Karthan was taken aback by his sister's manner. Had he misjudged and underestimated her? Where was the young girl always needing reassurnce and protection? Here stood a powerful and eloquent woman whom sounded and looked wise beyond her years. was that a downy feather of an eagle in her hair? That's odd, where would that have come from?
Thor shifted and sank down to lay on his belly as though he had earned his rest at the end of a long day, the movement distracted the young hunger and he looked down.
The great cat turned his head in response to Karthan moving his own. The tigers eyes met Karthan's, twin black pools dialated to encompass almost the entirety of the space between the lids of his eyes. He held the hunters gaze for a long unblinking moment, then casually blinked, licked his chops with a huge pink tongue, then turned his head away with regal indifference as though the moment had never happened between them.
Aegius was feeling his age. The young folk resting upon the dais had been through more in their first encounter than others had experienced in several years. Such potency of evil, the residue was overwhelming. But Iomedae kept him strong for what it would take to see them through the worst of the Chaotic effects.
The first was the elven girl, Zandra. She was not the worst of the three, but she would prove to be the most important given enough time. He rested the medallion of Iomedae about her neck and chanted a deep Restoration. “Fair and just, my dear god, please look upon this elf maiden and shine your mercy and healing unto her…” Knees creaking, the joints popping as the old priest knelt down on the cold stone steps of leading to the dais. He clasped his hands together and prayed, allowing the comfort of his chapel and the warmth of his god to dwell in his heart. “Mercy, my god, mercy I ask of you.”
Wind…he felt wind caressing his weathered face. A gentle brush along his skin like the reassuring cotton of his mother’s dress when he was a child. Comfort, affirmation, the feeling of elevation, the butterfly twinges in the stomach when he first looked down from the tremendous heights of the Citadel. By the shining blade, how long had it been since his first visit there?
Soft and tiny hands grasped his, bringing him back to the present. He opened his eyes to see the elf maiden aware and for all intents and purposes, unharmed. The life in her eyes was an echo of his younger years. A time before he met the other men in the room. A time when he was a simple priest and all was the burning, blessed Sword of Iomedae.
"Thank you, Father." Then releasing his hands she turned and addressed the assembled group in earnest and serious manner.
"As you already know, but out of tradition and proper courteous, I am Zandra Dawnsetter, Druid and follower of the Green Way. I have been shown the serious nature of this threat we all face. I trust that we may share what we all know here as even the health of the natural world hangs in the balance. I confronted chaos and viewed into our enemy’s nature. Let me tell you know what I have seen and the places I walked to make it back here . . ."
The others beckoned, Fir’umil and Mal’undil. He would have to be deft and cautious in his ministrations over the elven wizard. For the latter, his concern elevated as Zandra recounted the wound he received from the glass dagger. Beleg had only just begun his account of what he’d uncovered regarding the dagger Fir’umil had provided earlier in the day when Olivia and the others had arrived. But the behavior of the dagger that had been in Mal’s chest, how it shattered… He would need assistance.
“Olivia, child I will need your eyes with Mal’undil.” He stood slowly, bones and muscles and joints nearly betraying him to the stone floor. The paladin moved quickly to his side, aiding him towards the dais and the half-elf’s body. “We will have need of you dagger.”
As he lay his hands upon Mal’undil’s shoulder and forehead, he sensed an ice cold wave rising in his skin, a bruise of blue coloring was beginning along his temples. “It is struggling…”
“What is, Father?” Olivia had drawn her dagger, handling it as though she would be passing it to Aegius at any moment.
“I had not sensed it before, but I believe a portion of the glass dagger this Lamech used may still be within the wound.” His gnarled and bony hands moved expertly along the front of Mal’undil’s tunic and unbuttoned it to the navel. Aegius’ hands retracted by instinct; the knife wound was blackening along the edges, spider webs of blue birthing outward. Then it began to smoke.
“Fell taint!” Liberios looked ready to draw a blade, his years of training sending his hand to the weapon he knew best.
The elf lord raised a warning tone, a finger held brooking no other answer. “Stay your hand, Paladin.”
The group had been focused upon the telling of the events of the day by Zandra and Karthan. Such differences between the siblings in the way they saw the world and the colors and shapes in it, there was a good deal of information to be gathered. Their time in Greengold had had the necessary effect of growing their minds in a way Kyonin could not. They needed world experience, a time beyond the wood to gain perspective and prepare them for the trials to come.
Karthan had stood and fought, as was his nature. His curiosity extended far enough for him to learn the prey before him. The ranger had his father’s sense of focus.
But Zandra had their father’s wanderlust. It was apparent in the strength of her voice. She’d stood over the Abyss, fallen into the cold, dark places between worlds, but had had enough mental and spiritual fortitude to return. Yes, she was special. And yes, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, the group they’d gathered was special. They would need to grow and learn and stand.
He studied the two elves, allowing Aegius and the younger paladin see to the needs of the half-elf. The old priest was concerned, he sensed the piece within Mal’undil’s chest reaching outward, trying to penetrate the holy prison in which it found itself. Beleg let the two continue their work, careful to divert some of his attention towards them in case there was trouble. Meanwhile, he motioned for Zandra to step forward.
“You and your brother have accorded yourselves well. You in particular, Zandra, have seen more than most and lived to tell the tale. Time will weave the story of your life after this day.” A supple hand, centuries spent carving the language of the arcane, waved to the others in the room. “We will illuminate the reason for your presence in Absalom, bring it forth from the shadows of your questions.”
“First the fallen, then the answers.” Liberios put in bluntly. He still looked ready to draw his blade as he kept a weather eye on Aegius and Olivia.
Beleg only nodded, keeping his immediate reaction of disdain from surfacing. The Lord Paladin was right, but he was also human. His senses picked up something stirring on the dais, Beleg’s eyes glanced towards the sensation. Something being drawn forth.
“Fire…” The whisper of a voice arising from a desert. A rasping of cloth along dead leaves. “Fire to counter the cold of the void…”
Fir’umil had sat up on the dais, legs over the side, his back to the group. He looked over his shoulder, eyes sunken in as though he’d not slept in days. He’d gathered his robes about himself as if sheltering from the cold. “Where is my staff?”
Her knife had spun in her grip, muscle memory taking over as she spun around at the sound of Fir’umil’s voice. With all that had happened, then recounting the depth of horror Zandra had witnessed…then Aegius calling her to Mal’s side.
A weak hand rested upon her shoulder restraining her instincts. “The dagger, child. Fir’umil is correct. I will need fire.”
Blinking the fog away, she saw Fir just behind her, his body bisected by the knife held in her hand across her vision. His eyes were dark, looking about the room in weary sweeps then setting upon her and the knife. “Shall you kill me so soon after my long journey?” He whispered.
Another nudge from Father Aegius. “Child, hold out your blade before me.”
She complied, not sure what to make of Fir rising of his own accord. She’d seen him just before his collapse, the fear in his eyes when he looked from the dagger in Mal’s chest to the mad cleric Lamech during the battle… What had he seen? Was it similar to Zandra’s nightmare experience?
Things had escalated in the past few months. The things Fir’umil and Olivia had encountered…it was getting worse, more frequent.
Beneath her hand, the dagger hilt warmed, bringing her back to the moment. “I will need you to excise the flesh where I indicate. You must not hesitate, my dear. Not for an instant.”
“Yes, Father Aegius.” She firmed her resolve, knowing that she’d be cutting friend.
The old man prayed over the wound, hands forming a shape above the opening until the smoking began to stop. The spidery lines of blue began to grow fainter as Aegius closed his eyes and spoke. “Now, Olivia, bring the dagger point down on the right side of the wound. Search for anything that glows as the blade approaches.”
