Player Entries (Part IV)

Mae did not truly feel old physically yet. Even at her age, she trained and taught what healing spells she retained. So many years had passed- it seemed sometimes like her old power was just a figment of her own imagination. The feeling of Namisar inside of her soul just a dream- a fantasy of the young. She had filled her life with her family, homes, and her countries- Travance included. She always felt a sense of great loss, however, in her quiet moments. She shoved it away whenever possible, however she knew that it was her own way of grieving what could have been. Still, watching her children grow, marry, and begin to have families of their own was rewarding as well. Maybe that was the true reality after all- the past just a mirage.

It was this thought that came to her mind when she heard the rumors- it wasn't a dream. It was real. But it was... over? She began to investigate, research, meet with scholars both near and far- feeling her mind awaken as if from a slumber. This richness of feeling, of focus, of intense concentration was a blessing to a being that had begun to slow with time. As she investigated, she began to truly feel fear as well. As she looked at her family, she held her arms tightly against her, not letting her true feelings exude to her loved ones. Her growing fear for their safety and worry over the fact that the powers of the world had diminished as much as she had. How could they fight this and win if it were true? It's possible that Xualla is also as diminished. It's possible they had the power they needed. But she needed to know- she needed to find out. And if she died? At least she would have that brief moment of her youth back. She would know that her past was real as her present was real. And if the threat wasn't real? The worst that could happen would be that she was wrong and had had these moment of vitality back as a gift. She had passed along the tales of Travance to her children, of course- the lessons of Travance were too important not to. Now they would see that perhaps the world wasn't as safe as they had all thought- but also that not all of the heroes were dead yet.

And that, really, power didn't make one a hero. Intent did. Actions did. Anyone can be a hero- especially them.

Allyce

Allyce was dead- had died years before. Non-the-less, her stories of Travance and lessons she had instilled into her people stayed with them, even as the business shifted hands. When the rumors started, her people at first disregarded it until the name Xualla came up. A brief meeting was held between the leaders of her city and records were pored over. The discussion was tense, fearful, and seemed to last forever. No one really wanted to believe that this could be the end- there had not been an event such as this threatened to be for decades. Many of these people were children at that time- the fear felt long gone.

In the end, however, it was a simple decision. A scout was sent to Travance to ferret out the truth in their founder's name with other preparations being made for fighters and what healers remained with them to follow should the news be grim. Allyce had taught them to protect their own above all. To protect their territory and their people. Their people, however, were still part of this world- what threatened the world threatened them. They would honor her memory and take the steps she was no longer able to and protect the world if necessary.

Somewhere in a forest, a creature stirred.

Mostly it slept, nestled deeply in a large hollow tree, Little plants and vines even grew around the hump that rose and fell ever so slightly with its languid breathing. Everything had slowed down. Its heart. Its thoughts. Its aging. Years passed this way, in a blissful, unconscious connection with the lifestream of the planet. But when the whispers of Xualla entered the consciousness of the world, the creature heard it. One slitted eye snapped open and a deep growl rumbled forth. The plant covered mass trembled as it rose, tearing and snapping the fauna that covered it. Ravens burst from the tree en masse, screaming excitedly into the sky. It was nightfall and a hapless hunter who was desperately trying to find the deer he'd shot suddenly froze in terror. In the distance, something began to claw its way out from the base of a rather large tree. Squinting, the fellow could make out a catlike shape, which was all well and good until it sprouted two huge feathered wings from its back, shedding bits of dirt and leaves as it did. The creature let out a terrible scream and began to beat its wings, lifting slowly into the sky. The sudden bursts of wind through the man's hair broke him from his stupor. Deer forgotten, he took off in what he hoped was the direction of his makeshift campsite feeling awkwardly grateful that he remembered to bring extra underwear.

The Gates of Passage,1250 Ilana Darkwood had left Arawyn roughly 15 years ago but, as usual, had made sure there were preparations at hand to keep things in order in her absence. The notes of her previous research team had been recorded and stored and a list of coordinates left. But, news was grim and with each year the power of the Gate faded. Aside from sometimes not working at all, they were sending people to the wrong places in the last five years. Trips through the Gates were restricted, the new team was less about exploration and more about restoration. Most of them were bright eyed researchers born during the Era of Peace, studying the records of the Escale Expeditions like a historical text. The young attendant was cleaning up the study when the control room for the Gates whirred to life. They nearly leapt out of their skin, looking to the console with a mix of shock, excitement, and fear: The Gates were activating themselves!? Did this have something to do with the comet?

They shouted down the hall trying to get anyone else to awaken, the lab being so far up in the mountains did keep it safer than most places and was a great view of the night sky. The portal opened and there was nothing to see on the other side but a feeling that permeated the whole research center shook them to their core : these fledgling scholars barely understood what 'malevolence' was, but all used that word to describe the experience. Nothing was visible, but a presence weighed down the room as it entered. Whatever it was, it was silent, and everyone could feel it was... pleased? A feeling of satisfaction that made their stomachs sink.

The presence went back into the portal and the Gate shut down as abruptly as it had whirred to life. It was the most excitement the center had seen in a decade and the scholars set to work, trying to shake off the dread as they prepared to inform the council of ambassadors the news.

Beckoning

“Shut up, that’s nonsense. It’s peacetime.”

“All the sense in the world would do me no good, Baroness.”

“Owen, your hair is more gray than mine. The title has been yours far longer. ”

“I never did get the chance to know your true name.” Owen set a wine glass down upon a side table. His room in the Manor largely went undecorated, save for a few golden tapestries, some letters tacked to his desk, and an ornate standing mirror. In the glass, red hair sat like embers atop Mixolydia’s shoulders.

