SoO3 - Chapter 6

Swords of Orlandia: The Khaz'Radan Prophecy

Chapter 6 - Khaz'Radan

Standing a short distance from the moon bathed clearing Aurelion could plainly hear the low chanting emanating from those encircling the great and timeless oak Verdethena. It sounded ominous and powerful to the point he chuckled and felt sure it would shake the feathers off of any invading fowl that stumbled upon them this night. And what a night this was destined to be. The Sacred Ten had all been reclaimed through much blood and sweat from both human and wyder and tonight would ensure that not a drop of either was spilled in vain. The salvation of Orlandia was at hand. In fact nine of the artifacts had already been placed with reverence upon one of the stone pedestals spaced evenly around Vedethena.

Aurelion breathed in slowly and held the sweet, thick air in his lungs for a moment as if this was the last breath he may ever take. His hand gripped tight around the handle that swung heavily off the side of Sigmund's Tankard. In a moment he would walk down into the clearing and place it upon the last available stand. And then the world would change forever. The world he loved so much. In a moment Orlandia would cry out for heroes. Would cry out for them to rise and be brave and to fight and to perhaps to die. He prayed to the gods for one thing only. Courage. And with that he exhaled and began a slow walk towards the others. As he drew close the chanting became clear. Everyone in attendance was joined by the same words, the same hope, and spoke them now in defiant unison.

Two Kingdoms join and stand to Fight,
A Darkened Prince reborn by Light.

A King will rise and claim the Crown

When the one Pure Heart strikes Evil down!

As Aurelion approached many grew silent. Then more and more til at last only one young elven boy still recited the verse even as the satyr came to pause directly in front of him. Aurelion then joined the child in one last procession and saw the tears well in his eyes when they had finished. Aurelion placed an assuring hand on his shoulder saying "Oren, brave brother of Ariadnesse! We shall always remember your sister and all those who have fallen in the name of Orlandia. Be strong." He gave a small nod which the boy quickly reciprocated and then he turned back to the rest of the assembly. The satyr spared a long and solemn glance at the ragtag crowd and then approached the last remaining stone stand that sat empty for only a moment longer. Without a word he raised Sigmund's storied tankard high above his head and then grasping it firmly with both mighty hands he placed it with purpose. He stepped back and looked up into the boughs of Verdethena. This beautiful tree had stood longer than anyone dared remember and now as a gentle wind ran it's way through her green fingers Aurelion thought of the secrets she must hold. From a wayward traveler lost in a stormy night huddling against her sturdy trunk to young lovers stealing a moment together underneath her spacious, shady limbs it was staggering to think of all she had seen or heard over the centuries. What do you know old girl, and what will you reveal to us now, he thought to himself.

Verdethena shook and at the same time a glow was spotted climbing over the peak of nearby Mount Shimeon. The glow was quickly descending towards them leaving a fiery wake as it did so. Diving now into the surrounding woods the glow could still be seen approaching as eerie fingers of light shot forth here and there through the forest ceiling. Verdethena began to sway. Aurelion and his faithful took notice that the Sacred Ten had begun to burn a bright, ethereal blue casting the entire meadow in their otherworldly light. They grew brighter and brighter still and a few of the less bold even fell back a pace or two out of fear of the unknown they were now witness to. Wide eyed Aurelion called out "Fear not children, Orlandia has been brave for us, we must all be brave for her. Now look!" and he pointed as the strange glow came bursting out from the treetops, an explosion of orange light that shot with tremendous force upwards towards the stars. The light climbed higher and faster and then spread it's wings for all to see. The Phoenix! Every face brightened and cheers went up into the night sky.

The Phoenix reached the pinnacle of it's climb directly above Verdethena and stalled there for the briefest of moments wings akimbo. Then it fell with terrifying speed. It cried out loud and long and then slammed deep into the oak driving itself from the crest down deep into the very roots. The fury of the impact caused Verdethena to burst into flames. And burn she did! The cry of the Phoenix rang out one last time as the inferno overtook every inch of the venerable tree. The flames grew intense and the wood was being consumed at a furious pace now to the point that only the vaguest outline of the old oak was visible and even that was being lost to the flames. It was at this very point when many notice something else in deep in those raging fires. Some other form was taking shape and quickly all eyes were drawn to it. It was vaguely human shaped, no, it was human! But how?

More than a few jaws fell solidly to the floor as out of the flames walked Queen Raine! And she held in her hands perhaps the most wicked and wonderful weapon ever forged by magick or man. She stepped out past the fires and stood there for all to see unharmed and in fact very much alive. A mighty and familiar voice then bellowed "Behold, Khaz'Radan, the Veil Cleaver!" Aurelion tore his eyes from the reanimate Queen to behold the spirit of Smoake resting calmly near the pillar that bore his fang. Then other voices rang out "Khaz'Radan" as the ghosts of Orlandia's past all manifested themselves. There was Gundhern Fairsterm right next to his hammer and Naj'Palal by his scepter. There stood Hazzrabi and Diarmuid and Sigmund and all the heroes of times long gone. The Sacred Ten had called back through the ages and used their strength to bring forth that which might save their beloved land.

"We have returned and given all we had remaining to reveal Khaz'Radan and place it in your able hands" Smoake said as he addressed the amazed assembly. "Van and Nifl are so very powerful but not without check. Khaz'Radan has the greater power and needs only a pure hand to wield and unleash that power!"

The spirits slowly began to fade one by one and as they did so their prized possessions, spent at long last, turned to stone forever to remain there in that hallowed place. Smoake spoke one final time "We were the courage of yesterday, you are the courage of tomorrow. Orlandia has need of the brave, be so and save her now and forever." With that he too faded away. And the smoldering fires that had reduced Verdethena to ash faded as well. Much of this seemed like a dream even to one such as Aurelion who had traveled far and wide in this dimension and many others. It was Raine's voice that became an anchor for he and many others still unwilling to believe in all they had just seen. "Mighty Aurelion, there is no need to doubt. Orlandia has brought me back." He stood amazed but assured as did all his troops. This was no dream, in fact the nightmare was about to end.

"Me and mine with all heart and soul are yours to the last fair Queen." he said.

Raine smiled kindly, then her gaze focused on the West towards the capitol as she stepped past the throng and said without turning back "Orlandia brought me back for a purpose and it's one we all share. Khaz'Radan demands we wait not a second longer. Orlandia saved me, saved us all...now we must save her!" A great cry went up from the crowd and they began to march without a moments pause.

Come then and live the adventure knowing that everyone must stand or we all will fall at Anime Festival Orlando 10, the third and final chapter of the epic THE SWORDS OF ORLANDIA!

SoO3 - Seed and Shadow

Seed and Shadow

The tale of a cunning owl, a brave mouse, and their quest to help save Orlandia

Written by Heather Scott, aka Dragonmun

http://www.dragonmun.com/orlandia.php

SoO 3 - Chapter 5

Swords of Orlandia 3: The Khaz'Radan Prophecy
Chapter 5 - Effort

Two Kingdoms join and stand to Fight,
A Darkened Prince reborn by Light.

