C5 "Mesyth..."

"Mesyth Petora"
(WC 2622)

“Mother!” Mesyth squealed when she caught sight of Delyth. Though she had run away from home a few years before, Mesyth never felt as though she had defied her parents' wishes by her actions. Delyth herself had expressed approval for Mesyth's desires. Only her sister Aelyth disapproved of her plans to become a mage. Seeing her mother again after such a long absence was a great relief to Mesyth.
Delyth had caught up to her daughter late in the day, after Mesyth's studies were completed. They both hurried to embrace each other, but Mesyth immediately realized, in spite of the long absence, something was different about her mother's demeanor.
“What is wrong?” She asked from the safety of her mother's embrace.
Delyth continued to hold her close in silence, knowing that news of Heirzem's death would crush her poor daughter's spirit. Both of her daughters had bonded very quickly with Heirzem after Delyth and he were married. Heirzem filled a much-needed void in their lives, something that Delyth had been concerned about as her daughters grew up. They needed a father in their lives.
Telling Mesyth what had happened was difficult. Part of her wanted to be blunt about it, to have the truth out and clean up after. But another part of her wondered if there might be some other way to tell of what had happened.
“I have wanted to come see you every day.” Delyth began, stroking Mesyth's hair. “Do you remember the project Heirzem wanted to pursue?”
“The settlement?” Mesyth wanted to be sure.
“Yes, Hearkendale. Shortly after you set out for Dour Gujhest, he got approval for the project.” Delyth smiled to herself inadvertently. “He was so passionate about it.”
“So... you have not been at the temple these years?” Mesyth pulled back and looked up into Delyth's face.
“No, daughter, we have been only a little way from here, working hard to establish Heirzem's vision. I have missed both you and Aelyth terribly, but the process of putting it all together has demanded constant attention.” Delyth paused again and gripped Mesyth's hand. “I was planning to come see you soon, but I couldn't help but think that there was something... wrong about Hearkendale. We were both looking into it every day, trying to find the source.”
“Tell me what is wrong, mother, you are scaring me.” Mesyth feared the worst.
“I want you to know that Heirzem and I are both very proud of you.” Delyth steeled herself against the moment. “But I did not come here only to visit you. A demon attacked Hearkendale and the mages have asked me to come and speak with them about what happened. But Mesyth, I was away during the attack and... Heirzem died defending the town.”
“What?” Came the pained whisper. Mesyth's head spun and she staggered a bit, trying to come closer to her mother. Delyth wrapped her arms around her daughter swiftly and guided her to a nearby bench. Mesyth's small body began to shake with sobs as she curled tighter and closer to her mother. How could Heirzem be dead?

-[ ]-

“Mesyth has much to deal with,” Phillip began, “I do not think you could easily convince her to attend to this errand. She has not yet passed beyond the School of Lesser Elemental Magic and I sense there will be a measure of hesitation in her. She will not wish to abandon her studies so soon when there is much left for her to learn.”
It had been almost a day since Delyth was dismissed from the White Council, but Phillip still stood before them, answering questions and sharing any insights that he could muster. The discussion had turned now to an emissarial mission to the Jaltikij kingdom. It had been a long time since the Jaltikij agreed to allow any mage to step across their borders. Long ago, when the Ancient Kingdom was teetering on the precipice of its eventual demise, the Jaltikij legend claimed that it was the mages who fractured what remained. It was the source of distrust between the Jaltikij empire and Dour Gujhest. For their part, the mages had always respected the neighboring kingdom's desire to be free from any mage influence. All of the mages White and Red were strictly forbidden from visiting Jaltikij lands. The White Council took it so seriously that any mage who was known to have broken this one rule would be banished from Dour Gujhest permanently.
But there was nothing in the Jaltikij legend that spoke to exactly why the mages were so deeply distrusted by an entire kingdom. Though they were blamed for the downfall of the Ancient Kingdom, there was no account of what exactly they had done to deserve such infamy. Phillip knew that a convoy into the Jaltikij lands with a mage was an important moment in the history of their world.
He could see the logic of the White Council in suddenly latching onto Mesyth Petora as an obvious candidate. The Jaltikij in recent days had often pointed to the division between the Eclosei and Dour Gujhest as evidence of the corruption they felt permeated the mage society. Sending a young mage who had roots in both the Eclosei and Dour Gujhest would serve to silence those sort of accusations before they would even need to be answered.
Phillip himself worried, though, about the inexperience of Mesyth. Would it really be the wisest course to send a mage who knew very little of magic instead of one who was powerful and well-versed in their ways? It seemed to him that the Jaltikij deserved honesty and experience more than they deserved a token.
Kitcau sighed. “I fear you are right about her reluctance. We are going to call for a day of release.”
The day of release was a great moment in a mage's life. Phillip still remembered his own day of release, the nervousness and the great hope within him to be assigned to something noble or important. His station wasn't so bad, but it certainly hadn't held the romantic nobility of what they were proposing to hand to Mesyth. Being released from Dour Gujhest on an assignment was essentially the same as being ordered to do so. Mesyth would have little choice in the matter if they did call a day of release. She could either accept the assignment with gratitude or she could refuse and be banished from the school. Refusals were no light matter to the White Council. Phillip thought it a cruel position to put a grieving young woman into, but he could understand the importance of the moment. If Dour Gujhest failed to send the correct person on this convoy it could mean another century of strife between the Jaltikij and Dour Gujhest. Mending old wounds was far more important than looking after the fragile feelings of a student. Or so the logic of it seemed to say.
“I too am reluctant to press such a hard task on a young student,” Viligau spoke up, “But I have searched the matter thoroughly and I know this is the right thing to do. Mesyth Petora should go. What we need to know is what you think of Delyth and how she will advise her daughter in this situation.”
“I think Delyth will do what is best for her daughter. I cannot say what that is.” Phillip shrugged helplessly. “My judgement is clouded by what is best for Dour Gujhest, what is best for the Sinzakij, and what is best for the Jaltikij. Delyth left her home at Isteray to take on a mission she deemed to be important. I believe she understands the importance of such work.”
Viligau nodded and sat back. Lylis, Ilsodar and Kitcau were whispering to each other. The White Council had been known to carry on in this manner for days at a time. Mages who had been taught at the School of Life Magic were all instructed in a magical technique which imbued them with the ability to stay awake and alert for days at a time. This sort of magic took its toll eventually, requiring a red mage of Phillip's caliber to seek rest and recovery afterward. The benefit of dealing with such matters fully in one session far outweighed any inconvenience to come afterward.
Fortunately for Phillip, this session would not last for days. His efficiency in relating the details of his experiences and the White Council's desire to deal with the matter of Mesyth Petora were bringing his report swiftly to a close and he could sense it was so. Still, he wondered what the White were discussing between themselves so intently.
“We are releasing you from the matter of demonic research. Losing Ethegra to such corruption is a serious blow to many of us who valued him as a friend. We will mourn together. Though discovering the root of these demonic attacks must still be a priority for us, we feel that your talents would be better served by following Delyth and determining by what means she was able to defeat a demon. If she was granted divine power to free herself and retain her own will, we must know how this is accomplished.” Viligau leaned forward again and repeated for emphasis. “We must know how she defeated the demon. This concludes our meeting.”
As the White Mages stood and made their way out of the room, Phillip pondered how best to discover something about Delyth which she had stated repeatedly she had no intention of revealing. Perhaps he should try to force her to tell him. There were magics that could be used to delve into her mind. The very thought of such an action disgusted Phillip though.
There would be no sense in asking Delyth again about the matter. She would only become annoyed by his persistence. Perhaps if he simply observed her interactions without her knowledge he could glean some insight into what ability she possessed. This would probably be the best method of uncovering the truth. If she thought that she was alone and nobody was watching her, then Phillip could possibly catch a glimpse of what secret she was keeping hidden from the mages. It would be a difficult task, he knew. She was renowned for her ability to disappear suddenly and Phillip himself had struggled to find even a trace of her in the forest outside Hearkendale when Chulon had asked him to find her.
Still, he could think of no other way to uncover the truth of the matter.

