The Seven Legends of Bloodscar

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When the black tower rose out of the Moldar Plains at the behest of the powerful deathless mage known as the Watcher, most Agonians shuddered with fear at the possibility of a dark invasion. It is written in the heritage and histories of those alive, though, that not every soul runs from dark horizons. I introduce here the seven legends of the heroes of Bloodscar, whose stories will be told in the coming scriptures.

There exists to this day a wide expanse of scorched earth and ruined beauty across the Moldar Plains that stands as a testament to the ferocity of the black knights led by Imperator Jabaoth. It is upon these plains that countless heroes have made the ultimate sacrifice in the name of something bigger than themselves, watering the land with their blood that a new era of light might grow from it. It is upon these plains that seven heroes from Bloodscar showed all of humankind that the darkness could be defeated.

Jericho Malloy was a baker's son who moved his hands from bread to battle to defend his people. Tiberius Arthur was the son of a knight, and followed the ancestral footsteps of his line. James Ulrickson turned his sickle from the crops of his farms to the hearts of his enemies. David Jethro, an apprentice blacksmith, crafted his own weapons and armor to join the fight. Sarah Tesalia was an herb gatherer and alchemist who believed that all should defend. Michael Tesalia was a hunter whose arrows could not justly be pointed at any other threat but the darkness. Orius Grailice practiced the magical arts of the elements, and felt ready to turn these magics against the forces of Jabaoth.

It is from the individual exploits of these seven legends that the confidence of all humankind grew to stand against the growing threat of the demons of the Pall.

Opus of the Traitor (Traitor Series: Part IV)

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Ruins and a graveyard. I'll admit I was rather disappointed at this climax for all the walking I'd done. My expectations were pocked, turning from excitement to ordinary disdain. A few burnt trees, several unmarked graves, a twisted stone arch; these are not unique enough to write about in scholarly circles.

But I've written this, so surely you must know that something did happen. As I walked among the graves, meticulously checking each stone for a name I could research later, many of the trees around the site became suddenly aflame. A windless zephyr fell over the site, forceful whispers all speaking of traitors and justice. The skies seemed to slowly turn more and more red as moments passed, an all-encompassing fire in the clouds. I feared that I had overstayed whatever welcome I had and promptly began my descent, my legs miraculously feeling very much alive with energy now.

I am back at the Mages Guild in Sanguine safely writing these memories down now. In piecing these events together, I feel that the spirits of the Ul'Tannek who had gone to Qurjah all that time ago must be trapped still by some nefarious arcane magic upon that hill. I'm still considering the etchings of the boat and the tomb, trying to derive meaning. Were there traitors within the group attempting to harness for themselves some power meant to hasten the return of Ur-Khamset? How have the spirits survived within the...

FIND THE BLOOD CRYSTAL...
                                  ...GRAVEYARD...

...THE TOMB...

                                                                                               ...FREE ONLY ONE...

...I AM NOT THE TRAITOR.

I've not written these words...

Where Traitors Pray (Traitor Series: Part III)

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I continued my ascent once I'd studied the tomb enough. My legs grew poignantly tired with each step, but to turn back now would leave me no less distance to travel. As such, I continued on my way.

Not too much further up the hill, only a few stone palisades further, I came upon the next of my unexpected discoveries. The center structure bore four skeletal guardians as seemingly useless as the last two at the tomb. Four ramps ascended to the center of this shrine and found only a bowl there. I circled this display only a few times before giving up on its secrets.

Surrounding the center shrine were several unkempt stone structures, a few of which were towers that one could climb to the top. Nothing of note revealed itself to me within them.

From where I stood now, near the shrine pondering again its secrets, I could see the ramp to my final destination. It rose steeper then the circling hill had and I could not see what rested atop that last ascent. As I moved to finish my journey to the top, the shrine did finally give me pause. In perfect synchronicity, the right hands of the four skeletal guardians rose. At that moment, a red flame burst up from the bowl at the shrine center. No other movement or change can I record.

Perturbed, but unable to give up after coming so far, I pressed forward to the hilltop.