A King will rise and claim the Crown

When the one Pure Heart strikes Evil down!

Just a few sing song words whose rhyme had sung a tune of hope that echoed throughout the known world and unified a realm for the first time in a millennium. Aurelion knew they were close to Whylmere's clearing and knew also that without those few words none of them would have made it this far. The human and the fae each had their own shortcomings. But together they found a grand and inspiring strength.

"Not long now, sire" called a husky lieutenant who walked just ahead of Aurelion along the path only those familiar with the secrets of the wilderness would have been able to see. A rather large contingent moved this day, larger than normal for a search and recovery mission but this was no ordinary search and recovery. The Fang of the Earth Dragon lay ahead and once claimed the Anarchs would have reunited all of the Sacred Ten and at last have the power needed to call forth their saving grace...Khaz'Radan.

Yes, the Fang lay ahead, or more precisely a signpost of sorts that would point the way to it's last resting place and they were very close now. Despite their numbers, what amounted to a small army, they moved efficiently and fluidly through the thick landscape and had been doing so all day with no prolonged breaks save for a quick dawn repast. However as the day drew on Aurelion and many of the more sensitive in the party couldn't help but feel...disturbed. The shadows all around them seem darker than they should have been and the forest was strangely quiet and still. The twin suns were nearly overhead and hung close together in the cerulean sky. The air was thick with heat and anticipation. At that instant the forward guard hastily signaled for an 'all stop'. The tension grew and when the guard gave the 'all clear' moments later more than one sigh of relief could be heard in the ranks.

The statue of Whylmere and the clearing it occupied now stood just ahead. The party would have to leave the security of the forest in order to track down the last of the artifacts they needed. Aurelion assured his troops that they had nothing to fear, that they had been careful. He thought to himself silently but have we been careful enough? With nerves steeled against whatever might lie ahead he and his stalwarts moved reverently forward and approached the magnificent sculpture. And magnificent it was. Carved by those nearly as ancient as Whylmere himself and, if the legend held true, even the gods had a hand in it's creation for so favored was Whylmere by both the heavens and the earth. It was said Whylmere though sometimes persnickety to a fault was nonetheless the most honest person you could ever hope to meet. And he had the gift to sense truth in others as well. And so stood his monument with one armed raised skyward and one held at his waist, the hint of a knowing smile upon his face.

Aurelion moved through the crowd gathered around and read the inscription carved at Whylmere's feet. "A question asked with sincerity will always be answered in truth." With this Aurelion knelt and placed both hands on the rough hewn base. He was silent for a moment then spoke. "Orlandia is in great need. Her people suffer yet stand strong as you can see. We have journeyed for the Fang and, as you were close to it's original owner, I felt sure you would know where it lay hidden. If ever there was a time for it to reveal itself and allow us the use of it's terrible power one last time it is surely now. Will you show us the way?"

No sooner had the words crossed Aurelion's lips then did the upturned arm above him, the stone arm of the very statue itself begin to move. Those who watched closely may even have noticed that old Whylmere's smiled grew a bit wider as well. The arm traced a gentle downward arc as the open palm closed save for the index finger as if to point. And point it did! Once Whylmere's wizened limb finally rested parallel to the ground a bright and beautiful beam shot forth across the clearing and into the woods. Aurelion stood and knew his petition had been heard, his request granted. For the legends also held that the Fang had come to rest deep in the forests of Orlandia hidden in a humble shrine called Hegadon's Hollow. So well hidden in fact that no one without proper reason too would ever find it. They had done it, the Anarchs would claim the last piece and the puzzle that was Khaz'Radan would at long last be revealed. They had only to follow the illuminated trail and victory would be theirs.

Aurelion was so lost in his thoughts that it took him a moment to notice the horn blaring dis-concertedly from beyond the treeline. It stopped and a rustling began. And the rustling grew into a thrumming, the thrumming into a tumultuous pounding as the ground began to shudder. With a revelation that landed like a bludgeon cross his brow Aurelion expelled heavily "gods below we've led them right to it!"

A legion of Shadowfowl burst out into the daylight and ran full bore towards them and more importantly towards the Fang. "Go!" shouted Aurelion. His entire compliment turned and ran for the far side of the clearing where the light disappeared into the twists and tangles of a hundred elder oaks. The Foul were upon them with frightening speed and many of the slower soldiers were cut down before they even reached the edge of the clearing. Aurelion spared a quick glance as did many others and saw the dark tide that was about to come crashing down on them all. "Haste! Haste and fury!!!" bellowed the satyr just as a rather sizable enemy pounced up onto his back. Aurelion snatched at his assailants nape, tore him from his perch and cast him aside with a grace you might not expect from one as hulking as he. The Foul fell to the ground with a thud and a broken neck. On and on, over and under and through the thickets, roots and rocks Aurelion and his heroes raced keeping one eye on the beam guiding their way and the other on the feathered flurry all around them. Knives and swords found their mark but so did claw and beak. Scores of bodies lay in the wake of this grim procession as it kept up the stampede. Still the Shadowfowl easily outnumbered Aurelion's forces by 10 to 1, they could not keep this up and hope to win their lives this day much less the Fang.

A wind began to blow, a wild wind from an unknown direction that went largely unnoticed, for the moment, amidst the carnage. Aurelion now commanded less than two dozen fighters but those brave few kept up the pace until just over a small ridge and there for all to see Whylmere's trusty beam alighted upon a small portico that formed the entrance into what appeared to be a most shallow and unassuming cave nestled comfortably in the side of a small rolling hill. And inside...the Fang!

All eyes fell upon it simultaneously and legs reacted almost without thought. The Foul pounced and as the final leg of this race to end all races was run even more of the valiant fell. A small band broke free of the rush with Aurelion in the lead but even he, just feet from the threshold, was taken hard to the ground as several Shadowfowl attacked him at once in one concerted and vile effort. The wind grew stronger now, and more directed. It was as if a gail was bearing right down on them all. Aurelion couldn't allow himself to be distracted. He dug his hands into the ground and fought for every inch as wound upon wound was inflicted upon him. With one last and mighty effort he stood lifting himself and all the Foul that had attacked him. Then he charged the last few steps up into and right through the entrance, this mighty shambling mountain crashing through the columns pulling their support which in turn brought the pediment down on all their heads.

Then there was silence. Whylmere's light receded and then disappeared completely. The remnants of both armies sat heaving breaths of anticipation. Seconds passed like hours until the mound of rubble began to tremble, quake and dislodge until one lone figure rose above the cloud of dust and debris. And there before them all stood Aurelion...with the Fang of the Earth Dragon clutched firmly in his thick hand. The remaining fowl immediately moved to confront him but he raised his Fang filled fist and screamed! After the exertion of the preceding moments it wasn't as loud or as long as he would have liked but it seemed to work, they had stopped advancing and stood frozen in terror.

