Beneath the Mire

[Osato]

“Come on then, there’s notta thing to be afraid of ‘ol chap.” The voice was confident, strong. It held a sense of apprehension to it though, deep down. It knew better then to listen to itself, knew better then to allow the illusion of ease and peace to take the place of caution. “What’s the worse that could be about these old woods? Perhaps a demon or two, but that is why we have these.”

The man was an adventurer with a knack for finding trouble and weaseling his way out of it. Age had caught up to him though; many years of a troubling and hard life had found him slowly. The man, Sir Falco Derrian (knighted by the High Baron himself), was one of profound significance to the scientific community, as well as the magical community. His contributions brought about a different way of thinking for many scientists, opening up new courses of thought and schools of learning. For the community of mages that often used his services, he had offered ancient relics and puzzles pieces of times long forgot.

It was one of those pieces that Sir Derrian held.

A firm grip was wrapped around the ancient, cracking leather that served as the handle. The blade was easily three feet, making it a perfect length for a longsword or a hand and a half (bastard sword). On both sides the glint of the razor edge was pronounced, perfectly sharpened by hands far superior to any on Corone (or any of that age). The blade was of a marble hue, a swirling mix of platinum and black colorations which bent around each other. None could tell what the blade was forged of, not even those of the Radasanthian Mages Guild. Whatever the metal was it had proved not only near impossible to break but also highly resistant to spells of any sort.

The knight’s partner, Esquire Trysail, held its twin. The similarities were so close that hardly any could have told the two apart but for the pommel. Centered along the cross-guard were words of an ancient tongue. Both had the words, more like glyphs, but none could tell what either of them said. “Falco,” the man was hardly any younger then the aged adventurer. Instead of a solid head of platinum locks, Trysail had only a peppering of silver flecks. “Do you really believe that there are still demon’s in this land? The Ages have nearly passed; darkness had nearly passed now… I doubt that demons like those of old still roam the lands.”

“Is it better to be prepared or to be caught off guard? You should know well as I the answer to that,” The adventurer had seen his fair share of mischief, but in every quest his bodyguard companion had been there. Time and again the two had shared a meager bit of food or body heat when no other source of warmth was present. Time and again the two had displayed courage and valor that could surpassed any test possibly devised of any mind. “Lets be on, there is ground to cover still and night wanes yet.”

Overhead the shadows of the trees were casting their blanket over the two. The forests of Concordia were thick and lush, welcoming to only those that were brave enough to tame it. The sun was fading and night would be upon the two in short order, but the gallant adventurer had covered nowhere near the amount of space he had wanted. Sir Derrian pushed on through the underbrush, letting the branches and boughs of the smaller trees brush against him as he passed. It was the purity of nature that he loved, an environment that he always found himself back in. He attributed much of his success to the fact that he always loved the environment he was in and paid as much attention to his surroundings as he did to his task at hand.

“We won’t be making it as we once would have.” The bodyguards tone was a mix of sorrow and concern. Things were definitely changing as age found both of them. Neither were as strong as they once were, neither were a quick either. Trysail recognized the wear of age, the subtle changes in their bodies and minds. Despite the fact that both had kept near peak physical condition as long as possible, the old friend knew that both were nearing the age when adventuring would become less of a hobby and more dangerous. “Neither of us are in the shape we once where, least of all myself.”

Trysail always blamed himself when it came to who was slowing the party down, whether it was true or not. He had always felt inferior to the knight, applauding him at ever turn yet secretly longing for his success. “Nonsense,” Falco replied as he pulled himself up a small sloping hill with the assistance of the trees. “We can go just as far as we once did, perhaps even farther!”

His tone said otherwise though.

“I suppose we can stop just up here, at the top of this ridge. We’ll make camp and eat a bit. According to the map that Archmage Hintia gave me the ruins should be just ahead of us, about another days walk at our pace.” Hintia may have had faith in the two, but the Esquire had known the ease of the trip. Slowly he had recognized the difference in the tasks they were receiving. No longer did dragon’s lairs or golem’s dens come into play when they were briefed. Their expectations were diminishing with their health and vitality, though the elven mage Hintia had been very kind about it.

“Very good,” Trysail said as he shifted the weight of his pack on his back. It would be good to rest. His muscles were aching with the heavy burden he carried and the distance they had traveled. It was like old times again, but old times were just that… old times. “I’ll gather some wood then when we stop and you can set up the camp, just like we used to, huh?”

“That it is,” Sir Derrian replied with a chuckle. “That it is.”

[Osato]

Overhead the sky had turned a deep violet. Among the uncountable stars was the silence of a final full moon. Through the thick crown of trees Trysail was still able to pick out the concelations that he had come to know well over the years. The Bear, The Dragons Head, and the Weeping Mother were the three that he looked for most often. Only two of the three were seen. The weeping mother had faded with the passing of seasons, as the other two would do.

The cackling flames spit their warmth at the bodyguard. Time had definitely caught up to him, but he found comfort in the eternal smile of the stars. His hands moved as his eyes continued to stare, looking for the single star that he called his own. Somehow it was exactly where he remembered, always in the same place. It was just as much a companion in the duo’s travels as Trysail was to Falco. “At least time can’t take you,” he whispered to the star before turning over and dropping off to sleep.

