SoO 3 - War of Talons - Chapter 3

War of Talons: Tales of the Wylde
Chapter 3 - The Gathering Storm

The satyr awoke to the bristling discomfort of an unfamiliar cot. He surveyed his new surroundings, that being a small cell which he quickly came to recognize as part of the dungeons, known to usually contain Delamarre's less reputable citizens. Aurelion sat up and looked at the cool blue stones that made up the walls. The door occasionally crackled with the enchanted air which kept the wrought iron bars dangerously cold…the bane of any wylder criminal hoping to use magick to escape. He considered the last moment before he blacked out- thinking about the phoenix and what it had said to him. He looked at his right arm and stared with befuddlement as the limb was now festooned in elaborate markings, a series of winding spirals as well as runes unfamiliar to him. The satyr traced the lines with a finger and felt a strange warmth within his arm, wondering what purpose this so called 'gift' from the great bird possessed. His musing was cut short by the imposing footfalls of approaching guards. Aurelion stood and approached the door and two of the council’s elite soldiers, elves in elaborate yet effective plate armor, came into view and faced him. One of them spoke in a deft and emotionless tone, saying“ Aurelion Kellkallen, the council has assembled to inquire about the incident at the Oakenfold Gate.You are under suspicion of murder and treason, and shall come forth to give your account of the incident.” The satyr’s brow curled into a sharp arch of disbelief as the other guard unlocked the iron door. After securing the satyr's wrists in shackles of chilled iron, the guards escorted him to the council chamber. The trio made their way down the steps to the floor before the stage. The Elder Council was already seated, save for Belthazan, whose gaze was already fixed on the satyr as he was led to his place before the stage. The old elf’s face strained into a wicked visage of anger and hatred. The rest of the council remained silent yet eyed their fellow councilman with concern. Almost three centuries of wise and fair leadership had earned him the respect of his peers. To see Belthazan in such a state was unsettling to them. Mangeral stood and raised a hand to hush the anxious crowd that came to bear witness. She then spoke to the old elf in a commanding tone, "Councilman, we wish to proceed with the inquiry. I am presiding this session... please take your seat so we may begin,". He did not move or even break his eye contact with Aurelion. The council members looked at each other, confused and concerned.

Belthazan's baleful glare grew increasingly grotesque as he locked eyes with Aurelion. The satyr's arm began to sting again, a burning sensation that intensified as he stared back at the elder elf. The wizened eyes of the trusted councilman bore ink-like tendrils of blackness in the corners that quickly expanded, blotting out any humanity his gaze once held. The satyr looked at the markings on his arm , which seethed and tingled with pain. The lines and runes glimmered, illuminated like the angry embers of a stoked fire. Councilwoman Tennabrae, One of the High Mages charged with protecting the Wyldewood, stood and exclaimed," The darkest of shadows is among us!". She raised her staff and began an incantation, when Belthazan lept, his form moving in an unnatural arc to dive upon Aurelion. The elder grappled with him on impact, the two slamming into the stone floor. Aurelion found himself pinned by Betlthazan, and the elf's corruption became quite obvious as his hands, bearing cruel talons, clawed at his flesh. A single misshapen wing of the blackest feathers imaginable unfolded from his back, tearing through his pristine robe. The crowd erupted in panic, screaming and clamoring to escape the thing that was once a beloved leader. The satyr panted, attempting to swallow his fear as he struggled with the beast. He shoved at the elder's chest with his right hand, and a bright flash flared between them. A horrific shriek came from the corrupted elf as he burst into brilliant flames. All who remained in the chamber stopped, paralyzed as they witnessed the traumatic blaze. A charred figure fell backwards, and Aurelion stood up, the markings on his arm still brightly lit. The shackles meant to restrain him and prevent magick use simply fell to the floor with a weak clattering. He looked down at the remains of Belthazan, hero of the Infernal Incursion, Champion of the Wylder, trusted Councilman for three centuries. He then looked up at the remaining council members, panting from stress, his face frozen in confusion and terror. The council members stared, equally shocked. After awkward moments of silence, High Mage Tennabrae stepped forward and managed a few words, " Aurelion, those markings are from a lost time, and the light they produce is as the first dawn of our twin suns. How came you by such magick?".
"It..," stammered the satyr," it was a gift of the phoenix, given to me at the gate."

The High Mage glided down in hurried steps off of the stage and approached Aurelion. Tennabrae inspected the markings, a serious yet amazed expression crossing her face as she analyzed the lines. "This", she marveled,"...this is ancient magick! Lore only known by the Greater Ones". She glanced back at her fellow council members and continued to speak, "Aurelion's words ring true with these markings. The phoenix is an avatar of the Ancients, and it has called upon him for a great purpose."

Mangeral stepped forward and replied," Let it be known that Aurelion Kelkallen is free of the charges brought against him. Fellow council, are we in agreement?".

The remaining statesmen sounded in a unanimous, "Aye."

The troll then looked at Aurelion and continued," You have quite a burden upon your shoulders, satyr. Go with the blessings of this council and the whole of Wyldewood."

"Many thanks, good council," the satyr said with a nod. "We must act quickly to aid the humans of Orlandia."

"Unfortunately we cannot assist you," Tennebrae interrupted. "We have only now discovered that the Yaoguai's evil has found a foothold in the Wyldewood. Our priority is to uproot this vile influence before others fall prey to the corruption of the shadows."

"But I have no training, no skills to fight the Emperor on my own. I am also supposed to find something called Khaz'Radan. I haven't the slightest clue of where to begin my search!,". The council members looked at each other again, this time gazing back at Aurelion with amazement.

