Story so Far:

[Forge]

Episode 1: Emergence
December 2002


The alarmed reports of hordes of Drudges boiling out of their lairs had spread quickly, and soon all corners of Osteth were rife with the Drudges' influence. Most alarming to Telkhe were reports that even the Shelter Holdings, those structures that link the Shelters to Dereth, were now infested with Drudges. Only weeks before, he and others from his Shelter had mustered up their courage and stepped through that portal to Osteth. The thought that his kinsmen left behind were in danger of being forever trapped within the Shelters enraged him. He immediately committed himself to discovering the Drudges' plans and stopping them.

He had been on the trail of the Drudges for a few days now, and it had led him through Arwic and Kehan, then to Millstone. Along the way, he had banded together with a human mage who been following that same trail. Now they found themselves carefully making their way through a blighted forest.

"Hard to believe the Warder sent us out here," Telkhe's companion said. "What a dreadful place."

Telkhe had to agree. "Wharu's influence is strong here. Great Sister Wind sings a mournful song."

"Wharu? Anima of decay, correct?"

Telkhe simply nodded.

The mage looked around. "Much longer here and you might have me believing in it too."

Telkhe left the comment unanswered and studied the terrain. They had crested a small hillock, and the blighted landscape lay stretched out before them. He could see the shadow forms of Drudges lurking, busying themselves with whatever their cadre had commanded of them. Suddenly, on a distant hillock he saw a Drudge unlike the others.

"There, he is the one we seek," Telkhe whispered to his companion, pointing to the Drudge in the distance.

The mage squinted, trying to see the Drudge Telkhe was pointing out. "Are you sure? How can you tell?"

Telkhe simply looked at his companion.

"Fine then," the mage said. "You've been right about everything else so far, what do we do now?"

In his dealings with humans, Telkhe had seen them prove to be a bit dense, and he thought that this was another of those times. "We attack and kill it," he said slowly. "Then we take what we need from its remains."

The mage looked stunned for a moment and blinked, then nodded and grinned. "I think that might work."

Telkhe nodded. Perhaps these humans weren't as dense as he thought.

[Ashante]

Desecration
May 2003
At a spot that had once been the shore of Lake Artefon, a small party has gathered. The dam that the Drudges constructed at the request of their undead masters has erased the lake. This mixed group of Humans, Lugians, and Tumeroks are all arranged around a small bonfire and the halo of light it casts to dispel the night's darkness. The party seems almost to cling to this light for fear of what lurks out in the night. Closest to the fire is an ancient man, his head covered with thin wisps of white hair, his face a mosaic of wrinkles. His nearly sightless eyes, a dull, milky color, seem to be looking into the fire. Some of those surrounding him wonder if he is as ancient as the tale he has promised to tell.

"The long procession snaked its way around the banks of the River Prosper, making its way toward Artefon. At its head, bearers carried an honored burden: four massive biers. Atop each bier lay a massive stone sarcophagus. Within these sarcophagi rested the remains of our greatest leaders. The names of these great ones are well known…"

The old man pauses as he says each name.

"Saint Elysa Strathelar."

"The noble Thorsten Cragstone, whose sacrifice allowed all to live free."

"Aun Aulatah, who defeated the Hea and united the Tumeroks into the Shi tribe."

"And Lord Kresovus, first lord of Linvak Tukal."

The ancient man turns his eyes as if looking above all those assembled. His voice takes on an almost toneless quality.

"The Fall of the Kings had devastated the lands and upset all the places where these great ones had lain. The Underground City, which served as a many humans' first home in Dereth, had collapsed. Old Cragstone had been swallowed by the earth. Marae Lassel, the Tumeroks homelands, had sunk beneath the ocean's waves, while Linvak Tukal stood in ruins. A new place was needed, a place where they could be remembered forever."

The man pauses, but his eyes still stare out into the darkness above.

"Artefon was to be that place."

The man blinks, waking from his revery. His dull eyes move from face to face, examining the party surrounding him.

