The Legacy of Sacrifice, Part One

We get our bearings after travelling the road of magic as close to the Burrows as Naser
could bring us. Ranelle is determined to stay away from the halfling realm. She’s
convinced that should her story become known, there shall be retribution by the halflings.
Ithyldin asks me to stay with her, to protect her. A reasonable request, one I would
honour in times of old. Now, I’m sure that he makes this request to keep me away from
the Quintain for some reason. Perhaps it’s just the growing dislike between us that
prompts him to this suggestion, perhaps it’s something deeper. I don’t care enough to
examine the elf’s motives and I won’t stay away from the meeting with the Quintain.
“Ranelle, give me the Horn of Tarazin. It will be safer with me than with you. I will return it
of course, when we reunite.”
“No Huormad, I’m perfectly capable of keeping the horn safe.”
Nothing else to be said. Hugo and Slaine return from a private meeting and the
Landswalker proposes that Slaine remain with Ranelle. A gasp of incredulity escapes
me. Ithyldin agrees with Hugo, Naser doesn’t voice an objection and the matter is settled.
I can’t believe this. On separate occasions I had talked with both of them and they had
agreed that Slaine shouldn’t stay alone with anyone from the fellowship. Yet, they
disregard the threat posed by Mael Fluent and agree to let the wolf guard the lamb!
Noone in this fellowship is thinking clearly anymore. I fully believe that the members of
the Guardians of Anuire are unhinged by their travails and the twilight of the Gods. In a
last attempt to prevent this madness, I try to persuade Slaine to join the rest of us on the
journey to the Burrows. He refuses. So be it then, I wash my hands clean of what I’ll find
upon my return.
We enter the Burrows before noon and find a road that we follow. In various times during
our walk, Ithyldin speaks of the elves with angry words and disparages them for their
decisions and actions. It is exceedingly strange to hear a King of elves and the General
of their armies to speak so. How did Elnear raise his son to make him so…human?
Certainly, the human nations of Cerilia owe much to Ithyldin, more than they will ever
know. I expect that this state of affairs won’t last however. His hostility to his race and to
their enterprise and his distance from them and his duties will inevitably force the elves to
act. Yet, every day that passes with Ithyldin as the General is a day of peace. I’m grateful
for that. Hugo knows the lay of the land and various landmarks. Strange, for a man who
has never travelled to this realm. He also says that the halflings know everything about
us so lies and subterfuge will prove useless. Ithyldin then brings up the subject that
everyone has avoided discussing so far. A death is surely needed to balance Finn’s
return to life, should that be possible. Who’s prepared to make such a sacrifice? Who’s
prepared to doom his soul to torment unto his final and ireevocable destruction? The
silence is heavy.
“Nobody’s going to do it then,” says Hugo and nothing more is said about this.
We don’t meet a patrol but we do meet other travelers and pass by hamlets and a village.
It’s in the afternoon that another vision of the war of the Gods appears. Three halfling
mages seem very involved with the vision. We pause to watch this latest battle. My heart
grows heavy and my attention is riveted by the sight before me. Like before, it’s as if a
force tugs at my inner self and I can’t take my eyes off this vision. The heaviness of the
flesh and the lightness of the soul become an agonizing duality, the self split in twain. I
watch.
Laerme again, her slim beauty is covered by a simple white tunic, her long, red tresses
twist and wave like flames. Longing and arousal surely wake in every man. She draws
and looses a hail of arrows with blinding speed against a lone running figure. The God is
running towards her, he’s short and his form is blurry as he runs and bounds towards her.