“There’s quite a lot you have not done. None of that makes you any lesser. It’s a good thing that there are fewer heroes to raise, Owen. A better, happier world does not need them. At least not that kind of hero.”

“Is it cruel of me, then, to still wish for foolhardy swordsmen to rise and face down vile, romantic villains?” Baron Piper took a sip of his wine and pulled up a chair.

“Your tastes aside,” She replied with a snicker and a smirk, “it is foolish. Come on, didn't you get tired of all the theatrics in Alieander?”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you? I’m afraid I lack your ability to tell everyone to fuck off when they frustrate me, and so I spend a great deal of my time listening to boorish nonsense these days.” Owen rested his head on his right hand, swirling his wine with his left. “I could do with some excitement.”

“Careful-”

The door opened into Owen’s bedchamber, a noblewoman peering in with measured concern and a tinge of confusion.

“Pardon, your Excellency,” Verity started, “was someone else in here?”

Owen turned back to the mirror across from him, seeing only his own reflection. Lady Verity looked upon him with a degree of pity. She wondered how many times it had been now, since he had started doing this. Truthfully, he looked almost vain sitting in front of the mirror drinking to himself.

“Was there an issue?” When he spoke, Verity jumped, caught in her line of thought. As she did so, window shutters closed suddenly and paintings fell from the wall. Light magical burns appeared on her exposed skin.

“Oh yes. My apologies, Owen. A letter from the Duke arrived. I had told them I was on my way to see you already.” Owen thanked her and took the missive. The room grew quiet. His thumb brushed along the letter’s grim, dark seal. He paused, and he could suddenly feel his stomach begin to churn. His brow furrowed and, attempting to shake it off, he opened the letter.

His hand quivered. His heart raced.

“Is something wrong?” The room grew warmer as Verity awaited his answer.

People will die, you fool.

“Owen, answer me, what happen-” She coughed, blue fluid leaking from her lip.

The Baron drew quill and ink at his desk frantically. He called out for his steward to join him, to make as many copies of the letter as he could. He tore through the parchment several times in his haste. His hand quivered still.

We could all die.

“Owen, where are you going?!”

With several copies made, Owen fled the room towards the barracks, calling all ranks to form up and arm themselves. He ordered that training begin immediately, that historians be brought in, that the old Witch Hunter Orders reawaken.

What were you fighting for if not peace?

Several hours passed in this muted panic amongst the baronial officials. It wasn’t until Verity finally caught him that Owen realized he hadn’t stopped to even take a breath for some time. Her frustration melted into a kind of uncomfortable surprise when he turned around to face her.

“Are-are you alright?”

“I’m doing as well I can be, given the circumstances,” he assured, almost wheezing, “why do you ask?”

“It’s just that...it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you smiling like that.”

Bitzz had worked hard over the decades to bring peace and prosperity to New Galderon. She was ancient for an Ogre, but the young ones were still in awe of her.

She didn’t rule, she still advised to those who ruled. They listened and followed her directions. The people were happy. The people were thriving.

The goblins were now known as some of the best artisans and smiths. Many travelled far and wide as their wares were highly prized.

Many orcs became builders and masons, building the cities to match the population while ogres did the heavy work.

Hobgoblins were left as the historians and tacticians in war games.

There were exceptions.

the people were no longer racist as in the before times. If a child showed promise in a trade, it mattered not where they came from, they were allowed to learn.

Bitzzz was happy. She had proved what the true strength of the people had always been. Enax has been honored. Strength in being the best.

the weakening of magics disturbed her little. Why disturbed her more.

The best scholars and historians were given the job of studying the base of power that was waning.

When the ones who looked to the sky noticed the new thing, she sent missives to the allies asking if there was a consensus on to the new sky thing.

Rumor of Zualla returning....

An emissary from Kormyre brings a missive from Duke Aleister.

She knows his strength. She knows that if he is worried, the whole of Arawyn will be worried.

She sends the emmisary back to Travance stating the following,

”To Duke Aleister and Travance,

We march south to join you to fight whatever the signs in the sky fortell. We will bring our standing armies and supplies. We will be honored to be part of a multi-kingdom defense force.

We shall show whatever dares think we are divided are mistaken.

with honor,

Bitzzz, Grand Vizier to New Galderon”

The whole army of New Galderon marches south to the place on the map mentioned. Supplies, weapons and foodstuffs in great amounts are brought with the army.

Winks Part 4

A stooped figure hobbles out of the Blackbird, covered in a heavy black wool cloak against the night’s chill and leaning on a wrought iron cane. They make their way through the paths of the Proper until they find a clearing off of what used to be known as the thieves’ path. There they sit on a stump, joints creaking as they come to rest, and let their hood fall back from their head.

Winks Sharpthorn-Nurodo sighs as he lets his body relax. The sixty year old goblin chuckles to himself. Even though he kept relatively incognito while visiting the bar, he of course made time to talk to Wilinde, who was as fiery as ever, not seeming to let age get to her like he had. She made sure no one else bothered him, and promised to keep his presence a secret while he remained in Travance.

It had been many years since he’d been here, after stepping down as Lord of Drega’Mire. As intended, he had first traveled to Loez, to offer his services to the king. Although many in the court remembered his time as knight and lord and treated him with respect, and His Majesty granted him the title of Lord in perpetuity in recognition of all that he had done, it quickly became clear that his presence was neither needed nor wanted. Ancient and ingrained prejudices still lingered, and although it frustrated him, Winks took his leave of the capital city. He had briefly entertained the idea of trying to head up to the land formerly known as Gaaldron, but dismissed it after considering how dangerous it would probably be with the Empire of Vorllorn in control.

