Curse

HezekiahKurtz · May 09, 2007, 04:08 AM // 04:08

I posted another short story last Thursday. It is here: http://www.gwcartographer.com/notthatkindofgod.html

Here is Hezekiah's latest entry.
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Zephyr 4, 1276 DR

Of course it was New Year’s Eve, and the refugees in the city—whether haggard, comfortable, or confused—were in preparations for that night’s festivities. As it turns out, the Kournan have a tradition similar to that found in many parts of the world: they burn effigies of the previous year. The idea is that as the effigy is built, the creators mentally stuff the dummy with memories of and thoughts about the bad things that happened throughout the year. Four hours before the new year arrives—one hour for each season—the effigy is hung by the neck, and then beaten with a stick continuously until midnight, at which point it is burned. In that manner, the new year arrives without all of the baggage and evil from the previous year.

At that point, as we left the bazaar in a hurry, I had totally forgotten of the festivities that would go on that day. Refugees hindered our path at every step. Wez suggested splitting up, thinking we could search in multiple directions and move through the throng more easily alone than in a group. But Bruck would have nothing to do with the idea.

“How will we get back together, even if we do find Chircuck?” he asked

So we wove our way through the crowd. We moved slowly at first, until Guani stepped to the front of the group and started to push and shove people out of her way. Some objected, but most did not. It occurred to me that perhaps they thought we were damned. Guani certainly looked like one, with that frown and the eyebrows angled deeply towards her nose. Before long, people saw her coming and parted before her, as if she were the tip of a wedge they did not want to meet. Our speed increased notably, and in only a few more minutes we managed to see the group of damned at the opposite end of a street. Before long, we had practically caught up with them.

“Now what?” Wez asked.

“They’re definitely taking them toward the docks,” Sileman said.

“We won’t be able to follow them forever,” Bruck said. “Just a few more blocks and we’ll be as far south as they’ve let us go at any time today.”

“We can’t fight them,” I said. “There must be a hundred of them.”

“And I can’t even see him,” Sileman said. “They’re keeping their prisoners in their center.”

We followed them along for a time in silence.

In those minutes, as we neared the street where we’d been stopped before, the hour arrived for people to hang their effigies. The dummies started to appear seemingly out of nowhere. Every tenth or eleventh person carried one, and so the streets became much more crowed that they’d been. It did not help that circles of cleared space opened up as the refugees looped ropes around their effigies’ necks and hung them on makeshift gallows; people needed room to swing their sticks, after all. Individuals of all ages and of both sexes shouted profanities at the stuffed bodies as they beat them. The unfortunate, puffy bags with lumpy arms and legs swayed back and forth. One or two burst open to a bevy of cheering and scrambling to rebuild the figure for continued abuse.

One especially brutal blow by a hefty man separated an effigy’s head from its body. As the surrounding crowd cheered, the torso and arms and legs crumpled to the ground but the head sailed through the air and landed just in front of me. I had to jump directly over it, in order to avoid kicking it, but in the process I noticed something about the face on that head that sent chills down my spine.

“Did you see that?” I said to Shenan. “That face looked just like yours.”

He furrowed his brow at me. “What are you talking about?”

“That effigy looked just like you. Its face was painted to look just like you!”

“Ridiculous.”

But I knew what I had seen. It had the same long face and oversized nose. The same large eyes and droopy, aged cheeks. As we continued on, I tried to get a look at the faces of other dummies. In only thirty feet, as a dummy spun in reaction to a blow, its face turned to me, and then turned away. My heart skipped.

“Look at that one!” I said, grabbing his arm and pointing at it. “That one is Wez!”

My voice had gained the attention of a few party members, who looked where I pointed. They exclaimed their surprise, and in a few moments we found ourselves slowing to a halt and standing in the center of the street, turning to look at the several dummies close to us. Our mouths hung open. Sure enough, there was Wez. Nearby, another was Kandra. The one I’d seen first, now a little ways back, was back up and taking a beating—there was no doubt it was Shenan, as was a nearby fourth. The dread in my heart deepened. Fear pricked my heart. I looked for one of me, but no others were close enough that I could make out their faces.

“This is not something I ever expected to see,” Wez said. He looked slightly worried.

“Crathlav knows we’re coming,” Bruck said.

“We may as well abandon our mission,” I said.

“I vote we find a safe place to hide,” said Sileman. “Re-evaluate our plan.”

“I agree,” Bruck said. “I don’t know what we can do for Chircuck right now, anyway.”

We retreated back down several streets. They seemed more crowded than before, as if even more people had come out of the buildings to celebrate. Music played in the distance—probably a street or two away, just out of sight—heedless of the continuing, thunderous pounding on the docks. People danced in pockets of churning bodies surrounded by onlookers who clapped and sang. Others congregated around the effigies. Every single one of them looked like one of my party members. Their faces were painted to look like one of us, with string or paper for hair. An unsettling tingle tickled my spine the first time I saw myself get a stick in the face. A feeling of claustrophobia and entrapment settled in around me as we looked for a relatively quiet place to talk.

Eventually, far to the Western edge of the city, we found a thin alley between two relatively quiet streets. The alley was narrow enough that one person could nearly touch the buildings on each side just by reaching out both hands. We crammed ourselves into it, near the middle, and stood huddled closely together. Some other people walked up or down it, but after a few moments of us hogging up most of the width, they departed, and no new ones came in. Dark shadows made the air cold. A slight breeze made me shiver.

“We need to get Chircuck,” Guani said.

“What do you propose we do?” Bruck asked.

She shook her head.

“I don’t know, either,” Bruck said. “In fact, I’m pretty open to any reasonable sounding ideas at this point.”

We looked at each other with raised eyebrows, shaking heads, and shrugging shoulders.

“Shouldn’t the siege begin, soon,” I asked. “It’s getting near dusk.” I motioned overhead, at the purpling sky.

“Any time, now, I’d say,” Bruck said.

“But even then, what?” Wez said. “There are simply too many damned everywhere. We’re purely outnumbered.”

“I don’t understand something,” Kandra said. “How do the damned tell who is one of them, and who is not? They generally look just like everyone else. They have no special uniforms, no badges or anything that I can tell sets them apart from the rest of us. Why can’t we simply pretend that we’re some of them?”

“Perhaps you have forgotten,” Wez said, “But our faces are up all over the place, taking beatings as we speak. I can’t imagine the damned don’t know exactly who they’re looking for.”

“Then why haven’t they taken us yet,” I asked. “Many of them have looked us right in the faces, and done nothing.”

“We’ve been waiting for the right chance.”

As a group, we looked to one end of the alley, where a man stood with his hands on his hips. He smirked at us and took a few steps forward. As he did so, others flooded into the alley from behind him.

“Run!” Shenan said. But we turned to see that, at the opposite end of the alley, damned were also filled with men and women bearing swords, spears, shields, and other weaponry and armor. They did not look like typical damned, although the fire in their eyes clearly marked them as such. From the way they carried their weapons, and stood ready in preparative stances, they had received more training than the average person. These were soldiers.

I suppressed an intense, rising panic, and readied my spear and skills.

“We’ve been instructed to watch you closely,” the man said, drawing a wicked, toothed blade. He continued to walk toward us, tilting his head down and looking at us from under heavy eyebrows. The alley behind him continued to fill with a seemingly endless supply of soldiers. “We were told to take you when we had the chance—once the effigies were brought out.”

“Those were a nice touch,” Bruck said.

He cast Protective Icon on himself, and backed toward the middle of the group—not out of cowardice, but simply because it was the right place for a monk. I took my place in the front of the group, next to Guani. When the fighting started, there would only be room for one person to fight; she would move forward, and I would throw over her head. Behind me, I could hear the others moving into place. I imagine Kandra stood in the front facing the other end of the ally, with Wez behind her. Sileman, Bruck, and Shenan would work from the middle of the pack.

“Our master is no fool,” the man said. “Unlike yours.” He stopped his advance, and his soldiers stepped past him, weapons ready. As the first leapt forward, shouting a mighty battle cry, I heard the sounds of metal clashing and spells charging behind me.

In the following minutes—as many as thirty, I imagine; it was hard to gauge time as that endless flow of soldiers crashed up against us—I learned several things about lopsided battles.

First, no matter your numbers, bring a monk. Preferably a good one. Better yet, several good ones.

I don’t know what those damned were thinking, or if monks are in very short supply in their ranks, but as far as I could tell they did not bring any. While it would have been difficult for them to save many of their co-warriors from the spikes we hit them with, they could have at least resurrected the dead, and perhaps overcome us. As it was, their soldiers fell in waves when Sileman’s Sprit Rifts were timed perfectly with his Destructions and Shenan’s Marks of Rogdort and Meteor Showers. The damage just the two of them dealt in a matter of seconds was simply unbeatable. The Sprit Rift cast an eerie white glow on the ally for several seconds until it exploded, and the meteors hit in rapid, burning succession. Fire erupted in the ranks of our enemies—at least, in the ranks of those whose bodies did not simply disappear, incinerated by the heat, or those who flew apart like a poorly-crafted doll being struck with a club. Any that survived those volleys were quickly met with a scythe, sword, spear, or arrow, and easily finished off. The firelight and raining meteors lit the ally in angry red and orange, mingling with the white light of Bruck’s constant Healing Rings, Healing Whispers, Divine Spritis, and Healer’s Boon. I don’t know how he did it, but he managed to keep us alive. I suppose I helped some, with my Arias, Finales, Songs, and Ballads of Restoration, but I know that he really did most of the work, and keep us all alive as we took down the foes in front of us.

The first thing I learned: bring a monk.

After each spike offered up by Shenan and Sileman, another wave of damned would come, leaping over bodies and limbs. During those minutes, someone must have taken the time to pull the fallen away; I cannot imagine that the meteor showers completely decimated so many bodies. Someone must have cleared the way in that narrow alley, so that more of them could advance—I simply didn’t see it happening—which relates to the second thing I learned: strategy and skill beats quantity.

Wave after wave of warrior came. Perhaps it is easier to train warriors en masse. Perhaps the warrior class is simply the one that the damned prefer. Although, now that I think about it, I remember seeing a lot more variance in class in the ranks of the damned once we reached the outer wall, later on, so perhaps they simply wanted to focus their variety on the main battlefield. It is only a guess; I am not sure. But I do know—I did learn—that nothing but warriors—and an occasional dervish or assassin—against a well-balanced party, do not fare well. Especially if those warriors are minimally experienced and face our very experienced, coordinated party. The strategy of bringing a homogonous rabble of melee is a poor one. Their sheer quantity could not tip the scales in their favor—our coordination and strategy simply could not be beat by their numbers.

Third: have an ace up your sleeve. Ours was Shenan. Rather, it was Shenan possessed by an angel. Almost immediately after the fighting began, he started to shout. His cries drowned out the dread, nonsensical whispering we had endured the entire afternoon, filling our hearts with hope and assurance, victory, and righteous strength. With each shout, our foes flinched. I saw at least five simply stop in their tracks, their faces stricken with guilt and disbelief before getting a scythe through the neck, or a spear in the chest. In those minutes, I did not fear. I did not despair. I merely fought with a calm assurance of eventual victory, whether it was in thirty minutes, sixty minutes, or six hours. My limbs did not weary. My heart did not falter. Even through the din of the battle—the smashing of meteors, the clashing of steel, the cries of death and killing—the angel’s words came loud and clear, and penetrated my soul.

Yes, it is good to have an ace up your sleeve. Even better if that ace is an angel.

The last thing I learned in those minutes was to have a good leader. Bruck did nothing unusual or extraordinary, but he had prepared us, disciplined us in many previous battles, and taught us how to time our attacks and skills to land at the perfect time. It was not only his healing that kept us alive, but the warnings he called, the shouts of encouragement, and the reassurance that he could pull us out of any mess.

The leader of the damned, on the other hand, did nothing for his soldiers. He stood back and watched the slaughter, urging his men on with demeaning shouts and angry looks. He did not coordinate anything. He did not participate in the attack. He just issued the same order over and over, “Kill them you worthless pigs!”

And in the end, he was the last one standing. Smoke hung thick in the dark air, the only moving thing in the sudden stillness, rolling over the piles of charred corpses. The reek of burnt flesh stung my nose. Other than sound of sizzling flesh and the heavy panting from me and my companions, the alley was silent. The lingering hope of Shenan’s last words lined the numbness in my head, eased the soreness in my arms and legs. The leader of the damned stood silent at the end of the valley, his sword still drawn, but not bloodied or dented.

