Prayer: Geldazar

Please, I ask you again, what do you want me to do? Hot crimson stains on a sacrificial lamb's throat. Will you give me the strength to help my friends? The twisting vine bleeds into the many mouths of the hunter. How can we possibly survive the blade of this sword master? The blood of the world cuts through mountains. And how can we stop this war between Alkhara and Lionne? The broken bones of the moon heal with the tidal marrow. You speak in so many riddles, why do you not tell me clearly? Ruby red wine filling the skull. I did not ask for this, why did you lead me here? Why did you not leave me in peace at the abbey? Ruby red wine emptying the skull. I cannot save my friends, I am not strong enough. You do nothing, you let the good and evil of this world bleed and die alike. You care not for true suffering. You are nothing but a mad hermit's mystery. And now you have led me to a violent death. Are we to be blood offerings to your dark greed? Was my faith nothing but a lie, a fevered dying delusion of a diseased wretch? Why do I pray to you?



Yes, I see now. Please forgive me. You spoke clearly all along. And like a fool with fingers in its ears, I listened not.

Come and see.

Yes, please show me. I surrender to you. Let me be your oracle. Show me. I am ready to see. I will look. I will be your servant. Let the world see your wonder through me.

A heartbeat is more powerful than the breath of the sun, all the lights in the night sky, the surge and storm of the ocean's rage, and all the world's mountains, hills, valleys, and plains.

Ascent from the Underdark

As they continued up the mountainous stairs Korick found his mind retreating inward.

"This is all very strange, could this caramel skinned las be Kalimesh's secret love? An if so what was she doing down hear with these vile elf's? Surely this isn't where she was waiting for him. Then there's Arren's claim that she is the queen of Alk'Hara, but that couldn't be true. If she was here then who was leading Alk'Hara, how long had she bean down hear? Had this whole war been a elaborate plot?"

His head swam with the horrid possibility's.

"Oh Korick what have you got yourself into, you left Remtex for for safety an now look at the mess your in. This is all getting far to grand for my liking. Well if the las does turn out to be the queen then we have a mighty bargaining chip an possibly alley on are side. Perhaps we could end the war an reap a mighty reward in the process!"

Korick's eye's gleamed at the thought of such Kingly wealth.

"Til then I'll just have to see what fate has in store for us. Ah is that sun light, bout bloody time been walkin for an eternity. Wait is there someone standing up there...

A Terrifying Realization

Gazing up at the figure towering over him and the others, Idwel's mind darted frantically about searching for a way to kill this unexpected visitor. Eventually he resigned this behavior to overeager wishful thinking, and decided to see how negotiations might play out.

The dark skinned elves they had just made an escape from were infuriating. They had some sort of natural dissonance with his magic, shrugging off several of his spells as if he had slung nothing more than harsh words at them. And that witch and her bats! Her magic resonated with him like nothing he had ever felt before, and he wished so badly they had been able to take her alive, but...alas.

Then there was Korick's brief disappearance then reappearance with this naked woman. As per usual he was doing something disgusting wherever he went. Arren claims she is the queen of Alk'Hara... an interesting turn of events if it is true, but what is she doing down here, and why....

Idwel froze.

His mind raced. Past events flickered to and from the forefront of his thoughts, yarns of chance and threads of fate weaving themselves together into a terrifying realization.

Idwel stopped and turned to his companions.

"Where's the horse?"

Part 1: Chapter Covers

Chapter 9: Sea of Shadows- GM Story Lead In

 “It was the four of them that saved us. There was that soldier fellow with spectacles. And the sick old half orc. And that sneaky little dwarf. And the boy with the bird. They saved our town, but they left a long time ago. And I aint herd from them sin-”

With that Randel fell dead to the ground. It was a sweet release from the tortures he had undergone. No one in the small village of Baytown had ever seen Elves with black skin, and those that survived would never want to again.

********************

Gabriel had been on the run before. He had been on the run when he met those four strangers on the Caravan. He was sure Master Darwell was pounding his desk in anger of his absence, but something was after him, and running was what he did best. He had only seen it for a moment, there in the offices, reading over his master's paperwork. The secret files he kept in the back office. No one knew about them...

Through the canals and streets of Camdella he dashed. Guided more by memory than sight in the dark midnight hours. Something fast, and something scary was on his tail. When he rounded the next corner he hit something hard and fell on his rump. He looked up slowly, seeing a silhouette in gleaming dark armor, cloaked in moonlight.

“Bloody hells” he swore. Not the most elegant of last words, but they got his point across.

********************

She looked down from the branches of her tree and watched the dark shapes slipping through the forest. She became one with the old oak, and looking through it roots she could make out dark skinned warriors, in full metal armor, yet making barely a peep. The town was in trouble. She had to warn her husband. Just then a dark and creeping magic washed over her. This wasn't good.

********************

There were twelve of them now, dead on the ground. He heard more fighting out in his camp. The boys were having a rough night too. Kavara had never seen elves like these before, but he had read about them. He sat slumped against the post of his tent, blood from chin to kneecaps. Most of it was theirs, but he had missed a few blocks to be sure. He could feel poison drifting through his veins, making his mind foggy. He kept asking himself how so many figures could sneak past the Sons of Candor so well before getting spotted. They weren't expecting so cunning an opponent, and Sir Andras had given them a run for their money. It felt like his insides were starting to come out. That was never good. They had been shouting about the four with the Prince's sword. They were looking for them. Following them, it seemed. Those boys were in for some trouble. He wanted to close his eyes so badly. He had been in worse spots before, but at the moment he sure couldn't think of any.

********************

Their forces had been all over Macinar getting information. Trailing the worms that had disrupted their plans every step of the way. They would find them, and they would put an end to them. Hundreds of years of planning wouldn't be cast aside by a few nosy surface dwellers.

Vallroth read the papers in front of him, detailing all the facts gathered on the four. It was too late to wait any longer. They had to proceed with the mission. That is why they set sail. Full sail for war, in Alk'Haran ships, with Alk'Haran soldiers. All following his lead. It was still more than enough fire power to take the Ivors, and control half the mainland.

He looked in the mirror in royal cabin of the massive black ship. Looking back at him was the beautiful caramel skinned sand queen. A flawless disguise. He stood to adjust his illusory outfit, before stepping out to give the final orders. A teeny little worm fell from his person onto the wooden deck. Purple and black, wriggling and thrashing. It ate away at the wood, before it dissolved into ashes. 

Arren Illiathan: Turning points

Alia shielded her eyes from the blinding sun. Somehow out here near Alk'Hara the sun was twenty times as strong as in Danmier. She wasn't sure why this was, perhaps it was closer to Alk'Hara than Danmier. Some said that the sun was born here and others said that this was where it was going to die. Either way, Alk'Hara was the land of the sun, and if ever there was a people of the sun, they surely lived here.

She gripped the wheel of the ship tightly in her hands, calloused now from the weeks she'd spent handling rope and the coarse grained wood of the Couatl, her familie's ship. Her ship. Captain Nerro had fallen ill almost a month ago and they could wait no longer. Their goal was to make it past Dan'Mezier around the Rhak'Tar mountains all the way to Lucinelli, avoiding the larger Alk'Haran ports, but this was made impossible by two things, sickness and War.

Over the past few months Alia had grown fond of Nerro. At first the old captain had tried to kick her off of his ship, but once she pointed out that she owned it and was acting in Arren's stead, the captain softened to the idea. Since that day Nerro had taken to teaching her everything he knew. He practically treated her as his own daughter, which at times made sea life quite frustrating. However, he made sure that the other sailors took orders from her in spite of the fact that she was a woman. Once Nerro had fallen sick, Alia was grateful for this, the men respected her authority to lead and in spite of her lack of experience, her ability to do so.

