Layonara World Lore > Hall of Heroes and Heroines

Randharavanna's Allegory: A Bardic Adventure

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Ozy_Llewellyn:
Throughout Layonara in the places of civilization bards can be seen and heard telling tales. Recently a new tale has entered the fray, starting softly at first but soon being spun and told a dozen different ways. In Hlint an aspiring minstrel catches your ear he clears his throat and smiles and slowly a congregation occurs.

“Ladies and gentlemen, perhaps I am not yet a legend of the one whom I shall speak. So please pardon me if I should falter, or if what I say it not entirely to the letter of truth. Thus I give you a story of trust, betrayal, glory and despair.

Randharavanna's Allegory: A Bardic Adventure”

Nodding his head as if awaiting a cue the minstrel plucks softly at the strings of his mandolin. With hardly moments in wait his voice rises and for the small gathering at least the tale begins.

“With a clash of steel, the heroes met face to face with their dark foe that beckoned them onward into battle.”

The minstrel grins for but a moment.

“Now that your attention is undivided, let this allegory begin. Our story begins just north of here, by the tower of Moraken.

A crisp breeze span lightly around the tower, bending tree branches in the slight wind as Moraken stepped out of his tower and into the early morn.  Taking a deep breath the arch-magus reminisced of times past and of battles long ago. Inadvertently he glanced to his hand where a ring once resided. The memories swelled and for but a moment the freezing wind was unnoticed.

Millennia ago he had stood before a great portal, its defenders dispatched and its cruel master destroyed by his magic. A portal in which any destination could be sought, completely undetected in comings and goings. The portal, a monstrosity of over a century of research into the nature of the planes, was the peak of its art. Yet within moments it was no more then a suicidal memory. Unleashing the full force of his magic Moraken twisted the dark portal changing the very nature to need a new and rare if not unknown key in every use.

In that, he was certain he was wise. Yet for in times to come he knew he may just need to use the portal himself. Taking a ring from his hand he had placed it at the heart of the portal and turned it into a master key, to change with the portal to always work. With great effort he forged instructions from magic to re-build the portal in a time of need. Yet such a thing is desirable to many and he tore the instructions into four peaces gifting them to Djinn which aided him in the portals destruction.

The biting cold of the air, intruded upon the mind of the master mage. A flourish of his cape and he returned to his study grumbling about the weather as he is known to do. For but a moment he wondered what of his ring, unknowing how soon it would be that he find out.”

With a grin the minstrel’s tune changes from the grand opening to something softer and more sorrowful. Slowly a crowd gathers having heard the story in passing. Lifting his voice once more his voice as forlorn as the tune he strums idly.

“In the north of Dregar snow began to fall from the skies from ashen clouds. On a hilltop near a pond a single figure stood overlooking the town of Delanther perhaps gazing towards the Great Rift. This man perhaps known to all of us, he grimaced holding his side, an old wound from a war forgotten by all but perhaps his self. His name, Ozymandias perhaps the most controversial of legends for this is his allegory.

The snow fell and he watched the sky and the twisted lights over the Rift for hours. Until at last he heard the sound of footsteps in snow behind him, with this he turned a blade in hand. For but a moment all was still the only sound of a blade falling to soft fresh snow. With a smile the old bard sighed seeing what he felt the most beautiful of things he had ever spied.

A fiendish grin she gave a smile that could strike us into the grave. So she held a sword of flame and wrapped around her feathered black wings. Keaira'tynen her name, her soul darker then night and her voice colder then ice. Had circumstance differed they would have been mortal enemies yet she brought news that would catch his ear.

For minutes they stood in the crisp cold moonlight before she spoke. Her news was dire and dark, a great fiend of Shadow and Death walked the planes. Randharavanna was his name the eternal darkness. He had forged pacts of the darkest desire with fiends of all persuasion setting his stage to capture this world in times yet to come. For but a moment he disbelieved for none ever did align such enemies under one banner.

