The Knight and the Scholar

The stew bubbled merrily. The smell of roasted rabbit and vegetables mixing was a tempting, homey thing. Most of the adventurers had returned from their various chores and sat about chatting or just watching the fire while lunch finished cooking. Eylylyn noticed that there was a rather conspicuous, spike covered absence though. She got up and headed off in the direction shed seen Mercurion head off in, thinking her own thoughts.

She found him a little ways off at the base of a great oak that had been cleaved in half by lightning. It must have happened years ago, for there was no sign of burned wood and the branches were heavy with green growth in spite of the mauling.

Mercurion sat on the trunk at the point where it split. His armor lay about him in pieces and he had an oiling cloth in hand. Eylylyn stepped waved as she approached, smiling.

"There you are! We got lunch going and it should be ready soon."

She peered closer at a vambrace set right against the tree, then scooted it away from the trunk with her staff, frowning.

"I hope you're being careful with that poison. I'd hate for something as old and beautiful as this tree to die due to someones carelessness. Or for you to."

"Ah, hello!" The paladin waved with his oilcloth, an earnest smile lighting his face. When Eylylyn mentioned lunch, that smile grew. "Welcome news, indeed!" The man was clad in a much-worn black silk shirt and unlikely pants that would have been fashionable ten years prior. He watched the gnome move his armor away from the tree, shaking his head with a easy laugh.  

"Thank you. In my homeland, the flora is more likely to lethally sting a man than vice versa; the possibility of doing harm had not occurred to me."  

Mercurion's hands moved over the armor carefully, cleaning the detritus of battle and the dust from the trail. At this precise moment, most of his efforts were focused on the cuirass. Eylylyn could tell even at a glance that the armor must have cost a sizeable fortune. Etched with designs of twisting thorns, complex flower motifs and gape-jawed serpents, all intertwined in a gaudy dance of gold filigree and inlaid silver. Jutting from the adornment were metal spikes over an inch long. Though most were honed to vicious points, the tips of some had broken off and a few were missing altogether.

The Borcan glanced up from his work. "We have been shown many portents and signs this last night, my scholarly friend. Tell me, what do you make of all this? I cannot deny I find it alien and strange."

The Gnome studied the intricate armor and odd-kempt knight. She smiled at the mention of poisonous plant life.

"Back home the swamps are full if the most wonderful megaflaura! I used to make some study of the more spectacular ones. There is a variety of subterranean Pitcher Plant big enough to swallow a horse! It's imbued with Life Magic attuned to Illusion, so it disguises it's self as a clean fresh pond, then when animals or travelers come to drink the jaws snap shut and swallow it whole!"

She sighs wistfully, looking distant for a moment, then shakes the memories clear before turning back to the knight.

"Oddly enough it would wither and die within hours if exposed to fresh water. We never did find out why, but I have a theory that..."

She cut off when she noticed the glazed look in Mercurions eyes. She cleared her throat and took a seat on a larger branch.

"Well, that doesn't matter."

She set her staff beside her and idly started trying a pair of grass blades into braids.

"I don't quite know what to think either. As a rule, I dont take the word of anyone so handicapped that they can only grasp one school if magic. That, to me, betrays a profound flaw in character. Furthermore, I dont believe in curses. At least not like she's talking about; in the colloquial sense that conveys so much melodrama and chaos. Malfeasant energies always have a pattern to them, and like any other magic can be acted against with preparation and skill. What she calls a curse, and what may appear to be one at first glance, is far more likely to really just be a temporary flux entanglement in our auracular energies."

She blinked, then looked back up at the Paladin with a sheepish smile.

"Um. That us to say, she's just thrown off because were a strange bunch. Not least of which the impoverished knight who wears a small fortune and rides a mule."

"My aspect is strange, I will grant that. This," he waved vaguely at the disassembled pieces, "All this was a gift from a patron. The man to whom I was duty-bound wished to communicate in no uncertain terms both his status well as the certain doom that would befall his enemies."  

"I don't know about flux enlargement energies, and I won't pretend that I do," grunted Mercurion, setting aside the body armor. "But I have been taught a thing or two about the world unseen. One of my tutors growing up regaled me with faerie stories and tales about the nature of magic." Mercurion seemed lost in thought for a moment, before coming back to himself and wiping off his hands on the cloth.

