The Degradation of Balance (The Spiritlands)

The Spiritlands: Volume Two

The Degradation of Balance

Timothy Linnomme

Contents Copyright Timothy Linnomme 2012

Published by Timothy Linnomme at Smashwords

Visit http://www.timothylinnomme.net for a full listing of titles and the latest information including up and coming releases!

About The Cover

Swords by Reine De Ciel

Table of Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty One

Twenty Two

Twenty Three

Twenty Four

What has gone before…

The Spiritlands are verdant, teeming with life and beauty, but that which is bane to the living also abounds . It was Djoggi who had created racekind to flourish as they could while Ymarrh contributed her capricious sort of joy and love of life. D’aeleth was as brooding and cold as Djoggi was ebullient and far-seeing; it was to his demesne that the living traveled after their life was done. D’aeleth thought nothing of the matter until ruthlessly berated by Ymarrh, who he desired for himself. Ymarrh, though sworn to Djoggi, thought nothing of causing trouble or discord whenever she could, and this time she has outdone herself. D’aeleth starts creating life , but life as he perceives it to be. What he has created has naught but contempt for racekind as his creations spread wrack and ruin wherever they go. When Djoggi tells D’aeleth to stop, D’aeleth refuses. As racekind and D’aeleth’s spawn adapt and mature, battle lines are drawn. The battle that is joined comes to be called the Spirit War. Despite the power D’aeleth has given to his creations and those who serve him, they quickly lose ground against the grim purpose of the racekind. As a final act of desperation (or as a plan coldly calculated), D’aeleth casts out of his demesne all not created by him, sending the spirits back into the living land they had departed. The tide of battle now favored his minions as racekind was now assailed by the dead and the suborned; a living best friend could in one fell moment become a deadly undead enemy. The fighting ramped up to a whole new level as even more destructive and perilous magics were brought to bear; the dead on both sides quickly reached unsustainable numbers as the majority of humans were pushed west. The humans eventually wound up establishing both the NorthHold and the SouthHold, but the fighting had been so fierce and pervasive the Dwarg and the Aelfen were considered either extinct or simply of legend or alehouse tale…

The society within the holds quickly gelled and solidified. At the top of things were the nobles or thanes while freedmen or citizens ran many of the businesses. At the bottom of course was no shortage of slaves referred to as charls. Mages were now defined by the staff they wielded and were largely exempt from the social structure of the holds, though they took on the perilous task of keeping D’aeleth’s spawn away from the city proper.

Torvii grows up knowing nothing but the hard work and toil of a charl with nothing more then the same for his future, but thanks to the whims of the Hold society a number of vistas and possibilities unfold before him. It starts when a performer demonstrates their skill in jumping around on a set of emplaced barrels. Torvii has nothing else to provide any diversion from his toil and drudgery, so he seeks to emulate the barrel dancer as best as he can. When he needs to balance himself as he jumps, a cast off piece of wood provides what balance is needed

Though Pethgarn is somewhat embittered with those who run the NorthHold, he makes do the best he can. When Torvii is sent to him to be educated, Pethgarn is taken aback. Torvii learns that his appearance is not because of sickness ; it is because he isn’t a human. Torvii is of the Aelfen race, albeit one who is considered crossborn. While he has the base physical appearance of a DokkAelfen, his green eyes are from the part of him that is LiosAelfen and no purebred Aelfen has his height. Even as he learns this, he also learns other aspects of what he is in a more sobering light. Crossborn Aelfen are not suffered to live due to things that had happened in the past and magic wielding ones are tolerated even less. Torvii laughs at that concept though he is studious in studying what he can of what tomes Pethgarn possesses, but what Torvii is can’t be denied. Despite the fact he had not been told to cut himself a staff, the stick he uses to balance himself is behaving more and more like the stelenwood tree to which it once belonged. Though Torvii is educated mostly in the history of the lands, he can’t help but look at a little of what comprises magic theory; after all, his tutor is a black staff wielder. A chance occurrence reveals that Torvii can perform Zynology on weapons and armor without the need of a magical aid. Though this promotes him slightly from his charl rank before, he still remains a charl, a valuable charl. With his skill, his master makes money hand over fist. He has been given to the son of the person who had bought him, but while the Thane who had purchased him might have been possessed of some kindness, his son was bereft of that emotion.

Despite the abuses that are heaped upon Torvii by Frendal, Torvii develops an iron will as he refuses to be broken. He meets another DokkAelfen, but she is quick to admit that she and her cohort had left where they dwelled to hunt him down and kill him, Circumstances eventually become such that Torvii has to trust the enemy of his enemy though he would rather not. His freedom from the place that had been his only home didn’t come without a cost, though; he had been judged for striking Frendal using magic, but judged wrongly as far as he was concerned. When those who have judged him refuse to grant him the exile he has requested, Torvii takes matters into his own hands leaving behind only the comparative merest inkling of what will soon follow…

