What is of more value than that of honesty? I will tell you it is that of power, Power over life and death for were it in my power to lie, beg, borrow, murder or steal I would bring Chianna back. My eyes have been opened. I once believed myself jaded. Now I have seen jaded and glimpsed evil in all its trappings, well, perhaps not. But I will say that I have seen the face of evil in many forms and also glanced the feel of indifferent neutrality. People are the same it seems where ever you are . unless . perhaps you are a gnome and own a dancing wolverine- there is a gnome of a different color.. or was I just drunk?"
Mordenhiem pauses in his drunken revere. He opens the locket at his throat and looks upon beauties face. He is deeply saddened by the feelings he has in his heart. The Princess Jahlea Dhalwyne his promised was more than he expected. She faced the horror of her imprisonment and torture with a bravery that is not oft found. Her raven hair and the smell of her skin turns his blood hot and then he aches for he fears the horrible truth of what he is. What is it that covers his nether regions, what curse is he under? Why is it that the Light . the one true God has forsaken him. What was it he had done that the All Father would turn from him? Can he find absolution for something that he knows not what was done. The Old gods may have the answer. If not he shall journey deep into the dessert and search out the place of his birth, and learn the truth of the affair for himself.
What of the animosity that burns between his father and himself, can his father see beyond Mordenhiem's fralties? Is Wallace still home to him? Can he win his father's love and respect, rather than just his sense of duty? Does that matter to him so much. It does, but not that he wanted to admit it. Mordenhiem's eyes are set on glory and redemption of his soul, not the placation of old men who cannot sleep at night.
He sits at the windows edge and looks out across the parapet and searches for something elusive. the quiet ting- tank of a silver scale dropping onto the sill has the wizard reaching out his graceful hand and picking it up. Absently he strokes Xersies behind the wings wear the familiar likes it.
From the battle in the tower, across the lands, into the dessert beyond the battle for Castle Defiant and into the Acid swamp and the Caustigus. right into a volcano past a river of innocent blood.. Somewhere in all that the young man that left became a man.
Mordenhiem is not the weak sickly adolescent he was, he has felt the call of magic stir in his soul and focused, shaped from the unreal into a power as deadly as a well-aimed sword strike. He pours himself another stein of the amber liquid he so loves. Elven Fire wine. A brandy really, and very expensive, but worth every Imperial. His mind fades back to its favorite obsession. death. He keeps replaying the scene in his mind.
.Chianna was just to his left and Eolan to his right. They had scaled the volcano and had made it within. The inside of the dead volcano was rough terrain and the base was strewn with boulders and rocky outcroppings making sight beyond a dozen paces very difficult. All of them considered themselves fortunate as on the way in they avoided a one of the lesser giant kin burying its companion. The road had been hard on t he group.
Xersies tightened about his neck just as a wave of stench the likes of rotted flesh, putrescence, and decay, hit them. Mordenhiem shouted out a warning that died on his lips. A stark white creature of the grave struck out at Chianna- without warning and without mercy. The creatures long black claws were soon gore red and its dead white flesh splattered with her blood. Time seemed to stand still.. Once, twice the claws struck into her flawless supple flesh. The first blow tore out her gut and the ripped into her upper chest the. the. blood. Her blood warm and thick splattered over Mordenhiem, and in that instant he remembers being so far detached from the death of his friend that he was annoyed that he would have to expend magical energy to free his clothing from the filth. The other part of him, the emotional part of him snapped.. He screamed , his scream mingling with hers until it was only his for the ghoul had ripped out Chianna's throat with a savage bite, ending her suffering and life. The blood… her blood, her life.. it held him in its hypnotic power for he realized that blood is the life, was her life.
The next few moments passed in a blur and it was soon over. All of them had been wounded, all of them survived save the Chianna. Eolan was more than distraught, something in him snapped and turned inward as if his rage and grief would eat his flesh and then consume his soul. Mordenhiem had no words of comfort to offer. did not know what to say. so he passed Eolan his flask and the shattered elf drank the fiery liquid without any real thought. After the ghouls had been purged and Chianna's corpse had been laid to rest - most of the group gave the elf a wide birth. Never had any of us seen rage so pure and brutal as we did in the eilf. The ghoul responcible for Chianna's death had to be scrapped up to be purged…. Ahh well- life is loss. Mordenhiem remebers taking a long pull on his fllask… it would only be one of many for the day.
Of all people they had not expected Mordenhiem to offer the sacred words to the old ones. Having an intrest in personal salvation Mordenhiem was versed in both the faith of the Light and that of the Old ways. He was able to perform the rite of passing well and in the end he laid his mark upon the fallens resting place. Should ever he need to he would find this place again.
A pall of death hung about us that day, but we pushed forward. The valley was large with many settlements and roving patrols of orcs. We made our way further in toward the center hoping for a clue. Overmatched and exhuasted we hid near the inner volcano. A lone runner passed us and with little ease we captured the messenger. With a smile and a promise of great pain Mordenhiem was able to cowe the orc enought to make him useful. He was on his way to meet Bolgan to deliever a message. We moved on cautiously using the information provided us.
What happened next only added to my growing fascination. One of the many who joined us in our quest was a ranger in search of her sister. Well remarkably we ran into her, more percisly she ran into us. The poor child was unnerved and near histariea. Bolgan had dragged the girl to his private play room, or torture chamber. She fought him and he laughed at her manacling her with a set of gold manacles more akin to jewlery than manacles. In place of a chain between the bracelets was a gold cord. The cord was made of fine gold and articulated o allow freedom of movement. Several of our band of "Heros took a good look at the thing and none could figure how to unlock it. Derlamaye Mathindrum our Dwarf and mighty warrior offered to cut the cord to free her. We should have known, what would happen next, we should have suspected when she told us that Bolgun simply let her go when she ran the second time, laughing at her back… should have known … but didn't.
