Secret Arkanos. (Closed)

[Archanex Jotham]

My children.

The darkness will come sweeping upon our land very soon.

It has been foretold since the days the false ones (Thayne) walked the mortal planes.

Wearing the guise of the Hedge Magi, the Traveller (Archanex Jotham) will come.

His people are not of our land, they herald from the stars in giant star chariots and they are a plague.

They must be stopped.

Be ready my brothers and sisters.

For the hour is upon is.

And the sun will soon set...

"No!" Archanex yelled. He was in his bed. The city was Scara Brae, a Tuesday, and the hour was late. Archanex checked the time device next to him that the hedge magi used and he saw that it was roughly three thirty in the morning. Looking at the window, Archanex saw it was still dark outside. It would be too dangerous by himself to travel the streets of Scara Brae by night. His heart was racing as he sat up in bed, an intense feeling of nervousness gripped his heart. Of late, Archanex's dreams were troubling him. He'd write them down in his grimoire, but that did not help matters. He discussed things with his superiors of the Hedge Magi, but that didn't help either. The voices in his head were becoming more severe, and figures in the dark, shadows, taunted the Overmage. Something was coming Jotham knew. What the hell is wrong with me of late? I'm hearing voices in my head. Archanex, slid out of his bed and walked naked towards the window. He opened it to allow the breeze into the room and attempt to cool him off.

Sweat glistened across his flesh and was augmented by the shining moonlight. He looked up as the the sliver of a crescent moon shone brightly down at him, almost as if it was winking. Archanex was having trouble sleeping for the past two or three weeks. He'd lost track of the situation since he first developed his case of insomnia. His heart was racing rapidly and he was doing simple breathing techniques to relax his body. Archanex joined the Hedge Magi many years ago and was working through his internship with them. It was a study-filled life, and Archanex was learning how to control his power. As he stood staring at the moon, he rose his hand and controlled, through the elemental manna, the flames that burned hotly in his soul. Opening his hand, a small and potent flame burst into being. He looked at his creation, a harbinger of death, and smiled at it softly. For a moment, he swore he could almost see his reflection in the fire. "Calm down Archanex. They haven't come true yet." He said to nobody in particular and turned towards his bed. It was empty. Archanex, the fiery Overmage, had not shared his bed with anyone of late. He was too busy to allow anyone into his personal affairs.

Running his hand through his long red hair, the gentleman carefully put the fire in his hand out. He willed it out of being. Though Archanex was no master yet, he was well on his way. Turning away from the window, he closed it. Having helped at least partially, the breeze cooled down his hot body. Furthermore, it chilled the temperature in the master bedroom subtly. Archanex was an impressive man for a Magus. By no means was he a stereotypically scrawny wizard. No. He was chiseled in the same way a warrior would be. The high physical endurance was necessary for an Overmage to channel the elemental manna. In the dark, Archanex's eyes shown in a steel grey fashion, though they were usually brown. The elevated colour was due to the tension he felt. He stood at an impressive height of six feet and weighed about two hundred and ten pounds. Walking towards a table, he sat down upon a chair. Leaning one of his elbows against the surface of the table, he placed his hand against the arch of his forehead. His head hurt, there was no doubt about it. Lack of sleep was making him unusually anxious.

Archanex's grimoire, that is, journal, was placed atop the table. He had a container filled with fresh ink nearby with a fountain pen ready. Like most magus, Archanex was literate and had a high vocabulary. So, hoping to write his anxieties on the pages of his book, he got to work. Archanex closed his eyes. Even as he wrote without having to look at the pages, Archanex could see the images in his dream again. They were haunting him. The shadowy forms. Somehow, in his dread, Archanex knew what the small shadows were. With that dread, he somehow knew that he would have to face the nightmare creatures soon. Archanex wrote well into the morning hours, and was up with the rise of the sun...but the sun's rays brought no comfort for the Overmage.

[Starr Redmaw]

Drums. The sound of a thousand, rumpus drums filled the night sky.

In the heat of the tribal furore, Starr Redmaw, high priest of the Innari tribes to the south the Valeena Crags swayed. His leathery skin and vibrant dress glimmered in the light of the great bonfire that burnt like a sun’s dying days at the heart of the valley. Its warmth, caressing his skin like a fond lover only served to strike a new level of zeal into his heart.

About the bonfire, a hundred Innari warriors careened, crashed and gallivanted in the moment. Bone blades and lizard skin shields clashed together, mirroring the primal rhythm of the great elephant hide tom toms that lined the cliffs over the flames. Rocky daggers raised into the dark skies, each one an outcrop from which the Innari watched the southern plains for sign of intruders or wayward caravans.

Starr’s feet stomped together and his staff, a fetish of herbal pouches and human teeth dug into the dirt. It, like the old shaman’s hide was withered, cracked and worn. It carried about its presence an aura that defied all reason, humming with the archaic energies of the great devil that gave life to all the Innari.

“Kennan Akuna furesh il travanaa!”

The chorus of the war chant slipped from Starr’s lips as if he had been born to speak it. He repeated it over and over, each recitation growing in pitch until he belted it out with such ferocity and anger that his throat coursed with pain and dry air.

“Today the Kaleen will strike down the usurper!”

The tribe roared in praise, a cacophony of trills and shrieks and cackles that were fuelled by mushroom beer and narcotic fungi from across the Windlacer Mountains. In the depths of summer, the madness of their Thayne, Skargo, drove them to even greater heights of madness.