She did as she was told, eyes studying the wound as her blade tip hovered ever more closely. There, a glint of something…she moved the dagger closer and the glint became a bluish ember. “Iomedae guide my hand,” she said. Olivia brought the edge down and cut along the side where the splinter was glowing, a quick circle and a turn of the wrist and the tiny fragment was free…
Aegius, with surprising strength, swept a fist against Olivia’s hand, sending the dagger across the room and skittering along the stones. The glass splinter became brilliant like a blue and purple spec of light, then puffed into smoke and was gone.
On the dais, Mal’undil sat bolt upright, dragging in huge gulps of air, eyes wide open and scanning the room. Olivia tried to calm him, seeing the half-elf’s muscles tense. “Where is he?” Mal asked, trying to get to his feet.
“You’re with friends, Mal.” She tried to reassure him.
He tried to stand, but only succeeded in stumbling from the dais and sitting hard on the steps. Then he clawed at his chest, looking for the dagger that wasn’t there. “Where in the seven hells is Lamech?” he gasped.
Zandra studied the process of medicine and magic being performed.
Healing
Spellcraft
Karthan finally broke his statue like presence at the stirring of his cousin. "Your staff is here cousin, we have let no one touch it. Are you in need of it or merely inquiring about its whereabouts?"
In response to Mal'undil the hunter replies, "Lamech is dead, we killed him, I delivered the killing blow myself."
Zandra pursed her lips, "We did see . . . Something, happen to Lamech. I hope we did not simply play a part in his plan somehow."
"Funny you should say that. I learned that the song his lackey minstrel was playing, appropriately named, The Final Exit, had recently been penned, but maybe it was prepared for the very confrontation we just had with Lamech and his followers."
"I am suspecting that we shall soon be enlightened with what it is exactly that we have become involved in. Hopefully we have proven worthy of that luxury, it seems preferable to how we have gone about learning about it from alternative sources, ad we have brought hopefully some new intelligence to the situation."
"I am guessing the moments to come will reveal the underpinnings of the motivations behind the courts involvement in our lives and this matter before us now." he had delivered the last while looking directly at Beleg.
Zandra studied the work of Cleric and Paladin as they hunched over the still form of Mal’undil the half-elf. There were floating wisps connecting her own life energy with that of Father Aegius, her precious gift of vigor flowing into him as he worked feverishly to heal Mal’undil. But there were also connections between herself and Olivia, perhaps remnants of her efforts in the courtyard? It was hard to tell. But what was evident were the connecting energies flowing between Aegius, Olivia and Mal.
There, in Mal’s chest, Zandra could see a bubbling of Chaos…tiny and striving and angry and purple. It sought to do harm, cried out for an escape, but the room in which they resided was a prison. The shard of glass turned it’s attentions inward, resolving to inflict as much damage as possible while it was being held within the flesh of the half-elf. Yes, elven blood was here, it would find much to enjoy if it only stayed.
But Aegius had other ideas. The aged cleric had found the shard, detected its purposes, he would see it removed. The shard squirmed and attempted to cut deeper into Mal’s chest to escape further detection. Smoke came from the wound as the good Father called Olivia over to assist in what came next.
Zandra heard it, as did Father Aegius, the shard squealed in terror as the young paladin approached. The wound’s opening blacked further in a last ditch effort for the Chaotic element to burrow further into Mal’s chest. Perhaps if they were too concerned with wounding the half-elf they would leave it alone. But presence of the female burned, oh how it burned…
Then a sense of a return…a presence arrived in the room as though from a great distance. To Zandra’s surprise, Fir’umil rose from his prone position, his legs falling from the edge of the dais so he could sit up. For the briefest of moments, a cold chill of vapor emitted from Fir’s mouth as he exhaled…as though he’d just come in from the frozen tundra of the north. His spirit was tired, and it rested within his thin frame looking more exhausted than the body.
“Fire,” he whispered. “Fire to counter the cold of the void…” A disconnected voice, a message brought back in the young wizard’s slender hands from a great distance to be delivered in Aegius’ small chapel. “Where is my staff?” Zandra understood, Fir’umil needed something real, something his to anchor his mind to the world. Much like Thor’s invaluable aid in calling Zandra back from the brink.
Things were happening slower now, time easing in Zandra’s eyes. She moved her attentions back to Olivia and Aegius as they recommenced their work. The Father was…was he inflicting wounds upon Mal’s form? By all that was green, were they betrayed? She felt her heart stop, her hands instinctually flexing…
…but she saw Mal’s wound open as Aegius commanded Olivia to press in her blade. The old cleric cast his energies towards the blade, the dagger glowing with a golden fire…a blessing, perhaps something to heat the metal…she wasn’t sure. As Aegius’ initial casting opened the wound, the blade pressed into the raw flesh and chased down the Chaos shard…it was a fleck really, but its inanimate hatred made it so much larger…so much more dangerous.
The blade cut into Mal’s flesh, cleansing the wound and cauterizing as it went. The flesh being corrupted by the splinter of glass was cut free, she drew her blade in a skillful sweeping motion to excise the flesh. As the steel cleared the wound, Aegius followed through with a healing, closing the wound further. Mal would scar, but it would be free of the taint of Chaos. Then, a glint of purple, flying through the air, the splinter was free, but it was instantly assaulted by the presence of Good within the walls of the temple and particularly Aegius’ private chapel. The shard exploded and ceased its existence.
The shard…this splinter of vileness…it must have been acting upon its will, subjugating Mal’s will to recover. With it gone, Mal emerged from his spiritual oppression and sat upright.
Something shined over Mal’s shoulder, a glow drawing Zandra’s eye as it diminished like an iron fresh from the forge fire. It was Olivia…her hair gleamed like obsidian raven’s feathers descending down her back where it was bound in a braid…the skin at her cheeks…her eyes, like jewels of amber…they glowed softly. The young paladin seemed to glow as she knelt next to Mal’s upright form, her eyes closed and lips moving in a prayer of thankfulness. As she closed her prayer, the glow diminished, her features – though beautiful of their own accord – returned to normal.
He tried to keep himself hidden, for as much as one could do so in a place of such emptiness. A curled ball, a fist clutching so tightly the knuckles whitened, that was his body. He couldn’t allow his mind to extend beyond his body, lest he have to reconcile the void surrounding him…pressing in on him…exposing him to anything lurking in the darkness. Fir’umil floated there in his little ball of security, eyes shut as a physical action so he knew that the blackness beyond his lids was different than the blackness he imposed upon himself.
No, the dark was his decision. His eyes would remain shut to the boundless void without…the emptiness and cold and vast aloneness…
NO!!! He shouted…for once not coughing with the effort to scream. Fir’umil had almost allowed his mind to wonder beyond his little island. Almost.
Outward, beyond the mind-rending distance, a deep resonance…a rumble that was beyond sound but rattled within his essence, touching along the strings of all his years like a harp player with the intent of hitting every string. Something immense approached.
Fir’umil stayed with what he knew otherwise his mind would unravel before the waves of terror crashing against him. He threw up a Protection Against Chaos…but as soon as it formed it shattered before the reverberations of the distant rumble. The spell slapped back into his mind, he recoiled in pain as it collapsed.
The pain was good, it reminded the elf that he could still fight. It reminded him that he was real and cohesive. Fir reclaimed his memories through the pain, the last things he’d seen before being sucked into the void. Lamech, drawing Mal forth…bloody, macabre...life flowed from the half-elf and poured through Lamech and into the Void… Lamech had to die, the connection had to be cut before Mal’undil was lost. Fir’umil had seen that much, seen to much…
…the rumble in the distant emptiness shook his core again.
