Hidden behind wards of lifeless stone and empty ice, beyond a swamp devoid of living things, a realm of death holds spirits captive. Forced into death at the hands of cultists worshipping the one named Soul Eater, these souls are held at the cusp of death in a place locked away from the larger worlds. Neither dead nor alive, and tormented for all time, these souls rail against the walls of their prison. Their cries please the Soul Eater. It is a timeless pleasure.
Unable to move on to the planes of their gods these souls still have one escape.
They dream.
Soul Eater. Hearing that name always brings a smile to her lips. Through the centuries no other has managed to do so. Shadow...Death...Warden...Executioner...Corrupter...that one comes close..and so many more. So many names. Soul Eater is the one that strikes fear into the hearts of lesser beings. They don't even need to know her history to know their own future should they cross paths. Yes, Soul Eater.
Not exactly accurate, but still it is a name of power.
The ranks of her followers have thinned over the...centuries? Perhaps it is time to recruit more? The trapped souls under her dominion still give her pleasure, but more is always better.
Yes, it is time. Time to make her presence known in the world. Time to taste fear once again.
Gathering a cloak of darkness she slips out of her realm.
The journal of Ch’ack Hammer, son of Bjorn, (aka Jack Hammer of the Angry Jack Cult and Jorgen Hammerstryke, blacksmythe of the Ch’ack Clan). Part 1 – I Must be a Fool
I write this journal so that if I die at least one will know of it. Even if I die, and this book destroyed, the ink I’m using will allow the wyrm loremaster that has taught me the ways of the spirit realm to read my words. He lives still. I hear his thoughts in my head even while I am awake. So I begin -
I must be a fool.
I’m leaving behind a beautiful woman that loves me and a daughter that thinks me a hero. All to chase after a quest I have failed at so many times before. I can blame this on the feelings reborn along with my newfound flesh, but that would be yet another excuse. Enough of excuses. This is for me to set right. Or, to die in the attempt. I expect the latter, and a small part of me would welcome it. I cannot bear to dream any longer of faces frozen in terror. The faces of those that loved me so many years ago.
I know now that I am responsible for the deaths of over three hundred people. My first family. My entire clan. How can that compare with anything I’ve done since? How can I look upon the face of my brothers without being reminded of the people I failed? How can I look upon the faces of those I love now without seeing those I loved so long ago? I don’t know how, but somehow I unlocked a door all those centuries ago. I doubt even Styrmenvanterix, the ancient wyrm, knew that it was possible. At least I hope he didn’t. My abilities at spirit travel surpassed those of my father’s, and his father’s before him. I learned to spirit walk in my dreams. Perhaps it wasn’t really something I learned and it just happened. Either way, therein lay the danger. Spirit walking is dangerous business at the best of times, and not a journey one makes lightly. It was supposed to be a tool used only to gather the magic to place in the bronze death masks our clan’s warriors used in battle. Somewhere something changed. It was not I using the magic, the power of Spirits, it was the magic using me. I must have been too weak, my discipline too fleeting. Somehow I failed. It matters not how. The Beast followed me, and sent its minions to conquer my people.
The Beast is cruel.
Even after its minions killed every last one of us it did not feed upon our souls, as it had done to our families. We were not to join the spirits of our families in the planes of our gods, or in their prison, or in their emptiness. Mocking our weakness, we were bound to the field upon which we died. There we railed against time. Helpless apparitions waging war alongside other fools. Even when we finally were able to free ourselves from our bondage we were only able to take on a pale mockery of life. With our spirits inhabiting the bodies of brass golems we could not feel life. At first we thought this yet another curse. Time changed that. Our new bodies didn’t have the weaknesses of flesh. We had time to set aright the crimes of the past, but that same time had eroded all evidence of the criminals. We searched, wide and far. Even time wears on metal body given enough of it. Brass was replaced by ceramic composites, and our searches continued. One by one, each of us drifted off, searching farther and farther from the lands of our childhood. In time, we forgot what we searched for.
Time, it seems, is cruel too.
So, with my awakened memories, I pick up the search again. Realization has come to me. The souls of our loved ones have been destroyed, or at least trapped all this time. If it is the former I go to join them. If the latter, I go to set them free. Leaving the Eyrie I donned my death mask, and my body transformed into the ceramic skin I have worn for most of the time I have walked this world. To the world I am simply another Jack, yet inside I am Jorgen. But I care little for what the world thinks of me. I head to the bazaar to equip myself for the road ahead. Next I will visit the Grove, to seek advice from beings older than I. I can see the landmarks in my mind, but to get there I must start off where this journey started.