Slowly the fire died out and true darkness took the two in its kind embrace. The nights were getting colder with the approach of winter and the fading of fall. Both adventurers were feeling it in their bones, in their worn joints, but neither would admit defeat yet.
~+|+~

The day had been long.

Both travelers had grown weary much faster then they were used to. With their swords now firmly attached to their backs, under the packs, they used both hands to pull themselves along. The knight adventurer was tiring quickly. Trysail was forced to help his companion multiple times; often the two were forced to lean on each other for supports. Yet still they went on.

“It’s only another mile ahead,” Trysail said as he scanned the map. The two had stopped for a break, dropping their loads and sipping from their water skins. “I say we rest here, take the remaining daylight and tonight to gather our strength and carry on in the morning.”

Sir Derrian did not seem to object. His eyes were dim with the strain of the hike through Concordia. He had convinced himself of a lie, a lie that was pushing him even still. Falco tossed a small twig away from him as he stood and brushed off the brown leaves that clung to him. “Then we’ll camp here. Just set up the bed rolls. There is no threat of rain, the sky is clear, so we won’t need the tents.”

Without being told to do so the Esquire stood and walked off in the distance. If they were going to camp there would need to be a fire to cook their food and for warmth during the night. Trysail wandered while lost in thought. Recollection swarmed over him as soon as he allowed himself to drift. Thoughts of the many times they had fought beasts, the artifacts of lore they had collected, even the types of people they had crossed. Each one held a special place in his mind, as if catalogued for just such a time.

“And now the Thayne give us this,” he said as twigs popped under his boots. The bodyguard was wandering more then gathering, allowing his quarry to pass as he dwelt on the past. A light breeze rustled through the trees, a breeze too strong to be present in such a tight forest. But that too went unnoticed by Trysail, just the fading temperature registered with a slight shiver. “Of all things, could this be the last for us?”

Meanwhile the old adventurer was too lost in thought. He was holding the blade of the ancients before him. Its marble surface was transfixing his gaze, stealing his thoughts. If only the metal was understood it would be just another mental trophy for the duo. But Sir Derrian knew deep down that the metal’s properties would not be explained to him but to one who would come after him.

“Such a beautiful sword,” he murmured as his bony hands ran across its surface. Even if the blade’s mysteries were never revealed at least he had discovered it, and that was almost enough solace to allow him peace. But it was sleep that came first, despite his curious and moving mind. His eyes shut with the sun still falling and remained so until the next morning.

[Osato]

“These runes… these runes are old…” the runes were not just old, they were ancient. The withering hand of the adventurer ran across them, the bony fingers finding their way into the grooves. They were of an age long forgot, that much the knight was sure of, but what age was the question. It was not the one they were in, the Age of Resurrection, but one before that. “Possibly from the Age of Dawn, or maybe Darkness. I can’t tell…”

While Falco was running his fingers over the ruins and loosing himself in thought his bodyguard was looking around. The light wind from days before had built slowly as they had approached the caves. Sir Derrian had been oblivious to the fact, shrugging it off, but Trysail had not. Across his arms goose bumps had formed and a sense of dread and unease had settled over him. He no longer had the marble sword in its sheath. It was out and at the ready.

His eyes were drifting past the archway that his companion was searching across. To either side the earth had been packed tightly, covered by possible centuries of vine growth, and looked deliberately placed. Overhead the crown of trees had been broken but just over the entrance.

Its like a dead zone.

Esquire Trysail reminded himself of the long ago adventure. When the two had fought a mage, the magical discharge from his death had created a ‘dead zone’ over the area. No plants would grow. No animals would make the area home. Even humanoids that entered the area had a sense for the lack of life. The worst affect was the inability for magic to be cast, a sort of void that would absorb any magical spells. Trysail felt the same there as he did at the entrance to the caves.

“Sir, doesn’t this remind you of the mage that—“ but the man’s attention was far from his companion. Sir Derrian was lost in his thoughts. Without responding he pushed aside the thick vines and wandered into the caves. The darkness was nearly overwhelming. “Falco, we need to use the orbs.”

“Your right, of course,” Falco responded. He quickly pulled out a small marble on the end of a leather thong around his neck. Rubbing its surface it came to life, glowing faintly at first but lighting brightly as its spell warmed. It was a gift of the mages, something that the duo had actually discovered and wanted to keep. It was one of the most precious rewards that they had been given, to say the least. Not having to bring either torches or carry them while exploring was extremely helpful.

“Lets be careful.”

Falco’s warning was slow in coming, quiet and aloof. His eyes were watching the walls, which were covered in ancient writing akin to that on the entrance. His steps were slow and deliberate. Instead of a quick stride as he was used to assuming he had taken a slower one, scanning both sides of the walls as he walked. To find something he recognized, to find something that was similar to a language he knew was all he wanted. The aged explorer held his orb up several times, each time a picture of the language was brought to his attention. It resembled something he had seen, ancient text that was in a book deep in the heart of the mages guild… but that book was not understandable, another possibly from an age before Dawn.

Deep in the darkness something rumbled. It sounded like the stones were groaning with pain, as if they were suddenly growing. Both of the duo stopped and stared into the looming void before them. There was that silence, the unbearable silence of a dead zone, and then the winds started.