At first Nerro's sickness seemed only natural. Many of the seamen aboard the Couatl became sick during their voyage over the past months, but only briefly. Nerro had a fever and chills for nine days before finally becoming bed ridden. The mucus he spat up was black as the ink of an octopus and he had a distinctive smell, almost like that of hazelnuts, a smell which up until now, Alia had enjoyed greatly. Nerro's condition had left the ship under Alia's command. When Nerro first ordered that command be left to her, not only was the crew quite surprised, but so was Alia. She had gone to the man and pleaded that he reconsider, the first mate, Jolan was an admirable fellow, fully ready to have his own vessel, but Nerro insisted saying, “Alia my dear, when first we met me thought you a silly girl living a silly fantasy. But you proved me wrong. I'm not saying that woman's good for sailing, most ain’t worth a lick at it, but you you've got the sea in your blood, and Quainess, well, she's the goddess of the sea an' maybe you've got a little of her in ya. I don' know if you'll ever find your brother, or if he'll ever come back to Andmar, Arren's a good lad, my favorite lad I ever met what was as smart and bookish as he, but you my dear you're an Illiathan too and if he's dead, then it's up to you to keep your family afloat. Take this ship and captain her, and you can do anything you set your mind to. You captain this ship, and before your death, all the Isles will know your family's name and the she captain of the Couatl.”

That had been the last thing that Nerro had said to her. After a quick word with Jolan, Nerro had ceased to have the energy to speak, breathing had become enough of a struggle as it was. So now Alia piloted the Couatl, her ship, to the capitol of Alk'Hara, Den'Mezzier.

It wasn't really that she had a choice in the matter, two Alk'Haran ships of war escorted her to the harbor. They had set up a barricade off the coast of the Burning Wilds, bringing all merchant ships to harbor before reaching Lionne, the country with which Alk'Hara was waging war. The two ships flanking her were sleek, and low to the water, bearing two masts and a large triangular sail in the front, they were built for speed, and although the Couatl was a fast ship, it was much larger than either vessel and not equipped with half as much fighting or fire power, Alia had no choice to surrender to them, although they were serving her needs wether they knew it or not. She just hoped the old captain could find the help he needed within the city, whatever money it took, she didn't want to loose the old man.

Just then Meldin appeared from below the deck. His smile was as disarming as his looks, impossibly handsome and completely hers. Alia hadn't known what to think of the young man when she had met him. Meldin had only said that he needed passage to Lionne, if that was indeed where they were going. He then produced an entire gold piece for payment. Although from a minor family, she wasn't accustomed to such liberal use of so much money. He seemed a fop at first, arrogant and naive to the world. In truth he reminded her a bit of Arren, there was an innocent beauty about him in addition to his good looks, but more than that, he had offered unconditional friendship from the beginning of the journey when the rest of the men aboard had scorned her for being a woman, bringing bad luck to them. She had to admit, she still knew little of him, she didn't even know what family he belonged to. Like Arren, he was clearly fleeing something. Something dangerous enough that he had resorted to taking the first ship all the way across the Isles. Perhaps that was part of his appeal, the man was a mystery to her when so few men in life were. Her other brothers had been so straight foreword that it had pained her at times, only caring about swords and women. The men aboard the Couatl were the same. But Meldin had proven himself a good friend and although he knew little of medicine, spent most of his days and nights by Nerro's side. The captain had been quite harsh with the man, even professing a straight dislike of him, threatening to kick him off the ship. Alia had to plead with him to keep Meldin aboard. She suspected that Nerro's dislike was for the fact that Meldin had been warming her bed for the past two weeks. Alia was a woman, and could be with whosoever she chose and she made damn sure Nerro knew that, but the man still wasn't satisfied. Perhaps she'd never know why Nerro fiercely detested Meldin but it mattered little, the old captain was prejudiced as the day was long, calling Alk'Harans dirtbodies and elves worse. She supposed, like all old men, she should love him for his better qualities and forgive the prejudices that age brought on.

Meldin had now ascended the stairs to the aft of the ship and stepped behind her. Strong arms embraced her from behind and blonde hair smelling of mulling spices brushed her cheeks. The weeks ahead promised to be difficult but with Meldin by her side Alia felt she could escape Den'Mezzier and find her brother once Nerro was in the hands of caring clerics. Meldin Had promised to help her find her brother, and she believed him. It was refreshing to be in the presence of a man so virtuous, she hoped one day to marry a man like him, strong, proud and fair of heart. Unfortunately fairytales like that seldom came true.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arren looked up into the face of death. The Sand Blade stood over nine feet tall, all of which was was corded muscle chiseld bone. His face was fierce and angular, his Elven ears accenting the sharp lines of his face like gashes of flesh across the side of his head. He had only ever met a few sand elves but none were as impressive as the figure before him. The sword, settled casually across his back was of equal hight to it's wielder and thin as a razor blade, with only the slightest curve and a flat tip where a point should be. An awkward looking weapon, but in the hands of a sword master, perhaps the deadliest weapon in existence.

Arren had spent over a week of sleepless nights in anticipation for this moment. He knew that the elf was after them and he knew that the sword master meant to kill him as he had slain the pirate prince Kellimesh. Arren's right hand instinctively reached for the blade at his side and grasped the long slender hilt of the Salt Blade, Arren had a magical sword too, the same sword that Kellimesh had used to fight the Sand Blade and he had a feeling that he'd fare no better. With this realization cold fear crept over him, freezing his fingers in place over the hilt of the sword, his heart pounded in his ears and he felt as though all the air in the heavens wasn't enough to keep him alive.

Fortunately for them, Arren was holding something far more powerful than a sword, and the only reason for their continued existence: the queen of Alk'Hara. They had found her deep in the under ground, locked behind some sort of magical glass by black skinned elves, Korrick, poor fellow was still reeling from a moment's imprisonment, it was no wonder that the almond eyed woman was still unconscious. This last day in his life had aroused more questions and brought him closer to more answers than any day previously in his entire life, save the day of his birth.

Why was the queen of Alk'Hara, the most powerful woman in the entire realm held captive by these vile elves? Where had they come from and how long had they been there? Arren had seen little in the long dark caverns through which they had traveled but the one thing he had seen was their city, black, beautiful, twisted and vast. If these elves were in fact responsible for the convoluted goings on within the Isles as of late, there was no telling how many cities there were or how large they could be. It was unnerving to think that there were entire civilizations of evil beings plotting on the destruction of the five kingdoms, dwelling, thriving beneath their feet.

The nearly naked woman in his arms stirred lightly. It was strange holding the Queen of Alk'Hara, barely covered in a tattered cloak, so vulnerable, so beautiful in his arms. He could see why the prince of pirates had fallen for her, people always looked so beautiful while sleeping, he only hoped that once awake she proved as fair at heart, or they could still be dead men. At first Arren had thought that she was a corpse but for her faint breathing. Since then, it had grown stronger, perhaps this slight movement was a sign of her regaining consciousness, Arren hoped, but he knew she could not save them now, could not absolve them of perceived sins.

The Sand Blade had accused them of being assassins and by his mind they probably were. He stared at them, his gaze impenetrable, the face of a true warrior. What was he hiding behind those eyes? What could he be thinking? Arren was carrying this warrior's queen, the woman he had sworn his life to serve. Although Sword Masters swore their allegiance to no one and vowed to serve the entirety Macinar, there were two who seemed to deviate from the norm, the Sand Blade and the Sword Master of Inlakes, the capitol of Lionne. Perhaps that was what hid behind the giant's eyes...if the queen were here, then who was he serving? Cast guilt upon others lest they see the guilt within your own eyes? What evil had this man done in the name of some false queen? If he were a Sword Master would he have not questioned the orders of a ruler to put the realm at war? Perhaps this man, like the person who sat upon the throne of Alk'Hara was hiding behind a false mask. Wear the title of a Sword Master and few will question your motives. The Salt Blade flew from it's scabbard almost of it's own accord, as though the spirit of Kellimesh drew it where his own hand had faltered. The former fear melted from Arren's body replaced by an implacable rage. Who was this giant of a man and what right had he to accuse?The mantle of a Sword Master was to protect, not deal death wherever seen fit. It was time for this man to answer to the names of the dead. It was time for Arren to accept his fate and take up the duties of the Illiathans, stewards of the bastard house of the bastard sword, heirs of the ancient sword master the Silver Blade. With the strength of generations of Iliathans behind his voice, Arren spoke. "Sand Blade, it is you who are the assassin, prince slayer and war bringer, razer of Lionne. Here I hold your queen, the lady of Alk'Hara! From whom then ,Sword Master, do you take your orders? We have saved your lady from the depths of the earth, the cold hands of black skinned elves, and you call us assassins? Assassin! I spit the word. You, Sword Master, have brought this realm to war, and you, Sword Master have slain the lover of this woman here in my arms. If you truly serve the realm, if you still hold the title to which you cling, then lay down your sword, lay down the Sand Blade and take your queen into your arms. Help us protect this realm from the evil which you have helped unleash. If not, then by the gods we will suffer your death or find damnation in our failure, for I will bleed for you, give my honor to all of Macinar and keep none for my self, all you must answer is this, Sand Blade, are you an evil man?"