Long in the night the two dark figures stand silhouettes on the moon discussing the darkness readying to come. The first glimmer of dawn broke the cold night a single ray of the future illuminating the countryside. With a flicker of flame the lady disappeared into the burning dawn and the bard himself into his library without another word.

In his library he wandered, sounds of paper rustling in the candlelight. Deeper unto the depths of where he made his home he wandered past cases which books were chained to prevent their wandering. Into the darkest recesses he searched till at last he stood before a tome dark and powerful, glimmering with arcane magic thought forgotten by most.

Upon cracked pages of arcane lore he examined for hours what lay beyond mortal thought or knowledge anymore. One word escaped his lips thou I know not for whom it was meant. A crack of magic and a golden light the bard span and disappeared from sight his coat fluttering in magical winds.”

Smiling the minstrel strums at a sharp concise pace the tune building to an adventurers medley pulling from Mistonian melody to Xantrilian Dirge. His voice returns as he looks to the north of Hlint and the tower of Moraken sliding gracefully above the treetops.

“A crackle of golden light spread itself before the door of the great mage, cold air whipping to and froe as a figure strode forth. Behind him the portal flickered away and Ozymandias stood in the new born day. In apparel in which a thousand tales did speak he slipped into the tower of the mage little more then a breath of the wind.

For hours then the two did gaze deep into the others eyes. Neither willing, nor considering being the first to ask nor offer aid in the dark task that they knew lay before. So came noon and the bard first spoke straightening his cloths “Nice to see you conscious again grand master arch magus.” To which Moraken arched a brow forcing a false smile replied “Planning to go poking about my study again Master Bard?” As if breaking a levee on the banks of a river soon a deluge of conversation began.

For hours long the two conversed in a game of wit and words deeply complex. Where the slightest misstep would lose prestige in the others eyes and perhaps dooms the world itself over pride. Yet both were well acquainted with the art of wit and words and so thru books and journal they crept as information cultivated for grand steps.

 It was but just over four score years ago that the key of mastery was lost in the shadow of night. Disappearing from hand the ring flickered away noticed only on the breaking of the dawn’s day. For years had Moraken searched for the ring, hoping to retrieve if he should ever have need. Yet not a trace had been heard or seen until now the tale came to being. Of visions and dreams that had been seen the bard was envoy to information’s gift. Swiftly they strode to the study of the mages abode. A vision was seen of a shadowy being, clawing across the ceiling and stealing papers away before the coming of day upon its hand an emerald ring.

Moraken wise and cunning with his years chose then to aid so slightly the bard in his seeking. He gave but one peace of advice to them right then “Adish may be the most receptive” before returning to his works in the tower halls. Needing in aid an elven maiden spirit true appealed to the heavens for their blessing. With a flash of light a child-like angel stood with but one thing to give and set the adventures course true. A simple ring would bring entry into the Djinn Adish’s burning halls.

Into Xantril they traveled knowing only the most general location to be seeking. Yet the bard knew maps well and searched knowing a place of heat so great it had become a sea of sand. The lake of salt is a burning place where sands swirl like the demons in Bloods legions. Glowing red the ring lead the way into a hidden cavern passageway. Down into burning depths they strode, thru guards of flame they slinked like shadows in the night.

At last a great door stood before them with a great sentinel a warrior of fire. So they stood and for moments all was still, the crackle of flame and the mortal breath. Loquaciously the bard set spark to conversation flattering the sentinel into asking but a moment of his master’s time. After but a few minutes that stretched into eternity that the sentinel returned opening the great doors to the throne of Adish the Firestorm.”

For a moment the bard lifts a bottle of wine to his lips drinking deeply. He nods and begins a deep rich cadence overturing to flames. With one last sip from his wine his voice rises in song once more.

“Adish snarled in outrage that someone dared intrude upon his home. Lifting his great blade he struck it deep within the basalt stone glaring upon these intruders. The bard seeking to placate the great Djinn told him of the rings loss. The Djinn did scoff laughing having grown long tired of Moraken’s jewelry disasters. So he shrugged uncaring sure of his wards safety. With a tongue fleet, and words silver spun a contest of wills had begun. The burning storm howled in the face of the placation yet ire would give way to prudence. With a flash of flames the Djinn flickered away to check upon his wards well being.

