

"I thank you for your information. I have bound myself to a quest, but am also honor bound to offer help in the name of Umba," the Officer explained. "If you require any healing or aid, please... now is the time, as we need to continue our pursuit."

"No," the man said flatly, making a chopping motion with the stump of his left arm. "Just leave us be."

"Your men will need to be in full health to fight against Alechtus, should he return," Shamalin added as she approached once more. "Will you not allow us to help make you strong before we go?"

"Shandril could do nothing," the man replied. "And we trusted her a lot more than we trust any of you!"



"We have to make a decision here," Ayremac said once they'd retreated to their campsite, which was largely packed and ready for them to leave thanks to Anania's diligence. "Do we track this monster, or do we keep a direct march for our larger quest."

"We're chasing bees again..." Morier muttered and Huzair threw up his hands in disgust.

"Not the bee thing again," the wizard protested and Morier shot him a harsh look.

"I am packing up and heading out after Dirdana's heart," the albino said. "If anyone is left behind playing around chasing after Alechtus, so be it."

"Ixin was a friend to me, Whitey!" Huzair scowled. "And now she is dead and you want me to walk away like means nothing to me?" Morier did not turn to look at the mage, but his slim shoulders slumped with fatigue.

"I grow weary of loss, Huzair. I grow weary of evil. I grow weary of those that refuse to take seriously the magnitude of what we set out to do. Every day that we spend chasing another rabbit down another hole slows our progress at putting a stop to the bigger evil that washes over the entirety of the Realms," he said. "If you desire to play about running down Alechtus, then I bid you well and wish good luck to you... if you wish to come with me to finish the goal we set out to accomplish and have been outfitted to do, then I thank you for your allegiance and ask that you be ready to depart as soon as possible."

Nobody said anything immediately in response, but Anania shouldered her own small bag before kicking snow into the remains of their campfire. Ayremac sighed and stepped forward.

"I believe that Umba's judement is the greatest judgement of all, and it is impossible to escape by any mortal," the holy warrior explained.

"But the laws of Man are also important and we cannot just turn our back on this injustice and leave this man to wander to the next settlement and destroy them as well." Morier said nothing as he readied his pack.

"I say we move on this Alechtus and kill him," Ayremac suggested, looking about at the other faces around the campsite. "What say you? Will you honor our laws and our fallen comrades?"

"I am going to fry that bastard, Alechtus, if it is the last thing I do," Huzair snapped, shaking a fist for emphasis.

"Ayremac, this evil we fight knows no law... it cares nothing for the rules of Men," Morier said. "We're charged with much a more important task than assuring that this 'Sir Alechtus of Gudiberg' is brought to justice; we've a far greater purpose. If we continue to be stalled at every turn, the evil that awaits is infinitely worse than anything Alechtus can bring down upon us. We need to forge ahead and find Dridana's Heart."

Ayremac said nothing, seeming to consider the worth of Morier's words. Huzair, on the other hand barely seemed to be listening. "I really want to get this son of a bitch," he said. "I am sending Sparky after him, regardless of what you think is unimportant."

"I'll send Nibble after the track and with his keen nose ability, he'll shadow the rider," Ahlear offered. "I'll tell him to come back when he finds him." Huzair turned to look at the man.

"You can do that?" the wizard asked and before Ahlear could answer, Morier stood up and interposed himself between the newcomer and the remaining members of the Order.
"Give me a few moments with the rest of the group to talk to them about your presence," the albino suggested. "I think they will be receptive, but it is best if you allow me to break the ice." Ahlear looked at the others and nodded.

"I will prepare Nibble," he said and stepped a discreet distance away, clucking his tongue for his rat to follow.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #430] Breaking Up is Easy, part 2

"I have fought alongside Ahlear before and in the time since I have been away, Malcom has spoken often to me of him. His word alone is enough to convince me that he is worthy of our fight," Morier said in a conversational tone. His voice was not deliberately muffled, but neither did he make an effort for Ahlear to hear him as he spoke.

"But, in truth, I think it's important that you know that Ahlear carries a darkness with him... although I assure you that that darkness is his own and you've nothing to fear from it. I want to be sure that you know and are prepared to ask him to be candid about it." All save Shamalin turned to look at their new companion as he knelt, feeding something to Nibble.

"We all carry darkness inside of ourselves," Shamalin said matter-of-factly. Then she favored Ayremac with a smile and added, "Well, except maybe Ayremac. But Huzair's got enough to go around." There was nothing left of her smile when she turned to the mage. He smirked at her.

"Forgive her, Anania. I think she has a crush on me," he said with an oily smile. "She is the type who likes the bad boy."

Ignoring the wizard's comment, Shamalin turned to Ahlear and raised her voice, calling, "Which darkness is yours, Ahlear?" The man stood and smiled, unfastening his cloak as he strode back toward the group.

