The End of the Vanir

[Ürei]

(This is the solo-quest promised as a continuation of my character's history.)



Day 13 of the Moontide; Year 100 A.S.
~22:01,2; Mi`Drigard, House of Vali~


“Alice, I will tell you for the last time, you are not allowed outside of the castle walls at night! There are Reapers and Stalkers and Pluckers out there! They would grab you and gobble you up! Don’t you ever wonder why there is a constant brigade of guards patrolling around the castle grounds? We want to protect you.”

The old man fumbled with his words, trying to find something that would convince the immature little girl out of her ambitions. She stared at him for only but a moment before huffing and running to the patio door. With a grandeur flourish, she whipped the two doors open wide and breathed in the night air. Sighing with his failure, the mage limped his way over to the archway with her. The moon was showing brightly in the sky, hovering above the northern mountains of Salvar. Though the rest of the continent was covered in ice and snow, the magic of the Weir kept back the bite of Everwinter. Cherry trees surrounded the castle grounds in a grove that seemed innocent enough. Yet, hidden in those branches were camouflaged archers and sentries, watchful and restless eyes forever protecting their lifestyle.

Alice sat on the ivory stone ledge, draping her legs over the side and turning back to look at Oren. With a childish smile and a little giggle, she waved the man to come out into the brisk night air. It was lovely outside, and she didn’t believe in fairy tales anymore. Succumbing to her charm, Oren hobbled on his staff into the cool air, his joints complaining to him. Dissatisfied with the cold of the night, he glanced to the south, staring at the monumental column that radiated with energy. It was still active; so it must just be an extremely cold night out in the continent of Salvar, for it was often warm inside the protection of their dome. Oren hadn’t feared any differently.

Reaching up and holding a guardian’s hand on the little girl’s shoulder, the elderly mage spoke up in his story-telling voice. “When I was but a child, this city was wracked with the miseries that you hear in the fairy tales. Dark spirits and shadow entities came broke through the Weir Gate and assaulted our people. Despair and tragedy ran rampant in the streets like a foul plague, yet there was hope. A little boy, about your age, came and did something that we never understood. He spoke to one of the Foulthings and asked them to leave them alone. After, a white light shot from the ground where he stood and there the pillar was erected. None of us ever knew who the boy was, or where he came from, not even where he went after the pillar rose. Yet, we honor him to this day. He was the first Eldritch. From his enchantment, we learned the secrets of the Eldritch powers and learned of the Weir. As you have probably learned in your classes, our city lines halfway between the Weir and the solid realm of mortals.”

Having heard all this before, Alice sighed and laid down on the edge, staring at the stars. The moon eclipsed the sky this far north, and she could see a fierce snowstorm just outside the shimmer of the dome. It was a harsh world out there, and her sister hadn’t returned from it yet. Worry ate at her gut like a fierce flame, spreading to her body and sending a chill down her spine. What if Kitty doesn’t come back this time? What if a Wendigo or a Plucker got her! As if reading her mind, Oren touched her shoulder and smiled warmly, reassuring her that Catherine would return.


“It’s okay to be worried, Alice, but you need not worry for Lady Catherine. Her Warden, Segfreid, accompanies her. That man can handle anything this frigid wasteland can throw at him.”

Alice, of course, wasn’t so sure of that. Settling back against the comforting warmth of the old mage, she felt herself beginning to doze off. The edge of the dream world touched her as she felt her body lifted into the air by those weak but familiar arms. Eyes closed, mind drifting, the last thing the felt was being set down on her bed. The elder whispered a ‘good night’ to her sleeping form before shutting the balcony doors and blowing out the candles.

[Ürei]

Day 13 of the Moontide; Year 100 A.S.
~23:15,0; The Weir~

“Cat, we shouldn’t be here.” The cold, warning retort of Segfreid did not surprise Catherine at all. Warriors disliked anything they couldn’t understand or fight. In the Weir, a place of fairy-tale evils and dark magicks, only the Eldritch could harm creatures. Though, she must admit, it was much easier to cross the dangerous terrain of the Weir then it was to handle a severe blizzard in the deep north of Salvar. Especially when they reached the Northern Mountains, it would be impossible to enter the Vanir Pass during a blizzard. Whether they liked it or not, the group had to transverse to Mi`Drigard in the Weir.

