Bhaldannar Ironhide

Bhaldannar's first, and most difficult kill, was his mother. His sheer unnatural size won that battle.

The Gnolls that found the babe, hours from the womb choking on fluids, yet somehow clinging to life, wasted no time. The village shaman declared the babe a demon, and heir to great thrones of the savage races. He lived his childhood worshiped by the beasts. They nurtured him and prayed to him for strength. He grew. Gods how he grew.

At 12 years of age he crested 9 feet and over 600 pounds. Even for Trolls his size was baffling. His muscles encased him like twisted knots of ironcord. His arms, legs, and neck were long and agile. His eyes dark and knowing. When the village was attacked, he fought hard to save his Gnoll brothers. He almost won. His tribe was slaughtered. He was taken by the men of the dark army.

They toted him across the landscape in a cage of iron. When the bars broke, they bound him in thick ropes. When the ropes broke, they cut off his arms and legs and bound him in chains. They would grow back. When they arrived at their destination, Bhaldannar saw his first city.

The dark walls that surrounded the huge town hid the corrupt inhabitants from the rest of the world. Crime, sin, and extravagance ruled here. Slaves danced and toiled for rich masters. Sellswords protected mansions filled with art and illegal substances. And then there were the pits. The pits were loved by all.

Bhaldannar was given a sword and killed many. His raw savage power was unmatched by the other warrior slaves. He would fight two, three, ten men at a time. He would suffer wounds that nearly killed him, yet always arose the next day healed. Ready to fight again.

Four years passed before he cut his way free. Four years of constant battle, against man and monster. He fled the city, and was not chased.

The Brothers of the Laughing Moon were a feared and ruthless tribe or Orcs that ruled the wilderness beyond the city. They ambushed Bhaldannar. He slaughtered many. They swore to follow him, and so he lead. They ransacked small towns. They overturned caravans. They gained followers, and were soon an army. When their forces were strong enough, Bhaldannar bade them attack the dark city where he had been enslaved. It was the human's mages that turned the tides of battle. Their spells laid waste to Bhaldannar's forces. Again, he fled the city, his battle lost.

Alone and near broken, he made his way to the coast. With might and muster, he found passage on a ship to the new land. Magic had killed his army. He needed to find a way to battle this.

Two years in the green wild, he cut a swath across the landscape. He sought out challenges to best him, and many came close. Yet always he stood ready the next day to fight again. He traveled further north with each day, until he met a force of dark clad warriors. He knew their colors. There banners. He charged with a white hot rage. Again, he killed near all, yet was defeated by sheer numbers. A dozen warriors still stood to fight while Bhaldannar lay bleeding and broken. It was finally his time to die, it seemed.

A cold and rapid darkness filled the air as the warriors moved forward to finish the kill. Bhaldannar looked on in confusion and terror. A dark shape had manifested before him. It was as if time stood still. He craned his neck to look up into the cold dead eyes of this being. A twisted voice plundered his mind. He was told what he needed to do. He was told of the Black Robed Elf. His will was broken and remolded, and he swore to do his task. With that his wounds folded shut, and his weapon was back in hand. Slaughter ensued. And his new journey began. Onward North he ran, to find the Black Robed Elf, and serve his will with uncompromising loyalty.

Jhakkans- Rotten Luck

Jhakkans, in the simplest terms, was a rotten creature.

Mankind was a hobby for the nasty creature. Now Mankind were a fairly unsavory lot in of themselves. Greed, gluttony, and lust fueled most, if not all, of their daily actions. This made Jhakkans quite happy to witness. But even more so he enjoyed aggravating these evils.

Sometimes he would whisper evil thoughts into the ears of sleeping lordlings. Sometimes he would take valuables from the pockets of noblemen, and place them in the hands of commoners, simply to watch the men convicted of theft. Sometimes he would take the chastity of young maidens on their weddings eve. Jhakkans was a rotten creature.

Jhakkans moved around alot, staying in one town for no longer than a week. Raising as much hell as he could in that time, then simply moving on. As fate would have it, Jhakkans was passing through a very well off city out in the middle of nowhere when something strange happened. The town itself was fairly unusual, having its streets and skies swarming with draconian beings or the crimson persuasion, so Jhakkans had to be extra carefull not to be caught while playing his games here. It was going to be his last night in town, and he planned on making his last prank really count.

Thinking himself quite clever and subtle, he had managed to sneak into the private tower of this kingdoms monarch. Perhaps taking a rare magical item and hiding it in a servants chamber pot...Or maybe he would inscribe one of the tapestries with some lude images of human women submitting to pack animals. He buzzed around, unseen looking for the perfect victim of chaos, when all at once he was hit with a smell so strong he fell to the ground in mid flight. It was the unmistakable smell of pure uncompromised evil. He hadn't felt any so strong since his last visit to the lower circles of hell. Curiosity seized him.

Sniffing and huffing he shuffled along the walls in the form of a large spider, speedily tracking this trail of evil to its source. Up and up he followed it, to the apex of the tower. There at the top of the spiraling stair case was a broken door and two dead humans. The room beyond was dark and smoky. The stink of flesh rot and unrepentant sin poured out in waves. Jhakkans looked on in awe of this spectacle. What force could create such a wonderfully rotten stink of evil? Slowly and silently his eight tiny legs tip-toed across the stone to get a closer look.

As a minor being of the underword, Jhakkans had some natural instincts he was compelled to follow. The first of these was the need to cause mischief, but the second and strongest driving factor of his existence, was to find the most evil, sinister, diabolic creature around, and attach himself to it. To pledge himself to help it in its evil deeds. To serve its will and feed off the darkness it created in the world. It was simply what his kind did. He returned to his natural body out of respect, and onward he crept.

It was a darkness even his devil eyes couldn't cut through. Sniffing hungrily at the air, his lungs filled with the sweet smokey evil. It was like candy to his twisted soul. He pressed on into the mist greedily feeding. So great was his enjoyment of this wonderful murk, he stumbled and fell onto something. Something resting on the ground. It was a hand. Cold, bony, and lifeless. It was attached to a dark form laying on the floor he could barley make out through the shadows.

Angrily he gave the hand a kick. Another dead human. Peh!

Then it swiftly latched around his small neck in an iron grip, still cold as death. Jhakkans struggled and pulled trying to escape from his captor, but was simply hefted into the air as the fallen figure rose slowly to its feet. His tail lashed out, stinging the hand over and over, but his vile poison seemed to have no effect on this creature. His body fell limp in fear as his gaze was met by two dark green glowing eyes.

"Oh fraxaz! Look look look look at cheew! Great great evil we can smell it. Look at chew! heheheheh. Now now now now. Calm calm! Look look. Jhakkans come to YOU. Jhakkans follow your nasty nasty stinkum. Jhakkans is here to make friend! Jhakkans here to taste more of the evil! You is true evil, Jhakkins can see. Look look look. You is a glorious statue of darkness in this fluffly fraxaz world of pink gushy humans."

The figures grip grew tight as his eyes began to glow even brighter. Its other hand moved calmly and produced a black sword from...what looked like his own body. The blade shone just as evil as the creature who held it.

"Please no kill Jhakkans!! Please please please! Look look! Fraxaz!! Jh-Jh--Jhakkans wants to help his master! Busy busy world it is master! M'lord! Yes M'lord, busy busy world. Hard to make all the evil by yous self! M-M---Master--M'lord! Jhakkans wishes only to SERVE M'lord. Look look!!"

The darkness of the room was corrupt. The smell of the room was vicious. Everything about this setting was dark and ripe with evil, but it all failed in comparison to the wickedness of the laughter that filled the chamber. First quiet, then echoing with power. Like three voices at once. A horrible rotten laughter. Jhakkans began to giggle along with it, still fearing for his life. The face of his new master twisted into a pale and horrific smirk.

Lord Alkadian Entaris Beldier III- Final Moments

All the pieces had finally fit into place.

The thought that from the moment they has set foot off the ship onto this untamed wild land an unseen hand had been guiding his every step was hard to imagine, yet here he was. Every major even of the past half year had lead up to this moment. The arrival of the mysterious Varkus Grey. Alkadians death at the hands of the air elemental. The underground passages leading them right where they needed to go. Even the destruction of his beloved Rog Bael. And now the meeting with the powerful King Wanden.

It was all according to plan. His plan.

**********

It wasn't until the third night staying in Wanden's kingdom, after their return from the fallen temple, that he was awoken by the whispers. A flood of chanting viral whispers drifting on the air around his bed. He looked around in confusion and anger, but the voices tickled his mind with the promise of secrets. Secrets he had been seeking since he was just a boy.

Rising from his bed he paced across the cool stone floor to the table that held his belongings. His Grey Elven eyes pierced through the darkness, seeking out the source of the whispers. It wasn't the same voice as before. It was not the dark lord calling to him. This was a new voice. As he desperately rifled through his belongings the voices grew louder. The secrets seemed almost at hand now. When his fingers made contact with the hard wooden surface, he felt instantly as though a bridge had been formed between his own mind and a pool of dark secrets long forgotten to both time and reality. This object had seen the world born, and then die, only to rise again. It held legends and dark truths no man was meant to know. The answer was there in front of him. The words he had been seeking for over 200 years....