"All of the races came together to build the tombs and catacombs. The Lugians lent their expertise and strength to carving the chambers from the rock. The dexterous hands of we Humans cut the ornate carvings and inscriptions that decorated each tomb. The Tumeroks spoke to spirits of nature, guiding them so that the tombs would always be filled with the green of life."

"Years were devoted to the effort, and many of our honored dead were interned in the catacombs that snaked beneath the ground. Yet, as we found out when we left the Shelters, that effort seems to have been for nothing. Soon after the last soul was entombed there, the Nemesis was upon us. In fleeing to the Shelters, our ancestors had set wards to protect them from the portalspace magics of the Nemesis. Those who know the fate of the Fetterguard know the power of those wards; they rippled the surface of Dereth, and as the land shifted under their power, Artefon sunk beneath the waves."

The ancient man quickly turns his attention back to the fire before him.

"It was a wonder to me to finally see the lands our people had left behind. After seeing what had become of Artefon, I had hoped to someday see this city stand above the waves again. But not in this way."

The man gasps sharply, revealing an internal struggle to hold back his anguish.

"Not in this way. It was to have been at our hands that these tombs be restored. We would make it so that generations to come would know of those who rested within and give them the honor they deserve."

Looking up to those around him once more, the man wipes a tear from his eye.

"Please, I beg you, find out what has happened. Learn whether our honored dead still rest undisturbed. You must… "

[Ashante]

Portents
June 2003
Stetten and Allacen ran as quickly as their feet would carry them. Occasionally, one of them would turn back to see if the shrieking creature still followed, only to feel their terror redoubled when they saw it still bearing down on them.

"Run, little ones, run!" the undead woman howled. "Your fear will be gone soon."

The warriors had encountered the creature as they hunted the jungles of Omishan. They had heard rumors of undead lurking in the jungle's shadows and had set out to see if the tales were true. They found out soon enough when they encountered an undead woman wandering west of the ruins of old Mayoi.

At first she had seemed almost harmless, her head bowed to her chest, mumbling to herself. Stetten and Allacen had seen a few of the revived sentients at Artefon behave this way, almost as if they hadn't been awakened with their full faculties, and their broken minds were forced to relive the events of their life.

To put the woman out of her misery, Stetten had sent an arrow flying toward her, only to see her head snap up suddenly. With a wave of her hand, she knocked his arrow from the air as if it were nothing more than an annoying insect. The same had happened to Allacen's flame bolt; the undead creature had simply caught it in her hands as if to examine it, then flung it to the ground, looking up at the pair with a smirk. Stetten and Allacen had exchanged a single glance, then turned and begun their mad flight.

"Come, come don't you want to see your friends at the Lifestone?" the undead woman cried, her voice sweet with mock concern.

The warriors' flight brought them to the fallen buildings of old Mayoi. They darted between the ruins, hoping to gain enough distance from their pursuer to escape into portalspace. Yet each time they looked back, the woman was still the same distance behind them, cackling and howling insults.

"No, no, no, I will not be so easily dissuaded," she screeched. "You desired my attention, and you shall have it!"

Leaving the ruins of the town behind, the pair headed east along the beach, following the ocean's shore. Hearing Stetten and Allacen's approach, a lone Mimbu began weaving a spell with its staff. Suddenly the Mimbu dropped its staff, squealed, and fell twitching to the ground. Allacen looked back over her shoulder as she ran and saw a glow fading from their pursuer's outstretched hands. "We can do without any interruptions!" the undead woman said, laughing.

As the pair continued east, they saw that the land reached a point. They turned to follow it as it curved to the southwest. Allacen called out to her companion, "We can't keep running! We must turn and fight. If we are to die, it is better to do so with honor!"

Stetten nodded and replied, "There, ahead! The ruins of the tower! We'll make our stand there!"

The pair jumped over the rocks and ancient debris that littered the fallen tower's base. They stopped and turned to face the creature, an arrow nocked in Stetten's bow and Allacen's staff at the ready.

Gliding closer, the woman howled, "Fools! You shall fall as easily as this... tower..." As she reached the word "tower," the woman's voice trailed off and she halted her advance toward them. With rapid sweeps of her head, she examined the area, the tangled masses of her matted hair brushing her decaying shoulders. Stetten and Allacen looked at each other, not knowing what to make of this sudden change.