“Both you and I, and those with us, know why we are here, Segfreid. It doesn’t matter, anyways, for we are almost there. Over the next ridge we will be in sight of the dome. Calm your nerves.” She saw him nod in response out of the corner of her eye. A small legion of sentries surrounded a richly clad old gentleman behind them. This was their special convoy, an ambassador from one of the nearest villages of the Salvar Humans. On this night the hundreds of years of silence would be broken between the Humans and the Vanir.

Sighing, yet still somewhat tense that something might happen in the last moments for the entire trip had been event free, Catherine almost felt like pushing to her tip toes to see the familiar sight of the blue orb surrounding Mi`Drigard. The silence of the Weir always disturbed her, even when she knew that she was well protected. The blades and arrows of her guardians had their familiar dark green shimmer whenever they caught the moonlight, the sign that they were enchanted to be able to damage Foulthings. With a hesitant glance back at the ambassador, who was more impatient that scared for he hadn’t seen the horrors of the Weir, Catherine proceeded forward.

“Only over the next ridge…”




Day 13 of the Moontide; Year 100 A.S.
~23:38,3; Mi`Drigard, House of Vali~

A small scratching that was slowly growing louder and louder disturbed the restless sleep of the young princess. Alice murmured before opening her eyes. Sitting up, she looked around the room. The scratching continued, not getting closer or farther, just louder, drawing the young girl’s mind farther from drowsiness. Glancing around her bedroom again, she couldn’t see anything because of the veil that surrounded her grandeur bed. Rubbing her eyes and trying to stamp out the weariness that clung to her, Alice pushed the comforter off her legs and crawled across to the foot of her bed. Cautiously she pulled the veil from the center to the side, keeping a watchful eye out for any movement.

All was still. The scratching had even stopped; making her wonder if it had just been her imagination. With a sigh, Alice thrust the curtains aside and sat down on her bed, legs draped over the edge. Working a hand through her hair and thinking of Catherine again, the little girl swept another timid eye across her room. Only this time did she notice something out of place.

The click of the lock as the old mage closed the door to the balcony, cutting off the cold breeze.

Yes, she was positive that the elderly caretaker had shut the balcony doors. A cold breeze struck her face as horror dawned across it, for the doors were wide open. Leaping from her bed, she ran over to the doors and slammed them shut, a sense of security in being closed in. Alice was just turning away when her hand brushed the wood of the door and was cut. Yelping, she jumped back, her nerves on the edge, and stared at the door. The horror then became solid, and she knew something was dreadfully wrong. Where the handle should have been there was a hole clawed and ripped into the door. Hard enchanted wood was splintered and ripped to shreds. A dark oozing substance dripped from the inside of the hole, as if whatever made this entrance had cut itself when trying to use it.

Spinning on a heel, Alice dashed back to her bed and leapt on it, listening carefully for that scratching sound again. Now that she knew what it was, her imagination was running wild with what could possibly done something like that. Those doors were specially made by the higher mages, as all the doors in this palace were, to avoid intrusion and be able to take even a hammer blow without showing a dent. Only something really, really strong or really powerful could get through those doors. That’s was papa said…something really powerful. Oh no…the Foulthings! If Oren were here, he would probably tell her she was overreacting. He would go through the room, turn on the lights, and tell her nothing was lingering, waiting for her. But, Oren wasn’t there. Alice was scared.

Suddenly the sounds began again. This time, it was a tapping, as if from claws moving on wood, coming from directly under her. Quivering in fear, she closed her eyes and listened, tears rolling down her cheeks. Sobbing and unable to control herself, he crawled to the head of her bed and covered herself in blankets. Forcing her eyes open, Alice stared at the foot of the bed, waiting. A soft purring sounded, followed by a shadow rising up. Two blood red glowing eyes stared at her from the foot of her bed, laughing, insane eyes. One arm, long, skinny, and ending in a wicked claw, reached up and grasped the comforter. Another arm, getting a firm handhold, and it began pulling itself up. Two more arms on each side of its shadow-made body revealed themselves as if slowly made its way across her bed. Like a spider, it approached, but spiders did not have long snake-like forms. Alice knew what it was.

“P…p…p…plucker…PLUCKER!”

A child’s scream echoed across the entire palace.

[Ürei]

Day 13 of the Moontide; Year 100 A.S.



