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Post by Chanticleer on Jun 30, 2017 13:04:58 GMT -5
Upon emerging from the magickal gateway, Chanticleer, Jon, Kaylin, Sir Starfalcon, Thalesa, and their miniaturized prisoner reappeared inside of a stone chamber littered with the decaying corpses of a dozen Technocrat soldiers. For years, this small garrison had controlled the sole point of access between Everywhere and the Technocrats’ steam-powered perversion of a world. The Everywhere-side of the portal opened upon into a room on the bottom level of ‘The End …,’ a dungeon named for its location within the impenetrable range of mountains that covered the southern reaches of the Lands of Unknown Despair, which many scholars also agreed was the southernmost point of Everywhere. Until recently, ‘The End …’ had been infested by a variety of horrific beasts and protected by deadly traps. Magic-wielding, multi-eyed gazers; diminutive, ration-devouring gremlins; clever mimics disguised as treasure chests; and those omnivorous abominations known as zorns, all lurking its winding, cavernous passages. Behind every wall, ceiling, and floor was the possibility of spike-filled pits, scything blades, or a hail of poisonous arrows. Prior to embarking on their mission to capture the Techno-Prophet, the Emerald Fist spent weeks cleansing the dungeon of these threats and its Technocrat presence. As they exited ‘The End …’, trading stale air and darkness for a cool mountainside breeze and the light of the Twin Suns, Chanticleer’s dark brown eyes narrowed slightly. “Most strange.” Kaylin scanned the immediate area for any danger. “What is it?” “The world of the Technocrats. Finally, a place I detest more than Everywhere.” From there, they traveled north for two weeks, across the ever-changing, logic-defying landscape of the Lands of Unknown Despair. Wet, humid marshes adjacent to Twin Suns-baked desert lands that neighbored snow-filled valleys followed by sparsely populated, domesticated fields. But the group was accustomed to the geographical-chaos of Everywhere’s southern kingdom, and they readily deferred to Kaylin in choosing the surest path. Their journey was uneventful, and on the afternoon of the seventh day, as they passed through a quiet forest, Thalesa pointed out a glade mostly-concealed behind a thick ring of cedar trees that seemed intentionally planted that way. Within the clearing lay an abandoned, dilapidated fort constructed from now-rotten wood and frayed rope, large enough to house a dozen men. “Have you heard tell of Edric?” The bard asked the others in an obvious attempt to alleviate the boredom she had complained about since early morning. Her long, straight auburn hair was matted with sweat and sprinkled with bits of dead leaves, lacking its usual shine. “A brutal, infamous highwayman who preyed upon the local populace with much success, until he became greedy and went north to die in Britannia.” She delivered a rather unsubtle wink towards Sir Starfalcon. “Of course, this was long before the days of Emerald Town and the appointment of its noble and valiant protector of all things innocent.” “Of course it was,” the Emerald Knight said agreeably from beneath his green-hued helm. “I know well the fate of Edric.” Chanticleer scowled in annoyance. “It was often repeated to the prisoners of Wrong as the Tale of Yolo and the Brigand. A parable on the virtue of compassion. Wrong’s overseers cited it to illustrate their philosophy of ‘Reform through Repentance.’ It is a foolish tale and Yolo is clearly a coward. After Edric’s foul deeds, Yolo threw him a crutch for his injured leg and left him to die in the dungeon Despise. His future victims were the ones who were deserving of kindness. Yolo should have climbed down and cut Edric’s throat.” “How very charming.” Thalesa patted the warrior’s shoulder with an affectionate grin. “Remind me never to ask your opinion of that parable of humility, the Tale of Katarina and the Noble.” On the sixteenth day, the group arrived in Emerald Town. The small city was situated on the west bank of the River Ponder, a large waterway that began at the edge of the Barren Plains and twisted south and east and back again for nearly a thousand miles, until emptying out into the Eastern Sea. Unlike most of the southern kingdom, Emerald Town’s terrain was stable and calm, consisting of farms, forests, and grassy meadows, and its weather followed a typical pattern of four distinct seasons. Inside its thick fortress walls were four hundred souls residing in four unevenly divided quarters: the bustling Market District, the much smaller Docks, the residential Common Quarters, and North Hill, isolated and uninhabited except for the grandiose Temple of the Twin Suns, and the unassuming, sandstone mansion known as Emerald Keep. When he first awoke in Emerald Town, Chanticleer’s rage was only outweighed by his suspicion. His last memories had been of Celestia’s unwilling sacrifice, Jolicia’s treachery, and the surprise she had ‘gifted’ him before her spells robbed the warrior of consciousness. He was concerned by the absence of ‘The Smith’ and Wilfred, until he learned they had fled the city while he was still slept. But his aggravation faded into disbelief once he saw the faces of those who waited at his bedside, the elderly healer Malcolm Glade and the kindly monk, Ellin Lionsden. They were not among the Emerald Fist who entered Semidar’s portal, nor were Jon Abbot, Kaylin Windsong, or Thalesa Cornigan, whom he soon encountered. Inexplicably, he had been reunited with five of his former comrades in this strange, chaotic land. It was the Emerald Empress who alleviated his doubts, convincing the warrior to make Emerald Town his home. She was the city’s mysterious founder and ruler, her true name as elusive as her true appearance, both hidden behind her green mask and long flowing robes, and her words held answers to many of his lingering questions: she was responsible for the presence of his fellow Time Lost in Everywhere, and in turn they had pledged their loyalty to her; the Empress and the Emerald Fist were the allies mentioned by Jolicia, the ones who sent her to rescue him from his imprisonment in the dungeon Wrong; and all of them stood united in their desire to unseat Lady British from her throne. No efforts were made to defend Jolicia or excuse Celestia’s fate, and Chanticleer found her expression of remorse to be surprisingly genuine. There was something about this woman, a subtle and unidentifiable quality that compelled him to trust her instinctively and without hesitation. It was a feeling the warrior greatly disliked. After being alerted to their return by her guards, the Empress met with Chanticleer, Jon, Kaylin, Sir Starfalcon, and Thalesa in a private meeting room on the second floor of Emerald Keep. The secluded chamber was lacking in decor, except for a square table crafted from stone and the eight wooden chairs set around it. When they entered, she was already seated, and at her side stood the tall, strange-eyed sorcerer Renthar, her frequent guest as of late. “I’m happy to see you’re all safe.” As usual, the Empress’ tone was a welcoming one. Thalesa emitted a loud snort. “Except for Ellin.” Her lack of emotion made it unclear whether it was said in amusement or disapproval. “I’m unsurprised by their success, they’re quite the formidable group. The Lieutenant here was always an especially skilled fellow,” said Renthar. He looked directly at Jon, his thin pale lips stretched into a disconcertingly wide grin. “I’m told he had an excellent teacher.” An uncharacteristic bitterness flashed across Jon’s face. “Lessons in what not to become.” Sir Starfalcon gently cleared his throat as he moved towards the Empress, carefully placing the sack containing Blackthorn at the center of the table. “Your Majesty, the prisoner.” “Thank you, Conor.” Her full mask nodded slightly. It was oval-shaped but seamlessly attached to the hood of her robes, so that her only visible features were a pair of dark brown eyes. “Then we should begin immediately,” Renthar said insistently, glancing down at the Empress. “Who knows how long we have until the Technocrats retaliate, or how long it will take to break him. Beneath all that metal, he’s still one of the most powerful mages in existence.” “You’re right, it’s not wise to delay.” The ruler of Emerald Town turned to the five members of the Fist. “I can’t thank you enough for this, it’s going to make all the difference.” “If I may, Empress,” Renthar smiled another unnaturally wide smile. “I believe that it might be prudent for the Lieutenant and Chanticleer to join us in our task.” “What about me?” Thalesa pouted facetiously. “All of the really difficult work was mine. I will have you know, I was I was forced to face a mechanical chamber pot in single combat!” “Let’s go.” Kaylin reached for the bard’s arm and firmly pulled her towards the door. “I’ll listen to you whine all about it over a few drinks at the Salty Dog.” “As long as you agree in advance that you are the one paying for these drinks.” Jon moved to join Kaylin and Thalesa, “Sorry, ‘Captain’, I am no longer your Lieutenant.” As they departed, he shook his head at Chanticleer. “It is never wise to let him get his way.” After they were gone, Renthar offered a dismissive shrug to those remaining. “Truth be told, for such an especially skilled fellow, he was always a bit of a disappointment.” To Be Continued ...
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Post by Chanticleer on Jul 13, 2017 16:21:14 GMT -5
The shadows of Renthar’s hood obscured much of his face, except for that eerie smile. “ This is the history of Sosaria, as we’ve all come to know it. Mondain and his Gem of Immortality. Lord British and his Stranger from another world. A dark wizard slain, a hero triumphant, and the shards of the now-broken gem each holding a mirror version of Sosaria within their tiny facets. These shard-worlds were both distinct and yet similar, sharing certain historical events, as well as different versions of the same individuals. Those of us who pre-existed the Shattering, such as Lord British, Blackthorn, Minax, even myself and our good friend the Lieutenant, appear on all of them. For anyone born after the Shattering, this isn’t always so. There are reflections of you in other Sosarias, including my own. ‘Boy knight’ I called him, and not so affectionately.” The tall sorcerer pointed first to Chanticleer, and then to the Emerald Empress. “But you, I’ve never encountered anywhere, most likely due to the rather unique nature of your parentage.” It was now late afternoon, and they had moved their discussion from the second floor to a hidden underground chamber far below Emerald Keep. Dim torchlight flickered across the stone walls and floor that were moist and cool to the touch, and there was a chilled dampness to the air, the result of its proximity to a subterranean branch of the River Ponder. As Renthar approached the circular dais in the middle of the room, Chanticleer, the Emerald Empress, and Sir Starfalcon watched and listened. An unfamiliar symbol was etched upon the surface of the raised platform, an intersection of triangles not unlike a pentagram, but with six points and three equal sized circles at its center. On top of these circles lay the sack that contained the Techno-Prophet. Hovering over their miniaturized, concealed prisoner, Renthar continued addressing them. “But this isn’t the history of the world as it was meant to be. No doubt, you’re all aware of Sherry the talking mouse and her charming little tale. The Time Lord visits Lord British and convinces him to reunite the shard in order to merge them with the original Sosaria. Blackthorn opposed, and thus was born their precious rivalry. In the histories we’ve experienced, nothing substantial came of this; Lord British eventually abandoned Sosaria, and Blackthorn was taken prisoner by the machine Exodus, returning years later to become Britannia’s new king. But this is a lie.” “A lie?” Chanticleer’s glare was narrowed with skepticism. “Elaborate.” “It began with the blade of a prophet-assassin, an attempt upon the life of Lord British. From the perpetrator, Blackthorn learned that the king and Nystul planned to perform a spell of binding to merge the shard-worlds together again. He opposed this, of course, and a brutal conflict erupted between them. On all the shards, at that very same moment, the spell of binding was cast, and on all of the shards, at that very same moment, Blackthorn unsuccessfully attempted to thwart it. But in secret, he had foolishly allied with Minax,” the sorcerer sneered her name, “that greedy, incompetent disappointment to our master’s legacy. When she struck, Minax disrupted a ritual already in progress, unleashing forces too powerful to regain control of. The witch, Nystul, and Lord British all lost their lives, while Blackthorn barely survived, his body transformed into a broken and unrecognizable husk. In the ensuing cataclysm, rather than the shard-worlds, it was the past, present, and future that were fused together,. A bizarre, composite Sosaria populated by Meer, Britannians, and Juka, and dominated by a reborn Blackthorn and his Technocrats.”* “The world we just returned from?” Sir Starfalcon asked from his place at the Empress’ side. “I always heard rumors about the Technocrats when I was still in Britannia, those mysterious allies of Lady British, who came from a land hidden away from the rest of Everywhere.” “Sorcerer. Your tale contradicts my own experience,” Chanticleer said dismissively. “I joined the battle against the mechanical Blackthorn when he invaded my Britannia. I also fought the Juka and encountered the Meer in the lands of Ilshenar. There was no binding ritual involved.” Renthar groaned impatiently. “It’s because history was altered into something else it was never meant to be. The specifics elude me still, but over the decades I’ve been able to piece together the broad details. There was an incident, more than a dozen years ago, the origin of which I’ve been unable to fully decipher. An enemy alliance of unspeakable power conspired to steal the shards of the Gem of Immortality. In doing so, they retroactively changed the course of reality to erase Lord British and Nystul’s attempt to reunite the shard-worlds with the prime Sosaria. This alliance then exploited the shards for their own purpose, draining it of valuable resources, and in doing so, muddled the continuity even further. Each world’s history is now filled with glaring contradictions and inconsistencies. Once they determined the shards were no longer of use to them, the alliance sold them off to the lowliest of bidders, scavengers really, who continue to bleed them dry until they'll eventually fade from existence.” “Why would they do this?” Sir Starfalcon seemed greatly disturbed by the notion. “I can’t answer for their motives,” the tall sorcerer shook his head. “Nonetheless, reality found a way to set itself right. For on the day that reality was changed, so was Everywhere born. This land has a rather unique nature, as you’re all aware, but what you don’t know is it’s true purpose. It’s the shield that protects the original history, the one created as a consequence of the failed spell of binding, and keeping it safe from any who seek to destroy it. Think of Everywhere as a shell, with the Technocrats, New Britannians, Meer and Juka hidden at its center.” “Jolicia spoke of similar.” Chanticleer said. He then looked suspiciously at their prisoner. “You have yet to explain how your proposed interrogation of this Techno-Prophet Blackthorn will aid our cause. Is it not best to keep him incapacitated until next he is needed?” “Because, not-my-boy-knight, this Blackthorn knows things.” Chanticleer shot wary glances to the Empress and Sir Starfalcon, but it was difficult to measure their reactions through her mask and his helmet. “Things that are likely best forgotten.” “Best forgotten?!” Renthar loudly scoffed. “Are you mad?! He’s our only surviving witness to the spell of binding. His knowledge of that alone make him an invaluable resource.” “Foul sorcery,” Chanticleer said pointedly. “None should possess such magicks. Blackthorn was correct to oppose his Lord British. The cataclysm that followed only proves this so.” “ … Your Majesty,” Sir Starfalcon said hesitantly. “You know that I’ve pledged you my loyalty, and how badly I wish to see Lady British removed from her throne. Our alliance with Renthar is necessary for this, and I accept it despite any reservations I have about his integrity. But I find myself in agreement with Chanticleer, it’s the wrong choice.” She gently sighed as she pivoted to face her knight. “Lady British is too powerful for us without allies, and Renthar has made certain demands to be ours. I need both of you to trust me.” Sir Starfalcon responded with a slight nod, but Chanticleer was unconvinced. “This is a mistake. The same as I made with his companion Jolicia. He will use us and betray us.” “Only if provoked,” Renthar flashed them a quick grin and then tightened his mouth. “You must understand, Lady British isn’t just Britannia’s queen, she’s the guardian of Everywhere, that ruby necklace she wears the source of her power. She calls it a family heirloom, but it’s far more than that. In order to ensure her defeat and free Everywhere from her grasp, we’ll need to get close enough to take it from her. That will require us to deprive her of her allies, including the Technocrats, and uniting the other three kingdoms against her.” He pointed to the bag at the center of the dais. “ Any information he holds could provide us an advantage.” “Your plan for the Technocrats had merit,” said Chanticleer. “This is why it earned my support. But the rest of the kingdoms? The Twilight Juvenalia will never turn on Britannia. Nor would I ever fight at their side. They are more treacherous than even you. The Alliance is too consumed with their own petty rivalries to join us. All of this is far too improbable for success. Nor does it justify your desire to access to whatever knowledge the Techno-Prophet Blackthorn possesses.” “Then you haven’t heard?” Renthar asked with an amused smirk. “Circumstances changed while you were away,” the Empress explained. “The Alliance follows a king now and he’s invaded Britannia, and the Forever Tower is also preparing for war. Renthar’s plan isn’t that far-fetched anymore.” She stepped in front of Chanticleer, regarding him for a few silent moments. “There are things that need to happen, and I promise it’ll make sense eventually. Please, Chanticleer, I’m asking you as a personal favor -- don’t interfere, not today.” “You ask too much.” “Everything has a cost,” the Empress said sadly. “Maybe Renthar is ours.” Once again, Chanticleer found himself wanting to trust her without reservation. Once again, this sentiment filled him with rage. “Your cost! I am done with such foolishness.” Without another word, the warrior turned away from them, somewhat disappointed that Renthar demonstrated the good sense to hold his sorcerous tongue until after Chanticleer was gone. To Be Continued …*For the more detailed original story, please see here:
uo.stratics.com/secrets/uo2/britain1.shtml uo.stratics.com/secrets/uo2/britain2.shtml uo.stratics.com/secrets/uo2/britain3.shtml uo.stratics.com/secrets/uo2/britain4.shtml
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Post by Chanticleer on Jul 26, 2017 15:53:05 GMT -5
Thalesa Cornigan exhaled a few short practice breaths, her long fingers testing the tuning of her lute, and then she began to play. Her performance was subdued and rhythmic, accompanied by a voice that was richer and far more soulful than such a slender frame seemed capable of. It was in these moments, not the rapid exchange of witty remarks or her misadventures with the Emerald Fist, that Thalesa felt her best. Because she knew these moments were real.