The features and the clothes are indistinct, the eyes avoid looking at him by some divine
power. Only with great effort, I’m able to pick up some details about him; Unhuman
features, cold steel in his hands. He avoids all the arrows. Like my gaze, Laerme’s
missiles seem to just slid off his form. He almost reaches the Goddess and he lunges,
finally visible. It is the goblin God, Kartathok. The vile God’s face is split in half by a cruel
grin that reveals fangs and a forked tongue. A dagger gleams in each hand. Laerme is
ready for him and just as fast. She draws and looses faster than I can see. An arrow
pierces Kartathok in the neck and the goblin God’s eyes widen just before fire engulfs
him. Like a fireball, he falls upon Laerme. However, the Goddess of Fire isn’t touched by
her own flames. Kartathok’s ashes are taken by a gust of wind. His last act was to drive a
dagger into Laerme’s left shoulder. It’s not a mortal blow, I breathe a sigh of relief and I
take the second breath since the battle began. The Goddess lets her bow fall and grabs
the hilt to draw the dagger out. Her beautiful face is marred by lines of pain. Another
figure appears in the vision, a man clad in black armour, a wolf’s pelt thrown on his
shoulders, a battleaxe in his hands, an axe that hungers for Her life. I open my mouth to
shout a warning but there’s no sound in the vision, there never is. If I scream, I do not
hear it. The Lord of Strife, the damned God of Terror, the coward, never warns Laerme.
He strikes from behind, one terrible blow. Laerme’s head rolls from her shoulders and
Belinik laughs in wild ecstasy and raises his axe high and the vision ends…
With her death, the children of the Gods are dead. So few remain and soon there shall be
only one. I pray that it will be Haelyn. Any other outcome is unthinkable. The halflings are
questioned but nothing useful is learned. They were trying to discern something, anything
about the battle and the Gods. If they know something, they do not share it with us. We
are given hospitality at a farm house and spend a quiet night. Every night is quiet, every
man and woman lost in grief or contemplation after a vision. The rest of the journey is
uneventful. Although the road takes us into the mountains and this is the heart of winter,
it’s not a difficult route. It certainly holds no candle to what we suffered in the north,
subjects of an uncaring land and victims of the Raven’s whim. We pass by communities
centered in cavern complexes, carved on cliff-faces. We reach the capital of the realm,
the majestic mountain city of Fellrock. When one arrives here, he cannot help but wonder
at the industriousness of the halflings. Situated entirely within the mountain, this is truly a
wondrous city that rivals the dwarf city of Stone’s Rejoicing. The guards let us in without
hassle and we’re met by a halfling named Hollisande. He informs us that we are granted
audience by the Quintain and that the missing members of the fellowship wait for us.
Hugo’s assertion that the halflings know everything seems to be true.
Hollisande leads us through the dark corridors and streets of this city. It’s a pity that we
get to see so little of it. Halflings can see in the dark whereas we can’t. Only Ithyldin is
privy to the reality of this city but even he is denied the spectacle when torches are
lighted for our benefit. So, we walk on in our meager circle of light, aware of a vast space
around us, tall buildings and a ceiling as tall as the sky. The few halflings that stand and
watch our procession are intent on the elf King. I was afraid of this but it can’t be helped.
Ithyldin surely knows what he’s doing or at least I’d like to think so. There’s magic in this
city. We walk on floating pathways and reach a platform supported by a column that rises
from unknown depths. Slaine, Bjorn and Ranelle are here. Hollisande bids us to wait for
the Quintain’s summoning and he’s gone.
“Ranelle, Slaine, Bjorn, how did you arrive here before us and why?” Naser asks the
companions thought left behind.
“The night prior, six halflings walked in our camp. They wore strance mails of chain and
shadow and one of them must have been a practitioner of magic. They were polite but
told us that the Quintain required our presence. They opened a magical portal and well,
here we are,” Ranelle answers.
“I’m sure that it would come down to a fight if we refused and so we went along. The
pecks won’t dare to lay hands on us,” Slaine adds.
“I told you friends, the halflings know everything. Let’s make the best of this,” Hugo
states.
Our cell isn’t bad as such things go. There is one route away from here, back the way we
came and it seems to be unguarded. Surely, that’s but an illusion but it does take the
sting off our imprisonment. In every way that matters however, we are in a cell. At least
we won’t have to soil it with our waste. Just do it over the side and take care not to fall
off. It’s not long before the usual chatter begins. Ithyldin and Hugo target me with verbal
spars and thrusts but they receive only silence from me. Naser does point out to them
that the elf council found me innocent of any wrongdoing but only because he too was
aquitted due to doubt. By making the others accept my innocence, he reinforces his own.