So instead he slowly travelled the kingdom, looking for those other former heroes who were still around. He never visited with them directly, most often disguising himself as a beggar or old vagrant and just observing how his old friends and companions were doing. Even though there obviously aren’t many goblins of as advanced age as he is in the kingdom, no one noticed him when he didn’t want to be noticed, as not all of his old skills had atrophied away. As if to further illustrate this point, bandits attempted to accost him during his travels, thinking they had an easy target. The iron cane separating into two long blades, one of the last pieces made by Rudy Stonebar before his passing, turned the surviving bandits away.

Finally he arrived back in Travance, and now found himself reflecting on his life and journeys in an out of the way pocket of the Proper. The recent rumors, especially that name, were incredibly concerning, and he caught himself getting frustrated all over again.

Realizing that he should do what he came here to do before the cold gets much worse, Winks reaches into his pouch and pulls out a small item. Holding it up under the light of the moon, he looks down at the rose pendant, it’s chains long since fallen off. He folds his hand over it, brings it to his mouth, and whispers a name that less than a handful of people would even be aware of.

One moment Winks is alone in the clearing. The next, someone else is sitting on another stump, which also wasn’t there the moment before, across from him. Dressed in clothes with garishly mismatched colors, a sword on his hip, and an aura of magic around him the likes of which no one on Arawyn has felt in decades, the man smiles at his longtime friend.

Winks returns the smile widely, accentuating the wrinkles on his face. “Been a long time, Tobar.”

“Has it? Five minutes and a hundred years kind of feel the same to me. Although you do look a little different. What is it, different haircut? That’s a new cloak, right? I remember the old one, with the red and the drake, I liked that one a lot.”

With a tolerant chuckle, Winks shakes his head. “Meanwhile you look exactly the same as you did 40 years ago. You know the kids are grown now, and I have grandkids, who are growing up already too. I hope you get to meet them one day.” “Oh I will, and I already have. It’s always weird, time stuff, you know? I especially like the one, Lyra’s kid, bright future there…” A cloud passes over the moon, casting a brief shadow over Tobar’s face, “but you didn’t use my real name to call me just to catch up after all these years, did you?”

The silence stretches between them, though not uncomfortably so.

“You think it’s almost time, don’t you Winks?”

“Yes, yes I do.”

Another long silence. Even the sounds of the woods around them seem to lessen out of respect.

“I’ve lived a long life, with very few regrets. Longer probably than any of us expected to be honest. I’ve outlived friends and family, seen more than my fair share of the incredible, and achieved things that before seemed impossible. I don’t know how much time I actually have left, but I still don’t know if I’m ready.”

Tobar sighs, “my friend, you’ve always been more devout than I have, but one thing I’m sure of. Whenever your time is up, Galladel will welcome you with open arms, judge you as only he can, and allow you to finally rest.”

“I’m sure you’re right. But I was hoping to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

“Take me with you.”

For one of the only times he can remember, Tobar doesn’t know what to say. After a moment, he begins to stammer, “Well, uh, it’s not quite that simple. There’s a whole process to joining, training, approval, that sort of thing. Also things are kind of different for us right now, hectic. If I’m being frank, we’re not really feeling as strong as we used to, and Rowenna’s concerned. On top of that, Klarington, who we always kept an eye on even before the whole Time Reaver business, well something weird is going on with him too, and we have no idea what. And…”

Winks raises his hands to stop his friend’s rambling. “I understand all of that. When I was younger I might have thought differently, but I don’t actually want to join the Lorestri. I’m not even looking to get more time. My affairs are in order everywhere it matters, and those who don’t know will be receiving letters shortly. All I’m asking is that for however long I have left, and I’m sure Rowenna can make it so time still passes normally for me while I’m there, I’m able to spend that time comfortably with my best friend. That’s all I want, and I think with that, I’ll be ready.”

A grin forms on Tobar’s face. “My friend, I would love that. Ok, you’ve convinced me, but I still have to ask the boss first. One moment.” He closes his eyes and there is a very slight shimmer of energy before he opens them again. “Alright, Rowenna and I had a long conversation, and I told her all about you…” “Only the bad I hope.” “Naturally. And yes, she agrees to allow you to live out your remaining time with us in Temporis Keep. We’ll make you as comfortable as we are able, this apparently isn’t the first time she’s entertained requests like this, and some of the others are excited to see you as well and hear about all you’ve done firsthand. Are you ready now?”

“I wouldn’t have called to you if I wasn’t.”

The two of them smile at each other and reach out to clasp hands, and an instant later both of them are gone from the clearing. In their place, where the two stumps had been where they sat, now there are two trees whose branches distinctively reach towards each other.

The Next Chapter Part 4

“Again,” Kel commanded, her voice ringing out across the training grounds. Before her a small group of soldiers were partnered up, practicing strikes. She moved among them, fixing a stance here and adjusting how one held his sword over there. “Good. Again.”

It was strange to her to have such a command. After Winks had stepped down as Lord of Drega’mire, she had eventually found her way to becoming a member of the Duke’s Guard and working directly under Aleister. With the new rumors of things stirring again, she had petitioned and been granted permission to form a team. Each member before her had been hand picked, not only for their skill, but also their devotion to putting others first. While they might not be at the same level as the heroes of old had been, they were still going to do their best to fight and defend. As the training finished up and she dismissed them, she smiled to watch how easily they relaxed around each other. She was still working on getting some of them to relax around her, apparently being one of the old Travancian Heroes could be a little intimidating for some, but they seemed to realize that she wasn’t as tough as she acted during their drills and training. Slowly they all trickled out, leaving her alone on the grounds.