He spent the rest of the night scribbling down runes and incantations frantically. His fingers bled. His parchment became depleted, so he wrote on walls, shelves, and the table, all the while laughing an empty laugh.

************

The next day King Wanden came to his room. He was very brief and very serious. He simply informed Alkadian that a room had been prepared for him in his private tower. It was well supplied and would be guarded at all times. It seems a higher power had insisted, and some people you just can't say no to. Another piece of the puzzle fit into place.

************

The process would take over a month. That much time was very valuable to someone of his lifestyle, but then again, time was really no issue to their new ally.

Just as he had been promised the room was stacked to the ceiling with old books, vials or rare components, spools of enchanted thread, and tools of the finest mithril. There was no time to waste. Alkadian closed the door without hesitation, knowing full well what trials lay before him. More pain than he had ever experienced. His mind would be cooked and stretched as far as his intellect could wane. Simply put, it would kill him. He locked the door and set to work without a second thought.

*************

On the final day of the ritual the room had become a dark and horrible place. The candles had burned out weeks ago. Alkadian had not slept. Not eaten. Not so much as rested his eyes. The smell of blood and death hung heavy in the air, like a tepid stew of decay billowing in and out of his panting lungs. His hands moved with care and focus, as they always had.

Over hand, Under hand, Loop, Knot.....


He whispered dryly over cracked lips. The smooth fabric felt so soft and warm in his hand. It was etched deep with runes he had kept safe with him since his days at the Academy of the Silver Tome. These kinds of items required the words that spoke of both life and death to be written and imbued with them. To ensure he never lost them Alkadian had scarred them into the canvas of his body, every morning for his centuries of life. Now they rested before him, slowly folding and wrapping around like wide ribbons. Ribbon made of his own skin. Attaching them to the blade was surprisingly harder than removing them from himself. A piece of the puzzle.

The blade he had carried with him through it all. A long elegant curved blade. Light in its elven design, and wickedly sharp. It was adorned with the symbols of his house, Beldier. The once cutting edge now wrested inside the hardening folds of living flesh. The thread that had once been used to hold together his powerful guardian Rog Bael now infused the item with a terrible stamina. Another piece of the puzzle.

He painted over the scrolls of skin with a dark red substance. The blood of an ancient dragon, supplied by the generous King. It filled the cracks and brought the runes to life. He chanted the words. He spelled out the secrets he had learned in an ancient language that had fallen from no living tongue in ages. He drew a map with his mind. The map of the trails drifting between worlds. He remembered them clearly from when he died. The rivers that connect the world of the living to the land of the dead. All the pieces falling swiftly and terribly into place.

He sang the wretched song. He chanted to the Gods of undeath. His voice was like that of a host of spirits. Each sang in an octave more terrible than the last, and together formed the harmony of immortality. He wove his pale bony hands over the glowing blade like a conductor leading a grand symphony. The blade, now wrapped in a hard shell of living canvas seemed to quiver. Like a worm tearing free of a cocoon the encasement peeled away and melted to a hot black viscous fluid. The runes still blazed brightly around the blade, as if floating on an invisible shell blanketing the now black metal. He was almost done.

There was no strength left in him. He slumped forward in agony, his body finally giving in to the tortures he had self inflicted these past weeks. All at once the ritual came crashing down around him. His eyes went wide and he whimpered in agony and defeat. All his trials..All his work. Gone....


No.

There was still one way to finish it. The last piece of the puzzle.

Drawing forth every last ounce of power he still held in his limbs he staggered to his feet. Calling on all the strength he had put into every step of his long journey he snatched up the blade. The power was quickly draining from it. It's pulsing glow had become a faint hum.

Alkadian shouted out curses against his father. He shouted curses against his friends. He called out curses against every foe he had encountered and those he was yet to meet. His words were iron in the air. His tongue cut through all that was once decent and pure, and the room shook under the force of his rage. The door, triple bolted and barred blasted off its hinges. The books and vials burst and exploded into torrid pillars of green flame. The guards looked in terror, and when their honest mortal ears became subject to the chain of arcane atrocitys Alkadian was weaving they simply fell dead, their souls ejected from their bodies.

With a cacophonous roar against the very world in which he lived, Alkadian lifted the blade high over his head. The stone walls shook and began to crumble around him. If felt as though the whole tower would topple under the force of his blasphemes towards all that was good, so mighty was his conviction. And when at last there was no more strength in his lungs to support his words the flames and tremors all snuffed out at once. With the swiftness of a striking serpent, Alkadian plunged his blade, his Phylactery, deep into his heart. Then he died.

Western Rides and Dragon Hides. A poem by Lord Alkadian Entaris Beldier III

Through tunnels black as raven's backs
And Castles tall as Skies
The time and place
A stalwart pace
On trails of watchful eyes

Through night and day and night again
On foot and steed and stone
The sun and air
No flames compare
To freedom's novel tome

Ahead beyond the hills of green
To ruins though they ride
With blade and spell
And arrows fell
They cut their brave swath wide

Some friends had fallen on the road
And others turned aside
Yet smell of gold
An tales not told
Gave worth to trials vied

Another day, another Quest
Another legend wrought
No foe had seen
A fate so keen
The way the heroes fought

The human tied in hues of brown
The forest's brave marquis
Who's flights fell faultless from the sky
Like apples from a tree

The swordsman from another world
Who dances on the wind
A blade of steel
A heart of zeal
And mercy wearing thin

An Elven Lord from foreign lands
Who wears a drape of night
He summons fire
He speaks with Ire
His heart is full of blight

The halfling with the killing blade
A shadow in the light
Be quite aware
He's never there
In reason, or in sight

Their names are known
Their deeds are told
Their infamy abounds

So fear new world
And do not sleep
They wander on your grounds.

**********

Alkadian looked ahead to his riding companions to be sure no one saw him writing. Wiping the quill off on his saddle wrap, he quickly tucked away his scribes tools. He neatly rolled the parchment into a tight tube and dropped it into the wind. It drifted away care free as it crumbled into ashes on the air. Poetry was such a silly waste of his brilliant mind, but a sight more entertaining than this dreadful landscape.

Alkadian Entaris Beldier III- Change of Plans

He had made an oath that he would show no mercy in his quest to seize his share of land and power in the endless green wilds of this norther world. He had tightened his robes belt and flung charges from his wands without thinking twice. He had sworn to take his power to the next level and bring fear to all in this world. Then he had died.

Killed by a monster made of the very wind. His spells had blasted through it, but even his strongest enchanted defenses were no match for its relentless pummeling at the speed of gale wind. His body was crushed. Ruined. Ended.


He awoke angry, to say the least.

For over a century Alkadian had pondered the mysteries of the afterlife, but what he saw upon opening his eyes was far from anything he could have expected. There was no distance. There was no up or down. There was simply forever. He saw further than the boundaries of the mortal realm, through the mirror pools floating in the air around him. Each reflection a tapestry to the birth and death of a world. Every breath of air was like a cold smoke that seized his insides in a vice. Suddenly aware of the infinite dimensions of death, Alkadian fainted.

He woke again, in a new place. Still the mirrors. Still the endless darkness and confusion. But this time the mirrors were reflections of his very person. Every deed he had ever executed was playing before him. Every torture, every act of arcane destruction, and every moment of fear and sadness. He would have fainted again but a cold hand gripped his shoulder.

This is not death child of the Beldier.

He turned to face the speaker. Before him stood a towering mass of shadows and flesh. The very borders of his silhouette seemed to blur and vanish from his mind instantly. All he could make out was two dark green glowing eyes, and the cold skeletal hand that held him in consciousness.

"I know you... By the Gods I couldn't say how...But I know you." Alkadian stammered, not sure what he was seeing, or even saying.

I have been with you for a great time now Beldier. You do not know it, but long have you tread in my footsteps. Much of your life you have sought secrets. Dark and terrible writings frowned on by the churches of man. The very utterance of such words has brought death to many and the hands of the righteous. I am the keeper of these secrets young child. I am the Shepperd who can lead you to the realm of undeath. I know of the power you seek, and through me you would have it, and great and terrible would it be.

"I.. I don't understand. Loviatar...The Goddess of Pain... I gave her my prayers. I was promised a life at her side, in the pits of eternal torment. I was to have power in death as her aid."

Your false Goddess had turned on you fool. She was simply a dream. A hope. My power is real!

To emphasize this point the figure channeled a wave of burning magic through Alkadians body. Mirrors cracked, and he cried out in confusion and agony.

I am the Power you seek. You are not to wait till your death to reach your potential child. I will grant it to you in life. In unlife. Neither shall you live or die, but power you WILL have. Follow me, and do my bidding young one. Take my hand and let me show you the secrets you deserve.

Alkadian was now on his knees as the pain stopped surging through him. His mind flashed back to his days at the academy. The reading he had stumbled upon. The runes he had inscribed into his very flesh. The promise he made to himself. His reaction surprised even the great spirit of death at his side.

He lifted his head in a twisted smile. As he rose to his feet he began to laugh. Not a weak and terrified laugh, but a laugh at the realization of what laid before him. His laughter echoed through the eternity around them and the mirrors began to fade away. The robes he wore began to swim with shadows, and the midnight blue of House Beldier melted away to a shade of impossible black.

