Coda.

The war on the bloodlores was long and arduous lasting nearly two years. The effect of the battles could be seen as far as Iopos and Kratas, a swath of dessicated fields and ghost towns, from which severe raiding had culled the settlements to nothing. A small tribe of savage warriors at first, the Bloodlores rose suddenly to prominence under the new leadership for Mikkil Bloodeye, whose blitzkrieg of piracy inflated his sky navy with captured drakkars and ships from all tribes. Even worse was the inexplicable reserve of power they suddenly achieved. Seemingly unkillable, a fiersome bloodlore could cut down a score of trolls his equal, and their red cystal weapons cut through armor and crackled with lightning.

The speed of their war took the other Troll tribes by surprise. Bothe the stoneclaws and Ironmongers suffered terrible losses and chose to retreat outlying communes to a handful of fortifyed towns. There they entrenched themselves and reinforced their defenses, waiting for the bloodlores to slake their thirst for revenge and to finish their raiding parties by the end of winter.

But they never stopped.

Desperate for supplies the Ironmongers and Stoneclaws raided each other and weaker settlements, contributing further turmoil in the region. Times became grim indeed.

It was in the early winter of 1509 when an airship sailed near Volkshome, the Ironmonger mountain city. Hidden from normal view by the crevices of the Tylon Mountains, the warriors launched a desperate attack, but they did not find enemies on board - they found allies and kin. At first the crew of the Air Whisper could do little in he war. They remained passive gaining their trust, understanding the enemy and learning the customs of their new allies. Many weeks passed, and the vestiges of winter began to hit. Unable to persuade the Ironmongers to change their defensive stance, the crew launched out to strike a bold surprise strike of their own on a remote hasitly erected supply post. Though they faced a mere handful of enemies the battle was harsh,wounds seemingly unable to affect the red trolls. Even so, by the end of the night, corpses of their foes, and many friends fuelked a charnel house of flame. The outpost was no more.

This and a handful of other daring raids on remote outposts managed to gain the respect of the other trolls. Soon Jarls friend and old master Hasbjorn threw in his drakkar to support he air whisper, and after a month, the fleet was up four vessels. By month two they dared strike their first attack on a Bloodlore drakkar, sending the blood soaked vessel spiralling down in a raging ball of flame.
Though successful, the enemy was still too hard to beat and the crew of the Air Whisper knew they needed more than a few dissidents from the Ironmongers to help them. Careful they waited and watched the settlements of the Stoneclaws. When the bloodlores attacked a settlement, they tricked their associated fleet into a rescue mission. It was a dangerous gambit - but it paid off, the door to negotiations opened, and in time the trolls banded together for this common cause.

It was in the second year that the secret of hte bloodlores was revealed. Another group of Watchmen under the leadership of Wolf, defeated Lastail, one of the leaders of the Hand, and secured another Book of Harrow. Under interrogation the mystery unravelled. Using dark blood magic, the Bloodlores sacrificed captured slaves and took their life force, granting them untold srtength and vitality. The trolls used the very souls of their captives to increase their power. Once this truth came out, the remaining tribes did not need further convincing, the war effort was shifted from the defensive to a full on onslaught, one fuelled by outrage and vengeance for the dishonorable deaths of hundreds of their people.

But the Air Whisper and it's crew took leave from this battle for a while as tragic news reached them. The covert war in Kratas was not going as well, and their friend Vin Namek had been captured by the nefarious Vistrosh, and killed. They delegated the ship to a trusted commander, and left the skies to avenge their comrade and settle an old score. The Five Flames were alone once more.

Their fame preceeding them, they found no shortage of allies in the resistance of Kratas. Meeting with the supposedly dead Garthik One-Eye, the group aids in their guerilla war agains Brochers Brood, who use their ill gotten gains to raise a mercenary army. Eventually the heroes opt to strike at the financial core of their operations when they discover the source of the Mescal drug. Far to the east, within the veil of the Servos Jungle, the Brood ran a large plantation. With the Hands power, the Brood captured a Horror that had possessed a huge plant - it's roots laced nearly a mile of field. Slippery like tentacles the horror was milked for it's essence which was processed and refined into the addicitve soul blighting drug. The secret of it's location was the most difficult campaign of all: stealth missions, assassinations, misinformation and infiltration - all missions dependent on zero mistakes. But with the final piece of hte puzzle, the plantation slave masters received a wake up call of their own - in the form of blazing cannon fire from the Air Whisper. The destruction absolute, the resistance need not wait very long before the power struggle began to happen. Encouraging a sense of fear and paranoia the Brood began infighting and soon Vistrosh himself had to flee into the night never to be seen again as the heads of his underlings began to line the walls of Kratas.

Never ones to rest, the Five returned north, and to the war. Mikkil had revealed his latest and greatest weapon: a huge behemoth of a drakkar, made from true earth, wood and ruby red living crystal - The Reaver. Like a battleship it held hundred of bloodlores who descended on the Ironmonger capital and obliterated everythign and everyone within. The Stoneclaws were soon to follow. Unable to face the Reaver in the sky, the Five faced mortal danger in a climb up the mountains and crept clsoe to the Bloodlore home itself. Through guile they penetrated the defenses and managed ot reach the sacrificial chamber where the blood magic was cast. It appeared ot be another lost lab of the master magus Ferros. As they set about destroying it they were confronted by the leader himself - Mikkil Bloodeye . The bloody battle was long and arduous, the power of Mikkils Lighting Mace slew most of the Flames, but when almost all was lost they rallied and Mikkil was no more. A rift took them away before the army itself could follow. With their defiant leader down the power struggle left the Bloodlore vulnerable and by the end of the year the war was over.

For a moment in time, it seemed like the forces of rightousness were giving a moments breath. The Hand went back into hiding, their biggest two instruments destroyed, and their leadership weak. The trolls held overdue funerals and then feasts, Kratas took it's revenge on the usurpers and despots and if just for a little moment, the heroes could rest.

However the nature of things is fragile. They tried to find ways to curtail the raiding culture of the trolls and introduce a farming class, but it is hard to change a people dependent on war. The troll alliance fractued and things resettled to the ways they used to be. Fearful settlers refused to live so close to what they percieved as bloodthirsty raiding trolls, and the trolls themselves had to set out far to find food to steal. Kratas was in shambles from the great fire which Vistrosh had set upon it, and it was flooded with maniacal regugees, thirsty for more mescal, desperate enough to kill, crazy enough not to care. The Force of the Eye had to use the same force the previous tyrant used to "put down" this threat, something that left them hollow and empty. It seemed the Hand was winning even in it's defeat.