“They will not take the Rendarii; they will not defy the will of the woods!”

A thunderous shockwave erupted from Starr’s staff, a coruscating sphere of silver that projected onto its inner and outer surface a world of tomorrow and yesterday. No sooner than the pragmatism of the shaman’s magic came to life, his form changed. A Fae glamour covered his tanned hide, elongating his horns and nose into a twisted mockery of nature’s form. Leather cloth and lion skin shifted into actual fur, part of the creature’s other worldly visage that struck fear into the hearts of mortals whenever they rampaged south to the city walls.

“Praise for the Kaleen, for the Kaleen, for the Kaleen, for the Kaleen!” the villagers chanted, suddenly transfixed by the mercury sphere. Every Innari wherever berserker, artisan or mother froze quite literally on the spot to observe the prophecies of their shaman.

Starr’s word, his vision, was a god’s commandment to the Innari.

The shaman stood at the centre of the sphere, finally relieved from his façade. Unlike the lesser members of the tribe, whose lives were ruled by impulse and instinct, he was entirely in possession of his faculties. He wrinkled his nose at the swirling patterns of colour on the inner curve of the sphere. The scent of moss weed, mushroom brew and soil clung to his nostrils as he rolled the fatigue out the muscles in his neck.

Known as a skein sliver, the silver sphere rippled with coruscating heat, energy and vibrancy. Under normal circumstances, Starr would have relied entirely on divination with dung, broken twigs and rain. Ever since the other tribal shamans had convened to talk about a new rising threat to the entire Innari tribes, desperate times called for desperate measures. The skein sliver was the shaman’s only line to the future.

“Praise for the Kaleen, for the Kaleen, for the Kaleen, for the Kaleen!”

From every outcrop, fireside and upturned log, the villages gnawed on roasted honey meets and glugged on more and more litres of beer.

“Praise for the Kaleen, for the Kaleen, for the Kaleen, for the Kaleen!”

Starr made sense of the inner sphere’s vision quickly, and could only furrow his brow with confusion at the thoughts that assailed him. The man in the vision was hiking over the southern planes, a swaddled crone clouded by magic and the legacy of ages. He seemed strange, more so than humans were to Starr. There was something worthy of note about the vision.

“Hedge mage…” Starr whispered.

The drums continued, quickening their rhythm and altering their time signature so that the Innari who still possessed the stamina to dance had to quicken their step to maintain their observance of the tribal routine. Obscured from view, Starr could not see just how dedicated and shallow his kin were during the summer. Their Thayne was rampant, and thus, so were the Innari.

“Let us see why Skargo has shown you to me…soon enough,” the goblin wrinkled his lips, furrowed his brow and twitched his long, feline ears. To the Innari, the sphere had manifested flames of war and a new rampage south. As the chorus of praises and chants grew so loud even Starr, in his other world of future and tomorrow could not ignore them, a portent of a new and turbulent time formed in the ether.

The secret of the arcane would soon meet with the dark secrets of Scara Brae’s woods. Starr let the sphere go, and raised his staff to the bright white stars of the midnight sky.

“Down with the Hedge Mage down with the Hedge Mage!” the shaman roared. Flames danced about his fingertips, lightning crackled about his horns and potential ran out in a shockwave over his kin.

The Kaleen were primed for war.

[Archanex Jotham]

When it was time to head over to the goblin's lands, Archanex felt a cold shiver go up his spine.

Something is wrong. Archanex thought to himself. That same feeling kept bugging him ever since the dreams with the Goblin's witch started. None of it made any sense, but the words echoed loudly across his mind, taunting and tormenting him. Archanex was attempting to make sense of the words of the witch that were spoken in his head. When the Hedge Magi had gathered a fairly sized group of apprentices for him, and one Sorcerer, Archanex knew the hour had come. Gods, help us all. Archanex thought to himself as he looked at his companions. They were the best in his rank, ready to start on the trials of the hedge magi. Archanex looked at the four other apprentices in his squad. Then he looked at their leader. The woman was a skilled invoker, and she had a tremendous aura of respect and dignity about her person.

Archanex smiled when he looked upon her, she brought some comfort to the Overmage.

"Hey are you okay?" Asked one of the Apprentices, he was talking to Archanex.

"I am fine." Archanex lied, but he could not put his worry on the others.

Archanex carefully watched the woman standing in front of the group as she walked towards the point of their party. She stopped directly in front of the five wizards.

"Listen well students." The woman began. Her name was Lindra Elain. "Today we are to venture deep into Innari territory." Hushed whispers amongst the squad. "The Innari are an ancient enemy of Scara Brae. They must be dealt with by any means necessary." Lindra paused. "Our Scouts have reported a massive gathering of the Innari deep in their territory, this uprising must be put down. But that is a secondary objective. The primary objective is this." Lindra removed a small gem from one of her pouches and whispered an incantation. A symbol lit up on the gem, and it projected forward the image of a Talisman. Archanex gasped when he saw the object of his nightmares. The Rendarii Talisman. Somehow, Archanex knew what the thing was without ever having laid eyes upon it. "This is called the Sphere of Rendarii." Lindra said. "This is our target. We suspect that it is deep within Innari territory."

"If they have taken the object by force, this could trigger a war between our people." One of the apprentices said. "They have never been that emboldened before, what is driving them?"

