Story Backup 1 (In case my PC explodes)

Wizard's Wrath: Ascension

The Great Awakening



























Chapter 1 - A New Journey.


Where can our story begin, if not at the Beginning itself? What mortal mind can grasp the simple beauty of an infinite void? Except all things are defined by their opposite - beginning and ending; the infinite and the finite. These words in themselves are poor descriptors, yet there is a way. Imagination is a key that opens the unfathomable. So imagine a No-thing so profoundly empty as to preclude time, space and existence itself. Then imagine the multiverse opening it's collective eye to behold the first spark of existence. The moment when beholder and beholden, love and hate, strife and bliss, dark matter and dark energy are all intertwined in rapturous embrace as One singularity. The first ray of cosmic consciousness looks within and proclaims “I am!” This is the beginning.

In the beginning there was Limitless Light, and the Light commanded primal will, expanding in all directions. The essence of fire, water, air and earth jumbled in a murky formless haze of unintelligible proportions. The primordial chaos expanding and contracting like the heartbeat of a cosmic fetus. Shimmering clouds of spirits swimming in darkness, whispering profound immemorial truths.

The bare figure of a maiden sank deeper into a timeless void as her mind fought to regain a shadow of consciousness. If such was possible she would've discerned the hand that built the wheel of fate beckoning her. The maniacal juggler of the elements watched the sleeper, infinitely amused in playing god. In the dawn of time, she would've been in awe of the great trickster dancing in golden luminosity upon the first supernova. She would've heard the Word say “I am One! I am the Magus of Power! Come and see my show, I have quite a story for you today!” This proclamation followed by a deceptive self-amused laughter that would've given her chills. Then a terrible spectacle would follow, a deafening sound of essence grinding into matter as the madman weaved layer upon layer of astral veils. Veils consolidating into the tapestry of existence, truth obscured by a dazzling display of beautiful lies. Alas how can the finite mind fathom infinity? These mysteries were too grave for the unconscious maiden, so she fell away from our animated showman, his endless cackling fading in the distance.

Darkness gives way to the light of lucidity as the maiden finds herself in a tiny island of obsidian crystals in the middle of a dark ocean. A voluptuous night-sky stretches above her with starless emptiness. Yet, even in thick gloom, she can see by an illogical low ambient light. Standing at the rocky edge, she feels cold wind blowing warmth over her pale shapely body. Her auburn shoulder-length hair flows unrestrained in the misty night air. She stands soaking in her surroundings, her vivid green eyes catching every dim semblance of light, her long half-elven ears hearing every subtle nuance in the air. The apparition of a beautiful maiden, goddess-like standing on a fifty-foot-wide rock pedestal amidst the cold barren seascape is enough to give anyone pause. Had there been anybody else present, the sight of her bare figure would compel the observer -male or female- into an act of licentious adoration.

The now curious maiden looks into the blackness of the waters below, observing the stillness of it's agitation. For a second she is startled by the faint flicker of a giant serpentine eye staring back at her from the depths. “It's just my imagination”, she tries to fool herself, asserting her courage as a shield over her deep-seeded fear of the dark unknown. “I don't belong here” she thinks to herself while looking around for a way out of this alien, yet somehow familiar place. Turning to the center of the perfectly circular island she finds the source of her dream-light. It should have been obvious, wasn't it there all along? A beaming light, piercing the dreadful clouds from above shines down upon a blossoming crimson Rose. Miraculously growing from a rocky pedestal in sharp contrast to the jagged black crystals protruding around the center, the Rose beckons her with an irresistible pull. Iridescence overloads her senses and she surrenders to the Rose as a child responds to a mother's call. In a trance, she witnesses the opening petals revealing the warm light at its center, the seed of the universe. Brilliant rays expand from within, exposing the truth of the object that had been there all along - a golden chalice; catching and reflecting every ray of light, every thought, feeling and instinct. Every seemingly unresolvable paradox resolved in elaborate engravings, all duality coalescing into single object of transcendent beauty. Between two elegantly shaped handles an engraved cross catches her eye with glinting white gold, the Rose at it's center gazes back at her.

The maiden reaches into the column of light gently lifting the sacred cup. A mere touch pulses warm waves of holy power. They surge from the base of her torso radiating upwards, finally breaking as goosebumps on the back of her neck. For a moment she loses any sense of self apart from her world, as though she was the Grail suspended on an invisible web, connected to everything. The sudden clanking sound of metal banging, bending and twisting shakes her awake. She feels the cold hard touch of metal engulfing every inch of bare skin. Looking down she finds herself covered head to toe in an ornate golden armor as though it had extended from the cup itself; even the Rose-Cross now shines bright on her breastplate. Before registering much of this, she feels herself moving forward on a platform hovering just above the ground. Wheels of flame suddenly blaze into her peripheral vision as two warhorses materialize before her eyes. One is white as snow, the other as black as the night around her, both charging forward pulling her chariot forward to the edge of the small black island. A sudden flash of despair gnaws at her heart. The though of sinking into the dark depths, where unimaginable horrors lurks... but the chariot miraculously glides across the waters. It speeds ever faster, fire rolling over water, leaving trails of steaming clouds in the gloomy night. The maiden holds the Grail still before her chest and senses the tug of invisible reigns to both beasts, black and white, extreme opposites working for for a common purpose - moving forward. The extreme force would likely tear anyone else apart, but she knows the Grail binds all things together for all duality is fused within. Therefore all existence serves the Grail.

Just as she grows used to the exhilaration of racing along as a beam of golden light her worst nightmare comes true. The chariot abruptly dives into the the pitch-black ocean nearly knocking her unconscious. All the fear, darkness and despair of unborn worlds assault her at once, but the armor holds, crushing pressure abated by a luminous shield guarding her essence. She plunges down the depths of the abyss, carving her path through the unfathomable unknown, the grail growing translucent with scarlet radiance. It hums with primordial power vibrating a cosmic resonance, bursting open the Way to all existence. All the raw abysmal chaos has finally awakened to the purpose of creation, disturbing the gargantuan monstrosity within. The maiden feels a looming presence of the ancient arch-demon and hearing it's furious roar reaffirms her purpose. She knows it for a self-hating howl, weak willed and defeated by the will of the Rose, the will of creation. The forces of Dispersion denied, she rides as an avatar for the Triumph of Light over formless stagnation.

From the obscure depths she sees an expanse, a rapidly approaching horizon, not light exactly, but the possibility of light. What was at first a metallic groan below is now an ever increasing rattle vibrating the chariot into pieces. She barely notices this when her armor begins to crack, pieces flying from the gale of astral winds. Yet, the demise of her adorned ride and armor is minute compared to what comes next. Her soul is suddenly torn apart, sundering her whole into opposing halves, wholeness replaced by longing. The immediate ache of desire for the lost half of her soul is overwhelming. Falling like a shooting star, she wails in hopeless agony, clutching the damned cup of her misery. She is oblivious to the igniting nebula sparking new stars out of her falling debris. Only the joy of dissolution could heal the pain of her sacrificial division. Having lost herself, having lost all, the maiden's tenuous consciousness finally snaps. In fiery wrath she shrieks a battle cry and hurls the cup forward into empty space. Scarlet liquid splashes like a red supernova, expanding sublime chaos to unimaginable proportions. An elegant web reaches to the farthest corners of this newborn universe. For a brief moment she sees or imagines a man hanging by one foot with arms extended wide as though sustaining the infinite expansion of space. Exhausted and delirious she plummets across the skies over an ever-widening vista of a thousand parallel worlds. Hazy figures loomed overlooking these worlds as though they were table-top board games. They appeared to be discussing something amongst themselves. The pale one in long disheveled black hair looks up at her and she feels like an insignificant spider descending on a single thread of webbing. The soothing male voice engulfs her senses.
“You really are strong, I didn't think you'd last this long. You weren't meant to see this much.”
The soft spoken man says with a hint of genuine surprise. The maiden tries to ask why all the charade or how she can be whole again, but can't manage to reply with anything more than a whimper.
“Rest now, dear maiden. Let it go and return to the safety of thy kingdom. Your time has not yet come.”
She tries to hold on to dear consciousness but her world begins to fade as he waves a dismissive hand.
“Sleep now, child of the Kingdom. Sleep the sweet sleep of waking life.”

Overcome with exhaustion, all conscious thought fade to black. Dawna Lionfang stirred in her sleep during a warm summer night in the year of nineteen-ninety nine Post-Wraith in the Evalaian forest in the World of Archanon.



2



For some people there is never a pleasant way to wake up without the luxury of fresh-brewed coffee. Dawna's military training never succeeded in shaping her into an early bird. She always soldiered through the ungodly premorning hours towards wakefulness out of a sense of duty. Rousing at seven in the morning wasn't any different. While preparing for her journey she remembered everything except the coffee.

“You would think it would've occurred to me when packing the bread, cheese, dried meat, and fruits, or even the tea leaves. Tea leaves!” She grumbled to herself.”