Path of Prophecy: Chapter 8 Intro- Shadows of the World

    She has lost all track of time in such darkness. Last she could recall it had been 5 weeks since she had seen light. After that days just turned into mist, and all cycles of life became chaotic. At home if she stood in darkness long enough, her eyes would strengthen and in time she could make out the shapes around her. Not here. Here the darkness devoured everything. The shadows were cold and heavy like wet silk. She could feel it feeding off her. It penetrated her, and she wept again.

    Where once there was gold, now there was heavy irons. Where once there was oils and jewelry, now there were wounds. She was stronger than others had been. Others had given up and simply died after a few weeks. Their bodies and minds simply couldn't bare to live anymore, and went their separate ways. Not her. She was made from strong bloodlines. She was of ancient lineage, and had suffered many trials and pains in her life. But she was losing hope. There was nothing. No food or water. Simply shadow that filled her. It seemed to keep her alive, while draining her soul slowly. She couldn't move. She didn't even remember what it was like to breathe. But she held on. All of her focus, will, and devotion went to staying alive. Staying awake. Never giving up. She had to. It was her duty.

Deep in the shadows of the world, the living darkness fed on her spirit. And what a feast it had.

Journal entry: Korick

" Always a bloody line." Korick reaches into his pocket an pulls out out a worn little booklet.

I'm findin myself gettin pulled into a conspiracy that could bring down nations. Luckily I have good company, the lads seem a little to eager for my liking though.If i had my druthers we'd find a nice little corner an watch thing play out a little but no we have to go chase down Prince Kalimesh's ultimate secret er what not. well if their determined to get themselves killed I might as well tag along, they've been good for a laugh so far... nah its more than that. Hell Ive come to really like these blokes. saved my arse more times than I'd like to admit. Arren's calm pragmatism pared with his undying optimism, Geldazar Honest and pour as molten steel and Idwel.

Truth be told my an Idwel think a little to alike for my own comfort. He has a knack for giving voice to my darker thoughts. but whereas I may think it he is more than willing to act on it. I worry for the boy. His powers are dark an twisted, he is truly a boy lost in the dark. May Rematon protect him from what he wields and Ehmerod bless him with his song.

"Finally, two kegs of dwarven ail!" Korick slips the booklet into his pocket.

Journal Entry: Arren Illiathan

Another sleepless night. Arren hadn't written his sister in a long time, he feared that his letters were falling on deaf ears. This was troubling him for some time, where was she, and why had she never written him back? Arren felt like those he cared for were gone, left in a storied life while he pressed forward, past wherever he had been, past the life of a merchant and into a catapulting series of events over which he had no control. He resolved that when he was back in civilization he would seek her out.

Arren rolled over in his hammock strengthened by his decision to contact his family, and perhaps take matters into his own hands, damn the death warent on his head, he was an Illiathan, and must take up the mantle of his family sooner than later, he had run long enough. He closed his eyes finally, to sleep.

The ship creaked about him, he could feel the darkness consume the small cabin, it felt oppressive. Another noise made sleep nearly impossible, the deep rumbling of a drunken dwarf below him, snoring, clutching a jug of hoppy Free Islander ale. He had developed a fondness for the surly dwarf. Korrick made a perfect traveling partner, clever, sturdy and stubborn, no matter where Arren went, the stout mountain of a dwarf followed, only silent when he put his mind to it, the short fellow was overly opinionated and never hesitant to put those opinions to voice.

Geldezar and Idwell slept across the hall in the other cabin. Their room was always quiet, aside from the occasional kaw of that infernal crow. The boy Idwell had ceased to scare Arren, as did the decay of Geldezar, he had come to terms with them shortly after the death of the Shiek. Arren figured that he could only fear death for so long, and although Geldezar reminded him of the delicacy of his own flesh, the strength of his spirit and friendship showed through his fragile form. The boy on the other hand reminded him of himself. When he was younger, Arren had viewed the world with contempt, while he educated himself about philosophy and the ways of the world hidden for him in the pages of books, he resented other's ignorance toward the matters. Eventually he came to see the inherent wisdom in the most humble of men, but Idwell had not come to this point, perhaps he never would. Fortunately, Arren had not possessed the magical powers that were seemingly randomly bestowed upon Idwell, to tell the truth Arren would still be scared of the boy if it had not been for the fact that when his companions thought him in danger within the camp of the Sons of Candor, Idwell put his life on the line to save him. From that point Arren began to see Idwell in a different light. Perhaps the boy would never further change his strange and fearfully violent behavior but Arren felt responsible for the boy as Arren's brothers must have for him and he was determined to show him the compassion that he had been blessed with as a child.

With this fond thought Arren rolled back over to let sleep find him at last.

Creeeak, Crik, thud. thud. The sounds of the ocean were incessant.

Something cold still gripped him. He couldn't take it anymore, he quietly stepped down from his hammok and reflexively gripped his sword. Fear. Cold fear crept up the blade of his sword through its pummle, spiraled through his fingers and down his arm, resting at last in his heart.

"The Sand Blade"

The words found his lips before he thought them. Korrick rolled over smacking his lips, and continued snoring. The tiny cabin was stifling, Arren quickly slipped out of the room and rushed up the short flight of stairs to the deck of the small ship. The fear was heavier than the entire ocean upon his heart, he gasped for air and leaned over the railing of the ship, retching, wishing he could expel the entire sensation into the sea.

Nothing would come up. No fear, vomit, bile, no words. Briny air rushed into his lungs and he gasped for air. The Sand Blade was the most terrifying of the Sword Masters, his blade let more blood than a thousand barber's razors, and he served only the queen of Alk'Hara, who was a warmongering madwoman, as was evidenced in her latest actions.

Arren lifted his sword and began swinging it, rehearsing ancient footwork passed down by his family, the forms of the Sword Master who sired his bloodline. Could the half remembrings of an ancient swordsman's teachings serve him here? Arren wanted to throw himself upon his blade and end it here. He couldn't protect his friends from this man, and the sword in his hands had lost to the Sand Blade once before. There was nothing he could do except practice. Practice and hope that the day when the queen's assassin found him he was that much faster and that much stronger that he might actually stand a chance. So, Arren swung his sword wearing the wood smooth beneath his feet waiting for the dawn to find him, or sleep. He could not stop before then. He must be ready, or they would all die.

Journal Entry: Idwel

I have been on the road with Geldezar, Korrick, and Arren for some time now. I have had many disagreements with them, Korrick and Arren especially, and they came close to killing me once out some misplaced fear and ignorance. But I suppose they didn’t, did they? I have grown comfortable around them. Though they might not be completely accepting of my abilities, they do still take me with them…

Idwel lifted his pen up from the page and looked over at his sleeping companions thoughtfully, and old memories trickled down the back of his mind. He would never forget what those cowardly disgusting townsfolk had tried to do to him when he was younger, and that monster, that horrible thing wearing a father’s skin. He could still not bring himself to trust anyone else, those people out there who would kill him in an instant if they knew what kinds of things he could do. A decision was made, and a flash of resolve swept over Idwel.

“They’re mine” he whispered under his breath. He turned and scratched Kyzzick behind his neck. “They’re mine, and I’ll not be letting anyone else have them now, will I?” Kyzzick blinked and cocked his head to the side, letting out a quiet click. Idwel mused on how this old creature seemed to enjoy being coddled like some sort of pet, on occasion. “They will warm up to my gifts, I know they will.” Long locks of Idwel’s hair snaked around behind him and began to put his journal away. “and I will keep them safe, by whatever means.”

Noiselessly, Idwel drifted upwards to the treetops with Kyzzick on his shoulder, coming to a stop at the very top of a dead gray tree. He looked up at the moon, as he had found himself doing quite often lately, wondering what kinds of horrors it would herald in next. Kyzzick’s eyes took on the dull icy glow they always did when he had something important to show him. “What have you to teach me tonight then?” Idwel smiled, as a cloud of darkness wrapped around them both.