"...Tower?" the creature mumbled, her voice now a barely audible whisper. "Welcome... to my... lonely... lonely tower?" Abruptly her head stopped twisting and she fixed her eyes firmly on Stetten and Allacen. Her mumbling continued. "How can... this tired... tired... tired... mage?... help you?... Travel with care... Golems?... coming..."

A piercing whistle interrupted this rambling speech, followed by the meaty thunk of an arrow hitting flesh. The undead woman glanced down to see a wooden shaft protruding from her left shoulder. Then, looking up at Stetten and Allacen, she let loose an ear-piercing scream and disappeared.

"You are fortunate she didn't kill you for that, Stetten!" Allacen chided. "Who was that? Why did she stop like that?"

Gazing at the ruins of the tower behind him, Stetten spoke somberly. "I think it was Shoyanen."

[Ashante]

Rebirth
July 2003
"Scroll, scroll," Saelar muttered as he riffled through the papers surrounding the tome he had just been examining. "Where is that scroll?"

"What, Master?" came an echoing response from across the room.

"Hrm?" For the first time in nearly three days, the Undead Archon looked up and took notice of his surroundings. The world around him had faded from view as he had become increasingly engrossed in his studies, and the Book now consumed his full attention His concentration broken, he noticed that his cavernous Library was nearly empty, with the exception of himself and Tenshiel, a lesser researcher who in life had been one of Rytheran's Yalaini students. "Oh, Tenshiel. Where are the others? The Library is usually so active at this time."

"At this time, Master? It is nearly three hours past rising and most are resting, meditating and strengthening their wills."

"Three hours past rising? Amazing!" Saelar said, shocked. "Ah well, the Book is fascinating."

"I can see that it is, Master." Tenshiel said, a note of concern entering his voice. "Perhaps, though, you should consider getting some rest as well."

"Soon, soon. Although one must be careful not to rest too much." Saelar nodded to himself, broodingly. "Yes. Otherwise events pass by and the nexus is missed. That singular moment in time when the future's course is determined. We are standing on the cusp now, Tenshiel. Matters are moving faster."

"Yet your stratagems proceed according to plan, Master. The constructs now scour the land, breathing life into the remains of all they find." Tenshiel snickered, "We are fortunate that so many met their end on these accursed isles. So many servants for us to raise against Geraine."

"Indeed." Saelar agreed, raising a hand to his chin, "And while our efforts give us much cause for pride, we must not let that pride become hubris. We must acknowledge our failures, so we can learn from them."

He stepped away from the Book and continued, "Yes. Look at our rediscovery of the Atuars. They have proved a boon to our warriors, but by unleashing them on the land, we unwittingly allowed the mortals to summon Atuars of their own. In addition, we still have been unable to completely pierce the wards that protect the Fettermounds." Saelar then let out a rasping sound that sounded much like a sigh, "And do not forget those miserable failures, the Gurog, Burun, and Drudges. Of course, we can hardly be blamed for them; they were Geraine's pets. They just proved convenient tools for us at the start of our campaign."

Tenshiel nodded, "True, Master. I am curious though, what do you make of the mortals' recent rebuilding? They seem to be continually improving those towns of theirs, even as we continue to assault them."

Saelar laughed, "It would be easier to pierce the veil of time and reveal the founding of the world than to understand the minds of those barbarians!" He then paused for a moment. "Yet, it is interesting that the reanimated mortals still fight against our control. That is one of the areas I have been researching in my studies. We must perfect our control over their revived minds, or we will lose control over them as we did the minds of some of those raised at Artefon."

Tenshiel nodded once more, "I see. Then may I be of assistance to you? A few moments ago you said you were looking for a scroll?"

Saelar gestured toward the area surround him. "Yes, I was looking for a copy of Scroll of Je'lal. I thought I had one here at my fingertips, but I seem to have misplaced it."

"Ah, yes. I was in the Library when Hahnain came for it. I believe he said it contained a passage that he needed to dispel the final wards protecting the Radiant Temples."