Bruck stepped forward. I have never heard him boast or ridicule anyone in the tone he used then. “Your master may not be a fool,” he said. “But he is either a terrible mathematician, or a very poor strategist.”

The damned started to turn, but an arrow buzzed by Bruck’s head, pinning the land damned down. Guani sprung forward and cut him down. He cried out pitifully under her slicing.

Bruck turned to look at Shenan, his eyes glinting in the dark alley. “I think you have some explaining to do.”

“I am exhausted,” Shenan said, collapsing to the ground. His face was drawn and pale. He looked older than usual. Meteor shower will do that even to a very healthy young person, I understand.

“How did you do that,” Bruck demanded.

Before Shenan could answer, a cry rose long and clear, echoing through the city streets. In the same moment, the sound was both piercing and rumbling. It shook my bones and pricked my ear drums. The very walls around us shook. A pile of bodies collapsed from the vibration. I yearned for the angel’s voice to banish the fear it inspired.

“You don’t have time to demand answers,” Shenan said, the strength back in his voice, the hope back in my gut. Despite the exhaustion that no doubt consumed the old frame, Shenan stood faster than I’d ever seen him stand. “You have a demon to kill.”

The sound came again, like a challenge. At that time I did not understand who the demon challenged. Only now, in the bitter victory, is everything clear.

HezekiahKurtz · May 11, 2007, 02:49 AM // 02:49

Zephyr 5, 1276 DR

We took off running. The streets remained crowded, and were now lit with torches and lamps that cast dark, flickering shadows against dancing orange light. The refugees continued to beat our effigies. I struggled not to look for more of me, but to concentrate on moving through the crowd as quickly as possible with my party.

The call came a second time, loud and clear above the celebration. The people did not falter in their revelry, but we stopped for a moment and waited to hear it again. Sure enough, in a minute, the demon issued its challenge one last time.

“I can’t tell which way it’s coming from!” I said.

“That way,” Shenan said, pointing North. “Toward the city gate.”

“Chircuck is the other way!” Guani said.

“We can’t do anything for him, now,” Bruck said, and started off at a run. Knowing he was right, the rest of us followed.

Before long our sprint halted as we came to a narrow street teeming with damned, all running in the direction of the city gates. They traveled in a chaotic mess of armor and weapons, not formed into any kind of ranks or order. Their stampede filled the air with the sound of boots on stone, shouts of anger or excitement, the clanking or of steel, and the creaking of leather. They looked to neither side, but focused intently on their march.

“Stand back!” Bruck hissed, turning his face away from the damned toward the rest of us. “Don’t let them see your faces!”

We followed his lead, and immediately turned back to the way we’d come from.

“It won’t matter,” Shenan said. “We’ve got to follow them. Join their ranks! They won’t even notice us!”

Bruck paused for a moment, weighing the words. “You owe me many an answer,” he said, shaking his head.

“I will give them when we have the chance! Every moment counts!”

“Very well.” The monk turned back to the street, and we followed his lead. The mass was already thinning somewhat—apparently we had arrived at the end of the march—and Bruck leapt into the mob. Again, we followed.

We ran with the group for several minutes. Really, until then I had not realized just how much the damned actually stunk, but being in their midst brought it pretty clearly to my attention. I tried to stay near Bruck, but the churning, boiling mass of bodies made it difficult, and before long I found myself somewhat separated from the party leader. I shifted my focus on staying near Shenan and Guani, and their company lessened my panic when we found the damned splitting turning down two different streets. Not knowing which way Bruck had gone, we turned to the right, and soon thereafter arrived at the courtyard in front of the city gates.

It is difficult for me to describe the scene as it presented itself before us. The siege of the city was certainly in full array, and I am no writer of drama or mighty scenes, and cannot do justice to the chaos that reigned supreme near the gate of the city. The doors still stood intact, barred with chains and giant wooden beams. A team of several dozen men worked on the gate, using scaffolding and cranes to lift new wooden planks from a pile below to replace those that had supported the back of the gates and shattered under the unseen blows from the other side. Soldiers lined the tops of the city walls, with piles and piles of arrows placed in intervals along the bulwark. On nearby roofs catapults swayed back-and-forth, tossing burning masses Northward, out into the darkness beyond. In the courtyard below, soldiers ran every direction—some in groups, some seemingly at random. I could not make sense of any of it.

The air shook with violent, thunderous cracks and booms, surely at the blows of mortar from outside of the city. In fact, burning stones frequently flew over the wall, crashing with mighty anger into the buildings or rooftops, or just clipping the top of the walls, taking a handful of damned with them. More damned immediately stepped forward to replace them, drawing their bows and loosing arrows, not fearing the next volley from the outside. A steady flow of arrows entered the city, most simply striking harmlessly against stone walls or roofs.

And there, in the center of it all, was Crathlav. It looked almost exactly like the demon we’d seen back in the swamp of Istan; I would have sworn it was the same being. It floated several feet in the air, in the center of the courtyard, surrounded by soldiers. Darkness emanated from the creature, consuming all light around it. As with the other demon, the darkness obscured everything immediately surrounding the creature, but somehow I could see its skin, which shifted in color and texture, from light red to deep red to black. As before, I can only compare it to what a person who has had his skin burned off might look like if the muscles and sinews blurred and merged and shifted. Its head was human, but deformed and ever-shiftin. One moment it bulged at the base. The next it stretched tall and thin. A ball of flesh appeared at its hairless crown, and then disappeared. Another on its chin. Only one thing stayed constant—one of the two mouths moved.

Of course, I had felt the dread and heard the whispering all that day, almost to the point that I had become numb to it. But in that moment, as I laid my eyes on the source of that evil voice, the enormity of what we were attempting—now as a separated group—crashed down on me, and I had to focus all of my strength to keep from falling to my knees in desperation. Shenan may have sensed my weakness, for he grabbed my elbow and held me fast as we stood there for several seconds with Guani. The world churned around us in fiery, deadly mayhem. I scanned the crowd for the rest of my group, but did not spot them. Guani, however, found someone she’d been looking for. She shouted—whether in joy or terror, I still don’t know—and pointed toward the top of the city wall.

“There he is!” She darted forward.

I grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “What are you doing?”

She yanked free of my grasp, giving me a look of daggers. “It’s my brother!” And she leapt into the midst of a body of damned as they moved up the stairs toward the bulwark.

“Guani!” I shouted, unable to believe that she’d spotted her brother. It seemed so impossible for her to pick him out in midst of such a crowd in such low light, but also at that exact moment, when we needed her sorely.

I felt a tugging on my own arm and turned to see Shenan motioning me to follow him. We ducked behind the corner of a nearby building, panting heavily and trying not to look like we were somewhere we should not be. Damned continued to move around us. The ground shook as a stone struck somewhere nearby.

“Hezekiah, it’s up to us.”

From the burning in those eyes, the practical white glow, I knew I wasn’t talking with Shenan. “What do we have to do?”

“I am going to use the Signet of Amplification.”

“You’re what?” My mind raced. I could not believe that Guani had left us. I couldn’t fathom that we’d been separated from the rest of our group. And now this, spoken almost casually, as if I should have expected it all along.

“Immediately after I use it, capture it.”

“You have a Signet of Amplification?”

“You do have a capture, don’t you?”

“Of course!”

“After you capture it, use it. And then use Godspeed. Get close to Crathlav, and then use Wearying Spear. The demon will fall under heavy attack, but it won’t be enough. He self-heals too fast. You have to kill it in one hit—you have to strike the killing blow.”

“How?”

“The signet—for one minute it will amplify every skill you use. The duration of those skills will be the same, but their effects will be much stronger. With Godspeed you will run extremely fast, and Wearying Blow will cause massive damage. Strike him in the neck. It should be enough to kill him.”

“Wouldn’t the signet be better used with a meteor, or something?”

“The casting time is too long. I can’t get close enough and use it before he interrupts me. And we only have one chance, so I’ll provide a distraction. Don’t mess it up—and especially don’t let that demon cap that signet, or it’ll be all over.”

Before I could respond, he closed his eyes and spread his arms wide. He levitated several inches off the ground as he cast the Signet of Amplification. The sound of deep, resonating chimes surrounded me. I’d heard it before—back in Arkjok Ward, on the day I’d killed the demon. His skin turned a brilliant white, emanating a harsh, blinding glow that warmed my bones. I just stood there watching, not believing that all this time the Signet was there, in our party. Bruck would go nuts if he found out.

“Capture it, you fool! We’ve only got one minute, max!”

I summoned my brain back from the abyss of disbelief, and used my signet. For a moment I just stood there considering in awe the raw power of that skill reposing in my 7th skill slot, comfortably as if it had always expected to be there, as if I had always know it would be there. The amplification of skills for a full minute. I marveled that it would amplify my skills so much that when I used Wearying Blow I would inflict enough damage to kill a demon with a single blow.

A deafening sound filled the air, shaking the ground and buildings, rattling my bones. I did not realize until I looked up and saw Shenan walking forward that the sound was his amplified voice. I have no words to describe how he looked there, striding slowly, confidently, steadily toward the demon. Even a hundred paces away, Crathlav—who had turned and focused its fiery eyes on the elementalist—towered over him in a cloud of darkness and color-shifting skin. Somehow, Shenan’s clothing and skin glowed yellow, so that he looked like a candle flame walking into the darkest night.

I am not sure what words Shenan spoke—no one has been able to confirm anything—but their effect was instantly evident—not only in my heart and mind as the despair and fear disintegrated, but in the actions of the people present. Up above, at the top of the walls, a majority of soldiers turned their spears and their arrows from the outside of the city inward to the courtyard below. Most of those damned barring the gate turned away from their station. Most of those soldiers running somewhere, on some individual or group mission, stopped in their tracks, and turned their ranged weapons on the demon. From every direction shafts rained down onto and around the demon. Not every damned obeyed, but a vast majority did. Those who didn’t—the most wicked of the wicked—attacked their neighbors who had turned on their master.

I knew instantly that the power of the Signet of Amplification had not been exaggerated, and understood why Bruck’s master wanted it. If it could turn relatively evil people to the will of an angel, what could it do to turn relatively righteous people to the will of a demon?

Crathlav raised one of his many arms and pointed toward Shenan. One mouth did not stop moving, and the other opened in a roar of rage—but I did not hear it. A ray of blue light arced through the air, crackling and popping I’m sure, although I did not hear that, either. Shenan’s steps faltered for a moment as he absorbed the light. He lifted his head and for several seconds the sound of his voice shifted from deafening and inspiring to quiet and agonized. In that moment, the rain of arrows changed their paths toward the elementalist. They came down around him, bouncing off of the stones like steel raindrops, their shafts shattering. Not a single one struck him.

In the next second, as the angel continued his steady pace, the consuming, life-giving voice returned, and once again the arrows shifted their target, turning back to the demon.

I have no memory of anything else that happened outside of myself during the next few seconds. At least, I don’t know from my own memories what happened with Shenan, how the damned up top swayed from good to evil several more times, or what Crathlav did in the last few moments of his mortal life. All I know is that something deep inside my mind caught my attention, and I perceived that the time for my action had arrived.

I used the Signet of Amplification. Its resonating chime just registered in my ears under Shenan’s voice, and my skin glowed white during the four-second casting. I stood still for a moment, somewhat surprised that I felt normal. The thought that I now had about forty seconds roused my mind to action, and I cast Godspeed. Still, I felt normal, and wondered if the signet had actually worked. In an experiment, I started to run to the left, away from the outer wall and toward a building. The speed I moved with startled me. I was not ready for it. In fact, I collided with the wall face-first, and reeled backwards, falling to the ground. I am not sure how I managed not to break any bones in the process.

I stood, somewhat dazed, and readied my spear as I turned toward the demon. I did not use the time to take a breath, or to consider what I had to do. I knew it, and I knew I could not wait. So burst forward. I imagine that the distance of a hundred paces would normally have taken me ten seconds to close, even using Godspeed. But I ran it in less than one, weaving in-and-out of damned more quickly than I previously would have thought possible. I am surprised my mind could process the information so quickly; it was as if everyone else were frozen, and I alone remained in motion, entering the curtain of arrows and paying them as much heed as I usually paid motes of dust. The demon noticed me. Its eyes widened and its head started to turn in my direction as I leapt at it. I used Wearying Blow, and hurled my spear at Crathlav’s neck.

