“How long has it been since we left that sickening temple?” asked Rose Thorne who sat lazily at the small table in the center of the wagon. She held the magnificent dagger Zaedra—one of a pair with Avorna—in her left hand, admiring its expertly-made hilt and blade. She absently twirled her long, red hair sporadically with her right hand as she looked out the porthole, waiting for an answer.
Saeunn sat in a chair to her right while Orngoth lay down on the floor where the group had spread out several bedrolls in an attempt to make it more comfortable for the giant half-ogre. The three apprentices were present, including the badly injured but recovering Rolf, who was not in the best of shape, but whose condition was stabilized at least.
Elec Stormwhisper and Garius Forge moved about the caravan, pacing back and forth. Garius was brooding and Elec seemed to be suffering from an intense nervousness of some kind.
Rose regarded Garius just then, inspecting silently the powerful Inquisitor from the Order of the Faceless Knights, a very esteemed and feared organization. Garius continued walking the floor with ease in his heavy plated armor, seeming not to tire. He wore it as effortlessly as a sage might wear a robe, Rose noted. She found herself, strangely enough, wondering what his body might look like beneath it, lean and full of muscles, she guessed.
“Two days now,” Garius suddenly answered her question. His words startled her and she happily disengaged from her embarrassing line of thinking.
“We near the northernmost section of the Oakcrest Mountains,” stated the Inquisitor as he paused to stare out the porthole opposite Rose, “as you may be able to tell from the sudden rumbling of the wagon rolling over the uneven road below. We shall be reaching that point within the next half day, and then will be heading back due south around the mountain. Once we hit Heartwood Valley, beyond the Oakcrest Mountains, we will stop for several hours where you will be able to stretch your legs. The road should become less treacherous, too.”
Rose peered outside and watched as the sun disappeared behind a cloud, pondering the recent events that had brought them here. They had been traveling for two days straight and planned to go another before stopping so that they could eat something other than dried bread or stale fruit. The construct that drove Nimaira’s magical caravan continued onward, seemingly paying no heed to those within.
Garius turned from the porthole and regarded the half-ogre, who occupied a huge portion of the caravan’s floor in front of the alcove where their beds were kept. His battered leg was elevated and resting on a chair. They’d all taken note that Orngoth’s leg was mending at a much faster rate than they’d anticipated but it seemed that the bone was fusing in an uneven fashion. They had not gotten the chance to set it properly after the escape from the temple and now it appeared it was too late, which Garius explained that he did not fully understand. Rose’s ankle and Saeunn’s elbow, however, were completely healed now thanks to a combination of both Garius’ healing abilities and Elec’s alchemical ointments.
They trudged along for another day. Elec conversed with Saeunn, in between his lengthy disappearances into his extra-dimensional lab space. When the barbarian did speak to the inquisitive elf, he intently consumed the information with an attentive gaze. But Rose spent all of that time in deep consideration as to why she kept thinking of Garius. And in ways she’d never thought possible after their initial encounter in the conference room of the High Council.
...From Covenant of the Faceless Knights!
The orc bore down on him quickly and was only a few strides away now. Elec could see the drool spray from his sharp-toothed mouth as he uttered some foul orc-speak. Elec waited calmly with his weapons drawn, but had not yet revealed them from beneath his cloak. As the orc reached his position, Elec nimbly dove to the left to avoid the charge, all the while keeping his foot outstretched enough to trip the orc. The momentum of the beast’s charge took him headlong into the mountainside, smashing his helmet down around his eyes, and looking rather worse for wear.
Within a heartbeat, Elec was back on his feet, spinning and plunging his sword into the back of the orc. He put all of his body weight into the strike. He pierced flesh, but the blade did not go all the way through. It stopped when it struck something hard beneath the flesh, most likely a rib, he considered. He cursed his luck, thinking the strike to have been well placed.
His frustration nearly cost him.
