The sunlight has been a welcome change from our dark crawlings of late. I’ve had time to check on the progress of the inn and distillery, and relaxing on the terrace of the Inn with a glass and a pipe has become a comfortable evening ritual for me.
The other night, Mahar and I played a game of ‘chess’ that was somewhat surprising to me – the board was a map of the Bannerlands, and the collection of pieces was…incomplete. The pieces are so finely detailed that they appear as though made to wake into life, and there were no pawns. The sides – black and red – each had their royal ranks, Queen, King, Knight, Bishop, Rook…and many of them were recognizable to me. The black king, Lord Hezrith, and the white king, Gavilan, with their supporting cast.
We talked at length about the state of affairs here in Al’Veydra, and its potential outcomes. Mahar seems to find it wasteful that we should make this place our home. Given the war to come, he views this place as being highly likely to be razed without much trouble. Worse still, the driving force between the two sides are no less than strong representatives of the Hells and the Abyss itself – Glasya behind Gavilan and the adopted daughter of Orcus behind Hesrith. After investigating the area’s history with Gal’Van, the old sage we purchased in Erelhei-Cinlu and freed to live here in Al’Veydra, we discovered that Al’Veydra was a meeting of ley-lines. Channels of power, ley-lines are focuses of energy, like rivers focus water. As it turns out, Al’Veydra is a confluence of them – several cross here, making Al’Veydra a power node of not insignificant value.
Although I have little direct attachment to this place, I see an opportunity here to emplace myself in the heart of a new and rising power, should it come to that. As such, I would prefer it not to fall to either side, but rather dominate both.
“You’ll have a hard time doing that, given the forces against you here.” Mahar looked across the unrolled leather chess-board at me.
“Yes, but while formidable, the backers are not acting openly. That tells me there’s something preventing them from doing so. The armies will be mortals, though I expect they’ll be reinforced with members of their respective immortals.”
“Not open now, but you have no guarantee that such openness would not arise in the future. I would not get too attached to this place if I were you.”
“What brings you to this place, then? Why the duskspire here?”
“That, for now, isn’t relevant. When it becomes so, I will tell you.”
“We do have an option or two to expand the influence of this place. It seems a little far-fetched, but I had hopes that I might be fortunate enough to rekindle an Empire here.”
“You and I both know the impermanence of empires.” Mahar sipped a large dose of whiskey, and motioned to a server to bring more. Duchan saw us, and nodded while he poured another drink. A few other dwarves were there, chugging ale and telling stories. One, Karac by name, had come to us looking for not only Duchan, but Sered – he’d heard some fantasy stories about an immortal, unkillable angel leading Fellbane and had come to pledge service to him. Interesting fellow. Good axe.
“Empires rise and fall, it is the way of things. I know some of what went askew with my ancestors, and some of what might improve us. Perhaps this one will not fall.”
“Even your sister couldn’t keep Bael Turath from coming to the ground, Az.”
“My sister? What?”
“Indeed, your youngest sister, only a toddler when you vanished. She became quite the general in the Cairn Jale, had a rather dramatic view of you as the hero in absentia.”
“Achia became a warrior, then? That’s comforting.”
“Quite a good one, really. Many Shadrim today claim her among their ancestry.”
“Curious, but given our proclivities, I’d guess many of them to be lying.”
“Indeed, but it’s of little concern. What will you do here?”
“I am not quite certain. I am very curious about the reports we’ve had of this strange keep that has appeared in the Witch Light Fens, but I think first thing, one of Fellbane’s number has a bit of a problem that needs to be addressed.” I took a few crackers and swiped a bit of cheese on them.
“Which one?”
“The halfwise, he’s become attached to some sort of medallion, apparently it has a strange variety of curse on it. I spoke to Sybarron about it, and he has given me a little background – apparently a half-elf named Feyan Eire embedded something of herself into it during her death. Her spirit has apparently been trapped in the Feyspire of Taer Lan Doresh. He’s been afflicted with the nightmares and dreams of this woman, and it is causing him considerable problems.”
