Man, Husband, Father, Ruler ....and Favored Soul, Knight of Iomedae


Campaign Journals

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Riveting :)


Thanks, guys. Here is the next update.

* * * *
The cavern became brighter for an instant as the thunderhead discharged another bolt.
Kyras knew that Akiros would not be able to intervene in the rock troll’s assault on Kelas in time. He had to act quickly.

Drawing on a simple cantrip his former master taught him early in his studies, Kyras cast a simple spell. Stupeficus!

The rock troll stopped in its tracks, dazed, giving Kelas and Akiros the time they needed.

Kelas moved across the cavern, placing additional distance between him and the enormous troll. He called upon the lore he learned in the wild. He normally used it for hunting stag. As a ranger, he learned that it was sometimes necessary to kill for food, but as an Elf, it chose to cause as little pain as possible to the animal during the kill. It was that skill he called upon now, but for different effect.

Focusing his mind, he called upon the hunter’s mercy to make the next shot from his bow strike hard and true. His arrow struck the rock troll’s chest, imbedded deep into its hide, puncturing muscle and breaking bone. His second arrow struck as well, but not as hard and deep. But this was a hardy foe.

Baerevan called once again on the power of his Goddess. With righteous fury I shall fell the greatest foe! He spoke as his blade shimmered momentarily, bolstered by the power of his prayer. The troll took two more hits from Baerevan’s sword, falling under the punishment of the paladin’s powerful swings. Turning to the next troll, Baerevan swung again, penetrating deep into its hide. He followed up with a shield bash from his energized shield.

The heavily injured troll counterattacked furiously, punching at Baerevan with all of its might. But the paladin brought his shield to bear, blocking its powerful punches and burning the troll’s fists with its fiery power. The other troll attacked again. But it, too, was unable to land a blow on the heavily armored paladin. Then the troll that had thrown Akiros across the cavern moved to attack, slashing at Baerevan’s back, puncturing his armor and tearing the flesh below. Baerevan grunted in pain.

The two-headed troll continued to flail around, blinded and unable to find its quarry.

Another electrical bolt arced across the cavern and slammed into the troll that had just burned its fists on Baerevan’s shield. Then the thunderhead dissipated.

Akiros roared a challenge and slammed his sword into the back of the dazed rock troll. The barbarian brought his sword around for a second powerful swing, slicing it deep. But the enormous rock troll was very tough and his wounds healed extraordinarily fast.

Shaking off the effect of Kyras’s spell, the rock troll lunged forward and smashed Kelas with its fist, crushing his left shoulder. The fragile Elf fell to the floor unconscious under the onslaught.

Caustius! The mage spoke as he conjured and flung a glowing orb of acid at the rock troll from across the cavern. The orb hit its mark and the cavern was filled with the sound of sizzling flesh. The rock troll grunted in pain.

Baerevan was wavering. He had taken a lot of hits and his armor was in poor shape. He was bleeding from several wounds. Yet he persisted. His faith in his goddess was strong and knowing that his friends and his beloved would die if he did not persevere was enough to see him through this trial. Sweat poured down his brow as he brought his sword around again. The paladin’s sword bit deep into the hide of the wounded troll he had been attacking. The troll was critically injured. One more hit from the paladin’s sword would end it. But his second stroke missed, as did his attempt to shield bash his opponent.

His fatigue was making him sloppy. He was a moment too slow in bringing his fiery shield around to block the blows of the trolls. And they took full advantage. The first troll punched the paladin hard in the head, denting his helmet severely and momentarily dazing him. The troll missed with its second punch. But the second troll viciously clawed the paladin, drawing more blood. The paladin was in agonizing pain as the troll dug its claws into his already wounded side.

The two-headed troll continued swiping empty air, looking for the companions. It was determined not to disappoint its benefactor by allowing this quarry to get away. Perhaps they knew the location of the weapon she so desperate sought.

Akiros slammed his blade again and again into the rock troll. His powerful attacks were beginning to have effect.

The rock troll turned around as Akiros’s blade stung it deep between its ribs. Swinging its massive fists, it smacked Akiros in the face, cracking his jaw. Its other fist hit him in the gut so hard it knocked the breath out of him.

Kira could see that they were in dire straits. Neither Akiros nor Baerevan could survive another onslaught of attacks from these monstrous trolls. And she had mere moments to get to Kelas if she was to have any hope of saving him. Nonetheless, there wasn’t much she could do in this underground space. Her magic was better suited for the outdoors. Yes. She thought as she pulled a small thorn out of her pouch and, holding it in her hand she stared at it and began an incantation.

Thorn, prickle, bristle, nettle,
protecting crops from mischief and mettle.
Acacia from your pointed spike,
pierce my victim, form a pike!

The thorn in Kira’s hand flew at the rock troll and grew during its trajectory to the size of a large pike and pierced the rock troll in the chest, critically wounding it.

Kyras pointed his staff at the badly wounded troll attacking Baerevan and discharged a bolt of raw magical energy from its tip. The troll fell, unconscious.

Baerevan took the opportunity to focus his attention on the sole remaining troll facing him. His strikes were empowered by his prayer, bolstering the amount of power behind each attack against these larger monsters. In a burst of strength, Baerevan smote his enemy, hitting it twice with his blade, once critically piercing one of the troll’s lungs, and finishing it with a powerful shield bash from his fiery shield.

Meanwhile, Akiros was still standing on adrenaline and rage alone. Growling, he lifted his sword high for one last powerful swing at the rock troll. The barbarian's sword came down hard on the rock troll's leg, nearly severing it. It was enough. The rock troll finally fell, unconscious from the loss of blood and the beating it had taken. Exhausted, the barbarian's sword clanged to the floor. The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was the feeling of victory.

The two-headed troll continued to flail about as Kira ran over to Kelas and sang the last healing song she had the power to perform today. Kelas became conscious once more, his crushed shoulder healed.

Baerevan rallied everyone. “Justice shall prevail! In Iomedae’s name I smite thee!” For the second time today, Baerevan’s sword glowed with holy light as he lashed out with his sword, finding purchase in the tough hide of the two-headed troll. He followed up his thrust with a bash of his shield. The two-headed monster took a beating.

The troll hesitated as it tried to assess what had been done to it and to determine the location of his assailant. That hesitation was more than Kelas needed. Two arrows from the Elf’s bow embedded themselves in the creature’s hide. One found a vital organ, seriously injuring the monster.

Baerevan once again thrust his sword twice into the two-headed troll and bashed him across the head with his energized shield. Empowered by the divine grace of Iomedae, his attacks were potent. The two-headed troll could not withstand such power. Baerevan smote it and it was consumed in holy fire.

They burned the bodies. Kira used up the rest of her incantations waking Akiros and trying to invigorate the companions and Baerevan called upon the grace of Iomedae to heal himself and his companions the best he could. But even that had its limits and he had channeled about all of the holy energy he could channel in that fashion today. He would need to rest and pray.

But they all remained seriously wounded.

“I doubt there are any more of those creatures.” Akiros said, wiping blood from his now properly located chin.

“Had there been any more, they would have come at the sound of the battle.” Kelas offered.

“Well, if there are any more, I’m afraid I won’t be of much help.” Kyras whispered. “I’m exhausted and cannot channel any more magic today. I will have to rely on the power of my staff.”

“I, too, have used all of the power given to me by the Green today.” Kira said.

The baron looked thoughtful. “Well, Akiros and Kelas agree that there are no remaining trolls. Let’s finish exploring these caves and be done with this place.” The baron said.


Well done :)


This may be my last post until the weekend. I will try to get one in tomorrow, but no promises :)

* * * *
Hulrun was pleased.

His Inquisition ferreted out all the servants who knew of the death of the girl and of Nataeia’s disappearance. He had them brutally murdered.

His secret was safe.

His masters could be quite fickle if they did not get what they wanted. And they would flay him if they sensed the smallest weakness in him. He had to tread a very fine line and be very discreet. For one false move and the Inquisitors of the Inheritor would catch wind of his duplicity. I’d rather face the righteous fury of a hundred paladins and priests of the whelp goddess than face the anger of the Masters. He thought as he gazed in the opulent gold-trimmed mirror hanging above the enormous stone fireplace in his parlor.

His Masters bestowed great gifts upon him for having slain his child, the Chosen One. He admired them in the mirror. They were crude and rough looking, yes. But they carried great power. The iron crown was fashioned to look like black flames wreathing his head, magnified by the reddish-black fire that emanated from it. The scepter was made of iron and draped in chains. A dark red flame was lit at one end, but gave off no heat. The orb was made of pitted and scarred iron. Red sparks flew from it as he held it.

“You look magnificent, My Sweet.” The succubus purred in his ear as she caressed his other ear with the tip of her tail. The stunningly beautiful demon smiled and pressed against him, causing her new red silk robe to open, revealing her perfect, round breasts.

“We did well, my love.” Hulrun responded. “And the Masters reward us.” He smiled at her slyly.

“Do you like what you see, Hulrun?” She gestured to herself.

Hulrun’s smile became a look of hunger.

She hit him playfully with her fingers. “Not me!” She laughed, “my gift.” She continued, gesturing to her robe.

His mistress was already stunningly beautiful. But her robe served to accentuate her beauty. As he stood looking at her, a tear came to his eye. “Your beauty is awesome to behold.” He whispered in awe.

She smiled playfully. “And it will become even more when we bathe in the blood of innocents.” The succubus laughed. “Shall we visit the nunnery?”

Just then a voice came from the entrance of the parlor. “You failed, Hulrun.”

Hulrun turned to see the Rider in the doorway. He bowed deeply, recognizing a messenger of one of the Masters. “I don’t understand, My Lord. I have done as you asked.”

“The wench tricked you.” The Rider began. “She stole the grace from the child as you killed it. You did not kill the Vessel. The Vessel still lives. You have failed.” The Rider was expressionless and his tone did not reveal his thoughts.

“That’s impossible.” Hulrun blurted, confused.

“You have one hour before the Masters come to claim you and your consort.”

“They can’t do that!” The succubus arrogantly argued. “I’m a Queen.”

The Rider merely started at the succubus. “The Masters care naught for the politics of the Abyss. They are neutral in this. You threw your lot in with this mortal for your own personal gain. Now, you will pay the consequences of failure with him.” The Rider turned to leave and said over his shoulder. “You have one hour.”

He left.

Hulrun stared and his beautiful mistress. First surprise, then anger flashed across her face. “How could you fail to predict this!” She was screaming and pounding him in the chest.

