The End of the World as We Know It

My fellow exiles,
Perhaps you have heard that the end of the world is nigh. You have likely heard rumours and soothsayers claiming to know why it is happening and what it all portends for those of us in exile. The following story might shed a little enlightenment on the beginning of the end:
I repeat the information verbatim as it was told to me by a templar named Vatsyayana:



The Templar’s Tale:

Twilight’s rosy aura settled over the forest encampment as Eramir helped Greust close shop for the evening. I was counting and sorting the orbs I had obtained for the day’s haul when Eramir nudged my shoulder. I looked up to see Greust proffering a mug.

“Mudspitter’s Stout, It’ll help take the some of the sting out of those wounds,” Greust said.

I took the mug and nodded in thanks.

“To the last of Kraityn,” Eramir raised his mug.

“To the last of Kraityn,” Greust raised his.

“To the last of them all,” I raised mine and took a deep drink. I coughed a bit and my eyes watered a bit.

“Now you know why the mudspitters cough,” Greust smiled.

“Perhaps the stranger should know something else as well,” Eramir gave Greust a serious look.

“Agreed,” Greust took another draught and wiped the foam from his beard with his forearm.
“If there is anyone who can get to the bottom of this, it’d be you,” he said looking at me. “I cannot vouch for the truth of what the other outsider told me, but I can say that she had brought me more trinkets of victory than any other. The last time I saw her she had a trinket she wouldn’t sell. It was a strange journal and she had an even stranger tale,” Greust began.

Eramir cut in, “Mind you, we do not condone torture. The beasts of Wraeclast suffer in their own ways, just as all exiles do.”

“The deed was already done.” Greust cut Eramir short.

“So it was,” Eramir nodded sadly, “But you didn’t have to see the body.” Eramir shook his head as if trying to shake the memory of what he had witnessed.

“I heard all the grisly details from the witch herself,” Greust finished his mug and blew out his cheeks. “She had little mercy in her to begin with, and even less for Alira’s camp.”

“Aye,” Eramir took a sip, “ She couldn’t abide what Alira was doing with her faithful.”
“I hadn’t yet encountered the horrid witch of the western forest, but I must have had a puzzled look on my face, because Eramir elaborated. “The evil hag has somehow found a way to make some of her faithful explode themselves against enemies.”

“It’s a crime against nature is what it is!,” Greust fairly spat out the words.

“It is what it is in our merciless world,” Eramir waved his hand.

“Our world that is coming to an end soon,” Greust dipped a ladle into the open cask and refilled our mugs.

“What do you mean by that?,” I asked standing up “Soothsayers are always claiming that the end times are near, is one of them suddenly more trustworthy than all his ilk before him?”

“Settle down,” Greust motioned. “You’ll spill your mug.”

I sat back down on one of the battered crates as Eramir downed his mug in a single gulp and stood to begin the tale.

“Our enchanting little vixen of death had captured one of Alira’s faithful,” Eramir looked down, then up. “I won’t describe the things she did to the bandit, but near the end the bandit was bartering for a quicker death, just as the witch knew he would.”

“She was trying to find out the secret of those blasted martyrs so she could use them herself!,” Greust said.

“Be that as it may,” Eramir interrupted, “the bandit was finally revealing the horrible secret on how Alira’s martyrs came to be. Living in the western forest the bandits had seen things even they found disturbing. ” He looked at me. “Have you ever heard of Zombie Circles?”

I shook my head.

“Neither had we, until the last day we saw the witch.” Eramir said. “This is what she told us,”



The Witch’s Narrative:

“There wasn’t much blood left in the bandit so his speech was getting slurred and difficult to understand. I would have given an ordinary foe a sip of water from my flask, but this wretched accomplice deserved no such mercy. The bandit spoke that Alira’s night patrols sometimes found what he called ‘Zombies’ standing in a circle and moaning. It was neither the full moon nor the new moon, which are both known to cause panic in the minds of the twice risen. The twice risen, the bandit said, were all facing something and acted as if they were in dreadful pain.

‘Of course they are in pain, you idiot!’ I twisted my athame into the bandit’s inner elbow to emphasize my words. ‘The twice risen are always in pain, but they never gather and they cannot abide standing still. Now tell me what you found out.’

The bandit coughed up a small mouthful of blood and his gaze seemed to be fading away. I waved the Nether Root under his nose and his eye went wild as his mind came back and all his pain was brought back to awareness. ‘I can do this for days’ I withdrew the Athame and gently rested against his other inner elbow.

“The Zombies were crying!” The bandit said. “I’m not lying. Tears rolled down their rotting cheeks and they would stand almost motionless, rocking back and forth on their heels until we slew them.”

“So after you sent the twice risen back to rest you learned something I assume?”