Where Traitors Lie (Traitor Series: Part II)

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To the north of the crumbling port on the southern coast of Qurjah lies the only land mass of any note nearby. It seems apparent to my much tested sense of research that this must be the place to go.

The only path up the otherwise too steep cliffs was a natural ramp on the eastern release of the hill. It circled widely around the apex of the hill, my destination, and many stone palisades lined the ascent. The air grew thinner the longer I walked, a constant reminder of my increasing elevation.

I had not yet reached the top when a particularly interesting structure revealed itself. A ring of six pillars surrounded a circular, stepped grate. Behind this display was a small mausoleum, complete with two eternally vigilant, albeit useless skeleton guard statues. Inside was a tomb fit for only one body. Perhaps hauntingly, scratched into the top of the tomb was a sentence quite similar to the one on the boat:

I WAS NOT THE TRAITOR

When I came out of the mausoleum, having gained what little knowledge it offered, I noticed a change. The pillars, previously cold and unassuming, were now alight with flame around the grate.

It would seem that my research into this foray of the Ul'Tannek is becoming less about the vines of Ur-Khamset history and more about these odd discoveries.

Traitors Landing (Traitor Series: Part I)

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The tattered sails of a ship gracelessly adorns the long abandoned port of rotting wood and yellowed stone. The creaking dock sways from the slightest breeze and the crude buildings offer no protection from the weather. This makeshift port was not meant to stand against time, but to hold a certain crew for only a moment.

My research into the motions of the Red Pharaoh suggests that the people who built this temporary coastal settlement were of the Ul'Tannek clan from Rubaiyat. The amount of yellowing on these stones puts the creation of this port at about the time of the rising of the Red Pyramid from Lake Angra. The Ul'Tannek have been loyal to the cause of the Red Pharaoh ever since Ur-Khamset first established himself in Rubaiyat. I fully anticipate that my exploration into this abandoned port will yield some history into the machinations of these Ul'Tannek clansmen in support of the return of the Red Pharaoh.

However, perhaps my most intriguing discovery at this broken port thus far has not been in regards to its origins, but a phrase etched into the wood of the docked boat:

I AM NOT THE TRAITOR

The Nameless Tomb

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The tomb sits oddly and certainly out of place between the trees in the Qattenhal forest. For centuries, two important questions have remained about the structure; who was it built by and who was it built for? I believe I've found the answer to the first question.

Many centuries ago, on the island-state of Lyonesse, the nobles rebelled against the clerics of the Morganic faith. Pushed to the southwestern edge of the island and very near defeat, Duke John of Malregard swiftly constructed a fleet of boats, gathered the last of his traditionalist faithful, and set sail for mainland Agon.

Upon his arrival to the mainland, and through many swift victories over the native Imric people, Duke John of Malregard established what is still the main human city of Sanguine. It was not until decades later that Duke John discovered through cultist interrogations that he was followed to the main continent by Malaut, the Demon Prince of greed.

The above has been well documented in the Sanguine library and anyone capable of comprehension knows these stories well. It is also known to anyone aware of the dangers that daily threaten Sanguine and her satellite cities that Malaut is an ever-present shadow looming over her walls. However, it is within these histories and realities, mingled with research of my own, that I've concluded that some minion of Malaut must be the architect of this tomb.

I've been to this tomb several times, always at dawn, and I've noticed a few very curious things about it. Upon multiple inspections, I know that there is no name written upon this tomb. In fact, it cannot be verified from any source available to me if a body even lies within the tomb. I've seen, too, bloodied gold and jewelry scattered about the base of the tomb, and bloody hand prints painted on the cement. All that I've written thus far is simple fact, but now I will explain my theory of this structure.

I believe the structure was built by one of Malaut's cunning Lieutenants of the Below named Ul'din. This particular lesser demon has a reputation among Mercian scholars for using the lust and avarice of man against himself in order to defeat him wholly. I don't believe a body lies within the tomb, but instead riches meant to lure men to it. Ul'din wishes to use the avarice of man to tempt us into the domain of Malaut, and convince us all that we are not above the very thing we seek to destroy.

Ul'din is a demon of dusk. I have only ever gone to this tomb at dawn for a reason.