They soon lose interest in me and the talk turns to Ranelle’s plight. Dorn disputes the
right of the halflings to pass judgement on Ranelle. He’s probably right but the halflings
will do as they will regardless. The hours drag on. Ranelle and Dorn sweat and grunt as
they spar. Like proper champions of Cuiraecen, they hone their edge and do not let time
go to waste. I would join them once but not anymore. It seems that a day has passed
when Hollisande appears but he laughs at my assertion,
“No, no dear Huormad, it’s only been seven bells, more or less. Come, come, the
Quintain will see you now.”
The way is long, Hollisande leads us ever downwards, ever deeper into the mountain,
seemingly to its roots. We pass by a place where lava flows and the air is scalding and
hard to breathe. A lava waterfall can be seen at the end of a corridor. This is strangely
familiar. Something makes me look at Hugo and I catch a smirk on his face. We walk, it
seems, forever. Dorn’s exasperation brings on his sarcasm,
“Hollisande, this council of yours must really dislike each other. I can’t imagine the
councillors meeting more than once a year if they must go through this to hold a
meeting.”
“The councilors do not need to walk all this way to the meeting hall. This is the scenic
route, given only to honoured guests,” Hollisande answers. One of the accompanying
guards snickers and Dorn grunts in exasperation. Finally, we reach the road’s end,
although it’s an unexpected end. The road ends at a chasm and it continues on the other
side, two spear-throws away I’d say. Hollisande and the guards are wrapped in shadows
and appear on the other side.
“Come one and all, do not be afraid. We would be poor hosts to lead guests to their
deaths. The way is safe.”
“You have to be joking, if it’s safe why did you walk through shadow to the other side?”
shouts Ranelle. We look down the chasm in silence and Ithyldin makes the first step
upon empty air. His left foot steps on the emptiness and he walks a few steps on
nothing!
“Sometimes you just have to have a little faith,” he says with a smirk. The elf King and
Hugo have discovered a new love for empty gestures of comeuppance over me. This one
was one of the elf’s best attempts, I’ll have to admit. I step on the emptiness as well. It’s
solid, as if we step on invisible stone or solid air. We cross the chasm quickly and reach
the other side. We’re led into a chamber whose walls and ceiling are lost in darkness. We
walk some distance in this hall and our steps echo. A circle is carved on the stone floor
and fileld with gold and this is where we’re instructed to remain. When we all enter the
circle, the halflings smother the torches without warning, leaving us in pitch blackness.
We don’t hear them walking away. About ten steps beyond the circle, a halfling robed in
grey appears under a cone of light.
“Who knew that the halflings are such adept practitioners of magic,” murmurs Naser.
The halfling speaks,
“Greetings one and all and welcome. I am Edvarra Garrelban, the head of the Quintain.
We recognize you Guardians of Anuire and will hear the purpose of your visit.”
I make one step forward and speak,
“We don’t share a common purpose. I am here to ask you about the documents that
detail the Vampire’s ritual of merging Aebrynis with the Shadow World. They were stolen
from the vaults of the palace in Bloodshroud and the thief could be a halfling. I want to
know whether you have them and if not, who does.”
“Huormad, we do not have these documents you speak of and we don’t know where they
may be.”
“Then what can you tell me of this ritual? How can the ritualist be prevented from
achieving his goal?”
Another halfling, a man, appears under a cone of light across from Edvarra to answer
me,
“We didn’t know of this ritual until you, the Guardians of Anuire, stopped the Vampire
from merging his domain with the Evanescence. We cannot tell you more about it other
than it’s too late to stop it. The ritual has been enacted.”
Too late then, too late for everything. In the silence that follows the Quintain’s
statements, a third halfling appears to the right, a woman and speaks,
“Fellow councilors, ponder the significance of what we have here before us. Ithyldin
Starwhisper has delivered himself to us.”
“I’m here as a guest and pose n othreat to you. Such a statement could be construed as
a threat and I don’t respond well to threats.” The elf King states with a hint of anger and
challenge in his voice. I think I hear the hint of surprise as well. Could he have ignored
the possibility of his capture?
