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The right of Sean McKeown to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of these documents may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical including photocopying, scanning and recording, for any purpose, without the express written consent of Sean McKeown.
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Gwendolyn and her war party left Elvenhome behind with the rising of
the sun, the constant mists that shroud the Haven Woods from the
encroachment of the Wilds fading the surrounding terrain as the first
rays of morning brought light to the darkness. The mists that protected
the Elves from their enemies would serve to cover their progress until
they reached the Desolation of the Ebon Stronghold, and as such was a
small blessing. All the same, Gwendolyn clutched her snow-white cloak
tighter to herself to keep warm as they left the enchanted lands behind.
The Elvish scouts and soldiers that were their foreguard didn't seem to
notice the change in climate at all as they left their ancestral home;
the Troll and Orc that dogged her heels were too busy acting stalwart
and brave as they neared their final challenge to feel the bite of the
wind.
The band of nine remained silent all along their march, though
Gwendolyn noticed the Elves seemed to speak a secret speech of hand
movements and furtive glances as scouts met guardsmen before heading
into the mists again. In good strength, Gwendolyn couldn't help but
have a high spirit despite the battle that lay ahead of them all. The
end was near, the culmination of eight years of struggle and searching.
Trent kept his eyes forward along the dismal march, almost feeling at
home as the lands turned damp beneath their feet. Spans passed without
tire, the land rolling beneath them unseen with the mists and the early
light, and the march continued with no sign of slackening its rapid
trudge through hill and bog. Lost in his own thoughts, trying to subdue
his fears, Trent glanced at times to his companion, Grish, and into the
mists ahead at Gwendolyn and the Elves, each fading into the mists ahead
of them. Bravery came slowly, and acceptance slower still. His march
continued, step by step across the leagues.
Grish followed doggedly, his eyes on Gwendolyn at almost all times. He
carried himself with a battle-readiness that soon tired him along the
march, but he remained at peak awareness nonetheless. No
knowing what be hidin' in th' mists and dark, he thought to
stave off haggardness as the leagues drew onwards.
The six Elves were constantly busy, alternating between guard duty and
scout duty throughout the march. The scouts hunted foul, dark beasts in
the shrouds of mist, killing them soundlessly and effortlessly with
sharp Elvish steel. The mist was nothing to their Elvish eyes, so they
hunted easily by trusting their senses. The foul creatures also saw
through the fog with preternatural vision, but the innate Elvish ability
of silence at all times let them catch their quarry unawares. Brief
spurts of chilling violence broke the morning calm, but calm soon
returned as the beasts died and the scouts moved on. In this way the
Elves crossed the boundary-lands of their homelands unseen by the dark
presence that drove forth from the Ebon Stronghold, leading the
sorceress and her familiars to the Desolate Lands beyond the Mists.
Just once, the air was pierced with the shrill cries of a dying
shivenboar ; though silent to human ears, the air
stirred with unseen winged beasts, some fleeing in terror, others
seeking the sound as if driven by the Dark Will itself. Gwendolyn and
her entourage lost their calm at this dark moaning, but the march
continued on in silence, the questions on Gwendolyn's lips remaining
unasked.
Hours passed, the march never slowing, the marchers never speaking.
Private thoughts grew, and a new calm spread among the three.
Gwendolyn's will grew strong to a thing of iron, her resolve building as
she planned for the challenges ahead of her, beyond the misty lands and
the desolation of the Stronghold. Thoughts of Elric and her suffering
so far gave her the strength of will to push on despite all she knew of
the Necromancer. The thinnest of hopes renewed, her suicide mission
continued in earnest. Trent slowly resolved to follow Gwendolyn despite
fear, with something akin to love for her growing silently within his
breast to match his respect for her. To the very end,
the troll thought, driving all other thoughts and fears from
his mind.
Grish grew more and more tired of the march, and finally abandoned his
battle stance despite the cry leagues back. His sense of loyalty
remained strong, but as yet he had no idea what Gwendolyn was asking him
to face. Born of the Mountain Folk, he knew little else but the ways of
his tribes and of wars fought between the races of the Mountain Folks,
though the last few days had taught him something about wizardry and the
challenges ahead. Arrogance carried him behind Gwendolyn until finally
the group of nine penetrated beyond the Mists of Havenwood.
