The World of Layonara
Character Development => Development Journals and Discussion => Topic started by: Script Wrecked on May 26, 2007, 10:03:56 PM
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Vlanin's back story (http://forums.layonara.com/481523-post5.html).
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"Wot!" Vlanin couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Laddie, ut's nay loike yer bein' banish'd, oo'r sumat," Agrim reproached. "Hoo e'er, aft'r yer wee mis-adventure un tha tunnels," Vlanin smarted, "we feel ut's best fer yoo ta go oot unto tha wid'r worl'd an' spread yer wings, so ta speak."
Vlanin sat there, dumb founded. Everything he cared for, everything he was working for, everyone he cared about, was here. His thoughts turned to Hoondin and Mischa, running the tunnels, facing unknown dangers. And of the other dwarves, who were risking their lives on a daily basis. And of Agrim and the chieftan, to whom it fell to keep the clan safe.
"Ut'll do yoo gude, laddie," the chieftan spoke. "Mast'r Agrim uz busy noo wid tha troobles. But we canna risk losin' yoo foightin' doon thar. Gude wiza'ds ar' hard tay foind." Agrim looked at the chieftan, hardly believing his ears.
Agrim turned back to Vlanin, "A'sides, when yer've prov'd yer madgicks, we ha'e a task fer yoo." There was more than a little menace in the old dwarf's words.
-
The sea spray whipped Vlanin's face as he looked out from the brow of the boat. He was actually beginning to enjoy sea travel and the wind in his hair. He wasn't feeling so sea sick either. However, the sea sickness had served to mask his feelings of isolation. There were times when he panged for the familiar surroundings of the hills of Taur'en. But alas...
Vlanin could see the line of the coast on the horizon.
"So," he spoke loudly above the wind, "hoo long a'fore we reach Fort Vehl?" Vlanin had been told of the dwarven kingdom of Ulgrid, on the isle of Mistone, and Fort Vehl was situated nearby at the base of the mountains.
"Fort Vehl?", the deck hand replied. "We're not going to Fort Vehl. We're headed for Port Hempstead."
"Booger."
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"So, tha's hoo ay end'd oop un Port Hempstead," Vlanin banged the table and laughed loud, perhaps louder that he might have at any time previously. It felt good to be home, however briefly.
"Och, matey. Get lost un tunnels yoo woold," Hoondin slapped him on the shoulder.
"So," Vlanin spoke in more subdued tone, "hoo uz ut doon un tha tunnels?"
Hoondin considered his ale for a moment. "Nay gude, Vlanin, nay gude. Thar's hardly a week goes by wid oot sum fraca."
Vlanin's face turned severe. It troubled him to hear of the ongoing hardship of his kin.
"Any wor'd o' Mischa?"
Hoondin gave him a sideways glance. "Dinna be so worried aboot her, laddie. We can be away fer weeks, months sum toimes, runnin' tha tunnels. Och. We dinna even know yoo ha'e gone untul we return'd."
"Aye. Ay know." Vlanin recalled with a twinge of regret at having left with out saying good-bye. "Yoo got ma message, though?"
"Aye. Roight har." Hoodin patted a pouch on his belt. Vlanin was slightly disappointed that Mischa did not have it, but was still pleased that his friend kept it with him. "Yoo ha'e ta ha'e sumat when yer away ta remind yoo o' wot yer foightin' fer."
"Aye."
"Aye," Hoondin echoed back. The two dwarves sat there solemnly in their comradeship.
-
The crowd had steady grown as Vlanin recounted his story.
"... So, tha four o' uz were makin oo'r way though tha Brech Moontains. Ut were freezin' cold. At e'ery turn, we were beset by monstrous yeti. Tha lady wiza'd were layin' them low wid great balls o' foire."
"Lady Wiza'd?" a voice interupted. "Och, e'ery wun knows thar's nay such thing."
Vlanin frowned.
"So wot were tha name o' yer Lady Wiza'd, then?"
"Brunhilde," Vlanin replied sternly. "Tha fiercesome warrior were called Jacrum, an' tha Hamm'r'r o' Dorand, Kuguar. We fought hard fer every step o' tha way, but eventually got ta tha Ulgrid Fortress."
"So, ay suppose yoo met tha Kung an' Queen o' tha Ulgrids, then?" A laugh went around the crowd.
"Ay woold nay say 'met', but, yoo know, bow'd a'fore them." The crowd became silence, and then murmurred again.
"Well, ay though' they were jus' showin' me tha way ta Ulgrid, but thar were trooble at Brenuth, so back we went, ta lend axe an' hamm'r. Tha Lady Wiza'd ha'e ta leave, so tha' jus' left me ta look aft'r tha two warriors."
Vlanin paused, reflecting on his own actions that day.
"Thar were much foightin' un tha tunnels, an' we were nay lookin' gude. But Jacrim's broth'r Gothim foond uz, an' we were able ta press on."
"We enter'd tha lair of tha enemy, an' foond we were foightin' against tha deep kin." A wave of indignation went around the crowd. "Duergar," someone spat.
"Thar were a bug foight wid a champion o' tha Duergar, but tha three moighty warriors prov'd victorious." The crowd cheered.
"Hoo e'er, jus' when we though' ut were finish'd, we were beset by a daemon." The crowd hushed.
Vlanin became subdued. "Tha's when ay fell."
"YOO.. FELL?!" bellowed a voice from the back. Vlanin looked up to see the crowd part as Agrim pushed foward.
"Mast'r, ay dinna know yoo were back."
Agrim waved his hand to silence Vlanin's concern. "Yoo fell, lad?"
"Well, ay think so," he replied, sheepishly. "But ut seems ay were called back." Vlanin managed half a smile.
Agrim's face showed concern. Finally, he sighed. "Come wid me, lad."
...
Agrim paced up and down the room, in some sort of deliberation. Finally, he spoke.
"Lad..." Agrim started, then he stopped, trying once more to marshall his thoughts.
He began again, "When ay were lookin' fer an apprentuce, ut were nay jus' ta pass on ma skills as a wiza'd." He paused briefly to consider the sound of his own words.
"Durin' tha toime o' Milara tha Fell Hand'd, many dread things creat'd. Sum o' these things wreck'd havoc upon tha lan's. Sum o' these things were fough' an' vanquish'd. An' sum o' these these things were hidd'n away.
"Tha thing aboot hidd'n things uz tha', sum toimes, they ar' foond agin. Things tha' were best kept hidd'n, oo'r unmade, rise agin ta wreak thar forgott'n vengence."
Agrim paused, considering what he was about to say, and the consequences of speaking of such things.
"Thus uz tha burd'n ay bear, Vlanin, ta keep a dread thing hidd'n." He sighed, remembering his efforts in this task, and how he still had not reached the fruition of his goal. "Ifn ay ha'e tha means ta destroy ut, ay woold. But fer noo, ut has ellud'd me."
Agrim clasped Vlanin by the shoulders, and looked at him squarely in the eyes. "Thus us ma legacy ta yoo, lad." He looked deeply at Vlanin.
Agrim's tone lifted slightly. "So, yoo see, ay canna ha'e yoo goin' an' gettin' yerself kull'd while oot on yer travels. Noo'r can ay ha'e yoo fallin' foightin' tha enemy un tha tunnels. Thus uz moo're umportan' than tha'."
Vlanin sat here, trying to take all this in. His master had never been quite so candid with him, never quite so open. And now, Agrim was instilling in him his faith in a task that Agrim himself had not so far been able to carry to completion. At the same time, Vlanin was daunted by the responsibility of being in line for something that had not been able to be completed by someone more capable than himself.
Agrim smiled at Vlanin. "Dinna look so worried lad, ay ha'e a few moo're gude yars un me yet."
-
"So, thar ay were, standing on ma knees un front o' thus rowdy crood, pretendin' ta be sum human child." Vlanin wondered why he was telling Mischa this tale. Surely something more heroic would have been more impressive. After all, he was talking to a tunnel runner, one who faced peril most days of her life.
Vlanin was seated on Mischa's good side, from which she looked like any other dwarven maiden, fresh, and vital, and... She turned to speak to him, and there it was, a heavy patch across her eye, its strap tight against her skin. From behind the patch a wicked scar gouged her brow and ran down her cheek.
Vlanin lamented this loss, of something whole, of something beautiful, something that was forever broken and disfigured, and all the days would count its loss. She had called it her payment to the Soul Mother, the price to stay and fight the good fight. Such a small thing, she had said.
But it galled Vlanin, choking his throat, squeezing his heart. How many small prices had to be paid, how many good dwarves had to fall to this enemy that seemed to come and go unchecked...
"Och, Vlanin. Ay ne'er knew yoo were a dwarf o' such talents." Mischa smiled at him. Vlanin hoped she hadn't notice him flinch as she had turned. He smiled back at, catching her gaze briefly.
"Och, lassie, ay surprise ma self sum toimes," he gave her a knowing wink.
-
The torches were beginning to burn low in the open night air, raised high by tiring arms. The gathered dwarves had formed an honour guard that ran from the great doors of the hall.
From out of the Hall came six dwarves carrying a litter of shields, on which rested the body of their fallen comrade. He wore his helm for one final time, laid to rest under a heavy hide rug. Atop his legs rested his personal shield, and to his side a heavy spear, though its shaft was broken. Behind the pallbearers came a small entourage of his family, and those who had counted him as friend.
From amidst the crowd, an individual in a dark hooded robe watched in silence as the procession moved by. All those around him seemed to know who this fallen warrior was, had whispered anecdotes to share. It was to his shame that he realised this was another of his clan he did not recognise, did not know. Long years of study had kept him apart from his kin, and now he was banished to far aways places, keeping safe, separated from their struggle. He tilted his head so the hood would shadow his face, hoping to blend into the darkness.
The procession came to a great pyre. The warrior's body was carried to the top, and laid down beside the rest of his fallen comrades. A deep voice commended the fallen to the hallowed halls of their ancestors, but the words were lost to the wind for the hooded figure.
He watched as the torches slowly brought the pyre to life, to consume the bodies and release the spirits of these good dwarves. The power of the pyre entranced him. Surely there was some hope...
-
The sun was high in the sky, peering through the dust as best it could. Agrim's crow bobbed along the ground in front of them.
As they walked, Vlanin knew that this was going to be hard going with his master. There were many things that he just didn't talk about. Questions about sacred items, or the established order, he didn't seem to have the patience or inclination to discuss. However, Vlanin felt this was a question waiting to be asked, one that showed he was ready to know more.
"So, mast'r, ifn thus dread thing uz so poo'rful, why dinna we use ut aginst tha enemy?"
Agrim stopped, and closed his eyes, the weight of an old burden returning to him. He tipped his head to one side, stretching his neck to relieve the tension.
Vlanin immediately regretted asking the question. There were ways and means of approaching his master, and some things were best left unasked.
Agrim opened his eyes again, and spoke thoughtfully, "Ah, laddie, ifn ut were only tha' simple." He grinned to himself, almost malignly.
"Furstly, yoo assume ut can be used aginst tha enemy. Nay all things can be controll'd, oo'r lead un tha direction yoo wan' tae go.
"Secondly, yoo assume yoo can wield thus thing loike a craft'r does a tool, an' change tha wor'ld wid ut. Hoo e'er, tha tool also changes tha craft'r. An' nay always fer tha bett'r."
Agrim paused, remembering some hard learnt truth. "Tha great'r tha tool, tha great'r ut changes tha craft'r. Tha craft'r uz enabled by his tool, does things tha' tha tool enables him tae do, does things tha perhaps he woold nay ha'e done a'fore, but he does them because he noo can. An' un doin' these things, sum toimes he forgets hoo he was, an' wot he stood fer, an why he were usin' tha tool ta begin wid."
Agrim sighed, and slowly began walking again.
Vlanin stood there, slightly overwhelmed by the words of his master.
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The peals of hammer against anvil rang out through the crafting hall. A group of armorers were gathered around one of their fellows, who was barely standing under the weight of the pieces of plate they kept attaching to the armor that he wore. They were too engrossed to notice Vlanin crouching down in front of a pile of armor that was waiting to be repaired.
There was something empowering about armor, that let a warrior stand before his adversary and bear his blows. How armor walked into battle with the warrior, sacrificed itself to protect him, and walked out again if he survived, witness to his courage.
