Marcus was miserable.
Sign up for border forces, his father said. See the world. Lend your strength and inner fire to Cheliax. Your brother and sisters could use a role model. Your mother could use any surplus income.
Clearly dad had never served.
The journey past the Menador Mountains was challenging; Marcus had never left the Chelaxian border before, and the transition the landscape made as they neared the Uskwood was unsettling. The sun seemed to shine brighter back home; the colors were brilliant, the daylight sparkled, and even the nighttime was made merrier by the vivid oranges and reds of torchlight and campfire.
Everything here was muted. Smothered. Silent. As though even the crickets were afraid to call, the birds too cautious to sing. The trees here were different, too; gnarled, angular things whose branches inexplicably still bore fresh leaves. He’d never seen new foliage look so drab, like it was painful to even grow.
This entire place was shadow and silence; even the campfire they’d made struggled against the oncoming darkness, and the crackle of burning wood shouted their presence. Marcus huddled closer and gave his companion a long-suffering look over the flames.
If Calerio was bothered by the strange solitude of Nidal’s environs, he didn’t show it. The man’s face was calm, his hand steady as it stoked the fire to further life. He took another look around the small campsite, his dark eyes studying every nearby tree and bush before settling again on his companion. Only then did the man’s eyes soften a little, and the wisp of a smile tug at his mouth.
“We won’t be here long,” Calerio reassured him. In the silence, even his soft baritone seemed to boom.
“Good,” Marcus grumbled. “I’d much prefer mountain-diving to this.”
His companion chuckled, and all too soon, the uncomfortable silence pressed in. It needed to be chased off; grasping for a topic, Marcus asked, “So, uh, you been here before?”
Calerio chuckled softly. “A long time ago. Years. And never this close to the Uskwood. Even back in my old caravan days, we never went through the Uskwood. The locals don’t like to be disturbed.”
“Yet here we are,” Marcus sighed.
“Here we are,” Calerio agreed. “But these are the orders.”
The younger of the two sighed and returned his eyes to the fire. Behind him, the sun’s last rays finally sank below the horizon line, and night settled in, as though it always belonged there. Nighttime should not feel so heavy, and yet it threatened to smother the Chelish soldier. Marcus’s hand kept close to his scimitar, his stomach tightening in anticipation. By now, the small campfire bellowed in the deadened silence, angry and intrusive.
“Won’t be long now,” breathed Calerio.
And it wasn’t.
“Blasphemers!” The voice boomed, setting both men instantly to their feet. “You shall pay the price for your intrusion!”
Illustration by Ian Perks from Pathfinder Secrets of Magic
The attack came from nowhere. The shadow of the closest tree grew longer for but a heartbeat, and then two figures leapt from the dark canopy – one black as night, the other shiningly pale in comparison. Marcus barely had time to raise his shield before the dark creature was upon him; the sudden weight threatened to take his feet out from under him. He braced himself against it, shoved and was rewarded with the scrape of tooth on metal and wood. His sword arm burned, though, from the swipe of a horrid claw.
“Wait!” he heard Calerio call. “We mean no harm!” A quick glance to the side showed his companion facing off with a slender elf dressed in leather armor. Wisps of shadow curled in stark contrast to the elf’s albino skin as he clutched a horrible-looking effigy made of bark, blood, and bone.
The call came too late; as Marcus watched, the shadows stretched up and over the pale elf’s hand, convalescing at his fingers and shooting forward. The darkness screamed as it barreled into them, a horrible, high-pitched monstrosity of sound that ripped through both men. For a moment, Marcus couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, and was barely aware of the hot, fresh blood that gushed from his nose, tickled over his chin, and dripped from his beard.
He shook his head to clear it, noting in his peripheral vision that Calerio had been affected by the Shadow Blast as well, but was already recovering and leveling his shield and trident at the elf. Marcus refocused on his adversary, and a momentary panic gripped him as he realized he’d lost sight of the beast.
Then, there it was again, glowing green eyes across the fire, snarling at man and flame as though both were equal enemies. The fire brought definition to the strange, smoky animal. It moved like a hound, snarled like one, and had the bulk and weight of any trained dog, but its very being seemed to waver and meld with the shadows around it.
If it wasn’t about to lunge again, Marcus might have wanted to ask questions. As it was, his arm was ready; he would meet this next lunge with a slice the creature would not soon forget.
Fortunately, it never came. With a cry, Calerio rammed into the elf, yelling “In the name of our Master Zon-Kuthon, I bid you hold!”
Wait… “our?”