“Apologies King of Tuarhievel, the Quintain wishes you no ill. Now, state your purpose if
you please.” Edvarra puts an end to this before it gets out of hand and the lights of the
other halflings wink out to leave only her visible. Hugo speaks,
“What do you know of the war of the Gods? What is happening and why? Is the world
coming to an end?”
“We know very little. The Vampire’s ritual may be the driving force or somehow the cause
of the war of the Gods but we know no more about it. We aren’t privy to the thoughts and
motives of the deities. As for the world, no, it shall not end. Races may die but the world
will continue. Maybe this is the course the world has decided to take. All life is about
endings and beginnings after all. Birth and death, of animals, of men, of Gods and of
races. The cycle is eternal.” Edvarra answers.
“This is your opinion Edvarra, we ask for knowledge,” says the khinasi.
“We give you what we have to give Naser. Accept or disregard our wisdom, as you will.”
Ranelle takes a hesitant step forward. I see amix of emotions on the faces of the rest,
fear, expectation, worry. She speaks,
“I am here to ask about the way for Finn’s salvation. How can he be brought back to this
world?”
Silence answers her. Edvarra’s face is partially hidden by her grey hood and so her eyes
and expression cannot be discerned.
“Perhaps you don’t know of whom Ranelle speaks,” Ithyldin says. Edvarra answers then,
“The fate of Finn Haelphen is known to us. He was family. Why do you seek this Ranelle
Battleflare? Do you not enjoy your borrowed time in this world?”
Another councilor appears then to our left before Ranelle has a chance to answer,
“Allow me to correct you Edvarra. Finn Haelfen is no longer family.”
Edvarra mkes a gesture of dismissal then and the cone of light over the councilor winks
out.
“No matter the problems and the choices, a halfling is always family. I’m sorry for the
interruption priestess.”
“To answer you, I’m not proud of my decision. I gave in to fear of my terrible fate and
grabbed at the chance to live again without thought of other consequence. The price for
my resurrection was heavy and I regret paying it with the life of another.”
“Know that your coming here was foretold. The prophecy isn’t for your ears. If you really
want Finn to escape eternal torment, we can make it happen – unless Finn has died and
his soul lies in the grasp of the Cold Rider. Let us see then, the truth of this matter.”
Our surroundings change with dizzying speed. Although we’re standing on solid stone,
we feel as if we’re on the deck of a ship rolling with the waves. We are under, no within
the night sky, standing on nothing, surrounded by stars. This isn’t the night sky I kow
however. The familiar constellations are missing and there aren’t any stellar clouds.
There’s no moon either. Edvarra looks around her and points at a far-away, dim and
flickering star.
“That is Finn Haelfen’s lifestar. He lives still.”
“Then you can do it? You can bring hm back?” asks Ranelle with an almost girlish joy in
her voice. With another dizzying alteration, our environment becomes again the
Quintain’s echoing, dark chamber.
“We can but it’s not easy. A life for a life, Ranelle. Who shall pay the coin for Finn’s
return? Who shall take his place in the Shadow World?”
The thing I had always known is spoken. Hugo had asked this same thing days ago and
there was no answer then. There’s no answer now either. I feel shame for my
unwillingness to make this sacrifice. Finn is the last man I consider a friend and the only
one of the fellowship who stayed true. I should step forward and pay any price for him.
However, my responsibilities in this world are many. I bear Cuiraecen’s last demand
made of me and his Father’s acceptance of me, his unspoken demand to act in His
name. My life isn’t my own to do as I wish. Are these my real reasons or are they
excuses to hide my fear of eternal doom? The answer isn’t an easy one and anguish is
followed by shame. Ithyldin and Naser speak with one mind and ask for another solution.
The dialogue goes on for some time with Ithyldin refusing to accept Edvarra’s answer,
trying to find some way to achieve the same end with other means. Until I was made
Haelyn’s paladin I hadn’t thought of it but now I wonder at the laws of the elves. How do
they rule their society and themselves that a King of the elves always denies every law
and every rule he comes across and always tries to find a hole in it, to do it his own way?
Do the elves have laws at all? Certainly they do but why would they disregard them and
always seek to go around them? Chaos and disharmony, to the detriment of all, can only
be the result of a society where even the King seeks to avoid the law or else twist it to his
own ends. This surely is a reason for the defeat of the elves and the decline of the elven
race.