From deep in the caves the sharp, bitter wind began to stir. It came as a breeze at first, and then quickly began to grow. Before the thought of stepping away from the cave depths ever occurred to either Falco or Trysail a wail of pain issued from the void. Shivers close to convulsions overtook both of the adventurers and neither could hold back the intense sense of loathing, despair, and dread that filled their throats. Their eyes bulged, threatening to explode from the intense pressure. Blood slowly seeped from their ears, their eardrums having burst. From the corners of their pale, thin lips a mix of drool, foam, and a tinge of blood oozed down the sides of their rough chins.

The scream they loosed alone could have killed them.

[Osato]

It was like the weight of the world was on my shoulders.

I was cold. I was wet. And I was tired. Through the dark streets of Radasanth I moved at a pace somewhere between a walk and a shamble. My feet dragged across the stone, the blackened steel gaiters covering my boots clicking against the rough surface. It was not like me to be so downcast but things on Althanas were quickly turning for the worse. People had seemed well at first, but the sanity of some had slipped before my very eyes. Though I had been enthused by the idea of adventure and the promise of change, things had gone wrong.

My hands slipped across the tattered shirt, its frayed edges showing the small cuts along my near-perfect chest. My dismay was just as strong about the state of my clothing as it was about my wounds. It had been a rough day, filled with fights, though they were much more dangerous then I had been willing to engage in. Magic had been the cause of my wounds, magic cast by a “curious” mage.

“Child, you do not know what you are truly capable of.”

The words still tore at my conscious. The man had been so damn determined, so damn persistent. He had started with spells of an emotional type, or so I supposed. Whatever he had started with it had tingled across my skin, like the hair rising when a cold wind hits you suddenly. Then they became stronger, and changed. Spells fell on me like rain, some were fire, some were ice, and one was pure pain.

I had run as fast as I could. But before I could get away the man appeared. Was I supposed to let him poke and prod with his magic? Was I supposed to sit back and ignore the fact that he was toying with my very being? I decided the answer was no, and reacted as quickly as I could. My sword had been cleared of its sling, which rested against the middle of my back.

Even the blackened wavering blade had no chance against spells. I felt helpless, totally unable to fight back. The man was powerful, or so I supposed since his spells seemed to never stop nor weaken. Every step away from the man made the spells strength increase until I thought that they alone would cause me to pass out.

“Dear boy, how long will you continue this farce. You feel my strength, you feel what I can cast and do. How much longer till you yield?”

Oh how I hated the idea of being powerless. Even with my body built and structured by the constant tests of strength I endured I felt weak. There may have been barely any fat on my body, each one hundred eight-five pounds almost pure muscle. But magic was my weakness, as I had come to quickly find… magic was the only thing that could overtake me as if I was a child.

Somehow, no matter how much I moved around or tried to escape, I always found myself back by the water. I had grown up by the ocean, living on an island off the Corone coast, Yerria. The island had been a burden. The seas were turbulent despite the calm night sky. Behind me I could see the lights of Radasanth giving off their alluring glow, casting light to drown out the stars overhead. Along the docks the stars were alight though, far less lights fighting for dominance against the darkness of night.

I could see the clouds lazily drifting towards the town. It would rain soon, the clouds were moving quickly. The wave’s lapping against the shore spoke of a downpour coming soon, a real heavy thunderstorm. I drifted unenergetically towards one of the many piers, my deep blue eyes having spotted a couple of people. Perhaps someone to talk to would relieve the depression I was feeling. Perhaps people would allow for a distraction from the inevitable.

Around the edges of my new leather coat I gripped tightly, pulling it closed. Holding it tightly across my body seemed to give me at least a little more comforts, a little more security. Winds tossed my amethyst hair back over my shoulder, the coat helped against the draft but did little for my own sense of comfort. “What am I supposed to do now?”

[Osato]

It seems you have failed.

“No, no I haven’t, just watch and wait…”

The two voices were in the void of darkness. The first was merely a voice being placed inside the other’s head. The other was a mage named Tallone. Tallone had been sent after Osato, sent to experiment and capture him. Experiment he had, captured he had not. In his hand was gripped tightly a small box the size of his palm with runes around it. Through it his thoughts were connected to another, to his leader, to his master.

Then where is he? Do you have him bound? Are you thoughts deceiving me into believing that he escaped somehow?

“No,” the mage responded with slight apprehension. His tone was solemn, tired. He had expended much energy to cast as much as he had, nearly depleted his store of spells in order to tempt the drifting soulless man. But the sell-sword had never attacked, not even brought his sword against the mage. Instead he had persisted in defending and escaping, wanting nothing to do with fighting the magic caster. His naïve sense of escape had saved him… one swing and the mage would have captured that empty void within him forever.

“He did escape, but it was not my fault. I tried, cast as much I could within a day’s period. More spells would have sent me into a state beyond tired, as I am now… I would not have been able to hold a bond to his empty soul if I had cast anymore…”

Enough excuses! the words drown out thoughts, causing the mage to fall to his knees. Both crashed heavily against the cobblestone alleyway, a puddle of unknown liquid splashing to either side of him. Tallone did not know what it was, did not care. His pants were soaked about the knees; his hands were clutching his ears and pushing. It was like the voice of his master had broken his eardrums. I do not care about your bloody weary body. If I command something of you I want it done… or have you forgotten of the hold I have over you? Have you forgotten your blood oath?

Of course the pawn of a mage had not.