And this is when Thera invaded Barsaive.

Let it not be said that this was unexpected. The Throalic forces had been drilling and preparing for well over a year, or rather since the last war many years ago. Regardless, an invasion is anything but what the land needed.

The Five Flames did what they could in the war, using the Air Whisper to great effect, shipping refugees to safe haven, or smuggling supplies behind enemy lines to resistance troops there. But their true mission was never forgotten, and they still sought ways to destroy the Hand who even now exploited the turbulent atmosphere to great advantage.

Then it came, after so long, the moment the Watchmen had been waiting for. A young dwarf named Wilks, an almost new addition to the order, selected by the Flames themselves, uncovered a Hand safe house, and from that, the path to a hidden outpost.

The Watchmen staged a covert surprise attack on the outpost And a major showdown ensued with the last known leader of the Nihilists: Ianthe. The prize was the last books of Harrow and many scrolls and books full of the Hands magics and plans. With victory in the air they returned back to the forge to pour over what they could, and as quickly as possible before the Hand can react to the loss of their outpost.

Forgoing sleep, the great hall converted itself to a rudimentary library – with nearly the entire Watchmen force reading and rereading, making notes on chalkboards and extracting whatever information they could use. Wolf finally dropped his pretence of secrecy and ordered whatever lead to be pursued. If on a scribbled piece of a paper a name was mentioned of a petty thief, the latter would wake to find three grizzled warriors holding him down a knife to his throat and a demand for information on their lips.

The Hand reacted in kind, and soon battles took place wherever the Watchmen and Hand crossed paths. The Five caught up with Broker leader Postrish, but despite severe wounds she slipped through their fingers vowing bloody revenge. The hand then played their trump card and revealed how much they knew on the Watchmen themselves.

A single night passed. In the morning the Watchmen woke to tragedy. Their families, wives, husbands children, mothers, siblings, and friends had been slain. The Order was devastated, and became blind to tactics, spreading out eager for revenge. Just as the magi completed the research on Ferros, the Hand attacked the Forge itself and killed the agents where they slept. Postrish was killed here, and the myseterious assassin Absolution was found a day later culling an entire villiage to draw attention. His defeat cost K’eregem his life and stunned the Order of the Watchmen began to unravel.

The Five Flames, already a very shaky union, barely holding it together after many travails nearly splintered, but managed to hold it together for just a little longer. For they had found where the leadership was hiding.

As Throal managed a pyrric victory against the Therans, and rebuilding was taking place, the Five Flames did not let anyone rest.

Calling in every favour and all their allies the Five sieged a hidden fortress outside of Parlainth. The Orc Cavalry men on land, the Troll Sky Raiders in the air, an Omaron sponsored mercenary fleet, and a cadre of Obsidiman Magi to back them up the Five lived only fuelled by a duty to their fallen comrades and their hearts beat only bloody revenge.

As they blew the doors away to the central chambers the Five finally faced the secret leader of the Hand: Elendil - Elissars own brother. The voice in the nethermancers head was him all along and suddenly they found themselves incapable of action – the brand on their backs controlled by this very villain before them. It all began to come to gether – it all became clear.

Cast away in his youth, he swore to gain power by any means and as if fate guided him, he discovered a secret lab of the magus Ferros. Unlocking the powers within he was able to join a then weak group of idealists and restructure their power base into what became the Hand of Corruption. Persuading them of a fake cause he secretly used them as pawns in his greater game: achieving godhood – just like Ferros did.

“I could never trust these fanatics with the truth, nor could I get them to work together to help decipher the hidden meanings inside the Books of harrow.” Said Elendil. “So I allowed you to defeat my playthings and gain access to the books – your zeal to do right and uncover the secrets as a collective allowed me a insight I would have taken a lifetime to uncover”

Using the brand, Elendil played with them like rag dolls and set them upon one another. “A device allowed me to sense people who could affect my destiny – so I had them all round up and set about controlling them” he laughed maniacally. As nefarious as his plan was he could never collect them all. Cyrellion – unbound by this bond – destroyed the control device and the Five set upon the powerful magus.

Little is known what happened next, suffice to say the huge fortress itself collapsed in a chain series of magical explosions and the Flames emerged from a rift – even in the nether a battle had ensued.

Absolved of their duty, finished with their destiny and weary from their neverending battles the five Flames dissolved and one of the greatest Hero Bands to walk in Barsaive was no more – each having their own demons to face, a path they much each walk on their own.


Ahmok.

Ever since the Mist Swamps, Ahmok had drawn the attention of Thystonius. The god of conflict took a particular like to the T’skrangs philosophy and prowess and decided to make him an avatar – however the feeling was far from mutual. A Passion is not to be rebuffed and instead put conflict in Ahmoks path as a means to persuade him otherwise. Battles became a curse, even as Ahmok killed the first Bloodlore and as he pulled his sword from a Hand assassin, all Thystonious could do was clap and laugh heartily nearby preparing another fight for the weary swordmaster.

Ahmok still rebuffed the god, but accepted his role. He returned to Travar where his friend, the merchant Omaron, had managed to secure a thriving business. The dwarven merchant allied with Ahmok, and the latter amassed a small gladiatorial group and fought in the Guantlet winning the Olympic battle within. This secured Omarons position in the government and both profited beyond their dreams.

At first Ahmok opened a swordsman academy with his gladiators and turned to training. Despite it’s success and popularity, still Ahmoks heart was hollow, facing daily duels and Thystonious’ wiles. Also the prospect of teaching had made him miss his old master – the legendary Keregem. One day the famous swordmaster just packed his bags and left the material life behind walking in the path of his old master.

He walked the land, from town to town, village to village, always a stranger arriving at just the right moment to help people in need and almost never reaching for his blade to solve the issue. Years later, he faced Thystonious with calm and the passion lost interest in the T’skrang and Ahmok was free.

Even as he sat silent in a village tavern he heard people talking of the legendary Ahmok the greatest swordsman to walk the land, all he did was remember his master, and the sense of majesty the peace in the servos jungle had. There and then he removed his sword and walked away never to lift a weapon again. He died a quiet old man in a remote village you probably never heard of – his legend lives on.



Jarl

Jarl was always trapped in many worlds. He saw the allegory of his battle in the mist swamps as a connection of water. The war of the blood trolls was one of air. The next was one of earth.