The journal of Ch’ack Hammer, son of Bjorn, (aka Jack Hammer of the Angry Jack Cult and Jorgen Hammerstryke, blacksmythe of the Ch’ack Clan). Part 2 – Yet Another Blow
The Elders at the Grove counseled me to give up this quest, knowing full well that I wouldn’t or couldn’t. I appreciate their efforts. Despite their forebodings they gave me aid, and the Tree Emperor transported me himself to the land of my birth. I was not prepared for the sight. Life itself has been sucked from my homeland. Stone, dust, and gray skies greet us. Not a single blade of grass remains. No trees, no birds flying in this dead sky, and not even an ant patrols the cracked earth. The only things familiar are the mountains, but even they are stripped of life. The snows at their top must never melt, or if they do their waters flow into nothingness. Shadows cross this place without anything to create them. Even the air itself is stale. I can no longer think of this place as home. That place has died. My guide gasped at these sights as well, clutching his hand to his heart and whispering a prayer to his god. In this dead land he seems smaller, as if his power is being sucked away. I beg him to leave me to my journey. He begged me to leave with him. We know how that ended. Reluctantly, he leaves alone.
I set off on my travels light of foot, my spirit companion at my side, most of my possessions left behind at the Grove. I won’t need them when I enter the lands of the dead, and especially so when we enter the section ruled by the one called Soul Eater.
I swear a shadow kissed my cheek as I walked north. Not a sweet kiss either. It chilled me to the bone. As I spun around, seeking an enemy, I could hear Leo snarl a challenge in my mind. The empty landscape laughed at me. This place is cursed in so many ways. As time wears on the place on my cheek begins to burn. Realizing the danger I rub some of the spirit woad upon the spot. It helps, but I feel like I have been marked. I feel like the mouse being stalked by a cat. Perhaps a number of cats. I fear for my companion, and I am not even near the first landmark.
Three places I must visit; three challenges I must pass before I can first step foot into the home of the evil one. The first two lie in this world; places of stone and ice. The last lies in the spirit realm, in the dead swamp of my dreams. Beyond that point I know not what awaits me. I will be at the mercy of the one that calls that place home. A being powerful enough to lay claim to a section of the spirit domain and twist it enough to ward against interference. As my mind wanders to this thought a loud buzzing rings in my ears, and the hairs on the back of my neck bristle. Quickly, I turn my thoughts to the path before me and the pain recedes. I rehearse the teachings of spirit combat in my mind. Slash, parry, thrust, and block. As my thoughts turn to the forms of combat I can almost hear the voice of the wyrm inside my head, urging caution, reminding me that the best shield is to pass undetected. I work to shield my mind as the miles pass by. I followed this path once before. This time I gird my strength for the battles ahead, to avoid the same fate twice. I make camp beneath a starless sky, outside of the cave the cultists called home so many years ago.
The small fire makes the shadows seem worse, but I know it is useless to try to hide my presence in this valley. I take out the small box my love has given me, seeking comfort in its touch and its soft song. Apparently, I am not alone in this desire as I can almost feel Leo’s leonine form press against my leg. Sounds begin to cascade throughout this canyon, softly at first but growing with each passing moment. Leo rises, preparing to attack. Flickering runes of black approach my little fire as if trying to reach me and Leo. No, not us. They seek the box of magic. Quickly, I put it away and the shadow runes and sounds evaporate into the darkness. Placing incense upon the fire I try to sleep, though I expect little rest.
Tomorrow I will face the first challenge.
The journal of Ch’ack Hammer, son of Bjorn, (aka Jack Hammer of the Angry Jack Cult and Jorgen Hammerstryke, blacksmythe of the Ch’ack Clan). Part 3 – The Challenge of Stone
That was the worst night's sleep I've had in a long time. I must be the first living thing to visit this place in a long, long time. The spirit runes weren't hostile, just very persistent. Their constant activity provided one good benefit though. I began to be able to sense differences in the sounds they made. All their songs were sad. Though the sun never rose over this accursed land I was glad when the sky lightened enough to see. Another thing became evident then. All of the runes were black. Usually, free floating spirits would be found in a variety of colors. These runes mourned.
Gathering my pack I stepped towards the cave entrance. Even with my enhanced sight as a Jack I could not penetrate the darkness. The spirits stayed clear of the entrance. Even Leo shied away.
"Don't worry, old friend. This test is for me, and me alone."
Without further word I stepped into the blackness.
It was like I stepped into another world. The stone of the cave called to me, and I felt part of myself answer. The Stone Lord was awakened once more.
I don't know how long I stood there. Time means little to stone. I was trapped, slowly becoming part of this place. I didn't want anything else. My feelings of guilt vanished, along with all of my other feelings. Feelings mean little to stone. In my mind I caressed this world of stone, racing along veins of metal, and immersing myself in slabs of marble. At some point, as I explored my new home, I felt a presence. Something not of stone. Something made of a void. Slowly, my mind told me this was out of place. This was my realm. The Void had no business here. I called to the stone and bade it to close off this gap. It answered.
As the last gap sealed, a weight was lifted from my mind. The bonds of stone left my body. The cave became simply a cave once more. I had passed this first test. I turned and left.