A sharp whistle from Kel and there was a drumming of paws as a pure white warg bounded into view. She had made sure that, no matter what, she always had a warg mount over the years. Each one was bred from the same line. It was her way of staying connected to Winks, who she had been unable to find these past few years. The current one was named Honor, and she smiled as she rubbed his muzzle before swinging herself up into the saddle. There was a small wince of pain. The years were starting to catch up to her, as obvious by the crows feet around her eyes and the greying of her hair.

A few hours later found her in her office, quill in hand as she poured over reports. Things brought to her by her team and her friends. Anything that seemed off or out of the ordinary, towns under attack, there were so many things that crossed her desk. Taking her time to read each one, she sorted them and compiled a list of information to be brought to Duke Aleister as well as a second list of ones her team could go help with. Every day she wished they could do more, but there was only so much she and her people could do. She only hoped that it would be enough if the rumors and whispers were true…

Caelvan: Preparation 1245: Caelvan was looking over charts and reports looking for a bandit hideout that has been disrupting trade when he felt it. All of a sudden he felt like he wasn’t just choosing how to appear anymore. It was how he actually looked. “Are you still there?” A female voice appears in his head, a comfort to him after this realization that he may no longer be immortal. “I’m still here.” “What’s happening?” “We’re getting older. This time like regular mortals.” Caelvan sighed. “Well at least I won’t have to see my brother’s grandchildren die.” The voice remains silent. “Should I release you? You might be healthy enough to live on your own. If my body is aging we don’t know what will happen to your spirit when I die. It could die with me or be trapped forever.” She thinks for a moment. “No. I want to be with you to the end. You saved me. Through all this time together we have accomplished so much. I want to see how this story ends.” “Even if it ends with you trapped?” “I won’t be. Trust me.” Caelvan sighed once more. There was still work to be done.

1247: Caelvan walks out of the office of the Eilitheri commander. He won’t ever get used to these peaceful conversations between the two of them. Ironically, they were sharing stories from long ago of battles between their nations. You can learn from the past, and the elven nations had a long history to learn from. It was important to discuss these things.

1250: Caelvan looks out his window of his main room in his house. He has a clear view of the comet since he lived so high up in the main tree of Sylvanus. He thinks to himself that this is the third night this comet is here. This has to be a sign of something and he didn’t think it was something he liked. He looks down and sees many people below him admiring this wonderful thing in the sky, they seem awestruck. They have no idea.

1253: Caelvan is in his office overlooking charts with symbols and notes. There have been odd events over the past few months and the Queen has ordered him to figure out what is going on and how to stop it. He’s sent patrols out, but there hasn’t been anything concrete to tie any of them together. 1254: The rumors related to the events that have been going on finally made their way to Selendrias. Caelvan overhears a name that he thought he wouldn’t hear ever again. “Xualla” is heard in the market while the people are discussing the events that the Wardens still haven’t been able to stop. Caelvan decided he would speak to the royal council tomorrow on his concerns. If they feel that they are valid then he will try to convince them to start planning for the worst case scenario.

He is in front of the Queens council. “I’m telling you. If these rumors happen to be true, then we need to prepare! Xualla killed Travancian heroes at the height of their power! We need to start planning now if there is even the slightest hint that he is returning. A pompous old adviser starts to interrupt him, he is the type that has never had a hard life and still thinks he knows everything. “Lord Marshal, Xualla is dead. Even if he comes back, 150-200 heroes were all that were needed to take him out the last time. I say let the elven nations remain at peace. There is no need to raise our military numbers, let alone send a large amount of soldiers to the other side of the continent.” Caelvan glares at him. His temper almost gets the best of him. “150-200 Travancian heroes. The strongest of those on Arawyn at the time. For those who are old enough to remember our most powerful druids, they can only cast what was the basics long ago. This is the same with all the old heroes, myself included. They don’t have the strength to do it alone if it comes to that. And to be honest, I don’t think the world does. But we need to assist them in this if it comes to it. I am not saying we go over there to occupy the area on a rumor. I am saying we prepare so that if they call for aid I don’t only have 30 Marshals and less than 1000 soldiers to assist them, which also leaves us unguarded. The Queen considers this before she speaks. “Lord Marshal you have a point. I see no reason to not at least train people. They may not have to fight, but training people may also assist in these strange happenings that have been around our lands anyway. If we need them they will be ready. If they don’t then they have gotten the ability to defend themselves from bandits. Proceed with your plans. I will contact the other leaders and you can meet with their military commanders to decide what to do in case. Caelvan bows. “Thank you my Queen.”

1254: Caelvan is pointing at locations on various maps of Selendrias, the Underdark, Travance, Calisvorn and Alieander. Across from him stands the commander of the Ellitheri, Davolo Arsin and the commander of the Quinarians, Ondela Oldredil. “While I doubt this will happen again. Here is how we defeated him the first time.” Caelvan recounts the story of the fight with Xualla in as much detail as he could. Ondela is the first to speak. She says, “It sounds like you had quite a few powerful artifacts to assist you in this. Not just numbers. Do we still have them?” Caelvan shakes his head. “I don’t know. I am hoping Baron Piper and Duke Demirosz have kept the artifacts of that age, as well as not losing their power like the people have lost theirs.” Davolo remarks, “Still we don’t currently have high enough numbers to lend them if this happens in the next few years. The fastest I can train troops is a year or two at most. We haven’t had much reason to have a large number of fighters as you both know.” Caelvan looks at him and nods. “Selendrias is the same way. Our forces have been scaled back ever since our nations have been at peace. This is why we need to start preparing now.” Both of the commanders nod in agreement. With Ondela breaking the silence. “I will head back to Quinaria and start bolstering our forces. But the important part is what do we tell people? If we give credit to these rumors, it could cause a panic. That is the last thing we want.” Caelvan thinks for a moment. “Say it’s to deal with these weird anomalies that keep popping up everywhere. That should be believable enough.”