"That is not our concern." Lindra said. Then she looked over at Archanex. "We must retrieve the Talisman at all costs. It is an object of extreme importance to the Hedge Magi. In the hands of the Innari it could spell doom to Scara Brae."

"Is this an extermination then?" Archanex suddenly asked, and felt a deep sympathy to the Innari as was the nature of his people.

"By any means necessary. Your training will be tested in the extreme." Lindra said. "Students. Remember. We are all part of the people of Scara Brae, and as her citizens, we must protect her from any and all threats. Seen or unseen." Lindra continued. "When you engage the Innari in combat, use any means necessary to prevail. It is likely that they will attack us on sight anyway."

"Has every diplomatic means been attempted before?" Archanex suddenly asked.

This caused Lindra to raise an eyebrow. "They are devils, beast-men. Diplomacy will likely not work here."

"There has to be a reason that the Innari took the Talisman in the first place. I sincerely doubt they would risk the loss of their numbers over such a trivial matter..." Archanex found himself at a loss. Suddenly, Lindra did something quite unexpected. She smacked him, hard. Archanex growled, but he knew the etiquette of the Hedge Magi. When a superior officer disciplined you, you just took it. Archanex felt his heart sink, and a part of him wanted to explode. That was the risk involved with being a fire magi. It took many years of training to control the temper associated with fire magic. "Forgive...my insolence Sire. I meant no harm by my suggestion." Archanex felt worry in his heart as much as he felt the sting of being slapped. He rubbed his face and watched her as she stepped back. "I'll be certain it will not happen again." Archanex added to her satisfaction.

"If you do, you will suffer greatly." Lindra said. "Do-not have sympathies for these lesser beings, they are primates at best." Lindra continued. "They would not show sympathy to you or your families. So they do not deserve any in return."

Who are we to judge them? Archanex sighed visibly but he did not voice his opinion again. Lindra had absolute authority over the squad, and there would be no dissent on his behalf. This was the will of the Hedge Magi.

"If there are...no further objections...let us be off then." Lindra said. And the robed wizards marched off in the general direction where the Innari tribes were gathering...

Little did they know they were heading towards all out war.

[Starr Redmaw]

By the time the sun rose over the crags, the trance had fizzled out. Everywhere you looked, Innari twitched and groaned like dreaming dogs. The embers of the great bonfire lit at the heart of the camp three days ago still smouldered and glowed, but the ferocity and tenacity of their flames had long since perished.

“This is not good,” muttered the shaman.

Without the luminescence of the skein sliver or the tribal furore, the Innari appeared as he was, withered, old, staff laden with fetish and heart burdened with troubles. The spurious glamour of the Fae heart of the Innari was absent, and he felt tired, weary, desolated.

He took a deep breath, dredging the stale air in his lungs free of his ribcage.

“This is not good at all.”

The vision of the hedge mage had troubled Starr for several hours, long after the tribe had fallen to sleep, drunk and high on the bounty of the forest. He had witnessed many strange hallucinations in his life, but none had driven him as blind to the truth as this one had.

He turned to the rising sun, appearing over the horizon in a resplendent corona of fire, vermillion and ruby shimmer. Dancing birds formed strange, erratic patterns over the dagger peaks, granite knives set against the coloured sky. There was a strange anti-silence, formed from the sleeping snores of his kin and the soft, gentle breeze that rolled down from the north. It was, as the name of the range suggested, a lacing of the wind into the very fabric of the island.

“Kaleen arise, Kaleen arise, ayeeee!” he roared, wasting no time to use the self-doubt and determination to his advantage.

Several of the warriors twitched and lurched upright, the zeal lost, but the subservience to their shaman eternal. Rotten eggshells, charred bone and long dry hide clad goblins stood to attention about the smouldering flames of the fire hearth, and from outcrops and archer posts they looked down at the fetish laden Innari who had led them through so many dark times.

“It would only get darker,” Starr said to himself, fondling the talisman about his neck with shaking fingers. His curled talons scraped against the cold pearl at the centre of the artefact, and he steeled his thoughts with its presence. The hedge mage was coming, today.

[Archanex Jotham]

Somber was the mood as they made their trip to the goblin territory.

Many places of Althanas were still largely unexplored, or worse yet, they belonged to the tribes of the wild folk. The place they were heading to was somewhat like that, a place where the Innari ran wild. Archanex felt chills in the air, he was no aeromancer, but he could feel the taint of foreign gods in the air. They moved swiftly by wagon to about the outskirts of the location they were heading to. It took about a day's travel. Nobody spoke during the wagon's travel and that made the general mood even more sour. The idea of committing mass genocide did not seem to be too popular with the rest of the apprentices either. We just need that damned Talisman back, is violence really the only way? Archanex thought the entire time as the wagon bounced up and down during the long journey towards the Goblins.

It was long rumoured that Innari were a bunch of wild and uncivilized beast-folk. Archanex was somewhat eager to see if that was true. As he moved further in his Hedge Magi's training, the Overmage grew weary of the circle's politics. Their generally xenomorphic approach on life made things excruciatingly difficult for Archanex to grasp. Normally an out-going individual, Archanex did not like having to keep the secret of the Hedge Magi in his heart. He was growing tired, and this "test" they were about to face would like break the Overmage. As he listened to the horse, he tried to draw comfort from something. He was already at odds with Lindra from the earlier event, and that made the situation even harder. Archanex made sure not to look Lindra in the eyes for fear of sparking another reprimand. There was no solace. Though the Innari had stolen from his superiors, that was not necessarily an all-out act of war.