The Anniversary of the Sealing.



~0:00,0; Mi`Drigard~


The End of the Vanir



“It is my honor to announce the beginning of the celebrations. This is the 100th Anniversary of the Sealing, and thus a very special occasion. We have lived in this magnificent city for 100 years, untouched by the unwanted darkness of the Weir. Though our hopes that the Savior would return to claim his rightful place in our society have gone in vane, we must forever remember his contribution. If it were not for him, we would be nothing but ashes in this haven. To the Savior!”

The old man finished his abridged speech with a rising of a silver gauntlet in the general direction of the Obelisk. That monument of stone and blood was fashioned on the night of the breaking of the Weir Gate, and it held both the Dome and the Weir Gate closed. Since then they have found nothing but peace. Of course, ventures into the Weir to explore and try to discover its endless mysteries were a commonplace now. A guild of warriors named the Warden was started due to the expeditions. These Eldritch-wielding blade masters now act as guides when a group wishes to use the Weir to either travel out of the Vale, or to try to do any sort of activity in the Weir. Due to deaths and Vanir going missing, the Warden has even set up rules regarding Weir travel, including the 2-day rule. A party is only allowed to spend one night in the Weir, one day in, one day out. No parties have known to return from the Weir after two days, and members are often grieved for and a funeral held if they have not returned to the physical realm after 3 days.

Despite the history, a round of cheers and applause broke out from the crowd gathered. Though mostly all of them did indeed respect their Savior, they came for the entertainment, food, and excitement that followed the Day of Sealing holiday. Nobody worked today; however payment-free volunteers who simply wanted to give the participants a good time occupied stands and booths. Such a tradition had begun a long time back, and has grown to a massive citywide carnival every year. In fact, the only people on job during this time were the ever-watchful ever-protecting Wardens. They stood at each Dome entrance, and a platoon of them encircled the Obelisk, which rested below the sealed Weir Gate.

Earlier in the day, the guards had heard a shrill cry of excitement from the castle and guessed that Master Ravencraft and his wife must be having a good time. Grinning, the gate guards shifted timidly in their posts, waiting anxiously to return to their wives. Everyone was celebrating, and though the Wardens knew their responsibility, they couldn’t wait until the shifts were changed and the other half was allowed to return home to their families.


Ding


Suddenly, the Ravencraft Castle rang the Midnight Bell –an enormous black bell that rests at the top most tower of the castle, which has its last ring at perfect midnight, with 12 preceding it- and the guards sighed behind their armor. Now the real festivities would begin.


Ding


The second bell rang, and four golden portals formed around the obelisk, giving way to the entire counsel of Eldritch Mages. They prepared to show off their magic show as people gathered around the monument. Every street was packed full, the surrounding streets designed so that you can see the giant stone pillar from almost a mile away in each direction. Though the obelisk rested at the bottom of a bowl, it reached almost five times as high as any other building in the city. It’s tip started the beginning of the dome.


Ding


Something strange happened, one of the Eldritch Counselors glancing upward and gasping, him noticing it first. At the point were stone touched the shimmering mana of the dome, a black splotch began to grow outwards. The runes on the monument dimmed, one by one, as if lights were going out.


Ding


Black lightning arched down from the dome as the darkness spread, a plague across the beautiful magic-instilled surface. The dead runes, long passed by the wake of corruption, began to glow anew with a twisted dark light. Absorbing the brilliance of the city, candles and torches began to dim. All at once, as if their minds were connected, the mages spoke a word of the Eldritch and summoned 16 massive spheres of light. The Head Counselor had a staff that glowed with a brilliance surpassing the globes however. It was a futile attempt to push away the hungry darkness.


Ding


The corruption in the dome came to a standstill, a perfect circle around the tip of the obelisk, almost a mile in diameter. Their hope’s were not rising, but sinking further as they stared in horror. The dark energies inside that circle began to swirl, diving inwards, then springing out. An uncountable amount of black tendrils of pure darkness reached down, wrapping around the obelisk and speeding down its surface. The corruption of the runes continued at triple the rate, each glowing rune almost instantly replaced by a wicked dark light. The Wardens backed away a step as the tentacles hit the ground.