Edvarra is exasperated by the denial of the fellowship and the constant demand for
another solution. I urge them to reach a decision,
“Guardians, you have heard the words of the Quintain. A life for a life. There’s nothing
more to be said. Is someone willing to make this sacrifice? Decide now so that we can be
done with this thing.”
“What’s your hurry Huormad? You don’t think that Finn is worth some of your precious
time?” Hugo doesn’t lose the chance to engage in yet another pointless battle of words.
My shame makes me vulnerable and I can’t ignore him this time. The bad blood between
us escalates the tone of the conversation. I wanted to end this bickering but I end up
becoming a part of it. This goes on until we’re interrupted by Edvarra.
“Guardians, another of your number has arrived. He entered Fellrock unannounced and
undetected and even tried to sneak inside this very chamber. He was caught and
identified himself as your companion.” There’s anger and dissapointment in Edvarra’s
tone. Who can this be? A Guardian of old or perhaps Izruel? Halfling guards, clad in
shadow mail escort this mystery man to our presence and the question is answered in a
most unexpected and shocking manner. The Raven is here and he has come as a
member of this fellowship!
“Greetings friends. If I’d known of halfling hospitality, I would have arrived openly. Alas,
old habits die hard. Do go on with your business, pretend that I’m not here.” The Raven’s
jovial manner and amused demeanor is only skin deep. His face has lines of tension and
his eyes are as ever cold and ruthless. The guardsmen position themselves around and
outside the silver circle and eye us with suspicion. Edvarra speaks,
“This is highly dissapointing Guardians of Anuire. How can you count a creature such as
him among your company?”
Naser and Ithyldin give her evasive answers and some flat denials. Edvarra demands to
know of our dealings with the Raven and the fellowship’s words sound more like thin
excuses the more this goes on. For my part, I deny entering in any alliance with the
Raven since I had divorced myself from the fellowship and wasn’t present when the deal
was struck with the Raven. I don’t deny that I was a beneficiary of the deal. Dorn also
defends the fellowship’s decision to deal with the Raven since he held our lives in his
palm and we would live or die at his whim. He speaks of the need to take advantage of
the Raven’s offer to return to civilized lands. Also, the fact that it was him who rescued us
from the death sentence of the elven council cannot be ignored. We owe this awnsegh
our very lives. So, at the conclusion of this apology, this defence against Edvarra’s
charge, it comes to pass that our words reinforce and do not deny the Raven’s claim. A
sad day for this fellowship, one of many since we embarked on the Mhor’s quest.
“I have heard enough. You may accept this abomination among you but the Quintain
shall do no such thing. He is one of the Lost, in the name of the Gods! Archers.”
At these words from Edvarra, the chamber is lighted up by a hundred tiny flames all
around us at a height of three meters and a distance of thirty. Arrows, their tips aflame,
all aimed at the center of the silver circle where the Raven stands. All step back from the
Raven except for one man, Ithyldin. The fool remains by the awnsegh’s side and
demands a ceasefire! The archers loose and a hail of flaming arrows strike the two elves.
All the arrows ricochet on the stone floor and throw sparks around. All of us should be
wounded but the ricocheting arrows break on some kind of protective magic employed by
the halflings on our behalf. Fortunately, Ithyldin Starwhisper is spared as well and
emerges unschathed. The Raven is nowhere to be seen.
“Either a sophisticated illusion with sensory effects or else he departed via the road of
magic,” Naser says. Edvarra is incenced at this development,
“Nothing good will come out of your alliance with the Raven.”
Ithyldin and Naser, undaunted by these events continue to defend the fellowship’s
dealings with the Raven. Edvarra ends this dialogue,
“I will hear no more. The Quintain has certain lore to share with you regarding current
events but now I think it’s unwise to do so. Your business with this body shall be
concluded after you decide what is to be done regarding Finn Haelfen.”
“Typical. We sacrifice everything we have and everything we are for the sake of the
people of Cerilia and this is the gratitude and the aid we receive; Denial of information
and denial of aid. At least the Raven was willing to help. You and all others with the
power to affect events shirk the responsibilities that the Guardians have accepted,” Hugo
says with his usual phlegmatic tone.