Journal Entry: Geldazar

Stepping out of the armorer's shop, Geldazar rolled his shoulders back and stood tall. A small smile crept up his ravaged face and his normally hunched form seemed to melt away. The creak of new leathers beneath his travel stained green robes accompanied a pleasured sigh. The weight of months of travel, chain linked armor, and splintered heavy shield wood did not hang on his body and mind. A new confidence of purpose and spirit burned within his heart. The encounter with the old ape God of the island had revealed a new facet of the jewel of Geldeneir and her ineffable beauty. Her life extended far beyond what Geldazar had previously understood. And this new understanding flowed through his arteries, veins, muscles, organs, and extended to every capillary of his flesh. He took in a sharp breath, a prayer of Geldenier on his lips. With a knowing smile upon his face, he began to glow, a golden illumination rapidly spread across his skin, light enveloping his flesh and garb. For an eternal second his form was dazzingly bright to look upon, radiating a gentle warm heat of life, pure flowing spirit. And with a sharp exhale, his form returned to that of flesh, cloth, and leather. He felt no need for his old heavy armor, for life itself needs no armor. Geldenier's holy blood was enough.

"Now where have my friends gone off to?" thought Geldazar, "I hope they haven't gotten themselves into any trouble."

Chapter 7 Intro: Sand and Fire

The last of the Ivor soldiers were being placed on the burn pile when he finally left the battlefield. The smell had become too much. He paced out into the desert while his men finished the clean up. Nothing more than servants. He hardly needed them.

The assault had been planned weeks ago. When he had looked over the expected numbers, he was almost excited for the challenge. This had been nothing short of disappointing. Another battle without so much as a scratch. Heavy handed swordplay from fools stumbling around in their heavy armor. He spat.

He hated that it was so hard to find a good fight. The last opponent to make him break a sweat was dead, and all his work had gone to waste. He knew that greedy Shiek couldn't be trusted to protect the blade. The blade itself wasn't much, but it stood for so much. The man they call the Pirate Prince had fought well. He moved like water, and showed no fear. It was a shame he had orders to kill him. But whatever his queen asked of him, he did without question. He loved to serve The Sphinx.

He removed his own blade from his back. As always, his arm felt more complete with it in hand. He would never set it down, if it didn't scare so many. Long and black, with the slightest curve. A paper thin blade that stretched 7 feet from base to tip. Souless. No magician could have known the rivers of blood he would be responsible for when making this weapon.

Now he was to fix all the problems that little man had caused for his queen. Return the blade. Find the assassins. He was sure they could be found in the same place. He was impressed that the Ivors had used such a cunning attack to undo the plans they had made. Usually they were strangers to deception and subtlety. An interesting turn of events, to be sure.

He turned away from the burning desert sun, his many heavy tiam'pathas flapping in the strong wind. He returned to the battlefield, sword in hand. With a gesture he told the men it was time to move on. They had to set sail, once again. Only now with their new ship. A fine gift from his queen.

Salted Folly

Arren Illiathan could not sleep. This was the first comfortable bed that he'd lain in since Camdella, there were no fleas and only a few lumps in the fresh straw mattress. He fluffed the worn down pillow on the bed and rolled over to his side, staring out the watery glass window. The nights here were hot by comparison to those in Andmar. Hot and humid, sweat stuck to his body like a greasy film. He wanted to open the glass windows to feel the slight breeze that blew through the portside town of San Balliares but then, of course, the wretched insects would suck him dry. So, Arren just lay there, miserably waiting for morning to rise. The moon slowly made it's way across the sky, it's slight sliver now out of view of the window, yet it still cast a faint light through the distorted pane. The sound of raucous sailors could still be heard drifting through the floorboards. They were talking of Alk'Haran women that they'd had. Arren realized that he'd only ever had one woman, a fair skinned Dornish girl who's father owned half the merchant ships in Dornheim. They had stayed in the man's manor for almost a week, waiting out a terrible storm, unfortunately, the Dornish merchant lord discovered where his daughter kept mysteriously sneaking off to and shackled him to a whipping post swearing to cut off his head in the morning. That had been another long sleepless night which had had an end. Arren never knew what Nerro had told the man, but after twelve long hours tied to the post in a raging storm he was set free, and the weather abated soon after. Since that day, Arren was never allowed to sail into Dornish waters. Arren's past seemed like another life time, he was steeped so far into affairs foreign to his childhood. He rubbed the scar around his left eye, and put on his glasses.

He hadn't written to his sister in nearly a fortnight. He rose from bed and sloppily donned his trousers and shirt, thought about it and buckled his sword, the Salt Blade, to his side. The Sons of Kandor had warned him not to wear it in public, but Arren looked at it another way, if they saw him wearing this sword, maybe people would give him a wide birth. He gathered his parchment, wax, pen ink and sands and made his way down to the tavern hall. The sailor's conversation had moved on to their distaste for the Sons of Kandor, when they saw him stepping down the stairs they silenced their conversation, Arren noticed one of them eye his sword and nudge his companion. By the time Arren had settled himself at a table the three men had moved to the other side of the bar. It had worked, nobody would bother him with the Salt Blade at his side. Arren removed his glasses from their hard wood and leather case and began writing in relative peace, using the fire from the hearth as a much better light source than the single candle in his room. He had completed half the letter, describing the events of the past twenty days by the time he noticed the large man in front of him. He looked up.

"Nice sword, where'd you get it?"

"Pardon?" Arren would try playing dumb.

"Where's the prince, thief?"
Arren stammered, and began to rise to his feet.

"Let's bring this thief to justice boys, for prince Kalimesh!"

The man's large fist swung quickly toward Arren's head, he barely had time to duck the blow and ram his shoulder into the man's ribs. He heard a crack and then shoved the man to the ground striding past to the other sailor who stood his ground smirking. Arren whipped around in time to see the dagger enter his side. The third sailor had snuck behind him while the large one was talking. Arren fell backward onto the table with his parchment, ink spilled with blood, and he drew his sword. Salt Blade made a raspy sound as it escaped it's scabbard. All three men descended upon him at once, Arren quickly rolled off the table and spun in a tight spiral, his sword expertly struck all three men as they closed in on him, slicing the meat of their thighs, they quickly crumbled to the floor. Arren hesitated for a second, he could dispatch of the thugs now, but then he caught the aghast eye of the barmaid, she had seen the whole exchange. Instead, Arren turned over a table and ran, he ran as fast as he could into the dark port town, bleeding in his wake. There were some battles that Arren could never physically win. His own pride it seems was his folly, Arren realized now how his brothers had died, they had too much pride in their skills and in their weapons, others had seen that and taken their lives for it. Arren just hoped he wouldn't make the same mistake.

Journal Entry: Idwell

The raw strength wielded by the creatures of this exotic land is immense.

I have encountered two of their 'gods' thus far, and while I doubt the divinity of one, it was still an impressive force of primal destruction.

I am curious to see what other 'gods' dwell within these jungles, and whether or not we will survive our next encounter with one.

For now we are wrapped up in some trifle with a mercenary group, I don't know the details yet but I did have fun testing out some of my new works on them, watching them scurry about like panicked rats.

Delightful

Korick IronBolt : Jurnal entry

The Free Isles have been nothing like what i thought they would be. First we made land fall on an Island inhabited by giant Apes. They seemed to worship this monstrous Gorilla. it stood above the bloody trees! I feared that Geldazar had us all doomed when that monster spotted him. But it seems they had a moment of understanding pass between them. We were able to leave the Island without much blood shed.

We traveled up the coast to a small township. The leader of the tribesmen who lived there said we lucky to lived and were blessed by their god. evidently they worship that giant beast, offer it tribute in the form of live sacrifices. Pitiful savages! Anyway they told us to follow the river north, then trek through the jungle till we get to the pirate city. They also said the pirates had pissed off a "River God."

Well it turned out they were sorta right. There was a large Hipuwotimus with a dagger in its back. Turns out that the dagger was cursed and was causing the beast to go on a bloody killin spree. The dagger was of ( ) make. There hands seem to be in many stews.

When we made it to the pirate city we discovered that a large group of mercenaries named the "Sons of Kander" had made camp just outside of the city. We entered the city and asked the Dock master it he had seen or heard of our ship and captain Darrel. No such luck, sod and all his men could be at the bottom off the ocean for all we know.

