Mana: The Rising

~For years I toyed with the idea of writing a fantasy story, over the years I have collected together a plethora of notes and scribblings that have formed the basis of my world Hyldrassil (originally 'Yggdrasil' from Norse mythology but due to a developing universal theory Hyldrassil became a seed of Yggdrasil). Mana: The Rising was a first attempt at bringing this vast world to life but I abandoned the storyline in favour of the far more complex Mana: The Shadows Of Destiny~

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Act 1- Concerning The Land In The Mountain

The ship passed between the collapsed walls of the ancient crater of which had become the Kingdom of Pyrrha, a closed land of whose people still put great stock in the ancient arts, the magicks of days gone by that didn’t rely on the modern dependence on Mana.
The Towers of the Twin Gods, monoliths of magma that had solidified into two giant hollow spears loomed out of the water and perpetual mist before the craft. It was said that in an age past when the Rainbow Bridge to Yggdrassil was destroyed it shattered the isles around the gateway and caused a massive eruption of thaumaturgic energy on the other side of the world. This cataclysm changed the face of the globe as lands sank beneath the sea whilst the volcano that was eventually to become Pyrrha arose from the Ocean of Gaea.
In the decades that followed the sea gradually wore its way into a lava tube and the waters rushing in caused part of the crater to collapse and flood until a new lake had formed, and on it’s shore beyond the Towers the city of Prosperina had taken root.
The Pyrrhans claimed descendency from Vast survivors who saw the new land and its potential for rebirth as a far more inviting prospect than joining the dying empire in the Mynaar Plains of Raan, and so they broke ground on the City of Prosperity. Most historians and anthropologists on the other hand believe the Pyrrhans to be Althaean exiles who couldn’t face the settlements in the harsh and unforgiving land of Medb, a long dead high kingdom haunted by the ghosts of some forgotten war.
Wind whistled and hummed through the hollows of the Towers like the voices of a thousand restless spirits calling from beyond the vast ether of the Overworld.
On the bow of the ship Elissa Demeter peered at the imposing monoliths of black stone as they sang their eerie chorus, she was apprehensive about the journey to this strange land and the bizarre quest her shaman had set her upon.
Mardrassil, the twig of Hyldrassil that was destined one day to spawn a seed, which would grow to become another world tree, was sick. Over the last two months its leaves had began to turn brown and fell upon farms and villages killing hundreds. The Tenders had been unable to reverse the problem and the Tribal Council in Heldenbuch called an emergency meeting of their greatest druids and shamans to assess the situation.
After weeks of debate it was agreed that they should seek help from the Council of Magii in that hope that perhaps the ethereal energies could draw forth whatever affliction had stricken the Twig.
“How in the name of all the Shades in the Underrealm do people sleep with that racket?”
Elissa cocked her head to her travelling companion.
“I imagine that they take comfort in hearing their Gods sing.”
“Most Gods have the sense of decency not to talk to their flock,” the Bladesman responded dryly, “when they do you generally find that people misinterpret what they say and you get crazy people running around killing chickens and dancing naked in the forest.”
The young druid said nothing, she was still questioning the Council’s decision to have the Midean bladesman accompany her as a guardian, Elissa didn’t trust adventurers and she certainly didn’t like the idea of anyone acting as a hired blade. It seemed to her that anyone who purposefully chose a life on the run rather than stay in his or her own land and face their duties was altogether too irresponsible and undependable to be entrusted with a matter of state. She had voiced her concerns to her Shaman but the Council’s decision had been final.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he continued, “I’d quite like to frolic around naked in the forest, I just think that I should be honest about why I was doing it.”
It had been a long voyage.
“Let me guess,” Elissa sighed, “you like the idea of bouncing around with a lot of naked men.”
“What? No, I…” the bladesman stammered.
Elissa allowed herself a laugh, probably the first she’d had since departing Ashbach, it was nice to leave the crass Midean speechless if even only for a second.
Before the vessel the mist began to clear and the city of Prosperina opened out before them, the sunlight gleaming off the whitewashed walls of the villas along it’s shores and stretching back to the forest that lined the interior of the enormous crater. Its ports were a hive of merchant vessels of nations the world over, Tithonus, Midas, Lycanholme and Raan all had representation but no ship was quite as impressive as the massive cargo ship from the faraway land of Nu. The dark skinned merchants appeared as little more than specks as they offloaded crates and barrels from deep within the behemoth, a Pyrrhan galleon drifting alongside looked like nothing more than a tug.
“Wow,” the Midean breathed, “I didn’t know that man could make things to such a scale. Imagine what it must take to get that craft moving.”
Elissa had never before seen a construct of such magnitude, but she had to concede that you don’t see too many freighters in the forests of Heimdahl, she was captivated by how the monster of a ship seemed to sit there like an island and barely making a ripple.
“They must have a source of mana on board,” the bladesman commented, “perhaps a water charged stone to shift the ocean around them.”
The crew aboard their own suddenly insignificant feeling craft began to hustle about the deck in preparation for docking.
For the first time since leaving the forest land Elissa felt a little doubt creep into her, she was beginning to realise that the world beyond the Tribes was far bigger than she had ever imagined. That such a mix of races and creeds could be focused on one small place and not even represent a fraction of the lands beyond was a daunting thought. She really was only one tiny person on a far bigger world.
“Eckhardt, do you think that we’ll find the Archmage?”
“I don’t honestly know,” the Midean replied, “the Strenians pulled most of the Magii into their war on Amaldaar, there is a chance that he could have been taken.
“He won’t fight for the Strenians, I am certain of that, Draupnir is a Midean refugee from Strenia’s assault on Breidhablik.”
Elissa listened intently to the bladesman, crass as he could be Eckhardt Brandis certainly knew the lay of the land when it came to Midas, Strenia and the War.
“If the Inquisition hasn’t taken him then he’ll probably still be at the last residence we could place him at, the village of Vinalia in the bluffs to the north.”
The young druid cast her eyes up the mountains leading to the crater rim far away in the distance, she reckoned that it would take the better part of a fortnight to reach Vinalia, even on horseback.
And they would probably need to get themselves a guide in Prosperina.

