Book 1, Epilogue

The troll drakkar sails off into the dark night – the stars, like diamonds on black velvet, it's only guide. The ordeal is over, and despite the little rest you have received, your muscles still ache, your mind still craves a deep restful sleep – free of nightmarish visions of the Horror.

You regroup with Elissar and Ahmok and ponder the next move. You have recovered two volumes of the book of harrow, a great victory over the Hand, though carrying the heavy tomes back to Travar will be a feat unto itself.

Agreeing to move by night and rest by day, the five flames repair back to the forge entrance and strike camp there. Elissar works the message stone and touches the anxious mind of Ambassador Farion:

"Elissar? Is that you?"
"Indeed Ambassador."
"Are you well? Did you succeed?"
"We have the tomes, two books of Harrow. We are all alive, though at a great cost."
"What happened?"
"Suffice to say we have slain a horror in the course of our mission."

"Ambassador?"
"…I am sorry, I am still reeling from your last statement. Return to Travar, and I will be sure your deed does not go unrewarded. Your actions have drawn attention from the court of Throal itself."

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To pass the day, many things occur.At Ivors urging, Elissar performs a light ceremony for the dead within the forge, the former collecting what he can of the dead and placing them in a room acting as a temporary ossuary until he can do them more justice. Ajisha plucks at her lyre for the first time in many days, the light soft tones echo through the dark passages as if to fight the sinister aura away. Ahmok is delighted to discover that with the Wormskulls evil influence gone, water no longer seems to vanish and the fountain begins to supply other rooms via miniature hidden aqueducts. Still nursing his seared skin he curls himself in a corner of the bathhouse in the cool water, though the light of the torches still unnerves him somewhat. Indeed most of the time, you each spend alone or in silence, as yet not ready to discuss what has gone on in the last few days.

Later a number of ornate items are collected in one of the rooms, ornate weapons incredibly well balanced and with fine pommels, armor with intricate carvings depicting scenes of battle, or artistic patterns. A few of the paintings, as yet undamaged are rolled up and put away, as are other forms of art in metal, stone or wood. Silently you vow to keep the location of this forge a secret for as long as you can. At the very least it is a refuge few know exist.

A small fortune is amassed, though painfully you realise that virtually none of it is transportable. When Jarl goes out in the day to reassert his bearings he becomes aware why the Bad Lands are so notorious: summer is drawing close and the heat is devilishly intense.

The decision is reached to carry only the barest minimum of items. As many waterskins as can be salvaged, down to the empty vials that once held potions, are filled with the life bringing nectar. Even though you have left much of your travelling possessions at the embassy, you still shed more weight, abandoning extra weapons, shields and even most armor.
Jarl prepares what little food he can into easy to eat ration sizes, the last few strips of meat into tough jerky to chew on. You trade your tattered tunics and leathers for some lighter shirts and loose fitting trousers.

When dusk hits, you head out Ivor sealing the magical door barring the entrance, everything will be exactly where you left it upon your eventual return.

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The Bad Lands are unforgiving. The sky itself seems to confuse the elementalist, and with every dune looking like another it is not the first time you wonder if you are walking in circles or in the wrong direction. The sand slips into every crevice of your shoes and clothes rubbing your skin sore. Wind kicks up clouds that are blinding, creatures both small and large seem to be ever watchful for the moment you succumb to the fatigue. Vulgar displays of magic keeps them at bay.

Both Jarl and Ajisha move slow in the dunes, Elissar seems to find the climbing of each dune a feat and Ivor and Ahmok each are burdened by the weight of a tome.

It is a blessing that you are travelling with a Questor of Upandal. By day the initiate summons a small tower, and you repair inside, cloaked in the magical bedrolls that keep the temperature at a comfortable level and you rest blissfully for at least an hour, until the structure fades away and you construct a tent out of the bedrolls to shield you from the merciless sun until Ivor manages to draw the strength to call the tower again.

By the second day, the water is running out faster than expected, and Jarl begins to cheerfully announce the impending doom upon everyone. Arguments break out, harsh words exchanged, all blamed on the heat. Patches of rock are found, easier to walk on though they radiate extreme heat from the day, and certain outcroppings make it easier to construct shelter.

Ivor nearly falls into a fast acting quicksand, a sunburned Elissar collapses with fatigue and Ahmok vents his tension on his 'supposed guide' Jarl, who counters in turn. With the elf as dead weight and fatigue too much to bear, the group finds the first patch of shade in the rock and stops to recover. Jarl is shocked to see the tomes being used as a small wall to shade Elissar but opts to shrug, weave a spell over himself and head out on a fruitless mission to seek a source of water.