Vlanin ran his hand over a chain shirt that lay top most, trying to sense it from its touch, listening for the inaudible echoes of its last battle, of how it had served its master. His hand found a rent in the links, a small hole, Vlanin could barely fit three fingers through it. In the broken links there were dark flecks that might have been dried blood.
Vlanin thoughts drifted, imagining what might have taken place. The flash of a silver blade in the darkness, striking from behind the protection of the warrior's shield, finding the gap between the plates of steel, pushed deep, the warrior barely turned to see his assailant as he fell to the floor.
A voice boomed above the noise of the hammering, snapping Vlanin's attention back. "An' wot ar' yoo doin' in tha Craftin' Hall o' tha Mast'r o' Crafts then, lad?"
Vlanin looked up to see the priest of Dorand peering down at him, his broad hands on his hips, his chest bare behind a thick leathern apron. The priest reached down and pulled Vlanin to his feet.
The priest shouted about the din of the hall, "Come ta see oo'r foin dwarvish arm'r, eh?"
The priest lead Vlanin closer to the group of armorers. "See har, thus uz the heavy armor whar makin'." He indicated the fellow now totally encased from head to foot in plate armor.
"Feel tha'," The priest dropped a piece of armor into Vlanin's hands. Vlanin struggled to hold on to it. "Heavy, aint ut," he grinned. "Dinna worry lad, we'll ha'e them beat yet."
-
The drinking hall was more lively than usual this night. A troupe of dwarven berserkers had arrived earlier that day, and were making the best of it before they moved on, or were moved on. Even more headstrong and fiery than their regular kin, berserkers were best appreciated in short stays, and so spent much of their time travelling between settlements. The strong arms and heavy axes they could bring to solve your little problem were always welcomed, but after they had busted up your furnishings, eaten you out of house and home, and chased your daughters once too many times around the halls, it was time for them to go.
Vlanin slowly pushed his way though the merry and somewhat inebriated crowd. He found Hoondin leaning against the bar, holding a young dwarven lass close at the waist, exchanging small talk.
"Hey, Vlanin." They gripped hands, pulling against the other. The dwarf lass cuddled closer into Hoondin.
"Hey, Hoondin." Vlanin smiled and raised a knowing brow, indicating the lass.
"Och, thus uz B..." There was a loud crash from the other end of the hall as one of the berserkers broke something. Her name was lost in the noise. The crowd roared with laughter.
Vlanin nodded to the lass. She smiled back briefly, before turning her attention to Hoondin again.
"Get yoo an ale, mate?"
Vlanin made his practised polite declination motion.
"Och, o' course..." Hoondin fumbled.
Hoondin and Vlanin made their own small talk for a while, but it was stilted and guarded, not quite as forthcoming in the presence of another. Eventually, the dwarven lass excused herself, though her hands lingering on Hoondin as she left.
Both of them relaxed a little in each others company.
"Och, Hoondin, ay though' yoo whar moo're, well, un fer tha long term."
Hoondin considered for a moment, "Well, yoo see, ay whar, but, yoo know, Vlanin, uts different doon un those tunnels. Luvin' from day ta day, nay knowin' ifn yoo wull see yer kin agin, see tha surface agin. All tha' future stuff uz foin, but when yoo dinna know ifn yer goin' ta see tha next day, well, yoo take a but o' companionship whar yoo foind ut."
Vlanin panged with compassion for his friend. "Fare eno'," he nodded.
As Hoondin drank from his tankard, something in the crowd caught his attention. Hurriedly, he finished his ale. "Och, got ta go. Noice talkin' wid yoo, Vlanin," and he was gone.
Vlanin laughed to himself.
He looked around the throng, studying the crowd, the small pockets of interaction amidst the mass of activity. His attention was drawn to the general commotion the berserkers were causing. There, in the sea of faces, he saw her. Mischa.
She was standing, talking with some warrior. It seemed they were struggling to hear each other above the crowd, leaning in to each other. Leaning a bit close, he thought. Were they...? Was she...? Vlanin was flummoxed. He had thought that he... Her patch... Who would... He felted humilated, and ashamed, and cross with himself.
They were whisked away from his view as the crowd suddenly surged, and rolled, and moved away. The berserkers had started brawling amongst themselves.
-
"So, then she took oot thus flamin' dagg'r, an' stabb'd tha book wid ut." Vlanin glanced at Agrim for his response. "Ay think tha warrior Jacrum were a but taken aback. But a'fore any wun coold do anything aboot ut, tha book had bur'nt ta ash."
"So, thus drow had had tha book?" Agrin placed his crow on its perch. The bird refolded its wings, and seemed to consider Vlanin through its good eye.
Vlanin nodded.
For a while, Agrim was the picture of contempation, carefully considering, almost inscrutable. Finally, he spoke.
"Ut's a funny thing aboot books," he began. "Folk ha'e all sorts o' ideas aboot books, an' hoo shoold ha'e them, an' hoo shoold nae."
"Why's tha', mast'r?"
"Vlanin!" Agrim turned sharply. "Yoo o' all folk shoold und'rstan' why."
Agrim looked for some reponse or recognition from his apprentice. Finally, he drew a breath. "As a wiza'd, whar do yoo get yer poo'r?"
"From ma spells," Vlanin replied, and then, perceiving what he had said to be too obvious or too brief, he thought quickly, and added hurriedly, "an' from ma knowledge o' tha Weave."
"Aye," Agrim nodded, "an' whar dud yoo get tha' knowledge?"
"From yoo, mast'r." Vlanin was pleased to pay hommage to his master, but again felt his answer was too shallow, failing to follow where Agrim was trying to lead him.
"An'?" Agrim couldn't help himself. He cast his eyes around the room, to the shelves, and to their contents.
"From tha scrolls an' tha tomes."
"Aye, laddie, from tha scrolls an' tha tomes," he echoed back the point he was trying to make.
"Ay ha'e read each an' e'ery wun o' these writin's many toimes, an' yet ay dinna rememb'r all o' ut. Hoo e'er, when ay need ta know sumat, ay foind tha roight book, an' read ut. When ay want yoo ta know sumat, ay tell yoo ta read thus scroll oo'r tha' parchment.
"A book uz a way o' rememb'rin' wid oot keepin' ut un yer head. When ay am gone, these writin's wull stull be har. All tha' ay ha'e learnt, wull still be har," Agrim repeated, emphasizing the last words.
Vlanin sat back in his chair. He was thinking that he was beginning to grasp what his master was saying. However, he found the effort in keeping up with his master's concepts could be quite wearying at times.
"So," Agrim continued, to Vlanin's dismay, "yoo say yer poo'r uz un yer spells. But ay say, ifn yoo dinna know hoo ta cast yer spells, yoo dinna ha'e any poo'r." Agrim paused before revealing his pearl. "Ut's tha knowin' hoo tha's yer poo'r, lad. Tha spell uz jus' tha final manifestation o' ut, see?"
It seemed that his master was quite eager for Vlanin to comprehend this. Vlanin nodded, hoping not to displease, hoping it would make more sense later.
"So, yer knowledge uz yer poo'r, an'," Agrim paused for emphasis, "tha book keeps tha knowledge." Agrim's eyes fairly sparkled with knowing and anticipation. "Wot does tha' make tha book?"
Vlanin thought for a moment, trying not to disappoint his master. "Poo'r."
"Aye, lad," Agrim grinned. "Poo'r. Oo'r stor'd poo'r. Poo'r waitin' ta be made manifest. An' nay fer jus' madgick, eith'r. Fer all things.
"So, laddie, yoo can see why folk can be so concern'd aboot books, an' whose readin' them."
Vlanin nodded, and sunk back in the chair again.
-
A few of the clan folk were gathered by the hearth, exchanging fireside stories. A young dwarven skald stood by the fire, looking on, listening. When they had noticed Vlanin sitting on the periphery, they coaxed him into telling them his latest tale.
"...Finally, we fough' oo'r way unto tha dark heart o' tha wood. Thar, un a clearin' by thus small lake were tha great shaft o' loight tha' we ha'e bin followin'. As we approach'd, we coold see thar were thus ulf maid'n standin' un tha loight."
The skald strummed a chord on his lute, and sung softly in rich baritones, "The heroes found their heavenly light..."
Vlanin looked at the skald, not sure if he was being interrupted. "We tried talkin' wid tha lass, but ut weren't untul sum wun stepp'd unto tha small'r loights tha' we were able ta converse."
The skald played the same chord, strumming at each line, "...shining on a maiden fair..."
Vlanin continued, "O' course, being an ulf, she spoke un ulvish. Fortunately, sum o' tha oth'rs translat'd fer tha rest o' us."
"...to talk with her so that they might..."
"Ut seem'd she were from far away, an' had come ta warn us."
"...learn of the message she did bare..."
"She said thar were dang'r comin', an' tha' we needin' ta prepare, an' ta be on oo'r guard."
"...warning them of strife to come..."
Someone interjected, "Pah, ulves. Trooble comin'? Dud yoo nay tell har uts already har?"
The skald continued, changing chord, "...but I say to you she did not know, of the dwarves and their woe, of their blood upon the stone." He changed chord again, "Who will stand into the light, bring dwarves aid in their fight, against the foe so dark and grim, to save the Hills of Taur'en."
The skald finished the tune to silence.
Vlanin caught a sob in his throat, touched by the skald's words. When he looked up, he noticed some of the other kin were avoiding eye contact as well.
The skald looked to Vlanin, bowed respectfully to him, and left.
-
"Qwuck, Vlanin, yer need'd."
"Wot?" Vlanin hurried after the messenger.
...
A small war host was assembled at the Under Gate.
"Ah, Vlanin," the Master of Arms clapped him on the shoulder. "A tunn'l runn'r ha'e brough' wor'd tha' thar ha'e bin trooble un tha tunn'ls. Wid Mast'r Agrim away, we want yoo to come wid us..."
"But ma mast'r ha'e said..."
"Thar's nay toime fer tha', lad. We need ta act qwuckly. Ut's e'ery-wun-to-tha-ready." The Master of Arms looked at him squarely, "We need yoo, lad."
Vlanin was uncertain, reluctant, mindful of what Master Agrim had said before. And yet his kin were asking for his help. "Foin. Lead on."
"Dinna worry, lad. We'll look aft'r yoo."
...
It occurred to Vlanin as the host exited the narrow Under Passage that he had not been in the tunnels since the time he had been rescued by Mischa and Hoondin. He was panged by doubt and fear. However, with the tight passage filled ahead and behind him by marching warriors, there was no turning back.
...
Vlanin puffed as the host quick-marched through the dark and winding tunnels. He watched the warriors in front of him marching in full plate and tower shields, while he struggled in his robe. Looking at their armour, he felt terribly vulnerable.
He wasn't sure he was going to be able to keep up the pace for much longer when they came to a stop. A hooded and cloaked tunnel runner had stepped out of the shadows and was speaking with the Master of Arms.
"Thus way, lads."
...
As the host approached the area ahead of them, Vlanin remembered his previous journey through dark passages. Warriors all around him, though less heavily armored. A commotion ahead, loud crashing and banging, shouting from the front. Glimpses as the darkness would briefly take form and strike with a flash and then be gone. More shouting, being knocked back as an warrior crashed into him, falling, then a brillant light and all was lost to him.
Vlanin inhaled sharply.
...
The host cautiously advanced into the area. From behind the wall of shields, from behind their armored forms, Vlanin saw the bodies strewn around the floor of the tunnel.
A disquieting murmur passed through the warrior host. "Steady, lads."
Vlanin saw them too. Amongst the fallen lay the lightly armored and exotically marked bodies of the berserkers. It was almost too much. The berserkers were champions to the dwarven people, a pillar to depend on. But now, but now they were lost, exposed to this scourge, and consumed. Vlanin's fear dissipated before his anger and resentment.
...
"Oi. Thus wun uz alive."
A dwarf propped his comrade up against the side of the tunnel. The bloodied warrior was obviously in some physical distress, seemed to have trouble breathing. Vlanin watched from where he stood, afraid coming any closer would disrupt his tenuous hold on life.
"Ay knew yoo woold come," the warrior smiled to the Master of Arms. He knelt down beside him.
"Conserve yer strength, lad."
The warrior ignored him. "They were magnificent." He indicated the fallen berserkers. "Tha enemy struck from tha shadows, appearin' almost un amongs' uz. But tha berserk'rs hit them back so hard," he paused, revelling in the memory, "ut threw them off."