“Alira did.” The bandit looked at me with the one eye I had left him, “If I tell you, you must end this soon.

“If I find your story credible and useful, I’ll end it quick.”

“Upon your honor?” the bandit almost wailed out the question.

“May my own hand guide my athame to mine own heart if I should not honor my bargain.” I promised him. He would scarcely last another hour, even with the powerful stimulant of the Never Root, so it wasn’t much of a sacrifice.

“Alira used her dark arts,” The bandit stopped and his throat was convulsing.

I squirted part of my flask into his mouth so he could clear the clotting blood. Against my better judgment, I exercised some remorse and gave him a couple mouthfuls to drink.

“Thank you,” the bandit said. “For that little bit of mercy, I shall tell you the full tale.”

I shook my head. I should’ve had known better. Now this pathetic wretch would break his story and expect some small mercy with every pause.

“There will be no more kindness,” I said evenly. “You will tell me the full tale in any case, no matter how many times I have to kill you.”

The bandit looked at me with real horror in his face. Now, he was beginning to see that death was not an escape for him. “Alira accompanied us one evening to one of these “Circles of Pain.”

The bandit had stopped looking at me and was revisiting that moment. With his limited vision, he couldn’t have noticed the glow of the Dragon Sleep joss stick I was holding just under his nose. The mixture of Saffron, Dragon’s Blood and Spikenard herbs soothed his pain and added a slight hallucinatory effect. His next words should be true, though they might need some interpretation of meaning.

“She used her witchcraft and silver cup of divining fluid to commune with the zombies,” the bandit started.

‘Soothslake,’ I muttered to myself so as not to interrupt. I knew the mixture, made from babies tongues steeped in koumiss. Out of the mouths of babes indeed.

Alira came to some sort of unspoken agreement with the zombies and they broke from the circle and began following her. It took most of the night and all of Alira’s patience to keep from losing them as they followed us with their slow shuffling gait. A few of them were always near Alira. She called them her martyrs and said we should all be so faithful to her. We didn’t learn until much later what she really meant.”

I trickled a bit of water into the bandit’s mouth. Not out of mercy, but to keep the story flowing.

“One full moon, a member of our group, Ashwin had just satisfied Alira’s urges and pleased her enough that rather than pluck out his heart and roast it for dinner as she usually did, she made him her consort and began confiding in him. She told Ashwin that when she shared mental states with the twice risen, she found that they were were sensing a potential opening to another realm. A realm so dreadful, that even in their state, the pain and anguish they sensed immobilized them. We had noticed a dark shimmering silver shadow in the center of the twice risen gatherings but could not tell what it portended”

Good. I could tell by the change in language that the bandit was remembering and seeing it all now.

“Alira convinced the zombies that in return for their service she would grant them two boons. The first was a return to a more normal form of humanity for a brief time. The catch was they must be willing to sacrifice themselves for her and that sacrifice would be her second boon – an explosive obliterating death from whence they could not be taken to that dreadful realm. “

I was hoping for details on how she accomplished this, but what the bandit said next caught my interest even more.

“Alira’s faithful companion Ashwin explained that Alira had been searching for a map of this realm – the Map of Sorrows she called it. Alira had obtained a journal from one of the outsiders describing the map and its origin. Alira called the realm Shadowclast.”

Shadowclast! Could the ancient whisperings be true then? I held my breath as the bandit continued.

“Alira said that lusted for the power obtainable in Shadowclast even more than she lusted for Ashwin, but she also feared the shadowy realm and would not enter it. She would have destroyed the journal so that others could not obtain its power, namely Kraityn and Oak, but even her magic could not singe a single letter of the magical journal.”

There was an unusual mage-adventurer from the east who had kept a journal that was coveted by many, but never located, and unless the rumours were mistaken, the journal was hardly indestructible.

The bandit continued, “Alira tried everything she knew, until one night, she gathered a dozen and a half dozen of her martyr’s and gathered them around one of the shimmering silver shadow circles. Three rings of six with the journal in the center, resting on the silvery shadow. Alira instructed the martyr’s to detonate at once. The journal was not wholly destroyed, but ripped into five fragments like the arcane Scroll of Wisdom.”

And that was a story of lassitude and arrogance. An ancient king so wise he could sense the innate nature of everything, yet so foolish and lazy that he tried to bind all his knowledge in a single gilded parchment so that he could delegate his duties while he lived a decadent life. The king knew enough to make the scroll and it worked for a while. But the foolish wise king had not included magical items in it’s purvey and the first attempted use destroyed the scroll into five fragments, one for each normal sense. The binding magic had been so great however, that remnants of the Scroll of Wisdom were magically attached to every non-magical thing. The most basic of thaumaturgical training allowed the extraction of one tangible sense fragment from any such item. It mattered not whether it was a fragment of smell, taste, sound, vision or taste. Any five could be combined to create a temporary version of the original – which would of course shatter into nothingness when used to identify a magical item.

