Scarlet Horizons

Evoker Matthias d'Slaytonthorpe pores over his map of the Barrowmaze, trying to concentrate through the mild headache brought on by much study in poor lighting. But he mustn't use any more magic than strictly necessary, for later today it may mean the difference between life and death.

As his candle burns down, he studies the unrolled map that lies before him on the study's teakwood desk, committing it to his eidetic memory. The candle dies, leaving the scholar-mage in smoke-wreathed darkness.

He moves deftly without seeing, first into the hallway where the susurration of the ventilated air breathes overhead, then down three doors, knocking lightly at a door before pushing it open without invitation. "Aury, you ready?"

A protesting groan greets him from a room as lost in darkness as is the hallway, as was the mage's study. "Mattie, for the Powers' sakes, it's the middle of the night, still!"

"It isn't, and I'll never become accustomed to a cleric of the Unknown One casually referencing the Powers. It is perhaps two hours before sunrise. Hardly the middle of the night." He reaches out, slaps his friend's booted feet at the foot of the bed with perfect precision, despite the darkness. "You ass! You're dressed already, chapedro!"

A low chuckle, then a thud as feet hit the floor. "Of course! Today we will make our chapterhouse brethren proud, and collect enough coinage to fuel the furnace the rest of the month." The sound of flint on steel, and sparks momentarily break the darkness.

"No, no. Save it. We don't want to draw attention from the villagers," the mage insists. "Besides, by the time we get into unfamiliar environs, the sun will be up. Let's go, Aury. There's no rest for Seekers."

Fifteen minutes later, Evoker Matthias and Apostle Auriochos emerge from the subterranean chapterhouse, carefully lowering the warded manhole cover behind them. "Damnation, it's frigid!" Mattie blows on his hands. Behind our two adventurers, The Spine looms as a faint, shadowy immensity silhouetted against a marginally lighter background in the predawn light, towering above Helix both physically and in the minds of the villagers.

The two set off due south out of Helix, passing through the ring of trees encircling the village, and continuing onward past the Pellon Field that was once a parking lot -- not that our two intrepid heroes realize that, for hundreds of millennia and more than fifty feet of sediment, rock, and clay now separate them from it.

Fortunately, though very cold, the predawn is not windy. "You say the Far Ancients had milder weather this time of year," Aury says quietly as the two traipse along, "but how can you know that's reliable when no records still exist from so long ago?"

The scholar-mage turns his head toward the Mystic, but it is still too dark to see more than shades of gray in the poor light. "First of all, we don't know that records don't exist from that far back; we simply haven't ever found any. For all I know, such records have been found and lost again a dozen times since--"

"We've been over this, yes," interrupts Aury. "Just remind me of the details of your chain of logic." There is silence for long seconds, broken only by the muted footfalls on frozen ground.

"I sometimes forget that you don't have my perfect recall," the mage answers. "Very well, then: Abbot Fornost d'Voivodja had a vision in PR 102, over a century ago now. In it, he visited a time in the remote past, the time of the Far Ancients."

"Yes," answers Matthias. "They lived in a time — as seen in Abbot Fornost's vision — when only men had rational thought, a time when mankind ruled the planet and possessed knowledge and tools beyond our kin." The two Seekers have left Helix several miles behind, heading southwest from the village. The ground has begun to display periodic sogginess, even in the freezing cold. "We're nearing the Barrowmoor," Mattie comments. "Ground's getting soggy..."

"Yes," observes Aury, "and dawn is about to break. It's been a while, but I think we'd reach the Barrowmoor sooner if we angled more southward."

"Your memory serves adequately," agrees the mage, "but we have a stop to make along the way." The mage leads the pair along a game trail, still traveling southwest from their village. The trails inclines, begins to ascend. Minutes later, the two are at a high point of elevation with respect to their surroundings. Sunlight peeks over the horizon, its rays bringing the first bit of color into the day as it slices across their trail. The two draw up to the lip of a ridge and Matthias glances down upon a crude settlement some dozens of yards below.

"Et es wie spet not brought deaqu tam sep lizardmen," speaks a guttural voice from behind the two men. Auriochos wheels round, mace in hand, and raised high to deliver a blow. "Hold!" Matthias says firmly to his companion, as the mage turns to face a pair of goblins, both of whom have drawn bows trained on the two Seekers. "Easy, Aury. We are expected. They are merely being properly cautious. Addressing the goblin on his left, Matthias says, "Et es wie spet not brought deaqu tam sep lizardmen!" Phonetically, it sounds like "Eat ess we-spate no-bro deak tim-sape, lizardmen!"

The goblin, white face-paint standing out boldly in bizarre patterns against his orange skin, breaks into a wide grin. He backhands his companion in the stomach and barks a laugh, as if to say, "Ha! Check out these hoo-mans!" His companion, a foot taller at five feet, has green skin and no face paint, but a gold nose ring is prominent where it dangles against his upper lip. Our heroes are unaware that they're each thinking the same thing simultaneously: What does he do with that when he eats?

