Session 1 (Part II)

Orecius Loreweaver had been riding for almost two days in a row. Despite his advanced age, the sixty-something year old wizard was in great shape—particularly for a mage. He’d love to stop and rest, but there was no time. He had to reach Black Tower before the triple lunar eclipse.

For Orecius it all began a few years ago. A scholarly sage by nature, Orecius was always reading ancient tomes and studying the lore of bygone ages. Because of things he had done in his past (and will be elaborated later in the ongoing Chronicle, even though other Chroniclers have chosen to omit his dark past) he had lived the last decades of his life in seclusion within his personal tower just a couple of days away from the fortress.

While there, he came upon a series of forgotten lore pointing out to an obscure dark prophesy regarding something called the “Blood Moon”. Searching further he realized this was tied with the phenomenon of a triple eclipse.

Ten thousand years ago, as the Dawn War was coming to a close, an event transpired that shook the foundations of Kjeldorn. According to the established lore, a divine entity known as Helgore attempted to slay Nerthus, the matriarch of the Gods of Life. At the time, Helgore’s mistress was Hredd—Nerthus’ sister—but she betrayed Helgore, and with the help of Mannus, the divine patron of humanity, the Gods of Life killed Helgore. The important element about that conflict was that it ended with a triple lunar eclipse.

But Orecius instinctively knew there was more to this saga. Searching deeper he unearthed some rather unsettling information. For starters, Helgore was no god; he was a primordial (and Orecious feared a great old one, though he never dared to admit this even to himself). Furthermore to defeat him it didn’t take simply the Gods of Life, but all pantheons of Kjeldorn. As for Helgore being dead, sources indicated that he may have been imprisoned instead.

The prophesies regarding the so-called Blood Moon were all tied to Helgore. Eight hundred years ago, a mighty elemental in service to Helgore attempted to bring back his dark lord to the world. His plans centered around another lunar eclipse—this time a double one—but fortunately for the world he was stopped by a stregoni known as Vladimir Von Dragomir. Yes, the same mortal who ascended into godhood and became the deity Dragomir, patron of the stregoni (and apparently it was his duel with Helgore’s chosen that gave him the power to ascend to divinity). The same stregoni who founded the royal House Von Dragomir.

Now, in mere hours from now, a triple lunar eclipse was about to occur, and Orecius knew that the best way to observe it would be from the Black Tower. There was a chance that the world as he knew it would come to an end (and in the grand scheme of things, he was not wrong) and because of that he had even said his goodbyes to his loved ones back at his tower.

Now finally, Black Tower loomed ahead in the distance. Time—and Fate—beckoned…

Rasvahn Gul awakened at that moment. He was lying on a stone slab in some dark, dank room filled with the stench of decay dressed only in tattered clothing and a hooded cloak. His mind was a hazy maze of half-remembered memories. What had happened to him he asked himself.

Slowly some memories came flooding back as he stood up. Memories of a tough childhood. Of a savior who took him from the streets and gave him a place to call home, trained him, nurtured him, made him a complete person. Of a woman he fell in love with, a child he had, and his savior’s child he helped raise. And then, a murder.

Rasvahn remembered finding the people he loved most slain within their very home, their corpses arrayed on the points of a strange symbol like an orb with three tentacles.

It was, of course, the same symbol Vass Jaquel Draracle had seen in his dreams but Rasvahn did not know this.

A memory flashed before his eyes; his master spiting blood, dying on his arms. He only had the energy to spell a single word: “Dra..ra..cle…”

Rasvahn Gul remembered being arrested for the crime. He remembered the betrayal of one he thought a friend who wrongfully accused him of this terrible crime. He remembered the executioner’s axe.

He had died. He was sure of it. He was executed for a crime he didn’t commit. Was this the afterlife? Was it a heaven or a hell?

Rasvahn saw that the small room was devoid of features other than the slab he awoke on and a series of stairs leading up. Knowing of nothing better to do, he climbed the stairs.

There must have been hundreds of stairs; Rasvahn couldn’t remember how long he was climbing. Eventually he saw light and rushing for it he found himself passing through an open doorway and into an alley. He turned around but what he saw startled him. The doorway he had just passed through had vanished, only a wall stood there.

He exited the alley and observed his surroundings. It took him a couple of seconds but he recognized where he was. He was home. He was in the Black Tower.

The place definitely looked different though. More to the point, it was all ornamented for a festival. Judging from the weather and the ornamentations it appeared this was the Midwinter festival. This surprised him because as far as Rasvahn could tell, last night it was still summer.

Uncertain of what to do, he pulled down his tattered hood and walked towards his master’s house, the same house he had lived most of his adult life. Within a few minutes he was standing across the street looking at the edifice and puzzled at the changes it had endured.

His master’s banners were gone, replaced with new ones that had a coat of arms he didn’t recognize. He saw two guards at the gates that led to the house’s walled garden. They seemed quite relaxed and joyful and when they thought no one was looking they sipped some wine from a hidden flask. Rasvahn approached them.

“Move along, peasant,” the guard told him. “There’s plenty of free food to be found within the main compound.”

“Excuse me,” said Rasvahn, “isn’t this the private residential quarters of Garius Sadar?”

“Sadar?!” the guard said. “No Sadars here, commoner. This place has been reserved for House Draracle.”

Draracle! thought Rasvahn. There’s that name again. This can’t be a coincidence. “When did that happen?”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about. This place has belonged to the Draracles since before I was born.”

This took Rasvahn by surprise. How long have I been… whatever it is I have been? “Where is Lord Draracle then?” he asked the guard.

“His Highness, the duke is not here at the moment,” the guard explained, “he’s at the main tower for his initiation ceremony for the Repulsars—how can you not have heard of this?!”

“I’m not from around here.”

“Hrmf, well you’d best move out as well, ‘cause I don’t particularly like all these questions!”

Rasvahn Gul nodded and backed away slowly. He needed to get inside. Garius Sadar—as far as Gul was concerned—was a good man; he had saved Rasvahn’s life. But he was also a practical individual. He had problems and enemies that needed to be dealt with—often in a violent manner. Rasvahn was Garius’ way of handling these problems.

Circling the house and noting that it would be easy to enter unseen, Rasvahn easily hiked the garden’s wall. He remembered the house’s layout—his house’s layout—and in addition to his considerable skills was more than enough to evade the eyes of any guards or servants within the structure.

Navigating his way inside the house, noting the changes to some of furniture and the new color on the walls, Ras went inside his old bedroom. It was completely different though from the furnishings it was apparent this was still a servant’s room. Pushing aside a small table, he tapped the floorboards in a specific pattern and they opened with a ‘click’.

Rasvahn smiled. After all these years (he was starting to get used to the idea that he was dead for a really long time) his old stash was still there. His weapons and armor and all his personal tools of death-dealing were still in prime condition. Good, he’d need them to exact his revenge.

Discarding the tattered clothes he woke up with, he hastily dressed up and equipped himself. Then it was a simple task to get out of the manor.

On to the main tower then…

Session 1 (Part III)