-[ ]-

The day of release had not gone as the White Council had hoped. Mesyth had not said a word when they assigned her to the diplomatic caravan. She did not acknowledge or accept the assignment, she simply turned and walked away quickly.
Viligau knew better than to push the matter with the young woman. Normally a mage's refusal to respond to the White Council would be a serious offense, but he valued Mesyth for this mission too highly to rush off on brash procedure. They allowed her to leave without a word, hoping that she would return later and accept the assignment. The whole affair had certainly caused a stir within Dour Gujhest. The combined effect of the newfound knowledge of Mesyth's origins and her silence in the face of a highly esteemed release served to grant her some infamy amongst her fellow students. Very few people understood the problems at the root of the situation. Very few people knew that Mesyth's father had recently been killed by a demonic attack. It was this knowledge that held the hand of the White Council in the matter and provided Mesyth an opportunity to sort out how she felt about the matter.
“How could I go?” She cried from Delyth's lap. Mesyth had spent a lot of time crying lately. She wanted nothing more than to return to the Temple at Mount Isteray where she could feel the comfort of her mother and sister at the expense of the rest of the world.
Delyth stroked her daughter's hair lightly, allowing some time before speaking about this new development. She was irritated that the mages had been so inconsiderate in their dealings with her daughter. It would have harmed nothing to wait a few weeks or months before pressing forward with their diplomatic convoy. Still, she readily recognized the value of the placement being offered to Mesyth.
“Darling, there are events of great importance at work in our lives today.” She said softly. “Your father felt the call of greatness just like you are feeling it now. He knew there would be danger and difficulty, but he faced his calling anyway. Let his example guide you.”
Mesyth calmed ever so slightly, her tears running themselves out and her body settling away from the sobs which had ruled it until now. There was warmth and comfort in her mother's embrace and it was a safe place from which she could look out at the rest of the world and think about what lay before her with some clarity. It was a wonderful thing that the bond between mother and daughter had survived the years of absence. Despite the harshness of the events which brought them together again, Mesyth felt just as much comfort in Delyth's presence as she had when she still lived in the same house.
Leaving Dour Gujhest seemed all wrong to her. It had surprised her to be called before the White Council on a day of release for none knew better than Mesyth that she was not yet finished with her training. Kind old Viligau had taken the effort to assure her training would continue once she returned from this assignment. It still seemed so very strange to be released on a matter of such importance before she was finished with even the basics of magical training.
Nevertheless, it was obvious that this assignment was filled with all kinds of prestige. The other mages had looked upon her with such a sense of awe once it had been offered to her. Like she was special in some unseen way and it had earned her special consideration. She wished that were true, but she feared she had only been chosen because of her history with the Eclosei. Delyth had comforted those insecurities away, reminding her that whoever they chose to go would have to be someone worthy of representing Dour Gujhest. It would have to be someone that they were confident in, someone who could be trusted to answer any questions about the mage society with honesty and tact. If the White Council did not feel Mesyth was capable of such things, they would not have asked her to go.
Time passed in silence as she lay in her mother's comforting embrace and pondered the seriousness of it all. This was her chance to make a difference in the world. Her chance to do something which would help all of the mages. It was an important opportunity, and realizing this revealed another part of her, deep inside, which desired to be the person who opened the Jaltikij borders to Dour Gujhest in renewed friendship and trust.
“If I go, will you come with me?” Mesyth looked up at her mother with hope.
Delyth sighed deeply and sadly. “I wish that I could. I want nothing more than to be at your side, my dear. But your sister remains at the temple. I fear she has already heard news of what happened. I need to be there for her as well.”
It was true. What must Aelyth be going through, all alone at the temple hearing news of Heirzem's death?

C4 "White Council"

"White Council"
(WC 2089)

Delyth allowed very little time for Phillip to ponder her seemingly miraculous survival. Perhaps he would have had more, but the trip to Dour Gujhest did not take much time from the outskirts of Hearkndale. She filled the hours by peppering Phillip constantly with questions. Once she had learned about his former Laethecna companion, she expressed unending interest in everything Phillip might know about Chulon. It actually made for some interesting conversation and Phillip didn't mind speaking about it since Chulon had been on his mind since they had parted ways.
Chulon held some surprising secrets that Phillip was anxious to validate with the White Council. Apparently he had once been a mage like Phillip, but not just an ordinary mage. Chulon had once been a member of the ruling elite in Dour Gujhest, a White mage of great power. He said he had voluntarily given up his discipline in magical power because his search for greater power had gotten out of hand.
This was how Chulon had recognized Ethegra. It was Ethegra the White who had convinced Chulon to step away from magic entirely before he succumbed to temptation and turned into a demon. Phillip knew this sort of thing was exceptionally rare, but also standard practice within Dour Gujhest for dealing with one of their number who chased after magical power too greedily. Delyth was curious about it, Phillip thought, because she wanted to hear the assurances that Dour Gujhest was careful to avoid creating demons. Phillip could understand that, a demon being born from a greedy mage was a devastating occurrence. It was sort of like suicide for the person to succumb to it, and the devastation caused was also unfortunate. It was the devastation which worried Phillip the most for Delyth. He was concerned that she too might develop a hatred for the mages because one of their fallen had murdered her husband.
For all of his concerns, though, Phillip had to admit it was encouraging to see Delyth so openly interested in visiting Dour Gujhest. It must certainly have helped that her daughter studied there. Phillip was anxious to meet this Mesyth Petora. Delyth had stated her daughter was in the School of Lesser Elemental Magic, which meant she was not a very powerful mage - either because she was very new to the studies or because she simply did not have a strong enough connection to the stream of magic. Mages worked hard to cultivate their connection to magical power, it was a focus of their discipline. Perhaps that was the real problem, Phillip mused, their focus on becoming more connected to the power; perhaps it was inevitable that a mage would get bitten by temptation.
It was in the midst of their conversations that Delyth revealed something to Phillip which he had not yet considered. Spending so much time worrying about the sudden rise in demons had blinded him to the fact that the Eclosei were dealing with a similar problem brought on directly by the rise of demonic activity. Many of the towns which had been attacked were now protected by minions who were created in response to demonic threats. The Eclosei were very concerned about this sudden rise in minions. They worshipped the gods but feared them greatly as well. It was unclear, even to the Eclosei, what a god's intentions would be for his minion, but the physical manifestation of divine power was nothing to be taken lightly. The occasional rise of a minion was one thing, because a minion could be overcome or controlled if necessary, but at terrible cost. The sudden rise of many minions was a problem though. Phillip wondered what might happen if these minions stood together against the armies of men.
Apocalyptic visions of the gods taking over the whole of the known world were quelled, though, because they passed the Rim of Dour Gujhest shortly after Delyth brought it up. Dour Gijhest was an amazing sight to behold. The architecture was defined predominantly by the tall, thin spires that jutted upward into the sky. It made the whole of the central city resemble a ribbon falling to earth from some great height. Many artisans had spent their careers within Dour Gujhest, wreathing their structures in fanciful decorations. Some murals were almost informational, telling stories and parables which related to the lessons to be taught within the walls of the buildings while others were simply exuberant expressions of beauty. The whole city was alive with light and color.
Delyth would eventually need to make her way north of the city to see her daughter. Only two of the six schools of magical study were actually located within the central city. The other four schools were located to the north, south, east and west of the heart of Dour Gujhest. These schools resembled small towns of their own, reflecting the majestic architecture found within the central city, but lacking its scale.
For now, though Phillip thought it best to direct Delyth toward some temporary quarters where she would be able to take some rest. It had been a long day of travel and there was little time or energy left for interviewing the White Council. Aside from that, Phillip would need to make sure that such a meeting could be organized with the council. Though they expected mages like Phillip to make reports upon returning, the White Council was also very busy with the many affairs of Dour Gujhest. Fortunately, Phillip was able to schedule a meeting in the morning of the next day, due mostly to the intriguing question of how Delyth had managed to escape the power of the demon who had taken her. There was also the lingering question of why a demon would bother taking a captive in the first place. Both were strange occurrences that the White Council was eager to better understand. After attending to Delyth's needs, Phillip at last found some rest for himself.