The orc howled in pain and swung a back-fist that would have taken off Elec’s head. Luckily, the combination of his sixth sense along with the temporary, enhanced state of reactionary speed and reflexes that his elixirs granted him saved him from that full impact. The blow merely grazed his face instead of crushing the bones beneath it as he was able to roll with it. He regained his footing and stood again quickly, shaking the sting of the impact from his mind. A sizable gash on his face was already starting to heal, thanks to one particular elixir coursing through him.
He waited for the orc to stand again. He did so, straightening his helmet. The orc growled and blood seeped from the deep wound in his back. Yet, he did not seem to care or notice as he advanced again, more slowly this time. His blood stained the ground with each step.
Elec whispered an ancient elven word under his breath and suddenly, he blinked out of sight and reappeared directly behind the orc. His yellow eyes grew wide as a blade tip protruded through the front of his chest cavity. The orc went limp and dropped to the ground, revealing the visibly relieved elf holding Daegnar Giruth in both hands, its edge covered in orc gore.
Elec gave himself a silent congratulation as he acknowledged his victory. He mouthed a whispered thanks for the magic of the ring, one of many gifts that his uncle had given him over the years. The orc bore down on him quickly and was only a few strides away now. Elec could see the drool spray from his sharp-toothed mouth as he uttered some foul orc-speak. Elec waited calmly with his weapons drawn, but had not yet revealed them from beneath his cloak. As the orc reached his position, Elec nimbly dove to the left to avoid the charge, all the while keeping his foot outstretched enough to trip the orc. The momentum of the beast’s charge took him headlong into the mountainside, smashing his helmet down around his eyes, and looking rather worse for wear.
Within a heartbeat, Elec was back on his feet, spinning and plunging his sword into the back of the orc. He put all of his body weight into the strike. He pierced flesh, but the blade did not go all the way through. It stopped when it struck something hard beneath the flesh, most likely a rib, he considered. He cursed his luck, thinking the strike to have been well placed.
His frustration nearly cost him.
The orc howled in pain and swung a back-fist that would have taken off Elec’s head. Luckily, the combination of his sixth sense along with the temporary, enhanced state of reactionary speed and reflexes that his elixirs granted him saved him from that full impact. The blow merely grazed his face instead of crushing the bones beneath it as he was able to roll with it. He regained his footing and stood again quickly, shaking the sting of the impact from his mind. A sizable gash on his face was already starting to heal, thanks to one particular elixir coursing through him.
He waited for the orc to stand again. He did so, straightening his helmet. The orc growled and blood seeped from the deep wound in his back. Yet, he did not seem to care or notice as he advanced again, more slowly this time. His blood stained the ground with each step.
Elec whispered an ancient elven word under his breath and suddenly, he blinked out of sight and reappeared directly behind the orc. His yellow eyes grew wide as a blade tip protruded through the front of his chest cavity. The orc went limp and dropped to the ground, revealing the visibly relieved elf holding Daegnar Giruth in both hands, its edge covered in orc gore.
Elec gave himself a silent congratulation as he acknowledged his victory. He mouthed a whispered thanks for the magic of the ring, one of many gifts that his uncle had given him over the years.
It was common knowledge throughout the realm as to which symbol belonged to which god, such as The Champion, The Dreamer, The Cherished One, and so on. These were all reflected clearly upon the man’s raiments.
The red of his armor extended from helmet to boots, but was slightly broken up by the accent of black in the form of a cloak on his back. His breastplate was not without definitive features either. The Inquisitors of the Faceless Knights wore a stylized white skull placed directly on the left-side, just around where the heart would be. It was a major contrast to the blood-red of his armor and an unmistakable icon.
The guards seemed to at least recognize that he was a representative of an important establishment as they neared the gate.
“Can I help you?” asked a watchman in a firm but respectful voice.
Garius was a full head taller than the guard, and his overall presentation clearly conveyed him as a commanding presence.