In the middle of the night Elissar revives, and a push to cover more ground is made. Few speak this time, partly because throats are swollen and mouths are dry, and partly because the outlook looks grim. The terrain shifts to rocky outcroppings that must be climbed, but at least it is easier to step on than shifting sand. On the last waterskin things turn further sour.

As you are surmounting a steep rocky ridge a pack of beasts appear at the base of the ridge. "Holy Fu- Stingers!" Jarl calls out as his fingers start a thread weaving dance, "Don't let them get close – they are insanely poisonous!"

Small and rodent-like, a stinger stands a mere 4 feet tall, with much of its body drooping over its short hind legs. Its upper half tapers into a narrow head, flanked on either side by vicious barbs. The cluster of ten greedily draws close.

Dropping the baggage where it may lie and drawing out your weapons you prepare for the attack, at least you have the advantage of high ground. Ajisha gathers a handful of rocks and takes flight, bombing them from above. Ivor and Ahmok heave a hefty boulder with their feet, which tumbles down the hill collecting more rocks with it. Jarl coats what little he can with ice, the uneven surface working against the nature of the spell. Elissar too readies his astral spear.

The attacks serve to slow the stingers down, they defty avoid rockfall with surprising agility and stones falling from the sky do them little damage but both assaults make them hesitate and hold them at bay for a little longer. Seeing some success the two warriors forcefully hurl hefty boulders below trying to gain the same advantage as before while Jarl, fishes for his fire starter. Elissar unleashes his spell injuring one of vicious animals.

This time the Stingers redivert their hesitation to anger and begin to leap up the ridge towards you. Ajiesha swoops over one of the unsuspecting animals slashing at it with her dagger, and the first volley of spirit darts and flame strikes smash into the monsters. A second volley leaves two of the animals dead but they soon reach the group. In a surprisingly effective concert attack, Ivor and Ahmok slay the first of the beasts with such vigour the remaining pack rethink the attack and escape; the magi launching attack after attack for as long as the beast remain in sight. It is only after the angry shouts and cheerful cursing of the group settles that Elissar notices the beasts cadaver.

"Draw no closer. The venom of this beast is a perfect acid. Oh how many alchemists elevate the value of this poison! It can eat through flesh and bone as easily as fire goes through hair."

Elissar continues his analysis of the beast, noting the stinger is in the tail – like a scorpion, and the claws of the stinger are very long and curved, clearly used for digging. Ever cautious, the nethermancer decides against the harvesting of the venom, as many alchemists often end up getting killed in the process.

As per the norm, Jarl suggests a crazy plan. "We should go and kill them where they sleep, or they will keep chasing us. They might have water too." He leans back, smiling at his out-of-the-box thinking. The expected argument ensues, but the half full waterskin draws out the desperate in all.

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Trapped within their burrow by an icy surface and a hastily erected rock wall the warriors keep piling on the stones and the magi fire volley after volley into the opening. The stingers are trapped in a single file, though how deep their burrow goes is impossible to tell. Ajisha sacrifices one of the bedrolls, soaking it in oil and throwing both it and the remaining flask inside. Jarls flame strike creates a momentary inferno as fire licks the walls and the creatures go mad with fear. The smouldering bedroll fills the tunnel with smoke and the animals within are more frantic to emerge than to fight. Ahmok and Ivor are ready for this at the entrance doing their best to butcher whatever comes out of the hole. The battle is not without injury, but you all emerge triumphant. Ahmok is raked raw by the claws, though as of late it seems that all his injuries are so grievous that he withholds complaint. Ivor however suffered a stingers barb to his leg. He bites down on a rolled up empty waterskin, in maddening pain while Jarl frantically searches for a potion of healing. The muscle in the weaponsmiths leg is visibly melted, and a white glimmer of bone can be seen. The potion is forced down Ivors throat, his eyes rolling and body spasming in agony.


The burrow is deep, but breaches into a series small underground caverns roughly the size of three cottages laid end to end, but the real reward is in the trickling stream of water from an underground font. It is warm and dusty, but ever so refreshing. You remain in the smelly chambers for another day, until everyone has recovered and the potions do the job of regenerating Ivors shredded muscle.

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You roll on the ground and rip up tendrils of sweet grass and chewing them like you have taken leave of your senses. A splash later and you are in the water, near-tearful cries of jubilation at the release from the Bad Lands grip. It has been two days since leaving the burrow, slow and dangerous as ever. But once the shimmering light in the distance catches your eye, and you understand that this is the sun reflecting off the water your body ceases to groin with fatigue, and you move quick, as if the air itself was lifting you off the ground.