“Those times of old and still yet bold; A road less traveled than not; Sworn to a quest, never to rest; The journey with danger was fraught.
Only yesterday, it came to prey; The beast that dwelt in the mountains; With dragon’s flame, its schemes did claim; Lives that numbered in thousands.
In shadows they creep; Then dance while we sleep; Memories best forgotten; But honor retrieved, it’s the only reprieve; From the path of the misbegotten.”
The Salty Dog was a modest establishment located in the northeastern part of Emerald Town’s Market District, a short distance from both the Common Quarters and North Hill, and frequented by local merchants, craftsmen, and off-duty guards. A one-story building constructed from wood and plaster, the main room was spacious enough for thirty, though on busier nights the number of customers made for a much tighter fit. Due to its proximity to Emerald Keep and resemblance to a similarly-named tavern on their native Sosaria, the Emerald Fist often gathered there. Its owner, an overweight, middle-aged blonde woman who called herself Lady Emmanuelle, was fond of Thalesa’s talents and begged her to play whenever her obligations to the Empress permitted.
“A precious gem, worshiped by men; Its guards quite skilled with the sword; But battle was brief, then fled the thief; This emerald meant for its hoard.
Without this gift, there formed a rift; Chaos and war ruled the lands; So four knights true, they promised to; Right this wrong by their own hands.
In shadows they creep; Then dance while we sleep; Memories best forgotten; But honor retrieved, it’s the only reprieve; From the path of the misbegotten.”
“ … is the true story of how I became the Keeper of the Scales of Justice,” said Jon, shooting a half-drunken, amused grin at Chanticleer and Kaylin. They were seated at a wooden table next to the fireplace, across the room from the small stage. It was not their first time seeing Thalesa play, and Jon in particular was more interested in conversation than music.
“We’ve heard it before,” Kaylin said as she raised her glass of water. “Hundredsof times.”
“Good stories are always worth repeating.”
Chanticleer ignored the exchange, grunting quietly between sips of wine.
Kaylin finished the last of her water and then rose from her chair. “As much as I’m not enjoying this, I need to sleep. I’m heading south at dawn to scout for Technocrats. The Empress thinks we have more time before they retaliate but I don’t want to wait.”
Only Jon responded, and briefly his expression sobered. “Good, I will be glad when all of this is done.” This was followed by a sly smile. “And do try your best to hurry back, Kaylin, as I have a number of old stories anxiously awaiting your return.”
She shook her head before addressing the still-brooding Chanticleer. “You’ve been sulking since we returned to Emerald Town. Too much is happening, so whatever’s bothering you, fix it.”
“For many a week, their search was bleak; No signs or hints of their quarry; Faced with threats, too often met; They fought for peace, not for glory;
A seer was found, his visions sound; Foretelling their price for desire; ‘Among you, three, will cease to be; While the fourth will die to the fire.’
In shadows they creep; Then dance while we sleep; Memories best forgotten; But honor retrieved, it’s the only reprieve; From the path of the misbegotten.”
“ … still think about them?” Jon asked. He was on his sixth mug of mead, his speech marked by a sentimental slurring. “The original clocks and bracelets who were part of the Time Lord’s contest, or the other Fist who joined you in the portal, or the others you left behind?”
“I suppose,” said Chanticleer, his gaze focused on his still half-empty wine glass.
“What of Leigh? I know the two of you were close.”
“I ... suppose.” This time, the words sounded annoyed.
“Some dead, some who knows where, but at least some found each other again in Everywhere.” Jon smiled sadly. “It should count for something then?”
“Should it?” Chanticleer slowly looked up from his drink. “I prefer an eternity of isolation to an alliance with one such as Renthar. Jolicia is fortunate she has not returned to Emerald Town. I will not forget her betrayal or what was done to Celestia.”
“You have good reason to be angry,” Jon said with a sympathetic nod.
His sigh was deep and aggravated. “Celestia was the first friend I encountered in this miserable land. The first to show me a genuine kindness rather than riddles or hostility. For months, it was Jolicia alone that I blamed. But it is has become apparent she answers to Renthar.”
“Most probably …”
“There is also the matter of the Empress.” Chanticleer brow narrowed in frustration. “Securing my freedom partly motivated this alliance with Renthar. I disagree yet understand why you and the others found it necessary. That you did not intend Celestia’s fate. But the Empress? I cannot fathom her reasons.” He sighed once more. “I know her not. And it troubles me how I continue to blindly accept her word. I am beginning to suspect foul sorcery is involved.”
Jon hesitated before responding. “She is not a mage, and you can trust her, Chant.” He took a quick swig of mead. “But not Renthar, never trust him. I ever tell you about my last encounter with the one I knew? It was on that very same day the Time Lord stole me away. Renthar was my captain, I was his lieutenant.” A slight bitterness emphasized that last word. “Our unit had just captured Princess Amaria, youngest of the King of the Black Dragon. It was Renthar’s idea to prove myself worthy of being his second, and I …” He paused for a longer sip. “None of us wanted to be the pawns of the Time Lord or Drakaro, or compete in their little contest. But after I learned what was supposed to happen to me? Everything that went wrong in my life to be -- a life filled with regrets, dead friends, and a bloody end -- all because of that bastard. Suddenly, I was glad for the opportunity to escape him. And now he has found me again.”
“Should we not slay him? There are other ways to defeat Lady British.”
“The dragon’s lair, they journeyed there; With hope for a kingdom to save; A huff of smoke, the beast awoke; Its roars shook the walls of the -- ”
The explosion was preceded by a low rumble, the nearly imperceptible vibration of tavern walls, but the noise of drunken revelry drowned them out. Until the nearby clash of spells and swords became too loud for them to ignore. Thalesa’s song immediately stopped and her lute fumbled from her surprised fingers and onto the floor. Her recovery was quick, quicker than that of Lady Emmanuelle and the rest of the Salty Dog’s patrons, but by then Chanticleer and Jon were already outside with their weapons drawn.
A few hundred paces to the south of the tavern, a small family-owned butcher shop was now rubble, the cobblestone of the surrounding streets torn and scorched. Standing at its center with only minor injuries were Renthar and Sir Starfalcon, and scattered about the building’s remnants were four unconscious forms: a pale, white-haired elf; two black haired fighters who bore a strong resemblance to one another; and a young, olive-skinned mage.
Chanticleer recognized all four from around Emerald Town but did not know them personally. Once, some two months past, he had approached the mage in the Market District after suspecting she was watching him. Her mannerisms were suggestive of a high birth, though her dismissal of his approach was curt and artless. He had not seen the woman since.
As Sir Starfalcon carefully scanned the area, a crowd of onlookers accumulated. Fully armored in his platemail, his longsword and shield were at the ready. “The other one’s escaped.”
“Drachen!” Renthar hissed, uncharacteristically vexed, his dark robes ripped in various places. “You always thought yourself a clever one, but you’re not so clever now, are you?!” Despite his goading, there was no response.
Chanticleer exchanged a puzzled glance with Jon. “What occurs?!”
The tall sorcerer shook his head as his posture relaxed. “Some old friends from my Sosaria who still hold a grudge.” He stepped across the broken debris, examining each one of his fallen foes. He indicated the mage first. “That’s Sebastian Elias girl, Sofia was it?” Then the two fighters. “The Castile siblings.” Then the elf. “Dearest Faeryl, after all we’ve been through, I’m almost offended you’d try to kill me. But this wasn’t your plan, not really. It’s possible you thought it was, but I suspect I know the one who’s truly responsible.”
“Foul sorcerer,” said Chanticleer. “Elaborate.”
“Not-my-boy-knight,” Renthar offered one of his strange, eerie smiles, “you no longer have a say in this, not after that little tantrum you threw the other week.”
“Both of you!” Sir Starfalcon shouted disapprovingly. “This isn’t the time.” Then he shifted his attention to the ever-expanding group of bystanders. “Can one of you fetch the guards?”
Chanticleer watched Renthar crouch down next to the prone elf and proceed to sort through her belongings. The sorcerer’s back was turned to him, and the warrior could not help but notice the bloody stab wound underneath his right shoulder. He is vulnerable. Chanticleer tried to push the notion from his mind, but it lingered. Strike swiftly. His gloved fist tightened around the handle of his war axe. Remember Celestia. He stepped forward. End this now.
“Chant!”
He tried to resist as Jon suddenly grabbed at his arm from behind, but the smaller man’s grip was surprisingly determined. Jon did not release him until they were halfway towards the Salty Dog, and far enough that Chanticleer’s moment of opportunity was over.
“Why?!” He pointed an angry finger at his friend’s chest. “You despise him more than I!”
“Because,” said Jon, drunk and ashamed, “as much as I wish it were otherwise, the Empress is correct. There is no other way here ... there is only Renthar’s.”
“In shadows they creep; Then dance while we sleep; Memories best forgotten; But honor retrieved, it’s the only reprieve; From the path of the misbegotten.”
To Be Continued …
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Post by Chanticleer on Aug 19, 2017 15:42:51 GMT -5
Chanticleer awoke restless. After a breakfast consisting of ripe apple slices and warm water, he dressed and left his inn room for the outside world. A couple of hours had passed since the break of dawn, and the busy streets of the Market District were not yet busy, the chilled air of winter no doubt delaying even the most ambitious of customers. Emerald Town’s weather was typically moderate, so its residents were not accustomed to the near-freezing temperature. Even the Twin Suns seemed quarrelsome, each choosing a deliberate path across the sky to avoid the other.
The moment Chanticleer’s boots struck the cobblestone pavement, he regretted leaving his cloak behind, but cold was not the deterrent that concerned him most. It was two weeks since the night Renthar was attacked, two long weeks that made him nostalgic for the years he spent in Wrong. At least there, the warrior was guaranteed occasional contact, a harsh insult from one of his fellow prisoners or a beating from one of the guards. Here, surrounded by old friends and new allies, in a place meant to be his new home, there were no guarantees. Still, despite Kaylin’s absence, Thalesa’s unexplained hostility, and his continued resentment towards the Empress, Jon, and Sir Starfalcon, there was one person in Emerald Town whose counsel Chanticleer valued, and he would not allow himself to be discouraged from the visit he intended to pay.
As he turned the corner onto Emerald Way, the Market District’s central avenue, he heard their perfectly-timed chorus calling to him. “Hello, John!” They were huddled together in front of Clarity, a shop belonging to a well-renowned glassblower, wearing their plain brown robes and familiar copper amulets. “Or wait, it’s Chanticleer now, isn’t it?”
More than a decade ago, he saved their lives in the Wandering Woods, and they rewarded him with some of the finest cinnamon raisin bread he ever tasted. None of the three had aged a day, and they were now acolytes in service to the Temple of the Twin Suns. While the warrior remained ignorant of their names or true relationship to one another, he still recalled what they said to him that day: “The signs tell us change comes to Everywhere. It begins in the south.” Their words had proven to be remarkably prescient.
He paused for a polite nod and then continued past, disregarding the numerous distractions along Emerald Way until the bustle of the Market District faded into the quietude of North Hill. From there, Chanticleer went eastwards, circumventing its slopes instead of ascending. It was there, only three months prior, that the now empty fields hosted the tournament for the title of Emerald Knight, the champion of Emerald Town. Of the Fist, Chanticleer and Kaylin both participated but were defeated in the final rounds Sir Starfalcon, a recent arrival to the region. He had taken up residence in Emerald Town only a handful of weeks before Chanticleer’s escape from Wrong, following a mysterious dispute with Lady British. The knight was stubbornly reticent about his past; only the Emerald Empress knew the full truth of it.
When he reached the side of the hill opposite the Market District, Chanticleer entered a parcel of woodland that stretched north to the town walls. The narrow path was worn and winding, and the forest creatures scrambled chaotically at the sounds of his heavy footsteps. At the center was his destination, an unassuming log cabin that stood alongside a shallow stream.
A gray-haired, spectacled man responded to his knocks. More than seventy years old, Malcolm Glade was one of Chanticleer’s fellow Time Lost and the eldest of the Emerald Fist. A healer by profession, though he preferred the term doctor, Glade hailed from a future version of Sosaria that closely resembled that of the Technocrats, a world populated by Britannians, Meer, Juka, and the sycophantic worshipers of a technologically-disfigured Blackthorn. His presence in the Fist was due to circumstance as much as choice, and he possessed a principled kindness and pacifism that had clashed often with the group’s methods. More than once, it was remarked that Glade spent as much time bandaging his comrades as he did their victims.
“Please, come inside.”
Soon, they were sitting in the front area of the two-room cabin. Besides the old, yet comfortable sofa the two men occupied, the walls were covered by shelves stuffed with old books and healing supplies, and there was a small fireplace with an iron cooking pot suspended above it.
Glade smiled warmly. “Would you like some tea first?”
“ … first?”
“How many years have we known each other?” The elderly doctor removed his glasses, gently wiping the lenses with his shirt sleeve. “As much as I welcome your company, I’ve known you long enough to guess that you’re here for a reason.”
“Renthar’s assailants,” Chanticleer nodded grudgingly. “You treated their injuries. Where?”
“That’s correct,” Glade carefully donned his spectacles. “Or three of them, at least, and it was in the dungeons below Emerald Keep. They’ll recover nicely, if you were concerned at all. There’s an elven woman too, but I didn’t see her, the Empress told me that Renthar took her with him. From what was said, there’s also a fifth attacker, a man named Drachen, that’s still at large.”
The warrior grunted his annoyance at the mention of Renthar.
“I’m not happy with him either, but the Empress feels strongly about this and I trust her.”
“I tire of being told to blindly trust this woman by those I once thought better of.” Chanticleer’s eyes narrowed in frustration. “I know not her name or motive. Why did she gather all of us in this wretched place? Why do all of you remain at her side?”
“It’s more of a necessity than you realize, Chanticleer.”
“Elaborate.”
And so he did. “As you know, there were originally fifteen of us. Seven ‘clocks’ chosen by the Time Lord, seven ‘bracelets’ chosen by the dragon Drakaro, and then Sylin Rhys, who infiltrated things for his own reasons. Our two groups were supposed to compete, with the winner deciding the larger conflict between the Time Lord and Drakaro. We didn’t do as they’d planned, and the contest ended in a stalemate. Along the way, five of us died to Podrugviati, a faceless assassin who tried to use us as pawns: three ‘clocks,’ Trug’clog, an orc soldier from Mondain’s army, Duke Brunabar of ancient Barataria, Wilhelm af Zolttan, a Trinsic nobleman, and two ‘bracelets,’ the miner Dannik and Jackson, the one who was killed before he even met us. Sylin found his way back to his own time period with the artifact he wanted.” He then paused for Chanticleer’s impatient sigh. “Let me finish please. The rest of us helped found the Emerald Fist, and we remained until most of the Fist, including you, Leigh, Aria, and Bacchus, vanished inside of Semidar’s portal in order to stop the Titans from invading. That left Ellin, Jon, Kaylin, Thalesea, and myself as the last of us. A few years later, the Empress brought us to Everywhere.”
“Why?” The warrior asked pointedly. “Why would you agree to come here?!”
Glade slid the glasses off his face. “Do you recall the end of the contest? The rest of you wanted to stay, but Aria and I tried to return to the our original time periods. She was successful, at least until she was summoned back later on, but the gate rejected me.” Two quick breaths and the lenses were blurred with condensation. “I had suspicions at the time, of course, but the Empress was the one who finally confirmed them.” He slowly rubbed at the lenses with the sleeve of his shirt. “Time had changed, the Sosaria I was born into was no longer a potential consequence of the Sosaria that I was living in. That’s why I couldn’t return there.”
“I am sorry,” Chanticleer said quietly.
“Unfortunately, it’s similar for Thalesa. And possibly you, Aria, Leigh, and Bacchus. The six of us came from different points in Sosaria’s future. If time was somehow altered, and these worlds of ours no longer exist, how does it affect us? Would we eventually just cease to exist?” He shook his head contemplatively. “It’s not so different for the others who came from Sosaria’s past either. Jon was a lieutenant in Mondain’s army, Kaylin lived in Paws a century before its destruction, and Ellin was a monk from the ancient Emerald Empire that used to control the Land of the Feudal Lords. Even if they could return to when they came from, they’d know too much and might be tempted to try to change the future. Another thing too, when I asked Renthar if he had any memories of Jon’s disappearance, he assured me that Jon remained part of Mondain’s army until the war’s end, which contradicts our Jon’s experiences. I’m not sure of the meaning of this but I do find it concerning.” Glade put his glasses back on. “The Empress promised that here in Everywhere, this strange land of contradictions and inconsistencies, we’d be safe from the potential impact of these changes. That’s why we agreed to follow her here.”
“I do not dispute your reasons, only her motives. Why seek you out? Why aid you at all?”
The elderly doctor hesitated. “I’m sorry, Chanticleer, but I’d rather stay silent than lie to you.”