The only peace of mind Archanex had was that he knew the circle would keep it's affairs private. They were hired in-house from the circle and they would be used to the full extent of their capabilities.

"Something on your mind, Archanex?" It was Lindra speaking about half-way through the ride. "You are free to speak despite the earlier incident."

Archanex was brought out of his reverie by the words she spoke. He shook his head. "No. I'll keep my thoughts to myself it is clear my opinions mean very little here anyway." Archanex said in a matter-of-fact, almost cold sort of way. He did not see the fire in Lindra's eyes appear for a moment that almost resembled hate.

"Are you loyal to the circle, Archanex?" Lindra asked.

Now that is a loaded question. Archanex's eye began to twitch at the thought of having his dedication questioned. He looked up at Lindra for a long moment, and was preparing to let her have it, when the wagon suddenly stopped.

"All right gang, this is far as we go!" The wagon's rider said suddenly. Archanex saw it just then, it was a banner. A pagan fetish was the closer term, but it was a banner none the less. No it is a warning. The wagon stopped. "This is where you guys get off." The wagon rider said. He waited until after the small squad got out of the wagon before he got paid from Lindra. "Good journey, and best of luck to you all." The wagon rider started to sing a small psalm that Archanex did not like and sang it as he turned back the way they came from. Archanex turned to look at Lindra, then he walked over towards the fetish. He used his battle-staff as a walking stick the entire time. Archanex looked at it for a long moment. There were markings on the fetish, dried blood and it smelled atrocious. Archanex would not risk touching it, but the symbols were familiar to him.

As he looked at the symbols, he recalled the symbols that the Innari witch was using in her scrying runes.

"You know something." Lindra suddenly said. "If you have information useful to us, then you should say it." Lindra said.

"Because our communication is already so great." Archanex found himself saying. He was already in a foul mood. "Look I seen these symbols before."

"Really now?" Lindra said and walked over to Archanex. "Looks to me like you're a sympathizer to the enemy." Lindra paused. "When we return, I'll have your status as member of the circle revoked, utterly." Lindra said, and that finally set Archanex off.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Archanex suddenly yelled. He turned to look at Lindra with a harsh expression on his face. "You've been totally ridiculous since this whole thing started."

"I have my reasons. You are out of line, Archanex." Lindra looked at the Overmage carefully. "We have confiscated this from you." Suddenly, Lindra pulled out a familiar looking book.

My grimoire!

"How could you?!" It had all gone to hell. "I've been seeking help for my situation and nobody would listen, then you do this!? You were planning on having my membership revoked anyway weren't you?" Archanex had to ask.

"You've become a threat to the circle." Lindra said. "I should have you arrested for treason." Lindra continued. "However, since I am feeling forgiving, I'll simply leave you to fend for yourself out here." She looked at her subordinates. "Leave the 'Overmage'. If any of you attempt to intervene or assist him in anyway you can forget about your training." Lindra looked at Archanex for a long moment. "It's not that I hate you, Archanex. It's just that you developed sympathies for the enemy. The visions you describe are what we call Empathic Visions." Lindra paused a moment. "You are able to see the enemy, and know what the enemy is doing, thus, that makes you a liability. I had to remove you from the vicinity of the circle so you could no longer place us in any danger. By the way, the Rendarri Talisman is a fake that the Goblins stole." Lindra was lying. But at that point it did not matter. "By the morrow a squadron of the Queen's guard will come to eliminate your precious Innari. It has been placed upon me to eliminate the real threat, which is you."

Archanex only then realized what this had all been. This is a fucking set-up! He looked at the woman for a long moment but it was already too late. She had gone quiet, but was actually preparing her power. Archanex was at a loss. He could not defend himself either way from the woman, and she had already revoked his membership from the circle. She was still a citizen of Scara Brae, and that meant striking her in front of so many would be viewed as a crime. "You guys." Archanex heard Lindra say. "Stand back while I deal with this, and may you always remember the price of treason." In a few moments, it was all over. Archanex was struck with a Lightning Blade, the energy swirled quickly through the air striking the helpless Overmage. He screamed in agony, inadvertently signalling to enemy scouts where their position was. Archanex's abdomen was impaled, and electricity coiled around his body. He was on the ground looking up at her. "Do-not return to Scara Brae. You are no longer welcome here." Lindra laughed coldly and walked off in the direction towards enemy territory. They had injured Archanex and left him to rot amidst wolves. Crawling on the ground, Archanex removed a small stone from the earth. Somehow, he had learned the language of the enemies through viewing it in his dreams. It had become second nature. I can't let them get wiped. So Archanex began to sprawl a message with his own blood upon the ground near the fetish. Time was running out.

Hedge Magi Coming. So dark, con of the Hedge Magi. Written in blood...Archanex's own blood. And he lay there dying, wondering if anyone would care to rescue him now...

[Starr Redmaw]

Starr’s nose twitched, quite without his consent. The shaman stopped dead in his tracks and raised his hand. The swarm of Innari running close behind him stopped.

“Magic…” he mumbled, broken common awkward on his tongue. In the rage and ebb of the tribe’s zeal, he was struggling to contain himself. “South, south Kaleen, and south!” he waved an arm down the descent towards the jagged and broken flats that covered most of the last slopes of the Windlacers. Soon, the landscape would give way to the plains, and then they would be in clear view of the city walls.

If their so called enemy was coming, he had better be coming soon.