-[ ]-

“I am curious why you have taken no definition for yourself.” The White Mage Kitcau asked Delyth. They had been prodding her occasionally between asking Phillip for details about his dealings since he was last in their presence. The conversation had turned now and was becoming more focused on Delyth and her daughter. The White Mage Sa had already confirmed that Mesyth Petora was a student in her School of Lesser Elemental Magic, and the upper table of the White Council seemed especially interested in this fact.
The lower table of the White Council was mostly uninvolved in discussions like these. Many of them were not even present, attending to other affairs within Dour Gujhest instead of helping out with mundane details like reports of the outside world. A few of the lower table were present, though, sitting casually behind Phillip and Delyth, listening only.
“My husband, Heirzem chose to leave his name behind upon joining the order of Drujon. It was his feeling that taking a name from his Eclosei order might hinder his goals, so he chose to remain without. I choose to honor his decision as well.” The practice of removing one's name when serving under a god was common amongst the Eclosei, nothing of note, but Phillip could sense that there was something about the name given to Delyth's daughters that was driving the inquiry more than a concern about Delyth's lack of a defining designation.
“I wonder why you would name your daughter after Petora.” Sa persisted.
“Petora is the honored god of the temple at Mount Isteray. Mesyth and her sister were orphaned and left at the steps of the temple, so I named them accordingly.” Delyth showed interest in Sa's questions for the first time since they had begun the inquiry. So far, Phillip had noted an incredible concession of patience in her demeanor. He could tell that she was standing before the council simply to appease the ritual of it all, but would much rather be off speaking with her daughter instead. It impressed him that she would spend the time to be forthright and available to the council despite the tragic circumstances that had brought her there. It filled him with a sense of respect and responsibility toward her. He wondered if the White Council realized the coldness with which they presented themselves to this poor woman.
“I wonder if we could allow Delyth to return to her rest or to see her daughter, these questions seem a bit much considering the circumstances.” Phillip interjected, wanting to save her from the tedium of continuing the inquisition.
“It is not your place to-” Sa began, but was immediately interrupted by Viligau who spoke with firmness, “Perhaps your are right. Delyth, we have many questions to ask, but we do not wish to be tiresome. Would you like to take a break? Perhaps travel to see your daughter?”
“I will answer your questions.” Delyth responded kindly, placing a reassuring hand on Phillip's shoulder, “Phillip... is just concerned for my grief over Heirzem's death. I appreciate his consideration.”
Sa took a deep breath and recomposed herself. Ilsodar continued the line of questioning for her, “We are curious why you would honor this god as Petora and not as Smilles. The name Petora is archaic, from a legend about the god's clash with an older and greater deity.”
Delyth smiled in amusement. “Petora was the god's name of power, before his power was taken from him for a sin he committed. The priests of the temple at Mount Isteray still lament their god's chastisement and still honor him in their most reverent ways as Petora. They think of that name as being higher and more worshipful than the name Smilles. I felt that to honor their beliefs and their hopes I should use Petora and not Smilles.”
“You speak of honoring the gods of the Eclosei and you speak of a desire to pay homage to even their deepest beliefs. Why then would you allow your daughter to study here? Many of the priests in the Eclosei, especially those on Mount Isteray, decry the study of magic as being sinful and wrong.” It was Kitcau who spoke this time. It was obvious that he was having some difficulty with the logic of a high-ranking member of the Eclosei allowing their children access to the otherwise forbidden fruits of magic.
Though Delyth could plainly recognize the depth of the White Council's concern, she knew there would be no forthright answer to their inquiry which would allay their suspicions. She herself had encouraged Mesyth to pursue the dream of studying magic, but she did not want the prejudices between the Eclosei and Dour Gujhest to affect her daughter's ability to continue pursuing those dreams. “Mesyth is a very headstrong girl. She wanted to study magic so badly that when she came of age, she ran away from the temple and traveled to Dour Gujhest of her own accord.” It was a measured response and it had the desired effect. She could see the suspicion melt away from their faces as they pondered the answer.
“There is one other matter which intrigues us,” Sa spoke again, “We are told you were stolen from Hearkendale by a demon at the end of its attack. Yet you tell us that this demon no longer exists. I am sure you can understand our curiosity...”
“I have already told Phillip everything that I have to say about this demon. I will say nothing more about it.” Delyth was firm. It was a surprising trait, much like her incredible patience with the process as a whole. Standing before the White Council was a fearful experience. The mages exuded a sense of their incredible power and ability. They cultivated it carefully to inspire honesty in the people they spoke with. Delyth seemed completely unaffected by the show though. Her opinions and decisions were entirely her own, not swayed by their pomp or display.
Sa whispered something to Ilsodar and then sat back in resignation. Viligau made a motion and the other four White Mages nodded in agreement. Then he spoke to Delyth once more, “We appreciate your willingness to speak with us. If you perhaps feel that we should know anything else about the attack on Hearkendale, please let us know. We have provided an escort for you, who will take you to your daughter. He is waiting outside.”
Delyth curtsied politely and left the room to Phillip and his superiors, who still had many questions for him.

White Council

[editorial: Sometimes you have to define it before you can write about it. I just needed a point of reference before I could dive into the narrative.]

The White Mage Council of the Great War

The Upper Table

Lylis [ Female ] Never quiet, but often reserved, Lylis is a voice of reason and compassion who easily understands the position and needs of others. She is an expert at diplomacy and the magic of presence, a trait which earned her a spot on the upper table almost immediately despite the fact that her brother is older and has served with the White Council longer – but as a member of the lower table.

Viligau [ Male ] Old, but still quick of mind, Viligau makes use of himself as a teacher in the oft-mocked School of Emotion or “School of Love.” There, he continues to explore the dichotomy between the magic of emotional control and the stream of emotional power. Viligau rose to power within the White Council as an expert of the magic of logic, a root to the diplomatic magics most often employed by the White Countil. This background gives him an ordered perspective as he explores and teaches the nuances of emotion magic.

Sa [ Female ] The youngest of the White Mages present at the upper table, Sa has proven her ability in elemental magic. Never satisfied with what she already knows, Sa pursues continued exploration into the elements with vigor and intensity. Her fascination with elemental magic is unique in the White Council, as most of the White Mages tend to view elemental magic as primitive and brutish compared to the sophistication and subtlety present in the other schools. Sa thus fulfills a much-needed role in the White Council as an advocate and monitor for the schools of elemental magic. She oversees both the School of Lesser Elemental Magic and the School of Greater Elemental magic.

Ilsodar [ Male ] Kind and giving, Ilsodar exemplifies the traits required for an expert in Life Magic. He is a selfless mage who is always conscientious of the needs which surround his particular field of expertise. Life Magic is essential to the outreaches of Dour Gujhest and Ilsodar delegates its resources with profundity and care. He has long been an example to all other mages of the intelligence and wisdom necessary in the exercise of magical ability.

Kitcau [ Male ] The acting representative of the magic of logic, Kitcau is known to often defer to the insights of his fellow expert Viligau in matters relating to logic. This is never to be taken as a weakness in Kitcau, though, as he is the most predominant and outstanding figure to emerge with expertise in the field of Logic Magic. Kitcau remains mostly reserved about his own personal opinions, often being seen to make recommendations that go starkly against what he might feel is the better course. He takes his discipline seriously and always seeks to make use of it for the good of others in any way possible.

The Lower Table

Tennek [ Male ] Life Magic

Will [ Male ] Presence Magic

Bursh [ Male ] Life Magic

Bleneth [ Female ] Logic Magic

Pim [ Female ] Presence Magic

Mylis [ Male ] Logic Magic

Tonis [ Male ] Logic Magic

Felineau[ Female ] Life Magic

Sudrio [ Female ] Logic Magic

Pylora [ Female ] Presence Magic

Roop [ Male ] Presence Magic

Okolau [ Male ] Life Magic

Shurba [ Female ] Presence Magic

C3(2) "Delyth"

"Delyth"
(WC 1098)

Oddly there was no sign of the demon to be found in or around Hearkendale. After parting ways with Chulon, Phillip made his way cautiously into the forests ringing the town. He spent the entire morning trudging through the undergrowth looking for any sign of which direction the demon would have gone. He smelled the air and reached out in search of some magical residue left by a demon's chaotic presence. He found nothing and this began to frustrate him. Still, he persisted, intent on dealing with the problem as he had promised.
Not knowing what else to do, Phillip made circles around the town of Hearkendale, widening his search slowly until he could find a marking or something to follow. It was strange that a demon would have covered his tracks so thoroughly, but strangeness had been his companion these past few months. Dour Gujhest was incredibly worried about the rise in demons, it was a dangerous turn of events and none in the White Council could explain why it was happening so suddenly.
So many dear friends had been lost. The occasional loss could be understood in a wry sort of way. The White tampered with magical power that bore a potency beyond what could easily be imagined. It was a discipline, something that required care and precision to execute successfully on a regular basis. But there was something romantic about manipulating that kind of power. There was something powerful about being tapped into a force like that. Sometimes, mages would succumb to the temptations of the magic. They would wrap themselves up in the stream of power completely, siphoning from it with reckless abandon until at last they lost their sanity.
Pure power had no regard for order or morality. Being swept away by the current of pure magical power removed a mage from his human sensibilities. It allowed him to forget the importance of his fellow man.
“What are you searching for?” The voice was a soft lilt that interrupted Phillip's musing unexpectedly. He had seen no signs of any person nearby. He turned to see an astonishingly beautiful woman seated on a tree stump behind him. Her brow was arched with amusement.
Phillip gazed at her for a moment before reminding himself to answer her question. He couldn't help but feel that he had met this woman somewhere before. “I am searching for a demon and a woman who was stolen away from the town nearby.”
“Ah.” Came the response. The amusement drained from her face and she sighed deeply. “I am the woman you seek, but you will not find any demon. It does not exist any more.”
Phillip believed her, but could not understand why. He couldn't shake the feeling that he somehow knew this woman. “I...,” he faltered, “Should I know you?”
Her brow arched again mischievously and Phillip thought it strange how her face could show such mischief and such grief all at once. “You men and your silly games. If you cannot say whether we have met, I am afraid I cannot say either.”
It was an odd response. Phillip thought it must mean that they had met somewhere before. She seemed to remember him or their meeting enough to be cryptic about it.
“I have trouble believing that this demon no longer exists... can you tell me what happened to it?” Phillip decided to deal with current matters instead of trying to dig up something lost to his memory.
Delyth stared at him for a few moments with no readable expression on her face. Her gaze made Phillip feel embarrassed and uncomfortable. He felt distinctly as though he were letting this woman down in some way, though there was nothing in her demeanor which overtly suggested that she felt the same.
“The truth of what I said is unaffected by your belief of disbelief. You need not know why or how, you need only decide if you believe me or you do not.” Delyth said at last and with finality.
She was obviously telling the truth, Phillip thought, and there was something in the authority of her air that made him believe something more powerful was afoot in this situation. Demons were not easily defeated or eliminated. To his knowledge, only Laethecna or a minion could overcome the chaos of a demon's magical ability in direct combat. If she had been stolen away by the demon, then Delyth could not possibly have avoided direct combat. Phillip looked at her again. She was lithe and beautiful, yes, but bore no signs of the physical ability necessary to be called Laethecna.
Her husband was a spiritual leader in the sect of Drujon, Phillip thought that perhaps she had submitted herself to the power of that god and been transformed into a minion to fight the demon. As he looked at her, though, it was apparent that she was no minion. She still retained her own free will. Perhaps she had become a minion and then ceased to be a minion after it was all over? This sort of thing was unheard-of. No god would relinquish the connection with the physical world that a minion provided. If a person subjected their will in such a manner it would be permanent. He had no way to confirm this, though, for though it was unprecedented and bore further inquiry, Phillip could tell that Delyth had no intention of answering any more questions about what happened.
She had turned away from him in disinterest, though she still remained seated on her stump. Phillip thought that perhaps if he could convince her to come to Dour Gujhest with him there might be a chance that the mage council could delve more deeply into what had happened and perhaps uncover the truth of the situation.
“You have found me now. What do you want to do next?” She interrupted his train of thought.
“I must return home to Dour Gujhest now and make reports about all that I have seen. I am sure you are anxious to return to-”
“I would like to go to Dour Gujhest.” Delyth interrupted him. “I would like to see my daughter.”
“Daughter?” The thought of a member of the Eclosei letting their child grow up in the ways of magic surprised Phillip. It went against every prejudice that had been taught and upheld for hundreds of years between the two factions.
Delyth smiled at him. “Her name is Mesyth Petora. She is in the School of Lesser Elemental Magic and I have not seen her in... many years.”