"They came agin." He drew a gargled breath. "Tha berserk'rs were ferocious. Despite tha blows o' tha enemy, they kept on foightin', givin' as gude as they got. Punishmen' tha' woold ha'e kull'd an ordinary dwarf. They kept standin', blood runnin' doon thar legs."
The warrior fought to remain lucid. "Ay saw when they exchang'd grim glances between themselves. Ut seem'd they coold tell, but kept on foightin'," he paused, "even when they began ta fail, began ta fall."
"But wid wun las' heroic effort they threw themselves unto tha enemy, an' they drove them off," he spoke in awe, his eyes watching events past.
He choked on a sob. "But ut were too much fer them," he gasped on another breath, "they fell from thar woonds."
Exhaustion was taking hold of him, "Tha's why... ay had ta hold on... so tha' yoo woold know... oh thar val..." Looking into the eyes of the Master of Arms, he breathed his last.
The host had been transfixed as this brave soul had held on to tell them this tale of bravery and courage, and were transfixed now has he slipped away. Moments of deathly silent passed.
"K'A TZHAZHGATH WAAAZH RUR TAAZK'."
("the dwarves fear no death")
"ZHA POHARK TAAZK' KUR K'A ARALO," the host shouted in unison as they crashed shields.
("we bring death to the enemy")
Vlanin shouted out the cry with the host, moved by the loss of the berserkers, touched by the spirit of his fallen kin. He had been held in awe as the warrior had struggled to speak. Now he was was overwhelmed as his anger and grief rose. Tears filled his eyes, the magical energy surged within him, his face a grim mask.
Amidst the commotion, the Master of Arms closed the warrior's eyes, "They wull nay be forgott'n, lad. An' nay wull yoo."
-
The wake for the fallen berserkers and warriors had been long and loud. Plenty of ale had flowed, and more than a few dwarves were in touch with their berserker spirit that night.
Vlanin lurched into the wall. He wasn't feeling so good. He had drunk more than his usual, which wasn't much for a dwarf, caught up in the rowdy and exuberant behaviour. But now he wanted quiet from the ringing in his ears, and the floor to be a bit more steady.
He pushed open the heavy door to his master's hall. As he entered, he peered up past the heavy wooden cross beams into the darkness of the high rafters. The small hall felt empty in Agrim's absence.
Vlanin stood for a moment in the gloom. He spied the dark door leading down to the librarium. Had he left it open? He tottled across the hall and down the stairs, and found the door ajar.
"Helloo," he called as he peered around the door. "Any wun thar?"
After a moment's silence, Vlanin went inside, drawing the door closed behind him. He cast his spell of illumination, and sat down in one of the sitting chairs. For a moment, he was just glad to be still again.
He looked around the bookshelves, with their tomes and parchments haphazardly piled on top of one another. He sighed to himself. There must be an answer in there somewhere.
The light spell went out.
"Boog'r."
-
Vlanin hauled himself up onto the reading lecturn that sat at the center of the librarium for the umpteenth time that morning with yet another parchment to peruse.
So long had he spent seated there as a young apprentice. When Agrim had first taken him on, he had had to be propped up on books and cushions just so that he could see above the edge. Many hours he had sat there, trying to absorb the strange and sometimes incomprehensible lessons Agrim had taught him, reading the estoric librams and scrolls. Wizards were highly intelligent, but often they seemed reticent about commiting too much information to writing, or made varying and inconsistent assumptions about their readers' ability or understanding. Still, with Agrim's instruction, all the effort and tedium had paid off. He was a wizard.
Vlanin remembered when Agrim had given him his own key to the librarium to mark the end of his apprenticeship, and how proud he had felt. The irony being, now that he had his own key, he spent less time in the librarium than before. Until now.
Now he was taking the next step, instead of being taught, being given facts and direction, he was seeking information for his own end, seeking information that may not be there, or, that being read, might not be recognised for the solution it presented.
Vlanin was in admiration of the wizards who had come first, that had broken new ground, expanded the greater understanding, that others might take and use and carry further. Despite their greatness, very little was known of them personnally, usually only their own works testament to their labors. And what of those unnamed wizards who spent as much effort as any but had made no headway, had no grand revelation, and were lost forever in obscurity.
Vlanin jumped down from the lecturn, and pulled out another parchment.
-
"So thar were thus lass on top o' tha temple, threat'nin' ta jump off 'coz o' wot she though' har husband ha'e bin oop to." Vlanin was talking with some dwarves in the drinking hall.
"As ut turn'd oot, ut were all false implications, an' folk jumpin' ta wrong conclusions."
Vlanin thought of Mischa, and that night in the drinking hall, and what he thought had been going on between her and that warrior fellow. What did he know? Maybe it was all innocent.
Doubt cast its shadow across his mind. He remembered what Hoondin had said about seeking company. His heart plunged as he considered that maybe it was the same for Mischa. Vlanin sighed deeply at his own predicament, and perhaps learnt a bit of compassion for the lady on the temple roof.
"Anyhoo," he grinned bravely to the dwarves. "Back ta ma readin'."
-
Vlanin had been working through the various librams and tomes, scrolls and parchments, that were strewn around the librarium in a seemingly haphazard fashion. He was surprised at how many he had not read during his apprenticeship.
He was also feeling overwhelmed. There was years worth of study here. He wondered how Master Agrim had managed to read them all.
Vlanin held his head in his hands, and absentmindedly looked up from the lecturn. His gaze drifted to the empty perch where his Master's crow would sit while he was studying. He remembered the bird's baleful glare whenever he had got fed up and began to fidget. Or how the crow would peck at young fingers if you tried to pick it off its perch or shoo it away. And of course, there was always the menace that it might go for one of your eyes.
When Vlanin had first learnt of familiars, he had been certain the bird was some daemonic agent, and had given it a wide berth. Agrim had explained the different types of familiars to Vlanin, and how a wizard benefitted by having one, but this had not dispelled his young concerns.
"An' wot benefit does tha familiar get from rend'rin' thus service?" Vlanin had asked. "Wun o' them," Agrim had replied, "uz long life."
Vlanin turned his attention back to the tome he was reading. He had not taken a familiar.
-
// This scene takes place in the librariam with Vlanin having discovered a casket. For the moment, I haven't been able to satisfactorily conceal and discover the casket within the librariam. However, its holding up the story progression, so, in the interim, I'm skipping that part. My apologies. Also, I can't provide a description in the text without having placed it. So, for the moment, caskets are small, some 2' by 3', made of stone, heavy, used to hold the bones of the dead after their bodies have been burnt. //
Vlanin opened the casket lid. To his relief he found not bones, but something flat and rectangular wrapped in a heavy shroud. After a moment considering what it might be, he reached in and took it out of the casket, and unwrapped the shroud on the floor. Inside was a large, dark leather bound book, heavily embossed, edged in iron. A heavy clasp held it closed.
Why would anyone bury a book, he thought, as his hand moved to open the clasp.
Almost in answer he recalled, "Wot does tha' make tha book?"
Vlanin remembered. Power.
Why would you keep such a thing hidden, he puzzled.
"...ta keep a dread thing hidd'n..." echoed back.
His hand recoiled from the book. Was this Agrim's legacy? He was taken by a cold sweat.
What was he doing? Vlanin panicked, looking around to see who might have witnessed him, but he was still alone in the librariam. Carefully, he re-wrapped the book in the shroud. As he placed it back into the casket, he noticed some rune markings inside the casket, but didn't stop to inspect them. Hurridly, he checked over the wrapped book and casket, and then lifted the heavy lid back in place. As it ground close, he exhaled in relief.
-
Not a few days ago, Vlanin had laid at the foot of the bindstone in Port Hempstead. He had lain there looking up into the dusty sky. Death. Death was always so close, no matter how careful you were.
He and the warrior Jacrum had been on the moors of Battlehelm fighting the swampfolk. Deeper and deeper they had ventured until they had been ambushed. Master Agrim had warned him about chasing warriors to their glorious deaths, and so he had paid a price for his foolishness.
It seemed good folk were dying just holding the line. Not making any headway, just trying to preserve what they had. And still they died. What use was it being careful and cautious if you were going to die anyway? Why not, why not take some risk that you might succeed, instead of waiting for certain death?
Those thoughts returned to him now as Vlanin eyed up the cold, pale stone of the casket.
Vlanin remembered the berserkers, and the sacrifice they had made. A sacrifice that, in the end, was not to hold any ground, or protect their kin, but a sacrifice to die fighting. A sacrifice to do all they could in that moment to prevail, even, even after they had realised they would fall. Vlanin's eyes welled up.
Slowly, Vlanin lifted the lid of the casket. Slowly, he took out the wrapped book and placed it on the reading lecturn. Slowly, he took his seat in front of it.
In that moment, all there was was him and the book.
Gently, he unwrapped it. Gently, his hand traced over the singed embossing until it found the metal clasp. Gently, he squeezed the clasp until the strap sprung open.
He opened the cover, and laid his eyes across the vellum pages.
-
Vlanin looked across the far horizon from the wind swept hills of Taur'en. The dust always seemed thickest on the horizon, an ominous dark band at the edge of the sky. He breathed in deeply as the wind buffeted him, roaring softly in his ears. It was as though the swirling air held him in its embrace.
He had walked for hours, walked until his feet were sore and his legs ached, walked as far away as he could from that book. He had read the book in earnest, read the dread thing in some honest hope that it would hold a solution. After all, this was Agrim's legacy, the thing that Master Agrim strove to keep hidden. Surely, in such a book, there would be an answer.
But the more he had read, the more he found that it dealt with death, the more he found it dealt with the dead, the more he found it dealt with the undead; it was a book of necromancy.
Vlanin shuddered. He didn't want to be a blasted necromancer, co-opting the dead to do his will, defiling the bodies of the departed for his own means. He was not this.
He closed his eyes, lifted out his arms, caught in the breath of the wind, briefly forgotten of all things.
-
Vlanin hit the sandy floor of the wrestling circle. For a moment he was winded. Hoondin loomed large over him.
Finally Vlanin breathed. "Tha's ut. Ay ha'e eno'."
Hoondin looked down on him, disapprovingly. "Ne'er give oop, Vlanin."
Vlanin stared back at him. For a moment, his frustration and anger burnt through, "Foin."
He rolled up and, forgetting his concern about hurting his opponent, barrelled into Hoondin hard. He caught Hoondin behind the knees, lifted him slightly off of his feet, and dropped him onto the floor, following down on top of him.
"Hey," Hoondin groaned, "tha's moo're loike ut."
Vlanin remembered himself, concerned that he may have caused his friend harm. He got up, and pulled Hoondin to his feet. "Yoo all roigh'?"
"Aye. Nowt an ale wull nay fix," Hoondin grinned as he clapped Vlanin around the shoulder.
...
Hoondin put his tankard down on the table top, "Yoo seem ta be a but preoccupied wid sumat, lad."
Vlanin shrugged meekly, annoyed with himself that he had let slip sign of his secret dilemna.
Hoondin continued, "Ay know oo'r paths dinna cross so often these days, but ifn thar uz anything ay can help yoo wid, yoo let me know, aye?"
"Och, yoo can help me by makin' sur'e yoo keep comin' oot o' those tunnels," Vlanin grinned.
Hoondin thoughtfully considered his ale.
They both chuckled at the reality of the situation.
-
Vlanin eyed the casket suspiciously. He had resolved to read through the entire book, despite its subject matter; it would be bitter irony if there was some useful reference but a few unread pages away.
But that was before his latest foray on Mistone. He had been travelling with a band that had rescued a small girl from some nearby caves when they had been confronted by group who looked like them in all respects. Vlanin had found it quite disconcerting to see himself standing across the divide, an unknown stranger. But this hadn't been the work of some miscreant wizard or fey shapechangers. No, when the imposters had been challenged, they came out fighting in their true forms. Daemons.
Vlanin paced up and down, not taking his eyes off the casket. Had a daemon found out what he was doing, and taken interest in him? Had the book betrayed him to some infernal power? Or perhaps the casket? Or was it coincidental? Had he brought about his own misfortune by daring to read the dread thing? What other fortune was he creating by his actions? Many questions raced through Vlanin's mind.
He stopped and pondered, but no answers came to him.
Things were much easier when you were just an apprentice, he thought. Someone to tell you the way things were, and what would happen if you did this or did that. Now, now things were uncertain. Actions could be taken and their consequences unrealised for days, for years, even life times.