During the Troll skirmishes Jarl returned to his homeland and met with his family. At first it was business as usual, hostile siblings and disapproving snide parents. But Jarl saw more there than met the eye. The Orc workers were herded and treated like slaves, and they mined more than special clay. The Skalders had unearthed a source of true earth. Angry at first, Jarl was positively incensed when he discovered his father was making trade agreements with the Hand itself. When his brother crept in the night to silence the upstart elementalist everything went white hot.

Jarl emerged from his lands with a fractured mind, having obliterated his entire bloodline in one night – his skin sizzling with the raw power he tapped into. Fortunately there was a war to channel his new found reserves into and after that there was Kratas, and after that there was the Hand. Jarl was a man possessed and alienated all those around him.

After this fire had calmed he had come full circle and he had faced all the elements wanted to throw at him. Time passed and he returned to his old self, but not before tracking down the mysterious bard he was supposed to seek out and finding the source of his family’s curse. The solution involved a heroquest – a journey into a god realm from which he absolved the taint his horror worshipping ancestors had done and in doing so his own. He returned and his family lands not only were fertile – they thrived.

Due to the Hands ploy to buy land in Skalders name Jarl was a very powerful landowner – but was never one for farming. He gave away the rich land to whomever seemed worthy of it – to the needy and to the bold, visiting each home like a wandering nomad and sleeping in barns. Occasionally he made a pot of the Skalder Spicy Stew, an honor bestowed on the few friends he had left.

He died relatively young in an unexplained explosion. Those who knew him best thought it was the way he would have wanted to go.



Ivor

Amongst the Ironmongers, Ivor found new brothers. The trollmoot held many secrets in the art of smithing kept secret for those worthy. Working side by side with their smiths to reinforce their vessels and overseeing more defensive structures, the skyraiders eventually blessed him with the trust he needed. By the end of the Bloodlore war, he had found new ways to meld various metals into new alloys. Finally deciding that this was the mineral he required to start his forgeblade he was inducted into the clan itself and dubbed “Voriok” meaning the Blessed.

Once the Hand was destroyed and his friends had parted ways he was left in a position he rarely had been before – completely up to his own devices. In a very short time he completed what should have been a life quest and forged a paid of perfect gauntlets, with retractable blades. With war still in his veins he donned his new creations and headed west where Theran and throalic skirmishes occurred frequently.

Two years had passed and the Orc nomads began to call him “Ga’Shan” meaning Steel Heart. As a guerrilla soldier among them he did what he did best – create new weapons, enhance their existing ones and built defences to keep them safe.

Eventually he returned to the Forge, and encountered a solitary old and weak Oaki, still keeping the site alive as it’s grandmaster. The secret of the forge and all the lore the watchmen had accumulated rested here – like a catacomb. The two realised it could never be truly defended. With Dol Kraals permission and a blessing from Upandal the two took it apart brick by brick, incantation by incantation: a process of many many months. Once the last pillar came down and the true flame pit poured through the complex and fused it closed Oaki lay down and died silently.

Still weary from the ordeals Ivor is recalled to the capital and offered the post of head weaponsmith, effectively demoting his father. The two have a terrible confrontation and Ivor denounces his name forever – becoming reborn as Vorshan.

He is next sighted at Urupa, tending to the temples of Upandal and the various buildings and monuments there. In time he draws an affinity for the city, marries and raises a family and eventually his popularity gets him elected governor of the city. When a new settlement is built in the north, the aqueducts and fountains he creates are considered a wonder of the world and remain standing for over 500years.

His funeral procession was over a mile long.


Cyrellion.

Cyrellion started his exploits as a slave liberator and returned to his roots after the Flames fractured. Though his calling was that of an archer, he started to live life as an Air Sailor. When Jarl began his descent into madness the dwarf saw to it that Cyrellion took over the Air Whisper as captain and the elf soon bonded with the vessel like no other.

So much so that Cyrellion was always stricken with duality. He was born into nobility but lived as a pauper, trained as a soldier but faught like a guerrilla. His many brushes with horrors only made his character more separate and apart. When his family was slain a part of him grieved while the other fought bravely one as if nothing happened.

During the last stand of the Elendil at the Hand fortress, he lost his grip in the nether space and nearly was consumed by the entities there. He had no more room to store his repressed thoughts. He became silent and then weeks later just fell into a coma.

It took over seven months before a Garlen priestess could draw him from the nightmare he was battling in his head. When he woke he was all but dead, his eyes wide and filled with void, and he lost all traces of the cheery elf he once was. Or at least half of him.

The other half became the most fearsome privateer the region had seen. With the Air Whisper he raided Theran ships and outposts with wonton recklessness leaving only destruction in his wake. He earned the nickname “Der’ishan” meaning Captain Winter and his fanatically loyal crew the Winter Wolves.

Eventually the ship was destroyed by a massed Theran fleet,, but not before it was sent into a ramming path with one of their behemoths. The two exploded and Captain Winter was presumed dead. But not Cyrellion.
He returns to what he knew best – training guerrillas to liberate slave camps. One the way he meets a mystic healer who threw passion powers and deep meditation finally heals the scar on his heart. For the first time in nearly twenty years, the elf weeps and feels real emotion again.

Restored of a soul he takes a pilgrimage across Barsaive revisiting old haunts and new places alike. He meets and falls gut wrenchingly in love with a blood elf and attempts to extridct her from her noble household and the dark inclinations of her parent household.

The two die in their escape though their passion draws the attention of Astendar who moved by their plight raises their souls into doves and both take wing together.



Elessar

Unable to truly understand why anyone would do what his brother did Elessar used his time to delve deeper into the lore. Thirst for power that consumed so many lives so much death for so little gain seemed inconceivable.

With the watchmen disbanded the Nethermancer absconded with the books of harrow and whatever lore he could get his hands on. He studied and researched for years and years, foregoing more than sleep and human contact, almost driven to obsession like his fallen sibling.

Both rituals – that of Ferros and Elendil – were drastically flawed and in order to become a true immortal they would have tapped the very essence of life. Elessar realised with his half magic that a tap was indeed running. It took time but he found The still living Magus Ferros, trapped in the body of a very frail old man, but yet brimming with power and immortal. He did not achieve an ascent to godhood, and in failing to do so he prolonged the aftermath of the scourge, the reason why the dice always seemed loaded at the start for the entire world. The reason why horrors still had an anchor to this world.