C3(1) "Delyth"

"Delyth"
(WC 997)

“What does Drujon mean to you?” Phillip was usually a quiet man, so the question surprised Chulon as they walked through the early morning silence of Hearkendale. They had been in the town for over a week now, trying to answer a question which was becoming more pressing with each demon attack: “why?”
Chulon thought about the question for a moment. “It means nothing. The god of nothing perhaps?”
Phillip nodded, but stopped walking. They were at the edge of the large, empty town square. “The inhabitants of Hearkendale followed Heirzem. Heirzem was from the sect of Drujon. Drujon is the god of nothing. So they have no temple in their town.” Phillip mused aloud. “It makes sense in all the wrong ways.”
Chulon knew what he meant. There was something about Hearkendale that felt unnatural to him. Laethecna taught him to rely on logic and all that Phillip had just said seemed perfectly logical. Yet, as he looked at the big empty town square - the place where they would have expected to see a temple – the logic of it felt... unsettled. It was as though a dark wall had been painted over with white paint. Though the paint covered the original color, somehow the darkness was still visible through it.
“Do you think that Hearkendale was meant to be a trap?” Phillip sounded doubtful even as he asked the question.
“A trap in what way?”
They started walking again as Phillip formed a response. “If Hearkendale is a settlement under the god of nothing, then why would they say their mission was to reach out and establish a bridge between the Eclosei and Dour Gujhest? How does nothingness motivate that kind of connection?”
They stopped again, closer to the center of the square. Rivensorn was walking toward them. Phillip leaned in confidentially toward Chulon, “Hearkendale, to the best of my knowledge, has not once attempted to contact Dour Gujhest.”
“Chulon,” Rivensorn hailed them, “I must speak with you.” He pulled Chulon aside, indicating Phillip should stay away with a stern look from his eyes. It was clear that Rivensorn did not trust the mage. It was also clear that he had no intention of learning such trust either. Phillip did not mind it so much, he considered Rivensorn and the other inhabitants of Hearkendale to be incredibly gracious for simply allowing him to stay for as long as he had and investigate what had happened there. Phillip understood the deep divide that separated him from these people because of the power he had disciplined himself in.
“Have you spoken with Pinmey?” Rivensorn began in earnest.
“Yes.”
“He believes there is a sect of magic users – Nhimyggai - in the northlands who are responsible for the demonic attacks.” Rivensorn grabbed Chulon's shoulder and pulled him closer. “I think he might be right. If these demon attacks persist as they have been... the Eclosei will react. I sent work back to Mount Isteray shortly before you arrived and from their response I can't imagine how a war between the Eclosei and the mages could be avoided. They said that they have lost over thirty temples within the Sinzakij and Ortakij kingdoms to these attacks. The demons are targeting our priests and monks specifically and Dour Gujhest will be held responsible for this.” Rivensorn paused and looked at Chulon with a mixture of despair and frustration that Chulon had not expected to see. “War between the Eclosei and Dour Gujhest would be devastating. I fear I do not know who would win or what would be left of either faction by the time all was written. More importantly, such a conflict would tear the heart out of the Ortakij and Sinzakij kingdoms, greatly weakening their defenses. If these Nhimyggai wanted to destroy us, well...”
Chulon nodded. He very much doubted that Dour Gujhest would stoop to waging war against the Eclosei, nonetheless there could be some substance to the idea that these attacks were somehow motivated by magic users from Vechtazul. There had to be some outside influence involved. So many mages turning to demonic ways was inconceivable otherwise.
“Also,” Rivensorn lowered his voice even further, “I am haunted by the thought of what has happened to Delyth. Please, I need to know - and that demon... it must be destroyed. I would search for it myself, but I have passed the power of vengeance on to Jilan and the cycle of cleansing has been interrupted because of it. I fear we are powerless to finish it. We need justice, Chulon.”
Chulon nodded again. The cycle of cleansing vengeance was nothing to be trifled with. Rivensorn already bore so many signs of degradation from his decision to take up the mantle of leadership; somehow Chulon felt it was the least he could do to relieve the man from this burden.
“Your demon will be cleansed, Rivensorn, set your mind at ease.” Chulon patted him reassuringly on the shoulder, “I will not fail.”
“Thank you.”
Rivensorn set his jaw and hurried off to attend other business as Hearkendale began to awaken with the morning. Chulon motioned to Phillip.
“My time here is finished.” He said when the mage came closer. “I must travel north, into Vechtazul Solace. I think there are answers to be found there.”
Phillip smiled. “You knew I would be returning to Dour Gujhest. Are you sure you won't also return?”
Chulon shook his head. “There is nothing more for me in Dour Gujhest.”
“Allow me to avenge Delyth then, my friend. There may be something more I can learn from this demon.”
Chulon looked at Phillip with surprise. “You are a mage...”
“There is more to it than that.”
It was a cryptic response and Chulon did not think it wise to leave a matter he had pledged himself to in the hands of someone so obviously ill-suited to the task. But he agreed, to his own surprise, feeling suddenly very confident that Phillip would not fail.

-[ ]-

C2 "The Death..."

"The Death Of Heirzem"
(WC 3289)