-
Vlanin sat with his hand on the table, his chin resting on his hand, looking across the expanse of the table top, looking for answers. With his other hand he twiddled with a small wooden ornament. He had sat there for what felt like hours. He felt empty, bereft of any insight or understanding. What to do, what to do, echoed again and again in his mind.
It seemed there were always barriers. The closer you got to something, the harder the going got. And he didn't even know what he was getting close to.
Why were things always hard, not easy. Doing nothing was easy. It was easy and safe. Well, until the enemy came banging at your door, and then it was all over.
No, something had to be done. But was this it? What was he risking? "Yoo'll nay know untul yoo try," Master Agrim had said on numerous occasions. Well, maybe he would try now, and it would all break.
Maybe it wouldn't. Maybe this was the solution waiting to be found, but too many people had been afraid and skirted around it.
Well, there was only one way to find out. Vlanin sat up, and ran his hand over his aching head. "But ifn thus uz fer tha wur'se, ay swear by tha two gods tha' ut'll be only me tha' has ta suff'r any consequences."
For a moment he thought of all sorts of daemons extracting punishments for his transgression.
Vlanin sighed. He hoped he wasn't going to rue this choice.
-
Vlanin sat at the reading lecturn, shrouded in darkness apart from the small sphere of light that illuminated the open pages of the book. It was late, his eyes were beginning to close of their own accord.
[INDENT]"...The immediate benefit of the Subtulation is the induration of the skin. The effect is such that the aspirant is benefitted of armor without the inconvenience of such impeding paraphernalia... The protection afforded improves with the aspirant's commitment to the path..."[/INDENT]
Vlanin perked up. He remembered the dwarf warrior Beli who accompanied a group of them into the Swamp of Lost Souls. He had fought without benefit of armor or axe, and yet he had lead the way, striking with hands like steel hammers, seemingly fending the enemies' blows with stone hard skin. Perhaps this was an answer. He read on.
[INDENT]"...Some have remarked of a similar induration in the aspirant's own humours. If this were to be so, it would be a small adjustment for such a boon..."[/INDENT]
And so Vlanin read on through the night and into the small hours of the morning.
[INDENT]...
"...The success of the aspirant's ability to initially establish a connection to the Malcairiam Degree of the Weave is revealed by a new acuity of the darkness. Henceforth, the aspirant can tranverse the lightless passages and crypts without need to disturb the tranquility of the pitch air... Sensitivity to the high sun, usually cited as one potential side effect, is often a result of residing in the dark places for extended periods of time..."
...
"...When the aspirant is able to sustain a continuous channel to the Weave Malcairia, his life force becomes intermingled with its energies... The aspirant is imbued with increasing vigor... The experience of these energies may supplicate the desire for base consumptions..."
...
"...As the strength of the channel increases, the essence of the Malcaire subsumes some of the aspirant's own nature... He becomes impervious to certain malafflictions that affect those of the Physicium... The aspirant's need of repose is moderated by some greater or lesser degree..."
...
"...When the aspirant consummates his connection to the Malcairiam, he is no longer vulnerable to the fatal blows of his enemies..."
...[/INDENT]
Vlanin sat bolt up right. He couldn't believe what he had just read. He read it again, slowly, more deliberately. "...he is no longer vulnerable to the fatal blows of his enemies." A faint light of glee lit in his heart.
Was this the answer? Had he found it? He chuckled to himself. He began laughing. He laughed harder. He laughed loudly as his anger and resentment and frustrations were swept away, swept away by hope.
-
Vlanin stepped outside into the cold air of the pre-dawn. Unseen birds called in anticipation of the new day. A faint blush of light illuminated the dark horizon.
He walked across the wet cobblestones to the edge of the flat ground and peered out into the diminishing gloom. The mist gently rolled in the valley below.
The faint orb of the sun lifted itself above the horizon, shrouded by the caustic cloak of dust. Yet it still glowed, it still struggled to bring its meager light to the land, in faint promise that one day this adversity would be overcome and it would burn brightly once again.
Vlanin looked at the risen sun, and smiled. He had found a way ahead.
-
A group of dwarves were sitting around the fireside in the great hall long after most of the clan had retired for the night. The comfort of a fire was sorely missed during long forays into the caverns, and the returned tunnel runners were quite content to sit in the warmth of its glow as they swapped stories with the remaining clan dwarves.
Vlanin had waited patiently to speak alone with Mischa since earlier that evening, but had been unable to disengage her from her comrades. He sat in a chair to the side, staring into the flames.
"Wot aboot yoo, Mast'r Vlanin? Wot tale o' yer lates' jour'ney ha'e yoo ta tell?"
Vlanin looked up, and smiled politely as if to decline. Telling tales in front of clan folk was one thing, but in front of hardened tunnel runners was quite another.
"Come on, Vlanin," Mischa called encouragingly. "Tell uz wot yoo ha'e bin oop to."
Reluctantly, Vlanin stood up in front of the hearth. He cleared his throat, and tried to project his voice as best he could.
"So, thar we whar, standin' on tha sea bed nay less, breathin' tha very wat'r loike we whar born tae ut. Tha' takes a but o' gettin' us'd tae, let me tell yoo.
"Tha little fush were swummin' all aroond uz," he made fish motions with his hands, "when, wush, they all dart'd off."
"Very strange, ay though'. But from oot o' tha gloom came tha largess' fush ay ha'e e'er seen. Bug as a small hoose, wid a gapin' maw full o' roos upon roos o' sharp, jagg'd teeth.
"Tha' were a tough foigh'," he paused dramatically, "an' wid no small effort by tha warriors, too."
He saw Mischa showing interest. Not content to let go of the limelight, he continued into his latest tale.
"Anoth'r toime, we foond oo'rselves shrunk small'r than ants by sum miscreant ulvish wiza'd. We ha'e ta traverse tha perils o' giant wur'ms an' kull'r sparrows, a'fore we coold undo hus treacherous madgicks."
"Och. Well done, lad. Ay guess yer jus' glad ta be home un wun piece sum toimes."
Vlanin smiled. He spotted a vacated chair next to Mischa, and surreptitiously slid into it.
"So, wot dud yoo think o' tha'?" he beamed as he sat.
"Och, Vlanin, yoo tell such fanciful tales," she smiled as though she shared secret. "Hoo woold ha'e though'."
Vlanin was stunned. He looked at her uncertainly, perhaps she didn't understand. "But lassie, ut were all true."
"Vlanin," Mischa gently chided. "Yer tale may umpress these regular folk. But yer talkin' to a season'd tunn'l runn'r har. Ay ha'e seen a thing oo'r two, yoo know. Ay think ay know a tall tale when ay har ut."
Vlanin sunk in his chair. He couldn't believe it.
"Perhaps yoo shoold come an' spend sum toime wid uz un tha tunn'ls. Then yoo moigh' learn a thing oo'r two."
"But," he spoke apologetically, "yoo know ay canna."
He paused thoughtfully, "Nay noo. But maybe, maybe lat'r."
He tried to put a thin edge of foreboding in his voice, while at the same time trying to avoid sounding like a complete twat, "Perhaps yoo may be surpris'd." He smiled knowingly as he sat back in his chair.
-
Agrim pushed open the heavy door to his hall. It was late and he was tired, but it was good to be home again. He wandered across the familiar room. From down the stairs, under the door to the librarium he could see a light.
Perhaps Vlanin was doing a bit of reading, he thought. Would wonders never cease. He would just say hello before turning in for the night.
...
"Wot ar' yoo doin' doon har, laddie, so late un tha noigh'?"
Startled, Vlanin looked up from the book.
"Mast'r," his voice trembled. He broke out in a cold sweat. This was it, the moment of truth. He had dared read the dread thing, and now his master had caught him red handed. Perhaps, perhaps if he told him what he had found.
"Mast'r, ay ha'e foond ut..."
Agrim's eyes skipped from his apprentice to the tome he was studying.
"... tha answ'r to oo'r problems..."
A feeling of dread washed over the old dwarf as he recognised the book's features. The dark vellum pages traced with faint words and glyphs, the singed leathern cover.
"... tha Pale path..."
Vlanin didn't get to complete what he was saying.
Agrim's dread had been quickly replaced by shock, and then anger at what Vlanin was doing. He flew at his apprentice, and threw him from the reading lecturn.
Vlanin fell hard on the cold stone floor, crashing into the other furnishings.
Fury in the old wizard swelled and the fell power of a wizard strong in his craft surged within him. For a moment, something perilious could have happened. But his anger peaked and then ebbed, slipping back under the mantle of self control.
He turned to the lecturn. There, like an old aquaintance waiting to be remembered, the book sat expectantly, laid open, ready to share its secrets with any who would dare peruse its pages.
The old dwarf carefully closed the book. The heavily embossed cover, bound in iron edging, looked back at him; the Necromilliom. His heart skipped a beat in dread.
He secured the tome's heavy clasp, and picked up the book. He turned, and saw Vlanin still seated on the floor, looking like a cowed dog.
His anger surged again.
"GET OOT!", his shouted, his rage barely contained.
Vlanin scurried past, and out of the librarium.
...
In the hall, Vlanin looked between the corridor leading to the living quarters, and the heavy door leading out. Panicked, unsure of how much trouble he was in, he thought, for the moment, avoidance was the better option. He slipped out of the great door, and into the night.
-
A figure in a dark hooded robe sat across the courtyard from the door to the hall, waiting. He had been there since the morning. He had waited through the noon of the day, and into the afternoon. It had become dark, and a chill wind now blew. He stood and looked up into the night sky, the stars twinkling faintly through the haze. He pulled his robe close around him, and resigned to this day's outcome, retreated to the warmth of the great hall.
-
"Och, Mast'r Vlanin. Coold nay foind yer way to yer bed agin?"
Vlanin stirred from the uneven rest he had taken. It might seem idyllic or romantic to fall asleep in a sitting chair in front of an open fire, but to actually spent the night there extracted a toll of aching body and sullen disposition.
Vlanin only grunted in acknowledgement.
"Come noo, Mast'r Vlanin. Shake yerself oop. We've got sum foin viddles fer breakfast. An', ifn yoo dinna moind, we've got tha hall ta be cleanin'."
...
From the far side of the courtyard, Vlanin saw Agrim leave the hall. He carefully hurried to catch up, but maintained a respectful distance.
Agrim headed out across the hills, marching at quite a pace.
Gradually Vlanin approached closer and closer, until he was but two or three paces behind. Surely Agrim must hear him. Maybe Agrim was waiting for him to speak first. Eventually he could wait any longer, "Mast'r, ay..."
"SO," Agrim interrupted, without stopping, without looking back, "ay'm still yer mast'r then." He continued marching along the path. "Hoo woold ha'e though'," he said facetiously.
Vlanin dropped back a few paces.
...
Agrim stopped suddenly, and turned to face Vlanin. Vlanin hastily came to a halt.
He spoke severely, "When ay told yoo aboot thus dread thing, ay lef' nay doobt tha' ut were a bad thing?"
Vlanin nodded in agreement.
Agrim turned and marched off again.
...
Agrim stopped again. His tone increased in severity, "When ay told yoo aboot thus dread thing, ay dud say aboot hoo ay were tryin' ta destroy ut?"
Again, Vlanin nodded.
Agrim set off, his pace increased.
...
Agrim threw down his staff in temper. "Dam ut, Vlanin, yoo were meant ta guard ut," his anger plainly evident in his voice, "nay read ut." His voice boiled and rattled on the last words.
Vlanin cast his eyes down at the ground.
"Wot were yoo thinkin'?" Agrim spluttered in his exasperation, "Whar yoo thinkin'?" He continued his tirade to himself, "O' all tha things he coold ha'e dun..."
Vlanin started to speak, but Agrim had stormed off, still expressing his vitriol, "...ifn he ha'e burnt doon tha bloody hall..."
Vlanin watched him go, then realised Agrim's staff lay on the ground. He picked it up, and followed after him.
...
The two figures made their way back to the clan hold, one following several steps behind the other.
Agrim opened the hall door and stepped inside. Vlanin looked hesitantly.
"Well, ifn yoo wan' ta return tha great hall..." There was more than a bit of annoyance in his tone.
Vlanin hastily stepped past Agrim.
As Agrim closed the door, Vlanin presented his staff to him, with half a hopeful smile on his face.
"An' ay'll be havin' yer key, too," Agrim spoke gruffly.