As she was beginning to absently roll her sleeping bag, the reeking pungent smell of animal urine hit her sinuses like a brick. “Aww fuck! Off to a good start, aren't we?” she sighed. Looking over it carefully, she finds the yellow spot on bottom corner. Some merry woodland creature was generous enough to leave it's mark on her white cotton sheets. Reflecting back on her strange dreams, remembering all yet understanding nothing, she wasn't surprised the critter came and went without disturbing her. “I must've slept like a rock” she mumbled to herself while contemplating what sort of dangers could have easily ambushed her in the night. Putting that useless train of thought aside she walked over to the a stream nearby and proceeded to wash her bedding as best she could. Moments later, while snacking on her rations she jotted down the dream on a leather bound notebook she always carried, not wanting to forget that unusually surreal trip.
Perhaps this is what made her first in her class at the Martial Academy of Lothaire, a grounding practicality that let her coexist in two distinct worlds. She could contemplate the rapturous dreams of romantic poets, the eternal awe of a narrative painting or the subtle harmonies of a symphony while maintaining a pragmatic mind on the important matters at hand. Strong heart and keen mind, ideal paladin traits. Having finished her morning ritual, she packed the mule and continued the journey through the dark forest path.

Peanut wasn't big on conversations, but to Dawna, the mule was a good listener, not waiting for its own turn to speak. A listening ear was just what she needed to help her cope with her professional defeat. Every passing thought tainted by anxiety and depression which comes when life takes a turn for the worse, it was an ongoing fight to hold back the tears and give into despair. Only a month ago there were rumors of a deal between the Imperial Crown and the guardians guild to re-establish paladin law enforcement in the city of Lothaire, capitol of the Lothairian Empire. The rumors fizzled out, and there she was, still making a living on -here comes that dirty word- mercenary work. Then there was the empire's great solution to what they called a national dept, the Black Guard - men and women hired at lower wages, with an insider's perspective on the city's underground, upholding the law in the darkest places. Though typically silent in political discussions, Dawna had little patience for deceitful propaganda. They were hiring common thugs to do her job.

Years of study and training at the academy, her devotion to the Temple of Inner Light, even fulfilling her childhood dream to become a paladin of Lothaire meant little now; she was unemployed. The thought of going back to her parent's inn, defeated by the big city, was unimaginable just a year before at her graduation. That was bad enough, but the real kicker was getting pulled from an ongoing investigation. There were several disappearances of children from lower income families, no bodies ever turned up, but the little evidence she gathered pointed to a member of king Alterack Van Orden's court. Though never a conspiracy theorist, when they reassigned her just days before the big lay-off she did wonder just how far up the corruption went. Now who was going to find those children and seek justice for those parents? Street thugs whose only experience of the law is their own criminal records? She felt like someone pulled the ground of law and order from underneath her world, toppling her pedestal of civilization into a barbarous ocean of chaos.

“All for what, passing a budget through the imperial council?” Dawna snapped at the mule. Then sighing, she concluded “Nevermind, Peanut, mulling this over is no good. I'm apt to drive myself crazy. Besides, I've promised myself not to go back home in tears.”
“Home...” she mused to herself, “No... not home exactly, I love my sister and tolerate my father, but that's not my home. I don't know where 'home' is, but I swear I'll find it.” Despite her promise, her steel resolve cracked and tears began to flow. In the privacy of the cool green forest and her animal companion she set aside her oath. Cleansing tears streamed down her cheeks baptizing her grief as she traveled the path of introspection.




3
Explosive light fills all of Adrian's senses. He briefly recalls a similar experience years ago, when he awoke to harsh sunlight burning through the hot pink of closed eyelids. They were camped near a mountain peak. He'd fallen asleep gazing at constellations in the night-sky next to his father, who had retreated to his tent allowing nature to teach the sleeping boy a lesson. Yet, unlike the sunburn he earned for his lesson, this light isn't harsh in any physical way but overwhelms his rational mind instead. No magic mushroom or elf-weed has ever blown his mind quite like this, so he struggles to make heads and tails of the situation.

He fights the urge to shrink back covering his eyes and is rewarded with emerging forms in the radiant haze. He is standing on a thirty feet wide rock floating in mid air. Peering below, he sees distant masses of cumulus clouds covering an impossibly vast horizon, even keen elven eyes can't find a vanishing point. Overcome by vertigo, he wobbles to the center catching his breath. At once, lungs reinvigorate bloodstream with the purest essence of air. To call this “fresh air” would be a gross understatement, Adrian has never felt so... airy, or high for that matter. The light that was once too much to bear, is now the gentle warmth of a dawn, or sunset, he can't tell. Gentle sunlight tinge the white vista with orange hues against the light blue skies, warm clouds casting violet shadows on receding nebulous slopes.

The young elf has never had a religious bone in his body, but he supposes this is that happy place mystics spend their lives in. He feels good... “not just good, but...” Scratching his head, searching for words, he finally shouts in a eureka moment. “TRUE... I feel true!” Betrayal by old friends, his father's death even exile have all been part of some grand destiny, all necessary for The Journey. From this vantage point he can see it all, go anywhere and do anything. “But damn! It feels great to just stay here.” In this hollowed ground, beyond all good and evil, he can discern that everything is right in the world.

As if triggered by this realization, a sudden vacuum tugs from behind. Turning, he sees an enormous chasm at the edge of the floating island. He rubs his eyes in confused disbelief. A fabric has been torn, tattered edges of sky giving way to a pitch black abyss in sharp contrast to the sunlight at Adrian's back. In the distance, far above the forbidding darkness, a dim silver star pulses calling out to him. As much as he's come to love this place in... what? Minutes? Hours? Days? “An eternity” he feels. “An eternity of bliss” he realizes, but even bliss can't hold his restless feet forever. He gawks at the star in foolish wonder, how it twinkles alone, across the empty space. Feeling a hum from his long-bow, he instinctively draws and strings it taut. Trained hands reach for the quiver at his back, only to find it empty. A brief panic engulfs him, but the long-bow's humming and increasing heat melts away his fears. Now that he's looking at it, he's never seen this longbow in his life! Elaborate Fey designs of white gold and precious stones catch the sunlight as though feeding on it. The sun energizing it all along, the longbow is now radiating with fiery power.

Instinct taking over, Adrian pulls the string feeling a surge of energy ascending from his lower back up to his chest, throat, forehead and crown. Then directs the force down through his shoulders, forearms and hands, solar power coalescing into an arrow of light. His far seeing eyes focus all will upon that distant glimmer taking aim at the silver star. As its usually the case when feeling pressured, the old self-doubt comes creeping back “Don't screw this up, don't screw it up, don'screwitup!” Sweat runs down into his eyes and strength of will falters. On the verge of letting it fly, he closes his eyes taking another deep breath.

To his amazement, the target is more luminous with eyes shut. Having no education in the arcane arts he's uncomfortable with this sixth sense but learns to get over it. After all, he needs to focus, he doesn't know why, but needs to hit the target. With clear sight and clear aim he pulls back, arm stretched high and lets the arrow fly. Instantly losing any sense of self, he is flung across the abyss flying high. A semblance of consciousness realizes that he is traveling in a beam of golden light. Its exhilarating. Free from matter, traveling at the speed of thought, the core of what was once Adrian Farstrider watches the star grow larger, silver replaced by limitless white light at closer inspection.
“Ohmygod... I'm... everything I've ever... this is it...”

“WHOAH!!! Look at him GOOoooo! Swooshh!” an amused voice said from some far distance.
“Yeahyeah, whatever man. He wasn't supposed to make that shot, and you know it!” a second voice responded, clearly not amused.
“Toldya, I knew he'd make it. Pay up!” the first replied.
“God does play dice with the universe after all...” a third voice interjected.
“Fuck you too!” grumbled the second voice in a final outburst.

“What the...” All of the sudden Adrian springs awake as though shot out of a canon and greets the waking world with an unexpected fart.








4

“...fugghwazzTHAT?” he ends the dream thought in drowsy speech.
“RISE AND SHINE, handsum. We have a full day ahead of us” high pitched words followed by three loud rapid claps - the most annoying clap the elf has ever heard.

The festive merchant, dressed and adorned to downplay the appearance of his late forties comes sauntering into Adrian's room. Clapping his hands again he urges “Come on... oh my... Did I just barge in your room uninvited? I'm so sorry, I hope you're dressed, how rude of me!” he says with a genuine flush while still trying peek.
“No no I'm dressed, yeah... I'll be right out”
“Alright, I'll be waiting outside. We have a long trip and I'm paying you by the day, my dear”
“'Dear?' ...Gimme a break!”
“What was that hun?” The merchant asked from outside.
“Nothing!” Adrian replies, “I thought I was the one with keen hearing around here” he mumbles.

Looking out the window, the ranger was dismayed to see nothing but his own reflection by the interior lamp. Feeling cheated out of sleep by getting up before the Sun, he roared loud yawn and shuffled to assemble his clothes and gear. Just before going out, he look at himself in polished steel mirror and hastily brushed his long red hair. Wouldn't want the lurking dangers of the forest catching this hot shot on a bad hair day, would we? A quick glance at his own aquamarine eyes was all it took to trigger the memory of his trippy dream, but he filed it away with a shrug and walked out the door, risen, but not exactly shining.