He went deeper into black
Deeper into white
Could see the stars shining
Like nails in the night…
Fir’umil reached into his core. His will overrode the terror in his heart, he had been in this place for a long time…he’d had enough rest. All his magic was his to command…all of it!! His will would accept nothing less. So he weaved the magic, sifting through the differing patterns of the void and calling forth the necessary components…a summoning first…
A giant spider formed before him, an instant fear descending upon it…Fir’umil gave the fear to the creature…then the wizard opened his eyes, looking towards the distance for the brightest star…
…there, there was home! He left behind the cowering and shivering elemental, accelerating to the bright point in the distance. Allowing his will to draw itself home…
…his eyes opened, back aching and body shivering. There was a chill in the air, reflexively he gathered his robes about him to shelter from the cold. Eyes looking to and fro, a chapel it seemed…was this the human cleric’s chapel in the Ascendant Court? Another look, this time he turned his head…yes, there was the old man, Aegius. There was Olivia…they were over the half-elf’s unconscious body.
Fir closed his eyes again, not allowing for the possibility that by doing so he’d lose touch with the reality he’d just seen. No, his will would not allow such a thing. He slowly propped himself up and let his legs fall over the side of the dais so he could rise to a seated position. The two were chattering away about how to best handle Mal’undil’s situation, apparently some of the glass dagger still remained.
“Fire,” he offered, trying to keep from throwing up as the room spun about his head. “Fire to counter the cold of the void…” His hand cast about the dais but he froze when he opened his eyes. Olivia was holding a dagger in his direction. “Shall you kill me so soon after my long journey?” It would have been just his luck to escape the Abyss only to be killed by a paladin with a dagger.
He resisted the urge to laugh; concerned that he’d either dissolve into another coughing fit or simply vomit. Instead he closed his eyes again and asked the question, something to keep his mind going and to latch onto his current location. “Where is my staff?”
His ranger cousin responded somewhere over his shoulder, a sense of earnestness in his voice that hadn’t existed only a few hours earlier. “Your staff is here, cousin. We have let no one touch it. Are you in need of it or merely inquiring about its whereabouts?”
“I should like to grasp it if you don’t mind.” He held out a hand, resting his head in the other one, his body a thin question mark shape as he sat upon the cold stone of the dais. There was caution in Karthan’s steps as he brought his staff. Good, hunter. You have learned your most valuable lesson of the day; caution.
“Lamech is dead, we killed him, I delivered the killing blow myself.”
Fir’umil rested his staff across his lap and made as though to reply, but he held himself short when he realized Karthan had been addressing the now conscious Mal’undil.
“We did see…” Zandra was there too? Good, she’d survived as well. “…something, happened to Lamech. I hope we did no simply play a part in his plan somehow.”
“Funny you should say that. I learned that the song his lackey minstrel was playing, appropriately named, The Final Exit, had recently been penned, but maybe it was prepared for the very confrontation we just had with Lamech and his followers." Karthan again. "I am suspecting that we shall soon be enlightened with what it is exactly that we have become involved in. Hopefully we have proven worthy of that luxury, it seems preferable to how we have gone about learning about it from alternative sources, ad we have brought hopefully some new intelligence to the situation."
"I am guessing the moments to come will reveal the underpinnings of the motivations behind the courts involvement in our lives and this matter before us now." The last was directed towards someone else in the room.
Fir’umil hazarded his vision once more, gladly welcomed with a steady room rather than the spinning menagerie he’d seen a moment ago. To his surprise, both Master Beleg and Lord Liberios were in the room along with Karthan and Zandra and her animal companion. Of Lau Fu Shan, there was no sign. A twinge of concern pinched at his stomach for the last, missing party member. He hoped he was still alive. He would have to reconcile the possibility at a later time.
For the now, he bowed his head slowly in respect to the elder kin in the room. “Master Beleg, I am at your service.”
The master wizard approached him, eyes surveying his condition. “What have you learned, Fir’umil Osseus?”
“Lamech was a devotee of Chaos, most likely one amongst the Tapestry.” He gripped his staff a bit tighter as a chill passed through his midsection. “More an oracle, less a cleric if I don’t miss my guess.”
“And the daggers?”
“Syphons in my opinion, Master.” He looked to Mal, and for a reason he didn’t quite understand raised a hand to grip the half-elf’s shoulder for comfort. “Had I been faster in ascertaining the nature of the connection between the dagger in your chest and what this fool man was doing, I’d have known to act sooner.” He shifted his tongue to elven for a moment. “My apologies, Mal’undil.”
He released his shoulder, noting the shocked look in Mal’s eyes, and turned back to Master Beleg. “Lamech was drawing upon the life energies of those whom these daggers were embedded within. Their natures are dual, shifting between planes, so they can be borne each person without them dying. But when Lamech wanted more power, for himself or his deity, he drew them into the real world and began to drain them.”
His staff firmly planted on the stone, the young wizard forced himself to his feet. “He drew upon their power, knowledge, giving more than his share to be cast towards his deity. I surmised by killing him during a connection, his energies would be drawn into the Void instead.” Fir’umil reached into his robes to draw forth his tincture. He was feeling rawness in his throat again. “I failed to anticipate the backlash of the event, otherwise I would have chosen a different course.”
Beleg nodded once, no emotion upon his ancient face. “Learn from your mistakes, Fir’umil, lest you and others die because of them.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Come,” Beleg motioned towards the room behind the dais. “It is time we all retired to the sitting room and discussed deeper matters.” He cast a stare in Karthan’s direction, challenging him to speak further.
Zandra and Karthan watched the exchanges trying to find any hidden cues and clues
Karthan
Perception
Sense Motive
Thor scented the air then made his way to a corner of the meeting table where he would be able to sit next to his mistress.
Taking this as a sign, Karthan also went into the room and began to set out the book and the items he had collected from the house. Best to lay it all out here in front of the paladins and while shielded within these walls. He thought as he added the rune inscribed kukri to the pile, but covered the runes with a handkerchief. I will warn them of its presence before revealing it, just in case. Everyone who saw whatever it was in the house was shattered by it.
Karthan also thought about he humans. Perhaps it was the fact that they had so short of a lifetime that made them work so hard at their chosen crafts, an elf could adopt many in their long lifetimes, but it seemed they could grasp and wield power so wholly and quickly. Maybe humans and elves were equals like two identical piles of wood, but one was left to smolder while humans were ignited like a bonfire and created a burst of energy, light and heat before burning themselves clean out where the smoldering fire was just starting to char the wood, eventually burning slowly then evenly before eventually turning to brightly glowing embers.
Zandra
Perception
Sense Motive
Too much filth… the Lord Chaplain-Protector thought to himself. He didn’t attempt to hide the curling of his lip as Fir’umil passed into the meeting hall. Osseus had come too close too many times to the agents of Chaos and Evil to not have the stench of it on his soul. On the few occasions he had contact with the younger wizard, Liberios had strained at his will to not see him in chains and sent north for ritual cleansing.
But as Beleg so often put it, the closer the proximity to the dangers they faced, the higher the risk. In Fir’umil’s case he seemed to rush headlong into the thick of it. He would never admit it out loud, but his bullheadedness reminded Liberios of himself, fresh out of the training yards. Inside six months he was in Mendev, competing for his place at the front.
He ground his teeth and headed into the room. The other elf, Fir’umil’s cousin, was placing the gathered pieces of evidence on the table. Admirably, he exercised a methodical caution to their placement, ensuring that both Liberios and Olivia were closer to the items than the others. As he gathered his seat, the Lord Paladin began reviewing the materials.
“Well done, archer.” It was all he said, offering a hard stare and incline of respect.
The others were gathering at the table, even the half-elf. It would have been better to not include him, Mal’undil had been a thief and a leg-breaker in his younger years. There was no need for that kind of history at the table. But grudgingly, Liberios allowed for the situation since the rogue had faced down what sounded like a mad cleric being lead along like a puppet by some denizen of the Tapestry.