A new voice came from the entryway. “All is not lost.” The tall, thin mustachioed figure said lightly, removing his stretched, skin-tight red leather gloves and draping them over an arm, the hand of which was holding a long black iron rod, topped with a giant ruby. His clothes were exquisitely expensive. And on the sleeves of his robe, an inverted pentagram was meticulously embroidered.

The succubus looked at the stranger and hissed, jumping onto the ceiling, gripping it with all fours as her head twisted around backwards to see him. “You!” She hissed in recognition and hatred.

“Shhh” He commanded, putting a finger to his lips.

The succubus’s lips sealed together and her face looked as though it had no mouth.

“Now.” The stranger said, turning to Hulrun, smiling. The door slammed shut behind the stranger and locked, locking Hulrun and the succubus in the chamber with the stranger. “Let’s make a deal.”


Well done :)


Thanks, Bran. This was a hastily created update. After I posted it, I thought it might be too cryptic in terms of the identities of the dramatis personae. I thought perhaps I should have had one post in between to give the lead up. But I have to keep some things secret from my players, who are unaware of the identity of Hulrun's "Masters". This update might give them some clues, but they still would only be guessing. Of course, at least for now, perhaps their identity is not so important given the intervention of the "stranger." <evil grin>

Of course, they know who the "stranger" is, and so should you guys, if you're paying attention :)


Oh we know who the "Stranger is"... and he fell into that one, hook, line and sinker... he is sinking deeper and deeper as time pregresses on the material plane. Soon there will be nothing left to redeem... probably, the messangers were put in place by the stranger, even unknowingly.... wheels within wheels :) Good Story :)


+1


Thanks guys. Yes, Hulrun fell right for that one ;)

This is somewhat of a cliffhanger:

* * * *

The companions continued exploring the caverns, starting with the path they had ignored to get to this chamber. Kelas surmised that it lead to the lair of the two-headed troll that surprised them shortly after the battle began.

He was correct. The rough tunnel widened into a thirty foot high natural cavern hung with dripping stalactites. Gnawed bones littered the floor, while the northern portion of the room held a collection of severed, humanoid heads arranged around a large circle drawn on the floor with dried blood. This was a dead end.

“What was the troll doing here with this circle of blood, Kyras.” The baron asked, kicking over a decaying halfling’s head.

The mage, who had been inspecting a curious stalagtite, ambled up to the blood circle and inspected it. “I cannot be sure. It is either the remnants of a ceremonial prayer circle or a summoning circle. But if the latter, it is quite crude.”

“Can we go?” Kira asked with her hand over her mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

The group retraced their steps and then explored the tunnels beyond the other exit from the room in which they battled the rock troll and the others.

Starting with the tunnel to the left, they traveled a short distance until they could see the cavern beyond. It’s ceiling arched thirty feet overhead. A wagon with its wheels removed sat against the eastern wall, its supplies spilling out in shambles into the cavern.

Baerevan recognized the wagon as a supply wagon that had been missing for months on its journey between Soliel and Tazzleford. The Barony’s insignia was still painted on the side of the wagon, though it was faded. Against the northern wall was a crude throne carved from a giant tree stump that sat atop a makeshift dais made of boulders, with a large bearskin spread on the floor before it.

Sitting on the throne was a large troll, wearing armor made of animal skins and a bracelet of skulls. Around his neck was an ornate necklace of red beads. Grabbing the enormous darkwood morningstar leaning against his throne, Hargulka sprang up and roared a challenge, taking a readied stance.

Akiros charged, yelling profanities at the troll leader while bringing his long sword back for a powerful strike.

As Akiros got within ten feet of the massive troll, it swung its massive morningstar into the side of Akiros’s head so hard, the crack of Akiros’s skull could be heard across the chamber. A boom of thunder accompanied the crack as the magical energies stored in the morningstar were released. The raging barbarian’s charge turned into a freefall as his body was forcibly yanked in another direction and sent airborne to crash into the cavern wall. Akiros fell into a heap in the corner of the room, unmoving.

Kelas let two arrows go and moved slowly along the wall of the cavern away from the others about fifteen feet to make his way around to Akiros. The first arrow hit its mark, to imperceptible effect.

Baerevan shouted, “In the name of The Inheritor, Patron Diety of Justice and Honor, I shall smite thee!” His sword glowed with holy light. The enchantment on his shield had long since worn off.

Kyras discharged a bolt of raw magical energy from his staff. It pelted Hargulka, but it did little damage damage.

Kira rubbed her hands together hard and fast, causing a spark of electricity to form. She discharged it at the troll. But again, it did almost no damage.

The troll roared. “You die now!” grabbing one of the beads on his necklace and snapping it off, he threw it at the companions while speaking a word. The bead became a large raging ball of fire. Kelas saw the danger before it was too late and dodged for cover, avoiding most of the blast. But the others took the full force of the fireball.

Kyras’s last thought as he became unconscious was A troll with a fireball. How?

Baerevan was severely injured by the blast. Kira managed to avoid its full force, as she was standing slightly behind Baerevan when it went off. But still, she was horribly burned by the flames.

Baerevan spoke once more before engaging the troll in melee. “Iomedae will be my shield.” A rippling aura covered the paladin for an instant as The Inheritor’s protection came over him, helping to deflect the troll’s attacks.

Kelas fired two more arrows. One arrow hit the troll, doing some minor damage. But the troll’s wounds were already beginning to close. The first arrow he had hit the troll with was already becoming dislodged as the troll’s flesh re-knit, pushing it out.

Kira didn’t know what to do. She could channel the Green no more today. Her beloved brother was unconscious or dead. Akiros was surely dead and her betrothed would surely die if forced to face the troll alone in melee.

Then she had a thought. The book. The strange book that Kyras brought back from Skywatch with him. But she still wasn’t sure what it was exactly that the rituals in the book were meant to summon. Were they mere concepts, symbols for the Powers the Be? Or were they essences of those Powers, like an aspect of that Power to channel through the summoner? Or where they the Powers themselves? Even though she was unsure, she had to do something. Perhaps she could summon some essence that could protect them. Or better yet, something that could heal and restore all of them.

She made a decision. Ignoring that part of her brain that screamed at her not to invoke the primeval magic detailed in the tome and neglecting the passage warning the reader that the summonings are not to be attempted outside of the Otherworld, Kira pulled the book out of her satchel, opened it to the right page and began the summoning ritual: The Ritual to Call Forth Spring.

The troll bounded over to the annoying Elf that kept pelting it with arrows that stung as they bit into its flesh. Kelas was just recovering from his dive for cover from the fireball and was scrambling to reload his bow when the troll hit him in the side of his head with its massive morning star. The cavern once again flooded with the sound of thunder at the impact and Kelas’s gray matter adorned the cavern wall as his body fell limp to the cavern floor.

The troll turned to the paladin and the druidess. Only two of the companions remained. Dis easy. Hargulka thought as the paladin charged him.


This has to be my favorit place in the posts :)


* * * *
The cavern filled with the sound of chanting as Kira invoked Spring. The ancient language of Ogham was a harsh, grinding language, spoken by the ancient Treeherders, giant sentient trees responsible for the growth and cultivation of the world’s forests. Long have the gentle Treeherders been thought to be extinct. But their indelible touch on this world is still felt today in the lush forests of Golarion and in the symbols and syllables of their ancient language. Treants are rumored to be their descendents and are a constant reminder to the druids of Golarion of the Treeherders’ contributions.

The magic that Kira was invoking was ancient and powerful. It took hold of her. No longer looking at the book to follow its text, she stared straight ahead and her mouth moved of its own volition, speaking the worlds of the ritual. The book fell to the floor of the cavern as Kira involuntarily drew a knife from her belt and plunged it into her other hand. Smearing the blood from her wound onto her face, her voice reached a crescendo. Still staring ahead, her arms reached up to the ceiling of the cavern and her fingers spread out with palms up.

Hargulka missed Baerevan as the paladin charged him, his giant morning star glancing off of the paladin’s shield.

Baerevan’s sword struck true. Twice Baerevan smote the giant troll with his holy sword. But the troll was a hardy foe and Hargulka intended to make Baerevan pay for that injury.

The chanting stopped and Kira shuddered and screamed. “No! It’s too much! Baerevan help me!”

Baerevan whirled around, taking his attention off of the troll at the sound of Kira’s urgent plea. That was all the hesitation Hargulka needed. With a powerful stroke, he struck down the paladin. The last thing Baerevan saw as he hit the cavern floor was Kira’s face contort in anger and pain.

I am Spring, Bringer of Life, Arbiter of Rebirth and Guardian of the Threshold. It was no longer Kira’s voice. The smell of flowers and loam filled the cavern and a breeze blew through it. The voice was feminine and ethereal, but also thick with power and somehow menacing.

The entity within Kira smiled and admired Kira’s lithe and supple body before thrusting its arms toward the ceiling, elongating and contorting Kira’s body impossibly. Kira’s skin became brown and hard and branches began growing out of her outstretched arms. Her feet became like roots seeking water, growing into and along the cavern floor. But it wasn’t water these Kira-roots were seeking, it was life. Coming to the bodies of Kira’s slain or unconscious companions, the root-like growths attached to flesh and tried to feed, but there was nothing on which to feed. Then the rootlets found Hargulka. Lunging at the giant troll and wrapping around him, the Kira-roots dragged the massive troll to the cavern floor and attached to his flesh, feeding off of his life force. The troll screamed as his face became sunken and the blood and life were siphoned from his body. Empowered by this new energy, Kira’s transformation was quickened. Leaves and flowers formed from the branches. All that remained of Hargulka was a withered husk.

Kira fought for control of her body. Kira had been thrust into a tiny corner of her own mind when Spring overwhelmed and possessed her. But she was still there, struggling to re-assert herself.

Sensing all that was happening around her, Kira could feel the awesome presence of Spring. She was elated when feeding on the nutrients within the troll. And she felt the urgent need to grow. It was perhaps this one overriding drive that she felt most; the urge to grow and to procreate.

Then she felt the connection. It was a connection to her companions, to the troll, to the cavern floor, to the stone below and to everything her roots and her branches touched. It was euphoric. Yet she had to stifle these urges, these desires, to spread across the land and connect to everything, if she were to have any hope at all of regaining some sense of her own being.