For a moment Vlanin thought, "Key, what key?" But then he realised, his key to the librarium. He felt as though the floor had dropped out from underneath him.
Reluctantly, he handed his key over. Agrim took it without making eye contact, and left the room.
Vlanin sat down, empty, uncertain. Suddenly there was a gulf between him and this person whom he had known for so long. Something that was as certain as night following day had changed, and maybe would never be the same again.
-
Vlanin sat slouched at the table, one arm propping up his head. He considered the remaining portion of his steaming drink.
A few days prior, he had been in the company of a group of adventurers who had been trying to impress a barbarian chieftan with tales of daring-do. Eventually, Vlanin had stood before the assembled gathering and recounted the fall of the berserkers. He had mildly embellished some of the descriptions to give it the feel of an epic tale. Unfortunately he had not anticipated the emotional impact the ending still had an for him, so it had been rushed and not well delivered.
He hoped they had understood his story.
And now it seemed everything he had been working towards had taken a turn for the worse. He had persevered through the dark and sometimes vile treatises in the dread book, and had found the hidden gem within its pages. But now it was forbiddened to him. With it, his access to the librarium had been curtailed, and, even worse, he had estranged his master.
Vlanin sighed a heartfelt sigh. He had tasted hope. He had believed it. But where was it now.
He swirled his mug, and drank the last of the bitter drink.
-
Vlanin stood at the table, idly perusing a manuscript he had retrieved from the bookshelf. Agrim had permitted him to enter the librarium with him. Although Vlanin had been keen to be admitted once again, now that he had a book in from of him, he found his heart wasn't in it. He was also trying not make any intimation to where the book was kept hidden.
Agrim stepped down from the reading lecturn and the parchment he was studying. "Noo thus uz umportan'. When yoo took tha book oot o' tha ossuary, wot dud yoo do wid ut?"
Vlanin started when he realised his master was refering to the dread book. He was actually talking about the unmentionable thing that was a chasm between them. Perhaps things were going to improve.
"Ay, err... Ay only e'er read ut from tha lecturn," Vlanin half stammered.
Agrim seemed to consider for a moment. "Hoo long were ut oot o' tha box?"
Vlanin considered, "While ay were readin' ut." He blushed with shame at his admission. "Three, foo'r 'oo'rs at a toime," he half shrugged.
Again Agrim was lost in thought. Then, without addressing Vlanin directly, he spoke, "Tha ossuary keeps tha book hidd'n, un case any wun shoold be scryin' fer it. Thar roons on tha unside ar' ta ward off pryin' eyes."
Then he looked directly at Vlanin. "While uts oot o' tha ossuary, ut may be foond..." he paused, changing the tilt of his head, allowing what he had just said to sink in, "ifn anywun were lookin' fer ut."
"O' course, noo they dinna need tha book any moo're, do they?" Agrim asked pointedly, snapping the last of the words. "Ifn they noo tha' yoo noo, all they need... uz yoo." Vlanin looked away from his burning glare. "Well, fer start'rs, least ways."
Vlanin smarted. His master was right. A potential consequence that he had not considered. He wondered what other flaws of his action were going to be revealed.
-
// Entry reserved for A Distant Beauty (http://forums.layonara.com/layonara-server/123182-distant-beauty-coyote.html) bubble. //
-
Vlanin sat in the library in a sitting chair, reading a tome. As he turned over the pages, he became aware of his master's gaze burrowing down on him, becoming ever more intense.
"Alroigh' then, oot wid ut. Why dud yoo read tha blast'd book?" Agrim barked.
Vlanin started at Agrim's tone. Uncertain, he spoke cautiously, trying not to antagonize, trying to get through his explanation. "Ay though' ut moight ha'e an answ'r."
He looked at Agrim for his response. "Ay ha'e spent so much toime goin' through all tha oth'r tomes an' librams an' foond nowt."
Vlanin paused again for any tell-tale indication that he should stop. "When ay foond thus book, ay though' tha' ut moigh' ha'e sum answ'r, bein' such an poo'rful thing."
"An' yoo foond tha Pale path," Agrim sounded incredulous.
"Necromancy, Vlanin?" he snapped, "Wot do yoo think yoo'd be doin', raisin' an army o' tha dead an' take them unto tha caverns agins' tha enemy?"
Vlanin shook his head.
Agrim was getting more angry with each sentence he uttered, "'Hose bodies were yoo goin' ta violate? Tha bones o' tha prood warriors tha' ha'e fall'n ta thus conflict?"
Stung by his master's accusation, again Vlanin shook his head.
"By tha two gods, Vlanin, th'ar sum things tha' ar' nay worth wunnin'. Th'ar sum choices nay worth takin'. Bett'r ta die wid tha honor an' pride tha' yoo were born wid than ta stoop ta such means."
"Mast'r, ay woold nay do such a thing."
"Then wot?" Agrim shouted.
Vlanin stood there sullenly, looking down at the ground, unable to risk his hope before Agrim.
-
Vlanin sat sunk in his chair, holding the small wooden ornament tightly in the palm of his hand. Another barrier, he signed. This one far more daunting than the last. Agrim's disapproval and reproof of his actions. What to say to dissuade him, to show him what might be possible. Unconsciously, he was tightly squeezing the ornament, as though it might reveal the answer if he just listened keenly enough.
Agrim's opinion was so strong he wasn't so sure of his own course of action anymore. And yet the need had graciously provided a personnal reminder of the fragility of life, his own life.
He muttered to himself, "Stomp'd on by treants, suck'd unto tha earth, freed agin by satyrs." Vlanin snorted in ironic incredulity, paraphrasing someone else's opinion given, "Anoth'r fanciful tale, undeed."
-
"Mast'r..."
Agrim looked up from the reading lecturn.
"...ay believe tha Pale path has tha arts ta make a warrior ummune ta tha deadly blows o' oo'r enemy." Vlanin took a breath. There, he had said it.
Agrim kept eye contact with his apprentice as he straightened himself up to his full height. For a moment, there was only silence. Then he spoke, not shouting, but projecting himself. The room almost resonated with his voice.
"Pow'r comes wid a proice, Vlanin. Thus sort o' poo'r ev'n moo're so. Those tha' pursue poo'r fer uts oon sake ar' easy prey fer such promises. Oth'rs, hoo think they can manipulate such poo'r, negotiate wid such poo'r, ar' foolin' themselves. Thar motives soon become tarnish'd by uts corrosive unfluence.
"Wot makes yoo think tha' yoo can navigate such a treacherous path an' come oot unscath'd, unchang'd?"
Vlanin tried to formulate his reply, but Agrim continued.
"Pow'r corrupts, Vlanin. Nay un an obvious mann'r, nay so tha' yoo ha'e a chance ta make tha roight choice. But slowly, unsidiously, while yer nay lookin'. Small decisions, small compromises tha' ar' tha furst steps towards a slippery slope."
Agrim stepped down from the lecturn in an almost threatening manner.
"An' ay can tell yoo thus. Wun thing we dinna need roight noo uz oo'r problems compound'd by a blast'd necromans'r on tha loose." His eyes flashed menacingly. "Oo'r worse, joinin' wid oth'r dark forces."
Again Vlanin stood in silence, unable to get past the words of his master. He could only think to himself, "But, ay woold loike ta try."
-
"Och, matey. Ifn yoo were any loo'r, yoo'd be un tha Und'r Passage."
Vlanin looked up from his melancholy to see Hoondin grinning at him. "Hey, Hoondin," he half sighed.
"Why so troobled?" Hoondin pulled up a nearby chair.
Vlanin could think of half a dozen things that were contributing to his mood, but he wasn't willing to mention the difficulties that had arisen from him reading the book. He was keen to avoid further recriminations.
"Och, ay got clobb'r'd agin," he grumbled.
"Thus toime by yetis," Vlanin sat up, "an' all fer a color'd stoon.
"Ay were keepin' ta tha rear, stayin' oot o' harm's reach, when all o' a sudd'n, thus huge yeti appear'd oot o' tha whiteness an' gave me a gude whack." Vlanin put his hand to his head, remembering the blow.
"Ahh..." Hoondin considered thoughtfully, "Wot yoo need ta do uz take a leaf oot o' tha tunn'l runn'r's manual, an' keep oot o' harm's soight." He put emphasis on the last word.
Hoondin stood up, "Well, come on, an' ay'll show yoo a thing oo'r two."
"Whar ar' we going?"
"Tha tunn'ls," Hoondin beamed.
Vlanin grumbled as he stirred from his chair.
-
Vlanin watched from the back of the great hall as a mother and a small lass made their way to the entrance to the Vault of Heroes. The little girl carried a small pose of flowers.
No doubt to be laid in tribute at the resting place of a fallen relative, Vlanin considered. Perhaps, perhaps that of her father.
She skipped along innocently, blissfully ignorant of the weight of the situation.
Vlanin scowled. A child should not know of such things.
...
"Wot oth'r options do we ha'e?"
Agrim looked up at Vlanin.
"Ifn thus book wasn't deliv'r'd ta us ta be us'd aginst tha enemy, then wot uz ut fer?"
Agrim looked hard at Vlanin, "Perhaps ut were ta create division between a wiza'd an' huz apprentuce." He raised an eyebrow meaningfully at Vlanin.
"But," Vlanin spoke tentatively, "ifn yoo were ta supervise me..."
Vlanin briefly saw stars as his head suddenly snapped to the side, his face stung keenly from a blow. He looked back at Agrim; he couldn't tell whether Agrim had slapped him, struck him, or used a spell.
"Dinna ev'r think ay'm going ta pursue any such path o' vile dereliction," Agrim's voice broiled in anger, infuriated at his apprentice's inference.
Vlanin smarted both physically and emotionally. Straightening himself up, he withdrew from the room.
-
Vlanin sat in a quiet corner of the drinking hall, quietly observing the occupants. He considered the fate of the four orphans that had been delivered on the road from the Ire Mountains. The group he had been travelling with had successfully driven off the attacking orcs, but the mother had died in child birth. It seemed the father had already perished.
He watched a group of young dwarven males carousing in the halls. He wondered how many of them had been touched by the conflict, lost a father or perhaps a mother. He sighed deeply in resignation.
A young dwarven male raced across the drinking hall towards the group. "Ha'e yoo hear'd, ha'e yoo hear'd?"
"Hear'd wot?"
"Tha kung ha'e bin restor'd to tha throne o' Erilyn."
"Aye. Gude news, hey."
"Maybe thar rememb'r thar allies an' send uz sum help?"
In unison, the dwarves burst out laughing. "Aye, roigh'. An' maybe tha skies wull clear."
More laughing erupted from the group.
"But," the young male continued, "dud yoo knoo, ut were wun o' those half human, half orcs tha' lead those tha' restor'd tha croon?" He nodded knowingly.
"Nay."
"Hoo woold ha'e though'."
Who would have thought indeed, Vlanin considered from his corner seat. Such a simple thing to say, the crown was restored. But what untold efforts had made it happen? What had been fought and lost and won?
Vlanin touched his finger tips together and grimly considered the trials of his own circumstance.
-
The drinking hall was more lively than usual this night. The clanfolk were in particular high spirits this evening as there was to be folk dancing. The noise of the musicians filled the hall, and most of the conversation was reduced to in-ear exchanges.
Vlanin squeezed his way through the crowd. More of an observer than a participant, he, none the less, enjoyed such occasions.
"Dinna be shy, lad. Un yoo go."
Shoved by an unseen hand, Vlanin found himself into the midst of the dwarves reeling in their folk dance. He gathered himself and was about to withdraw from the dance floor when a dwarven lass passed from her current partner almost spun into Vlanin.
Mischa. Bright and giddy, exuberant from the dance, she beamed at Vlanin.
Meeting her gaze, he gave his hand for the dance.
Vlanin was immediately aware of the sensation as her hand touched his. A hand like any other, but at the same time her gentle caress. Nervously he grinned at her, but she was already in position for the next part of the dance.
They followed the dancing couples before them and cantered down the aisle. With another pair, they raised their hands to the middle and skipped around the center.
For the return step, the lassies were drawn close, the male's hand on the female's waist, leading her with the other hand. Vlanin was almost solely aware of Mischa's physical proximity to him, his hand on her waist, her movement against him as they capered back down the aisle.
After four more progressions, the dance can to a end. Mischa smiled as she spoke to him, but Vlanin did not hear. He was high on what he had just experienced.