The cool morning air amidst an elven settlement built high upon giant sequoias carried the scent of home for Adrian, or something close at least. The elven settlement of Fort Evalus defied the human definition of “fort”. The town consisted of elegant wooden structures around gigantic tree trunks, with platforms and bridges forming an elevated network blending seamlessly with the environment. An aqueduct delivered water from the western hills in wooden pipes branching into individual homes – a rare commodity in many lands. It was built as an outpost for the elven alliance, but served more as a refuge for those tired of redundancy in human-built boxes passing for homes, towns and cities. In its thirty year history there were wars, skirmishes, even an outright siege from the less civilized forest natives. With help from the nearby kingdom of Lothaire, Fort Evalus held it's own against marauding raiders hungering for loot. Set at the half way point between metropolitan Lothaire and its coastal mercantile province, Port Everlast, the fort was a natural hub for trade. So what if road patrols were scarce lately? Adrian and other rangers were happy to escort merchants through the forest for a modest fee, there was plenty of wealth to go around. Adrian shuffled his way to the elevator where the merchant Belian stood tending to Frodo, his anxious pack mule, and it made a smooth descent to ground level.

On their way out, storefronts were emanating the first stirrings of what would no doubt be a busy day, merchants coming and going, mercenaries in tow. Adrian insisted they stop at his favorite pastry shop where the he wolfed down a healthy serving of peach tarts and roasted bean tea -another human invention which elves claimed to have perfected. Belian didn't have much of an appetite, but ordered a few honey-cakes for the road as he watched Adrian brag about his great elven race.
“What a fabulous sense of design your people have, my dear. Ohh... I just love the architecture, the dresses, the hairstyles. Its... its fabulous!”
“Ya well, living longer than humans gives us more time to enjoy the finer things in life.” Adrian responded in his best debonair impression.
“How old are you anyway?”
“I'll be thirty eight this summer” He replied with disinterest in this sudden question.
“Goodness gracious! You don't look a day older than...” he pauses judging Adrian's high cheeked baby face. “...well, nineteen!”
A child's smile brightens the elf's face making him look more like nine “That's me, forever young!” He hops off his stool, takes a final gulp of his warm drink and begins heading out “Alright, now I'm shining, lessgo.”

Setting off into the forest Adrian leads the way, his woods-elf senses doing all the scouting for them, he absently listens to Belian's small talk. Not that he minds it. He too, can talk all day and say nothing at all. But when idle thoughts come knocking on his door, he welcomed them in open arms in a futile cycle of “could'ves” and “should'ves” while grunting “mhmm”in all the right places.

“I'll tell you one thing” Belian started. “In twenty years I've never had to hire an escort for safe travels in this road. Hoow prepawsterous!” he said with an unintentionally comical drawl. “After the great war there were guards everywhere keeping this road safe.”
“Hmm” Adrian nodded.

“I'll tell you... there was always something odd about that king Alterack,” Belian continued “Sure he did a fine job when he took the throne from the Lothar lineage, but that was just coasting on the old king's policies” Here comes that dreaded topic which Adrian knows little of and cares even less about -politics. To say the elf gave a rat's ass about the empire – same empire trying to tax his income- is putting it lightly. Off-hand news about human nobles, wars, history, kings, royal congress, congressional elections, civil rights issues made his head spin faster than a roundhouse kick. You might as well explain color to the colorblind.

“...now he leads this huge empire with congressional leaders wrapped around his fat incompetent fingers...”

While half listening, Adrian spotted a small camp in a clearing over to the North side of the road. Sight, hearing and scent having a mind of their own, made out nearly every detail without a conscious thought on his part.

“...our money going? Big businesses are crushing little guys like me and they pay half the percentage we pay in taxes! They pay less! What do you...”

Adrian's senses did their job.

An auburn haired, half elven female stirring herself awake, lingering embers from last night's camp fire, the pack-mule tied to a tree, plate armor bearing blue and golden insignias from Lothaire and some other faction. It was clear the young lady was out of her element in this forest, but she was far from the first he'd seen within the past year.

“... fired all the guards an rehired a quarter of them for a quarter of their salaries, my cousin told me all about it! Can you believe that? He said...” Belian babbled on, oblivious to his surroundings.

They passed the knightly young lady unnoticed, another disenfranchised traveler, Adrian concluded. Disinterested as he was about world affairs, he wasn't clueless about poverty and unemployment. He felt the plight of his fellow mortals. Exile has a way of giving you a wider perspective, outside the sheltered world of an elven prince. Unjustly exiled, that is... back to that nagging past.

“...a war hero doesn't mean you can run a country. I don't care if he and six others guys killed that wizard and ended the war, it's got nothing to do with...”

The first light of dawn bathed the treetops overhead in a golden aura against the cold blue of a receding night sky. The brisk morning air carried echoes of chirping birds heralding a new day. Such minute existential delights, eternal in their transiency, beckoned his mind from dull talk and stale memories. He pondered for a moment if his fellow traveler, for all his good taste, could appreciate the magical moment of a forest's awakening. He suspected he might, if he wasn't so worried about matters beyond his control. This is real magic, Adrian felt it, everywhere, not just fireballs...

“Daahling?” Belian asked with his unconscious drawl. “Are you alright?”

For the first time he was caught off guard by his contractor and had to shake off his odd musings.

“Aaah erm... I'm, I'm alright. I just thought of something, that's all” Play this off like I pro, be cool. Act like I've been listening and vigilant all along. “Its just that.. ahhh...” This is weird, what was I just thinking about before?
“Well, go on handsome”
“When you said something about the band of heroes your king traveled with” Adrian regained his composure.”I got a vibe from this place... nah never mind its probably stupid.”
Belian, twitched at the words 'your king' but let it go, instead he reassured the boyish elf.
“Ohh honey, I know ALL about vibes. I cleanse my store every week with a banishing song” Belian replied pulling his lute from the strap. “Cause if I don't, people's yucky vibes clutter my place like cobwebs” He giggled.
“Well, okay then” Adrian paused and searched for words. “With the sunrise, I felt like there was magic all around us. I know it sounds dumb coming from me. I can't remember what I was thinking, but I felt as though there were.. um... others, going our way and... walking through us. I had thoughts that weren't my own” This wasn't a lie, he'd felt that way, but not in a way he could intelligently express.
“Ghosts?” mild alarm coming over him.
“No...I don't think so. I admit I'm really creeped out by that sort of thing. But it didn't feel scary.”
“Ohh you silly goose” Belian said in open relief.
“What? I'm not joking.”
“I know you're not”
“Then what is it?” The elf asked aware that the merchant was also probably a bard and knew something he didn't.
“They're wrinkles” he answered as though it should've been obvious.
“Wrinkles?” He asked resuming their walk now that he's off the hook.
“Yeah, time-space wrinkles”
Adrian stared in silence with perplexed questioning eyes, an expression Belian savored with smug amusement.
“Oh come on, sweetheart. I'm not even a mage proper and I know this. Don't you elves go to school for magic?”
“I wasn't exactly an A or a B student. Anyway, I don't do magic, which is why I feel stupid just talking about it.”

Adrian, was now certain that something had come over him. Yes, he watched the marvels of nature all around him, never taking them for granted. Yes, his perception of the world was richer and more vivid than that of any human, but he never gave it much thought. Whatever this was, it robbed him of his vigilance, he didn't like it one bit. Let philosophers handle existentialist musings while Adrian the Ranger handles the longbow. “The only 'magic' I know is hitting my target, which isn't real magic but its pretty straight forward. That's how I like it.”

“Then allow me, to teach you this one basic principle of subtle magic, my dear.” Belian said with sudden pride in his new role as traveling professor. “Think of reality a tapestry, or a cloth over a big fluffy couch in a physician's waiting room. People come and go, sitting on it, leaving small wrinkles. Once in a great while heavier people will come along and leave a bigger imprint with a bigger wrinkle. So even when the person is no longer in that place, at that time they leave their residue, their well... wrinkle!”

“Sooo...” Adrian started with a renewed blank stare, adding the puzzle pieces. “What you're saying is that all magical divination is just about sniffing somebody's butt-print on a couch.” he finished barely restraining a laugh.
“You have such a way with words...” Belian replied with a deadpan expression.
“Whatever that was, I've never felt anything like it – and I travel a lot.”
“There's a lot of history in this forest, for all we know we're following the footsteps of great wizards who began their journey in this very province. You know, the wizard-kind of the Dalethian Highlands was once a student of Abrah-merlin around here. What's his name, Luke? Oh I'm terrible with names!”
“You're losing me, chief” Adrian interrupted scratching his head impatiently.
“Anyhow... you likely felt the ripple they left on this road, who knows? Sometimes dreams make you more sensitive to your psychic eye.”
“Oh really?” Adrian recalled his bizarre dream.
“What, did you have an unusual dream?”
“Yeah, and I remember it too, but I can't make heads or tails of it.”
“Can't means won't, sweetheart”
Adrian absently nodded at this. Introspection ran against his nature. Questioning himself only spoiled his aim. He could dream all his subconscious' wildest whims. He'd enjoy it, too. But interpret them? Nonsense! In this regard he really took after his father, an elven-lord warrior who valued strength over wisdom. “Dreams are only nighttime brain-farts blowing off steam.” He'd tell the boy. Just brain-farts, the grown boy now told himself.
“I don't know, I don't really think about these things.”
“Well... you should, my dear. Something made you more sensitive to wrinkles than lil' ol' me. God knows I have enough wrinkles of my own.” he said chuckling at what he thought was a witty pun, Adrian smiled nevertheless.
“They say that in some places, where the fabric is thin and the wrinkle deep enough you can trav...” He was suddenly interrupted by Adrian's motion to halt.
“Whaat?”
“Quiet! There's be trouble ahead” The ranger said feeling the subtle nausea that gets him before every battle.