"My Master. Yes my Master. Teach me Father. Show me to the power... I will become unstoppable, and in your name I will rule with fear."

The great hands of skeletal darkness embraced him and their laughter became one. His body was pulled into the blurring form of the Lord of Undeath, and everything was dark and beautiful.


Alkadian awoke with the taste of blood in his mouth, and overpowered by a smell he would never forget. The stink of Dragons.

Death and failure.

Dead. When Alkadian had fallen, Drevlin thought for sure it was something he could fix, not a mortal wound that had carried his charge so far down through the river. But as Drevlin searched for his spirit, the whispers came screaming out of the void, telling of a passing beyond the final gate. He knew then for sure that the evil mage was gone, his spirit taken like a piece of floatsam, swept away by the current of a swollen, raging river.

The screams subsided back to the almost inaudible hiss that always danced just outside of comprehension. But they were speaking. Speaking about his failure. About his weakness. Drevlin wondered for a moment, there on the edge of the cliffs surrounding the castle that had been Alkadian's doom. He wondered what to do next. For the first time in an age, he felt lost. Without a direction or purpose. But all he could think about was how he had failed his master. And then, in a fearful realisation, he wondered what his master would do to him as punishment for his shortcomings. Velsharoon was not know to him to have a shred of mercy in his being. Quite the opposite. He would not have to wonder long.

"JUMP!!!" The whispers were screaming again. "JUMP! Fall to your doom. You have failed. Velsharoon commands and you shall obey." For just a moment, Drevlin thought of ignoring the whispers demands. He, of course, knew that it would be futile. It would be but a small thing for Velsharoon to claim his soul. He knew he had no choice. Without so much as a look back to his companions, as they were of no import without Alkadian, Drevlin threw himself off the path and into the void. He could see the rocks below rushing up at him and then he hit with a wet smack.
At least Drevlin thought he did. He definitely hit something. Hard.

Drevlin lay in the dark of the abyss. Not breathing. Not feeling. Not moving. Then he jumped out of his skin in fear. "Drevlin! Rise and come hither." Drevlin knew that voice all to well from his nightly rituals. It belonged to his master. Velsharoon was calling his name. Drevlin tried to open his eyes, but he saw only darkness. True darkness, for even his dwarven eyes could not pierce it. He turned his head, looking for anything that he might see. Something was coming to him, a snaking tendril of green light was slithering across what must have been the floor. It stopped on the ground near him and Drevlin realised it was nothing more than a guiding light for him to follow. He stood in abject terror. Drevlin knew where he was. He knew where the light went as well. He was in the astral crypt of his god, and he was doomed. Drevlin began to float along the lighted path through the darkness, seeing neither wall or floor, as if the small glowing tendril was the only thing that existed besides himself. He knew all to well that this was not so.

Drevlin followed the light for what seemed to be forever. He realised that the whispers had returned, quietly murmuring about things in a language he did not understand, words that made his head swim with dizziness. They were getting louder as he went along the path, and he thought he could see light up ahead. The flickering light of a fire or torches. Eventually he came to the edge of the darkness, and Drevlin peered into a cavernous room lit in the center by a huge fire, although the fire itself looked strange. There were pillars with torches ensconced along them all through the huge antichamber, row after row of them. Drevlin couldn't even begin to imagine the size of this place, until he realised that the wall that ran along his left was actually a huge mirror, and was reflecting the pillars and torches. He imagined that somewhere to his right, if were to look close enough, there would be another mirror wall, reflecting the the other mirror's image to infinity.

"Come in, my faithful servant. Your journey has been long and fraught with hardships. Something or someone very powerful has been working against me, against us. You have done well. Now put away your fear and come to my side." Drevlin thought the voice was coming from by the fire, which was sunken down in a small amphitheater. This was strange to him for two reasons. The first was that Drevlin could see no one by the fire. The second was that for the first time in his life, the voice of his lich-god and the whispers as well, were coming from somewhere other than inside of his head.

Drevlin approached the fire cautiously and circled the small amphitheater. Seeing nothing, Drevlin turned his attention to the huge blaze. Strangely, he felt colder the closer he got to it. And then something else made him feel even colder. He was looking at the flames and realised that it was not fire at all, but writhing souls trapped inside a circle of... blood and salt it looked to be. A powerful binding, to be sure as even a master necromancer would have to work very hard to trap even one soul like this. And the price to be paid for such was unthinkable. But here within the circle, Drevlin thought there must be hundreds or even thousands of souls, all writhing and twisting within the circle. And they were whispering incoherantly. Drevlin swore he could see faces in that writhing mass, coming to the surface, only to be drug back down into oblivion. All of them looked to be frozen in a scream.

Drevlin felt a hand upon his shoulder, and he snapped around, startled once again. He screamed aloud then, for what he saw was horrifying. Red glowing eyes, full of evil and hate, floating in a skeletal visage. Drevlin was staring into the eyes of death itself. And death was staring back. Drevlin had finally met his master, Velsharoon.

Alkadian Entaris Beldier III: Quelling the Fires

Her feet pounded the stone like a charging elephant, knocking over tables and slamming through doorways in the retreat. She knew the twists and turns of her beloved castle like the back of her hand, yet she could not loose him. She threw chairs and toppled book cases to block his path, yet her aggressor did not cease his pursuit. The giantess ran for her life from the robed man, clutching her wounds tightly. Yet she could not escape.

She spun around one last corner and fell to her knees from exhaustion and blood loss. She knew he was close on her tail, and she could already smell the smoke from the fires he had created. Another explosion of magical force heated the air and laid waste to a nearby room. She began to cry. Her husband was killed, her home now on the brink of utter destruction, and even fighting as valiantly as she could against the terrible little creatures, she was now taking her last breaths. There were near eight in the cave where her husbands corpse now rotted, yet only one had given her chase back here to the castle they called home. Why wont he just leave...I have surrendered!

Wiping tears and blood from her face her vision cleared, and then she saw him. He stood leering at her, face streaked with burning rage. His robes billowed at the force of dark magic pouring off his body. His skin glistened like polished stone. The wand in his hand was still smoking from its last discharge, and his eyes...hollow pools of relentless anger. Slowly he raised his wand.

She cautiously rose to her feet. She hadn't remembered dropping her morningstar, but she had never been this scared before either. The little elf man barely came up to her knee, yet she was backing away, trembling. Why was he after her? Why had he chased her into her own home? He suddenly spoke, perfectly inflecting the tongue of giants.

"You monsterous bloody stupid cow! Do you have even one inkling what kind of a grievous blasphemy your careless hands have wrought??"

His words seemed to shake the very foundation of the stronghold.

"You've killed him! You have brought an end to my MASTERPIECE!" He emphasised his anger by hurling a volley of white energy bolts into her chest. It didn't kill her, but he seemed to know it wouldn't.

"You won't even have the blessing of torture at my hand you fat sobbing bitch. My Goddess will not receive your song of pain. No, you will die in agonizing terror, knowing you and your bumbling tree-brained husband meddled in the affairs of Lord Belider, and paid the price!"

She saw him clutch his empty hand to a fist, and immediately she felt as though her brain was in a vice. The world seemed to be crushing in around her. There was no way of knowing this kind of pain and fear was possible. As she looked upon him in pleading agony his form began to shift. Thousands of black shadowy spider legs seemed to blossom from his aura, filling the hallway like a living web. He body and head began to melt into shadow, forming a huge eyeless gaping maw of fangs and acid. She felt as though it was pulling her in by the soul, and her body was being dragged along with it. It was like a nightmare. This couldn't be real. Those were her last intact thoughts as her body was fed into the spinning ripping mouth of terror, rended into a thousand screaming shreds.

Alkadian looked down on her corpse. Her lifeless face was twisted into a horrific silent scream, and her body was contorted as a trophy to the pain of her final moments. She had taken very willingly to the illusion. Her mind had been weak, and the fear had literally killed her in an unquestionably dreadful manner. She deserved it, and so much more.

He felt a pit of emptiness in the back of his mind. A piece of him had died. This cowering thick headed Cloud Giant had utterly crushed his beloved creation. She had broken him beyond any chance of repair. Her cursed over sided excuse for a weapon ripped apart his tedious stitching and smashed his brilliantly grafted limbs. All the energy and time Alkadian had put into the creature were all torn away in an instant. Rage had instantly stolen his mercy and rational. Every ounce of his energy had gone into swift retribution. He couldn't say that he felt any better, but whats done is done. The others coudln't understand.

It was then and there, pacing back through the giant sized structure, that Alkadian came to a new understanding. This untamed land wasn't going to be simple to overtake. It wasn't going to acknowledge his greatness and kneel to him. It was going to throw everything it had at him and his allies, and leave them broken and bruised every time. He was done holding back. He was done standing behind as his allies lashed out with arrows and swords. True, he no longer had Rog'Beal to protect him, but he also had no further reason to simply help with small displays of force. No. He was done with subtlety. If this unforgiving terrain was going to get in his way, he would tear it to nothingness with pure arcane fury.

