Elements of Revenge - Monthly Summary

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Dark Majesty - Harvestgrain, 12 P.Y. (Oct '01)

A Brief History of Marae Lassel

Marae Lassel, or "Sheltering Isle," was the name that the original denizens of Asheron's world gave the island. These people, the Empyrean Yalain, maintained the island as a nature preserve and religious retreat, and a Protector of Marae was appointed every decade to preserve the island's habitat.

It's interesting to note that records recovered from long undisturbed underground archives indicate that a scandal erupted near the beginning of Emperor Caerlin I's reign prior to the Empyrean Shadow War.

According to the records, a young priestess named Adja testified that the Protector of Marae at the time was not doing her job. In fact, the Protector was actively destroying the island's habitat. At the conclusion of a long public trial, the Protector was stripped of her position and noble title. Her name was expunged from all official records of the Empire.

When the Olthoi invaded, they were able to quickly spread across the land through a worldwide series of portals, called the Empyrean portal network. To quell the lightning fast spread of the Olthoi, the Empyreans dismantled the Empyrean portal network and escaped to a world in-between dimensions, 1 while Asheron remained behind to discover a means to defeat the Olthoi.

As a result of the dismantling of the Empyrean portal network, various outlying islands were cut off from Dereth, including Marae Lassel.

Marae Lassel's "re-emergence" can be traced to a person named Candeth Martine. History says that Candeth was a member of the Dereth Exploration Society. The Society's leader, Mikael Alayne, betrayed Candeth to the Virindi, a powerful and capricious race of magic-users. The Virindi performed horrible experiments on Candeth, breaking his mind and mutating his body.

Eventually, Candeth escaped and has created a portal from Dereth to Marae Lassel, where he intends to avenge the transgressions against him by destroying the Virindi infrastructure located on the island.

There are three human towns in Marae Lassel. Humans are newcomers to Marae, and cluster along pacified coastal areas suitable for relative new beginners. Just watch out for the highwaymen that have come from Bandit Castle and MacNiall's Freehold.

The monsters will get tougher as people venture further north, and the central Marescent Plateau has level-restricted access. There are two Tumerok towns in these wilderness areas. They're quite different from one another, for reasons that will be revealed soon enough. One of the Tumerok towns is a virtual fortress built up on the Plateau, and the other can be found hidden deep in the wetlands along the west coast. 1 "...and escaped to a world in-between dimensions..." This particular bit slipped in despite a specific request that it not be. Unlike the rest of the article, you should consider it non-canonical. --Chris L'etoile aka Stormwaltz Editor's Note: This article was excerpted from IGN News.

The Gathering Storm - Leafcull, 12 P.Y. (Nov '01)

As the storm clouds gather on the horizon, the people of Ispar breathe the sweet air of respite. Virindi raiders have been driven away from the capital cities, averting a second Arwic. The people have prevailed.

They gather now, in communities of homes, built by the Zaikhal Arcanum. Here they display proudly their hard-won trophies and keepsakes. They entertain visitors and hearken friends to sit by warm fires to enjoy each other's company. Arcanum collectors have changed the focus of their collection to items once used to craft weapons wielded in the battle against the Shadows. Ceding one of the ingots over to a representative is rewarded by a writ of refuge. Over a hundred new homes have been constructed with the promise of many more to come.

The night sky is unmarred by the violet sheen that has so long reminded the people of the Virindi's attempts to gain control. Now the stars stare down more brightly than ever. Minute holes in a gentle blanket over the land.

In the peace, adventurous groups have set about their tasks in greater number, sharing the bounty of the hunt. They scour the land for treasures and find that the greatest treasure of all is sharing time with one another. Pushing deeper into the land of Marae Lassel they have found and struck down the young Olthoi Queen, earning accolades and kinship with the Aun Tumeroks. Others have taken a less savory course and hunted members of the Aun relentlessly, alienating themselves from the Tumeroks. On the plains, they stalk the unique beasts that inhabit the island with renewed vigor, striking relentlessly at the Mattekar and Siraluun in an effort to obtain the treasures that can be crafted from their hides.

The people grow stronger with every day. They meet challenges with renewed spirits, knowing that the threats they face can be overcome if they are unified.

But still the storm gathers in the distance, and a few watch those clouds with wary anticipation. As the thunder rolls and the lightning splits the sky they wonder what is to come next, and shiver at the thought of the coming snows.

The First Strike - Frostfell, 12 P.Y. (Dec '01)

December 14, 2001

"Why not destroy them all?"