"I have nothing to hide from friends," he said, and begins stripping off his armor. He looked to Morier to lend him a hand in speeding up the process. He stripped off his shirt and his winter clothes, and stood naked to the waist in the bitter cold. His torso sweated a little, steam rising of off him as he turned to each so that they could see the tattoo on his chest and said, "This is the physical emanation of it, and I know a little about it myself, but not enough to explain easily to you all what it signifies."

On the right side of his chest, starting on his lower neck and ending roughly below the nipple, there was a large tattoo. It was a grinning skeletal head, with blood drops running counter clockwise around the skull, and wavy flames spurting outward around the whole. The tattoo was completely pitch black, and in the bright white environment it seemed to suck light away from its surroundings.

"Me and the elves have found out that the Tattoo is a combination of variations on the symbols of Graath, the Black Sun, Myrkul, the Lady of the Dead, and Bhaal, god of pain, destruction, and murder, but the full why and how, is not known as yet," he explained, studying each of their faces as they looked on the symbol. "Only that when the elves found me, I already had this tattoo. With my parents slain gruesomely, the elves decided to take me for safekeeping, and two of the elves adopted me. Then when I went to train with Malcolm, I accidentally came across some of those gods' followers, and they seemed to recognize the tattoo and I had to run for the protection of Malcolm. We fended them off easily, and we were safe for a while, but the pressure has been mounting recently. There have been sighting's of members of all three churches in and near the village, although no attacks yet this time. That's when me and Malcolm both decided it was time for traveling, and we thought of Morier and his travels." His voice trailed off then and he started dressing again, looking at Morier to help him.

"I do no know how you do it, Whitey," Huzair groused. "You have got everybody thinking you are some great role-model. Malcolm, Wyverneye, Garan-zak... Pretty slick!"

"I'm assuming the elves tried everything," Shamalin said as Ahlear pulled on his jerkin.

"Yes, they have, and to no avail," the man said. "They class the magic as not removable. Although under a Detection spell it shines with magic no greater than an orison or a 1st circle spell, perhaps, nothing has been able to remove it." Shamalin nodded her understanding and looked down at her feet and pondered the ramifications of such a symbol. Unfortunately, she knew little of Graath and Bhaal, and what little she knew of Mykul led her to believe that Lady Death wouldn't ally with evil gods. It was all quite puzzling. While Morier helped the man into his armor again, Ahlear turned around to eye him squarely, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Morier, I do not judge your motive nor your intentions," the druid said. "But what if separate enemies are doing things to whittle this group down to nothing, each evil doing its own thing but wearing the group down bit by bit so that it cannot function even in the bigger frame that you have as a goal? Think on this. I give you and your group's members advice only, as it is not my place here to judge or give my own ambitions." The albino sighed.

"Look, Ahlear, you don't know everything that's gone on with this group since we set out to stop Aphyx, so I don't fault you for not seeing the whole picture. I'll tell you the story while we travel if you'd like, but there are a few points which make me think that my goal is not A goal, it's THE goal," the albino explained. "I was lucky enough to survive the Grove of Renewal, which took two of our number from us and turned two others away. It has taken and turned back countless others throughout time. I have been given the gift that might allow us to reunite Dridana's heart and body in our lifetime. How often are mortals chosen for that opportunity? Add to that that we have managed to procure four of the most powerful weapons known to the Realms to assist us in doing so and, no matter what I want, I don't have the luxury of chasing Sir Alechtus right now. I feel so compelled to use the gifts I have been given to the ends which they were intended, that I am willing to leave here on my own with those that would follow me to attempt to follow this pull." He tapped his forehead and pointed off to the east. Ahlear followed his gesture but could see nothing but blowing snow.

"Morier, as I told you before, I have no qualms with your logic," the man explained. "But if you let Alechtus live, then he will come to take another, perhaps from the party." Morier waived off that assertion.

"It would appear that Alechtus had the opportunity to killl those of us that remain in our sleep last night and opted instead to leave us in perfect peace," he scoffed. "I fear him not."

"He is a cowardly villian who will pay with his life," Huzair snapped.

"I do not think that Ixin feared him either, but he slew her just the same. He could do it again. And by the time you get face-to-face with the actual evil that needs to be corrected, you find out you're lacking in power because of all those sustained losses," Ahlear explained as he slipped on the remainder of his clothing. "It's like a hydra: you might succeed in killing the main body in time for it to die without too many losses, but what if the Hydra gets 'lucky' and devours so many of us that we no longer have the strength to kill it? And all the heads might not even be of the original Hydra, anyway. There might be more then one, each doing its part to wear us down."

"Bees! Rabbits! Hydras!" Huzair grimaced, clutching his bald head as if it might explode.

"Well, I know little of hydras, Morier, but I do understand your commitment to this quest," Ayremac said, stepping forward. "Trust me - commitment, faith, duty - these are things I take very seriously. But it is because I can understand that I must take a different path." He turned to address the whole group then and said, "I will be tracking this Alechtus and I will kill him... or die trying. I invite you all to follow Morier, he leads an important quest, worthy of all your attention. But if you choose to follow me, know that I mean to dispense Justice on a criminal... I am not seeking his knowledge of the evils that plague this land."