The thunder of claws over the granite and roughshod slate gave the shaman something to focus on as he scrabbled, leapt and pole vaulted over the terrain. His heart was racing, quite unlike anything he had experienced before. Every time one of his fellow warriors and kin stopped in the swarm to clash sword against shield and scream, he felt it in his chest, his heart tightening, his muscles burning.

Only death would come now, a cold, ascent to freedom.

“Stop!” he ordered, hand raised once more, back arched, curled horns raised to the heavens. The sun was rising on the crest ahead, and down below, if Starr’s senses had not failed him, magic was afoot. It was not a primordial magic like his, it had ruled, declarations, tenets. It was born in a man’s finger, governed by law, not in his heart, rattled by rage.

“Dhaka, Shumen,” he searched the sea of a hundred haggard, impish faces for his closest companions. They were trackers par none, covered head to toe in raven feathers and all but invisible in the darkness.

The crowd parted as the trackers knocked gibbering bone clad berserkers and screaming, mewing, puking pole-arm wielders aside. Each carried a short bow strung with horsehair string. They had great, long, whiskery ears that were made, perhaps grown for the trail. They nodded together at the shaman.

“What does master command?” they chimed.

Starr pointed up to the top of the crest, a broken, jagged pattern on the sky line. He did not waste time on long, pointless explanations. With a scuffle of dirt and dust, the trackers clambered ahead, weaving through splintered and burnt shrubs and the few brave berserkers that had more running stamina than the rest of the tribe.

“Let it be so…” Starr whispered.

He heard the pulse of the tribe quicken as the impending confrontation drew closer.
On the skyline, Starr could make out the two shapes of Dhaka and Shumen as they crested the ridge and glared into the unknown beyond. Though Starr could depict the layout of the terrain of most of the landscape surrounding Goblin Cove, in the ever changing spectrum of daylight, it was always better to let the wizened kith of the tracker be his eyes.

His breathing intensified and he pushed himself up to puff his chest as they started to make their back to the tribe. They were greeted with cackling, screaming chorus in the older tongue of the Innari, the ancestral and magical vocabulary that the race had spoken amongst them when they too had been of a noble birth right and title in Scara Brae’s capitol.

“Body…” Dhaka croaked. “Mages…” He stopped before Starr to bow.

Shumen, a taller, lankier goblin rose on his haunches and spread his arms wide. Amongst the Kaleen, this was a symbol that destiny awaited them around the corner, that their prey, target or desire was there.

Starr’s nose twitched, but this time, it was because the Shaman bristled with excitement. His Fae glamour formed about his lanky form, and with an imposing demeanour, a hooked nose and a glowing forehead, the Shaman of the Kaleen raised his hand and screamed a charge.

In a few seconds, the so called Hedge Magi would find themselves washed away by a vast green tide as it descended the erratic, broken cliff face on the far side of the crest. The Kaleen rushed ahead, swords, arrows and flails swinging and whirling.

The noise was indescribable, but it sounded to the Kaleen like the most beautiful melody of all.

It was the Song of War.

[Archanex Jotham]

The Overmage was not a native son of Althanas.

No, his people hailed from a distant star, with a completely different set of morale values.

Betrayed! That thought kept passing in his mind over and over as his life-fluid leaked out of him. I am going to die here. Archanex had a healing spell at his disposal, but the injury he had sustained was far too great. And done by a superior spell-caster. There was little he could do. He needed advanced healing arts, and he needed them quickly. As the moments passed, he started to waver from the Firmanent. He wondered what sort of judgment would await him then? He felt his grip on the world of men rapidly fading. Where had I gone wrong? Archanex thought to himself. Strangely enough, he didn't feel as bad as he thought he would at that point. Archanex envisioned himself dying in some grand battle with the rest of his kin, not in some dirty way like he had. Life was a cruel thing, and he knew he was an insignificant pawn in the grand scheme of things.

Archanex just did not want it to end like that. Betrayed by the very people he had sworn to follow. It felt cold. Colder than the earth of the Windlacers beneath him. He kept wondering where had it all gone wrong? Archanex felt his heart slowing down and wanted to cry and scream at his fate. This is it? For me to die on this back-water planet? Away from my people? This was the grand scheme?! He wanted to cry. He was crying. Tears flowed freely down his face, and he was gripping the earth beneath him. Blood seeped from his body. The open wound still crackled with elemental energy as the wizard's lightning continued to hurt him. He felt useless. There will be a war now. For sure. They are out to exterminate them! Archanex just wanted to save the innocent, or at least, those he considered innocent. The Hedge Magi had terrible plans in store for the Goblins.

The Goblins will not go down without a fight. Archanex was certain of that.

Somehow though, he was showing significant amount of restraint at his final hour. I should have passed by now? Is this what passing is like? He knew the great beyond awaited him. Archanex couldn't close his eyes. He didn't want that moment to be it. And then...it happened.

He died?

***

The Scouts moved through the mountainous pass carefully remaining hidden. Theirs was a more delicate form of tracking and hiding, in some ways, it had much more finesse. They sometimes received obscure messages from the Thayne that their tribe followed. As they moved, they were quite careful to listen to these messages. The Shamans were an important part of this connection to the Thayne. The small group of scouts made their way towards the future of their tribe. When something happened. Something quite unexpected. The leader of the scouting party raised his fist for them to all stop as he had discovered something that was quite disturbing. Just ahead, in a small ditch, lurked the body of a manling that they had never seen before. The scouts made their ways, weapons drawn, towards the fallen one.