He sat down on a fallen piece of furniture to gather his thoughts and try to quell his rising anger. Another thought to Rog'Bael's fallen frame made the rage come flooding back, and like a reflex his arm extended and the wand spewed out another consuming ball of fire which destroyed half the contents of the room. Breathing slowly he calmed himself. The smell of smoke and magic was thick around him, but he needed to ignore it to focus. Just then a thought came too him. Cloud Giants are no simple poppers when it comes to acquisitions. Perhaps.... With that he sent out a wave of energy seeking any items of enchantment and value within the structure. The wave returned to him bringing the promises of magic hidden nearby. He lifted one eyebrow in interest as he rose to his feet.

A pounding at the door came.

"Alkadian! Are you in there? We heard explosions!"

"......Of course." He grumbled.

Rakjat the Exile - Entry 1

Rakjat stood in the center of the "tribunal," the gang of semi-elders who had cornered him in the godforge. They stood around him, backing him up against a brasier, filled with coals and blades.

"A trial?" he said. "As if we believed in such things?"

"She wanted this to be 'official,'" said the eldest of them, a grizzled old gish named Senkajar. "After all, we wouldn't want you waltzing back in claiming that none of this ever happened."

Another of them spoke. "Rakjat, you stand accused of speaking against the beliefs and ideals we hold sacred, as well as not paying proper respect to the Lich Queen."

Rakjat snorted. "The Lich Queen can cunniling herself, for all I care, and I've never said anything that wasn't true."

Senkajar raised his eyebrows. "So, you deny that you stated that we should avoid punishing the slaves?"

Rakjat laughed. "I did say that slaves work better if they're not unconcious. I also said that they learn to obey better of you only beat them when they're doing something wrong, rather than all the time." He looked from face to face. "And yes, I did say that the best slaves are the ones you never beat at all, the ones who believe that they're doing what they want instead of what you want, the slaves who think they're not slaves. The ones like all of you."

All of the assembled githyanki gasped, and then Senkajar raised his hand into the air. "The accused has been found guilty." His hand lowered, and he stared at Rakjat, malice in his eyes. "From this day forward, you shall be known as Rakjat the Exile. You are hereby banished to the material plane, and if you ever return to the Astral, you will be subject to immediate execution." Senkajar waved his hand, and a portal opened behind Rakjat.

Several of the members of the tribunal stepped forward, raising their hands as if to push him back, but Rakjat swept his hand across them. It was a gesture, nothing more, but they stopped for a moment. Rakjat sneered. "The Exile? Fine. I'll relish the name." He reached out to his side and grasped the handle of one of the silver swords lying in the brazier. It was unfinished, he could tell, not yet full of the power their full swords possessed, but the blade still glowed white-hot from the heat of the coals and the magic of the enchantment.

He held the sword out before him. "And when I return to the Astral Plane," he said, stepping back, "that isn't a choice you're going to be able to make." Rakjat turned, and stepped forward through the portal.

Alkadian Entaris Beldier III: Of Birds and Stones

For weeks now Alkadian had been far from the OTHERS. He was starting to FORGET what it was like out on the road of adventure. He indeed felt the wander lust but was bound TO his POST.

Entaris keep was in the final stages of furnishing, and men had come in good supply to stay within it's walls and take part in its maintenance. Alkadian had checked over the supplies, and knew that his warriors would easily survive the winter with the current food stores. Some of those now calling it home were great hunters, and others fine bandits, so more food and supplies managed to trickle their way in. It was a well maintained cycle. Sir Vharkas had proven to be a great asset in gaining strength for the fortress as well. He took some of the other men below daily to improve their fighting skills, he was very intelligent (which helped with all the paperwork), and his music filled the halls at night keeping men happy and at home. He wasn't sure who had sent Vharkus to find him, but he gave them silent thanks often over the past days.

His plate had indeed been piled high with tasks and responsibilities since he founded his new home, but slowly the plate crew encrusted with gold and gems, symbolizing his ascent to Lordship in this new land. It was a plate he would gladly stack labors upon.

In time the need for excitement became too much for him to contain. He didn't miss the danger against this life, but he did miss the feeling of surprise around every corner. Every day out there proved to be a new challenge for his skills, and along side his allies it seemed there was no challenge too great. He decided it was time to travel back to the new town (currently being rebuilt by Steelsmith's armies) and see if his fellow entrepreneurs of adventure had discovered any interesting leads. He sure as hell hadn't buried here in this cave of raucous sell swords.

To simply transfer himself there magically would have been a simple act (so to speak) but the promise of a few days ride by night through the untamed land gave him all the motivation he needed to pack up his personal belingings and make for the road. He would simply be killing as many birds as possible with the fewest number of stones available. With that thought he went to find Peldra to ready his Warhorse...

...But she was nowhere to be found. He shouted and looked from top to bottom, even having Rog'Beal aid him in the search, yet she was no-where on the premesise. A cold feeling stirred in his stomach and suddenly the idea of the ride wasn't as grand as he had been planning. It was going to be hard work. Perhaps the spell was in order....

"Where is that thrice blasted wench!"

Alkadian Entaris Beldier III- Sword and Soul

The halls of Entaris Keep echoed with the ringing of hammers that night. Word of Alkadian's deeds in the recent war had spread quickly, and men had come to pledge their services to him. Their efforts now furnished and developed his Stronghold from an empty stone compound to a flourishing sanctuary for the wars exiles. Some outcasts from the military forces of Jason Steelsmith's army, while others had served the armies of Thesk, and lended their allegiance to the Lord of house Beldier in the name of their black emperor. They now made their home here, filling the many rooms, and bringing with them the weapons and armor of the fallen forces. Spoils of war and tools of battle stacked high. His rise to power was quickening.

For the first time since he was a child, men were once again calling him Lord, and meaning it. His family had a reputation back in the dark kingdom, and many had just assumed they were all killed by a warring household. News that the son of Entaris Beldier II was indeed alive, and tipping the scales of battles in the new untamed realm caused commotions amongst the neighboring towns. A few gold coins ensured that men returning from battle brought with them news of a powerful Mage gaining influence and land beyond mankind's borders. He used this gossip and mystery to fuel the fires of his greatness. Words were very powerful tools. He was again feared.

He sat alone in the audience chamber, studying a map he had made of the Green Wild. Calculating the distances between outposts and looking for regions that promised adventure and wealth. His thirst for power was yet quenched.

He folded up the map after a time and pulled out the rod he had received from Milo's chests before the battle had started. It was ancient. He knew that much. The craftsmanship put any item made by his hand to shame. The power sleeping inside was weak after no doubt decades of dormancy. Patterns along the shaft led him to believe it was part of a set. Somewhere out in the wilderness there may be more like it, possibly crafted by the same hand. This idea exited him. Alkadian loved wands.

Uttering a few magical words, his eyes began to glow with a blue heat. The world before him unfolded into a tapestry of arcane design. Invisible threads of magic that held this plane of existence together became clear to him, and everything around him hummed with dull energy. Looking over the rod again revealed a vast history of powerful markings. The very frame of the device seemed to unfold and reveal its construction, whispering secrets about how and what made it. Just then he sensed an intense increase in magic from the doorway behind him.

Spinning on his nimble feet he turned to face a dark figure hiding amongst the shadows of the far wall. Cold empty eyes peered out at him. The darkness did nothing to hide the man from his arcane vision. Sneering, Alkadian drew power from the rod in his hand and without a sound projected a massive spear of magical energy towards the intruder from the tip of his outstretched finger. The room seemed to go silent as the shadows and air appeared to suck into the tip of the spell before it struck the man, pinning him to the wall through his chest. Even the screams from the pain were swallowed by the imbibing force of the spear.

Wand in each hand, Alkadian stepped forward to confront the unseen trespasser. The thought of it being one of his new men mattered not to him. No one dared to sneak up on Lord Beldier. Thoughts of the enemy mages throne room ran shivers down his spine.

"Name yourself." His voice was calm and powerful.

"I... I am...your servant my master..." His voice was full of terror, and as the blood poured from his body the strength seemed to drain from his words. "I have come..to.....serve you.... Lord."

Alkadian recognized the man now. He was the white haired fellow Jason Steelsmith had introduced after the death of SamDread. He could sense power in this man. He was strong, and arcane energies coursed through him. The spell would have killed any lesser man, yet here he stood, wounded and pledging his life to Alkadian. Caution got the better of him.

"And why do you wish to serve me? Why would you throw away a life of freedom to live under the service of one like myself?" Alkadian questioned, wands at the ready (should his answer displease).

"You...are destined....for power." He urked out under the pressure of the still humming magical spear. "I look upon you and...see the dark shadows of strength...like rays on the sun....And I must..keep my oath..."

He lowered his wands. Suddenly he sensed a connection he had not felt before. Some distant and cold voice seemed to whisper to him. A gift. A blessing. Embrace my strength child. Your day will come. He is here to guide you. He looked down to the humming energy of the black sword strapped to the mans side. Uttering the words under his breath, Alkadian summoned forth another spell. Their eyes locked, and like an orange Alkadian peeled back the layers of the man's mind. He saw a long and deadly road that lead from a grave, across the countryside, and to Alkadians new home. He sensed terrible fear, and great dark power hidden all around him. A strange yet familiar name met his lips...Vharkus....