Delyth was the fairest of women, a true jewel in the crown of Hearkendale. Men were inspired by the charisma and vision that drove her husband Heirzem, but they were equally inspired to respect him for the woman who stood faithfully by his side. Had she graced the town more frequently with her presence it could fairly be deemed possible that Delyth herself would have eclipsed Heirzem's position at the heart of Hearkendale's proceedings. She kept mostly to herself, though, remaining mostly confined indoors. She was only ever seen alone when leaving on her frequent solitary walks through the surrounding countryside. Young men, foolishly enchanted by her beauty, would occasionally try to win more time in her presence by following her on these sojourns, but she was renowned for her ability to utterly disappear from sight after exiting the confines of her husband's community.
Because she kept so carefully aloof from the meandering eyes of other men, Delyth strongly retained her reputation as the jewel of Hearkendale. People could sense that their mission in this settlement was right and true and pure because Heirzem stood fast in his leadership and Delyth stood fast by his side. For all of the noble beauty and grace that existed between them there was earned a magical sense of purity for their town.
It was the memory of this purity that most powerfully haunted Rivensorn as he sought to drown his spirit in the comforts of alcohol. He could still hear the weeping voice of Delyth, fallen in mourning at the side of her dead husband. He could still see the look of anger and determination that she bore as the demon fled and dragged her away. There was nothing that Rivensorn could do, no action that he could muster to stop it, for he had arrived too late to help so the power of vengeance did no fully come upon him until he fully comprehended the extent of devastation caused by the attack. The panic and confusion of the moment had betrayed him to an inaction which cursed his every day since. He was absent in their greatest time of need. All of his training and preparation, all of his promise came to nothing more than failure. Herizem was dead and Delyth had not returned.
Heirzem was an idol for Rivensorn, and example of manhood and leadership that inspired the young avenger to strive for understanding that exceeded the simple prejudices he had learned from the spiritual leaders - or Eclosei. Magic was not evil, he reminded himself of the fact daily; the mages were not their enemy. The sentiments he struggled against were not openly held by priest, monk or any other that Rivensorn had known, but their demeanor gave it all away. Their attitudes had awarded him the narrow view of the world which he now stifled and attempted to overcome.
None of the prejudice was present in Heirzem. He had a gruff enthusiasm for reuniting Eclosei with Dour Gujhest that defied any pretense of distrust in his mind. Hearkendale had attracted Rivensorn with the promise of conquest in his mind. An Eclosei establishment that existed well within the traditional borders of mageant influence promised an opportunity to undermine the power and control of the mages. His enthusiasm was misguided, though, for Heirzem had no such vision for Hearkendale. It was to be a mission town, peaceful and diminutive in nature. Their leader worked hard to prevent their establishment from ever appearing to pose any kind of threat to the ways of magic. Heirzem believed that their individual studies could exist together harmoniously and Hearkendale was to be the realization of that belief. Their job was not to sabotage that mages as Rivensorn had suspected, rather it was to create a synergy between their ideals.
Though this effort initially wore hard against his patience, Rivensorn learned much in the way of tolerance by making use of his leader as a mentor and confidant. Though he still could not fathom trusting the practicioners of magic, he knew that the responsibilities of forging that trust fell now completely upon his own shoulders. This was why he had abdicated his traditional post as the town avenger, passing the mantle to Jilan, and stepped forward to replace the noble Heirzem in leading Hearkendale through these troubling times.
The sounds of heckling roused Rivensorn from his depressing reverie as he sat at the local brewery. Newcomers had strayed cautiously into town. Rivensorn stumbled drunkenly to the door and leaned on it as though he might be lying down while standing up. A mage was sidling up the path, eying the inhabitants of Hearkendale cautiously and maintaining a strictly non-threatening demeanor. Along with the mage was another man who appeared to be a warrior. It was apparent that the duo was looking for something, a fact which troubled Rivensorn given the strange combination of his newly acquired responsibilities toward the community and his currently mostly drunken stupor. He thought about moving for a moment, but decided that he would retain a more authoritative air if he remained where he as, propped up against the doorframe.
“Was magic that has damaged our village,” Rivensorn yelled, “so I don't think you can blame people for not wanting you here.” He leered at the mage.
“We mean to help and we do believe that you need what assistance we can offer.” The warrior compansion was the one who replied, stepping forward toward Rivensorn. The mage kept still and quiet, looking patiently at the ground. “Who governs this settlement here?”
“I govern. But we don't need the help of you or any other.” Rivensorn looked down unsteadily and decided that this conversation should continue while seated. “What is your name stranger? Come inside and speak with me.” With that, he stumbled back inside and took hold of the first chair he could find. Another drink would be nice, but he decided he had better do without – for now.
The warrior and mage moved indoors, allowing onlookers to return to their daily tasks. “I am Chulon and this is my companion...” Chulon had asked the mage for his name shortly after their battle at Tannis, but the mage simply shrugged and replied that he had no name. So Chulon took matters into his own hands, “...I call him Phillip.”
“This is an Eclosei settlement,” said Rivensorn, “and our help will come from the priestly factions who are well aware of what has happened here. What business does Dour Gujhest have with my town?”
The mage looked up kindly and finally spoke, “I am not here on behalf of Dour Gujhest, nor should you expect any emissary from them. They will attend to their own matters and should not be construed as seeking discord with your people. I have come at the behest of King Esric, who offers his sympathies and concerns for the many communities which have been disturbed by demons of late.”
Rivensorn raised his brow. “How many communities have been attacked such as this?”
“We've seen many different towns and some suffer more than others.” Chulon interjected. “It seems that they are different demons as well. I did not believe it at first, but I have defeated three of the monsters myself and there are still more attacks.”
Rivensorn looked more closely at Chulon. Demons were not easily defeated. “I have never met a warrior who claimed to defeat even a mage in combat...”
It was a trick question but Chulon was unimpressed. “I did not say I had defeated a mage. If you understand them, it becomes clear that demons are consumed by their abilities. They are reckless and some are not as skilled as you might expect. Every man has a different limit but discipline is the counterbalance to insanity. We are seeking the source of this problem, not petty arguments.”
“We have come on behalf of King Esric,” Phillip reiterated, “our desire is not to test you or upset your mourning. We believe that your town was attacked for a reason, but perhaps we have misjudged. Maybe it would be better if we left the matter in your capable hands.”
Rivensorn glared at the mage. He felt he had been insulted, but he wasn't sure quite how. “You mages think you rule this island...” was his hollow retort.
“Sometimes I think that is true.” The mage sighed deeply.
“How dare you come into my community to insult me!” Rivensorn roared suddenly, leaping onto unsteady feet in anger.
Phillip remained seated calmly. “I meant only that sometimes I suspect mages do think they rule this island. It is a problem that,” he looked pointedly outside the building, “creates more problems.”
Rivensorn calmed himself and thought better of speaking with these strangers any further. “It seems I have acted rashly,” he offered. “Please stay tonight and welcome. I will speak with you more tomorrow, after I have pondered the news you bring.”
Phillip stood and bowed graciously. “Thank you for your kindness, sir.” Chulon did the same.

