Player Entries (Part V)

The Coursing of Hounds, Part 5: A Broken Pack. Donald’s people got the message out-hopefully- on how to defeat the undead. Follow on instructions were sent home. When things looked grim, Donald put his wife on a horse and got her out with the last of the Dawn Blade. How a man dies is not as important as how he lives. Donald lived, serving his people- even butting heads with Lowlander authorities over issues he viewed with great import to his people. Serving Justice by teaching the highborn humility with training in arms, and when that failed, acting. Acting as the voice of ethics, and admitting his own fallibility. Doing what he could to preserve his people even at the end. The sigil of the Bull fit him well, as well as the blue hound he was born under.

Ultimately, Eodra united the husband and wife pair and kept them together. Donny ever the warrior, and Hazel ever the calm voice in his ear. The pair continue to teach the lessons of both Andorra and Valos, now and forever.

How could it come to this? Crystanthalis was all but rubble, the once lost Leihune were once again just a memory. Those that remained shambled across the arctic wastes aimlessly in search of prey.The Black Keep was nothing but ruin, long since overrun by the dead. Travance and Kormyre were gone, what remained of the once great kingdom now lived as only bitter memories within the mind of a lone aged elf, Grashügel. The memories lingered like smoke dancing around the old warrior, filling his senses with sensations of a better time. Willinde. Nesterin. Tari. Pluvious. Victor. Lois. Wren. Magnus. Seth...Grashügel’s brow furrowed. Seth. Their last night together played out over and over again within the Elf’s mind,every second seared into his memory. “Be seeing you”, he said. It was a lie. Grashügel didn’t know it at the time, but Seth deceived him. While Grashügel has since forgiven his old friend, he knows why Seth lied…because he would have followed him to this death all those years ago.

Years earlier……..

It almost seemed silly in retrospect, the folly of kings and the right to rule over others, the great lie of the kingdom and the death of Sebastien Everest, and the eventual removal of his body to the far reaches of the northern wastes.When Grashügel last saw Seth he had a location, however, said location was a decoy. Those responsible for hiding the Count took great care in their deception and rightfully predicted that some may seek to find him out. It was back to square one and Grashügel was without his greatest friend and ally. He would need to find another way and without the knowing of the wards of Kormyre, He knew such acts were treason and would likely result in his execution, but Grashügel could not rest until he found what he sought.

Two Months earlier........

Grashügel would bide his time and collect any information he could all while faithfully enacting the duties entrusted to him, after all the world was changing and not for the better…...The rats were manageable at first, even so when the swarms swelled in size, but the dead, that was another matter entirely….Grashügel was running out of time, he needed a breakthrough. Fortunately enough, that breakthrough would come in the form of two old friends once thought to be lost forever at his own front door no less. Grashügel recognized the aged faces instantly. “How can this be?”cried Grashügel tears welling in his eyes. “We come with grim tidings, Travance and Alieander have fallen”, said Victor Sylus emerging from shadows beyond the doorway. Followed by his peer, “Xualla is on his way here” It was Ser Pluvious, his eyes hung low to the ground heavy with sorrow. “We know of your mission, we know where he is”, Victor mused. “Where?”, cried Grashügel. “To the north, far beyond anywhere you may have thought to check”, explained Pluvious. Victor tightened his cloak obviously cold, “We can explain more inside, I’m not as accustomed as I once was to the chill of Winterdark in my old age”. “Of course! Please come inside, we have much to discuss”. And discuss they would, the old Shadow of the Dragon and the once Castellan of Travance would lay out the final resting place of their old lord in great detail. “How do you know all this?” asked Grashügel. “Dear Gras, you should know better! After all you probably thought me dead!” exclaimed the once Baron. Grashügel paused for a moment and recounted the cunning of his former ward. “Aye, that I did” bemused Grashügel. However, it was at that moment their demeanor would turn to stone.

“You must depart at once, Grashügel. The armies of Xualla are no more than a few days' march from Winterdark, they will not stop until all life on this plane is extinguished”, whispered Pluvious. Victor followed, “ they will never stop, you must leave. The North is too harsh for the likes of us, it must be you. You know the North,it is the land of your kin, the land of your people. The cold doesn't affect you like it affects us.” Grashügel rebutted, “I have not heard from my family for some time, I fear the worst’ “That doesn’t matter now, all that matters is that you find his Grace”, replied Victor. Grashügel was ready with his reply, “but what of Winterdark and her defen”. “Don’t worry about the old keep, leave her to us and we will see that she has such an end…..an end worthy of the apocalypse” interjected Victor. Grashügel paused for what seemed like an eternity, “very well, the keep is yours”. They would truly say their goodbyes for the last time within the hour, at least this time they could do it properly, Grashügel finally had his true heading and would make for the North with all haste.