Outside, my stomach growled like I had not eaten for days. My tongue was parched. I made a small camp again and drank deeply of the water of the Grove. Exhaustion took me and I slept.
"This one is strong. He would make a good high priest."
She settled back to watch, thinking of a hundred ways to seduce him to her service.
"This one is strong. He would make a good high priest."
She settled back to watch, thinking of a hundred ways to seduce him to her service.
"Why bother seducing when I can take what I want?"
"Still there are many forms of fun. Corrupter. Yes, I remember that fun. Planting the seed for the future."
"Hmmm...maybe I can have it both ways."
Her presence has long since driven off the spirits. Even those of her former servants. Her traget is helpless before her.
The journal of Ch’ack Hammer, son of Bjorn, (aka Jack Hammer of the Angry Jack Cult and Jorgen Hammerstryke, blacksmythe of the Ch’ack Clan). Part 4 – I Really Hate Spiders
I don’t know how long I slept, but when I awoke I was hungry again. I was in my human form. Somehow my death mask had been removed, and now lay by my side. My clean shaven face now sported a short beard. I decided to let it grow, as most of the men of my clan had worn beards. As the fog from my mind began to clear I took stock of my surroundings. My traveling clothes were disheveled. My sleep must have been a restless one. That explains why I’m still exhausted. Panic set in as it dawned on me that I had been, and still was, exposed. I would have been an easy target for anything that wished me harm. Luckily, nothing had been tempted. Nothing. No threats. I opened my senses and cast about. No spirits were about. Even Leo is gone. He must have decided to go back to the spirit realm. Strange. Before I went into the cave the spirits had filled the air like mosquitoes in a swamp. I took a long time making sure that everything was in order, including myself, before I made my meal. After eating, I placed the death mask once more upon my face and welcomed the comfort of my armored skin and the strength it lends me.
I set off north in the canyon, heading into unfamiliar territory. Even when I had first been alive this place was shunned by our hunters. They sought game for our tables. This place only seemed to attract monsters. I proceeded warily. The emptiness was unnerving, but I was determined.
For two days I traveled, the air growing colder with each passing mile. Rock and dirt were my only companions. I was able to contact Leo, but he was reluctant to travel this path with me. I understand that feeling all too well. Alone, I continued as snow began to fall. Finally, something other than gray! The sounds of my feet crunching through the snow broke the monotony of my journey. Thankful of my ceramic skin I quickened my step, hoping that I was coming to the end of this canyon. The snow began to fall more heavily, inhibiting my sight. The canyon still had no end. It seemed as if I walked into a cave of snow. Soon, I could not even see a break in the sky. As a young boy I had marveled at the sight of fresh snow melting on my skin. Now I look at the flakes simply sliding off this shell I wear. At some point I noticed that the flakes were no longer sliding off my body. They were gliding, no crawling, around it! These were no flakes of snow! They were a mass of small white spiders, trying to find an opening in my armor! I shook my head to keep them from my nose and my mouth.
Looking above me I was able to see strands of snow and ice crossing the expanse of the canyon. Snow, ice, and webs of pure white!
With no choice I proceeded, tying a cloth over my mouth and nose and ears tightly. The persistent little buggers even tried to find their way into my body through my eyes! I could almost feel their frustration and hunger. Their sparkling little eyes burned with hate. Thankfully, I couldn’t feel their little legs crawling all over me. It would have driven me mad!
My earthbreaker was of no use in this battle, but where there are small spiders there is usually a momma, uncles and aunts, and cousins, so I held my weapon in my hands. Ice crystals began to form on my face mask, but I wasn’t about to remove it. In this dead realm these creatures must feed on each other. A fool like me must be driving them to a frenzy. More and more of them appeared, some getting large enough to warrant a stomp of my boot. The white fuzz of their furry little bodies was stained by their own blood. Their smaller siblings descended on them. I considered throwing some of my food stuffs to the others but it didn’t take a mage to sense that these things craved blood. Warm blood. My blood. Any blood. I stomped as many as I could to distract the others.
I would have never survived this journey as a man.
The journal of Ch’ack Hammer, son of Bjorn, (aka Jack Hammer of the Angry Jack Cult and Jorgen Hammerstryke, blacksmythe of the Ch’ack Clan). Part 5 – Did I Mention How Much I Really Hate Spiders?
This really was a journey through an icy hell. I could feel myself delving deeper into the earth, but the stone’s call was growing weaker. As I progressed, the ice spiders grew larger and larger. Evidence that the larger fed on the smaller became noticeable, with carcasses strung within the icy webs. I wondered, “How is it possible that ice could be sticky?” The answer was that it wasn’t. I discovered this little fact by losing my footing and sliding down for about a hundred feet, smashing noisily into the wall as the tunnel curved. Crystalline shards of the webs fell all around me, managing to cut my armored skin in several places. The spiders swarmed me. How I managed to get to my feet and survive that attack I have no idea. The berserker rage took me in my desperation, but that couldn’t have been enough to ensure my survival when it eventually failed. Surrounded by the smashed bodies of spiders, and covered in ichor, fatigue set in. Somehow, I was granted enough time to recover, aided by a flask of strong liquor. My rest was short lived. The noise of my fall and the subsequent battle had alerted every thing in this icy tomb to my presence.