The mists didn't die gradually, as Gwendolyn had expected; one instant,
she was following the scouts through their wilderness labyrinth, and the
next she had stepped through a thin wall of magic and the mists just...
ended. Trent and Grish did the same just after her, and she saw the
astonished looks on both of their faces. Surprised at the sudden end to
the mist, they followed her nonetheless. Gwendolyn could see the Elvish
scouts now, waiting in the desolation to rejoin their party as the five
passed.
One of the guards fell back to talk with Gwendolyn as the other took up a flanking position in the band. "Milady," he said.
"Yes, friend? Your name please, swordsman," she answered.
"My name is Brarsidio , 'Blossom of Thorns' in your tongue, milady. We have entered the shifting lands of the dark one, the outskirts of his desolation. The land lies in shadow, although
by now it must be high noon in the lands beyond his grasp. At the
center of his realm lies his tower, surrounded by a small chain of
mountains like the fangs of his flying beasts. Where the shroud of
shadow is darkest, one may pass if they be brave enough."
"We are, friend Brarsidio. If you will but point us in the right direction, and you know no more of the Ebon Stronghold, we shall journey forth and you may return to your lands."
The swordsman looked relieved, but she only noticed it within the mask of his Elvish face through long acquaintance with his kind. "South by southwest from here, you will reach the Ring of Teeth by nightfall at
full march... as though nightfall has meaning in this place. But be
prepared for the shroud; his will is strongest there, and the strongest
of us have fled in terror just from touching that foul curtain. It is
not an experience I would care to repeat, milady," the Elf said, never
stopping the onward march or breaking his apparent preparedness to face
foes unseen to her eyes.
Gwendolyn halted the party at last, with Grish almost tripping over her as he trudged onwards. The swordsmen, archers, and her companions formed a circle around her automatically as she spoke. "You are
dismissed, Elf-friends; the journey is ours alone from here. Thank your
King for me once again."
With a curt nod from each soldier and a brief exchange of handshakes among the party, the Elves slowly drifted off. "We will fly from here, my friends," she said, addressing Trent and Grish alone now. "Unless
you wish to return to Havenwood, and return again to your lives before
my Quest dragged you along with me. This is your last chance to leave
in relative safety, my friends." She looked them both in the eye, hard
as it was with their massive difference in heights.
"We will stay, m'lady Gwen," Trent whispered. More forcefully, he corrected himself. "I'll be journ'yin with ye still,
Gwendolyn ."
Grish nodded his agreement. "We stay, milady."
Gwendolyn smiled forlornly, and looked at the horizon for the first
time since passing beyond the mists. The land was cracked and broken
for as far as the eye could see, bent from a living, growing thing to a
place of death. Vision failed to penetrate the ever-shifting sky, which
roiled and twisted far above. No sunlight touched the Desolation of the
Necromancer; rather, the darkness receded from the boundaries of the
land, leaving a sourceless, hazy illumination that seemed to fill the
air.
It was too late into her magical career for Gwendolyn to be surprised by the destruction errant planeswalkers caused upon the realms of Dominaria. "Then we shall fly, friends. This is no fit place for man
nor beast to roam," she commanded.
"That be acceptable t'us, milady... we've nae desire to trudge along in this evil place if it can be helped!" Trent said. He grinned a lopsided grin, his first since leaving Havenwood. "Just you be stayin' awake this time!"
Gwendolyn looked to Grish for agreement, and he nodded tersely without meeting her eyes. "Off we go, then," the sorceress said with a flair, taking to the air with a solid thrust of mana that had been building up
throughout their long march. Without looking down, she pulled her
companions alongside her and rose towards the ever-shifting clouds
above.