As we went about gettin acclimated we found out that the entire city was in a bit of stir with the mercenaries at there gates. No sooner than we learn this Arren manages to get himself forcefully escorted by a lieutenant of the Sons of Kander to their little camp. Me an Idwel promptly set a rescue attempt into effect. The boy can cause quite the distraction. I made it all the way to their captains tent before i was caught. In my defense i never would of been cought had I not been surprised by Arren an the Kanders captain exiting his tent.

Know he has us on a mission to find the man who last saw the prince of the pirates alive. We always seem to be on the move never quite catching that lucky break.

Chapter Six: Contracts and Gods

The trees moved aside as he lumbered across his island.

Each branch and leaf felt like a part of himself. Looking out over the top of the jungle canopy he saw the terrible ocean. The wicked eternal lake of salt. That was where men came from. Always from the sea. On winged houses they came by the hundreds. They cut down the trees and killed his children. They fed and roared and burned all in their path. No men dared come to his island anymore. They knew of his wrath. He had tried to go to out into the sea, to find all the men and kill them, but it never ended. He could swing as strong as any living thing, and hold his breath for days, but still the expanse was too great for even him.

The tiny people from beyond the river feared him. They built stone monsters in his image to protect themselves. They sent rafts of sweet fruits and man flesh in tribute to him. He let them hide in their village and fear him. This was his island, and one day all the islands would be free of mankind's plight. With his great arms he pushed aside the trees and looked out into the blueness. A single winged house drifted towards his shores. Fighting the wind, and weaving through the deadly rocks. More men. Like flies to a corpse they came. He let out a roar that shook the mountains and gave flight to every bird for miles. His children heard him. They knew their god was angry, and none would escape the wrath of Goretusk when he was angry.

Connecting the Dots

The dead moon was early again.

While Idwel watched the expression on the captain's face grow grim at its sight, he couldn't help but find it somewhat comforting.

The dead moon was out the first night Kyzzick had appeared to him, and only tonight did he realize this fact. He pondered the significance of this for a moment, but the thought was interrupted by the appearance of the monster that attacked the ship moments later.

----------------------

Kyzzick clicked and gurgled as Idwel stepped off the boat, resting comfortably on his shoulder.

He eyed the dwarf hungrily, imagining what his eyes might taste like, and if they'd taste any different than humans' eyes.

Amongst the Sea

Then sea tossed their small craft about violently. Korick glanced over at Arren as he barked orders, while fighting the waves with his ore. Korick an Idwel shared an ore trying to mach Arrens skill.

"Its just water Korick." He thought.
"Look at Arren and he's but a lad!"

His voice started softly but built into a thunderous roar!
In a deep dwarven baritone he belted out.

"Mountain Skies and caverns deep"
"We are warrior's born our honor to die"
"To the old Oaths we will keep"
"Beware our battle cry"
"Born of stone to it returned"

"The deep paths we will cross"
"Iron and coal we trod under foot"
"We will avenge ones loss"
"Day and night we forge in soot"
"Born of stone to it returned"

"An empire strong"
"With axe and shield we will defend"
"A worthy battle fought Long"
"Our victory's are Legend"
"Born of stone to it returned"

Again and again he sang the old dwarven hymn as they rowed through the turbulent seas. His voice became horse and his beard glistened with salt. Still he rowed and still he sang.

Arren Illiathan: Flight to the Sea

My Sister,

The axe has fallen and the players of this wicked little farse are dropping. It has been many days since last I wrote, and in the silence my worst fears have come to realization. We traveled to the Keep of Fenrasha disguised as merchants for Lord Weyden, our intent was to discern the Shiek's intentions. We were received as honored guests to his extravagant manor where an elaborate feast was thrown. It seems that the Shiek was prone to excessiveness most likely a reactionary desire derived from living in such a barren and otherwise inhospitable landscape as the Alk'Haran desert. This hospitality quickly turned sour as the Shiek revealed that he was aware of our identities and threw us into his dungeon.

The Shiek's dungeon was as terrible a place as I have ever seen in my life. A stone fortress miles from the shiek's palace in the middle of the desert, it's keepers were the worst lot of beings that I have ever encountered in my life, reveling in pain and torture, they used a half ogre to keep the prisoners in order while they no doubt tortured them in the excessive torture chambers within the dark dungeon. While the prison door barred all exit, and even the jailers had to wait to be released from the prison, it was not the jail that kept the prisoners in, but the foulest creature that I have ever seen. As we made our escape from the jail, aided by a poor soul named Hassani we were stopped dead in our tracks by the most hideous and beautiful creature I have ever seen, part lion, part woman and part scorpion, it used it's otherworldly powers to seduce prisoners and make them return, even if they escaped. We battled the creature and barely defeated it if it had not been for the magical powers of Idwel. On that subject, Idwel's power has been growing greater with every day that passes which greatly disturbs me, because I am unable to discern the boy's loyalties or motives. I only hope that when the time comes for him to reveal his true self, he is aligned with us.

Once we escaped the dungeon, we lead an assault on the shiek's keep. He had sent his forces elsewhere for reasons not yet deciphered by myself or my companions. What ensued was a bloody battle between my companions and the guards of Fenrasha's keep. It was a long and violent affair where all of our talents were required to obtain victory. At last, as the final guard lay dying in a swarming flock of pigeons that had been released as messengers, we battled Fenrasha. The man was twisted by some demonic and sorcerous power and bent all of his malice toward us in an awesome display of magical prowess, he had even enslaved and tainted a djini bound to his service, an act of incredible will, no doubt. It was all we could do to defeat him, and once victory was in our grasp we were forced to flee his chambers from a veritable army of guards looting what little valuables we found in the process. Awaiting us down a long escape passage was a powerful stallion on which we slung the unconscious body of Geldezar who had fallen in the battle; that being done, we fled with all of our will toward freedom.

We ran for hours, and didn't stop until deep into the night. It was then, when we had finally stopped running that we were able to comprehend the significance of the events which had just occurred. The doves were all carrying messages alerting Alk'Hara of an assasination attempt upon Fenrasha by the Ivors, which called Alk'Hara to unite against the Ivors in war. We had just enabled Fenrasha's ultimate goal, war. It is difficult to comprehend the scope of effect such a small group of people can have upon the realm but never the less we find our selves, caught up in the affairs of kings, for better, or worse. I left our brother's sword in the desert. Please do not perceive the act as thoughtless, but I must leave him behind me and forge my way with my own weapon. The shiek had a magical blade strangely in his possession, it is very reminiscent of a sailor's dueling blade, and imbued with magic. It's name is, as is indicated upon it's case, Salt Blade and the blade looks thusly, as though corroded by salt. An elegant weapon despite the corrosion, I have taken it as my own, and hope that I may do our ancestors and dear brothers memories justice with it in my hands.

I love you with all of my heart, and look to Presekka to guide our paths, I hope we meet again dear sister.

--Arren

ps- We head now for the Free Isles, to escape assassins. I will look for the Couatl, for it often sails near the isles this time of year.

Kazzit let his wings carry him upon the briny air. He had been tracking the ship for weeks now, and finally it came into view. The flock near Bellchester had seen the Couatl at sea a week ago, passing the great nesting rock. Now he was almost there. The master would be proud and speek his name pleasingly. He must find the woman who smelled of ink on the winged serpent's ship. He circled the ship once, darkness was falling, perhaps the men would feed him, he liked their rotten apples, the taste made him happy. There she was, asleep behind the glass window beneath the man. Such golden hair the man above the window had. If only he could add it to his roost. Kazzit dived for the small opening in the window, feeling the ocean air brush through his feathers like cool soothing mist the lady would be happy, Kazzit would not scare her this time. Like lightning, hands gripped Kazzit. Strong crushing hands, around his neck. Golden hair shined in the moonlight as his head was turned backwards, too fast. This man was quicker and meaner than a city cat, much deadlier. KRRRAK! No more light.

The feeling is unlike any other. Breaking free from my fragile meat sack. I can see the limits so many place on themselves. The body is a prison, a limiter, if I were just free from it...

Perhaps I was too eager to display my new abilities, my companions were thoroughly disgusted and the situation almost turned violent. They're just like those filthy villagers so many years ago, so quick to destroy that which they don't understand. If it wasn't for the leper half-orc, I very well could have had to take unnecessary action. I shouldn't have expected the others to understand anyways. Too stupid and weak to be able to do the things I can do. Too reliant on their own strength of arm, their physical characteristics.