"You swear to serve my will? You swear by your life that in service to me you shall spread the words of my greatness, and live only to aid me to my seat of power?" He asked with razor sharp seriousness.

"My master...I am yours. Let me......serve...my.........master..." Tears were pouring down the man's long face. He was shaking with terror and confusion, but his words were sincere. The man fell to the ground as the spear of energy vanished. He landed on his knees, and simply lowered his head in surrender and pain.

A new wand protruded from Alkadians sleeve, and with a small flash of light the mans wounds began to heal. Placing his hand under the injured stranger's chin he lifted his head to look him dead in the eyes.

"Your life is now mine, and through me you shall sit in the seat of greatness. You will be my chosen. Pledge your sword to me, and you shall be my left hand." Slowly Alkadian unsheathed the elven blade he wore at all times. A blade that never saw the face of battle, but marked his rank as high lord of the Beldier family. He then proceeded to place the blade on the man's left shoulder, followed by his right, as only a lord could. "Now arise and serve me, Sir Vharkus Grey of House Beldier."

"My sword and my soul are yours to command my Master" He spoke with a new found strength, and the fear seemed to leave his eyes.

**********

In a far off place, where darkness hung thick and commanding, two skeletal hands clasped in a gesture of success. The pieces were beginning to fit together.

Milo - One Little Indian

"I don't know what to do, Bobo. Everyone's gone." The small halfing wandered his way down the long hallway. Every now and then, he would stop and cock his head like he was listening to something, or perhaps for something.

"Another one, Bobo? Yes, I see it." Milo picked up a small pebble and tossed it on a floor panel, setting off a torrent of darts that whizzed in front of him and hit the wall on the other side harmlessly.

"Someone certainly doesn't want me to make it through here, Bobo. And maybe I'd disappear like everyone else? That melty thing that Siris did sure looked like a lot of fun. Monks can't actually do that themselves, can they Bobo? ... No, I thought not. Which means something isn't right."

Just at that moment, a click sounded and instinctively he ran one foot to the wall and kicked up into the air as a bolt of electricity the size of his head flew by him. Milo landed with a surprisingly soft thud, looking longingly at the door at the end of the passage.

"Close one, Bobo. I told you to watch for pressure traps! Anyway, I sure hope Alim is okay. He didn't follow my lead across that ravine and the wind blew him down that pit. Falling is easy though, Bobo. It's the hitting the ground part that's tough. I hope he didn't hit too hard."

"But what if they ARE all gone and I'm all alone again? That would be scary. No one to keep me company at night...yes, other than you, Bobo. But I'd miss Alim telling me stories about the forest when he gets that funny look in his eye and he smells like mothballs and Hogsveil weed. I always liked Alim's stories. They needed more dragons though. There's only ever that one, and it's only a half-one anyway. That's not that scary. But Drevlin got eaten by that shark, now that was pretty cool! Well, except for the eaten part. And it was scary! I wonde3r what it's like inside a shark."

Milo stopped suddenly, looked down and stepped carefully over a tripwire set about an inch off the ground. The traps were good, but he was really good at this stuff. He'd gotten excellent marks in trap avoidance and debilitation. They'd given him a gold star and everything! Well, he'd taken it off the professor's desk, but still! He'd earned it!

"Well, if we're alone, Bobo, then there's nothing for it. Maybe this whole place belongs to a dragon and he'll be our friend for getting through his dungeon! I bet that's it! I bet there's a dragon behind the door! Al said that there were dragons around here. Hmmm, I wonder where Al is. When I get out of here, I should find him and tell him about all of this. Okay! That's the plan, Bobo! We're going to get to the door, make friends with the dragon, have him fly us on his back to wherever Al is. And then we'll all have tea! Yes yes, dragons can find those types of things out, Bobo. They ARE magical. Duh. And I always wanted to ride a dragon! I sure hope the dragon likes me!"

At his final words, he reached the door. A quick inspection showed the door locked but not trapped. He pulled out the dullspoon and his tumbler and a few seconds later, the lock clicked and released itself.

"Here goes nothing, Bobo."

He opened the door and immediately frowned at the lack of any sign of a huge scaly dragon or it's even bigger pile of treasure. He however brightened when he heard the grumblings of what he quickly realized were his friends!

Now he could ask Drevlin what it was like to be eaten by a shark!

Alkadian Entaris Beldier III- Lost and Found

Looking up into the heart of the colossal azure sky made it almost hard for Alkadian to remember he was deep in the bowels of a mountain stronghold. The clouds and birds glided naturally on the wind, yet here he was surrounded by walls of the finest artisan stone. He had been exploring the structure for the better part of a day, and was overjoyed to discover it was fully abandoned, save for a few crawling undead, a pit full of sleeping Otyughs, Himself, A Stone Giant ally, and his beloved Rog'bael. He was already mapping out the floor plan of his new base in his mind, seeing as how he had been the only one capable of opening the door in who knows how many decades. The rights of discovery dictate that this dwelling was now his, on the basis of "finders keepers". Alkadian liked having things.

The sewage system and the water well all functioned normally. The design was practical, if not quite foreign in engineering. The audience hall seated a very large crowd. The sleeping chambers (though small) were plentiful and warm. He knew it was his destiny to have followers, and this place was practically made for accommodating such endeavors. In the pursuit of cutting a swath through the untamed wilderness, this was indeed a fine sanctuary. Not too far from the borders of mankind, yet still inside the unknown.

The origins of this structure remained a mystery to him. The stonework revealed no hint of culture. The histories depicted on the tapestries, both mundane and enchanted, held no clues as to the creator. The size of the furnishings all seemed to be made to accommodate those of human size, but would be acceptable for those larger. Indeed a unique structure, and a very practical for his needs. Almost too convenient....

In the deepest parts of the final corridor, an obnoxiously long hallway that declined for what seemed to be miles, Alkadaian came to the strangest of his discoveries. One single diverted doorway in the seemingly endless decent into darkness. He could hear the noises inside instantly. Heavy breathing. Three, maybe four creatures. He whispered ancient words and could sense the magic pulsing from the next room. With slow careful movements he produced his deadliest wand. With a thought he commanded his guardian construct into the room, following closely in step.

His elven eyes cut through the darkness of the chamber, and the architecture told him it was designed as a series of holding cells. The gates were barred, and he could sense the figures inside each one. He cast fear aside, and stepped forward, his monstrous bodyguard nearby. He turned to face the prisoners of this ancient structure and simple stared in a moment of disbelief. The cells contained his Allies. Stripped of their belongings and locked behind the heavy steel doors. He noticed that behind him, their gear was stacked into a few baskets, pulsing with magical energy. They looked at him in equal surprise. The cold and empty stone halls rang and shook as the echoes of his diabolic laughter flooded through the dark stone corridor.

Siris Illum - Entry 1 (Sessions 2-3)

Siris sat, his legs crossed below him, his hands in his lap palms up, one atop the other. He breathed slowly, his eyes closed, and tried not to think. He could hear Alim in the next cell, bemoaning his lack of "medicine," and even though the dwarf was choosing not to speak, Siris could hear Drevlin's heavy breathing on the other side of him now that he knew he was there.

Siris shook his head, closed his eyes again. In the monastery, he had never had any trouble calming his mind and shutting everything out, but when he was with his companions he felt as though he could never let go of the world around him. Perhaps it was just that he didn't trust them not to go destroying everything while he meditated.

No, Siris thought, that wasn't it. Something had been bothering him for a while now, every time they met with an opponent. He had been sent out as an emissary of Ilmater, to be his strength in the world, but whenever they faced an opponent it seemed his strength was overshadowed by the others. Were not the hands of right a match for the blades of an assassin? Did not the power of his god match the magic of an upjumped lich?

Siris scowled. No. That wasn't the right line of thinking. Ilmater was not to blame; he was. If he was weaker than expected, he should look inward, should refocus himself on growing his strength. Siris raised his hands from his lap, pushed them out to his sides, and then slammed them down on the stone floor of his cell. The force of the strike propelled him easily to his feet, and as he looked down, he could see in the glow from his skin that even though it was enchanted, his fists had left slight cracks in the stone. Siris nodded.

"Hey guys!" A familiar voice echoed down the cell block.

'Ah,' Siris thought. 'And now, we are all together again.'

Milo - Mr. Whuffles Revisited

As the small halfling snuck his way through the shadows of the town, he was a little hurt to find no traces of Siris anywhere. It had become one of Milo's favorite games. Whenever Milo would leave the group, the monk would eventually follow him to "make sure that he wasn't causing any trouble", which Milo would have taken offense at if he didn't enjoy the chase as much as he did. It was always fun to slip the poor Siris's notice, make a circle around him or cut over a rooftop, "carelessly" leave a track behind him and send him on a random direction while Milo giggled to himself and ate an apple or loaf of bread that had been left abandoned in some locked house or stall. Of course, he'd get bored with this eventually and get back in front of the monk and leave another sign of his passing for Siris to catch and then make their way back to the group.

However, the monk was nowhere to be found tonight. Milo slumped down on a stall table and pouted, his left hand absentmindedly picking the simple lock on the stall's enclosure and poking his fingers around inside.