All three are in agreement. With another progress meeting to take place in a year's time scheduled, the other two commanders head home. Caelvan goes back to look at the numbers of troops he currently has and shakes his head. It’s not enough. Hopefully we can get there before this rumor is proven true.

(I was asked to post this by Heather, because her net can be dodgy. treat it as a part II of Donny's, as they're meant to be read together.) Heart of the Hound, Part 4: The Sire and the Dam

As Queen Hazel MacFhionnlaigh massaged her husband's shoulders she could sense his mind and soul were uneasy. She felt her husband’s unease, his sense of indignation, incredulousness and that fury that always came when something threatened her husband’s people.

“That was an atrocity. I’ve never seen one of our people poison a well. We need to find these people and put them on the block.” His voice was tough, but his tension revealed the shock he felt and she could sense it. “Xualla returns?” Her heart broke as she tried to remember last time they had fought that monster. She was not at the proper that time she did not think but she had heard all about it. “If he has returned it is the end.” Hazel says as she stares off into the distance. “We barely made it last time that monster came.” Jonas was gone, the Count was in a coma and the Blood Spirit’s were now a household. Things were so different now, scarier and she shivered. “We have to go help my King.” She said softly. “We could bring the kids that is all I think we can do.” They were family too. The proper was also home to her. It had been Hazel’s home when she had arrived there thirty seven years ago. So much had happened since then. “We must head out soon before it is too late.”Who knew how many more lives would be lost if they did not lend a hand?

Hazel mounted a horse, to ride at her husband's side once again. her husband had summoned the warriors, taken volunteers and left instructions for those staying behind.

"Love, I said if I stepped back into Kormyre it would be for war. We never knew who that war would be with. Better it is with a demon, than to defend against depredations or avenge oppression." he said as they entered Kormyre finally, bagpipes and even a few goblin drums playing behind them, volunteers that joined after traveling through those lands. Neither Donald nor Hazel had asked or commanded them, by word, coin, or lash. They had simply followed and asked to help, in the spirit of the new agreement.

The Coursing of Hounds, Part 4: The Warhounds March Again

“ITS THE BLUE DOG HILL MEN!”- one of the goblins shrieked in terror. Another wailed “THE BLACK BULL WILL TRAMPLE US INTO PASTE!”

Donald sighed. He was older now, and with an exhaustive list of epithets to go with his name. King Donald MacFhionnlaigh, Priest of Valos, Champion of Terrestraza, The Bloody, the Black Bull of Glen Athyll, Kin to Caer Fayolin, Ridir of the Dawn Blade, the Hound King. It was all so bloody exasperating at times for a man who once stood in the schiltrons with the lads. This was going to be a long summit. Fighting the Goblinoids of the Hobgoblin Empire was a thing he cut his teeth doing. All the men of Glen Athyll had. Yet of all of the clans, it was the MacFhionnlaigh stubborn streak and battle savvy that had earned them the reputation as crack goblinoid fighters. His reputation for the grinding advance, backed with shield and his own resilience saw him propelled to the top of the list. The Empire had not taught their slaves to fear the blue dog. The slaves had taught themselves from those hobgoblin officers let loose to tell what had happened when they came a’ slaving north. Several of the seniors got the others calmed down from the delegation, and then they sat.

Hazel, while she had a chair of her own spent most of her time sitting on her husband’s lap. Some thought this shocking. Those who had known the couple in Travance saw this for what it was: Donald would do nothing willingly or intentionally to hurt Hazel. If she was in his lap, he would not act rashly, or leap to the attack. To do so would drop her on the stones, and that would hurt. So she was acting as a brake in tense times to keep the peace. He signed the accord, and was largely silent save for when the side of his people needed to be made.

Xualla’s cultists returned, poisoning a well. The poisoner had disguised himself as an itinerant trader. Donald was horrified, even as he stopped his people from taking vengeance. He would sleep on the decision that had to be made. Does he return to help Kormyre in its time of need? Or does he stay home, saving his people the travel and heartache of another war?

Verrill Lebastion - Spoilers "Hm." Verrill watched Klarington scream to the heavens. A frown creased his face. It was a tired iteration- and this variant had begun to sour. He wanted to smear it away before the fires came. He'd seen them- felt them- too many times before- when a familiar voice came from the chamber,

"How often does he do that?" He didn't know how long she'd been watching, He hid his boyish embarrassment,

"Curse at the sky-? trapped in the ennui of a prosaic dimension?"

"I meant murder his wife..."

"Oh-In this strand-? Of the millions of iterations I'd say 17/20 instances."

"...Awful..." She sat down beside him staring into the glass,

"Well you should see the other 3... The rat-tide is admittedly a rare treat but statistics and numerology tell me this timline will only grow my dire..."

she scoffed a moment, watching not just the lens, but the spectacle of the chronomancer and his hobby,

"Why do you keep watching them?"

"To see when things turn out better."

"Any wind up perfect?"

"Only one can do that..." She frowned at his response,

"Home."

"Yes. Home."

"How long has it been since you've gone back?" Sun Elf-Moon Elf ceasefire. A prime juncture. The ink of the Sun elves had settled on his wrist for decades.

"An irrelevant question- in the meantime I prefer to watch these- See if any eek out something- something unexpected I can take back to the alpha." She scoffed,

"You sound scared."

"You know, you never asked how many iterations I murder you in-"

"Because I know it's less then the ones inwhich I murder you." Her math checked out,

"True."