The Necromancer sensed them almost as soon as the spell was cast; he
smiled as best he could through the rictus of death that had taken his
body to waste since he committed himself to the powers of Death. Like a
dead thing himself, it was as nothing for him to see the intruders
through a thousand eyes as they passed below the ever-present shroud of
bats in flight. His Will pulled the bats away from the sorceress;
before he would steal her powers for his own, he planned to torment this
one like none before.
With a shuddering sigh more felt than heard, the corpselike Necromancer rested atop a throne of bone in the chambers of his Castle of Deep Shadow. His Will soaked out of him entirely as he focused upon the
shroud of hatred that protected his stronghold from his enemies, from
all things living. His plans would begin as she crossed the threshold
of his doors...
Without knowing about the thousands of bats flying back and forth above the airborne trio, Gwendolyn leveled off but a hundred feet above the parched terrain below and added speed until the land below was a blur of
light and shadow. Her magical senses found nothing at all within the
desolation, an absence of not just evil but of life
. Even so, she cast wards before her to stave off finding about some
evil thing by accident as they flew. With the wind whipping her hair
violently, Gwendolyn could only stare ahead of her as they journeyed
onwards; after a dozen minutes at this pace, she felt the presence of
the Shroud Brarsidio had warned her of. Just past the hedgerow of
mountains, she slowed the party to a halt.
Rather than risk doing something inexcusably stupid, they took to the ground again. The icy coolness of the utter darkness before her eyes sent little chills down her spine as she tried to sense the magic that
formed the barrier. She learned nothing of the forces that drove the
ephemeral wall, for all the suffering that it tried to impart upon her.
Where the wall began, it was just as if the land suddenly... ended. She
hadn't seen its like in any spellmasters' books, nor any duelist's
battle-journals.
To test a theory, Gwendolyn reached into the abyss, recoiling in shock at the utter cold concealed within the shroud. She pulled her hand out, wiggling her fingers to inspect them. Despite what she had sensed
within the shroud, she was undamaged, her right hand as warm as the
left. "Just wait here," she said to her guides, then she disappeared
into the blackness herself.
The Shroud was full of sensations, threatening to overload even her expansive mind as she passed through it. She felt frozen by a dispersed Will, chilled by the calm hatred she sensed from a far tower. She
pushed onwards, and almost fell to her knees as she sensed Elric through
the ethers once again. The impression of him upon her mind, every
little thing she loved about him and every thought they had shared in
privacy, brought tears of joy to her eyes as she sensed that he was no
further from him than the Necromancer was. His words almost came to
her, but she sensed what he wanted her to know: I am trapped
here by the Necromancer, my love... I await you!
Pushing onward through the shroud even as all this happened, she came to its end and fell on the ground as she tried to absorb all the intense impression swirling around her mind. The chill stare of the Necromancer
was at the front of her mind, and she pushed it away from her, relieving
the pain that wracked her body because of his will.
After a minute, Trent's head popped through the shroud and he saw her lying on the ground, breathing shallowly. "Gwen!" he called out as he turned back to pull his orcish companion through as well, leaving the
shroud himself to attend to her. "Are ye alright, milady?" he asked.
"Yes, Trent," she said weakly, lifting her head to look him in the eyes. He saw pain in her eyes clearly, and moved as if to soothe a
wounded companion. Gwendolyn's healing spells kicked in at last, and
she went slack with relief as the pain ran from her body. "Just help me
up, friend, and I'll be fine."
Grish passed through the shroud with a violent shudder, and he helped Trent pull her to her feet. "What be th' source o' the hatred that touched us in the darkness, m'lady?" he asked.
Rising unsteadily at first, Gwendolyn's strength returned, as did her footing. "What you felt was the Necromancer, Grish. His will forms the land, and as a master of the black arts his will is to see all living
things dead to power his own desires."
Grish looked away, the first sign of cowardice he had shown since joining them in their travels. With large, pleading eyes he stared at
Gwendolyn as he thought, and his hands reached for the talisman she had
given him during the night's planning. Thumbing the relic of Pure
magic, he looked towards the dark tower that dominated all vision within
the shroud, but a stone's fly away.