“Ok, simple six card draw, two dice. Eagles are wild and your highest card is a sword. Minimum bet is twenty and if you’re out,” the gambler winked, “try to go with a little dignity.”
The cards were shuffled and with a deft flick they were dealt to the five players, in the smoky air around the Takeraan table the gamblers sipped whiskey and eyed one another for weakness.
“Okay,” a moustachioed man mumbled, “loose the dice.”
The youngest member of the party flicked the ivory cubes onto the table, all eyes were on them as they bounced and rolled before settling to reveal their black eyes, a pair of sixes.
“Gentlemen, open with fifty,” the youngest gambler said cockily.
Bets were exchanged as cards traded across the polished wood of the table, two folded almost immediately whilst a third held out until the pot was up to seven hundred a man. Now all that remained was the moustachioed gent and the cocky young gambler.
“Well boy, it’s time to test your mettle.”
“Don’t get too worried about it, I wouldn’t want you to lose any more hair.”
The older gent smirked and tossed out his cards.
“Thirty two over twelve,” the young man sighed looking despondent, but only for a second, “I thought for a second that I might be in trouble there.”
A collective gasp went up from those assembled as the young man laid his cards between the die.
“Now unless I’ve been playing Takeraan incorrectly all these years I do believe that what I have here is an unbeatable hand.
The older gent knocked back his whiskey and slammed the glass on the table, “twelve over twelve.”
The young man tipped his head and winking to his defeated opponent said, “You’ve got to see a Crux once in your life, may as well be today.”
And with that he stretched across the table to clear the cash up, “It was a pleasure doing business with you gentlemen, but I think I’ll cash out now.”
And a six of swords fell out of his sleeve, all eyes were upon it as it fell in slow motion to the table and landed face up in the middle of the pot.
“Oh of all the dumb ruttin’ luck!”
He punched one of the other competitors in the face and tossed a handful of loose coins into the face of another. The third grabbed his shoulders and tossed him across the table behind him, which proved to be more than a little annoying to those patrons who had been engaged in conversation and were now squaring up to the gamblers.
The young man meanwhile crawled up to the bar as the brawl got into full swing, glasses smashed and tables were overturned or otherwise broken out of the way. Heaving himself up the man who had originally tossed him crashed against the side of the bar, and being an opportunity to good to miss a bourbon bottle was promptly smashed over his head.
Wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this unmolested he spotted the old gent leaning against the far wall lighting a cigarette like he hadn’t a care in the world, he waved out the match and exhaled a blue smoke into the tumult.
The old man locked his eyes squarely on the cheat, and pointing to a spot somewhere in the rafters he then waved and turned towards the door.
The young gambler searched the darkness of the ceiling until he saw a movement, or more a hint of a movement.
“Oh sh-“
He dived just in time to avoid a crossbow bolt that embedded itself firmly into the bar counter, another slammed into the wood behind him as he rolled for the nearest table. He tried to crawl to the next when suddenly a pair of hands grasped his shoulders and pulled him to his feet, it was the guy he’d originally punched. Having few options left he punched him in the face again and shoved his way through the fight towards the door.

Their horses hooves clopped along the cobbled streets of Prosperina as they ambled through the busy thoroughfare, there was a hurried pace of economics about the city as merchants and tradesmen went about parading their wares.
“You know,” Eckhardt said in passing, “now that we’re back on good old terra firma I could do with a good stiff drink.”
“Again with the stiff things,” Elissa replied, manoeuvring the cart around a stall that someone had felt the need to plant in the middle of the street.
“This looks like a half decent spot.”
The tavern door was flung open and a young man bolted out before turning to slam it shut.
“They’re redecorating at the moment,” the man said, cringing at an audible smash, “lots of heavy work going on, big changes. There’s a wee pub on the edge of town, I’d be happy to show you the way if you don’t mind me hitching a ride.”
A barstool smashed through the nearest window and the din of the brawl became plain to hear, a string of obscenities could be heard from somewhere within.
Elissa eyed the young man, he was obviously deeper involved in this fracas than he was letting on, but on the other hand it might serve to make him a more willing guide.
“Take us to Vinalia and we’ll even pay you for your trouble.”
The man looked about for a second before hearing someone in the bar call out for that-cheating-little-toe-rag.
“Vinalia? Why it’s like a second home to me, I’d be happy to show you the way.”
And with that he clambered on board the cart and shuffled in between the pair, “But we may need to get a move on lest my services are required elsewhere.”
“Indeed,” Eckhardt took the reins from the druid and spurred the horses on.
“The name’s Arondight Fortunata. You can call me Aron.”
“Or Cheating Toe Rag,” the Midean scoffed.
“Elissa Demeter, of Heimdahl,” Elissa replied eyeing the hand on her knee, “and this is my guardian Eckhardt Brandis. He kills people.”
“Nice to meet you,” Aron beamed to the bladesman whilst placing his hand firmly on his own knee, “so what takes you guys to Vinalia?”
“We’re looking for a man,” Eckhardt replied sternly.
“I’ll bet you are,” Aron chirped.
Elissa laughed as the cart rumbled away from the docklands and up the hill towards the city centre.

Five days out of Prosperina and conversation had turned towards the war raging on the continent of Amaldaar. The Strenian advance had ground to a halt against the dragon infested Alanian Mountains that surrounded the heartland of the Duchy of Tithonus and acted as a barrier for the Tithonian Penninsula. At last reports a fleet was being prepared in the imperial province of Raan to cross the Bay of Al’Remmo, a move that would leave the Strenians a clear path across the plains towards the fortified port of Bastion in the west. From there it would only be a matter of landing their main force at the port and march them north into the heart of Tithonus and to the conquest of southern Amaldaar.
Before he had left Midas Eckhardt had heard rumours that the Duke had requested the intervention of the Gold Kingdom in this war, and how in response the navy was being readied at Jotunheim, the City of Spires. Midas had no love for Strenia, much innocent blood had been spilled when a Strenian raiding party landed in Chiron Bay and marched deep into the Midean heartland to raise the town of Breidhablik to the ground. Such wanton slaughter had been visited upon the people that it appeared more like a war of attrition, and strangely this was not the precursor for an invasion. The was no support waiting in the wings, there wasn’t an army attacking Upsala or a great legion marching across the Hylaan Fields, there was no fleet waiting to bombard Jotunheim.
The attack had a very specific intent and the Strenians had not been particularly concerned as to whose wrath they might incur, and it was for this violation that Midas now cried for vengence.