The wind picked back up, even stronger than before. Aurelion now noticed an enormous shadow cast directly in front of him from something enormous rising directly behind him. And then Smoake, last dragon of Orlandia, roared! The shockwave felled most of the Foul upon impact and sent the rest into hasty retreat. Aurelion had seen many things in his many days but never did he expect to see one of the great beasts long since vanished from this land. "I am but a spirit great satyr, but I see that is still potent enough. I am bound to that which you now hold and will soon leave this plane forever. For now though you must go...and quickly. Khaz'radan can wait no longer"

And with that he faded away. The satyr stood solemnly for a moment taking in all that had just happened. He felt hope grow stronger in his breast than ever before and turned back to his men many of whom sat dumbfounded at what they had just seen. And though stymied, in their eyes the same ember of hope sat sparking. Aurelion stared at the Fang and then addressed those who remained "The others will undoubtedly be on their way to Verdethena already. We must join them with all due haste."

SoO 3 - War of Talons - Chapter 10

War of Talons: Tales of the Wylde
Chapter 10 - The Darkest Hour

There was nothing at first. Aurelion's senses offered no information to orient him. Thoughts and memories flickered in muddy and distorted moments. The satyr never spent much time during his life pondering death, or what lay beyond the pale. His was a charmed and jovial existence, ever living in the moment, the merriment and happiness of others around him his only concern. He found the darkness calming, when he was able to think about it. Here the struggle was done. Nobody to fight, no suffering or sorrow, no joy to be had, but the better memories that flashed, seemed to grant enough solace. For a while, Aurelion felt he could finally rest. Then other thoughts came. Despite the soothing calmness of the darkness, Hedstrum, Dandel, and many other friends came into his mind. These were not memories... more like visions that invaded his peace from a faraway place. He could see images, even feel emotions of Orlandia's people, still suffering, still fighting. A single thought soon consumed his mind: His work was not done. The sound of wind crept into his knowing. It was constant, sounding like the sorrowful howl of a lost wolf. Soon after that came the odors of decay and of things that were burning. After a few moments the satyr could feel his body lying on cold sand, and the slightly abrasive caress of a desert wind. Dim light filled his vision as he blinked. There was a strange numbness about his form, a vague tingling as though there should be more to what he sensed. He managed to rise to his feet. No pain hindered him, despite being wounded by his enemies. Validus entered his thoughts briefly, the satyr's heart breaking as he felt he had failed the boy. Aurelion looked around, seeing a lifeless plain and a dim sky with no suns, no stars or moon, just a faint light from an unknown source. The satyr wasn't sure why, but something urged him into a direction and he began to walk.

The sand was loose and took effort to walk upon as Aurelion trudged through it. He was unsure how far he traveled, as time and any measure of it was lost to him. It felt like hours at one point, sometimes like days, even like minutes. A look back showed no footsteps to mark his progress. He continued nonetheless, driven by a simple thought that he had to keep going. The plain was featureless in all directions, and the wind blew relentlessly. The satyr wondered where he was headed and still had no idea why. Something pulled him across the sands, not allowing him to pause. A structure could be seen on the horizon now. It was a tower, which reached into the dead sky, a solitary spire cutting through the otherwise blank landscape. Aurelion pushed his foot into the sand, commencing his journey to what was apparently his destination. The tower seemed to taunt him, its distance ever increasing as he walked. The satyr persevered, and began to see other objects in the sands before him. As he approached them, the objects took more interesting shapes. They were corpses, some human-like, others far from it, varying in size and appearance. The fallen became increasingly numerous as he came closer to the tower. Their broken forms littered the ground around the structure's base as he neared the doorless vaulted entrance. He could see stairs that began a winding spiral upward as he stepped into the opening. After a pause, he started his climb. The spiral staircase tormented Aurelion with a seemingly infinite distance similar to his walk across the plain. The mysterious urge tugged at him, and he continued upwards. The satyr became aware of creatures circling the tower as he made his way to the top, their forms visible through its glassless windows. Shadowfowl swirled around the building, shrieking and calling as they flew. Aurelion did not stop, sensing that the apex of this structure was within reach.

The satyr reached a landing, and stood gaping as he looked around. The top of the tower was open, in ruin as though something had torn off its roof long ago. The shadowfowl continued to circle here, but made no deviation from their paths as he stepped into the remains of what appeared to be an old throne room. Their were more corpses here which seemed more fresh as kills, with black blood oozing across the stones. Aurelion then noticed that a throne sat at the edge of the disheveled room, and it was occupied. A human slouched in the tall chair, one leg hooked on an arm. The man's head rested on his gloved fist against the other arm. A dull, disillusioned visage stared at the satyr and he became increasingly familiar as Aurelion approached. Here sat Hesperus, still in his armor. His skin bore scars, even the burns of dragon's fire, yet he still looked quite capable. Here he held court alone, his determination and cunning obviously earning him a place to rule, even somewhere as hopeless as the void.

Hesperus' face pulled into a sour smirk. "Come to challenge me for my pointless throne, satyr? Hell, you can have it if you can take me down. No wealth, no power... no women. I'll fight you just on principle, because... well, it's mine!"
The satyr stepped forward and replied, "Good King Hesperus, it is I, Aurelion."
Hesperus gave him a more interested glance. "Oh, hey... sorry, friend. I've gotten used to everyone in this hell trying to prove themselves."
"Even in the void, you have the ambition to rule. Orlandia could actually benefit from your passion."
The king humphed in disgust, "Those people can rot for all I care. They have their ruler now. I tried to help the people... tried to warn them. I ended up here for all my trouble. Even my own son turned against me!"
"Hesperus, I believe your son can be saved. The Demonlord's corruption is powerful, but I still sense the good in him. The people still believe they can defeat the Emperor. As we speak, the people are united as a great army and prepare to march back into the main city". The king looked into the middle distance, not wanting to listen, but the satyr continued. "There is a prophecy that speaks of a king's return, and that king shall defeat the Emperor. I believe you are that king!". Hesperus looked at him again, new interest igniting in the man's eyes. "My friends are gathering sacred relics that will bring forth something called Khaz'Radan."
"I have heard of Khaz'Radan," the king said, sitting up and leaning forward. "There have been whispers in the wind here... voices that spoke of a weapon which was crafted at the time that Van and Nifl were forged... created from the same magick and steel... made and kept a secret, as a foil to the two swords should they fail the people of Orlandia, or fall into the wrong hands. They also said Khaz'Radan coud tear the veil between earth and the void. Oh what I could do with that power..."
"My friends shall find it, good king. Soon you shall be able to return to the realm."
"Yeah," the king frowned, "and return to a realm where my son hates me, and Raine is gone."
Aurelion felt a warmth in his arm and raised it, looking at the markings as the blessing illuminated. A thought sparked within his mind, and he found himself saying something that someone else wanted to say, "Hesperus... not all things are as they seem". The king looked at Aurelion curiously, then with amazement as the light of the markings flared. The satyr quickly found himself engulfed in phoenix flames, their heat being intense yet causing no pain. He managed a smile and said, "Soon, King Hesperus... be ready". With a brilliant flash, the satyr vanished.