The Present…..

The journey was long and treacherous, it was filled with its fair share of close calls and dire moments. In the far North the sight of his once lost people shambling across the wastes filled him with great pain, he often wondered if his cousin, the now Queen of the Leihune was amongst them. He took great care in avoiding them if he could. Grashügel knew how silly it must have seemed to continue his mission, to find his liege in the vain hope of undoing all that has been done, if it could even be done. However, too much blood has been spilt, too many lives lost, the death of his people, the death of his home, all of it in the name of finding the Count. The guilt of all that transpired to this point weighed heavily of Grashügel, nevertheless he pressed on. Grashügel would eventually find his way to the Count’s final resting place, it was a great mountain almost out of place for such terrain. Grashügel was ragged and tired, but he knew there was no turning back now as it would only be death laying in wait to greet him. The climb was tortuous even for the likes of a half Leihune like him. But, he would eventually summit the mountain and find what he sought.

Grashügel came upon the great structure, built into the side of the mountain. It was not ornate by any sense of the word, but it was built to be strong, to be defended. Grashügel was ready to be challenged as he approached the gates, but the challenge never came. In fact, the gates were open as if frozen in place after years of neglect. Grashügel shambled into the inner sanctum, the fortress was abandoned...it looks as if it may have been abandoned for some time. Perhaps the defenders of this place decided to forgo their post once word of the dead reached their ears.Grashügel felt this to be the case, however, he proceeded with caution at least that’s what he told himself. Grashügel was old and he was by no means the elf he once was, not by a long shot. To add to his misery, the elf was utterly exhausted, spending much of strength on his final mission.

As the elf found himself moving deeper into the caverns, he let his mind wander, to that Barony, those nights, those adventures all those years ago. It seemed fitting then, that between his exhaustion and his memories, that he didn’t notice the spell coming. What little remained of his powerful wards from Draka'thul were activated just a split second too late. Ahead, he saw it, a blinding light, and behind it a hooded figure. In his lower abdomen a sudden burning sensation, a familiar pain that he hadn’t felt in years. But there was no time to waste. In an instant, his sword was hefted forward, and out of his sheath, and towards the enemy. With a shout, he called the power of his primal liege. Out of his sword a beam of light shot past, and directly through the form in front of him. In the blast, horror spread across his face as the figure's hood fell away , knowing the mistake that was just made. Their eyes met as blood came from her lips. While time has made its mark there was no mistaking the heart of Winterdark, Angeliana. Regret filled both of their faces, though her countenance also held a smile. That smile said it all.

Years, she must have been here. Years she has been here, guarding. And that means that Grashügel was right. Pluvious, Sylus, they were right. But that smile also held such pain, such sorrow. If they had just known. If they had just waited. How distrustful these long years had made them both. How on edge. The two allies who had not gazed at each other for decades looked into each others eyes for a moment, and it seemed a lifetime of conversations flooded between them. The ground struck the elves knees, as he realized finally he had fallen to the floor, sword clanging to the cold stone behind him. Instinctually, his hand rushed to his stomach, the warm blood filling his hands, pouring out. This spell was powerful, this wound deep. If only he had but waited, if only he had reacted. He looked up quickly, as another flash of light burst forth from Angeliana, blood flowing from the hole in her chest, as well as from her mouth. The light was green in nature, and Grashugel felt an all-too-familiar coolness soothe the biting pain of the wound. She was attempting to heal him. But he knew, from the look in her eyes, the regret and pain, the sorrow. She did not have enough energy left to truly heal him. Still, she stayed true to her character, and used the last of her power. It was almost as if Gras feeling her magic leaving her for good that he realized his had as well. The spell he cast through the tip of his sword was the last of his power, the last of his strength. They were both going to die here. Silent, unable to speak, Angeliana gave a warm, yet sorrowful smile to her old friend, before looking back over her shoulder. Gras followed her gaze, and there he was. Count Winterdark. They were correct. They all were, in the end. They were all correct. This bittersweet feeling tugged at him, as his sharp inhale was interrupted by blood forcing its way out of his lungs involuntarily. Her healing was not enough, and they both knew it. Nor could he sustain himself any longer. Angeliana, using the last of her strength, used her hands and knees to crawl towards the Count and place her head above where his chest would lie. It was then Gras understood. She had been by his side through it all. And there, she would die. It seemed fitting, then, that he should die on his knees before the Count he served.