“We should reach Vinalia by the afternoon,” Aron informed the party as he threw dirt upon the fire that had been used to prepare the last of their meat, “and the timing couldn’t be better. I think I’d go insane if I had to survive more than a day on waybread.”
The last of their camp was packed onto the cart as Elissa checked the harnesses of the two grey horses that had pulled them thus far, one nuzzled her as she whispered ancient druidic words that soothed the creatures.
Aron looked at the young druid and then back at Eckhardt, who shrugged his shoulders in return.
“Well, they haven’t spooked yet.”
They set off in silence along the track, the morning sun had risen above the faraway peaks of the crater rim and the lake sparkled like a radiant sapphire. The hollow song of the Towers drifted over the city of Prosperina far below and whispered through the forested walls as if the Gods were wandering the lands with the travellers, guiding them on their path home. The unique geography of the land certainly reinforced Pyrrha’s renown as a realm of untamed nature and ethereal forces roaming free on the world.
Soon the forests gave way to cultivated land as the part entered the agricultural areas beyond the outskirts of Vinalia, within a few hours hopefully they would be stowing their gear in an inn and beginning their search for the Archmage.
Some oxen grazed dolefully in the nearest field, one or two raised their heads to investigate the travellers but ultimately found more interest in the grass before them, oxen have fairly strict priorities.
“I could live quite happily in a place like this,” Eckhardt mused, “it’s very peaceful, very private.”
“Sunny days, rolling in the field with a stable boy…” Aron chuckled to himself, which resulted in a frown from the Midean.
Elissa eyed the fields around her, “I miss the trees already.”
“Trees? How in the Underrealm would anyone miss living in a forest?”
Elissa turned to the gambler but Eckhardt was first to respond, “Clearly you have never been to Heldenbuch. A city in perpetual twilight built within the bows of trees more ancient than the oldest cities of man, on the shores of a lake of crystal water and around a temple older than time immemorial.”
“Very poetic,” Aron nodded, “but I prefer flagstones under my feet, slate above my head and rosy cheeked women aplenty, all of which I can buy in Prosperina.”
‘Barbarian’ Elissa thought to herself as their cart rumbled past a small cottage, it would e good when they no longer required the services of the gambler. Personally she would be glad when they could part company, he could go back to fleecing drunks for their wages and making quick escapes from the City Watch, she would be on her way back to her duties in Heimdahl with hopefully the Archmage Draupnir as a companion.
From high overhead came the shrill cry of a raptor, looking up Elissa spotted an Aigle circling above in slow arcs, it’s graceful movements as it hung above the trees and the road weary travellers belaying the true power in those big wings.
“She’s curious,” Elissa informed, “we are strangers in her lands and she wants to see what out intent is.”
“Her lands?” Arondight eyed the bird of prey, “I know a few landlords who might disagree.”
“Men may feel that they have dominion over all, but the beasts know who is the master of all. The Aigle matriarchs are of the noblest creatures of the world, whether a being knows it or not they are subject to their ever watchful gaze. The protect the forests from polluters and interlopers, they maintain the balance of the ecosystem and have even been known to guide lost travellers to safety.”
Aron looked to the raptor, and then sidelong to Eckhardt, “Are all druids like this?”
The Midean shrugged the question off, “When you eat as many colourful mushrooms as the forest folk do you are bound to pick up an idea or two.”
As the first lodgings on the outskirts of Vinalia passed by Arondight had a few thoughts running through his head. These mainly consisted of how he might get through the rest of this journey without having to listen to tales about tree hugging, nosy birds and Temples to Gods that he knew either didn’t exist or didn’t care enough to clean up their crap before they left.
The log cabins gave way to more substantial stone buildings as they passed into what now could be considered the village itself. Off to their right they could see a mill perched precariously on an outcropping into the crater, sheaths of maize lay in stacks along the path waiting for the millers to remove the seed.
The scent of freshly baked bread wafted over the party from the nearby bakers, the recipient of the finest flour from the mill. This of course wasn’t in the bags marked ‘Finest Flour of Vinalia’, that was the cheap stuff that they sold to the city folk as ‘all natural and organic’, the locals got the good stuff that came in an old-fashioned honest-to-goodness sack.
Eckhardt watched the mill blades turn slowly in the afternoon breeze, it reminded him of his childhood playing around the mill in which his father had worked back in the days when it seemed Jotunheim was the centre of the world. He missed that feeling of being removed from the events of outside, that he and those close to him were somehow immune to the harsh reality of the world, back then all he wanted to do was join the navy and see what some of the smaller places were like.
The dusty path beneath their wheels gave way to cobblestones as they approached the town centre, before them was the grey stoned town hall with its singular bell and to their left was a small temple dedicated to Andromorph, the Demigod of Craft and Trade. What members of the populace were about barely paid the travellers more than a passing glance, indeed if one of the local watchmen hadn’t greeted them with a hearty hello they’d have gone largely ignored.
Elissa pulled her woven green cloak tighter, even in the high sun the air up here was far colder than she was used to, it was the breeze that carried with it the mournful song from the Towers that chilled her.
“So, if I were an Archmage where would I be?” Eckhardt asked as he eyed the local area for any signs of magical goings on.
Arondight jumped off the cart and straightened his shirt, “You’d be in the same place that you would find any mage.”
Elissa looked behind Aron towards the tower that adjoined the local library, “The Arcanorium?”
“No,” Eckhardt responded first, eyeing the nearby tavern, “you can usually find mages on the seats closest to the bar.”