Once free of that place, he finds that his mistrust of the female DokkAelfen w justified as she is subsumed by the evil that had claimed the others of the cohort sent to hunt him down so long ago. Torvii was their target then as now. Torvii flees the area after damaging the barrow in which the evil lies, but he discovers he can’t flee fast enough or far enough. The animated dead from the barrow are after him in his sorely weakened and infected state, so he has no choice but to take shelter in a forest that calls to him. The forest is a Rivanwood forest, containing the trees whose branches served racekind for a staff to wield magic. Once safe within the confines of the forest, though, Torvii is largely ignored, forcing him to take care of the wound on his face by himself. While the ravenswood and foirwood trees ignore him after taking away the piece of wood Torvii was using for a staff, the stelenwood trees are far more pragmatic in seeing things. There is a pile of wreckage and an earth spirit that will not move from where it rests. Torvii is able to get the spirit to leave by a combination of luck and perseverance, so the stelenwood trees let him cut a staff in at least partial compensation for his toil. When news of this filters to the ravenswood and foirwood trees, they react in anger and rage. Though a tree of the Rivanwood can not move as a racekind could, they could liquefy the ground and flow through it as if it was water. The trees fight each other and also attack Torvii with the intent of killing him, but Torvii has other plans. The war is brought to an abrupt pause after Torvii slaughters a tree that had attacked him directly, but the war is far from over. Torvii leaves the forest in high spirits while he clutches the staff he was given in a firm grip, but he has yet to learn of the dangerous state of affairs that is now called racekind…

I

Merthedon had grown over the years from a sparse stedding to a full blown city. While the city center was a well built and solid structured area, humans were desirable of their space; once the crowding began to be too noticeable, the humans would start building at the fringes until that area became too crowded and then the process would begin anew. This aspect had its benefits as its drawbacks, though. With the vastly expanded living areas, more businesses and infrastructure could be built, providing more work for the populace. Provided a person was not of the lazy sort, enough work could be found so that they could make a living.

The major drawback was also in part due to the main benefit, though. Even a well to do stedding took the risk of being attacked by D’aeleth’s spawn, but Merthedon was for all intents and purposes a large city with a good amount of sprawl. The depredations of D’aeleth spawn were constant and unrelenting. To them, the risk was worth the potential reward. It would have been nice to have mages patrol the city perimeters, but the only thing that would entice them to do so would be gold, and most all of Merthedon was too poor to afford such. Since that wasn’t an option, Merthedon adopted the next best thing; if anything, there were a lot of humans in the city, which meant that there were many potential recruits joining the City Guard. If Merthedon couldn’t have the mages, it would for dâel sure have the mass of numbers to work in its stead. The peripheral areas of Merthedon were saturated with City Guardsmen. Though it initially looked like any sort of D’aeleth spawn could wander into the city with impunity, appearances were deceiving. While outbound travelers weren’t checked very thoroughly at the moment, ALL inbound traffic at some point would have to run the gauntlet of City Guard to make it into even the outskirts of the city, let alone the city proper.

The working portion of the City Guard comprised four types of soldiers. The pikemen were usually slow in speed but large and well muscled in stature; the eight foot long pikes or the equivalent that they carried weren’t light in weight. The spear and axe men were responsible for cleaning up what was left after a fight. That could entail chopping up the suborned of a Death Walker to chopping up a friend so that they wouldn’t pose a threat to those still living. The swordsmen engaged anything that could think and fight on its own or helped the spear and axe people with the aftermath of any confrontation; their job was considered the most dangerous. The crossbowmen were a rather recent addition to the City Guard thanks to the inventioneers, but they also did their job well. When used in proper concert with the others, many times a threat didn’t even get close enough to harm anyone.

The major problem was that as the humans adapted their methods to stop any incursions, those who desired access adapted to the changes. If a fairly profitable stedding was a good target, a city full of spiritcharl was irresistible. If a relatively long life was what you desired, the City Guard was not the position to hold. As stated before, the only real advantage the humans had was in numbers; what magic they had was pitiful at best. As such, hordes of human children were taken to the Rivanwood forests in the hopes that at least some would be told to cut a staff. When a child was told to do so, it was almost always a celebratory event, but a saddening one . Mages could be killed and suborned ; some of D’aeleth’s filth actually targeted mages for the power they held. What staff wielders that survived to adulthood invariably left Merthedon for one of the coastal cities spoken of in the alehouses; you could live longer there. In the end, the protection of Merthedon fell to the City Guard who marshaled what bravery and skill they could muster before heading to their posts.

Sometimes, even that wasn’t enough. At other times, the humans would curse at the Aelfen because the Aelfen made very little effort to protect the perimeter bordering on where they dwelled. Over the years, the humans saw less LiosAelfen with their Belthron bows and less DokkAelfen patrols leaving the Aelfen area for a night hunt. If they would do their part, then less of us would die doing ours; that was the common consensus. Those in charge of the City Guard were as quick to comment back; you can’t count on anyone but yourself to do your part, as long as you work as a team, we can still give the spirit filth some dâel! We don’t need the Aelfen to protect us; like as not, they would be too drunk to pull a bow or otherwise fight. And so the struggle went….