Make him cease to be, open him up, discover his secrets. When he is liquid and meat you shall know everything. Martine was too tired to quiet the voice of the Virindi in his mind, so he let it ramble on while he tried to focus on the question. Sharpness hurts meat, the voice continued, it is a point. Meat knows nothing about a point, about how lovely a point is. You can make the point sing. We can sing together. No, the man still had his uses. There would be time enough to deliver the man to his minions. Once Martine had received his boon, there would be so much time.

"Forgive me, lord. I must have whispered too softly. I asked, 'Why not destroy them all?' Pardon my ignorance, but I don't understand why we didn't start with the one in the first settlement."

Holtburg, he would have called it a year ago. But Holtburg would not do now. Let the man be stupid. Holtburg was building a garrison. How could it be more perfect? Holtburg was building a garrison, and there was no need to destroy anything there. Quite the contrary.

"There is a new plan. A better plan. A. . ." slice and slice and slice and slice "We will still destroy some of them. Enough to cause fear. And leave a few to let them feel hope. Their hope is our friend. It makes them soft. Weak. The new plan is much better." The man, what is his name? Martine could not remember his name. He knew it once, what was it? slice and slice and slice The man did not speak anymore but he seemed content. Good, let him be content, let him be happy. Everyone was weak. Except him.

"So we shall do it here? This shall be the first?"

Martine nodded. He was tired. Tired of listening to the Virindi. The Virindi no longer listened to him. He had asked it to be quiet. He thought he had crushed it a long time ago. . . he thought sing and slice sing slice we will all sing and slice.

"My lord? What will we be doing?"

What had he said? Where was he? He looked around and caught sight of the tower looming before him, a large pyramid of stone illuminated by the flickering torches warding off absolute blackness. Hatred of the sight coursed through his blood, snapping his neck up as it bloomed in his brain.

In his mind, a small girl danced around his feet, singing. His daughter? Aritta? She paled. Her mouth went wide, frozen into a rictus. Her eyes were holes brimming with violet light.

You dare? He jabbed his thoughts into the place the Virindi whispered from. A horrible squealing, and it fled into the jumbled depths of their shared mind. Yes, go and hide for now.

"Silence." The man bowed. I am Martine. "Yes, this will be the first."

"Do you need time to prepare, lord? Do you not require. . . I know that you. . . that Isparians need focusing materials for the spells of great power. I have such a device if. . ."

"Need?" Martine was too amused to be offended. "I have desire. I have hate. That is all I need. It begins here."

Martine raised his hands.

• * * * *

She would not allow them to see tears. There had been one time before, after Thorsten. . . and she remembered too well the problems that had caused. She was the Queen. She could not forget that. Yes, a Queen without a castle, a Queen whose subjects barely knew her, many of whom would as soon spit at her feet than declare her their sovereign.

She was their Queen nonetheless.

She had not wanted the responsibility. She only wanted to raise her son. But she had tried to turn her back on the world, and the world had almost taken that son from her. Never again, she had sworn. Let her people go through their lives either unaware or resentful of their Queen, unaware of her life, unaware of her duties. That is why she was there.

But this. . . this was almost too much to bear. The grim faces of the Council of Antiquaries around her were almost as disheartening as the news they bore. Nuhmudira was the surprising exception, a distant and vague cast to her eye. Gods, Elysa thought, if Nuhmudira is unhinged by this disaster. . . Elysa felt laughter burbling up inside. She stifled it. She wanted to release it if only to release some of her tension, but she was not sure she could stop it from turning into a scream.

It had happened in the midst of high night. Where once had stood eighteen proud and tall Empyrean towers, now only six remained. The rest were crumbled and aflame. They had burst from within. Without warning or apparent provocation, they had been rent by an instant inferno, leaving six towers standing.

She had ordered guard outposts built the month before in six locations. Those six locations happened to be the same as where the towers were that remained. The Arcanum had been reporting portal space disturbances around the Nexus towns for weeks. The lack of specifics was maddening, but when Nuhmudira and Celdiseth agreed on an issue, even if that issue could be no better described than, "something is wrong," Elysa knew that there was a problem. When even Asheron could offer no insight into the nature of the matter, Elysa decided to begin construction on only the six. Being a Queen to whom no one paid taxes did not place her in a position to spend greatly. And she thought she had more time.

Rithwic. Al-Arqas. Nanto. Every day more Isparians portaled in from their homeworld. Yanshi. Lytelthorpe. Samsur. And they would appear around the nine Nexus towns. The settlements had been built around these points, to welcome and shepherd new arrivals into a dangerous world. And in the blink of an eye, twelve of them had been taken away. There would be no new visitors to these towns now. Only Yaraq, Shoushi, and Holtburg remained. And who could say for how much longer those would stay? If the goal of their adversary was to let no new Isparian adult portal in to Dereth, if they wanted the entire world closed, that could only mean. . .