Chaos Theory states that in any system of disorder you can find an underlying pattern of order, which of course is subject to entropy within itself under which there is another intricate pattern. All that really means is that if you watch something for long enough you will get very bored and start coming up with overly elaborate sentences that could be roughly translated as ‘Oh, déjà vu’. This word play system has been used for years by quantum physicists to make other people feel stupid and to attract women, you only think that you know sleazy until you meet a drunk physicist. The Arcanists of Hyldrassil have came up with the same theory because they want to meet women too (and to justify their pointless jobs that previously had involved pulling rabbits out of hats at parties).
Bar fights tend to follow a similar system of entropy and inertia. You start with the breakdown of order, usually by the guy closest to the keg, and from there spreads a wave of disorder as he falls in a pool of his own vomit. The wave spreads out as patrons move or are pushed out of the way into other patrons, drinks are spilled, noses are knocked, feels are copped, and soon the wave crashes against the far wall and sometimes the ceiling. Order slowly returns as some reconcile their differences but soon breaks down again as they suddenly both realise that they have an unresolved issue with the closest person to them and they move in using the classic pincer formation.
It all goes to show that some of these quiet mountain towns really could use some other form of entertainment to pass a Satyrday afternoon.
“You see anyone turn into a pot plant yet?”
Eckhardt peered over the brawl, “No, not even so much as a flash of fairy dust.”
“I don’t think that he’s that kind of a guy,” Aron replied as he climbed onto a stool, “you’re out of luck there.”
Eckhardt ignored the comment and gently pushed away two patrons who were in the process of energetically resolving their differences. He grabbed a hairy creature that had the dimensions of a man as well as the general physical characteristics but seemed to be lacking several mental faculties normally associated with human beings, such as the urge to wash.
“Og!” Eckhardt barked into his face.
The man-thing froze mid punch and blinked, he seemed to be somewhat taken aback by the Midean’s outburst.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Do you have any idea where we can find the Archmage Draupnir?”
The hairy individual responded with a cultured elegance that shocked Eckhardt, “The Archmage nominally resides in a cabin about 20 minutes to the north, towards the rim, but I fear that you may have arrived a week too late.”
Elissa pushed her way into view, “What do you mean a week too late?”
“My lady,” the hairy one curtsied, “Paladins from the Holy Inquisition arrived here little over a week ago and I am afraid that the Archmage has not been seen since.”
Elissa felt her heart sink, without the Archmage this whole journey will have been in vain and the druids of Heimdahl might never be able to end the affliction coursing through Mardrassil. Her mission balanced precariously on a knfe edge and now threatened to tip over, condemning them all to the void.
“I would suggest that you continue towards his cabin regardless, yesterday a young man passed through the village seeking Draupnir and he hasn’t yet returned. Word is that he was once the Archmage’s apprentice.”
“His apprentice?”
A bottle smashed on the wall behind them.
“That was the talk at the time, the young man had an accent much like your own, bladesman, but a look of one who was beyond age and reason. You could tell that he had the power of the magii, but he was still sober so we figured he mustn’t have finished his education.”
Elissa thanked the hairy man-beast, he had been truly and unexpectedly helpful, and if indeed an apprentice mage of Draupnir’s could be brought back to Heldenbuch then their journey might not have been a total loss. It occurred to her that this ‘person’ seemed surprisingly well informed for one of such visible social deficiencies.
“Your thanks are appreciated,” the hairball smiled revealing immaculate white teeth, “now if I could just ask one of you strapping young chaps to give me a shove in the direction of that rather muscle-bound chap I’ll be on about my business.”
Eckhardt turned the man and was poised to boost him off when Elissa interrupted, she just couldn’t hedge her curiosity an longer and had to know the source of his knowledge.
“I’m the chief magistrate, it’s good for business to know the comings and goings of the village,” the man-mat replied, “now my dear bladesman, tallyho.”
Eckhardt launched the magister back into the fray and noticed that he must really have been in office, he had nice shoes.

“I’m beginning to think that this whole damn country is mad,” Elissa commented as they followed the small path out of the village, “Since we arrived we’ve seen two major bar fights, someone has tried to kill Aron-“
“That’s understandable,” Eckhardt interjected.
“-and that village seems to be populated by the largest single collection of nuts on the tree.”
Arondight laughted softly, “We’re on a giant volcano in the middle of the ocean amidst a whirlpool of ethereal energies, the guardian spirits take an active interest in this place, and every mage university is represented in Prosperina. How much more trouble do you really think that there could be?”
Twenty minutes to the north involved a fairly steep path that twisted towards the jagged spires of the rim to a secluded vale nestled deep in the collar of the forest that stopped a mere thirty feet from the dark peaks.
Sitting centrally in the vale was a nondescript cottage that seemed to form something of a ranch with outbuildings and a small corral, though there were none of your usual ranch creatures to be seen just a very bored looking cat. The heavy wooden front door lay broken from its hinges as if it had been pulled from the stone building, the room beyond was black in the embrace of shadow.
“This doesn’t look promising,” Eckhardt mused as he drew the cart to a halt, peering inside he could make out the random clutter of a struggle and his last hopes of finding the Archmage faded into nothingness.
Elissa pulled her robe tightly about her as she dismounted, the breeze was far cooler up here and the Song of the Gods was barely audible now, indeed the peaks of the Twin Towers were no longer visible over the trees.
Glancing momentarily skyward she saw the broad, dark shadow of the Aigle circling overhead once more, clearly the great matriarch had taken an active interest in the foreigners, and if that was the case then perhaps she knew the events of the past week.
Mouthing a silent prose Elissa stood by the small fence before the cottage until from high above she heard an answering cry. Eckhardt and Aron turned their eyes upward to see the great bird of prey making tight circles as she descended to land on the fence with a grace unexpected for a creature of her dimensions.
Elissa knelt before the regal creature as she swept her yellow eyes from one traveller to the next, the Midean knelt with his head bowed and upon realising that the gambler was still standing pulled him down also. The Aigle spread her winds wide and once again fixed her gaze upon the druid, slowly she raised one talon and extended it forward.
Elissa rose slowly and locking eyes with the raptor she placed her left wrist firmly within the grasp of the talon, the Aigle cawed softly and made flapping motions with her wings. The young druid stood motionless as a statue whilst the matriarch bobbed her head and made sounds that rhymed off almost like a song, reaching a crescendo she stretched forward and with her beak she made a scratch deep enough to draw blood on Elissa’s cheek.
Without warning the Aigle released her grip and with a great flapping motion rose into the sky, turning in the sunlight to drift along the air currents washing up the rim wall.
Eckhardt rose from his prostrate position, “What was that all about?”
Aron dusted himself off, he’d had no intention of bowing before an animal but the Midean had proven to be slightly stronger than his own force of will and so he’d taken a dirt bath. Then he noticed that Elissa still remained motionless, arm still outstretched and the skin pink where the raptor had gripped her.
“Elissa?” Eckhardt touched her shoulder and she twisted to look at him as if suddenly startled, her eyes were yellow and glowed with an inner fire.
Blinking a few times the colour faded to their normal deep green, Elissa glanced around as if getting acclimatised to the ground again, her movements had a jerking, almost bird-like quality.
“You alright?”
She touched her cheek and felt the dampness of blood, it was just a small nick.
“What happened?” Eckhardt pressed, “Why did she scratch you?”
Wiping away the blood and tightening her robe Elissa turned to the pair, “She told me that she was going to… to taste me so that all of her flight would know me. The Aigles on Pyrrha will search to see if the Archmage is still on their lands for he is known to them as a friend, and they are fond of him.”
“That makes no sense,” Arondight piped in, and received a slap across the back of the head from Eckhardt for his intrusion.
Elissa ignored Aron’s display of ill manners for she was now far beyond the inclination to try and educate this uncultured savage in the older ways of the world, her thoughts were further occupied by something else the matriarch had told her. From her eyrie she had seen a shadow moving into the land, an indefinable darkness that followed hot on the heels of the armoured intruders before vanishing without a trace around Vinalia leaving nothing but ripples of shadow lapping against the rim wall. The Aigles feared that one of the old daemons had returned from the void.
“That was a nice trick with the raptor,” a strong voice spoke from somewhere within the cottage, it had the intonation of a command to step back.
Eckhardt drew his reaver, a short staff sporting long curved blades on either end and turned towards the door of the cottage.
“It’s impolite to spy on people, reveal yourself!”
The shadow in the doorway seemed to pull back as a tall, blonde-haired man who looked as though he could have been there for all eternity stepped into view, he was clothed in vestments of deep purple and shrouded by a teal cloak lined black as midnight.
“Lower your weapon, bladesman it would be a shame for your journey to end in tragedy.”
The man strode beyond the doorway and into the morning light, the breeze caught his long hair and pulled it back to reveal a strong, determined face, “I would speak with the lady, in private.”
The blade lowered but was not returned to its scabbard, Eckhardt shifted his weight to his toes in case he had to move quick, “Identify yourself, stranger, or take no further steps.”
The blue eyes, deep with the knowledge of aeons shifted to the Midean, “I assure you that you would never get within striking distance, but regardless you have my word that I intend no harm.”
Elissa was trying to work out what was ‘wrong’ with the man, there was something out of place but she couldn’t quite work out what it was.
“I am Elissa Demeter, druid of Heimdahl. This is Eckhardt Brandis of Midas and Arondight Fortunata, whom we picked up in Prosperina. We are known to you, perhaps you would be so kind as to return the favour?”
The stranger returned his gaze to Elissa and gave a slight curtsy, “A pleasure to meet you. I am Balder Von Daryhiem, formerly of Breidhablik and a thousand ruins between here and the Nether.”
“Von Daryhiem,” Eckhardt repeated the name slowly, “that isn’t a Midean name.”
“Very astute, but then I never did claim to be of Midas.”
What was it about this man? There was something not right about him, it wasn’t that there was anything physically defective about him as far as Elissa could see but there was something out of place, an absence of something.
“Might I have a word with the lady now?”
Elissa was brought back to the moment, “Huh? Oh, sure.”
Eckhardt moved to follow the pair towards the cottage but was waved back by the young druid, and with some hesitance about leaving her side he backed down. He looked back and saw Aron going through the luggage on their cart and suddenly felt even more hesitant.