Lady of the Lake

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I approached Lake Ire from the east and found its repose amusing. For all the storms I'd weathered on this icy continent, the relative peace I found here felt oddly out of place. The hill to the west hushed, almost entirely, the eastern flowing winds over the lake.

Circling around the north of this lake of mercurial water, I ended up on the west side where the land rose just above the liquid. I traveled to the center of the lake and removed the bottled ectoplasm from my bag to begin the ritual. I wasn't certain how to begin, but at the very moment that hesitant thought entered my mind, a voice called out as if carried by a wind:

"Place your offerings in my waters."

I moved forward to the inner edge of the lake and removed the cork from the bottle, emptying the ectoplasm into the water. I stood back as several moments passed without incident. I began to wonder if my anticipation had played a trick on me. Moments later, the wind began to rush around me, gradually becoming more forceful. Snow began to fall, lightly at first, and the air grew thin. Then, just there at the lake's center, a spirit of feminine stature appeared.

"You seek the secrets of Niflheim and her islands."

I was ensnared by her troubling calm and ethereal substance. I could not speak.

"Bring me gifts, young life, and I will reveal them to you."

As quickly as she had appeared, she dispersed in the wind and snow around me. The zephyr slowly died and the snow grew light before stopping entirely. The lake knew tranquility again.

I have not returned to Lake Ire since.

The Mouth of the Shadow

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Intrigued by the tale of Garroth Dagon, I set out, perhaps foolishly, to see what he had seen.

I left immediately from the hospitality of Sweetwater when the account of the story had reached its full conclusion. There were many questions to be answered. What, if anything, did Garroth Dagon seek? What had he seen after crossing beyond the pyramid top? What had he done? Was his soul really gone, or did it linger within the shadow?

The first ship north from Sweetwater was a trade vessel bound for Apautan. It was the closest any ship route leaving from Sweetwater would get to my destination. I was a strange face for the crew considering the context of their voyage, robes clearly not the best wear for the journey, but the captain understood my purpose and that was enough to silence any questioning from the crew. I would not have minded their questions, but perhaps the peace I found in their ignorance was for the best.

After we reached Apautan, I promptly set out for the coast of Chultun. From there, I trekked north to the Strait of Iyrtan and the Mouth of the Shadow itself. I approached the strait from the south which put the entrance to the cave across the channel. I moved east and crossed where the cliffs gave way to flatter land. Once to the other side, I moved again west and into the cavern.

The entrance was somehow smaller than I had anticipated, though still large enough for a group of men to traverse by shoulders. Walking through it alone, I still felt small before the majesty of the opening beyond. My eyes were greeted by an impressive pyramid set amid a moat of water. The sun statue at its apex forfeited its origins; this was an Ithwen monument from long ago, spared from the wrath of the ancient dragon Far-Loradain likely by its fortunate location. A closer look at the moat also revealed the tops of smaller structures beneath the water's surface. Set somewhere among this mystical setting, seemingly near yet far as well, was a melodious and feminine voice.

The voice did not speak to me but seemed to chant some long lost hymn of the Ithwen elves. I could not understand the tongue but the beauty of the rhythm drew me in insouciantly. I carelessly meandered to the edge of the water and stepped one foot in. The dagger-like cold of the water sparked my awareness again. I wandered the outside of the cavern in search of the voice but could not find a source. No matter where I walked, it was never any softer nor louder but always seemed to come from some place further still.

After walking far enough about the outside of the cavern, a structure unlike the rest of the Ithwen buildings revealed itself behind the pyramid. I knew at once that here is where Garroth Dagon lost his soul from his body, and I was afraid. I could hardly bring myself to come closer, but the hymn seemed to grow louder once my eyes had found this structure. The reverberation now crashed all about me, a beautiful strata of melody and cacophony. I left immediately after the sound became to much to think against.

I write this now from the safety of the Mages Guild in Sanguine, and in my reflection I wonder if I could have seen more. If the fear I felt had not gripped my courage so tightly, perhaps I could have taken a few more steps and understood a few more details. I must always remind myself, however, that to know less and live to speak of it is better than to die with unshared knowledge. Now I will set about to decipher this Ithwen hymn, and perhaps better understand the fall of the Ithwen people.