I hurried on. Despite the long hours since I left the pale sky there was still light enough for shadows to follow along. I was becoming used to their presence. At least they weren’t trying to eat me. Half walking, half sliding I made my way. The spider attacks continued. They were drawn to my wounds, perhaps sensing an opening to the soft meat below my hard shell. My opponents grew larger and larger, and I waded into them with determination. I had to move forward quickly, else this place would wear me down. After a seeming eternity the attacks stopped. I couldn’t hear the skittering of those damnable feet. I entered a grand cavern, beautiful but deadly. Dull light, from within the larger strands of icy webbing, pulsed and refracted throughout the chamber. The walls and ceiling of this spidery throne room sparkled. I could feel evil. I could feel eyes upon me. Hungry eyes.
Deciding not to rely on the light given me by this place of death I struck flint to torch and placed it in a crack in the ground. For one blindingly bright moment I saw signs that man had touched this place, carving images into the floor and walls. My light was reflected a thousand times, driving back even the ever-present shadows. The moment was short-lived, and I heard a hiss as the torch was extinguished. I had announced myself to the keeper of this place. Now I had but to wait. The wait was to be a short one.
The tinkling of smaller ice webs breaking announced the master of this place before my eyes could find it. A shower of ice rained down from the ceiling, as I finally saw a spider of white as big as an elephant glide down from the ceiling, suspended by a strand of white webbing. I was lost in its eyes. Somehow they found colors hidden beneath the layers of web, and collected them in a dazzling display. Before I knew it I was knocked down by the beast. I had raised no defense as it had easily pierced my skin with its fangs. Lazily I watched as it lined up its stinger with my chest. The venom of its bite burned with icy fire. Some part of my brain registered as it spread from the bite in my shoulder. Numb, my arm dropped its grip on my earthbreaker. My other arm groped on its own accord for my hammer. If it had not found it this journey would have ended there and then.
As my hand grasped the handle of my hammer, that blessed gift from Warforged Jack, my body put forth one great effort to shake off the lethargy put upon it by the bite of the ice spider. Knowing that this respite was limited I put full force into a swing against the spider’s stinger as it drew back to pierce my chest. Luck, or skill, guided that blow and the beast shrieked in agony as its own weapon was turned against it. Immune to its own venom, the stinger still proved to be a suitable lance, ripping into the underside of the beast and spraying me with its fluids. I felt every tear in my composite skin burn with fire as those fluids found them. The pain drove me on, as much as the knowledge that I had scored a critical hit, and I regained my feet. The clash of two creatures filled with rage and pain is not a pretty one. I cannot even remember most of it. I swung my hammer and kicked with my feet, since my other arm hung useless. The beast responded with fang and legs as thick as small trees. Though it felt like an eternity, the battle must have been short, and at its end both of us lay upon the gore splattered floor. Bleeding freely, it was just a matter of time before the beast’s lieutenants came to claim their feast. Laying upon my fallen earthbreaker, my limbs growing numb and my sight filled with shadows, I waited for the end.
My lips were too weak to offer an apology to the lady I left behind.
A dark shadow appears. It knows that it has nothing to fear from this place. The owner tolerates him, and owes him a few favors. All he needs is a single spirit. It flies around, trying to decide on the next one. Finally, it selects one, and laughs at the spirit's screams as it is destroyed.
What it does not know is that that was one of the Ch'acks. It has gotten much more than it bargained on.
The Mask hesitates. It knows that it is done something unheard of among its ilk. Never has it done something of the sort before.
There is a sigh as the shadow vanishes.
The journal of Ch’ack Hammer, son of Bjorn, (aka Jack Hammer of the Angry Jack Cult and Jorgen Hammerstryke, blacksmythe of the Ch’ack Clan). Part 6 – The Challenge of the Soul
I waited, expecting death to sound like the scurrying of many little feet. In return I was greeted with silence. Ahh, this must be what the old ones mean by 'death comes quietly'. Oh well, it matters little. The great spider beside me convulsed one last time as the last glimmer of light left its eyes. The cave dimmed with its passing. I continued to wait, since my paralyzed body gave me little choice in the matter. My mind drifted in and out of consciousness as I took stock of my life. My lives. In mere moments I was a child, a man, a husband, a lover, a father. In the faces of my daughters I found calm. I would greet death with calm.
The spider's lair began to tremble. The crystalline webs began to break and sing as they clashed upon each other and the ground. The ice holding this place together began to melt. Rapidly. Perhaps my death would come as some great icicle pierced my heart. Pushing aside the various manners by which I would breathe my last I returned my thoughts to how I had breathed all the previous ones. Somehow my paralyzed face found a smile. I registered the sound of a loud roar. Not leonine, but one that sounded like great slabs of rock crying out in pain or that of a storm. The roar got louder. It was moving towards me. So, Death comes in roaring like a tornado. I waited, the smile still frozen on my face.