A sound of shattering occurred to Aurelion, and he felt himself falling. The satyr tumbled through the frame of a tall standing mirror. He landed on the ground, a deep gasp pulling air into his lungs as though he had been submerged in water and denied the chance to surface. His skin was pale and he shivered, his body feeling as cold as the Bitterwind mountains. He was aware of someone rushing to him as a warm and concerned hand touched his arm. He came to notice lines drawn in the ground around him, forming a summoning circle with burning candles at various stations. Shards of a broken mirror surrounded him. He looked up to see D'vorrah kneeling over him, speaking in a calming tone and urging him to breathe deeply as she pulled a blanket over his form. From what he could tell, they seemed to be in a clearing within a forest. Another presence entered his knowing, and its familiar heat centered his thoughts. The phoenix stood nearby, its plumage blazing as its voice spoke within his mind. "Welcome back, Aurelion Kellkallen. It took much effort, but because of the blessing I placed upon you, the Seer and I were able to bring you back from the void. Unfortunately, you have been touched by the shadow realm. Although you will continue to bear the markings, my power can no longer help you. Take great care, satyr. You quest is nearly at an end, and the dangers are just as perilous. Good luck to you and your friends". The great bird alighted, its brilliant form climbing into the night sky.

Aurelion spent two days at the Seer's cottage recovering from his time in the void. His energy quickly returned, and he was up and moving when Dandel arrived on his steed, Poppet in tow along with him. The halfling was relieved to see his friend again. After a hearty breakfast, Aurelion and Dandel departed for Hedgenbury. They arrived to find the Anarch army on the move, ready for their march into the main city. The satyr rode alongside the ranks until he found Hedstrum riding on his mount with a war banner fastened to his back, the waving cloth bearing the "A" glyph that had become the icon of the defiant Anarchs. Aurelion pulled up to the orc's side and nodded as he spoke, "Greetings, General. You have made a fine army of these people."
"You have reminded them that Orlandia is worth fighting for, my friend. I heard that we almost lost you."
"I almost lost myself... but I could not rest until this land was free. Death will have to wait."
The Orcish general laughed, "Trust me... it will. Now what of your quest?"
"Only the Fang of the Earth Dragon remains. I shall ride to Harrowing Point immediately. I may need a detachment of soldiers for this one."
"By all means, satyr. I shall select a complement of troops". The two clasped arms before the Orcish general began shouting orders.

Aurelion halted his horse and watched the Anarch army march down the road. He was proud to see Orlandia's people rallied, and humbled that so many had gathered to this cause, some paying a serious price. The satyr thought of how far he had come, and these good people along with him. For a moment, his thoughts darkened as it was likely that he would never see the Wyldewood again. To remain in Orlandia for the rest of his days was easily enough of a consolation, but he couldn't help feeling that there were people and good times that he would miss. He took a deep breath and smiled, knowing that it was worth all that he had risked to know Orlandia would be free of the Yaoguai Emperor. Of the Sacred Ten, only one relic still needed to be recovered. He knew that the shadowfowl would most likely be waiting for them when he and his soldiers arrived at Harrowing Point. The satyr also realized that he could no longer rely on the blessing of the phoenix to defeat the vile creatures. As several riders trotted toward his spot on the hill with an impressive group of infantry, he felt he no longer needed the magick of the ancient bird. With hope, and the determination of Orlandia's people, Khaz'Radan and the liberation of this great kingdom was close at hand.

Fin

SoO 3 - War of Talons - Chapter 9

War of Talons: Tales of the Wylde
Chapter 9 - City of the Dead

A frightened minion made his way into the throne room of Castle Orlandia, past the ominous guards who kept watch in the hallways. The minion once had a name before the Scattering. It sometimes would focus its thoughts, reaching into its blackened mind for random memories. An old life would surface in rare moments, and the creature would remember that it was called a name like Frank, or Frederick, or Francis. It would also see a woman and child in these moments, and wonder if it had a family. The shadows would always wash over these thoughts, and it was nothing more than a minion now, one of the fowl that scurried about the main city and carried out the many duties in execution of the Emperor's will. This creature shook with dread as it entered the chamber and saw Emperor Corvidious with the Shadowfowl General and Validus gathered around a large table, studying a map of the kingdom. There were various markers standing on the map, like chess pieces, resembling troop movements. The Emperor looked down at the map with a hideous scowl, displeased at the progress reflected in the positions of the markers. The lowly minion paused as Corvidious barked words of displeasure at the General. It knew that the papers in its gnarled hands meant more bad news for the Emperor. Corvidious noticed the scared thing trembling in the corner of his vision and turned. "What?!," the Demonlord snapped. The minion jumped, and extended a shaky hand full of papers toward the Emperor. Corvidious snatched them from the shivering minion, and inspected the print upon them as the terrified creature tried to speak, "Th-They... They are everywhere, my lord... on every post and every wall of the city,". The Emperor seethed as he found them to be handbills announcing a dance festival, much like the ones hosted by the revelers of the Wyldewood. The text heralded this event as a celebration of the return of Orlandia's people to their beloved city. Corvidious slammed his fist onto the table, upsetting most of the markers. "It's that damnable satyr! He dares to announce a festival in my city... he spits in my face with such arrogance... Enough of this game! Ignore the Anarchs and their pathetic resistance... Find Aurelion and kill him. This ridiculous cause shall die with its champion!". The Emperor continued to rave, his words of hate and anger dissolving into primal, disturbing noises as he beat the table into breaking. The minion ran for the door, muttering hysterically to itself, afraid that it would not escape the room, "Francis!... by the fates, my name is Francis..."

The citizens of Hedgenbury were hard at work as Aurelion rode in through the gates, several days after recovering the hammer. Various humans and wylderfolk greeted him as he entered the courtyard and dismounted. He looked around to see most of the population engaged in preparations. Many of them gathered and stacked provisions. The smiths were crowded into a makeshift foundry, toiling over the crafting and repair of weapons and armor. Elves and trolls were shaving wooden shafts, and cutting feathers into fletching, with neat bundles of fresh arrows around them. The sounds of a hundred men shouting in disciplined outbursts could be heard as Hedstrum conducted a training drill with new recruits. The satyr continued to watch this trading town that had become a garrison, full of simple folk turned soldiers. The Orcish general noticed his friend and leader observing the townsfolk. He barked at the recruits to continue their maneuvers before leaving them to speak with Aurelion. The orc approached him and they gave each other a solid embrace. The satyr presented the Runed Hammer of the Master Blacksmith and spoke, "We are closer to our goal, friend. I believe the Emperor knows what we seek. The Shadowfowl General was there."
"General Madeira?," asked the orc, "She was a great warrior... to think she succumbed to the corruption of the Emperor..."
"She is quite powerful. I was fortunate to have the blessing of the phoenix or the dwarves of Hindwalde would have been lost, like many other people."
"Indeed, Corvidious has taken this war beyond even the reasoning of a Demonlord. He means to crush the resistance, even if it means wiping all life from this realm. Our people are nearly ready. Soon we shall march to the main city of Orlandia."
"And Emperor Corvidious will be rather vexed when you and the other Anarchs arrive. A couple mages and I managed to pull a rather interesting stunt last night,". The satyr reached into a satchel on Poppet's side and smirked as he produced a handbill announcing the festival to Hedstrum. "Thanks to an old spell or two, these notices are in every direction Corvidious might look in the main city. He will be quite angry by now... hopefully angry enough to make mistakes."
"Quite a gamble, my friend," the orc cautioned, his face a bit grim. "We truly may need this Khaz'Radan you seek, especially once we face the Demonlord."
Aurelion nodded, "We are closer to obtaining it. I will ride on to the Necropolis of the Valiant in the morning. Somewhere among those crypts lies another piece of the puzzle. For now, I must rest,". With a mutual quick nod, Aurelion led his horse to the stables as Hedstrum returned to his recruits.