At the very least, it gave Calerio the moment he’d wanted. The albino elf twitched a finger, and the strange shadow-hound backed away from Marcus, though kept its otherworldly eyes set on the man. Wide-eyed and keeping his shield raised, the younger human kept alert, breathing rapidly and spitting away the coppery-tasting blood that trailed over his mouth. He took a step toward his companion.
“You cannot claim to venerate our Midnight Lord and still violate our earth with that filth,” the elf spat, casting a revolted look towards the campfire.
Calerio considered his words a moment before speaking quietly. “Marcus, extinguish the fire.”
Marcus wanted nothing more than to question that order, but knew better, especially here and now. He carefully set about the task – tricky, when he wanted to keep his eyes on the adversaries. As he worked, he heard Calerio continue. “It was the fastest way we knew to summon one of the Shadowed faith, and our need is great.”
“Your needs are unimportant to us, little shadeling,” sneered the elf. “There is a price to pay for calling on us.”
“It is a price I agree to pay,” intoned Calerio, sheathing his sword. “Cheliax and Nidal have been allies for years. Our flames rise and give you taller shadows. And now, Cheliax needs the expertise of your sect.”
“Why should the druids of Uskwood care about what is happening in the bright lands?” scoffed the elf. Another twitch of his fingers, and the shadow-hound approached, obediently sitting at the elf’s feet.
The last, bright wisp of fire died, leaving only wood smoke and darkness behind. The green glow of the shadow hound’s eyes seemed all the brighter without the intrusive campfire. Even now, the pale skin of the elf was easily seen; he made no attempt to hide himself, and why should he?
“Because there are mysteries there whose unraveling might be of utmost interest to the Midnight Lord – and both of our courts,” Calerio answered softly.
The elf sighed. “Continue.”
Marcus breathed. Calerio’s orders had seemed crazy, but they worked.
“Recently we discovered a hollowed-out section of rock in the Menador Mountains. We thought it was just an unfortunate experiment gone wrong, or perhaps an old, weakened series of tunnels finally giving in to time, but once the debris was cleared, we discovered a strange item. A huge, porous stone, different from the stone of the mountain, twisting up into a point, like a giant stalagmite. It should have been crushed with all the other debris, but it looked…almost fresh. And it seemed to be…weeping.”
The druid stayed silent, arching pale eyebrows as he considered Calerio’s words.
“There was no place where the stone would have allowed water flow, and there’s no water source nearby, but we have seen it with our own eyes, and I swear it is weeping. Your sect specializes in the shadows and understand the natural order of things far more than we could. This thing seems to thrive in the shadows of what used to be sturdy rock. What’s more, if this weeping is magical or spiritual in nature, then none know more about suffering than the Uskwood druids.” Calerio paused, swallowed thickly, and then finished, “This discovery could be a godsend to both your masters and mine. I will pay any price you or your sect decree, in honor of our Midnight Lord. Will you help us?”
Marcus watched as the albino’s head canted to one side, as though listening to the shadows themselves. After a long stretch of silence, he nodded once. Calerio seemed relieved and seemed to breathe a little easier. “Thank you.”
“Do not thank me just yet,” came the elf’s scornful voice. “We may be traveling companions for now, but Zon-Kuthon will get his due, and you will be made to pay for each slight against him.” The elf’s long, white hair shone, waterlike, as he nodded towards the extinguished fire. His pink eyes lifted and rested on Marcus, then. “You both will.” The shadow-hound licked his chops at Marcus.
Marcus felt his stomach sink. Suddenly, he wasn’t so relieved for the mission’s success. He’d have many questions for Calerio, once they were alone – if they ever would be, again.
They wouldn’t.
About The Author
Rachael Cruz is an award-winning writer / game designer. Her TRPG work can be found in numerous properties, including but not limited to Conan: Adventures in an Age Undreamed-Of, Corvus Belli’s Infinity RPG, Dune: Adventures in the Imperium, Fantasy Age, RuneQuest, and Star Trek Adventures. She has been helping people play pretend before it was cool. She also believes in you. Yes, you. Follow her on Twitter at @Witchwater!
About Tales of Lost Omens
The Tales of Lost Omens series of web-based flash fiction provides an exciting glimpse into Pathfinder’s Age of Lost Omens setting. Written by some of the most celebrated authors in tie-in gaming fiction and including Paizo’s Pathfinder Tales line of novels and short fiction, the Tales of Lost Omens series promises to explore the characters, deities, history, locations, and organizations of the Pathfinder setting with engaging stories to inspire Game Masters and players alike.