Moreover, the female elf had also survived. He grunted to himself as he looked towards her and then back to the materials. Iomedae provided hope in the least likely of places. The seasoned veteran of the Crusades had seen his share of hopes fulfilled and dashed against the rocks. He silently prayed that this was the former.
“If everyone will take a seat,” Beleg swept into the room last, the half-elf’s satchel floating along as though held by an unseen servant.
Liberios resisted the urge to scratch at his neck. Magic blessed by his holy god was one thing, but to use it so casually annoyed him. Hadn’t Karthan mentioned the box was warded? He ground his teeth and returned surveying the evidence.
A book on astronomy…no cosmology. Hmm, intuitive little pointy-eared bastard knew enough to collect this little item. His respect for the elven ranger notched upwards. One of the pages was marked with a strip of cloth, the Ferryman constellation.
There was sheet music too, written by a hand who’d learned his letters late in life if Liberios was right in his estimate. He turned them over and saw the assorted drawings…foul and indecent…and begging to be cast into the fire pit at the center of the table.
“The constellations on Lamech’s cloak matched those on the medallion there. The Ferryman constellation.” The archer pointed towards a cloth-wrapped object Olivia added to the pile of items. “Be warned, the symbols on that item caused a good deal of trouble.” At the Lord Chaplain-Protector’s urging, Karthan continued his description of the items found.
“Perhaps this was the place two which Lamech sought to send his stolen essence?” Father Aegius found a seat on the opposite side of Liberios.
“And if this Lamech was called, if he was an oracle, then he most likely was given these implements.” Beleg set the box containing the glass daggers on the table in front of him next to a long, rectangular case of finely carved wood, then turned for a moment to Mal’undil. “Would this Lamech have had such skills in his history? Carving glass, runeology, forging medallions and the like?”
The half-elf was still getting his bearings. The thick silence after Beleg’s question brought his attention around and he replied. “No, he was about as handy as a Minotaur in a seamstress shop.”
The Lord Chaplain grunted at the attempted joke, smirking briefly. But time was wasting. He gestured impatiently for Beleg to get on with it. Liberios was eager to have the materials pacified.
He rested into the seat opposite Liberios, using his eyes to direct Fir’umil to the seat on his right. “The evidence we have so far demands we add this event to the list.” He said this for Liberios and Aegius, right brow rising to see if they challenged his observation.
Both nodded, Liberios doing so as he clenched his fists and ground his teeth.
“We three have been working together for the past 15 years, mostly in Absalom and the surrounding island. Before that, my primary contact was Tabir the Grey.” He swept a hand towards Fir’umil and Olivia. “They have been part of this group for the better part of a year.” At the mention of Tabir, he sensed Fir’umil’s shoulders slump and saw Olivia’s amber eyes retreat to the fire at the middle of the table.
“Over a hundred years ago, I was dedicated to one thing and one thing alone, the containment of our dark kin.” His thumb brushed against the mithral and gold ring bearing the ancient symbol of his order. “I and my compatriots hunted the Drow, our only purpose to destroy them and to prevent the outside world from knowing of their existence. We moved in secret at the behest of those even more secretive than us.”
“Zandra, Karthan, Fir’umil, you and the rest in this room are privy to knowledge most of the world does not know. For you three, it harkens back to the death of your fathers. They were known to me and are missed.” Even all those years later, Beleg still regretted the loss of light in the elven nation. Hundreds of years of knowledge and ability and wisdom, lost forever. His hand brushed along the long, finely crafted wooden case in front of him. Along the surface of the case was carved the elven surname of a friend long gone. His face betrayed nothing…but he missed his friends.
Then his eyes saw the other case on the table, the one containing the glass daggers. Beleg’s mind returned to the matter at hand.
“As the years wore on, I found myself in Greengold following the trail of a necromancer seeking to parlay with Drow fleshwarpers.” He pointed to the other elves at the table. “Your fathers were part of the group hunting this individual. We found a place to wade into the brushes and wait our prey, but an unexpected party sprung our trap instead. A human wizard named Altabirik Ettin. He was ambitious, from Nex, and about his own business in the talismonger’s shop we were watching.”
“Ettin shopped for certain materials, things that piqued our shared interest. We thought perhaps this was our necromancer in disguise.” Beleg saw across the table that Liberios was losing patience. The elder wizard only turned his gaze away and ignored him and continued. “We waylaid him, brought him back to a secret place outside the city and put him to the question. As it turned out, this man was after the same prey as we.”
“A friendship formed with this man. It is around his all too precocious nature that we gather now. It’s been several years since I’ve seen him,” he looked to Liberios, this time a veiled accusation in his words.
As he expected, The Lord Chaplain-Protector snorted and returned his attention to the evidence before him. Beleg simply continued, he’d made his point. “Our group has changed membership over the past few decades. Some due to age, some due to death. Our purview goes beyond the threat of the Drow to something bigger. Our darkling brothers play a part in this, but only as so much as the canvas accepts specific paint strokes to form the picture.”
“If I may?” Father Aegius leaned forward, bony hands gathered in front of him on the table. Kindly human eyes showing the utmost respect.
Beleg nodded for him to proceed. A good thing too so he could better observe the others reactions.
“Over the last dozen or so years since I’ve…”
“Fifteen,” Beleg corrected.
The elf had a way of sounding generous when he corrected you. Aegius smiled and thanked the senior wizard. “Yes, over the past fifteen years that I’ve been in this group, we’ve continued the work begun by Beleg and his circle of comrades. This last two days of events are the latest in what we call the Pattern.”
A brief look towards Beleg and Liberios seeking their okay to continue. They both nodded. It was time to expand the group, to replenish the ranks. In their youth, when he and Liberios were in Mendev, it was called feeding the meat grinder.
A look of concern drifted across the old priest’s face. He had grown so fond of Olivia, knowing her over the past year or so had moved his attitude towards his duty beyond the instructions of her father towards him feeling like a parent to her as well. Aegius sighed. Zandra and Karthan and Fir’umil…even Mal’undil…what did the future hold for them? He wanted to pray right then and there, but he continued instead. Prayer would come later.
“A few years ago, 47 children disappeared from a small village on the west coast of this island called Diobel. That was my first experience with the group. Some 8 years later, those same children reappeared near Magnimar in Varisia a thousand miles away, none of them had aged a day. None of them had any memory of what had happened.” They had received word a year after their reappearance when the first word of the Ageless Orphans had found them in Absalom.
“On another occasion, several witnesses reported seeing a giant flying object, like a balloon, hovering off the coast of Botosani in Rahadoum. It emitted a low frequency sound for several days before the tones rose to ear-splitting heights, blowing out windows and casements for miles. An hour later an earthquake shook the region followed by a Tsunami that wiped out the western coast of the island west of Botosani. Thousands were wiped from Golarion.”
“Not more than a year ago, a man in Almas awoke from a deep sleep, having been unresponsive for several years. As soon as he woke, he began writing down what appeared to be gibberish, scrawling over every page of vellum, over every surface he could find.” Aegius shook his head, still perplexed by the case since it was never solved. “A local loremaster was called to investigate. Only because this loremaster had been part of the crusades in the north did he recognize the parsed short-tongue of Crusader commanders. This man from Almas who’d never left the city his entire life, had been writing down troop movements and locations of military orders that existed at that time. It was later confirmed by myself and Lord Liberios here.”
“But more recently, things have been taking turn for the darker.” Aegius shook his head. He looked to the other two and wondered what to say next.
