Eva
Maszaros studied the leaves intently as the mind-altering incense
sharpened her inner sight. A deadly curse had touched close to home,
and she felt driven to learn more. An unnamed, lingering dread was
rising from the land, and she could feel it deep in her bones. She
breathed deeply as she closed her eyes and let her deeper vision
wander into the shifting, fleeting, jumbled images of the past, some nearer to
this time, some farther away, but all of them hovering around the
dark shroud descending upon the world. . .
***************************************************************************
Sir Davin Kell, Lord of Hannsport
"Bring Astrid. I would have her conduct the rites here in the keep."
Magda
Vasil’yevna nodded and prepared to leave the chamber. Before
recent events, Dame Astrid March had nearly finished clearing out the
last goblins from the countryside around her hill encampment, and had
desired to return to finish her work. Magda knew that Lord Kell
intended the place to become his newest village, a further extension
of his authority into the wilds. She also knew Astrid would not be
pleased to be further delayed from her task. Magda was always amazed
by how much Kell and his people hated the goblinoids. And the orcs.
And the Northmen . . .
Magda Vasil'yevna Vyrlich, arcane apprentice
Kell
returned to his silent vigil after giving the command. The
half-elven knight had been keeping a motionless watch over the dying
lass for hours, arms folded, staring down at her with his inscrutable
gaze. Magda shivered at the thought of the knight's one good eye
boring a hole into her own soul.
And
was the elf woman truly a lass? She looked young enough, but old
folk tales said the elves lived for centuries. The green-haired girl
could have been older
than her own grandmother,
for all Magda knew. The elf
spoke only her
native
dialect,
and only rarely at that. Until tonight, Magda had only seen the girl
speak with
Lord Kell. But,
being
conversant in the elven tongue-- the
language humans most closely associated with magic-- Magda had
overheard
the
elf explain
to Kell that she was
from a forest clan called the Valinesti, and that no Valinesti had
come anywhere near to this place in close
to
a century.
the elfmaid
Even
so,
this lass had appeared suddenly on the edge of Hannsport badly
tattered and some months visibly pregnant. When she was presented to
Lord Kell for review and had spoken to him, the half-elf immediately
assembled
his retainers and men at arms and marched off into the woods, somehow
leaving
Magda temporarily in charge of both
Hannsport
and
the girl.
Some sort of combat
had then taken place not far from the village.
Sir
Ulysses Marigan and her fiance, Anton Vyrlich, had both been gravely
wounded in the engagement, and afterward all Magda could get out of
Ulysses beyond the usual cursing and growling was something about
orcs from the foothills. It had been the same from everyone else- a
large scouting party of orcs, a pitched battle, heavy fighting. From
everyone but her future husband, apparently, who refused to speak of
anything on the matter at all with her.
In
any case, the elf had been sickly when she arrived, and now nearly
three months later, it was clear the pregnancy had not gone well. It
had gone so poorly, in fact, the young woman clearly dying. Magda
had only just learned that the girl had born her child this very
evening, and the wizard was not confident the elfmaid would survive
the night. Only Astrid and Ulysses’ wife Yulia had been allowed to
attend the birth. There had been no one else-- Kell kept no servants
beyond his single valet and a retinue of men-at-arms.
Magda
could hear the child squealing in the other room. She was uncertain
of what was now to come. The young woman dared to question her new
lord’s order.
"Will
you not send her back to her people, to be laid to rest in their
sacred burial lands?" Magda asked, gesturing to the dying girl.
"Her
people?" the knight scoffed, looking up at the apprenticed
wizard.
"They gave her neither
aid nor
comfort in her time of need. She is
but one more lost soul come to my land seeking respite from the
storm."
"Then
what of the child?" Magda replied, her concern growing. The elf
girl's
eyes opened weakly at Magda's question. The woman whispered several
elvish
words
to Lord Kell that
Magda could not hear.
With
her last breaths, she rasped a single word- "Arvae'nath."
"So
be it," the half-elf replied aloud in the common tongue of men.
The elfmaid had passed.
"Go.
Bring Astrid to me," the harsh knight repeated impatiently,
adding "Summon the bard."
