May 28, 1885
The map in Terwilliger’s novel located T’sen Ang deep in the northernmost reaches of the Glimmering Forest. As we entered the area the forest grew thick, wild, and shadowy – with a pervasive gloom all around.
When we grew close I explained my plan to the others. As a group we were far too conspicuous to enter the lair of an enemy which appeared to know more of us than we did of them. I would be far more likely to successfully infiltrate T’sen Ang by myself. Half-orcs had not been uncommon amongst the Molochean Hand assassins which had plagued us so far – and to elves we all looked alike. The others were not at all pleased with the idea, but in the end logic won out. Jayna assisted me in disguising myself, and I slipped away towards the unknown.
The entrance to T’sen Ang looked like a twisted, dark reflection of that we had seen in Qintarra. The elven guards looked askance at my appearance, but when I displayed an amulet of the Hand they nodded and allowed me to pass.
The city itself gave a similar impression – a dark reflection of Qintarra in every way. Gloom where Qintarra shone. Twisted black trees in place of Qintarra’s magnificent redwoods. And black thorns in place of Qintarra’s lush vegetation.
The activity in the city appeared no better – with slaves being whipped and passerby glaring in naked hostility.
I made my way to the large, twisted tree at the center of the city – anticipating that M’in Gorad would be found at the analogue to the Silver Lady’s residence. The guards once again accepted my ruse as a Molochean Agent, and granted me an audience.
M’in Gorad turned out to be a pale, sharp elven woman with the air of an exceptionally dangerous intellect. The guards treated her with extreme deference, and I found it wise to do the same. She demanded to know if we had yet caught the Zephyr survivor. I suggested that we needed more information about her in order to anticipate her movements.
She scoffed at this, asking what more we could need to know. Anyone having contact with Stennar before his death must be eliminated. Interesting… That did not sound like I was actually the primary target..
I suggested that we believed “the survivor” had learned something from Stennar – and had been attempting to re-contact the BMC. At this she laughed. The BMC were beyond the reach of one of such limited resources, sealed away in the Void! I carefully advanced this line of inquiry – hinting at my own activities as if the Hand believed I knew more than I actually did. And I learned a great deal in return.
The Black Mountain Clan’s banishment had been a setup! Orchestrated by the Dark Elves from the beginning! Bates had merely been the tool they had used to spring the trap. And the reason? The Dark Elven patron was Arronax himself. He was forcing the dwarves in the Void to build technological devices for the express purpose of weakening the magickal wards keeping him trapped there!
My mind raced as I excused myself – promising that the Hand would not fail to eliminate the last loose end. And I was so intent upon analysing the situation which had been revealed to me that I failed to recognise imminent danger. An agent of the Hand – a real one – approaching from the opposite direction.
He was an older man, scarred and weathered. And he looked at me with a cold, calculating expression. He gave a cryptic greeting – obviously a coded challenge. And I failed to deduce the correct response. But instead of striking, he studied me for a moment. Then commented, simply, “I know who you are.” “Then you have me at an advantage“, I replied. And he smiled, thinly. “Gideon Laier. First Blade of the Molochean Hand“. Bloody Hell. The man who had literally been signing the orders to hunt me down.
So I played a hunch. I hadn’t learned much about the Hand’s history, but I had learned some. I knew that their existence was the result of an ancient schism with the Derian Ka – the Order of the Dead. And I knew from my discussion with M’in Gorad that she had considered the Hand to be mercenaries and not followers.
I asked if Gideon knew why the Dark Elves had wanted me dead. He shrugged. “Its a contract. The employers reasons are their own“. And so I told him. “The Hand is being used. Just as before.” He inhaled sharply. “What do you know of our History?” “Enough,” I replied. “Enough to know that there is a reason you left the Derian Ka.” He hissed. “The Derian Ka turned to blackest Necromancy. Their experiments were grotesque madness. We wanted nothing to do with their depravity once we learned their true purpose“. And there was my opening.
“So why do you now serve Arronax?” I asked. He cursed sharply. “What is this about Arronax?!?” And so I told him what M’in Gorad had not. *Exactly* why they had been asked to target first Stennar, the Zephyr, and then me.
He stared at me for a long time – weighing my words. And then cursed. “The Hand will NOT be used this way again. M’in Gorad and I will have words.” “And what about me“, I asked. “You have nothing more to fear from the Hand“, he stated flatly. “The contract has been terminated“.
Just like that.
I hurried away as he left to confront M’in Gorad. I wanted to be as far from T’sen Ang as possible before the consequences of that divorce.
When I returned to the others, I told them what I had learned. All were stunned in their own way. It was true. We really were faced with the return of Arronax. No mere metaphorical figure of legend, but a literal nightmare from antiquity returning to plague the modern world. We would have to return to Qintarra and tell the Silver Lady. I knew of no-one else who would have the slightest idea how to combat such an eventuality.