You frolic for hours in the water like children throwing water at one another eventually collapsing on the shoreline in a blissful nap. Once the euphoria dies down, you start to wonder where exactly your location is, and how close to your rendezvous point with Wolf is. For the price of a single amethyst you commandeer a fishing vessel. The three T'skrang waste no time accepting your invite, and ignore your smell and dishevelled look as they ferry you to your destination.

It is late in the afternoon when you reach the cove. The T'skrang leave you ashore a half mile further up, and you proceed on land, cautiously as ever. Thankfully the familiar face of the hooded dwarf with the black beard is the first you see.

"Took you long enough. C'mon lets go," he says, taking a hurried lead before you have time to speak a word.

You were expecting a caravan, but instead find a riverboat waiting for you. A troupe of able bodied dwarves and a couple of T'skrang man the riggings. "Our mutual friend has dispatched some extra help to get you back home quicker. A wasteful extravagance, our enemy will more likely hear of it," says Wolf half growling his displeasure. The master spy is obviously more used to patience and moving in shadows. But after your infernal trek, you are more than happy to let someone – anyone – take you where you need to go.

As you collapse in a bunk you hear the midshipman call out, "We reach Traver in three days!"

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You arrive by night, when the streets are silent but for stray dogs and staggering drunks. You reach the imposing door of the embassy and knock heavily, cursing the builders for not creating a more subtle entrance.

Holding a candle the manservant answers, in his usual irritated look. He ushers you in, bidding you wipe your feet and not get 'dirt on anything'. He walks slowly and quietly down the corridors, leaving you in a waiting area while he goes to rouse the Ambassador. Clearly he intends to take his time, and you wonder why this sort of treatment keeps happening every time you visited. You cast your mind back to see if and when you have offended this man in some way.

"My friends!"
Varadi Farion walks into the room arms wide and he gives everyone a firm clap on the back, and to the windling a chaste kiss on the hand. He immediately opens a cabinet and lays a few glasses on the table, unscrewing a cork from a large ceramic jug.
"Start at the beginning," he says, handing over a glass of cherry brandy, "and spare no detail."

Hours pass as you tell your tale, omitting no fact, pouring it out from your soul like a broken levee. The process is both thrilling, with everyone jumping in each others sentences, and therapeutic finally airing out the fears and dreams the Horror left behind. Farion listens, never interrupting save to clarify a point.

When you are finished the old war veteran, nods his approval much like a a proud grandfather to his nephew. He does not delay to tell you what has transpired in your absence.

"I have transferred your possessions and horses to the stables at the Kings Arms Guild Inn, you are paid for a week there. But before I leave you to your rest, I must warn you. The Hand is even more insidious than expected. There was a raid at the great library in Throal. Two agents infiltrated the cloistered annexe, and killed thirty men, nearly every scribe within. One was slain, but the second managed to escape, though through what magic she managed this – to cross the magical barriers of the annexe, and escape the mountains itself has eluded us all."

"She?" says Elissar.

"Yes, it was a woman. Reports have her carrying two curved blades, I believe you mentioned them before in an earlier report."

"The book?" pipes in Jarl, eyes wide.

"She failed to capture it. Possibly because Merrox, the Master Librarian himself, has seen it's value and moved it to a hidden location. His wisdom holds no bounds. He is studying it himself with a cadre of his most trusted assistants in a secret location, not even I am privy to. He sends two things to you."

He reaches into a drawer on his desk, and presents you with a smooth black stone. Shaped like a three pointed star. "The first is a messenger stone. As promised some of the information gleamed from the book will be communicated to you by the Master himself. Speak your name to the stone and the words 'the shadow from the lamp' and Merrox will contact you as soon as he is able. Do not misuse this gift."

"The second is news. The scribe of the book of harrow inserted many annotations in the work. Some are musings about the text itself, others are diary entries, and then there are the makings of experimental spells and magical theory. Merrox has gleamed that the scribe was a powerful magician unlike any other. He has read a mention of the lost kaer the Hand is looking for, though it is not quite a kaer itself, but the gate to a hidden world of his own creation. With your tomes I am certain he will learn more, though what the Hand wants with this information is beyond me – surely nothing pleasant."

A polite knock and the manservant comes in bearing some warm bread, jars of jam and a pot of steaming coffee. Farion eagerly reaches for the coffee only now noticing through to small narrow window that it is twilight outside. "Eat my friends, and then rest, we will discuss the next phase of our…" he looks at his manservant who is quietly leaving the room, "courier mission to Vivaine later." And with that he swallows the coffee, hot as it may be in two gulps. "An old war habit. Drink fast before the next wave of arrows hits," he laughs merrily pouring himself a second cup while you spread the bread with jam.