Through powers as dark as those wielded by N’jal’s own brood he had forfeit his own person to The Nameless One. He had offered his very soul to his master, giving his life as a human over to the leader of the cult. Through a blood oath he had sworn fidelity, had sworn to forever protect and restore magic first and foremost. The second thing he swore was to forever hold his master, The Nameless One, before any other though, and that oath seemed just as important as the first. Tallone looked at the thick white lines that ran across both arms.

Scars of his past decisions; promises to the sinister and proof of such.

“No,” he responded with despair in his tone. “I have not forgotten of the oath I took, nor of the blood I’ve shed. Forgive me, I will not fail again.”

No, you will not. If you fail again your life may be forfeit. There was a moment of utter silence. Except for the quiet whisper of the wind through the forlorn alley and the light click of someone’s heavy boots in the far distance; the mage felt alone. His thoughts were absent; his mouth was open and unmoving. It was punishment he expected, scolding he expected, instead came something else. You have given much towards this, for that I commend you and will spare you. However, you must not fail again. We need this being, this beast. Others like him have been taken in the past; others like him have given us a conduit to contact our Goddess. We will have him yet, before he can begin to summon any sort of magic, or powers, against us.

Remember, the voice continued. Osato Lysser may be the key to focusing our dark arts to a point of perfection. We may be close now, but it is not close enough. If we are to be the workers of our morbid perfection in Althanas we must be able to be able to perfect our arts. The Lady demands it.

The Lady.

Many of the members of the dark order, Black Rose Society, could not tell who exactly The Lady was. She was often used by The Nameless One. It was for her that they performed all tasks, did all heinous acts. Only once had she been referred to as anything but The Lady, and that one person died without an explanation within hours of using the other name. Since then none had spoken of her other then ‘The Lady’, most avoided speaking of her at all. Their connection seemed to be linked with her, somehow they were connected to her, and her to them.

Tallone shuddered as the link between himself and The Nameless One was broken. The dark leader had gone back to his business, whatever that was. None knew who he truly was, knew what life he led, or if they had even run across him ever. The mage himself only knew of one other member of the Black Rose, and he had been the one that had spoken the possible true name of The Lady.

N’jal.

[Osato]

The tavern was abuzz to say the least. Drunks were out in force, and the fact that it was the end of the average workweek meant only that they had just been paid, and they were cleared to have a hangover in the morning. I had taken to frequenting taverns and bars of all sorts. The people were always interesting, the drinks even more so, and adventure often sprung from a chat with a drunk. That night had been no different, except for the fact it was not a drunk that found me first.

Along the whitewash walls oil-lamps gave off an amber glow. It was supposed to give a sense of peace, I supposed, but it did nothing in the end but make the place a little dimmer. The lamps were flickering as people brushed against them, in some the oil sloshed about rather violently. The drunken people did not seem to notice the lights, or the well worn tables that they were sitting at. Some of them slipped on the greasy floor and some fell completely; each was greeted with an uproar of laughter.

“Ishha gunnda ta’ zet draat?”

I could not help but chuckle as the already extremely intoxicated man wandered to my booth. His hair was slick with dirt and grease. His eyes were cloudy with alcohol. His clothes were worn and old, stained with what looked to be a mix of spilt ale and old fish guts. It was hard enough for me to look at his mouth as he spoke, with yellow and rotting teeth being all that was inside, but to have the stench of him so close was almost unbearable.

“I just might finish this draught,” I responded as I sipped at the ale. It was nowhere near good, a bit stale actually, but it was definitely not what the man needed. Perhaps if I had a room with a shower, or a fresh set of clothes, then I would care to share. But another mug of ale… that was the last thing the man would get. “I’m sure someone over there has something they’re not drinking though…”

I was willing to say almost anything to get him away from me. His head turned, slimy locks slapping and sticking to the base of his neck. It took everything within me not to puke at the sight, much less stand up and walk away. Both thoughts crossed my mind though, barely restrained. He did not bother to turn back, and for that little blessing I gave a silent thanks to the Thayne. “This place is full of drunks tonight…”

Then he came.

It was not the first time I had seen him, not the first time he had come into my travels through Radasanth. But to assume he was following me had never struck me. Why else had he been at the tavern last night? Why else had I seen him across the street leaning against a wall as I ate at an outdoor restaurant? Putting all those together was over me though, for I did not think anyone would follow me.

The man was easily six foot tall and weighed probably just under two hundred pounds. His hair was long and silky, the last time I had seen him I had envied his hair. His eyes were a deep green with hazel tendrils running through them. Again envy had been sparked, because the man was handsome in a city dwellers way, something I would never be. Even as he entered, his hands pushed far into the pockets of his jacket, I was lost in thought about the day.

“To think, someone knows what I am. But how? And to what avail? This mage was pushing me, testing me, he wanted something… But what?” Thoughts were raging about the identity and purpose of the mage who had taunted me for all that time. He had a reason for casting so much at me, for ruining my already discarded clothing and pushing at my empty soul. But what was the purpose? While I dwelt on the possibilities behind of the mage’s intent, trying to put reason to the madness, he took his seat across from me.

“Osato Lysser?”

He was so quiet I almost jumped when he spoke my name. Where had he come from? How did he know my name? Why was he wearing a silver locket around his neck and a platinum collar? But before he could pose any questions the man continued speaking. While he talked I listened and observed. It was a trait I was learning quickly. To listen would most times bring about opportunities far larger then trying to interject at every turn. And observing I had found was the easiest way to understand and find weaknesses.