…the City Guard heard the piercing whistle. It took them only a short moment to fix the direction of the sound in their minds before they immediately moved from standstill to a distance eating run. The pikemen carried their eight foot pikes upraised as a staff as they scouted ahead for any potential obstacles. They heard the whistle again, but they were already at the location of the sound. A wagon was stopped at a checkpoint area. One breath was all it took for the pikeman to determine the threat; the odor of cold corruption boded nothing well. There are Undead here…restanti or Death Walker? Six guardsmen were battling…something near the wagon, but the pikeman couldn’t immediately see what it was. As he quickly moved in the direction of the fight, he was looking all around to see any potential threats. There was one! Its speed was slowed by its undead state, but it more then made up for that liability by its extra strength and constitution. It shambled towards the backs of three guardsmen. He wasn’t going to allow that to happen. Before the undead racekind could figure out what had happened, they were pinned to the ground by a steel pike driven through it with an authoritative manner. Whatever the six other guards were fighting, it didn’t put up a fight for very much longer. Two of the six were wounded, but it was one of the wounded that set the remains of what they fought on fire. The Death Walker made an eerie screaming sound as it was consumed by the flames. An axeman cut up what the pikeman had impaled. They had killed a Death Walker, but it had only been a weak one. They still took pride in their victory, however small it was…

*

Merthedon was run by a Council versus a king or queen because it was felt that a Council could better represent the people’s interests. The Council deliberately minimized its presence past what was needed to govern; why kill off prosperity? The City Guard and Town Watch cost a considerable sum of money for their services, but the Town Watch was paid for by levying a consumption tax on new goods and services versus a tax on capital and labor. The City Guard received no such tax monies, but any income they earned was tax exempt. They were treated as an autonomous entity within the city proper. Every head of household was given a pretax credit every four or so short months, but past that, any who purchased goods paid the tax. Every four short months or so, the sellers of goods were required to remit the taxes collected to the Council. One result of this taxation system was that Merthedon suffered essentially no downturn in its economic fortune; there were always more people flooding in to build even more businesses and provide more jobs. With more people earning a wage, this meant an expanding tax base that suited most everyone. This was also the way Francel could make a living doing what he did, because he essentially worked tax free. He dealt in used goods and services, thus he was exempt from the tax.

The City Guard also had another income stream, but they were low-key regarding how much they made or how they spent those proceeds. Every four short months or so, the Guard would hold an auction to sell off that which had been confiscated or left to them by various means. They would quite often wind up with wagons driven by those suborned along with piles of unknown weapons and armor. What money they made from these auctions was duly deposited into their money account. The City Guard took care of their own ; widow and Guard pensions were paid unfailingly.

*

Francel winced as he heard yet another loud noise from up the street. His horse whinnied in a nervous fashion, but Francel was able to get her under control. As he went by a building on his right, he noticed that some of it was missing. A thick plume of smoke curled from the gaping hole in the building front. Even though Francel was smiling slightly, he still shook his head. It had started about three seasons ago or so. Some inventioneers or the equivalent sort of destruction-minded individuals had discovered how to make a black powder that exploded. That sounded sort of interesting in itself, but knowing inventioneers, they would assuredly take something rather smelly and noisome and make it dangerous. It looked like half of the front of the building had been blown apart from the blast. He didn’t see anyone that was hurt, so Francel continued on his way. It had only been a short month since they had picked up Dagen; he wondered how his son was doing.

*

The only thing Dagen could feel at the moment or even comprehend was pain, all sorts of pain. Was it his arms that hurt with a dull and penetrating ache or was it his legs with their muscle spasms that caused an exquisite and acute pain? Which one hurt more? At this point, it was hard to tell.

Once the wagon had arrived at its destination, the people inside the wagon were herded out with no gentleness. When one person was too slow, they were tripped into the dirt and then harangued by any number of people dressed up as the City Guard. Dagen cooperated more by reflex then my conscious action. How in dâel had he wound up in this place? He had wanted Weaponmaster training, not this! His thoughts were curtailed by a sharp and grating voice he would learn to hate with most every fiber of his being.

Welcome to my little castle, worms! I have no idea why you are here and nor do I even care! Once you stepped through that gate, you became MINE! I don’t want to know your names! As of now, you HAVE no names! All that you are to me is little worms like the ones that come out of your mother’s fur because she caught the lover’s phage! You don’t even have the RIGHT to refer to yourselves as individuals! You are nothing but recruits, and the sooner you realize that, the better off you will be! The speaker was dressed in armor that had its own colored sheen in addition to its black color near as deep as night. A dark colored cloak moved around them as if it had a life of its own. Their black leggings were made of the same material as their cloak. Heavy looking black boots completed the outfit.

Once the haranguing was over, the real fun started. One by one, the recruits were called forth and castigated by the guards present. Once they were all standing in front of a large fire, they were told to strip; one recruit that hesitated was made to do body presses in the dust and malodorous filth that was on the ground. That motivated everyone. Once the recruits were naked, the one who first harangued them was back.

My name is Commander Tarigod! You best remember that name, because you and I will be becoming VERY friendly in the next good and long number of short months. I get the unwelcome job of taking dâelspawned filth like you and turning them into something that just MIGHT survive a day or two patrolling the perimeter! As the Commander spoke, he was gathering up all of the clothing the recruits had shed into a pile. Your old life is now dead to you! To symbolize this, three other guards took the cast off clothing and tossed it into the fire. WHATEVER or WHOEVER you were before, you are no longer. Guards came up behind the recruits and lopped off their hair; whoever struggled also had some skin lopped off . When the guards were done, the recruits were as bare on top of their head as they were in almost all other places. There were no exceptions . As tall as Dagen was in comparison to the others present, one of the recruits even hulked over him. Despite Brughul’s size, his countenance looked more like a child’s then a man’s; his face appeared to have an innocence about it that was out of place with the rest of him. Brughul also had a good amount of baby fat on his frame . Other then his size, Brughul had one other feature that stood out. While his right eye was a deep brown in color, his left was a dark shade of blue and was cast to some extent Guards, I think the recruits are a filthy lot; where is their bath?