Perhaps it was the continued existence of the mortal within Spring and that mortal’s compassion for the lifeless husks laying on the cavern floor, or perhaps it was that mortal’s instincts that were affecting Spring. Maybe it was the fact that Spring was no longer confined to the Otherworld and that was affecting it in some strange way. Whatever it was, it was having a profound effect on Spring. For the first time in eons, Spring began to feel. And it felt sad for the fallen companions.

Sacrificing some of the energy that it had taken from the troll, Spring sent life-giving energy through its roots to the fallen companions, restoring their life essence.

Sensing this weakness, either due to Spring’s compassion or the momentary loss of life energy required to restore her friends, Kira focused all of her will and, calling on the Green in desperate need, Kira made one last push to assert herself. She shunted Spring out of her body.

Immediately, the tree form shriveled and died, leaving Kira, weakened but standing. Her hair had leaves and flowers in it still and her skin was the color and consistency of large, healthy leaves. The companions were beginning to rise, groggily, as though they had been asleep or in a stupor.

While no physical manifestation of Spring remained in the cavern, its voice sounded angrily. You do not know what you have done, foolish mortal! I was the Guardian of the Threshold. Now I am free and the Threshold is unguarded. I will never go back!

The voice disappeared, leaving only the sound of metal scraping against stone as the companions rose.

“What happened?” Akiros asked.

Kyras saw the open tome laying on the cavern floor and the desiccated husk of the troll. Then, he looked at Kira. Seeing the scared look in her eyes, he approached his sister and hugged her silently. Kira sobbed uncontrollably in his velvet robes.


That's an amazing way to bring in the next steps... Wow :)


omfg! Excellent!


This thread makes me want to take my expectant mother cleric to Pitax in Part 5 to make a passionate personal appeal to Irovetti. She and her husband have been elevated to champion status by the sunlord Thalchios and Sarenrae herself. Oh, progressive thinking... dum dee dooo.


Most Impressive....


@Hu5tru, sounds like a fun scenario. I am working on an update. I took a break during the holidays. :)

BTW, the party utterly annihilated Baron Drelev and his crew. Saturday, they will deal wtih the Avatar of Gyronna ;)


Merry Christmas,Happy Yule, Happy Solstice, Happy New Year etc.


Sorry for the extended absence. I hope this post makes up for it ;)

* * * *

The companions emerged from the ruined dwarven outpost and stood upon the rocky promontory, looking out into the surrounding forest. Kelas wept tears of remembrance, as if seeing an old friend after decades passed.

The forest was no longer the forest of The Narlmarches. It was the forest of ancient Golorian, from a time before ancient Casmaron swept the length and breadth of this region. It was the forest into which the elves first came when they walked upon the soil of Golorian. Kelas saw specie of flora that he had not seen in a hundred generations.

“What the Hells?” Akiros cursed as he nearly backed into Baerevan, distracted by the covering of giant vines now covering the stone watchtower. The leaves of the vines were at least as large as Baerevan’s shield.

Kira was pale. The forest had changed. The trees, the air, earth, everything, was more…vibrant. Closing her eyes she could feel the power in the earth and the living things around her. Spring was free in Golorian and her presence was palpable.

“Kira, what beautiful flowers.” Baerevan commented.

She looked at him and noticed that he was staring at the ground behind her. All along the trail of her path, little wildflowers were growing out of the earth. She took a few steps and turned around. Sure enough, little wildflowers sprouted through soil where her feet had just been.

That’s when it all sunk in. She summoned a chthonic being into this world and changed the balance of nature, changed herself, and who knows what else. What did Spring mean “the threshold is no longer guarded?” Kira looked at her green, leathery-looking skin and wept at the loss of her beauty, wept at the havoc she caused and wept at the unknown path that lay ahead of her.

* * *

The journey back to Baerevale was tedious. Kelas was completely silent and Kira went into and out of a state of depression. Embarrassed and ashamed, she wouldn’t even let Baerevan console her.

It began to rain. It wasn’t the seasonal showers that the Narlmarches usually received at this time of year. The rain came in driving sheets and was accompanied by booming peels of thunder and bright flashes of lightning. The rain was relentless and washed away land. The island that housed the village of the lizard folk in the center of the Murque River had disappeared and the homes of the lizard folk had been washed away. There was no sign of the former village’s inhabitants.

Kira became further withdrawn.

“Perhaps they packed up and went to higher ground.” Akiros offered hopefully in an attempt to mollify Kira.

“Yes. They are very resourceful, lizard folk.” Kelas added.

But the druidess avoided looking at them and continued walking.

A few hours later they came to the banks of Candlemere Lake. Akiros stopped for a moment.

“Something’s not right.” He said.

Kelas looked around for a minute, puzzled, a sense of unfamiliarity grew in his mind. He climbed a tree to get a better vantage.

“Yes.” He called down. “The forest comes all the way to the bank of the lake. It is expanding.” Kelas stated hopping down out of the nearby tree and landing gracefully.

Baerevan appeared deep in thought for a moment. “We should see whether Old Beldame needs any assistance.” He said. The old witch’s home was in the grasslands between the forest and the lake. Between the torrential rains and the forest’s growth, it was likely that her home was in danger.

The companions traveled north through the former grasslands to Beldame’s hut. It was still there. The old witch was in a foul mood, but seeing Kyras brought what passed for a smile to her face. Relieved that she was unharmed, Baerevan excused the companions, stating that, due to the severity of the rain and the rapid fecundity of the forest, they had urgent business to attend to in Baerevale. That was enough for the old witch, who prized her privacy. She waved the companions off. Kyras could feel her longing stare at his back as he walked off. Shuddering at the distasteful thought of her affections, he continued on.

* * * *

Baerevale didn’t fare so well, either. But its problems did not stem from the strange weather. Yes, there were some leaky roofs. And some rutted streets needed repair. But the forest was still miles away from the outskirts of town. It was the attack of the rampaging owl bear that was the source of Baerevale's recent plight.

While the companions were absent, an enormous, deranged and berserk owl bear tore through the town, wreaking havoc. Kesten had been left in charge in Baerevan’s absence. While he was the General of Soliel, his duties, up to that point, had been somewhat limited. Soliel was a small barony and had never really seen any warfare or territorial disputes. So Kesten devoted his efforts to training those who had some modicum of fighting ability in the art of weaponry. Kesten was particularly proficient with the long sword and so in training the few farmers and hunters who had any interest, he focused on techniques involving the long sword. This suited Baerevan as the long sword was also his weapon of choice and a powerful symbol of Iomedae.

When the rampaging owl bear came to town, Kesten was woefully unprepared. Citizens went screaming. Even the majority of his trainees fled. Luckily those two men-at-arms who originally came to the Stolen Lands with Kesten, when Soliel was nothing more than a trading post, stayed on. With a handful of would-be warriors and his faithful men-at-arms, Kesten confronted the enormous, insane owl bear. Kesten had battled an owl bear once before. But he had never seen or heard of an owl bear of the size and girth of the creature rampaging through Baerevale. Sweating under his helmet, he commanded his men to press an attack.

The owl bear tore into the soldiers, rending flesh and bone. The creature was such a force of destruction that even its misses were devastating, ripping through buildings, causing them to tumble and fall on the soldiers. By the time Kesten was able to rout the creature, three of his men and one of his men-at-arms lay fatally wounded, one buried under the remains of a house.

With Jhod’s help and support, the people cleared away the rubble and the wounded were healed. Only one warrior died. But the physical damage to Baerevale was not the only consequence of this attack. The people lived in fear that the creature would return. And Kesten could do nothing about those fears, while Baerevan was absent, for he had been ordered to protect Baerevale and he could not go looking for the owl bear while he was stuck here. So he did the only thing he could do. He sent scouts out to locate the den of the creature and to watch it from a distance.

After a few days, Kesten was faced with another trial.

Kelas was correct; the lizard folk were a resourceful lot. When it was clear that their tiny village would not survive the rains, the Lizard King led his people to his only ally in the region, Soliel.

Kesten initially thought the lizard folk were invading and met them with all of the trained warriors he could muster on the outskirts of town. They numbered only eight due to the large number of defections experienced after the owl bear attack. To complicate matters, the only people in the kingdom able to communicate with the lizard folk were Akiros, Kyras and Nakpick. Akiros and Kyras were with Baerevan, leaving Nakpick as Kesten’s only option for a diplomatic interpreter.

Today, I will die. Kesten thought as he watched the skipping kobold on this way through the soggy field to meet the Lizard King and his warriors. Gripping the hilt of his longsword tightly, he resolved to die an honorable death, if death was his fate this day.

Lucky for Kesten, death was not his fate that day. After a few false starts, it became clear that the lizard folk merely needed a temporary home and had come to petition the beneficent Baron Baerevan DuSoliel for shelter until the rainy season subsided. At first, the Lizard King was offended that the Baron did not parlay himself. After it was explained that the Baron was absent and Kesten was his chosen mouthpiece, the King was offended further that the Baron’s mouthpiece chose to communicate with him through his slave, a kobold, and refused to speak with him directly. After that misunderstanding was ironed out, an agreement was reached and the lizard folk were permitted to live on the outskirts of Baerevale, provided they did not eat anyone, especially kobolds. This resulted in a makeshift shanty town just to the west of its southwestern border.

When the Baron returned, Kesten was relieved to relinquish control. He informed the Baron of the tragedies that had beset Baerevale, doing his best to put a positive spin on events and focusing on the brave efforts of the populace, despite the contempt he felt for the deserters and general weakness of heart of many of the trainees. A better man might have accepted that youth and inexperience were to blame, but Kesten’s own flaws prevented him from seeing it that way.

* * * *

The Baron had resolved to set out after the Owlbear. But two things delayed his trip; Kira’s melancholy and new, bizarre happenings in the Barony that only served to feed Kira’s melancholy.

Shortly after arriving, the Baron was inundated with cries for assistance from the populace. Doing his best to meet with everyone and address everyone’s needs, he met the young Barony’s problems head on, if not wearily. Leadership was not the Baron’s desire. He had been thrust into this role by default. He had intended to lead a quiet contemplative life of prayer and service to Iomedae, and to one day confront his father, Hulrun of Kenabres, after he had worked out all of his anger issues. For Baerevan knew that it was a thin line between justice and revenge.

“My Baron, do you have a moment?” It was one of the farmers who plowed the land between Baerevale City and Leveton to the North. Vargas, the Baron thought his name was.