“We are here at the behest of the High Council of Oakhaven,” Garius replied in a deep, gravelly and imposing voice that seemed to cause the guard to question who exactly was the authority here. The sentry swallowed hard and averted looking into the shadows of Garius’s helm immediately after the Inquisitor spoke.
Garius wore a protective face-plated helmet, which had thin eye slits and a vertical slot running down the center. It concealed his eyes and face for the most part in shadow, the only facial feature that could be distinguished was the raven-black, long, braided beard that stopped just below his chest.
He slowly removed his helm, revealing a pair of deep-set brown eyes and a cleanly shaven head. He bore a faded scar above his left eye that seemed out of place on his otherwise pristine countenance.
“I carry documents here with the seal of Tiyarnon of the Oakhaven High Council, along with several other council members’ signatures if you would like to see them,” Garius continued. He placed his helmet under the crook of his arm, resting it there, as the guard nodded and accepted the documents.
They both knew it was not necessary for him to provide the documents in order to enter the city, but he figured it might be an easy way to gain a little more respect from the guards and anyone else who came into contact with them. News would certainly travel fast that the Inquisition was in town and Garius didn’t mind if people knew.
The guard inspected the papers for a moment and returned them to Garius with a nod and salute of respect. Just then, two robed figures emerged from the caravan to stand by the Inquisitor’s side. They wore similar regalia, indicating that they, too, were equals of his stature and deserving of similar respect.
“Here for the Days of Holy Enlightenment, too? It starts in but a few morns,” the first sentry asked, as a second watchman now inspected the documents. He nodded to Garius and handed them back.
“It is an honor to have the Faceless Knights of Order represented here in Oakhaven,” said the second guard as he saluted the three Inquisitorial representatives.
“Of course, we would not miss it,” Garius responded to the first guard’s question, keeping his tone level and his eyes on both of them.
Garius waited as the guards called for the gates to be opened. The large crank behind the massive outer wall ground loudly and eventually pulled the heavy iron gates open.
The three men strode into the city proper as the caravan departed into the dust behind them.
All of the following can now be found in WOTHLONDIA RISING...
The three of them traveled for hours heading south along the River Divide, whose current ran in a southerly direction hundreds of feet below them. The river was used by many to bring goods and services to other towns for trade along its banks. The three bridges that crossed the River Divide, including Nature’s Pass, were at extremely high points where ships could easily pass beneath them.
Nimaira repeatedly used her significant magical abilities to propel the horses forward at increased speeds for several minutes at a time to hasten their pursuit. This, of course, made Rolin feel very disgruntled. To him it was bad enough to be obliged to ride a horse at all, let alone having it run at two to three times its normal speed for minutes on end! The dwarf did not like it at all—not eighty five years ago, and certainly not today!
Tiyarnon and the others concluded that the priests had not taken the northern bridge, as the guards or patrols outside the city would have spotted them and reported this as being the case. Eyewitnesses explicitly expressed that the group headed south out of Oakhaven the evening before last. And they most likely would not have crossed the southernmost bridge. They would be too exposed to detection as the south was barren and known to be full of wild beasts roaming those open plains.
This all meant that they had to have traveled over the River Divide at Nature’s Pass, which would have had them passing directly through the heart of Amrel and close to the forest elves who made their homes there. The elves of Amrel would have certainly noticed the acolytes within their domain, although such a route would have also given the travelers cover. No one—humanoid or otherwise—passed through Amrel without King Dorinthal’s knowledge, for his eyes were vigilant and ever-present.
Tiyarnon confidently spurred his horse further south toward the elven-made bridge, hoping his theory proved to be sound.
...From A Rose in Bloom
As Rose made her way to the brothel, she avoided the orphanage, still not being able to face up to what it had done to her over the relatively few years she’d spent upon the face of Wothlondia. She had not yet reached her sixteenth name-day, but she had many recollections from her early teens. These memories did not elicit pleasant thoughts, nor did they bring into being a joyful childhood… far from it, Rose thought bitterly.