“My supposed friends,” the warrior frowned disapprovingly. “Are you so confident in the mad sorcerer’s plans that you are so willing to discard my trust?”
“I’m trusting her judgment, not his, but I don’t pretend I don’t have doubts.”
“A familiar speech.” Still scowling, Chanticleer stood to his feet. “The object I entrusted to you. Is it still safe? Or did this too fall into Renthar’s foul possession?”
Glade was offended by his suggestion. “There’s no need to question that. It’s still hidden, and no one knows about it except for the two of us and Ellin.”
“Then at least I shall find some small comfort in that,” said Chanticleer. A few minutes later he departed, his return to the Market District replete with the cold and silence.
To Be Continued ...
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Post by Chanticleer on Sept 6, 2017 23:58:15 GMT -5
A few days later, Kaylin returned, racing immediately towards North Hill. A few hours after, came the ringing of the bell tower atop Emerald Keep, a warning bold and loud enough to reach all that dwelled within the walls of the town as well as the surrounding farmlands. A few hours more and Emerald Town was under siege.
The Technocrat forces numbered one thousand: black-robed human soldiers, enslaved Juka, and an assortment of flesh-machine golems all created in the image of their captured lord. Following their tireless, two week trek after emerging from the portal inside of ‘The End …,’ the Logosians settled a few miles south of Emerald Town, carelessly trampling crops and slaughtering livestock as they set up their camp. Soon, a cowled brother of the Order of Mathematicians delivered their demands. Written in perfectly ordered, blocked-letter handwriting, they read as follows:
“SURRENDER AND DELIVER THE TECHNO-PROPHET UNTO US. ANY REFUSAL OR ANY ATTEMPTS TO NEGOTIATE WILL RESULT IN YOUR DESTRUCTION AND THE DEATH OF THE MONK PRISONER: ELLIN LIONSDEN. TWENTY-FOUR HOURS TO COMPLY.”
But before their deadline passed, a second army arrived from the north, one that belonged to the recently unified Alliance of Rival, Political Kingdoms. Outnumbering the Technocrats by more than five to one, they were recruited from the ranks of that eastern kingdom’s dominant factions: mechanical soldiers from the Order of Automata; archers and scouts from the Elves of the Lunar Forest; lycan warriors from Talon’s Crag; blue mages from the Moonshade Tactics Squad; kilted, bearded clansmen of the Highlanders of Justice; and those surviving knights of House Flamestar who now served the newly-crowned Lord Neville Holden. Upon observing the Technocrats, the Alliance forces halted a few miles east across the River Ponder. A message soon followed, and it was shouted by a slender woman wearing dull-red robes. She had a young face and pointed ears, and her long black hair was fashioned into twin braids.
“Open up those gates or you can all die! I really don’t care, it’s up to you!”
Later that night, as she watched from the safety of a guard tower, Kaylin noticed some Alliance soldiers use a makeshift skiff to cross the River Ponder and approach the Technocrats’ perimeter. They were refused entry and hastily retreated back to their own camp. Then, a chance encounter between Alliance scouts and a Technocrat patrol exploded into violence. The very sight of the Logosian flesh-machines drove the automatons and lycans into an unbridled frenzy, with both sides suffering casualties before their comrades were able to separate them. Following this, all contact between the two sides was strictly avoided, and as each day flowed into the next, this became the only hope for the increasingly despondent populace of Emerald Town -- neither army knew what to do about the other. Nor were they prepared to battle one another over the privilege of destroying their mutual enemy. At least not yet.
It was on the fourth day of this impasse that Chanticleer was summoned to Emerald Keep. When Jon, Kaylin, and Sir Starfalcon entered the Salty Dog, he was quietly consuming a glass of beer and a bowl of chicken and potato stew. The siege had not yet caused food to become a scarcity, but already Lady Emmanuelle was charging nearly twice what she had the week prior.
The Emerald Knight spoke first. “The Empress requests your presence.”
“The Empress? Or Renthar?” Chanticleer smirked in amusement between slow, efficient bites of his stew. “I believe you meant Renthar requests my presence.”
Jon glanced wearily at the other two. “I told you this would be painful.”
“Chanticleer,” Sir Starfalcon said calmly, “Emerald Town’s endangered and we need you.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” Kaylin added. “It’s more important than your pride.”
“As you say.”
Chanticleer eventually relented, but only after they allowed him to finish his meal and agreed to cover its cost. Jon, Kaylin, and Sir Starfalcon then escorted him to the familiar private meeting chambers located on the second floor of Emerald Keep. When they entered, the Empress, Glade, Renthar, and Thalesa were already seated around the stone table.
“Thank you for coming,” the Empress greeted him warmly. As always, Chanticleer found her tone comforting, despite his wishes. As always, her green mask and robes concealed much.
A mocking smile crossed Renthar’s lips. “It’s not as if he has anything better to do.”
“Cease, foul sorcerer. Empress, why am I here?”
“Have you noticed the armies at our gates?” Thalesa rolled her eyes at him.
Chanticleer pointedly ignored her comment. “The Technocrats have come for Blackthorn. This is why Ellin was left behind. This is why we deceived our New Britannian and Juka allies about her death. The other army I do not recognize. It seems the foul sorcerer’s plans have failed us.”
“Oh, not-my-boy-knight, I haven’t failed at anything.”
The Empress shook her head. “We didn’t expect to be dealing with them both at once. For now, they haven’t attacked us or each other, but that isn’t going to last. Each are after something, and they’re won’t leave until they get it. As you mentioned, Chanticleer, the Technocrats want their Techno-Prophet back.” Her dark brown eyes watched the warrior closely, as if anticipating his reaction to her next words. “The Alliance wants something too, or at least their new king does. His name is Neville Holden and he comes from your Sosaria.”
Chanticleer’s expression instantly darkened. “Sir Neville Holden? The rogue knight?”
Her mask answered with a slight nod. “What do you know about him?”
The warrior frowned at her. “Sir Holden was a knight of the Order of the Silver Serpent. After Lord British abandoned his kingdom, Holden led a faction of his brothers who sought to seize power. He saw the Chancellor of Britain and the Paladins of Trinsic as his rivals, the Fist was tricked into fighting both. There were … unfortunate casualties.” His frown deepened. “His schemes failed and he was forced to fake his death. When he learned of the Titan Seals, Holden became convinced he was the descendant of the Lost King prophesied to ascend to the throne of Britannia following Lord British’s departure. He grew obsessed but failed too at his efforts to gather the Titan Seals. Semidar succeeded in his stead, and ...” He paused with a heavy sigh. “How is it that Holden is in Everywhere? What madness drives him now?”
The Empress turned to Renthar. “Tell him.”
“The Titan Seals were destroyed, but only mostly, and when you fell into Everywhere, so did the single, surviving fragments of each. Lord Holden’s still chasing them after all these years, even across different worlds. You really can’t teach an old knight new tricks, can you? He’s already recovered Hydros and Lithos, and he’s apparently figured out that you and the old healer have hidden the Pyros fragment here in Emerald Town. How very sneaky, by the by, it almost makes up for how dreadfully insipid I find the two of you to be most of the time.”
“So much for the worth of your promise.” Chanticleer shot Glade an angry gaze.
“I didn’t tell them about the fragment. He knew already.”
The tall sorcerer chuckled at their exchange. “As much as I’d enjoy the spectacle of the dullest person in the room beating to death the second dullest person in the room, I’m forced to admit, the old man’s being truthful. Or did you forget it was my Jolicia who slipped you the Pyros fragment when you left the Infernal Path? Who did you think it was that told her to?”
“More foul lies.” Chanticleer scowled once more. “More foul trickery.”
“It’s complicated, and we don’t have the time to explain it all in simple words,” Renthar offered him another of his disconcerting grins. “The old healer won’t give us the fragment without your consent, and we need it to give to Holden so he’ll leave without slaughtering all of us in. Once that’s done with, we can meet with the Technocrats and continue with my brilliant plan.”
“I won’t do it without your permission, Chanticleer.” Glade said firmly.
“My apologies for doubting your honor.” The warrior looked back to the Empress. “Why not give Blackthorn to Sir Holden? The Technocrats will attack the Alliance instead and then we can face the survivors.” He was surprised by their unanimous disappointment, until Jon asked,
“What of Ellin?”
“ ... yes, of course.” Chanticleer said in quiet embarrassment. He cleared his throat, regretting that he even considered the suggestion. “We cannot abandon her.”
“We’ll get her back,” the Empress said reassuringly. “As for the fragment, while I’m not against giving it to Holden, but I have concerns about how to do it. It’s an important and dangerous task, and we can’t send the Emerald Fist because Holden already knows them as enemies. From what I’ve heard, and given the threats he’s made against our home, he’s just as likely to kill whatever messenger we send. I don’t want to risk anyone unnecessarily.”
“Your Majesty,” said Sir Starfalcon, “I have an idea. In our dungeons, we’re holding three of the five who attacked Renthar. Arturos and Renna Castile, and Sofia Elias. While their crimes are serious, I’ve spoken to them and it seems they’re more criminals of circumstance than anything else, especially the Lady Elias. What if offered them their freedom in exchange for delivering the fragments? I doubt the Alliance or Technocrats will spare them if they end up attacking us, so they share the same danger we do. And I believe they can be trusted.”
The others watched silently as she contemplated it. “Fine, but only if they agree, I won’t force them. Renthar, what are your thoughts on this?” The Empress glanced at the tall sorcerer. “Can they be trusted? They’re from your Sosaria, you know them best.”
“It’s not a terrible idea” he shrugged halfheartedly, “and otherwise they're useless to us.”
“Three prisoners? Yet four assassins were captured.”
Renthar waved his hand dismissively at the warrior. “It’s not any of your concern.”
“I would argue but such words are wasted. You are loathsome, and the others have chosen to disregard this.” Chanticleer then nodded affirmatively to Glade. “Retrieve the Pyros fragment. For Ellin and for Emerald Town, if for no other reason.”
To Be Continued ...
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Post by Chanticleer on Sept 25, 2017 21:52:37 GMT -5
“You requested my presence. Why?”
In comparison to the conditions in dungeon Wrong, the scant amenities afforded Emerald Keep’s prisoners were far superior -- the inhabitants were provided passingly comfortable cots; feedings and emptying of waste buckets occurred daily; and the stone floors and walls of each cell were clean and devoid of any unidentifiable stains, fluids, or fungi. Though Chanticleer was reluctant for any reminder of his near-decade long imprisonment, Sir Starfalcon was firm in his insistence that the warrior accompany him to speak to Renthar’s attempted assassins.
“They won’t agree to help us until they’ve talked to you,” the Emerald Knight had said.
The warrior’s initial reply was a disagreeable scowl. “I know them not. What reason have I to comply with their demands? This plan was yours not mine.”
“Because you’re a better man than you pretend. Because I know you’ll do what’s right.”
They were separated into three adjoining cells, but whereas Sofia Elias’ demeanor was reserved and tentative, Arturos and Renna Castile regarded their visitors with blatant suspicion. “Do you recognize me at all? My name, my face, or anything?” Her long black hair was greasy and unkempt, her olive skin was filthy, and her loose prison uniform did little to flatter her curvy figure, yet Chanticleer discerned hints of a noble upbringing: her flawless posture, proper enunciation, and an underlying humiliation for her present circumstances.
He shook his head at her. “I have seen you. On the streets of Emerald Town, watching me. On the night of your capture, failing to slay the foul Renthar. But no, I do not know you.”
“A waste of time, Sofia, as I predicted.” Arturos lazily reclined across his small cot. He seemed surprisingly at ease with his surroundings, more so than his companions, as if incarceration was something he had deemed an inevitability.
“My brother is right,” said Renna. “These people want us dead one way or the other.”
“I’ve repeatedly explained that isn’t our intent.” Sir Starfalcon’s close helmet blunted some of his annoyance. “It’s dangerous, but the Empress has agreed to pardon your crimes if you do this. I doubt the Technocrats or the Alliance will show you any mercy if Emerald Town falls.”
“These Everywhere problems of yours, they nearly make me nostalgic for the sort that we faced back home,” Arturos grinned at his companions in amusement.
“Some of us want to forget those problems,” Sofia pouted her lips.
His grin quickly deflated “Lady Sofia ..."
Ignoring him, she turned back to Chanticleer. “On the world we come from, I … knew you. My name’s Sofia Elias, and we were engaged to be married.”
“Ah, I see,” Chanticleer said blankly. “ … you are of noble blood?”
“My father … was Lord Sebastian Elias. Your uncle, or the uncle of the Chanticleer that I knew, he and my father were business associates. They arranged our marriage to bring our two families together. But then their alliance ended badly, and our wedding never happened.”
The warrior nodded his approval. “At least you are of noble blood. But I am not the man you knew. Likely, he was my counterpart of your Sosaria. What led you here to Everywhere?”
“We were all part of a group called the Emerald Trading Company, but for many reasons, most of us drifted apart. Faeryl recruited us to rescue a former member of the company who had been kidnapped. I’d returned home after the death of my father,” she shot a distasteful glare towards Arturos, “but decided to help anyway. At the time, Renna and her brother still managed the trading company, and I’m not sure where Faeryl found Lucas Drachen.”
“The one who eluded capture?” Chanticleer narrowed his eyes in thought.
“Not so easily found now.” Renna cruelly laughed. “Do not forget Sofia to tell this one about the queer man who sent us to such a queer place.”
“His name’s Haxley,” Sofia continued. “He told us how Renthar took Faeryl’s missing friend to Everywhere, and he gave us the way to follow them here .”
“Renthar’s victim. Who was it?”
“Jolicia,” said Sofia. “I didn’t know her very well, but she was a founding member of the company and important to Faeryl.”
“She is no prisoner, she is Renthar’s willing servant!” Chanticleer barked harshly. Do you know too of Celestia? Jolicia betrayed her to the demons that pursued her.”
“Celestia? The mad gypsy girl?” Arturos asked in genuine surprise.
Renna just rolled her eyes. “That one’s story goes on and on and on.”
“Yes. Her. Your mission is fruitless. Jolicia is as foul as her master.”
Arturos shook his head and sighed wistfully. “If Jolicia is no prisoner, we should charge Faeryl twice the coin that she offered. A capture is far riskier than a rescue, aye? Speaking of Faeryl, what is our missing employer up to, exactly? There are negotiations to be made.”
“She’s with Renthar, but I don’t know where he’s holding her,” said Sir Starfalcon. “He promised the Empress he wouldn’t harm her, if that’s any consolation.”
“It isn’t at all,” Sofia chewed softly on her lower lip. “You seem honorable, Sir Starfalcon, but we don’t know you.” She turned expectantly to Chanticleer. “ I know you’re not the same man I knew, but you’re ... similar. In a strange way, the closest I have to a friend here. That’s why I wanted to ask your opinion first. Is their offer the truth? Will they really give us our freedom?”
The warrior did not hesitate to answer. “If promised, I will make it so.”
“Do not trust these people,” Renna urged her. “They chain us like animals for trying to rid them of monster in their midst.”
“Dear sister, what option is there? This way at least, we will not die like animals.”
“We’ll do it.” Sofia exhaled a slow, deep breath. “We’ll deliver the message.”
********
The next day, Sofia, Arturos, and Renna were released from their cells, their weapons and armor returned to them, and then they were promptly escorted from Emerald Town. From the walls above, Kaylin and a pair of the guard’s finest archers kept watch, ready to loose their arrows if the prisoners attempted to flee, until they surrendered to the nearest Alliance patrol.
More than a day passed before the Castile siblings returned, covered in bruises and cuts, their armor torn in enough places to be rendered useless, and missing all of their weapons. Upon spotting their staggered approach, the guards hurried them through the gates, and then detained them there. By the time the Emerald Empress arrived, escorted by Chanticleer, Jon, Kaylin, and Sir Starfalcon, a crowd had already gathered.
“What happened to you?” The Emerald Empress put voice to the anxious thoughts of those who waited beside her.
Renna spit defiantly on the ground. “This mad man and his elf pet is even worse.”
“Where is Lady Elias?” Sir Starfalcon asked as he stepped forward to examine their injuries.
“The good of it?” Arturous smirked facetiously. “You have successfully bargained for one week more to rid yourselves of the Technocrats. The bad of it?” He then grimaced at Chanticleer in particular. “If you do not surrender within this week, they will execute the newest hostage you have so graciously provided, and then they will come to murder us all. Have no doubt, Emerald Town, this Alliance of rivals is capable of doing all that they threaten and more.”
To Be Continued ...