I will find a way to transcend all of that, Kyzzick has continued to lead me faithfully down this less trodden road, and I will follow however dark it goes.

They sat around the campfire, the desert could get bone chillingly cold at night. Ya know fella's life isn't fair. Korick took another swig from the bottle. me an the lads did everything "Lord Weydin" asked of us! we fought an killed dozens of guards, killed a bloomin genie! Korick swings the bottle drunkenly. We even killed the bloody shiek an escaped with his head! An still we have to go into hiding! it just isn't fair. Korick sighs, looks at the guards lets out a belch and passes out.

Journal Entry: Geldazar

I am looking at the Sheik Fan Rasha's body. Now a corpse. It has been of Two nites since his evil presence left this heavy log of meet and bone. It is a cumforting site to see. Smells and sines of life are returning. They are of foul natures to the senses, but they are not evil. Fan Rashas evil is gone from this body. For Geldenier's grace I pray that it not find its way to the harm of Good again. Thouh I feer that perhaps the end of the evil of Fan Rasha was not the end of the evil that gathers in the times of violenS and war. But I let these feers rest, for Geldenier protects and sustains.


My companiens are also a cumfort in this harsh land. They are very able in protecting Good and freeing the Blood life from its intrappment of evil forms. I beeleev that Geldenier guiddes them and smiles apon them as well. I see now as I rite this, the wise man warror Arren, strong with sword, resting now. He is of handsum character and virtue, much more studdied in the ways of learning and land and peopl. I have much truSt in him. He is examining a long water sallted woodin chest that we took from the dead sheiks chaimbers. Arren fought with the heroic strenngth and hight of a mounten follk Giant in the battel against the sheiks evil minions. His Blood and mussels are truly blessed of form and energie, blessed be his life and grace of Geldenier apon him. I am glad that I may call him a friend.

The Dworf Korrick is not of character that I woold have expectid to call my companion when I deecided to leave the abbey. He is idly smoking a finelee formed silver pipe sitting apon a rock next to our camp fire. I wonder what sort of smokey thoughts a Dworf theif by trade entertains within its mind. I do find it strange to sens a playfull nature to his rogue ways. Perhaps his skills are a deevine blessing, not a malicieus art trained for dark greed and hate. Perhaps wisdom can be found in using trickery and stelth to spill the Blood of evil. Nontheless, I call him my friend, may his life be blessed and grace of Geldenier be apon him.


The human farm boy, Idwel, is of my years, but I coold not feel farther from him. For One his body has the life of youth, unlike my own waisting flesh. But his quickely growing powers are of a far more worriesome nature. They are of a strange and distasteful nature, as is his dark birrd companion. Removing your flesh from boddy is not a healthy activity, not to speak of its independant movements and free speeking. Blessed that he can reattache it, but it is no less strange. The priests at the abbey spoke of dark arts such as this, and the heresy their practishioners commit against life. But I doubt their dogma, I sense no great evil from Idwel or the birrd. They fight with vigor and justice against evil, and have thus far prooved themselves to be noble companions. I share Arrens and Korricks apprehenshins, but Geldenier leads me onwards in Idwels company. She continues to bless his life and Blood, so may I serve her will and fight by his side, till She guides me elswise.



This journey has taken me far, and I have learned much of the strangeness and beautey of life. I feel as my body weakens, my spirit grows stronger, growing ever more in unity with Geldeniers grace. The acts She performs through me grow ever more amazing. The wounds of deathly nature sealed and clean before my eyes, Bloodless walking dead smote to the ground in Her presented power, the blessings of strenght apon my companions in battel as they clash with forces of evil, how I now share the pain and wounds of their combat, all are signs of Her amazing will. What eternal mysteries of life will Geldenier show me next? What awe and wonder? She is truly the light of life, may I be blessed and her grace apon me.



We continue South tomorro, to search for Lord Waydin and deliver this wrapped body to his possession. I wonder where this journey will take us next? Will our fellowship find moar adventure, or are we to go seperate ways? What of the growing conflict between the peoples of Alkharra and the Ivers? What of this diseased body I call my own, how long will it last? No moar wondering for tonite. Now it is time to pray and sleep.

Arren Illiathan: What's Beneath the Seal

Dearest Alia,

Our situation has much changed since last I wrote you. The carefree life of a wanderer seems to me a mystery. Only a few days ago, the road was wide and open to me, I could go anywhere and do anything. My sword was my coin for passage to any realm of the five kingdoms, now it is my leash. A man may be able to wield his sword for any cause he sees fit, but once the blade has struck, he is bound to the repercussions of that blow, however great or terrible. The ravener who had employed us alerted us of a bounty on hobgoblins who had been raiding Ivor trade caravans owned by a Lord Wayden. Lord Wayden is the chief trade master of Camdella, and has quite an empire between Lionne and Alk'Hara. I'm surprised we haven't encountered his people in Andmar. My companions and I set out for the trade routes where the attacks were happening and encountered the beasts. I had only heard of Hobgoblins and goblins before, but the two creatures are very different but both equally disgusting. A Hobgoblin stands about the size of a man and is covered in fur, possessing sharp clawed hands and wicked fangs. their ears are pointed like that of a dog or cat and they smell terrible. We slew quite a few of them and tracked them to their layer, killing their leader and a small goblin, who was particularly nasty. The battle was fierce and Korrick, the dwarf nearly died. But this battle was nothing compared to what we found in this dank and accursed cave. The same letter which we had strove so hard to recover for the ravener only a few days before.

The letter was addressed to this hobgoblin chieftain from a well known Shiek Fenrasha. The Shiek had ordered this hobgoblin to attack only Ivor caravans in a clear act of war. We returned across the desert toward Camdella without the pomp of heroes but feeling as though we were instruments of evil. Having saved this very letter which had caused so much hardship. Upon return to Camdella things were set in motion. Luckily this Lord Wayden is a good man and does not desire war Between Lionne and Alk'Hara but as I write, we are about to embark toward this Shiek's manor and discern the truth, if things go badly we may need to take the man's head, something I'd rather avoid. Well my sister, I hope that this finds you in good health, and that fortune favors you more than it has favored me these past few days. I will write upon my return. And please tell our mother and father that I am alive.

All of my love, Arren

Meldin let the letter fall to the desk, and smiled to himself. Also lain upon the dark wood of the desk, maps of Alk'Hara. If Meldin was correct, and he always was, then Arren's sister, this Alia was leaving to find him on their ship, the Couatl. Good, this would save him much time, let the girl find him, in Meldin's long years of experience, he knew that it was much easier to let others do the looking, especially if the quarry wanted to be found by them. Meldin quickly slipped out of the small wooden office and headed toward the docks. On the way he stopped at a tailor's and purchased a well cut jacket of the latest fashion and a pair of new boots, bade of the softest leather. He slipped down an alley way and changed, throwing his travel worn shoes and old vest in a refuse heap, then walked back into a street, bumping into a wealthy looking merchant, engrossed in conversation with what looked to be a ship's captian.

"Hey watch where you're going you bloody get of a merfolk's---"

Meldin turned around and gave the yelling man a stern glare, letting his hand stray to the weapon at his side.

"Beg your pardon my lord, I ment no offense!" the merchant said immediately as his eyes crossed with Meldin's. Good, the jacket and boots had done the trick. He had to admit he cut an impressive figure, fully 6'6'' with the added hight from the Danmirian heels, and well built to boot. The green and gold in the coat accented his straw blonde hair and sea blue eyes. The wonderful thing about being an Asimar was that you were seemingly beyond reproach. Full humans were always so terribly nieve, the Couatl would think they were taking a young lordling as a passenger to Alk'Hara, and with the wealth of the entire Vex family at his disposal, they'd be certain.

Meldin continued walking until he found it, the Couatl. An older ship, of Danmirian design to be certain, but very well mantained. It was larger than he'd expected, with a hold that could contain thousands of gold in merchandise, it seemed that the Illiathan family invested most of their money in this one ship, and thus far it had payed off. He looked up at the prow of the craft, a winged serpent resembling a dragon was at the prow, looking over his head like a reptilian sentinel, couatl were supposed to be good luck, though few knew what they were. A beautiful vessel to be sure.

"Can I help you?"

A woman's voice.