“Dear boy, do you know how hard it is to find you?” His question was underscored by relief. Perhaps it was true relief, perhaps not, I was not able to tell. Eyes were normally a dead giveaway when people were lying, or expressing emotions they did not feel, but his eyes were as cold as ice and as peaceful as a monk on the mountainside. “I’ve been searching for you for days now. You have been rumored to be one of the youngest drifters about, easily one of the most experienced to say the least.”

Bam! He had struck it! There is a single cord in everyone that if you could find it you would be playing music to their very souls (in my case my vanity). No matter how much bull you fed them, no matter how much you said made no sense, it was a matter of finding that cord. Once you struck it the deal you were making might as well have been set in stone. Unfortunately mine was a product of unadulterated vanity; the very vanity that I would say made my heart beat. Inflate the ego, compliment my looks or appearance and I was yours.

“Well, you could say that,” my mouth was moving a mile a minute. I hadn’t even thought of what I was saying before it was out. The smile that lit the man’s face across from me excited me instantly. If I had claimed a gender I would undoubtedly be wet or setting up a tent in this man’s presence. His smile, his very panache reminded me of… well… myself. And little attracted me more than myself.

“There are mages, Archmages even, that wish to speak with you.” Suddenly that inflated ego was popped like a kids balloon when it finds a tree. A flood of unease and apprehension fought against the elation from the man’s words. Mages had become the antithesis of that cord. The very mention of magic was enough to set my attitude about completely. This man seemed to sense such though. He moved closer and lowered his tone, as if speaking a secret that was a precious gem between the two of us alone. “You are wanted for some mission, not even I have been privy to the information, but they did promise a large reward. They told me to pass the information on the location of the Guild alone, but I can tell you that they are offering a large deal of money along with anything that comes of this.”

That was enough for me. I was sold. Despite the possibility of dealing with more mages, a ‘large sum of money’ would distract me easily enough.

[Osato]

Mages made my skin crawl.

Just thinking about the use of magic around me, or against me, was enough to anger me. But then an opportunity arises, a chance for a heinous amount of gold and possible artifacts of the past, and not even my guarded side could deny that. The man had left, what now seemed like hours ago, but his voice and promises had not left my mind. I was rolling it around in my mind as the wealthy rolled about a fine wine in their mouths.

You are really going to go through with this?

My own voice was arguing against me, as it did so often. Perhaps it was the voice of reason, or perhaps it was my conscious. Whatever it was it often arose when I was thinking hard on a matter at hand. This time it was no different. The voice, as I thought, was merely my way of talking through a problem, but with myself. What was so wrong with doing a simple task that the mages had for me? What could come of it? Surely if it was something that they needed me for there was the possibility that it would reap great reward.

And what about that mage that was hunting you? What about him? Are we so easily going to forget that face?

No. I would never forget that face, or the tattoos, or scars, which ran up either arm. Maybe he would be at the mage’s guild, maybe I could find him or a way there around magic. I had no delusions that the casters would give me information on how to defeat their only means of defense and offense. I also had no delusions that anything from the ancients would come besides perhaps a trinket to ooh and aww at later.

Either way nothing would be come of it if I had no sleep. I gently rose and stretched. The tavern had dulled considerably. Those who had been beyond drunk had passed out; the rest had either retired to a room or made their ways home. With a rap of my gold against the table I wandered towards the stairs on the opposite side of the common room. My equipment had already been waiting in the room, sword and armor, and all that remained was for me to find my way too them and I too would pass out for the night.
~+|+~

After my morning routine of exercise, a hearty breakfast, and a quick check to make sure I looked amazing as always, I left. The tavern had been good to me that night, neither fight nor flight had occurred and that was rare. As soon as I had opened the door the dank air, thick with humidity, struck me. The rains were coming across the ocean, bolts of lightning were flashing over the sea as the heavy clouds approached Radasanth. It would be upon the city by noon if not sooner.

My coat was a little tight across my chest, not made for someone with so much muscle I supposed. It was closed against the winds that were picking up in gusts from the ocean, carrying with them the scent of salt. It was both nauseating and alluring. It had grown up on the island of Yerria, off the southern coast of Corone, and had always known the smell of the water. The smell of salt, combined with the grime of the docks, was among that smell. It was the nauseating portion. But the old friend of mine, that sweet light wind, was often my lone companion. Together they combined something akin to liquor so sweet it burns as it goes down.

“Good day young gent.” I turned with a smile, broad and wide. The man was one I happened to run across often, one that I had seen every day for the past week. He was older, his hair long yet lacking that silver luster of age. “And how does this one seek to find you?”

Always such riddles of his tongue. It grew worse if a true conversation was to come about, but in the mornings it was normally fine to speak with him. “Wonderful, though the rains seem to be nearing quickly. Hopefully the city stays safe, as always. Anyway, I must part early this morning, my apologies. I have much to worry about today, much indeed. Good day Elder Rein.”

The man gave only a knowing nod and a secluded smile. If I had paid attention I would have seen his mouth moving as well. He had mumbled something, perhaps a prayer, perhaps a parting. I did not know either way. I had already turned away and picked up my pace, the metal gaiters attached to my boots clicking lightly across the cobblestones. Things were looking up, or at least I thought so. The clouds would come, more magic would come, but I was finding life easier and easier with the passing of time.