The barrier of the Shroud of Twilight broken, the necromancer's minions felt his will turn them bitterly towards the trio within the
stronghold's walls. Bats, rats, crows, and less easily defined sorts of
wicked beast were loosed from within the castle's shadows. The
sorceress looked into the blackness of the sky with alarm, her magical
senses forewarning her of the Necromancer's preliminary attack.
Shrieks of beasts rent the air around them from all sides, and Gwendolyn screamed out into the night, her voice just barely louder than her companions' primal screams. "Time for battle!" she cried out, as
she began the spells to form her duelist's sphere. At her cry, the
flying shapes in the sky hurled themselves at her in great numbers.
The sphere formed from the void without an instant to spare; immediately after springing into place, the mana
that protected the three travelers was bombarded with attacks from all
sides. The impact of the attacks rang in Gwendolyn's ears as she cast
further spells to ward off the attack.
The first thing Gwendolyn did after the sphere formed, freeing her
mystical concentration and her energy lines, was cast out simple wards
against darkness and dark things, and circles of protection against the
creatures of the night. Still the ravens dived, colliding forcefully
with the Pure mana that protected the targets of
their attack. Expending ever-larger amounts of the precious
mana , Gwendolyn fueled the Circles to push off the attack.
Wards fizzled as soon as they were formed; the darkness seemed to
swallow up the manifestations of Purity as rapidly as she could cast the
spells.
Her cursing muffled by the din, Gwendolyn roared lewd sheepherder's
oaths in frustration as she pushed the insurmountable foes out of reach.
Already she was drenched in sweat at the sheer effort
of stopping such a massive attack. Hoping, she tried to cast
out the Wrath of God before she recovered her strength again. The
Necromancer deftly countered her conjuration before the planar junction
formed. Suffering brutally under the effort, she tried to force the
spell through with her will, but he was prepared for her attempts; she
could do nothing to break his control over her.
The Necromancer bent his will upon the twisting foe beneath his
thousands of claws, and continued the attack with renewed fury.
Gwendolyn suffered greatly under his direction, as he struck with
near-surgical precision at wherever she was weakest. Grish and Trent
were equally occupied, attacking the broods of worms and cockroaches
that seemed to boil out of the ground. Taxing her resources to the
breaking point, she tried every spell of cleansing or pacifism she knew
in rapid succession, interspersed with impacts of sheer will and need to
prevent the Necromancer from countering her final efforts.
Finally, she managed to force through a spell of cleansing that felled
every evil beast within the walls of the Ebon Stronghold. No sooner had
she destroyed his minions than the Necromancer attacked her directly
with mental twists and drains to sap her strength. The Circle still in
place, it was simple enough for her to negate his attacks without his
intercession. The final, most forceful Drain she saved a spell of
Shadow's Bane for, and she took his mana as her own
to heal her numerous bruises, both physical and mystical.
"That be an un'xpected twist tae th' battle, milady Gwendolyn," Trent
said, still stamping at vile foes that had already vanished into the
darkness from whence they sprung. Her eyes met his at a glance, and she
knew he was every bit as nervous at the end as she was.
Grish said nothing, his chest heaving as he tried to get his bellowing
lungs back to breathing again. Even Gwendolyn was shaking with fatigue,
despite her stolen strength. Falling to her knees without any concern
for appearances, she spent most of her mana to heal
herself. Although she was nearly approaching catatonia, she threw her
arms out violently to reinforce the Circles. After over a minute,
Gwendolyn stopped twitching and rose from her knees, her strength mostly
returned to her.
"To the castle, my friends! Charge onwards!" she called, rallying her
burly protectors before her. Both Troll and Orc pulled battle-axes from
their belts, giant Dwarven weapons of war pulled from the Elven caches,
and ran forwards to the castle's gateway. The Necromancer tried to
spring the portcullis with his telekinesis, and the giant crossbars fell
into place between Gwendolyn and her mountain warriors. She nearly ran
into the steel spikes that ran up and down the lengths of hardened iron,
but Gwendolyn threw herself to the ground just in time to save herself.
