Throalic agents had intercepted a would-be recruit nethermancer and I was to take his place and become initiated in the dark cult. The meeting would be in a north-eastern border town called Marrek. I was given what signs and symbols to look for, and what to say at what moment.
On the way to Marrek I bought training from a dwarf in Horst, thus reaching the third circle. All along I took my time going up the trek, I did not want to arrive there early and idle for the remaining time. Besides I kept off the beaten path as much as possible, not wanting to be recognized – one way or another. To pass the days I tried to condition my mind to the fact that I would have to do horrible things. I figured that at times I’d have to do them without being told, just to show that I’m loyal to the Hand. Looking back it’s a wonder I’ve retained a shred of sanity – I was so unprepared for what was in store.
Marrek was a typical border town – lawless and with two main institutions: inns and mining. Walking through its streets I spotted a familiar face from the past which I was not too pleased to see – Vistum, the dwarf disgraced trader. I couldn’t risk him recognizing me as anybody other than Nafzel, the up and coming nethermancer, but before I could do anything about it he walked into the same inn as I was headed, where the meeting was going to take place.
Inside I ordered a drink, exchanged the code words with the barkeep, who told me the missing details. The meeting was to be held in the cellar of this same inn at dusk. I left and when I returned Vistum was still seated at the bar nursing a drink. I waited at a corner table, then to my horror saw him walk down towards the cellar. Other people were going down, one at a time, non-chalantly. I waited for some more then went down the stairs.
It was pitch black at the bottom, but a man’s voice greeted me and asked for credentials. Satisfied with my answer he guided me through stacks of miscellaneous supplies to a fairly large, dimly lit room. At the far end there was a small makeshift stage, and the room was already almost full. All sorts of people were present, seated on upturned boxes, crates or barrels. I located Vistum and found a seat opposite and as far away from him as possible.
After a short while a young blonde-haired human came on the stage. She introduced herself as Laira, and thanked us all for coming. She started talking about the future, children, about how a clean world will be waiting. I thought she was quite the rambling speaker, but tried to glean anything useful from it. She was going on about how the world was not ready to be reborn, how the kaers were opened too early and the settlements were an infection on the land. This was the general gist and it dragged on for a while. The meeting then came to a stop and people started milling out slowly. I positioned myself to exit before Vistum, but as I went through the door I was intercepted by the same man who greeted me at the bottom of the stairs. He took me aside and told me that this was just the prelude for things to come. In order to join the ranks of the Hand I had to prove myself, prove that my loyalties and capabilities matched the requirements of the cult. Without further ado he turned round and, with a high to low motion he tore open the fabric of reality that was the wall, took my hand and stepped through the crack that he made. We were clearly walking, but apart from my guide I everything else was shadows of grey and indiscernible. After a few minutes we stepped out into a countryside scene. It was still night and we were on the side of a hill, next to a tree.
He turned to me and said, “On the other side of this hill, down the valley, is the small town of Greenfields. It is populated by elves, led by the Thorali family, and dwarves, led by the Honormail clan. They’ve been living there peacefully for quite some time now, and have forged a very good relationship with each other. Your task is to pit the two races against each other in violent, murderous intent. You have two days. Meet me here when the job is done, or don’t come at all.”
It had started.
I will not go into the finer details of what I did during those two days. I was ashamed of my actions then, and I’m still ashamed now. I found out that there was a prohibited love between two members of the respective families. I took the life of one, pointed the blame on the father of the other. From there I followed events and stoked the fire, always hidden, unseen, until by the end of the second day the main thoroughfare of the town was bloodied by elven and dwarven blood.
I met my “guide” as planned. He must have been watching the proceedings in some way, because he seemed impressed with the outcome. Without further ado, he said, “Welcome to the Hand.”
Inside the folds of the Hand I was assigned to be mentored by a human nethermancer called Gareth, who was also a Questor of Raggok. During the first few weeks I learned of the internal structure of the hand. There are the:
Nihilists, who plan, think, philosophise and guide the Hand. Traditionally the leader of the Hand was a nihilist.
Brokers, to whom I was assigned, were the do-ers of the Hand. Lately they gained a lot of power internally because they advocated less philosophizing and more action. The current leader of the Hand is a Broker. I later found out that Aubrin was killed by the leader of the Brokers, a woman called Postrich.