"We saved our day- but maybe-" She sighed, "maybe they could use all this wisdom you claim to hide away."

He watched- at the far edges of the orb Xualla's cancerous influence seep back into the lens. So much always stood to chance. He'd need help. It had been awhile since he'd seen House Bastion hoist it's colors.

"You might be right..."

"Well of course but hush- I think that navy officer is about to shoot that woman..."

"Honestly stories like his are half of why I still watch..." Verrill was quiet for a time as they watched Cobus place down the tincture of rum with a contemplative glance, The chronomancer gave his spouse a devilish glance, "Tho I imagine he's-" She cut him off-

"Shush- no spoilers." He smiled, and observed on.

Nath'riia - Redemption CW: Death, descriptions of wounds and bleeding "My Light is a Torch passed to each person I help. My body is weak, my soul is vexed" There is a cough from the Elf, who was propped up against a tree as she prayed. Her one arm unsuccessfully grasps her stomach in an attempt to staunch the bleeding as her shield lays shattered next to her. Her other hand runs slowly over the many colored beads that hang from her waist. She does her best in this moment to recall each one, for each string of beads represents someone she had helped in the past. Someone she continued to hope the light was shining on. "Give me mercy, Pantheon of light as I am consumed with grief, I fear my time of penance is at end" She continues to pray her hands moving onto a new string of beads. This battle, was far finished, the survivors cleaning up the remains and tending to the wounded. The healer had come to her, but Nath'riia knew that these magical acts were few and far between now. "Use it on a non combatant, preferably someone with ill constitution, not me." She manages a smile before coughing up some blood. These sorts of malicious incidents were occurring again but so sporadically and without pattern she wondered if it was her fate that brought her here, for her shield to fail when it did. Perhaps, this was the time, her heroic soul was no longer needed in this world. "I am consumed by my grief that my story will end here, grant me mercy Galmachis that I am brought to Galladel quickly and that my soul does not linger with you." She continues as she moves onto another string of beads. Her eyesight was getting fuzzy around the edges. "Have mercy Galladel that when my soul is judged my penances outweighs my wrongs and that I am granted final rest, that my work is done." She finally stops trying to staunch her own bleeding. "Have Mercy on the souls that commit wrongs for they have no other choice, Pantheon of Light give them the guide they need to make better choices and not strike their fellows." Nath'riia thinks about her past. The cruel things she participated in as a teen who didn't know better. She thinks about her Mother and her former house and their crimes. "Have mercy on the souls who do what they must to ensure the continuance of this world, O Pantheon of Dark, that you do not consume them so entirely that they become what they protect against" Nath'riia thinks about Orophin, whom as this time of peace went on, withdrew back to a simple life. She wondered how his life would be different now if she hadn't allowed the things that happened to him as a child. She wonders if she had known he was her brother earlier could she had spared him the years that he was consumed by his inner darkness. She had direct hand in her younger brother's suffering and she had spent this time trying to rectify that. Just as she spent time trying to rectify every other crime she had committed. She takes one last deep breath. "Have Mercy on me, Nath'riia Del'Udra, for I have seen and carried the light through my own and other's darkness as I return back to where I came" She closes her eyes for the last time.

Narcissus - Return Narcissus looks up at the sky in the middle of the night of 1250. His salt and pepper hair sway slightly in the light breeze of the balcony of his keep. He wanted to do anything other than stare at the blazing comet in the sky, but he couldn't. Something about the comet was unsettling. His children were now teens and were itching to go out and live some sort of life of travel and excitement like he and Reno had. However that comet stirred a rage inside him, something he had long thought had died with the waning of his powers. Those five nights that the comet blazed in the sky all Narcissus could do during the evenings was watch it. He had to rip himself away from gazing at it to feed. He could not sleep during the day even though his body called him to do so. For the first time in a long time he felt as he did when he was younger, but much more mundanely. Sure his swordsmanship was still as well as it could be, but any of the metaphysical and preternatural things that helped him were long since waned, he could tell with how excited his children were when they were able to manifest a cantrip. He bit his tongue and then ended the stories of what wonderous things magic used to be able bestow upon it's wielders. It would be his children that would bring back the rumors about Xualla. The first night after hearing about it he stared at the sky again, though the comet was long gone he wondered if the two were connected. Then came the news of malicious events across the realms happening. One evening before dinner he penned a letter to his siblings, their communication was sporadic, he wasn't even sure if the letters got to the places he intended them to. They merely read. I am returning to Travance before whatever happens... happens. Who knows if this is our last correspondence, but, if it is not and you would like to join me. Please do. With much Love, Narcissus Now that his children were adults he would offer them the option after having talked about it with Reno, the decision for the two of them was obvious, but he would not force his children to follow his footsteps. "Would you like to come to Travance with me and see what Heroes still linger?"

Serr Thomas Bell - Old Hill "She named him Tom." A hand ruffled through white hair, as he couldn't lock eyes on the cold stone," Looks more like me then uh, a Homonculus-? I know that'd matter to yah for some reason."