I wish I could, but I don’t remember anything after that. When I woke up the next morning Wez was happy to fill me in on what happened. Here is what he said:

“We heard that noise like thunder, and Shenan walked out of the other side of the courtyard like he owned the world. It drew the demon’s attention, and so the four of us charged him, taking the damned by surprise and being equally surprised that they had turned to attack the demon—not that it helped us, because we certainly couldn’t go into that rain of arrows and spears. All we could do was fire our own arrows and staffs at the demon.” He laughed. “You should have heard Kandra cursing. She sure hates having to use that bow of hers. But then the damned switched back to the demon’s side, and in a mass they started to forced us back—only to be turned against the demon. That ebb and flow of the soldiers switching sides continued for another ten or fifteen seconds, Shenan walking forward, the demon hitting him with that blue thread of light, and the arrows going back-and-forth. Every time the arrows moved to Shenan, we were attacked by the damned, and every time they went to Crathlav, we did our best to hurt him.

“It all ended very suddenly. Crathlav struck Shenan with a nasty bolt of what I swear was black smoke. Right in the chest. The poor fellow imploded with a, ‘Pop!’ His body just—.” He held his hands out as if he were holding a ball the size of a man’s head, and then collapsed the ball by clasping his hands together. “In a flash of white light, he was just gone.

“But the same moment, as the black smoke struck, and Shenan blinked out with that piercing pop, there you were, your spear sticking out of the throat of the demon. I didn’t even notice it, but Sileman said later that he saw a white blur moving between the damned and into the cloud of arrows. Either way, there you were, howling like a madman. And the demon did the same thing as Shenan.” Again, he made the ball with his hand, and clasped his hands together while making a popping sound. “With the demon, though, there was that same, bizarre impact as the time you killed that demon baby. Threw you across the courtyard. Flattened everyone present—not that it mattered. With the demon gone, all of the damned seemed to wake up form sleepwalking, and threw down their weapons.

“I don’t know how you did it, but you won the day.”

I may have won the day, but the victory cost us dearly. Chircuck still has not shown up. Guani has disappeared. And Shenan is gone.

HezekiahKurtz · May 16, 2007, 02:27 AM // 02:27

Zephyr 6, 1276 DR

Here we are, six days into the new year. The city is already clearing out. Refugees have left in droves, and following their pardon by the Warmarshal yesterday—what else could she do, really—many of the damned have also started their journeys home. The city feels quiet and empty, as if resting. A stiff breeze blows in from the ocean, purging the city of the filth and dread that have occupied it.

Guani still has not turned up. We have no reason to assume anything other than the worst. We know that Chircuck is dead. He and the others rounded up by the damned that day of the attack were taken to the docks, where they were forced out onto the dock, as if trying to rebuild the destroyed catapults. Of course, the ships decimated anyone on the docks. Apparently, of the several hundred soldiers that the Warmarshal sent into the city during the days before the attack, only a few were not rooted out and killed by the damned, along with many others who had accompanied damned or refugees to the city.

In retrospect, I am not very impressed with the Warmarshal’s plans. The ships attacking the docks did not seem to really do much, except inadvertently kill our own. The idea of sending soldiers into the city beforehand proved deadly; perhaps if they’d actually congregated and kept together they might have had a chance to defend themselves—but that was not scheduled to happen until the siege began. The attack on the prison, which was supposed to happen in the early afternoon, never actually happened because the “secret” passageway had been flooded.

There is really no telling how the assault on the city walls would have gone had I not killed Crathlav. The Warmarshal might have lost, or she might have won—especially since Rohnan had arrived that afternoon in the Pogahn Passage, apparently just after we’d left it, and joined his force of about a thousand with the Warmarshal’s ranks. He’d either brought or constructed more than a dozen siege engines, and in time certainly would have been able to tear the city’s walls down. As it happened, my party arrived at the city gates only ten minutes after the attack had started, so the entire battle ended up being very short-lived.

In any case, the fast victory for the Warmarshal came down to luck. If I had not chanced upon a group of people discussing how the damned rooted out spies—without their even knowing that is what was going on—there’s no telling what might have happened to my party. It’s likely we would have been taken prisoner, but beyond that, would we have fought? Would we have freed ourselves, or started a rebellion with the other captors? It’s difficult to say. But that was not the only luck. If Shenan had not been present, with the Signet of Amplification, I am not sure how we would have assassinated Crathlav. I doubt we could have.

In the days since the new year, there have been banquets and ceremonies with medals for my party. I care little for them. While I am pleased with our victory, and I regret the loss of Guani and Chircuck, more than anything I feel a certain degree of responsibility for Shenan’s death. If I had acted sooner—just by a few seconds, he would have lived, and he would be here today to answer my questions.

I do not dare to even equip the Signet of Amplification. Not long after I awoke the first day the new year, Bruck questioned me about the whole thing.

“Apparently Shenan had powers we didn’t know about,” he said.

“I had no idea,” I said. Truthfully, I did not know he had the Signet of Amplification, although I should have guessed it from his bragging about having every skill. But at that particular moment, Bruck was talking about the angel’s voice and its effect.

“How did you run so fast?”

Fortunately, I’d had time to think up what I thought was a plausible story, and a good method to present it. “I’d rather not tell you. It will only upset you.”

“He had it, didn’t he?” The monk’s face hardened. As I suspected he would, he guessed part of the story. “He had the Signet of Amplification.”

I nodded, my heartbeat hastening. What would he do if he found it out that now I had it? “He cast it on himself, and then on me.” I hoped—with a certain amount of confidence—that he did not know about the long recharge time. “He gave me instructions on what to do, and then distracted Crathlav.”

He stood and stepped to a nearby window. For several minutes he did not speak. I just lay there in the bed, my body tired and aching—and not only from being thrown across the courtyard. I am sure the Signet also amplified the aftereffects of Wearying Blow.

Finally, Bruck looked back at me, and said, “It’s for the best that he is gone.” His eyes bored into mine. “If he weren’t, I would have to turn on him. I would have no choice.”

I could not look away. Neither could I escape the impression that he suspected my lie. Now, several days later, I look at the signet and wonder what to do. I’m not ready to leave the party, but I know it may come to that. I wish Shenan were here. Him or—and perhaps this is what I really mean—his angel. We could use its help in what lies ahead. Word has reached us that the troubles Kourna has experienced of late also afflict Vabbi. And there are unsettling rumors that dark things gather in the swamp back in Istan. The conflict, it seems, has only just begun.

Koross · May 16, 2007, 08:54 AM // 08:54

This is cool. Who would've thought that the signet of amplification was closeby? Now though, its a question of 'Whats next?'

HezekiahKurtz · May 18, 2007, 03:04 AM // 03:04

What's next? Easy--here you go:

__________________________________________________ ________________

Zephyr 7, 1276 DR

Our party of five left this morning, first thing. We wanted to sneak out early, before anyone knew we had left, because the Warmarshal had proposed a heroes parade—which Sileman really liked the idea of—and had Bruck refused the offer. He feared—rightly so—that she would try something else. And, in fact she met us at the city gates with an honor guard, streaming banners of purple and black, blaring trumpets, and a crowd of cheering citizens. She lined us up in front of the crowd, in front of the gate, and gave a speech lauding or bravery and mourning our fallen party members. Although it was short, it went on entirely too long. Rhonan then approached us and presented each of us with ceremonial crowns of yellow pickadolies, and golden medals dangling at the end of long, purple ribbons. After he placed mine around my neck, he embraced me as he’d done the others.

“Hezekiah Kidron, Your role in this war is bigger than you know,” he said, quietly enough that I am certain only I could hear over the cheering. He disengaged the embrace, but put his hands on top of my shoulders, his arms bent slightly. He looked at me with an intensity that rivaled Shenan’s when the angel was in him. His blue eyes pricked my soul. “Pay close attention to the voices in your heart. Pay them heed. They will not misguide you, and they will grow stronger each time you obey them.”

I looked at him in shock, not knowing how to respond. I’d not known that he even knew my name, let alone have a reason to give me such instructions.

“Yield to the voices. Let them become part of you.”

He embraced me again, and as we separated he said, “We will meet again, and fight side by side. Until then, farewell.”

As we stepped out of the city, a triumphant fanfare filled the air, and a dozen cage doors were flung open, releasing dozens of captive doves to fly over our heads in a sign of thanks and peace. Their beating wings practically drowned out the cheering. The sun flickered in my eyes as they passed by.

“Gah!” Wez said, covering his head with his arms. “Is she trying to get us shat on? What a silly, sentimental thing to do!”

Once the birds had scattered toward the four winds, we continued on, walking at a rapid pace and looking to neither side, making eye contact with none of the others on the road; we did not want to get stopped and sucked into a conversation that would assuredly last until Poghan Passage. The barricades that a week before had scarred the hills in front of the city had been pulled down, but the trebuchets and catapults brought by Ronhan still stood, each guarded by a few dozen soldiers.

“I wonder how much I sell this medal for,” Wez said. He hefted the gold in his hands, and eyed it with an appraising eye.

“You’re going to sell that?” Sileman said. His mouth hung open and his eyes widened. “A noble prize like that?”

“It’s rot,” Wez said. “Does nothing but weigh me down.”

“I’ll buy it from you.” He looked around the rest of us eagerly. “I’ll buy anyone’s that wants to sell it.”

“One platinum,” Wez said. His sarcastic tone spoke volumes about how likely he thought Sileman was to accept the price.

“Done!” His enthusiastic tone clearly indicated he thought the medal for one platinum was a steal.

Wez laughed, throwing his head back and apparently not taking the deal seriously. But when Sileman started to pull gold out of a purse, his laughter faded, and I saw in his eyes his mind working quickly—backpedaling.

“Now wait a minute,” the ranger said. “One platinum may not be enough. I may want to get to a market and see how much I can sell it for there.”

Sileman pushed a handful of gold toward Wez. “You offered. Ten seconds ago you thought a platinum was way too much. Take it.”

Wez frowned down at the gold.

“Give it to him, you greedy fool,” Kandra said. That ended the discussion, and with a shake of his head and a dirty look at the warrior, Wez made the exchange.

“I’ll sell mine to you for two platinum,” Bruck said.

Sileman cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips. In a moment he said, “Very well.”

“What the—?” Wez said.

“Stop it,” Kandra said. “He bought yours for what you offered. It’s not his fault you’re a fool.”

I laughed, wondering if I should offer to sell mine for three platinum, but not really considering it. I was more interested in trying to understand Rhonan’s mysterious counsel, and nearly said something. The thought occurred to me that maybe I shouldn’t mention it unless one of them brought it up, so I kept silent. Despite thinking about it all day, I still cannot decide what his words mean—their literal meaning is clear, but what does it mean about him and about me, and about the future? I wonder if he knows for certain that we will fight side by side again, or if he is simply wishing. I know that for now he will be going to the Fortress of Jahai, where it is rumored there are still masses of refugees gathered, while we will be passing into Vabbi via the Bahdok Cavern.

We had talked briefly of returning to the citadel in Margo Coast. Our plans had been to do so all along, and to clear it of the evil that haunted the countryside. It seems like so long ago that we’d stood there, contemplating that foreboding sensation and deciding not to enter—fresh out of the Istani swamp. It’s probably wise that we did not enter it; the relatively certain word on the street is that Crathlav had been there, biding its time and waiting until it could take the moon fortress. Now that he is gone, the citadel is surely cleansed and we have no reason to return.

Really, it’s amazing to consider what changes have happened in our party since then—in me. During the day spent in Gandara, looking for Crathlav, that foreboding that had scared us away form the Citadel had become commonplace; I’d become numb to it. I wonder how it will affect me next time I experience it.

We traveled quickly, engaging mobs only when absolutely necessary. A few hours after dusk we reached Moddok Crevice, just north of the water works. Tomorrow we will enter the cavern, and pass into Vabbi.

HezekiahKurtz · May 23, 2007, 03:57 AM // 03:57

Zephyr 7, 1276 DR

Today reminded me of my goal to become a cartographer, and refreshed my mind regarding the reasons for doing so. I am exhausted yet satisfied tonight, as I sit in Wehhan Terraces, under the watchful, caring statue of Dwayna.

