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.