And then matters took a turn for the worse. Virgil stood up, looked at me quietly, and then said he had to leave. Now?? Of all times now?? He would not say why. Just that he had something he had to do before he committed himself to a path from which he might never return. I told him – whatever it was, we could help. But he insisted he needed to do it – whatever it was – alone. He asked us to catch up with him at the Mushroom Inn in Caladon in two weeks. And then he left. I did *not* have a good feeling about this. I did not have a good feeling about this at ALL.
April 5, 1885
We returned to Qintarra to discuss our discoveries with the Silver Lady. Raven intercepted me as I approached. She was eager to learn what we had discovered. After I had explained what had been revealed to us in T’sen Ang she appeared angered – both at what M’in Gorad had done in her people’s name and at her intended goal. The elves professed that all had their place in the tapestry of life… but Raven herself did not seem convinced that this should apply to the Dark Elves.
I entered to speak with the Silver Lady, but the conversation proved even more enigmatic than our prior encounter. I told her all we had learned and she grew still and quiet – preternaturally so. As if her mind was elsewhere – or elsewhen – while her body remained. And then she laughed – a reaction so odd and incongruous that it took a moment to register with my senses. She told me “Your answer lies with Nasrudin. We won’t be speaking again.“. And that was that. She would say no more. My final answer lay with a legendary elven mage who had been dead for 2,000 years. Fantastic.
I returned to Raven puzzled and shaken. But this time she had no more insight than I. Her Mother’s answer was as cryptic to her as it was to me. She suggested that the only clear path forward lay in the First Temple of the Panarii – the grand temple in Caladon – which served as the center of the religion. If any knew more of Nasrudin, it would be they. I thanked her and turned to leave, but she grasped my shoulder. “This is too important Cassandra. Arronax’s return could shatter the world! I would come with you if I may, and lend my aid.” This was unexpected… but welcome. I could think of few better qualified to assist.
April 14, 1885
When we reached Caladon there was no sign of Virgil – at the Mushroom Inn, at the Temple, or anyplace else. He was but a few days late for our rendezvous, but my instincts told me that something was very wrong. They had been telling me such since the day he had left us.
I didn’t know much of Virgil’s history beyond the occasional remarks he had made about Elder Joachim saving him from a checkered past. And the only connections to Caladon I knew were the church… and the grave he had visited when we first arrived. I visited the constabulary to learn if they could tell me anything more about Virgil and the murder of Lawrence.
It turned that Virgil had been quite the scoundrel in his youth. Records indicated repeated incidents of petty theft, public drunkenness – even mugging! And persistent connections to gambling. Most of the latter appeared related to a criminal enterprise run out of the “Sobbing Onion” tavern. Gambling debts. And at that moment the pieces came together. I took off at a run, leaving my companions to catch up.
At the tavern I did not even bother giving an explanation – shoving my way past the surprised doorman and flying down the stairs. Only to discover I had not quite been fast enough…
We immediately engaged, sparing no time or effort for explanations. None were necessary.
Jayna desperately attempted to stabilise Virgil.
The rest of us visited our fears and frustrations upon the despicable men who had laid him low.
Once the villains were defeated Jayna’s medicine and Raven’s magic were together able retrieve poor Virgil from death’s door.
I told the stubborn fool that there had been no need for him to rush into this on his own. We would gladly have helped him to bring his brother’s murderers to justice But he said he felt he had to do it on his own – because it had been his fault his brother had died in the first place.
Virgil told me that he had been quite selfish and greedy as a young man, frequently at odds with his older brother. His brother had been studying medicine, while he had spent his time gambling, drinking, and scheming for the funds to support his vices. He eventually amassed a considerable debt to a few of the rather unsavoury characters now laying strewn at our feet. But he had dismissed as idle their threats for non-payment. Until he had returned home to find his brother beaten to death in his place!
At that point an older man came down the stairs, hurrying over as he saw Virgil’s condition. Virgil greeted him quietly. It seemed we had finally found Elder Joachim!
Joachim finished the tale as Virgil rested. Virgil had turned to the temple in desperation and penance after his brother’s death. And Elder Joachim had been had his mentor and advisor as he had worked to redeem himself.
We related everything we had learned to Joachim as he tended to Virgil – bringing his priestly magick to bear to complete Jayna and Raven’s efforts. He recommended that we speak to Father Alexander at the Temple as soon as we were able. He would return there as well to discuss the matter with a few of his more learned colleagues.
Though they had ultimately been able to save Virgil, Jayna had had a rather hard go of the experience. She had done so well adjusting to all of our bizarre adventures that I had quite forgotten that, at heart, she was a country doctor whose first love was herbal compounds and treating the sick. Emergency trauma surgery – operating on a close friend no less – was asking a bit much. As was questing across the continent battling demons and crazed ancient sorcerers. I reassured her that it was quite alright. We all understood how difficult it had been.