The Bahdok Caverns greeted us with a roaring waterfall guarded by hordes of skales and mandragors. What a mess it turned out to be, trying to take on those groups with just five of us. We had just engaged a mob when a second came around a pillar, pinning us down and striking hard at Bruck. He called a retreat, but did not manage to get away himself. I had to rez him, and we retreated to the cave’s entrance to re-evaluate our strategy. On our second attempt we managed to not get ambushed, but we failed at drawing only one group. Far outnumbered, we retreated again.

“I’m starting to wonder if Shenan didn’t do more than we thought,” Wez said, panting and leaning heavily on his knees.

“I could go for some help from Guani right about now,” Kandra said.

“Guel wouldn’t even be so bad,” I said. She nodded in agreement.

Our third attempt we did manage to separate one group from the other, and draw it back a little ways toward the cave’s mouth. Even then, it took us at least four minutes to finish the mob off.

“This is going to be a long day,” Bruck said. He sighed, and motioned us on.

It was long. And difficult. Each mob seemed stronger than the last, and at one point a monk, paragon, and warrior boss attacked us all at once. It was almost more than we could handle. We delved deep into the earth, past the waterfall and into caverns so vast I couldn’t see the ceiling. The corridors twisted and turned and branched, so that before long I was completely lost. Bruck assured us he knew where we were going; he’d been there multiple times. We went down every path, took every turn, backtracked after dead ends, and killed every creature that crossed our paths. It reminded me of the first week or two back in Istan, before this whole demon thing unraveled.

“This feels so odd, today,” I said to Bruck as we walked along in the rear of the group. It must have been close to evening, then.

“What do you mean?”

“We’re just exploring—not worrying about any damned or demons or anything.”

He smiled and raised his eyebrows. “It’s quite relaxing, isn’t it?”

“Actually, it is. It’s nice. But . . . it also feels so futile, pointless. Seems like most of our time in Kourna had purpose and direction. Now . . . not so much. We’re just wandering around.”

He shrugged. “After a while the exploration becomes the point. And besides, I’m not just wandering around.”

I fell silent for a moment, painfully conscious of the signet in my 7th slot, and suddenly wishing I hadn’t brought it with me. “But does that really drive you?”

He gave me a sharp look. “You’d better believe it does, especially after finding out that the signet really does exist. All these years I’ve looked and looked for something I had no hope for really finding because I didn’t know if I was chasing ghosts. And now, to find out that someone I knew actually had it—that’s just huge. It’s like light at the tunnel’s end.”

“But even if you do capture it, your slavery won’t end. And what damage could your master cause if he had the signet?”

He shrugged again. “No idea. I certainly am not in favor of whatever he would do with the signet, but . . . it’s just hard to explain. I don’t want him to get it, but I want what I’m doing to have purpose, to be more than just wandering around.”

“You just said that the wandering becomes the point, as if you enjoy it.”

“Oh, I do. It’s just—.” He stopped short. A bemused look crossed his face. “I don’t know how to say it. Just knowing the signet is out there somewhere gives me motivation. It adds more dimension and reason to the wandering.”

“Would you stop wandering if you could?”

“I would at least take a rest. Probably visit other lands. Tell me, do you remember Shenan ever mentioning going to Kryta or Tyria?”

“No.”

“Me neither. That must mean he captured the skill somewhere in Elona. I have been through Elona multiple times and never once found anyone that used the skill. Do you have any idea how frustrating that is? Especially since he must have found it somewhere where I’ve been?”

“No.” It was the truth. I’d never been so foiled in all my life. “No. Not really.”

A shrieking heket interrupted our conversation, and we never returned to it. I tried not to think of Bruck’s fruitless search, his enslavement, or of his frustration. I wish there was something I could do to help him. Some way to free him from bondage.

We emerged from the caverns well after nightfall, to a clear, starry sky. Fresh air, warm food, and welcome firelight—in a town not teeming with refugees—capped off the relatively good day.

HezekiahKurtz · May 25, 2007, 04:54 AM // 04:54

Zephyr 9, 1276 DR

I didn’t equip the Signet of Amplification today. I just didn’t foresee any reason I might need it, and didn’t want to risk doing anything stupid.

It was my first foray into Vabbi, and I found the land quite pleasant, if the enemies were not. Sharp, rocky cliffs rise straight out of the ground, certainly carved out by endless years of the shallow yet wide river meandering through its center. At the south end of the valley, after clearing a small fortress guarded by a brutal mob of Margonites, we caught a view of the Fortress of Jahai across a sizeable like. It was too far to tell for sure, but I thought I saw wide blue banners waving in the wind.

It was the first time I have seen rain and rock beetles: small, brown spherical creatures that wailed with high-pitched voices as they contended with us. For how silly they seem, when they roll into balls and smash into your shins, they are tenacious fighters, resistant to physical damage because of their hard shells.

“No sign of the signet,” Bruck said as we entered the Chantry of Secrets before dinner; we’d cleared the entire area out of all the nasty beasties. “Not today. But someday soon.”

I sold off my day’s haul, earning a good amount from a staff with a Rune of Superior Smiting Prayers, and then settled down next to the statue of Dwayna to relax and chew on some jerky. Wez and Sileman joined me, and for a time we looked down on the lazy town in silence. Eventually, Kandra walked by, heading toward the statue of Grenth.

“That’s a fine woman,” Sileman said. He gave Wez a long, steady eye. “How’d a person like you land her?”

Wez gave him a dry look. “What do you have against me?”

He laughed. “Nothing, of course. You’re just so ornery, and she’s so—pleasant.”

The ranger just shook his head and looked down at her.

“Wez doesn’t talk much about himself,” I said. “He hasn’t even told my why he left home, or why he’s satisfied with a wanderer’s life. I know more about Bruck than Wez, if you can believe that.”

“Ah,” Sileman said. He winked at me and grinned. “A man with a past he doesn’t want to share. Enough said.”

“You two are fools,” Wez said. “Young fools, at that—which makes it all the worse.” I couldn’t tell whether he was truly chaffing at our teasing, or playing along.

“Eh, we’re just interest in you,” Sileman said.

He raised his eyebrows. “You mean you’re nosy?”

I shrugged. “I guess it depends on your point of view. You think we’re being nosy.” In the next sentence, I passed from the realm of teasing to the realm of sincerity. “We think we’re being friendly—you’re our friend, we want to know about you, be involved in your life.”

He looked at Sileman and rolled his eyes. In a very sarcastic tone, he said, “And I love you, too, Hez. Will you marry me?”

I chuckled. “How will Kandra take that?”

We sat in silence for several minutes. The sun dipped into the horizon, a shimmering ball of fire. The land glowed yellow.

“I grew up poor,” Wez said, suddenly. He looked to at Sileman and me out of the corner of his eyes, and then looked back at the sunset. “Son of a nobody farmer in Istan. Grew up always wanting something more, something bigger. Only thing to do out there on the farm was to farm or shoot a bow. I wasn’t interested in the first, and as the twelfth child, it was easy for me to slip away and not worry about being caught or noticed. I spent all day, every day practicing. I made my own arrows and bows.” He paused for a moment, and swallowed hard. “I had a little sister who would watch me, and she always told me how good I was, that I was the best in the land. She was just a kid, and didn’t know anything.”

He paused again, clenching his jaws and squinted at the sun. For a moment I thought he would continue on, but then he abruptly stood and hopped down toward the town.

“I don’t think he told us everything,” Sileman said.

I nodded. “I doubt he even started telling us anything.”

HezekiahKurtz · May 30, 2007, 02:39 AM // 02:39

Zephyr 10, 1276 DR

Our hiatus from demons and damned and refugees didn’t last long. This morning before the sun rose—I could hardly believe it when Bruck woke me up so early—we jogged quickly up through the northern part of the Canyons, into Vehtendi Valley. Just inside the area, as the first rays of sunlight angled over the nearby river, and before we even encountered any foes, we happened upon a cluster of tattered tents. The edges of the tent canvas were worn and frayed, and more than one pole was broken and splinted with an extra stick and some rope. Clothes riddled with holes, and looking more dirty than clean, hung on lines stretched between the top of the tent poles. The windswept families looked equally worn, with the women gathering the dirty little children around their skirts, and the men stepping forward as a group to greet us with swords. They looked hardened and able to wield their blades, if not a little tired.

“Easy, friends,” Bruck called to them as we approached, raising his hands in front of him. “We mean no harm to those who mean us no harm.”

They did not lower their weapons. The tallest of them, with a blond beard and bald, sunburned head, said, “Keep your distance, nonetheless. We’re not interested in making any new friends.” As with the other Vabbians we’d met, he spoke with a thick accent, slurring his vowels so that most of them had something of an “eeee” sound in them. It really made him hard to understand.

Bruck motioned for us to stop, and put away our weapons. We stood at least thirty yards away. “May I ask what leads you to greet perfect strangers so defensively?”

The man released a bitter, angry laugh. “It’s these times we live in, and the dark experiences we’ve had.”

“We’ve come from Kourna, and had many of our own dark experiences,” Bruck said.

“Bah! The Kournans had it good. At least their demon did not raze the land and slaughter the defenseless.”

Bruck looked back as us with raised eyebrows. “We’d heard rumors of a demon in Vabbi.”

“Well I’ve seen him with my own eyes, I have. Far, far to the North. He stands a hundred feet tall and his tail can wipe out an entire army with one swipe.”

I could not see Bruck’s face—he stood at the front of our group. But I saw his shoulder muscles tighten beneath his shirt. He clenched his fists. “And you lived to tell?”

“I am one of the few who lived to tell or who did not join him. I have swift feet.”

“Certainly you have seen enough,” Bruck said. “You’d best travel far, far from here if you do not wish to see more.”

He motioned for us to follow him in a wide arc around the tents.

“What’s going on?” I asked Bruck, knowing he’d learned something more from the man than I had.

He shook his head solemnly. “Not right now.”

The men followed us around the perimeter of their camp, and were still watching us by the time we crested and started to descend a ridge.

“So,” Wez said. “We’ve got more fun in store. I’m half inclined to go back to Istan right now.”

“It’s not half as bad as you think,” Bruck said. “What the man saw was no demon. It was the master of a demon.”

Wez immediately swore, and Kandra inhaled sharply. I am not so bright as them, and it took a moment for the information to sink in. When I realized what it meant, I said, “An other-wordly being? Like your master?”

“Yes. Either like my master, or my master.”

“Certainly not your master,” I said. “Wouldn’t you know it?”

He nodded and shrugged, tilting his head to one side. “I know that he is gaining strength in this world, but you’re right—I doubt this one is him. Based on everything that has happened so far, I have every reason to assume it’s my master’s foe.”

“Going back to Istan is sounding better every second,” Wez said.

“Kryta’s a nice place, too,” Sileman said. “Beautiful beaches.”

“Well, what do we do,” I asked Bruck.

“What do you mean? What can we do, other than just continue on with what we’re doing.”

“Isn’t it, you know, dangerous?”

“Of course it is. What are you going to do, stop?”

“What chance do we have against him?”

“It. What chance do we have against it. None, really. But I don’t intend on meeting it.”

“What if he has the Signet?”

“He doesn’t. If he did, you’d know it already. My master would know it.”

“Doesn’t your master want you to kill him? He wanted you to kill Crathlav.”

He shook his head in anger. “Just stop it, Hez. I’m not turning around, and I’m not killing him. Don’t ask me questions I don’t know the answer to.”

“How is he supposed to know if you know the answer or not?” Sileman asked.

Bruck glared at him. “Let’s try to gather as much information as we can about what’s going on. Then we’ll decide which route to take through Vabbi.”

We spent the rest of the day struggling through mobs of behemoths and hekets. We had the chance to exit the area into the Forum Highlands, but Bruck wanted to go back to the Eastern edge, into Yahnur Market. “Fewer bureaucrats,” he said. It was very difficult to get there. Our party almost got wiped twice; only Bruck’s superior retreating skills kept us from all being permanently dead.

“We really need a larger party,” Wez said when we finally cleared the last iboga before the town.

“We’ll find someone to join us here,” Bruck said.

And he was right. In fact, we found three someones to join us.

Koross · May 30, 2007, 03:27 AM // 03:27

Oooh, new characters. Keep it up dude.

Perynne · May 30, 2007, 07:53 AM // 07:53

Can't wait to meet the new characters.