The ice around me was rapidly turning to water. I could feel it push against my burning metal skin. Instead of sinking beneath it I felt it lifting at my body. It felt good, soothing my wounds. These strange sensations were quickly pushed out of my mind as a loud explosion shook the chamber and a wall of water rushed towards me. It swept me up, and it all I could do to hold onto my weapons as if they were life preservers. The rush of water stormed down deeper into the tunnels, dragging me along as if I were just another piece of driftwood. At some point I lost consciousness, or perhaps I died. I'm really not sure.
I awoke beside a calm pool of stagnant water, in a swamp as quiet as a grave. My body ached. If I were dead that shouldn't be the case. I gasped for air. Even the stale air of this dead place was a relief. I had found the place of the last challenge. The toughest of the three lay before me. The challenge of my soul lay before me. The challenge FOR my soul.
Well, this one bested a guardian that has served me faithfully for centuries. I chose well. His seed will bring forth a new plague upon the living world. I can feel it grow even now. Darkness will come to his world and to many others. Together we three shall harvest millions of souls. They will sing to us for eternity.
I must be in the Spirit Realm. As long as I'm here the spider's venom will be held at bay. When, if, I leave it will finish its work.
The journal of Ch’ack Hammer, son of Bjorn, (aka Jack Hammer of the Angry Jack Cult and Jorgen Hammerstryke, blacksmythe of the Ch’ack Clan). Part 7 – This Isn't Going Well
As I begin to move my death mask falls off, and my body returns to flesh. I place it back on my face, but the spirit magic fails and it falls off once again. The air here is beyond stale, it is poisonous. I can feel it enter my lungs. Meh, let it battle with the spider's venom to see which kills me first. For now, I need to focus on the task at hand. I look for landmarks, but the poisonous mist obscures sight and without my Jack form my enhanced sight is useless. I rummage through my pack, both for any medical supplies and for help. I spot the box from Lyn, but set it aside, deciding not to draw attention to myself. I find the amulet of true seeing at the bottom of my pack. Breathing a sigh of relief I put it on, and thankfully it worked. I almost wish I hadn't. Seeing the spirit realm, this segment of it at least, takes you into a land of nightmare and shadows. This is worse than I feared. I look at my own form with the true sight and see my wounds glowing bright red. Another bad sign. Taking the last of my spirit woad I treat the wounds.
In this place, spirits are as real as I am. They float around me, going about their business as if I were an insect. Some float right through my body, chilling my soul. They seem surprised as they pass through me, as if I were the ghost. I suppose in some ways I am. Looking for signs of good spirits I can't find any. Recalling the teachings of spirit combat I weave a shield, and head off in a random direction.
Sloshing through the bogs or wading in the deeper parts, dry land is a rare thing. I find landmarks. Lots of them. Tombstones. I have wandered into a flooded graveyard. Yes, this isn't going well. Spirits walk on ground long hiddedn by murky water, leaving not a ripple to tell of their passing. I pray my shields hide my intrusion into their home. I catch myself holding my breath, and gasp. The spirits turn at the sound. They may not see me, but I am certain they heard me. The breathing of a living soul must sound like a scream to their ears. Shadows begin to walk towards me. I run. As fast as this bog will let me. Somehow the sound of my splashing doesn't draw them. Finally I find a small hill with a mausoleum at its top. Being on the land strengthens me. It seems the waters were draining life from me. I risk the time to regain my strength. Against all of my training I fall asleep.
As I dreamed, a sing song voice warns me. "Beware the Steps of Blood"
Where is he? Where is my prize?
So close. Soon I will have his soul.
The journal of Ch’ack Hammer, son of Bjorn, (aka Jack Hammer of the Angry Jack Cult and Jorgen Hammerstryke, blacksmythe of the Ch’ack Clan). Part 8 – The Steps of Blood
I awake with a start. To sleep in this realm is to invite death. The cold waters of the dead swamp must have addled my mind. In the panicked moments of my awakening I recall the warning in my dream. "Beware the steps of blood." What the hell is that supposed to mean? Is is a trap, or a bit of help? In this place it's uncertain. A breeze I cannot feel shifts the door of the mausoleum at the top of this hill. Breeze my bronze butt. Correction, breeze my human butt. The darkness of the doorway beckons me. Without a better direction, and reluctant to head back into the life stealing waters, I approach. Whispers invite me in. I draw my small hammer and the spirit markings on it flare with life.
Despite the True Seeing I cannot see into the tomb. I check the perimeter of the structure for clues. There is nothing to give me any sense of what may lay within. This hill is an island within the water. No other landmarks can be seen. Returning to the entrance, I oblige my hosts.