5

An introspective stream ran down the side of her cheek, leaping down and racing along the glimmering contours a gilded lion. The beautiful maiden wiped her tears reflecting on that golden symbol over her chest. The breastplate might have been slightly uncomfortable for long travels, but filled her with a sense of security. The weight she bore was not so much literal as it was symbolic of her heritage and legacy. First forged in the ancient kingdom of Altheria, an alloy mixture of duranite and mallenite made for a lightweight and rust-resistant metal. Her family sigil of a roaring lion adorned the polished plate with high-classical gold trimmings running along the edges. It was supposedly a product of the first generation of applied alchemy, a gold a more dense and lightweight than natural gold. Thus the adornment was practical, serving as a protective magical weave. Those properties kept the armor from becoming just a museum piece. Instead of wearing a standard issue set from Lothaire, her father fitted her with the ancient Altherian armor from the house of Lionfang.

Altheria... no city was more evocative in the maiden's life. According to history books, it was the birthplace of Western Civilization. A distant city built on a vast plateau overlooking a coastal plain where East met West. Once upon a time Altheria ruled the Empire of the Mind, leading a revolutionary philosophy against tyrannical old gods. Classical art and literature expressed freedom of speech and democracy, raising the torch of liberty high for all the world to follow. Pallas Altheria was the city's patron goddess. Legend and history merge in the story of her rebellion against Johvan, the maddened patriarchal demiurge who terrorized the ancients - her own father. In order to lead her troops she instituted an elite order knights, paragons of justice and freedom. Avatars of her divine attributes, they were named paladins after their goddess Pallas. These classical-age heroes were indispensable in aiding Aleph Wraith, the first wizard to rise against the gods and eventually banish them. Even the world's calendars were based on that event, two thousand years before. The city was destroyed by zealot armies still loyal to their exiled god. Citizens scattered about the world, always maintaining their epic heritage. Many became legendary bands of Altherian Heroes - principled mercenaries and adventurers who dreamed of rebuilding their ruined nation. The heroic tradition remained steadfast through the centuries and was handed down to Bennet Lionfang, Dawna's senile father.

Now she had to scoff at her noble-sounding family background. It wasn't saving her from unemployment in a modern empire that was a mere shadow of democracy.

Once the emotional lapse was over, Dawna shoved aside her internal pity party, if not for ever, at least until she of the woods. She had always been a city girl, or a least suburban, growing up in Port Everlast with naïve dreams of moving to Lothaire - The Big City. The city's desecration of that dream didn't mean she was about seek solace in a god-damned forest. Her elven “half” was more like a quarter, unless you attributed her uncanny metabolism to that racial trait. Pointy ears notwithstanding, no elf would mistake her for a pure breed. Her human half gave her wider hips, fuller breasts and rounder cheeks (upstairs and downstairs). Even the most stunning full elven maidens were gaunt by comparison. Having only a fraction of sharp elven senses and a cosmopolitan human disposition set her pretty far from true elves, or “tree-huggers” as her father jokingly call them before the days of “political correctness.” Some half-elves were more in touch with their woodsy heritage, she supposed that's why that settlement of Fort Evalus had thrived. A place for those who sought a more symbiotic relationship with nature. Good for them. Dawna, however, was no nature girl.

The golden-green of sunlit foliage and fresh verdant forest air were nice and all, but they weren't going to save her ass from lurking predators she scarcely knew. What's more frightening than creatures you don't know? Being eaten by them. Just the day before she was attacked by strange insect-like creatures about the size of her mule. One was young, the other wounded, but they still manage a shallow gash on her right arm. By her divine healing will she managed to avoid infection, but it was too close for comfort. Traveling in full plate was out of the question, its too damned impractical, but she would wear the breastplate at least. A minor flesh wound was better than disembowelment after all, no paladin healing prayer would fix that. The distant buzzing sound of more giant insectoids made her stomach turn, but she persevered, there was no choice, really. Thankfully, she journeyed far enough to make what she hoped was a safe camp just off the path. She prayed that the fire would ward off night preadator. Sleep didn't come easy, but when it did, she sank into the most unusual dream. She'd written it all hoping to make some sense out of that chaotic ocean. Maybe once the forest sounds weren't making her paranoid she would consult with doctor peanut, her faithful mule, and get an expert opinion on the psychology of unconsciousness. She mused smirking to herself. When the forest was far behind her and she was trailing the mountain paths close to home she planned to do just that.

A faint thump muffled by lush foliage broke her wishful thinking. The swoosh of a sweeping weapon and inhuman grunts, announced trouble ahead. She quickly reached for her axe and readied for conflict, happy that danger had presented itself with a broad announcement instead of an ambush.

…....................


Adrian's ranger eyes absorbed every nuance in the skirmish. Their greyish-green skin was covered with battle scars. They wore shabby furs, with thick hide armor, chunks of chain-mail and plate haphazardly shielding the torso. Metal spikes jutted out from their helmets and shoulder-pads, completing their savage look. These fine green-skinned gentlemen weren't going to a ballroom dance, Adrian thought.

With hyper-awareness Adrian scanned the four orcs surrounding the small-framed human, frantically swinging their battle-axes with clumsy sluggishness, missing their agile target. Had this not been a real fight he might have chuckled at the large bug-eyed orc shouting at him from below. His veiny muscles bulged as he threw another axe at him. The bladed blur zoomed past his head putting an end to the ranger's brief battlefield reconnaissance and self-amusement. He shot the axe thrower's arm at the wrist and the creature howled not in pain, but fury. He snapped the arrow off, dark blood oozing out. The frugal elf considered the cost of each arrow, how for all their worth, they only annoyed these marauders. Even when he opted to craft his own arrows, it was a huge investment when he'd rather pass time smoking elf-weed and eating honey cakes. Time was money and Adrian had neither, so he let out his own angry shout at the beast, though not nearly as intimidating.

Even through his outburst, he jumped upon another branch dodging another throw. He saw the short human in lose fitting clothes moving with water-like fluidity, punching with bare hands and couldn't believe his eyes. The slim figure wearing a long flowing hair-braid gracefully stepped aside from incoming blows as one might gently walk around lumbering crowds on a busy street. You might even imagine a polite “excuse me sir, but you seem to be missing all your teeth” followed by a loud crack of a fist against an orc's jaw. The serenity in his face, betrayed the the cuts and bruises accumulating on his arms and shoulders despite his martial prowess. His every casual movement infuriated the orcs further as they moved with all the dexterity of sloppy drunkards trying to pick up a fallen coin. Just when they seemed like a green cloud over him, an echoing Thud launched an orc into a twitching back-flip, landing upside down in a growing pool of blood twenty feet away. The others didn't stop, but continued their frenzy. Adrian saw that even such a formidable fighter could still fall to these beasts, blades whiffed a little too close for comfort. His instincts were right in stalking them, too bad he fucked it up when it came to hitting his first shot. His mantra of doubt, “Don't fudge this up” obviously came through in spectacular failure, sending the first shot just inches passed their leader's head. So now here he was, dodging axes from mister green-angry-pants. He would take care of angrypants then pick off the other melee, praying that he wouldn't hit the poor human as an even bigger display of failure for the day. He lined up another shot when he heard the howling war-cry, a screeching banshee muttering strange words coming closer fast, faster than he could even think. The orc froze in utter surprise and Dawna buried her gleaming axe on the orc's chest. The creature's eyes were still bulging out of their sockets, in disbelief when Adrian finished him off with an arrow to the throat, cutting off his windpipe.

“Oh hi thank...”

“No time for introductions” she cut him off, running to aid the other traveler with uncanny speed.

Adrian readied another shot, this time not really worrying so much. He was just now entering his zone where instinct directed actions like muscle memory, bypassing any rational thought. If he had to explain it, it would be akin to singing, dancing and playing his harmonica all in perfect rhythm. In war, it came as accidental moments of clarity when he didn't have to question his accuracy, for he knew every shot would find it's home.

As she nearly reached the first orc piling on the stranger an arrow whizzed over her left ear, striking the marauder at the base of the skull. He twitched a little, random muscle spasms responding to the last few signals of a dying brain and fell over, leaving a flank opportunity on the orc next to him. She took the chance to arch her axe down with such force that the orc never knew what hit him. He went into the afterlife kicking and screaming, clueless of his own demise.

Through the thick veil of his rage the last orc looked around and gave reason a chance to see that he was outnumbered. Before computing his next action the man he was trying to kill struck his forehead with an open palm, stunning him. Drom'bar, in the final moments of his life as a marauder, had a surreal vision of his dispatcher. Even Gromuck, his own primal orc god, might have been in awe of this war-shaman in shining armor. Her hair a blazing fire in the morning sunlight, eyes of radiant emeralds decreeing judgment upon his soul. The human-elven maiden was a terrible war goddess who grew larger than life as she approached, inspiriting the orc's final state of penitence – to surrender his hunt before this mighty deity. There was great honor in dying this way, more perhaps than he deserved, having had a life not as a true warrior, but a raider of harmless travelers and villagers. He knelt and spread his arms wide open, welcoming his death with the grin of a scoundrel who cheated fate and earned a warrior's death. The fur, hide and ribs did nothing to mitigate the bite of Dawna's axe into the raider's heart. He bled out, expiring in mere seconds.