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Post by Chanticleer on Oct 9, 2017 19:31:59 GMT -5
“Your Eminence? Open your eyes. Your Eminence? Can you hear me?” ******** Begin Memory Sequence 00p03897a: “ In Sar!” The chanting man is tall and robed in black. His smile is wide and unnatural. His strange eyes dance with sadistic amusement. His laughter reminds me of the squealing copulation of rats. “ In Sar!” The pain is as overwhelming as it is unfamiliar. Not since the Cataclysm have I hurt like this. “ In Sar!” The dim light of dying torches. Cool wet air between walls of stone. I am below the ground. My captor pauses his spellcraft. “Techno-Prophet, the voice of chaos, betrayer of brothers, the once and never king, a defender of all races foolish, ugly, and unwanted. You’re known for all of these things, and all of them, they’re meaningless to me. Tell me what I’d like to know.” “No.” My voice is mine yet different. Smaller. Higher pitched like a whining child. “A bad choice, but it’s yours. In Bal Nox!” I gasp for breath with unnatural lungs. I struggle against mystic bindings without success. A demon’s symbol at the center of a platform. I see now that my body is small like my voice. His magic fades again. “Tell me what you know about the spell of binding.” “No.” An affected sigh escapes his lips. “If you tell me, I promise to cease hurting you. We’ll give you whatever your little automaton heart desires. A comfortable bed? A full body polish?” An anger boils inside me. “I refused to bend for my closest of friends, I survived the Cataclysm. I have transcended death itself. I will not break for you!” “ In Vas N --!” “Renthar!” A woman shouts. From the corner of my superior eye, I spot her. Masked and robed in green. An armored warrior stands at her side. Together, they step towards us. “Stop this now. I agreed you could try, but this is just cruel, and we already have what we need to win.” “Maybe that’s true for you, Empress, but I’m still far and away from winning … ” End Memory Sequence 00p03897a******** Begin Memory Sequence 0002d244g: A dark chamber atop a lonely tower. We come together as equals yet she does not consider me one. To her, everyone but a dead master is her inferior. I am glad Exedur stands at my side. The silvery light of the moons illuminates her pale flesh. Dark leathers reveal more than they protect. Black hair, red lips, every movement contrived for temptation. I am steadfast in my purpose and ignore her efforts. “Where is Stonegate, Minax?” The sorceress counters with a question I refuse to answer. The question I have avoided since all of this began -- if my plan succeeds, then who will wear Britannia’s crown? She believes that more will come from our brief alliance. But the sorceress fails to understand; I will betray my oldest friend to save our world, but I will never betray my Lady Gavrielle. End Memory Sequence 0002d244g******** Begin Memory Sequence 0b0049v79: The hour grows late and I stand at the door to my king’s chambers. A voice calling itself the Time Lord addresses my friend. It speaks of the Stranger, Mondain, the Gem of Immortality and numerous shard worlds that are merely reflections of the True Sosaria. Nearby, a talking mouse listens intently from her hole and memorizes all that she witnesses. This Time Lord warns that the shard worlds must be merged and reunited with the True Sosaria, or else this True Sosaria will remain vulnerable to a greater evil. “Tis for the greater good.” A poor justification for the destruction of worlds and the slaughter of innocents. “How then, shall I aid thee?” My heart sinks as I hear my king accept his words. "Destroy the world to save the universe.” I will die before I allow this to happen. End Memory Sequence 0b0049v79******** Begin Memory Sequence 0002n976t: … and so in Stonegate, it ends. One by one by one we fall … My Chaos Guard. True and loyal warriors from all Sosaria’s intelligent races -- men, orcs, ettins, and many others. In their final battle against British’s Virtue Guard, they are united in a desire to preserve the lives and freedom of our world. There is no moment when I feel prouder. Sir Geoffrey. Our blades clash, and his White Falcon breaks against my Shadowghast. When he refuses my offer of surrender, I slash open the knight’s throat. Iolo. The bard is gravely wounded by Exedur’s spinning short swords. I let his beloved Gwenno take him to safety. My compassion now seems irrelevant. At least they perish together. Minax. I made our alliance to prevent the spell of binding. Predictably, she pushes too far and tries to kill my king and Nystul. As worlds start to unravel due to her disruption, Exedur stabs her with Shadowghast; her expression is one of surprise as she turns to ash. Nystul. Lord British tries to compensate for Minax’s interference by stabilizing the ritual. His only hope is to join hands with strangers standing within two of the world rifts. The first is male, grotesque and inhuman similar to a gargoyle. As they touch, magical flames are unleashed, and Britannia’s arrogant court wizard melts as much as burns, and then he is no more. Lord British. My king reaches for the second rift and the cat-like female who stands on the other side. For a few moments, they succeed in holding three worlds together. Then it appears, a dark, shapeless entity from inside the cat-like female’s rift. This evil attacks my dear friend and begins to consume all of him. Exedur swiftly returns Shadowghast to my hand and I strike. There is an explosion of magical energies the likes I have never seen, and Lord British too is gone. Yet the shadow creature survives, and it turns its attention to me. As I feel myself devoured by its foulness, I wonder at the fates of Exedur and my Lady Gavrielle. … and so in Stonegate, it ends. One by one by one we fall … End Memory Sequence 0002n976t******** Begin Memory Sequence 00p03899a: The cool night air comforts what remains of ancient flesh. Two disparate eyes contemplating the skies above. Once, I let variance and impermanence distract me; now, I see only patterns. There is a grand design at work, an unfathomable beauty to behold. A noise interrupts my musings. A pneumatic flushing followed by a surprised cry: “ Shit!” Unalarmed, I enter the nearby chamber. A female stands besides the automated chamber pot, its clean water slowly recirculating. Brown haired and garbed in a brighter shade of red, she carries a lute in her hands. I have seen no lutes since Iolo. She is neither Technocrat, Jukan, nor Meer. A New Britannian spy? But how did this little spy ascend the heights of my floating citadel? “Are you the great and powerful Techno-Prophet Blackthorn?” She points to the chamber pot. “Do you still shit and piss like a proper man does? Her second question is meaningless, so I ignore it for the first. “Who else might I be?” The metallic resonance of my voice causes her to wince. “I have a message for you. More of a warning to be fair.” She pauses and then aims her lute at me. “Prepare to be fisted!” Her threat is incomprehensible. Before I am able to take further action, something strikes at me from behind. Darkness overwhelms my thoughts. My vision grows dim and unclear. “Prepare to be fisted?!” A second woman asks mockingly. More speakers surround me. “Kaylin is right,” a man says. “How can we even fist him? He has no hair or clothes.” I am smaller. “I was improvising!” The lute bearer snaps at them. A long, shrill breath escapes my lips. “At least Glade’s potion works.” The second woman concedes grudgingly. -- I -- “Tiny Blackthorn is sort of adorable.” The bard laughs. -- must -- “We should hurry,” the man urges them. “Ellin, are you certain about this?” -- not -- “It needs to be done,” says a third woman. “Do not worry, my friends, I will be fine.” -- sleep -- End Memory Sequence 00p03899a******** Begin Memory Sequence 0j0073v06: Yet another argument between us. My king vexes me with his stubbornness. Of course, this new law he proposes is, on its surface, an innocent thing -- the creation of a bounty system to bring to justice those murderers who prey on those outside the cities. But this other matter, an order of Virtue Guards? It is another veiled effort to force his virtue system upon the populace. Does he think that I have so easily forgotten his secret conspiracy with the so-called Time Lord? Tomorrow is the day he makes his announcement. Anyone possessing ‘sufficient’ character is invited to join his new Virtue Guard. They will be issued a shield bearing his own Silver Serpent symbol and tasked with enforcing his damnable virtue system. How can such an admirable man also be such an ignorant fool? Angrily, I give voice to the only reply left for me to make. I will announce the formation of another order: a Chaos Guard. They will wear my symbol and promote that which truly matters, freedom and individuality. Our bickering continues until my king finally relents. “So be it.” Virtue Guard and Chaos Guard shall co-exist together. They will be allowed to fight and spill each other’s blood. He will let force determine the ideals that are best suited for our kingdom. What madness is this? It is said we live in trouble times. On this day, they become even more troubled. End Memory Sequence 0j0073v06******** Begin Memory Sequence 0002o017a: I am broken. Some wounds have healed. Others never will. Following Stonegate, everything is different. The world falls to a cataclysm unlike any since the shattering of the Gem of Immortality. We are hidden safely within Castle Blackthorn. Any news is incomplete and infrequent. But there is one tale I force Exedur to repeat to me daily. I survive only due to the sacrifice of my Lady Gavrielle. Before it could slay me like it did our fallen king, Gavrielle used her magics to absorb the shadow entity into herself, and both of them were utterly destroyed. Nothing remains of my fallen love but memories. And my final memory is of the hatred and blame she held for me as worlds broke apart. The conflict is done, I refused to yield or compromise, and my enemies are no longer. Yet, I am unable to name myself victorious. Such is the consequence of the Chaos that I fight for. Our land, if it is ever to recover, must seek a better way. End Memory Sequence 0002o017a******** Begin Memory Sequence 0002a139a: The would-be assassin lies shackled before me. Earlier, only the clashing of blades separated us; now, it is the bars of his cell. He bleeds still from the injuries I inflicted during his capture as he stalked the halls of Castle Britannia. It is the king, not I, who is his target. “Lord British will deliver the land into doom.” He calls himself Exedur. He claims to be a prophet. “Lord British is going to cast a spell that will plunge Britannia into darkness. He's been plotting with his court sorcerer. They have no idea the horror they will cause.” As much as I would like to dismiss his accusations as mere madness, I need to know more. End Memory Sequence 0002a139a******** Begin Memory Sequence 0m0a4832q: Something stirs. I dream of barbarians. I tell Lector Sartorius of my dreams. The barbarians are called Juka. I remember them now. I also remember the Cataclysm. Many years and years and years ago, Lector Exedur was at my side then. He was the first of my Chosen. That was the end of all Chaos. Something stirs. War is coming. End Memory Sequence 0m0a4832q******** Begin Memory Sequence 00p03898c: My tormentor reappears from the flickering shadows of the dungeon’s torchlight. We are alone now, the masked woman and her knight are nowhere to be seen. “I’ve a question for you, Techno-Prophet,” he grins arrogantly. “No.” “It’s not about the spell of binding. Of course, I’d still love to know what that monstrous mind of yours recollects of it, but there’s another matter that holds my curiosity today.” I do not respond. He will continue talking regardless. His kind always does. “Once upon an age, you were quite the Chaos enthusiast. Individuality, freedom, you considered orcs and ratmen equal to humankind. They’re not, by the by, that’s obvious from their smell alone. Too stubborn in your ways, you went so far as to betray your king and kingdom. But now, look at you. You’re all about numbers and order and logic, and you’ve got scrap metal fused to your face and your cock. What I want to know is, what exactly changed your mind?” My answer is simple. “The end of all Chaos. I was there when it occurred.” “Was it though, was it truly?” His strange eyes grow animated. “How is then, do you explain the very existence of Everywhere? Or your Technocrat alliance with Lady British? Unless, is it possible there are things that are unknown by the all-knowing Techno-Prophet?” I am uneasy. Is it my reduced size? The strain of weeks of captivity? His nature is obvious and duplicitous. Logic dictates I ignore him; I cannot. “Explain yourself.” “Do you know the truth about Everywhere?” “I know what is.” “You Technocrats believe there’s truth to be found in logic and numbers and order. If that’s so, doesn’t that mean there’s deception in chaos? History’s been altered, which makes the lie behind Everywhere a victory for chaos. Because your alliance with Lady British helps to preserve the current state of things, you’re perpetuating chaos, and as a result, everything you’ve sacrificed -- the very Cataclysm itself -- it’s all been rendered meaningless.” I dislike this. His reasoning … holds merit. “What are you proposing?” “A bargain, a free exchange of information, your truths for mine.” He smiles again, that oddly unnatural smile. “Tell me what you know about the spell of binding ... ” End Memory Sequence 00p03898c******** “Your Eminence? Open your eyes. Your Eminence? Can you hear me?” My consciousness is restored. I open my eyes as requested. As always, the superior one first. “Your Eminence, you’re awake!” A member of the Order of Mathematicians addresses me. His name and rank escape me. I find his enthusiasm unbecoming. We stand inside a tent crafted from metal. On either side of me are my Juggernauts. They use their great strength to hold me upright. I regain my bearings and silently dismiss them. As they depart the structure, I turn my attention to the Mathematician. “Where are we?” “ Everywhere. The Lands of Unknown Despair. Three days south of Emerald Town. We finally secured the counter-potion necessary to return Your Eminence to normal size.” “I remember being small. The voice I spoke was not my own.” “Your Eminence,” the Mathematician gleefully rubs his hands together, “your forces are ready. All who dared to offend Your Eminence will be destroyed!” “Tell me, Mathematician, how was I freed?” “A deal was struck, Your Eminence. We were approached by the leaders of Emerald Town, and they proposed a way to end the hostilities between our -- ” “Which leaders?” “Their masked empress, a knight in green armor, and a tall sorcerer with strange eyes.” My interrogators. I gesture for the Mathematician to continue. “One of their people, a monk named Lionsden, she surrendered to us in Logos right after Your Eminence was captured. She told us where you were taken and how to obtain your release.” “There are no bargains without terms. What were they?” “First, a prisoner trade, the monk for the safe return of Your Eminence. Second, the location of the counter-potion for an end to our alliance with Lady British so we don’t take any sides in their upcoming conflicts. We had no option but to comply. After the trade was finished, we traveled to where the counter-potion was hidden. Of course, we carefully examined it before using it.” He pauses and nervously clears his throat. “Does … Your Eminence feel any ill-effects?” “No.” “Then should I prepare our forces for the march to Emerald Town?” “No.” My answer elicits a confused expression so I repeat myself. “No.” “But … Your Eminence … ?!” His stammering irritates me. I resist the temptation to snap his neck with the claws of my superior hand. Instead, I patiently sigh and attempt an explanation. “A bargain was struck, Mathematician, and such agreements hold significant value. The truth in the exchange of information as each side negotiates their terms. The order in the offering of a reliance upon the expectations of another. The logic of an equation created by the balance of conditions. To violate the sanctity of such agreements offends quaint notions of honor and goodness, and more importantly, it promotes chaos.” “Even those promises made under duress?!” I silence him with a wave of my natural hand. “Tell our forces we are returning home. Then we will withdraw our ambassador from Lady British’s lands. Then we will destroy all portals that exist between our two realms. Everywhere is Chaos, and we do not perpetuate Chaos.” As he leaves sulking, my thoughts wander to better things. I find myself yearning for Logos, the sights and sounds of my citadel floating across the skies of night. There is a comfort there, when the world is fast asleep, and I am alone but for the faithful hum of the machinery of existence. To Be Continued ...