“You really have quite a way of making a first impression,” Elissa said conversationally to the stranger, “like a cart smashing into a fruit stall.”
“I apologise,” Balder replied earnestly, “I haven’t spent a lot of time working on my social graces, I don’t usually have the time to make friends these days. The world is moving too fast and I’m struggling to keep up.”
“What an odd thing to say,” Elissa commented with a sideways glance, “no man carries the world on his shoulders you know.”
“That is very correct,” he said as they rounded the back of the cottage and entered the corral, “but it doesn’t stop some men from trying.”
“You have a point there, even if the sheer economics and logistics of it are damn near impossible you always seem to find some borderline alcoholic who reads far too many pretentious books waking up some morning with the notion to drag the world into the light. What was it that you wanted to speak to me about?”
The mage, she assumed that was what he was, paused and looked around the paddock. The stables had all been thrown open, riding paraphernalia and various pieces of farm equipment had been tossed to the wayside. It was obvious that whoever had come to this place had been seeking more than just the Archmage.
“You came here seeking Kalestus,” Balder turned to face her, “the Archmage Draupnir. My former master.”
“Yes,” Elissa replied, at least this cleared up the matter of the apprentice, “something is affecting Mardrassil, something beyond the knowledge of the Tenders. We had hoped to enlist the aid of one of the Council of Magii, and Kalestus Draupnir was one of the few not being held by Strenia.”
Balder was walking once again, “I’m not sure of what help Kalestus will be to you, the life magicks of the Great Ash are beyond the domain of our Order through a pact with the first Council of Shamans in Heimdahl.”
Elissa fell into step with him. She knew of no pact between the Magii and the Shamans, but if the Council had seen fit to send for the Archmage then they must have been in agreement that the spirit of whatever covenant existed would hold true in the circumstances.
“But if you wish to continue your quest I would like to join your party.”
“Of course,” Elissa said as they stepped around a broken fence,” but where would we begin? It’s been over a week since the Strenians were here and if they’ve taken a more direct route than the Vinalia path then they’ll be damn near Prosperina by now.”
“My best guess would be that they’ll take him to Tyria, and then off to the war,” the mage replied as he peered into a tack room. “The Inquisition will probably hold him for ‘questioning’ about the secrets of our Order, which I doubt very much they’ll succeed at, and then they’ll drag him off to Raan.”
“Surely he won’t fight the Tithonians willingly?” Elissa peered into the room over his shoulder, “What were they looking for?”
“He won’t willingly serve them, but I have a suspicion that the health of the body is of little concern to the Imperial Forces,” Balder replied as a heavy wooden truss above the door gave way in his hands. “There are ways and means to extract thaumaturgic energy from the body and channel it elsewhere.”
Turning the dark lump of wood on end revealed a very faint seam, Balder drew a shining dagger from within his vestments and wedged it into the line and split the wood with a few taps to the hilt.
The druid’s eyes fixed upon an egg shaped purple jewel that sat nestled in a hollow within the wood, it seemed to glow with its own internal fire.
“This is what they were looking for,” Balder held the jewel between his thumb and forefinger, it radiated yet somehow at the same time managed to draw in all light around it, “you are aware of the legend of the Mana Stones I assume?”
“Of course, but they’re supposed to be massive menhirs in sacred temples that have been lost over the aeons,” Elissa’s eyes were transfixed by the crystal, “surely this little gem isn’t-“
“One of the eight stones that binds Hyldrassil to the Overworld of Goldrassil,” Balder interrupted, “one of the balancing forces of all magic in this realm. The Amethyst of Shadow.”
Shadow! It struck the young druid like a landslide that was what was wrong with him. Balder Von Daryhiem had no shadow!