The recruits heard the creaking sounds above them and realized too late that they were under a place in the compound that had a ceiling of sorts. As if on command, slats in the ceiling opened up as a voluminous amount of icy cold water poured through. No recruit got away without being thoroughly soaked. There was no shortage of foul curses erupting the moment the recruits were soaked, but the guards didn’t care . Each recruit was thrown a small yet serviceable towel; though it absorbed the water on their skin, it abraded the skin if used too vigorously. Once the recruits were reasonably dry, they were forced into some semblance of a line and marched into yet another building.

The purpose of this building was self explanatory. Each sleeping mat had a pile of goods upon it. Once more, Commander Tarigod was present. If you think I am enjoying the sight of your hairy and smelly asses, you are dead wrong. Get dressed right now! If the pace of things hadn’t already been implied to the new recruits, most of them had already caught on to the scheme of things. It took only moments until every single one of the recruits were dressed in a set of small clothes. Brughul’s clothing barely fit his massive frame, a situation that several other guards now in the building found amusing.

Hey, Githnon, how do you suppose this one got so big? He barely can fit into the clothes he was given!

I dunno; hey, recruit, who or what gave birth to you?

Brughul doesn’t know.

That breach of protocol was like water to the thirsty as far as the guards were concerned. Since when did you decide you had a name, WORM? If you want a name, you will have to EARN it! Brughul was soon doing body presses and other such exercises by his sleeping mat. It wouldn’t be the last time he did so by far.

This is the first and last day that you get any sort of break, recruits. I advise that you use what time you have been now given for sleeping because you might be short of it later on! After each recruit made use of their cleaning kit, what light that was in the building was extinguished, leaving all present there in the darkness.

*

Despite what weariness Dagen found inside of himself, it still took some time for him to finally find the solace of sleep. Why was he here? This wasn’t Weaponmaster training ; instead, this was simply a way to heap as much torment on him in addition to the embarrassment and abuse he had already suffered. There was no peaceful waking from his slumber, either. The sleeping room went from utter quiet to never ending waves of light and noise in a moments notice. This assuredly must be a realm of D’aeleth’s, he thought.

II

…There once was a group of racekind that chose to completely disavow the three gods of creation and instead placed their trust in a nebulous entity called…Ghod. Ghod was all powerful and all knowing, they said. If you believe in Ghod, so would your soul be saved when you died. Many of racekind became believers as the stedding the followers created grew in size to become a good sized town. Once every short month, the faithful gathered in places to hear the acolytes of Ghod preach the message of faith and salvation from what evils wracked the land. In the eyes of Ghod, all of racekind was equal no matter what wealth you possessed or what your social status was. The acolytes of Ghod were pacifistic in their sermons but intolerant to any other worship except to their deity. The Riders of Ghod struck fear into many who had experienced their lack of mercy firsthand. While many wondered why it had taken D’aeleth’s spawn so long to attack the town, most all knew what had happened. Successive waves of Death Walker attacked the burgeoning town and subsumed most off the inhabitants. The acolytes of Ghod prayed to their deity and wielded crossed sticks at the Death Walker at the same time, but it did no good ; their town soon was no more then ruins…the purpose for relating this tale has many facets and aspects to it, but if you should see a traveler upon the road that exhorts you to follow the way of Ghod, it is okay to kill them before they suborn you…

-Tales of Lore and Legends-

The vistas before him and the unfamiliar smells in the air finally ceased to be such a novelty to Torvii as he walked along the worn and battered road; in some places, the road was little more then a skinny and flattened track through at times dense foliage. It was while he was trekking over one of the wider parts of the road that he realized he was in the middle of some ruins. Time hadn’t been merciful in this area; most all that remained were the bases of what buildings that once stood on the ground. Torvii stopped his movement, alert for any sound other then the background noise which he no longer heard. Torvii figured that there should be some spirits in this place, but it appeared that this place was…devoid of any such thing. There were signs of battle here along with the ruin and decay. A bone Torvii found crumbled into dust when he attempted to pick it up to study it in a closer manner. He was about to continue on his way when the sun momentarily gleamed on an object in another ruined building. His feet crunched over dead bits of wood and stone. The thing that had glittered was a pendant of sorts that was black in color. It consisted of a straight piece of metal that had another straight piece shorter in length mounted across the first piece. The chain that was with the pendant had been finely made and was heavy in weight. This is the mark of Ghod. No, Torvii thought, this whole place is the mark of Ghod; all that I have here is a trinket that might be worth something in trade for the metal. Torvii didn’t feel like removing his travel pack, so he put the pendant on instead. The ruins went on for a good distance before finally petering out. If this place had been destroyed as utterly as the legend said, that would be a good reason why no spirits were in this place; even if not that, there wasn’t very much to haunt around here anyways. Torvii laughed out loud as he continued onward in his travels.