"I do not pretend to be your equal in matters of the arcane, oh scholar; but my teacher's parables, though couched as bedtime stories, have a lesson that still rings true."

Sir Mercurion bent and picked up his shield, polishing the gleaming basilisk with gusto.

*squeak* *squeak* *squeak*

He looked up at the gnome, his cast grim: "Whether through magic or might, wicked desires pervert the natural order and harm others." Then his smile returned, like an irascible sun burning away midday clouds. "Of course, the mechanism for this may be beyond me."

*squeak* *squeak* *squeak*

After a moment's thought, he continued cheerily. "Which I suppose is a roundabout way of saying I believe in curses, or something like them. If gods and demons walk the world, why not witches, warlocks and soothsayers? Mayhaps we are in rough agreement!"

Eylylyn couldn't help but return the smile. She flicked her fingers and her skeletal Mage Hand appeared, grabbing a spare oil cloth and helping in the work while the wizard relaxed.

"It seems we are in agreement. At least in principal. Your tutor sounds wise. And so does your patron. At least my tutors would have said so. I find looking helpless and having a good smile makes for a smoother road than trying to break heads, especially when everyone's head is so high up..."

She looks away, frowning in thought and mumbling

"Of course lately that's apparently not how I solve my problems..."

Smoke. Poison. Rats. Blades. Monsters. It's too much!

She remembered the panic of the flight from the house. Her frustration. And whatever done to vent that frustration. The smell of burning vegetation and screams of a dying creature.

That poor mound... I killed it...

She started a bit when she realized how long shed been quiet. Her spectral hand had stopped its work but she set it going again. She cleared her throat and brushed a bright pink strand of hair from her eyebriw where its caught on one of her piercings.

"Have you ever done something in the heat of the moment? Something you wouldn't do normally, but just... Did it?"

Mercurion did not seem to notice his companion's distracted aspect.

"Oh yes. I would not be here beside you if not for a single impulsive action-" Mercurion looked up at her, his smile replaced by a look of numb resignation.

"I slew my commanding officer and, by somewhat obvious extension, broke my contract-letter."

A pause, followed by a shrug. "I regretted it for a time, but no more." A small smile crept, almost irrepressibly, back to the corners of the knight's mouth. He set aside the shield, the emblazoned serpentine symbol positively glowing.

"Why do you ask?"

The Gnome does perk up in interest at the story.

"You slew your commanding officer? And apparently got away with it... Back home if a field agent we're caught slaying his commander he would be thrown into the Grim Fastness for all time. Of course we never had issues with that. When Azilan Rex reigned in Il Aluk, the domain was in perfect harmony; everyone totally committed to doing his good work. Then the Requiem happened, and Death went into rebellion, and cracks started forming. Factions are starting to form and rivalries between officers make working together impossible. All that aside, It's hard to kill your superior when its already a ghost, lycanthrope, vampire, or some combination thereof. Maybe that's part of the problem..."

She trails off again, then refocuses on her companion.

"His did you get past the regret?"

"Your homeland seems like frightful place, yet you still speak of it with fondness. I suppose it is not so easy to cast aside the land of our birth, for I feel the same way about Borca." Mercurion began fastening on his armor with practiced deliberation, beginning with his sabatons and then the greaves. He continued, only occasionally glancing up at Eylylyn. "I have heard of the odd doings of the militant sect of Ezra in Darkon; perhaps their methods may be necessary if the Legions of Night have become as potent and plentiful as you say."

"As for my guilt, I have done worse. Far worse, if you would believe it. I have slain those deserving of death alongside the innocent, and that one cruel man's life.. that did not trouble me overly much." The paladin pulled on his set of cuisses and began lacing them up beneath the thigh, when he had finished this, he slid on his faulds, and then gauntlets. There were pauses as he concentrated on his work, and his eyes were troubled, seldom meeting Eylylyn's.  

"No, my anguish lay in what his death represented. I had sworn a solemn and holy promise to uphold the rule of law. I cast that aside and became an oath-breaker... but not easily." Mercurion, with his unencumbered arm, lifted his spined carapace up and loosely clasped it in place. "This part is always quite tricky- I can do it myself, with time, but it is certainly faster with help-"

A sudden miserable clarity shone in the knight's face, and he looked down at his companion and sighed. "I realize that I did what was necessary and right, but I am not sure what code I serve now. I do not regret killing those blackcoats, but I do regret my loss of honor and purpose."