"Excellent!" Saelar clasped his hands together. "Although lacking our refinement and natural ability, I must acknowledge that those mortals have proved an excellent resource for us, providing us both servants and raw magical power. Power we will need very soon..." Saelar trailed off for a moment and then retuned his attention to Tenshiel, "Ah, but if that is to happen, I will need to get back to my studies! Retrieve the Scroll for me, please. I really must have it if I'm to continue."

"Of course, Master. I will return shortly."

"Excellent." Saelar turned his attention back to the Book, which was spread out in front him, then brought his head up sharply and called out. "And Tenshiel, be sure to get the original Falatacot version. That Yalaini translation isn't worth the parchment it's inscribed upon."

Tenshiel, who had paused before the portal leading to the main holding, said, "Yes, Master."

Saelar turned his attention back to the Book. Soon, he thought, Geraine would be thrown down and a new era would begin. He and his fellow Archons would lead the remaining nobility of Dericost into a glorious future. Perhaps, he mused, they would find a way to return some of the living Dericost to Dereth and establish the Ice Throne once more. Oh, a few of the other Empyrean races could be allowed to return as well, as long as they knew their place. Those Dericost, guided by the Archons and other nobles, could spread forth across the planet. Then they'd have a Golden Age of their own.

"But first," he said, speaking to the empty Library, "there is much work to be done." He returned his attention to a passage in the Book.

[Ashante]

Resurrection
August 2003
The infestation grows and spreads... An ancient crypt is revealed... The way is nearly opened...

For months, the Archons have struggled to amass vast power and arcane knowledge. Now they will take the last steps on the path that they hope will destroy their sleeping master, Geraine, and establish a new Kingdom under their command. All will be welcome in this new Kingdom...as long as they accept the Archons' benevolent rule.

Elsewhere, a threat that mortals haven't faced in hundreds of years continues to spread...

[Ashante]

Resurgence
September 2003
Leaning heavily on her staff, Ciandra hobbled out from the orrery's shelter into the driving rain. The rain was red, almost the color of blood, while the clouds that raced across the sky were a deep maroon. From those clouds, violet lightning occasionally stabbed the ground, and the peals of thunder that followed sounded like deep, ominous laughter. She had seen skies like this before, long ago. She had hoped never to see them again.

The first time she'd seen such storms had been about a decade after the defeat of the One Olthoi Queen. The Gelidites, undead refugees of the Dericost nobility, had discovered an enormous crystalline shard and cast magics on it, using it as part of their scheme to freeze the world. The Gelidites were unaware that this shard was a piece of the Crystalline Array, a construct designed to trap Bael'Zharon and keep him confined in a pocket of portalspace. Their tampering set in motion a sequence of events that eventually resulted in Bael'Zharon's release from 3,000 years of captivity. It had been perhaps humanity's darkest hour since coming to these lands. Only the most unusual alliance between Lord Asheron, the Virindi, the Dericost Undead and the humans was able to defeat Bael'Zharon. And while that alliance may have destroyed Bael'Zharon's mortal form, his intellect survived and passed into a dark, nebulous realm. As he fell into the dark abyss, Bael'Zharon's last words, proclaiming that the world would never be rid of him, had resounded throughout the land.

Those words proved true. After his long imprisonment, Bael'Zharon was not so ready to accept confinement again. Decades after his defeat, the inner sea of Dereth began to bubble and froth. From this seething cauldron, a bolt of absolute darkness shot up into the sky, struck and shattered the moon Rez'arel, and destroyed the town of Yaraq. Ciandra ordered Arcanum scouts to explore the hissing crater left by the event, but none returned. Soon, rolling clouds of black mist oozed up from the crater, horribly twisting whatever they touched, fusing stone and flesh, plant and animal. At the forefront of those clouds rose a great winged creature. Bael'Zharon had returned.