Milo looked down to his lap to find a small dog's toy laying there. "Oh, Bobo! I almost forgot! The doggy! Alim got a horsey and when I said I wanted one too, he said I was too small for one and I should get a doggy instead! Alim's such a smart guy, so we have to find a doggy, Bobo!"

The halfling jumped up and began his search anew, this time checking out stables and private residences for a suitable new playmate. After a few hours of searching, Milo honed in on a stable that sold the riding dogs in question. After a quick drop to a shadowy corner and a sap to the back of the head of the young stable boy who had been assigned to watch against thieves that night, Milo took his time examining the three riding dogs in the stable.

"What do you think of this one, Bobo? He's awfully pretty. Back all straight and it says here that he does tricks! Oh he'd be wonderful, Bobo! Does doggy want some meat?" he asked as he grabbed the rare piece of horse steak that the stable boy had just sat down to eat before abruptly deciding that he needed a good nap.

Milo was just about to leave with his new friend when he heard barking and a voice from outside. He left his would-be riding dog in his stall and climbed up to the roof to have a look.

---

"Ya thrice-cursed son of a bitch! Shut yer yapper, or I swear by Shar 'erself, I'll cut me losses and find me hammer at the back of yer skull!"

When the dwarf's insults did nothing more than to turn the dog's barks into whines, it's head bowed, he got off the blasted thing and pulled his warhammer from it's straps.

"Ya useless broken flea-bitten canine! I'll sho-..." The dwarf's anger was cut short.

---

The dog looked up as it's owner's voice stopped to see the dwarf standing over it with a surprised look on his face. In his hand was a piece of horse steak that had apparently just hit him square in the face.

The dog could smell the meat. It had been so long since it'd been fed a decent meal and his ribs had began to painfully poke out from it's sides. To make matters worse, the dwarf himself was not getting lighter and indeed all the trips to the taverns had increased his girth. Something feral inside it swelled. Enough was enough. The dog licked his lips.

"What the hell do you think you're looking at, ya damned mutt!?!"

Just then the dog pounced it's angry, abusive master who smelled so much like meat.

---

"Isn't he just the greatest thing ever, Bobo?" Milo floated down to where the doggy was finishing his meal of horse steak and dwarf head, having found armor quite difficult to chew through, but managing a bit just the same. "He's so smart and nice! And he's got little fleas and everything! He's just like Mr. Whuffles back home! And this time we won't feed him any herbs, will we Bobo? Let's call him Mr. Whuffles 2!"

The doggy looked up at him almost ashamed as it licked it's lips of the dwarven blood.

"It's okay, Mr. Whuffles 2! He was a bad man. YOU SHOULDN"T HURT DOGGIES!!!" The last he screamed at the dwarf's headless remains.

"Oh, sorry Mr. Whuffles 2, but some people have no manners! I'm going to be your new friend now, okay? Are you thirsty?" The halfling tossed the small dog chew toy he'd found earlier as he reached in his backpack and pulled out a waterskin and, picking the bits of bloody dwarf out as best he could, filling the dwarven helmet with fresh drinking water.

"You'll never be treated like that again Mr. Whuffles 2! We may have a long trip ahead of us with all my friends, but you'll like them. Even Drevlin! He's a dwarf too, but he's nice enough to doggies! And Alim can teach you tricks! And Al...well, he'll probably not like you but he'll leave you alone. And Siris will like not having me on his shoulders when we travel, although I admit, Mr. Whuffles 2, that was a lot of fun! And we'll have lots of food for you to eat so you can be big and strong for the journey! Oh we're going to be the best of friends Mr. Whuffles 2! You, me, and Bobo! Say hi, Bobo!"

Milo's attention drifted to the dwarven corpse sitting in the middle of the alley and he quickly moved it to a more hidden location. Looking down he saw the dwarf's quite well made warhammer on the ground.

"...and we can use that to buy you some food and stuff for the trip tomorrow!"

The halfling mounted his new friend with the warhammer shoved firmly in his backpack and they trotted off towards the rest of the party, the dog's bloody footprint trail eventually fading to nothingness in the dusty streets of town.

Drevlin, post two

"I don't like splitting off from Alkadian like this.", Drevlin thought to himself. "And to wander off into the forest with this crazy halfling without him around... that bugger gives me the creeps. Still, Alkadian is an able mage and his 'pet' alone is more than enough deterrent for the average highwayman. I'm sure he'll be fine. It's us I'm worried about."

The whispers had told him that the party would be splitting, and that Alkadian would be doing something alone. They had spoken of a lost city and of orks and magic, and a dark-robed visage... and dragons. They murmered about power and darkness, and at times spoke of mad nonsese. Drevlin wasn't sure how this tied in with the burnt circle, if indeed it did at all, but the whispers had planted a seed of unease in him. And being seperated from the object of his unholy mission made him even more on edge.

That night, as they sat by the small fire, Drevlin felt a little more at ease. The darkness always comforted him, made him feel at home. Alim had picked a good spot for the party to set camp, and Drevlin was glad to have such an able ranger along for the ride. His knowledge of the woods and plains alike made their lives more comfortable on the road, and his aim and speed with a bow was no small boon either.
................................................................................................................................

Early in the morning, before the sun had even begun to creep above the horizon, Drevlin was up and packing his kit. He had a revelation during his prayers last night. Once more, Velsharoon's voice had reached out and grasped his mind. He had spoken of dark things and had revealed a new part of his plan. There was something powerful in the near future, and the winds of change would be blowing soon.

Milo was the next up, and as Drevlin was done with his kit, he sat next to Milo and watched him ready his gear. They chatted about the morning and the birds for a while, then ate some hard tack that Drevlin had with him. Velsharoon had said this one had no small part to play in the upcoming trials, so Drevlin had an interest in Milo that he had not had before.

"Drevlin," Milo asked,"didn't you have four unded owlbears lastnight?"
"Yes." Drevlin replied, not answering the question he knew Milo was asking.
Not one to be put off, Milo asked,"Well how come there are only three of them this morning?"
"I broke one of them." Drevlin said, and then got up and wandered off to wake the others.

Vharkas Grey: A Second Chance

"...And for the murder of Lord Gabriel Altigar, Lady Catherin Altigar, and their son Vincent, you have received the sentence of two months at the House of Black Ages, and immediately upon release execution. Having served your sentence to the full, I now sentence you to death by decapitation. Do you have any last words?"

The crowd was only a handful. The sad and lonely townsfolk with nothing better to do on a rainy day than to watch a man get his head cut off. The faces looked in morbid interest. There were women he knew. He had known many women in this town. There were whispers of "Such a shame. So pretty a lad." There was a silence in wait for the mans answer.

The wounds from the school of Torturers still ached across his entire body. He felt like a child under the weight of the ropes that bound him. There, in the rain, on his knees, neck resting heavy against the polished wooden rack, looking down into the basket of white dust, his life flashed before his eyes.

The childhood full of fear. Dark shadows of his cruel mother. The death of his Father in the Northern war. The first time he was caught stealing to feed his hungry sister. The day he learned to play the flute. The strumpets and wandering servants he had taken to bed time and time again. The nights alone at the tavern, drowning in the bottom of his cups. So many deep and forgotten thoughts rushed through his senses like a river of his empty legacy. He was nobody. It all came to a blurry halt as he recalled the blood on his hands and blade. The way the woman and boy cried for their husbands life. He had felt no mercy that night. Lord Altigar had killed his sister. His beloved beautiful sister who had been a ray of light in his empty life. Run down by the Lordlings speeding wagon. She was dead instantly.

Suddenly he was back on the platform, being gawked at by the urchins of his cobblestone burial ground. Tears burned his cheeks and his legs ached from supporting his hunched frame for too long. He suddenly wanted to live. His life had been a waste, and if he was given just one more chance at life he wouldn't be a nobody. He would live on and remember his beloved sister. He would live for her. He knew he could make a difference in the world, but no one would help him now. He was a killer. His life was over.

"I ask for the last time. Any last words before Ilmater guides you to the next life?" The towering axeman hefted his huge weapon in readiness.

There was just a moment of complete silence. His mouth moved and all leaned in to listen. It was so weak and silent in the rain...

"Just give me another chance. I'll do anything...Someone...Please..."

"May the Gods place mercy at your feet, lost one." With a gesture from the priest, the axe plummeted downward, cutting the air and the rain.

Then it stopped. The smoking wooden handle of the axe clanked against the wooden platform as the axeman's huge frame crumbled to sizzling ashes. The priests body caved in on itself like a wilted flower. The onlookers fell to the ground, dead as stone. He could feel the ropes that bound him slither off of his limbs. They felt like snakes. His heart stopped in terror. What in the nine hells had happened?

He hefted himself to his feet and in a panic looked for answers in the heavy downfall. There on the road before him, concealed by fog and shadow stood a thin towering figure. Two hot yellow eyes glared our from under his dark hooded cloak, looking through his soul and taking his mind apart. His voice cut at his ears like a freezing wind, and it echoed as though from miles below ground.