"My home is my home. What more need be said? In the end Death will fall, Il Aluk will be restored, and a glorious future will begin for all Domains. I can only hope ill be there to see it..."

She looks away, blinking rapidly and hurriedly scrubbing at her face with the heel of one hand.

"Up until a few months ago i thought i was going to be a part of all that. Now, I dont know. I know that feeling of losing something grand, though."

She meets the Borcans eyes and her lips form a sad smile. It quickly turns bemused and her eyes dance as he struggles with the armor though. She grabs his arm with mage hand and pulls him down to one knee to work with her own hands

"Here, let me do it and hold still. If you prick me I'm going to turn you into a toadstool."

Clever fingers quickly work the clasps, then she quickly adjusts the other for a more secure fit. She makes a few other adjustments here and there, then turns her smile to the kneeling knight.

"There. How's that?"

"Hmm..." The paladin stood and flexed, swinging his arms experimentally. "Better than I could have done! Thank you." Mercurion reached for his belt, scabbard on one side and holster on the other. As he girded himself, he looked at Eylylyn quizzically.

"What do you mean when you say 'death will be defeated?' Does not death come for all- or can your king defeat even mortality?"

"Both."

She magicked up her staff and waved it in a wide arc. There appeared shimmering city. It's alabaster walls were tall and proud with mighty towers standing at regular intervals. Bright banners flew from every spire in the shape of a stylized eye much like the one adorning Eylylyns metaphysical armor. At the top of a hill in the center of the city stood a grand fortress of marble and gold, radiant in its glory.

"Long ago, there was peace in our land. Darkon was the jewel of creation, and just like any masterful jewelry, every piece was beautiful and perfect in its own place. There was no hunger, no crime, and everyone worked according to Azilans perfect will."

She wiggled her fingers and the image zoomed in on the fortress. There, on a throne of ivory sat a regal man in rich robes. He was fair of face, but not young. Nor was he old, though silver lined his temples and flecked his dark beard. He was strong and hale, and even sitting commanded absolute obedience. In his right hand he held a straight bone white staff with innumerable runes etched into every inch. In his left hand he held a Magister's gavel. Power lay about him as a mantle, palpable and terrible. But the eyes... In his eyes lay the patience of a mountain, the terror of the empty night, and the absolute power to lay mountains low and banish the night.

"Azilan Rex. Lord of the First Morning. He Who Bids the Sun Rise. Father of Death, his gift to all. Like a that of a man is his countenance, but he is no man. For centuries he reigned and put all to order. At his command corn and barley sprung up in plenty. The rains fell with a wave of his hand. All was perfect according to his will. He did not create magic, but his gift was an understanding of the Art. For there has never been a wizard greater than he."

The image darkened and fuzzed out. It refocused into a dark hall lined with rotting tapestries. Bats wheeled about drunkenly and next to a tall window stood a grim figure, hunched and disfigured. It's clothes may have been fine once but they lay upon his shoulders now in rags. He stared out the window to the shining city far away. His curled lips were coated in froth and his eyes danced madly. Boils marred his face and he smelled of soiled rot.

"But all was not well without. Word of our glory spread, and Azilan gave freely of his blessing when asked. But the hearts of jealous men do not ask. They lust. And so it was with Strahd. He was a wicked, petty thing, but he was crafty and had some skill in magic. He came to Azilan feigning friendship and offering gifts. But when at last he had his chance, he struck. He stole powerful magicks from Azilan, naming them to himself in his greed. He fled back to his stronghold, thinking himself clever. But he had made a fatal mistake, for Azilan could not be killed. Indeed, Strahd had not even tried to kill him, choosing to strike while the lord was away. Betrayed by one he would have called a friend, Azilan went to war."

The image changed. Now there were men marching in rank upon rank in shining armor. They held tall spears of ash and unstrung bows of yew in their hands and their passing was like a forest in motion. Like a river they flowed out of the city, and at their head rode a dozen robed figures and the king. Seven grim men and six grim women spreading behind their king at the head of a spear formation. In the right hand of each one of them there was a tall black Archmage’s staff. Though magi in every sense, these few held not the cast of scholars. Mercurion knew from the hardness in their eyes and the surety of their posture that they were practiced killers going to perform their trade, each and every one. There was one who stood out especially. Riding at the right hand of Azilan there was a tiny figure perched atop a great beast of a warhorse. Any comedic affect the image may have relayed, though, was utterly undone in the Gnome’s face. Neatly trimmed grey beard and horn rimmed spectacles framed a face like the side of a mountain; cold and unforgiving; unwary and uncaring of the insects that sought to conquer it.