(Translated to Common Tongue for convenience.

"<Something is not right.>" The Scout was listening to the wind, in the secret technique passed down in his family. "<Secure that body.>"

Another Scout checked the fallen one for a pulse, there was none.

"<He's gone. This doesn't make sense.>" The Scout said, and suddenly, the ambush was sprung.

"It makes sense to us!" Lindra yelled as she launched a lightning bolt at the nearest of the scouts. "You fell for it you stupid Goblins, like I knew you would." Lindra and her Magi moved to formation and began to dispatch the Goblins one by one. The battle was over in an instant. Lindra walked over towards the Overmage and leaned down towards him. "Your sacrifice has paid off, Overmage." She grinned cruelly and then turned towards her followers. "This place will be swarming with their numbers soon enough. The first phase of the plan has worked." Lindra said. She looked at her Scryer. A young man who was using his delicate relic, made out of the shards of the Rendarii device. Lindra walked over to him. "What do you see?" She asked.

"This is not right..." He said, his skin having gone pale. "This information is all over the place. There are numbers rapidly approaching us from the South! But the scrying tool says it's in the hundreds. How is that possible?" The young mage asked. "That must be their entire numbers heading our way!"

"Remain calm." Lindra ordered. "We have our greatest asset right at our feet." Lindra kicked the body of the Overmage swiftly. The pool of blood at her feet still contained raw power, and she could feel it. "We must use him to the full extent of our capacity." Lindra said. As her superiors had analyzed, the Overmage's body possessed tremendous arcane potential. She needed to cast just the right spell to quickly eliminate the Goblin forces that were coming down upon them. They only needed to keep the more intelligent ones of their tribe alive long enough to pin-point the location of the device. Like a fell puppeteer, Lindra cast dark magics upon Archanex's body. When the spell was released, Archanex was re-raised by her hands by a necromantic touch. She raised her hands, causing an unnatural explosion of arcane energy. It was Archanex's aura. If vibrated brilliantly in the air like a twister. Lindra's eyes went wide at the discovery of just how much potential power that Archanex seemed to possess. She summoned his body for her personal use and it made feel elation. She looked at her cohorts.

"Defensive positions." The strands of command in her mind were linked to the Overmage's own. She could wield his power to the fullest capacity and have him get chopped up further by the Goblins at no loss to her own forces.

Little did she know...

[Starr Redmaw]

The wave of Innari descended the shale decline like a tsunami of green skinned madness. Bone blades, hide shields, scattered iron pipes and ragged banners littered the tribe. In the dead centre, Starr chanted an inaudible melody of guttural stops and shriek long madrigals to the Old Gods of the woods and the Windlacers. His staff trailed behind him, a fetish laden standard all of its own. The Kaleen gathered around it enmasse, seething with anger and ferocity. In its presence, in his presence, they were an unstoppable, unthinking mob.

A hedge magi barrage of lightning bolts, green and vermillion in hue tore through the advance guard with ease. The smell of burning flesh filled the rolling expanse of the plains. Starr would drink to excess for each of the lost souls he felt extinguished. Even though they were nothing more than trackers, weak runts of the strong herd, they were part of the Kaleen as much as he was.

He roared.

Flames licked from the necromantic fingertips of Lindra, and the gout descended into the front ranks of the mob. There, in the midst of their greatest frenzy in many cycles, the heavily armoured berserkers screamed louder in a combination of pain and pleasure. Even though their hide armour, covered in heavy bone plates and plundered and battered hauberk and vamplates from vanquished Knights Provost of the Scara Brae swan men burnt, they continued towards the half-circle.

Starr had little to offer to return the magical power of their enemies. Still too far to see the white of the glowing woman’s eyes, he stopped suddenly. The Kaleen were beyond his control now, and he made no attempt to guide their path any other direction than directly forward. He sniffed, wiped the snot from his nose and set the tip of his staff into the soft grass. It was green, buoyant, and lively. In a flash of olive flame, it was burnt to a crisp beneath the zeal of the shaman. He keened his gaze on the woman ahead of the column of mages, her power drawn from the fallen mage from Starr’s dreams.

He wrinkled his nose.

“Life is too precious to wield so fickly,” he mumbled, his heavy breaths indicative of his lack of strength and stamina. He felt the rush of the wind in his sorry excuse for hair as the swell of Innari continued to rush past him. The sound of their thunderous feet and cawing continued to dominate the atmosphere. Starr continued to speak, barely able to hear his own words. “Dreams have driven me here,” he glared at Lindra from across the expanse, “you were not in it…” he cocked his head and brought his staff upwards.

He reached for the largest pouch on his belt and pushed his spidery fingers into its innards. The smell of mushrooms filled his nostrils as he produced a large, dried, red specimen. As a prophet of the forest al-Thayne Skargo, he had an intricate connection to the flora and fauna of the forest. He remembered each and every flower he had picked, each and every mushroom he had dried. This particular specimen was from the lower steps overlooking Goblin Cove. He had saved it, until now, he had not been able to discern why.

“Skargo, guide us,” he dropped it to the ground. When it hit the grass, he felt a rising need to vomit.

He did.

The bile splattered onto the floor of the plains without much resistance. It was a Technicolor, foamy thickness of beer and mushroom chunks. It covered the dried fungus, mixing old and new fungi and old and new sustenance and poultice. He cocked his head, stared at it, and tried to discern a pattern in the entrails of the pre-war preparations.