“You think that she’s ok with that guy?”
Aron’s concern shocked even himself, but then he realised that there would probably be no payment for him if the girl got killed so he called his concern an invested interest.
“Druids are a lot tougher than they appear,” Eckhardt said as he settled back against a trunk on the cart, he kept reminding himself of that fact in order to keep his conscience clear, “I’m sure that she’s fine.”
“I wonder what she wears under those robes?”
Eckhardt picked up a peach and threw it at the gambler, “I’m sure that whatever she wears is none of your business.”
“You know these forest women,” Aron continued heedlessly, “all small, tight clothing to avoid getting caught on branches and thorns.”
Eckhardt shifted his position, “If I have to get up I assure you that you will regret it.”
Aron smiled, “And of course there is nothing worse than getting twigs in your-“
“That’s it!”
The Midean jumped up and already had his hand on his reaver when he froze in place, then slowly began to move his hand away from the blade.
“Come on man, I was only kidding,” the young gambler backed away, then saw that Eckhardt was being very careful not to make any sudden movements, “what?”
Aron realised then that the bladesman was looking past him, turning slowly he came face to face with the diplomatic end of a crossbow, and there were others entering the clearing. The men wore dark green cloaks but underneath the clink of chain mail could be heard, occasionally the flash of a scarlet cross could be seen on the tabard over the mail.
Eckhardt heard a firm footstep behind him that was accompanied by a gravelly voice not lacking a certain educated distinction.
“My dear fellows, if you would be so kind as to disarm yourselves slowly you would make the lives of my men so much more… comfortable.”
“And what about our lives?” Eckhardt was trying to shift his vision without turning.
“Cut tragically short if you do not do as instructed.”
Aron caught a glimpse of the guy, it was the old gent from the bar, “Hey man, if your still made about the game you should know I didn’t get a chance to lift the winnings.”
“My heart grieves for your loss,” he said, and he almost sounded sincere.
“Why did you help me out in the bar?”
The gent smiled, “To further my own ends, dear chap. Sorry to offend but you really aren’t all that important in the grand scheme of things.”
The soldiers moved in a circle around the pair as they slowly disarmed themselves as instructed, Eckhardt noted that Arondight seemed to be removing an awful lot of concealed weaponry from about his person. If there was a ‘later’ then he would definitely have to ask him about that.
“Sir,” a soldier saluted the gent, “the druid and the sorcerer are in a tack room behind this building, we have it covered and await instruction.”
“Inform them that we have their companions and we would like for them to come and join us if they would be so kind.”

Standing as a group with their hands shackled Balder turned to Elissa, “Well on the bright side this should make catching up with Kalestus all the easier.
“Great,” she replied, eyeing their captor, “I hadn’t really intended on getting this close to the Inquisition though, they tend to view druidism as blasphemy.”
“Oh yeah, they cut that out of you right before they hang you if I remember correctly,” tact came and went with Balder, “on the positive side we’ll probably never make it to Strenia anyway.”
“Why not?” Aron whispered, “They that zealous?”
“Nope. It’s spawning season.”
“What?”
The old gent strode away from the rest of the cloaked troops and nodded to those guards watching the prisoners, he dismissed them and clasped his hands behind his back.
“So, we have a sorcerer who at my best guess comes from somewhere on Auracksis, a druid from Heimdahl, a soldier in a very ‘colourful’ uniform of Midas and a Pyrrhan con man. Quite an eclectic bunch if I do say so.”
Elissa was impressed with the manner in which the man spoke as to actually imply the quote marks on ‘colourful’, definite high breeding in there somewhere.
“I had hoped that we would reach the Archmage before my fellow countrymen but alas it was not to be. The Paladins of the Holy Inquisition can be such a highly efficient bunch when they want to be.”
“So that makes you a Knight of the Temple then,” Balder stated this as if it was a fact of which he had been privy to his whole life, “one of the Emperor’s assassins.”
The gent was unfazed by this statement, “I am indeed a Knight of the Temple, and the job does entail some more unsavoury tasks, on occasion. You seem a remarkably perceptive young chap, so tell me, what is going to happen next?”
“You’ll take us to that city you stole, then make us listen to some of that soul crushing chamber music you Strenians are so fond of, then we’ll probably try to stove our own heads in to try and make it stop.”
The knight bore the kind of grin normally worn only on fast moving sea predators circling a sinking boat, “Try again.”
“On the ship your soldiers will start to feel an unbearable headache, their joints will become stiff and they’ll begin to feel incredibly seasick, then when we get to port they’ll open the cells to find that my companions and I have somehow slipped our bonds and vanished.”
The knight nodded once and called the guards back over, “Good day to you.”
The guards loaded the captives onto a cart and rode off, the knight remained at the cottage with a small retinue.
Eckhardt leaned across to Balder and hissed, “Friend of yours?”
“Nope, never seen him before today. Clearly he’s either betraying Strenia or the Inquisition, I haven’t decided which yet.”
It occurred to Balder that it was entirely possible that the Strenian government felt that the Inquisition was amassing too much power and was using the Templar to undermine it. Nobody wants to see a religion growing too strong otherwise the next thing you know they are choosing your rulers and slowly picking away at your civil liberties with a misguided code of moral dogma.
“His men clearly aren’t in on his scheme whatever it is, so I don’t think that we should expect to receive any special treatment.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Elissa whispered harshly, “you aren’t the only woman in a convoy of soldiers.”

Knight of the Temple Sebastian Pygmalion watched the cart as it descended the beaten track until its path to Vinalia took it out of view and he turned his attention once more to the cottage, the Paladins had made one bloody mess here. That seemed to be the way of the Inquisition, force their way in, take what they want and leave ruin in their wake, Sebastian couldn’t help but think of them as rapists.
Strenia wasn’t perfect, he knew that but he forgave them because though they had made mistakes the country was strong and it looked after its own and those whom it adopted. At least in days gone by it had but now the church had become so powerful and intrusive, it seemed like every day they were finding new heresies and false prophets waiting to visit ruin upon the nation. Whilst the government fought with the enemies beyond their borders the church had declared war on those within, they called anyone with a different theological view a ‘diseased tissue to be cut from the body’. And boy did they love the cutting.
It occurred to Sebastian that helping the prisoners to escape was a betrayal to his country but they were his best hope of recovering the Archmage Draupnir before he was taken forever beyond reach.
It had been for Strenia, all of it, and he could only hope that in the end he would be seen to have done the right thing.