“This is it, all for naught. I am going to die here”, Grashügel muttered even though knew that’s how it was always going to end. I miss my friends, he thought, I miss the way life once was for all its hardships, at least it was better than this. He glanced at the iced over body of Count Winterdark and said, “Well if you’re gonna do something you might as well do it now”. He didn’t remotely expect a response, but what happened next shook him to his core. Grashügel felt a surge of energy, he did not know from where, but only that it was powerful. He could hear a voice in his head, it was a voice that he had not heard for many years, a voice of raw might, a voice that once instructed the dragoons of old to seek out the legendary verdrain blades. Mirrormere…..

“The Sword”, she echoed. Grashügel gazed upon very sword bestowed upon him by Draka’thul, the moon itself. It was at that moment that Grashügel knew what to do. With his dying breath Grashügel extended his sword and unleashed the fount of energy bestowed upon him into a lance of immense power whose arc of blinding light cut through the deep mountain fortress into the night sky itself. Grashügel smiled upon the newly revealed moon through the freshly cut crescent shape as the light left his eyes.

The great army of New Galderon marched south, and found itself amongst many heroes of legend in Travance. Bitzzz, elderly as she was, remained in the front line as a leader. Just as the4 lines fell into place, the dead came upon them. The well organized orcs, ogres and hobgoblins did not break rank as many of the goblins did. Still, many of the goblins did not break rank.

The army became a circle with archers and caster in the middle.

Those goblins that looked like they ran in fear, turned from the shadows, felling the undead. Once the began to re-rise, the hammers came out, and the ogres began to crush them as soon as they hit the ground.

They held the line for as long as they could, but eventually began to tire, and their numbers began to diminish. The horns of was were blown, and any allies were called into the circle to work in tandum.

Seeing the undead not be affected by the sun high in the sky, Bitzzz called for a swarm retreat.

They retreated to Pendarven, the most defendable city in Travance.

They will hold the city, with the residents, protecting who they can, resting when the can. They hold it as long as they can. Attrition eventually to the point the city falls, but it is the last to fall.

Mae watched as her older family moved to their places before her. In her heart, she knew there was nothing they would be able to do- with her dimming senses, she could feel the power of the demon before her.

"It's not fair," she thought briefly. "The rest of the world diminished as he stayed the same." Still, perhaps the fact that he had been dead counted for this power dynamic. Perhaps, in the spirit realm, he had found his own salvation. Ironic if true.

As the first blow fell, she was too wrapped up in trying to save those that she could to feel the wash of death that rolled over the field. As the second fell, the pain and agony of those who succumbed swept up to her, awakening old memories of her past and causing them to briefly mix with her present. There was no escape- she knew that in her heart even as her mind screamed to run. There was no salvation to come. Her family at least was spared this for now. Her family would survive...

"Namisar," she thought as she watched the arm raise in preparation for the third blow. "Namisar, I am coming home."

And then she thought nothing at all.

Kleidin stood before the Malloran Tree/Glamour Grove in Seledria, he former Knight,and long time friend and ally, Reno beside her.

”Are we insane?“ she asked.

”No, there is no hope for survival. All those who answered Aleister are dead. The word is the dead are all rising, Zualla has won.” Replied Reno.

Kleidin nodded, tears flowing freely down her face. “What we are trying to do...”

She turned back to the tree. “Over the past 20 years, the songbirds helped me gather her songs. I found the branch closest to Miranda’s house. I pray she has it in her to help us.”

”We will know if she approves, if we can get there.” Replied Reno.

Kleidin nodded, and pulled out a few things from her pouch. “The last bits of Druidic energy I could find. Ancient relics kept in our Queen’s vault. The only things that retained any energy.“ and she placed one ring of maiden circle gold forged with the help of he who taught Brazen, and a few leaves from the Dream Tree and the base of the Malloran tree. She then turned, and pulled up a great shield with the symbol of her god upon it. “The only thing I have of him.” And placed the shield over the other objects.

Then she began singing a song; Reno joining in when the melody repeated. Kleidin pulled out the black mythril dagger from its scabbard, and hit the shield at the one place she knew was its weak point, shattering the shield.

at that moment she and Reno clasped hands and with thoughts of love and sadness, perseverance and desire to do what must be done, thought of the branch of the Malloran with the song they were singing loudly.

Merikh- Full Circle

Merikh stands in the throne room of the Reaper. The Death Heralds who until now were milling around his Lords domain like normal suddenly started disappearing, heading to the material plane to escort souls to Eodra. Merikh sighs. He knew this day was going to come. It was written in fate long ago. Even then it doesn’t make this any easier. As the last of the Heralds disappear, Merikh bows to his Lord so he could perform his duties.