Aurelion was up before the suns, preparing for his next journey, when a noise at an open window caught his attention. He looked to see a horned owl landing on the sill, with a small burlap pouch clutched in one of its feet. A rather nervous little mouse clung to the feathers on the back of its neck. The satyr arched an eyebrow at the curious pair, smiling as he came to recognize the owl as a friend from the Wyldewood in her native form. He approached the familiar bird and unfastened the twine around the owl's ankle, gently removing the small pouch. The owl launched into the dawn sky, its rodent passenger holding on desperately as they departed. The satyr gently shook the pouch, letting its contents tumble into his hand: a simple brown acorn. He rolled it in his fingers as he looked at it, eyes wide as a soothing energy washed across his fingers. Aurelion realized that he held the Acorn of the First Oak, a tiny yet potent article believed to be almost as old as Earth itself. For a moment his mind raced with memories that did not belong to him... images and feelings that seemed to be of the world itself, of the countless eons that had come to pass. Aurelion dropped the acorn back into its pouch and took a deep breath, blinking as the bewildering memories faded. "Are ye alright, Aurelion," a voice asked from the doorway. Aurelion looked to see Dandel, loosely shrouded in a traveling cloak, the straps and buckles of his rogueish gear showing slightly.
"I suppose I cannot dissuade you from coming along," the satyr said with a chuckle.
"As I see it, ye have nah choice. Me and two others are ready ta go, and know ye can't do this alone, what with the Emperor pressin' harder. 'Asides, mate... it's time ye shared some o' that glory ye been houndin'."
"Very well," Aurelion said with a nod. "We should hurry. The ride to the Necropolis will take most of the day,". With that, the two made their way to the stable, where Aurelion's horse had been prepared by able hands, as well as a smaller yet equally capable steed for the halfling. Three Elven rangers waited nearby, already armored and mounted, ready to escort the satyr. The group galloped through the gates and onto the road, riding hard toward their destination.

The twin suns crawled across the sky as Aurelion and his companions traveled South of the main city and east along the Spice Road, named so for the spice traders that would come in from Lazuli Bay to trade with Orlandia and its many towns. Dandel kept a constant eye skyward as they rode, watching for shadowfowl scouts or patrols. Eventually they happened upon a fork in the road, one direction leading into rolling hills covered with tangled old trees. The road there seemed to darken under the canopy of overhanging limbs like a shady tunnel. A faded sign at the intersection labeled this road as the path the the Necropolis of the Valiant. The group paused and looked at the eerie path, one of the elves commenting that it had been some time since he had traveled this way, but that the appearance had changed drastically. Aurelion nudged his steed on, leading his group into the shadowy path, cautious, yet moving with continued urgency. The influence of shadow magick became more apparent as they followed the road. No animals stirred among the trees and yet they all felt the presence of things watching. Aurelion cursed to himself, knowing that the Emperor had somehow pieced the movements of the satyr together and anticipated the next move. He kicked lightly at Poppet's ribs, urging her into a faster gallop. Dandel and the elves noticed the cue and increased their speed as well.

The road widened after a tense hour of fevered riding, and the party looked around as they passed an open gate made of wrought iron, framed in stone. Here they began to see a great deal of memorial stonework among the edges of the receding forest. Aurelion knew they had made it to the Necropolis as they saw monuments and headstones sprawling into the hills. The tokens of remembrance appeared countless, ranging from simple, iconic markers to towering obelisks and large mausoleums. The satyr and his party galloped down the various paths, their eyes quickly scanning for a resting place worthy of an Orcish chieftain. Dandel glanced upward to see ominous clouds smothering the sky. Arcs of malevolent lightning tore across the clouds. The halfling knew there was more than weather twisting and swirling above them. The phoenix blessing glimmered, the satyr's arm illuminating as it reacted to the dark energies that began to swim through the air around them. One particular mound caught Aurelion's eye. The memorials here bore the elements held sacred by the fel races. At the top of the mound stood a circular crypt, crowned with carvings the resembled tusks and lion skulls. The satyr steered his horse up the small hill and dismounted, looking for an opening. His arm flared with heat as he passed a particular spot and he paused, turning. He slid his hand over the bricks until one of them revealed runic glyphs that resembled the ancient alphabet being used by the Anarchs. He picked at the edges of the brick and it seemed to loosen, so he slid it carefully out of the wall. Aurelion found it to be hollow in the center, and in the cavity lay a small wooden object once carved by careful, loving hands. It vaguely resembled an Orcish child, the strong, stout features of the mighty race cut into the wood, yet bearing an expression of innocence and warmth. The satyr could feel its energy, much like the magick of the other relics.

"I'll take that," a baneful voice hissed at Aurelion from above. He looked up to see the General perched atop the crypt, leering at him. He turned to see his Elven escorts drawing their swords as they found themselves surrounded by shadowfowl. Dandel could not be seen. The satyr returned his eyes to the General as he drew his own sword. Phoenix fire climbed along the steel as he poised himself, ready to strike. Terrible sounds erupted around them as the earth split and crumbled. Decayed hands clawed their way to the surface, one fallen warrior after another climbing out of their graves. The satyr tried to stay focused on the General, despite the edges of his vision catching all the graves in the area as they surrendered their hold on the corpses that were now animated. Gamelon trotted up the path on his shadow-steed, sneering with his scepter held high, his forbidden magicks calling forth the dead. The Shadowfowl General lept, somersaulting over Aurelion as he swung his blade. She landed behind him and slashed sinister talons across his back. The rigid leather he was wearing caught most of the cutting, but he still felt the nasty claws graze his flesh. He grunted and spun with another swing, the fiery steel barely missing its mark as she dodged. The elves stood back to back, their deft swordsmanship keeping the shadowfowl at a distance with their weapons, the creatures gathered in a threatening circle around them. The General slashed at Aurelion without relenting, dancing around the satyr mockingly as she evaded his persistent strikes. She cackled as her talons nicked and snagged him. He grunted through clenched teeth as his aggravation grew. The phoenix fired flared intensely around him, forcing the General back with singed feathers.