Suddenly you hear a shout in the corridor. Leaping to his feet, Ahmok makes for the door and peeks outside. The guards who patrol the corridor lie on the ground in a bloody pool and smoke is emerging from the side rooms. You all draw your weapons and move close to the door. The manservant comes rushing, eyes wide with panic nearly slipping on the blood of the guards. "Fire, Fire!" he cries out, "Everybody out!"
He runs towards you "You have to help me! Two men and a woman, they are killing everyone! We must get the Ambassador out of here!"

You turn to Farion, who is holding his desk for support, his legs swaying, and he is coughing bile. The servant runs to his aid helping him to a chair. Uncontrollable shudders run through Farions system, and as you struggle to get a grasp of the situation an explosion rocks the very core of the embassy, sending a gout of flame through the corridor that sets all the tapestry ablaze.

Elissar's cloaksense brooch delivers a tiny shock and the nethermancer takes a sudden step to the side just narrowly avoiding the edge of a wickedly sharp blade held by the servant. The smile of a deranged man adorns his face as he throws a small vial towards the furniture, making a small explosion and setting it aflame. "Thanks for getting me the books," he says dipping under Ivors hammer swing, and cutting at Elissars hamstring who elf drops to the ground, "shame everyone who got in our way had to die."

He parries the swordmasters deft strike, and ripostes with a kick, not injuring the T'skarang, but forcing him to trip over a chair and collapse onto the ground like a house of cards. Jarls flame strike simply fizzles. "If you drop your weapons and run for the door, you might still get out of here in one piece," he says pushing the tomes across the floor with his foot to the furthers corner of the room where the flames of the desk cast the biggest shadows. "I'd rather stand here and watch you burn with me asshole," says Ivor standing between the assassin and his friends, "you too have nowhere to run."

The servant responds by dipping his hand into the dancing shadows which stop moving as he does so. Then with a sudden movement he forces a rift and a doorway into the shadow appears. "Good luck," he says smiling as he puts a foot through the portal. But suddenly Ajisha, who had flown unseen amongst the rafters, drops the jug of brandy onto the overconfident spy smashing it on his head, soaking him with the brandy. Immediately responding to his friends action jarl unleashes a flame strike that immolates the man, igniting another of his exploding vials in his pockets. He screams and runs blindly into the shadow his whole body set alight and vanishes therein.

While Elissar brushes off a small flame that fell onto the two tomes, Ivor inspects the corridor: the fires have reached a raging inferno and beams are collapsing. Jarl coats the door and covers it in an icy surface hoping to buy a little more time. The group looks around the room trying to figure out what to do next.

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The embassy sends a deep black column of smoke into the sky as the city of Travar awakes to the sounds of bells and alarms. While a few attempt to ferry buckets from a nearby fountain, and one enterprising adept calls forth a rain cloud, most realise there is little to be done, and just stare at the captivating flames.

Skee, the captain of the watch, barks out order to his men to hastily bring water and sand to dowse the flames that have lept to nearby buildings. With a cloak resistant to flames he rushes close to the building to help a struggling guard out of the door just as another blast drops some of the masonry at the entrance. Shaking his head helplessly he looks at the building again, the guard on his shoulders as he makes for safety.

Suddenly a window, no more wide than an arrow slit on the topmost floor starts to lose bricks. One at first, then two then more and more, as a man bashes bricks with a hammer, and a cluster of others use a heavy desk as a ram. Skee looks horrified at the soot covered people – if they jump they will surely perish. Passing the limp guard to one of his men he reaches at the healing potion at his belt and races back to the courtyard – perhaps one of them may survive.

But to his amazement a stream of brickwork shoots from the aperture and to the roof of the building across the street forming a bridge. The men run across it hastily to the sound of further explosions. Just as they reach the other side the ceiling of the embassy caves in and the structure is no more.

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You cough out the soot from your lungs, and catch your breath. You turn to Farion to give him some aid, but in the panic he has slipped away. You close his eyes gently and lay his body down with care.

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"My name is Elissar. I speak to he who draws the shadow from the lamp"
"I am Merrox. Speak young Elissar who walks in shadow and speaks to those yet unreborn."

In your rooms at the Kings Arms Inn you tell what has happened to Merrox. And passing the stone from hand to hand he tells you wise words that leave you quiet.

"It is as I have feared, the Hand grows ever stronger. We need to put an end to this madness before they accomplish whatever insidious plan they have concocted. But you are not safe, the Hand now knows the face of their enemy and will seek it out to smite it. I have contacted Wolf and he will collect the books from you soon. You, however, must fade into the shadows just like your nemesis does. Fade from memory itself. They cannot see you as a whole – they will be looking for your party. Heed my words and listen to them well – for I shall entrust a mission to each of you in turn."

"Speak to none where you will be going, not even your fellows. Bid them a fond farewell for it may be a long time before you see them all again. And into the night cease to be."