In an epic magical display lasting days, Elessar and Ferros locked themselves in a duel. When finally people could dare approach the seven mile crater they formed they found two bodies within.

With Ferros defeated, Barsaive entered a new renaissance, the weather was kind, the land bountiful, fortunes sweet and trust more easy to come by. It heralded an age modern historians refer to as the golden century, who also argue over the validity of the claims made about the final battle that took place nearly two thousand years ago.

Indeed only recently when breaking ground for a new metropolitan skyscraper, an old kaer was discovered. Within was a library – perfectly preserved first written in scrolls, and parchment, then in leather bound books, set printing and then typewritten material.

All the texts are a first person historical account of the history of Barsaive, it’s land, it’s people and above all it’s heroes. Archaeologists found this to be the greatest discovery of all time – all the texts seem valid and accurate, written in a multitude of languages. But the question they all asked is where did this trove of lore come from?


A silent internet user sits at a desk and starts a new blog. “It all began in a dark dank cell. I awoke, with my head throbbing from the kidnap, beside me were a dwarf, a windling, a human and a T’skrang”

The Campaign is over

For anyone who lands on this page and reads through the entries etc...

Around mid July we were all stunned to hear one of the players - Elessar in game - will be moving country to pursue a better career.

After lengthy discussions we decided it was quite fortuitious we stopped ont he verge of a downtime and that we had all pretty much chosen the direction our characters will take. This left our GM with a pretty nifty way to work from that point and write a satisfying ending for our characters. I am sure that it will be posted here once its written.

and now for the next campaign - 7th Sea!

The Council at the Forge

by Jarl Skalder

Finally we land at the Forge. Even though the heat is horrifying, its not even close to the Horrors we encountered, defeated and escaped from back at the Mist Swamp. My death in the swamp still vivid to me, my heart burns and feel weakened when the weather turns foul - sadly I will have to carry this curse from Silas to my grave.

After a day and a night of sleep and cleaning up, the Flames are summoned for a Council meeting of The Watchers. Also attending Oaki, Olki, Kerrigan, Wolf and Vin-Namek. The meeting, chaired by Wolf as Merrox's second in command began with us relating the last month of adventure. Once that was done, the bad news started.

In our month of 'absence' 3 very worrying happenings (amongst other less serious worrying happenings) had caught the attention of the Watchers namely;

1. The Bloodlores. We are briefed that they upped the ante on the StoneClaws. The Hand is definitely helping them. Chorak is now dead presumably killed; and the new leader is now Mikil - the violent Troll who gave us the books in exchange for the discs. There sudden ascent to power, and the defensive stance taken by the StoneClaws and the Ironmongers, mean that the Bloodlores are more powerful then ever before, could it be the discs helped them out somehow as well?

2. In the thief city of Kratas a coup was made on the de-facto 'chief' of Kratas; Garthik one-Eye Leader of the Order of the Eye. Vistrox and Brochers Brood rule Kratas now. The Hand, controlling the Brochers Brood, now has enough confidence now to open shop in public in Kratas, actively calling out and hiring anyone to their evil cause with promises of gold and power. The city is pretty much lost to Martial Law and Tyranny just what the Hand wants.

3. Increased Theran movement in the South West. More Theran spies where spotted in the cities. The threat though is too far away and the Watchers have no envoys in nearby cities.

Once briefed, the main meeting points where discussed mainly -

a. recruitment. We are 80 members in total, on the field there are usually just about around 50 members. This is definitely too low, even though one of us is worth a dozen of the Hand, the Hand still outnumbers by scores to one, and for every person that joins us - the Hand would have recruited a lot more in the meantime. Vin-Namek, still affected by the death of 10 of his crew during the last attack on the Bloodlores proposes with going all out - show the aspiring heroes out there that The Watchers exist, with legendary heroes accomplishing incredible deeds as its members. I agree, though the same cannot be said about the majority of the Council and this recruitment plan was discarded. Instead it was decided to talk covertly to community leaders, Questors and forge leaders and they recruit the next generation.

b. expanding the Order by creating a specialised group of Horror Hunters. This point created heated debate - Olki said yes, Wolf said no as it would divert important resources from our main quest of hunting The Hand. The Flames are undecided, in the end the idea did not go through.

c. helping the Hand-affected community in general. Again the plan was discussed whether we are going to do this overtly or undercover, and what resources to use. The idea of repopulating Lybaden was discussed as well. In the end it was decided to steal from the Hand and give to community leaders to rebuild affected areas. The Watchers will send a handful of our best rogues for a test of two months.

At this point a bored Vin-Namek took over and declared that the Watchers are being too complacent and that his crew and himself are reduced to chauffeurs. He declares he wants to go charge and turn the tables on Kratas and the Bloodlores. The discussion was quickly picked up by the Flames, always itching for action, and we were recruited to take care of one of the missions. We were briefed for what needs to be done to bring down the Bloodlores and Kratas. We opted on the Bloodlores mission - mainly after the Air Whisper point discussed later on.

d. Rank and Grade Structure. Everyone agreed the Watchers should have a proper rank and grade structure. We will be briefed again once this is finalised

e. Splitting loot and the Air Whisper. In another heated point of debate, Vin-Namek complained that the people left behind at the Forge doing research, while invaluable, are not getting any loot. Previously any loot captured in a mission is totally at the disposal of the adventurers who found it. We all agreed this is unfair and now 40% of all gold and valuables goes back to The Watchers, 10% community pool and 30% to non questing members. Regarding Magic items, Oaki will be ultimate judge of the magic items 'pool' at the Forge and debate better use if need be between other adventuring groups, depending on mission at hand etc.

f. Air Whisper. After much deliberation and loud and clear indications from Vin Namek to Captain her, the beauty of having a great ship ourselves is too great and we refuse to give the Air Whisper up. Lately, we all agreed, the Flames were getting the short end of the stick and it was about time to have something great to show for our great deeds. We all do a promise to invest our time and resources into becoming able to man the ship and maintaining her. To my great delight I am allowed to Captain the ship, and I am thrilled by the prospect.

g. the Skalder curse case. This was quickly sorted out that the Flames will work on it since we are heading up North; but not as a primary objective.

h. Improving the Library - After some debate it was agreed that all magic users should spend some time to make communal copies of their spellbooks. Also any books found will now be added to the common Forge Library. Lack of resources prevents us from actively purchasing books of Lore unfortunately. We cringe remembering the thousands upon thousands of tomes in Ferros' citadel now lost eternally to the Horror realm.

i. the apparition of the Dragon in the swamp. Elessar raised a point as to whether the Dragon is a threat to Barsaive and whether anything should be done about it. The huge power of the Dragons though makes it impossible to predict, we are all at its mercy and no use debating about.

j. the allying with the Ironmongers. It is agreeable they should become our allies, but not revealing ourselves as the Watchers. We (as the Flames) agree to make contact with them when we are in the North, and with our promise to hunt the Bloodlores together, make valuable allies.