Then there are the Assassins, when more direct action was required.
After two months I was formally inducted by means of a ritual. I was among a dozen others. During the ritual we poured our blood collectively into a cup and drank in turn. As I drank a brief and intense vision came to me: all of Barsaive spread out in front of me, as if I was watching it from a huge clifftop. The blood I was drinking reached out in a flash to form a jagged web, like interwoven lightning bolts, across all the land. That was when I saw first hand the extent of the Hand’s infiltration in all of society.
Following another month of learning the ropes I was assigned to a cluster working along the Serpent River. There was tension rising among t’skrang houses, and our job was to help it rise further. During this time we learnt that there was an old t’skrang swordmaster hiding in ruins somewhere, who some were calling the greatest swordmaster that ever lived. We (the Hand) tried to find him and kill him, but never succeeded. One of my suggestions was to try and mislead others who were looking for him, but I never got any feedback as to this endeavour’s success or failure.
Six more months passed. I was responsible for and party to many deeds of which I am not proud. Parents disowned their children, honest officials turned corrupt, violence was incited, famine was brought about through sabotage of trade. I also learned many things: the Hand is very old. The Therans do not seem to take it seriously, as they consider it a small cult. Throal, as we know, does not make this mistake. They are still years from reaching their ultimate goal (what this was I did not know at the time). Not all members of the Hand share the same goal, indeed, not all are aware of it. Some just enjoy the power. As we suspected, the Hand is responsible for the production of Mescal. What we did not know is that this process has something to do with horrors. I did not manage to find out more details, or the location of the production camp. The missing caravans of Daiche are the Hand’s doing too. The cult has allied itself with different heirs of the Bloodlores trolls – helping them continue fight each other so that the raids never stop.
I also found out that the head of the questors of Jaspree in Trosk is an infiltrator of the Hand. They were not privy as to his modus operandi, just that crops were failing, and that furthered the Hand’s cause. This was a particularly strategic situation because Trosk is the grain provider for much of the surrounding areas. Later news reached me that this agent died as a result of his ego, but I never managed to learn more.
It is at this time that I learn that the Hand’s main priority is to find and retrieve all the Books of Harrow. The seven books were written by a very powerful mage, who, in foreseeing the first Scourge, created pocket dimensions where he could experiment with Horrors – thus returning with information on how to defend ourselves from them. What the Hand want is to create such a pocket dimension, step into it while bringing another Scourge down on Barsaive, to then reclaim the world as their own.
The Hand have managed to find three Books of Harrow so far. When Aubrin mentioned that they were looking for a lost kaer he was a bit wrong – they were actually looking for the said mage’s lab where they hoped to find clues to help them decode the books (apart from whatever interesting items it may contain). In their search the Hand came across a term: Quellank, which they think is a reference to some place, person or landmark in the Misty Swamps, which may lead to another Book.
After a year and a half the t’skrang houses K’tenghin and Vistrimon are now at war. Internal shuffles see me promoted and reassigned to the Nihilists to work with Ianthe, a female wizard studying one of the books in the Hand’s possession.
Writing it, now, makes it look like a stroll in the park. Internal shuffle, indeed. All the time I spent in the Hand I was watching my back, constantly. At one point I discovered that my right hand agent was scheming to usurp me, thus taking my position. She was never seen again. Likewise I had to resort to less orthodox methods to rise in the ranks. It was the accepted way, best your elder and you deserve his position. The whole ordeal was doubly difficult in that I had a real secret to hide, and once a month I had to find a time and place to report back to Merrox.
Meanwhile I have been taught dark talents to carry out the Hand’s mission, among them the ability to create a rift in shadows to bridge to another place of my knowledge – as was done to me in Marrek. My spellbook has grown during this period too, the only tangible good thing to have happened. I also learn that the magical brand we share is some sort of thread, but nothing more. Information was distributed on a very need to know basis, and I did not. I did find out that Vistum is dead, caught in some treacherous act and summarily executed.
It was at this time that news reached me that the Hand were tracking some member of the Five Flames, as the Flames knew where one of the Books was. Two separate attempts to intercept were made, but the trail went cold. The Hand just found out that he was looking for someone, but not who this someone was. All I know is that in anger and retaliation Silas sent Absolution, an Assassin, to Laibayden to make an example. All are slain, their hands severed and tied to a pole in the centre of town.