The bandit had stopped talking, but I knew now that it was the same journal. That kept by an unusual adventurer from the east – part bard, part acrobat, part mage and part soldier, the balladeer he termed himself. We knew him as the Harbinger, fate’s bearer of ill tidings.

I actually had to squeeze some juice from the Never Root into the bandit’s mouth to revive him. “And you have the fragments of this journal?” I asked him.

“No, when it shattered it was sent into the other realms so it could not be obtained. Alira kept one part so that even should others gain the rest, they could not access Shadowclast.”

The bandit went rigid and was no more. I dickered as whether to revive him and ask more, or let him be. As a twice risen, he would be governed as much by relentless pain as he was by my commands. His words would be near incomprehensible moanings and his mind would be scattered.

And I had made a promise on my honor. I held the sharp silver Athame up in front of my face, wondering if I had the nerve to plunge it into mine own heart if I should ever be on the verge of becoming a monster like Alira.

I had already done so much that I regretted.

I decided to return to town, restock my supplies from Greust and then head out for a final confrontation with Alira. I had whittled her patrols down to near nothing, and I could sense when her ‘martyr’s’ were on the verge of detonating and so avoid the blast. Only one of us would walk out of that camp alive, but I felt confident. Alira had been gone from Oriath so long and there were newer magics she had no inkling of.

One witch standing, and one sent to be the plaything of the twice risen. Tomorrow would tell who would be who. “



The Templar’s Tale:

Eramir coughed, “This was what the witch told us the last time she was here. It has been over a week since, and we have not seen her.”

The sunset’s last rays were fading fast and a cloak of deep purple was beginning to shroud the camp.

Greust finished stoking a fire to ward off the darkness. The bright flames began to lick higher like a den of orange serpents. Greust reached into a satchel at his side, “We found this floating down the river a few days after she left, so believe the witch gravely wounded Alira, even if she could not kill her.”

Greust held it out. It was a torn section – the cover and first few pages- of a journal.
I hesitated to take it.

“I’ve been battling evil for months, nearly lost my leg to frost rot defeating Chatters, and just now you suddenly decide to trust me?” Somehow I felt more like an exile in my adopted town than I had wandering the wilds and battling beasts.

“It’s not that we trust you,” Eramir began. “But, you did defeat Kuduku and Kraityn, and now suddenly time is of the essence.”

“Why now?”, I asked

Greust spoke, “Because while doomsayers have always claimed that the end is near, they have seldom agreed on a year, much less a specific date. A few weeks ago, every single soothsayer began preaching the same date for the end of this world. The twenty third day of the first month is the day they all agree on, and it is troubling.

“Not all exiles are hearty adventurers like you,” Eramir said. “Some are widows, debtors, some mere unweaned babes.”

I nodded. I had nearly stepped on the bloated corpse of a dead baby my first day when I washed up on the beach.

“One of the exiled had been a sage formerly, and talking with her about this sudden change of inexorable fate, she says that we are hearing about it late. She says that on the continent, it has been going on for much longer. When questioned about it the doomsayers reply that their dreams have not just shown them when the world ends, but why the cataclysm itself was wrought. Soothsayers continents apart and in no contact have told the exact same story – that a fragment of the Journal of Dreams has been found, Eramir spoke.

Eramir continued, "A nightmare that cannot be escaped. A nightmare discovered and recorded by a bard turned adventurer who simply called himself the Balladeer. The full journal describes how to obtain the Helm of Dreams, the Map of Sorrow and by feats of heroism therein- access Shadowclast , the realm even the undead fear."

With a shaking hand, I took the proffered chunk of Journal. It was strangely heavy, half as much as the axes that hung at my side. I sat down and began reading this first fragment
of the journal:


The Balladeer’s Journal:

I heard a wise man once say, “No one willingly chooses the path of exile.” I beg to differ. Unknowingly, we all make our choices and suffer the consequences. A wiser bard said it more succinctly, “All roads lead to Wraeclast.”

If the listener would walk in my own shoes, I will explain my own path.

I had been composing my greatest ballad. The direst tragedies are necessarily founded on unwelcome truths and the ode I was calling the Origins of the Species on Wraeclast was no exception. The cataclysm was no accident, but had been wrought by arrogance, power and knowledge that should never have been revealed. I knew my story could never be sung if I intended to remain alive and free, and yet...

A general malaise had hung over the Duchy of Alfsonso since the creeping crud had decimated its population the winter before, including the court’s jesters and minstrels. A grand celebration was planned to boosts the people’s morale. The occasion was the announcement of the duke’s daughter, who had never yet appeared in public, but was rumoured to be as dazzling as the summer sun reflecting off a lake.