The Second Return of Garroth Dagon

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The dark clouds above Sweetwater seemed to gather with the crowds for his arrival.

It was only the second time in twenty six years that Garroth Dagon would return home from his travels, and his stories were always grand. He had walked the grounds of the temples of Yssam and seen the great nest of Shorax on Cairn. He had passed through the sand storms of Rubaiyat and stood atop the spiral peak of Mount Eyrkla on Niflheim. But something about this day struck silence into the people, forging a bitter sweetness from the day.

All the city held their breath as Garroth's boat approached the Sweetwater dock from the Eidogal sea between southeast Agon and Cairn. According to the infrequent messages that came from Garroth, his final destination before returning would have been the Mouth of the Shadow on Yssam. From there, his vessel would travel south through the Eidothean ocean on its voyage home. The daunting ship would come to port as majestic and victorious as it always had, its white sails effortlessly catching the inward breeze and its crew standing triumphant on its deck.

As the ship came into view, the collective heart of Sweetwater sank as if capsized by a crashing sadness. With sails sloppily painted black, the signal was as clear as any word; the captain was dead. No crew could be seen waving from the deck. No fanfare greeted the ship on the dock or the crew as it entered the city. The majesty of the day turned to grief, the victory to defeat, and the triumph to failure as the vessel put in, and the makeshift coffin of drift wood was carried down the gangway and to the heart of the city.

According to the tale recounted to me by Garroth's grandson Maeron Dagon, they had made it to the Mouth of the Shadow as planned. Unsure of what they were looking for, they entered the cavern and came upon a stepped pyramid. Though most of the crew were afraid of such hidden and undocumented monuments, Garroth, in his infinite wonder, approached and climbed the steps to the top. When Garroth reached the top, he continued further and disappeared behind the pyramid. Once the crew had gathered their wits and courage about them, they followed. Upon reaching the top of the pyramid themselves, they could only see the body of Garroth lying at the foot of a portal behind the pyramid.

To this day, no one can say for certain what happened to Garroth. There were no wounds on his body and his face seemed to be of a man resting peacefully. In the reverberant cavern, no sound or cry was heard, neither a confrontation nor struggle.

Garroth Dagon's second return was that of a body without a soul. I've heard before, though, that souls cannot be lost, only displaced from their return to Auros. The body has long since been devoured by the ocean, a sea captain's final rest, but perhaps some sentience of him remains in this world. I can only imagine the stories he could tell...

The Ghost of Savaril

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The abandoned villa of Savaril was not always so empty.

Not long ago, a Mahirim named Falnryn Ulyn-dan lived there. Falnryn was a Mahirim of the sea but in no way a pirate. A fisherman by trade, he would sit on the dock and cast his line or venture out into the western Eurybian ocean for a certain intrinsic peace he only gained from the waves. On days his heart yearned for the western waters, which was most days, he would set out just as the sun rose over the eastern hills and return as it sunk in the horizon waters to the west.

His wife, Mirra Ulyn-dan lived with him as well. When Falnryn would leave for the western ocean, Mirra would patiently await his return by the dock. The dawn-to-dusk pattern was as certain to Mirra as the three moons of Agon. Falnryn always wanted Mirra to join him on his adventure but Mirra was deathly afraid of the water. She could not swim, and the sway of a boat on water never did well by her stomach.

He always returned with fish to cook, mostly cod and bass, though they often were in need of spices for their meals. Trade ships from Ul'Sulak that serviced the western cities would often dock at Savaril to rest their crew, and Mirra would trade homespun clothes and robes for a few spices when it came. Falnryn would swap stories of the water with captains of the trade vessels, he of leisurely delight and the captains of battle and commerce.

A strange thing happened one evening as Mirra waited at the dock; Falnryn did not return. The moons passed in their normal phase, the sun sank in its normal place, but the fishing vessel of Falnryn was nowhere to be seen. Concerned by this asynchronous event, Mirra moved to the eastern shore of Savaril and looked out upon the water. Nothing.

For several hours, Mirra paced the eastern shoreline, eyes always to the open ocean. Only the worst thoughts came to her; pirates or monsters. In her hysteria, Mirra walked into the ocean determined to find Falnryn and bring him home.