Edvarra declines to answer Hugo’s accusations. Instead, she makes a cryptic comment
to me,
“Huormad, I feel sorry for you. At the end of your life such a burden will be heavy to
bear.”
In turn, Ithyldin disregards this comment and interrupts any reply I would make by calling
for a recess and privacy so that the fellowship may confer about Finn and the needed
sacrifice. Edvarra grants the request and her light goes out. A magical flame is born at
the center of the circle, one that gives no heat and barely enough illumination to chase
the darkness away within the bounds of the circle. The dialogue is lengthy and I stay
mostly silent and uninvolved. My life isn’t mine to give and so I have nothing to say. An
angry argument quickly erupts between Naser and Ranelle and it’s mediated by Hugo.
After this, Ithyldin’s pointless plans to disregard or sidestep the need for a sacrifice
dominate the conversation. Crazy plans such as taking turns in the Shadow World or
postoponing the sacrifice for a later date are discussed among them. Grandiose
announcements are occasionally made, but they amount to nothing. I do believe that, left
alone, the fellowship would never accept the simple fact that no one is willing to make
this sacrifice. However, a singular event interrupts the conference and silences everyone.
*****
Fire erupts from the ground and breaks the ebony blackness only momentarily as a wind
of hate blows through this hellish land. A vision unravels and commands the undivided
attention of us all. The hate-wind blows towards a steady point of light and takes the
watchers with it. The light expands and grows as we get nearer and nearer and is
revealed to be the golden radiance that emanates from a warrior of light who is locked in
deadly combat with his opposite number, a warrior of darkness. The hate-wind strikes the
armour of the radiant warrior and breaks in a cascade of screams. There is a lull in the
combat, a time for both of them to reassess the opponent and seek an opening. The
raidant warrior is tall and muscular and clad in plate armour. He wields a greatsword with
two hands. He turns towards us then, his moustache and beard are matted with sweat
and singed by fire, his hazel eyes remind me of my father and they captivate me. See
through me to the core of my being. I fall on my knees and pray to Him, to Haelyn the
Lawmaker. The warrior of darkness is a muscular vos with a black moustache that
droops down to his jaw. He’s clad in burnished plate armour, the skin of a white wolf
draped on his shoulders and a terrible axe in his hands. Belinik, the Lord of Strife hosts
Haelyn in the last battle of the war of the Gods. Belinik speaks and I realize that this is
the first time that I can hear as well as see what transpires, a fact that escaped me
earlier.
“You were a fool to come to the Striving, to my realm, my seat of power and I shall give
you a fool’s death Haelyn.” So speaks Belinik and he holds his axe aloft and a hideous
moan emanates from the weapon, its thirst for blood and souls given voice. Fires erupt
furiously from the blackened ground and human forms seem to writhe in the flames.
Against their will, the souls of wicked men are drawn, screaming to the axe and as each
soulflame touches the black steel, it burns for a heartbeat but the flame flickers and dies.
This is done again and again, two, four, seven, thirteen souls by my count are drawn and
devoured by Belinik’s axe and thus the Prince of Terror grows stronger. Haelyn speaks,
“I have come to end this Belinik. I knew you for a coward who would seek advantage and
ambush against me and so I came here to slay you sooner rather than later. It has come
down to you or me and I can’t let the people of Cerilia fall in your cruel grasp. I shall
guide them to the light.”
“Lord of noble war indeed. Your own nature shall prove to be your undoing,” Belinik
answers and he charges in fury. The battleaxe meets the greatsword again and again
and the land shakes and the hate-wind screams again. Haelyn fights bravely and well but
Belinik’s fury and strength are too much and so the Lawmaker is pushed back step-by-
step. Everywhere he steps, fire erupts but he endures. Finally, his arms grow leaden and
his posture betrays his fatigue. Belinik devours still more souls into his thirsty axe and
continues his assault with vigour. Everybody in the chamber learns the bitter taste of
despair…In a last counterattack, Haelyn forces his foe to overextend, parries the axe
aside and drives the sword in an arc to Belinik’s head. The Lord of Strife blocks with his
armoured right shoulder and the sword is deflected and strikes the helm instead of the
neck. Belinik’s blood flows from his mangled shoulder and his skull under the dented
helm. The vos God seems unaffected by his wounds and his answer is fast and strong as
he drives the battleaxe in a downward arc. Haelyn, surprised, lets go of the greatsword
and raises his left hand to intercept the axe. The impact is felt like a physical blow and I
avert my eyes. When I return to the scene, I expect to see a severed arm but instead I
see the Rampart on Haelyn’s left hand. A simple wooden shield with a golden eagle, the
famed shield of Haelyn stopped the axeblade.