“Interesting. I’d be very curious to hear more about this place after you visit.” He nodded. “Are you going back through the Troll gate?”
“No, I think this time we’re going to seek something that will let us in a little closer to the chosen target.”
“Wise choice. That fellow Gal’Van you brought back from the underworld can probably assist you with that.”
I nodded back.
“Which reminds me. Your sword there, and the deal you made with the young queen of faerie.” He pointed to where Sybarron rested against the table.
I raised my eyebrows.
“You still bear the marks of past bargains, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
He leaned forward, motioned me closer, as though to tell me a secret. I leaned in as well.
He took up a fork and rapped me on the right horn. “Where do you think you got those? Or your eyes? Your tail? You think these things came about naturally?”
“I’m not following you. I know the bargains you refer to, in particular the one binding my family. Ille Macreane is bound by the Covenant of the Iron Flame. I learned it as a boy.”
“Yes. If that was similar to the other contracts made, it stains the offspring. It ties you to the contract, though your soul is not bound in the same fashion as that of your antecedents. Still, you pay a price in your appearance and your nature.”
“A price. I begin to follow.” I was very intrigued now.
“Yes. And by the Laws of Contract, no price may be collected without value given in return. Again, if you need a refresher, Gal’Van bears the brand of Mephistopheles – he obviously has had dealings directly with the Legions.”
“But no party is obligated to delivery until the parcel is requested, correct?”
“Yes, you begin to get me, I think.”
“So I have paid a price for which no goods were delivered – and I am within bounds to request return for my payment then?”
“As you say. Given the five or six centuries that have passed, it’s possible that you could collect a considerable return should you redeem this correctly.”
“So you are saying that I would be within bounds to claim power similar to my exchange with the Fae for the price?”
“I think that would be well within bounds.”
“Again I find myself wondering, why tell me this? I know you serve the Hells, why tell me this which is obviously to their detriment?”
“Even within the Hells, in spite of its orderly nature, there are conflicts. Perhaps this serves me. Besides, we have been friends, and we are at least allies in the present time.”
“Fair enough. I’ll look into it. And thanks for the information.”
“Of course.” He waved to Duchan and signaled for a bottle. Motioned to the board and pieces on the table. “Now, I believe it is your move.”
I grinned a bit at that. Reached for the black queen, looking it over closely. “Better the evil you know, I should think. Call me a fool, but I still think it is possible to create a working Empire that will last.”
“Fool. Bael Turath from the ashes, you can’t be hoping for that?” He grinned at the chance to level the barb. “I joined the legions of Hell to get out from underneath the fall of that, to give you a little perspective on how bad things were towards the end.”
“Not the Bael Turath we knew. You and I both know it had failings that began with the Contracts.” I looked at the other pieces. “We lost sight of the purpose of the Empire – it isn’t about naked power, it is about the safekeeping of its people and the protections of its lands. Our people took too much from the rest.”
“Interesting to think of, but somewhat idealistic, if you ask me.”
“Perhaps, but true nonetheless.”
He shrugged as the new bottle arrived. “Same time tomorrow?”
I looked at the pieces. “Absolutely. I’ll bring my set tomorrow – the rules are simpler.” I smiled at him.
“Keep that one. You could use the reminder of what you all are dealing with. Meanwhile,” he reached over the table, picking up his cup and the still-full bottle, “I’m taking this. Good night, Az.”
“Sleep well, Mahar.”
He shrugged back at me. I knew he didn’t sleep any longer. Still, I liked the phrase.
We spent several days in Al’Veydra, gathering information from a variety of sources. Gal’Van did prove of particular interest, both with regard to finding a passage to the feywild closer to our chosen destination, as well as with my personal interest.
The group formed up a few days later for our expedition. Bingo was grateful for our choosing to pursue this. From speaking with Sered, the halfwise was becoming extremely agitated at the nature of the dreams he was having…even unto hallucinating the half-elf spirit haunting him. Sered was also happy to hear we had something of a clear-cut journey ahead. Sered was recovering well from his…well, what to say? His temporary death.