"Yes, I'd like passage on your ship, I hear you're leaving for Alk'Hara." Meldin looked the woman up an down. She had a stern yet beautiful look about her, with pale skin and dark hair. Alia Illiathan was a more beautiful woman than he'd heard. He wondered if it'd be as easy to slip into her bed as it would be to slip one of his many daggers in her brother's back...

"That could be arranged my lord." She said with an interested look on her face.

It looked like he would have an entire voyage to find out.

Arren Illithian: From the Ravener

Alia raised her thin fingers to the bridge of her nose and rubbed. The sensation soothed her throbbing headache. She had been going over her brother's ledgers for weeks now in order to take over where he'd left off. No wonder he had begun to wear those spectacles, reading parchment by candle light for hours on end was agony. She looked about the room letting her eyes adjust to a distance of more than two feet. She'd always liked the ledger room of the Illiathan storehouse. The walls were dark grained wood hung with simple red and green tapestry's of the family's crest against which the candles upon the desk cast black shadows. At night the shadows allowed her thoughts to drift to the stories she'd been told as a child, of shadow creatures conjured by mages that feasted upon little children's dreams. She had never been sure which of the stories she heard of as a child were true. She'd only seen magic a couple of times in her life, but remembrance of those instances still made her hairs stand on end.

As she shifted her gaze back to the papers splayed out upon the heavy wooden desk there came a sudden tapping upon the small window above her desk. During daylight, the window offered enough light spilling over the desk to read comfortably by, and in late afternoon, the sun cast a golden curtain of light in which Alia liked to take her break from the tedious task of ledger keeper to read one of the many books which Arren had left behind in his hasty flight from Andmar. Now, it was dark, the sun had set hours ago and Alia had stayed late in order to avoid the misery that was her house as of late. Startled by the sudden tapping, Alia made a short intake of air and looked to the darkened window. She couldn't see the slightest thing. Nights in Andmar were dark and often overcast by blankets of fog and storm clouds coming in off the sea. Today was no different. Alia looked at the window for another few seconds, nothing. When she was about to get her mind back to her work there came another tapping at the window, this one louder. Alia wasn't sure what it could be, there were no trees outside the window, and the wind was quiet this evening. She mustered her curiosity out of the slumber of her tedious task and rose from the high backed chair at which she sat. Reaching tentatively for the window, she opened it.

There was a sudden flutter and a ball of blackness shot in from the outside. At first she thought that it was some beast come for her blood, and let out a startled shriek, then the fluttering mass of black settled upon the coat rack by the room's door. It was a raven. There were many ways in which information was circulated about the five kingdoms, aside from magic, the most direct and most affluent method of post was the raven. Why had the raven come here? The few raven's that her family had received had always flown to their estate, never here. She walked toward the rather large bird and it lifted it's left leg, on it was a small parcel bound in weatherproofed leather, sealed with a crest of two feathers, meaning that this letter had been delivered by a postmaster himself, pressed into the leather was her name, Alia Illiathan. At first Alia Panicked, what would this letter say? Was it news that her brother, her last and closest relative was dead? Would the family line end with her? Her hand began to tremble and she couldn't break the seal of the parcel. She took a deep breath and steadied her hand. Alia remembered what she had thought to herself as Arren had run off into the sun and the rest of the world. He was the greatest and last Illiathan heir, he had promised that he would write, this was her brother keeping his word.

Her hands ceased their trembling and she reached for the letter knife upon the desk. Alia broke the seal without any further difficulty and and withdrew from it several pages of parchment. These were sealed with the Illiathan family crest. He was alive. Although she believed in her brother, Alia had a harder time trusting in the rest of the world or the gods that ruled over it. Alia knew that it was hard to be human in a world brimming with so many more powerful forces than yourself, but somehow they survived. Because of or in spite of the gods Arren still lived, she couldn't say which. They say that Sigmas was human once and that he ascended to godhood. If that were the case then why did he not end the suffering of mortality? Perhaps some powers were even outside the realm of the gods. In any case, the Illiathan family had ceased devout observance of the gods years ago, save Quainess and Preseka, the godesses of the sea and luck. Quainess because the family trade was intimately tied to her fickle ways and Preseka because no mortal could escape the goddess of fate. But in truth they were merely observances, a formality and nothing more. Bastard houses can be that way, since they were acknowledged by none, they acknowledged none in return, a fatal philosophy to be sure.

Gods or none, Arren's letters had reached her, she broke the seal of the parchment and Gazed happily upon her brother's neatly flowing script. She had always been jealous of his calligraphy, he had the most perfect handwriting she had ever seen.

My Dearest Sister,

I hope that my letter finds you and our parents in good health, I can only imagine that the past month has been a dark and solemn affair for all of you. I trust that my brother was well received into the sea as befits a noble Illiathan, I said my prayers every day for a month to Quaniss that he might find a quick and pleasant travel to Gharlamaal's kingdom, and feel in my heart that he did. Brennet was a good man and I can only hope, on the event of my own death that I will find myself by his side once again. How are you my sister? I think of you often and hope that father has enough sense to let you keep the ledgers. If he isn't a fool, he'll let you take my place on the Couatl no matter how much that old rum sack Narro spits and fusses. Do not let that old sea dog get under your skin, he's a good man and taught me as much about life as our father did and plenty more than that about the sea. Please tell father and Mother that I send my regards and tell them that I'm so terribly sorry for leaving. It may have been foolish to kill Virgo, but I must stand by my actions, as I cannot say that I regret them.

I have learned much about life and death since I left you my dear sister. The road is not as friendly an ally as one would have hoped and there are more dangers in the five kingdoms than I could have ever imagined. Life as a merchant and member of a noble yet bastard house has sheltered us more than I had ever thought. The Five seem to be on the brink of something terrible, every town is more untrusting of outsiders than the last, here in the town of Camdella, the Ivors seem about ready to draw arms against the Alk'Harans and I fear that matters may only get worse.

Luckily, I have managed so far, to keep my head clear of politics. After I left our estate, I sought aid from a temple of Sigmas, the priest was an honest healer and helped me free of tithe to find passage out of Andmar with a wagon merchant named Devane. I traveled with him as a hired guard, luckily the man didn't seem in favor of asking too many questions and was content with the priest's word that I was a good man and proficient with our brother's sword. If you ever meet the old wagonier when he's back in Andmar, be sure to sell to him, just be wary of his haggling talent!

In our travels through the five kingdoms (and I can safely say that we have ventured through all but Chimaris in this single caravan journey) we gathered a strange assortment of characters. Joining the caravan with me, and now it seems one of my consummate companions is a churlish dwarf that goes by the name Korick Ironbolt. Although of the average dwarven temperament, he is an agreeable sort of person who is unfortunately given to thievery which is no doubt an unfortunate side effect of the inherent greed which runs through their species. I have often wondered if this is not why dwarven society is so strict, perhaps without it's many laws and seemingly arbitrary customs, the greed of dwarves would rule them all. Another addition to the caravan was a young man who has given us his one and seemingly only name as Idwel. This young man is closer to the age of boyhood and if it were not for his uncanny proficiency with what seems to be magic, I would have made sure to leave him at the first village we came across. I still am unsure as to what the boy's motives are, but for better or worse he has joined our party and is in the care of the group. I can only hope that the Geldenieran preist with whom we have made friends can show him toward gentler ways. Ah yes! I have been traveling with a Geldenieran prest named Geldezar, he is the gentlest half-orc I have met in my travels. Much different than the brutes that crew our ships at sea. The priest seems young, just out of the Abbey but in spite of his age, priesthood has matured him, that or the fact that he is stricken with what appears to be leprosy. I have much pity for the young man, but there seems little that I can do for him except give him the respect he deserves which is much for one of his apparent age.

Unfortunately, not all of our travels have been about building companionship on this long and dangerous road. We have come across many people in distress. In a small village who's name escapes me, a group of nasty creatures known as Trogs were killing the inhabitants and ransoming the pesants' lives for more money than the villagers possessed. With some persuasion we were able to convince the wagoneer to allow us to help the endangered people. I have never had to wield my sword or any other weapon in the defense of others and am beginning to understand what a sword means to those who have none in times of need. We slayed the Trogs, and followed the ones who fled us back to their terrible layer beneath the river bank, there we confronted a creature that I am told is a Marrow, a kind of river ogre massive and brutal, where we slew it mercilessly for the evil it had performed upon the defenseless village.