[Osato]

It was just as I had imagined it. The halls were broad. The floors were of a brown marble. Through the walls and floor alike mythril tendrils weaved like veins, giving a sense of royalty to the entire place. Along the walls were scrolls with runes upon them, at other places were paintings of people (old mages undoubtedly) and places, and from the ceilings were banners and streamers. The final parts of the decoration unnerved me. Why were there so many banners, streamers, and flags of other kingdoms and sovereigns?

Because the mages have conquered them as they will you. But those lands will get to keep their shells, keep up a visage for the world. You will be stripped of even that, and that empty place within you will be contorted and distorted for the betterment of some practice of magic.

The thought made me more then a little nervous. Instantly I remembered the mage that had been hunting me. My deep blue eyes set from the scenery, which embellished an already glorified monument to magic, and began to search the people. They moved like ghosts. Their robes, each of a solid color, covered them and then some. The ends ran over the floors giving them the look of floating as they moved (and me a humorous thought about why the floor was always clean). But what was most bothersome was the sleeves of the robes were wide and long and most of them were hooded.

“What are the banners for?”

I could not keep it to myself. Even with the distraction of the mages I found myself wondering again what all of the flags overhead were from. My guide, a slightly shorter and much smaller elven woman turned with a questioning look. I thought she was going to ask me to repeat myself, something I hated most of all, but then a smile broke out on her face. She was one of the fairest creatures I had ever seen; the fact that she was female meant nothing to me. Her skin was soft and milky white, her hair looked like the finest silk and was nearly black, and her eyes were sharp and contrasted her gentle face and blended well with her high cheekbones.

“Ah those,” she began, looking me square in the eyes before looking up to them. Her stride neither faltered nor slowed. “Those are pennants and flags of kingdoms and realms that those who study, or have studied here are from. Many lands are represented by those; much pride is taken in a few in particular. Such as the ancient flag of Elloren, the first united flag of Corone, and the dark banner of Ettermire (we have one drow student). That last was near impossible to attain, and I fear that obtaining and displaying such will give us a very negative reputation with the drow nation if they ever find out.

“You see, in the days of old, the Age of Dawn, this guild was established. The war against the demons that was taken up by human, elf, and dwarf was a true mess. Through the fog of battle and the reek of death, as the story goes, mages stood out. Through the confusion they cast spells to kill and heal alike, not only being the ones who the troops depended on for their morale but also who they depended on for their lives. As a tribute to all the mages great and small that had fought and died this place was established, as the warriors guild was. You will see that above the Archmage’s chair there hangs a picture of the first Archmage to run the guild.

“But enough about that,” she said absently, as if shrugging off a beggar on the streets. “We are here.”

I nearly gasped as she stopped, almost ran into her actually. I had been watching overhead as she had been speaking. Through the hall we had gone quickly, and as she spoke times seemed to slow. Her voice was a song so sweet that time itself bowed to her with awe, but held a reserve of power that danced across my arms and nape of my neck. I found myself standing before a double door, easily twenty feet or higher and made of a wood that I could not place. “You are expected, so all you have to do is enter. Good luck, and may the Thayne watch you carefully.”

“My thanks,” I responded as I ran a hand across the surface of the deep brown wood. It looked almost black. Across its surface scrawl of some ancient language ran, etched deeply to make grooves across its surface. There were no worn places on its face. If I had not just heard the story of the guild, its condensed version no doubt, I would have sworn that the door was still new. Yet it was of an ancient wood, imported from somewhere far outside of Corone for sure. “And may Am’aleh be merciful,” the parting was to no one, my guide having already walked away.

Despite myself I knocked, three times. The wood sounded hollow, but the voice that came in response sounded even emptier. As I pushed on the door the hinges, hidden from the naked eye, it opened more smoothly then any door I had ever seen. Awe at the building and its lore filled me even as I entered to speak to the highest ranking mage in the guild, already the field of magic was making the hair on the nape of my neck stand on end.

[Osato]

I closed the doors behind me. Even before the click of the latch announced the door closed I loosed a sigh. It had taken everything within me not to turn and flee the room of the Archmage as soon as I had entered it. The feel of magic pulsing in the room coated my body like I was swimming in it. But it was not water that it felt like around me, but oil. Slimy and sticky I could not help but wince as soon as I had entered… but after that my composure had been kept, rather well I may add.

The Archmage was a human, surprisingly. His hair was as white as the purest snow. His eyes were old, cloudy, and a stone gray color. He looked like a ghost, not a man. But nonetheless he was the strongest and most dominant with his magecraft, probably having earned his position through not only cunning politics and the spin of a few words but with the dominance of every area of magic. He would be the one that I would hate the most, if I truly hated magic users. But I did not hate those that wielded magic, just those that used it against me.

He was not alone in that massive room of gold and gems though. To either side of him sat other mages, those that consisted of the council of the guild. Four high elves, four humans, two dwarves, and ten creatures that I could not place. One looked like a soulless being, probably was, because of the voids that were in his eyes (and the way he reacted upon my entrance). Of the other nine present I recognized only two other creatures, one a centaur (druid maybe?) and the other was a gnome (illusionist probably). However, of course they were not fully alone. Overhead was the picture of the first Archmage, though I still did not know her name. To either side of that one was pictures of all the Archmages that had held the throne of the magicians. Even the eyes of those pictures, long still in its frozen frame, had seemed to be working under my skin.

It was just a pleasure to be out of there.