I am of two minds on the ritual of Returning. I strongly follow the pragmatic need for all things to die, our beginnings in this world of elements tempered by the ordered influence of the Astral maturing into whatever is appropriate for us after. This world, our nursery as it were, serving only to mature us into our next forms. To die is simply to make the next step. But sometimes, we grow beyond our infancy – and we do so before we pass to our next destination. Sometimes as well, we have a purpose beyond maturation to serve here in this world.
It gives me pause to use the ritual or see it used, since it defies the natural order of things. But it is, sometimes, necessary. I suppose I would prefer it be used upon me, if I had purpose ahead of me still.
Regardless I am glad to have his sword, and his wit, back with us.
We also had discussed the idea of locating Bow, the wandering archer we’d met on the journey, what felt so long ago. His tattoo and the silver pipe he carried gave us the clues we needed to know that he was very likely the long-lost brother to the true Grand King of the Bannerlands. His trail lost after he vanished in search of a way to recall the flooding of Nentir vale and the terrible massacre that took place as a result. Any such effort would take place after we rescued Bingo’s wayward ghost.
The trek overland was a few days’ easy travel, following one of the ley-lines that Gal’Van had told us about and showed us how to follow.
We arrived at our destination, an old farm-house with a small barn to the east side. Smoke drifted lazily from the chimney, and warm yellow light glowed from a couple of the windows. We talked for a little wihle, but in the end decided it would be best not to introduce ourselves. Best not to intrude on someone else’s life who might be ill-prepared to deal with the company we keep. Our point was the well in the back garden – a tidy stone cylinder with flower-beds and an herb garden around it.
We quietly moved in once darkness was complete, and Zenith cast the portal ritual to open the way into the Feywild. A soft silver glow grew within the well, casting strange shadows on the mist rising from the ground around us.
We lowered ourselves down the well singly, a few in advance of me. When I finally dropped myself into the water, I felt the comforting chill of Winter ahead – and dropped into waters cold as ice. I rose to the surface, struggling to get my head above water. We were in a choppy sea, tossed with wind and overcast with a slate-grey cloud cover. Ahead of us, the shore was not far, a white strand beach upon which the sea beat its rhythm with a sonorous thunder.
Enormous pines and firs lined the beach, beginning only a few yards from the crunching surf. Once we reached the shore, I began to notice that many of the trees were manicured, cleanly trimmed – the trees extended in a few places into the water, to form natural docks. Two small ships were moored, swaying slowly in the chop.
A group of Eladrin were jogging towards us – lithe forms moving as quick as the wind, with their bows and swords out. We raised to our feet, and did not draw our own weapons.
They formed a light perimiter around us, weapons drawn. Three of them moved fast and held Dex down, swords raised to strike, and while the others readied themselves to shoot, their leader spoke out. “Hold.”
I nodded my thanks. “It would be most appreciated if you chose not to kill us today.”
He looked at the others. “Does this demon speak for you all?”
There were some looks my way that I understood to be ‘don’t screw this up,’ so I did my best. “From time to time, I do, sir. I am Azrael, and we call ourselves Fellbane.”
“What is your purpose here, demon?” He seemed somewhat perturbed, so I did my best to be as inoffensive as possible. Lowering my hands and stepping forward, I bowed.
“Sir, I am Shadrim, not demon, though you may call me as you wish. My companions and I seek to find Taer Dian Loresh.”
His pale countenance grew still lighter at the mention of our destination. He took a step back and waved off the soldiers holding Dex. They released her and stood back, while she rose and shook off the hold.
“You travel with ill-advised company. You can go no further.” The captain of the guards stated flatly.
“Please, sir, our companion has shown us no treachery. We would seek your permission and your council, as we know little of your lands. May I at least know your name?”
“I am Galeal. Why do you seek the Fortress of Nightmare?”
I motioned Bingo forward. He opened his shirt and showed the fellow where the medallion had sunk into his chest.
“Kind sir, we found this jewel many weeks ago. Unknowingly, I put it on, and as you see, it has fastened itself to me. It imparts visions and dreams to me, of a woman named Feyan Eire. She haunts me, sir, and we seek to free her from the Fortress.”