Liberios pushed the page of music he’d been reading away from him and picked up where the priest had left off. “These events taken at face value are strange, in some cases horrific.” He reached into a satchel at his hip and withdrew his pipe and a small pouch of tobacco. “But these events form a pattern, as though someone were coordinating an attack…or as one of our esteemed colleagues insinuated, conducting experiments using the world as their workshop.”
A smoke stick was produced from his opposite pocket and he puffed the pipe to life. The smell of cherrywood and tobacco began to fill the room. “The things you saw today, yesterday, it’s only the beginning. If you’ve got the stomach, we’re inviting you to join our group.”
As they are talking, Zandra (to a much larger extent with that 27) and Karthan note that the three, Aegius, Beleg and Liberios have a shared demeanor you can chalk up to having been in the trenches together for a good long time.
Aegius is hesitant, concern clear on his face for the safety of the group. For him, this is a lot to ask, but he sees the potential in all of you to make a difference.
Beleg is hard to read. Other than the observations you noted above (Zandra), he has been at this job for over a 100 years. It is as much part of him as his skin or his legs. Right now, he sees the need to include Zandra and Karthan. He also knows the uses of Fir and Olivia, counting them as important. But he’s not so sure about including the half-elf.
Liberios is a consummate soldier. He wants his ranks filled with competent men and women who won’t get themselves killed at the drop of a hat. Because what you’ve gone through these past two days, and because of your genealogy, he’s given you the benefit of the doubt. He also has the example of Fir and Olivia’s effectiveness.
Olivia and Fir’umil both carry themselves as ones who’ve made their decision and live with the consequences. Specifically for Fir, he seems different since his awakening, less prickly around the edges. It could be his recent experience (which Zandra can empathize), and it could partly be due to their location.
Karthan looked at th three men in front of him. He knew he was being driven like a fox before the hounds. Beleg was the hunt master and knew exactly how to push the fox so that it would go in the way he desired. A chance to strike at the Drow was enough, but something bigger than that, something big enough that his father served Beleg to see to his wishes. No doubt this man had something to do with how they had been sequestered after their orphaning. Karthan chaffed at the collar he felt poised over his neck.
Ageis was almost faded from this world, close to his gods bosom, there was concern on his face, but also hope.
Liberos, well he was an excellent example a human single mindedness. No elf could remain so rigid for their lifespan or they would crack and collapse under he pressure of will and order that the warrior embodied.
These men were like tools or good hunting dogs to Beleg, he had others before, he would have generations more dogs in his hunt before he hung his horn on the mantle of memories past.
Karthan spared a glance Fir'Umils way and say the look on his face. Yes, Beleg was his master, but he also held the key to the magics and power Fir had always coveted. Plus his cousin had revealed his desire to know his fathers work. Karthan reminded himself he needed to be careful, Fir'umil had demonstrated the lengths he would go to satisfy his needs and desires. . .
"Very well,Liberos, . . . And Beleg, I shall join in on your hunt, what is our next quarry?"
Zandra watched her brother wrestle with his pride, desires and nature. This group needed balance, this generation of the group was growing older, they needed fresh blood, new powers and abilities.
"And I speak for the green, the world is at risk of being thrown off balance and careen off its axis. I will act to maintain the balance and to stop these transgressions against children, which are he proof of ature and the balance of life itself."
"But to be more effective you must tell us more so that we might understand. However, Olivia and I experienced something as well, Olivia, would you please discuss the instance of dicordia we had?
The paladin glanced down to the table in front of her. A small part of her wished the elf maiden hadn’t raised the subject. But the flame of regret was snuffed easily when Olivia considered the passion behind Zandra’s words. Had she been so enthusiastic when the group had approached her with the same proposal? Most assuredly, the answer was no. Olivia had been keen to join her father in the north, charging with the Twelve into the heart of the Worldwound By the Burning Sword she wanted to be with him still. For every knight in the Crusades, there seemed to be 5 sellswords fouling the ranks.
No, she had not been so enthusiastic. But in the past years Olivia had grown to love her assignment. Iomedae had truly shined down upon her head.
Father Aegius looked to her when Zandra asked her question. “Is this true, Olivia?”
“Yes, sir.” She smiled nervously, her eyebrows raised as she shook her head. “I don’t know for sure what I saw, Father. We stood above the main avenue in Copperwood, the second floor window of Lamech’s room across from the Toiling Gent.” She purposely placed her hands on the table, palms down and flat, organizing her thoughts.
“I was searching for a sign of this Lamech,” she nodded to Karthan appreciatively. “Just as he indicated, we were challenged by a creature, defeated it and cleared the room. I went to the window, thinking perhaps Lamech had leapt from the window and onto the street below. There was a small overhang…a person could have made the jump…so I searched the crowds.” Olivia closed her amber eyes, memory flashes of those faces, staring up at her. “There were people in the crowd, men, women, children, staring up at me as though they knew me. They stared and stared, waiting for something, not moving.”
She opened her eyes and found Aegius studying her, eyes softened with pity but no surprise. Was this really what she had to look forward to her as the years carried forward? Olivia’s hands clinched into fists on the table, she must learn more about herself, about what the future held. The not knowing, keeping her head buried in duty, it was getting old. If she was to be of any good to this endeavor, she had to understand.
“Then there was the room itself, the symbol on the floor, the stench about the place.” Olivia’s hands pressed together, dry-washing back and forth. “That inn was already a wretched hive of scum and villainy, but there was a sense of organization about it, as though it were controlled like sewage in the pipes under the city being guided to the coast. When we entered that room, however, it felt out of place, it was wrong somehow.”
Next to her, she could sense Liberios’ shoulders slump ever so slightly, but his gruff tone was meant to encourage. “This is why Iomedae called you to this city, Olivia Duneheim. You will do your duty.”
“I know my Lord. I serve at the goddess’ pleasure.” A statement of fact, there were hard days in this service, days like this one, but it was her honest pleasure and fulfillment to be a Chaplain-Protector. A deep breath and she bowed respectfully to Liberios, thanking him for the attitude adjustment.
She was advancing down the path towards her future at the quick-step. The elder paladin rested his own hand upon the table, a thump against the wood, as a signal he was going to move to the next topic.
“I’d like to offer a commendation to Karthan for the materials he gathered from the scene of the fight.” He sifted through a few sheets, hand lingering over the cosmology book where it was opened to the Ferryman constellation. “This material will go a long way towards uncovering from where those daggers originated.”
“I will continue the research myself…” Beleg began.
“No.”
The elf’s right brow steepled, eyes focusing on Liberios. “Excuse me, Lord Chaplain?”
Liberios waved off the burning gaze of the archmage and continued. “I vote to let them continue the investigation. Research what they’ve found to its conclusion. I won’t cast unseasoned troops at the front line and hope some of them won’t land on the point of a lance.”
He kept his calm, unwilling to allow himself to be angered by the human. While Liberios could be agonizingly direct and unwavering, he did have a shrewd insight when it came to what he called dispensation of assets.
The elf inclined his head. “Very well. Fir’umil, you have the necessary permissions to bring them with you to the Arcanamarium to research the items you and your cousins discovered. Take them with you at the conclusion of our meeting here.”
Fir’umil bowed his head, remaining silent.
Beleg’s hand rested upon the long wooden box again. “You wanted to know your next target, Karthan Dawnsetter. It seems that your efforts have provided you with one. Now I’d like to…”
“Wait a tick.” The half-elf leaned forward in his seat, content to end his silence by causing the second interruption for the evening.
Beleg sighed and looked on with barely restrained annoyance.
“Am I supposed to be part of this menagerie?”
The old paladin’s left eye twitched, looking more put out then Beleg. “Scared, thief?”