…something stirred in the ruins some time after he had left. It was cold and menacing but only a travesty of what it could be with more power behind it. D’aeleth had devoted a lot of time and a lot of his minions in destroying this place in the mistaken belief that the acolytes of Ghod were yet another sort of mage like a Dwarg priest. It was only after suborning most all of the acolytes that D’aeleth realized that he had been tricked in a most foul manner; what pitiful power ALL the acolytes had wasn’t even as much as poorly seasoned mage. In his anger and fury, he had the settlement destroyed and razed until nothing was left standing. As more minions and power were needed for other acts of ruin and havoc, D’aeleth had simply used up what resources he had left at the settlement until there was nothing much left to use. When something of the living actually crossed the ruins and made their presence known by picking up a finely wrought necklace, a trap laid by D’aeleth long ago was sprung, but there was almost no power left to back it up . What should have been a massive outpouring of deadly and suborning power was barely enough to animate seven of the suborned departed and give them corporeal substance. Six acolytes of Ghod and one of their speakers floated off once they sensed where the living one had headed. Once they had left, that was the end of any power D’aeleth had over the ruins…

*

Torvii was rather tired and hungry by the time the sun was setting. He had resigned himself to sleeping against a tree and foraging for food when he saw the stedding. It looked pretty small to Torvii, but this was the first settlement of the living he had seen since he was at the NorthHold. Small or not, Torvii could smell the scent of roasted meat and ale. One of the larger buildings appeared to have some activity inside. Torvii quickened his pace; as long as they had food, he didn’t care. He slowed as he got closer to the building, though; a stedding out here in harms way was bound to have people protecting it and that is what Torvii now saw. There were six guards that he could see; all of them were not only heavily armed but armored . They fanned out in a semicircle as they seemed to coldly appraise him.

State your business or be on your way. The speaker held a wicked looking halberd; though Torvii could see some tarnish and dirt on the head of the weapon, its edge looked sharp.

I seek food and shelter for the night, nothing more.

Doff the hood of your cloak right now or it will definitely go bad for you. That speaker held a rather odd looking device that sort of resembled a bow, but it was made of wood and metal and had a trigger device. Would that device even fire? Torvii decided that its wielder was of too serious of a countenance to be bluffing. He did as the speaker asked.

When he did so he heard at least two gasps from the six guards along with at least two discernible dirty looks; a few of them gripped their weapons with even more resolve.

You ever see one of those walking around in the daylight, Dannif? I thought they couldn’t do that .

DokkAelfen will shrivel to nothing in the daylight; that’s why this can’t possibly be what they appear to be.

Torvii laughed. We do not shrivel away during the day.

That earned him a harsh look and utterance from one of the guards. We didn’t say you could speak, did we? While Torvii was silent, though, the claims of what the Aelfen could do became even more outrageous.

DokkAelfen can pass through walls and doors; not even a stout lock will stop them; my cousin Mirkeh told me so. Torvii had to resist the urge to laugh out loud. If he could only do only a portion of what these guards said he could do, he would be most powerful indeed. The smell of food was beginning to be overpowering by now along with Torvii’s rumbling stomach and weariness.

We can’t walk through walls and doors, either. In most cases, we are no different then the other two legged racekind that walk the earth.

I thought I said there was no cause for you to even speak. The soldier who had spoken had his sword half drawn from its scabbard.

I decided that there was cause to speak; if I didn’t, sooner or later I would become either a servant of Djoggi or spawn of D’aeleth. I am tired and hungry; you have food and hopefully a place to sleep. That is all that interests me now. Torvii suddenly thought of another aspect of this conversation. I take it you have seen others of my kind; where do they live?

Five of the guards were holding a heated discussion out of earshot while the sixth guard still blocked Torvii’s path. A good bit east of here is an Aelfen settlement; there are lots of Aelfen there, though I never have seen a DokkAelfen with green eyes.

My mother was LiosAelfen.

How is it then that you are still living and breathing if such is true?

I never grew up around other Aelfen is why. Torvii shifted his grip on his staff for more of a firm hold on it.

The guard was going to say something else, but the five others had returned from their discussion. We have determined that you are not dâelspawn, so you may enter this stedding. We will be watching you, though, so you had best behave. As one, the six guards backed up to allow Torvii a path of egress. Torvii lost no time in following the scent of food to a rather sizeable building on his right.

*

The smell of food made Torvii shiver in both weakness and delight. Most of the seating in the building was taken up by what was a rather rough and work worn lot, but that was the least of Torvii’s concerns at the moment. There also had been an undercurrent of conversation, but that stopped once Torvii entered it. There were no vacant tables to be had, so Torvii took a seat at the drinking counter. Once he was seated, he was more then happy to take off his travel pack . The weight off of his back was yet more relief to him. It didn’t take long for a table keeper that looked nearly as rough as most all of the people there to stop in front of him.

What will you have to drink this fine evening?

Redberry juice will be fine. What do you have to eat tonight?

We had stew earlier, but it would be cold now, the bread we have left is close on to stale. The missus has put away all the dishware; sorry about that. The table keeper drew a large glass of redberry juice for his customer; he was somewhat startled when a metal bowl thumped down on the counter.

The drink is welcome, but I am sorely in need of nourishment. The cold stew and stale bread will be fine. Torvii remembered a lot of what Mareth had told him regarding life out here; those were happier times, but he had to live and survive in the present. He pulled out what he hoped was a silver coin and set it down by his bowl. He watched as the table keeper bit the coin.

Suit yourself, I reckon; you must be hungry after all; from where do you travel? The table keeper filled Torvii’s bowl with stew and brought him a half loaf of dark colored bread. We don’t have the means to make white bread; we make do with what is farmed in these parts.

I am from…north of here. I guess that there have been others of my kind that have passed through here? Torvii took a deep draught of the redberry juice; it was cold and crisp with only a hint of sweetness.