Duke Alfonso sent out invitations for entertainers of all kinds. I had heard the Duke’s offerings- handsome enumeration to bards, jesters and musicians, but I knew he had a temper as great as his coffers. I know that someday my not so subtle criticisms will cost me my neck, but I had no desire to willingly offer it on the block. A personal writ of summons a few days later from Duke Alfonso changed my mind. Something in the wording and style compelled me as surely as the glowing dawn compels the sun to rise. The two hundred exalted the Duke promised certainly influenced me as well. It was twice the highest fee I had been offered before, and that was only once for a commissioned play that would support and legitimize the ascension of Oriath’s greatest. I had refused those fifty exalted, but could not refuse this time, no matter how much my hind brain told me that it was a trap.

It was a glorious summer evening in Alfonso’s Duchy and the courtyard was festooned with bright banners of every hue. The myriad torches and sconces blazed with green, red and blue flame from the alchemists powders sprinkled onto them. Costumes with bells and ribbons and painted dancers with no costumes at all were everywhere. There were no vendors hawking food, as it was the Duke’s unusual custom to break for a brief supping between the second and third acts of entertainment. He had generously provided me with a private tent for dining and sleeping and some simpler accommodation for my troupe.

I had learned long ago that acrobatic skills only amuse a crowd so long, and that if you really wanted to catch their hearts and open their purses, you needed a rousing tale. My achievement of notability, if you will, came through my stylings. Rather than tell the tale all at once, I gave out smaller chunks, like appetizers. As I reached a suspenseful point of plot, I or the musicians in my employ would commence playing and let the crowd savor the suspense and speculate on what would happen next. There were smatterings of truths, rumours and history in my tale, so that people often dickered over the meanings and emphatically claimed to know where the tale was going.

I had traveled widely, and had enough variations of every story to keep them guessing and more importantly paying. This glorious night of the Duke’s grand ball was no exception. The only thing missing was my harpist Anuncia and her angelic voice. I had maintained a cold and empty bed since that dark autumn day two years before and vowed to so tonight as well, despite the duke’s assignment of one of his truly gorgeous court vixens in addition to the exalteds. How could I partake of a woman’s charms when all I could see was the memory of the Black Guards battering Anuncia and carrying her away.

I had been subdued and they tried to force me to watch her execution. Anuncia knew a charm and before they gagged her, she spoke it, which put both of us into a long slumber. When I awoke, my hands were unbound and there was a scroll lying nearby. I looked up to see the bloody pole where Anuncia had been bound. All that was left were torn scraps of her clothes and rats scurrying away with the partially burnt chunks of her flesh. Two rats fought over a scorched and severed hand with a tattoo. The matching tattoo to the one I had on my hand from the ceremony promising ourselves to each other for life. Placed together our hands formed the symbol for eternal love. One rat won the struggle and hurried down a small hole with the hand before I could reach it. I stomped several of the other rats to death before they all ran away. I have carried the scroll ever since without reading it. There is no need to. It bears Oriath’s great seal, and tells me this was my punishment for not composing the requested ode.

There have been no attacks on me since that day, and although I do not wish for the company of another woman, I must feed myself and my troupe of musicians. After a merry tune, I had begun my entertainment of the crowd with some bumbling juggles and vigorous dances in which I repeatedly fell flat on my face. The crowd embraced me as their own buffoon and quickly warmed to hear the tale of doomed heroism I was telling them, But there was something festering in my bosom that night, from whence it came I know not.

I and my troupe had finished the second act and everyone was break to sup before the third and final act. The rot in my mind came full bloom when I was supping with Jalila in my assigned tent, surrounded by luxuries such as velvet cushions and golden goblets that I had never known before. At least not experienced before, though I had witnessed nobles enjoying them. I was trying to ignore the gold goblet I was drinking from as well as Jalila’s charms, which were anything but hidden in her sheer lace dress. As pleasing to the eye as this golden haired plaything was, I about to tell her that she need not ply her trade with me tonight.

With very bad acting, Jalila began feigning pain in her head and said she felt her monthly tyme was imminent. I knew the duke like all rulers was wise enough to keep his harem living separately so they maintained their own tymes and have them monitored for availability. I hadn’t intended to defile the memory of my dear Anuncia by coupling with this sullied beauty and told her as much. I had even expected her lying dismissal - I was experienced enough to know that women’s desires are as fickle as the wind. It was her genuinely bad acting that I could not countenance.