-[ ]-

Pinmey sat in the town square in the dim early morning light and calmed his mind slowly. He had followed Heirzem like so many others, believing that he could offer meaningful service in the new settlement that they were to establish. Pinmey had learned much since depositing Beturi in the court of the Sinzakij. He had learned that the southern kingdoms were not composed of only the purest forms of evil. In fact, their wholesome normality had served to mend many of the wounds inflicted upon his heart by the harshness of life in the Vechtazul Solace. After finding a home and a new life within the walls of the temple at Mount Isteray, Pinmey had made great strides under his assigned mentors. They were men who truly cared for Pinmey. They wanted only what was best for the young man, with no pretense or hidden agenda about how they might one day use him to their advantage. It was a refreshing difference, and for once Pinmey felt like he belonged somewhere. Living with the Eclosei was not simply a transaction for him, it was a healing process, and it truly felt like home.
He could have remained within the temple walls forever, simply receiving love and acceptance at the hands of the priests and monks. But Pinmey was wont to become restless. In his heart he wanted to do something that would give back to the community that had given him so much. After many years living there and learning about the struggles and hopes held by the Eclosei, Pinmey was delighted when he learned of Heirzem's idea to establish a mission settlement within the Sinzakij lands, so that the Eclosei might extend a hand of friendship toward the mages in an effort to repair the broken relationship between their ways of life.
Pinmey could not say how it had all started, but at some point the mages and priests had simply gone separate ways. They regarded each other with bitterness, envy and, oftentimes, open hatred. The enmity between the Eclosei and Dour Gujhest had a familiar feel to Pinmey. It reminded him of his days with the Nhimyggai, who hated everyone and everything and sought to subjugate the outside world. So it was refreshing when one of his own mentors stepped forward with a plan that held hope and promise for once instead of the usual distrust and anger.
Heirzem had advised Pinmey against joining the expedition, worried that he might not yet be ready to deal with the outside world. Pinmey had shared a great many secrets with Heirzem, things that he had thought he would always keep hidden within for fear of the shame they would bring him. He had spoken openly of his dealings with the Nhimyggai and how he rescued Beturi from certain death. Herizem was only mildly interested in the heroics of the story. What concerned him more was the liberal way Pinmey had dispensed death to his fellow man. So Heirzem felt that Pinmey needed much more time to mend his spirit before he could set himself to the task of helping his fellow man in a mission like Hearkendale. But Pinmey had persisted, convincing Heirzem that it would only be through helping his fellow man that Pinmey could truly repair his broken spirit. Eventually, he had been granted a position with the expedition. It was nothing noteworthy, but Pinmey relished the fact that he had been deemed trustworthy.
He did not want to do anything to violate that trust. So he sat now, surrounded by the emptiness of the square and tried to calm away the feelings of anger and hatred that grew within his sadness. The demonic attack had happened so quickly, he was confused about the exact details. Some kind of confusion spell had overtaken them all it seemed. There were so many details about the attack that were lost now to Pinmey. He could not remember fully what Heirzem had preached. He had seen Delyth there, but he couldn't remember what she had done or whether she had survived. He thought she had disappeared – been dragged away by that demon – but that didn't make a lot of sense. Demons didn't take prisoners... it was unprecedented. They killed and destroyed. They had no carnal desires, only hatred for all of mankind. Why had this one taken Delyth? What sense did that make?
Pinmey remembered that Hearkendale existed to open the arms of the Eclosei to the mages, but he could not remember who their god was. Who did they serve? Who did Heirzem serve? Pinmey remembered the name Drujon, but was unsure if that was a god or an ideal. There was no temple in Hearkendale, but Pinmey had a sneaking suspicion that there should have been a temple in Hearkendale. Or maybe there was none because they did not want to make the mages feel uncomfortable with their presence. But that didn't make sense either. Most of the Sinzakij towns had Eclosei temples in them and this fact had never seemed to bother the mages before. They simply ignored the gods and the temples. How had Heirzem died exactly? Pinmey could not recall. He knew that their leader had fought the thing. He had stood against it. But Pinmey did not remember seeing Heirzem fall in battle. Yet their leader was dead and the demon remained, so surely Heirzem had been slain. There were so many things that were muddied in Pinmey's mind. He found it difficult to stifle the anger rising inside him when he could not even remember the simplest of details about what exactly had happened to Hearkendale.
He enjoyed the town square because of this confusion. He did not know what brilliant mind had devised the plan of creating such a large empty space at the heart of their town, but he was so very thankful for it now. Sitting there on the trodden grass, Pinmey felt a peace from the emptiness of this space. It allowed him a measure of clarity amidst all of the confusion.
“Beautiful morning, is it not?” A voice from next to Pinmey startled him. Someone had joined him there, sitting in the grass, a large man who bore the scars of many battles. Pinmey stifled his surprise and took a deep breath to calm himself.
“Hello.” Pinmey offered, unsure of why this warrior was speaking to him.
“I am Chulon,” The stranger offered, “I traveled here when I heard of the demon attack upon your town.” Pinmey nodded inquisitively. “I am sorry to disturb you,” Chulon also took a deep breath, relishing the fresh morning air, “I can see you are enjoying this fine morning.” He paused. “I am researching the cause of the demon's attack. I am a demon hunter usually, so I am a little new to dealing with the aftermath of such an attack...” Chulon trailed off.
“My name is Pinmey.”
“Do you remember anything about the attack?” Chulon prodded abruptly. “Most everyone here in Hearkendale seemed confused about the exact details of what happened. I don't want to be a bother, but I truly believe that there is something bigger happening around us. In all of my years training and fighting I have never once heard of so many demons attacking the land. I don't know if the mages are losing their grip on sanity or what, but I know there is something about these attacks that I am not seeing. Is there anything you know that I might be missing?”
Pinmey thought about this request for a moment. He felt a twinge of comfort knowing that Hearkendale was not the only place to be assaulted by one of those beastly demons. It intrigued him that Chulon had mentioned the mages might be losing their sanity. Not because Pinmey disliked the mages like so many other Eclosei, but because he clearly remembered how vehemently opposed to them Dihloch had been. He remembered, years ago on the very night that he decided to leave the Nhimyggai and save Beturi that Tiernanuu had spoken of rotting away the foundations of Dour Gujhest through diplomacy. He never really knew what that meant.
“Can a mage be convinced to... become a demon?” Pinmey asked.
It was a surprising question. Chulon thought perhaps that Pinmey was trying to insinuate that these demon attacks might be intentional on the part of the mages, but he was curious enough to play along.
“Well, I can say from experience that a mage can be convinced not to become a demon,” Chulon offered, “so I suppose there might be reason to think that a mage could be convinced to go the other way. The amount of power that some mages wield can be a very tempting force for them.”
Pinmey nodded. “I grew up in the Vechtazul Solace. I was born to the tribe of Morday with some heritage in the tribe of Suspralty. But I fled that land and was taken in by the Eclosei.”
Chulon looked at the young priest questioningly. He was not sure what this man's history might have to do with demonic attacks.
“When I lived in the northlands, I did not serve the tribe of Morday or any other tribe,” Pinmey started again, “because there is a hidden group that connects all of the tribes together. I pledged my allegiance to this group and served them only. The leader of this group has a great hatred for Dour Gujhest. He says that they stole his birthright.” Pinmey stopped talking then, looking off into the sky.
Chulon was still confused about how this related to his investigation. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because this group – the Nhimyggai they call themselves – also knows magic. They used to brag about stealing magical secrets from Dour Gujhest. Before I left, I remember that they claimed they would use diplomacy to rot away the foundations of Dour Gujhest.” Pinmey said this earnestly, with just enough conviction to convince Chulon that it mattered. But Pinmey dropped the matter then and said, “I am sorry, I do not remember much about the attack. I only know that Heirzem is dead and we await word of what to do next.”
Chulon had questioned most of the priests in the settlement over the past few days, but this was the first time that he had encountered someone who had any information besides simple confusion. He wasn't sure how to take Pinmey's claims of a secret magical society in the northlands, but he would ask Rivensorn about the accuracy of Pinmey's claims later. For now he was just thankful to have a sensible idea to look into.

C1 "Ethegra..."

"Ethegra The Fallen"
(WC 4363)