"Damn it, fly boy! I may just start to like you!" Huzair said with a grin. "Let us work together on this one."

"I am with you two, if you want me," Ahlear offered with a nod. Shamalin listened to the debate silently. It was not until Ayremac's plea for the rest to continue on with Morier while he pursued Alecthus that fear began to well up within her. She could no more allow him to continue on alone than she could have let Huzair explore the pit alone days ago. Considerably less, in fact.

"Ayremac..." she began urgently. But when his eyes locked with hers, she was not certain if she had said the words aloud or not. He seemed almost to shimmer with the strength of this new purpose. And once more the clarity of his being seemed to accentuate her own uncertainties. Suddenly she did not know where to begin in an attempt to explain her reasons to stay - her duty to Morier. In the end it didn't matter. Huzair and Ahlear stepped quickly forward in offer to accompany Ayremac.

Shamalin looked emphatically at Morier, but his back was to her and he seemed absorbed in his own business. "Ayremac..." she began again. And once more he turned to her, sensing her struggle.

"Go with Morier. Keep him safe." He nodded in the albino's direction. "We will find you." Huzair scoffed at that.

"No. Morier needs to come with us. He is vulnerable all by himself," the wizard chuckled. "Stay back in the battle, Whitey. We will protect you."

"What about you, Anania?" Ayremac asked, catching the elf maiden's eye.

"My mission is the original one. My place is with Morier," she said.

"I have no interest in hunting this murderer although I do wish you luck in doing so."

"It is settled then," Huzair laughed. "Boys after Alechtus, girls following the pull."



While Ayremac, Ahlear and Huzair made their preparations to leave, Shamalin wondered if it had occurred to Morier that the two members of their party who were not carrying elemental blades were gone? What could that mean?

Intrigued by her own speculations, Shamalin removed Waveblade from the belt at her hip and studied it thoughtfully. The hilt was cool and smooth to the touch, and as always seemed coated in a layer of condensation that was unaffected by the cold weather. There was a single rune carved into the guard, and she ran her finger lightly over that symbol and along the wire-wrapped handle, keeping the blade fully sheathed to prevent the one characteristic of the sword she found hard to embrace - its incessant talking.

Waveblade was fully-sized now, and she marveled at its magic. There was a pattern to the changes - from dirk to long sword. She had her suspicions about its behavior, but had never spent any length of time near natural bodies of water to be certain. In fact, she remembered the first time she had ever laid eyes upon the ocean. How vividly she recalled standing knee-deep as the waters pooled around her, swirling her skirts about her legs with undercurrents she had never knew existed. That had been lifetimes ago, but somehow, holding the blade made the memory seem vivid and alive - as if it had happened only yesterday.

Her thoughts returned to the weapon in her hand - one of four elemental blades powerful enough to reunite a goddess' heart and body. And yet not powerful enough to stop the death and destruction that littered the path they followed toward that end? Would things have turned out differently if the keeper of an elemental sword had been on watch nights before with Ixin or Karak? She resolved to insist that Morier set a watch with at least one elemental blade with every shift from now on and so she trooped over to him and forced the albino to pay attention to her.

"What of the swords?" she demanded. "If something happens... what good does it do us to follow your pull if we arrive at the end with only two of the four keys?"

"I was just thinking that," Ayreamc said as he stepped up to the two of them with Windblade sheathed in his hands. He pulled the weapon from its scabbard and marveled at it. It was nearly invisible against the snowy background, a slight waver in the air the only clue of its presence. That and its howling voice.

"Free!" it shrieked. "Free to taste the snowflakes on my blade! Free to-" Ayremac re-sheathed the weapon and handed Windblade to Morier.

"I will come to collect this shortly," the holy warrior said and it was clear that he was having some difficulty in parting with the sword. "But it's more important they stay together." Then he turned and walked away, his hand resting on the morningstar at his hip.

"What about you, Huzair?" Shamalin called. "Are you giving up your sword before you go?" The mage barked laughter.

"Hells no, I am not going to give it up!" he called back, stuffing gear into his Handy Haversack.

"Why?" Shamalin asked wryly. "You never get close enough to use it anyway."

"Oh, I am sorry. I am not wearing Blackheart's armor to protect me," the wizard shot back with a keenness of wit that came from years of wisecracking his way into and out of trouble on the streets of Freeport. "You do not even know what this sword does for me, so make fun all you want. We may need it and I do not plan on dying."

"Huzair!" Ayremac shouted. "That was low even for you!" Shamalin bristled at Huzair's remark and turned away to make her own preparations.

Ahlear just watched the banter, looking in the face each person giving it, but keeping silent as he tried to judge how serious the remarks were intended and what the underlying meaning they were meant to have. But mostly he tried to judge the personalities of these new companions of his and hoped that much of the commentary might just be stress being vented.


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[1] Which is to say that he was raving like a madman. Chag is the god of insanity as well as spiders.

 

[Hairy Minotaur]

So who did Ahlear replace? Ixin is my guess.