For brief minutes all was still until with a great pillar of flame luck was changed for ill. Adish was in the heart of a storm of flames clasping in his great hands a box glowing of molten rage. He cast down the box cursing and knowing that only several days before had a shadow crept into his vault and whisked away his shard of the portals rebirth. Honor was tarnished and the Djinns rage grew great threatening to engulf those that dared meet him.

In his rage and fury Adish prepared to unleash his flames and seek the one whom shadows clung and burn him at once. With heart that burned and body stronger than steel he is the Firestorm to which all opponents’ burn or kneel. Adish turned to gather army of his burning minions. With but a word he would march and seek the one that stole his duty and honor from its abode.

Yet words soft in the burning inferno touched the Djinn’s ears. The perpetrator was one with the dark, a shadow that could not be seen nor heard. Eternal darkness Randharavanna was not a thief easily caught. To find him one would need a certain mad cunning and understanding of darkness that the Djinn did not have. The bard placated the Djinn and promised to recover the ring, the peaces and scatter them so thoroughly not even a god could recover them.

Nodding at the bards words the Djinn cast the box to him with a soft curse. Bidding them to leave with success he advised them to seek his sister in the north of Dregar. Flames cascading around they strode free of the place of flames. They had a goal, far be it a simple one. Find the shards for the portal first, when their nemesis had all the clues. Quick and silent they darted forth sending letters to allies for the first confrontation with Randharavanna.”

Slowly the minstrel drains the bottle setting it aside twisting the emblem of the Leilon Arms into view. Grinning like an imp he resumes his melody at a gentle pace.

“Traveling swift the bard did stride, to get his strange enough wish. Across the lands of Dregar he traveled working with the great mysteries of the box. Some do say in Raxwell he opened the glowing container to find a portal unto the abyss of the mind. From its chaos he pulled notes which lead him to warnings dire. Randharavanna had planned a siege; the lady of air was in need.

In the north of Dregar in the town of Dephillie's Stand people did gather then. Legends each to this bards own eyes, you may not even believe your ears! Ta’karsh Blacklung legend of Lar, stood with hammer held in hand to make trading deals with North point he had arrived in a crucial moment in time. The druid Rhizome slipped from the woods, hearing his friends’ plea. So they set forth seeking the lady Storm to set right what was being wronged.

Into the woods they strode as shadows leaped from perches in the branches dark claws extended to rip life from limb. Hammer spun in the woodland night and Ta’karsh forged them anew, as roots tore forth from the ground itself urged by Rhizome to pull them into a shallow grave. Till at last they stood before a dark cave where winds did whisper and rave, screams of pain met their ears as they drew near.

So they entered into the dark abode, blood fresh on their weapons. From the darkness came on their first step demons with arms six and tails coiled in infernal death while shadows flanked their sides. The group began a battle then to decide the fait of the lady Storm. Around the group a whirlwind as air sought to drive the intruders out. Till at last they came before a great shadow beast towering eighteen feet high. He stood with great axe in one infernal claw smirking mercilessly. A general of Randharavanna he laughed and charged the group to bring about the end of days.

Ta’karsh raised his hammer high, fearless of what he may find and dueled the great Shadow then and there. Hammer and Axe clashed once, twice and then a third as the two titans waged a fearsome war. With a great sweeping two handed blow the fiend sought to cleave the Baron in twain. A keen wail of pain and blood did spatter upon the far wall, with a great blow Ta’karsh had laid the fiend low. Stumbling to the side, axe falling from dead fingers the general looked on in hate for he had been slain.