Tannis was a simple town, nestled gently among the rolling hills near the Sinzakij border. Like other settlements, a small temple marked its center and the few simple homes clustered around it as though it were important. In actuality, most of the townspeople ignored the temple entirely, going about their daily tasks with little fear. Although they lived very close to the borderlands, their neighbors, the Ortakij, had a longstanding peace agreement with the Sinzakij. The combination of frequent Red Mage patrols and friendly neighbors both ensured that the people of Tannis felt little desire to concern themselves with the needs of their deity.
Only a few people ever entered that sacred building, and those that did were only just barely citizens of the Sinzakij empire. Certainly they had been born Sinzakij, but since their earliest childhood they had been raised as priests within the walls of the temple at Mount Isteray. There they were taught to commune with the gods and perform mysterious sacred rituals which meant very little to the commoners who would one day surround them. The temple at Mount Isteray was located deep within the Ortakij lands, far away from any Sinzakij influence, making those priests which chose to return to their birthplace more citizens of the Ortakij empire than servants of the Sinzakij. Though there was no animosity borne between these kingdoms, the priests still seemed to be little more than outsiders to the occupants of Tannis.
Nobody really knew how the temple worked or what its real purpose was. It seemed that temples had been around for as long as anyone could remember so it was likely they would remain around for as long as anyone could imagine. All of this was very inconsequential to the townspeople of Tannis. The priests did whatever they did and everyone else found them not so very difficult to ignore. The temple was more important than the commoners were accustomed to recognizing, this much was clear to Chulon as he stood silently and looked over the town. Something about the temple was an attraction, a focal point, and it was about to change Tannis violently, just as it had changed many towns before it. In the distance the sky darkened, confirming his prediction.
Chulon was a powerful man, larger than most at six feet tall and visibly trained in the physical. Many years before he had decided to make a change in his life by focusing on physical ability. He had enlisted in the Sinzakij army as a soldier and quickly rose through their ranks with his natural skill and precision. For the Sinzakij, a soldier's life was an easy one. Wars and battles were fought far to the north where the Ortakij lands bordered the wastes of Celeukra. Were any real threat to make it far enough south to threaten the Sinzakij kingdom, there were hundreds of Red Mages who traveled the land providing an additional measure of protection. Soldiers only trained and participated in contests, sometimes dreaming of the glories of war, but mostly only relying on the bounty of the kings provision to ease their way through the days.
This was not enough to satisfy Chulon, who soon left the king's service in favor of the warrior's life. Free to offer his services and considerable ability wherever it was most needed, Chulon traveled immediately northward to lend his aid in the battles fought by the brave Ortakij. There he found an equal match for his skill and honed it further on the battlefields of Celeukra.
The wily clans of Vechtazul hurled themselves against the stout defenses offered by the Ortakij in some vain hope of breaking the border that separated the wealthy south from the distresses and anarchy of the north. At first Chulon had found this struggle amusing aside from its raw benefit in strengthening his abilities. The feeble efforts of the clans were no match for the well trained precision that guarded the Ortakij from invasion. History told a different story, though, something that warned the Ortakij to remain ever-vigilant against the efforts of their enemies. Many years in the past the clans, a joke to the hardy Ortakij, had engineered an unexpected and devastatingly effective series of attacks. The great offensive pushed the Ortakij border south hundreds of miles to the southern edge of Celeukra. The Ortakij eventually stopped the push from the north, but the attacks were a dire setback to the king's desire to eventually conquer and annex the troublesome northlands.
The wastes of Celeukra were a hard land, difficult enough to control when the Ortakij border had extended beyond them. The king stubbornly refused to abandon the capital city of Guervin, though it had become separated from the rest of his kingdom. He commissioned an enormous wall to be built along the new border, granting his armies some respite from the relentless attacks of the northerners and consolidating his power so that he could protect the capital city and maintain the new border without risking more loss. Though the Ortakij were successful in quelling the onslaught of the northern tribes, too much had been lost to forget the potential power that threatened their lands. It had been a sobering time in history that served to solidify the vigilance of the Ortakij armies.
Chulon knew enough about these events to stifle the ridicule in his heart as they fought the desperate northerners. Power and precision were the lessons he learned from his battles in the north. His successes were for a purpose, though, as he was soon to find out. It was the darkening of the sky that he would always remember.
It was subtle at first, just a chill change in the air that seemed distant and unrelated. Chulon was on a routine patrol with his unit. The whole of the Ortakij army was divided into small sections all organized under leaders who reported to higher leaders. His immediate leader was a woman, Katarine, who was kind and friendly to her men, jovial whenever the occasion allowed for it. Their patrol took them from the shore of Lake Insa eastward to the town of Batene. It was a good day, clear and bright. No attacks had come for weeks which was a rare respite for the Ortakij. Their commanders were turning their thoughts toward expansion once again, seeking to seize any opportunity to begin taking back pieces of Celeukra. Katarine was riding far ahead, obviously enjoying the beauty of the summer day.
Celeukra was a strange place. Legends spoke of a time when deep magic had been sown into the land, changing it into the desolate region that impeded their conquests northward. Somehow fantastically Celeukra had once been a fertile land, ideally suited to support the thriving lives of the clans. But when the Ancient Kingdom had pushed northward to overtake Celeukra, the clans had reacted bitterly, sowing death into the once healthy soil so that nothing would grow there for centuries to come. It was the sickness of this desperate act that had stopped the Ancient Kingdom short and defined such a large barrier between the southern dynasties and the chaos of the north. It made for a good story, but Chulon was not sure how much of it he really believed. Still, as he watched Katarine saunter along admiring the flowers and trees growing along the wall of the Ortakij, he couldn't help but wonder at the strangeness of the land which very suddenly changed from green and alive to the patchy, desolate and dusty waste only a few hundred feet from where they walked.
Chulon's contemplative stupor was mirrored throughout his unit. So they thought very little of the distant darkening of the sky, allowing their minds to believe it was a simple storm blowing across the land. But now he would always remember its unnatural persistence. Its oppression.
The darkening continued, soon followed by the cacophony of unkempt magic. The earth under their feet began to split and shake, throwing the men off balance. The darkened sky coalesced into a threat and then a promise of devastation as shrieks of lightning began riddling the land around them. Fires erupted chaotically, burning some where they stood. Katarine shouted orders to the men who spread out. Chulon crouched in a patch of weeds, beginning to recognize signs of something he had feared for the whole of his life. Chaotic, powerful, unchecked magic was the sign of a demon. Confirmation followed this realization swiftly as a dark figure moved suddenly into view.
The mages feared demons who were said to be what mages themselves became if they gave into the lusts magical addiction. As Chulon watched his comrades run in fear and pain, burned and harassed by the power of the demon, he felt suddenly helpless in his training. The fears of his past had taken shape and it was a horror to behold. Nonetheless, unwilling to die hiding in the grass, Chulon mustered himself to the fullness of his ability, grabbing hold of his blade and reminding himself that the demon was naught more than a man who could be made to bleed and die like the soldiers around him were.
Chulon was both fast and agile, a fearsome opponent on the field of battle. He was well suited to the task of quelling attacks by warriors from the north. But a demon was a different matter. Carried away by the stream of magical power, demons were imbued with a speed and awareness that Chulon could not yet match. Truthfully, Chulon had no hope against such an adversary. But as he hurled himself at the beast, another attacker came briefly into view charging and feinting circles around the demon with a speed and precision unlike anything Chulon had witnessed before. This, too, he had heard of – the Laethecna. A lost art which celebrated the highest forms of physical prowess. Chulon hurled a feeble slash at the demon, which it deflected with ease, tossing him to the side. But the other attacker now held its full attention.
Chulon rolled to his feet, preparing to strike again when a streak of blood sprayed across the ground in front of him and one of the demon's arms dropped limply to its side. Screaming in pain and anger, the demon surrounded itself suddenly within the intensity of a magical firestorm, sending waves of flame outward, scorching everything around it. Chulon leapt backward intimidated by the incredible heat and force of this attack. But the Laethecna was unfazed by the fire. Chulon slid down into a nearby shallow ravine to avoid the heat and watched in amazement as the Laethecna inflicted blow after blow upon the demon, swiftly and fluidly, always careful to avoid the creature's direct attacks. Then it was over. The demon collapsed to the ground and its magics faded away instantly as the Laethecna landed the killing blow at last.
Free of the fire's influence, Chulon stepped forward from his hiding place to take stock of the destruction and death all around. The Laethecna had come to a stop, standing over the fallen demon and breathing calm, measured breaths. He hair had fallen loose in the battle and it suddenly dawned on Chulon that their savior was his own leader, Katarine. Undaunted by his own pathetic performance, Chulon was instilled with a new hope upon witnessing the next level in physical training. The Laethecna had taken the power of the physical and turned it into an art form: every movement a stroke of beauty, every moment one of absolute clarity and control. It was the precision of this art form that could overcome the power of the demon. Demons were unfocused, roiling with more ability than they could ever know how to handle. Their aggression had taken over their reason, leading to the madness of their attacks. That exposed their main weakness. It was control that they had abandoned, and it would be control that would defeat their reign of terror.
So Chulon had trained under Katarine and many others, honing his ability until the fears of his past could be left behind forever. He devoted himself to Laethecna, becoming a renowned demon hunter as he moved away from the now simple life of the border patrols. Once he had surpassed the abilities of the warrior, slaughtering desperate attackers from the north became distasteful to him. It was no longer a battle for him, no longer a risk when he stepped to the line. Everything was calculated and premeditated in his actions so that his enemies could not possibly stand a chance against the ferocity of his ability. But this transition also made him feel more like a murderer than a defender, turning sour the taste of his formerly noble work for the Ortakij. So he had devoted himself to travel and training, further refining his abilities by making opponents of evil men only, matching his premeditated justice against their premeditated injustice.
Now here he stood, silent and hidden at the outskirts of Tannis, awaiting the arrival that the darkening of the sky foretold, preparing himself patiently for the struggle ahead. Demons, once a rare occurrence, had begun to show up more frequently in recent days. Chulon had tracked many across the Ortakij and Sinzakij lands. They seemed universally intent upon attacking town temples, a coincidence that angered Chulon's suspicions. He had tracked this particular demon for a few days now, from its inception which had apparently occurred while one of the White Mages was traveling homeward from the Ortakij capital of Guervin. Somewhere along the line something had snapped for the mage and everything had digressed from there. Chulon was not so concerned with the creation of the demon as he was with its destination. He had preceded the creature steadily since hearing of its existence, seeking out which town it would choose to attack. This one had moved straight toward Tannis with unmistakable intent. It was here in Tannis that Chulon would put an end to its madness.
Just as suddenly as always, the demon appeared at the edge of Tannis and the sky above deepened in darkness severely. Chulon moved from his lookout to a shadow cast by a nearby building. Townspeople scattered as the demon immediately began to lash out. Chulon shifted his position silently, breezing unnoticed past some fleeing peasants and moving swiftly through intermittent waves of fire and earthquakes. He paused for a moment as the demon continued its march toward the center of the settlement. Chulon guaged the demon's movement and ability before dashing in for the first strike.
The first strike was all-important. It would establish the pace for the entire battle, Chulon knew. Most opponents did not realize the importance of their first attack, putting themselves at an immediate disadvantage. Chulon's strike was calculated and quick, carving a shallow gash under one of the demon's ribs as Chulon came across its front before disappearing to the other side. Now he had its attention and the demon paused in its march for a moment, looking for its attacker.
Chulon watched with satisfaction as the demon healed the slice across its stomach unthinkingly. Magic, like any ability carried with it a cost. Endurance was important, even for mages, who trained incessantly to increase their capacity for the sustained use of magic. Battle wounds were easily dealt with by masters of the power, but healing carried the cost of distraction. Enough blows against even the unchecked power of a demon would eventually wear its capacity for magic down until it had nothing left within to draw upon which could save it from that final killing blow which Chulon was even now planning.
The demon responded to Chulon immediately by focusing its power in the last direction it had seen him travel, causing a building next to it to explode into debris and shrapnel which filled the air around them. Chulon moved in again and again, though, switching his angle of attack rapidly to compensate for the demon's angered strikes.
The ground around them was scorched and black, rocks and debris flew about as the demon threw blow after blow at Chulon. But he stayed ever focused and vigilant, watching the movements of the shrapnel and spinning, ducking and dodging his way effortlessly through the maze of defenses that the demon was creating. Again and again he struck, hoping to keep the creature occupied, but this demon's capacity for magic was amazing. Again and again it healed itself, snaking fire all around and hurling boulders endlessly. Home after home suffered the wrath of their battle as the demon struck with more and more stone, thatch and wood.
Endurance was the key. Chulon stayed focused, adjusting his movements and planning his attacks with breakneck speed. In and out he dodged and feinted, piercing the beast with blow after blow from his blades. He exploited the demon's unfocused weakness to his advantage, misdirecting its attacks and spinning confusion all around his attacks. Again and again he struck with ferocity, consumed by strength and power, wholly reliant on the stream of physical power to fuel his onslaught.
Another rock sang past his head as Chulon rolled in low to the ground and cut up from the demon's ankle once to its calf, circling around behind and slicing across the back of it's knees. Then he regained his feet and leapt forward across the demon's other side, shoving a blade through its lower back until it protruded from its side. He left that one there as he circled around the front again, sundering its waist from hip to hip with a cut that would have spilled the intestines of a lesser opponent before he curled his momentum around in front of the demon, dodging a rock and a blast of fire as he ducked back in the direction he just came from. He struck the demon again at the shoulder as he moved back behind it, retrieving the blade left in its side with a brutal yank that opened its side briefly. Chulon moved through a sudden cloudburst of dust at the demon's side, protecting his eyes as he jumped into a strong gash upward through the back of the demon's armpit and shoulder. He brought that strike down again across the back of the demon's neck as he jabbed his other blade ruthlessly into the creature's back before ducking under its other flailing arm and around again to the front for another attack.
It was then that he allowed himself a glimpse of his opponent's face. Though he saw the expected rage and frustration in the demon's eyes, it was the face as a whole that suddenly gave him pause. He recognized the man behind the crazed raging exterior of the demon. It was a face he could never forget. That brief moment of recognition was his undoing, though, as the demon struck out again and caught Chulon full force in the chest, sending him spinning through the air with dizzying pain. Chulon crashed into a small monument that served as the center of the town square, sitting directly in front of the temple. He slid across the ground, dazed and suddenly unfocused, trying to find his balance again. His was a costly mistake, he knew, leaving him no option other than to hope he might be able to escape and nurse his wounds. If he were lucky, he might escape.
The demon did not pause or consider its advantage, attacking immediately against the fallen form of Chulon with lethal power. But its attack was deflected suddenly as a second opponent appeared from behind the remaining buildings of Tannis. Chulon caught sight of it briefly as he struggled to regain his feet. A stream of blackness snaked across the square from this second attacker, magic against magic, pushing the demon back and causing its attack against Chulon to miss completely, carving an arc through a building across the square instead. Finding his balance at last, Chulon fled rapidly into the shadows to recalculate his options. The image of his former friend's face was burnt freshly into his mind, clouding his options. He turned and watched as the battle unfolded, wondering briefly if he could leave the handling of this demon to the new stranger. Their battle was sadly brief though, as the demon's wild magical power responded chaotically to the intervention of this mage. The demon retaliated with wind, rock, fire and death, blasting the strange mage backward through one of the buildings which collapsed and ended their short battle.
There the demon stood, victorious over two opponents, still bent on destroying the temple which defined the center of the town. Once again there was no pause to its attack as it unleashed the full force of its power against the walls of the temple, blowing them outward and disintegrating the front half of the building. Chulon, unable to rejoin the fight without refocusing his thoughts, watched helplessly as the building ignited into flame and its priests scattered in fear. The demon crushed and slaughtered many of them as they tried desperately to get away from its attacks. Explosion after explosion ripped the building apart.
But then Chulon noticed something he had not seen before. Across the town square, kneeling at an altar near the edge of the temple grounds was a simple acolyte, distinguished by his ceremonial acolyte robes. He appeared calm and quiet, praying in supplication as he appeared unaware of the chaos surrounding him. Chulon wondered how long this simple fool had knelt there, ignoring the devastation erupting around him. The demon continued its attacks, tearing apart the last few standing walls of the structure before it finally noticed what Chulon had just seen. With unthinking cruelty, the demon stalked toward the kneeling acolyte and Chulon took his cue to do what he could to save at least one of the survivors of this devastating attack.
Chulon was much too far away to prevent the inevitable, though, and even calling upon all of his incredible speed to bridge the gap, he could not make it to the acolyte before the demon did. Roaring with devilish delight, the demon struck the acolyte with lethal power. Chulon stopped short as the blow landed, though, amazed. The acolyte remained untouched, still praying intently, ignoring the threat standing over him. The demon roared again, hurling blow after blow against the acolyte to no effect. Deflected or absorbed, Chulon could not tell, but he stood stupidly now near the middle of the town square and watched as the acolyte calmly finished his prayer, still unconcerned with the power of the demon next to him. Then he stood slowly, revealing an inner light that seemed to shine through his small body. Chulon could plainly see enormous bleeding gashes covering the simple acolyte's body, but he stood nonetheless, appearing unharmed by the physical damage inflicted upon him. The light intensified and the acolyte's skin darkened around its radiance. Then he turned and seized the demon by the throat, effortlessly lifting the massive creature from the ground as the inner light burned through the demon with increasing intensity, pulsing into it again and again until the brightness of it made Chulon throw his hand in front of his eyes. When the light faded, the demon was gone, incinerated by the power that coursed through the acolyte's body.
As the acolyte returned to his knees in prayer, Chulon knew what had happened. Though it always manifested in a different way, a minion had been born into the world through this demon's attack. He had seen this sort of thing before, in the towns that he did not get to quickly enough. Often a minion would save them from the power of the demon's attack. If mages and demons were the pinnacles of magical power and Laethecna was the pinnacle of physical power, then minions were the pinnacle of spiritual power. The gods were imbued with more power than man could ever hope to attain, but when the world had been ordered, they were severed from the physical realm so that they would only be able to influence men who were willing. Sometimes, when an acolyte was willing to surrender his will completely to the power of their god, a doorway would be opened for the god to manifest his power directly in the physical realm through this servant's body. No power available to man could stand alone against the manifest will of a god.
Chulon stepped back from the scene of the attack. There would be no glory here for him. The demon, once a friend of his, had bested him in battle and the town's god had rescued them from the demon's attack. It would be best if he got out of their way as swiftly as possible. As he surveyed the devastation around him he knew that the townspeople would have a lot of work ahead to recover what had been lost. Doubtless they would all possess a newfound respect and appreciation for their formerly disregarded deity.
“A sad ending for dear Ethegra,” The voice from behind him startled Chulon and he turned to find the mage who had saved his life standing there, “...but an ending nonetheless.”
Chulon had thought the mage to be dead within the pile of debris. How had he survived?
“Did you know Ethegra?” Chulon asked.
“Did you?” The mage replied.
Chulon considered this not entirely friendly response before deciding how to answer. “My name is Chulon, and I once knew Ethegra the White very well. He once saved my life. He changed it, in fact, changed it completely.”
The mage considered this. “I was Ethegra's companion. We were investigating the sudden rise in demon activity across the island. With his fall...” The mage stared off into space. “With the fall of Ethegra I have become convinced that there is an outside influence that is somehow responsible for it all.”
Chulon thought for an uncomfortable moment about the implication of what this mage was saying. “Walk with me mage, perhaps we can inform each other of our discoveries.”