Bissreaian, as I think she had mentioned her name being at one point, was waiting outside the door like a patient dog. My guide had returned, and with a smile. I silently thanked the Thayne for that small blessing at least; it would have been hell trying to find my way out of the labyrinth that made of the guild halls. “You look like it was horrible,” she mentioned as nonchalantly as a dwarf talking about rocks. “Surely it could not have been that bad. Did they give you something?”

Yes, yes they had. It was a map of some sort, definitely not the original one, but a very good copy of it. The council had told me that it was the directions to the ‘Cave of Woe’ as they called it. Supposedly it was a recently discovered entrance to… something. That was part of the task they were setting me on, to discover what was in the cave. None had known of it earlier, undiscovered for countless years. But how so?! I could not imagine anything going undiscovered still. With so many people calling Corone home, so many people in Radasanth alone, I figured everything had been discovered by now.

Apparently not though.

The main part of the task, besides the exploration and documentation of the caves, was to find a couple of adventurers. The names they gave me had been fixed in the back of my mind: Sir Falco Derrian and Esquire Trysail. When I gave no reaction to the names there was a confused look by two of the humans to the Archmages left (or my right), a slight break in their ‘holier-than-thou’ facades. Apparently the two were famous for something, but how was I supposed to know? I’d been on Corone for all of what… a month or so?

With their names I had been given a detailed description. If I had them in a line up of even a hundred people I’d have been able to pick them out without a second thought. “Yes,” I finally responded, smirking towards the woman. “To both really. They did give me something, this map and their best wishes. And it was that bad… or not bad exactly just uncomfortable. Surely you know what I mean.”

“Of course, being in the presence of such powerful mages is enough to make anyone a little uneasy. Even I, the time I went in there with them gathered, felt anxious and on edge.” Her tone was genuinely concerned, but that meant little to me. What was the concern of one who used a mask to hide what they truly felt, as I suspected all those in the guild were taught, or eventually learned. But her interpretation was wrong, by a large margin, from what I felt while I was in there. Let her believe what she wanted though. “So when do you start this task?”

“Let’s walk while we talk,” I suggested, feeling that shiver running up my back again. Someone’s magic was strong and in use, perhaps on the other side of the door. I did not know where it was coming from but did not like it much either. My toes began to feel cold, my fingers started to go numb, and before anything else got cold I stepped away from the door and down the hall. My elven guide skipped a bit to catch up to me, gliding in front of me to take the lead.

“So eager to begin are we?” No. Not quite. Something had been touching me, something to do with spells and magic. I did not like being helpless and being in the very proximity of so many mages.

“Yes,” I said quickly to save myself an explanation. “And the ‘task’ they assigned was just a search and rescue, and a little more searching. Though, I don’t feel like talking much. I think that unease feeling, being around so many… elder wizards probably, has made me a little sick.”

“Of course, then we’ll exit quickly, and you can take your rest wherever it is you are staying.” There was a matter of fact tone now. No, ‘why don’t you stay with us?’ or ‘perhaps we have a room’. Of course, I would not have taken it if it was the last bed in all of Corone, but an offer would have been nice at least. Apparently such hospitality could not come from the mages.

With pompous heads so far up their asses it was hard to extend a cordial invitation.

[Ranger]

A year ago

“Demons are nothing but filth!” Ranger told himself as he passed through the grand archways of the ‘Citadel of Light’. The dark elf cleric was on his way to the Elders, making his way to present his case to them. “I have witnessed first hand what these ‘Elders’ have forsaken for far too long. They have turned their backs to the growing evils of the shadows, to the darkness that slowly consumes Althanas. This toleration can be stood no further, now is the time for war. Now is the time the powers of the light retake their positions at the head of the world, fighting back that which is engulfing our world.”

The elf pushed open the next set of doors, his silver eyes scanning briefly the white marble halls, the large columns passing a hundred feet into the air. His eyes caught but his brain did not register the pure beauty of the building, looking briefly over the doors along the corridors and passing them with the same, apathetic look he gave the rest of the Citadel.

“Halt,” came a command from before him, two voices acting and speaking in unison. Stopping short of the massive doors that lead to the grand assembly room the elf looked to the left and right. Two of the largest humans Ranger had ever seen before stood directly to his flanks. In their hands were the mighty double-sided blades the Citadel guards used most often. “You are not to go in there at this time. Please, wait for your announcement before commencing your journey into the Grand Assembly Room. If you would,” the man to the left spoke, nodding for Ranger to move back as the right man shuffled off in his full suit of armor to gain the attention of the Elders.

“How long? How long must I wait?” Ranger’s uncommon impatience was growing, the looming deadly feeling in the pit of his stomach beginning to expand its reign of terror into his midsection. Finally the two doors swung open, the gilded expanse moving as if floating above the ground.

“Ranger Nailo, Cleric of the almighty Pelor, Protector of the Citadel, Wielder of the Light, Defender of Justice, and Warrior against the Shadows,” The booming voice of the second guard rang through the hallways, bounding off the walls, fighting its way back to the man. “Ranger Nailo you are now present before the Highest Council of Elders, the Twelve Elders of the Light, Leaders of the Citadel, Pelor’s Conduits upon Althanas. May you go in peace and leave in peace also.” The guard extended his hand, inviting Ranger further into the room.