Derlamayne's cut was sure and clean. The cord split in two, and in that instant as the cord snapped apart, thin razors in the manacles slashed the young womans wrists, and her life erupted in a crimson gushing from her. We watched as she died helpless to aide her. Her blood soaked corpse starred horrified up into the face of the dwarf as if o ask him why. The dwarf lowered his head and I was unsure if ever it would raise again. No doubt he could live out his centuries and never cease seeing her eyes as thay passed from life and hope into the black abyss of death…
Demoralized we carried on. Sure in the knowledge of the beast we were to face the group entered the underground lair of the vile dwarf. It is important to note that our entrance was less than stealthy. Robair Fordhaim leaped into a covered pit shouting heedless of his own safety. The battle itself was breif and bloody and in the end it was luck- or misfortune of our enemy that one thew day. There was a moment an istant of that almost made it all worth it. That is beside the recovery of my beautiful bride o be and the other ladies. That moment will live on in the hearrts of te righteous and haunt the nightmares of the wicked should they hear of it.
The blow that took the head off Bolgan was struck by Derlamayne Mythindrom with an orc battle axe forged from metoric metal. Thus did the tyrant die and the helm of destiny be repaired. On his corpse was the broken horn of Durlamaye's great grandfathers helm. The very dented helm that was the birthright of our friend the dwarf. When the broken horn touched the dented helm it was as if a chorus of fallen dwarven warriors sung out with a single clear voice and reforged the helm in all its glory.
With that deed completed we fled the volcano. I had the honor of dropping many tons of stone on an orc regiment effectively sealing them in.
We reached the edge of the swamp and the safety of a regiment of Defienats soldiery with ease. Hailed as hero's there was a feast in our honor. It was then that I began to learn about Lady Dahlwyne. Her elven heritage enhanced her beauty but it was her innocence that truely attracted him. She was simple in such a unique way as if the horrors around her were naught but children's tales. Often she would comment that she had read of this or that in a story book. Jahlea was very sheltered and even after this experience she did not loose that innocence, perhaps she just did not deal with it, at all.
Perhaps I could learn much from her….
All the might of Caldor rode across the dessert in thier gleaming mail and well edged swords.. pennets and banners raised high for it was time… a time to cleanse the orc horde and teach it the penality of become more real than an old man's memory… as legends oft do I hope they die hard.
There was a great feast and the fathers in attendence called thier sons to audience… all save mine. Lord Wallace and I had harsh words, it was a bitter thing to be certian. This brings to mind something very unsettling. There is a chest that calls to me and it feels right in my soul- but my father warded the chest with a divine warding that kept me back. What in all creation am I? Am I a fiend in the guise of a man? What manner of beast am I…. and what of that creepy old gypsy woman and her doomsaying- that I cause the death of those I love? Only time will tell.
The journey back went well and after some extreme tension between myself and Captian Neurgle things worked out and I believie he has grown to respect me atleast a little and agreed to let me on to Durham instead of locking me up as my father had ordered.
Of note it seems I am responcible for more deaths than can be easily counted and when the reckoning for my soul is done I shall certainly be found wanting and called to task… perhaps to avoid death altogether would be wisest…hmmm… oh yes… well on the way to Castle defiant we ran afoul of a small raiding party of lizard men. Tough creatures both cunning and cruel with a taste for human flesh. In the battle I slipped my blade into the eye of the leader of this group with the intension of puttng him down with all due predjudice. I am new to this rank butchery and though something drives me into it.. I am not as well accomplished as I'd like to be. I say this for several nights into our journey we heard the drums of the Lizardmen in the distance… a fearful sound I can tell you. The next day we came upon what was left of a caravan of pilgrims… some 300 souls or more. Of them only one still lived as they were staked out in the blistering sun and skinned alive. The skin of these poor souls was stretched tight across poles to tan in the sun…. Captian Neurgle told me that a Lizard man named Kassk had harrassed the knights of Caldor on thier way to Defiant. He said that the barbarous lizard man was missing an eye….. It was my fault that he lived to stir up his tribesmen to cause so great a slaughter…. I did not have long to await confrontation. In the night we were attacked and we prevailed at some cost in lives. Only a few of the barbaric lizard men survived and the tanned Hide of Kassk adornes my new Grimoire and a fine new vest…. I shall be sure to leave no enemy behind me again.
Of the rest… well we returned the ladies and I shared a parting kiss with the lady Dhalwyne. Oh the pomise of her flesh and the warmth of her heart… well time for that in the future… atleast her opionion of me has had a first glance and time to ripen, how I hope it will be love that calls her to the altar and not simple obligation. Regardless I guess she will share my bed… so… mental shrug…. Ahh- dont be a fool old Mordy- you know you want her love as you wish to give yours to her.
After a farewell, we made good time to Durham and were offered much praise and sent to Brindenford to order our weapons of kinghthood… Damn but I really need to master the use of such a weapon. Though my father and I differ on some points we are more alike than not. In the matter of High Justice it has always been the tradition of the Lord of Wallace to carry out the sentence himself. My father prefers a great bearded axe for this purpose and for the battlefield. I on the other hand have settled on the Great sword. The blade shall be dubbed Justice and shall be the symbol of authority in my reign as much as the clenched fist upon our heraldry is.