I drew my spiraled eviscerater, a wicked looking punching blade with backwards barbs that went in easily enough, but did not come back out without some internal organ bound to it. That my silvered tongue could charm the scales off a mermaid was well known. That I literally stole hearts with an arcane misericorde named Mortiloquy was not. I held the wicked blade against her cheek after berating her, I threatened to scar her for life if she ever spoke of tonight to anyone. I would find out, I said. I hear every story, I said - which was widely rumoured. There was some small truth there in that I plied townsfolk, guards and chambermaids to get hidden secrets. It was those secrets I had discovered that wove themselves into a dark burden that shrouded my soul at times.

I told Jalila to go to the bed and prepare herself for me. She complied, and I told her to wait there for me, just like that until I returned for the evening. She looked at me as if I was crazy. I hoisted a purse of gold and told her the duke’s own guards would bring her to me for less than half of the pouch. Her resolve faltered and her gaze grew distant. Lastly, I mentioned that the Duke himself must have tired of her to let her be used by a filthy traveling minstrel.
She nodded and the tears began. I told her that if she pleased me tonight when I returned that I might take her far from this town. She would never be an honest woman, but she had enough youth and beauty to become some merchant’s well kept mistress. She shuddered and closed her eyes. Her knees twitched involuntarily for a moment, before she looked up at me and said, “I will do as you say.”.

I planned on leaving her and this miserable town behind, but looking down on her I could see she was as much a victim of circumstance as I was. Regret was once more compelling me to do the right thing and keep my word, or at least try to. “Cover yourself with a blanket until I return,” I tried to make my voice sound harsh as I could.

I stormed out of the tent and back to the festival. I eyed the scruffy guard watching my tent carefully. With his tufts of hair and beard jutting out of his armor, he looked more like a canned bear than a soldier. I secreted a large gold Divine piece in his palm. “There will be another just like that for you so long as you make sure no one enters or leaves my tent.

“I suspect more wine will make her more agreeable,” the guard guffawed and clapped me on the back.

I deftly plucked the Divine piece back. “You are not the one being paid to tell stories.” Though I could not see his face clearly, I could see his nose turn scarlet with anger. I held out a Chaos piece instead and as he reached for it, I told him, “There are traps in my tent. Poison ones that will cause your manhood to dry up and fall off like dead leaves in winter. The Duke’s chiurgens might know the cure, or then again the Duke might just let you suffer.” I dropped the Chaos into his palm. “Do not invoke my anger again.” As I walked back to the stage, I wondered. Some people claim to have free choice, but I have yet to meet someone who acts contrary to their influence.

What transpired in the hour since is as unclear as the black fog that covered my brain. I cannot blame the weak grog, and I cannot blame the wildly cheering crowd as they heard a tale so fantastic and gruesome that it must be true. I cannot yet blame myself either, for the story needed to be told. What had been done in vanity and arrogance had brought the cataclysm upon us all.

Somehow, I blame the dazzling face of the duke’s daughter. The debutante’s appearance wasn’t spectacular. Indeed, she was pretty, but plain, despite the glittering diamonds woven into her gown. It was her semblance that plucked the heart from my breast as surely, as if Mortiloquy had been thrust into it and wrenched back out.

The Duke’s daughter was none other than my dearest Anuncia! I looked up at her with hope. I saw the recognition in her eyes, and her courtyard smile was briefly replaced by sadness as she looked at me. She shook her head slightly, telling me nevermore, than resumed her smile and waving at the crowd.
So be it.

Kings say, “so let it be written, so let it be done.” I resolved “So let it be committed, so let it be sung.” I nodded at Anuncia, and as my forlorn gaze drift away from the form I had loved for so long. I grabbed another bowl of grog and drained it. With my mind reeling, I plucked the Duke’s original writ from my pouch and read it.

Yes, that’s what it had been. Despite the herald’s skillful quill work, and the Duke’s blue wax seal, judging by the wording - the author was clearly Anuncia. I had known, but not with the waking part of my mind. Had I time to digest the idea and plan, I would have acted more rationally. As it was, everything I cherished had been thrown to the dogs of fate like table scraps.

And I had been hired to entertain the dogs!

Entertain them I would!

They say the truth is stranger than any fiction, but is the mixture of both in proper measure that is most unsettling to crowd and crown alike.

Halfway into the tale, the Duke called for my head and a dozen Black Guards tried to rush the stage. The crowd of thousands knocked the guards to the ground and looted them. The other guards formed a protective circle around the Duke and he retreated to his castle.

When I had finished the story – the true history of the cataclysm - the crowd surged like an angry tide. I was thankfully forgotten as they moved out rampaging and rioting. My troupe looked at me with concern. We had been in some tight spots before, but never anything like this.

I spoke to them, trying to sound reassuring “In an hour when the crowd has spent its first wrath and is rekindling for more rioting, we will use the east sewer tunnels to exit.” That the duke’s city had a sewer system bespoke of his tremendous wealth as well as his concern for his people. I had seen some of the latter quality in his daughter and the memories washed away my clarity and volition.