Like an unstoppable beacon of light in the night they strode. Darkness fled from every corner and crack as they pushed forward, fiend and shade breaking and fleeing at the sight of these interlopers. Yet to no avail the creatures wails were cut short by roots in Rhizomes passing, pulling them into the netherworld. Step by step they traveled deep, darkness giving way until they found a smaller fiend. Emerald ring on his hand, sword of shadows tightly gripped. Randharavanna smiled and dived into darkness for a while taunting them as he fled.

Opening then a great dark door, the party came across their quarry at lass. Veatana the lady of air, standing flustered in the chamber that was her lair. Randharavanna had beaten the adventurers by but a moment, stealing away her shard to create the master portal. Turning to these new unexpected guests she smiled as the bard quickly took to forefront giving greetings from Moraken and Adish.

A frown on her pristine lips she lamented her woes. For three days she had held the shadow back, and only as it stole away the shard did help arrive. Furthermore it had taunted her, revealing it did not need every piece of the puzzle to finish the portal. Two had been captured; he would only need one more. Even if he did not know their locations he soon would indeed as each lead to another.

The bard did plead his case seeking to prevent fulfillment of Randharavanna’s crime. Yet upon ears as unhearing as the wind his words did fall. She had things upon her mind other then what he could propose. She wondered of Adish and a spark of flame on the winds did seize the bard offering proof in the notes she wrote and in the box he held. For a moment she was swayed to hear his words.

Randharavanna yet had the ring and two pieces of the great puzzle to build the portal. Yet two remained and if even one were captured he may be stopped in time. The bard’s plea and promise was a simple one, he would retrieve one of the two while Randharavanna was delayed. Perhaps a second if luck was with him in the day, if so then only to defend against the Shadow and defeat him.

Eloquence and sincerity would win the day and soon the lady Veatana would hand two rings to the party. Two rings to find her brother and her sister, the frozen queen and the soul of earth. While Randharavanna’s plan itself was elaborated upon as the two minds exchanged thought. With words soft spoken and a nod of his head the bard quickly maneuvered the conversation to its final goal.

To create the great portal it self would be of little use without an army to wield with it. Yet the great bard recalled what he had seen, what had been fought and his pale frame grew ever paler. A nightmare to any that know the nature of evil had occurred. For in those battlefields of infernal rage in the hells below, two great factions seek oblivion. So it has been for all of time, yet Randharavanna was quickly aligning fiends.

Most surely with his portal he could unleash a wave of darkness across the worlds of the likes none have seen. With demons in their wrathful anarchy and devils in their tyranny he could very well enslave all of shadow. From shadow he could strike other places uninhibited and undetected till it was far too late. A masterful plan, long gone was the idea of but a favor to a friend. Instead a desperate goal, sometimes one does great things, other times they stop horrors.

So the party and the lady Djinn left the broken halls of her former home, the last of the shadow scattering before. What few demons remained died before laying down their weapons of war. Yet bloodied upon the floor with wings dark as night, was a sight that elected a cry of anguish from the bard. The one whom had warned him of Randharavanna lay nearly dead from wounds that could only be gifted by the great shadow. By some miracle she had only been left for dead, and perhaps would live. Yet in dire warning she spoke that soon Randharavanna would hunt her and her sisters to open all the planes.

Veatana set forth the bard with wishes well, as she set to find Adish and gather her kin for an assault upon Randharavanna. So the next chapter of this allegory comes to a close as Ozymandias expediently makes his way towards Mistone. Some of the greatest heroes of our time by his side, aligned to stop a threat beyond imagination.”

Smiling the bard nods to the assembled crowd taking a swift almost urgent tune in his telling.

“Randharavanna would split his forces and try to defeat both Djinn at once; perhaps it would lead to his victory or his undoing. Soon all would be settled as Ozymandias set foot at the feet of the Berhagen Mountains eyes upon the caverns of water. Into the mountains he trekked seeking the caverns that would lead into the heart of Mistones underdark.

In the shadows of the mountain peaks, creatures of all manners attacked the small group seeking to waylay or destroy. The party’s progress was slowed only slightly yet that might have been enough had they not by luck found the entry after a horrible battle. So they stepped into a greater dark, a cavern of frost and snow. Shadows warred with maidens of water seeking the source to corrupt and control.