Trent and Grish flew at the Knights that shimmered into being from the
darkness right before their eyes, and though the mounted warriors were
warded against Gwendolyn's magics, the wards did little to slow the
swinging of steel. Like berserkers, the duo ripped into the knights as
quickly as they formed, snarling all the while as steel met swinging
steel and bones crushed beneath their rain of blows. Although they were
handling themselves admirably against trained mercenaries, they were
harming humans (no matter what evil will drove them against her) and she
hurried to rejoin the pair so they could move onwards.
With a blow that reeled her mind as certainly as it rent the steel of
the portcullis, Gwendolyn let fly a psionic blast that sent sharp shards
flying in all directions. A righteous anger filled her as her mind
searched frantically for that of her lost love. Spans of stone, steel,
and the Corrupt meant little in the face of the spans of time and
passion that drove her onwards. Gwendolyn stepped through the
portcullis and into the Ebon Stronghold with deadly precision, and
without flinching at the carnage she led Trent and Grish into the
castle.
"Milady, yuir bleeding!" Trent said as he raced to catch up with her.
Indeed, a sliver of steel was embedded in the soft flesh of her arm, and
the pure white of her sorceress' robes and Elvish cloak were tainted
with the dark stain her own blood.
"So are you, friend. Worry not," she said, dismissing him as she charged onwards to confront her eternal enemy, already healed from her slight wound.
"Th' blood's nae mine," he deadpanned. Gripping his bloodied axe, he
slung it over his shoulder as the three hurried through the dark, dank
halls of the Castle of Deep Shadow. Grish was limping, one leg bruised
badly from the kick of a war-charger, but he kept up well enough, his
violent calm surrounding him once again. Unlike Trent, he had a
lifetime's training in the ways of killing, and he scanned the halls
they passed carefully.
A Doppelgänger of her Orcish companion jumped from the shadows in front of her, and as swiftly as it appeared it was held in the grip of her telekinesis. She dismissed it without a glance, never slowing her step
as she trod angrily through the winding passages. In passing, Grish
beheaded the creature, and only Trent shivered at its hideous death-wail
as they moved inexorably onwards towards confrontation. Gwendolyn and
Grish both pushed inexorably forward as if the beast meant nothing at
all.
Trent was soon lost within the twists and turns of the passage, and
Grish wasn't even bothering to note their passage to discern their
direction. Gwendolyn led onwards as if possessed, her magical senses
pulling her ever closer to her enemy. A shimmering haze of white
mana surrounded her, battling constantly with the
evil palpitating in the air. Finally, she halted before colossal iron
doors long since covered in the rust of their own decay. An evil stench
wafted through the air there, and Trent shivered at the evil presence
that seemed to be passing all around him.
Wordlessly, consumed within her own thoughts, the sorceress reared up
into the air and let loose with a mighty blast of energy, felling the
doors with one blow of telekinetic force. Gwendolyn passed into the
blackened chamber, hovering lightly over a floor that writhed with
maggots and other blind, vile things. Neither Trent nor Grish could
pass the barrier that still held the doorway, no matter their
determination. Forgotten, they slumped against the wall nearest the
doorway and kept watch in case they were needed again. Only the
faintest tingling of the geas remained now that
they stood discarded before the real battlefield.
Gwendolyn saw her goal with tunnel vision; she walked through the
winding passages of the castle along what she assumed to be the most
direct path to the Necromancer's inner chambers. Beings of darkness,
sentient and otherwise, fled before her as she violently thrust powerful
wards before her. Trent and Grish followed behind, or so she assumed as
she braced for close combat. Occasionally something broke past the
wards, but she took little notice... at most a bit of telekinesis would
remove the threat to her person, and the Quest continued.
Violent thoughts consumed her, and gentle memories as well. Her mind
so fractured, her spirit seemingly at war with itself, she was ready to
confront her nemesis. Both Elric and his dark captor grew to the
forefront of her mind as she grew nearer to the chambers; her lost
memories of his warmest kisses fueled the fire of her killing rage.
With a twinge of mental muscle, the last barrier between them fell away.
Sean McKeown
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