Mal folded his arms across his chest and rested back into the seat. “Not at all, lamb chop. I’m just curious if I should even be in attendance.” He reached a hand through his tunic and waggled a pair of fingers through the hole left by the glass dagger. “Not that I have much to add other than getting stabbed with a dagger of Chaos. But hell, what do I know.”
Liberios hammered the table with his fist, shaking the materials in front of him. “Perhaps we can use you, half-elf. We surely have room for fodder in our ranks. And judging by your past and present, you’d fit the bill nicely.”
“My lord, please,” Olivia stood, resting a hand on Liberios’ shoulder. “Mal’undil has been integral in several of the cases you’ve given me in the past.”
“Not knowing the nest of vipers into which I was wading, I might add,” Mal pointed out. He looked about the table quickly, wondering just how addled his brains were to not know noticed earlier that Lau was missing. His bravado sank a bit with the thought that he might not have survived.
The young Chaplain-Protector cautioned Mal with one of her looks; the one reminding him that sometimes children can be treated like children when they insist.
Mal exhaled and sat back, not having noticed he’d leaned forward in his seat again.
“Between Mal and Caleb, I think we have a broader access to contacts we’d normally not think of using, just simply because they can think beyond the normal constraints of our relative backgrounds.”
“I will remind you we attempted such things with Alaric.” Beleg responded, voice a gentle tide of warning.
“The Grim’s in on this too?!?” Would this never end? Was Caleb part of this cadre as well?
“Mal, please,” Olivia stopped him again and continued. “I will also remind the group that Alaric has proved to be a vast source of information despite the incident.”
Liberios grumbled. “Fine. Let him start proving his usefulness by assisting in gathering more information regarding these daggers.”
Mal’s eyes searched the room for the best escape route. It was a normal process for his mind engrained by so many years working the back alleys and nighttime streets. But he forced himself to stay present in the conversation. There was a part of him that went beyond intrigue to downright curiosity. What was this all about? Was this group really out to “save the world”?
He relaxed a touch, only saying at the last. “Count me in.”
Again, he held his council. There would be a need for the half-elf; that much was for certain. But oh how he disliked being interrupted.
“As I was saying, to address your request for more information, Zandra Dawnsetter, there is not much more to tell at this point.” He stood and addressed all in the room. “Our enemies are numerous, and our allies are few. We must continue to investigate the Pattern, learn its intricacies, and be there to counter or solve to our best ability.”
He gestured to Karthan and Zandra. “If it pleases the group, and with you permission, Aegius, I’d like to have some time alone with the siblings and Fir’umil. I have matters to discuss that are particular to elf-kind.”
“But of course,” Aegius stood slowly, hands bracing himself. “I will retire to my chambers for rest should anyone need me.”
The rest of the group stood from their chairs. Chaplain-Protector Olivia crossed the room to speak with the half-elf as they exited. Liberios wrapped his knuckles on the table as though he were calling the meeting adjourned himself and stood to leave as well.
When the room was empty save for the elves (and the tiger), and the door to the meeting hall closed, Beleg glanced towards the high rafters and nodded with a smile. Alighting from his perch above, a sinuous shape glided down in graceful spirals until it landed upon Beleg’s shoulder.
“Apollos, my friend of many years.” Beleg spoke in elven by way of introduction. He finally felt a bit more relaxed now that his friend no longer had to hide. “Liberios does not sit comfortably when Apollos is about. Bad experience with a lesser quality of dragon as I recall.”
Apollos was a pseudodragon, body 1 foot in length and 2 foot tail beyond that, covered in fine scales of dark, forest green that lightened towards his belly. His tail whipped about, a barbed stinger drawing whispers in the air over Beleg’s shoulder. The psuedodragon seemed to grin, closing his eyes as it bowed its head in greeting. Little horns glimmered, a pinch of grey and green hair at its chin, and the creature chirped and purred.
”Good evening, elder-kin of the far Realm.” the words formed inside the minds of Karthan and Zandra as the creature made connection telepathically.
“Fir’umil?”
“Yes, Master?”
“I want you to continue my research into these daggers back at the Arcanamarium.” He waved for his pupil to pick up the wood case containing the weapons. “I have compiled your notes and added some of my own. Apollos will guard the weapons while you research using those notes.”
The other wizard picked up the case, holding it under his arm while grasping his staff in the other. “I’m ready, Master.”
“Apollos?” His familiar flapped his wings and flew to Fir’umil’s shoulder. “Ianua iter facio domum…” The two disappeared from view, a rush of air collapsing in to replace the space they’d just vacated. The smell of alloy and ginger and orchid cloyed about their heads.
“My recommendation for you two, return to Caleb the Scroll, make use of his library and follow the leads you’ve acquired thus far.” He looked to the stack of materials still on the table.
Then his eyes looked to the remaining case on the table. Upon it were the inlaid etchings of a friend long gone. His hand drifted along the case in memory. “This is for you, Karthan and Zandra. I give this to you and count a promise fulfilled to an old friend.”
He slid the case along the table to them, the siblings’ gazes turning to the carved inlay of elven script. It read: For my children, may the rising sun lead you ever onward to the great green far-country.
As the siblings touch the case, the gold-leaf latches open of their own accord, the words “sun” and “far-country” glowed in oranges and yellows, then faded a the case opened.
Inside lay two weapons. The first a Composite Longbow of astounding quality and form. A blending of Yew and Darkmoon, etchings of elven script along the length of the bow. It was unstrung, a coil of string placed into the soft velvet of the case.
The second weapon, an elven longsword, graceful lines and a slimmer blade, a handle smaller than most, as though made for a female’s hand. It too bore the qualities of a master forge, the blade curving back with a tempered and refolded back to allow for a lighter weight and more flexible steel.
Beleg stood back, a touch of surprise in his own eyes. He’d not seen the case opened, only took charge of it at his friend’s behest to be given to his children at the right time.
The cubs sat in silence with the older elf who smelled of many things. Their attention was focused on a case on the table the contents of which had a smell to it similar to the cubs in it. Hopefully they would be done soon, Thor was feeling a bit peckish and there didn't seem to be anything around to eat . . . well, nothing that would be polite to eat that is.
Zandra kept her silence, she had other avenues open to her, she knew that this was an important moment for her brother, it was best to let him speak first.
Karthan stared at the contents of the case for quite some time. The bow must have been meant for him the sword his sister, or was the sword something that belonged to their mother?
All the years he had spent wishing he had the magical powers of his cousins and siblings. The time and the treasure spent by his benefactor trying to teach him the ways of magic, the frustration associated with it. . . . Then the years of self loathing and then gradual grudging acceptance of the fact that magic was beyond his grasp.
Karthan had picked up the bow and blades and had worked hard towards mastering them. His gifts lay in his skills and his mind. He had become a hunter and then a ranger in no small part due to his need to find solace and to have time away from the elven court. It was a matter of self confidence, esteem and needing to find something that he valued in himself.
His father had left him a bow. Did his father know him that well, was it his fathers own bow? All elves knew how to shoot one, but Karthan had tried to bring his own bow craft to a level well above most elven archers. Was his father disappointed in his lack of magical aptitude? Was the bow his way of telling him that he would never be a wizard like his father or was it simply a gift that all elven parents one day gave to their children.
Karthan reached out and took hold of the magnificent weapon. "Was my father a good bowman? I find that I cannot remember those details."
Zandra could sense her brothers inner turmoil.She wanted to reach out to him, hold him, even scream at him at times about it. She had done those very things when they were younger, but rather than help it only seamed to drive the matter deeper and the division between them wider.
Zandra loved and respected her brother there were so many strengths and talents that he could not see in himself. She prayed that Beleg might say something that might help him.
"Was my father a good bowman? I find that I cannot remember those details." Karthan asked, inspecting the bow in his hands.