I clamored down from the stage, threw off the robe which covered my leathern armor and drew up the hood and armored mask. I turned once more to my troupe, “If possible, I will be there with you in the tunnels. If not, it has been my honour to share our times and your skills will allow you to lead comfortable lives once again when the clamor has settled. Adieu.”

With the rapier Scornslayer in my left hand and the dagger Mortiloquy in my right I prepared to fight my through the crowds and into the castle. I stumbled and almost fell when I passed what had been my tent only an hour ago. Underneath the tattered canvas lay the mangled rag doll that had once been Jalila. Her jaw had been torn off from her half smashed in skull and as I looked away from her, I saw the jaw trampled into the dirt a few feet away.

The guard I had paid was also dead, but his armor had protected him from being flattened, and it was probably the twisted neck that slew him. I rolled his heavy form over and unclasped his armor to loosen it. My hands searched inside and found the cord around his neck. I extracted the cord and its iron key and headed towards the guard barracks. It was unlikely the barracks were manned now, but very likely that there was a passage that led from the quarters to the inner areas of the castle where they might be needed in a hurry.

Somehow, in the slink between the locked oaken door of the guard’s quarters and the inner castle, I lost my resolve. Anuncia didn’t want me anymore and there was nothing to gain by proceeding except sorrow. Worse yet, I might actually take her life in vengeance, which was something I could not allow myself to do. I headed downward, away from the inner castle and found the Duke’s wine rooms. I found and consumed a few bottles of raspberry infused mead, but the cloying drink did not bring me the resolution or escape I sought. Instead, it bolstered my feelings for Anuncia.

I would see her once more.

I set fire to the wine room so it would provide a distraction. I opened my pack and used all my research notes and stories as kindling. I kept only my journal on the Map of Sorrows and the special glasses that let me read its hidden annotations.

When I found Anuncia’s quarters, she was sobbing. She had sent the guards away, expecting my arrival.

I closed the heavy door and tried to draw her near me.

Anuncia pummeled my chest with her fists and began screaming at me, “ You fool! You have doomed us both! I had made arrangements with the Baron’s son, Baldric whom I would marry and belong to in title. My father, having no sons, would gain a competent heir to run his duchy, and the baron’s son would attain a far greater title than his father’s meager wealth would ever allow. Baldric knew my maidenhood was as long gone as any hope of peace in the kingdom, yet he openly agreed to let me keep you as my cicisbeo. His only demand, which was my father’s as well was that any issue of mine must be Baldric’s. Now your story will bring the full wrath of Oriath upon us. You will be gelded, your tongue cut out and then you will be burned alive.”

That Anuncia thought I would find such a role acceptable rattled in my brain like a loose hilt unnerving me. She had either acted in desperation or we had never really known each other.

That was all moot now. I held her fists still for a moment and looked into her eyes, “And knowing this will be my terrible fate upon the morn, you wouldst deny me tonight?”

“I cannot deny you anything!”, she pressed against me, then looked up. “As angry as I am, I know your punishment will half be my fault for not revealing everything to you sooner.”

She pulled away from me, and whispered, “ I should have told you when we first met that my father willingly gave me five years to live as a wild woman, provided my identity was secret and I stayed far from his duchy while doing so.”

I nodded.

She continued, “That I met you straight away was perhaps as fated as the day when I must feign my death and leave you. You must realize now, that some of those narrow escapes the troupe had from dungeons were my father’s ransoms and bribes?”

It made more sense now. We were not quite as luck blessed as I had thought.

Anuncia shivered, "We lived a daring and exciting time, but such things cannot endure and like every blazing sun must fade into darkness."

“What if we both escape?” I asked, stating what I thought to be the obvious solution.

She shook her head, “No, my father will spend everything to find us. Even if you should escape, you will be a hunted spiantati and I will die a guilt wracked spinstress,”

“Until the blazing sun engulfs us then?,” I asked.

“Until then,” she whispered and we kissed.

The door flew open and I felt the thud of the arrow as it hit the back of Anuncia’s head a moment before its bladed tip passed through her mouth and split my own tongue before stopping.

I let myself drop and swung Mortiloquy around Anuncia’s falling body. It caught the
unarmored back of the rushing guard’s knee and he crumpled. I rolled away to the right, and leapt upward. Three arrows stitched the air where I had been moments before. I landed and swept Scornslayer in a great arc, taking off the top half of the archer’s bow and his head. I let the tether of Scornslayer hold it as my left hand palmed the ground and I cart wheeled out of the path of the guard who was charging me. He turned and I was upon him. I punched Mortiloquy through his raised shield where I gauged his wrist to be. Once cut, the sinewy threads binding muscle and bone render that appendage useless. It is as true of every beast as it is of human, provided you know where to strike. The combination of pain and weakness made it easy to wrench his shield arm high and plunge Scornslayer through his heart.