With a few limber hops, Adrian descended from the oak tree joining his new-found allies who were still catching their breath. The unarmed traveler was obviously a foreigner, with features resembling those of far Eastland humans. His traditional robe gave him away as an Eastern holy man.

“Avalok Hanzo, thank you for the help.” He said still winded, while bowing to the paladin and the ranger. The accent confirmed Adrian's assessment of the man's nationality. They were usually isolationists, not venturing this far into the western lands, so he was curious enough to befriend this mysterious foreigner, so far from home.

“Wow... that's insane! You took these guys with your freaking bare hands! Are you like... a monk or something?”
“Yes” He replied in a calm voice with no sign of fear or excitement, as though all he was doing moments ago was picking flowers. There was an awkward pause as Dawna wiped the blood from her weapon with a thick rag. She wasn't feeling very social.

“Sorry, I'm Adrian Farstrider, of the Farstrider Legacy under Elven Lord Leetheus.” he stuttered at hearing his own elven pride, even as an exile. “Well... I'm... I'm more like the black sheep of the legacy. I was escorting my merchant friend over there when I heard trouble, good thing I jumped in heh?” He turned to the lady paladin trying to beak the ice. “Hey thanks for lending a hand there, but I had that big ugly monster on the ropes, one last shot and...”
“You're welcome” She replied. “I'm Officer Dawna Lionfang from the Paladins of Lothaire... Was an officer” she corrected herself.
“Ohh riiight... that thing with the lay offs, that sucks for you guys!” He was going to babble some more until she warned him off the subject with a sharp glare.

“Thank you for your intervention, friends. I am sorry that I could not overcome my enemies myself. My discipline falters under pressure for I'm not yet a master.” Hanzo said as he sat down and crossed his legs assuming the eastern lotus meditative pose.
“You look like you're hurt, maybe I can help.” Before Dawna could even finish she saw his wounds mend as though they've been healing for weeks in the space of a few seconds. In the brisk morning air, warmth radiated from the monk's small frame like a camp fire.
“Mind and body as One” he whispered through subdued breathing.
“Hey... neat trick you've got there. We could've used a healer like in our order when it was still around” Dawna said reminiscing a little. “Well then...” she snapped “nice to meet you both. If you're alright I'll be goin...” She flinched, hand reaching for axe handle as she heard another shout coming from a few yards away.
“Woohoo, Adrian my dear boy, is everything alright? Can I come out now?” Belian called from the cover of bushes next to Frodo the mule, who seemed oblivious to the whole skirmish.
“There's Belian, I almost forgot about him” Adrian pointed “You can come out now”
“Oh Belian, isn't he the shop owner just down the street from, the Lionfang Inn?” Dawna asked.
“Yeah, oh wait a min, of course! You must be related to the Lionfangs in Port Everlast. Do you know Kithri? I sometimes stay at her inn.” Adrian asked with obvious excitement at their small world.
“Yes, she's my sister”
He raised an eyebrow at this, scratching his head at the thought of a half-elf and a halfling as sisters.
“Yeah, don't ask...” Dawna responded his curious expression.
“That is likewise my destination.” The monk said getting up from his meditation. “Mayhap it'll be advantageous for us to travel together.”
“You must've read my mind!” Adrian turned to him with a grin. This would would make his job easier, and maybe he wouldn't have to daydream while Belian, friendly as he was, bored him to death with politics.

At first Dawna didn't respond, not liking the idea of joining up with these strangers. In truth, part of her wanted to strike out on her own in the face of her recent misfortunes. The last thing she wanted was a posse of merchants and swords for hire. But a deeper instinct ran through her, moving her to act on her true nature – to aid those in need. Whatever it was, perhaps it was her way to fulfill a sense of purpose, to feel needed.

“Ehh... Dawna, was that your name? Miss knight paladin girl?” The elf tried to get her attention.
“Yes yes, if you're in need of my aid, I'll escort you, 'tis my duty after all.” She snapped at him.
“Ohh I see you found friends from town, how nice! OH MY GOD, is that is that a...” Belian froze with terror at the sight of hacked orc corpses, screaming hysterically.
Adrian rolled his eyes with a loud sigh and went to Belian's side, taking him away from the bloody clearing and back to the dirt road. Dawna and Hanzo followed.


6

The rest of the trip was relatively uneventful, no blades were raised, arrow drawn or fist raised, which was good. None of the travelers were feeling particularly bloodthirsty. If they had the jump on another set of marauders, they'd prefer to skirt around them through the woods. With Adrian's expertise as a ranger they owned the forest, something Dawna was very appreciative of. This was a good idea after all. In a world so tainted by greed and injustice she found Adrian's naïve and unambitious outlook refreshing. Reserved as she was about her personal life, there was little Adrian kept to himself about his own. He talked at length about how he was framed for the murder of his father and older brother, how Lord Leetheus himself appealed in his favor, sentencing him to exile instead of execution. He emphatically restated his vow to avenge their deaths somehow. Yet he somehow managed to gloss over all the personal details that, if given enough time, would draw him to tears. Dawna supposed it's how he dealt with it, by talking so much and not thinking too hard on any one thing.

Regardless of age and the fact that the average elf's life-span is more than three times that of a human, Dawna thought Adrian behaved like a very young person. She didn't think he was older than twenty years of age and was shocked to find that he was forty six - old enough to have seen the great wars waged in Archanon. Yet he was far from a veteran. As he explained, he saw the world through the confines of the very sheltered family life of nobles. Even archery, his current trade, he learned as a matter of sport and tradition, rather than survival as a real warrior. Ironically, his exile was the very doorway through which he attained freedom and competence as a ranger. They agreed that the real world was a sink or swim kind of place. Perhaps it was their common struggle to swim as kindred spirits that brightened Dawna's mood a bit. He liked to talk and she didn't mind listening, it gave her mind other things to ponder besides her own woes.

Avalok Hanzo was quiet most of the time, but listenned intently to everything Belian had to say on various political matters, nodding and adding his own observations from time to time. Perhaps it was the cultural differences or his own monastic temperament, but in Dawna's opinion, he appeared far more reserved than she was, always watchful of what he said. He carefully guarded a messenger's bag which no one else seemed to notice. When asked about it, he said he was writing a thesis comparing and contrasting eastern and western mysticism as part of his monastic training. He called it The Way of the World. He looked calm and collected, certain enough about the subject for such an undertaking. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something he wasn't telling her. He never flinched or shunned eye contact, a man whose mind was clear as day, with nothing to hide. Perhaps it was her investigative instincts running paranoid. After all, she had been through a lot in the past few months and found it hard to trust anyone.

They camped twice, once in the forest and the second in the rocky hills overlooking the forest they'd crossed. The second camp was particularly pleasant as there were other merchant camps with their own band of hired guards nearby. Dortul was the dwarf who led their expedition. He was almost a caricature of what anyone expects from the Ragefist dwarf - foul mouthed, boisterous but good-natured. Having left the clan to join the merchant ranks in Port Everlast was his riskiest venture. Yes he could make a lot more money, but if his business failed he had none of the social safety nets the clan enjoyed at home. The Mountain Nation of the Ragefist Dwarves was what Lotherians journalists called a socialist government, with heavy taxes, but more government programs ensuring the good of their people. The Ragefist take care of their own, was the nation's slogan. It was hard to get filthy rich, but it was also hard to be completely destitute, most people did alright. Only ambitious businessmen such as Dortul and notorious crime families preferred to migrate to towns under Lohaire's free-market policy, where they payed a fraction of the taxes. So Dortul knew what he signed up for when he moved. Had this been part of the Ragefist territory guards would be posted at every mile of road through the forest. Here in Lothaire territory, one had to pay his way by hiring guards, easily affordable for big companies but not so easy for lil'ol' Dortul. Still, his choice or not, he would sit by the grill drink and invite other travelers to join him and bitch about the state of things.

Naturally Adrian was the first to be lured by the savory aroma of perfectly marbled strips of steak on a grill, dripping their juices upon open charcoal flames. The call of something more substantial than nuts and dried fruits was irresistible for Dawna and Belian as well. Only Hanzo seemed completely unmoved, curious about the other travelers and not their enticing banquet. Belian waved as he approached, clearly recognizing the band of merchants, Adrian followed along, wide eyed and just about drooling. Belian, ever the social butterfly, was among friends from the merchant's guild, so he introduced them all. Dawna was already acquainted with Dortul and Mayra. Dortul ran a pawn shop since he arrived from the Ragefist mountains and Mayra was a middle aged, of dark skinned woman who owned a clothes store. Both of them led the merchant expedition pooling their resources together along with smaller business owners like Kenton and Emile. There were also hired guards Brant and Hubert, both full blood humans who negotiated the escort detail for a generous sum. They hired three _”Mexican”__ mercenaries who gladly watched their camp for little more than eighty pieces of silver a day – about half of the empire's hourly minimum wage when you factor all their time. Such was the advantage of hiring illegal immigrants, nobody seemed to mind except Dawna who had to bite her tongue in the face of these social inequities.