A bolt of thunder descended from the heavens and struck the ground some two hundred feet to Starr’s right. Even as Innari warriors were scattered left and right, and rag doll corpses were tossed into the air, the shaman did not flinch. Divination drew his heart out of his chest and cast it adrift into the ether. He felt a connection with the winds, the sun, and the solitude of being alone in the middle of a crowd of keratinous, angry murderers.

“He is not the enemy…” he whispered with pursed lips.

He drove his staff into the ground and with a thunderous crack of his own, the circle of sick burst into flame beneath his academic zeal. He drew back the flame into his staff, so that the bundle of fetishes and weighted pouches on its end erupted into flame. The convalescence of his shamanistic energies gave his only weapon, which he seldom wielded with anything more than feeble fear a stronger punch. He chuckled to himself, and broke into a scrabbling run. By now, much of the tribe had made for the front of the Hedge Magi’s ranks. Even as the spells continued to rain down into their number, they were making ground and soon, battle lines would be drawn.

Even Starr, usually the sane one amongst the mushroom mad cackling masses, could not help but feel a thrill at the thought of clobbering a defiler’s skull with his rod of office.

He had to free the fallen mage…he had to protect the trinket. It hung from his neck with a burden of duty he had felt since he had climbed from the spawning pool. He had to be the Kaleen, and not just the shaman and the artisan.

“Bring me the mage alive!” he screamed, his flaming battle standard trailing behind him as a beacon for the stragglers of his tribe to charge no matter what.

Lindra could only smile through the swelling ranks at Starr’s curled horns and arrogance.

[Archanex Jotham]

Such power he commands... Lindra thought to herself. Her long hair swirled about the powerful wind that descended upon the mountainside.

With it came a touch of the colder part of the mountain.

Constantly in the back of her mind, she recalled the importance of securing the Rendarii Talisman from those savages that were upon them. It seemed as her companion was correct, their entire numbers were coming rapidly down upon them. Lindra was glad she had the foresight to use the Overmage's power to it's fullest extent. Her methods were always unorthodox, and that mindset got her far with the Hedge Magi. Lindra had always thought of herself as a reliable person. Lindra had developed a reputation for oft violent responses to world events. That same reputation always made her cohorts work more effectively under her command. It was a command through fear, and it was loyalty that she expected. In that sense, Lindra's methods worked. Brutal and harsh, but they worked. Her command of the Overmage compelled her to act against the goblin horde. Her comrades were already engaging the enemy without fear. Each one acted with the harsh training they had since youth.

"Attack them in groups, do not allow them to break our lines of skirmishing!" Lindra commanded.

Bolts of Lightning, Fire, and non-elemental affinities burnt quickly through the ranks of the goblin forces. Running foolishly ahead of their phalanx members, the Goblin berserkers rushed at the prepared Magi in an attempt to claim first-blood. Each attempt failed thus far. The Magi were too well trained, and they had the organizational capacity of Lindra as their heroic unit. With such a guide at their head, the Magi were like a spear of justice tearing through the vermin of the Goblin horde. The secret weapon at their disposal, was the Overmage's body. Like a cruel black widow, invisible webs swirled from the woman's body into the very soul of the Overmage. Lindra forced Archanex to release the fullest capacity of his power. Like a twisting volcano of power, the Overmage released explosion after explosion in almost successive fashion. It was the peak of his power, a power that was not of Althanas. In a sense, Lindra hated having to harm that elegant man.

But orders were orders.

They had to retrieve the Talisman at all costs, and Lindra knew that her companions did not possess the skill level that the Overmage had.

I must get the Talisman back. I will not fail in that...

Something caught her attention out the corner of her eyes.

Something terrible was coming. A sudden feeling of dread swelled up her spine. Lindra looked at the source of the dread as she pin pointed her magical senses to it. It came from further-down the horde of Goblins. Commanding the Goblins was a single unit that seemed vastly superior to the rest of the riff raff. That has to be the leader! She thought when she pin-pointed Starr in the middle of the crowd. The creature had a fetish-staff of sorts and it had their ugly banner upon it. Lindra hated the Goblin fetishes, they were clearly nothing but savages. As her eyes met with those of Starr, a cruel hatred overwhelmed her. "That's their leader!" Lindra commanded, even as the others were engaged in physical combat. Some of the more skilled of the brutes and savages broke the skirmishing line. Damn their numbers. Lindra needed a plan, and she needed one quickly. Archanex's explosions weren't cutting them down quickly enough. I need to defeat them utterly by striking at their very heart and soul! Lindra was a very selfish woman, and at that point did not care for the safety of her companions.

It's do or die time. Lindra suddenly yelled out loud as she prepared the sick Blood Magicks at her command. Evoking the innate power by stabbing herself in the hand with a small Athame, (Dagger), Lindra chanted. She walked over towards the body of Archanex, where he stood, and placed her hand on his back. The feeling was exhilarating! She felt tremendous power swirling from the very core of the Overmage. Upon touching him, that power glowed around her hand, threatening to consume her too! She had never experienced such a thrill in her entire life. As she chanted she branded a mark of blood on the Overmage's power. "Swell at my command!" Lindra yelled and siphoned his power temporarily. She was connected to the Overmage at that moment and could see his last thoughts. That overwhelming feeling of betrayal entered her mind, but she fought off the terrible wave thanks to her training.