I went out the window, climbed down the wall and somehow made my way to the port.

My ability in disguise and forgery let me obtain a passage aboard one of Oriath’s finest pleasure vessels. I began plotting my revenge as we are boarded the vessel.

We have scarcely left the harbor when strong hands clasped me by the back of my neck and lifted me from the ground. I tried to twist and fight, but my wrists and ankles have been bound and secured.

“Your disguise does not hide the magic of your weapons,” a smaller dark bearded man rasped as he fumbled in my robes and withdraws Scornslayer and Mortiloquy.

“Tsk, Tsk, such wicked tools for a man of such presumed nobility.” He nodded and a second burly thug as large as the one that held me aloft began rifling through my pouches.

The small man spoke again, “You will ride out the voyage on the deck. If you are not washed overboard, you will be sold into bondage or killed for pleasure. If you do not cause any trouble, you will be given rations of food and water. If not then thirst and starvation will take you as surely as the cold fierce waves. “

Along with dozens of others, I was chained to rings anchored to the deck. When the crew was safely locked below, the chains were released. Other than the small rings, the deck was flat. There were a few places where structures of the deck rose up a few inches and offered a bit more grasp or leverage, but there were no sails or railings. The odd lot of us began to fight for the few strategic spots. My superior combat techniques and a few broken wrists made the others let me choose my spot, near the center of the vast deck.

A creature that looked like a bloated baby with sharp fanged teeth had the position to my left. His red feral eyes and continual grunting scared everyone away but me. My arms and legs pummeled him and kept him out of biting range. Still he snarled at me throughout the night. I do not recall falling asleep, just the occasional frigid wave that blasted us.

The second night was worse, and we found the ship’s deck had rigged channels where jets of water could be controlled and blast us to loose from our handholds. Any who didn’t recover a hand hold before a large wave hit was lost to sea – hence to drown in that frigid water or be eaten by the fearsome beasts, which we occasionally saw skulking behind.

The third night, the water jets knocked me loose and the dread baby tried to get his teeth into my neck. I wrenched him loose after being bitten on the hand and arm. I had just lifted him up and was about to bash his head into the deck when a huge wave flung both of us overboard.

I awoke on a cool shore, and it seems that some have survived. No, they are no longer alive but somewhere between Life, Death and the realm accessible by the Map of Sorrows. I check, and the journal is still tucked into my boots. Ragged torn boots guards seldom bother to search.

I raised myself to my feet and began moving up the beach. There looked to be a primitive fort in the distance. But I must make my way past the shambling not dead things first. I looked around and take stock of my surroundings.

There! A glint on the sands. Not my old rapier, Scornslayer, but a reasonably straight blade nonetheless. I run past a smallish creature scuttling out of the water and duck to avoid the projectile its green grey snout is shooting at me.
I am hungry and rock spitters are edible but their flesh tastes like stale vomit and burnt tar. An alchemist once told me that while humans burp, the rock spitters do not, and intentionally ingest minerals that combine with their stomach vomit to make more gas , which they use to propel the rocks from their prehensile snouts.

The dread baby has somehow made it as well, and I see his wiggling form as he starts to awake. I leapt over this freakish creature and weaved past two ambling half dead zombies with no skins.

Deep thudding foot steps woke me from my amazement at the shuffling not dead, and I saw the shadow of something huge. Something standing between me and the fort, and it was coming my way with evil intent.




The Templar’s Tale:

As I finished reading the first discovered portion of the Balladeer’s journal, I looked up.

Eramir spoke, “The sage from Oriath identified the Balladeer through his former lover, Anuncia, the daughter and sole heir of Duke Alfonso. The unusual bard whom the covens call the Harbinger, and other names as well became as storied for his prowess in battle as his proficiency of the pen. The sage says the balladeer and six other strangers formed a group seeking something greater than their own lives. The covens whisper of the helms of dreams, so the sage believes the band of seven acquired those relics at least and accessed the map of dreams."

Greust began knocking down the fire into coals. “One of your fellow outsiders showed me a ring with four broken shards of Sapphire. Ugliest ring I ever saw, but he said the ring was called Dream Fragments.”

Eramir pulled a thick robe from a crate and began donning it, “When we asked the sage about the ring, he said the Dooryani had once owned the ring used in the enchanting of the original Arcane Scroll of Wisdom. It is believed the Balladeer used that ring of dream fragments and a bit of alchemy to bind the necessary shards of spirit, shard and mind.”