As the meeting finished off, and everyone headed back to his own worries, we strode out and the silhouette of the Air Whisper gleaming in the sea of sand brought a smile to our faces. We look at each other for a second and the feeling of great adventure to come washes over us, we laugh long and heartily.

The Five Flames; an epilogue

Silas stood grinning in front of us. His Hand bodyguards in full plate armour and another four warriors ready to pounce us at a word's notice. Ivor gripped the straps holding the Eighth Book of Harrow.

We retreated.

Back in the darkness of the library we quickly retraced our steps to one of the doorways. Since we knew the layout of the citadel and the way the portals worked, our plan was to split their numbers chasing us and confuse them. The Citadel was collapsing around us so we had to get out as soon as possible, with the Eighth Book, at all costs.

Running through a doorway our Spellcasters buffed our defences in preparation for the fight ahead. We leapt from portal to portal, until the angelic doorway leading to the foyer stood before us again. We drew our weapons, adjusted my quiver , twanged my bow in preparation, took a deep breath and knocked on the door. The angel doors opened and we stepped through.

Silas and the others still stood there. Waiting for us. Great.

"Give us the Book and the four of you will be allowed to leave," Silas declared. Either he couldn't count, or one of us wasn't part of his bargain.

"Eat dirt and die!"

"Come get it yourself!"

"Over our dead bodies!"

"Charge!!!"

The four warriors, garbed in loose cloth wrapped around their faces leapt forward, fanning out to circle us. The bodyguards went through an elaborate kata while Silas started to chant.

Our escape route was blocked and the citadel was crumbling around us, but we were in the moment. Until Silas was dead we weren't going anywhere.

Jarl froze the floor in front of them to keep our enemies at bay, Ivor's hammer lit with a flaming roar, metal on metal unsheathing of Ahmok's deadly blades and Elessar's chanting put a grin on my face.

I took deadly aim on one of the Slayers. We were outnumbered, and by the looks of it in deep shit. Yet the creaking of my bow and the point of my arrow in line with my target completely blocked this out. To an onlooker a wooden shaft suddenly sprouted from the slayer's chest who went down like a brick.

First blood.

The battle that followed was furious. The lights suddenly blinked out, pitching us in absolute darkness. Elessar screamed and writhed in agony behind me. Our enemies weren't wielding any bows.... magic! One of them was a spellcaster – I made a mental note to ask my fellows to tell me if they knew about our enemies before going into battle!

I followed Elessar's screams in the darkness until his spasming hit my leg. Not knowing what to do against this kind of magic, I pulled out a healing flask and forced it down his throat, if anything to buy him some more time.

Amok cursed in the darkness, almost stumbling over Jarl's icy floor, who finally lit our immediate area with a cantrip. Elessar's face was whiter than usual, he clutched his chest and squirmed in agony, then slumped unconscious – better that way for now. I hoisted him on my back and followed the wall to what I hoped was the direction of our exit.

Looking to the right I saw Ahmok's blades dance across one of the Slayer's chest. Blood gushed from the his chest and he fell backwards and with a snarl Ivor lunged forward, his roaring hammer crushing the life out of him.

The battle was getting desperate now. Silas was preparing to cast another spell, and from what I had seen already I knew that we weren't going to survive another one of his attacks. Ahmok must have sensed this too because he jumped over the ice brandishing his blades with expertise.

Just then the lights went out again... Jarl. I bumped head-first into the wall and stopped mid-step. Elessar must have been shaken awake by his muttering.

I gratefully put Elessar down and tried to peer into the darkness. He told me that Silas used a spell that physically crushed his heart. Another second and he would have surely died. Something must have broken Silas's concentration, otherwise he wouldn't have woken up again.

The Nethermancer could see through Silas's spell of darkness, so I followed his light step towards the exit.

The light finally came back on and I groaned. Ahmok was surrounded on all sides by the bodyguards and slayers. With every blade he blocked another two sliced in. One guard kicked Amok in the chin, snapping his head back. His heavy sword followed the kick almost instantly, giving an opening to the other bodyguard who stabbed him from the back. They were butchering him!

Looking at the bodyguards I knew that finding a chink in their armour would be difficult, but as I concentrated I felt an old magic stirring within me. His armour became clearer, more obvious. My Family's crest, no more than a hand's breadth wide blinked into existence on a fold of his armour. I held focus and drew my bow. The crest – Three arrows pointing inwards to a jewel sharpened in clarity. I loosed and the bodyguard jerked and went down.

Elessar and Jarl threw everything they had at the rest of time, clearing a space for Ahmok to bolt free.

Silas saw this and reached out to Jarl who's grin disappeared in a cry of pain, clutching his chest and fell back. Elessar somehow managed to come out of it alive, but Jarl didn't seem so lucky. The last thing Jarl screamed was for us to get out with the book.

Ivor ran through the giant doors towards the dock. The sound of storm outside was legion. In that storm was Madness, and it knew that the Citadel and it's protective shield was shattering.

Time was running out.

Jarl gave a final kick and his heart gave in.

Out in the raging storm I turned around to see the slayers chasing Amok and the bodyguards attacking Elessar. A deep rumbling from the Citadel's foundation cut through the storm's wrath – if we didn't stop this now we were all going to die.

Silas strode forward as he was preparing another spell. I could barely make him out through the wind and rain. Reaching in my quiver I fingered my last arrow, slightly longer than the others, it seemed to absorb the light around it. I felt a shiver run down my spine as I pulled it free. The Arrow of Death. It was now or never. I took a deep breath, judged the distance and the roaring wind, nocked the arrow, drew and released.

The deadly shaft arced high through the air, cutting through the storm like the Reaper.

I like to think that Silas felt Death streaking towards him. His form crumpled to the floor, his life blinking out instantly. Silas was no more.