“Yes, Vargas. What can I do for you today?” the Baron responded happily. It was a particularly nice day as the barony was experiencing a break in the otherwise incessant rain. He noticed there were three or four other farmers standing with Vargas, anxiously waiting to speak with the baron. Baerevan recognized each of them as farming different territories around the barony.

“We have something to show you.” Vargas responded, pointing to a small grouping of wagons bulging with contents covered by burlap.

“Alright then, let’s have a look.” The baron responded walking over to the wagons, accompanied by the farmers.

Vargas lifted the burlap off of the first wagon revealing a load full of watermelons. The baron’s eyes bulged.

“By Iomedae! Those watermelons must be four feet in diameter each! And it’s only Spring!” the baron exclaimed, astonished.

“Yes, I planted the seeds just last month.” Vargas explained. “I don’t understand it. They should not be ripe until the harvest time and even then only a third of that size.”

Another farmer revealed the contents of his wagon; carrots, each the size of long sword and as thick around as a loaf of bread. In another wagon was a load full of turnips, each the size of a man’s head.

“What could cause this, Baron? Are we bewitched?” Vargas asked.

Baerevan paused for a moment and glanced at the other farmers. He could tell the same question was on all of their minds. The baron had to choose his words carefully for this superstitious lot. He clearly did not know what the cause of this rapid growth spurt, but the populace would clearly benefit from this boon in crop output, making it doubtful that the barony was “betwitched” as Vargas had put it. He would have to consult with Kira and Kyras and perhaps the others.

“Rejoice in Iomedae’s gift, my friends. Clearly, we are blessed by this unexpected surplus. Spread the word that Iomedae has looked upon what we are creating here in the Greenbelt and approves of our deeds.” The baron responded.

The farmers collectively exhaled. Baerevan’s words seemed to ease their present concerns. After some additional exchanges the farmers left, happy and excited at the prospect of having a bumper crop and excess revenue this year.

* * * *
“I don’t know, Baerevan. I’m worried. While none of this is unnatural, it certainly is…” Kira paused to choose the right words. “out of balance.” She finished. They were relaxing in the castle’s atrium, enjoying the first day of sun in a fortnight.

“I fear it has something to do with my summoning of Spring. You didn’t hear her. She said, ‘I will never go back.’ I think—I think I did something terrible.” Kira explained.

“But Kira, it’s resulted in a boon for the barony. It couldn’t have been all that bad.” The baron tried to console his fiancé.

“It didn’t turn out so well for the lizard folk, did it? They are without a home.” Kira argued.

“It is only temporarily, My Love, only temporarily.” The baron consoled her.

“Still, things are different. I can sense the Narlmarches. It is almost as if the forest is a part of me. There is something very primal about that forest, that wasn’t there before. It—“

“My baron” Akiros entered the atrium, interrupting Kira. Svetlana entered behind Akiros.

“Yes, Akiros.” The baron responded, secretly happy for the intrusion and conflicted about that feeling.

“Svetlana has news.” Akiros said, gesturing to Svetlana to continue.

“Good afternoon, Baerevan.” Svetlana began.

“Good afternoon, Counselor. How are things with the populace in our barony?” Baerevan responded, using her formal title.

“Well, that’s just it, Baron. I have just returned from an unexpected circuit of the entire barony.” Svetlana began.

“Unexpected?” Baerevan asked.

“Yes. You see, I was in Leveton when I learned that several of the women there were pregnant. I did some more checking and discovered that every woman in Leveton who was of age, and having relations with a man, was pregnant.” Svetlana paused as if to measure the Baron’s response.

The baron had a dumbfounded expression on his face. He looked at Kira, confused, not knowing what to say.

“How pregnant?” Kira asked.

“Newly, about two weeks, and all are experiencing morning sickness and other signs. I called upon Jhod to confirm the pregnancies.” Svetlana answered.

“Even the women who were off-cycle during on the inception date?” Kira asked.

“Yes. Everyone.” Svetlana emphasized.

“So I convinced Jhod to come with me to the rest of the barony to see whether this phenomenon was limited to Leveton, or was broader than that.” Svetlana continued.

“What did you find?” Kira asked.

“The entire barony has been affected, even me.” Svetlana smiled. But Baerevan could tell that the Counselor had mixed feelings about the news.

“Congratulations!” the baron responded, trying to emphasize the positive.

Kira looked at him, then at Svetlana. She knew in her heart that this was yet another consequence of her release of Spring. Feeling helpless to change what she had wrought and feeling guilty for having caused strife for these good people—whether they knew the strife that was to come or not—the look on her face contorted into one of disgust and she ran from the atrium. Baerevan ran after her.

“I can’t do this, Baerevan!” She cried into his chest. He was holding her close. She broke free of his embrace. “I can’t do this! I have to get out of here. I have to think!” She was crying freely.

Baerevan was confused and a little hurt that Kira had rejected his affection. But he didn’t say anything.

Rubbing her green, leathery arms as if to scrub away the changes to her appearance, she continued. “I have to leave. I have to go the forest. I must find Spring and convince her to go back. This—this is not natural!”

“Ok, I will go with you. We will get Kyras and Akiros—“ She cut him off.

“No! I must do this alone. Besides, you cannot abandon your people in the time of their need. They need a leader now, not a worried fiancé.” Having resolved to this course, she felt a little better. Wiping the tears from her face, she regained a confident pose.

Seeing that there was no sense in arguing with her, Baerevan nodded. “Alright, then. When will you go?”

“I will leave in the morning.” Kira responded.

* * * *

The next morning, Kira set out, saying goodbye to Baerevan and her friends and leaving directions to the acolytes that she had attracted to The Green in her short time out here in the Stolen Lands. As she walked out of Baerevale, a trail of flowers, newly blossoming grew in her wake.

After she was out of sight, Baerevan turned to Kelas. “Follow her. Keep her safe.”

Kelas nodded, and set out after her.


Once again - Impressive. Thanks.
I've been waiting for an update for ages! :)


Hulrun of Kenabres wrote:
Sorry for the extended absence.

Don´t be. It is your spare time, and you are under no obligation whatsoever. Thanks for the update. So, going to read it now.

Stefan

EDIT: Now that´s an interesting turn of events. Wow!


@Philip and Stebehil, thanks for the kind words and continued support.

* * *

Zebediah Thammel long since shed that name in favor of his current moniker, Zephyr. At an early age, Zebediah was indoctrinated into the ways of The Old Faith. As an ardent worshipper of the old ways and with a penchant for history and study, he took vows as a Priest of The Old Faith and became initiated into the ranks of the druidic order. The name Zephyr was given to him then, chosen by his superiors to fit his personality and demeanor. Like the Zephyr, Zebediah was always refreshig to experience. His calm approach to things and steady layering of argument, resulting in understanding in others, were hallmarks of his.

After several years tending a sacred grove, he was noticed by the Grand Druid when his assistance was instrumental in stopping a plague caused by an enemy of the religion, a blighter. Unlike druids, who take from The Green only that amount of energy they require to fuel their powers and balance that taking with infusions of energy elsewhere, Blighters take power without regard to maintaining that sacred balance. As a result, when Blighters take energy from The Green, they steal the life force of The Green. All of nature recoils in agony as the Blighter kills everything around him to fuel his power. Of course, the effect of this affront is not immediately noticeable, as it takes time for nature to manifest this scar. By then, the Blighter is usually long gone from the area, making them somewhat difficult to locate. Zephyr confronted the powerful Blighter and defeated him with this knowledge of The Green, forever binding his powers and turning the Blighter into a tree from which no life would ever grow.

The Grand Druid elevated Zephyr to Archdruid and took him into his personal retinue to travel the world as his eyes and ears. After several decades, the Grand Druid grew old and frail.

In the druidic order, he who defeats The Grand Druid, becomes The Grand Druid. It therefore came as no surprise when some of the other Archdruids began to plot against The Grand Druid, recognizing his weakness, in an attempt to usurp his power and position. But through sheer act of political will and by reputation of his mastery of The Green, Zephyr managed to intervene on every occasion, foil every plot and deflect every attempt at a challenge. Zephyr managed to sequester The Grand Druid as he lay dying. In appreciation for his friendship through the decades, The Grand Druid’s last act was to declare Zephyr his replacement. So, with the last of his strength, he placed a dagger in Zephyr’s hand, blade pointing toward The Grand Druid’s chest. Zephyr protested, but the Grand Druid stood firm.

“This must be done.” The Grand Druid whispered.

Together they plunged the knife into the frail man’s heart.

On taking the mantle of Grand Druid, Zephyr was immediately challenged by three Archdruids. Luckily for Zephyr, the Rite of Challenge is governed by ancient rules going back millennia that permit only one Archdruid to challenge the Grand Druid at a time and no Rite of Challenge may take place within two weeks of another Contest. Zephyr prevailed against all three Archdruids. And for their selfish maneuvering while the former Grand Druid was alive, he chose to exercise no mercy. Zephyr fought them to the death and reduced them to ash. Thereafter, Zephyr elevated three of his closest advisors to Archdruid status. Acacia was one such Archdruid.

Today, Acacia was summoned to The Isle of Arenway in the heart of the Verudan Forest in Taldor to speak with Zephyr.

“Can you feel it?” Zephyr asked as he stared out a stone archway, one of the several standing stones erected on the Isle of Arenway, which connects that place to the entirety of Golarian and to Circle Between.

Acacia walked over the Sellen River to the isle, having just transported the thousand or so miles from northern Brevoy via plants, and had not yet announced his presence. “I can. It has been several weeks, though I feel it more oppressively in Brevoy than here. What is it?”

“It is Spring. She is manifest in Golarian.” Zephyr responded.

“How is that possible? She is securing The Threshold. It’s her time.” Acacia asked, puzzled.

Still looking out through the archway, Zephyr continued. “The Heirophants are missing and The Eldritch Tome has been stolen and sent to Golarian. I have sensed its presence in a fledgling barony south of Brevoy.”

“Someone used the Tome to summon Spring in Golarian?” Acacia spoke out loud as he pieced it all together.

The Grand Druid turned and looked at the Archdruid for the first time. “You must retrieve the Tome. I will send it to The Circle Between and leave it in The Bramble Maiden’s care. It should have been placed there to begin with. It was foolish of our predecessors to keep it in The First World for safekeeping.” Zephyr scowled.

“What of Spring? The Threshold?” Acacia asked urgently.

“Balance must be restored. With Spring’s absence from The Threshold, the barrier between worlds is breaking down and if balance is not restored, it will break completely.” Zephyr replied.