"You have called for help human, and it is I who have answered. You will be granted a second chance at life, and your purpose will be as I tell you. You will forever be my servant, and for this your heart will continue beating. You are to travel North to the Green Wild. You will seek out a young elf named Alkadian Entaris Beldier III. His path will become your path. You will fight for him at all cost, and you will guide him into the shadows he seeks. If you stray from this task you will die, and your soul will be forever mine to consume. The man you were is dead. Go now by the name Vharkas Grey, and lend your life to the goals of my child. So speaks Velsharoon, and so shall it be done."

And all at once he was gone. Vharkas stood there alone on the wooden platform in shock. All those around him were dead, and crumbling in the rain. Embedded into the ground before him was a gleaming black shortsword. He looked around, as though looking through new eyes. He felt...strong. He felt able. Far off in the distance he could hear a wonderful music. He looked to the heavens, and with rain splashing his face he cried out in joy. He had little to no memory of his past life. He looked once more to the sword and decided to turn away from it. He was done with killing.

He took only three steps before he felt his heart seize in pain inside his chest. He took one more step and his head began to swim in agony. Looking back to the blade he felt his heart again flutter lightly. It seemed he had no choice. He would go North. He would serve his new master. Taking what he could carry, including the ebony blade, he set off on what would prove to be lesson in survival.

Alkadian Entaris Beldeir III- Peeling back the Layers

It took the orc a very long time to die. Alkadian made sure of that. Torturing was one of his many talents, and one his companions didn't need to know about. Here in the sanctuary of his dimensional shelter he could once again make offerings of pain and fear to his goddess Loviatar. No screams left the boundaries of his tiny realm. The blessing of pain was more than this filthy creature deserved, but the act brought him back many years. Before he met them.

When he had first set out to raise the name Beldier to great power, there had been no counterpoint to his decisions. His actions were his own, and his magic killed when he wanted it to kill. Back then he had given tribute to his Goddess often. Sometimes through himself, and frequently through others. Any reputation he had gathered back then was because of fear. He missed having no one to answer to, but the price of companionship was worth the rewards of power. He simply had to make time for himself, to get away from the others. Times like now.

Alkadian began to tap his foot in time with the beating heart he saw before him. The orcs chest cavity had been peeled open, revealing his pale ribs and pink innards. Tiny splashes of acid dripping from his fingertips cut holes and turned black his vital organs. Air wheezed out of the punctures in his lungs, and his heartbeat was fluttering rapidly. With a snap of his fingers Rog'Bael hefted the orcs body to his feet, and held him that way with his huge fleshy arms. The orcs head rolled from side to side and blood poured from his mouth, where a tongue once waggled. Slowly and carefully Alkadian began to unravel his intestines, making a neat pile on the floor. Hand over hand, popping and tearing at the membranes, like unballing yarn. The orcs body convulsed and twitched with each tug and his feeble cries gave Alkadian great pleasure.

For a moment his eyes met with his servant girl Peldras'. She simply watched with no expression. He always found this a bit unnerving, the way nothing he did gave her fear. She was indeed a special girl. Casting these thoughts aside, he continued his work. For hours.

********************

As Peldra finished packing his belongings onto the mounts, and Rog'Bael patrolled the campground, Alkadian sat alone scribing notes of the visions he had seen, when he had used his magic to dig around in the orcs brain. His powers had made interrogation simple. The torturing was simply an act of leisure. He read over his notes to try and find answers of what to do. Things seemed bad.

SamDread. God Master.
Inside the radius of the orbs domain there is a city. A stronghold of great force. Orcs, Trolls, Ogres, and other foul monsters all claim allegiance to this powerful Black Robed master. And then there are the Dragons. Clearly enslaved by the power of the artifact we seek. They stand guard to the city. They walk amongst the people and the beasts. These serve absolutely. This force is beyond us. There is no doubt in my mind. Our options are as follows.
1. Find a way to get the orb out of the city without being noticed.
2. Deal with this SamDar alone, without his minions to protect him.
3. Get help. Powerful help.

He rolled up the parchment and tucked it into one of his many pockets. With a few sharp words Peldra finished readying the horses, and with haste they left the clearing, Rog'Bael marching obediently behind. As they left the sun crept over the tree line casting warmth and light into the now abandoned camp. A glint of sunlight reflected off the pale white bones inside the hollow cavity of the orc hanging brutally from the tree. Bound and supported by ropes of his own skin and organs, dangled motionless. Ribbons of flesh and entrails drifted in the breeze, hanging from branches of the tree, like some unholy maypole. It was a warning to the forest. Alkadian Entaris Beldier III was here, and he was not afraid.

Flashback

"Poor thing." Alkadian sat near Alim, a perfect picture of opposites. "I'll have you know that refining this vulgar weed is no simple task, though it proved no real challenge to one of my skill, of course. I hope," he said, standing away from a small paper packet left on the table, "that you manage to make peace with yourself tonight now. And, of course, do notify me when you need more of your...medicine." Alkadian turned to leave, pausing halfway to watch as Alim opened the small paper sachet, unceremoniously emptying it into his drink, then slid out of the room.

The powder, refined from a common root, tasted bitter. Alim, used to such unsavory fare, didn't so much as grimace as the foul liquid slid over his tongue. he pushed the tankard away, emptied save for a few tainted dregs, and shambled off from the ship's mess hall to his own small quarters. They'd reach Chesseck soon, and there he'd have a chance to both forget his troubles in action and to replenish his "medicinal" stores for those times that forgetting was denied to him.

Medicine. No matter what his companions called it, what he called it, it was nothing more than a pretty euphemism. Every one of the potent chemicals and herbs he ingested was a drug, nothing more. He found his solace from night terrors and paralyzing memory in leaves, berries, roots, and extracts. Alkadian had been a god-send to him years ago; his alchemical skills and herb-lore allowed him to prepare tinctures and powders, all far more powerful than their wholly natural components.

He knew, logically, that these things weren't strictly good for him; however, habituation to altered states aside, they were preferable to his dreams. If he could get one night without seeing the same past failures replayed, it was a valid trade. He lay back in his bunk now, head pleasantly swimming, and prayed for one night of oblivion on this damned ship.

***

The forest he ran in had no proper name; to his kin, it was only the Northwest Wood, an expanse of verdant life, emerald tinged shade, and cool streams, that marked the last truly safe zone in the Alliance's northern reaches. Where these trees ended, miles north of Alim's domain, the barren contested lands began. it was here, in the moderate climate of the wood, that life continued untouched, as it had for generations.

Like any frontier, there were hardships. A long winter spelled dangerously troubled times for the few settlers, and the threat of wolves, bears, and other creatures who shared the forest was almost perpetual. When Alim had taken to woodscraft at an early age, his family had been delighted, and did their utmost to further his abilities. His skills eventually helped keep them well fed, kept their few livestock animals safe, and gave them, perhaps most importantly, someone well in-tune with nature, providing adequate warning of the sometimes dramatic shifts in weather and temperature that could decimate an unprepared holding.

In time, he took to wandering further, helping the other scattered families as much as his own; after all, in this mostly forgotten corner of the world, the success of one freehold benefited all the others. He was loved for his efforts, and happly saw the rest of his life laid out before him: one continuous circuit, plying his abilities for the good of his people, always starting and ending as his home, doing as much as was possible while he could.

He ran through the sun-dappled undergrowth. Fleet of foot, he bolted his wiry frame through nature's tangles and snares. He paused, leaping a fallen log, vaulting off of the top and grabbing a low branch, before nimbly climbing his way up the trunk. With any luck, he'd see the cooking fires of the next glen when he got to the top.

Breaking through the canopy with ease, eyes half-blind with the sudden presence of the sun, he looked north for the tell-tale mark of domestic life: smoke. He grinned, having estimated his progress perfectly along his newest route. As the brightness of the sun ceased to dazzle him, though, his smile faded abruptly.

There was too much smoke.

Concern for the people, his neighbors, as well as the forest itself, flared up in him. Alim practically flew down the tree, hands blurring over knot and bole, until his feet, already running, his the loam of the gods, not again forest floor.

Alim ran like never before. The ways of the woods, his woods, opened to him, granting him a celerity he'd not known he possessed. Clearing the tree line, he stopped hard, looking uncomprehendingly at the scene before him - the home burned out, crop destroyed, and the bodies of the family who lived here, slaughtered to the last child, piled haphazardly in the center of it all.

Alim stumbled, falling heavily to his knee. Head swimming, he forced himself to get up, to ignore his blurring vision to look for survivors , for some sign of what had done this. A short search confirmed that no one was alive nearby...just as it showed him a crudely hidden trail leading in the next holding's direction.

"Fleet. I must be fleet." The words fell out of his mouth, sounding half like a command from someone else. Stringin his simple bow, Alim ran on, praying to every god he knew that he wasn't too far behind. His flight was reckless, so much so that he was on top of the moving force almost before he could dodge aside, silent and mercifully unseen.

A group of ten or so marched along, picking their steps with care. They were armed and armored better than any forest settler could ever afford to be, seeming to positively bristle with blades, fletching, and pure malice. They moved isngle-file, stretching into the verdure ahead of Alim's sight like a serpent. Alime choked back sudden tears for the next home, a small family minutes ahead; his duty, however, was to the community as a whole, and he held no doubt that, with the benefit of surprise, this bad could easily handle any individual homestead as easily as they could hill him if he attempted hasty intervention.