While she had been lost in thought, the Council had started arguing again. Some were saying that this was the work of Martine, others that it was the Hopeslayer come again. The theories had been endless. Perhaps the Virindi, no, the Dericost; Nuhmudira started in about the Empyrean again, but she did it so half-heartedly that even Celdiseth did not raise his voice in scorn. Shoyanen was speaking earnestly to Fadsahil, presumably about the deep philosophical motivations behind such an attack, but either she was too blind to see Fadsahil's growing impatience, or too nervous to care.

They need you. The voice came, gentle and resolute into her mind. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to cry. Thorsten should have been here. They need you. Were “they” Asheron and Borelean? The Arcanum? The Isparians? Yes. They need you.

"Enough." A soft word spoken into the tumult, but the voices of the Arcanum, muttered and raised alike, dimmed to silence. She had not chosen this path freely, but that was no excuse not to learn her role well. "I have heard the reports of the Arcanum, and what I hear is that we know little. Which is worse than knowing nothing. If we knew nothing than at least we would not be afraid!" She deliberately let some of her anger leach into her last few words. Sometimes it was enough to lead with kindness. Other times. . . She turned to each of the twelve of the High Council present, looking into their eyes for a few seconds. Only Nuhmudira did not look a touch ashamed, but she seemed not to notice Elysa at all. Pwyll take the woman! She could not fall apart on them now.

"Nuhmudira, Celdiseth." At this at least Nuhmudira came to, and looked directly at her Queen. "I task the two of you with leading the search for how this happened. How and why. There are edifices of stone that lasted for thousands of years, destroyed in a heartbeat. We will find who did this. Find them and stop them. Kerralon, double the guards at the existing outposts. Report immediately to me any further disturbances or news. The rest of you are at Nuhmudira and Celdiseth's disposal." They nodded. She let her silence be their dismissal. It was dangerous to pair those two old antagonists together, but she needed something to shake Nuhmudira out of her current lethargy. Maybe Celdiseth would be the proper catalyst.

She looked around the empty room, wondering whether she should check in on Borelean. Let the lad sleep, she thought as she turned to go back to her quarters. Aye, sleep would be welcome. A smile crossed her face, the first of this long night as she anticipated a slumber so needed she doubted she would dream.

Asaina al-Arqis, a Scholar of the Arcanum, burst into the room, gasping for breath and with hair clumped to her sweaty brow. "My Queen, forgive the intrusion. . ." Normally Elysa would once again have let Asaina know that such formality was not necessary, but she nodded for the girl to continue. What now?

As Asaina related the news, Elysa struggled to understand the import of this latest event. It bordered on the laughable, but still. . ."Get Jaleh back in here." As Asaina sprinted out, Elysa put thoughts of tears and even sleep far from her mind. Her people were under attack. She was the Queen. She began reviewing in her mind the lists of supplies requested by the outposts as she waited for Jaleh to arrive.

December 18, 2001

Rumbling over the mountains and pouring into the valleys, winter has come once again to Dereth. Snow thickly blankets the landscape in a lustrous white gloss, coating the trees, fields, and hills. In several towns across Dereth gifts have been left in the town centers, spreading cheer to all. Farmers report that their harvests have yielded an abundance of carrots, but their sales have increased threefold in the past weeks. Though they cannot explain the reason behind the rush on carrots they point to the new housing communities for more complete answers.

New settlements are crowded with homeowners, enjoying the “fruits” of the season. Many struggle to complete the snowmen that will stand guard outside their homes, while inside others enjoy the comforts of their new slippers and warm mugs of cider.

Yet the storm clouds that gathered on the horizon during the month of Leafcull have set High Queen Strathelar into action. She has moved to fortify the arrival towns across Dereth in reaction to severe portal disturbances. Dispatching her Royal Guard to each of the outpost towns she has managed to salvage three from the destructive forces of a new enemy. In Holtburg, Shoushi, and Yaraq, training academies have been established to welcome and prepare new arrivals from Ispar for the trials that will face them in this strange world. Bolstered by the presence of her troops and the assistance of the newest arrivals, these three towns yet withstand the onslaught of this new force.

As the enemy begins the first stages of its assault, adventurers set forth to meet this newest threat. Thrown weapons experts take up arm and shield to face the enemy wherever it may next rise, as the Isparians unite at last beneath the banner of High Queen Strathelar.