Feeding the mercenaries was an unspoken part of the deal, but as the Tenoxian men came to get their meal no one bothered to introduce them. Dawna put her plate aside and got up to greet the men herself. Placido, Cristobal and Ciro had short dark hair, dark ashy skin with caramel undertones, almond shaped eyes with wide cheekbones, almost like elves. Even their ears bore a subtle edge. They could almost pass for half-elves if it weren't for their sharp angular bone structure. They spoke in their native tongue, gathered a few yards away from the main camp. The chatter and laughter didn't detract from their vigilance somehow, one would always be on the lookout while others chowed. They greeted her warmly and raised drinks when she answered in their own language through a heavy Lotherian accent. She asked to help in their alternating watches for the night, but they refused, thanking her nevertheless. She knew they were the ones doing most of the “guarding” for a fraction of the pay, but they were undaunted, taking uncanny pride in their labor. The Tenoxians were actually getting a fair treatment from these travelers compared to many other regions. The Tenoxi tribe was said to be descendents of an ancient cross breed of primitive humans and dark elves who inhabited the vast tropical forests south of the Ragefist mountains. The expansion of human feudal lords from the north displaced their tribal nation through enslavement and outright conquest. Those feudal northerners became the kingdom of Lothaire. Its a dirty piece of her nation's history that most people, even some of her fellow Paladins, conveniently forgot. Not her, true justice was blind to race or color of one's skin. Despite the years of oppression by other nations, these peaceful and hardy people moved, adapted, toiled hard, carving an existence out of whatever corner of the world fate dumped them in. Having properly treated them with equal dignity as any other traveler, she returned to the main camp at ease. Later that night she would take a watch of her own along with Adrian, perhaps giving these guys a break anyway.

Meanwhile, Adrian had an unwitting date with God. He had smoked some elf-weed moments earlier, offering Dortul some as a token of gratitude. He waved it away raising his homebrew mug'o'stout as his drug of choice. Out of curiosity, Adrian tried it and downed two mugs on an empty stomach while listening to Dortul's stories, eyes fixed on the grill. He even tried to match the dwarf in a chugging contest but nosed it instead, spilling it all over. Everyone roared in laughter. Adrian's head was swimming in an ocean of sensory titillation. Folk songs from Kenton's violin enveloped the air in a riptide of warmth, smoke, idle chatter and longing. Not the spiritual longing of poets, but the literally carnal longing of succulent tender steak bathed in melting sea-salt. But who's to say they're not one in the same? Either way, Adrian wasn't conscious of any profound meaning in all of this, he was simply going with the flow as he had always done.

Finally, when the anticipation had built into a mouth-watering tsunami, the dwarf handed Adrian a plate and served him a platter of heaven on earth along with all the sides. Pealing a mallenite foil opened a vision of crisp-chewy garlic bread decadently soaked in fresh butter. Another foil granted a revelation of grilled leeks braised in bacon fat and dark vinegar. Let's not forget the smoked sausages, as analogous to steak as red to yellow in the color wheel. He knelt upon the altar of sensual pleasure, worshiping the holy trinity of protein, fiber and starch through long contemplative bites, savoring the dissolution of all three in his mouth. His only conscious thought was some notion of deja vu, as though this event had happened before or was happening all along. Everything felt true. Beyond all good and evil, he could discern that everything was right in the world. But where did these thoughts come from? Where had he felt like this before? Surely this was just some real good elf-weed talking.

Belian had as much of a good time in this serendipitous gathering as Adrian, except he had the social grace not to get nearly as fucked up. Hanzo was low key as always, passing on the meat but feasting on bread and grilled leek. He was surprised by the flavor of bacon fat, but didn't object. Dawna loved the meal as well, praising the merchants for such fresh ingredients and masterful preparation. She was glad that in a world where chaos was becoming the norm the ancient laws of hospitality were still strong. They slept more satisfied than they had been for months. Dawna took watch alternating with Hanzo and the other guards instead of Adrian who laid comatose. So much for his elven senses...


7

The next morning both camps parted ways going opposite directions. Dawna blessed them with a silent prayer of good will and Adrian wished them good luck. He had none of the morning hangover he usually gets from drinking, so he felt lucky already. As they ascended the rocky road, the rising sun made a glorious vista to the west, it's halo spreading above the Evalaian forest to their right. They passed a decorated grave site on the right marking the resting place of “Abemalek the Brave who died here defending the Magnificent Seven from a fire mage in the Second Wizard's War”

“Who are these magnificent seven?” Hanzo asked.
“Wow, you're really not from around here.” Dawna said turning to him. “Surely you know of the Second Wizard's War”
“Yes, in the Eastlands we call it the Second World War.”
“Makes sense... anyway, that was about twenty five years ago. There were seven heroes who were pivotal in winning the war against Zargos.”
“Yawn...” Adrian interrupted, Dawna ignored and continued. “He was a sword for hire they picked up at an inn. I suppose if he hadn't died there would've been eight of them.”
“You weren't even around then, how do you know all this?”
“It's called education, Adrian. History was part of the main curriculum at the academy.”
“Well I was a young boy then, and from experience, I can tell you. The whole thing was boring.”
“Riiight” Dawna said with visible sarcasm. “It wasn't boring just because you were a child who watched it from the confines of a diamond gilded cage.”
“Alright so maybe I wanted to fight but my father wouldn't let me.”
“How old are you anyway?” She asked.
“I'm thirty eight” He answered in a monotone.
“I know, right? He is practically a baby in elf years!” Belian mused. Adrian rolled his eyes.
“So you were about thirteen at the time, I rest my case.” She concluded.
“Oh alright... I met them once!” Adrian said.
“Oh?” Dawna and Belian turned to him.
“Yeah, my dad... erm... the House of Farstrider flanked an army of dark elves at Ebon Forest so they could pass and overtake Zargos' Pinnacle days later. Before the attack they visited our outpost. They were pretty cool, I guess. But Lord Leetheus was the real champion!”
“I can't imagine you being partial to an elven ranger.” Dawna in her best fake expression of disbelief.
“Ha-ha! Very funny! But you're right though. I guess I always wanted to be like him. He really came trough for me later in life when he convinced the elven council to exile me instead of... well... you get the picture.”
“So is it true they had really domesticated a troll? I always thought it was an exaggerated legend.” Dawna asked.
“See... This is where history tells a different story depending on your race. He was no domestic animal! I saw Skullbasher myself, he was big green gentle giant. Though looking at his giant moon-axes, they looked like they could do some serious damage. He rules the Tribal Alliance now a days.”
“So they say, but I'll believe it when I see it. The only trolls I've seen were the ones trying to eat me.” Dawna said remembering infamous lurking trolls baiting the fringe villages of Lothaire.
“Well, he wasn't like those savages, he was pretty cool.”
“That means a lot coming from an elf” Belian said.
“Very interesting, I remember hearing a little about them. Mostly from the point of view of Alterack who became your king.” Hanzo said fully immersed in the history lesson.
“Woah there, slow down buddy. He's not my king.” Adrian protested.
“We pay taxes to him, that's what he meant.” Dawna clarified.
“Yeah, I pay as little tax as I can get away with.”
“You know” Dawna sighed “You are a true wood-elf, living up to all the stereotype.”
“Thank you!” Adrian grinned, genuinely pleased with Dawna's keen observation. Turning to Hanzo he continued his recollection.
“So yes, I did see Alterack. He looked just like a regular foot-soldier, except he was decked head to toe in Adamantite plate and carried a sword that looked a tad too big for him.”
“Maybe he was trying to compensate for something” Belian giggled.
“There was Taurok the barbarian. In light hide armor he was still way bigger than Alterack in full plate. His war-hammer was at least the size of Frodo here” He said pointing to Belian's mule. “Or at least it seemed that way, I was young.” He shrugged “He almost drank our whole supply of elven mead with the help of Gnog the dwarf mountain-warden. Silly name I know, but try saying that to his face... I remember this because my dad was appalled by their manners.”
“Well, you're talking about a barbarian and a dwarf.” Dawna said, resentful that stereotypes are sometimes true.
“I'll tell you what though, as big as Taurok was for a human, Raydex would beat him in a fight.”
“What do you mean? Did they ever fight each-other?”
“No! I mean, not that I saw. What I mean is this. Me and the other kids, sons of other elven lords, we used to play this game... we would draw on cards and write stats for strength, dexterity, magic and such for all the guys we saw in the outpost. Then we'd shuffle the cards and play against each other. I always had Raydex in my deck.”

“Why's that?” Belian asked.

“Because the guy was like a legendary blademaster who sported every magical talisman known in Archanon. He probably got them from raiding dungeons and dragons. I overheard rangers saying how used to just come and go where he pleased, covertly helping the other six when they least expected.”

“So that's six, did you meet the wizard?” Dawna asked.

“Oh... him...” The ranger's whole demeanor fell as if someone killed his puppy. “Yeah... that guy was kind of creepy!”

“What do you mean?”

“Lucius the Mage. He wore blue robes, the color night-sky. Sometimes, if you turned around, he'd be right there watching you. I would catch him in the corner of my eye, then I'd look again and he was gone! I swear the guy was hovering off the ground and invisible half the time, like a ghost.”

“Did he sneak up on you and touch your no-no zone?” Belian reached for Adrian's shoulder with genuine concern.
“Eeew! Hell no! Stop looking at me like that!”
Everyone laughed, even Hanzo seemed to understand why.

“No, it's not that at all. He did this magic trick once...”

….…....................