She had been faced with a constant stream of cruelty from potential guardians. Her maidenhead had been taken from her at a young age, before her thirteenth name-day if she recalled correctly, and as well she had been physically and verbally assaulted and otherwise abused. Many a step-parent, step-sibling or other keeper had mistreated her, or worse, when she’d been in their care, including the proprietor of the orphanage to whom she owed a special kind of payback!
Augustus by name, he was a well-connected man. He had frequently sent her off to someone who was unfit to mother or father her properly. More than a few times, when accosted by people who should have been protecting her, Rose had had to take matters into her own hands, especially when help from the Watch or city officials did not arrive in a timely manner. Afterwards, they always simply sent her back to the orphanage, too young to face any real charges, and never did they find any evidence of the ill-treatment she claimed—and this despite her obvious bruises. She had hated her time there and was preparing to run away from the orphanage once more when the half-elven and beautiful Marielle had stepped in, eliciting the young woman from Augustus, citing her looks and offering a favorable return on investment if Rose remained unscathed.
Marielle had taken her away from Augustus that summer and Rose began her life at the bordello. It was much improved when compared to the orphanage and her figure began to fill out into shapely proportions. Marielle, her Madam, assigned her a position after her fourteenth name-day as an errand girl at first. She would allot chores to Rose, having her handle everyday jobs, mostly involving washing and cleaning for the first half year of her stay as she acclimatized to their ways and procedures. Rose was both athletically built and pleasing to the eye for men who enjoyed the company of a female counterpart. This was a blessing in disguise to Marielle, as Rose was becoming extremely beautiful—more so than many of the other girls—and lending herself well to her approaching profession. Of course, those others couldn’t help but notice and often shunned her or otherwise mistreated her verbally.
Rose had an uncanny sleight of hand, as well as a silver tongue, both of which were a benediction and a curse. She could talk her way into and then out of trouble, though wise cracks were bountiful and often spoken at inopportune times. She was frequently scolded by her Madam for this particular habit, though Marielle had already guessed that the lectures would not arrest Rose’s loose lips.
Rose was also discovering a certain penchant and aptitude for thievery. The thrill of pilfering goods or coin made her heart race, and she could not stop herself. Theft was fast becoming her drug of choice. She showed a dual acuity of both mind and body that allowed her to accomplish the deeds without being detected a single time—at least by the Watch. She was particularly well accomplished at the art now, and that had attracted some unwanted attention from a certain group of organized crime persons in Oakhaven.
She’d been warned more than once about purloining goods—including the food she stole—and that if she continued, there would be consequences. But being the brash young soul Rose was, she did not take it seriously, nor did she believe that they would catch her. So, she continued to steal, food mostly, whenever she desired. She did not have much in the way of coin and certainly could not afford the prices of the merchants here in Oakhaven, who sold their goods at inflated cost. But that wasn’t the issue. Rose filched because she could and because she was good at it. And it didn’t hurt to have a full belly when going to the brothel in the morning, as Marielle soon had her toiling, putting her to task to complete many chores.
...From Maturation Process
Morning came once more and the passing of time did nothing to quell the guilt that Elec felt. He approached his alchemy that morning with passion unparalleled, diving into his work in order to forget about his problems. The hours passed and he continued mixing and testing elixirs, theorizing about different effects based on his findings.
Faorath entered his nephew’s workspace and found Elec engrossed in his work. He moved into view, startling Elec and nearly causing him to drop his latest potion, but fortunately he snatched it back in a flas
“You have good reflexes,” Faorath proffered, nodding to Elec and watching him as he pushed aside a curly strand of dark hair from in front of his eyes.
“Thank you, uncle,” Elec answered, still focused on his experiments. When he finally managed to look up, he witnessed his uncle exploring the contents of his bookcase, which was filled with texts on the topics of magic and science.
“I wrote this one, you know,” Faorath informed him, pulling one tome in particular from the shelf. It was a book explaining the training and handling of exotic magical beasts.