The world had changed much since it had last seen the Hopeslayer, and Ciandra had lived through all those changes. The Empyrean Shrines discovered by Nuhmudira had become her life's work, and Ciandra's manipulation of the magics contained in those gems had gifted, or cursed her, with her long life. Even Ciandra herself had trouble remembering how old she was. Her life had been rich, filled with both joy and pain. She had seen the Kingdoms born, seen them declare war on each other, and finally witnessed their uneasy peace. She'd seen that peace give birth to a golden age. Now that golden age had been shattered by Bael'Zharon.

As the aging scholar stood there in the rain, an Arcanum student bounded up the orrery stairs. As he approached, she extended her rain-shielding spell around the breathless young man.

Pausing only a moment to gasp for air, the student choked out, "Xarabydun has fallen."

Although Ciandra had expected this news, that expectation could not lessen its sting. She had helped found the Arcanum's first outpost at Xarabydun, and seen that outpost grow into a thriving academy. The years she spent in research there made it her home. Now it was gone.

"How many escaped?" she asked, as she wove spells to heal the student's wounds and restore his strength.

"Not many, Magess," he replied, shaking his head. "There were some defenses. The Order sent a few Warding Golems to protect us, and the Dominion sent the last of their augmented Tuskers to defend their followers in the city, but it wasn't nearly enough. The Shadow Kingdoms sent nothing, but that isn't surprising. Those who survived the attack fled to Khayyaban, but it won't be long before that city falls as well."

"I see. It seems this won't be like the last time that Bael'Zharon walked our lands. This island, this world, will be forever altered by the coming conflict. There is now only one task left for me to complete." She turned back towards the shelter of the orrery, and slowly made her way toward the portal that stood at its center. Pausing there, she turned to the student. "Come with me."

Obligingly, he stepped into the portal. As he materialized in the chamber where Ciandra waited, the student gasped in surprise. "Blessed Mothers!"

Ciandra stood a few feet to his side and smiled, her face a complex web of wrinkles. "Your first visit?"

The student merely nodded. Ciandra continued, "You know Lord Asheron once said that nothing prevented us from gaining powers and abilities similar to those possessed by his people. Yet no matter how we study or train, we seem unable to reach those heights. My own studies indicate that we do have limitations…but they aren't physical." She tapped her forehead, "They are mental. It seems our minds have deeply set rules regarding what is and isn't possible, and breaking those rules without some sort of outside influence is extremely difficult."

Looking at the Shrine that stood in the center of the chamber, she sighed, "I had hoped this Shrine would be the means to transcend those limitations. Everything I know says it should be, but there is something missing. The gems I've created for the Shrine to imprint on our minds don't seem to contain the right..." she paused, struggling to describe it. "I suppose 'patterns' would be the best word."

Ciandra ran her hand along the surface of the Shrine and sighed again. To the student it seemed as if she leaned even more heavily on her staff. After a moment, she said, "After so very long, I think it is finally time for me to leave this world. But before I am gone, the Shrine must be hidden; it cannot fall into the Enemy's hands. And to do this I will need your help…" She smiled as she trailed off. "I just realized I don't know your name."

"It is Elmarc, Magess."

"Elmarc, help me with this last task," she said, looking intently at him. "Help me work the magics that must hide the Shrine until it can once again be used by our people. If that time ever comes."

*********

The wards had been cast, and just prior to the final sealing of the Shrine, Ciandra had forced Elmarc to leave. Two were needed to start the magics, but one could complete them, and there was no need for the young man to die.

Now she walked again around the Shrine, running her hand along it one last time. As she did so, she smiled wistfully, remembering Lord Asheron's words to her so long ago, when he had come to view the rediscovered Empyrean Shrines. It was one of the few times he hadn't seemed burdened by the weight of the world. He'd smiled at her and said, "I wouldn't be surprised if your discoveries here have begun a process that will open your bodies and minds to greater knowledge and ability." She had always expected to see that process through to its conclusion, and watch humanity and the other civilized races transcend their limitations. She felt a pang of sadness as she realized she no longer had the option. If only she could have found the right patterns to imbue into the gems. At least, she thought, she'd done her best to ensure that if anyone survived the present conflict, the Shrine would be theirs.

As Ciandra sat down on the chamber floor and prepared to write her final message to that future generation, she thought that perhaps, just perhaps, they would finish the work that she'd begun. And that wasn't such a bad thought at all.