Elessar dodged and ducked the great sword that tried to smite him down. He leapt up from a crouch, reaching for his face as if pulling off a mask. His grotesque face hissed at the bodyguard who dropped his sword and stumbled backwards in terror.

Ahmok turned on the Slayers and stated the obvious – if we didn't all leave now all of us would die. The slayers looked at each other and nodded to Ahmok. A temporary truce.

Ahmok ran back and picked up Jarl's lifeless form.

Ivor struck the gong. We peered into the waiting storm, hoping that the barge would have heard the summons. When it finally did we leapt on board and rowed for what our life was worth.

Never have I seen such demonic creatures. They were all around us, swimming through the waters, clawing at us from above and raping our minds with their insanity. A mother devouring her deformed child hovered over the water. Maniacal creatures tore at each other to get to us. We held on for dear life as the storm whipped the flat barge about. Finally we shot through the rift and into the Mist Swamps.

All around us life burned and was flailed by the horrors that boiled out of the rift behind us. Barely able to hear each other Elessar ripped a portal open and leapt through with Ahmok right behind him.

Meanwhile Jarl was jarred back to life by the liquid from the Last Chance Potion Ivor shoved down his throat.

I would have preferred to remain dead. The expression of Jarl's face confirmed it.

The Air Whisper was so close. Around us the countless dead were stirring awake, blocking our route. Ivor landed blow after blow, keeping them at bay.

In the meantime Elessar and Ahmok emerged in the bottom-most chamber where we had fought the horror. With a twist of the mechanism they shut down the beam of light and sealed the rift.

The wind stopped howling, yet the damage was done. Hundreds of horrors raced across the Mist Swamps, destroying everything in their path. I could feel the land around being leached from life.

From the Air Whisper a voice called out to us. It was Raan, the spirit soldier. They had loyally remained behind fending off enemies off the magnificent ship. We were hauled up to the deck where Elessar and Ahmok appeared before us.

We had to get away, and fast!

We told Jarl, who looked like he was sat on by a dragon, to try to fly the ship. He just looked at us weakly and coughed blood.

"We will remain here to fight with you, but we don't have much time. What little powers we have left we'll transfer to you. May the Gods hear your prayers".

And with that the remaining spirit soldiers seemed to meld with us. All my weariness fled out of us. Never before have I felt such power coursing through me.

Jarl bound up from the deck, eyes clear as day and a grin on his face. He quickly ran up to the navigation platform and grasped the wheel.

"Everyone to their posts, you land-lubbers, let's get this girl in the air!".

Somehow we all knew what to do. We unfurled the sails and each of us took an oar. With straining backs we heaved with all our might. It was impossible, but somehow, with a loud , tired groan the Air Whisper righted itself and started to wobble to the air.

We rose high. The destruction that the horrors wreaked was unbelievable. Entire areas were blacked, a sea of creatures writhed and tore at the Earth, probably poisoning it for centuries. In the distance a huge black form hovered over the complex, spewing gouts of flame and turning the whole place into rubble, melting it down and utterly destroying it; it was a dragon.

We rowed and rowed, increasing our distance towards safety.

Panic hit us when in the distance we saw another spec on the horizon. Our heightened senses clearly made it out to be an enemy air ship. The way it was gaining on us there was no chance of escaping the air pirates. Elessar whipped out the summoning stone and called Wolf. Words were exchanged and from the relieved sigh we knew that we were safe. The ship coming towards us was our friend Wolf!

We slowed until the other ship caught up and were quickly boarded by the Trolls, who manned our places and quickly brought the sagging ship back into the air.

Although the Mist Swamps were now plagued by horrors and much work lay ahead, we bested the pirates and slavers, fought the undead, defeated a Horror and it's Constructs, found the Lost Citadel albeit destroying it in the process, and succeeded in thwarting the Hand from finding the Lost Citadel and claiming the 8^th Book of Harrow.

Not for a long time have I felt such pride to fight beside Heroes like Jarl Skålder, Ahmok Silanaas, Ivor son of Gunthar and Elessar Silfalas. Now amongst them the name Cyrellion D'Aesh B'Aernon may be sung loud and clear in the Ballads of Barsaive.

The Trolls whipped the ship around, down the road to our next adventure.

THE END

Into the Origins of Madness

The rift torn from the fabric of time and space draws closer. The barge, silent, sinks into it, and just for a moment your breath is stolen away from you as you cross into another plane.

You emerge in the middle of a tempest, upon a violent sea and a bitter angry storm. The waves are purest black, the sky only dark clouds, light only emerging with each whip of lightning that bolt out like constant explosions. The sea is maelstrom. But it does not touch the barge.

The waters attack the invisible shield with fury, the spray cuts like razors, and the storm lashes against you but you are protected. You stand still, alone on a small vessel, untouched, but staring out at the infinity, at what lies within the waters.

The water is nightmare, the sea is purest evil. In each drop of water rests a terror, in each flash of lightning you see the scourge. This is the realm of the Horrors, and the entire host knows you are here and you are not welcome.
And then ahead of you, in the eye of the infinite storm, lies your destination. A citadel, sooted in black, weathered by the constant siege of the unforgiving maelstrom. The island houses an imposing structure, several storeys high, dwarfing the walls of Urupa.

The Barge moves closer, sliding into the bay where 'things' have leeched themselves against the rocky outcropping, watching, waiting. The barge softy slides through a collapsed gateway, there a collective chill runs through your bodies as the shield meshes with that of the citadel.

You step onto the dock, a short rock platform paved with flagstones. There is a bell hanging dutifully by it and while you contemplate its presence the boat slips away and disappears back into the storm.

You are alone.

We disembarked on a flagstoned wharf; the wind whipped around us like there was no tomorrow but the maelstrom never touched us. The barrier around us was our only protection from certain madness. We were greeted by a large basin with runic inscriptions in which was a sulphur like yellow dust. Elessar and Jarl could not decipher the runes and we kept going knowing that time was of the essence as the spirits we left behind could already be fighting against the accursed Black Hand mercenaries and pirates. The island castle itself was a sight to behold;

The imposing citadel door can perhaps fit a small airship through it. The door, has a colossal impression of a warrior woman, an amazon fury. She looks like she was trapped in passing – she emerges from the gate waist deep, one arm raised high into the air, and another low to the ground. Her nails are dragon like talons, ready to ward off intruders.