This is really interesting to read!

Sali Su and co. · May 31, 2007, 11:53 AM // 11:53

Your writing style is lovely

I just read it all from the start till now. Couldn't stop :P Good-as

HezekiahKurtz · Jun 01, 2007, 03:32 AM // 03:32

Thanks for the kind words!

__________________________________________________ _______________

Zephyr 11, 1276 DR, Morning

Guel was there in Yahnur Market. It almost seems like he was waiting for us, because no sooner had we entered the town’s generous courtyard, than he walked toward us with intent purpose in his eyes and stride. I saw him from a distance, and succumbed to my first reaction to step to the rear of our group, out of harm’s way. But there was no hiding from the assassin’s tall gazed. He stepped right past Bruck and the others, and stopped right in front of me, his eyes unblinking. I flinched when he raised his hands toward me. Really, I thought, “Well, at least Bruck can always resurrect me.” But Guel did not strike me. He placed his hands on my shoulders, in a grip that made my muscles ache.

“I’m sorry I killed you,” he said.

Stunned, I just stood there, looking up into his earnest face.

“I’m sorry for the venom and for the hatred,” he continued. “And for not believing your side of the story.”

“Isn’t this touching?” Wez said. “Guel has come to his senses.”

The assassin did not look away from me. “You might say that—I learned the truth. I was blinded by rage and disappointment, and wrongly blamed my guild’s problems and losses on Hezekiah.” He released my shoulders, but still did not avert his eyes. “For which I am most regretful.”

A few moments of silence passed between the group. I didn’t know what to do or say. As we stood there in the light of the fading day, I knew I had a choice to make: to forgive or hold a grudge. The man had wanted me dead, and even killed me on one occasion. If it weren’t for a good party, I would not have been brought back. I just wasn’t sure if forgiving his offenses was a simple matter of making a decision, or if it was much, much more than that. At the same time I felt both indignation that he thought he could simply apologize and expect forgiveness, and relief that I had the opportunity to regain a long-time friend. For several seconds, a quiet despair started to rise—a worry that this was not something I could forgive, that it was something that would poison my heart for a long time to come.

“Please forgive me, Hezekiah.”

Very distinctly, as if from the pit of my heart, a quiet, penetrating voice told me that yes, it was simply a matter of deciding to forgive. It was as easy as that. The thought offered a release from the poisoning hatred that threatened with despair.

“It’s okay,” I said. I swallowed hard and nodded. “It’s okay, Guel.”

He laughed and surged forward, wrapping his arms around me and squeezing hard. I returned the embrace. Relief flooded through me. It amazed me—and still does—that as quickly as that, the animosity and hatred could dissolve, as if it had never been. I laughed, as well.

“Well, I think this is cause for celebration,” Sileman said.

“Let’s get slammed,” Wez said.

“I could use a drink,” Bruck said.

“I can out-drink any of you,” Kandra said.

She was right. And I know because I was keeping track; I’m not one that can drink very much without getting sick—I’ve just learned not to have more than one or two pints. Interestingly, the only ones that challenged her were the two women from my guild, Threnon, and Haillia, a Mesmer and an elementalist, respectively. They joined us in the tavern. Sileman embraced them, whispering things into their ears that made them blush, and they greeted me with kisses on my cheeks.

We settled around a long, rectangular table, and Wez started ordering tubs of alcohol.

“Make mine cherry flavored!” Bruck said.

For a moment I ignored the drinking, and looking at the two ladies, said, “I think I’m starting to understand. You two are the ones responsible for Guel’s sudden reasonableness.” They sat directly opposite me, Sileman between them, and Guel next to me. It felt something like a guild reunion.

They smiled at me, and Threnon said, “We came with Guel, and were with him until about a month ago.” Her long, blonde hair fell down around her blue Mesmer garb, framing her long, thin face.

“By then we’d had enough of his dirty jokes,” Haillia said, “and were ready to be rid of him.” She was a tall woman, with her hair cropped up short. She gave Sileman a sly look. “Time has cured us of that.”

“I’ve learned a few more since then,” Sileman said. “But first, let’s order drinks.”

I shook my head—this was not a side of Sileman that I’d ever known—and grinned at Guel. Despite how weird it was to smile at him, it felt good. It felt like old times, like the way things should have been. I marveled that so quickly, by making a simple decision, the loathing had disappeared.

“They found me in the Fortress of Jahai,” he said. “They told me all about what really happened.”

“But they never left the guild,” I said. “The must have originally set out to kill me, too.”

“They did,” Guel said. “I sailed with them; they got off here in Vabbi, and I went on to Istan. Sileman found them some time ago, and convinced them of your innocence.” He shook his head, his face troubled. “When they told me of our error, and our foolishness in believing Korhan, it was like a great fog lifted from my eyes and soul. I could suddenly think clearly, again. I had no desire to be there in the Fortress, and wondered why I’d even come.” He gave me a serious look. “In the next few hours, as I agonized over my mistakes, I started to hear the gibberish whispering you’d talked about. I felt that dread you said came with the whispering.”

“That’s odd,” I said.

He nodded. “It was like my anger toward you made me susceptible to the demon’s whispering. I wouldn’t have expected that.”

We were distracted from the conversation by the barmaid, a husky lady who demanded with hands on her hips to know what we would be drinking. We drank and talked long into the night, made plans for the coming days. It’s late in the morning, now. Everyone is awake except for Bruck, who apparently has a very hard time getting up the morning after a good party. When he wakes up, we’ll see if he’s up for a little PvE.

HezekiahKurtz · Jun 06, 2007, 03:27 AM // 03:27

Zephyr 11, 1276 DR, Evening

By the time Bruck got up well after noon, a large influx of ragged people had arrived in the Market. They came from the North, from a place called the Holdings of Chokhin, telling stories of a demon that had arisen from the desolation of deserts to the West, bringing with it a terrible army of lesser demons and men.

There were no fewer than three hundred of the refugees, and this time the word refugees seemed to have true meaning, as they told horror stories of how the demon and its army had come without warning, had not given the princes of the North a chance to organize a resistance. They had fled with their families, some from the field, some from the roofs of their houses, others leaving family and friend behind. Most of the weak and the slow had perished with those that had stayed to fight—that is, if they had not agreed to serve in the dark army. The demon had offered clemency to anyone who joined its force, and slaughtered anyone that would not.
Only a few had been allowed to live, told by the leader to spread word throughout the land of the coming reckoning.

The people of Yahnur welcomed the refugees with an outpouring of generosity, offering them food and shelter and clothing. My companions and I aided them as best we could, giving comfort to those who mourned their lost loved ones, feeding the hungry, and distracting the children with games. I practically emptied my pockets to purchase cloth for several dozen children—from age two to age fifteen—who had lost their parents. The little ones clung to the teenagers, buried their faces in their surrogate parents’ chests in a now familiar, yet fruitless effort to find comfort. Their hollow, sunken eyes spoke of terrors they had seen, their haunted tears of memories they could not bear or forget.

As the morning turned into afternoon, and with every look into the tired, haggard faces of those who had not know rest through a week of fleeing, a resolve seeped into my bones. It flooded my veins as I held one young girl—no older than eight—and she looked into my face with tired, bloodshot eyes and said, “I want to sleep, but I can’t. I only dream of fire, and of the burning eyes.”

When Bruck awoke, he quickly set to work helping where possible—it immediately became apparent that we would not be going anywhere today. We helped through the afternoon and into the evening, and when the people had finally settled down in the spacious courtyards, and in every available room in the city, my party gathered in a circle on the northern outskirts of the town, around a harsh, comfortless fire.

Our conversation immediately turned to the demon, and to the impending slaughter that would no doubt happen among the Vabbians, and then the Kournans and other peoples.

“We have to do something to stop this,” I said. “We cannot sit idly by.”

“Hezekiah,” Bruck said, “I promise you that we cannot stand against this being.”

“Then who will stand against it?”

“Will? Or can? For I know of no power that can.”

“Well, then,” Wez said. “We may as well lay down and die, right now.”

“Truthfully,” Bruck said, “that may spare you a great deal of eventual pain. You have heard the tales of these people. There are none that can stand against the might of this being. You join it, or die.”

“But they were not organized. They were not ready,” I said. “The princes and their armies could not stop this being because they were relatively small in number, and unprepared. We are wasting our time looking for your signet, or exploring the land. We should be raising armies, gathering strength. Vabbi may be lost, but Istan and Kourna are not. And what of Tyria? Or Cantha? Can we not raise armies to fight this inexorable evil?”

“I am not keeping you with me,” Bruck said. “You may leave at any time to do as you wish. Any of you can.” He looked at the two ladies from my guild. “There are two of you that have not yet even joined the party. Perhaps you should not—but go and follow Hezekiah. I have my own unsavory responsibilities, and I must heed them.”

A heavy silence fell around the solemn circle. Several of my party members looked anxiously between Bruck and I. Others simply examined the fire or the dark surroundings. A think tension wafted among us.

Truly, the temptation to leave the party was nearly irresistible. The thought of that little girl . . . of those chidren . . . . Something had to be done. On the precipice of such a monumental, world-changing struggle, how could I simply explore the land in search of something I already had, to aid a being as terrible as the one that now threatened the entire land? How could I not do something greater, something more important to try and protect the kingdoms, cities, and families of the human race?

There are others, a quiet part of my heart told me—others who are called to do the things you think of—to raise armies and to rally the people. Rhonan. The Warmarshal. It was their station and responsibility to gather the people of Kourna. Mine was another role, to do a different thing. I wondered, as I stood there, looking at the solemn faces of my companions, what my responsibility was. What my role in this battle was to be.

Your role, that same part of my soul said, is to cry the voice of warning to the people. Send them south, to Kourna, where they can gather in strength and prepare for a time when they can face this being with hope and sufficient strength.

That thought—that mission—struck deeply into my heart, and I knew immediately it was what I needed to do.

“I’m not leaving the party,” I said. “My path lies with you, Bruck. For the present time, anyway.”

I heard several long and slow exhales from my party members, and a quick glance around revealed relieved faces. Although the tension lessened, its aftertaste lingered, and I knew the disagreements were not at an end.

“Very well,” the monk said. “Tomorrow morning we will leave here. Although I am not sure what path to take. I know we don’t want to meet the being, but I am unsure whether it will come down the East or West side of the nation. From Chokhin, it could do either.”

“The Resplendent Makuun is about as far away from the Holdings of Chokhin as anything,” Sileman said.

“Are there people there?” I asked. I needed people to warn. Lots of people.

“Sure.” He shrugged. “As many as anywhere else but the Western edge. But I don’t think we want to go there quite yet.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Bruck said. “Any arguments?” He looked around the circle. “Very well—we’ll leave before the sun rises. I suggest you all get some rest.” With that, he gave us all one last look—his gaze lingering on me for just a moment longer than on the others—and turned to walk away.

HezekiahKurtz · Jun 08, 2007, 02:42 AM // 02:42

Zephyr 12, 1276 DR

True to Bruck’s words, we left before sunrise, before most of the refugees had awakened. It’s amazing the difference a full party makes. Navigating the environment of Resplendent Makuun went much more smoothly than Vehtendi Valley. Of course, with two completely new party members we had some kinks to work out at first, but it didn’t take long for us to settle in to a groove. Without a second monk in the party, I didn’t bring along any offensive skills, and spent the day doing my best to supplement Bruck’s healing. Really, it was tiring work.

We explored most of the area during the day, failing only to reaching the caves in the Northern part. A towering resort sits virtually in the center of the area, rising out of the dust and rocks like a monument to opulence and wealth. Its outer stone walls—functional, yet elegant—belie the extravagant carpets, banners, and furniture of every imaginable color inside.

“Where have you come from?” a guard asked us at the day’s end, as we sought entrance. He and another dozen men and women stood with spears and shields. I could see another twenty heading our way from deeper inside the palace.

“Just from Yahnur Market,” Bruck said. “We need a place to stay for the night. In the past I have not been welcomed with spears when coming to this resort to seek shelter from the elements.”

“What is your business?” the guard asked. He looked us over with lazy eyes. The calm, even look on his face made me uncomfortable, gave me an uneasy feeling. All of the other guards seemed intent on us—very interested in looking us over. In general, his expression and body language gave the impression of not caring or wanting us to be gone. Very unlike a guard—a good guard, anyway. I immediately did not trust him.