[Ashante]

Revolt
October 2003
The bitter, cold wind roared down the jagged peaks of the mountains surrounding the entrance to the Mage Academy. As that wind violently whipped the edges of Aerfalle's gown, she paused, listening to what it had to say. The screaming wind told of bare rock and pristine, untouched ice. It spoke of beautiful, unchanging cold. Once again, she saw why he had built the Academy here. The location seemed similar to one where his original Mage Academy had been built.

"It's beautiful," her companion said.

"Indeed," Aerfalle said in agreement. While nothing could compare to the beauty of Gelid, there were hints of that land's beauty here and there. If she still breathed, she would have inhaled deeply of the crisp air. If her flesh was still alive, she would have felt the wind stinging her skin. She felt none of this, of course. Eternal life did call for some sacrifices, she thought. She smiled at her unintended pun as she and her companion passed through the entrance portal.

As they materialized in the Academy, a surprised sound escaped Aerfalle's companion. While the girl had always been prone to overreacting, Aerfalle too was surprised by the disorder that greeted her eyes. Things had changed quite a bit since her last visit. The last time she was here had been for a small celebration Rytheran hosted to commemorate the completion of the new Academy. That construction started soon after the Firstborn used those so-called Nemesis races to drive the mortal races from Dereth. Rytheran went before Geraine and asked for permission to use the Gurog to build his new academy underneath this mountain. While her love simply could have summoned Golems for the construction, he told her it had seemed so much more appropriate to command mortals to do it. And truly, that had been the Firstborn's goal—bending the will of more malleable creatures to their own and adding new subjects to their Kingdom. After an absence of over 10,000 years, the Kingdom of the Dericost ruled once more.

While most Undead followed the lead of the Firstborn and kept their displays of emotion to a minimum, the celebration at the Academy had been a joyous one. Even Geraine, followed by a contingent of loyal Sand Kings, seemed to enjoy the occasion in his own way. All of the Firstborn's enemies had been defeated: The Hopeslayer was gone forever, that whelp Asheron had disappeared and the Virin'di's Dominion was leaderless. All at a cost of a few hundred Gurog, Burun and Drudge lives—a very small price to pay. Now the Firstborn would rest for a few hundred years and then begin cleansing the world of the Olthoi.

It was at that celebration that Geraine had congratulated Saelar, Hahnain and Renselm for their efforts and named them his Archons of the Way. Those three had discovered the location of the Book and brought it before him. With the Book once more in his hands, Geraine had judiciously used its knowledge against their enemies and led them to victory. As the festivities drew to a close, Aerfalle made her way over to her love, to bid him goodbye before their rest. Before they parted, Rytheran spoke of his surprise at Saelar's reaction to Geraine's congratulation. The two had known each other for millennia, being from the same province and had been life-long friends. Rytheran had approached Saelar to add his congratulations to those he had already received and was surprised at his friend's anger. Saelar spoke of Geraine's patronizing gift, nothing more than a title, when Saelar knew that he and his companions had been the ones responsible for their victory. Rytheran tried to persuade his friend that he had been truly honored, but eventually Saelar stopped speaking on the matter and soon left. Aerfalle had chided her love for forgetting what the politics of the court were like; surely, bruised egos were an everyday occurrence.

Now, seeing what had happened to the Academy while she had rested, Aerfalle saw how wrong she had been. As Aerfalle and her companion entered the great hall, they saw one of their kind standing near a Gurog at the other end. The Undead stood idly, mumbling to himself, while the Gurog grunted in laughter and busied itself with picking flakes of flesh off the Undead's form. As they approached closer, the Gurog took notice of them, raised its axe and bellowed, "Halt!"

Aerfalle paused for a moment, taken aback that this creature had dared to speak to her at all, let alone the tone in which it did so, then waved her hand, flinging the creature against a nearby wall. A satisfying crack followed, and the creature slid down to the floor. The two now approached the mumbling Undead.

"What happened here?" she asked him, yet the Undead seemed to take no notice of her and continued mumbling to himself.