Aurelion looked again to the elves, only to see them fall to the overwhelming mass of undead and shadowfowl despite their skill. Gamelon was nearby, lording over the dead, pointing his focus at the satyr with an insidious grin. There was glint of spinning steel. The necromancer reeled as a throwing dagger dug into his outreached arm. Dandel bounded from behind a tall stone, another dagger ready in his hand. Aurelion watched the scepter tumble out of Gamelon's grip. He sensed at once that this was the Scepter of the Grand Mage and called to the halfling, who moved without hesitation. He rolled under the necromancer's steed and grabbed the scepter before scrambling to his feet. He ran toward Aurelion, the shambling corpses toppling en masse at the disruption of Gamelon's control. The satyr slashed at the General as she approached again, the flames swirling around him. The General hovered as the shadowfowl regrouped in the sky overhead, swirling in the cyclone of darkness that the satyr had seen before. Once Dandel was close enough, Aurelion handed him the totem and spoke, "Take this and the scepter, and ride back to Hedgenbury."
"I cannah leave ye here, Lord-"
"Go! Get these relics out of here... I will slow the shadowfowl down!". The halfling dashed to his mount and climbed on its back, looking back for a moment as the satyr and the General clashed again. Dandel spurred his horse and made for the road out of the Necropolis.

The satyr eyed his opponent as she landed again, her wings dissipating. She said nothing, but stood before him, her hands still bearing ready talons and a sickening smirk. Aurelion stepped forward to charge and felt a vicious blow cut into his back. The satyr yelled and stumbled, turning to see his new attacker. He found himself facing Validus, the young prince holding his cursed sword. The satyr's blood glistened upon its edge. Validus stared at Aurelion, a mixture of madness and confusion on the boy's face. "Validus. The Emperor is making you do this. Fight his influence... I know you have it in you. I know you love the people of Orlandia, and want to do what's right!". Another hideous blow from the General brought the satyr to his knees. "Destroy this fool for the good of the Empire," snarled the General. Validus looked at Aurelion, the internal struggle apparent in his eyes. The prince raised a hesitant hand and began an invocation. Several shadowfowl dove from above and impacted on the grown, their forms shattering and liquidating... coalescing into an ink black pool. Tendrils of shadow rose from the pool and clutched Aurelion, pulling him into the blackness. The satyr struggled, slicing at the shadows that grappled with him. More of the dark shapes gripped him, some smothering the flames of the phoenix blessing. Aurelion gasped as he slid into the unsettling coldness of the pool of shadow despite his efforts. Soon he was under, swallowed by the darkness, his last thought being hope that Dandel would make it back alive. Validus stared at the oozing mire as it settled, a dark voice in his mind assuring him that he had just protected his kingdom from a terrible enemy... and yet he felt a terrible remorse that twisted in his gut, as though he had betrayed an old friend.

SoO3 - War of Talons - Chapter 8

War of Talons: Tales of the Wylde
Chapter 8 - No Mountain High Enough

The foothills and lower regions of the Bitterwind Mountains were deceptively pleasant. The Evershyde Forest held an outpost, which was a calm, serene riposte in stark contrast to other locales of Orlandia as the brutal storm that was Emperor Corvidious' rage swept across the land. Mere days had passed since meeting with the Seer, yet the war and its combatants moved swiftly. The theft of the Staff of the Hermit, not to mention Aurelion's encounter with Validus, had angered the Demonlord more than the small victories enjoyed by the Anarchs in the outlying towns. The Sacred Ten were being gathered, and the ire of the Yaoguai was roused as the saytr had planned, but so many souls, both brave and innocent, were paying the price. The satyr had passed caravans of refugees and rode through the scorched remains of Quarthmar and Pillsher, humble towns once full of proud people. Nothing was left, except the smoldering shells of buildings and the stench of death. As he sat in his temporary quarters in the outpost, Aurelion wondered how many more would suffer until Khaz'Radan was summoned, and if that could be done before the Demonlord wiped out all life that refused to kneel before him. He also wondered if he even had an impact upon Validus when he spoke to the young prince. The prince may be beyond influence, the Emperor's shadows rooted deeply within Validus' mind. The satyr hoped that the prince still held onto a sliver of humanity, that he might be able to break free of the Demon's hold on him. Aurelion picked up the Tankard of the Warlord, which had been eagerly donated by its owner, a Tavernkeeper from Quarthmar. When he learned that the relic may mean an end to the Emperor, the man surrendered it gladly. The satyr looked over the intricate vessel as he pondered. The markings on his arm became warm, and the familiar voice of the phoenix spoke to him, "Keep your faith, Satyr. The atrocities you see, the suffering you have witnessed, such things were inevitable. Your hope for Orlandia is the naked flame of a candle in the storm. Protect that one light in this dark and violent moment. Should it be extinguished, then the Demonlord truly wins. Burn brightly, Aurelion Kellkallen. Light the way and kindle the flames that can bring the dawn to this darkened realm!"
Aurelion blinked as a knock at the door startled him slightly. The reassuring voice drew silent, and the satyr arose, taking a breath before opening the door. Captain Vert greeted him, and proceeded to introduce a dwarf that stood next to him. Her name was Bluum, and she was to be the satyr's guide through the mountains to the Dwarven town of Hindwalde, where the tomb of the Master Blacksmith and his legendary hammer were located.

Aurelion adjusted the heavy cloak of pelts that hugged him as the harsh climate of the higher elevation lashed at him with abrasive gusts. The dwarf led him up the mountain road to an obscure pass. Here the terrain was more dangerous. It became apparent to the satyr that this trail was not cut into the stone like the roads on which they had started, and deliberately so. In the past two centuries, the Dwarves, as a people, had become quite reclusive. They made their homes deep within the mountains, and the passages on the surface, like this one, remained difficult to traverse. Outsiders, and especially potential invaders, would be discouraged by the terrain and climate. Bluum managed the rocks and crags with the aptitude of someone indigenous to the environment as Aurelion carefully and awkwardly did his best to keep up. The pair traveled diligently up the path, too focused on climbing to speak to one another, for the better part of a day. Bluum and Aurelion eventually came upon a more beaten path as they entered a chasm that had once cut its way through one of the higher mountains. A brief walk into this new passage came to an abrupt end, and revealed the entrance to Hindwalde, an obvious change in the roughness of the rocks that surrounded the two travelers. A high, fortress-like wall was cut from the stone here, with immense vaulted doors of iron. Cross-shaped murder holes ran across the face of the wall in a simple, efficient pattern. Aurelion noticed cruel points jutting out from the holes, no doubt from bolts knocked in ready crossbows at the hands of watchful marksmen. Bluum approached the large door and Aurelion followed cautiously, looking up to see the steel points that remained aimed at him. A slat opened in the door and a pair of eyes studied the satyr and his guide. The noise of metal shifting against metal broke the tense silence, and the doors parted. Aurelion followed Bluum past the entrance and saw the continuation of the chasm, except that every inch of this place was chiseled and carved masterfully into complex, clean lines and shapes. Steps ran in various directions to various doorways which ran along the walls, several teirs high before the beautiful carvings faded into the natural roughness of the higher chasm walls. The main street of this town was busy with dwarves engaged in various activities, though many of them would stop to stare at the satyr, especially when he loosened the cloak that covered him. He could feel their eyes on him, looking at his horns, the trinkets in his braids. One trader was so forward as take hold of Aurelion's right arm and inspect the markings of the phoenix's blessing. The satyr raised an eyebrow but obliged him, letting the dwarf turn his arm to study the runes that were among the swirls and spirals. Bluum admonished the trader in Dwarven dialect and pulled the satyr away, leading him purposefully through the street.