Adrian recounted as best he could the events of that bitter winter in the remote Ebon Forest twenty-five years ago. A distant forsaken land, home of sadistic dark elves who sided with Zargos' madness just to watch the world burn. He was never a very good story teller, always getting ahead of himself or fixating on superfluous things, but this memory somehow flowed through him like dictation. The magical nature of the experience made it into something he'd rather forget, like knowing the end of a story before reading a book. Only it wasn't an end, or any clear picture of any kind, but formless clouds of possibilities in the boy's future.

The world around the young elf was a stark composition of grays and blacks. The lifeless gray sky, the tents, the people under a dull winter light made him long for his sunny home in Emilor. Yet the black of the forest was worse. Looming skeletal trees reached for to the boy in thin sharp tendrils, beckoning him to a quiet surrender. The whole forest seemed to demand a sacrifice of life, vigor and warmth to an oppressive cold death. Even the white snow seemed gray somehow, sullied by the unholy forest, tainted as a reminder of dark elemental powers working against them. The outpost was an improvised walled camp in a clearing deep in the forest. Looking beyond the wooden walls was like staring into a black abyss. He knew there were creatures beyond, staring right back at him. So the boy turned his gaze to the events in the camp instead, the people coming and going, the rangers practicing, sharpening their senses. They had some famous visitors, so he took note of them.

The wizard had just thanked his father for the military support then hovered around the camp in deep thought. There was a perfectly casual moment when Adrian's friends were away and Lucius' comrades planned their next move. Wizard and boy ran into each other under a gentle white flurry. Lucius turned, fixing an owl's inquisitive gaze upon the boy. Other children had stared at the man earlier with a curious mix of wonderment and fright, Adrian was no exception. It's hard to describe the soul-piercing sensation of a wizard's gaze, cutting through all the fluff and getting to the heart of matters. Children were especially vulnerable, since unlike adults, they had little egotistical clutter. For Adrian this was worse than being caught naked, the wizard stared into his bare soul.

The boy shivered.

“I know, I hate the winter too.” The young wizard smiled, rubbing his hands together. If he knew that the boy hadn't shivered from the cold he didn't show it.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“You see through me”
“You're observant like your father, you'll make a good ranger someday.” Lucius chuckled, amused at being caught by a child. “A wizard must see through all things, my young friend.” He looked around at the desolate northwestern sky, the direction he would travel the next day. “Especially when the fate of the world is at stake.”
The boy found himself hating the wizard for no reason other than he knew so much. Not quite reading his mind, but reading his face, the wizard replied. “You don't like magic, do you?”
He shook his head.
“Then let me show you a little trick, perhaps this will change your mind.”
He rubbed his hands together muttering incomprehensible words then crossed them over his heart. He then called another name the boy couldn't understand and shot both arms forward as if reaching for the horizon, his whole body leaning forward, extended left foot supporting his weight. Immediately, in the dead of winter, a sun beam cut through thick clouds like a hot knife through butter, bathing them in warm golden light. Still, this seemed like mere a show. Adrian felt the real warmth radiating from within. All around them hard frozen tundra gave way to soft moist earth.

The boy felt warm.

“Even in the frigid gloom of winter, the sun is still ablaze. Up there...” Lucius pointed heavenward “...and in here” he pointed to the boy's chest. “This is a branch of magic I'm just beginning to understand.” He paused, looked off at empty space. He reconsidered his words and corrected himself. “It's more like the main trunk in the grand magic tree.”

“That's nice” The boy reacted with casual indifference.

“I knew you'd like it.” The wizard replied, so caught in his musings, he missed the boy's disinterest in any esoteric meaning. His mind suddenly descended from his head-space like a meteor, facing the boy with a near maniacal stare. He just had an epiphany.

“Say... do you feel like reading your future? I see much ahead of you!”

Before even waiting for a reply, he drew a deck of cards from under his sleeves, hypnotic fingers performing their dextrous show as he shuffled Tarot cards. They seemed to defy gravity, flowing from hand to hand until... they were literally floating! Shimmering cards in an array spread over thin air, a mesmerizing display of all the colors in the rainbow. Princesses, princes, queens and kings living, breathing, dancing in the light of the sun. Minor cards assembled around the living court according to each suit. Above all, the four aces radiated their full unfathomable glory. Below all, the princess of pentacles stood transfixed in a prayer that was as much a supplication of love as a reaffirmation of that love as life on earth. Finally, the stars of the show arranged themselves like a wheel, the twenty two Major Arcana came out to play.

“Look at them! Aren't they beautiful?” Lucius stared in awe like a child himself.

The boy was speechless.

“This is the hero's journey, or the Fool's Journey as we arcanists call it.”

Adrian didn't need to draw any card, they just revealed themselves in the order they'd supposedly manifest in his life. A fool walking off a cliff while gazing at a flower caught his eyes.
“This is you now, a fool.” Lucius smiled.

The boy glared.

“Don't worry I'm a fool too, we all are.” The young wizard reassured him.

What followed next was like a groove in his memory. No mushroom induced trip would ever compare to this foggy vision of loss, betrayal, toil, growth, more loss and eventual death, but then something beyond death, like a resurgence, a phoenix rising from the ashes. A few of those incoherent memories managed to etch themselves into his mind, but most were blocked as if something within tried to censor everything for his own sanity. Still, the little he remembered, he wished he could forget.

He saw an innocent boy, much like himself. Yet he also, somehow, looked like any man, woman and child ever to exist. He stood naked on a desert under the dark blue splendor of a cloudless night sky. Young Adrian tried to say something. He went against his better instincts and tried to ask a question, when deep down inside he knew it to be trivial. He felt as thought his mouth was filled with cotton. No cohesive sound came out of his vocal cords. To his horror, the child smiled at this and raised an index finger upon his lip. Silence ruled supreme.

Then he heard the sound of silence. Mind's eye captured written words. There was an impossibly gargantuan quill pen descending from the heavens. It wrote glistening roads of black ink upon vast plains of warm, off-white parchment paper. Towering letters rose from the surface, looming over the frightened young elf. They leaned closer than his wildest imagination could allow and paraded before his astral eyes, performing a magical dance of pure communication. The Word spoke to him on behalf of the silent child.

“I am Light, I am Night, I am that which is beyond them.

I am Speech, I am Silence, I am that which is beyond them.

I am Life, I am Death, I am that which is beyond them.

I am War, I am Peace, I am that which is beyond them.

I am Weakness, I am Strength, I am that which is beyond them.

By none of these you may reach me, yet by each of them must you attain me.”1

The words broke apart into gibberish, common letters morphing into into arcane runes he'd never seen before. There were various combinations of soft sinuous lines and harsh straight marks, each sigil a key to a myriad of other visions of their own. He couldn't possibly know them all. How could he? He was just a boy on a trip who forgot rational thought like one forgets an old baggage. He was in for the ride, weather he liked it or not.

He saw himself in a young man walking off a cliff oblivious to his fate and an all-powerful wizard weaving worlds on a whim. He saw a priestess and a motherly queen, a father and a priest-king. He beheld two lovers, twin souls bringing joy to the world in their embrace, escorted by the Knight of the Holy Grail in golden armor. In the halls of the dead, he saw a goddess standing with the scales of justice and the Feather of Truth awaiting his heart. A cloaked hermit watched the world unfold and raised his lantern, lighting The Way. The boy's world spiraled into chaos as he realized he'd been strapped on a spinning wheel all along, stuck in a never-ending cycle.

By none of these you may reach me, yet by each of them must you attain me.

Then he saw something no child ever consciously knows, but understands through pure intuition. There was a scarlet woman riding a great seven-headed beast, every head was both a man and a lion. In their ecstasy, she raised a cup of their essence as a sacred offering. That fiery passion was suddenly replaced by a deluge, a Redeemer hanged upside down as a sacrifice to himself and the world. Death, the great equalizer, danced in morbid glee, reaping king and peasant alike. Out of putrefying remains, a gentle heat simmered a kettle. Stirring the pot, an angel integrated every opposite extreme into am alchemical Work of Art. Here he felt good, the best place so far. He felt true.

By none of these... By each of them...

The boy fell into the depths of the earth and saw a great horned god. He had seen this before, in some obscure past life-death transition. Aside from his goat-like features he was the identical image of his heavenly brother. He guarded the way of incomplete souls, directing his subjects in the Infernal Realm. Then his whole world turned to shadows, taking his breath away. The boy felt cramped, walls closing in on him, until a lightning struck his prison and sent The Tower toppling over a field of crimson roses. He fell nearly unconscious but his pain subsided under the starry night sky and his soul rose, emerging from still waters. The boy overcame his primal instincts and followed a road by lunar light. Dawn came and he basked in the Sun's majesty appreciating the beauty in all things.

None... Each...

Something was wrong. The natural flow of the multiverse was at an upheaval. The boy had seen this card before the vision began, but now it was changing. What's worse, The final card was blank also. The Multiverse should have been a triumphant return of spirit to matter, a mastery of all existence. But now it was pitch-black, it's fate hanging upon the twenty first major – The Aeon. Most of this was too much to bear, but the little he remembered was a terrifying vista of war among men and gods, old gods and new gods. Knights rode faithfully to their deaths in the name of gods while wizards slaughtered one another to become gods. A great arch-demon spread his black tendrils laughing. Angels and demons were locked in battle for the fate of Universes. Spanning a trillion worlds, a multi-dimensional equinox had begun. The Great Awakening was at hand. They are returning. Too much! TOO MUCH!