Ding


Lightning raced down the tentacles, slamming into the ground surrounding the monument. Cries burst out through the crowd as they widened the breadth between them and the tortured landmark. Nobody knew what could explain this. Soon the Warden’s had reached the edge of their perimeter, their backs almost touching the ring of counselors. There, they knew they must take a stand, watching in dread the proceeding of the column’s demise.


Ding


The tentacles tensed, beginning to retract back into the dread gate they came from. The ground rumbled and groaned as the massive stone obelisk was ripped from it’s grasp. Floating a good distance above the ground, the tentacle’s sped their ascent, taking the centerpiece of the Vanir’s hope with them. It was gone from their sight in but a blink of the eye.


Ding


A rippling energy burst from the calm portal high above them, causing a wave of gasps to ring out in the crowd. They were watching timidly, not knowing what to do, if anything. Few even noticed as the rim of the dome began to grow black and brittle. The guards posted at the checkpoints around the dome were too busy watching the center to even notice. More lightning and bursts of dark light flew from the portal, a swirling cloud forming from the mana mist.


Ding


One of the Eldritch Sorcerers took a gander and spoke a few concise words, shoving both hands into the air. A lance of lightning burst forth from the air between his open palms, speeding to the gate; seconds before reaching it, several bolts of black lightning reached out and slammed into it, tossing the magic-made weapon around like a rag doll. Finally, an incredibly thick burst of lightning slammed into it, shattering it into raw mana. The mana was then sucked upwards, into the void. The mages gulped simultaneously, afraid as the civilians now.


Ding


The ominous cloud that surrounding the gate grew outwards, bolts of lightning now burst down to the ground, shattering homes and desolating greenery. Cries from the crowd as large groups were blasted into nothingness by wandering bolts began. A group of the mages, including the Head Counselor, was speaking in quick tones, then finally nodded and spoke, in unison, a powerful spell that shook the very air. At their conclusion, the Arch Mage thrust his staff into the ground, sending a shockwave of mana outwards. When it reached the edge of the gathered crowd, the shockwave halted. Instead of growing, it burst upwards, creating a second dome of shielding far under the main dome. Bolts of lightning were stopped by the mana, leaving black marks on the surface. As the sides closed in, they watched through the shimmering blue surface and the lightning slowed.


Ding


Suddenly the lightning stopped all together. The people began to sigh and sit down, just realizing their necks hurt from staring to the sky; they though themselves safe. An enormous cracking sound burst through everyone’s ears. Gazes shot upwards, to the center of the new dome, where bolts of lightning as thick as a building were slamming into the tip. Electrical energy gathered at the edges of the portal, growing stronger and thicker as it rolled inwards, and then burst out as a hole when closing at the center. Breaks in the barrier were already showing.


Ding


Like brittle glass, a final charged blast brought the shield down. Cries of fear rang out once more, an uneven chorus across the entire city. As the shield broke into small bubbles of mana and was sucked upwards in a tornado of energy, things began to fly downwards. Riding the currents of mana, winged creatues burst from the darkness of the portal. All at once, the mages and the citizens understood what kind of gate this was.

A Weir Gate.


Ding


The final ring sounded out, blasting through the city in the silence. Thick as a swarm of locusts, creatures of all types, sizes, and genres flowed from the gate. Bursting downwards, the Wardens and Eldritch Sorcerers were blasting at the beasts before they even touched the ground. Though they took down many, the mass was too great, the numbers immeasurable. Soon the small platoon was swamped, the mages following shortly after. The air grew sour with blood and the unforgettable smell of the Weir Darkness. Just as the mass stopped descending from the portal, the air began to grow dim. Foulthings ran the street, massacring everything in their path. Even Pluckers, foul beasts that vowed allegiance to none except their own, walked among things they once would have shredded, helping destroy the Vanir.

From the gate one final arrival appeared, floating slowly down on gray dragon wings that reached out easily twenty foot in each direction. Though it had the wing design of a bat, gray glossy feathers shone down the surface. With a monotone form, sharp and edged, almost human, the beast watched mutely. No recognizable emotion showed on the monster’s countenance, a hard, dark face. Glowing amber eyes surveyed the battlefield, watching the slaughter without a care. Black, twisted armor covered most of its body, and an enormous black scythe hung on its back.

A dusky, dark voice came from between its rock-hard lips, the darkness almost tastable in it’s tone.

“Know your place, Vanir. Know your place.”