"As
you say, my Lord," the wizard replied. She curtsied low and
took leave in search of both the bard and of Lord Kell’s most
trusted henchman.
*********************************************************************************
The
elves moved undetected through depths of the Black Edifice.
Something had disturbed the ancient evil that slumbered beneath the
structure, and a warband of orcs had encamped themselves just
outside
in the valley.
The
chief of the Valinesti had sent his three finest warriors to
investigate- his two
children, Amarylle of the Arrow and Ghaelvwynne Swift
Hands, and Ghaelvwynne's lifemate, Lothlaeril the
Runner. Upon reaching the Edifice, they had slipped past the
unwitting guards and descended
into the darkness.
As
they reached the underground shrine, they felt an overwhelming
malevolence wash over them. They quickly retreated back toward the
surface, killing as swiftly and as quietly as they could. But the
escape from the tunnels had had come at a cost.
Amarylle
looked down at her sister's wounded leg.
"Ghaele,
take Sadekeha.
We cannot risk its capture by these creatures!"
she said, pressing the weapon into the injured druid's hands. "I
will slow the wretches'
advance and rejoin you on the trail once it's safe. You can return
the bow on
the way
to Valinost."
"Now
go!" she cried, drawing her scimitars and disappearing into the
thick overgrowth.
Amarylle of the Arrow
**********************************************************************
Josie
Nightingale
saluted the evening
crowd
in
the Black Kraken at the conclusion
of her performance,
headed over
to
the bar for a quick swig of whiskey, and silently
took her leave.
She hoped no one noticed that she hadn’t
remained
at the inn tonight after
she was done.
Normally when in Hannsport, she would always linger
in the common room
after strumming and singing, drinking late into the small hours and
sharing tall tales and rumors with the villagers.
But
not now. Earlier in the evening, Magda Vasil’yevna's owl familiar
had delivered a note to the dark-haired bard, asking her to attend
the wizard at Lord Kell's keep once she had finished.
And
so she had gone. Josie had slung her travelling pack and her lute
across her back, tightened the rapier at her belt, and begun the trek
up to the keep nestled into the foothills of the Seawall mountains.
Josie Nightingale
***********************************************************************************
“Do
it,” Kell commanded.
Magda
reluctantly passed Josie the child, as the two young women looked at
each other incredulously.
“And
what am i supposed to do with a swaddled babe?”
“Sing
to it if you have to,” Kell snarled. “That is what you do, isn’t
it?”
The
young bard gritted her teeth at the slight. How she hated the
half-blind knight!
“If
you will not have it, give it to one who will. You are reputed to be
wise beyond your years. Do whatever you think best...
“You’ve
never had much of a way with children, have you, One-Eye?” The bard
couldn’t resist returning the earlier slight, deciding to raise the
stakes of the game.
The
half-elf glared at her darkly.
“You
know nothing, child.”
The
Bard of Viborg sneered at the knight in response, as Magda did her
best to gently guide Josie Nightingale out of the chamber.
************************************************************************************
The
orcish brutes threw the battered elf warrior to the ground at the
feet of their chieftain. The woman’s green hair was matted with
mud and blood, obscuring the purplish swelling around her mouth and
eyes.
"The
she-elf murdered several of our warriors," the pack leader
roared. "It must be punished!"
Uraak
the Reaper looked down at the nearly unconscious woman, leering with
malice and lust. “It will face it’s punishment after it has
served my needs...”
Uraak of the Splintered Skull tribe
**************************************************************************
Josie
Nightingale gently placed the basket before the foot of the faded
double doors. She retreated from sight into the nearby foliage, and
whispered a few words to herself under her breath.
A
sudden magical knocking at the door roused the occupants within.
“A
baby!” the aging woman exclaimed. “A gift from the Homely
Hearth!”
Josie
smiled wearily to herself. She knew this elderly couple had lost
their children to disease and starvation over their span of years.
She knew them to be poor but true and honest folk. It would not
matter to them that the babe was not human. The child would live and
thrive here, and the lord of Hannsport be damned for a cursed fool.
Without
further charge, the young bard disappeared into the night.
Arvae'nath
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