Flesh and Blood - Snowreap, 13 P.Y. (Jan '02)

January 18, 2002 It had been long since Nuhmudira had felt wetness caress her forehead and cheeks. One look at her lined and wrinkled face would be enough to convince that she had no moisture left to give the world. No sweat, and certainly no tears. She brought her tongue out to the edge of her lip to taste the wet drops as they curled around her mouth. Neither sweat nor tears. The Book had prepared her for this. There was more scuffling below on the slab. He was certainly determined, although that determination had done him no good for the last hour. His feistiness was a good sign. Her own man stood off to the side and behind her, quiet and still. This scene before them, and he seemed no more ruffled than if they were upstairs, far up through many layers of stone and air, in her quarters sipping tea. Not that he ever drank the tea. Blood before blood, need before gift Despite what she had done, despite what she was about to do, she held in her mind why she was here, why all this was necessary. The Empyreans were coming. There could be no doubt. Martine was obviously nothing more than their agent. Trying to stop the flow of Isparians into Dereth by annihilating all the Nexus Arrival Points. . . yes, that had the stink of Empyrean intent all over it. The Book showed her the way. It was hard to remember when it was just a book, one of many Empyrean tomes that she had sought and collected in her time on Dereth. She was proud of what she had accomplished by her research on the enemy. Let Celdiseth voice his scorn and distrust all he may, but without her and the Geomantic arts she had mastered, there would be no housing, no Covenant Crystals. But Geomancy had never absorbed her the way the Book had. Hanaureli Rezau. Translated from the Yalaini it meant, "Letters of the Red Self". But the Yalain name was just a translation from the older and original Dericost, Inikshai Ardun. The Book of Blood. Nuhmudira, harder and colder than most, had, at first, been appalled by some of the rituals the Book had described. She had thought her own people were prone to bloodthirst. . . the Book showed her how soft they were. Its blackened pages and red-inked words revealed many things. Occasionally she wished she did not know what she knew now. But this would be the second step towards saving her people, one potentially far more powerful than just shelters. Chaos seeps, thorns grow the rift The Book whispered to her, told her she was taking too long. The Book was thirsty. Blood continued to ooze out of her pores and trickle down her face as she finished placing the last of the tokens at the head of the slab. Lightning and Acid, Fire and Frost--each token facing one of the four cardinal directions. The man continued to fight against the rope that strapped him to the flat stone. She recited to herself the list of his crimes. He had taken many lives, both back on Ispar and here in Dereth before the Lifestones had been activated. A murderer, an assassin. It was one of the reasons why he had been chosen. She was ready. She reached deep into the folds of her robe, and began to pull out the instrument. Unbidden, a memory of a memory sprang into her mind, a moment of some eighty years past. She was young then, so very young, her hair the color of flame and still in curls. There had been a gathering in the city square, and although her parents had stayed in front of her, blocking her eyes, she had heard the yells of the crowd, had felt their anger and hatred crackle through the masses of flesh. The crowd dispersed, she and her parents with it, but later she had run back to the square, to see for herself the body of the young woman. The stones were still there as well, and the words written in crimsonthorn dye across the dirt, Here be a Witch. Milantos served justice swift and harsh to those who practiced their craft outside custom and law. But Nuhmudira would never see Milantean soil again. Shadow taints, and Darkness endures The Zharalim, her own member of the Shagar Zharala, he who had brought in one of his ex-brotherhood for her purposes, moved softly to her side. So quiet, so deadly. A whisper, "It is time, my Malika." Yes. It was time. The Book was very clear. To achieve a desire of great power, to manipulate to one's will the lines of mana that flowed so strongly on this world, it was not enough to only perform the Rites. One must be willing to sacrifice something essential to one's self. Something too dear to be replaced. Nuhmudira had long considered what this might be. She was old. Withered and sere, love and passion were relics from a distant past. She had nothing to lose, and this is what had made her so dangerous to her enemies. She was the Monster of the Labryinth, after all. But ultimately, she knew what she had to lose. Knew what she must sacrifice. Redemption had never been close at hand for Nuhmudira. She had left too many broken promises and lives in her wake for the comfort of that illusion. One day, she had always thought, one day she might make things right. It was a rich and delicious irony that her bravest attempt to redeem the world would cost her any chance at being able to enjoy it. Her prisoner below would merely lose his life. Nuhmudira was losing her soul. She drew the dagger out of her robe. Hope falters, but Sacrifice cures