Tom liked to visit after choring, just as the sun crested the horizon- limping past the graves by the dozen. Every name they could find or think of that ended within a generation of a Bell. It stretched down to the woodline- some marked with names and dates- some others only by a hair color or a kind word someone still recalled. Memories lost in those fiery days and meannesses in the use to be. Atop this hill, alongside Grammie Esther, Jim looked out over the valleys and still forests of Travance. Father or uncle to near a quarter of the hill. He came to Travance from a small town with his hurdy gurdy, his wife, his grandmother, and his brother Tom. By the time he made it across the rift all he had left was his grandmother, a new wife, and a town with an appetite for everything but music. Winter was hard. Soon he had a son named Tom, another new wife, and more on the way. Cousins came, and went. There wasn't much to bury under the soil of that hill. Tom took a steady breath,

"I know that you tried. I get that you were scared. Hell, I was scared too." He remember how his father did little more then scowl. Remembered how he felt no warmth come off him. Remembered how he cussed and hid away an extra hour any day a cousin or younger sibling didn't make it back before sundown. On that quiet hill Tom felt a weight so strong over that grave it shoulda made a sinkhole. "I didn't like when she took to ratting neither, but I'm glad fer the world she's makin' and fer the world I was able to give her- and fer the world you could manage to give me."

Tom drew the old hurdy gurdy and began to turn the crank, and thumb the keys as he had practiced- as his father had once tried to teach him before they both concluded he had "stupid fingers". It sounded better then it did but not by much. To Tom, no matter what someone played on the Hurdy Gurdy- it always sounded like an old home you all-but forgot- but you were sad it wasn't quite like you remembered.

"Sun's setting..." A figure in plaid stood at the base of the hill. Even at such a distance he could hear the concern slipping in under his lit and he felt a touch warmer for it, "Jude's comin' by tonight remember?"

"Right-! I'll be down, just give me a minute." He breathed before setting down the Hurdy Gurdy atop the grave, "Thanks pa."

He turned to leave. There was no gentle wind of forgiveness- nor butterfly of grace- just a grunty voice like poorly peeled tin in the back of his head as it always was- Hell you leavin' that fer-?! Y'all Think antique instruments grow on trees? Damn fool lookin' tah starve us out?! Tom smiled. "Yer right. Maybe the next Tom won't have stupid fingers."

He left the grave. He left the hill. He took the hurdy gurdy. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9hsxkpKJXlU&ab_channel=TheOhHellos-Topic

To never have been, it feels serene To not be, we rest at ease We live behind your ear now, Such as a mouse in a knot of wood, We sings songs such as any other creature that lurks out of sight, And adorn those who see this world for what it is. What a subtle existence, how comforting it is, To see you. "A man finds his son pail and limp one off night, in two weeks time twelve more are dead. His hands stained red, just as his eyes; he looks for where his son has gone." "An old man stumbles into a gully, begging for help a small girl finds him. Days later a his body is found in a carrion, decorated like the most opulent of mansions with an assortment of sharp sticks, thorns, and pretty little stones." "Two of three children starve and wither away, as their father does the best he can to save his coin. The doctor demands a high price to save his favorite child. Weeks later not one wakes. For the doctor was a charlatan." "A farmer claims the land of his neighbor, after laying rat poison in his well weeks prior. He was already well off." "A woman finds an affinity for fire. The bridge to her town, and all who where on it now paint the waters with a black ink. The town will soon run out of food." "The guard knows these children are innocent, but never the less he brings them on charges of killing their parents. He was in love with the wife." "A boy writes in his journal every day. His mother finds it in horror. Each page scribbled black, save for the last. Which read the name of his real father. She rocks him to sleep for the last time." "A priest prays to their god, as they fester on wine and stale bread. Some from the town approached him on this in the cloister weeks prior. He ended the argument, shut them inside, and hasn't opened the door since." We give you the wicked to exonerate the light, Without dread there can be no joy, Neither truly are here, This is only what we make of it anyway. So if we all bleed different colors, Why would we not wish to see them all? We still see you. But can your read backwards as we do?

Port Valandria

It was evening in Port Valandria, the fresh salt air rolling in off the harbour while ship’s bells and barked shouts intermixed in a chorus comforting to any sailor. One such man was kicked back in a rocking chair on his porch, quietly smoking a pipe, eyes closed with contentment. A battered brown slouch hat was perched atop his head, and he was half-humming, half-singing, a half-remembered soldier’s song.

But at the sound of footsteps on the stairs the man’s green eyes flashed open, and his chair’s motion halted as he regarded the intruders: in front was an elf, in Navy blue devoid of any decorations or insignia, but with elaborate facial tattoos and well-coiffed updo. She’d worn her decades well, her centuries even better. Behind her was a nondescript man in a hooded cloak, face obscured.

“Hello Puren.”

“Admiral Nairn.” Cobus Puren didn’t stand up. “Not sure what skullduggery brings you out here. I’m retired.”

Kyla Nairn, longtime head of naval intelligence, gave a smile devoid of any cheer. “Yes, but this task might be of...special importance to you. Sir?”

The hooded figure stepped forward to sweep back his hood, revealing the greying, distinguished features of Owen Piper. “Hello, my old friend.”

Cobus shot to his feet with a grin. “Owen! Gods above and below, it’s been too---”

And then he looked to Nairn, back to Owen again, and Cobus’ grin faded. Nairn indicated the door. “Perhaps we should discuss this inside?”

“Yeah,” said Cobus, shooting Owen a rueful look. The two hadn’t seen each other regularly since Cobus had accepted the instructor’s post at the Academy in Port Valandria, though they’d written to each other plenty in between, even with everything that had happened with the trial and the Barony. Hopefully the Old Man knew just how much of a shame it was this was how they reunited. “Come on inside.”

It was a small house, more a cottage really, with the inside decorated with souvenirs from wars long gone and far away: a turbaned helmet with the crossed daggers of the Sultan’s Armed Forces, a Kormyrian officer’s blade married to a Z’Hadeem scimitar hilt, the blue coat with gold trim of a Kormyrian Admiral, and above the fireplace, a lovingly maintained rifle.

Cobus broke out the good stuff, of course. Over a carafe of rum he listened as his old friend and erstwhile rival told him how he needed to bring his right hand sailor to justice.