Sources:
1. My Book by Sherry the Mouse, Author Uncredited: uo.stratics.com/secrets/books/book_21.shtml 2. The Founding of the Virtue Guard, Author Uncredited: uo.stratics.com/secrets/h_extra04.shtml 3. Ultima Worlds Online: ORIGIN Prequel Fiction by Austen Andrews: uo.stratics.com/secrets/uo2/britain1.shtml uo.stratics.com/secrets/uo2/britain2.shtml uo.stratics.com/secrets/uo2/britain3.shtml uo.stratics.com/secrets/uo2/britain4.shtml 4. Ultima: The Technocrat War Trilogy by Austen Andrews
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Post by Chanticleer on Nov 13, 2017 20:25:37 GMT -5
Her fingers trembled as they clasped together, and she raised them to her forehead. Blissfully, she knelt before the altar and inclined her head forward. Then she shut her eyes and whispered with no small measure of anticipation. “O’ Twin Suns, may your warmth always comfort me.” The metal chain was smooth on her flesh. “May your lights always guard me.” The copper amulet felt weightless against her neck. “May your paths across the sky always guide me.” **** SHE-WAS-RETURNED **** It began as it always did, a tiny insignificance that sparked at her center. A slow, cautious burn that devoured her heart and lungs while gaining in potency. The pace accelerated, boiling at her blood as it spread across veins to her extremities. Her head was spared for the very last, allowing her to experience fully every white hot-filled moment of consumption. Rays of light pierced her mind, whispering their secrets into the ashes of her mind: “Change comes to Everywhere, it begins in the south; A town of emeralds, a ruby from the stars; A clash of elements, an inverted ankh; Four kingdoms at war, while the fifth waits silent; With destruction comes rebirth; And in the victors, shall we be named.” “What … can I do?” She spoke in thoughts not sounds. “How do I best serve?” There was no reply; the light retreated from her until she was once more form and substance. And when Ellin Lionsden opened her eyes, wisps of smoke still lingered on her breath. ******** With the exception of Emerald Keep, the Temple of the Twin Suns was the largest structure in all of Emerald Town, and to its residents and visitors, the more impressive one. Constructed from ancient copper-hued stone, the tops of its domed roof and two towering spires were adorned with massive, sun-shaped sculptures Exquisitely-crafted stained glass front windows depicted the Twin Suns in various positions throughout their inconstant cycle, and the wooden, double-doored entrance below was similarly embellished with solar iconography. “Hello, Chanticleer!” The chorus of three greeted him as he entered the temple. “Why do you always seem grumpy? Everyone looks better when they’re smiling.” “Even foul Renthar?” He asked pointedly. As the trio of robed acolytes paused to consider his question, the warrior passed through the sparsely-decorated vestibule. The austerity of the temple’s main hall was comparable to that of the antechamber, both lacked the extravagance of its exterior. There were no comforts here. No benches for worshipers to sit upon. No rugs to spare bared feet from cracked, uneven floors. Only painted ceiling murals, the rows of stained glass windows, and the copper altar located in the middle of the chamber, all dedicated to portraying the Twin Suns in all their fiery glory. As Chanticleer approached, she was praying at the altar. “Monk.” Wearing her plain robes, his fellow Time Lost possessed attractive features and a welcoming demeanor, and her rich brown hair flowed down past her shoulders. If not for her monkhood, the warrior could have found her physically appealing. Instead, she was one of the few he called friend. “What news?” Ellin stood to face him. “Both good and bad, it seems. Malcolm has examined me and found no ill effects from my time with the Technocrats. But …” She frowned as she moved closer to him. “I heard about tomorrow’s duel. This must be difficult for you.” He grunted dismissively and pointed to the altar. “How can you embrace such superstition? After the treachery of your previous cult, I am surprised you could stomach another.” Instead of taking offense at his words, she smiled patiently. “You are not wrong, it was a harsh lesson to discover the truth about the Entity of the Emerald. Or to learn that after its destruction, my former brothers and sisters evolved into a group of fanatical assassins. But eventually, I was able to evolve too, and I found a new love and a new commitment with Ssin’Urn.” “I ... suppose. He was tolerable. For a mole.” “Ssin was a good man and husband; I still miss him every day,” the monk said wistfully. “After his death, I needed to keep moving forward, and my path led to here. This is not a place of blind worship or obedience, true enlightenment that can be found within these walls. In the past, you were not interested in matters of faith. Have you ever tried to reconsider?” “Nothing has changed for me. Only circumstances.” She furrowed her brow. “I am not sure if I agree. The ‘John’ I first met was proud, violent and rarely troubled by things like regret or guilt. Maybe faith could help with your struggles.” “Faith is unlikely when forced to deal with the likes of Renthar.” “It is clear you do not trust him.” “Do you?” Chanticleer grunted in disgust. “Does Glade, Jon, Kaylin, or Thalesa. Of course not. Yet you blindly follow his schemes on the say of the Empress.” His voice grew agitated. “None of you see fit to explain why. Except to tell me how you cannot!” “ Promises were made,” Ellin sighed softly, glancing towards the symbol of the Twin Suns that so dominated the surface of the altar behind her. “Change begins here in Emerald Town, and it will soon spread to the rest of Everywhere. All of us have our parts to play.” “Enough of your foolish prophecies.” “I swear to you,” she said in earnest, “on our years of friendship, on the memory of Ssin’Urn, on the beliefs I hold dear, the Empress has helped us. She is trying to help you too.” “Why would anyone from this foul place aid me?!” The monk threw her hands up in frustration. “Because she is not! She comes from our Sosaria!” A few calming breaths later, she continued. “I am sorry, I have said too much.” “As you say.” He turned abruptly to leave. “ Wait!” The warrior acquiesced with a silent glare. “You know Neville Holden best. What do you expect tomorrow will bring?” He pressed his lips together in thought. “Will Holden allow this to be settled by a duel and agree to withdraw if defeated? I am not certain. He could recognize Sir Starfalcon as a fellow knight and honor his word. Or he could decide that fulfilling the prophecy justifies any treachery on his part and attack regardless. It has long been his obsession.” “What are our chances for victory?” “Sir Starfalcon is among the greatest warriors I have encountered. He bested Kaylin and I during the contest to become the Emerald Knight.” His expression soured. “Holden’s … champion … was always my inferior in strength of arms. It makes little sense that he chose her to fight.” “His champion has a name. ” She regarded him sympathetically. “You should say it.” Chanticleer shook his head. “The Empress is concerned they will recognize the Fist.” “But will you attend anyway?” “You know I have no choice.” “Then you will not be on your own,” Ellin smiled encouragingly. “I have it discussed it with the others, and we agreed to support whatever you decide to do.” “If I am determined to interfere?” He asked with a curious smirk. “We are still the Emerald Fist.” END PART FOUR
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Post by Chanticleer on Dec 28, 2017 16:53:00 GMT -5
PART FIVE: MORNINGS OF THE NIGHTS BEFORE
… The Morning Of ...
Once, it was a farm, rows of fields dedicated to the harvest of wheat, and owned by a family who had toiled that land for countless generations (or at least a close approximation thereof, given how difficult the accurate reckoning of time was in Everywhere). Until three weeks ago, with the coming of the Technocrats, when the forced occupation of the area sent farmers fleeing for safety and their livelihood left abandoned, crushed or slaughtered. Following the retrieval of their Techno-Prophet Blackthorn and subsequent departure, it became evident that the presence of Logosian technology and their flesh-machines had somehow contaminated the soil, rendering it useless for the countless generations of farmers-to-be. Now, this ruined field would serve as the site of the makeshift combat arena, where the fate of Emerald Town would be determined.
Dawn was slow to break, even for the season. Perhaps cold made the Twin Suns lazy, or perhaps they were apprehensive about the day’s events. But the moment they deemed it was time for that brisk winter’s morning to begin, Lord Neville Holden, ruler of the Alliance of Powerful, Rival Kingdoms, was ready. He was accompanied by four dozen of the finest paladins from the former Holy Kingdom of Sanctum, who immediately inspected the arena for traps or signs of sabotage. Upon the satisfactory completion of their search, Holden seated himself in the center row at the northern end of the oval-shaped, open-aired structure. His personal retinue soon followed: Sir Deniah, his second; Relvinian, his librarian; Raeff, Mage-Lord of the Moonshade Tactics Squad; Salix, newly-appointed lycan governor of Talon’s Crag; Sydney MacConner, chieftain’s son of the Highlanders of Justice; an unnamed emissary of the Order of Automata; and the Lady Sofia Elias, his hostage, thus far unharmed.
A few minutes later, they were joined by the delegation from Emerald Town, which included the gem-masked Emerald Empress; eight of her sworn guardsmen; the tall, mad-eyed sorcerer Renthar; the siblings Arturos and Renna Castile; and an assortment of twenty five townspeople, mostly warriors and mages, but also six hooded acolytes from the Temple of the Twin Suns. Swiftly, and without a word, they sat across the arena from Lord Holden and his forces.
And then, shortly after everyone was settled, the two combatants made their entrance.
… The Night Before …
The small chapel was short distance from the Market District, nestled in a secluded area between the slopes of North Hill and the western wall. Compared to the splendor of the Temple of the Twin Suns, its appearance was less than impressive, a one-room stone building filled with wooden benches and a large, ankh-shaped altar. Visitors were infrequent, mostly merchants, travelers, or exiled Britannians who adhered still to the beliefs of their former homeland. This was how Chanticleer knew to find Sir Starfalcon there, unarmored and meditating upon the Eight Virtues, in preparation for the events of the following day.
“We must speak. Now.”
The knight remained kneeling, hands clasped at his chest and eyes tight with concentration. “I’m almost finished.” But more than twenty minutes of silence passed until he eventually stood.
While waiting, Chanticleer’s expression grew increasingly irritated. “Why all of this?”
“I might have left Britannia, but I bring her virtues wherever I go.”
“I have wondered why you left Britannia at all.”
Sir Starfalcon stretched his arms above his head and held them there. “It wasn’t easy. Did I ever mention I was knighted by Lord British? For years, I served his Order of the Silver Serpent, and my service continued even after Lady British became queen.” He lowered his arms, bending over as both hands touched his toes. “It was during the quest to cure the Black Weep that I discovered the truth about Everywhere, Lady British, the Technocrats, all of it. I always felt she fell short of her father, and then to learn she was never his daughter at all?”
“Then why not fight?” The warrior’s tone implied judgment. “In our Britannia, the Emerald Fist clashed often with corrupt or overreaching authority, despite unfavorable odds.”
“I … tried,” the knight grunted quietly as he maintained his position. “I tried to reveal her lies by using the virtues against her, but it wasn’t that simple. Have you heard of the Avatar?”
“Yes, in Wrong. Her champion of virtue who cured the Black Weep?”
“In all my years as a knight, the Avatar was the most formidable foe I ever faced.” Sir Starfalcon frowned as he assumed a standing posture. “And that’s without the Companions.”
“Who?”
“The Companions of the Avatar. A group of Britannia’s most notable figures -- the mage Moriah, the bard Yolo, the fighter Goffrey, the druid Jenna, the tinker Jools, the paladin Duprey, the ranger Shamuno, and the shepherd Katarina. Some of them I considered friends until they joined the Avatar’s efforts to cure the Black Weep. These days, it’s rare to encounter the Avatar without at least a few of them. Worse, the people love them and they're completely loyal to Lady British. When I failed, I had no choice but to flee south and find allies to help free Britannia.”
“And so you did,” Chanticleer scowled his disapproval.
“I hope you’re not here to argue about Renthar.”
“Tomorrow’s duel. I have a favor to ask.”
The knight’s demeanor softened considerably. “About my opponent? I was told she used to be a member of the Emerald Fist, and the two of you were close.”
“Yes.” The warrior sighed heavily. “If … her death can be avoided?”
Sir Starfalcon smiled sadly. “Do you still practice those paladin spells I taught you?” You were doing well before this recent business,” “I’ve said it before, you’re a good man, I wish we’d met years ago. Under the right circumstances, and the right teacher …” With a slight shake of his head, he dismissed that thought. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give you what you’re asking. The very survival of Emerald Town’s at stake, and I am her champion. I’ll do what I must to protect my charge, and hold faith that the virtues will guide me to victory.”
“My apologies.”
“For what?” The knight asked curiously.
But he received no answer in reply, only Chanticleer’s abrupt departure.
To Be Continued …
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Post by Chanticleer on Jan 13, 2018 23:46:42 GMT -5
… The Morning Of …
When Lord Holden spoke, those gathered grew silent. “It has been said that virtues untested are largely meaningless. Today, I remind you all of this, so that you truly appreciate the significance of my compassion towards the people of Emerald Town. I possess the superior army, and with it, I could easily destroy your home.” As he spoke, his prominent moustache and commanding tone overshadowed his smallish mouth. “But your champion, Sir Starfalcon, came to me personally, appealing to my sense of honor, as only a fellow knight could do. He requested we settle this dispute with a duel, so that no further innocents are harmed. Against the advice of my advisors, who urged me to press our advantage, I chose to be merciful and terms were set as follows: Single combat until the death of one of the participants. If the Emerald Knight is victorious, I depart these lands in peace. If my champion wins, then Emerald Town and its people surrender unconditionally.” His light blue eyes then flickered towards the Emerald Town delegation. “Do you abide by these terms, Emerald Empress?!”
The masked ruler of Emerald Town nodded. “I do agree.”
“Then let the champions take to the field!”
Sir Starfalcon entered first. He was a striking and imposing figure to behold, every movement evincing knightly perfection. His emerald-hued armor was flawlessly polished, a longsword was secured tightly in its belt scabbard, and he carried a metal kite shield emblazoned with the green, gem-shaped crest of the home he was sworn to protect. When he reached the arena’s center, the Emerald Knight bowed his head in deference to both the Empress and Holden, and even some among the Alliance forces joined in the applauding his arrival.
His opponent’s reception was less impressive in comparison. She was slender and unassuming, and though taller than average, Sir Starfalcon easily towered over her. There was a long dagger sheathed at her waist, a shortbow and quiver strapped to her back, and instead of armor, she wore dull-red robes. Her black hair was neatly tied into twin braids that revealed a pair of pointed ears, and her expression reflected a bored detachment from her surroundings.
“Sir Starfalcon,” Holden’s voice boomed loudly, “are you prepared to do battle?!”
“Today, I fight for the honor of Emerald Town. May the virtues guide me to victory.”
“What about you, Leigh D’arc, are you ready?!”
“Okay.” She shrugged up at Holden.
“Champions, you may begin!"
Sir Starfalcon skillfully drew his blade. “Forul Solum.” A blue light briefly enveloped his entire body. Two of Leigh’s arrows followed; he allowed the first one to bounce harmlessly off his left pauldron and raised his shield to parry the second, which was aimed at the right eye slit.
“Guess you’re not stupid,” said Leigh as she unleashed a third arrow.
… The Night Before …
The chilled night’s breeze washed over Leigh D’arc as she neared Lord Holden’s tent, and after two hours of Sir Deniah’s sweat-inducing combat training, the sensation of cold against her flesh was far from unpleasant. But her moment’s bliss was spoiled when one of the guards noticed her approach. He wore a suit of fine chainmail, and his lavender-colored cloak and sash marked him as one of the mercenaries provided by the Consortium of New Fawn.
“Where ye been hidin’, elfie, lookin’ for trees to climb?!” The soldier snarled obnoxiously. “His lordship’s expectin’ ye back more than an hour ago!” His insult caught the attention of two of the kilt-wearing clansman of the Highlanders of Justice, and all three started to laugh.
She pointedly ignored the men and slipped inside. Holden’s quarters were surprisingly spacious and well-furnished for a temporary military outpost. Nearly all the farmhouses across the River Ponder had been abandoned in the wake of the Technocrats’ arrival, and the Alliance was quick to scavenge whatever possessions the farmers left behind. It was to be expected that their ruler would claim the very best for himself, including an over-sized feathered bed and collection of fine wines that were now the envy of the entire camp.
Leigh’s entrance was met by a heated exchange. “You continue to disappoint, Relvinian!” From behind an antique oak desk looted from one of the wealthier farms, Holden berated the spectacled man cowering before him.
“B-b-but Lord Holden -- ”
“Where is the last of my seal fragments?! How does Stratos still eludes us?!”
Relvinian exhaled a slow, calming breath. “Please forgive me, Lord Holden, but I don’t have an answer yet for you. The w-w-wand that we stole from the --”
“Liberated. We liberated it from the clutches of those heathen Pagan sorcerers.”
“Of c-c-course, and it’s never failed me like this before. As you’re aware, it easily located the three other seal fragments, and given that it’s range doesn’t seem limited by any geographical or dimensional constraints, I believe that -- ”
“Spare me the babbling and reach your point,” Holden glowered impatiently.
“When we were still in Pagan, the wand was able to trace the seal fragments here to Everywhere, a completely different world. Before we left Castle Holden, the wand detected that the Pyros and Stratos fragments were somewhere in this region. But now, the Stratos fragment has vanished. The wand can’t sense it at all, which makes me wonder if someone’s masked its presence.”
Leigh finally announced her presence with a loud, disaffected yawn.
Holden’s face brightened unexpectedly. “Leigh, I was about to remind our scholarly associate of how one’s fortune is a precarious thing. But you and I have more important matters to discuss.” He then turned to Relvinian with a scowl. “Leave us. Now.”
Once the librarian was gone, Holden sighed disdainfully. “Does he remind you also of an abused pup? The manner in which his eyes become sad and big whenever he is shouted at?”
“Never had a dog. Just a dragon.”
“A man of my stature tends to accumulate pets rather frequently,” he smirked derisively. “But I did not summon you to discuss Relvinian’s failings.”
“You want to know if I’m ready for tomorrow?”
“Indeed. It is strange how years ago, we were the bitterest of foes, and now you are one of my closest allies.” He stepped closer, watching her intently. “Much depends upon tomorrow. Once I possess all four Titan seal fragments, we will turn our attention to Lady British, and when she lies dead, the path to our Britannia will no longer be blocked. Do not forget, however, that our Alliance friends are a fickle and volatile lot who value strength above all. Should you lose to Sir Starfalcon, and if I am forced to break my word to obtain the Stratos fragment, I risk losing their support. And without the Alliance, we have no chance against Lady British.”
She slowly nodded. “I ... understand.”
“Then answer your own question, Leigh. Are you ready for tomorrow?”
To Be Continued …
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Post by Chanticleer on Feb 1, 2018 17:06:03 GMT -5
… The Morning Of …
“It has been said that virtues untested are largely meaningless … ”
While Lord Holden enthusiastically delivered his speech to those gathered, three of the acolytes from the Temple of the Twin Suns stood from their seats. One was a woman and the other two were men; their faces were hidden by the hoods of their dirt brown robes, and each of them wore the copper amulets symbolic of their order. Slowly, they wandered away from the Emerald Town delegation and towards where the Alliance forces were situated.
“Then let the champions take to the field!”
A few scattered cheers grew into a deafening wave of applause, reaching its crescendo with the arrival of Sir Starfalcon, and then tapering off as Leigh D’arc took her place next to him. At the sight of her, the taller of the male acolytes grunted impatiently, which earned him a sharp glance from his female companion With the crowd focused on Holden’s exchange with the combatants, few took notice as the hooded trio reached the northern end of the arena.
But one of Holden’s paladins did, and he moved to intercept them. “Halt.”
“Good Suns, my brother,” the shorter of the male acolytes affably greeted him.
“Why are you here?” His metal gauntlet tapped at the hilt of his still-sheathed blade.
“We are but true and humble servants of the Twin Suns.” The acolyte slowly fingered the edges of his copper amulet, as if to emphasize the fact of his words. “We wish an audience with Lord Holden, so that we may introduce ourselves and give our blessings.”
“I’ve heard of your cult,” the paladin nodded, “but why do you -- ?”