We finally turned in for the evening at the Mushroom Inn. We all needed a hot meal and a comfortable bed.
April 15, 1885
The next morning after breakfast we paid a visit to the First Temple. It was a rather grand affair – much larger than the temple we had visited in Tarant.
Inside we found Father Alexander with little difficulty. He was a large man – who took seriously his roles as both priest and warrior of the faith. Alexander listened to our tale, and quite enthusiastically concurred with Joachim’s assessment that I was the Living One of prophecy. However he advised me to be careful to whom I entrusted that information – even within the Temple itself. Not because he feared traitors in his midst, but because some of the more conservative and traditionalist priests would likely be suspicious of our intentions if I laid claim to a position so central to their faith.
He told us that there were two priests in particular with which he wanted us to speak. Father Gunther was the church historian, and a specialist in ancient languages. He was of a more progressive nature, and to him we could safely relate my direct connection to the affair. Father Hadrian – a specialist in religious artefacts – would be more inclined to help if we avoided raising his suspicions of heresy.
Father Gunther told us he had been studying discrepancies between the earliest holy texts and current holy book. As an example, he told us that the name “Panarri” in the old tongue meant “light servant” or “follower”. But the original name had been “Pan R’nes” – which meant “defenders of the gate”. He knew of a number of other seemingly minor discrepancies that while individually minor in sum made him suspect something more was being hidden. We entrusted our tale to him as Father Alexander had suggest, and he advised asking Father Hadrian about Nasrudin’s body. And like Alexander he cautioned against tell him of my personal connection.
When we met him Father Hadrian seemed an agreeable fellow, quite keen to discuss the particulars of religious archaeology. When it came to the matter of Nasrudin’s remains, given the warnings I had been given, I expected him to be dogmatic. Instead, he related that he had always wanted to have a good look at the sarcophagus and remains himself! He said they were well guarded and controlled, but he knew a way we could bypass the guards to take a look. In the interests of scholarly research.
He said that if we entered the city sewer from the access nearest the Temple, we would find a large crack in the northern wall. Through this we could enter the catacombs beneath the temple without passing the guarded entry. From there he told us the safest path to tack through the catacombs to reach Nasrudin’s tomb.
We snuck into the catacombs as he had advised, and carefully made our way down his suggested path.
Eventually we came to Nasrudin’s tomb. Upon opening the sarcophagus we found the most disturbing sight. A message had been inscribed on the interior surface of the lid. Inscribed in dried blood.
To further complicate the mystery, something about the remains appeared inconsistent with its nominal identity. I was by no means a trained phrenologist, but the skull did not to me appear to even be that of an elf! And the remains were incomplete. The right index finger was missing.
I carefully extracted the skull and wrapped it in cloth. Then we returned to the temple above to show it to Father Hadrian. He confirmed my assessment. It was not an elven skull at all. It was human. Whoever had been entombed there, it was most certainly *not* Nasrudin. When I mentioned the missing finger, he was even more shocked. One of the early Saints of the church was a human named Saint Mannox. A man who had lost a finger in a tale in one of their scriptures. And a man who was a direct ancestor of Father Alexander.
Returning to Father Gunther, I showed him my transcription of the symbols inside the sarcophagus. He was able to translate the words under the symbol, but knew not what the circle was meant to convey. The words were “opposite” and “truth”.
Upon learning that it was not Nasrudin who lay buried beneath the temple he grew excited. He told us of another scriptural discrepancy. In the current holy texts it was written “Nasrudin traveled to the southernmost tip of the land, and there laid himself to rest.” In the earliest texts, however, it was written “Nasrudin CROSSED THE WATERS, and traveled to the southernmost tip of the land“. He believed this meant that Nasrudin’s true resting place was not in Caladon – at the southern tip of the continental landmass. But on the Isle of Thanatos – at the southernmost point of land of any kind.
We reported our findings to Father Alexander, and he grew quite angry. At first I feared he was angry with us for blaspheming his religion. But instead he was angry at the deception. And at the apparent atrocity that had been committed against his forefather Saint Mannox. He urged us to travel to Thantos as soon as possible and learn the truth of the matter.
As the rest of us prepared for our journey, we said our farewells to Jayna. She would be sailing back to Tarant. Mr. Bates had been able to arrange an associate position for her with the University hospital. I was certain that she would make many valuable discoveries and save many lives in her new capacity, And we promised to stop and visit whenever our travels took us back through Tarant.
Author’s Notes:
This is one of those times where RPG party-size limits unfortunately drive the plot a little. I *could* have invested more into Charisma and such for Cass to be able to run a large party. But while she’s diplomatic and well-spoken she’s not a silver-tongued master of persuasion. Raven has enough plot ties that I couldn’t see not bringing her along, and of the other companions Jayna felt the most likely to feel out-of-place as the stakes keep rising..
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