Immediately I am plunged into total blackness and spirit warriors assail me. Swing, parry, block, jab I counter, fearing that my power would fail me. Blades of cold, held in undead hands, penetrate my defenses. Each time my opponents relish in the spilling of my life's blood. These are no mere soldiers. These are, were, skilled warriors and they match my fighting forms with their own. Four opponents I face. Spear, sword, axe, and knife against my hammer and a shield of blue spirit magic. I focus on the spear wielder first, lest his range allow him to pick away at openings in my defenses. Dodging a thrust to my stomach, I close the gap and smash his skeletal face. Relief floods me as see his head shatter and a cloud of red fly free from his body. Necromancer magic. I must win this battle quickly.
Fear and desperation drive me on. To fight against a necromancer on their home turf is fool's folly. My berserker's frenzy would only buy me death.
I cannot fight defensively, hoping for openings. With time against me I waded into combat with the axe wielder. This battle takes me back to the time of my youth. Axes were a favorite of my people. The lessons learned those many years ago paid off, and I was able to set that soul free quickly though taking a couple of hits from the swordsman in the process. The knife wielder was holding back, taking measure of the battles. His knife was unlike the blades of these other warriors. Even in the darkness I could see a blade of silver upon a handle of ebony. Thankful that I gave this one pause I used the advantage granted me and dispatched the swordsman.
The knife wielder and I faced off. Time still pressed against me. I could not wait for the necromancer to summon more opponents. Reckless perhaps, I threw my hammer at my opponent's chest. As he dodged I locked grips with him, fighting for control of his blade. Though his bones were ancient they were as hard as iron. So much for shattering them. We were locked in a test of strength. I searched my mind for possible solutions. I began humming, and a song I had heard many times sung by my love caused my opponent to falter. Lyn had given me a new weapon. The Song of Life fought against the control of death. Seizing the advantage I shoved the warrior's blade into his own stomach. I didn't expect the result. The warrior exploded into a shower of light. Some part of my mind reacted, and I grabbed this blade and my hammer as I ran from this tomb.
I stepped out into another world. Still a realm of spirit, I stood at the base of a large pyramid. The thousand steps to the top were stained with the blood of countless sacrificial victims, and its base was widened by their bodies.
The Steps of Blood.
The journal of Ch’ack Hammer, son of Bjorn, (aka Jack Hammer of the Angry Jack Cult and Jorgen Hammerstryke, blacksmythe of the Ch’ack Clan). Part 9 – The Final Step
With hammer in one hand and the silver blade in the other I began to walk towards the pyramid's steps. Unfortunately this could only be accomplished by stepping upon the bodies and the skulls of the countless victims of whomever rules this place. No body and head were joined together, and the bodies looked as if the hearts had been ripped from them all. The warning I received in my dream screamed at me.
Seeing no other choice I continued my macabre trek. I tried to see to the top of this place of destruction but I could not. I'm not sure if it is me guiding my feet, or if I am but a puppet in this place. As I place my first step upon the stone steps a loud gong shakes the still air. My feet guide me upwards. Despite the cool I sweat profusely. I look down at my feet in disbelief. They are not under my control. The runes upon my body flare with blue light in warning, yet I proceed. It seems a lifetime to reach the top. A chilling vision of beauty and evil await me.
Standing behind a sacrificial altar is a woman with raven hair and pale skin, very much pregnant. She beckons me forward. As my feet respond to her command wraiths form out of the darkness surrounding the altar. I cannot lift my weapons against them, but neither do I drop them. Ancient carvings of beasts adorn the top of this temple. Dried blood has stained the stone black.
She beckons again.
Welcome, Jorgen Hammerstryke, son of Bjorn.
Are you ready to join your family in service to me?
Her voice is like music, but unlike Lyn's songs it is haunting, both dulling the senses and seducing with unreachable dreams.
Though my body is frozen in place, the wards on my mind hold strong. Still I can feel them being assaulted by the seduction of death.
"No, Despoiler. I come to set my people free."
Somehow, my voice remained calm. If my body was free to move it would likely shake with fear.
Seeing through my false bravado she smiles.
"That is not a choice. You can either serve me willingly, or I will take your soul for my collection."
Even these harsh words sound like a sweet melody.
"To enter my realm you must perform a service. Would you like to know what?"
My mind grows foggy, and screams 'yes'. Thankfully, my voice ignores my mind.
"No, I will not serve. I come to set my people free, or to die in the attempt."
A foolish choice of words on my part, but they helped shed the muck my will was becoming.
"No, I will not serve. I come to set my people free, or to die in the attempt."
A foolish choice of words on my part, but they helped shed the muck my will was becoming.
"Fool", she chuckles.
"Only by entering my home could you hope to do so, and only the dead or my servants can enter there."
"Would you destroy me?"
"Placing her hand upon her swollen belly, "Would you destroy my offspring?"
"Even if I were to tell you that he shall bring darkness to all you love?"
"I would destroy you both if I have to."