He was interrupted by Holden’s booming pronouncements. “Champions, you may begin!”
In the field below, a sword was drawn. Two arrows clashed against armor. The duel between Sir Starfalcon of Emerald Town and Leigh D’arc of the Alliance had begun.
“What occurs here?” A muffled female voice suddenly demanded over the sounds of battle.
“Sir Deniah.” The paladin bowed his head slightly to the approaching knight. She wore a suit of fine, silver-hued platemail, and Britannia’s Silver Serpent adorned her tunic and shield. “These monks follow that Twin Suns superstition. They’re asking to bless Lord Holden.”
“A blessing? To the man trying to conquer your home?!”
The shorter of the male acolytes emphatically shook his head. “The Twin Suns’ blessings are for all, regardless of their intentions. We need for Lord Holden to understand this.”
Beneath them, there was the crack of metal against wood, and the crowd gasped loudly.
“Your request will have to wait until the duel is done,” said Sir Deniah.
The taller male acolyte pushed closer to her. “We will speak now.” There was an aggression to his tone and mannerisms. “He risks losing the favor of the Twin Suns.”
She remained firm. “I do not mean to insult your beliefs, but we follow a different code. If you are concerned, I promise Lord Holden has no desire to interfere with your ways, as long as you come to respect his rule.” She then gestured down to the combatants. “For now, I would like to watch the rest of their battle. Stay here, and I will arrange for introductions later.”
After Sir Deniah and the paladin had left them, the hooded acolytes exchanged furtive glances, and then the shorter male acolyte shrugged. “We are most certainly fucked.”
… The Night Before …
Sir Deniah heard them before she finished opening the front flap of the prison tent:
“Her tits? What about those breeding hips?!”
“Why ruin her by poppin’ out puppies?! Heard tell of one isle middle of tha’ Endless Sea where all females are smooth and dusky like ‘er.”
Inside the tent, two guards hovered over their prisoner. Though separated from their leering by thick wooden slats, the Lady Sofia Elias still recoiled at the opposite end of her small cage. She was burrowed deeply beneath the cloth blanket and fur bedding, and her eyes were tightly shut in a vain effort to ignore their unwanted comments.
The knight abruptly announced her arrival. “Guards, you stand too close.”
They spun around in surprise, but it was the lanky, freckle-faced mercenary from the Consortium of New Fawn who first responded. “Sir knight,” he grinned sheepishly. “We ‘eard the prisoner’s got the power for magic castin’. Just makin’ our best she don’t escape.”
“You are relieved of duty. Now return to your barracks.”
The lycan warrior from Talon’s Crag snarled at her. His features were handsome and wolf-like, and he was dressed in fine, black leather armor that appeared unsullied by battle.
“Must I repeat myself?” Sir Deniah calmly asked.
He growled again at her. For half of a minute, both the platemail-clad knight and the lycan stood their ground, neither of them moving or uttering a word. Sofia cautiously lowered her blanket to watched the exchange.
The mercenary sighed uncomfortably. “S’not fair, mate, I know it. They promised us a war, but we’ve been waitin’ ‘round for days. But this ain’t worth it. She’s Holden’s second.”
“... aye,” the lycan relented with a scowl, and they both quickly evacuated the tent.
“Thank you,” Sofia said graciously. “They were acting like animals.”
Sir Deniah seated herself on a nearby bench. “One of them was an animal, and the other able to transform himself into a wolf, strange as that may sound.”
“I’ve heard about people like that back home, but I wasn’t sure if it was true or not.” Sofia shed her blanket completely and assumed a kneeling position. “I appreciate what you did, but doesn’t Holden’s second-in-command have better things to do than guard me?”
The knight removed her close helm and placed it carefully on the ground. She was fair-skinned and hazel-eyed, with a narrow, crooked nose, an un-delicate chin, and light brown hair wrapped into a bun. “I spent most of tonight training and wish to unwind. Besides, you are our hostage, and Lord Holden promised to keep you safe. I will see that vow kept, and since Leigh and the Mage-Lord are busy preparing for tomorrow, the task has now fallen to me.”
“Does that mean you don’t trust everyone you’re working with?” When there was no response, she continued. “I stayed in Emerald Town for a couple months, most of them are good people. They even showed mercy to my friends and I after we tried to kill Renthar.”
“Who?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. In my Sosaria, I’d expect someone like you to be protecting a place like Emerald Town. Not helping savage wolfmen and shady mercenaries attack it. It’s strange how backwards everything seems here in Everywhere.”
Sir Deniah frowned slightly. “I am here to protect you, Lady Elias, not engage you in pointless conversation. Tomorrow is important and I prefer to be alone with my thoughts.”
“I see,” Sofia pursed her thick lips. “One more question please. Why did Lord Holden agree to Sir Starfalcon’s duel when your side was already going to win?”
“Because ... he is not afraid. Because he has faith in his champion.”
… The Morning Of …
As the crowd quieted, Leigh tossed aside the remnants of her broken bow. Sir Starfalcon’s attack had caught her unaware; she barely evaded it, but her weapon was not so fortunate.
“Arm yourself,” the knight paused. “I’d rather you not fight unarmed.”
“Me too.” She unsheathed her long dagger.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
Leigh retreated one step and hurled the debris of her her bow at his head. Sir Starfalcon knocked the projectile aside with his longsword and blocked her follow-up thrust with his shield, as well as her three successive stabs. She easily ducked his counter-swing and tumbled forward into a somersault. But before she could strike at his right flank, he slammed the pommel of his blade down onto unprotected skull, which sent the elf sprawling across the ground.
And then, before Leigh could recover from the blow, Sir Starfalcon reversed the angle of his sword and prepared to deliver his killing blow.
To Be Continued …
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Post by Chanticleer on Mar 21, 2018 16:22:43 GMT -5
… The Morning Of … Closing her blood-covered eyes, Leigh quickly mumbled her words of power. “ In Sanct An Jux.” A crackle of magickal energies, and she felt the air around her stiffen. Mere inches from her face, Sir Starfalcon’s fatal thrust was deflected, as if by an invisible barrier. He then slashed downwards, but this attack was also repelled. As their audience cheered loudly, the elf took advantage of her opponent’s momentary surprise, rolling across the field of battle to escape his reach. With a loud grunt, she struggled to stand, desperate to push past the pain and nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. “For Emerald Town!” Sir Starfalcon raised his shield and prepared to charge. Leigh inhaled deeply, ignoring the blurred, double-vision of two fully-armored warriors rushing across the arena towards her. She relaxed her fingers, letting her long dagger fall to the ground as both images of Sir Starfalcons drew closer. Despite the throbbing of her skull, she maintained her concentration, and calmly exhaled. “ In Flam An Por.” A ring of unnatural flame, taller than a man and half that in diameter, suddenly manifested around her. The knight halted his approach. He tested at the circle of fire with the tip of his longsword, but inexplicably, he was unable to breach it. “... how?!” “It’s Pagan magic,” Leigh smiled weakly. “So’s this. In Quas Wis.” And with that, a burst of violet power flew forth from her hands, striking Sir Starfalcon in the chest. … The Night Before …The Empress whispered her secret word, and each of the twelve gems encrusted upon her mask flashed with a pale green light. The rune-covered clasp located right below the nape of her neck unfastened automatically, and she removed the face by which she was best known. She walked to the corner of the windowless room and seated herself at the small wooden vanity. Her dark gaze shifted to the vanity’s mirror, and she stared at the reflection within. While young still, she seemed older than the last time she had looked, older than she remembered feeling, and the Empress wondered if it was the mask or herself that should be blamed for this. “How long do you intend to maintain this little ruse of yours?” Her body stiffened, until she spotted her visitor through the mirror. He stood at the room’s entrance, tall and dark-haired, with strange, reddish eyes and an eerily-shaped mouth. “How’d you get in here?” She asked, only vaguely annoyed. “This is my room; I’ve never invited you, and you shouldn’t be able to access the passageway without my key.” Renthar grinned as he stepped closer to her. “Like its mistress, Emerald Keep certainly has its secrets, and I do pride myself on learning others’ secrets. We’ve been allies for a year now, more than enough time for me to figure this one out. But you neglected to answer.” He gestured to the mask she held. “How much longer until you tell them who you are?” She placed her mask on top of the vanity and started to remove the hairpins that secured her bun. “Once they’re safe.” Thick black hair fell down past her shoulders. “When he’s safe.” “They’re not exactly helping your cause then. The Fist is planning something.” “The duel?” She spun around in her stool to face him. “I figured they would.” “ And?” The tall sorcerer raised an eyebrow. “Chanticleer loves … Leigh. He won’t give up on her, and the others will follow him on this. So we’ll just have to try even harder to keep them alive.” “I’d rather not,” Renthar sighed dramatically, “but very well.” “Our alliance doesn’t mean we have to agree about everything. Take that elf Faeryl, for instance. You know I don’t approve of your plans for her.” “Faeryl’s none of your concern.” “She was my prisoner, that makes her my concern.” the Empress said with a slight shake of her head. “But I won’t argue, for the sake of our alliance. How is she right now?” “At my fortress and under Jolicia’s protection, along with the Stratos fragment. As for my plans, I’ve told you why they’re a necessity. Besides, it’s more than she deserves after the elf and her little band of friends crossed worlds just to murder me.” “Then you’re right, it isn’t my concern.” She turned around and reached into the vanity’s top left drawer. With hairbrush in hand, she slowly untangled the mess of her hair, and her eyes met his inside the mirror. “I’ve been wondering, how’d you know Holden would agree to the duel?” “ Vanity, my dear Empress. He can’t risk losing face, not with that crowd. The Alliance devours weakness, and they’ll turn on him the moment he shows it. “Were you also responsible for Sir Starfalcon proposing the duel?” In reply, the sorcerer only offered her a strange and sinister smile. … The Morning Of … “ In Quas Wis.” The enthralled audience watched as Sir Starfalcon was struck by a burst of purplish magicks. But instead of an obvious injury, the knight’s stance grew unsteady; his legs wobbling erratically. And then his longsword and shield slipped from his grasp. A mix of cheers and cries of disapproval filled the arena. But none looked away. “ Flam Por.” Leigh vanished in a puff of fire and smoke, only to reappear directly behind him. She inhaled deeply and braced herself, before delivering a swift, hard kick to his armored back. It was barely enough, but the force of her blow caused him to topple forward. There was a loud clank of metal, and Sir Starfalcon was face down on the ground. Slowly, Leigh reached for his discarded blade. “For the glory of my Alliance!” Lord Holden’s shouted, drowning out all others. She gripped the sword tightly and raised it above her unmoving opponent. “Leigh! Stay your hand!” The voice, she knew, yet would not place. She paused, turning slightly. That moment, lost to a kaleidoscope of memories. They leapt down from the benches and charged towards her; familiar faces, angered and judgmental and robed in dull brown. Too many portals to make sense of it all. Kaylin Windsong. A scent of shadows. Jon Abbot. Scales, never balanced. Chanticleer Reich. Always, Chanticleer, always. The world (and everything about it) was no longer right. Many years ago, She had just left Britain, Leigh was tired and weaker then, Incapable of killing a man with but a few simple words, “Foul Pagan Sorcery.” She decided to keep a journal, Thoughts she dare not speak, It was only for a short while, until Sanjuro helped her, This is what she wrote that very first day, Day *scribble* One:
It’s funny how sometimes you think life might be getting a bit easier when all of a sudden it gets really hard. Things like that brought me to the shrine and more of the same brought me here, of all places, outside the halls of the buried cathedral in Covetous.
Britain was a pretty city for a while, but it turned really ugly, really fast. Somewhere along the way I lost who I was, I don’t know where or when, but I did. It gets you into trouble, not knowing who or what you are, I guess some things just need to be learned the hard way. I don’t know if *scribble* John will ever forgive me, or even if I will forgive myself, maybe that’s why I’m here right now. It’s a lot easier to die sometimes than to live.*“IT’S A LOT EASIER TO DIE SOMETIMES THAN TO LIVE.” Leigh felt a hand rough on her right arm and blinked quite a few times. “Chanticleer?” His eyes narrowed, displeased, as he ripped the blade from her hands. The blade was covered in blood, though she was uncertain whose blood because her head was hurting again. “This is really nice. It’s been a long time since we had any time alone.” The warrior frowned slightly. “But, Leigh ... we are hardly alone.” She almost argued, but realized he was correct. Leigh had forgotten all about Jon and Kaylin. Now, Ellin Lionsden, Malcom Glade, and Thalesa Cornigan stood with them as well; they were dressed in the same brown robes and copper sun amulets. There were also many others: soldiers and mages and knights; a woman wearing an emerald mask; a tall sorcerer with strange eyes; the blue Mage-Lord Raeff; the nervous librarian; and of course, her good friend, Sir Deniah. Leigh was surrounded by all of them and it was difficult to breathe. But most importantly, Lord Holden was there too; most importantly, because he had taught her that he was always the most important person in the room. Whenever he spoke, she knew to push aside all other thoughts and focus on his every word. “Guards, seize the robed ones! Now!” Holden barked his command. “I don’t think so,” the Emerald Empress boldly stepped forward, “this duel isn’t over yet. Both of our champions are still breathing.” Holden sneered at her derisively. “Do you believe me a fool, that I would fail to recognize the Emerald Fist?! I know not how they are in Everywhere, but for my old enemies to be delivered to me, on this momentous of days, it only serves to further demonstrate the righteousness of my cause.” The knight-who-would-be-king pointed to the prone Sir Starfalcon. “If you desire to argue technicalities, I can easily order my champion to finish him. But, if you accept your loss and surrender gracefully, then I will grant you his life. He is an honorable man.” The weapons and spellbooks of everyone present remained at the ready, until finally the Empress relented. “No more death, I’ll concede. But what about the Fist?” “ Dishonorable curs who clearly conspired to violate the terms of our truce.” Holden shook his head. “Even ignoring their past transgressions, my Alliance will not tolerate such cowardice or weakness.” In response, all of his gathered forces applauded loudly. “Victory is mine! Emerald Town is mine! And the Fist will finally face swift justice that they deserve!” To Be Continued … *Credit for this journal entry belongs to the player of Leigh D’arc, who originally posted it on March 21, 2002.
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Post by Chanticleer on Apr 12, 2018 15:33:15 GMT -5
... More Mornings Of ...
Following the surrender of the Emerald Empress, the members of the Emerald Fist: Chanticleer Reich, Ellin Lionsden, Jon Abbot, Kaylin Windson, Malcolm Glade, and Thalesa Cornigan, were escorted to the Alliance camp by a dozen of Holden’s finest paladins. Upon their arrival, they were separated into different tents, forcibly stripped of all clothes and possessions, gagged and blindfolded, and then bound by heavy chains. Unable to move or speak or see, they were kept under constant watch. The guards refused to acknowledge them, except for those few minutes each day, when gags were removed and they were fed scraps of stale, moldy bread and precious gulps of water. Otherwise, they were condemned to dark silence.
Five midnights later, the Fist were unceremoniously dragged from their tents. With leg irons removed, they were marched, still naked and deprived of sight and speech, from the Alliance camp to Emerald Town’s gates. The chilled winter’s air and debris covered fields were harsh on their exposed flesh, and the soldiers who accompanied them were prone to intermittent growling and smelled strongly of rum and wet fur. When they reached their destination, Chanticleer and his companions easily recognized their location: the high-pitched sound of wind blowing through an empty Market District at night; the scent of Lady Emmauelle’s signature chicken and potato stew filling the streets that surrounded the Salty Dog; and most telling, that familiar distance between the town gates and North Hill, a path they had walked many times before.
During the next two weeks, they languished within the depths of Emerald Keep, in the same cell block that was recently occupied by Sofia Elias and the Castile siblings. They were placed again into separate cells; but in here, their eyes, mouths, and limbs were not restricted, modest yet flimsy clothing covered their bodies, and feedings occurred twice daily. Instead of the Empress’ men, the blue-robed Moonshade mages and bearded Highlanders of Justice were stationed there. Conversation between the prisoners was not prohibited, though the guards disregarded even the most basic of questions. On their second day, Sir Deniah briefly addressed them. She stated Lord Holden’s forces were still settling into Emerald Town, and once the transition of power was complete, they would face trial. The knight also warned that the evidence was overwhelmingly against them and suggested they make peace with the likelihood of death.
Each member of the Fist reacted differently to imprisonment. After a decade in Wrong, freedom seemed the anomaly, and Chanticleer’s mood was largely unaffected. Ellin’s days were split between silent prayer and consoling words for her companions. Jon attempted to entertain them by telling fanciful tales and pickpocketing tiny, useless objects from the passing guards. Kaylin stayed focused, watching for opportunities to escape. Glade’s request to borrow books from the keep’s library was ignored, so he engaged the others in casual conversation, sharing anecdotes about his years spent as a healer. As for Thalesa, she was uncharacteristically aloof, speaking only to express her regret for joining in their plot to rescue Leigh from Holden’s clutches.
The Fist received three visitors during the next half month, and the first of these was Sofia Elias, who came to see them on the sixth day of their imprisonment. A hostage no longer, she wore a fine silk dress, and her dark tresses and smooth skin were immaculate once again.