The man gasped and nearly collapsed to the ground. He looked over to the side and saw Martine whirling back and forth, as if the psychic explosion had occurred nearby. The hybrid had obviously felt it as well. "Is this your madness?" Martine snarled at him, as he continued his mad circling. "No, my lord. I. . . I do not know what happened.” And then it began. The lines of power rose and fell, undulating all across the world. Tendrils of energy snaking out, rushing around them. Thousands, hundreds of thousands of sinewy weaves streaking back and forth across the sky. For those with the power to see the sky was lit with pure power. But to what effect? Martine began laughing. He was talking to himself between his cackling, something he had been doing more often of late. There was no sense to be made of the mumbling. Martine spoke loud and clear, "They have created an alternate path for the magic to flow." "What, my lord? I do not understand." "They have set a new foundation. A new power of enchantment. Something that even now seeps into their steel. So much power and for so little cause. Do not doubt me, little man, I have some intimacy with. . . different forms of power." Martine resumed his mad cackling. It was impossible. A new foundation of magic? And even assuming it to be true, of what use would it be? The man's mind raced through different possibilities. . . "Relax, mouse, relax. Little mice, fleshlings fleshlings, little mice rolling dice making games and play. Am I a man? Am I?" Martine's voice had started out cogent, but was once more slipping into madness. There were too many things out of control. . . Martine took off his mask. Raw muscle coated with a red glistening sheen leered grotesquely underneath. His mouth continued to move, spouting madness. "Am I lost? The Singularity is so far away. Fleshlings scurry, portalspace disturbed, meat is meat, so meaty. I? I?" And a new mask appeared on his face, formed out of thin air, white and pristine and smooth, this one with no eye-holes or mouth-slit. But gradually the mask gained these features, and more. The mask became his face, and Martine opened up his mask-eyes, and spoke through his mask-mouth. "He hurt me. He has hurt me so much. Let the mice scurry. I am going to hurt him back. I will. You will have what you desire from me. But I am going to hurt him." The man was reminded of sailing the deeps in the throes of a timber-wracking storm. There was nothing but to let the storm do what it will and pray. Martine continued unabated. "It is not fair to either of them, I know. But my family is gone. They are gone. He will pay. He will cry and cry and cry, hiding in his hiding-hole. He will know how deep the shadows go. He will know why the worms turn and turn. To know is to hurt. He will cry!" Violet light burst forth from Martine, illuminating the sky in all directions for miles. The man shut his eyes from the blinding glare. He was glad that they continued to meet in the far places, long distant from any wandering eyes. When he opened his eyes, he was even gladder to see that Martine had finally come back down to the ground and was standing there motionless. Perhaps it had been the shock of feeling the explosion of power that had unhinged Martine so quickly. So much could be accomplished if Martine could just maintain his sanity for a little while longer. Martine turned to look at the man. The mask was gone, replaced by a semblance of a normal human face. Martine loved to change his face, although this, like the mumbling to himself, was happening much more frequently of late. Was the madness not over? But when Martine spoke, his voice was crystalline cold. "My flesh and blood. My flesh and blood shall hurt him so."

January 22, 2002 As winter's influence spreads across Dereth, High Queen Elysa Strathelar intensifies her defense of the three remaining arrival outposts. Thus far, no new assaults from Martine have occurred. The High Queen however, has chosen not to rest upon her laurels, and has ordered a vanguard of her troops to fortify and support each town. They occupy the Empyrean towers, utilizing them as a base of operations. Though the presence of these new forces may deter further assaults, strange happenings have been reported in the surrounding areas. Might they be related to the previous attacks? Across the land, the builders employed by the Arcanum have continued their feverish construction of houses. New settlements are opened and the effort to allow every Isparian their own home continues. Cottages, Villas and Mansions have been built to further the accommodation effort. The Arcanum has continued to keep up with the cause, placing the important covenant stones with as much zeal as the carpenters. Rumors abound that the Arcanum and Nuhmudira are responsible for the gifts that graced town centers through the month of Frostfell, but the mage and her council have remained silent on the issue. Warriors, hunters and magicians alike return from the far reaches of Dereth with new weapons, armor, and jewelry, imbued with a strange and powerful new form of magic. These items are rare but valued and coveted above all else. This new magic is the most promising find that the Isparians have had in a great many months, and is a welcome surprise at the end of the Festival season. Yet there is something sinister looming over the people. There is a shadow that creeps into the minds of every adventurer, a feeling of being watched from afar. Something wicked grows in the hidden places of the world and beneficial magics are not the only new discovery of this time. With an uncertain future ahead of them the Children of Ispar struggle through a harsh winter, trying to enjoy their new fruits while under the baleful eye of a madman.