It was in this darkness that the party faced the greatest peril they had yet met a creature of the abyss and shadow melded. Demonic claws and a melting form, without shape it took one and struck changing and shifting. It was a paragon of reality, umbrae that threatened to consume their beings. Without a moment of hesitation they gave into battle, the creature was driven back and soon stumbled thru a great wall of ice revealing a hidden chamber its minions had not yet found.

With a shimmer of light a trident impaled the beast and it fell dead. From the soft blue light emerged a titan of a being. Skin a soft blue hair white as snow she smiled and nodded to the party and soon they conversed. The elder bard handed her the ring he was given and after but a moment she gave him her token, what held together the plans to build the portal. Not enough to stop Randharavanna but enough to buy time.

One ring, one piece of the treasure remained. One Jinni and all were converging upon him to be the first to gather his treasure. Yet the Jinni of earth is a fickle creature disliking of servants unlike his kin. In the dragon isles he thrives, flickering between the roots as would a Rhizome. So the party set forth for him and for their final destination on Layonara.

Shadows sprinted with the party then, neither stopping to fight, it was a race and the victor would decide the fait of the future. Into the swamps they strode, thru the peaks they crept and past the Satyr they ran all seeking the goal therein.  Before a shrine they would stand of natures precious lands. It is a tree that glows, in the dragon isles it is surrounded by pillars rather strange, none before knew its purpose thou many have wondered.

In a dark cavern they stood, weapons readied as shadows span along the walls. A dieing scream greeted their ears and a song of infamy. The arch-bards heckles rose and from him an unnatural growl, Randharavanna and he were one and the same. Some things did grow clear then and there. For only a bard could be so underestimated, only a bard so overlooked, only a bard able to unite hated foes as he had. Randharavanna had the shard he needed to complete the portal thou it would take much more needed time.

As the darkness flickered away the Djinn lay dead, slowly fading away. Rhizome stepped forward and set his hands upon the Djinn encouraging him to bloom once more. For tense moments they stood as life forces moved from one to the other and slowly the Djinn awakened. He spat up blood and looked around with a curse upon his lips.

This Djinn unlike the others was perhaps the cleverest or just the most aware of the bards dark history. He snarled and mocked laughing all the while. He had no interest in making deals with the Bard. He was tired of Moraken’s bad luck with jewelry and the tribulations it brought him only wishing to be left alone with nature. Ozymandias spoke for a time and gave the Djinn the ring of Veatana explaining the situation.

For a tense moment the Djinn watched the ring then shook his head in disgust. No want for these problems, the adventure was almost thru. Randharavanna had the tools to create his desire and simply put none could stop him. Why should he try or care, it only lead to defeat. Yet the bard’s words continued at him, and a plan within them was heard. Finally the Djinn relented and agreed to aid when the time did come. If not for revenge alone and being rid of his duty to the portal once and for all.”

The minstrel stretches for a moment looking about taking a slow soft tune gathering into a crescendo. Almost a whisper his voice echoes across those before him and lost in trance he continues the story to its completion.

“Upon Xantril the continent of demons the party set foot, in Arabel where Blood embarks upon this world. Faces grim knowing that that place of screams and horror may be the last they would ever see. Randharavanna had gained what he needed to complete his dream and his destiny. The only choice remained was to lay siege to his fortress and recapture the ring and the blueprints therein.

Their first steps might have been their last for Randharavanna was ready for them; his arm was long and his eyes keen. He knew of their arrival and sent forth his shadows to consume and delay. Every step, every shadow not sure if it would spring alive to strike at turned away eyes. So they traveled thru the demon continent to where Randharavanna resided.

In the shadows did lurk treachery, as they neared an abandoned castle’s great hall shadows leapt forth to steal the Djinn of water’s prize. Yet as fleet as the shadows the party dodged them, entering into the demonic fortress of ruin. In chambers of torture they walked, where demons clawed and fought. They persevered till before they stood a great shimmering door of red light.