“Luckily there are but a few weeks left until Summer. If this crisis can be delayed that long, we will have nine months to locate Spring and find a way to convince it to return to The First World and take its place as one of the Cardinals, as the remaining Cardinals take their turns at securing The Threshold. Hopefully, Spring’s absence has not been noticed on the other side.” Zephyr explained.

Acacia paled. According to lore, Spring was the most mercurial of the Cardinals, and the most unpredictable as well. If the Cardinal liked its new unbound freedom in Golarian, it was unlikely that it would willingly return to its duties.

“Already the Narlmarshes bulge with potency. It is there where I first felt the change. Viridescence infuses everything. I have sensed beings that have not been seen on Golarian for millennia. The Bramble Maiden has confirmed their presence.

“What of the Hierophants?” Acacia asked.

“They are gone.” Zephyr responded.


You might have noticed in the last post there is a bit of a "she" vs. "it" discrepancy happening where Spring is concerned. This is due in part to the transcendent nature of the Cardinals. While Spring is often depicted as female, attributing base characteristics, such as gender, to a Cardinal is proper only in the literary sense. From the Druidic perspective, such beings have transcended gender. They are both male and female and neither. Nonetheless, those who know the current Cardinal of Spring's origin know that it was once female, before its transcendence. So, even some druids have trouble articulating the proper pronoun usage.


Yes this is interesting detail into the background and politics of the druids in your game as well as an enjoyable read. Learning a little bit about all these major entities in the story really adds flavor and depth to what is happening in the game. I cannot wait to read more. I know it is a little late coming but I also, particularly, enjoyed the post where the mysterious stranger was about to make a deal with Hulrun. I know where that is going but it is still fun to read about Hulrun getting himself into trouble.


Arrg they moved this on me and I didn't know it!...


This is awesome, I am glad I found you again :)


Wow, this moved on me, I thought it was gone forever.

Cheers for Baerevan's classic paladin moments when thanking Iomedae for the early, enlarged harvest and Svetlana's mysterious pregnancy. Typically I love low wis, high charisma characters, but not this morning.

*chuckle*

Kesten appearing a hero is new. *nods*


Yeah - I have to say that I too keep just loving this...


Thanks for the support. Yeah, I didn't get any warning that it was being moved. Here's the next update.

* * * *

The Baron stared out of one of the windows of the atrium in the castle, one of his favorite places to sit and think. It had been a week since Kira left and his loneliness was turning into worry. He had been busy in that time, which helped to take his mind off of his beloved. He, Akiros, Kyras, Kesten and Jhod travelled to the owlbear’s den and after a challenging battle, were successful in killing the creature and ending the fear that had gripped the populace. The Baron chuckled as he remembered Akiros’s braggadocio, suggesting that they bring back its head as proof that the deed was done, arguing that the people would appreciate such a symbol of victory. He had, of course, acquiesced and so the head of the monstrous creature now hangs above the bar in The Crazy Owlbear, Baerevale’s most infamous drinking establishment. In the owlbear’s den they found evidence suggesting that the poor creature’s mate had been killed by some bandits. More disturbingly, one of the dead bandits had on him a map of the Stolen Lands with two places marked, Baerevale and the owlbear den. It wasn’t all bad, however, for on that same bandit they found a beautiful ring made of hair and in another chamber, they found a surviving baby owlbear cub.

Kelas was taken by both the ring and the cub. The ring was made out of the simplest of material, yet woven with expertise and detail that few invest in even the most precious of jewelry. The owlbear cub was just as precious to Kelas. He explained that hunters sometimes raise owlbears to assist them on a hunt. He expressed his desire to the Baron to raise the cub to adulthood and train it to obey commands and serve the barony. The Baron granted Kelas’s request without hesitation, seeing how much it seemed to mean to Kelas.

But today the Baron’s thoughts returned to Kira. He had just received a strange visit from the satyr Falchios, whom they had met over a year ago when they were exploring the Narlmarches. At that time, a terrible Scythe Tree had been hunting his beloved, an unearthly beautiful dryad. The brave, but foolish, satyr preemptively hunted the ambulatory Scythe Tree down, knowing his beloved could not escape if the evil tree found them, being tethered as she was to the location of her tree, a large oak. When they found him, he was recovering from his wounds. Both satyr and dryad were relieved and thankful when the Baron told them that it was just a day earlier that they encountered the evil tree and smote it. In thanks and out of respect and friendship, Falchios pledged to keep an eye on the goings on in the forest for any dangers to the Barony and report them to the Baron. Today, Falchios was making good on that promise, and he, of course, had new troubles.

Falchios found the Baron in the square. “Tiressia, my beloved, is no more.” Falchios explained, tears welling up in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry. What happened?” The Baron asked, genuinely concerned for the satyr.

“Her tree grew threefold in size and she merged with it, no longer of flesh and blood, but of leaf and bark.” Falchios explained further, sobbing freely.

The Baron embraced the distraught satyr. “Be strong, friend. Iomedae has a plan for all.”

“What a cruel thing to say!” Falchios accused as he pulled away from the Baron. “I have never been so chafed in my life. Satyrs were just not designed to mate with trees!”

The Baron was now thoroughly confused. “I-I don’t understand,” he said.

Just then, a group of young women walked passed them. The satyr’s eyes followed them as they passed. With a twinkle in his eye, he removed a set of reed pipes from his sarong with a sly smile and he asked the Baron, “Do you mind if I stay here for a while?”

The Baron was never good at understanding the fey. “Um, yeah. I guess—I mean, you can stay here as long as you like.” The Baron responded.

And then, seeing the reed pipes, the Baron’s eyes lit up with an idea, clearly missing the satyr’s intentions. “Do you play?”

“Of course! I am the best reed pipe player in all of the Narlmarches.” The satyr responded.

“Oh wonderful!” The Baron exclaimed. “Kira and I are getting married in a couple of months. We would love it if you would perform at the reception!” The Baron invited.

With a sly expression on his face and twinkle in his eye, the satyr responded, “I would love to!” as he turned and ran after the young women.

Odd behavior, the Baron thought now as he sat in his atrium reminiscing on the satyrs’ response, a growing feeling of unease welled up inside him, like he wasn’t quite sure what he had agreed to. But it was nothing he could really put his finger on. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he got up to go outside, when one of Akiros’s men walked into the atrium, announcing a disturbance in the square.

Now what. The Baron thought as he followed the guard outside.

By the time he got outside, Marcus and Akiros were there, arguing in hushed tones. Akiros’s men had a man in custody. The man was shouting at a gathered crowd. “See this! This is what I have been talking about! They are thwarting the will of the people! They are repressing you and growing rich off of your toil! They don’t care about you!” The man was shouting loudly and struggling to break from the strong grip of Akiros’s men.

The Baron walked over to Marcus and Akiros. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked, angered.

“This man is named Grigori. He has been in Leveton and has recently come here, stirring up trouble, breeding resentment for you and your governors.” Marcus explained in hushed tones.

“We should throw him in jail.” Akiros urged.

“I disagree, Baron.” Marcus warned.

“Why?” The Baron challenged Marcus.

“This man has a lot of political good will with the populace. If you throw him in jail, it will seem like an injustice. It will add credence to the accusations he has been making about you.” Marcus explained.

“What do you suggest?” The Baron asked.

“Try him.” Marcus responded. “He is clearly an agent for some other organization. The things he has been saying have no basis in fact and my men have investigated him. He is not from here. He began this campaign to sully your name immediately upon arriving. But nobody knows from where he came.”

The Baron considered Marcus’s proposal carefully. If Grigori’s benefactors could be discovered, it would discredit the rabble-rouser.

“Get Kyras.” The Baron, red-faced, directed Akiros, “We are going to settle this here and now.”

* * *

Kira approached the brook where she had met Falchios and Tiressia nearly a year ago. At least, the place resembled that brook. Her journey into the Narlmarches had been terrifying. Thus far, she had managed to avoid the strange creatures that newly inhabited the forest, but she knew it was only a matter of time before she would be unable to avoid a conflict. By studying the creatures, she noticed that some are generally friendly, while others are vicious hunters. Most, however, were as large as dragons. Some even had scales and horns.

“Hello?” She asked after she didn’t see any sign of the satyr or the dryad.

A deep grinding voice slowly responded from the canopy. “Hello Kira.”

Startled, Kira looked up at the source of the voice. It was a massive oak tree. As she stared at it, it moved! The tree took a few steps closer to the druidess and brought one of its massive branches down toward her. Before she could react, it scooped her up and brought her up to its face, a gnarled vaguely human visage.

Kira screamed and covered her face to protect it. She wasn’t in pain. And when nothing happened after a few seconds, Kira tentatively removed her arms from her face and looked at her captor.

“Wha-What are you?” Kira asked, amazed.

“I am Tiressia. Don’t you recognize me?” The tree slowly asked.

Kira’s mouth was agape. “What happened to you?”

“That is complicated.” The tree responded in its slow deliberate manner. “I am no longer the creature I once was. I am no longer responsible for the care and growth of this tree. Rather, I am responsible for the care and growth of the Narlmarches. I am a Tree Herder of old.”

Kira didn’t know what to say. But the hair on the back of her neck stood up as the gravity of Tiressia’s revelation settled in. Of course, she thought, with the return of the primordial forest came the return of the Tree Herders.

“Someone approaches.” Tiressia whispered.

* * *

Kelas knew something was different in the forest. He had spent most of the past few weeks listening to the forest. The trees spoke to one another. It was like in the days of old, when the Tree Herders walked the lands. The trees were the conduits for their communication. Whispered messages sent from one end of the forest to the other could be heard in the rustling of leaves and scraping of branches.

He had been following Kira for a few days and came to the place where they met Tiressia and Falchios. He had heard Kira’s scream and raced toward its sound. It led him here.

Kelas thought he saw movement ahead. Drawing his bow and cocking an arrow, he moved more stealthily, keeping an eye out for anything unusual.

He was completely caught off guard by the giant branch coming at him. At the last moment, he saw it out of the corner of his eye and leapt out of its way, crouching into a ready position, arrow still cocked.

That’s when he heard Kira’s laughter.

“Kelas, up here!” Kira laughed.

Kelas looked up to see Kira held in a giant branch like the one that swiped at him.

“What are you doing, Kira?” Kelas asked.

“This is Tiressia,” Kira responded, “as she is now.”