So he circumvented the farm, unlike those cruel men, and children's screams echoing through the trees gave his aching legs and feet wings once more.

He stopped at each nearby clearing in turn, wild eyed, panting, doing no more than to demand that everyone gather at Eledrahl, the wood's central point, the gnarled and ancient oak, with whatever weapons they could muster. Wracked with guilt still, he was nevertheless determined that no more of his people would be caught unawares.

Alim circled around when the last man was told, intent on finding these invaders of his simple world. He found them finally, resting near the blazing, but mercifully abandoned, ruins of a farm. This, some several along the trail from the scene of the last slaughter, found the men grumbling, angry at being cheated of their sport. They milled around, obviously debating their next course of action, when one left the group, heading wide of the sparking cinders of the building, to relieve himself.

Alim's arrow caught him easily through the throat, silencing him, lessening the marauders' advantage. The next man, coming to look for his friend, met with the same ending, an arrow speeding through trees to bury itself home in his vitals.

After that, they stayed banded firmly together. Alim, looking for another chance to drop one of these men, studied them all, from carriage to types of armor. While well put together, they were obviously military. Peering intently, he finally saw the finely etched crest, with all pigment removed, on their shoulders: Thesk. Alim's hands trembled slightly on seeing that - the minions of the Emperor were said to have no pity. He looked for more clues, more information, anything to help his cause.

As he looked them over, his eyes were drawn to one in particular - a somewhat larger man, with armor of obviously finer make, complete with full helm, carrying a black bow of absolutely marvelous craftsmanship. He barked the orders, the others followed. They took to the path again, but strayed from the route.

Alim sped by, his wide path costing precious minutes, and met the few dozen folk gathered at the tree's clearing. He prepared them as best he could, rank and file of men with primitive weapons standing in front of their women and children. They were barely organized when the men broke through the trees. A volley of arrows, and unarmored villagers fell, combatants and innocents alike. What followed was short, but pitched, as the woodsmen swarmed over the remaining seven soldiers, inflicting nevertheless far less damage than they received.

In the end, Alim's arrows made a difference. When the forces broke, there were still a handful of Alim's men standing, while there was only the leader and one of his own men left. They circled the group, while the men of the woods fell back to guarding their own. Alim looked constantly for an opening, some way to end this horror, but nothing presented itself.

The man in the helm began to laugh. It started as a slow chuckle, almost voiceless, and increased in volume and mania until it was absolutely unbearable. Never stopping, he ripped the helm off of his head. There was no sound as it fell to the ground, apart from his cackling, revealing his face at last. Twisted features, a truly black hue, what looked like...scales. He was, simply put, like nothing they'd ever seen before, like nothing they knew how to deal with.

The laughter stopped, abruptly, as the half-dragon leaned forward and vomited a stream of burning acid, covering the clustered Northwoods folk, and even his own man. Flesh sizzled and slid, screams erupted, and Alim, who alone had managed to dodge out of the acid's path, felt something break in his mind. Walking forward, he fired with blurring speed arrow after arrow, closer and closer to the wildly laughing soldier, watching every point sink in to the fletching.

By the time that the half-dragon realized one was alive and, indeed, a threat, he was pierced in half a dozen places and bleeding profusely. The only comfort Alim could receive was the utterly confused look on his face as he died.

***

Shuddering, Alim woke up. He reached for his haversack, pulling out a small packet, popping the cap of a dried mushroom into his mouth and chewing frantically. There had to be a way to make these dreams stop, to redeem himself for failing so many people.

The men had been, of course, a small scouting party, an advance force of the Emperor's army, which had tried to push far down into Rasth. The forest he'd loved was decimated by them. The people he'd loved were destroyed. When the forces of the Alliance had rallied to repel the invaders from Thesk, he'd joined. He'd fought, using the half-dragon's own bow against them, and found a small peace in revenge. When that ended...so had his purpose.

So now he wandered, with no thought for himself but trying to do what little good he could so far from anything he truly cared about. With his companions of the last few years he'd gained a bit of direction. Even if it was their own, and not his, he was happy to have something to do.

And now...the farthest northwest seemed like a brilliant destination. A surge of troops, battling orcs, and maybe, just maybe, finding some of the evil bastard dragons responsible for tainting the world with their half-breed get.

The lights dimmed on him as the cap did its work, sending him down into a paralytic sleep for most of the next day. If he dreamed, he didn't remember it.

Larry's pet.

Alkadian Entaris Beldier III- Uncompromising Loyatly

The group ate their meal quietly in the near empty tavern. They had a reputation that seemed to keep the common folk at bay when they took their stay in small towns. Siris was finishing his prayer of thanks for the bowl of stew they all knew he didn't need to eat. Milo was dividing his bread loaf into portions for the other "friends" sitting with him at the empty table, as he hummed to himself. Drevin wiped the foam of ale off his face as he read intently a book bound in black leather. Alim turned from staring into the fireplace and spoke up to his allies.

"Has anyone heard from Alkadian? It's been damn near over a week, and I've yet to conclude...business with him. Nothing important. Just curious..I suppose."

The only one who reacted was Siris. He looked up from his meal and responded. "And I tell you again, no one has heard from him. Let us enjoy his absence. It is a blessing tonight."

The dwarf chuckled to himself without looking up. "Maybe he's just busy." He continued softly laughing at a joke no one else seemed to get.

"Who's Alkadian?" Chimed in Milo.

------------------------------------

With a snap of his fingers the spell ended. His arcane window into the tavern faded to grey smoke. He wanted to check in on his companions to make sure he would have no distractions for tonight. He was twitching with anticipation.

It had been simple to convince the farmer to let his use his property for his project, and after a week it hardly looked like a barn anymore. The viles and tools stacked on the tables around him showed hours of use. They had been expensive to rent, but the small ancient book that rested among them was worth a fortune in comparison. Tonight he would be done with it.

Eagerly returning to the task at hand, he moved to the center of the structure and pulled the large sheet off of his latest work of art. As the dirty blanket fell to the ground, it revealed the vulgar abomination. A mountain of flesh, bound together silver strings, towering over 9 feet tall, even with its hunched shoulders and spine. With arms like a huge ape and a festering sagging belly like a beached whale made of human, animal, and a few other arcane components. One emotionless eye peeked out of its puckered socket on a twisted noseless excuse of a face. And from the top of its fist like head to the bottom of its swollen trunk like feet it was covered in a million tiny glyphs. Wards and warnings scribed in the arcane language.

"So beautiful" He whispered to himself.

The final step would be the most difficult. He loved a good challenge.

Picking the book up from its resting spot he began to circle the grim trophy slowly. Turning to the final page he started the chant. It was almost silent, but the importance of the words hung heavy in the air. Alkadian focused intently on reading every syllable of text correctly. The words shifted on the page and twisted on his tongue as he struggled to maintain the chant. The very message battled his mind as he attempted to grip its meaning and sing of the power hidden in these simple words. His voice now loud and demanding. He said the words with spits of disgust. The very taste of them causing him to shudder. He couldn't take much more. This was far more difficult then he could have imagined. He was going to fail. So much work gone to waste.

"No. You are an Beldier. Stop thinking about it and finish the bloody text you simpleton" The voice in the back of his mind cut at him. "You do NOT quit, and you do NOT accept failure. I don't care if your damn wagging tongue falls out of your repulsive skull. FINISH THE WORDS."

Rheviendar'elgha'tromee- Albatier'ma'ar'kandra....

The book seemed to suddenly weigh much more than he could lift. But he couldn't let go. The weight pushed him to the ground but with white knuckles he gripped and continued reading. His robes began to dampen with sweat and his head was spinning. The words didn't even make sense anymore. This was madness. Where was he and why was he spitting out these foul words?

Fhiermatra- Vheinha'bara- Albatier'ma'ar'kanra......

At this point he was pulling himself across the floor, dragging himself with one hand. The other gripping the book tightly in front of his face. His eyes burned and saliva and bile began to trickle out of his mouth and burn his lips.

"Keep reading you weakling. It's a book. Simple words and old spells will NOT be your defeat. This is NOT beyond you. Curse your frail frame. If you die here the demons will tear you apart. You will have died a failure. DAMN YOU, READ THE WORDS!"

VHALKA-MESTRA-MA'AR'KANRA!!

Hot winds began battering the tiny barn. The rafters shook and glass viles cracked and exploded. Their shards hovered motionless in the air. All he could hear was his heartbeat. It was slow and steady, and before his burning eyes he could see the book begin to crumble like stale bread. It cracked and toppled into ashes. He grabbed frantically at them trying to save his work, but the searing wind lifted the ash and it began to spiral around him in time with the slow heartbeat. He watched the ashed drifted and danced in the air above him, gasping for breath as he fell to his side. His hand reach upward begging the book to return. The heartbeat was shaking the floor now. Then all at once, like a bellows of a huge forge the beast breathed in. It sucked in the magical ashes drifting around him, and the runes began to glow. Slowly it stood erect, and its one dead eye looked down and locked gazes with Alkadian. With his new master.

Uncompromising loyalty...Those were his last thoughts before he let the darkness take him. He didn't awaken for two more days.