Alia, while I have no desire to follow the footsteps of our brothers, I have found that a person possessed of good will can indeed use a sword for good. While fleeing my life as a merchant which I so adored, I have found another life that fills me with more meaning and a greater sense of the world than I have ever known. I will continue to travel and see what good I can do for people, using my sword if need be, I am anxious to see what this world has to offer without the confines of duty and the worries of money to hold me back.

Before I conclude this letter prematurely, you should know that I am in the employ of the ravener of this city. He has been so kind as to grant us free postage in return for helping him retrieve a letter. The ravener takes his job very seriously and seems to me to be an honorable man. Unfortunately, in order to help the man we had to follow his raven into a catacomb located across the river in Lionne. The catacomb as Presekka ordained was full of foul abominations known as undead.

I have never seen such things in my life, but this new life makes me feel that it won't be the last. Some malevolent power caused the dead of that catacomb to rise back in rotting form and attack us in our attempt to find the lost raven. Once again it was skill with a sword that saved our lives, a skill which I am much more thankful for now than I used to be.

Sister, I love and miss you, I will write when I get a chance however, in the mean time be strong and make me proud. I believe in you.

--Arren Illaithan

Alia closed the letter and sighed. She wished she could escape this place too, fortunately she had an idea of how that was possible. Alia walked to the door and grabbed her cloak. The raven, still there eyed her curiously. She grabbed the lantern on her desk and opened the door. The bird burst out of the door in a black blur, as it had arrived. She waved farewell, and making her way through the dark streets of Andmar, toward the dark forest of ship masts against the sea. It was time for her to speek her mind to Nerro, and start her own adventure...

Korick Ironbolt: Journal Entry

The last fort night has been a real hoot. Who would of thought that a little caravan out of Anmar would see some of the most action Ive ever seen. We've saved a small village from a river ogre and its minions, pillaged an ancient tome and killed a clan of hobs an their cheif'tin. Know this merchant lord Wheydon wants us to assassinate a sheik. How lucky can a dwarf get?

An the lads Ive been traveling with are a good lot bit off though. Arren is one of the bravest swordsmen I've seen in all my years. Hes a fine example of what man can do. Geldazar is a very interesting half-orc, He follows Gelldanear. A more devout and giving orc there will never be. Pour sod seems to have some kind a wasting disease. An then there's Idwel, he has some of the most potent sorcery I've ever encountered. Bit uppity but that's mages. Him and his bird give me a bad feeling though, I'd swear I've heard them talking on a couple of nights and that damdible bird seems to always be watching me. Mocking me with those dam eyes!

Well better get some rest the desert is harsh and unforgiving.

Chapter 4 Introduction: The Hand That Feeds

From the courtyard of Fanrasha Hall you could see the doves flying. Out from the highest windows of the tower they soared. Dozens of bright white shapes peppering the washed out yellow sky. Shiek Fanrasha watched them from his open chamber window. His tiny messengers, each with a hand written letter destined to change the tides of trade between the Ivors and the Alk'Harans.

It seemed the last of his affairs were finally in order. This plan had been in the making for most of his adult life, and only in the past months had it truly come to fruition. Ambushing the Lionne merchants using Hobgoblins as mercenarys had given his guild the advantage in southern towns. Seeds of rebellion against recent trade treaties were being sewn amongst his fellow political allies. If felt as though the ability to start a great war rested in his worthy hands. His queen would reward his efforts. This though made him glance down at his gloved fingers. Dozens of golden rings decorated his slender digits. One ring in particular with a date sized gem hummed with a dark energy. It pulsed like a tiny heartbeat. He kissed it for luck. It had always helped him before.

Fanrasha glided quietly across his chamber to his massive oak wardrobe. With a wave of his hand it swung open, and he casually stepped inside. He knew what he needed, and right where it was. He pulled the thick set of black open robes off it's hanger, feather light despite it's size. He swung the soft fabric around his body and tied it closed.

The silence of the room was suddenly assaulted as a desperate knocking on his door came. Pulling his cowl over his bare face, the Shiek moved to the door in far too few steps. He pulled it open with frustration to see his new gift. The assasin Crowfoot, given to him at last nights unusual banquet. The warrior bowed to his master and held out his delivered package. A long white chest adorned with sea shells.

"You interrupt my preparations Crowfoot. What is this you bring to me? Is it worth your life?"

"My master. I bring to you the chest of one of your guests at last nights table. I found them leaving the castle with bags of my lords money. The coins have been taken to the lower crypts for safe keeping. This chest was among the theif's possessions my master."

Fanrasha took the chest in his hands. Inside it he could feel the tingle of magic spreading though his fingers, as though their blood was returning.

"So not only do you stop a thief from taking part of my riches, you bring me a fine gift. And I expect you want something in return." The Shiek asked arcing a trimmed eyebrow.

"I wish only to server my master." Crowfoot bowed lower, averting his eyes.

"Then you were indeed a fine present. Fine then. You wish to serve me? Take yourself to guard the courtyard. If things go according to plan, my palace may soon be filled with excitement. Take 10 of my guards with you. Then send out the remaining guards to accompany the wagon I have packed north. It MUST reach Den'Mezier. You have your orders. Now leave me."

The assassin stood without a word, bowed again, and left to do his masters bidding. Things indeed were about to come to life. He wasn't afraid. It was just the final step in his long forming campaign. Tonight he would dine with the Queen, as the armies marched South, and claimed the lands of Lionne once and for all.

Grabbing a few items off a shelf he turned to walk down into the main hall, long black robes flowing behind him. In one sleeve he tucked an old wand. In the other a rolled up piece of dusty parchment. After so many years of working through servants, it would be nice to once again get his hands dirty, as he had in years passed. He gave his ring another kiss. Just for good measure.

The 10 Torments

It is said that Sigmas, the king of men, had five children. To each child he left a kingdom, to rule in his place when he ascended to Godhood. Their rule was long, and in the end each died to war, for siblings are of blood, but fight for their pride. Fight and kill.

This legend is spoken of often, and known by many. But less known is the tale of their descendants. Each child of Sigmas gave birth to two children of their own. They are known as the 10 Torments.

Each child bore the sins of humanity in it's blood. Each child took on aspects of mortal nature, and become one with the world. They do not die. They simply exist. Sometimes they are gone. Sometimes they rest for decades. Some are born again, but they are always in the world. Their names were forgotten centuries ago, but each is still known by a title. They are hard to define as "Good" and "Evil." They simple exist, and in doing so give evidence to the humanity of all. They are powerful, and some hate each other, but in the end none can die.

These are their known titles

Mask:     The son who knows each soul. He who feels no pain.
Dagger:   The bloody daughter. She who kills so others may live.
Elder:      The peaceful son. He who has no arms.
Keeper:  The daughter who cannot forget. She who knows all emotion.
Mirror:    The son with two minds. He who speaks all tongues.
Fang:       The savage son. He who is broken, yet strong.
Pale:        The burned son. He who still burns.
Gorge:     The starving son. He who is empty for all time.
Dancer:    The daughter of the wind. She who is never trapped or tricked.
Forest:     The son of the isles. He who looks without seeing.

Chapter 3 Introduction: Tooth and Nail

It wont be long now. Just a little bit further.

At first the sensation of hard dirt and stone against his fingers had made him wince in agony. It had taken days and days of focus to lose touch with the pain. His fingernails were worn down to jagged shreds. His hands, once a rich caramel where now red, scarred, and dark. And yet on he dug.

He lost track of the days after the first season had passed. He hadn't seen so much as another human face in what seemed a lifetime. The stone walls mocked him, but on he dug. Moving stone and earth with his breaking tattered fingers. One thought consumed his mind.

Just a bit more. She is waiting for you. You will see your love again soon. It will all be worth it, just to see her again for a moment.

He stopped to look down. There was now a pool of mud between his palms. Mud made from dirt and blood. His own blood. It would seem he had broken another finger. He couldn't feel the pain, but now the loss of blood was making him lightheaded. He felt like crying. But then the bar wiggled. The iron rod that had been confining his escape for these long weeks. It rocked at his touch, and putting the last of his strength against it, broke free.

I am coming my dearest love. I have missed you so.

Husani stepped out into the passage, and towards his freedom.