“That was all you had Haelyn. Now, you will only grow weaker as I grow ever stronger
until your life’s blood is spilled on my land.”
“In your arrogance, in your self-serving evil, you slew your allies as well as your enemies.
Evil is ever thus, alone. Virtue is never alone.”
A third warrior enters the scene, a short and stocky man but massive and majestic as a
mountain peak. Clad in more steel that both Haelyn and Belinik combined, wielding axe
and shield, Clangeddin, the Dwarf-Father, the very last of the divinities of the people of
Cerilia, joins the fray.
“Spawn of Azrai, this day you die, so swears Clangeddin.” Like his people, Clangeddin is
a dwarf of few words, he lets his axe speak for him.
“Do you see Belinik? Do you see the consequence of your arrogance, your lust for power
and your short-sightedness? I came to you willingly so that you would focus your hate
and fury on me and fail to sense the arrival of an ally. Now face your end as a warrior or
as the coward you are, the result shall be the same.” With these words Haelyn redoubles
his attack even as Clangeddin attacks with a roar. My heart is near to bursting – at last,
we are delivered from evil - at last, we shall be free.
Alas, this is not a fairytale of my childhood, this is the War of the Gods and in this last
battle, there shall not be a happy ending. Fires erupt and the hate-wind blows and Belinik
drives both his enemies back for a moment. The defeat of the Prince of Terror seems
inevitable and so the allies pause for a breath before renewing their assault. None
expects the depth of Belinik’s hatred and malice and madness. Belinik drives his axe into
the ground and shatters it! The devoured souls pour like black blood to pool around his
feet and the land itself moans.
“If I am to die here, I won’t go quietly. I choose to share my doom with you, if it’s not me
then it shall be no one,” screams Belinik and the land of the Striving screams with him,
fire erupts, tears free from the ground like a thing alive and the vision ends in fire and ash
and the deaths of the last Gods of Cerilia in a conflagration that could devour the whole
continent. The vision shrinks and is gone and once more I am bereft of my God, bereft of
the Father as I was bereft of the Son. All of us are silent. The fall of all the Gods is
something that each man comes to terms with in his own way. Without the Gds, what
hope can there be for men? What hope can there be for dwarves and halflings and even
for the elves? Without Gods we are children, alone in a frightening world. We shall fight
amongst ourselves and against the goblins and the gnolls and all the monsters and the
awnseghlien and we’ll die or live as slaves. This is our fate and our impending doom and
it cannot be avoided.
I tear my mind away from our future doom, one I won’t live to see. Beliik is no more and
this frees me from my oath to Cuiraecen. I laugh at my own arrogance, to have believed
that the Stormlord would ask such a thing from a mortal and that I could deliver such
vengeance upon a God. A self-delusion surely but one that kept me chained in bonds of
honour and grief and vengeance. Now, my life is my own again and I know what to do
with the little life I have left. The decision fills me with joy, what nobler end than a
sacrifice for a beloved friend? A noise makes us all turn at an object that falls somewhere
in the darkness of the chamber. A sound as if from wood strikes the floor and rolls
towards us. A shield rolls with precarious balance into the circle and settles on the floor, a
few paces from me. It’s a shield, a round war-board made of wood and leather with a
battered iron rim and boss. A golden eagle is painted on its face. Haelyn’s Rampart has
somehow arrived to this world and is given to me, this I know. I take the shield and the
burden of an unknown responsibility weighs down on me and again, my life is taken out
of my hands and given to a higher cause. This is the legacy of Haelyn and it signifies
hope. This is the light in the darkness of our fate.