“She was a useful evil, at first,” said Owen. “Someone bringing control to Coast Haven, even via the underworld, was excellent for our aims. It lent a certain predictability to things, an order that the Kingdom could use to its advantage.”

“But?”

“But,” said Nairn, swirling the rum like a disappointed sommelier, “she’s grown a bit too fond of power. A bit too ready to resort to excessive force to control it. And that order we can rely upon is dissolving into chaos, fast.”

Owen nodded his agreement. “We will give you a ship and a crew, the best we can spare. And you will head for Coast Haven. You will scour every nook and cranny to find her, and when you do---”

Years of service together. Huddled in the trenchline on the Knuckle outside Tavrick, with enemy cannon fire bursting overhead. Charging into the Siege of Bastion’s wake, cutlass and bayonet gleaming in the sunset. Helping each other stagger out of the Red Glove’s keep. Sharing drinks at the Dragon’s Claw, laughing over the vagaries of sailing and service, exhausted exhilarated embraces after surviving yet another brush with death---

“---you will terminate Axiana Lockmoore’s command.”

Cobus forced himself to look Owen in the eyes. “Be blunt, you owe me that much. Do you want me to kill her?”

Owen shook his head. “We want her out of the picture. Whether she goes willingly or not...that depends on how willing she is to listen to you.”

Nairn gave her poisoned-honey smile. “Hope you two have kept in touch.”

“One more thing.” Cobus didn’t dignify the elf with a reply. “The ship.”

“Yes, of course.” Owen nodded again. “Which one?”

“I want the Saguaro.” Cobus pounded the rest of his rum. “If I’m going out there to bring Axiana home, I want to make sure home is there waiting for her.”

Owen looked to Nairn and nodded. “It will be arranged, my loyal friend. And now we must away. It is a long way back to Alieander, and you’ve a mission to prepare for.”

Cobus got to his feet along with the other two. “I’ll see you soon, I hope.”

“Perhaps. And with good news to bear, too.” Owen stepped in to embrace his old comrade. “Bring her home, Cobus. Just bring her home.”

Aleister - Inevitability "Peace comes with a cost. Most often it is the cost of blood and the fallen who fought for that peace. But in other times, that cost is to place trust where it was broken, have faith where there is no cause for it, or forgive those who have never given us reason to do so.

I believe peace is the answer to our great dilemma. Since the first steps across this Rift and the birth of our two lands here in the east, we have been at war. I stood against New Gaaldron when the Nex Nexcus marched with banners high into our home. I was there when the plague was unleashed that caused a great many of our own to succumb to heinous rage and violent urges. Ours is a past bathed in blood and today, I choose to place faith, trust, and forgiveness. We cannot move forward in this future where we remain enemies. And so with this treaty, we aim for a brighter future for Kormyre, for New Gaaldron, and for Arawyn."

With the end of his speech, he signed the treaty solidifying a real peace between the nations. He had never expected New Gaaldron to approach with such an olive branch, but this time felt different. This time it felt real and he refused to pass up this opportunity. That he was chosen to do so was no mistake either. So much history with New Gaaldron made him the perfect representative to show the kingdom was serious about their offer as well. * * * * *

When the rumors began to stir after the red comet, Aleister could not believe it - he refused to believe it. At first, he tried to brush the rumors off as just common rabble, but as they circulated, they started to eat away at him. He had searched his manor study to find a dusty vial full of ash, which to many would have seemed like simply an old sorcery component, something from his younger years that now served more as a novelty, but it was far from it. From the day he found it, he kept the vial of the demon's ashes on his person, as assurance. He told himself it was to assure others that the demon was dead, but deep down it was for himself.

As time went by, his worries grew deeper. He urged his knight and personal guard, Philidin, to carry his old spear, Farslayer, and had the knight accompany him more often. Even still, it wasn't enough to assuage the Duke's concerns. He had to know for sure, and so - as if time had never moved - he went to draw lines in the air with his fingers to create a doorway... but how long had it been since he used a portal? He stopped himself and feared the worst. If something akin to that demon were to return, the world would not be ready. He shook away the thought and called for horses to be readied. Before they left, he returned to his study and plucked the glaive from the wall behind his desk, wondering if he still had the strength to use it. Without a wasted moment more, the two left the manor in the heart of the duchy towards Travance, but strangely, not to anywhere that might have seemed important. He rode until he came upon a small dilapidated shack in the woods, one that had long since been abandoned. Inside he went and down into the basement, and further down into the Abestine Tower. It was years since he ventured into his reliquary, but hopefully something inside would still have some kind of power that could help.

From there, they stopped in Travance Proper, where Aleister penned a letter with a map, to be sent to Baron Piper:

"Though rumors be no reason to cause uproar, measures must still be taken to ensure the safety of the people of our kingdom and of Arawyn. Xualla is a name I have not heard for some time, and yet, I must be sure. I hereby am ordering a garrison to be built at the location specified on the enclosed map. I will personally oversee its operations for the time being. Put a call for heroes out. The pay will be handsome even if their time proves uneventful. By my Will, Duke Aleister Demirosz"

Finally, the two ventured off once again, now reaching the final destination of their journey. The last time he saw it, it was a ruins of sorts. A ruined spire - or... unfinished? - made from a strange material that appeared as black diamond not but a mile south of the Dragon's Claw Inn, but for forty years, it and the surrounding land was barred from entry by a baroness of the lands from decades past. It was here that Xualla, the Demon Lord of Fire, had begun the construction of his Shadow Spire - the place from which he aimed to rule the material plane all those years ago. Aleister could only hope that the Shadow Spire remained as he had remembered it.