On its hand was a square where the previous door puzzle we had fit snugly (after an hour or so of contemplating the solution). The door opened to a great spherical foyer chock full of statues and intricate architectural design. Three doors, each different, were the only means of exit from the room. One door was plain looking with a lever on its side, the other had two angelic statues on either side holding a trumpet and a scroll and the other was a circular bronze door, with a constellation diagram depicting passions engraved upon it. We took the latter having the feeling that rather than stepping through a door we had stepped through a portal of some sort, very much like Elessar's rift. We ended up in a circular room that looked like a shrine to the gods, all twelve of them, including the dark gods before they turned. Rashemon's statue is visibly damaged.
Two more doors are in this room. There is still the door with angelic statues and another one. It is made of cured iron wood with fastidious triangular shapes on that leads to a square shaped space with a circular elevated platform with runes on it. Next to this is a large forge that is still lit, obviously by true fire. On the floor we also notice recesses that contain different kinds of metal with racks of blacksmithing tools next to them. We surmise that this was some kind of enchanting chamber. Again three doors mark our choice of exits. The same old door with angelic statues is there as well as another one with a mirror that reflects anything that is not living. This door led to a zen garden that had stairs to an elevated platform that housed a recreational area. What is peculiar in this place is that there is no noise and even our voices are inaudible as we speak. The angelic adorned door is always there and we also see another large heavy wooden door with a jewel encrusted lock.
The latter door leads to a great prison tower riddled with cages on the sides and with large vats containing deformed creatures. There are several bones of all types in the cells even human. Apart from the now recurring door with angelic icons there is a cold iron portcullis opened by a chain hanging from the ceiling. the portcullis leads to a shelf ridden circular room with lots of lock boxes on. These contain a myriad of items. There is also lots of rotten food and hung meat in this room. It looks like a huge pantry. Another two doors welcome us, there is the usual door and another that is made of a thick series of hanging chains. This leads to a triangular chamber which is clearly a summoning chamber. The doors that are in front of us now are all familiar the third one being similar to the slab door with the lever we saw in the foyer. We take that and as expected we end up in the foyer again. We also realised that the angelic adorned door also leads to somewhere in particular since it is present in all the rooms we've been through.
These doors had one thing in common, there was no way to open them. We tried pushing and looking for hidden buttons but to no avail. Then a simple knock from Jarl solved our problem as the door slowly slid ajar. We entered an area so large that our light didn't even hit a wall. We were in a reception area with a desk and a bookshelf. The book shelves extend to each side and seem endless. It takes us a few minutes walk to finally reach a wall. We find spiral staircase leading both up and down leading to more shelves. To put it mildly, this library is of gargantuan proportions.
We then come by a door with a star symbol on it. Elessar is confronted all of a sudden by a ghostly figure who claimed to be the custodian and asked him if he wanted to return a book. We ask her to take us to Ferros' study and she agrees. After a very long journey up and down stairs, through shelves upon shelves of books we arrive at a small bridge leading to an open plateau seemingly in the midst of nothing. There is a big door, covered in mosaics of different elements. Two colossal statues stand beside it, a man holding a trident, and another with a sabre. After some time we fit the elemental pieces we had found on the other plane in place and the door opens. We are confronted with a triangular room with two doors. Taking the left door we end up in a planetarium with a pod in the centre showing a world and a control panel on the side next to a large hourglass with the sands of time inexorably falling down. Some quick research and fiddling with the controls of the incredible machine later we discover that this 'toy' is actually a sort of time control machine that can manipulate past, present and future. Eventually we learn the easy controls of the machine and Ivor uses it to check his family's past.

We decide to check the other door and find the long awaited study of Ferros himself at last.

Polished wooden furnishing adorn this room. Dark varnishes make the cloistered space feel warmer and more cozy, as if this space was a beloved one. Pigeon hole shelves rise to the ceiling, housing various types of scrolls, mostly empty, but each of a different composition and texture – some are reed parchment others are leather skins. There is a small cove with a comfortable chair and table, clearly a niche for Ferros to study at, where a small stack of books rests for perusal.

The first is a lecturn, a place clearly made for the writing of books, it is surrounded with a neat set of ink jars and geometric instruments, quills and pens. The second is a book binding station, where presses hold pages down and large needles stitch binding. Pots of glue and coloured wax are set aside strengthen the tomes once completed. The third desk is a simple podium, where the finished product would await until moved to the library. But most interestingly of all is the fact that it is not unused for a book lies resting on it. A large imposing tome, with dark stretch skin on its cover and the oh so familiar symbols upon it. A book of Harrow. The book is revealed to be the 8th book of Harrow, clearly the last in the series and also not supposed to exist. Before Ferros' transcribed the books, adding his notes and thoughts, but now he has gone beyond. This book would contain spells to master horrors, and higher magic beyond belief – such as the spells to maintain the citadel they are in right now.

A good look around reveals another door that leads to a very small, one man chamber made entirely of gold with walls covered in small runes. Elessar tells us that this chamber is for the disassembly of the citadel we are in. After a brief glimpse into the future through the time manipulating machine we see that a giant tsunami is headed towards the citadel and that a few hours later the citadel is no more. We also see members of the hand including Silas running through the place and decide that the best course of action is to start the disassembly of the city, take the book of Harrow and what we can salvage and leave this place before we too are disassembled.

We make our way to the exit through the vast library led by the custodian. When we reach the door with the angelic figures we prepare for the fight and open the door. Unfortunately what we expected was four guards but as a matter of fact we forgot that we were glimpsing the future and there we were the Five Flames on one side and the Hand, led by Silas, on the other. The stand off was short lived as men rushed into combat and spells were chanted...

Horrors, Lights and Rifts

Before our eyes the tendrils of smoke coalesced into masses of tentacles, four distinct ones, each implanted in a readily available corpse. “Qural’lotectica!” shouts Jarl, “beware their tentacles!” We engage them early, hoping to catch them off guard. It was a mistake, as we soon found out. The tentacles could paralyze their target, and first Ivor, then Ahmok found this out first-hand. Their movement was slow, lumbering, so we (those still standing) put some distance between us and the horrors and attacked from a distance. Slowly but surely they went down, leaving us hoping that surely there would be no more fighting in store for us.

Potions were dealt for those who needed them, and we made our way outside to see what became of the ghost legion led by Raan. As we laid eyes on Rasmussen’s ship, resting on the ground, Raan approached us – it was done. We spend some time going round the vessel, admiring the craftsmanship, as well as eyeing the loot. All of a sudden Jarl, again, gasps loudly with realization – it was the Air Whisper! Sister ship to the Earth Dawn, the first two air ships to brave the world after the Scourge. Loot indeed.