"Holding spirits from their rest is a mockery to the gods!"
"I would destroy you both if I have to."
"Holding spirits from their rest is a mockery to the gods!"
She chuckles again, smiling at me with sweet lips, "The gods haven't cared so far. They care little for you mortals."
We faced off each other separated only by the black-stained altar.
"To set my family free I would destroy you."
The words seem to have had some effect on my body. Her hold upon it lessened just a bit.
"Then let me help you take the first step."
Placing both hands upon her belly she grimaces, and pulls forth a newborn babe. Her belly flattens as she lays the babe upon the altar.
"Here is the Destroyer. He will nurse upon the souls of the living, and grow in power with each one. As a man he will consume whole nations. The sweetest souls will be those closest to you. Even that of your daughter's. Her power shall make him invincible."
"Kill him."
The hand with the knife raised high of its own accord. Then I felt the hold over it vanish. My strike would be of my own accord, not some manipulation.
I looked upon the crying babe, hesitating despite my promise and the knowledge that her words spoke the truth.
His eyes were green. They were my eyes. Realization came to my mind. She had already taken part of me.
To strike, I would have to strike down the helpless, killing a part of myself. Killing my son.
Despite realizing the destruction this helpless babe would cause I could not do it.
"Do it", she purred.
"DO IT", she commanded.
Her hold upon me had lessened. Perhaps because she had pulled that part of me that she had within her out.
"No", I said flatly.
"STRIKE!, she commanded, putting her power behind her voice
"Beware the Steps of Blood, for that is where you will lose your soul", floated within my mind.
"NO!", I yelled in response to both her command and to the warning in my mind.
Before this witch could regain control of my body I plunged the dagger into my own heart.
As a dead man I could enter her realm.
The Challenge of the Soul is complete. I know not if I passed by whatever measure the gods lay upon it. By my own measure I passed.
The journal of Ch’ack Hammer, son of Bjorn, (aka Jack Hammer of the Angry Jack Cult and Jorgen Hammerstryke, blacksmythe of the Ch’ack Clan). Part 10 – When the Body Fails
The scream of outrage followed me on my journey into this locked off section of the spirit realm. I know that the Soul Eater will be close behind. I know not what ritual she would use to claim my soul, since I had ripped it free of my body myself, but I didn't doubt she had one. Especially here in the ceneter of her power.
I was not really prepared for this plan. I must have gotten overconfident over the years of traveling in a golem's timeless body. Traveling without it, well, that's another matter. I was a spirit now. I still held to a copy of my physical form, as freshly fallen creatures do. It would be some time before I left that mirage behind, and became a true spirit.
Also, I was not prepared for this place. I had become so focussd on my clan that I had ignored the likelihood that others had fallen victim to the Soul Eater's minions. Thousands of spirits crowded this realm, all blackened and listless. How was I to free my people without helping the others. My unusual form marked me as a newcomer, and orbs of black crowded around me. Their pleas were muted, spectral throats long held without drink. The chorus of their pleas stole the life from my mind, and the press of spectral bodies stopped me from being able to glide free as spirits usually do.
Something hit my back. Or that part of me that used to be my back. Another hit quickly followed. And another. My spirit was being pummeled. I roared in anger. Though an empty song without a body to command, the berserker song of the Ch'ack filled the space around me. The spirits drew back, then pressed in harder than ever. My song was echoed in the confines of this realm. No, not echoed. My song was answered. Another Ch'ack had heard. And remembered. A third joined in the chorus, and soon after a fourth. Strengthened by each other we sang the ancient songs of power that had kept our clan safe long before I was even 1st born. The memories of our youth, the songs by our campfires, the songs of our lodge houses, and even the lullabies of our mothers poured forth in a glorious salute to our lives. spirits that had been denied their death dirges sang their own. The realm echoed with our power. Its walls shook with it.
Other spirits, from other clans, added songs of their own. Somehow the words from dozens of different languages blended together in perfect harmony. If I were alive I would weep with joy.
Something grabbed my arm, then moved to wrap itself around my neck. My leg was grasped in a small hug. I remember those grasps. Liselle and Aiselle had found me. She still smelled of herbs and flowers. Our spirits mingled, happy at last. Others were drawn into it. The powerless had found a way to gain power.
In a moment it all stopped. A deathly silence covered us. Our voices were silenced.
The queen of this realm held dominion over us all.
...No, not me. Not yet. I sang on alone, pushing aside her command.
Another song joined mine. Not sung by one of this place. From within my heart a new song sounded. The music Lyn had placed within the box had passed onto me. It came forth now, drowning my sorry voice with its power. It warmed souls that had forgotten the warmth of life.
I heard the Soul Eater scream in rage once more, and could feel her presence drawing nearer. Like a storm she rolled across this place, spreading out as she searched for the source of her hatred. Me.
Then I heard it. Or rather felt it.