Roadmap

Act 1: Time And Again
1a. The Prophecy Archives - The Birth Of Magic (3)
1b. The Prophecy Archives - The Great War
1c. The Prophecy Archives - The Death Of Magic
1d. The Prophecy Archives - Tamela Orbis
2a. Entanis Perling - Sir Gannid The Bold
2b. Entanis Perling - Sir Espin Lorraine
2c. Entanis Perling - Sir Twillick The Sly
2d. Entanis Perling - Sir Chandler The Protector
2e. Entanis Perling - Sir Thomas The Resilient
2f. Entanis Perling - Sir Bram The Righteous
3a. Mesizhetobek: Tarsin
3b. Mesizhetobek: Fury
3c. Mesizhetobek: Respite
3d. Mesizhetobek: Honor
4a. It Just So Happens
4b. It Happens Just So

Act 2: The Guild


-TBA-


Key:
Black = Coming soon.
Blue = In the planning phase.
Green = In the writing phase.
Gray = In the editing phase. (Number indicates edit version)
Orange = Complete. (Number indicates edit version) Can still change.
Red = Finalized and published. Unlikely to change.

What is Functioning Chu'Mesa?

Functioning Chu'Mesa is an attempt to connect with my audience in a more personal manner.

On of the biggest struggles I repeatedly encounter in the presentation of my stories is the amount of time consumed by the process of it. This is why I established Functioning. Its purpose is to reveal everything that is happening as I work hard to finish my next book. Every day I sit and write for several hours, working my way through plot and trying to craft prose I can be proud to share. Sometimes it is a slow process, but every day brings a new chunk of text that goes toward a finished book. I wanted to share some of that development.

Functioning exists to lay bare my activities and even the stray thoughts I might have about them. I hope those who find it informative also enjoy it and those who seek enjoyment also find it informative.