Beleg studied the young elf before him, seeing so much of Tear’amil in his manner. But his cousin’s self-criticism was strong in the ranger’s bearing. There was a lot to be said with regard to the blood that ran in Karthan and Zandra’s veins.
For the first time in their presence Beleg chuckled. “Your father was a terrible archer, Karthan. He spent most of his hours either on faraway journeys or deep within the pages of an ancient tome researching something Tilmenos or Tabir had uncovered. Tear’amil had not use for the bow, probably better that way considering the danger he’d pose to anyone in his vicinity. I say that with confidence because however terrible he was as an archer, I am worse still.”
He pointed towards Zandra and then to the elven curve blade still resting in the case. “But there was one thing your father knew well, and that was the manner of his children and the recognition of your specific gifts that sprung from an immeasurably deep love.”
On the bow, Beleg recognized the style of runes his old friend had employed during life. “This bow was crafted by your father, specifically for your hand, Karthan. Any other who would try and use this bow would find it nigh unwieldy. But more important than that, it is meant to be named by you. Something you should take time in doing as you get to know the weapon and its abilities.” The elder rested a hand upon Karthan’s shoulder. “You are your father’s son, Karthan Dawnsetter. He loved you and respected you.”
“I know the…difficulties you had in Greengold under the tutelage of your benefactor. But you overshadow the accomplished skills and abilities you possess with those you think you should possess. You father was by no means the most accomplished wizard in his generation. That was not what brought him to the attention of the White Council.” Beleg gently rested a finger upon his temple, his ageless face a study in sincerity and gravity. “It was Tear’amil’s mind that made him invaluable to the cause. Without his mind, there is much that would still remain in shadow.”
Zandra picked up the Curveblade and cast detect magic upon it concentrating on its aura before doing the same, although without touching it, to Karthan's bow.
She opened her eyes and looked it over and ran her fingers over its features taking it all in. A weapon was not the type of thing a little girl would normally obsess about or ask for from their father, but Zandra supposed that the beautiful piece melded into this form hours of handcrafsmanship and arcane manipulations held a deeper sentiment behind it. A father who loved his daughter always thought first of her safety and wanted her to especially be safe when he was not able to ensure it himself. This weapon communicated to Zandra in a way a little girl could understand, she wondered if her father had meant her to know that or if he had crafted the weapon not knowing the animal instinct that helped guide his hand. Her father was gone, but he was still all about them. She knew as she grew in her power that she would someday be able to communicate more directly with him, but for now this blade was a nice reminder for her of her fathers love.
Karthan felt a mixture of relief, grief, gratitude and embarrassment hearing Beleg's words.
He glanced over at his little sister to see if she had seen his weakness and reaction. Zandra had a small smile on her lips, but was totally absorbed in looking at the sword his father had made for her.
Good, I don't want her to see me like this. . . Huh, that's weird, she seems to really like that sword, never thought she had much interest in that kind of weapon. Also, if dad knew her so well why did he give her a sword and not say some jewelry or a Druid stick or something?
"Did our father make these thinking that he was likely to die in his pursuits on behalf of the White Council? Did he ever mention about why he would walk this path when he had two children to think of? It seems all of our family members have been involved in this mysterious organization. Is this some kind of plan? Why our family? Why us?"
Thor's eyes opened a slit ears perked a little, cub Karthan was craby again, his tone raised. Seeing no obvious threat and no indication of distress from his mistress he closed his eyes, but his curiosity kept his ears alert.
Zandra was of course completely aware of her brother, but this was good for him. He needed to work things out for himself and he had questions only Beleg could answer. She just hoped he would remain respectful. His tone was awful informal with one as ancient and honored as the wizard who held the confidence of the White Council.
Zandra let her senses drift through the sword in her hands. She closed her eyes and listened, a gentle breeze carried a beautiful and achingly familiar voice to her ears. An elven tune, sung in whispers that drifted along the surface of the blade. Her mother’s song, the one she sang when she was a child. It mixed with the love of a mother for her daughter and also the love she shared for Zandra’s father.
The song coalesced into a vision of her mother, pregnant, and her father resting his hands up on her stomach with a six year old Karthan at his knee. They shared the moment together, a peace settling over Zandra’s heart like the warmth of the rising sun over her homeland.
This was her gift, this sense of peace, this sense of love.
She looked to the bow in Karthan’s hands. It glowed with warmth in her eyes, the runes carved into the wood spoke her brother’s name. The weapon had been crafted specifically for him, that much was certain. The weapon’s carving flowed like the wind through the leaves of a forest canopy, it gave Zandra the impression of a figure clad in forest greens darting through the tree limbs. She closed her eyes and saw clearly, the vibrant joy upon her brother’s face, his every motion deep within the hunt, an arrow to through the heart of any enemy that would dare stand against his family.
This was her father’s gift to his son. The confidence to see through to his potential and to the future.
Beleg’s right brow arched ever so slightly. It had been a long time since another elf had spoken to him with such tone and vehemence. The other races, they could be excused, but an elf must know better. Add to it these questions centered on one of his greatest friends…
“Tear’amil Dawnsetter was a respected ally and a dear friend, youngling.” The term in elven identified another as petulant and lacking in patience. “Do not dare question your father’s love for you or his dedication to his race in my presence ever again.”
He paused for a moment, Zandra’s attention had been drawn by his tone, the sword in her hand… She looked very much like their mother, especially with that blade.
These two have lost much, I must consider that...
A deep breath, a hand resting on the back of the chair nearest him, and the elder called to memory the face of Tear’amil Dawnsetter. “When a sapling is strapped with braces as it grows, its trunk is not sturdy when it matures. But if you plant a sapling at the tree line, allow the wind to rush against it as it grows, the rain and snow and thaw to freeze and cool it, the trunk grows mighty indeed.”
“Your parents were Lantern Bearers, it is how they met. In the years before the White Council approached them, they were tested, their separate and shared histories guiding the strength of their timber until they were ready to be approached. When the Council offered them the honor, they had the understanding and history to make the decision.” Beleg fell deep into his own memory, remembering the first day he’d met them. The years they shared together in the fight against the Drow. The days when they fell, he bade all those memories to his conscious mind so he could feel their memories.
“They fought the Drow menace for decades, side by side with me and Tilmenos and Solendil (Hal’s father). They found a deep honor in fighting that darkness. Yet they found greater honor and exceeding joy when you two were born.
“As you grew, Tear’amil and your mother fought all the harder, their brightest hope to leave you a world free of our darkling kin. But they also knew that their chosen lives meant a greater danger to their children. This is why things were arranged in this manner when they passed to the next world. Your stay in Greengold, the challenges you faced there…your passage to Absalom… The elements battering you as you grew, strengthening and wizening you for this moment.”
“You faced more tonight than they faced in their youth, but the need is greater now. The darkness we’d thought centered upon the Drow is larger…perhaps leveraging the Drow as tools rather than them being the impetus.
“Karthan, you feel as though being bayed by a pack of hunting dogs, but you must know there is always a choice. You’re parents made this very same choice when it was offered. You have seen today what the world faces and you are given a choice.”
Beleg splayed his hands, an offering of silence before him as he studied both of them. “I will remain a part of your life for as long as you’ll have me, whichever road you take.”
“Tear’amil Dawnsetter was a respected ally and a dear friend, youngling.” The term in elven identified another as petulant and lacking in patience. “Do not dare question your father’s love for you or his dedication to his race in my presence ever again.”
"How dare I? How dare I question the loss of my parents and being channeled into a boot camp when custom dictates that we should have been adopted and raised by Solendil in his house or some other relative. Instead of treated as some kind of discarded orphans sent off to boarding school by some kind of shadow council?!