The boy cried in despair and the wizard dispelled his trance.



“That was quite a ride heh?”


…..…....…..........


“Oh my god! That mean wizard sent you on a bad trip and you've been chasing it ever since! No wonder you're always high!” Belian interrupted the story.
“I am NOT always high!” Adrian protested with indignation.
Dawna snorted trying not to laugh, while Hanzo displayed the innocent smile of a saint.
“You don't need outside help to journey inwards, my tall friend.” Hanzo said patting the ranger's back.
“The only journeying I'm doing is the one you see right here.” He said striding forward, looking to their hometown. They were greeted by a faded blue horizon and a cool breeze carrying the unmistakable scent of ocean. It was about noon and they were almost home. As the friendly company made travel faster and more enjoyable, they were almost sorry to be arriving so soon. This was not an ordinary, everyday trip. It gave them a taste for adventure they couldn't get by settling down in a quiet life. There was still an hour left, and Dawna was determined to savor it before returning to an ordinary life as an innkeeper's daughter.

“So Adrian, what happened next?” She asked the ranger as her rosy cheeks reddened under the midday sun.

“Oh yeah. I was really startled, so I asked him...”

…...........................


“Why the fuck did you do that for?” The boy snapped.
“Hey! You kiss your mommy with that mouth?” The wizard grinned like a triumphant troll. “Aww... Are you mad?” he said, further instigated the exasperated boy.
The boy's self-awareness returned at once and he covered his mouth in shock. Adrian was always a good boy at heart, never swearing. The big F word was just unthinkable! Any other time he would've said “fudge!” or “fiddlesticks” Perhaps this was the heart of why he hated that wizard so much - because he made him say “fuck.” Embarrassed, he diverted the subject of his sudden potty mouth.
“What was that dream? What did it mean?”
“I don't know.” Lucius shrugged. “I didn't see it like you did. Nothing was clear to except that you'll probably wield a bow and arrow”
“I already do!”
“Ahh see? I didn't know that! The future is tricky though, always in flux.”

There was a pause and the boy's left eye twitched a little.

“I thought you were supposed to know these things!” He finally vented.
“I never said I was very good at divination. I over-think things. The mind gets in the way and clouds my intuition.” he told the boy with a straight face. “I was hoping you'd see something and tell me. I'm pretty good at interpretation, you know?”

The boy sighed.

“Why are you so weird?” He asked the wizard.

Lucius cackled, barely containing his composure.
“Ahh that's rich...” He laughed some more “First, my young friend, your question is highly subjective! What is weird to one person isn't weird to another.”
“Hmm... you're pretty weird to me.”
“I know what you mean! To answer your question. Some people need to break the rules of what's considered “polite behavior” to move the world forward. Once upon a time obedience under tyranny was “the proper” thing to do. Then the first heroes who stood against the old gods broke those rules and people thought they were weird too.”
“You mean like Wraith?”
“Yes! Like Wraith who banished the gods almost two thousand year ago. He was weird like me.” Lucius ruffled the boy's hair, his own weird gesture of approval for Adrian's historical reference. “Weird wizard folks make the world go round.”

“You're awfully cheery for a guy who may be dying soon. I heard you don't even have all of the Grailstone fragments.” The boy uttered this as though shooting an arrow at the mage's heart, ambushing him by surprise.

“I love a child's honesty, cutting right through the bullshit.” he said with a devilish smirk. He looked around as though he had to leave soon and time was running short. In a moment of introspection, he reached into his robe grasping a talisman hanging on his neck.

“The fact is, I saw a great future in you. Which tells me we may survive this and actually win this war. I've lost...” he paused, now grasping at words. “I've lost someone I cared about and feel rather indifferent about life or death.” He took a somber tone.

Intuition told him the wizard wasn't being entirely truthful about his indifference. But the man was such a multilayered onion of riddles, it hardly came as a surprise.
“Weather I live or die...” He continued “With or without the full Grailstone. I trust in fate. That is why I came to you.”

Now the boy was really lost.

“Something tells me our paths may cross again, and you could be of great use to me!” Lucius radiated a smile perfectly balanced between malevolence and benevolence, almost prophetic of revelations to come. “So cheer up, kiddo. We may win this yet.”

“Lucius! Get your flabby ass over here, we need you!” Taurok called from a large tent serving as a strategy huddle, maps overspilling as he opened it.
“Who're you calling flabby?” Lucius shouts.
“I'll tell you kid, just because I'm a wizard these mental-halflings think I'm physically weak!” he shakes his head. “When will these fools give me the respect I deserve?” he cocked a fitting arrogant smile.
“Well... take care of yourself then, lil' buddy.” He disappeared into the tent and Adrian never saw him again.

With mixed emotions, the boy waved goodbye.

..….....................


“To tell you the truth, I had almost forgotten the details of that day, until we passed that grave a few hours ago.” Adrian finished.

“No wonder you had the hibby jibbies when we set out in the forest!” Belian's broke the silence.
“What are you talking about?”
“Remember you said you felt magic all around you, like there were people walking through us.”
“I said that?” Adrian scratched his head trying to remember.
“Yes” Belian said, catching blank stares from Dawna and Hanzo.
“Its true, the boy...” Belian started.
“Man, I'm a grown elf now!” Adrian protested.
“Yes, yes sweety, our heroic, full grown, elven ranger said he felt the presence of others walking our path. That same band of heroes walked that same path all those years ago. Legend had it, that was where their journey began, with the blessings of by the Abrah-merlin the wizard himself.”
“That sounds more like myth than history.” Dawna questioned.
“What does it matter? Sometimes they blend, sometimes myths tell us more about ourselves. My point is that there is a connection between these generations. You just heard how Lucius got poor Adrian high on magic.”
“Oh god... please don't” Adrian grumbled making a face-palm.
“I bet your minds are linked now!” Belian continued.
“Stop.”
“He reads your thoughts, he lurks under your bed at night!”

They all laughed it off, not worried about some charlatan's tarot reading of doom. Even Adrian, who was really uncomfortable by the recollection, preferred to dismiss the whole thing. The wizard probably slipped him a mushroom somehow, which set him on a constant pursuit of psychedelics. Yes, blame the evil wizard. Still, Dawna pondered on the exact powers of a wizard over someone's mind.
“Can they do that?” Dawna asked moments later. “Can they read your thoughts?”
“Honey...” Belian turned to her. “You're better off asking what can't they do.”
“They can't get in my head.” She boasted. “I have prayers for keeping outsiders outside.”

Belian gave her a silent nod, hoping she was right. Dawna had good reasons for her pragmatic dismissal of magic. She had never seen a magical spell stronger than her own will, which she channeled as prayers. Her “spells” never felt like something as pretentious as high magic; they were heartfelt blessings from an Inner Deity dwelling deep in her soul. Every paladin had to find his own Inner Deity, and to them, no magic could match that. It gave them the will to persevere where other warriors would fall, blessed them with the gift of healing to protect their loved ones. They championed the faith in the Inner Light throughout Archanon, whereas wizard's championed only themselves. Then again, a few exceptions aside, Lothaire never had a great magical history. It had something to do with the planet's ley-lines, which ran stronger in the North Twin - a parallel sprawling continent to the north. Wizard's typically apprenticed in the South Twin, then graduated to towers in the North Twin. That's as much as Dawna knew about them anyway. She wasn't terribly interested in the subject.

She was more interested in the passing caravans going to and fro the agricultural outskirts of Port Everlast. Here the Sent River, which ran parallel to the road, finally climaxed from a series of mountainous streams into a navigable waterway. It cut through the center of town to its final destination at Everlast Bay. Channels ran across the landscape, irritating vast fields of wheat, corn and rice. Between the ice-age settlement and overspill from long dead volcanoes, the rich soil nourished equally rich crops. Not quite as vast as the fabled Lothairian plains, but more versatile. That, coupled with maritime commerce, really put the town in the world map as a desirable economical and strategic hub. The capitol City of Lothaire had a bigger port on the Emilorian Ocean facing West, but this was their biggest port in the Amnii Sea facing North; both divided by a mountainous rocky coast. Hence why it was cheaper for many caravans to travel by land between province and capitol; why they braved a dangerous forest over a far more notorious coast.

Dawna supposed everything happened for a reason. As much as she hated coming back home as a victim of circumstance, things could have been worse. She met some good folks along the way and liked them all the more as they arrived at town square, where they would part ways. To her pleasant surprise, Belian's store was just down the street, Hanzo would stay at her inn and Adrian would be a regular fixture. But it wasn't the same as being on the road. Ordinary life had a way of dampening the spirit of adventurers, yet she had no reason to go anywhere else. She was stuck.

She hugged her sister, Kithri, who was thrilled to see her and they had dinner with their old father. They helped her unpack and found a stable for Peanut, her noble mule. After settling in her room, reality also set in. This was it. This would be the rest of her life, she thought. She was defeated, but too tired to care anymore. She would sleep for now, and one day find a way to be true to paladin nature.

Night spread her veil across the skies and the maiden, laying in tears, closed her eyes. A whispered prayer, a supplication of longing for un-found love.
Once again, lucidity gave way to darkness and the maiden's bare figure sank deep into a void of timelessness.










1 Aleister Crowley. Liber XXX Aerum vel Aecvli - The Vision and the Voice with Commentary and Other Papers. 1998. Weiser.