Eramir shivered against the cooling air, and plucked out a gem of skill unlike any I had ever seen before. It was a clear as diamond and sparkled even in the absence of light. “This is a Nexus skill gem” though none know it as that. “The rare adventurer lucky enough to have one has no idea that this is the counterpart to the silvery shadows that draw the Zombies into circles, all the know is that it forms a portal bound between two places and allows them to quickly move back and forth ”

Greust stamped on a few hot sparks that escaped the fire. “Do you recall that helm I bought from you for a Chromatic Orb last week?”

“I do, it had a hollowing of sapphire, emerald and ruby fused together,” I said.
Unfortunately, it was far too light in armor for me to find useful.

Greust continued, “Should you find another with a fourth fused hollow – of any type, hang onto it. The portal gem that Eramir calls a Nexus gem must be placed into the helm along with the green, red and blue shards. Then you can access Shadowclast.”

“And how do I get these fragments,” I asked.

“Beats me,” Greust answered.

Eramir shook his head. “That’s what you need the journal of dreams for, the sage’s say the Balladeer’s methods are encompassed in his journal.”

“So I only need four more fragments?” I asked.

Eramir sighed, “If only it were so easy. What you have is the introduction, the spine against which the other five pages must be secured. It is more complex than that even, I’m afraid.”

Greust spoke, “You’ve heard of these magical maps which transport you to a momentary realm?”

I nodded.

“Well, there are some maps unlike any other. There is a unique one that leads to a realm of complete terror, and one that supposedly leads you straight into the riches of Atziri’s unguarded vaults. There are also unique fragments, much like the chunks of wisdom scrolls.” Greust said cross legged on the warm stones and leaned back against a crate as if he planned on sleeping that way.

“These unique chunks will be of emerald, ruby or sapphire hue. Combine five of the same hue and you will access the corresponding realm.” Eramir spoke.

“What if I find a four sapphire fragments, and one emerald?” I asked, still unsure exactly what we were discussing.

“It is said that with a blessed orb and an emerald gem of skill, you can reform the fragment,” Eramir replied.

“So I would have the five sapphire fragments I need then?,” I asked.

“The deity of chance, Ranumgen, has no concept of need, desire or fate. The fragment that was emerald may become sapphire, ruby or even emerald again,” Eramir, replied.

“So where will I find these map fragments? Can I find them in the Ruins of Fellshrine as others have?” I was getting cold myself now, and now wished my armor had less metal and more leather.

“No,” Greust replied with a snort, “Some maps may indeed be found in Fellshrine, but the fragments you seek were dispelled by Alira’s bloody blasted magic into other realms. You will only find them when in these temporary realms accessed by other maps.”

“I have a few such maps bartered from other adventurers for various gear,” I replied, “but I have been unable to figure out how to use them.”

“You must access the Eternal Laboratory to use these arcane maps,” Eramir answered. “We can show you how to get to the Eternal Laboratory, but you must first obtain the great seal guarded by the Vaal overlord.”

“Gladly,” I tried to rub my arms together, but as they were armored too, it wasn’t helping me stay warm. “I will risk life and limb once again in the morning against this Vaal monster.”

“You will die,” Greust spoke plainly.

“You will need all three bandits’ amulets to even summon the Vaal Overlord,” Eramir said.

“I have Kraityn’s and I have seen Alira weakened in her camp,” I replied.

“When was this?,” Greust asked.

“This morning. Only Alira and a few of her followers remain in a protected ring.,” I answered.

“Should you manage to defeat her, you still have the most formidable of them all to slay, Oak.”

“Where’s Oak?” I asked.

Greust and Eramir looked at me in disgust and turned away.



.....................





After the templar Vatsyayana related this story, I found it interesting, but of questionable accuracy. I mean to say, how many people have ever seen any of these maps of dreams?
Then the other night as I was battling with others in those temporary realms, the following item dropped:






Now I begin to wonder. This is why I am on a quest for the five fragments of Journal of Dreams and if successful, the Map of Sorrows. I would know not only the truth of our past, but our future, no matter how horrific it might be. I urge all of you to seek out these unique fragments when you are in those temporal realms opened by the mystical maps. If we can find all five fragments of the journal, I believe we can obtain the map of sorrows, obtain our way to Shadowclast and wipe the cataclysm from our world.



Dalai Lama

tldr :(
nice to see people putting effort into the community tho :)

....Epic thread is Epic.

Wow, loved the surprise ending.
Definitely sticky-worthy.

Clearly we need a Wraeclastian version of the Dark Library...

"

MrFrenzy wrote:

....Epic thread is Epic.

enough said. It was quite good reading actually.

This is not mere fanfic - this is lore.

If you have written books, please post titles. If you haven't, you should.


Outstanding stuff, very entertaining read

*ye olde mobile phone doublepost*

Great read, will there be more?

That was very fun to read, I hope you come up with more and post them.

Good work!