Aurelion and his guide entered a doorway framed with relief sculptures of skulls and angels into a simple antechamber lit by torches set in wall sconces. A male dwarf stood before them. His long reddish-grey beard was combed and braided more finely than most of the other townsfolk, and a reverent sash embroidered with Dwarven script was draped over his shoulders. The little man nodded his head and spoke softly, "Greetings, Lord Aurelion. D'vorrah the Seer sent word that you would come, and that you seek the Runed Hammer. We haven't much time". He took a torch from the wall and walked toward a dark entrance, the flickering light revealing steps that descended into utter blackness. The satyr followed, carefully watching his footing on the chiseled steps that wound into a sinking spiral. Bluum remained at the antechamber, watching them slowly disappear into the stairway as it made a turn. Their descent took several minutes. Aurelion listened to himself and the dwarf breathing, the sound echoing unsettlingly through the tunnel. The flickering fire of the torch was the only illumination. The walls seemed to be getting closer to the satyr, who placed a hand against the smooth surface and dragged it along, just to reassure his mind that the passage itself presented no threat. The two finally came to a landing on level ground, and they found themselves before a rather solid-looking wooden door. The dwarf closed his eyes and whispered a spell. The wooden door opened, and the dwarf and the satyr made their way into a round chamber. A multitude of candles circled the room on rows of step-like shelves on the walls, and the wicks calmly ignited themselves through a warm and comforting magick that swirled around the small room. At the center of this chamber laid an impressive sarcophagus of marbleized stone, a relief of the legendary blacksmith carved on its lid. It was an incredible likeness of the hero which rested inside this stone vessel, depicting the man in his best years,as though he were sleeping peacefully. The Runed Hammer lay upon his chest, stone hands grasping it tightly, the sculpture itself apparently designed to hold the relic in place. The dwarf stopped at a distance from the sarcophagus and spoke, "I have been the keeper of this tomb since my childhood, Aurelion. My task has been to protect it until an ancient calls for it, and sends an avatar to take the hammer from the hands of the hero."
"How do you know I am the avatar?," the Satyr inquired. THe dwarf simply pointed to the sarcophagus. Aurelion paused for a moment with a puzzled look, then stepped closer to the stone coffin. He then noticed pictograms upon the surface along its sides, and one particular image raised the hairs on the back the satyr's neck. An arm stretched upward in the glyph, reaching for a representation of the hammer. The arm was covered in spirals and runes, markings which were identical to those inscribed on Aurelions arm. He looked at his own limb again then turned back to the dwarf, who nodded and spoke, "Those who carved this tomb and laid the hero Gundhern Fairsterm to rest were made aware that this day would come. You were chosen by the fates long before your birth to be the seeker of the Sacred Ten, and only you can remove the Runed Hammer of the Master Blacksmith from this tomb."
Aurelion remained still, dumbfounded as the gravity of recent events, as well as his place within them, impacted upon his psyche.

An odd wind blew into the chamber from the stairwell, and the saytr broke free of his own overwhelming thoughts. The dwarf looked to the entrance, then back to Aurelion. "This was also foretold. The shadowfowl are here. Follow me and I shall take you to a tunnel where you can escape-"
"No," the satyr said, stepping forth and quickly removing the hammer, "Not this time. I will not run away while this town suffers!". Aurelion dashed up the stairs, the dwarf calling to him, pleading him to come back. His cries and his torchlight faded as the satyr climbed the winding steps, feeling the walls as he kept a desperate pace upward. Aurelion could no longer deny his destiny, or afford himself any further doubt, but he would not simply follow a path supposedly laid by the ancients while countless others died. He was soon in the antechamber, then into the street, looking around to see the townspeople in panic as shadows chased them. His arm ingnited with the phoenix blessing, and his rage seemed to pass the flames into the Runed Hammer, and he ran toward a group of shadowfoul that had cornered a particular citizen. He swung with a furious yell, the head of the hammer impacting on one of the creatures. The thing shrieked as it exploded, the others in the group reeling as flames spead upon their twisted bodies. Aurelion helped the frightened victim to his feet and guided him to a doorway, shoving the dwarf in as other creatures charged. The satyr met them with another loud battlecry, wielding the blazing hammer and knocking them down. He fought his way through the street, smiting any vile thing too slow to dodge his fury, which was that of an Orcish berzerker as his blows crushed and ignited his foes. "Fool!," the voice of the phoenix shouted in his mind, "This town is lost. Do not risk the relic or yourself against these creatures. Get out of there!". The satyr ignored the warning and made his way to a wider spot in the street, close to the main entrance. There, hovering above the terror and bloodshed of the marauding fowl, was the General. She once commanded Orlandia's armies, loyal to Horus, but now she served the Demonlord, and his power of corruption was evident as she cackled at the satyr, her eyes framed in the same shadow as the creatures around her, immense black wings beating the air. "The void calls out to you, Satyr," she hissed, "It shall devour you and your people. This shall be the age of Shadows!". Aurelion tightened his grip on the Runed Hammer as he looked up her, his eyes wet with the tears of loss, his teeth clenched almost to the point of shattering. His body trembled with an energy that those around him could almost see, and those who could, backed away cautiously. The satyr let loose with a roar no lion could utter, no demon could challenge as he swung the hammer in a drastic arc, slamming it into the ground before him. Blinding light and terrible thunder erupted from the center of the street. The town of Hindwalde shook as the rage of a satyr and the fire of a phoenix called forth a cataclysmic firestorm.

All was smoke and chaos for the first few minutes. The town grew silent after the impact, the front wall had cracked in a few places, and some of the harsh winds that gave the region its name pushed through in frigid gusts. Aurleion stood in the center of the street, the road beneath him appearing scorched. He found himself surrounded by bodies, some Dwarven, some shadowfowl. The General was nowhere in sight. Aurelion went about the street, and began to overlook the fallen. He turned a particular dwarf over, fearing the worst. To the satyr's relief, the little woman groaned as she looked around, dazed and bruised, but otherwise alive. Other dwarves began to stir, standing to brush themselves off and help others. He wasn't sure how, but Aurelion had managed to purge the town of the shadowfowl. The nasty creatures that remained were brittle stone remains, which crumbled to the touch, bits of them falling away in the wind like ash. Some of the townsfolk began to cheer, shouting praise at Aurelion for destroying the invaders. The satyr smiled humbly and waved to them before making his way to the entrance. The townsfolk watched him as he started his trek down the mountain, driven by the thought of other people that were still in danger.

