Umber

In which the party’s barbarian cleric is annihilated, but a unicorn freed from bondage. (sab)

The threat of the evil flame averted, the party rests tired muscles after an intense training session led by Achomed and Blastir, who have since taken their band back through the swamp for purposes that they do not reveal.

Bane and Psydney stand atop Baltron’s Tower, engaged in conversation as Frito, Magnus and Thuggicus lie in the courtyard below.

Bane: We have a problem. Through my folly, I have created a very evil thing below us and its creation has awakened those attuned to magic to its presence here. In particular, the evil mage Urf and his henchman Erik who, at this very moment, begins to quest for the item. Clearly you can see the greater folly in allowing a beast such as Erik to possess such a thing. The feelings of you and your sword are very clear to me, yet those of our companion Frito are not. Is it in his interest to allow Erik or even Ren to possess the sword? So, I bring this to you first, for I have in my possession a means to destroy the sword, denying it to Erik and allowing you to follow the way of your heart, and that of your sword’s. However, it will require great sacrifice on both of your parts, although it may not be without its rewards for you both. What say you to this?

Psydney: You should not reproach yourself too bitterly for your part in the creation of the sword. You acted in what you believed to be the best interest of the party, and speaking as one who spent more time in the claws of the demonic manifestation which preceded it than was, strictly speaking, comfortable, I cannot help but applaud your action even as I am dismayed by its unintended consequences. I admit that, as the sword hovered taunting us, thoughts of Ren were not far from my mind. I only know of Urf and his thrall Erik through hearsay, but I have heard enough to believe the threat they represent to be very great. Some individuals pursue personal agendas which a warrior of conscience, if not even especially good conscience, cannot ignore, and I fear that the cries of the tormented puppy, condemned to suffer death and reawakening to blackfire for days, will haunt my dreams for many nights.

For myself, I have never been one to shy away from a challenge merely because of its difficulty, and I would hear more of this means of refusing Erik a new toy likely more dangerous than even he fully realizes. I would not presume to speak for my “companion,” even if I had the means, which I am beginning to realize, perhaps all too clearly, that I do not.

Bane: And you, oh sentient creature, what say you? How exactly does one address you, anyway, have you a name? How deep does your hatred of this evil sword run and to what measures will you go to destroy it?

The Sword: You may address me as Scald, though once I had another name, a name that I can no longer recall. Once I was other, though the memory of my prior form is but a distant blur and the attempt to resolve it to clarity brings me naught but pain. I do sense that my creation was an accident. At least it must have been an accident, as my time in this place has shaken loose memories from the recesses of my mind, memories of foul ritual practiced by the priests of this place. An accident, yes. I believe that my current form is a failed creation of these very priests. In their hubris they called and I came. I could be bound but not controlled and so they chained me in silence and darkness for how long I cannot say. I cannot express the joy of being wielded and alive after that time of madness. But still I was a bastard, discarded, dismissed, but mostly feared by my creators. An appropriate state given my form, wouldn’t you say?

With the creation of the other blade, who names himself Wrath, I realized that perhaps there was a cosmic purpose to my creation. My creators sought to forge cheaply for while they were powerful, they were limited. And so the universe granted them their desire, but at an unforeseen price: Me.

You ask to what measures I will go. I answer: any. I believe that the destruction of Wrath is my purpose. Perhaps I shall be destroyed in the process, but then perhaps I shall be free of the…

No! It moves! Wrath has already been taken to hand! His wielder seeks the freedom of the Void. I shall strive to block him.

A flare, brighter than the Sun, flashes into being atop the tower. The world turns to black and white as the radiance casts deep shadows and drowns colors. Psydney is drawn upwards, brilliant sword in hand. The sword’s glow focuses, and aims downwards at a spot a few hundred yards away. Seeing through the swamp vegetation is difficult at best, but the now-awakened party thinks they can make out a figure wielding a large black blade. Initially overwhelmed by the intense light, he seems to be making progress resisting as a globe of darkness slowly expands around him.

Frito, Magnus and Thuggicus hear a cry from Psydney’s sword: “Ye of mortal flesh, hear his laughter and tremble!”

The figure cries “Revenge!” and his blade cries “Freedom!” Then their voices merge into a single call: “DEATH!”

In the battle which followed, the party emerged victorious. The price was high, however, as their companion Thuggicus fell before the evil blade and his soul was destroyed. Both of the sentient swords were taken to the Glitterhame and the beings trapped within them were released in a ritual performed by Bane under Alf’s direction. The hellcat which emerged again from the evil sword was destroyed, while the unicorn, Scald, who was freed from Psydney’s blade still roams the forests of Khundrakar, protecting them as his own.