Vlanin gazed back upon her, looking longer than he might normally, looking longer that she might know. Gradually she was drawn back into the dance by the other dancers.
Amid the hubbub and noise of the hall, Vlanin was left floating free in his euphoria, like a cloud in a warm summer's breeze.
-
Such an unexpected thing.
A group of them had gone in search of a missing townsfolk. They had found him, deep in the swamps, but were proved to be too late. He had been changed, changed for the worse. Some dark force had worked their dread power on him, and now he was a vampire.
Vlanin had encountered vampires before, but this one was obviously different. Perhaps it was because he was only recently changed, still had his old memories. But he still had his humanity. He wrestled with his conscience, haunted by the memories of his daughter. Even after he had attacked them, he was gripped by this struggle, the last visages of his former self fighting to be heard.
Vlanin considered grimly. If this Pale path was so dark, if he was corrupted by it, then, by the two gods, he would destroy himself, like the vampire had, as it had allowed their swords to bite into him.
-
A bright burning light appeared on the low horizon. Golden rays swept across the landscape, chasing away the languishing shadows of the night. As it ascended into the sky, the dwarves who had already started their day were transfixed. Soon, they could no longer bare to gaze upon its fiery majesty. They were left to marvel at the rich blue canopy vaulted high above them. Tears ran from their eyes. They cried and wept.
The clan bell rang across the valley. Soon the entire clan had assembled to view this new wonder.
The sky was clear. The sun shone again.
...
The clan bell rang throughout the clanhold. Not the call to assembly as had roused the clanfolk that morning, but the returning bell. A warhost had made its way back from the tunnels. Some of the clansfolk reluctantly tore themselves away from whatever they were doing under the new sun to gather at the Under Gate. Others rushed to greet the returning heroes with the good news or to meet their loved ones again.
Then the mourning bell sounded.
Their hearts dropped with the peal of the bell. The dread news rolled over the clanfolk like a second wave of despair. The high priest of Dorand and master crafter of the hold had fallen in battle with the enemy.
Those assembled at the Under Gate bore witness as his body was born out of the Under Passage and raised high on a litter of shields. He still wore the heavy armour he had spent so long crafting and recrafting.
To die in battle was an honor for the dwarves, yet the measure of the loss was the grief that took their hearts. Tears ran from their eyes. They cried and wept.
ooo
The body of the priest of Dorand had been burnt on a huge pyre in measure of the esteem that he had been held. Under the clear night sky, it seemed the stars themselves shone in new brilliance for the fallen hero. A dwarf was normally burnt in the armor they had fallen in. However, the crafters had petitioned for its return so that they could carry on the work of their fallen master.
The clansfolk had gathered in the great hall as the ossuary that now held his bones was interred in the Vault of Heroes.
Vlanin stood to the edge of the crowd, not far from the entrance to the Vault. He considered the pledge that he had made when the priest had questioned the value of wizardry. The words of a younger dwarf echoed in his ears.
[INDENT]"Ay wull do ma' duty, wheth'r yoo approve o' ut oo'r nay, Hamm'r'r. Ay wull learn ma madgicks, an' become a fell force fer ma kin."
[/INDENT]
Now, now he would never be able to show him. Too soon he had fallen, like so many warriors before him, and now forever lost, whatever the future outcome.
The clan leaders returned from the Vault. Final words of bravery and sacrifice were spoken. With a heavy heart, those assembled slowly left.
Vlanin caught up with Agrim as he departed the hall.
Agrim spoke his thoughts, "A foin warrior, priest, an' craft'r. A dwarf o' many talents. He died fer wot he believed un."
Vlanin spoke softly, "Ut seems sum ar' sacrificin' themselves fer a cause they believe un."
Agrim turned and looked at Vlanin.
Vlanin meet Agrim's gaze for as long as he dared, then looked away.
-
"But, unstead, they took tha gnoll pups ta raise." Vlanin looked at Agrim for his reaction.
Agrim snorted his incredulity. "Better to ha'e kull'd them. Thar only goin' ta become maraudin' gnolls. An' ifn they troi'd ta return them ta tha gnolls, loikely they woold ha'e kull'd them as unwant'd orphans."
Vlanin proceded to unveil his loaded question. "Aye, tha's wot tha conventional wisdom moight say. But wot if they coold be rais'd un a civilis'd mann'r, taugh' proper values, luft'd oot o' thar savag'ry."
Agrim narrowed his eyes, looking at Vlanin thoughfully. "Ay think yoo moight foind tha' fer every civilis'd orphan, thar's ten adopt'd paren's mur'd'r'd un thar sleep by a wee beastie conflict'd by uts learn'd behaviour an' ut's true nature."
"But..." Vlanin stammered.
Agrim continued with Vlanin's own allegory, "Hoo do such woold be, sum moight say int'rferin', paren's negotitate such a path when they ha'e nay dun ut a'fore?"
Vlanin shrunk.
-
Vlanin sat brooding in the corner of the drinking hall. It had been a bad time for human girl children.
Firstly, a little girl had been kidnapped by vampires. That expedition had gone well enough; the arch vampire had been vanquished, and the small girl had been saved, though they had suffered a casualty.
Then, whilst on a mission to retrieve a giant stone head, another human girl had been held for ransom by some half-orc Corathite priest demanding monies; lots of monies. Single handedly, he had rendered the entire group impotent. To make matters worse, in the attempted rescue, the half-orc had escaped and the little girl slain. It was only be intervention of their cleric that she had been called back.
Unfortunately, the trip proceeded in the Thunder Peaks, where all magics failed. Vlanin had felt as useful as a bump on a log.
It seemed wherever he went, action was desparately needed to be taken, but he was always rendered incapable.
Vlanin glowered and fumed.
Finally, he went to take a drink from his mug, but, to his annoyance, knocked it to the floor.
"Bah!"
In his temper, he deliberately bumped the table over as he stomped out of the hall.
-
Vlanin stomped into his master's hall. He almost ran into Agrim, who was apparently just leaving or just returning, with his cloak and staff.
"When ar' we goin' ta do sumat aboot tha troobles?" Vlanin demanded.
Agrim looked squarely at him.
"Hoo many kin ha'e ta die a'fore yoo'll try tha book?" he said accusingly.
"All o' them?" he shouted incredulously.
"Hoo dar' yoo," Agrim barked. "Wot do yoo know o' wot ay ha've dun, o' wot ay ha've bin doin', un tha defence o' oor kin?"
"Ay know wot yoo ha'e nay dun," Vlanin retorted. "Yoo ha'e nay tried tha book.
"Dud ut ev'r occur ta yoo tha' ut were deliv'r'd ta uz ta be us'd aginst tha enemy?" he accused.
"Yoo impudent pup." Agrim went to whack Vlanin on his shin with the toe of his staff.
Perhaps if Vlanin had accepted the reprimand for his poor behaviour, things might have transpired more calmly. But he didn't. Vlanin had been in the lands too long now. It was a reflex; he blocked Agrim's blow with his own staff, his face glowered in frustration and anger.
Perhaps if Agrim had been more understanding of his apprentice, things might have transpired more calmly. But Agrim wasn't about to accept his insolence. He should to be reprimanded for his rude behaviour. So Agrim struck low again.
Again Vlanin defended, this time parrying Agrim's staff high and away, as though he'd disarmed him, nullified his reprimand.
This fuelled Agrim's ire. He launched into a flurry of blows against his pupil.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, Vlanin's expertise had been honed by years in a hostile land; a good defence was a good defence. He blocked each blow that Agrim struck; flank, flank, center, counter lunge to push his assailant back, high, low. Agrim was unable to penetrate Vlanin's defence.
In this moment of passion, this served Vlanin as confirmation that he was correct, that he had the moral high ground. This was trial by ordeal, and he had the upper hand.
Then Agrim stopped. In a moment of clarity, he realised what was taking place. He stepped back from his apprentice, looking squarely at Vlanin, concerned where this might go next.
Vlanin stared back. He was pleased to have been able to finally hold his own ground; one small success after being continuously undermined. He was also pleased that he hadn't struck his master; his victory was on many levels.
Satisfied, he lowered his staff, nodded graciously as a victor might, and withdrew from the hall.
-
Vlanin walked across the drinking hall towards his usual corner.
"Ah, Mast'r Vlanin. Care ta share a tale oo'r two wid uz?"
Vlanin stopped and thought to himself of his latest venture, and how he might begin the tale, "Then thar were tha' toime we were swallow'd by a cat..." He considered for a moment, then shook his head.
"Sorry, lads, ay ha'e nay story ta tell. Things ha'e bin, err, uneventful." he said, apologetically.
-
Dealing with some undead abomination? What were they thinking?
The group Vlanin had been travelling with at the behest of an Aragenite scholar had found a lost tomb under the burning sands of the desert. The tomb held some long lost undead creature in a magical stasis. However, one of their number, for reasons only known to themselves, had thought it worthwhile to free the creature. They had proceeded to deal with the foul abomination for a reward it had offered. It turned out the gift the beast offered was death, and for them to take its place in the stasis.
Vlanin thought incredulously. Was there any doubt that this was going to be it's motivation, that it was going to be duplicitous? There was a long and documented history of undead and daemonic, and sometimes mortal, creatures having ulterior motives. They were always going to get more out of what transpired than they promised.
Fortunately, the group had been up to the task of stopping it from wreaking its vengence on the world.
-
Vlanin surveyed the scene at the Under Gate. Like the aftermath on a battlefield, wounded dwarven warriors wrestled with their injuries. The clan clerics hurried to tend those they could. But worse was the number of warriors that laid still on the cold hard floor, beyond the reach of any pain.
And still the injured and the fallen came through the Gates.
Vlanin's blood boiled. An old anger choked at his throat, squeezed at his heart.
...
Vlanin marched into the librarium. "Ay'm takin' tha book."
Agrim looked up in concern at his apprentice's bold declaration. "Vlanin, yoo canna." He rushed to step between Vlanin and the book's hiding place.
But Vlanin had prepared. He pushed Agrim away with his magical strength. Agrim toppled to the floor.
Vlanin released the ossuary from its hiding place and withdrew the lid. There it was. His heart skipped a beat in relief. Finally, he was going to have it. He reached in and took the shrouded book.
Vlanin felt the dweomer dissipate around him. "Nay, Vlanin," a stern voice resonated.
Agrim thrust his arms to take the book from Vlanin. Both held the book tightly, trying to wrest it from the other. Shove and push as they might, they were evenly matched physically.
"Yoo canna ha'e tha book, Vlanin," Agrim's voice rasped.
"Ay mus' save oor kin." Vlanin replied between breaths. "Ifn yoo're nay wullin' ta take tha risk, ay am," he spat.
"Ut wull devour you."
"So wot ifn ut does? Wot uz wun moor'e death amongst so many," he glowered at Agrim.
While they were matched in strength, Vlanin had the advantage of youth. It seemed Agrim was begining to tire, to lose his hold on the book.
Suddenly an explosion of flapping black feathered wings and cawing erupted around Vlanin's head. He released the book to protect his face. Agrim's crow chased Vlanin as he retreated from the librarium.
Agrim drew breath as he looked distainfully down at the book now in his hands. "Seems yer fell influence stull reaches oot aft'r all these yars."
-
The noise from the braying of the minotaurs filled the halls, punctuated by the clash of steel as the frontline fighters struggled to hold the line.
The heavy hoof falls of the charging minotaur shook the floor as it punched through the warriors' line.
Too late, the dark robed dwarven wizard looked up to see the minotaur bearing down on him. Too late, he tried to cast a enchantment to protect himself.
The first crushing blow from its axe left him dazed. Defenseless, he was easy prey for the hewing blows of the minotaur's axe.
As the wizard fell to the ground, the noise of battle was interrupted by the shriek of the Soul Mother.
...
Vlanin found himself looking up at the sky at the base of the bindstone. He breathed again. But this time was different. This time he had been cut as he came back.
However, there was no time for reflections on mortality. He struggled to get back to his beseiged comrades.
...
Vlanin found himself looking up at the sky at the base of the bindstone again. No new soul wound, but the previous one still fresh on his psyche. For a moment, he hovered on the edge, looking up at the night sky, at the pin pricks of light in the darkness.
Then he breathed again.
-
"So, thar were tha dilemna, see." Vlanin was explaining his latest tale to Hoondin in the drinking hall.