“Seven by seven the hosts of Darkon poured forth! Forty thousand spears, thirty thousand horse and a hundred thousand archers rose to answer the call to avenge their Lord’s wounded pride! A more grand army cannot be imagined! And at their head the Iris of Darkon; the Circle of Archmagi, with their lord and master at the head. Who could stand before such a force? Who indeed…”

The image blurred again to show the answer.

“An army of slaves and monsters. Conscripted and spellbound, the wretches of Borovia sloughed howling before the whips of their masters. Vampires flew in their vanguard, and Strahd himself came last. Fearful of the Sire of Justice, he bewitched fifty of his own magi to take on his own face so as to avoid the Eye. His hosts were without number, for he had emptied all his lands to avoid his judgement. Yet judgement came, and there was a terrible battle.”

The forces collided. The Darkoni line held against the crashing wave of tortured frenzy as arrows hissed overhead and did their deadly work. On and on the horde came, and the line began to crack. Then the light shifted, and a solar eclipse covered the battlefield. Then came the vampires. Pouring out of the sky in a dozen funnel clouds directly onto the archers and behind the spearmen. Without the arrows to stem off the horde the line cracked and men screamed. A route seemed all but inevitable.

A clap of thunder. The earth shook. Trumpets blared. And the Circle appeared to do their grim work. Each appeared near one of the terrible tornadoes. Again the cold Gnome made his presence known. At a command from his lips the very earth split open beneath the vampires. Clouds of poison gas and black liquid billowed from the crack. He spoke again, staff and spellbook before him and his voice was a hammer, the earth his anvil. Fire consumed all. A mile high and wide as a bowshot a column of white hot fire rose to consume. And consume it did. All fled before it, though the Darkon line broke. With a scream the wizard pointed his staff, and the fire obeyed. It streaked forward into the Borovian horde even as they surged forward in false triumph. Then they were dust, and the true battle began. For it was now that Strahd’s wizards took the field, each wearing his face and wielding their own terrible magics. Fifty shrieking vampires, ancient and powerful in their own right. They flew down and struck from above, and the Circle took to the sky to meet them. High above the mere mortals beneath them, among the clouds the servants of two Darklords made a war that shook the sky and made the heavens weep with its horror.

“Strahd knew that this was his chance, for Azilan would be without his most powerful bodyguards. He knew that the king would remain with the people he loved, here below. And so he took upon himself the magic he’d stolen from Azilan, and he crafted of it a terrible weapon. None who live now, save perhaps Azilan himself or Strahd the Snake, can say what it was. All that is known is that it nearly struck home, and Azilan was wounded. So great was the power of the blow that fully half the battlefield was consumed. But Azilan could not be killed. He rebuffed the attack and brought his own sorcery to bear against the traitor Strahd. And Strahd fled.”

The battle continues, an absolute shambles. Above lights flashed and thunder crashed. Below men screamed and died. It seemed to last for years before finally the Iris returned triumphant from the skies. Eight of their number had fallen, but none of the vampire magi remained to shield their slaves. The remaining mages, including the Gnome, made short work of the Borovian horde and sent them howling into the false night even as the sun reappeared. A cheer went up from the triumphant army.

“There was victory, but at a terrible cost. Azilan looked upon his grand force, and he wept. For love of their king they would gladly serve him to the utmost end; but for love of his people the king could not allow it. And so, wounded yet victorious, the host returned to Darkon.”

The image shifted back to a long table with thirteen grand seats about it. Eight sat empty, the king and his remaining mages filled the others. The magi appeared to be arguing among themselves, Azilan listening with steepled fingers.

“It not until they had returned that they discovered Strahd’s true harm. Through striking at the King of Magic, he had afflicted magic itself, perverting and twisting it. Long they debated what course to take, and what should be done. But in the end, the doom was sealed.”

Alone atop the highest tower, Azilan worked his craft. Energy spilled about him as he recited the spell, weaving energies powerful enough to warp the air and turn the stomach. On and on he chanted, rising to a crescendo as pure golden light radiated out from him.