The songs of the Ch'ack were sung once more. Muffled, but easily identified. The walls of this realm shook in sympathy to their cascades. They came not from within this hole, but from the spirit realm in which this place was hidden. They surrounded us, filling the trapped souls with the knowledge that they were no longer lost. In that knowledge the true strength of the Ch'acks was held. No Ch'ack was ever alone.
My ancestors had found us! Our songs had drawn them to us! The power of their spirit voices hammered upon the walls of this prison. The fury of the Ch'ack had been awakened, and they had found a target for their anger. Their anger was powerful.
The Soul Eater roared in anger. In her roar I detected fear.
Light began to appear in cracks around us. Some close, some at a distance. The walls of power shook. Cracks became voids, and spirits rushed into them, forcing them to open further yet. The songs from outside became easier to hear, and once more the captives found that they could add their voices to them. The power of those songs was overwhelming.
At once the walls of this place both exploded and imploded. The captive spirits were thrown free of this place. Only the Soul Eater and her lieutenants were trapped behind, in the prison of their own making.
Our spirits floated free.
The journal of Ch’ack Hammer, son of Bjorn, (aka Jack Hammer of the Angry Jack Cult and Jorgen Hammerstryke, blacksmythe of the Ch’ack Clan). Epilogue
I float freely, born towards the outer planes upon the spirits of the souls set free. My ancestors fly with me. I am happy. Rejoined with my family torn from me so many years ago. It seems as if no time has passed. That is usual for the spirit realms. Time has little meaning here.
Yet, something holds me back. Dying in the spirit realm, at the top of that evil place I rejected an empty death. I sacrificed myself so that I could gain entry to the prison of a being that scoffed at nature. No Ch'ack could dream of a better death.
Despite being surrounded by an overwhelming feeling of joy as the spirits around me sang of happiness as they approached their long overdue journey I felt alone. The problem was that I didn't feel dead. I can't explain why. Perhaps it was my previous travels into this realm. Perhaps it was my connections to the land of the living; the call of the earth, of stone, and my family. Perhaps I was imagining it all, desperate to hold onto something I had to right to claim. My thoughts must have been open to the other spirits. They stopped pushing me upwards. One by one they touched my essence and floated away. Last to touch me were the spirits of Liselle and Aiselle. The invitation was clear; join us. My hesitation surprised even myself. Apart from the crowds we drifted away from the planes, choosing to spend some time as a family once more. We stumbled upon a tendril of green, runes of many colors floating along it in both directions. We rested upon it, warmed by its power. Our forms took on a semblance of life. I had forgotten how beautiful my wife was, and the sparkle of my daughter's eyes. Even muted by forms of mist they were breathtaking.
I felt the pulse of life within the tendril of green. I remember its call. We stayed for a moment, and hour, a lifetime. I cannot tell. We went to move on. I couldn't. I was stuck fast to the tendril, Liselle and Aiselle tried to pull me free. Then they stopped. And smiled at me. Liselle nodded. Time stopped. I drank in the images of them, happiness on their faces. I couldn't help but smile in kind. I was still smiling as their forms faded.
The Green drew me into itself.
......
I awoke in the Grove with that smile still etched upon my face. I looked around. The Elders stood around me.
The Green had drawn me back.
The Cycle of Life is one of Balance, Earth Warden. You above all should know that.
I heard your song. We all did.
I retrieved your body, and fixed it. Unless you prefer another?
E7 smiles that smile that hides the knowledge of many lifetimes.
Your families are free. Both of them. You can visit, or join them as you choose. But the choice will be yours, and yours alone to make.
Thank you. Thank you all.
I choose life. I can rest easy now. My life will be full.
Gathering my gear, I pause as I hold the box of song before i place it in my pack. I hesitate as I spy the slade of silver and ebony, but I gather that up as well. Spirit blades are rare things.
I wave as I head to the omniportal.
A thought strikes me as I prepare to leave.
"Emperor, what of the child? My son?"
A thought strikes me as I prepare to leave.
"Emperor, what of the child? My son?"
"There was no child where I found your body." His face looks sad.
"There was no child where I found your body." His face looks sad.A thought strikes me as I prepare to leave.
"Emperor, what of the child? My son?"
I turn and leave.
|
A cloaked woman stands for a while, surveying the destruction left behind in the wake of the Ch'acks, toying with a lily, a cryptic smile touching her lips.
So predictably the Ch'acks violated the ordering of this place, and by their acts of destruction and chaos have furthered the causes of destruction and chaos elsewhere. Embers flaring in the heart of Aidan, a champion of flame, and the stoking of a lust for vengeance in the heart of a dragon being but the first of the sparks to take fire from what has been done here. They closed the way to the physical world from this place behind them when they left, to prevent the 'Soul Eater' from following, but gave no thought to the metaphysical brush fires that their acts of force and wrath have ignited.
The woman departs, back to the Realm of Dreams, a thing of a shadow and light so old that like her sisters the interdictions of the ruler of that place do not apply to her.
She is patient. She can wait, forever if need be.