"Weki wahant u goblin to kill lekiahapekirs in theki bog. Weki nekiekid theki mekiahat for our full mololn fekistivahal, but our waharriors ahareki ahafrahaid of theki witch lights," says the spokesman of the two goblins. Aury doesn't take his eyes off the two goblins, but asks Mattie, "When did you learn Goblin? I thought there were no texts on —"

Mattie halts the cleric with an upraised index finger, then replies to their colorful hosts, "Weki onodekirstahand. Weki will kill ekinough froglings for your fekiahast but weki will only bring bahack theki choicekist paharts, theki hekiaharts ahand theki livekirs. And in rekiturn, u goblin will continueki to convinceki your chiekif to lekiahaveki theki pekiopleki of hekiix onomolekistekid."

"Mattie, what have you gotten us into?" the cleric asks an hour later as the two Seekers trudge westward and only a bit southward. "And why..." he asks, breathing deeply as he disentagles a soaked boot from bog detritus, "are we ... heading toward The Blackened Forest? Are you... trying to get us... killed by Renata and her brigands?"

The cleric halts, spits, and fusses at his lips, pulling away a cobweb he's walked into in the shade of a black ash tree. Mattie has paused too, hands on hips, robe gathered up high on his torso and belted there in an effort to keep it dry. The water is now almost above the two's boots.

"We won't actually enter the forest," the mage-scholar answers, taking a sip from his waterskin. "But the frogmen are most populous near its eastern border."

"I won't murder any of their youth!" the cleric asserts solemnly. "They may or may not have souls, I cannot say, but they have language and culture. And we're planning on killing them. It's our express intent!

"We won't initiate hostilities," Mattie says after a few moments of sober silence. "We'll only resort to violence in self-defense." He leans on his staff with his right hand, left picking a leech off his right shin just above the boot. Then, leaning on his staff with both hands, he sighs, staring westward. "Listen, Aury, they aren't people. They're bestial. Hells, they sacrifice their children to Herne, for Petarkian's Sake!"

"They do," Aury acknowledges, "but only the sick ones, and they believe it results in the bog's bounty, extending the life of the other tribe members. We can't know because it's lost in the Far Ancient, but our own species was most likely every bit as barbaric once upon a time." The cleric slogs over to the scholar and places a hand on the thinner man's shoulder. "Listen, why do the goblins want this anyway? You can at least explain that."

Mattie wipes muggy condensation off his brow. "Fine. Well, as you know, I've been studying the Scarface goblin tribe, befriending them; it's taken me two years to reach this point of trust with them. I bring them medicines, sometimes food. I've spent nights among them, warm by their fires, unharmed while I slept. These efforts have not only furthered our aims as Seekers of Knowledge, but they also have the practical result of making the goblins better disposed towards the people of Helix." He looks up at the cleric. "Did you know not a single villager has gone missing in the last six months?"

The mage tucks his damp handkerchief back into his belt and continues, "The Scarface's shaman has learned through his magic that the froglings have made a pact with the lizardmen that live between the Merisc and The Blackened Forest. They are planning a joint assault on the Scarface tribe. The goblins won't stand a chance if that happens. Not only will my research subjects be destroyed, but Helix will also lose an important buffer separating the villagers from the worse inhabitants of the bog." The skittering trill of some nearby swamp bird echoes through the cypresses, ashes, hemlock and spruce trees. "However ... were the froglings to have their numbers thinned..."

"Yes," Aury nods, "they'll think twice about coming closer to Helix when two humans from there have wrought carnage among them. And, the lizardmen will be derisive. They have contempt for anyone who shows weakness. The alliance will be ended, or at least retarded. You can continue your research, and we will have further promoted the growing trust between you and the Scarface tribe, while simultaneously making Helix a bit safer" the cleric concludes, smiling in spite of himself.

"There, you see," answers the mage, "there's that first-class mind that got you into the Seekers' brotherhood!"

Midmorning finds our heroes further west in the bog. Continuing the philosophical discussion of the past several minutes, Aury explains, "And that is the gist of where not only my reasoning leads me, but also what my gut insists must be true: there cannot be multiple gods. There can only be one. Knowledge and power of that magnitude would abhor division and inevitably be held within a single Entity."

"Then what of clerics of other faiths?" Mattie asks. "Where do they get their power if there aren't numerous gods?" This isn't the first such conversation they've had on this subject, but Aury is always bringing it up, and — truth to be told — Mattie enjoys getting the cleric wound up.

A loud splash off to the right has Aury withdrawing his mace from its loop in his gear belt. He rests the head of the weapon on one shoulder of his studded leather hauberk and makes significant eye contact with Mattie.

"I heard," says the scholar-mage. "They're pacing us." The two slowly slog past a cypress tree. A large water mocassin undulates across the surface, disturbed by their passage. Fortunately, it is heading away from the two. "Probably a hunting party. Either that, or a trio of scouts." The mage's left hand dips into a belt pouch that holds spell components.

The cleric turns toward the mage. "Oh, they travel in threes to scout? And how large are their hunting—"

Loud, warbling amphibious warcries shatter the relative quiet, cutting off the cleric's question as froglings attack from the moss-laced trees surrounding the two Seekers.