SoO3 - War of Talons - Chapter 7

War of Talons: Tales of the Wylde
Chapter 7 - A Line Must Be Drawn

Hedstrum Balan looked down on the open field before him from atop the grassy hill where he and a multitude of battle-ready Anarchs had gathered to prepare for a charge into Hedgenbury. Between themselves and the the high-walled town in the distance, stood the Imperial army, which comprised mostly of loyalist troops. The shadowfowl were present, various abominations skulking among the ranks or flying overhead. The twin suns blazed in the sky, making this the weakest moment for the wicked creatures, but they were poised to defend the Demonlord's domain, nonetheless. The Orcish general raised his sword high, calling to his soldiers. The Anarchs chanted and hollered, many of them eager to engage. Hedstrum paused as a streak of flame came into view in the air. The phoenix flew over the field with something clenched in its talons. The great bird turned toward the Anarch army, which grew even louder as the sight of the phoenix was seen as a blessing upon the imminent battle. The phoenix swooped by and alighted, climbing into the sky again. Hedstrum quickly lowered his sword and raised his other arm to catch the object of which the phoenix seemed to have let go. The general caught the object and inspected it. It was a staff, a simple gnarled thing hewn from an oak branch. He quickly determined it to be the Staff of the Hermit which Ariadnesse agreed to steal. Hedstrum also realized a moment later, that the elf would have delivered this prize herself. Hedstrum passed the staff to another soldier and instructed him to carry it back to Bedldem on the fastest horse he could find. The noise of the Anarch soldiers dulled as they watched the general lower his head and shut his eyes, his face twitching as his teeth clenched. Breath puffed through his nostrils like an angry bull as his mind ventured a brief moment into what could have been. For a moment there was a grim, awkward silence... then the orc's sword bolted into the air as his hand again held it aloft. The general's eyes opened as did his mouth, and a guttural cry lept from him, an atavistic noise known by many to be the furious Orcish call for the blood of enemies. The throng of frenzied humans and wylderfolk spilled down the hill toward the line of Imperial troops. The orc led his loyal soldiers in the charge, roaring again with fury. A vile sound came from the shadowfowl, and the loyalists marched forth, some bearing a look of reluctance as they prepared to face their fellow Orlandians in battle.

The initial clash was brutal. Metal gnashed against metal, flesh rended and bones shattered. Neighbors and once-friends met eyes and weapons with conviction and determination. Hedstrum engaged one of the awful creatures at the center of the fray, literally pulling it from its low place in the air and driving his steel deep into the thing, which emitted a deafening call of anguish. The orc planted a foot upon the dying shadowfowl, freeing his blade and spinging himself upward, over his men, to deliver another deadly blow to an advancing creature as he landed. Elven arrows launched into a focused volley from the back ranks, felling another dark bird. It contorted and careened above the battle before crashing through a group of fighting soldiers, both Imperial and Anarch. More of the vile things came, swooping down to catch random Anarchs and throw or drop them. A druid among the Anarch army uttered an incantation, and the ground split open. Combatants stepped backward as the earth itself rose and took shape, resembling vaguely human forms. The newly summoned golems towered over the soldiers, at least twice their height. The Loyalist troops closest to them were swatted or crushed as the lumbering monsters of dirt and grass began swinging their huge arms. Gamelon, the Emperor's most powerful necromancer, watched from a distance on a shadowcrafted steed. He waited to join the battle, watching the soldiers on either side fight and fall. Once he was satisfied at the amount of death on the field, he kicked his spurs into the dark horse upon which he sat, and the necromancer charged. He raised an ornate golden scepter as he approached the violence before him, and the jewels on the artifact burned with an eerie light as dark energies swirled around it. The fallen among the combatants began to stir, crawling and pushing themselves up. The dead stood up and armed themselves, the Anarchs watching in horror as the corpses that surrounded them started to advance.

Hedstrum eyed Gamelon as he rode along the outskirts of the battle. With a grunt, the orc, ran across the field to intercept his new target, dismissing the enemies that obstructed him with simple yet devastating strikes. The necromancer noticed the Orcish General coming for him and pointed his scepter. Several of the undead soldiers seemed to respond to the gesture, and turned to meet Hedstrum, standing between the orc and their new master. The orc lept at his mindless foes, and cut down one of the undead, then turned and lashed into another. They clawed and bit at him, swinging weapons clumsily as they shambled toward him. One by one, the zombies fell, only to be replaced by another. The walking dead surrounded Hedstrum, but he kept swinging, still looking at Gamelon, regarding the creatures that blocked him more of an annoyance than a threat. An elven priest approached, flanked by fighters who slashed their way through to escort the elf closer. Gamelon scowled as the elf began her prayer and gestured again commanding more undead to move in and interrupt her. The ground around her became illuminated, and the nearby revenants collapsed. The radius of her spell spread outward across the field, and the undead that did not fall under its power backed away, writhing and screaming. Gamelon cursed to himself and pulled on the reins of his horse, backing away as the light magick drew closer. His steed reared, emitting an unnerving bray while shadow grew from its sides and took shape as immense black wings. Gamelon and his horse took flight, eager to escape the range of the priest's prayer.

The very fever of the battle had broken as the undead fell in great numbers. The remaining shadowfowl took to the air, following Gamelon as he fled. The loyalist soldiers turned and ran back toward the city as their trumpets called the retreat. As they approached the gates of Hedgenbury, they found themselves trapped. Anarch spies had made their move within the walls. The townsfolk supported the resistance movement well before the anticipated clash, and revolted as the battle began. The gates of the fortified town did not open as the loyalist troops approached it in hopes of shelter. Finding themselves between their own townsfolk and the advancing Anarchs, they quickly began to drop their weapons. The last remaining standard bearer let his banner fall as the enemy came closer. Hedstrum led the Anarchs toward the gate, calling them to halt before the broken ranks. One of the loyalists, Commander Danik, stepped forward to face the Orcish general. He held up his sword, humbly offering it to Hedstrum as a gesture of surrender. The orc looked at him, then beyond him to the enemy troops. He silently looked at their faces which bore the shame of defeat, and the pain of a war they did not want. Hedstrum grinned and looked again at Commander Danik, then spoke in a volume for all to hear, "Keep your sword, brave warrior. You will need it when you march to the city proper of Orlandia...". He raised a hand and gestured toward the Anarch army. "... alongside your brothers and sisters!". Commander Danik lowered his sword as the Anarchs began to cheer, and extended his arm in friendship. The orc clasped Danik's arm gruffly with his own, and both sides erupted in celebration.

The liberation of Hedgenbury was more than a mere victory for the Anarchs... it was a triumph for all Orlandians who still held out hope of being free from the tyranny of the Emperor. Word quickly spread to the other towns, and support for the Anarchs grew. Many towns began to revolt, or did what they could to help by moving supplies or hiding Anarchs that were being chased by the shadowfowl. Emperor Corvidious raged from within Castle Orlandia, and he sent Validus out with his minions across the kingdom with new orders. Branding and casting out those who supported the Anarchs was no longer enough. An example had to be made. The Demonlord decided that those he could not control must be destroyed. The shadowfowl moved over the land, and blanketed the kingdom with suffering and fear. Many Orlandians witnessed Prince Validus as he rode into various towns, the terrible sword that was once Van and Nifl raised high, unleashing its power upon his own people. The people of this realm came to know true evil as the kingdom's young ruler, under the emperor's influence, destroyed that which he loved so dearly. The jubilation of the victorious army at Hedgenbury wilted as word arrived from other regions. The Anarchs still needed to find the Sacred Ten, and Khaz'Radan, or all their efforts would soon be for naught.