“Yes, and it is something that I want to discuss with you,” Elec admitted. “I would like to train as a Wind Rider.” Faorath’s amber eyes widened at this revelation.
“Your father—“
“Would be more than happy to be rid of me,” Elec finished the sentence for him. “I would no longer be a disappointment to the family and this would perhaps free my mind from the torment of spellcasting.”
Faorath stood silent for several moments and then nodded his affirmation. “Very well, I will approach your father on the subject.” He smiled a wide grin in appreciation of Elec’s decision as he strode to the exit.
When Faorath returned over an hour later, he found Elec once more deep in study, but this time he was reading the book his uncle had written. Elec looked up from the thick tome and smiled, nodding a greeting.
“I have read this book at least seven times,” Elec disclosed. “I have always wondered what it would be like to fly above the trees and into the clouds, to discover what Wothlondia and even all of Krotto has to offer in the ways of nature’s beauty.”
“It did not take much convincing for your father to agree to this,” Faorath stated bluntly as he stood with his hands on his hips. “He feels that if he presents this news to the elders, it will assuage their doubts and help his standing to remain as it was—‘unblemished’ was the word he used, I believe. No matter, Stormwhisper has been a powerful name in the family of high elven mages over thousands of years, as you are reminded each day.”
“Aye,” Elec agreed. “I feel that if I had been something of a real Stormwhisper mage, I could have stopped Jhaeronas.”
“You are a real Stormwhisper, Elec. Do not doubt this. Just because you do not show an aptitude for manipulating the powers of Arcana does not make you any less a family member.”
“That is not what my father says,” Elec refuted. “My sister and brother and all of the Stormwhispers before them were able to do this. I do not understand why I cannot.” Elec peered into a mirror. “I even look different than all of my family,” he added, twirling a lock of his dark hair in his fingers, then flicking it away in disgust. “I have dark hair and my eyes are unlike those of any of my kin. I have never seen another high elf with features such as mine!”
“Your masteries lie elsewhere. That is quite obvious,” Faorath offered, waving a hand over the workspace. “You are quite a remarkable alchemist, as well as an expert in the ways of mechanics. As for your features, you are exotic, yes, but it adds to your unique character. It does not detract from anything you do, nor does it define you. You will do well to remember that.”
Faorath headed to the door, pulled the handle and swung it wide open. “Come to me when you are ready to begin your training.”
Elec watched the door close behind him and returned to his book. But try as he might, this time he could not digest the words, for his mind was elsewhere.
...From Tears of Blood
….Then she saw them coming.
The barbarian horde collectively slowed for a split second as they beheld the living atrocities in greater detail. The things were bloated, rotting creatures. Skin adorned with sores and boils dripped from their bones. They were a truly horrid sight and an obvious blight upon the whole of Wothlondia!
The first of the wretched creatures hit their lines. After the initial revulsion of having seen the things up close, the barbarians responded in kind.
Saeunn and Scarr were amongst those in the second wave of attackers. Saeunn strayed from her group, purposefully giving ground as she wanted to swing her weapon wide. She rushed to meet a group of the creatures head on, barbarian fury pumping in her veins. Her first wide swing cleaved one in two across the stomach, barely slowing on the flesh or what was inside it. She recognized this abomination to be what the village shamans told her was a zombie, an undead corpse fueled with evil life gifted by the demon lords of Pandemonium. But this thing looked different from the creatures in the shaman’s tales. It was full of deadly disease and oozed a vile corruption from its tattered skin.
A second and third pestilent wretch appeared and moved toward her. Part of her could not help but be impressed by the speed at which the bulbous creatures scrambled. She slashed her sword across in a downward, right to left motion, all but severing the head of the nearest zombie. It hung loosely by a strand of flesh, and then landed with a squishy sound upon the damp ground, followed by its body.