Kelas looked at the giant tree holding Kira. He stared for a moment, remembering. “A Tree Herder.” He said, amazed.

“What are you doing out here?” Kira asked Kelas.

“The Baron sent me after you to make sure you are safe.” He responded.

“I didn’t want anyone coming after me, Kelas. I must do this on my own.” Kira replied.

Kelas’s face was expressionless.

“But since you are here, there would be no sense in sending you back, and you would be safer in my care.” Kira added.

“Let us rest here for the night and learn from Tiressia what we can of the changes to the forest.” She finished.

They spent the night with the Tree Herder. Tiressia confirmed that the path she was on would lead Kira to the heart of the forest. Kira and Kelas dined on some foraged berries and slept soundly, cradled by Tiressia’s feet.

* * * *


Amazing... where do you guys get these ideas :)


Here's a brief update with a little bit about Kyras, to boot :)

* * * *

“It should be fairly easy.” The Succubus Queen purred to Hulrun.

“Excellent. Then tomorrow, one of your subjects will migrate to Soliel to cause my son’s beloved to miss her wedding.” Hulrun summarized.

“Precisely, My Dear.” The Queen responded.

“There will be no killings. Kira must not be harmed, only delayed. She reeks of transcendence. I haven’t been able to divine it thoroughly. But I dare not interfere too much.” The Baron mused, putting a finger to his pursed lips.

“How exactly does delaying the bride-to-be serve our purposes, My Lord? The succubus asked.

Hulrun stared at the Succubus Queen. Malcanthet was The Queen of Succubi. She had succeeded in that position through trickery and guile, as well as political acumen. Beside her unearthly beauty, it was her adroit ability to play others and her high stature both that drew him to her. There was no doubt in Hulrun’s mind that she knew exactly how it served his purposes. She was testing him. He decided to play along until he could discover her game.

“Baerevan will be devastated when his bride does not show for the wedding. He will be politically ruined after all of the noble houses of Brevoy and the Aldori Swordlords observe this greatest of embarassments. Moreover, because Kira is of House Medvyed in Issia, and Baerevan is a pawn of the Swordlords of Rostland, the Swordlords may view this act as a declaration by Issia against Rostland that there will be no unity, further fueling them to war. If Brevoy falls into war, it will not be able to aid Mendev should the Queen request aid when we make our move.” Hulrun explained.

Malcanthet considered his words and frowned. “Is it enough that Kira merely not show for the wedding? There could be many reasons for her not to show. She could be lost. She could be dead. None of these reasons would have the desired effect.” She argued.

“Baerevan is weak. He allows his mind to go to dark places. He will take this as a personal judgment upon him, of his failure as a fiancé and as a man. It will be enough. Besides, should he fall too deeply into despair, our new benefactor will be greatly pleased.” Hulrun smiled.

* * * *
Kyras walked into his quarters in the castle and absent-mindedly threw his satchel on a chair. He was tired. It takes a lot of energy to manipulate arcane magic and ever since his accident in the ruined laboratory, his health was not what it once was. While he was never as strong and hardy as a warrior, he was healthy and lithe. But after that fateful day, his body was ruined and he was afflicted with a horrible curse. It would never again be easy for him to speak the words necessary to call on his magic. Magic was his obsession. He dedicated his life to its pursuit and of learning new and different ways in which to manipulate it. After he was cursed, his mind was sharper than ever, but his body just couldn’t handle the stress of manipulating such power. Jaded and angry, Kyras spent most of his time hating the world. It didn’t help that his curse also affected his vision. He would never again see the world as he once did. Now, all he sees is the evil of which men are capable.

Today was a difficult day. The baron had summoned him to the town square to assist him in revealing the true intentions of a rabble-rouser sent to breed chaos in their midst. The baron relied on Kyras to ferret out the truth. It proved more difficult than first thought. In the end, Kyras’s magic proved insufficient to the task. A fact that disappointed and angered Kyras. It was only a small consolation that his intellect proved sufficient to reveal the true lies the rabble-rouser spread. Kyras used his magic to enhance the baron’s mental acquity and then explained to the baron the ways in which logic and rhetoric could be used to belie the rabble-rouser’s claims. Being a man of faith and therefore familiar with circular arguments, the baron proved adroit at discrediting the man. In the end, the crowd turned against the rabble-rouser and he was run out of town. Kyras had suggested to Marcus that he have his men keep an eye on the exiled liar to determine who sent him.

Kyras removed his boots to let his cramped feet breathe. As the pain in his feet subsided, his mood lightened a bit. He remembered the day he met Baerevan, and for the first time in life, saw a man incapable of doing evil. It is what drew the wizard to him. It is what caused Kyras to give him his blessing to marry Kira, and thereby to take the most precious thing he had in this world, other than his magic.

It was while he was in this state that he suddenly became aware of a presence in the room.

“Kyras of Brevoy?” the stranger asked.

Kyras was alarmed. He looked at the door to find it closed. The stranger could not have come in that way. He looked at the window. It was open, but he was on the third floor, so it is unlikely he came in the window.

“How did you get in here?” Kyras demanded.

“That is not of your concern. I am Acacia, Archdruid of Golarian. You have something that does not belong to you.”

* * * *


Fasinating read :)


He must be buisy, :)


I don't even know if anyone is following this anymore....but I was inspired by one of my players to continue on...

* * * *

Kira and Kelas traveled purposefully through the Narlmarches. Kira acutely sensed the heart of the forest, as though she and it were one. She had a direction, but no sense of what she would find there. Her awareness was growing. Something inside her was changing. She could feel it.

Kira’s skill and Kelas’s knowledge of the primeval forests of old allowed the two to avoid most dangers of the newly-birthed Narlmarches, though they did have one close call.

Deep in a discussion of the various properties of the flora of old that had suddenly reappeared in Golorian in recent weeks due to the manifestation of Spring incarnate on their world, Kelas walked unawares within reach of an ancient carnivorous plant. In old Olven, the plant was called Illurian Elthario. In common, it means graceful man-eater.

With cat-like reflexes, the plant scooped Kelas up in its spiked, cup-like petals and began secreting a digestive enzyme used to slowly dissolve its food.

After recovering from her initial shock, Kyra revealed her nature as a priestess of the Green to the creature, commanding it to let the Elf go free. The creature, recognizing Kyra’s authority, complied.

Not soon thereafter, the couple came to the Heart of the Narlmarches. It was a clearing in the center of which was a large circle of giant mushrooms at least one foot in diameter and twice that high. Standing between the circle between Kira and Kelas, facing them was a creature that looked like a small girl. On closer inspection, the creature was in fact a forest gnome.

“Ah, you have finally come.” The small creature said in a high voice. “Welcome, Kira, Vessel of Spring.”

Kira clearly did not expect the Heart of the Narlmarches to look like this. And she was suspicious.

“Who are you?” She asked experimentally.

“I am Niani, Forest Gnome, and Keeper of the Sacred Circle.” The creature responded. “I am charged with the protection of the Narlmarches on Golorian.”

“How did you know we were coming?” Kira asked, still suspicious.

The creature laughed playfully. “I know the intentions of all who enter the Narlmarches. It is my job.”

Kira accepted this explanation, for the ancient forest would, of course, have a caretaker. She was quite surprised that its caretaker would be of such diminutive stature, yet with such apparent power.

“Something is wrong with the forest.” Kira stated.

“I am aware of that, Kira, Priestess of the Green. It is a problem of your own making and one for which I should smite you. Yet, I sense no ill will or bad intention in your heart.” The creature responded seriously.

Kira turned red at the memory of her recent folly in letting loose Spring upon Golorian. “I wish to undo the destruction I have wrought.” She responded sheepishly. “I had hoped to find Spring at the Heart of the Narlmarches. Are you not Her?”

Again, Niani laughed playfully. “Alas, my sister, I am not Her. She has long since fled this forest, seeking to explore the new world she has found.”

Kira, dejected, turned to Kelas and pleaded, “What am I do to?”

Kelas thought for a moment and turned to the Forest Gnome. “What is this place?” He asked.

“This is the Heart of the Narlmarches. It is the connection to The First World in the Narlmarches. It is the place where the Hierophants dwell, where all of your answers lay.” She responded.

“The Hierophants?” Kira asked.

“Yes. The know much that is hidden. You seek a way to return Spring to her rightful place. They will know how.” Niani responded.

Kira brightened. “We must go to them, Kelas! This is the answer!”

Kelas looked skeptical. “I’m not so sure, Kira. I’ve never heard of a connection to The First World from Golorian, except through The Isle of Arenway in the Verudan Forest.” He stole a sidelong glance at Niani. “I’m not sure she can be trusted.” He whispered to Kira.

“Don’t be silly, Kelas. I know in my heart that this is the answer! We must go, Kelas. We must!” Kira pleaded with the Elf. Kira was desperate for anything that had a hope of undoing what she had wrought. She was willing to try anything.

Resigned at her determination and realizing he could not win this battle, he turned once more to the Forest Gnome. “How do we migrate to The First World from here?”

“It is simple.” Niani started, “Stand in the center of the circle of mushrooms and mediate on The Green. The circle acts as an amplification of your meditation. My power will then send you through the portal to the other side, once it resonates with your meditation.”

“Are you sure you want to do this, Kira?” Kelas asked one last time.

“Yes. Let’s go. This might be our only chance to save Baerevale and Golorian from Spring’s constant presence.” Kira answered determinedly as she lead them into the center of the circle.

They began to meditate and a shimmering red veil came down around them as Niani began speaking her incantation. Kelas started at the sound of her voice. It was not the language of Olven or of Ogham or of the sylvan creatures on Golorian. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled in dread.

He snapped his head around to look at the Forest Gnome and saw instead a beautiful, yet terrible to behold creature of magnificent beauty. She had raven black hair and was wearing a red robe, open in front, revealing her supple, perfect breasts. Small horns protruded from her temples.

Succubus. Kelas’s mind screamed.

Kira cried out. “Kelas! Look! The poor creatures!” She sobbed as, shimmering into view around the circle, appeared the forms of pixies, one on top of each mushroom, connected to each other by their entrails, writhing in agony at the rhythm of the chant. Carved into the earth below the couple’s feet was an inverted pentagram. The screams of the pixies added a dreadful chorus to the Succubus’s chant.

Kelas tried to draw his bow and found that he could not move. Tears ran down Kira’s cheeks as she, too, found that she was helpless to anything to ease the suffering of the poor creatures.