We have seen Aelfen before, but they never venture any farther west then this place if even that; there are a lot more of them about a short month’s travel east of here, though.

Torvii nodded in acknowledgment because he was busy wolfing down the food set before him. The dark bread tasted strange, but not unpleasantly so. The stew was rich in meat and vegetables. Torvii didn’t pause to speak until half of his bowl was empty.

It is others of my kind I seek though I don’t know how I will be treated by them . Torvii was about to go back to eating when he was rudely interrupted by someone else at the drinking counter that smelled like they had already drank their share and then some.

Is it true that DokkAelfen can reach out from the shadows and pull your heart from your body?

Torvii shrugged in a neutral fashion though he wanted the drunkard to leave him be. I am not sure; I am only half DokkAelfen so you might have to ask one of pure blood. He hoped that would be enough of an answer or perhaps a veiled threat to once more be left in peace, but Torvii’s fortune for the moment had gotten lost somewhere.

My brother said he saw some DokkAelfen eating some carrion by the side of the road; do DokkAelfen also eat the undead ?

The table keeper stepped in at that point. Neichi, I think that will be enough; one day your lack of manners is going to get you in trouble. Let the man eat. The drunkard got to his feet somewhat unsteadily and tottered out the door as a robed and cloaked figure seemed to float in rather then walk as others did.

Torvii was busy eating, but he still felt the chill in the air as he heard an odd sounding rustling versus footsteps. He cast a sidelong glance at his staff as he continued eating.

I see naught but a lot of sin in this place!

The stranger’s statement got nothing but a few laughs from the people present. Here is to sin; every one of them! A customer sitting at a table quaffed his tankard of ale.

If the stranger was amused, they didn’t show it . You follow Djoggi and Ymarrh and D’aeleth, but they are naught but demons of evil! You even let one such as THAT take shelter under this roof. There is only one true way to salvation! As they spoke, they pointed a gloved hand at Torvii.

Torvii felt a jolt as…something impacted him. It wasn’t with any damaging blow ; it was more like a cloying and wet thing that rapidly spread from its point of impact. He stopped eating for the moment and made as if to turn to face who had spoken, but Torvii was quick to see the ugly colored purple miasma that surrounded him. It wasn’t something with a physical presence . Purple upon you means that someone is attacking you through means magical; it could be as simple as a compulsion or masking of thought or it can be as deadly as a glamour or a geas. Torvii had wondered why Pethgarn encouraged him to read as much as he could; it all suddenly made sense. It was beyond the magic he could do or what capabilities he had regarding his physical self. Torvii now knew that someone or something was attacking him and that meant he could possibly do something to counter the attack. How was he being attacked, though?

He had an answer in a few moments time. One of the patrons at one of the tables pointed at Torvii. He is a bone wielder! Torvii concentrated on the stranger that had just arrived to the exclusion of everything else. The stranger was clad in robes from head to foot; it was hard even to see their eyes; their coverings were that complete. The purple color emanated from them. They were making the people present see something that was false but still believable to their eyes. When he tried to speak in objection to the charge, Torvii found that his voice was frozen though he still could move his limbs. Glamours didn’t cost that much energy, but if well crafted, they could fool most things not of a magical nature. Breaking them could be done in a number of ways, but many of those were destructive in their own right. He needed to do something now before some of the patrons here decided to do more then curse at him. He could throw force at the stranger, but how much should he throw? Any excess then what was needed to break the glamour would probably damage the surrounding area, but he decided he had to take the risk. He gathered up a considerable amount of force, but before he could cast it, it appeared that someone else had intervened.

There is a better and safer way to break their spell.

Okay, who in dâel just spoke to him now? It was a feminine sounding voice, but Torvii sure as dâel didn’t see any females in here. He was tired of voices speaking to him out of thin air whether it was weapons or trees, but for the moment at least, that wasn’t his biggest worry . Several of the people at the tables were on their feet now and the sole focus of their less then friendly expressions was on him. Torvii firmly grasped his staff as he cast a spell at the stranger…

Sondr!

Torvii was used to what musical instruments that existed in this day and age ranging from the sharp and high sounds from a reed instrument to the sonorous notes of pipe instruments. The girteh and the fidleh were by far the most common in the lands. Torvii had only heard skilled players of the stringed instruments, not someone so unskilled. The sour note from what sounded like a fidleh was enough to make him wince as he made an unconscious effort to cover his ears. He noticed that he wasn’t the only one affected by it; the few people on their feet looked dazed and no longer seemed to have any focus , including the stranger. Without the focus needed to cast and concentrate upon the glamour, its effect was markedly weakened. All that it took was the mental equivalent of a purposeful shrug to shatter the purple miasma that surrounded him. Torvii could see the purple haze shatter into pieces, but it did so with barely a sound.

No longer tainted by the spell cast upon him, Torvii straightened up to his full height as he glowered at the stranger. You would have the people here see me as something I m not?

The stranger was quick to reply. You are naught but a demonic servant of the false ones who claim they rule the land. Your only hope of salvation is to do holy obeisance to Ghod!!