The third zombie slammed into Saeunn, knocking her back a few steps and probing for flesh to bite with its keen-edged teeth. It continued, following its impetus, which the woman had anticipated for she fought on instinct. Saeunn rolled backwards with the creature’s momentum, extending her sword straight out while holding it tightly and near the top of the hilt, halfway up the weapon’s blade, giving her better control of its weight.
The undead wretch skewered itself upon her sword. But instead of recoiling, the zombie continued to push toward her, further impaling itself and refusing to yield, wanting only to reach her flesh. Saeunn pulled her blade free, exchanging the placement of the weapon with her own left foot, which she used to keep the thing at bay. She shoved out with tremendous force, thrusting the creature rearward to gain space and using that inertia to once more propel herself into a backward roll. She sprung to her feet before the thing could move toward her and spun in a complete circle. Her greatsword followed the arc and slashed through the zombie’s neck with significant force, causing its head to fly away, rolling toward another fray not far from her. She paused to witness the battle for a split second as she was given a brief reprieve.
Saeunn heard the slashing of swords and axes biting into zombie flesh. She listened to the screams of dying barbarians and heard the invigorating roar of battle cries that instilled a morale boost to the servants of The Champion.
Saeunn followed the bounding skull of the zombie and watched as another of them charged, tripping over it and stumbling forward. It had the misfortune of sprawling into the devastating dance of the pair of axes belonging to her father, Scarr. He had managed to stay close to his daughter in the skirmish and kept an eye on her. He grunted a few times as he swung those axes in a rhythmic pattern, continuing to chop the zombie to pieces in a way that made it look as though he were dancing and not fighting. Not once did any of the creatures advance past his defenses and never did the man’s weapons cease their hypnotic pattern of destruction.
...From Strength of Faith
Garius focused on the door when he heard the footsteps approach, light though they were. He was awake, but hardly refreshed. He had already refitted his armor meticulously, prayed and meditated in the cramped confines of the room and had done so quietly enough not to wake the others.
The expected knock sounded on the door, echoing in the room as his companions began to stir. Garius opened the door and beheld a hunched gnome. He looked impatiently into the room, and then stared up at Garius and began mumbling something to him. The warpriest bent to one knee before the bald gnome and placed a hand to his ear.
“I said, Larwinckle be ready for ye,” the unnamed gnome repeated more clearly and then waddled away along a scarcely perceptible path that was worn into the grassy meadow. It was barely visible now and had gone undetected all of last evening, especially after the sun had fallen into the clouds.
“I will accompany this one. You will seek me out once you are dressed and ready,” Garius called back to the others, but Divah was already up and out of her bedroll wearing a long gown made of a thin, yet durable fabric that Garius assumed was meant to be slept in. The halfling was so excited to get moving that it seemed she did not care about the state of her undress.
“I am coming with you,” she told Garius eagerly, her green eyes filled with wonder and joy at her obvious expectations of finally exploring the gnome village. With that, she snatched up her shoes and began moving hastily out of the burrow. The Paladins began to move about in the shadows of the room, donning their clothing and then their armor. Garius shook his head and a smile cracked his face as he watched the halfling, hopping forward on one foot and then the other, trying to put on her shoes while hurrying after him.
She is quite impulsive, he thought, allowing the smile to remain until it left of its own accord a few moments later.
The gnome led Garius and the female halfling to a smallish door that appeared to be anchored to the ground. It was partially hidden by brush and foliage, Garius observed, as the gnome knocked loudly on its hard, wooden surface. Garius also noted that there was no knob to be seen or any other obvious way to pull the door open from the outside.
With that thought in mind, he saw the door open outward slowly as a gnome pushed it ajar and then waved them all in. Garius watched as the gnome and halfling strode easily through the opening, then he stooped, having to bend low in order to navigate the space. It was well lit inside by a combination of lanterns and a brilliant, magical light coming in from above them that appeared to hover and move about on its own. The warpriest wondered if the wisp of light was something sentient.
Larwinckle sat at a large table by himself and waved Garius and Divah over to join him.