He asked us our past, and we described the history of Fellbane for him. His men relaxed when they observed that we made no motion to our weapons. I asked once again, how we might reach Taer Lian Doresh.
“You are on the shores of the Sea of Scales. This,” and he waved back at the city, “is Aerovan. We are adjoining the Vastwood, and where you seek to travel is across the sea to the East. You will wait here.”
With that he took two of his companions and jogged back to the village.
While he was jogging away, I saw several of us were suffering from the chill, badly. “May we have some dead wood to begin a fire, please? My companions are suffering.” One of them walked into the forest, and returned shortly after with an armfull of kindling and dragging a large log. We set about making a fire with it while awaiting the return of the Galeal.
Shortly after we had the fire going and began to get warm, Galeal returned with his men and a new person – an ancient Eladrin woman, a witch of some kind. He spoke with her for a moment. She took our measure, looking us over each in turn. After she finished looking us over, she retreated to the fire-side, and spread out a small leather sheet on the sand. She took out a few small wooden cups, and from them spilled many shells and bones. She looked these over, and mumbled something.
From her cloak she drew a tiny, thin dagger with one hand, and a fluttering white dove with the other. I didn’t even see her hand move, it was so fast – the dove seemed to simply part down the middle, its fluttering coming to an abrupt halt. She flicked through the exposed entrails, mumbling quietly to herself. Galeal watched impassively.
She looked up at us. “One will die, one will be enslaved, and one will be a Prince.” She looked to Galeal. “They mean no harm to us.” She then stood and walked away, back to town.
Galeal looked at us cautiously. “The mother has spoken. You may enter our town.” I smiled and nodded in thanks. “But she must stay here, she may not enter.”
“May we at least keep the fire for her, to remain warm?”
“Of course. But she may not leave the light of that fire, or she will be destroyed.” Dex nodded at this.
“I’ll be fine.” She said. “May I gather more wood when this is close to done?”
Galeal thought a moment. “No, but call out and more will be brought to you. Your companions may bring you food and water, if they wish.”
I looked to her. “I’ll bring something out for you once we figure out where to get it.”
We were escorted back to their town, a small set of huts and homes, with two lodges among them. All the buildings were grown from the trees and vines around us. Galeal spoke. “You will find lodging in the main buildings. We host many seeking to hunt the Vastwood, and there are no guests now. You will also find food and drink there. I will attend to you in the morning.”
We did as he said, found rooms in the lodges. Food and drink as well. I brought a full plate, shielded from the wind in a heavy wooden tray and cover, out to Dex.
I slept lightly that night, Sybarron and I discussing what might be present in this Fortress of Nightmare. He had only heard rumors, and himself had never met the Shan Doresh, master of the Fortress. He knew only of the reputation of him, that he was cruel, cold and demanding. I already anticipated that I might have issues finding bite in my talents against this creature, should we be required to fight it. Winter being my specialty, it would be difficult to achieve good purchase against another being of cold.
Fortunately, I had an ace up my sleeve. I would at least not be powerless.
We went through the next day with the others exploring the town. For some reason I felt detached, and spent a great part of the day in meditation. The forests of the Feywild are so fascinating, so familiar, yet alien.
That evening, as we gathered around the lodge, the others introduced me to Shalvar, a captain of one of the ships docked here. They had negotiated a deal with him to take us to Taer Dian Loresh, but only so far as to the shallow waters where we might be able to touch ground while swimming in. In exchange, he would take experiences – our sensations, memories, emotions. Having already made a deal that cost me a year of my childhood, I made sure it was not an exclusive exchange.
So, here I sit, by the fire we made for Dex on our second night, scribbling into my journal book. Tomorrow we sail for the Fortress of Nightmare. Assuming we get there.
For the Feywild is full of creatures, great and small, that emphasize the bloody-clawed nature of nature itself. And we have found in our past dealings that even the land creatures make rough sport of us. The sea in our own world is difficult enough…what manner of beasts will beset us while en route to this unwelcoming shore?