Ghod? Torvii attacked more out of reflex then through conscious means; that was a tale of lore that he remembered well. Styrkr! Even though the spell hit the stranger, all that it did was momentarily dent their robes before it dissipated. Torvii was hardly discouraged at the failure; he had mistakenly thought that the stranger was one of the mortal living in this land when they definitely were not. Even as the stranger pointed at him yet again, Torvii attacked with most all the will he could muster. Forsr! Instead of knocking the stranger back from their stance, Torvii willed his spell to move through the obscenity. The cold laugh of the stranger was cut short as the force spell ripped them apart. There was no spectacular explosion or no impressive pillar of flame; the stranger simply turned into a puff of noxious smelling dust where they stood.

Torvii could feel the power rushing into him to replace what he had expended, but he did his best to ignore the rush of elation and energy it gave him. He was far from the point of needing to rest, but magen fatigue could be deadly if not addressed in a proper manner. Torvii stalked towards the door with malevolent intent in mind. Where there was one of those things had to mean that there were more here .

Torvii had wondered how that thing had made it past the guards that had confronted him; one look outside told him everything he needed to know. There were six of them outside standing in a loose looking line; even in death, Torvii could see their black robes and white collars. Two of them waved badly decomposed books around as they spoke; if that wasn’t a sign of magic, Torvii didn’t know what one was. The books didn’t disintegrate or fly apart . Every so often, one of the six acolytes of Ghod would float forward towards an equally loose line of guards. Three of the guards had pikes and long before one of the acolytes would be near enough to possibly cause harm, they were pierced by the pikes. All that this did was to make the acolyte float away from the confrontation. Torvii could see that they had feet, but he heard no sound as they traveled across the ground. The acolytes didn’t appear to be affected by the pike wounds, either. If all that those guards had were base weapons, they were brave indeed, but Torvii couldn’t understand some aspects of this situation. Why didn’t the acolytes attack en masse? They were Death Walker after all, weren’t they? Is this the best that D’aeleth can do? Torvii almost had to laugh at the puerility of the acolytes; he could even stare at them as long as he wanted with no ill effects. Pathetic or not, they still were of D’aeleth’s foul creation after all. Torvii had no weapons that he would dare use against them, but he did have what magic he could command. Forsr!

Two of the acolytes exploded into dust, offering no resistance . The remaining four didn’t even realize what was going on for several heartbeats after two of their number had been annihilated. Phaegr! Three fire bolts erupted from his right hand; while one missed, two did not. The acolytes that were struck went up like kindling in a fire; only moments later, all that remained of them was some greasy and foul smelling ashes. Was this meant to be some sort of joke? Death Walkers were supposed to be the scourge of the Spiritlands, attacking and suborning almost at will with little to fear from reprisals. These seemed to barely have the energy to animate themselves let along be any sort of threat to the living. One of the two remaining acolytes floated away while the other once more floated towards the guards. "You must follow the way of Ghod; it is your only path to true salvation!" The voice tried to sound authoritative, but all that came from the acolyte was a multi-voiced and hoarse sounding whisper that grated on the hearing of all able to hear. Apparently the guards had decided that enough was enough; Torvii didn’t know if it was because of his easy disposal of four of them or if the guards were disgusted. Four of the six guards rushed the laughable obscenity; while the two with pikes speared the creature through, the other two hacked at it with a heavy looking sword and an axe. Soon, the fifth acolyte was no more .

Where in dâel did that last one go? While we are here, we should make it a clean sweep.

The guards started when an inebriated individual staggered out into the open. It was Neichi. He staggered around the general area as if he were alone. Why can’t I take a piss without something bothering me telling me I have to believe in Ghod? Neichi kicked at the ashes and waved his hands around in the dust clouds that still remained. Ghod is dead! Isn’t this proof enough? Neichi started laughing as he tottered around. He didn’t see the last acolyte of Ghod until it was too late. The acolyte stabbed Neichi with a dagger or short knife of a sort nearly transpiercing him. Neichi collapsed to the ground without making a sound . "You will now rise up and forever be in the service of Ghod the Almighty!" All that the corpse of the hapless drunkard did was twitch a few times before it went still. Torvii incinerated that one .

By the time Torvii had looked around the general area for more signs of intrusion, the guards had already checked Neichi for any signs of life. Torvii did the same , but Neichi was dead. How is that possible, Torvii thought; Neichi should have either arisen from where he was or perhaps not even fallen down . Any that a Death Walker killed became suborned to it; even if the Death Walker was killed, those it suborned would fight on until hacked apart. The one who was Neichi wasn’t doing anything like that ; one guard even poked Neichi with his pike.

Should we burn his corpse, sire? Torvii had heard that tone of voice one time during his existence; the guard was no longer acting suspicious or distrustful of him .

He can be buried; I think he will stay in place. I am not a ‘sire’ , either. I am simply Torvii.

The guard shrugged. You helped us get rid of the dâel filth, though it has been a while since we had any of them here.

It is possible they followed me to your stedding; if that was the case, then I am owed no thanks .

A rather heavyset looking individual came out to the area where the guards were. Torvii couldn’t help but notice how much more well fed he looked in relation to the other people there. Torvii only thought he was being prejudiced based on the man’s appearance, but when they spoke, that gave Torvii another reason to not only detest this individual, but not trust them either.

That was well done, grey mage! You have protected this stedding from D’aeleth’s scourge! If you were to remain here, you would be able to live a life of ease and comfort!

Those were supposed to be Death Walkers, but they lacked any sort of power. I am bound to a place east of here where I am told other Aelfen live. Do you expect your guards to have any chance against D’aeleth’s spawn with nothing better then base weapons?