During one of my monthly conversations with Merrox, he is agitated and orders me to flee as soon as possible. He wants me to steal the Book of Harrow that Ianthe was studying and take it to an address in Travar. The timing was right, as Ianthe and other high ranking Hand members had gone away for some business, leaving me practically alone with the Book.
I didn’t want to lose time. Without going to my chambers to collect any belongings, I created a rift in the lab’s shadows. Before stepping in I set fire to the room, making sure to douse the shelves and notes well. Grabbing the heavy tome, I stepped in the rift. Minutes later I emerged at a crossroads near Scavia. I headed towards town, seeking a mount.
A group of orc scorcher horses was tied outside an inn, with a lonely, seemingly junior, orc guarding them. I hid the book at the back of the inn and went inside. Quickly assessing the scene I found material for a fight, and using newly acquired talents pitched the scorchers and locals against each other. I stepped outside and told the guard that he was missing out. Not wanting to be left out he rushed in, weapon in hand. Not losing any more time I retrieved the book, hamstrung all horses but one and took off on it as fast as the beast would take me. Ever conscious of my (lack of) riding skills, I secured my body tightly around the horse and possessed it. With full control I could ride even faster, my only challenge being not to drop my body. I was sure that the scorchers would try and follow me, so I crossed a river, left the horse to graze and created another rift to a relatively short distance away, thus losing my trail. It was dangerous business stepping into shadows like that, and the more distance sought the higher the chance of getting lost in them.
After pushing on through night and day, begging or paying for passage on barges, avoiding main towns and almost starving, I arrived at the gates of Travar at nght. I took a circuitous route to the address given, feeling paranoid that I’d be caught at this penultimate stage of my mission. Finding the door, I knock, not too hard. As it swings open a mighty blow catches the back of my head, and I pass out.
When I come too I’m tied to a chair in the middle of a large room. Bright lights are arranged in a circular fashion all around me, pointing towards me. Arranged so they eliminated all chances of there being a shadow.
A hooded dwarf steps in the circle of light. Looking up, I see it’s Wolf. I ask him to untie him, I brought the book as instructed. He doesn’t budge. He starts questioning me. He says Merrox was an agent of the Hand, seeking to get more power internally by grabbing hold of a Book of Harrow. Was I working for him? I refute all his hypotheses, my intentions were always good. Evidently he doubts me, as he starts beating me and kicking me to the ground still tied to the chair, telling me I’m lying. He’s not satisfied until he’s cut off a finger, and, screaming in agony, I tell him to kill me there and then if he does not believe that I work for Throal. More must have been said and done, but the mind often chooses not to keep note of all that goes on when in such pain. What I do remember though, is that at one point he stopped, stood up straight with a grunt, and said, alright, it seems you are not working for the Hand.
He walks off and returns with a miniature chest. It looks like a remnant of a bygone age, beautifully crafted and ancient. It opens without a creak, and from it he produces a stained, dusty vial. The liquid inside seems to glow and swirl of its own accord. Here, he says, drink this. He helps it to my lips and I swallow without second thoughts. A burning sensation formed in my throat as I sent it down, settled in my stomach and grew. When it became almost unbearable it immediately stopped, replaced by an overwhelming sense of healing and well being. I looked at myself and could see that feeling go out to every limb, renewing my body as it went. My finger grew back, my scars disappeared, my skin looked fresh. Given a mirror I would have seen myself as the young man I was, rather than a travel-weary hardened adventurer. Given a mirror I would have seen myself with two eyes, instead of the solitary one I had grown accustomed to. I was a cauldron of emotions at that moment – joy, annoyance, anger, relief. At least he apologized, he had to make sure that I was not playing the two sides.
From the darkness Lau Ben stepped out. He must have witnessed the whole show. He greeted me warmly, and said that the forces of Throal are gathering strength in a secret location, we would be going to meet them. We left Travar and met up with Vin Namek, freelance troll pirate. His crystal raider ship took us with great haste back into the Blasted Lands, and stopped outside Black Rock Forge. I should have known.
And so it ended. I made myself some very powerful enemies, and I will not rest easy until the Hand is destroyed. It could have been easy for me to back out before any of this happened, but in doing so I would have turned away from the one chance we had to save all of Barsaive, and beyond, from the second Scourge being planned by the Hand.
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