But Mirra could not swim, and Falnryn never returned.

On nights when the moon of Neith hangs low in the sky and the wind blows cold over the village, a ghost can be seen pacing the eastern shore of Savaril.

Secret of the Eastern Shores

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I've pored over countless scrolls, tomes, and accounts of the Third Alberian Fleet of Alberworth, but whatever secret their captains held still eludes me. All texts seem to agree on only one point; the Third Alberian Fleet sought fortune in the eastern Eidothean ocean. On all other points, multiple theories have surfaced but none have been confirmed.

According to the various texts, the Third Alberian Fleet consisted of anywhere from six to fifteen ships, each with a crew of nine to twelve men. It is believed by most that they left from port Alberworth, headed east through Brenner Bay, and turned south once they reached the Eidothean ocean. Some accounts suggest they headed north once they reached the open. I've dismissed this northern theory, however, on account of the fact that no record exists from Blood Bilge showing any ship sighting around the time of the voyage. There wouldn't be so much confusion around this matter had port Alberworth not been burned to the ground seven times since, port records included.

The first major point of contention is the fate of the Third Alberian Fleet. It has been well documented that the southern region of the Eidothean ocean is home to an enormous sea creature recently identified as a kraken. Some speculate that the fleet was wholly destroyed by this monstrosity but such a claim cannot be confirmed. This theory is both helped and hindered by the fact that no wreckage is said to escape the Kraken's hunger. There are no reports of driftwood credited to the Third Alberian Fleet anywhere along the eastern shores of Cairn or Agon. Other theories suggest they were overcome by mermaids, coaxed by sirens, or simply never set sail at all.

The second major point of contention is the nature of the fortune they sought. This is where the hearsay and speculation abound. The guesses range from fountains of youth to mountains of theyril. Some suggest they went forth to slay the Kraken. Others think they had a map that marked the locations of the word-stones themselves. The only thing the scholars and drunkards have in common is a shroud of ignorance on the matter.

There is one particular scroll to which I've returned several times as I've studied this event. Though it appears quite rudimentary compared to other related texts, the faded signature that adorns it is of "G. L. Rannek", a respected Alberian captain of the time. Most have dismissed the note as a forgery. All who have attempted to find a history on this mysterious "Balin" have come about it empty handed. The scroll reads:

           Balin, 

           I cannot say for certain when, or if, I will return. The chart has been divided with each captain holding one piece of it. Should misfortune befall our cause, we all have sworn to bottle our piece and toss it to the ocean so the secret remains hidden but not forgotten. If e'er the time comes that you feel I've been taken by traitorous waters, you must walk the eastern shores and recover what I've lost. I pray what I write now is only precaution and not instruction. Stay vigilant. 

                                                                                                   G. L. Rannek

The Broken Temple of Verthandir

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Long before the existence of the Tovarr race, before the Dwarves of Ymir sacrificed themselves during the Unholy Wars, before King Barin took the Dwarven throne and drove the greatest economic expansion in Dwarven history, the Dwarven realm knew civil war.

Long ago, the Dwarven god Ymir appeared among the Dwarves and revealed many secrets of metal and magic to them. He urged them to explore the depths, promising to return and lead them to a golden age once all the secrets of stone and metal were unveiled. Many millennia later, the loyal Dvergheim built the Dwarven capital of Ymir's Tear by hollowing out the inside of a mountain. For many millennia more, the Dwarves knew Ymir as their god and labored relentlessly in the depths. In this era, the Dwarves kept mostly to themselves, engaging with other races only to defend against the great evil of Nagast or trade with the Chaldean empire. The Dwarves gradually expanded about the northern mainland of Agon and continued their labors of the earth in anticipation of their golden age.

After much time had gone by, the northern Dwarves of the Svartdverg tribe became weak of mind and either forgot or ignored the promise of Ymir. In an act of treachery to the Dwarven race, they allowed themselves to fall under the influence of a false god, a mortal named Heimar. Shortly after their conversion, they built the Temple of Heimar in Verthandir. The Ymir loyalists had the opportunity early on to stop the creation of the temple but allowed construction to continue in hopes that, by the will of Ymir, it would fail and humiliate the treasonous Svartdverg. The construction of the temple did not fail, and many Dwarves were doomed to die in the battles that came because of it.