“Lord Holden decided to let me, Arturos, and Renna go free,” the young noblewoman informed them with a slight pout of her lips. “He said it’s because he always had a fondness for Nujel’m, and he wanted to reward my good behavior as his prisoner.”
“Aye, this is precisely what I wish to hear,” Thalesa rolled her eyes before crawling back to her small cot and burrowing herself beneath a thick wool blanket.
Sofia sighed. “That’s not what I meant by that. I’m positive it was Sir Deniah who talked to him on my behalf. Maybe I can ask her to do the same for you?”
“That’s very kind of you,” Glade smiled warmly, “but his hatred of us runs deep.”
“It would only arouse his anger,” said Chanticleer. “What next for you?”
“I’ve talked it over with Arturos and Renna, and we just want to return home. Hopefully with Faeryl and Lucas, if we can find them, but if not ...,” she paused with a frown. “All of this was a mistake, Jolicia isn’t being held against her will, and I miss my mother and brother.”
“As much as I appreciate a happy ending,” Jon said, “from what we know, Lady British controls all exits from Everywhere. I doubt she will be so accommodating.”
“Sir Deniah told me that too. She said we could join the Alliance’s war against her, but it doesn’t feel right.” Sofia then turned sadly to Chanticleer. “I know you’re not him, and we barely know each other, but I wish I could do something to help you.”
“There is something.”
“What is it?” She asked curiously.
“Manipulate Holden’s favor to seduce him. Slit his throat, mid-copulation.”
Her rich brown eyes widened in dismay. “I ... uhm ...”
“It was a jest. Be well, Lady Sofia.”
A week later, Leigh made her appearance. It was shortly before dawn, and she lurked unmoving and without a word, until Kaylin awoke and alerted the others to her presence.
“I thought you were dead.” Leigh whispered, mostly to herself. She was more lucid than at the end of her battle against Sir Starfalcon, but there was a pronounced bitterness to her words. “For years, that’s what I thought -- I’m the only one left.”
“It’s a bit of a story,” Glade finished cleaning his spectacles with his sleeve. He then stood and approached the bars of his cell with a gentle smile. “If you’d like, we can share it.”
Leigh shook her head. “It’s too late for that.”
“I disagree,” Ellin said emphatically. “That we have found each other again, after so many years apart, only proves to me that it is never too late. We are your friends, Leigh, and it is because of that friendship that we tried to protect you. Time changed nothing for us.”
“That’s dumb. I knew I’d win.”
“We didn’t know that,” said Kaylin. “A friend was in trouble, so we acted.”
“The Scales of Justice would accept no less from us,” Jon smirked slyly. From underneath her blanket, Thalesa emitted an impatient, affected groan. “As touching as I find this little reunion of ours, will you kindly hurry and use that rather overpowered magic of yours to slay our guards and free us from this wretched place? I promise you, once we are safe, we will continue to affirm your importance to us.”
“I’m not helping you,” Leigh said plainly. “I can’t. I follow Lord Holden now.”
“But -- !!!” Thalesa’s voice cracked before deteriorating into small sobs.
The other members of the Fist grew silent, their expressions a mixture of shock and outrage. All except for Chanticleer, who had remained quiet throughout. “Do not do this,” he spoke softly. “Holden is a treacherous and foul man. You cannot trust him.” He extended his left arm through the cell bars and calmly opened his hand to her. “I know not what you have experienced since Semidar’s portal. But not one day has passed that you were not in my thoughts. Leigh, I still care for you greatly.” He swallowed hard. “I still -- ”
“Don’t.” His gesture caused Leigh to tense uncomfortably. “It’s too late for it.” She closed her eyes and chanted, “Quas An Lor.” Her body shimmered with a light blue magickal glow, and then a moment later, she vanished completely from sight.
When it was apparent Leigh was gone, Thalesa lowers her covers and shot the others a tear-filled glare. “That ungrateful bitch is the reason we are going to die?! I am such a fool for agreeing to help you!! I was happy, I never wanted a part of this!!!”
Ignoring her, Ellin looked to Chanticleer. “Are you alright?”
He withdrew his arm and shrugged indifferently. “What has changed? For more than a decade now, Leigh has been lost to me. Recent events only confirm she is still.”
On their last day as prisoners, they were visited by Raeff, the Mage-Lord of Moonshade. He was dressed in long, flowing blue robes embroidered with golden stripes, and his short-cropped hair and tremendous beard were hued an icy-blue. Flanked by four mages of his Moonshade Tactics Squad, he immediately walked to Chanticleer’s cell and offered him a friendly grin. “It’s good to see you again, even under the circumstances.”
“You have met?” Jon asked. “Chanty, your friend is quite blue.”
“Many years ago. Before my imprisonment in Wrong.”
Raeff raised both of his icy-blue eyebrows at that. “Dungeon Wrong? That shit-hole?! Sounds like you should’ve listened to me about Lady British and Britannia. Not that our mission went any better, we never found those Twilights that stole those White Hill children.”
“Yet you avoided transformation into a fornicated pig. And you are Mage-Lord now.”
“Funny enough story, that one,” said the blue mage. “Months after we parted ways, one of ours named Tork returned from a mission down south. His unit was hunting cat-people --”
“They’re called Meer,” Kaylin gently corrected him.
“They’re what now?”
“Nevermind,” Chanticleer made a dismissive gesture. “Continue your tale.”
“Tork’s unit never found the cat-people, but they did return with a broken artifact that turned out to be the seal fragment of Hydros. Some years after, Holden and his people came looking for it. The old Mage-Lord threatened to pig-fuck the lot of them, which didn’t go over so well.” Raeff chuckled, almost obnoxiously. “By the time Leigh was done with that crazy Pagan magic of hers, I was the highest ranking Moonshade Tactics Squad still breathing. I agreed to a surrender without more fighting, and Holden made me the new Mage-Lord.”
“My congratulations on your fortune,” Chanticleer nodded. “A true honor to be promoted to the service of a deceitful and traitorous lunatic.” He then narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “If you intend escort us to some jest of a trial or our executions, kindly proceed. We were never friends, Raeff. There is no need to ease your flawed conscience.”
The Mage-Lord laughed even louder. “Always thought you were funny, John. Setting that bitch Marney on fire, and now this.” He reached inside his robes and pulled out an iron keyring that held six keys. “I’m not here for anything, just to let you go.” In response to the surprised stares of the Emerald Fist, Raeff continued, inserting one of the keys into the lock of Chanticleer’s cell door. “There’s been some changes around here -- ”
“ -- big ones.”
To Be Continued …
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Post by Chanticleer on May 11, 2018 17:56:59 GMT -5
… Another Night Before …
Three simple words. An Quas Lor. And then everything changed.
… Another Morning Of …
In nearly every aspect, Lord Neville Holden appeared to be a man on the verge of unprecedented triumph. His suit of silver-white plate mail was polished past perfection, and his gray cloak and tunic, adorned with the symbol of the Silver Serpent, were stainless and unwrinkled. Beneath his close helmet, Holden’s blue-eyed stare was unburdened by any concerns, and not one hair of his thick blonde moustache looked out of place. Of his recent accomplishments, much could also be spoken. Half of Everywhere, the eastern Alliance of Rival, Political Kingdoms, and the southern Lands of Unknown Despair, were under his control, and he had amassed an army large enough to challenge Lady British and the Twilight Juvenalia. Three of the Titan Seal Fragments -- Hydros, Lithos, and Pyros -- were finally in his possession, and only the fourth, Stratos, were needed to fulfill the ancient prophecy that foretold how he would seize the throne of his native Britannia.
But victory would forever be denied Neville Holden, for he now lacked the one component of his plan that was even more important than armies or power: His life.
Of course, the former knight of the Order of the Silver Serpent was rumored to have died twice before. The first death, he was rumored to have perished on the island of Haven, the victim of an illness caused by copulating with the local forest dryad. His survival was discovered only after he was revealed to be the conspirator responsible for a bloody conflict between the Emerald Fist and the authorities of Britain and Trinsic. The second death, he was believed to have perished when his forces and the Stower family of Magincia fell in final battle against the Emerald Fist and their northern Kingdom allies. These injuries did not claim him, however, and he gathered his followers in secret to continue his hunt for the Titan Seals, which led him to Pagan, and then eventually to Everywhere and his present circumstances. The third death, and the one that would not be undone.
… Another Night Before …
Despite the iron shackles restraining his hands and feet, or the tip of Sir Deniah’s sword pressed against his throat, Renthar’s mad eyes danced with glee. “There is no prophecy!” His cackling continued, filling the secluded chamber on the second floor of Emerald Keep, and threatening to overpower the ears of those present with its obnoxious delight.
“Empress!” Holden snapped harshly, causing the two paladins that flanked him to tense visibly “You best command your mage to cooperate with me; the location of the Stratos fragment is the only exchange I am willing accept for your lives.”
At the mention of her name, the recently-deposed ruler of Emerald Town glanced up from where she sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor. Her green robes were in tatters, pale flesh exposed, and she was also bound by heavy chains. Yet her mask remained intact. “Renthar won’t answer to me, or anyone else. I’d also like him to answer, I’d rather not die today.”
The tall sorcerer’s bloodied lips curled into a smirk. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so quick to kill anyone, Holden. My Jo Jo has the Stratos fragment safely hidden, and you’ll never find them without my assistance. But as I told you, the prophecy’s a lie. A ruse planted by the Titans of Pagan to trick a power-hungry fool such as yourself to open a portal so they could invade your world.”
“You lie!” His rage was palpable. “Deniah, remove his hands!”
The knight hesitated as she tightened her grip on the blade. “Lord Holden ... ?”
“Deniah! Do as I command!”
“Wait!” Renthar half panicked. “I prefer my hands as they are, they’re quite a necessity for the grabbing of things and casting of spells. I’ll retrieve your fragment, but I first ask that you listen to what I have to say. The Titans of Pagan are hardly benevolent beings, and aren’t the terms of your prophecy a little convenient? After Lord British vanishes a descendant of the Lost King of Akalabeth uses the Titan Seals to claim Britannia’s throne? To me, a more accurate reading is once Sosaria’s greatest defender is gone, let’s trick some idiot with delusions of grandeur into opening a portal to Pagan!” He shook his head derisively. “And even if I’m wrong, who do you think’s waiting for you back home in your Britannia? You’ll be facing a kingdom that’s united behind the throne of its newest king, Blackthorn, a mage powerful enough to rival Lord British himself.” The sorcerer let that proposition linger. “Don’t maim the messenger, Holden, but not even with all the armies of Everywhere at your beck and call --”
“Enough, mage!” Red-faced and nostrils flaring, Holden shouted across the room, to where his attendant and librarian stood quietly. “Prove his words false!”
Leigh replied with an obedient nod and stepped forward. “An Quas Lor.”
… Another Morning Of …
On the third day after Lord Neville Holden’s death, mourners numbering more than a thousand congregated on both sides of the River Ponder. Nearly all the Alliance forces deployed to the region were in attendance, with the exception of those assigned to guard or patrol their newly-conquered territories. Many Emerald Town residents were there as well, though given recent events, this was probably to confirm, rather than honor, his passing. Surprisingly, the funeral also attracted viewers from all across southern Everywhere. Unlike the other kingdoms, the populace of the Lands of Unknown Despair were a notoriously reclusive and unaffiliated lot, so their presence was only explainable as morbid curiosity or proactive self-interest.
As the Twin Suns hovered together in the mid-morning skies, twenty of Holden’s loyal paladins escorted his remains from the gates of the Emerald Town to the river’s western bank, where they deposited his casket onto a wooden barge that was moored there. The boat was decorated in an assortment of white lilies plucked from the gardens behind the Temple of the Twin Suns, and the casket rested upon a raised platform at the vessel’s center, its bottom half covered by a simple gray tapestry depicting the image of the Silver Serpent.
The funeral was led by Sister Antos, a wandering monk dedicated to Britannia’s Eight Virtues. When the Technocrat and Alliance forces first appeared, Antos was preaching the wisdom of Truth, Love, and Courage to the people of Emerald Town, and she became trapped there during the subsequent siege. In exchange for officiating, the monk was promised safe passage back to her homeland. She gave a moving recitation on the relationship between Courage and its related virtues, Valor, Honor, and Spirituality. This was followed by a choral performance of the famous ballad Stones, a favorite of the deceased, without any instrumental accompaniment.
A eulogy was delivered by Sir Deniah, typically clad from head to toe in her suit of silver-white platemail. For once, she was without a helmet in public, her light brown hair braided formally in the shape of a crown. With the rest of Holden’s inner circle at her side -- Leigh D’arc, Raeff the Mage-Lord, and the librarian Relvinian -- the knight was handed a communication crystal by Sister Antos. The small, gem-like object had been linked to various receiver crystals distributed around the area, ensuring that everyone could hear the service. Sir Deniah activated the crystal, transforming its surface from green to red, and then began her speech,
“Lord Neville Holden was not a man of wasted words, and in honor of his memory, I will refrain from doing so this day.” Sir Deniah listened as the sound of her words echoed between receiver crystals, far past her line of sight. “He was a being of fiery passions, yet also loved his childhood near the sea, so this is why we bid farewell to him in this place and manner. Lord Holden was difficult to know, yet an easy man to serve. For thirteen years, across three different worlds, this is what I did, without reservations or doubts. As a lowly squire in the knightly order whose ideals he fought to preserve after our king disappeared. As a knight dedicated to his seemingly impossible quest to restore the integrity of our homeland. And as his second, after he united the disparate peoples of the Alliance lands under one banner.” Her face clenched tightly, distraught by memories. “His was also a most brilliant mind, capable of strategies far above the rest of us. Often, I would not understand his plans until it was too late, which was a disadvantage that his enemies also faced. ‘Virtues untested are largely meaningless,’ he repeated on many occasions, and he lived a life that fully embraced that sentiment. I do not believe it is an exaggeration to state that never before, and never again, will this or any other world know a man such as Neville Holden. This is why it is so incumbent upon those who loved and followed him to carry on in his stead, we can never shirk from the example he set.” She gave Leigh a subtle nod and raised her fist to the air. “Long live Lord Holden!”
Almost a thousand voices strong, they cried out in return. “Long live Lord Holden!!!”
“In Flam Ylem.” Leigh chanted, and the funeral barge burst into magickal flames. As the crowd repeatedly cheered his name with a near-fanatical fervor, the fire greedily consumed the wooden vessel and its cargo, including all physical remnants of Neville Holden. Soon, naught but ashes and half-melted scraps of armor tainted the normally-blue waters that touched the western bank of the river, and the mourners grew quiet, expectant for Sir Deniah to continue.
“We are here to honor Lord Holden, but it is another virtue that concerns me now. Justice.” The knight paused to measure the reactions of those closest and most significant. Leigh’s dark eyes were filled with vacant detachment, Relvinian gazed nervously at the ground, and Raeff seemed genuinely saddened. Nearby, Salix of Talon’s Crag, Sydney MacConner of the Highlanders of Justice, and the Order of Automata emissary whispered amongst themselves, having maintained an inscrutable, somewhat concerning impassivity since Holden’s passing. While Renthar barely stifled his smug amusement, as always, the Emerald Empress hid her feelings behind her mask.
Sir Deniah’s tone became more animated. “Not three nights ago, our lord was struck down by an assassin’s spells! Before she evaded capture , we identified her as the mage Moriah, one of the Companions of the Avatar! The champion of Lady British herself! No doubt, Britannia feared Lord Holden’s might! No doubt, they sought to end the threat we pose! No doubt, they hoped it would cause the Alliance forces already engaged to flee!” She waited a few moments, allowing her audience’s outrage to intensify. A wave of angered grunts and mutterings spread across the crowd, and she continued. “Will we let their cowardly attack go unpunished?!”
“No!” Everyone shouted in unison.
“Will we fail Lord Holden’s vision for a united Everywhere?!”
“No!”
“Or will we march north, and join our brothers and sisters in battle?!”
“Yes! Down with Lady British! For Lord Holden!”
This time, it was Sir Deniah they wanted, and Sir Deniah they cheered for. Even Salix and Sydney MacConner took part, while their mechanical ally stayed silent. The knight took note, exhaling a confident breath. She then reactivated the communication crystal and turned and pointed at the Empress. “Emerald Town will honor its pledge to serve Lord Holden! Not only this, but the Empress has also recruited many of her neighbors to our cause!”
She was interrupted by a thunderous applause, and when she resumed, a strength of conviction punctuated her every word. “The Alliance and the Lands of Unknown Despair! The east and the south, two kingdoms of Everywhere, united as one against the rest! We will overthrow Lady British! We will destroy her Twilight Juvenalia allies! And while I would prefer it otherwise, as Lord Holden’s second, the duty falls to me now -- ”
“ -- so I will be the one who leads us to victory!”