“We just need a place to stay.”

“Where are you headed?”

“We are travelers. We will head North from here, tomorrow morning.”

“You were in Yanur Market,” the guard continued. “You heard the stories of the refugees we sent there?”

“Some stories, yes.”

“You believe them.”

Bruck paused for a moment, a confused look crossing his face. “I am not sure what reason we have to not believe them.”

“You have no reason. They are just some of the refugees. Others—hundreds more—are gathered here; we simply could not keep them all. There are more in every city and settlement between here and the Chokhin. Do you know anything of the demons of which they speak?”

“We know something of demons,” Bruck said. “We have come from Kourna, from Gandara, where we helped defeat a demon.”

A rumble of quiet talk rippled through the body of guards, and they looked at us more closely. Some strained to see us over others’ shoulders. Still, the guard questioning us showed no extraordinary interest in us.

“You have come from Gandara?” he continued.

“Yes.”

“Why have you come here?”

“We’re simply traveling. We want to see the land.”

“I think you’re asking the wrong questions,” a feeble voice from behind the group of guards said. The group split down the middle, and from my vantage standing directly behind Bruck I saw a short, aged woman leaning on a staff at the rear of the group. She started to walk forward, through the midst of the guards. She wore long, silken robes of bright red, embroidered and edged with dark purple designs. The robes swished like the wind as she walked. “I think you should be asking them their names. Or have you forgotten your instructions already, Polblan?”

The guard that had been conversing with Bruck straightened as the woman neared him. “I remember, my lady.”

She stopped in front of him, and with a smile looked up into his face. “We have here a monk, a paragon, a ranger, a warrior, and a ritualist. Do you not remember being told to look for a such a group.”

“I do. But there are three others, as well. I thought they could not be the group.”

She grinned patiently. “Well—ask them. Ask them their names.”

Polblan turned back to Bruck. “Might I inquire as to your names?”

“I am Bruck.” He then pointed at each of us, giving off our names. A clamor arose in the ranks of the guards. Polblan’s face grew increasingly pale with each name.

“You see,” the woman said. “You have the demon-slayer in your midst, and you did not even know it.” She turned to Bruck. “Welcome to our humble home. We’ve been waiting for you. Please, come with me.”

She turned and without a word led us through the gates and the midst of the guards, into the archways and pillars of the palace courtyard. Domed towers rose all around us, and our feet tapped on a delicately tiled floor. A cool breeze wafted through the open-aired space. Statues of graceful women, tapestries—even one of a dragon, such as adorns the walls of Ascalon—of intricate patters, and walls of topaz stone decorated the resort. The corridors and streets were crowded with mobs of people, most of whom did not seem to be heading in any particular direction. They milled about in now familiar groups of refugees, many sitting on elaborate couches or colorful blankets. Many turned to observe us as we followed the woman. I saw many of them lean close to each other to whisper and point at us. More than once I heard that phrase that made me somewhat uncomfortable: demon-slayer.

“Why have you been waiting for us?” Bruck said to her to the woman as we passed above a pristine pool in which children played.

“We received word two days ago, by courier,” she said, not looking back. “The message came from a trusted friend of Prince Walkann, and told of the happenings in Kourna. Of course, we already knew much of it—word spreads quickly—but we learned of many details we had not known about, before.”

“With all due respect,” I said, “that does not explain how you knew we were coming.”

She stopped and turned to look at me. “You are him, aren’t you? You are the demon-slayer.”

Wez muttered something inaudible. I imagine he was mocking that title, which I don’t blame him for doing. I certainly don’t like having it. I swallowed hard. “How did you know we were coming?”

“The message said you would be coming within a week.”

“Who sent the message?” Bruck asked.

“Rohnan.”

“And did the message say why it was so important for us to come?”

She started walking again, still several paces ahead of us. “It did.”

After several seconds, when she did not expound, Bruck said, “And? Why was it important?”

“Because the demon-slayer will instruct us on what to do.”

Bruck gave me a surprised look, his brow furrowed and the corner of his eyes wrinkling. Behind us, Wez chuckled. I turned and gave him as dirty a look as I could muster. All of them—from Sileman to Wez to Kandra—were grinning at me stupidly. Sileman mouthed “demon-slayer” and widened his eyes in mock awe. I wanted to smack him.

Without further conversation, the woman led us through the palace, into a room flowing with long, thin banners that rippled in a slight breeze from an open balcony. At the room’s end, on a pedestal, on what I think certainly classifies as a throne, sat Prince Walkann, a portly, soft looking man dressed in clothes so fine that for a moment I thought he was a woman. An entourage of twenty or thirty people stood throughout the chamber, looking at us in solemn silence.

“This is the group,” the woman announced as we approached the throne. “These are the ones Rohnan said would be coming.” She motioned for us to stop at the first step, and ascended to stand next to the prince. She jabbed a bony finger in my direction. “That one is the demon-slayer.”

The Prince did not move, but looked at us in quiet consideration.

“Demon-slayer!” Sileman whispered behind me. “Ooooo!”

“Do not speak!” the Prince said. Despite the size and height of the room, his stern, deep voice did not echo—the draping banners swallowed it whole. For at least a full minute he looked at us, each in turn. I shifted nervously, wondering what else Rhonan’s message had contained. I had no idea what I was to instruct them to do, or why Rhonan thought I would know. A steady nervousness rose in the pit of my stomach.

Finally the prince spoke. “Rhonan is a good friend,” he said. “I know him well and trust him deeply—although he is something of an extremist. But these refugees and the tales they tell—they are cause to worry. I am inclined to do as Rhonan says we should. Tell me, demon-slayer—where were you when you last saw Rhonan?”

My answer came as nothing more than a squeak. “Gandara.” What was I supposed to instruct them to do?

“And tell me—do you know where he is now?”

“I only know that he was headed toward the Fortress of Jahai. Whether he made it there or not, I have no idea.”

“You did not pass into Vabbi via the fortress?”

“No, we traveled through the Bahdok Caverns.”

“One last question. What should I do?”

Desperately—feeling strongly that this was very important, that if I did not tell them the right thing to do there would be dire results—I searched my mind and heart. Fear came alive inside of me, hollering into my head that I had to say the right thing, down to the word. I longed for that voice that had told me I could forgive Guel, the same one that had told me what my role in this war would be. And as I searched for the voice, as I flailed for an answer, it came to me what I should say, as clearly as if someone had bored a hole into my head and poured water into my brain. Pure intelligence flowed into me. Somehow I just knew. “Take every person you want to live—or that wants to live—and flee to the Fortress of Jahai.” All of me worry had disappeared as I’d spoken the words. I knew they were the right ones.

Expressionless, the Prince looked at me—again for nearly a full minute without speaking. Finally, he said, “Yabith, spread word that the palace will be evacuated in two days. Everyone who wishes to have a chance of survival is going to the Fortress of Jahai.”

“Very well,” the old lady said. She motioned to people behind my group, and the room exploded into action.

“Thank you, demon-slayer,” the prince said. “Forgive me for not entertaining you myself during your stay, but I believe I have a great deal of work to get done in the next few days. My servants will see that you are well cared for tonight.”

He was right. We ate better than I have eaten since Gandara, and I enjoyed the meal despite the teasing and harassment over my unwanted title. As we sat around the table, devouring the lamb and beef steaks, my party members questioned me about how I had known what to say, and why I had said that. I could only shake my head and assure them that I made a lucky guess. I dared not tell them the ideas bouncing around in my head, the theories I was making and discarding as I sought to understand what was happening to me. Because—I knew—something was happening. The way I had forgiven Guel—and truly, I feel no bitterness in my heart—I don’t think I could have done on my own. The realization that my role in the war was to sound a voice of warning—I would never think of that of my own accord. And how I had known just what to say to the prince—that was certainly not something I had thought up by myself. I knew, as I ate quietly in the midst of my party’s boisterous talking and eating, that those things were not mine. They were not me.

Rhonan had told me to heed the voices in my heart. Shenan spoke of the voices all around us all of the time—both good and evil. I am confident that it is one of those voices that I am hearing, that is feeding me knowledge. I am not sure how I can determine for sure what is going on, but I intend to find out.

HezekiahKurtz · Jun 13, 2007, 03:01 AM // 03:01

Zephyr 12, 1276 DR, continued

After writing my journal entry I stepped outside of the suite our party was occupying, to get some fresh air on the balcony. Curtains closed behind me, shutting in the soft yellow glow of lanterns. The night was cool and a soft breeze made me shiver. Dark clouds were moving in, concealing half of the starry sky and threatening to hide the moon in just a few minutes. I leaned on the railing of the balcony, looked out over the walls and the cliffs below. A slight queasiness touched my stomach, and I suppressed the nauseating sensation of vertigo; I imagine that falling over the edge would lead to a drop of nearly two hundred feet, and a messy end on jagged rocks. I could hear, in the distance, music playing and the dull roar of a crowd. The scent of barbeque touched my nose.

I stepped out to the balcony be alone, to seek the voice. After several minutes of thinking, of searching inside, I called out to it. At first I only did so in my mind, beckoning and asking the voice if it was there, and if it would make itself known. Soon it occurred to me that it could not read my mind, and so I said aloud, “Are you there?” I felt silly in the moments as I listened, knowing that usually only crazy people heard voices. Only bona fide lunatics ones sought them out.

The touch of golden light illuminated the balcony, and I turned to see a figure standing less than ten feet away, in an open space between the curtains, holding them apart. I could not tell who it was other than that it wore armor, so I turned and stood up straight.

“Yes?” I said.

The figure let the curtains fall closed, and for a moment as my eyes adjusted to the new darkness I still could not tell who the person was. But then, by the moonlight, I recognized the man. It was Polblan, the guard from earlier in the day—the one who had apparently failed in his duty to recognize my party.

I stepped forward—I imagine that one step saved my life—and raised my hand to shake his, but he sprung forward, a short blade ringing, glinting in the starlight. He took me completely by surprise—I am not ashamed to say it; I had no reason not to trust him—and at such a short distance the element of surprise offers a great advantage. He collided with me, wrapping one arm around my neck and thrusting his blade up and into my abdomen with a short, barbaric shout. The familiar squish of steel penetrating flesh and sliding past bone accompanied a cold, piercing pain through my stomach and chest.

I fell backward, crying out in shock and pain. My shoulders struck the railing behind me, knocking the breath out of me and sending another bolt of pain through my body. I am certain that if I had not taken that one step forward, I would have hit the railing at the hips or lower back, and fallen backwards over the edge. The guard’s chest weighed down on me, pressing me into the railing as he pulled the dagger out, and then with another grunt inserted it into my belly. I tried to push him off with my arms and legs, and to roll out from beneath him, but between having no breath and two deep wounds, my efforts proved fruitless. My vision started to blur. The rabid, angry face of Polblan, only inches from my own face, started to fade.

Faintly, from behind Polblan’s form, I saw a fuzzy glow from the chambers within. A voice called out. Healing filled me, numbing the pain, inflating my lungs with air and bringing my vision back into focus. Sweat beaded on Polblan’s face. His teeth clenched in a rotten, yellow scowl and his heavy breath filled my nose with the stench of decay. He stabbed me a third time, but not before I had gathered enough strength to push him upwards. My effort, combined with Guel’s—he had come onto the balcony with Bruck, and had reached me and also pushed the guard upward—lifted the man off of my body, toward the cliff. His cold breastplate smashed into my face, pushing my head back as he rolled in the direction of the cliff. He still had a grip on the hilt of his blade, so the dagger sliced up into my ribs, forcing a scream of agony from my lips. As Guel pushed him over the edge, the pressure in my chest lessened. With my head still craned backward, I watched Polblan tumble and flail down.

He never struck the rocks, though. As he fell his body shifted and transformed, growing longer in the white moonlight. With the snapping of buckles and the creaking of bending armor, his clothes ripped off of his body, his armor sprang away from him. Wings sprouted from his shoulders, stretching wide and catching the air with a sound like that of a sheet spreading over a bed. Fear surged as I watched him ride the wind upward. The whispering gibberish, now so familiar, filled my head so loudly that I almost didn’t feel the blade being ripped from my body, or notice the healing mending my wounds.