“But it was not to be…”

A dark cloud formed, and a bolt of blackness struck the king. The world went black.

“For Strahd remained, and he watched, and he was crafty. At the critical moment, he struck again and this time the blow landed true.”

The blackness faded. Where once there had been a shining city, there was only a corpse. Crumbling towers and stained walls marred dead fields. Bodies filled the streets with nobody to clean them up. Then a low moan rose up, and with it the bodies gained a horrible un-life. Shambling and aimless a city of undead took to their feet. At the top of the highest tower Azilan leaned against a pillar, holding a gaping wound in his side. A single tear fell from his eye, and he turned away from the city and into a portal. Gone, he left the city to the dead.

“With that single blow, Strahd had killed the entire city of Il Aluk and raised the inhabitants to a mindless state of unrest. Drawn by the terrible energies unleashed there, Death himself now reigns in Il Aluk -  the Necropolis. Upon Azilan’s own throne Death sits, plotting how he may take the rest of the king’s lands. As for Azilan Rex, he works in secret now. Setting pieces in motion and doing his work so that one day he may return in glory and retake what was his, strike down his enemy, and bring justice to all the world.”

The image faded, and all that remained was the tiny wizard and her bright smile.

“That’s how the Bards tell it back home, anyways. I memorized the story a few years ago. I always thought a good visual aid would help the story, but the Bards are an old fashioned bunch in Darkon.”

The paladin was nearly dumbstruck by the tale woven by the young gnome. He gaped for several seconds, even after the dancing magicks had faded. Finally, he seemed to snap out of his reverie, almost shouting: "By the Goddess, what a story! To have the very heart and soul of your nation carved out by a fiend-"

He pointed a mailed finger down at Eylylyn, exclaiming "Your tale defies belief...! And yet, I have no reason to doubt your knowledge of history."

His troubled brown eyes met the wizard's own, and his voice became cold and grave.

"A Count Strahd currently rules this land... I pray that it is some pretender or accursed descendant. The sorcerous undead horror whose image you conjured seems to possess powers both fell and obscene."

The wizard nodded gravely.

"Now you see why I was so against storming the castle. Even if it is some lesser Strahd or a pretender, its too dangerous."

She waves a hand and the shining city reappears. She looks up at it wistfully.

"My father used to tell me about the glory days. We had wonders beyond your dreams, nobody wanted for anything, and everyone had their role to play."

The image tarnishes and darkens into the dread Necropolis. There, sitting upon a rotten throne sits a tall figure all in black. His face and features are hidden beneath his hooded robe, but there is no mistaking him.

"Death now rules there in rebellion. Whether he works with Strahd or not doesn't matter. He defies the natural order and must be brought to heel."

The image fades, and all that's left is a tiny gnome with a sad smile.

"That was going to be my job, one day..."

"You wish to end that creature that laid low your liege and ruined your homeland. This I understand full well." Sir Mercurion picked up his helm from where it rested on a nearby stump, stuffing it down as he pulled his wild hair back.

"Though my quarrel with Strahd is not your own, all true sons and daughters of my faith must stand ready against the forces of the night." The Borcan's voice was rendered somewhat tinny by the faceplate, but he compensated by booming out his words, projecting them through the small glade. He clenched an iron-enclosed fist, bowing his horned dead beneath the troubled grey sky.  

"If besting this evil is the task set before us, then I will do everything in my power to do so..."

Then, as if a spell was broken, he relaxed and continued his routine. Mercurion turned and hefted the strange gaudy barding meant for Nicolas Bottom, continuing to speak casually and conversationally.

"Presently, I do not see how such a thing is possible, but your cause seems righteous. Perhaps that is why Ezra has caused our paths to cross in this land of mists."

The gnome couldn't quite keep a chuckle from bubbling up at the childlike enthusiasm of the Pincushion Knight. But she covered it up with a cough.

"It's good to have you on my side, Sir Knight. Maybe your Ezra and Azilan Rex are working together and arranged our meeting! If so, who could stand against us? Who indeed..."

She shakes her head then starts towards camp.

"Come on, I'm hungry! You'd better let me gird your beast though. Honestly, I don't know how you people get anything done without a third hand..."

As they start towards camp she looks up to her companion's iron clad face pensively.

"You know, you don't have to wear that armor all the time. You're among friends. We'll keep you safe."