END PART FIVE
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Post by Chanticleer on May 22, 2018 23:23:42 GMT -5
PART SIX: EVERYWHERE WAR (I): RECKONINGS
A collection of documents written between Year Fourteen, Month Four and Year Fifteen, Month One, of Lady British I’s reign, during the opening months of the Everywhere War:
Year Fourteen, Month Four of Lady British I’s Reign
Final entries of a journal found amidst the ruins of Paws:
13.4-14
The suns are acting strange today and it’s hard to get my work done.
17.4-14
I went to see the gypsy again. Paul calls me foolish just like every year, but I don’t see the harm, and it doesn’t hurt to have some reassurance before winter. Morganna liked that cheddar cheese I bought from Ubermon’s shop, but she said the raisin bread isn’t as good as before. I’m not sure if I agree, it tastes the same to me. She read my fortune and told me not to worry about next year’s harvest, which was definitely a relief. Things are better since the Avatar cured the Black Weep, but it’s not easy to forget those bad times and any good news helps.
22.4-14
Hendle came by the farm today. He’s such a nice fellow but it’s so hard to talk to him because of that smell! The blood doesn’t bother me so much, but I could swear some tiny chunks of meat were stuck to his hair. Someone needs to bathe that man. He was asking about a pair of hunters he’d sent to the Wandering Woods last night. He paid them to hunt up some hares for his winter supply, and they never returned. I hadn’t seen them.
24.4-14
The Wandering Woods are on fire! Not a small part either, and you can see the trees burning and smoke from all the way up here! I heard Mayor Cat’s asking for locals to help the Royal Army look into it since they garrison’s low on soldiers. I bet Paul volunteers, and I don’t really want him to. It’s like he’s always looking for an excuse to leave. I’m going to ask someone to check on Morganna, her wagon’s too close to the forest.
25.4-14
I’m glad Paul didn’t go to the forest. I stopped by the Cat’s Lair today and some people said the fires were caused by bandits, but others said the Alliance is here. Mayor Cat told us don’t worry, and that Lady British will keep us safe. but I just don’t know.
Year Fourteen, Month Five of Lady British’s Reign
A coded Alliance war report, deciphered upon receipt:
His Majesty Neville Holden,
Your invasion of Britannia has begun with great success. Paws has been destroyed; those who resisted are dead, and the rest either fled or taken captive. We have secured a sizeable territory, bordered by the Barren Plains in the south, the Deep Ocean in the East, the Serpent Spine in the West, and the Fens of the Dead in the north. Most of the Wandering Woods have been razed, except those required to protect our supply lines back to Alliance territory.
The Moonshade Tactics Squad and Lunar Forest Elves have been dispatched for the Trinsic feint, while the Talon’s Crag and Highlanders forces will be sent to Spiritwood under the command of Chieftain MacConnor as the Automatons strike at mainland Skara Brae. The New Fawn ships will have Skara Brae’s island population surrounded by then, so it should fall by winter’s end. We will then concentrate on Trinsic until you are due to reinforce us by start of summer.
There has been no significant resistance. Some of the Moonshade mages complained about the escape of a powerful gypsy seer who lives near the Wandering Woods, but I have seen little proof that this woman even exists, and I am not so worried about one individual.
My deepest hope the southern campaign and your search proceeds without impediment. I look forward to the completion of our years long quest and returning to our Sosaria.
Your humble servant,
Sir Lester Grath
Year Fourteen, Month Six of Lady British’s Reign
Excerpt of a missive sent by Adam Blandinus to Lady British:
“... the terrible news about Paws, and the attacks against Spiritwood and Trinsic. Both officially and unofficially, House Blandinus values its relationship with Her Majesty and the Kingdom of Britannia more than anything else. If it was only up to the High Co-Consul Imperators, our army would have already left to help out with your defense.
The real problem is some of us believe we are the Alliance’s true target, and this is all a trick to make us more vulnerable by sending our soldiers to Britannia. We are suspicious of rumors that Holden traveled to the south, because there is nothing there worth having. These vocal skeptics include my predecessor and uncle, Consulari Ormondo, and a number of our First Centurions. Her Majesty knows the history there, so I hope this isn’t a big surprise. But the High Co-Consul Imperators are sure this won’t be an obstacle for very much longer, so Britannia should expect for us to meet our obligations within a month at most ...”
Year Fourteen, Month Seven of Lady British’s Reign
Lady British’s private message to the High Co-Consul Imperators:
Dearest Pomponia and Marcus,
A declaration of disappointment would be an understatement. It has been over two months since I requested aid, with no results. I must now assume your troops are not coming and you intend to violate the treaty between our two kingdoms. Is this truly the path you wish to take?
As for Adam’s insinuation that Lord Holden and his forces only pretended to head south and are plotting a surprise attack against the Twilight Juvenalia, it is preposterous. Whatever his reasons, Holden is in the south and your kingdom is in no immediate danger. Britannia is.
We have shared a beneficial relationship these past years. I would prefer it to continue, but I will not tolerate your neglect for much longer. I expect a response and I expect it quickly. Not from Adam or Ormondo, but from one, or both of you. Do not test me on this.
Year Fourteen, Month Eight of Lady British’s Reign
Orders recovered from the quarters of the Technocrat ambassador to Britannia:
-1- HIS EMINENCE THE TECHNO-PROPHET HAS ORDERED THE WITHDRAWAL OF TECHNOCRAT PRESENCE FROM THE KINGDOM OF BRITANNIA -2- THERE WILL BE NO FURTHER COMMUNICATION WITH THE KINGDOM OF BRITANNIA -3- FORMAL ANNOUNCEMENT OF YOUR DEPARTURE IS PROHIBITED -4- RETURN TO LOGOSIA IMMEDIATELY -5-
Year Fourteen, Month Nine of Lady British’s Reign
A report on the search for the missing Technocrat Ambassador:
Guard Captain Goffrey,
I have completed my search and found nothing concerning the missing Technocrat Ambassador or his men. Due to this, I am inclined to believe the orders found in his quarters were genuine. The reason why our allies chose to leave us at this time remains unknown.
I am thankful these new hands they crafted me before disappearing still work. I am eager to pick up my bow again and wield it against these Alliance savages. My quest brought me near Paws,, and everything we heard is true. A once vibrant settlement laid to waste. I evaded their patrols as I was ordered, but it was difficult not to act. These bastards must be stopped!
I do have ideas regarding the defense of Skara and Spiritwood and will share them to you upon my return to Britain, which should be within the next week.
Walk in Virtue,
Shamuno, Lord Ranger of Skara Brae
Year Fourteen, Month Ten of Lady British’s Reign
A note delivered to Leigh D’arc’s quarters:
Leigh,
Cease ignoring my attempts to speak. There is too much that remains unsaid. Tomorrow brings war and fighting alongside each other once again. I would prefer not to face our ends a kingdom of foul, orphan-stealing vampires while so much lingers. Also, what is this Pagan magick I saw you casting? Did you make it through the portal to Pagan? Do you know the fates of any of our companions? The rest of us would know. You owe us that much.
- Chanticleer
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Excerpt of a private communication between Marcus Blandinus and Ormondo Blandinus:
“... we were right to delay sending our centurions to Britannia. It makes me wonder now, how unlikely it may seem, if Lady British is also working against us. They say we're paranoid, but it feels like everyone wants to tear down everything we've built.
In a fair fight, with proper rules of engagement, no mortals could defeat us, given our abilities and centuries of experience. That's why the whispers of the Alliance using portals to move their soldiers around our lands is so worrisome. Please find out more, as I wouldn't put it past them to use any advantage they can. They're a land of bullies and always have been, but I’m hoping we can stop them at Vamplar.
I've sent Adam to Moi’ami to plan for an emergency escape, in case. Londinium is important but you are more important, so don’t die for your city. My brother, even though we aren't related by birth, we are related by blood forever, and you're always dear to my heart ...”
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A war report delivered to Castle Britannia:
Your Majesty,
Trinsic is safe.
Your idea worked, the Avatar’s last minute arrival made the difference. So did our latest allies, odd as they might be. I was very impressed by the Avatar’s newest companions. Dupray and Yolo will be missed, but the minstrel Glenna, the pirate Raven, the gargoyle Arg-Lem, and the orphan Sparkles are just as skilled in their own way. Shamuno was glad to join in after what the invaders did to Spiritwood, and we can’t forget the bravery of the paladins if not for their strong defense, Trinsic would’ve fallen already.
I will share more when I return to the castle, but you should know the Avatar killed the Alliance commander, Sir Lester Grath, during the final battle. With Lester dead, our new allies think the Alliance will fall back to its usual bickering.
I don’t have any updates on the scouting mission to the Twilight Juvenalia, but Moriah, Jenna, Jools, and Katarina should be back soon. I find it hard to believe our ex-allies are actually under attack, and there’s no evidence Holden’s army ever returned from the south. It’s probably just another example of House Blandinus cowardice.
I hope I’m right and this means the war is almost over. Our kingdom has suffered too much. We finally cured the Black Weep, and now Paws and Skara Brae have been destroyed. I understand why we had to abandon Skara in order to save Trinsic, but I don't want to face that kind of choice again. We should strike hard while our enemies are on the defensive, and before the Alliance can make use of whatever it is that Holden is looking for down south.
May Valor guide us to victory,
Goffrey, Guard Captain of Britannia
Year Fourteen, Month Eleven of Lady British’s Reign
An unsigned note to Chanticleer, presumably written by Leigh D’arc:
STOP LEAVING LETTERS IN MY STUFF OR ASKING DENIAH AND RAEFF TO GIVE ME MESSAGES. IT'S ANNOYING. I DON'T WANT TO TALK TO YOU!!!
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A Britannian scouting report sent from the Twilight Juvenalia:
Dear Goffrey,
I regret to inform you, the rumors were true. The Twilight Juvenalia is indeed under attack by the Alliance. Moreso, the reason they were able to do so while escaping the eyes of our rangers assigned to the Barren Plains is because they now possess a particularly potent teleportation magic that enables them to transport their armies over vast distances. I am still identifying it, but based upon the intelligence gathered, which I will elaborate upon shortly, it may be related to that demonic realm known as the Infernal Path.
Not all news I carry bodes ill, however. Jenna, Jools, Katarina and I are safe, and our former allies in House Blandinus are ignorant of our presence here.
Most importantly, we did rescue a Britannian being escorted to our lands by an Alliance patrol. Strangely enough, she was not a prisoner and had earned safe passage from them. Her name is Antos, a sister of that famed family of virtue philosophers. The sister is with us, her guards slain to a man, and we intend to return with her immediately to share what she knows.
It was from Antos we learned of the Alliance's new teleportation magic. She claims that Neville Holden is dead, and that she conducted his funeral personally, which is how she earned the escort back home. Amusingly, I was accused as Holden’s assassin, although I have never even met the man. The new leader of the Alliance is Lady Deniah, Holden’s former second in command, and an honorable woman according to the sister. Antos has traveled much of the south, and I believe she holds intelligence that could be vital to our efforts.
Of course, much of the above remains unverified, and it is just as possible that Sister Antos is a madwoman or a traitor. Expect our arrival no less than two weeks after receiving this message, and when we do, you will have the opportunity to interrogate her yourself.
Yours in Truth,
Moriah, Mage of Moonglow
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A half-burned letter Marney Blandinus sent to Adam Blandinus:
“... Carlen takes care of me while you're away. The boy is very loyal, as he should be since I was the one who rescued him from a terrible life as an Alliance war orphan. But he’s only a boy, and you are my man. Please hurry back soon from Moi’ami. I know your mission there is important, but I'm scared and need your arms tight around me. We’ve lost Vamplar; and either Moi’ami or Londinium could be attacked next. Mother said we can win as soon as we stop this magic they're using to move their armies, and that’s the only reason they’re winning so far ...”
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A preliminary report from Mage-Lord Raeff to Lady Deniah:
The Britannia front’s a fucking mess, Deniah. All respect intended, as I know he was a friend from your homeland, but Sir Lester did a shit job of preparing a plan for his own death. Which is exactly what happened after the Avatar put a blade through his skull.
Chief MacConnor was killed a week before I arrived, and no one’s really been in charge since. I was told it was the ranger Shamuno who killed the chief. I warned Holden to cut off more than his hands, and it sounds like he somehow has a new pair of them. It’s good you made Sydney and Salix join me, with their help I should be able to improve morale and keep the fighting long enough for you to put the final stake into those Twilights. But let’s be clear on this, without your reinforcements, there’s no way we’re winning in Britannia.
Our biggest problem? The Avatar and Lester’s focus on Trinsic.
The Avatar is their hero, Lady British’s best weapon, and more powerful than anyone should be. Sir Starfalon was right, the Avatar is always surrounded by the Companions, and together they’re both tough and hard to track. I don’t think an assassination attempt is possible. Also, you should know the Companions have grown, replacing those two we killed last year with four more.
As for Trinsic, that was a warrior's plan. We have the Infernal Path now, and I think like a mage, so we should move on Moonglow and Minoc. Moonglow for the magic, and Minoc because it's where they make things. Without magic or things, they’ll be a lot easier to fight.
One bit of bad news. I found out what happened to the Chaos Cabal after they disappeared. It seems they’ve thrown in with Britannia, which gives Lady British another advantage against us. Maybe it’s a blessing, because knowing those crazy bastards, they could end up turning on her and casting their Armageddon spell from the heart of Britain.
I’ll send another update soon. Send my love to Marcus and Pomponia!
Year Fourteen, Month Twelve of Lady British’s Reign
Excerpt of a communication between Kaylin Windsong and the Emerald Empress:
“... as much as I hate to admit it, Renthar was right. I’ve fought lots of battles, but the Infernal Path isn’t like anything I’ve seen. One day, we’re in the east taking Vamplar, and the next we’re in the far south marching on Moi’ami? I don’t like making deals with demons, but if this Demon Prince continues to honor his deal with Jolicia, I’ll accept it for now. Like Chanticleer said when we left Emerald Town, how wrong is it to use demons to kill vampires?
Speaking of Chanticleer, don’t worry about him, he’s safe. Leigh’s still ignoring us and he’s in a bad mood, but what else is new? I know you don’t remember any of the time you spent with the Emerald Fist before Everywhere, but this is normal for them. The others are fine too. Ellin was trying to tell the people here about the Twin Suns, until Jon told her it was ridiculous to preach a sun worshipping religion to a land of vampires. But you have to admire her faith.
You also asked about Lady Deniah. I’m impressed with how she leads I wouldn’t mention it too loudly here, but Neville Holden was crazy and dangerous and we’re all better off with him dead. My biggest worry about Deniah is how she could ever follow him at all ...”
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A letter from Adam Blandinus to Marney Blandinus:
Hon,
If this reaches you before me, I’m probably dead. Things are really bad here in Moi’ami. Those Alliance bullies have us surrounded and they’ve burned all the ships in the harbor, including the ones Marcus and Pomponia wanted me to secure for an evacuation.
I have a plan to escape, but I won’t put it in writing in case the enemy intercepts this. No matter what happens, I want you to know I’ll always love you, more than there are stars in the sky. No matter what happens, we’ll be together again.
********
Orders issued from Castle Britannia:
Guard Captain,
Recent events have confirmed our suspicions. Their sudden disappearance from the Trinsic area and then reappearance in Minoc and Moonglow proves the Alliance is utilizing some previously unknown form of magic to move their forces about. I am inclined to agree with Moriah’s belief that they are using the Infernal Path to accomplish this feat. The details provided by Sister Antos would also be consistent with this. As my own abilities have no power over that demonic realm, it could explain how they are able to evade my detection.
It is no exaggeration to state that both Minoc and Moonglow are in peril. Not two months ago, we thought this conflict nearly done, and now it seems to have barely begun. I fear the Avatar may not be enough, and we will be forced to decide once again between two of my cities. It is thus paramount that we discover a way to counter their teleportation magic.
This also explains how the Alliance has progressed so rapidly against the Twilight Juvenalia. While it is difficult to lament their predicament after their betrayal, I would prefer to punish House Blandinus ourselves, rather than seeing the Alliance grow in power.
I have considered your recent proposal. Moriah would be the most suitable, and this opportunity should not be wasted. I am in agreement about this Sir Starfalcon mentioned by Sister Antos It must be him. Prepare your immediate return to Britain so we may discuss it further.
BY THE QUEEN HERSELF SIGNED WITH HER OWN HAND
~~Lady British~~
Year Fifteen, Month One of Lady British’s Reign
Excerpt of a letter Malcolm Glade sent to Jon Abbot:
“... both Thalesa and I are doing just fine. She’d never admit it, but I think she misses all of you, even Chanticleer. In fact, her newest song is about Neville Holden’s sudden demise. Other than that, it’s been uneventful here in Emerald Town. Sir Starfalcon's mood is finally improving, and as usual, the Empress is busy making plans for the future.
You asked to be kept apprised of Renthar’s movements, which is why I’m writing. Last week, he left Emerald Town for places unknown. From the way the Empress spoke, she doesn’t expect him back anytime soon. She also mentioned that he left all four of the Titan Seal fragments with her, but she hasn’t explained why that is ...”
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An urgent, unsigned message delivered to the Forever Tower in New Umbral:
Londinium has fallen. Consulari Ormondo is dead. Anhrees save us all.
To Be Continued …
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