I rolled to my right, catching the railing with my hands and seeing for the first time that Wez was also with Guel and Bruck. The curtains were open and the lamps from within darkened the forms of a few others coming out to the balcony. But my mind was not on them—it was on my assailant. It rose rapidly back toward the balcony, claws stretched out. The details of its shifting, demonic face grew clearer every instant. Just in time I pushed back and away from the railing. The demon shot past me, the wind from its wings stirring the air around the balcony with a reeking swirl of wind. I fell to the floor hard, a stinging rising through my tailbone.

Wez loosed a volley of arrows, but the demon dodged most of them as it drifted out and away from the balcony. One did catch it in the wing, and it screeched in anger until it stopped a good fifty feet out from us. As it hovered there, its wings beating so rapidly they blurred, the clouds passed over the moon. The whispering gibberish continued, but at that distance, in that light, I could not see the demon’s mouth moving, or whether it was a second mouth that breathed out a vile promise to me and my group.

“My master will hear of this!” The smooth, hissing voice pierced my courage with each syllable. “It will know of you, will pursue you, and you will turn to ash beneath its burning gaze!”

Wez loosed another arrow, but before it even reached the demon, the creature had turned and started to sail upward and away, to the West. In just a few moments, the darkness consumed it.

“Lyssa’s grace!” Wez cursed.

In one hand Guel held the dagger that had injured me. He reached out his other hand and helped me stand. He shook his head as he did so, and said, “Demon-slayer? Try lucky demon-slayer.”

Bruck stood looking over the edge of the balcony. “I can’t imagine,” he said, “there would have been much left of you after a fall like that. In the dark we probably couldn’t have found you, anyway. By morning it would have been too late. There would have been no bringing you back.”

By then, the last few members of my party stood on the balcony, or looking out from the chambers inside. I could not read their expressions—like me, they probably did not know what to think. I just stood there looking at them in stunned silence, not knowing what to say, trying to cope with what had just happened.

“What’s going on Hez?” Kandra asked. “What aren’t you telling us?”

I shook my head and spread my hands out in front of me. “I—.”

“I did not know,” Bruck said, “that demons could take human form.” He looked ponderously out in the direction the demon had flown. “It’s a most disturbing revelation.” He turned his gaze back to the group, and raised his eyebrows.

“Oh hell!” Wez said. “You’re not suggesting that one of us—.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I am certainly not. But I think that from here on out, we take special care whenever we meet someone new.” He nodded toward the chamber. “We should rest before tomorrow.”

The others turned and stepped back into the room. As he did so, Guel clapped a hand on my shoulder, handed me the dagger—hilt toward me—and said, “I think you deserve this.” When they had all gone back inside, Bruck turned to me, but did not immediately speak.

“Thank you,” I said. “For the healing and distracting them from Kandra’s question.”

He accepted the gratitude with a nod. “I . . . .”

I saw worry in his face, heard it in his voice. “I am dedicated to the party,” I said. “You are the leader, and as long as I am not helping your master—as long as we are fighting this other-worldly being—I will follow you.” I only felt a small twinge of guilt at the little white lie; really I was committed to warning the hell out of the Vabbians.

For a moment he looked me hard in the eye, and I worried what he would say. But then a grin cracked his face. “That means a lot coming from the demon-slayer.”

HezekiahKurtz · Jun 15, 2007, 04:01 AM // 04:01

Zephyr 13, 1276 DR

We were not the first to leave in the morning. Large groups of refugees headed out before us, to the South. We headed North, into a set of caverns that eventually opened up into the Wilderness of Bahdza, an area of deep gorges and steep, stone-walled corridors. The harpies there gave us little trouble, as did the Hekets and great beasts. Occasionally a party member died, but it was never anything that really threatened us, as Bruck always brought him or her back to life in just a few moments.

As we emerged from the maze of canyons, the Citadel of Dzagon presented itself in the distance. It’s practically a sprawling structure, reaching out on the right and on the left with walls and increasingly smaller levels on top of one another. They climax in the center, several hundred feet into the air and built into the mountainside. This is the kind of place I originally set out to see. When I fled my guild and looked for something to do, something to keep me safe while I figured out how to spend my life—it was places like this that made me decide to travel through all of Elona. It was places like this that made me leave Ascalon in the first place, all those years ago.

Bruck motioned for us to stop and rest at a shrine. The day was growing old, the sun lowering in the sky toward the top-most domes of the city. I would have been content to sit there until after sunset, to watch the sky glow around those towers and then fade into blackness. I didn’t know what would happen ounce we arrived there; Rhonan’s messenger, the one that warned Prince Walkann of my coming, had apparently traveled on the city, to also warn its people of my coming.

“I wonder what kind of reception we will have here,” Guel said as we stood at the edge of the shrine. The others sat or stood nearby, their attention caught by the assassin’s comment. “I wonder if they are expecting you, too.”

I shrugged, a little uncomfortable with the entire thing. If they were expecting me, my work could go as easily as it had at the Resplendent Makuun. If not, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. I didn’t know if I would stand on a street corner and shout out my warnings to the people, like some apocalyptical street preacher—and I didn’t know if I had the courage to do that—or if I would seek audience with the city leaders and try to convince them to flee with the citizens of their fair fortress.

“What does it feel like?” he asked me. “What’s going on in your head?”

I chuckled. “It feels like I don’t have any control. I don’t know what’s going on, really. I only know that this demon—this other-worldly being—isn’t going to be easy like the last one. Like the one in Gandara.”

“That was easy?” Wez asked. “I can think of three people that wouldn’t say so.”

“Well, easy may not be the right word. That demon wasn’t out to slaughter everyone. For whatever reason, that demon and the others we encountered just sat back and waited for people to come to them. They built their force . . . and then didn’t do anything with it. Just waited.”

“They were following orders, I imagine,” Bruck said. “Waiting for the other-worldly being to issue commands. Perhaps it was not ready. Perhaps it was building strength.”

I nodded. “But now that it has lost in Kourna, it must take action regardless of its strength.”

“It sounds strong enough,” Guel said. “Those refugees tell some frightening tales.”

“But something isn’t right,” Bruck said. “All of Kourna was filled with refugees. People traveling to places and congregating just because they felt it was the right thing to do. But here it’s not like that. The only refugees are the ones whose homes have been destroyed. It’s like the good and the evil are not being separated here, like they were in Kourna.”

“Sounds like the being--.” Wez stopped in mid-sentence. “We need a name for it. It’s cumbersome to call it ‘the other-worldly being.’”

“What kind of name do you give something like that?” Kandra asked. She focused her eyes on him with a smile. In that glance, more than I have ever seen in her before, I saw affection and dedication. For a moment I longed to have that gaze directed at me, but I pushed the feeling down and away. I have no time for such frivolous matters such as love and affection, and no reason to try and steal that favor from Wez.

“What is your master named?” Sileman asked Bruck.

He shook his head and frowned with a solemn expression. “I will not utter that name here.”

Kitten. The word sounded clearly in my head, spoken by that voice. Name it Kitten. I did not know why, but it felt very important. “How about Kitten,” I suggested. “Let’s name it Kitten.”

A nervous laughter filtered through the party.

Wez said, “I was thinking along the lines of Demolisher. Or Bane. How about Satan?”

“No, no,” I said. Truly, those names felt wrong, and in the next moment the reason came to me. “We should not give it a name that inspires fear. That only gives it more power over us. Let’s make it as harmless as we can.” I searched within for the voice, called out to it to make itself more known, but received no answer.

Wez shrugged. “Very well. Kitten. As I was saying, it sounds like rather than gathering the damned to a central place, Kitten is simply using a force of demons and men to conscript people to its service, and building an army that way.”

“Plus,” Bruck said. “It . . . Kitten.” He looked at me and shook his head with a roll of his eyes. “Kitten may have some advantage by keeping its unwitting followers hidden. It may be to its advantage to only make them known at a future point—perhaps at the fulcrum of a pivotal battle. It could be ugly if half of the Vabbian population suddenly decides to switch sides.”

Almost on cue, as if our conversation had summoned it, a potent, tactile fear surrounded us, coming from the South and accompanied by a distinct, unintelligible whispering. The feeling and voice were so strong, so immediate, that we all leapt to our feet, and yanked out our weapons. I even used Brace Yourself! and Bruck cast Healer’s Boon before we could evaluate what was really happening—which was nothing. As quickly as it had arisen, the whispering and dread disappeared. They made me feel filthy, grimy, like I needed a good bath.

After a few moments of silence, Haillia said, “It went that way, didn’t it?” She pointed to the North, toward the Citadel.

“I think,” Bruck said, “that we will stay here tonight. I’d rather not head down to the city knowing that a demon is down there—or passed through recently.”

“We can handle a little demon,” Sileman said. His eyes sparkled mischievously. “Well, Hezeiah can, anyway.”

I grinned at him, trying to look patient. “It’s getting old, already.”

“But it’s good material,” Sileman said.

We did not settle in for the night quite then; the shock and suddenness of the event left us on edge until well after dark. Eventually we set up camp—as much as we could without building a fire—and arranged watches. I will have the second watch, and should get some sleep before then.

Koross · Jun 15, 2007, 08:23 AM // 08:23

ALL SHALL FEAR THE MIGHTY AND EVIL ... kitten!

Awesome Stuff dude, keep it up!

HezekiahKurtz · Jun 20, 2007, 03:31 AM // 03:31

Zephyr 14, 1276 DR, Morning

Last night I spent my watch with Guel, talking quietly for several hours in the still darkness, looking out at the twinkling lights of the citadel in the distance. The others slept around the base of the shrine, nothing more than dark lumps on the ground. Occasionally, Kandra snorted and snored, or Sileman muttered something, but in general only the quiet sound of the night insects and a soft, warm breeze touched our ears.

“Can you believe how far we are from home?” Guel said. “How long we’ve been gone.”

“I can’t imagine what it must be like there, now,” I said. “After that Searing.”

“I sometimes think of going home.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“You know—just to see everyone and everything, again.”

“I can’t imagine it would be like you remember it, or that very many people would still be there. For all you know, they fled to Kryta.”

“So you’re never going back?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought much about it.”

He sighed. In the darkness I couldn’t see his face, but I have heard that sigh before. Many times. I knew he was looking blankly out into the darkness. “I think about home a lot.”

I didn’t know how to respond. My mind was too absorbed in current happenings to think much about the past or distant places.

“Everything was simpler then,” he said. “Once we left, everything got complicated. Even before we joined the guild and got involved in all of those politics—things just got more difficult.”

“So, you don’t really long for home—you long for simplicity.”

He chuckled. “Maybe.”

“Well, sure. Things were simple back in Ascalon because we were kids. We lived with our parents. They took care of most stuff for us, did the real worrying for the family. But once you leave that haven, once your parents aren’t there to protect you or make sure you have what you need, things get complicated. It would have been the same if we’d stayed at home, found some fertile girls, gotten married and had a slew of kids. Things would have gotten more complicated, and you would have longed for the good old days when you lived at home.”

He laughed quietly again, and said, “Actually, a fertile woman and a slew of kids sounds pretty good right now.”

He couldn’t see it, but I shook my head. “I think if you went home, now, you’d be disappointed. Things wouldn’t be simple. They’d be complicated. You don’t want Ascalon, want that period in your life.”

“Well, thanks, Hez,” he said. “You’ve ruined my plans.” He clapped me on the shoulder and we had a good laugh for a minute.

Later on, closer to the end of our watch, our conversation took another serious turn. He said, “I think you’re lucky that you got involved with Bruck when you arrived here.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t need to tell you. He’s good and fair. A little grouchy, sure, but generally a good man. He stood up for you when he didn’t have to.”

“Well, good party members are hard to find,” I said, meaning that Bruck had to keep me around because it would be hard for him to replace me. I don’t think Guel got the joke.

“And Kandra and Wez—they’re extraordinarily skilled. And loyal. All three of them are loyal to each other and to the party, to the people around them. You got damn lucky.”

I did not respond immediately. I thought of when I’d first met them, and the things we’ve experienced together. Finally, I said, “You’re right. They’re good folk. I am lucky. We’ve met a lot of good people in our travels, but there aren’t many—if any—that I’d rather have in my party than the people I’m with right now. I just hope it never reaches the point of having to split from them.”

“What do you mean?”

I shrugged in the darkness and shook my head. “Well, what do we do if it reaches the point that staying with Bruck means helping his master.”

“We’re already helping his master.”