The week in captivity coming back down the mountain had proven to be relatively uneventful. Only once had someone felt the urge to become ‘romantic’ with Elissa and when he came down with debilitating pains in a very personal area before even getting her somewhere a bit more private the others wisely decided to maintain a respectful distance. It was, Balder mused, the simple spells that could sometimes bring the most enjoyment.
The cobbles of Prosperina’s streets rattled the cart and the whitewashed walls once again rolled by as they rumbled towards the Market Square and onwards towards the docks.
“Ah,” Aron sighed, “home.”
It was reckoned that the population of Prosperina was just over the eighty thousand mark, there was no accurate figure available as census forms rarely got returned out of the deeply held Pyrrhan fear of that the tax man might come round. One or two people might get counted twice (for reasons of claiming disability benefits) but this is balanced out by the number of people who dabble in a little identity theft to shift the responsibility onto someone else.
At any given time there might be a further ten thousand seamen and merchants in the harborage, dockyards and numerous inns and houses of financially determined repute.
Over the years Arondight had built up a fairly amicable relationship with the ladies, or financial advisors as they preferred to be called because they could advise you exactly what you were going to get based on your finances. He rarely made use of their services however as even the worlds most bored accountant with nothing else to do with the rest of his life would struggle to even place the first stroke in painting the picture of Aron’s financial health.
He was however good at quietly sorting out any little problems that the ladies might have, ‘unsatisfied clients’ usually awoke naked on the mud banks in a financially ‘insecure’ position, and if one of the girls got hurt then the client need never worry about economics again. For all that Aron did in the background he never asked for any further reward than a place to rest his head at night, a tiny but well maintained room in the attic of one of Prosperina’s largest ‘financial centres’ had long served as his home.
“Why don’t we just make our escape now,” Eckhardt whispered, “Aron’s bound to know plenty of places to hide around here, given the percentage of the population that you’ve tried to fleece.”
“Its not that high,” indignation dripped from the con man’s reply, but it was also visible that he was doing a quick bit of mental arithmetic.
“These guys are taking us exactly were we want to go,” Balder said softly, “more or less. There’s no point in us escaping now only to have to pay a charter to Strenia, we may as well take the free ride while it’s going.”
“Tighter than a duck’s arse you are,” Eckhardt commented.

In a far off land where every word spoken had the same intonation as a declaration of war a hooded figure strode through a darkened corridor and pulled his black robes tighter about himself. This place gave him the creeps, by all rights this old citadel should have collapsed to ruin an age past yet through some sheer defiance of the space/time continuum it stood impassively on a precipice overlooking the barren landscape around it.
The corridor was the sort that gave the impression that its owner wasn’t totally right in the head in the same way that a decapitated corpse with 37 stab wounds gave the impression of murder, some things just become obvious without reason.
A pair of heavy wooden doors blocked the way before him, an orange glow of fire seeped out from beneath the barricades, the hearth would be blazing and the torches would be lit. Only the Gods knew how there could still be breathable air in there.
As he reached to knock tentatively on the dark wood a deep, cultured voice spoke with a slightly jubilant tone, “Ah, Artemis, do come in. You need not knock.”
How does he do that Artemis thought as he pushed one of the heavy doors open, it gave way silently without so much as a creak from the hinges, contrary to the impression given by the citadel its owner was very thorough in its upkeep. This was demonstrative of the kind of mind that actually could conquer the world and run it in an organised fashion, with just enough evil undertones as to maintain a good sense of aesthetics.
The interior of the room was something similar to a large private library with shelves of volumes lining three of the four walls and broken only by a window in one wall and the heavy double doors in another. The other wall contained an enormous stone fireplace of the kind that was so large that it inspired statements such as ‘When I was your age six of us were raised…’ and so on.
In a pot in the centre of the room grew a cartogratree, miniatures of Hyldrassil that had served sailors, conquerors and insurance salesmen for an age as startlingly accurate and concise atlases of the world.
To one side of the atlas plant a huge leather chair contained a white haired man who sat twiddling his equally white beard as he read from an enormous tome.
Artemis always got the impression that the sheer scale of everything in this room was solely designed for the purpose of making its occupants feel small and insignificant. Generally it worked. Generally, though it never seemed to phase old Vidar in the slightest. If anything the room almost appeared to amplify the old man, especially whenever he was hovering around the cartogratree like some classical God. Sometimes Artemis wondered if the bibliomancer was starting to think that way about himself.
“Events are proceeding exactly as prophesised,” the old man said without looking from his tome, “the people of the mountain are closing around the land of the dragon masters, drawing all magic to their seat of power in the city that is not their own.”
“Querno?” Artemis enquired as his eyes moved over the atlas plant and the conquered province of Raan, “Our scouts report that the Strenians are having to send a fleet across the Bay of Al’Remmo, the Tithonians have total control over the mountain passes.”
“No, my boy, I am certain that the prophecy refers to Tyria,” Vidar let his grey eyes fall on the map of the Empire. “Vastinopolis was sited on a thaumaturgic discharge point, much like the Twisted Wold on Auracksis, the city absorbs the excess magic in the area with the side-effect of making it virtually immune to magical assault.”
Artemis knew the story of Vastinople, it had been turned into a legend by the bards and poets, a grand romantic tale of how the last king of the Vastians died on the walls of his city as he fought back the Strenian onslaught. The tale had all the usual trimming of an epic saga; the hidden son of the king and a demigod, who would return to avenge his people; a magical sword only he could wield; a party of heroes; and a great battle. Then of course there was the usual eclectic band of seers and sages waiting to pop up just at the right time so that the hero could realise his destiny and free the kingdom, and of course no saga would be complete without a demon.
“I thought that the survivors of the siege said that the Strenians used magic to break the walls of Vastinople, master.”
“Any power sufficiently advanced enough appears as magic, my boy,” Vidar turned his eyes directly to the apprentice, “the Siege of Vastinopolis was in actuality the first recorded use of their ballista weapon.”
Artemis knew the basic concept of the ballista, a heavy steel arrow as thick as a tree was launched from a crossbow-like device that took four oxen to drag into place. What made this weapon special was that somehow in the air something inside the hollow rear end of it ignited and it was able to propel itself at remarkable speeds over great distance, or at remarkable speed into and often through solid stone walls.
“What of your ‘Warriors of Light’, have they made their presence known yet,” Artemis turned the discussion back to the events at hand.
“There is a village named For Humm in the small land of Kardiak,” the old man adjusted a complex mechanism that rotated the cartogratree to bring the southern portion of the Auracksian continent into view, “here, nestled between the Valleys of Lahg and the Mountains of High Ban’twif.
“They are the living descendants of the Black Guard tribes of Ohh Sure.”
“The Bridge Burners?” Artemis raised his eyebrows in surprise, the here and now really did seem to be turning into a time of legends, “The warriors who destroyed the Rainbow Bridge at the time of the Expulsion?”
“Yes. Over two thousand years and the tribal order has still been maintained,” the bibliomancer lifted a small parchment from the pile of books that seemed to permanently sit on the small table next to his chair. It contained a map that appeared to indicate troop movements from Moldor in the north towards the southern kingdoms of Nu, Terra and the Domions of the Vanu. For whatever reason the advance came to a sudden and inexplicable halt just north of the Nu Combine at a convoluted valley known as the Bandit’s Pass, the only passage through the High Ban’twif range that wouldn’t require a herd of mountain goats to get through.
“This is from three years ago,” he spread the map across his tome, “agents of Moldor had spread disruption amongst the southern kingdoms as a prelude to invasion. The advance force crossed the length of the Badlands and vanished without a trace at the foot of the mountains, at this point right here.”
Artemis let his eyes follow the old man’s finger to the yellowed map, “Disappeared, master?”
“Vanished, Artemis,” Vidar curled his fingers and blew them open with a small ‘puff’ noise, “as if they had never existed. Our scouts have been unable to find out more, but we do know that it was the Black Guard who led the force against the invaders. Supposedly they were accompanied by an army of the undead, a demigod, a demon and a shadow creature whom I can only assume must be a member of the infernal Amethyst Order.”
“That’s quite a force, master,” Artemis made a mental note to look up what demigods were known to have remained on Hyldrassil, and to find out what the Amethyst Order was.
“Do you really suspect that the Warriors of Light will appear here?”
Bibliomancer Vidar Troilus slid the map to one side and ran his finger along a line in the tome.
“When darkness draws in the light shall be borne forth from the blood of legends from the land known for changing the world,” he paused for a breath. “The journey will be wrought with peril yet the Bearers of the Light shall persevere for they fear not the shadow nor the finger of destiny.”
He closed the tome and looked once more to the village of For Humm, “The Black Guard are legends, the world was forever changed both geographically and metaphysically when they destroyed the bridge to Yggdrassil. We must watch them closely.”