"Something is dulling their minds," she said to her companion. "Can you sense the magics at work here, Garaena?"

"Yes mistress," the girl nodded. "But they are very subtle. I would not have noticed their presence had you not said so."

"I took no notice of them either, child. It was only on seeing the state of this poor one's mind that I expanded my senses and noticed their presence."

"We should make haste, mistress," Garaena said, a concerned note entering her voice. "I must see what has become of Master Rytheran."

"Yes, we should, child."

*******

After navigating the halls of the Academy, the two passed through the portal leading to Rytheran's Sanctum. After materializing, they were met with another surprise—mortals. A small party of the creatures stood there, casting magics on themselves in preparation for the battles to come.

Aerfalle and Garaena were not alone in their surprise—many in the mortals' party cried out at seeing them appear. A Human sorcerer quickly recovered from the shock and cast a fire bolt at Aerfalle. With a simple gesture of her hand she deflected the bolt, sending it toward the ceiling of the chamber. While the sorcerer uttered a curse, a Tumerok wielding a blazing weapon rushed toward her. Aerfalle raised another hand, her fingers splayed, and the creature froze, motionless. She then quickly brought her fingers in, forming a fist, and a resounding crack was heard. The creature fell dead. The sorcerer uttered another curse, and began making the motions necessary to escape into portalspace, while the others in his party rushed the two Undead. As the mortals approached, Aerfalle quickly brought her arms inward, crossing them over her chest. She threw them out and released a wave of fire in all directions. The wave struck the creatures, who screamed, then fell dead.

As she stepped over the smoking corpses, Aerfalle said to her companion, "I can see some things haven't changed."

"Mistress, there seems to be something odd about this creature's weapon," Garaena said, stooping by the blazing weapon still clutched in the dead Tumerok's hand. "It seems to be imbued with magics that further confuse our minds."

"Their betrayal has been truly profound," she said to the girl. "Let us press on."

As they walked into Rytheran's chamber, she saw him standing stooped over, mumbling to himself. She approached him, weaving an intricate pattern with her hands.

"Rytheran," she whispered.

Rytheran stopped his mumbling as the magics took hold and looked at her in surprise, "Aerfalle? My lady, what are you doing here? What has happened?"

"You have been the victim of a betrayal, my love," Aerfalle said as she placed a hand against his cheek, her voice still a whisper. "We all have. Come with me now, for I will need your strength in the days to come."

"Yes, yes, of course," he said, the cloud leaving his mind. "But what of the Academy?"

"We haven't time to dispel the magics that have been cast against this place," Aerfalle continued. "Nor have we the time to purge those Gurog loyal to our betrayers, but Garaena will remain behind in your place. She will watch over these halls and do what she can."

Straightening himself and pulling away from Aerfalle's hand, Rytheran looked at his one-time student and said, "It is good to see you one more, Adept Garaena. I entrust the care of my Academy to you. Perhaps you will have more success here than I have. I am ready to leave, my love."

"Good, then let us do so," Aerfalle said, as she raised her hands to summon a portal. "We have a revolt to put down."

[Ashante]

War
November 2003
The night was clear and bitterly cold, though the harvest was barely in and the snows wouldn't arrive for weeks. Meryn rubbed his frozen hands together and swore under his breath. The discomfort meant nothing to him. In fact, it invigorated his senses, bringing his attention to that razor's edge of focus which made his sorcery so elegant…and so deadly. But his numbed fingers posed a different problem. Meryn's gestures would be clumsy tonight, his casting a split-second slower than usual. The old veteran frowned and hunched deeper in his robes.

From the darkness ahead, a familiar voice spoke, low and clear. "They haven't seen us. Come on, let's get a better look." Meryn shook off his unease and crept quietly to the edge of the bluff. His companion Tuperea leaned forward, his bright yellow eyes reflecting the feeble fires of the Undead camp below, his tail twitching eagerly. "Why do they light those fires? It is said the dead can see in the dark."

Meryn held a cautionary finger to his lips, and Tuperea fell silent. This was not the time for idle chatter. Still, privately Meryn wondered whether Tuperea had a point. Why were the U