The heavy set man didn’t seem to be as pleased as he was before . They make do with what we have to guard this place; they did well against the six that assailed them.

Perhaps they did because I exterminated five of them? That is only because they had no power; of course, if that is the best D’aeleth can do, there really isn’t that much to fear, is there? I need to head east of here, so I can’t stay, but I will stay here tonight since it doesn’t look so good for traveling. Torvii turned around and headed back to the ale house.

It didn’t take too long after Torvii had left before some of the ale house occupants began to take an interest in the travel pack the mage had left on the floor. By degrees, several of the occupants shifted and sidled up to the drinking counter. The one who wound up being the closest to the coveted pack actually got a hand on it before the table keeper brought their fist down on the counter.

Fingal, despite the potential profit to be had, I don’t think that is such a wise idea considering what they did to that soothsayer. They also could be of a mind to damage this place after they exterminated you, and that would also displease me to an extent.

The travel pack remained untouched after that pronouncement.

*

Torvii not only got to sleep by the fire for no charge , the table keeper refilled his bowl with stew and gave him another hunk of bread to eat. His travel pack made a poor sort of pillow but once he bunched some of his cloak around it, it was comfortable enough.

By the time Torvii awoke, the sun had been in the sky for some time, but he didn’t feel over rested . He stretched until he felt most of his joints pop before getting to his feet and redistributing the cloak he wore. He had just mounted his travel pack and turned to leave when the table keeper from the night before got his attention.

We can’t let you leave on an empty stomach, can we; that wouldn’t be right .

The eggs were rich and flavorful and filling and the bacon was crisp. The dark bread Torvii had eaten last night was okay, but it tasted even better fresh.

You know that the stedding Lord wants you to stay here; he doesn’t like to be refused.

I have business with my own kind at least for the moment. It’s possible that may not work out too well due to what they allow and forbid, but I still need to state my case to them if possible. Torvii mopped up the last of the eggs with a piece of bread. The drink they called molokh was cold and refreshing. When Torvii asked about it, he was told that cátal produced it. Torvii decided to accept that at face value though all that he thought cátal produced was noise and dung along with meat and hide, but this molokh made for pretty good fare.

There may be a chance that the stedding Lord will try to convince you to stay with other then words; if you leave here through the back of this building, a game path cuts around most of the stedding before returning you to the main road.

Before Torvii left, he paid for a small loaf of the dark bread and a slab of cured ham. He insisted the table keeper take payment for the food; he had been treated kindly while staying there. He was able to follow the path the table keeper mentioned, but it was pretty rough going in places. Because the path was at a higher elevation then the main travel road, Torvii could actually see the road through some concealing foliage. The first thing he noticed was a large group of people headed back to the stedding. There was a relatively flat area east of the stedding that looked deserted except for some regular lumps on the ground and a rather fresh pile of dirt in another location. Curiosity got the better of Torvii in at least this instance. He carefully picked a path down from the trail until he was in the flat area. The lumps on the ground were graves for various people that had died. Judging by how worn some of the markers were, and the number of graves, that stedding had been around for awhile, but weren’t they aware of the danger graves presented ? It would only take a small spark of D’aeleth for each of the mounds to create a ghoul or a ghast. If there was naught left but bones in the mound, then a Lich or Horror could be created. In the NorthHold, the dead were burned so as to not provide a vessel for D’aeleth to possess. The fresh dug mound was for the drunkard that had died last night. Torvii leaned down to read what was written on the wooden marker:

Here lies Neichi

Struck down by the hand of Ghod

Torvii found the inscription rather amusing; it was not wise to heap insult on any sort of god whether real or imagined. His curiosity satisfied, Torvii climbed back up to where the game path was located. He shook his head when he next peered out from the concealing foliage on the main travel path. There was a cluster of guards blocking the road along with the stedding Lord in tow. Torvii continued skirting the road until the game path ceased to be. It put him on the road far enough east so that he wasn’t noticed by the guards. As he traveled, the road began to head south as east. It was a good day for traveling; Torvii whistled a tune he had heard some time ago, but he stopped when it appeared that there was a counterpoint coming from his staff.

*

…it didn’t matter how much or how little power was lost or defeated, D’aeleth knew about it the moment it had happened. It remembered the fools of Ghod; it had been amused by their refusal to do obeisance before his minions, but not for very long. He had sent an army of his minions to destroy the town and suborn all they could find. He had thought that there would be a lot of power there, but he had been misled in a most foul way. His minions had laid waste to the town, but nothing of consequence had been gained by the subornment that had followed. Many of his minions had paid for that mistake with their existences. As he needed more power for other things, he had drained away the power he had left in the ruins of the town that worshiped Ghod. Ever faithful to the end, what power he had left there had made one more attack on a place where the living dwelt, but they were almost powerless as they were struck down one after the other. The fact that one of the living DARED mock what he had created angered him all the more. If they were so willing to disrespect what he had created with his hands, perhaps the racekind living in that area needed to know what that would cost them. The more D’aeleth thought on the matter, the more it pleased him. Not only could he destroy and suborn that stedding, he could use those treated as such to trap even more of the living. D’aeleth laughed his cold and merciless laugh as he gathered what minions of his that would be needed for the task…

*

After they were all rudely awakened and had washed up, the City Guard recruits were marched to an eating hall