The last thing Kelas saw before a bright red glow enveloped them was the smile of the Succubus Queen as they were whisked away into the gate.


*GASP* An update!


I do remember that this journal was a great read until it was suddenly (and regrettably) discontinued but I do not remember all the details involved. So, it seems that I have to read it all over again in order to be up to date once more (not that this would cause any inconvenience, mind you...) :-)


Thanks guys. I wonder if anyone else is following this anymore. Maybe they'll start trickling in as I continue to update it. Here's a long one.

* * * *

Kyras fell back. It was as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He lost all perception of his surroundings and slipped, unbidden, into reverie.

“You will do this task without magic, Apprentice.” Master Dardan was a kind and wise man, though Kyras did not then appreciate it.

“But what is the point of having the Art, if we are not going to use it?” Kyras was eager to use his Art whenever he could. While he could perform cantrips and one or two defense and utility spells of the lowest valence, the rush that came with using the Art was ecstasy. He was constantly dismayed that his Master forbade the use of the Art in the interstitial between lessons. And the lessons did not happen with near enough frequency to Kyras’s liking.

“Again, I find myself reminding you of the Wizard’s Rules, Apprentice. The Art is infinite. But we are not. One’s ability to channel the Art is directly proportionate to one’s restraint in using it. For power without wisdom leads to dark places.” The old wizard had had apprentices before, but none were so bold and arrogant as Kyras. There was something about the boy that discomfited him; it was a shadow of a threat in a deep corner of his mind.

He was conflicted about teaching him the Art for fear of what he might do with it. Golorian’s history was rife with its share of dark wizards. But the boy’s father, Lord Medvyed, was a good man and long time friend. He could hardly turn him down in his hour of need. So, when the Lord came to him and pleaded with him to take his son into apprenticeship, he acquiesced. I will teach him restraint and judicious use of the Art and only those incantations that protect and do no harm. He reasoned.

Kyras fetched the broom and began sweeping the porch as the Wizard had directed, his mind calculating how much longer he would have to put up with this treatment before he could learn something useful. Kyras had been in the Wizard’s care for 8 years, ever since he was 8 years old.

This is a waste of my talent. Kyras thought bitterly. He knew he was destined for greater things.

Later that night, he was picking up in the Wizard’s library. Master Dardan slept, snoring in his favorite overstuffed chair by the fireplace.

Kyras scowled at the old man. Look at him. He is but a foolish old man. I am greater than this. Kyras never did see the old Wizard perform a single spell. In all of his time apprenticed to him, the old man exhibited not a hint of mastery of the Art. Though Kyras knew Master Dardan had knowledge of the Art, for the Wizard taught him how to channel the Art into incantations. But still. Kyras wondered whether the man had any real power.

Deep in his own thoughts, Kyras was inattentive to the uneven stack of books he was carrying. Unbalanced, the top book fell to the floor with a soft thud, landing open. Something caught Kyras’s eye. It was an entry detailing the history of a great and long dead archmage, Zantarin:

….And so it was that the Archmage Zantarin came upon the First Word of Io, one of the Seven Words of Io, the Words of Power.

Kyras’s eyes widened. The Words of Io are rumored to be the primal words of the Art, first uttered to mortals from the Gods themselves. To master the Words of Power is to be the master of the Art. He kept reading.

Zantarin’s laboratory was built to test the Word of Power. It would be in northwestern Brevoy that his power would be felt….

Kyras dropped the book, awestruck. Kyras was in northwestern Brevoy. Could it be that the Word of Power is still there? But if Zanarin’s laboratory was in northwestern Brevoy, why have I not heard of it before now?

Kyras spent the next few months trying to learn more about the Archmage Zantilan, catching snippets here and there from passages in Master Dardan’s books when the old wizard slept. Soon it would be time one of Master Dardan’s yearly month-long sojourns and Kyras would be left alone to tend the tower. Kyras planned to use that time to go to town and learn of the whereabouts of Zantilan’s laboratory and travel to it to claim the Word of Power. Then, he would be free of Master Dardan and his foolishness.

The time came and Kyras went to the library in the nearby town of King’s Gate to investigate the whereabouts of Zantilan’s Laboratory. He found no reference of the laboratory, but he found the locations of three different old ruins on old maps. Desperate for a clue, Kyras decided to investigate these ruins as potential locations of the ancient laboratory.

It was at the first of these that Kyras’s life was forever changed.

The ruins were thick with moss and covered in vines, nearly indistinguishable from its surroundings. It would have gone completely unnoticed but for Kyras’s knowledge of geography and his ravenous study of local maps of the area in preparation for his journey.

As Kyras approached, he saw that all that was left of the ruins appeared to be a few large slabs of stone and a stone staircase leading down into the earth. The opening was barely tall enough for him to crouch through as he descended the stairs into the dank darkness.

luminos! The magic flowed though his blood as he spoke the spell his master had taught him. The familiar rush came over him. His hand glowed with a pale yellow light, giving his long silver hair a golden tinge and lighting his surroundings as he descended the eroded, rubble-strewn stairs.

As he descended, he found he could eventually stand upright. It was deathly quiet, with the only sound being that of Kyras’s black velvet robes, softly scraping the stone stairs.

At the bottom of the stairs, a short hallway opened into a large room, its dimensions shrouded in shadow. Kyras advanced to the doorway to get a better view.

His light revealed the sparkly outline of finely ground silver dust on the floor of the chamber and a closed door on its far side. The silver dust formed a circle on the floor inside of which was a five pointed star, a pentagram, also lined in the silver dust.

A summoning and containment circle. Kyras deduced. But for what?

He decided to risk a little magic. reveille. Kyras spoke the word of revealing, a spell that would illuminate to his sight magical auras in his general vicinity.

The young wizard was nearly bowled over by the intensity of his spell’s revelation. Emanating from the silver circle was a power that was so great, that it momentarily blinded him and nearly knocked him to the ground. Stumbling back and reaching for the wall of the hall, he caught himself and quickly spoke a word to dismiss the spell. After a few moments, his sight returned.

Whatever the circle was, it was still active, and very potent. He decided to give it a wide berth, lifting the hem of his long robes so as not to disturb the circle, he circumnavigated the room along its round edge to the door on the opposite side.

Testing the wooden reinforced door, he found it unlocked and opened it, revealing a library and laboratory beyond. Lifting his hand high, he let the light of his spell fall on the entirety of the room to be sure of its contents.

He was drawn to the rows of bookcases along the west wall. Satisfied that he was the only breathing creature in the room, he walked over to the bookcase and began reading the spines of the books. Two books were of particular interest to him. One was a black, leather bound tome that bore a familiar sigil on its spine. The other was a leather journal about half its size, bearing the same sigil. The sigil was that of Zantilan. He removed the books from the shelf and opened the journal. A small flash flared from the page and dissipated.

Kyras froze. A creeping sense of dread fell over him. He had read about magical wards wizards often placed on their most precious belongs; wards that burned, wards that paralyzed and even wards that killed.

But nothing happened. He waited a few more moments to be sure.

Nothing.

Then he heard it. It was soft and faint and came from somewhere behind him. But he was sure what it was: a footfall.

Kyras whirled around to face the door and the source of the sound. But he saw only wisps of black smoke and a fleeting glimpse of a form. He walked toward the door to investigate when he heard a footfall behind him.

He whirled around again to see a robed figure with long white hair, pointed ears and almond eyes. While it was dark in the room but for his weak spell, Kyras could still make out that its skin was jet black.

Drow! His mind screamed.

The Drow began to gesture with one hand, while its other hand formed a cup at waist level. Kyras’s eyes widened. His master did not teach him how to cast this spell, but he taught him how to know when his enemy was casting it. He had to react quickly.

Scutum! Kyras bellowed as a rippling shield of force sprang into being around him, just as the Drow released five glowing energy darts from his hand. Kyras’s shield absorbed the magic missiles, leaving Kyras unharmed.

Five missiles! Kyras knew he was no match for the Drow. Kyras reckoned the Drow had access to spells of at least the Fifth Valence. He had to flee if he was to survive. But his fear gripped him and he hesitated.

The Drow took full advantage of his hesitation.

Detrudo! The Drow released a massive concussive wave of force.

Kyras was knocked back through the door onto the floor into the room beyond with the silver circle. He skidded to a halt within the circle, its outer edge broken. Kyras froze, fearing what had been done. His master had taught him about the dangers of breaking a containment circle. If the circle is broken the creature within is no longer contained. It’s times like those, Young Apprentice, that you need to keep your wits about you. Master Dardan’s lessons came unbidden to his mind. Oh, how he wished his Master was here to protect him.

He desperately looked around the room, expecting and fearing to see what he had loosed. But he saw nothing.

The Drow walked toward him, holding a wand leveled at him. Kyras was already bleeding internally and he could feel that several ribs were broken. His master had not taught him any offensive spells, not that they would be of any use against the Drow wizard. He knew that he would not survive this fight and he began to despair. For all his ambition, he would die on a fool’s errand. He smiled wryly at the bitter pill he had to swallow for his folly.

A voice entered his mind. I can save you. All you must do is accept me into you. The hair on the back of his neck prickled and warning bells sounded in his mind. He looked around and saw nothing. His master’s chastening voice repeated over and over in his head, reminding him of the foolishness of dealing with forces before he fully understood them or their consequences. But I will die if I do not try!

A less arrogant man might have accepted his fate, but not Kyras. Without wasting a breath, Kyras reached out to the voice.

I accept you into me.

A black smoke roiled up from the circle, snakelike, slow at first, then as it found purchase in Kyras’s nostrils, it suddenly blew forcefully into his nose. Kyras screamed.

As the Drow entered the summoning chamber, words flashed across Kyras’s eyes, burning into his brain. He floated upright and hovered in the air facing the Drow. He spoke the words and manifested great power, hurling balls of fire and bolts of lightning at the Drow, who in turn hurled down terrible curses and magic at Kyras.

After only a minute, the Drow lay burned and lifeless. Kyras crawled up the stairs and onto one of the moss covered slabs, wheezing, barely alive.

You did well, Kyras. Did I not promise that you would be spared? My gift has given you power and strength, but there was a great cost. No matter. We are together, once again. This time, there will be no escaping me.

Kyras lost consciousness, overcome with exhaustion, pain and dread.

He was lost for what seemed an eternity. Dreams of magic and of wars, of armies of undying hordes and blasted, barren farms, plagued him. He was feverish. And he was dying. He had no idea how long he lingered in that state.