Not on this world did the great shadow live, but in a place of darkness, cold and despair were his whims. The hateful heart from where demons come to roam, the Abyss is where he had made his throne. The party journeyed on to challenge the great Shadow in his citadel of hate. Till they came to a great planer gate where upon they took a breath and set foot into a place of death.

Snows swirled wildly blinding all but the bard, used to the fury of the plane. In Thanatos in the abyss they were in. Deep in snow as undead rose to strip away flesh and blood. So they took to a slow devastating war coming before a city which no living being wakes. It was there in that place where morality withers, and hope crumbles that they met the Djinn. Each had prepared a gift and gave a warning, a simple jewel with a magic spell hardly more then a cantrip.

Into the depths of the Crypt they strode, darkness burning without hope. As they did depart from the Djinn, a dire warning was granted unto them that perhaps would save their souls. Randharavanna was the eternal darkness, the great shadow for as such he was invincible and immortal. For so long as darkness existed he would remain unbreakable, only to reflect a light in which he could not survive would banishment give reprieve.

They entered those unhallowed halls ready to face all manner of creature in the dark, and so they met an army of fiends. Tooth and claw faced adventurers’ magic and wrath and slowly the party traversed onwards thru layer after layer of deepening dark. In halls where darkness dripped like fresh spilt blood the shadows became as one, mimicking the party as shadows of themselves. At last they came to a room where a beast stood Randharavanna’s second in command, she smiled and whirled into them blades in frenzy.

Death and hatred her calling cards, she brandished blades and sought to slay the heart. Yet the bard was not without his allies and they proved to be better then the ones Randharavanna had unleashed so far. The Bird Lord and eyes of Katia his magic did sing, sending forth light and fire into the demonic beast. With a steady hand drew back the bow as Enzo the green ranger unleashed a rain of arrows. Rhizome himself dug deep into the Abyss’s chaotic ire and formed around him the shape of stone striking at the demon and breaking her bones. Magic unleash by a drowses mage which has befriended the bard at an early age, soon the battle was won the party bloodied and weakened from the blades that sung.

Yet Randharavanna had not yet revealed himself instead the room was empty and time was drifting away, a great sand timer told them they had only an hour’s time. The completion of the portal would break only despair the party searched the room seeking a hidden entry to where the great shadow would be. Ozymandias found it and gazed with a mirthful gaze, a mirror that shined with a deep inner truth. A mirror on which shadows lurked and so he touched its edge.

Captivation on its glimmering surface, as shadows danced around a great fire. Within that image yet resided great pillars of stone with water ebbing and flowing in ribbons between. Most surely not an image to greet mortal eyes, but an image of the portal being fashioned and bound to elements and shadow with magic and sound. Randharavanna could most certainly be seen, but to reach the great shadow in a myriad of lies would be the puzzle.

A ripple across the surface warned him just how frail and how easy indeed it would be to fail the riddles secret. “To see the truth” the bard did whisper placing the four gems one by one upon the mirror. As each did touch it was absorbed and the mirror glowed ever brighter however from it came a demonic hoard. Perhaps those that built the portal destined to guard entry into its resting place, or Randharavanna’s own elite guard.

As the last gem touched the mirrors stand a great darkness surrounded them, they appeared in a room unlike any before Ozymandias clutching close the mirror. Great vaulted walls lead down a path, into a chamber smelling of corruption and death. Randharavanna stood before a great device almost complete to his delight. With a dark laugh he spun to face the party drawing a blade of twisted shadow. Without another word he lunged beginning the true war.

 No battle before could compare to what was unleashed, the great shadow determined not to be unseated. With a wave of his hand a burst of dark energy span forth scattering the party like dust in the wind. Yet to rise from the ashes they were destined and so they clashed with the shadow as he span and danced testing for weakness in each stance. Magic called from the netherworld to send them back time and time again.