"Wun group had direct'd uz ta retrieve tha lett'r unopen'd. But tha folk tha' ha'e tha lett'r were sayin' tha' ut woold put thus bad fellow un gaol."
Hoondin drew a long draught from his tankard of ale.
"But yoo see, nieth'r o' them were bein' completely honest, only tellin' tha' par' o' tha truth tha' suit'd them. Tha folk wid tha lett'r want'd ta oost thus fellow ta improve thar position. Whar as tha furst group want'd ta keep ta poo'r tha' they had.
"Seems folk ar' always concern'd aboot wot oth'r folk ar' knowing'," Vlanin said thoughtfully.
"Yoo know wot, Vlanin. When ay'm un tha tunn'ls, ay hit things wid ma axe," Hoondin grinned cheekily.
Both of them burst out laughing.
"Och, matey. Ifn ut whar all only tha' simple." Vlanin sighed.
His spirits dipped briefly has he remembered the details of his own predicament. But in the company of his good friend, Vlanin couldn't help but be more cheerful.
-
An explosion of flapping feathered wings and cawing erupted around Vlanin's head. But it was no crow that pinned him to the grassy plain under its weight, nor raked at his back with its talons.
Unable to regain his feet, the griffon made short work of the dwarven wizard. Its territorial supremacy preserved, the leonine avian took to the air.
Vlanin lay crumpled in the crushed grass at the threshold of death, his life force slipping away as his blood pooled on the dirt.
Then something unexpected occurred. Something from within said no. Whether it was his body or spirit, or something else unnamed, it held on in defiance of his predicament. The blood stopped flowing. Under the gaze of the midday sun, his body stabilized.
A few moments later, Vlanin was conscious again, unaware of the rallying call. He clambered to his feet, cast his spell of concealment, and made all haste to leave.
For several hours, Vlanin staggered across the plain. Finally, the sanctuary of Fort Homestead came within sight. He could rest and recover from his wounds.
But the dwarven wizard was not alone. A predator had followed the scent of his blood across the plains. Whether his concealment magic now failed, or the lion was able to discern him through other means, didn't matter. It pounced on Vlanin, and brought him down. In his weakened state, the beast quickly slew him.
This was too much. Whatever had held on now lost its grip in the tide of ordeal, and with it another soul strand tore away.
-
What a journey it had been. Of endless swamps and thundering trollocs. Of the largest bears that surely had ever been. And at the end, a huge blue dragon the likes of which the skies had not seen in an age.
And yet this was no tale fit for the epic sagas. The dragon, not dreadful nor majestic, displayed the worst traits of vanity and avarice. It seemed interested only in the baubles and trinkets they had brought, and of gaining more.
The group that he had travelled with, not one party in unity against the enemy, but rather arguing amongst itself; not fighting against the odds, but fighting each other. Vlanin had hoped that he might have been able to steer them towards their goal, that they might at least move in the same direction. But alas, the skill of leadership eluded him, and they did not respond to him personally.
Then the capricous nature of these humans revealed itself. In turn, one seeing fit to deal death to another. How Vlanin had longed to be in a group of his own kin.
On their return, their benefactor had shown the nature of his own scruples. It seemed he had never intended to make retribution, having knowingly set an impossible task.
Kin were kin. Everyone else, you had to be on your guard with. To think, he had considered trying to gain favor with this benefactor, to enlist his aid in his kin's struggle.
"Och, ut woold ha'e bin loike tryin' ta lie doon in a bed o' snakes," he muttered to himself.
But good fortune had intervened, and another of their group had sought the benefactor's favor before him. Sometimes, sometimes things worked out for the better, even when they seemed to be working against you at the time.
-
Whilst Vlanin had been sitting in an inn in Mariners' Hold whilst returning from Taur'en, a halfling lass had told those gathered her tale (http://forums.layonara.com/693422-post8.html) of the Unchosen of the Griffon Scouts. Of the hapless halfling who returned year after year to call his steed and none came, even while those around him received theirs. As the years past, this halfling served his kin to the best of his abilities, and yet still he was denied the opportunity to realise his dream to fly and his potential to serve. Finally, as the halfling was coming to the end of his years, he had called one more time, and this time a griffon had come. It seemed that cruel fate had worked to keep the two apart.
An innocent tale, whose simple words landed softly on the ears. It had slipped past the gruff and practised exteriors of many of those present, to soak through years of harsh experience to touch their hearts.
Vlanin had never been so moved by the words of another in many years of fireside stories. He had be undone by his empathy for the unfortunate halfling. It had been all he could do to maintain his dwarven decorum.
In the end, the griffon had born the halfling aloft, and in the style of halfling tales, the two were never seen again.
-
"An' so, thar ut were, thus hole punch'd unto tha soide o' tha cluff." Vlanin was telling his latest tale in the drinking hall.
A figure appeared in the doorway to the drinking hall wearing the cloak and hood of the tunnel runners. He beckoned to Vlanin.
Vlanin stood, uncertain. He made apologies to those who had been listening.
As he approached the figure, Vlanin could see he was battered by recent fighting.
"Yoo need ta come wid me to tha unfirmary."
Vlanin looked squarely at the dwarf. His eyes betrayed his pain and loss. The cold wave of dread washed over Vlanin.
He started walking after the dwarf, then marched past him, and finally broke out into a run for the infirmary.
The infirmary was crowded with wounded tunnel runners being tended by the clan clerics. Pieces of armor and equipment that had be hastily removed lay discarded about the floor. Vlanin scanned the faces has he hurried through the room. People were speaking, but he heard no words.
Vlanin got to part of the room where no-one stood. A figure was laid out but no-one tended it. He rushed over, and yet it seemed an age between each footfall. With each step, the figure came more into view. Hoondin.
Vlanin's heart stopped.
He looked upon Hoondin's still face, his closed eyes, his unbreathing lips. His friend, still, lifeless. Vlanin's hand touched Hoondin's, but it was cold; Hoondin was gone.
Tears ran from Vlanin's eyes. He doubled over as he cried his grief.
-
"Ay've come fer tha book."
Vlanin didn't care any more. Not a day ago, he had buried his friend, fallen in the latest battle.
"Yoo'll nay be turnin' me away thus toime," he fairly seethed.
"Too many gude dwarves ha'e..."
His sentence was cut short as he was thrown back against the stone wall by a spell bolt.
Any physically pain was lost beneath the tearing pain of his recent loss. He got up off the ground.
"Foin," he glowered, the magical energies crackled omninously around his hand.
...
Vlanin stood over the crumpled body of his master, stunned in disbelief. Full of rage and remorse, the weight of what he had done was unbearable. He stood there for minutes, for hours, he could not tell, waiting, waiting for his master to move.
The realisation slowly soaked in, and with it, a bitter gall clawed at his throat. With resignation he remembered what he had come for. He reached down, but stopped himself, searching the robes worn by his now dead master with his eyes.
There, amongst the crumpled robes, at the end of a chain on his belt, a large darkened key.
...
Vlanin descended the stone stairs with heavy steps, leaning heavily against the wall, more than he might have cause to.
The door unlocked to the key, but seemed to resist his efforts to open until it finally pushed ajar. He stepped into the darkness, unwilling to disturb the gloom.
Vlanin released the ossuary from its hiding place and withdrew the lid, but to his dismay, only found an empty space. Frustrated rage welled up inside him.
He threw the room into light, and was about to start searching the shelves, when he noticed the reading lecturn, and upon it, a familiar heavy cloth shrouding a book.
Slowly he approached, unsure of what was about to unfold. He delicately drew back the cloth of the shroud, when a folded parchment fell to the floor.
He bent down to pick it up. Hesitantly, with trembling hands, he opened the folded parchment, and read the familiar runes of his master's hand.
[INDENT]"Ut seems yoo ha'e strength o' yer convictions, then. Yoo wull need tha strength, an' moo'er, fer wot yoo ha'e chosen ta do. Yoo see, poo'r mus' be taken, ma apprentuce. Nay wun can guv' ut to tha roighteous, them waitin' ta be foond worthy. Fer jus' as easily, ut wull be taken away. Poo'r knows nowt o' roight an' wrong, ut jus' uz. Roight an' wrong uz dun by tha wun tha' wields ut.
"But bewar' tha' tha wield'r dinna foind tha' they ar' tha wield'd, consoom'd by tha thing they though' they had mast'r'd.
"An' damm'd be yer soul ifn yoo fail."[/INDENT]
Vlanin's grief overwhelmed him, and he wept.
...
Vlanin returned to the hall. His eyes reluctantly looked at the body of his master.
He turned, and was startled when his master's crow lurched suddenly into view. It was perched in the low rafters, looking down malignly with its one good eye.
Momentarily, he heard the noise of armored dwarves marching across the courtyard. Shouts came up from outside.
He looked from his master's body, then to the crow. The bird only looked back, knowingly.
The footfalls got louder.
Quickly, he grabbed the shrouded book, and fled.
-
What had he done? What had he done? Vlanin's mind reeled.
Vlanin ran and ran and ran. He ran into the night, into the hills of Taur'en. He ran until his chest felt like it was burning, until his legs were laden like stone.
He finally missed a step on the uneven ground, and his aching legs swept away from underneath him. Vlanin crashed heavily into the rock strewn ground. The gravel tore at the palms of his hands and his face.
He lay on the sharp stones in the darkness, desparately trying to breath, the physical pain refuge from the agony of his actions.
-
In a dank cave under the Hills of Taur'en...
The red glow from a pentagram marked on the floor illuminates the stone, punctuated by a small light hovering above the vellum pages of a opened book. It is the dread Necromilliom.
The black sillouette of a hooded and robed dwarf steps into the center of the circle. His voice deep, he intones the arcane words. The manipulation of the weave that he feels this time is... different... darker... Threads of magic he has never taken in his hands before. Endeavouring to keep his voice steady, he recites the words of the ritual.
His eyes flick to his fingers. Are they red in the glow of the weave? Is it his own blood? Someone else's? A trick of his mind?
As he voices the last of the words, his whole body tenses with expectation. The cavern around him begins to darken.
Is it the cavern or is it his vision? Or... is it his soul?
...
When his vision clears, he is in his master's hall. The body of his master lies on the ground before him.
A dark figure, indistinct, it's form barely able to be comprehended by mortal mind appears in the room. It speaks to the hooded and robed dwarf, as much in his mind as in his ears.
"Vlanin, it is not too late... Your deeds can yet be undone... What's done is not yet written in the book of fate. Your master lies dead at your feet... This much is true... Yet... it is within my power to return his spirit to this realm. No things are beyond me... I can do this for you... for your kinsmen."
A feeling of hope and relief briefly washed over Vlanin, that he might yet escape the circumstance of his actions. But this is quickly quenched by the figure's next words.
"Yet... all things have a price. The book, Vlanin... the book... never again shall your eyes gaze upon it's secrets... never again can you explore it's... depths. Never again can you summon the power that you... desire."
Vlanin tried to speak, but his voice is bearly a soft rasp.
The dark figure bent down, it strokes Agrim's hair back from his brow, almost tenderly.
"I can return him to you... if you but let go of this... foolish dream, Vlanin."
Vlanin looked down on Agrim, choked full of remorse.
"Ay canna... Ay canna do tha', fer tha terms yoo name. Almost fer anything else, ay woold ha'e Agrim back. But so many oth'rs ha'e fallen... lain upon tha groond un thar own blood."
"You would not cease your... path for the sake of the one you called Master?"
"Ay dinna mean ta kull hum. Ay woold nay ha'e chosen tha'." Vlanin trembled as he spoke the words. "Ay mus' ha'e tha book... Ta save ma kin."
"And yet... now... when you can return him to life... still you would not... indeed you have killed him twice, Vlanin," the truth of the words pierced Vlanin like a lance, "... the first time was an accident... the second?"
Vlanin looked down with longing at Agrim. If only there could have been another way. Tears began to stream from his eyes.
"Come... come with me, kinslayer... I have more to show you."
// Taken from the log of Vlanin's CDQ, the words are largely Shadow's (excepting Vlanin's responses), with a little massaging into journal form. //
-
The vision of the hooded and robed dwarf cleared again. He is standing in a cavern like so many others, but strewn around the floor like broken dolls, bodies of berserkers lie freshly slain. The brutal memory of events past returned to him.