Then, a green glow appeared at the edges of his mind, slowly absorbing his thoughts. The dreams receded. The soothing glow comforted him and his eyes fluttered open for the first time in days. Kneeling above him was Kira, whom he had not seen in years. She smiled warmly.

“There, my brother. The Green has brought you back from the brink.” She hugged him. “I thought I had lost you.”

“Kira—“ A coughing fit interrupted Kyras. It was painful, wracking his chest in agony. He expectorated blood.

“Rest. Your body is broken and –“ She trailed off, concern entering her voice.

Kyras immediately sensed that something was wrong. He got his coughing fit under control and looked into Kira’s eyes. She was beautiful. Age had made her more graceful. When he left the manor, she was but eight years old, an awkward child. Now, at sixteen, she was a young woman.

“Your skin, Kyras—it is gray and hard, like a snake’s. Your hair, it is stark white and stiff; not silky and silver. And—“ she paused. “Your eyes—your pupils, they—move.” She finished, fear in her voice.

“If it wasn’t for our bond, I would have lost you.” Kyra cried into his shoulder, hugging him again.

The bond. Kyras mused, body broken, laying on a stone slab in the middle of the wilderness, saved from his foolishness by the only person he ever truly loved. Ever since they were children, Kira and Kyras had an unusual connection. Perhaps something primal was shared between them in their mother’s womb where they developed together as fraternal twins. Perhaps it was something else; some long forgotten, recessive element of Elven magic passed down through the generations by their Elven mother. Whatever its source, it created an empathic bond between them.

Kira and Kyras could always sense one another, sense when each other was injured or hurt, even sense each other’s moods. It mattered not how distant they were physically from each other, empathically it was as though they were always in the same room. It was this bond that saved Kyras’s life on this day, a day that he would never forget, the day that changed his life forever; the day that ruined him. It was an eternal bond, a bond that let him know he was not alone in this world, a bond borne of love, a bond that was always with him.

Until this moment.

* * * *

“I said, you have something that does not belong to you, Wizard,” Acacia repeated, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Kyras stared straight ahead at nothing, coming out of his reverie. “She’s gone. I can’t sense her.” Fear gripped his heart. He had never before in his life felt this alone.

“I’m sorry?” Acacia said, confused and annoyed by this distraction to his mission.

Kyras forced his rational mind to overcome his emotions as his Master had taught him. Fear is the mind killer. I must not fear. To fear is to die. To die is to accept weakness. I am not weak. I am strong in the Art and the Art is strong in me. Kyras repeated the chant he learned to steady his mind and bring reason to bear.

Kyras slowly became aware again of his surroundings, of the desk, his bed, the carpet….and the stranger imperiously staring at him.

“Who are you?” Kyras asked steadily. He wanted desperately to find Kyra and had no time for this stranger, but something told him that the stranger was dangerous.

“I am Acacia, Archdruid of Golorian. I have come to claim what does not belong to you and to decide your fate.” Acacia calmly stated.

Despite being Kira’s brother, Kyras did not know much about the druidic organization on Golorian. He knew enough, however, to treat one with the status of “archdruid” carefully. Yet he was shrewd enough not to appear weak.

“Decide my fate?” Kyras asked, intrigued at the boldness of this stranger. “What gives you and your brethren the authority to decide my fate, friend?” Kyras’s patience was running out. He had to find Kyra. She needed him, and he would come, just as she came to him in his time of need.

Acacia’s voice became intense, but remained calm. “You have unleashed that which must not be manifest in our world. You have disrupted the balance of all things. Many have died. Many more will die. The world will groan and break under the weight of it. You must pay for what you have done.”

Words froze on Kyras’s lips for a moment as the Archdruid’s intensity hit him like a stone wall. After a beat Kyras responded, tentatively grabbing for an angle.

“If its magic was not meant to be unleashed, then why was it left in the open at Sky Watch for all who entered to read?” Kyras asked.

The Archdruid’s lips parted in amazement at the insolence of the wizard. It was then that he really looked at Kyras for the first time. There was something strangely familiar about him, but the Archdruid could not place it.

Kyras sensed the Archdruid’s hesitation and pressed the advantage. I must not let them know that it was Kira who unleashed the Chthonic.

“You druids profess to maintain nature’s dominance over man, to keep the world in a delicate natural balance. Yet you allow such world shattering power to lay within reach of anyone with access to but a trickle of the Art. Therein lays the true irresponsibility of the druids. You may have your Tome, but you may not have retribution, for such retribution would come in the absence of intent. Would you slay the woodsman who killed a bear for meat and hide to fill his belly and keep him warm in the cold days of the dark Winter?” Kyras pressed.

Acacia laughed derisively. “You dare equate your actions to that of a woodsman taking only what he needs to live?” The Archdruid paused. “But you are right. We should not have permitted the Tome to be so poorly defended that it could be stolen and let loose upon the world. In that, I suppose we are as much to blame as are you, young wizard.” Acacia admitted evenly. “I sense no malice in your heart as it pertains to this.”

Satisfied that Acacia had not sensed his subterfuge, Kyras walked to his desk and opened its drawer. He removed the musty tome and handed it to Acacia. “What is to come?” He asked.

“The druids must find Spring and convince her to return to The First World, where she belongs. In the meantime, we work diligently to maintain the balance between the worlds while the Dweller on the Threshold is absent. A few weeks, at most, it will be until the rift will be healed with the coming of the new season. We will then have several months to locate Spring.” Acacia revealed openly.

The Archdruid closed his eyes and rubbed his hand over the cover of the Eldritch Tome. A green glow softly emanated from his hand and was mirrored in his eyes. He looked at Kyras, eyes narrowing slightly. He is not the one who unleashed Spring.

“And what if you do not find her?” Kyras asked.

Acacia stared intensely at Kyras. “It will be the end of all things.” As he finished the last, his shape shimmered into that of an owl and he flew out the open window into the night sky.

Kyras paused for a minute to take in the druid’s words. It will be the end of all things. When he was satisfied that the druid was far off in the distance, Kyras ran to the Castle, practically trampling an awestruck Nakpick, who had been quietly standing in the doorway, watching the entire conversation. “Foolish Kobold! Watch where you are going!” Kyras yelled at the Kobold as he regained his footing and continued running down the hall.

* * * *

“You must find her, Kyras. Take Akiros with you. I had Kelas follow her into the forest for protection. I can’t imagine that she has been harmed. And you, yourself, state that she did not seem to have been harmed, just…gone.” The Baron commanded worriedly.

“I don’t know, Baron.” Kyras replied. “I have never sensed such emptiness. It is as if she’s—“

“Don’t you DARE say it, Kyras! I swear I will smite you where you stand!!” Baerevan roared.

Akiros and Kestan exchanged worried looks. Svetlana turned her head away from the Baron in worry and shame. None had seen this side of him.

Kyras’s eyes became dangerous. The heat of his anger was palpable. Yet he held himself in check. Exercising control borne of years of practice. “My friend,” Kyras placed his hand on Baerevan’s shoulder and fixed his eyes on the baron’s. “If but one hair on her head is harmed, I will not rest until the one responsible, and his entire line, is obliterated.” Kyras swore darkly.

“Forgive me, Kyras. I forget my temper when it comes to Kira. I love her more than anything and would give my life for her. I know you feel the same.” Baerevan apologized.

“I will go with you, Laddy.” Akiros announced, hoping to dispel the uncomfortable air in the hall.

“Let it be done, then.” The Baron commanded. “You ride within the hour.”

* * * *


I hope everyone has Happy Holidays. Here's the next update.

* * * *

Malcanthet migrated to Shendilavri. It was draining to manifest her physical form on the material plan for as extended a time as she had and she was grateful to be home. There was something about her recent scheme that unnerved her. She was beginning to wonder whether it was worth the effort in this particular endeavor. She needed to think.

The Succubus Queen was not a fan of the Ruler of Hell and it would be politically disadvantageous for her if her rivals learned of her recent alliance with him. It was a dangerous game that she justified as a means to an end. Her activities in The Deceiver’s employ greatly advanced the cause of her Benefactors.

Still. She had hoped to gain great influence by winning the Prelate’s soul. Hulrun of Kenabres was a mighty prize; one that would gain her many allies. But due to the cursed woman’s sacrifice, Hulrun’s plan was ruined and her Benefactors, annoyed. This caused a chain of events requiring Hulrun to deal with the Adversary or risk annihilation at the hands of those very Benefactors. It was a deal that forfeited the Prelate’s soul to the Adversary, all but eviscerating any interest Malcanthet originally had in obtaining his soul for herself. But the Benefactors offered so much more than the worth of a corrupt soul of a once holy man. The Apocalypse would release the hordes of the Abyss onto the prime material plane, fully manifested and physically present. The spread of their taint would reach every corner of the world. Golorian would be theirs and Malcanthet would claim the world with her consort ruling its skies.

She strode through the gardens of her verdant paradise on the 570th layer of the Abyss, smiling at the blood vines. They were so pungent this time of year. Her country manse was not far in the distance. She would have migrated directly there, but she desired to visit her gardens before going to the manse.

She was pleased with herself that she was able to so completely trick the young druidess and the elf into believing that she was the keeper of the heart of the forest. It was not too much trouble to corrupt the moon circle in the center of the forest. Capturing and eviscerating the pixies was a bit more difficult. But she had managed.

The mortals will be gone for a while. No doubt they will send someone looking for them. She must be ready. It was time to implement phase two of Hulrun’s plan.

Malcanthet strode into the manse, her blood red robe blowing in the breeze, showing her shapely legs which ended in ruby boots with six inch stiletto heels.

“Loviel.” Malcanthet purred as she entered the great hall, the klackety-klack of her boots echoed on the marble.

The succubus turned at the sound of her name and, seeing who had uttered it, immediately bowed in reverence. “My Queen.”

Malcanthet bent slightly and whispered into Loviel’s ear with a kiss. “I need you to do me a tiny favor, my sweet.”

“As you wish, My Queen.” Loviel playfully responded. “What would you have me do?”

“You will be married…to a Paladin of Iomedae.” Malcanthet said smugly, staring intently into Loviel’s eyes to judge her response.

Loviel’s lips parted in surprise. But she recovered quickly. Raising an eyebrow, Loviel replied teasingly. “It will be my pleasure, My Queen. Am I playing the role of virgin? I do so hate white. It washes me out.”

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