Every story has a beginning and an ending, and sometimes it is both. It is sad that heroes are not born of peace, for if they were, there would be few places in Creation more perfect than the small stretch of seven villages known as Seven Willows.
Though much is taken, much abides, and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are—
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson, from “Ulysses”
Start Date: 5 Calibration, Realm Year 768
Neither important strategically nor in trade, the people of Seven Willows did not know the bite of war save for in stories that drifted in from the few that made the venture from the outside. They were in a land of plenty, and did not know true poverty or privation.
Not to say the villages were perfect. There was enough trouble to maintain a small volunteer militia, and enough people to birth minor clashes and crime, and just enough outsiders to make it worth while. Of course, some few outsiders were drawn by the mass numbers of ruins that dotted the landscape. But for the most part, the people of the Willows lived day by day with little to worry or fear. I would know. I saw it then. And I knew them, at least by name, before.
The last day of life as we knew it was like any other, save for a few forebodings here and there, though being Calibration, few thought much of them. One was a strange beast our young militia captain, Torves Ourna and her twin, Jiulan, caught, and after a last dinner with their parents in Vesh, they went to hunt more.
But most people went on with life as usual. Manduar Develan dragged a tired old nag to be sold, though his real prize was a stolen amulet, taken from the Kiratu family of Atia so that Develan's family may eat. He almost lost his ill-gotten gains to a less savory one of his ilk, but Develan fought them off with the unlikely assistance of the skinny nag. One Kouramis Xylanthe, Nexus-born and drawn to our corner by the ruins, excitedly studied the chambers of Nolstane on the river-island of the same name. None of us could have known what she would find. Oh that we had!
For in the morning, Xylanthe found a new chamber with unfamiliar writings. A grand hall led to a door that had not been opened in a very long time. With the excitement of the scholar, she stepped up to the door and with effort, made it open. It was told that then the apparition of a young woman with pigtails like crimson blood spun once, then out of the chamber the open doors revealed. Xylanthe stepped in with awe and fear to the rounded chamber, still whole despite the years. The center of the room was dominated by an obelisk, upon which these words were read:
“I am Meshame, head of the Senteri Circle, Favored of Endings.
I have seen what is written in the stars. And I weep.
In an Age yet to come, the Crying Death will come. It will descend upon the land Rane-tah-serat, seeking Nai-Osane and the Ties-that-bind.
It will make this land its own. It will rule these people in the service of death.
This time will be marked by five signs. Hearken ye well:
* Beasts seen neither before nor since will prowl the land Rane-tah-serat at the time of Calibration.
* The Five Dragons will face befuddlement, one appearing in another's place.
* The unborn Several Trees and their lesser brethren will weep.
* The Sun and the Moon will come together as one, and the Maidens will sing.
* A Child of the Sun will read my words, the first to disturb their sleep since the End of my Age.
I am Meshame, head of the Senteri Circle, Favored of Endings.
I have seen what is written in the stars. And I weep.”
A great grinding Xylanthe heard as the domed roof above her began to open, lights dancing around the chamber in many colors. The very stone blossomed open to the sky above Nolstane, and the lights danced into it in awesome display. At that very moment, the noonday sun was eclipsed and a great chill came upon the Willows. The five maidens, who often wander the night in along roads chaotic, stood encircling the now-hidden Sun. Xylanthe fled the chambers, passing the now gray plants, blossoms of obsidian open and dripping the red of life.
And then the dead came, not unto Nolstane, but unto the smallest of the seven, farther to the south. And unto some of the other villages as well. Sound did not carry in the new set gloom, and thus the handful of fighters the village sported remained asleep.
Kiratu Tremaen, Tremaen the Fey-Touched, rode to find his companions, the captain Ourna and her twin, newly awakened in the ruins of an old amphitheater, and thus the militia began to be roused to head toward the tiny Small.
Jiulan the Twin was sent toward his home in Vesh while the others rode on.
In the mean, Develan, out for his morning chores when the sun blackened, holed his family into their house and headed into Metaia, the Breeder's Town, to see what was happening. He found the town overrun by the shambling, rotting dead, half the town burning, and stayed to the rooftops to spy.
Xylanthe raced toward her father to find him gone, asked to go into the town of Atia to look into the matter of strange beasts in the land, so she made her way instead to Vesh, confusion and dread warring within her. Distance this day seemed little, by the grace or horror of some grand Something, and she rode quickly. In Vesh, she did not find word of her father, but Torves Jiulan instead, who was seeking his father as well. Xylanthe joined the Twin then, to ride toward his sister and the battle in the south, neither father found.
Ourna and Tremaen rode as quickly as their grand steeds could take them, gathering fighters on the way. They came upon a figure in the funerary robes of Sijan, a man neither had seen before. No time for pleasantries or questions, they rode on to collect with others at the bridge. Behind the two, unseen, the man quickened his pace, feeling the weight of an appointment drawing nigh.
From his rooftop perch in Metaia, Develan laid eyes upon a figure in dark armor, the horrific creature for all that he was a man commanding the legions of the risen dead. The figure wore a length of chain as a belt, a clawed end holding a milky blue stone that seemed to move even in the non-light of this day.
Something in Develan had to have this stone! He did not know that the armored man was the Deathknight Anathema known as Li Long Sying, a creature who could easily crush the marrow of the little thief's bones and turn him to dust. Whatever fear that might have been, though, was overridden by the need to have the stone, so Develan followed the armored man. Li Long Sying entered one of the huts, roughly treating his guard of the dead, and soon removed the belt.