“That,” Balder said as he picked himself up in the cage, “was a golum.”
“A golum,” Aron rubbed the back of his head, “they don’t exist.”
Balder watched as the silent stone man walked back out the wooden door and on to the enclosed dockyard.
“I would think that on this occasion all evidence would point to the contrary.”
Eckhardt peered at the chest that contained their weapons, the golum had left it too far away for them to reach but close enough for them to waste time trying.
“I thought that golums were a slight against the old Gods or something,” he said as he stretched pathetically towards the chest, “that the books said they couldn’t exist.”
“If you believe everything that you read in the ‘books’ then by simply breathing you have slighted one of the old Gods,” Balder sat with his legs crossed, “you shouldn’t put too much faith in anything that has been written by man, it tends to be biased.”
“The natural orders say that golums shouldn’t exist,” Elissa added, “but they don’t say that they couldn’t exist.”
“There’s nothing remarkable about them anyway, not really. Raising a golum shouldn’t be any more difficult than necromancy, it probably requires a bit more thaumaturgic energy is all.”
“Another heresy,” Eckhardt said as he strained for the chest.
“Funny that,” Balder closed his eyes and smiled, “all healing spells and rejuvenation magicks fall under the school of necromancy, it is by far the most common and widely practised school of magic.”
“Oh.”
The cart had pulled into a private pier somewhere along the Prosperina docks and their prison had been bodily lifted from the wagon by what the group had originally mistaken to be a statue and then dumped unceremoniously in this warehouse. The building clearly hadn’t been used in a while, the cobwebs in it looked so old that the spiders who made them must have been the arachnid equivalent of a monkey standing on it’s hind legs to see what the view was like. There was a certain ‘ravaged by a passing lion’ look about the place, it was like the owners were waiting for it to slip into the sea because it would be cheaper than trying to find somewhere to dump the rubble.
And that smell! Aron didn’t want to think about what kind of creature must have died to make a smell like that but he was guessing that it was the kind of thing that legends of powerful aphrodisiacs grew up around. People always assumed that the most truly vile things on the planet had to have some bizarre sexual potency, how else could they get to reproduce? What these people fail to realise is that beauty fades but ugly is timeless.
Every once in a while the golum passed by the doorway as it went about its business of moving crates from one part of the pier to another, a completely pointless task only assigned because the animation spells tended to lose their charge during periods of inactivity.
“Balder,” Elissa sat hugging her knees for comfort, “do you still have the Amethyst?”
“Yeah, I’ve got it well hidden.”
“What would the Strenians want it for?”
“You mean aside from it being a font of shadow magic?” Balder saw the look that crossed Elissa’s face, she was embarrassed for having asked a rather silly question, something protective welled up in him and he thought it best to let her off the hook.
“A thousand years before the Fall of the High Kingdom of Medb and the Expulsion of the Eidolons the Vastians controlled most of the southern hemisphere from the city of Njordheim. Back then Amaldaar and Vanaheim were linked by a land bridge called Vastland, the homeland of the tribe, Vastinople wasn’t built until after the eruption of Pyrrha destroyed the land bridge and separated the continents.
“The Inquisition is based in the old Vastian cathedral of Specula Tempus in Tyria and in its vaults are scrolls and engravings dating back to the foundation of the Vastian Empire, everything that could be saved from the ruins of Njordheim. That’s nearly three thousand years of detailed history locked up down there, records about events and history that no one else in the world could have, not even the Shamans of Heimdahl.
“But the ancient Vastians were also uniquely talented with thaumaturgy, their scholars travelled the length and breadth of the world plumbing the secrets of the metaphysical and broadening their knowledge of the unknown. And the most profound discovery that they ever made was that magic came from a ‘misalignment’ with Goldrassil, and that a gateway could be opened to the world if the eight anchor stones are brought together at a certain place.”
Eckhardt was drawing interest from the conversation, or it might have been more appropriate to call it a history lesson, “I thought that the gateway was destroyed during the Expulsion?”
“No, that was the gate to Yggdrassil, the Ash that birthed this world,” Balder replied. “Its actually an Overworld to an Ash called Terradrassil, and seemingly there is no magic on either world as both are in perfect phase with one another, unlike here their energies are in harmony.”
The mage went on to explain how Goldrassil was slightly out of phase with Hyldrassil which resulted in a certain degree of dimensional friction as both realities rubbed against one another resulting in discharges of thaumaturgic energy across both worlds. He added that if they had been much further out of phase the first blast of magic that tried to earth itself would have blown both worlds to many humorous shades of dust. Yet at the same time they were just far enough separated that when the time came both worlds would seed, not just Hyldrassil.
“All worlds exist in this state of duality, it is the Yin and the Yang of perfect universal balance, and if the Strenians take control of Goldrassil through the Anchor, or Mana Stones they would literally have all the power in the world.”
“Just tell me one thing,” Arondight sat upright, “if no one else could know all this, not even notoriously imperious record keepers like the Shamans of Heimdahl, how do you?”
“Because he isn’t just some simple mage who does parlour tricks for another flagon of booze,” Eckhardt answered, a few dots finally got connected to a myth that had been hovering in the back of his mind for the last few days. “You’re one of the shadows of the world, aren’t you?”
Aron and Elissa shared a glance, “What?”
“Very good, Eckhardt,” Balder smiled softly, that secret was bound to come out sooner or later on this journey, “however that golum appears to be returning so I think it best to leave it to later about what its like being one of the Amethyst Order.”