When she felt the power reach it's apex, Lindra released the command. "Destroy, their leader!" Lindra commanded, and quickly pulled her hand away from the Overmage, exhausted and vulnerable. In the entire time she had done that, she had lost one of her companions in battle, and each of the others were engaged with more than one Goblin at the same time. It was all teetering on disaster. Lindra stared at the horned Goblin with hatred and disgust. She did not understand how one soul could rally a platoon of Goblins in such a fashion. As she had commanded Archanex, the Overmage obeyed as was expected. Archanex's power would soon be depleted as he launched the remaining vast amounts in the general vicinity of Starr. Furthermore, it would manifest as the most brilliant explosion Archanex had ever cast. As the air began to grow hard in the target area, Archanex released his power.

However, the Rendarii Talisman around Starr's neck had other plans...

[Starr Redmaw]

Starr careened to a halt as he felt an all too familiar energy dead ahead. It was magic, and it was hot, and it was heading his way. A bolt of flame rose up from the once dead hedge magi and levitated, for just a few moments, before it split into three dragon shaped maelstroms and lurched in an arc towards the shaman. Their flames reflected in his eyes, even from such a distance, and he felt warmth rising through his body in anticipation for a quick end if he did not react quickly.

Gathering his wits about himself, Starr crossed his flaming crozier over his front, as it to levy a guard against one of the spells. As they screamed, roared, and wove their wave over the battlefield, one broke away from its brothers and darted downwards. Starr saw the stars in the eyes of the dragon as a sign, and span on surprisingly nimble feet just as it was about to strike. He dragged the tip of his flaming staff through it, and it exploded about him. He smelt burning flesh and heard a goblin scream, and when he looked up, his hands shielding his eyes from the dancing plumes of black, acrid smoke, he saw a crater thirty or so feet to his left. It was still smouldering.

“Oops,” he mouthed, before dragging his attention back to the second fireball. It wheeled over the crowd, casting an orange glow over human, elf and goblin alike.

Fighting the animalistic urge to flee, Starr peered through the melee for a likely, weaker willed sacrifice to further the defence of their tribe. He spied a bone clad swordsman, rattling his shield with his bone blade and stomping his bone covered feet. Starr pierced the armour with his mind, and cupped his free hand in the air as if he were massaging the Innari’s heart. “For the Kaleen…” he muttered, before dragging his hand between the goblin and the incoming projectile.

The swordsman went limp, then twitched, and then sprang into action. He leaped and bounded through the various conflicts that littered the shingle covered grasslands and zipped between Lindra and Starr. In the final few feet of the fireball’s trajectory, the goblin leapt into the air, arms flailed, legs splayed, and too the spell square to the chest.

Starr could only cover his eyes once more as gobbets of green blood, lengths of blackened sinew and shards of bone rained down over him. He peered through his grubby fingers, a cautious adventure to see if he was still alive, and then saw the third fireball erupt through the still lingering cloud of grey smoke that had been a goblin a few seconds prior.

“Oh fuck…” he grumbled, coining a human phrase he had heard many a time repeated by the younger members of his tribe after a raid. He had learnt what it meant, and now felt like that sort of time.

It struck like a hurricane, kicking up grass blades, rock and corpses with complete disregard for nature. It overwhelmed Starr quickly, scorching his limbs and breaking his bones. He roared, writhed, and dropped back and slammed into the ground.

The whole of the Kaleen tribe screamed, letting lose a sudden, overwhelming, and poignant rage. Where the hedge magi had carved a path of resistance through the oncoming tide, they swiftly lost their ground. Where spells crackled and goblins died, they rose, renewed figure overcoming their once mortal injuries. Where the goblins lost their courage, they resound it, and wielded it with such vigour their crude, handmade weapons made short work of glowing, arcane shields and well versed wards.

Wake up, Starr Redmaw…wake up…

Starr opened his eyes, quite surprised to be doing so. He was looking up at the clear blue sky; at the birds, at the clouds, at the sunny rolls of colour of the Scara Brae morning. This was not what he expected the Firmament to look like. This was not what he expected death to feel like. “I’m awake,” he grumbled. He felt a weight pressing down on his ribcage, which had no actual presence to it, just a nagging doubt to inquire.

He prodded it with a shaking arm, and then brought his staff close. It rattled a comforting tinkle of bone and poultice that made Starr realise he was not in fact dead. The voice in his head had sounded old, like a skeleton still with gumption to talk. He cocked his head, and his horns scuffed the dirt that still smouldered beneath him.

“Save the one called Archanex Jotham, and be free of your gaeis.” It said, this time with audible words, and no ounce of mind speak or trickery. The shaman jolted upright, and instantly felt nauseated. The talisman was glowing, and with it, the sun was shining so bright, that even Starr felt like he could illuminate the world.

Save the hedge magi? He mused.

He pushed himself upright, shimmering with grey light and blue sparkles. He did not know what strange magic was at work about his neck, but the voice had composed him to action, and he was powerless to resist. Had he misinterpreted the visions in the skeinsliver, or was this a trick? He wasted no more time thinking about it, brushed himself down, and then advanced, barking commands left and right as he scurried towards the woman who had so casually demanded his death.

“Save the hedge magi…” he croaked, “save the world…” there was a hint of liquorice and almonds on his tongue, but the shaman knew little about the magic of mortal men to realise that necromancy was welling up in his bones from the talisman’s soul. Something, in the dark, was rising.