With a clash of steel, the heroes met face to face with their dark foe that beckoned them onward into battle. The touch of his blade, withered away at the very soul and the song he sang crippled the adventurers as well as the bards uplifted them true. Evenly matched for a time it seemed, the great shadow undefeatable and invincible. Yet in a few moments hence all would be decided in a shower of light.

With a scream of pain light reached his being as Ozymandias held the mirror high, for a moment then he was weakened and Rhizome’s power breached his mortal coil. He fell to ash and dust then no more then a shadow within. The bard darted forward with a soft cry of victory lightly made. A mocking laughter upon unborn winds met their ears, a soft twist never would you wish to hear. Shadows spun and gathered then and Randharavanna stood once more before them.

A thousand times, and a thousand more strike me down it will do no good surrender for I am the eternal Darkness. His words were whispers as they were curses; he mocked them all and their weakness. He was known as darkness eternal for a very reason; he is the great shadow and defeat unknown to him. So long as there was dark to be had, he would live and soon rule the lands.

Twin red sparks of light met the off colored of the arch bard then and true. Words were whispered in a shadow tongue then mockeries in mortal tune. He spun the ring upon his wispy finger and watched the portal slowly complete. As the party gazed on he became many things, all they loved and held dear. A branch of nature’s father is what the Rhizome did see in Randharavanna’s shadowy bliss. The mother of forests did the bird lord see as he looked on like a startled falcon caught in mid flight. An old lover the green ranger saw and so his bow clattered upon the floor. While redemptions lady the drowess did see lowering her magic’s in adoration.

Yet what the arch-bard saw was impending doom, he glared at Randharavanna for a second true. He looked into the mirror and a smile touched his lips as he embraced the shadow and horrors of his past. So he began to glow and he looked towards the others and laughed catching Randharavanna’s gaze. He was but a reflection of the shadow that was true, but the shadow was also a reflection of him too. One by one the party then gazed into the mirror catching its light and joining in its light. Each to turn away from the illusions and gaze into their own imperfection at last all shone and Randharavanna moaned his portal almost complete.

Lifting his blade he strode down the steps determined to break the link, as he raised his blade a beam of light caught him full in the chest. With a cry of outrage he faded away as the room was consumed with light, the portal shattered and from his hand fell the ring. As the light dimmed and the party looked around they saw Ozymandias standing over where Randharavanna once was lifting the ring. With a shake of his head he slipped it away and sheathed the short sword Randharavanna had used in battle that day.

Turning to the party he showed them the mirror, therein Randharavanna resided waving to them as he flickered into shadow released from an abyssal taint that consumed him forty years ago. The allegory’s final chapter was done, Randharavanna had only almost won. But in a game as dire as the one that was played, almost was still defeat that day. With a wave of his hand and a few arcane words, the bard returned the party to their native land.

From Arabel they went their separate ways, to reunite the next time the world was threatened by darkness such as Randharavanna. What of the portal and what of the ring, of that so have been told many things. Some have said Ozymandias’ kept the ring it is the emerald ring upon his hand. Others argue that he destroyed it then and there scattering it across the planes in places no being dare tread. Perhaps the Djinn came and spirited the ring and pieces away. But I heard once in Arabel that the ancient bard took it to the erinyes queen falling upon one knee and giving it to her as an engagement ring.

So ends Randharavanna’s Allegory a bards’ adventure not all heroisms come from doing great things, some come from stopping the most wicked of all. In this tale a most unlikely hero saved the day but perhaps in my next tale he will be a villain known to all. That is the enigma of the arch-bard I’m not sure even the gods themselves know his nature.

Whatever the truth, this much is known; Ozymandias yet lives and no word of a great portal is known. So he walks these lands awaiting the next great evil to face but until that day he can be found in this town telling tales. Ask him if you wish and mayhap a greater truth you will be told then in this minstrel’s tale. Thou I hear he is writing out the epic story himself to be told someday.”

With a deep bow the minstrel holds out his hat collecting the coins thrown to him. As the crowd disperses he picks up his bottle of wine and turns to leave town.

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