A few hours had passed, and Aurelion was now in a much more comfortable situation, though no less confused about his quest. He sat at a long table with the rest of the council, in a chamber used by the statesmen to dine and drink together in a less formal manner after dealing with the affairs of the Wyldewood. Food and ale were served, and after all at the table were allowed to enjoy their meal, Tennebrae rounded the table with a service of hot firefanweed tea. The satyr sipped it carefully as the mage set down her tray and began to speak, "Khaz'Radan.. I remember that name... from my earliest years as a student of magick. It was mentioned in scrolls and tomes, yet with little information. It is a secret that seems to have been deliberately veiled for generations. I do remember a passage that told of ten heroes that were gathered at the time of its creation, but no one knows what Khaz'Radan was. Many mages and historians had their theories. The one thing that seems to remain constant in any writings about Khaz'Radan is that it would one day be called upon by the ten heroes to defeat a great evil."

"These ten heroes," the satyr inquired, "where can I find them?"

"The are lost to us, satyr," Mangeral interjected, "the legend Tennebrae speaks of is rather old."

"Not completely, my friend," added the High Mage. "I have also read that there are relics, objects possessed by each of the ten heroes, which bear the essence of their original owners.

Jaddel, another elder elf who served on the council, spoke up, quoting an ancient text, "Yes yes, I remember now too... Gather ye the Sacred Ten under the boughs of Verdethena. There, shall an ancient one appear, and he shall call upon the power that time has forgotten. Go and ye shall summon Khaz'Radan, and he who is pure of heart shall join with the great power and cast out the darkest of evils."

"Verdethena," the troll said, with wonder in her voice," The First Oak..."

Tennebrae sipped her tea, then continued, "Your path is becoming decidedly clear, satyr. You must find the Sacred Ten and go to the First Oak. Bring forth this Khaz'Radan, and use it to destroy the Demonlord. You have quite a task ahead of you..."

Aurelion blinked at the mage. "Do you have any idea where I should begin my search?"

"Closer than you would think, satyr," she replied, and set down her teacup, before reaching into a pouch at her side. She produced from it a small pendant of silver, with cabachon ovals of emerald and citrine. Tennebrae went on," Belthazan was one of the keepers of those artifacts. This relic was found on his body after you defeated him, undamaged. You are one step closer to your quest. The blessing which the phoenix has placed upon you is also a source of great power, as well as a link to that ancient creature. The phoenix will help you find the rest of the Sacred Ten. Go now, and begin your search. Destroy the Yaoguai, save your human friends... and free them from tyrrany. The power is within you!,". She gave Aurelion the item, which he turned in his hand, feeling a warmth eminating from it that seemed to connect with the heat of the markings on his arm. The satyr thanked the statesmen for the food and their wisdom as they gathered in a cluster and began discussing their next course of action. The satyr left the chamber quickly, driven by the urgency of his task.

Aurelion wasted no time in preparing for his journey. He packed enough for fast travel on his horse. As he loaded his burden onto Poppet, a familiar halfling approached him. It was Dandel Quickenbuck, one of the revelers who has performed at many an Autumn Festival. His acrobatic skills rendered him capable of deft feats or amusing pratfalls, whatever the situation demanded of the agile man. "So ya think yer leavin' without yer old friend, Dandel," he chided. Aurelion paused in his work and raised a brow at the halfling. Dandel was not clad in his jovial colors as expected, but rather efficient and trim leather garb, the kind a thief or assassin might favor. The handles of many small blades, mostly throwing knives, could be seen in various places around his body.

"I cannot ask you to fight, Dandel," the satyr said, turning back to fasten a satchel.

"And you haven't, me friend. You should know yer revelers by now, man. We stand with ye, ta celebrate as well as ta fight. 'Tis a pact we have, and always had. Always friends, never to end."

"...never to end," the satyr added offering his arm in friendship. The two clasped arms with a mutual nod as other revelers approached Aurelion's home, battleclad and ready for travel. Seventeen loyal and able comrades gathered, and in a short time, the makeshift caravan began their journey. As the unlikely war party made its way through the villages, and eventually through Delemarre, more joined the march. Townsfolk, farmers, artisans, even veteran soldiers lent their numbers to the parade. By the time they had reached the Oakenfold Gate, Aurelion's company had a count that fell just shy of fifteen hundred. They fell into rank without banners or trumpets. No drums offered cadence for them to keep pace. Yet this gathering of wylder stood behind the satyr, ready to do whatever might be asked of them. Aurelion and his followers were met at the gate by Mangerel and several guards. The troll approached and spoke, "Aurelion Kellkallen. May the fates protect you, and all who have chosen to march with you. It is with a suffering conscience that I must ask something dire of you... you and your friends". The troll reached out a patient yet expecting hand. The satyr quickly realized what she meant. He looked back at the throng that stood with him. Any wylder that he made eye contact with seemed to know what was being demanded, and did not waver. Aurelion turned back to Mangarel and drew a knife from his belt. He reached for a particular braid among his locks, and cut it free. At its end dangled the only copy of the key to the Oakenfold gate that he posessed. As he surrendered it to the troll, he took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh, knowing that he and the hundreds who followed him would be unable to return until the Demonlord Corvidious had been slain, his shadows eradicated. Mangeral grasped the key and nodded solemnly. By the will of the troll, the gate clanked and rattled as it began to open. Nobody spoke a word as the gate gave way, and Aurelion and his army passed through the portal.