Karthan recited the mantra of the adder ready to strike in his head to keep himself calm and still, but he wanted to lash out verbally and strike the table physically. He understood The Rook a whole lot better in that moment and long supressed emotions that Karthan feared began to well up threatening to overwhelm him. Long suppressed anger had turned to hate which in turn had turned to suffering from the hurt that been left unresolved for far too long.
"How many others have you given this tired old for the greater good speech too?! Was he becoming like Fir'umil, had he become like The Rook, ready to bring pain and death to those who had wronged him in an attempt to satisfy his pain with vengence?! Did he even care at that moment?!
Thors nostrils flared with the acrid scent eminating from cub Karthan. The elfcub was releasing phermones like male tiger aroused by another apex predator found infringing on his territory. the cat raised its head whiskers flexing as the cat actively scented the air watching the elf that smelled of many things for any indication of his intent.
The elf that smelled of manythings let out a breath and relaxed supporting his weight on a forepaw againt a chair---not a good pouncing position and took a less terse tone. He saw his mistress had a long metal fang out, but didnt look ready to use it and smelled calm enough.
Thor hoped the primates would soon cease their endless displays and posturing, that speices spent far too much time social referencing and grooming and in courtship prior to mating. Didn't anyone recognize that this apex preditor required meat and lots of it?! Heh, omnivores! indeed!
Thor let out a great huff of breath and laid himself flat on the cool stones of the floor. Not a bad den in here really.
Beleg continued after a tense moment between the two men. Males of all species seemed to leap to anger and confrontation before finally turning to compassion, compromise and understanding. After their brief displays the two had begun to soften their positions. Zandra smilied inwardly to herself in a very womanly way, for as civilized, reserved, and cultured as the elven people regarded themselves, boys still would be boys.
Zandra gave Beleg her attention though as he was now speaking to her as well as Karthan.
Luckily he had been able to keep himself in check, Beleg began to reveal to them more information about his parents than they had ever known. Distracted and somewhat stunned by suddenly getting answers to long held questions, Karthn realized that his anger was misplaced and railing against the man who was trying to explain things to him was counterproductive.
"I had always wondered how they met . . . I was too young to understand why it was that Mom and Dad and all the uncles were always going here and there. I guess they didn't want us to worry, if we had really known what they were doing. . ."
"I had always thought that they were loreseekers or sages, I always wondered why they didn't take us to the places they were going, very often anyway. It makes so much more sense now, why they left us behind . . . So when the Drow attacked us in the city, they must not have expected that attack . . . had we not been there . . . they would have been able to escape, to get away."
Sifting through her mother's latent psychic resonance attached to her sword. She let her mother's hand become her hand, her eyes hers so that she might see through them and see what she had.
A mother's instinct, a mother's worry, a mother's care for her child, a strong sense of a mother's guilt for anything that wasn't directly beneficial to her offspring . . . a mother's pain.
As she filled her mother's shoes and tried to get deeper images the detail fled like milkweed before a strong wind scattering . . . , but she had grasped the understanding and a fleeting touch with her mother's spirit she had been trying to make.
Zandra nodded with new understanding, but also along with what Beleg was saying
“…had we not been there…they would have been able to escape, to get away.”
“No.” Beleg had spent the better part of the conversation trying to steer Karthan away from the decidedly more obstinate aspects of his personality, he wasn’t going to listen to him begin to shoulder blame for the same void in his life. “That is not at all the case. In so much as you can say fate shined up on that encounter, it was for the very fact you were with them that so many survived.”
The ranger eyed him warily, the truth of Beleg’s words questioned immediately in his face.
“The encounter outside Celwynvian was a trap, planned to eradicate half of the Lantern Bearers. Reciprocity for our actions against the Drow...” Beleg clasped his hands behind his back. “Let me start earlier, before your experiences near that accursed city.”
“Several years earlier, you and your parents had been away for research into several runes discovered by your father. The research required that you travel to the east of Druma and the foot of the Five Kings Mountains…”
“Father had been researching dwarven runes, yes?” Zandra offered from memory.
“Yes, as I understand the trip was one of the first where you accompanied your parents into the field. Tear’amil sought out the ruins of Tar Taargadth. As I understand it, you had your share of run-ins with the orcs in the area.” Beleg paused, prompted by an inner voice to add a bit more. “You must know that to your eyes, Tear’amil was a learned scholar, a wizard of great power in the arts of runic studies and wondrous items. And your mother, her skills with a sword and her insights into the patterns of life were invaluable. That was at the core of their being and every bit true. But just as an exceptional horsemen puts his talents to use in the cavalry, so too did they put those abilities to use for the good of Kyonin.”
He let those words sink in before continuing. “So, as I was saying, years prior to that night in Celwynvian, during the time you and your family were in Druma, the Drow assaulted Ben’liath…”
…
“…They committed a great number of their spellcasters and warriors to the invasion, a broad stroke of aggression that hid their ulterior motives. The leaders of that effort sought out the destruction of specific elves and a means to strike at the heart of the White Council.” Beleg’s memory caused a phantom pain in his right leg where he’d been struck by a crossbow bolt. “They succeeded in killing one of our number, but they were driven back into the holes from whence they’d come.”
“When direct attacks did not succeed, they resorted to the use of trickery and baiting. They left clues to their whereabouts and interests in the hopes we would seek them out.” The elder shook his head, a rare subconscious embarrassment in his demeanor. “The Lord Chaplain Liberios would chastise me for not maintaining control of the battleground, but the Drow’s new methods worked. We were lured to several locations in an vain effort to learn more of them, culminating in the trap we sprang at Celwynvian.”
He focused on the two children of his best friend. “Had you, Hal’dorel and Fir’umil not been there, and accorded yourselves so well…things would have been far worse.”
“I had made a promise to your parents, and to Tilmenos and Sorendil; since I had no children of my own, I would see to it that should anything happen to them my purpose would be to see to it you were all safe. It would also be part of my promise to see that you were properly prepared for whatever future you should choose. They knew as I did, that any of their offspring would be in danger should our darkling kin know of their existence.” He found himself staring at the open box containing the children’s gifts.
He missed them all…of the group he’d aligned; only Sorendil and himself remained.
Tear’amil and his wife…
Tilmenos…
Altabirik and Willem…at the least, the last two were not dead, only separated from the cause. Then again, they were human and prone to such distraction. But could it be called distraction in Altabirik’s case?
Beleg stirred himself from his thoughts, the mists of memory and cogitations lifting. “Think more on this, Karthan and Zandra. You’ve learned much this day. Return to Caleb’s shop and rest for the evening. Make your decision in the morning.” He stood back from the table. “I will see to it that whatever you wish; you will have the proper support. If you desire to return to Kyonin, stay here in Absalom or anything else.”
"I can see that the upbringing we had was as close to what our parents had in mind as could be without them being there themselves to see to it. Karthan, father and mother knew you have magic, but of another kind that is not yet unlocked within you."
"What are you talking about? What magic, I failed to even manifest even one can't rip. Not even the simplistic cantris, not even a simple arcane glow spell."
"Yes, but I can see now, your power lies in Anima a power not so unlike Gia, in fact they are related, but you won't be able to manifest it until you prepare your mind. It is an old form of the world's magic that lies deep deep within us. We are so far removed from the source of it that it takes time to connect with and channel."
"Then why the decades of arcane tutelage?! Why the wasted effort?" Karthan asked incredulously.
"Not wasted effort! Training.Training to face the wizards of the archenemy. It is magical theory. The very theory you used when you helped battle the homunculus, the very craft used by the archenemy. You have said yourself you must know your enemy. Father wanted you to understand Spellcraft, not necessarily wield it. He knew what you would become, mother did too. I have seen it as they did. "
"How could you know ---"