At the bridge leading to Small, Jiulan and Xylanthe with those they gathered met up with Ourna and Tremaen and who they had. Oh, but they wished they had the expertise of the Mehtar Kotari! Of all in the Willows, only he had ever seen real war, but the twins' father was nowhere to be found. But they had no time for regrets or maybes. Ourna commanded what troops there were forward. They followed the road, and soon saw the village in the distance.
Through the gray and dust, all could see the village overrun, hear the fighting and shouting! One boy of the militia pushed forward, unmindful of the orders cried by his commander. The onlookers gasped in horror as paths opened in the cornfield that flanked them, converging toward the hasteful boy. In a blink, he was gone, into the gray corn, screams ominously cut fast. A few moments spent trying to kill the Hunters in the Corn, but they could not be seen. Hoping they were occupied with the unfortunate boy, Ourna pushed forward again, toward the rapidly falling village.
Develan, others fought and others died, crept into the hut of the Deathknight, past the risen dead, who's brains had been rotted, it seems, and laid hand upon the prize the thief sought. With the wonder of the cloudy blue stone in hand Develan heard the man in black armor returning to the room, and without much stealth, dove out the window of the little house. He heard the Deathknight find the stone missing, saw him storm out and take the head of one of the guards, and then the thief was pursued.
Running as fast as his feet could carry with the dead and their leader close behind, Develan unwittingly cornered himself into one of the livestock corrals. He would have been lost, then, Develan the Thief's story cut short right there, had not a great voice come to him. The booming voice of a god, the Unconquered Sun as he is called by some but unknown to Develan, called out, “Take these gifts I give you and use them in my name!” It was a voice that should have echoed by reason, but was heard by Develan alone.
The thief hopped up on a fence post and perched still as his pursuers stormed up in great fury. But Develan with new gifts was wrapped in a cloak of night now, and went unseen. He kept very still until the knight in black took his fury out on yet another of the risen dead and left. After a time, Develan left to head back home to his family, uncertain of what had occurred to save him.
In Small, times were indeed desperate. The militia was far outnumbered, and many of the living that fell rose quickly again to join the ranks of the other side. On the far side of the battle sat three figures, all armored with the signs of the feared Anathema on their foreheads, black auras cast about them. They were afflicted neither with worry nor with hurry.
One, tall and thin, had the very image of a dual headed cobra within the glimmering black around him. One was nearly a giant, bearing a Goremaul, with the look of a Northerner. And the last was a woman of scant few years, a pale thin beauty, but cold as a statue of ice, neither smiling nor frowning.
Ourna knew then they were no match for the forces allied against their peaceful country, but commanded the militia to fight on, to a patch of beleaguered and diminishing defenders. As they pulled the scant handful of survivors onto horses, a rider came from the Council for guidance. “Evacuate,” she told him with heavy heart. “Get everyone out!” With that, she called the retreat to her valiant fighters, most barely trained but doing what they could. Even Xylanthe was there with her horse kicking and screaming. They began to fight their way back out.
Just then, the figure Ourna and Tremaen had seen on the road was there. The stranger cast aside the Sijan robes and began to glow golden, a massive axe in hand. It cast great confusion upon those who thought they knew Anathema and evil, for he was quite unlike the dark ones they had so recently faced. The stranger waded toward the battle, telling Ourna to take her people and run. She did so, leaving the stranger alone, respecting the man's decision, no matter what he might be. Never having known his name, she knew that she would remember him for saving all their lives. She took her tiring survivors and friends and rode northward, vowing to pick up whoever they could along the way out.
Develan returned to his farm after escaping the Deathknight and minions to find it all in ruin. He searched, and searched, but could find no trace of his mother or numerous siblings. No trace that they were dead, no trace that they were living, and his heart was heavy. All he found living was the old nag he had set out to sell a day and forever before. So he took this horse and headed northward himself.
Ourna, Jiulan, Xylanthe, Tremaen, and the rest of the survivors rode on until the gray started to fade and the air warmed. Turning, they saw a great tower of bone raising near where they thought Vesh must be, must have been, and the sound of a flute carrying through the air. The sound stirred Ourna's heart to fiery passion and she turned toward the land of her birth and called out her vow. “I know you hear me! This is not over! I will return, and I will cleanse my land of you, for my people. If it takes me the rest of my days, I will!”
Only Xylanthe saw, at that moment, that despite everything, a single ray of sunlight pierced through the heavy clouds and touched her. Chosen in that moment, by something greater, though Ourna did not know it. The moment passed, and the dragging refugees went onward, as far as they could, and set up a camp.
Xylanthe decided to confess what she knew of what happened, told Ourna and Jiulan of the inscription. The last line confused her. Xylanthe did not know anything about being a child of the Sun. That she was she did not yet know. While they were discussing, for Ourna's passions would not leave the topic rest, Develan stumbled onto his camp of countrymen, and joined them at last.
After a time, they all slept, and some of the Chosen then dreamed, though none really understood what had become of them.
And thus, our time of peace ended, and the greatest story I can tell began. That which I did not see myself was told to me by those who did, and I believe them, for the evidence tells me so. An ending, and a beginning, and every word true, this I swear.
End Date: 1 Ascending Air, Realm Year 768
The opening session went pretty well. I had plenty of time to plan what I wanted to do (3.5 pages of notes). Everybody came into the game knowing ahead of time that it would probably be fairly linear, and everybody seemed to enjoy my use of music. I tried to write this adventure in a way that would cause the various scenes to flow naturally rather than me trying to railroad things into going the way I wanted.
Converted from old logs