“Well, sure, but by fighting demon, we’re also helping everyone, everywhere. What about when we’ve defeated Kitten.” I chuckled to myself, imagining our entire party battling a little cat. “What then?”

“There’s always the arenas,” he said.

I could not tell if he was serious or not, but my response definitely was. “No, thank you. Not interested.”

He laughed, and then I knew the arena had been a joke.

Our watch ended not long later, with Threnon and Haillia replacing us with the usual complaints about getting up so early. I was glad to slip back into the warmth of the blanket, and fall asleep to the quite chirping of crickets, thinking that the discussion with Guel made things seem like olden times.

HezekiahKurtz · Jun 22, 2007, 03:24 AM // 03:24

Zephyr 18, 1276 DR

It has been some days since I last wrote in my journal. Things have happened fast, and we have spent a great deal of time on the run. We are resting now—probably in safety, although one never knows—and I have a little time to recount some of what has happened.

In fact, I am lucky to be writing this moment, and have only a little light left before I won’t be able to see the page or my pen. The daylight is fading, and we don’t dare light a fire for fear that Bruck and his party will spot us. We do not know if they are near or far, but they are certainly vigilant. As it is, only the angel’s aid has saved the few of us that remain. With any luck, I will live long enough to write the entirety of what has happened.

HezekiahKurtz · Jun 27, 2007, 03:33 AM // 03:33

Zephyr 19, 1276 DR

I finally have a chance to write the history of what has happened in the past week. So much has transpired, and so much has changed. It seems like so far away, like a different life in a long-past time, but I will make an effort. I feel it is very important that my version of the story be written.

An uneasy feeling soaked into my skin as we approached the Citadel of Dzagon in the pre-dawn grayness. I kept waiting to hear whispering and to feel the unease change to open dread. But it never did, and so with that discomfort growing every second, we entered the citadel not knowing what to expect. Sileman and Wez suggested that we leave immediately, feeling that the risk of something drastic happening was too high, but I insisted that we continue and Bruck was willing to find out what, if anything, was going on in the city.

“We’ll leave at the first sign of trouble,” he promised. I hoped before that happened I would have the chance to warn the people that they should flee to the Fortress of Jahai.

We walked through the stone-paved streets under the strict guard of two dozen soldiers. Interestingly—unnervingly, really—they had expected us, and indicated that they would take us to their captain at the top of the city, as they had been instructed to do. While the wide streets and pathways were not crowded, enough people walked them that when random individuals started to call out that “they are here!” the cry hurried on before us. The further we walked, and the higher up into the fortress, the more crowded the streets became. Men and women streamed out of their houses to see us, many of them watching us pass with dark, angry expressions, and just as many observing with nothing more than curiosity. None ever called out to us, or said anything in our direction. But the buzz of the crowd quickly become loud enough that I could not speak to my party members without raising my voice.

“They’re following us,” Sileman said as we reached the top of a set of stairs. He pointed back down the way we’d come. Sure enough, a quick glance back showed that a crowd had gathered and crept forward after us. It stretched down the street as for as there were buildings and cobblestone. The sun was just peeking over the western peaks.

“I think this constitutes trouble,” Wez said. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Don’t be a sissy,” Kandra said. “There are just as many people in that crowd that don’t want us dead as do.”

“That’s comforting,” Wez said.

“They won’t let us go, anyway,” Bruck said. “It’s too late for us to do anything except find out what this captain wants with us.”

Before long we had reached the topmost level of the city: a small courtyard with a fountain in the back. The city and wilderness spread out below us. The morning sunlight shone bright on the stones. The mountain rose up to the West, as much a shrine to nature as the beautifully crafted, carefully engineered city was a monument to the ingenuity and genius of man. A cool wind blew; the air smelled fresh despite the unease and nervousness it seemed to carry.

We were ordered to stop at the top of the stairs, only a few paces along, facing no fewer than two hundred soldiers crammed into the courtyard. They stood in perfect rows with their spears pointed directly up, and their shields held tightly to their sides. They all had small triangles of red cloth attached to the tip of their spears, which danced and played in concert with the wind. The soldiers who had escorted us lined up in two rows at the top of the stairs, and assumed the same rigid poses. Three men, also arrayed in armor and battle attire, and only fifteen feet away from me and my group, stood facing us.

“I wonder which of them is the demon,” Guel whispered to me.

His comment did not help my already nervous heartbeat. I searched inside of myself for the voice, listened carefully to my thoughts for direction.

The three men stepped mechanically toward us, their feet falling in unison. The front-most wore a bright red cape, clasped at his neck in a miniature, golden shield. The other two wore dull yellow capes that rustled in the wind, also clasped by the same tiny shields. As they marched toward us, the din of the crowd quickly fell to a quiet hum, the kind where you and no one near you is speaking, but many people must be, else there would not be that dull, quiet murmur. They stopped immediately in front of us, facing Bruck. I stood behind him. Wez and Kandra stood on my sides. The rest of the group stood behind us.

The captain looked us over without blinking, as did his companions. Long, thin flags—also red triangles—flapped in the wind. They were attached at the top of tall poles placed at even lengths along the front of the courtyard, overlooking the stone expanse below.

Finally, the captain spoke to our party leader. “I have half a mind to execute you all on this very spot.”

Bruck did not respond. If he was as stunned and devastated as me, he did not show it on his expressionless face. I was surprised not to hear any swearing from Wez.

“I do not know why,” the captain continued when he got no answer. “The urge came last night. And my wife, as well, awoke from her sleep, complaining of nightmares about you, and wishing me to slay you when you arrived. And no small number of my soldiers have, since nightfall yesterday, warned me that I should have nothing to do with you.”

Breathing heavily, I tried to calculate our odds of surviving this situation if we had to fight, and gave up very quickly.

“But these two men,” the captain said, nodding once in the direction of each man behind him, “advise against it. They say you have done nothing wrong.”

Bruck still did not speak.

The captain looked us over again. “The demon-slayer—which is he?”

Bruck moved aside, and I took a step forward. I hoped no one noticed my shaking knees, or how tightly I gripped my spear.

The captain frowned at me as he looked me in the eye. We stood at an even height. “You are more pathetic than I envisioned you. When men tell stories of heroes, they always sound larger than they really are. You are no exception. I might, perhaps, be content with just taking your life.”

I wanted to speak in my defense—or to discover what my offense was—but had no idea what I would say. The man did not seem rational, based on the look in his eyes or the words from his mouth. I don’t think anything I might have said would have saved me if he wanted to kill me.

“The man has done nothing wrong,” one of the advisors said. “None of them have. They simply come to warn you, to offer advice to your people. There is no need to kill him—to kill any of them.”

“I know,” the captain said. His eyes turned blank for a moment, and he seemed to look right through me. “But I want to kill them.”

“But you should not,” the second advisor said. He swallowed hard and raised his eyebrows at me in a helpless, nervous gesture. “Simply hear what they have to say, and then banish them. That is sufficient.”

“So you have said many times, Lordeerthan. And tell me, what will they say?”

I practically spoke, but the second advisor, Lordeerthan, widened his eyes and shook his head urgently and ever-so-slightly at me, and interrupted me before I could say anything. “The same thing the refugees and the messenger from Rhonan said.”

“I don’t believe we are in danger here,” the captain said.

“Then let them go,” the first advisor said. “There is no reason to kill them.”

“They needlessly spread fear,” the captain said, his face hardening and his eyes narrowing at me.

“If it is as you say,” Lordeerthan said, “then people will quickly see them as frauds, and they will suffer the appropriate fate.”

“You are a man of great influence and power,” the second advisor said, looking at the captain. “You can command armies and control this great fortress. These people are beneath you, and you should not worry over them. Let them go, and let’s put this entire thing behind us.”

“Enough!” the captain said, raising a hand abruptly to the level of his eyes, palm inward and fingers extended, as if he were about to slap someone. “The decision is mine to make!” He clenched his jaws and looked at me, and then my companions. The flags snapped in the wind. The gathered crowd fell silent. The soldiers did not move. A bird, flying somewhere in the distance, called out.

“Very well,” the captain said with clenched teeth. His face remained hard, angry. “You may go. But do not return here, and do not spread word of this impending doom that is not a threat to this great city.” His face contorted in anger, and without warning he spit in my face.

I jerked in surprise, but resisted the urge to wipe the spittle from my eyes. I felt it drip down my cheek, along the edge of my nose.

“Take them out of the city!” he said, waving a hand over high overhead, back toward the way we had come.

A roar erupted from the crowd. The twelve soldiers surrounded us again, and started to push back through the mass, down the stairs. One grabbed me by the elbow and shoved me along, and I saw that my companions were being treated in the same way. Now the angry faces brought with them shouts, raised fists, and spitting directed at my party. But the belligerent people only made up part of the crowd, perhaps one out of five or six people, and the rest of the citizens looked on, exclaiming to each other at the morning’s happenings, or wondering about why their fellow citizens were so uptight about me and my party.

The guards herded us quickly down the stairs and along the street, always pushing against the crowd that could not get out of the way fast enough to suit them; I don’t blame the soldiers for wanting to get us out of there as soon as possible. The discomfort and unease was only fed by the deafening, surging crowd. In a matter of minutes, the guards escorted us through an archway and into a relatively empty courtyard containing only smattering of people and soldiers. Our guards instructed us to leave immediately, but as we turned to head out, a voice stopped us.

“I must speak with you first!”

Lordeerthan emerged from the crowd on the other side of the archway, sprinting. His yellow cape billowed out behind him until as he darted past the soldiers that had just dismissed us. He skidded to a halt at our group, and leaned heavily on his knees as he looked up at us. “I must know your instructions,” he said between heaves for breath.

Bruck gave me a dour look. “I don’t think he’s talking to me.”

“Flee,” I said, feeling somewhat caught off-guard. “Flee to the Fortress of Jahai. There you can assemble with others who will help ward off the demon.”

Lordeerthan nodded. “That is what I thought you would say. I will gather what people I can, and take them with me. I will not have a place here once I leave.”

“What happened back there?” Bruck asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. It started last night, with that whispering and a fear like nothing I have felt.”

My party members exchanged knowing looks with each other.

“What?” Lordeerthan said, clearly reading the gravity in our expressions. “What was that? Most of the people in the city could hear it. It started a panic like I have not ever seen here. People running through the streets. Quite a few suicides. Practically a riot. But others—like the captain—said they heard no such whispering and felt no such fear. They said it was our imagination.” He paused, still gasping for breath.

“It wasn’t your imagination,” I said.

He nodded, his eyes wide. He swallowed hard. “After last night—after the voice and the fear—they started talking about you, and your coming, and that they should kill you once you got here. Wethrenmanla and I knew that we could not let that happen. Not if that whispering and that dread had anything to do with why the captain wanted you dead. What was it?”

“A demon,” Bruck said. “It speaks only to those who can hear it, who have evil in their hearts. To everyone else, it is gibberish.”

“Anyone that heard the gibberish should go with you,” I said. “Take as many as you can and flee. If you must, do it in secret.”

“Very well,” he said. “I will do my best to save as many as I can.”

I had to know, so asked, “How close were we to being executed?”

He grunted a short laugh. “If any of you had so much as spoken, you all would have died. The captain said before you arrived that if any of you said a word, he will kill you. That was the sign, he said, that he should kill you.”

“If we spoke?” Haillia said. “That’s ludicrous.”

Lordeerthan glanced back into the tunnel. “Go! Get as far from here as you can as quickly as you can!” And with that, he turned started to run away.

“Wait!” I called out, starting after him.

He stopped and turned, but did not come back toward me.

“It’s name is Kitten,” I said, still moving toward him. “The demon in Chokhin—it’s name is Kitten. Tell everyone.”

He nodded, and sprinted back past the soldiers, and into the darkness under the archway.

We wasted no time heeding his counsel to get as far away as we could. We spent the day exploring the East end of the area and generally skirting around the Mirror. I will never forget the first time that I saw the Mirror as we crested a hill between to ridges. That gigantic arches on top, and the upside down layers of blue stone and colorful plants beneath—and all of it floating over that glistening water with its manicured banks of tile and carved rock. The sunlight illuminated the area in bright yellow light. At the Northern end, past the cubic Grand Court of Sebelkeh, waterfalls from the nearby hills fed into the pool via two flowing rivers covered by delicate, thin bridges that led to the boxy Grand Court, where we found ourselves by evening.