When the temple in Verthandir was completed, many followers of Heimar gathered there to praise the false god. The fiery fervor of the zealots was fanned by the self-proclaimed priests of Heimar until the Svartdverg grew resentful of the Dvergheim. Using the element of surprise against the Dvergheim, who expected their tolerance of this false worship to prevent any violence, the restless Svartdverg struck the outer cities of the Dvergheim empire, taking Maghnir and Idawoll under their control before moving to the heart of the empire.

The coup ultimately failed when the largest of the Svartdverg forces was defeated by the Dvergheim loyalists at the southern foot of the mountain capital. The victorious Dvergheim force marched south and swiftly reclaimed Maghnir and Idawoll. After the battles had subsided, the Dvergheim loyalists sought out and destroyed the Temple of Heimar in Verthandir. The mortal Heimar himself was found dead at the main altar of the temple, an apparent suicide, with the smoky trappings of ritualistic ambiance heavy in the air. Though defeated, the Svartdverg did not immediately surrender their faith, choosing exile over assimilation back into Dwarven society.

Over time, Ymir's Tear became known as Cor Ymirhal and remained the center of Dwarven, and later Tovarr, society. The self-proclaimed Children of Heimar found their faith slowly eroded by time and the knowledge of the mortality of their god. Still unwilling to rejoin the Dvergheim under the promise of Ymir, the Svartdverg sought out another who could give them the direction and power they desired to shatter the Dvergheim once and for all. They found just such a figure in the dark demi-god Sahul.

Thus did the "Era of Heimar" slowly but certainly end as the "Era of Sahul" approached.

Song of Wanderlust

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If e'er the lust for wandering does settle in your bones

For sights of nature's beauty or for long forgotten thrones

To walk the fields of battle where the past has settled stones

Or light the torch of undiscovered paths in the unknown

Recall the tale of Wanderlust, whose captain had no name

That sailed the ocean far and wide for fortune and for fame

Recall the tale of Wanderlust, whose mighty sails were tamed

That sailed the ocean side to side but fortune never came

She sailed through storms of snow and hail and never lost her course

She ne'er did founder, list, nor heel beneath a wind or force

True beneath the moon of Neith, she sailed and sailed some more

Until the day she finally found the barren Nerzok shore

Her captain left his Wanderlust to build upon the land

The treasure he was seeking all along with his own hands

And from this dream he dreamed for many years beyond the sand

He finally knew the finish for the road his whole life spanned

And so it goes we treasure now the wonder he began

And Wanderlust is naught but bones that ne'er did sail again

Hapless Hadar and the Port of Grivendale

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There is a story among the Tovarr near Grivendale that on the nights when the lighthouse fire burns blue under the three moons of Agon, a ghost ship can be seen putting into the eastern port.

The tale of the ethereal black sails of the ship, emblazoned with the symbol of the First Shield Battalion, is spoken with hushed awe by those who claim to have seen it. The vessel is said to be the brigantine of the ill-fated Tovarr captain Hadar Stonewater, often called Hadar the Hapless in Tovarr tales.

As the story goes, Hadar put together a crew of seventeen Tovarr sailors and set off to find the rumored treasure of the temple of Ahutil on the northern coast of Yssam. Whispers in Tovarr pubs from hunters and explorers claimed to have seen mountains of selentine within the temple but could not return with proof because of restless guardians amid the temple grounds. The hearsay of the locals of Gulgrumir promised endless wealth to the crew who could brave those haunted halls and live to tell the tale.

Those who penned the earliest known recordings of this voyage remark in their accounts, with great detail, the grandiose farewell and the yearning of good tides from starry-eyed onlookers. Children wore eye patches over closed eyes and wielded wooden scimitars. Women wore aprons with fresh stains of the days festivities and waved towels before them. Some men wore workers clothes and shared tales of what might be. Other men donned worn battle regalia of wars long past and lined the gangway as the crew boarded the vessel. The docks of Grivendale were littered with iron dust and rice by night's end.

There exists no account of their return.