By then it was mid-morning. We head off to reconstruct the elements of the puzzle to open the portal to wherever Ferros built his citadel. From his time spent with the air sailors of the Tylon Mountains Jarl draws on new talents and manages to commandeer the life boat of the Air Whisper, itself an air boat. With the help of some ghost soldiers, we row out to the points on the triangle. The lens on the Air Whisper fits in the rod on the temple of Mynbruje, where I am stationed to catch the light once it comes my way. Ivor rebuilds the pillar thanks to the powers granted him by Upandal. The others head back to Ferros’ house to unleash the light, but as it shoots out it just whips about without control. Unsure what to do next it is turned off, but the damage had been done. Ships were seen headed towards the mountain, and by late afternoon they made landfall.

My lens had cycles of the moon engraved on the edge, and I found out that as I turned it to face skywards it seemed to settle in a more comfortable position. Later I was told that similarly, the lens on the pillar had a jagged line engraved on the edge. Ivor correctly assumed that it was the silhouette of the mountain range bordering the valley we were in, and again, turning it towards the mountains the lens clicked in place.

Dusk fell, torches were seen climbing up the mountain towards the Air Whisper, then settled. They made another attempt at the light. This time there was no thrashing about. The strong beam shot upwards, purposefully. Instead of going straight it curved back down, forming an apex high in the air. I saw the light shooting down towards me, but was too slow on my feet. I was still holding the rod with the lens when the beam smacked into it. The impact threw me off my feet, but the light kept going, this time towards Ivor’s pillar. From there it headed straight back towards Ferros’ mountain, presumably back to start. The triangle was now formed. Everything fell silent except for a soft drone coming from the beam itself. Even the breeze died completely.

Then, in the middle of the valley, at first barely visible but then growing rapidly, a crack in reality. It was as if the picture-scape of vision was being ripped open from behind, slowly, from the bottom up. To me it seemed like opening the rift created with the talent of the Hand, but on a larger scale. Dull light pours out from the crack, and with it infernal winds, blowing strong enough to clear the mist around it. By this time Jarl and the others came round with the air boat. I scrambled up and we then headed towards the crack. As we approached, a raft gently made it’s way out from the crack onto the strangely calm waters of here and now. It was a simple thing, with a bell post at the end.

We touch down near the raft and clamber onto it. Looking around each of the party’s faces and getting nods, I tugged at the bell.

Fight to the Death

by Jarl!!!!
The Flames stood in a line on top of an embankment, the ruins now free of the Horror behind them. After the previous night's fighting and the victory over the monstrous jellyfish like Horror and its bone construct, Cyrellion was accepted as a Flame and they were once more up to five. Overlooking the bay, and taking turns looking through the Crystal they spot the fleet of various mercenaries, airships and the ominous silhouette of Rasmussen's might ship - all hunting them. Raan, the ghost spirit they had managed to convert to their cause, was rallying a group of fifty or so spirits the Flames had liberated from their bond with Ferros.

Still covered in gore, cuts and wounds, and quite a few baubles and jewellery - we knew that our fighting in this damned swamp was not over. Not by a long shot. Our mission here, what we have accomplished so far against the odds stacked against us - unravelling an eons old legend in the process - is surely the stuff of legendary bards tales. Our mission here though requires one more component, the seeing crystal on the deck of Rasmussen's ship. With Wolf possibly weeks away from picking us up, we made plans and looked at our options. A lot of discussion ensued and slowly a plan was made. We decided we should forge ahead and get the crystal, luring Rasmussen to a place we can ambush his ship and using our spirit legion to our advantage. The plan was to light up the temple, luring Rasmussen's men into the temple and dispatching them with traps and brute force. Once that is finished we would move out of the temple and give the command to Raan to attack the ship. Things didn't go as expected.

We build traps, Elessar casts bone-circles in strategic spots in the temple, Ivor summons a bridge over the pool. We prepare for battle and nod silently to each other as the dial is turned and the dome opens. The light ray from the pool focuses along the mirrors and juts out into the night, whip-lashing in the night sky. We wait to see if the fish takes the bait and within the hour Rasmussen's ship floats above us. We hold our weapons tighter as we hear the shouts above, and lock the entrance door and dome trapping them in with us.

Minutes pass, Rasmussen's men have spotted us and advance with caution, we took our positions in the pool room below. The shouting increased, Elessar's bone circles ghosts were taking their toll on the air sailors. After quite a wait - a group of ten men emerge from the tunnel mouth and to our great surprise Rasmussen is with them, ready for battle with a huge sword on his back - flamboyant and proud as usual. Combat ensued, violent and with no quarter. The fight ebbed and flowed, we were outnumbered but we immediately hit at Rasmussen; inflicting heavy damage with ranged spells and arrows. Some of his men also went onto Ivor's summoned bridge and ended fighting for their lives when he dispelled it, a bone ghost fighting the struggling men as they desperately swam back to the edge of the pool, only to meet their end at Ivor's flaming hammer.

After our initial success things started to go against us, their numbers wearing us down even as the group fought against our spells, arrows and blows. Just as soon as we thought we could possibly survive, five more men climb down into the fray - now we where outnumbered three to one and Rasmussen was using all his sword skills against our fighters. Ahmok received heavy blows from enemies on all sides, but it was our archer that took the worst as he was mobbed to the ground. To our horror a well placed stab from one of the air sailors goes through 'leather armor and out the other side. He slumps on the sword then on the ground, lifeless. Seeing this Elessar courageously leaped in to protect the body, just as Rasmussen bites the dust from an onslaught of spells from Elessar and myself and blows from Ahmok. His men immediately give him a healing potion just as we keep laying more hurt on them. One by one Rasmussen's men perish and after a well placed flame strike on Rasmussen, I finally burn the pirate lord to a dead charred pile. His men keep fighting, desperately, but we regroup and Cyrellion revives from the dead with an application of one of the Last Chance salves - he immediately lays back vengeance with his bow. Just as we are dispatching the last couple of enemies, the hairs in the back of my neck rise as an eldricht wave of void energy wafts from Elessar's outstretched hands, a bad time to fail in spellcasting given the Horror taint surrounding us. I hold my breath expecting the worst, and as soon as the last enemy falls, the glow from the pool decreases ominously. The black souls of the fallen air sailors rise out from their lifeless bodies as we stare and give a glance at each other to prepare for more.