He looked down. The Necromilliom rested heavily in his bandaged hands. With a certainty, the darkness that had taken the life of so many of his kinsmen would return in moments. Yet, the person that stood there now was a different dwarf to he who stood in these halls and was struck down so many years ago. He had not dreamed that one day he might possess a means of... striking back.
"Vlanin?" a gentle female voice chirped.
Vlanin turned in shock. Mischa.
"So, wot ar' yoo doin' oot har all by yerself? Uts nay safe."
Vlanin's feelings of being glad to see her were quickly replaced by dread of someone accusing him of what he'd done.
"Mischa, ay..."
"Come wid me, Vlanin. Let us head back ta home, aye? Thus uz nay place fer yoo."
"Home?" Vlanin panicked. The last place he wanted to go back to with someone was the clanhold. "Err..."
"Thar be back any momen', Vlanin... We ha'e ta go."
Vlanin's mind was racing, trying to figure out what to say when the dread book began to thrum in his hands. A single thought pushed all others away. Somehow, he knew that to open the book was the means to achieve the revenge that has lain within his heart these long years.
"Aye. Aye," he stammered. "Bes' leave..."
For a moment, he meet her gaze, looked upon her Mischa longingly.
"But Vlanin... ifn ay go noo... ay go alone..."
"Mischa, bes' yoo go noo."
"Come wid me... my love," her eyes brim with tears.
Vlanin's heart almost melted at her words.
"Ay... Ay wull be foin," he smiled weakly.
"Thar be a home fer yoo, Vlanin..."
For a long moment he gazed upon her.
"Leave behin' thus... vengeance... Come wid me."
"Ay ha'e work ta do." He wiped his eye, "Ay canna come..."
The book verily throbbed in his hands, demanding that he open it. Vlanin held the book tightly, annoyed by its interruption.
"Bes' yoo leave noo, lass," he tried smiling at her again.
"Vlanin..." Mischa looked back, her eyes brimming with tears.
Vlanin watched as she moved away, wiping his eyes again.
In a soft echo of her voice, "Ay always wush'd ut were yoo tha' held me un hus arms at tha dance... Ay wush'd ut were yoo..."
Vlanin's heart almost dropped out of his chest.
The book became warm in Vlanin's hands. Scowl faced, he looked down and opened it. Before him, where the fallen berserkers had lain, now rose undead skeletons. One of the skeletal warriors stepped forward, its voice the grate of bone upon bone.
"Master... What would be your bidding?"
"Mast'r? Err... Ay..."
From the distance, Vlanin was distracted by Mischa's footsteps. Perhaps it was not too late to catch her?
"Command us, Master."
Vlanin looked to where Mischa had disappeared, then back to the warrior. This was it, the threshold. One final time he looked back, then to the skeletal warriors.
Grimly he addressed them, "Ay ha'e work fer yoo."
"Your will be done... Master."
"Yoo wull foight agin. Bring tha death tha' tha enemy brought to yoo."
No sooner were these words spoken when Vlanin's vision is clouded again.
// Taken from the log of Vlanin's CDQ, the words are largely Shadow's (excepting Vlanin's responses), with a little massaging into journal form. //
-
The vision of the hooded and robed dwarf was hazy and indistinct. He found himself in a dark clearing amidst thick and twirling vapors. From within the mists, ghostly figments twisted and writhed all around. The dark figure had returned. Barely distinct from its surrounds, it occupied the center of the dwarf's view.
The dwarf drew his cloak close, as though it might offer some protection from the spirits.
"Welcome, Vlanin," the dark figure spoke, its voice the cry of the orphan, the scream of the widow, the shriek of the dying.
"Step forward... We have words to exchange, you and I."
Vlanin pulled his cloak tighter.
The indistinct figure beckoned with one massive arm-like limb.
"So, you are the one that calls? You are the one that has opened the door?"
Vlanin realised this was the first step past the threshold along a dark and twisting path. Grim with the weight of what he was about to do, he replied, "Aye."
"Do you know what it means to walk the Pale path? Do you really wish this? Walk away now puny mortal... while you still can." The dark figure swirled as it turned in the vapors, and became even less distinct.
With some despise, Vlanin made his admission, "Ay ha'e need o' ut."
The figure swirled free of the mists. "You look upon me with such disdain, kinslayer. Yet I have never slain one who called me... son."
Vlanin hardened against the sting of its words, but was betrayed as a wave of remorse and guilt washed over him.
"This is not the path for children, mortal."
"Ay dinna think ay'm a child any moo're," Vlanin sneered at the figure, in his own acknowledgement of what he had done.
"This is not the path for remorse, regret, guilt, sadness... These things are meaningless."
"Fer yoo, maybe..." Vlanin countered; he still had a conscience of what he had done.
"We shall see, mortal... For you have placed one foot upon the path... but you are yet to place the other."
As if to answer to its accusation, Vlanin stepped towards the amorphous thing.
But it seemed the dark figure was unimpressed. It turned its massive head to look behind, "You see my children?"
From within the mists, the forms of the skeletal berserkers revealed themselves, flanking the dark figure on either side.
"You would have the means of calling upon my children?" The figure motioned to the tome in Vlanin's hands.
"Tha book says ut uz on tha path. But ut uz nay an army o' tha undead tha' ay seek." Vlanin obtained some small relief from his moral stand.
"You have the key to the path, mortal... Yet, I am the path. The gifts of the path... Where do you think they come from? You think they come from yourself? The Gods? No mortal... I am the path and if you wish to walk it... an offering you must make."
"Offerin'?" Vlanin said incredulously. What duplicity was this? What was he going to have to exchange to get past this obstacle? He had already sacrificed so much.
Vlanin stepped back, uncertain. "Tha book dinna say anything aboot..."
"You waver? I told you the path is not for children. Leave my presence." The amorphous thing disappeared in the mists.
// Taken from the log of Vlanin's CDQ, the words are largely Shadow's (excepting Vlanin's responses), with a little massaging into journal form, and some extra prose added for clarity. //
-
Vlanin stood alone in the shifting vapors, the vague ghostly forms twisting and writhing endlessly, the skeletal berserkers deathly still in the mists. He recalled the trials to get here, the prices paid. Now, he was going to have to make some deal will this thing.
"Foin," he barked.
The dark figure swirled free of the mists. "You're still here?"
"Wot uz thus off'rin'?"
The amorphous thing bent down, its massive form almost completely engulfing Vlanin's diminuative frame, and whispered into his ear.
"Every life that you take, Vlanin... you dedicate it to me... Every soul that departs the realm of Layonara by your hand... you dedicate to me... Every life that is prematurely ended... you take in my name... Every drop of blood you spill... you spill to satiate my thirst."
Vlanin couldn't believe his ears. "Ev'ry life?" he asked incredulously. This was beyond anything he was expecting, or prepared for.
"Oo'r ev'ry life o' tha enemy?" Hopefully, pathetically, he tried to bargain with the dark figure.
"Every life, mortal. Every soul you rend from it's mortal shell you send to me."
Vlanin looked grimly.
"And in return... you shall have my power at your bidding. My children will be your children."
The anger of frustration and betrayal began to rise in Vlanin.
"Your revenge will be made possible. Your kinsmen avenged."
Vlanin's voice broiled, in the manner similar to his former master. "Tha book dinna say anything aboot dealin' wid nay devil!"
This was beyond belief. This was not where he was meant to be. Desparately, he tried to justify his actions, and his expectations. He recounted the lessons he had learned.
"Tha book guves knowledge."
Effortlessly, the dark figure countered, "The book is merely the path to the path."
Vlanin continued hopefully, vainly, "An' tha knowledge uz poo'r."
"Without it... you wouldn't be here, mortal."
"All ay wan' uz ta learn tha knowledge, ta ha'e tha poo'r ta stan' oop ta ma enemy," Vlanin pleaded, desparately.
The dark figure took Vlanin's wrist, its touch icey cold. It whispered, its voice soft and seductive as a lover, "And you shall have it... Nothing will be able to stand against us."
"But yoo wan' sools," Vlanin replied pitiously, knowing that it was something he could not do. "All sools. Nay jus' tha sools o' tha enemy."
"It is my price, son. It is the price of your revenge. The price of your clan's safety. Will you call me... father?"
Vlanin looked horrified at the thing of evil. How could he? This was beyond anything that was within his ability to stretch to, to accomodate, to adapt to, even to save his kin. This beast had the thing that he wanted, but he had to give everything that he was.
In a moment of clarity, he withdrew from the calamity of the current situation to a place of stillness. Truth that had become hidden by needs, desires, and fears became clear again. Quietly, serrenely, he spoke the words of another.
"Th'ar sum things tha' ar' nay worth wunnin'. Th'ar sum choices nay worth takin'."
Vlanin paused as he listened to the words he now spoke. Then he spoke another truth.
"Ay am nay sool reav'r. Ta be givin' sools to a dread thing loike yoo."
He continued the speaking the words of his master.
"Bett'r ta die wid tha honor an' pride tha' yoo were born wid than ta stoop ta such means," he fondly recalled Agrim's words.
"You speak the words of another... Where is he now? He avenges your fallen kinsmen... How? Make your choice here and now."
The beast had lost.
"Ay nay be feedin' a creature tha loikes o' yoo. Wid those sools, yoo coold be makin' things much worse than tha enemy. Much worse. An' ut woold be me tha' helped yoo."
"What did you think the path was that you sought to walk mortal? Did not your Master warn you?" It struck once more at Vlanin's hope and aspirations.
In his anger, Vlanin threw the book to the ground. "Tha path un tha book. Nowt were said aboot sools." Pleading one last time, justifying himself, his actions in pursuit of his goal.
"A little late for honour now... Your hands stained red with the blood of your kinsmen."
Vlanin shrunk from his anger, from his moral high ground, full of regret and remorse. "Ay know."
The dark figure once again swirled into the vapors, and was gone.
Vlanin could hear the words spoken by his master again,
[INDENT]"Th'ar sum things tha' ar' nay worth wunnin'. Th'ar sum choices nay worth takin'. Bett'r ta die wid tha honor an' pride tha' yoo were born wid than ta stoop ta such means."[/INDENT]
Once more, his vision blurred.
...
Vlanin stood briefly in the pentagram in the cave once more before falling to the ground. Desparately he had pursued the path that he thought would provide salvation for his kin. He had fought so long and so hard for it, given everything he had. In the end, he had even sacrificed someone who he had known and loved for it because he believed he was right. Now he had the truth. The final obstacle had been too high; he had been asked for something he could not give.
He had made the moral choice, withheld the last shred of his integrity, but he had spent everything else. It was all gone. There was nothing left. He was derelict.
// Taken from the log of Vlanin's CDQ, the words are largely Shadow's (excepting Vlanin's responses), with a little massaging into journal form, and some extra prose added for clarity. //
-
The dwarven wizard awoke in the cave. For a brief moment, as his eyes opened, he was Vlanin, complete, full of hope and promise. Then the weight of what he had done fell down on him and he was bereft again.
...
Vlanin looked down malignly at the book held in his bandaged hands. It had to be destroyed, to prevent that fell thing of darkness from coming out, or anyone using to book to reach it. And yet the book had resisted all such attempts. There was only one place where it would be safe. He would have to return it to its hiding place in the hall.
...
Under the cover of darkness and his concealment spell, Vlanin had slipped into the clanhold. The hallways had been quite empty of his kin, but he had not stopped to find out why. In the gloom, he slipped through the hall, and into the librarium to secrete the dread thing once more. He had not tarried to pause or remember, only gird himself to what he must do and leave.
Vlanin startled as voices echoed from outside the hall door.
"Did yoo har that?"
"Ut whar comin' from tha hall."
"Ay'm nay goin' un thar."
"Ut coold be anythin'."
Vlanin sighed in relief.
...
Under the dark canopy of the night sky, Vlanin looked down from the stony rise above the valley. He could see now why the clanhold had been largely empty. The clanfolk had gathered around an unlit pyre; they were burning Agrim's body.
The weight of remorse took Vlanin again. He fell to his knees, barely supporting himself.
...
In the valley below, it was with a heavy heart that the clan chief took a torch and laid it to the base of the pyre of yet another clan elder and friend. Like so many times before, the flames took the pyre, a brief beacon to the life of fallen hero.
Most of the clanfolk watched the flames, captivated as they released the spirit of another of their kin. Only those who had looked about the night sky as they reflected on the recent losses witnessed the ball of fire erupt on the stony rise above the valley.