With a slight bow as he passed the man the elven cleric walked through the massive doorways, across the marble slats that created the floor of the Grand Assembly. Stopping on the large symbol of Pelor in the center of the room Ranger looked towards the ground, his eyes staying away till addressed by the Elders assembled. “You have come with a grievance young one, is that not true?” The voice seeped into his ears, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. Without waiting for an answer they continued, “Tell us what you wish to know, tell us what your quandary is and we will amend it if possible.”

Ranger’s serene silver eyes looked from the ground into the darkness surrounding him. It was obvious that they were not normally dealing with races whose eyes could pierce through the darkness, seeing them concealed in the shadows. A single bright white light pierced through the darkness from directly above, illuminating the single spot that one could stand, blinding sight to the shadowed figures.

“May I be blunt with fellow colleagues?” quite, sure, calm. With a light grunt, at the word colleagues, and a short yes, for the question, Ranger continued, “I have recently come from the world that you have forsaken, the world that you must not turn your back on. I have come as a living example of the power of Pelor, living proof of what the lord of the light can do upon the world if you only stretch your legs and leave this place. You have been held up in this cave of a building for far too long! Your powers that once extended far and wide are dwindling, and you care nothing for them. You sit up there,” Ranger slowly turned pointing to each and every one of them, “Sitting lofty and potent while the slaves of the Order run your errands, work your tasks. Is Pelor glorified by your wants and desires? Is his will fulfilled upon Althanas while you sit back and watch your needs be catered to?”

An astounded gasp filled the room, echoing through the halls, echoing from the shadows and resounding off the immense pedestals. “He can see us…” came a murmur from the right, “But that is impossible, we are cloaked in the shadows…” came a deeper murmur from the left.

“Not quite impossible,” the elven cleric responded to them, another gasp filling the room, “I was an elf of the darkness, a kin of the drow. I can see through the darkness, my eyes pierce it. Along with that come the heightened senses of hearing, allowing me to hear your hushed whispers, secret mumblings. You can hide nothing from me that you could a human. I am sharper and quicker, and you have admitted your own downfall.

“It is true you are cloaked in the shadows, but it is also true that people of your esteem and power should not be in the shadows. The light of the new day glorifies our lord, keeps us comforted. Yet you hide yourself from his light, dwelling like followers of ‘The Gatecrasher’, followers of ‘The Interloper’. Why? Why do you dwell in the darkness that our Order fights so hard to unveil and destroy? Why do you hide your faces from fellow members of the Order of the Light, fellow clerics of the Most High?”

A silent hissing of scorn flew from the shadows, piercing through them to the elf with every word he spoke. “You know nothing of our ranks,” came one response spit like venom, “You are nothing,” came another, “How dare you challenge our powers?” Finally the hissing stilled as Ranger turned to the faces of each one. “Where do you find that you should challenge us? Why do you stand alone, where are those that believe the same as you?”

The Elder stood layers and piles of deep blue robes with gold trimming folding before him, rolling out as he stood. A cruel smile lit his wrinkled wicked face as the others rose as well. “You stand alone and without hope. You stand against the twelve most powerful people within our Order; I dare say the world itself! And you come alone, without a witness, came alone without anyone to defend your word against ours. What are you to do now? Why, I could easily call the guards in here and—” the man was cut short, a small crack popped from the corner of the room, then another and another, spreading across the room itself.

“What is going on?” The elder roared as the lights within ‘the cave’ sprung on, vivacious and ready to serve. Their long decommission was at an end, the lights flickered and then flared to life, a roaring white flame at the center of every supernatural setting, eating away at the shadows, ripping at them with the might of the almighty Pelor. “I demand to know what is happening!” The Elder was kneeling; his hands over his eyes, just as his fellow Elders were, shielding their faces from the light.

“As you know I have come as a messenger of Pelor. But as you did not yet realize, I am more then a messenger, I am a harbinger of a new age, an age without your indolent tolerance, an age that will bring forth the death of the shadow and a permanent combatant against it. You are being stripped of your ranks as Head Elders and your power will be dispersed throughout the entire Order, given to every Elder throughout the entire lands of Althanas.” Ranger turned his back to the Elders, walking slowly and dramatically towards the massive doors. His task was done, dirty though it was.

“Your reign and relaxed grip on the shadows has allowed the youth of Althanas to slip to the shadows, leaving them in the wayside as you yourselves became more and more powerful. You brought yourself up while the rest fell away like sheaf in the wind! You have made yourselves gods among the Order, forcing men and women to bow to you, openly receiving gifts meant for Pelor, using the clerics as lapdogs to fetch your slippers.” The elf turned in a wide sweep, his cloak billowing out behind him, “Your reign has come to an end, and I am here to assure it. Pelor has spoken through me, you know it, I know it, and everyone throughout the Citadel knows thanks to your announcements upon my arrival. You have doomed yourselves to this fate.”

With that Ranger pulled the massive doors open, shining even more light in, bringing with it the calls of over a hundred Elders. Weeping in wails poured from chambers as Ranger exited them, a smirk of fulfillment on his face. “Assemble the militia,” the elf said with an air of authority, “Bring Captain Megrim to the Consulting Room and when the Elders are finished with the former Head Elders escort them to there as well.” The massive soldier, one of the twenty-eight bodyguards saluted sharply and trotted off, giving orders as he went.

“Now onto planning our war, the shadow must and will fall to our might…” Ranger thought as he trotted down the new, liberated hallways, a breath of fresh air, the tight hold of the tyrannical Elders ended.