Sander's FollyņSander Payne was always a good student. He liked to study, he often received high marks on his tests. His favorite subject was history and he studied it feverishly. Some thought he was obsessed. But nobody knew just how far he would go @’@B Fej MorajiIK Eric Leblanc Eric Leblanc Sir Albon@c’ClubbercClubber,Œ Sander Payne, Sander Payne- The Narrator`R Eric LeblancR Eric LeblancS€v’pv3’13:Magalen`’SmudgeO Sagimyris`SmudgeB’*’’’æĪõūśuóžö’¾’’’0ƒL Joe's TowersžJoe Fainlie owns towers all over the country. It is said you get a very different view from so high up. Maybe you'll see something you otherwise overlooked! Hill FortfI hear that there is a small castle on an island somewhere that can upgrade any creature you can find!Sander sucks....|I hate these bloody necromancers and that Sagimyris most of all. Bloody ruined my crops he did. Magic is good for nothin'! MinotaursJWe haven't seen any minotaurs in ages. But they used to live underground.Mercury¢Sagimyris hordes all his mercury underground near his lair. Supposedly, he raised a bunch of dragons from the dead to guard it from pesky people like yourselves.Hero@What this land needs is a hero. Surely one is hiding somewhere!ClubberWatch out for Clubber, the Pirate Lord. He is a coward and won't stray far from his castle, but if forced to fight, he can pack quite a punch.Psychic ElementalsFI hear there are some creatures that only live in the world of dreams.Purple Dragons<Purple dragons? Are you crazy, man? What are you smoking?! Gaylin DaleÉNah... Sagimyris didn't like Gaylin Dale. I bet he has some underground catacombs or something where he lives. All necromancers are like that... would prefer a hole in the ground to a castle any day.MummiesgMummies only live in pyramids, and those are only found in the desert. Gotta be some desert somewhere!StingeråYou want to do some serious monster stomping? Get Margaret the island hermit to give you her sword Stinger. Of course, she will probably send you on some crazy quest to prove yourself... but you will be well rewarded if you do!G6F57178:6181615785812=356477782                                                     51555@B43<618=47458H3;7431375745<H71724612683;355151A823E783C5156?6D54?5                                                       43:64<31<6?6D2438<:4143F3@885F2>28C3H@3236135564:6554289674451C2G8216886                                 - # /               35714C23F68?6@82223G?2<1476:D3861BA843F414524718368689161G26C53317224254                                ) &  $ +                 54C83H17568=>55<46128>3F56>3335224854455<4465=27A3315773421245D481382>13                                ) &   % +                 E;85522155867F2144G3165397864176581=A1C5435C2477273644:247848C8386888813                                  ) '   $                  484?3>438383A6=841=855H57A523@1677B1117583382C27>G7BB885837264666F66725G                              ( &                  ?3D4?48B@1?4445A2;828185A78245@A2;2G21653233C5127351=12346B1328;61?287<@                                                   97=4464C55627F;558H@2225478B1176E1428572437757F?C7D83C872282>4554 D855235                                             51834575=42C626F4513561C2841166>8 :4<211AA47E6> 5735616@1332167>488 5<18153          &               - "                 / 66@78881@4<7 3;817H7C52>B4;;8733 ?8183:378;711 E762312143>681571 1 H4 45E12<            !#            , #  /               /633419G1B23 4?6564H6F37152G67 B 72 93H338653592 8628?2857B63;74C 25748;2288                           ! /                 8=8624<571 C4<76F7533631687 :127351742565125 41872834557 :87A 2C47H86A287                                                    4 <>6;7B>8 5A27678<44: 4371 1B71G3:7F8A877 <4> 347:1662G70362A7 3C874238334                                    - #  ! / )   +           4< D66E 748 73262DF6=807=632 ;4;2983716D1:3 C 7 5 2 4 27<5G8 ?063E 5 8 253H337G1258                                    - "   & %    +         ;6<7  !2 7 6 3 444421F 1048G 4 4 178188:718G56771<1;13 6 2 53 3165 @434C8618F7B236                                    -      % *         @BB'AF53  7172 1 1 8 280=848 462FC63A7573C2:B'A2711127435 891 < 7 3B7584<187466H5                                                   @%BBB'AH?4A21B:757 246 A 2 ?2?;238935D3632%B&A576D32134  5 3 6GA5C83G<476226675                                      "         @  %BBBBBB)A6284<4  2 5 28F8442122461>2827$B&A63418>3 4 @37268221<63243375@1                                    -         # /       @  $B)A<7728 1 6:85615G4:6873256:1;%BB&A7?686 76 7283<4723346E863151                                                ,       .          @$B0@-AG88C3 :5 476537349B24D5457F1 $BB&AB7 842; 62748;4F391768;357                                                              @ BB&A73 H121 D2@38684474A175283 $B'A14664 B49268548775?3338:                                                             -@ "@  $B'A36622 262D1>358873373542 %BBBB"A4524CA1C82283743623                                                               -@ "@ $BBBB A478817C3?364G3E6326  @4 24521684766<C59316                                                                -@ "@  @8 >56:5@66?52=3?2F37        B"                                                               ,@ "@    @8 5155F4E7668;773?78 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @                                                                                 -@ #@  @5 G3;H>2558HD4B4HD5 B                                                                                              ,@ "@%@'C1E 36;714621686G5 4 88                                                                                       ,@ "@ %@&C4G6 822=54:;66848 32G4                                                                                                   -@ #@@8G57 @274844B271763 761                                                                                                  ,@ "@@8:68? 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 < + = >? @ABCDE F - G  9 H  I JK L M N’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’ + ? * ) B B%    +O  **+ C D EDDCDE*+8BDE P *+*D >)QR &-G8S ( Q TU** =E*VW?   ?>2!LXY Z*?*H9H99 [B8 B\B+?  E8]^^ _ö8», Sander PayneŒ’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’i’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’¦You, Sander Payne, a student of History, have always wanted to graduate with honors from the University of Gaylin Dale and eventually be admitted into the Celestial Order of Magic, the premier magic guild in all of Alan. Unfortunately, your notions about certain figures in past history are somewhat unconventional, and your thesis topic is not looked upon favorably. You must find evidence for your thesis, and quickly!ž @ `Northeast - River Inn, Morhan Monastery South - Gaylin Harbor, Barron's Ford, Sagoria North - Gaylin Dale Southwest - Visit Scenic Selway PointY@txarbtavcz{a{b  ~d€efp gq gt hs ir j kt lmp gq nw J’v N’’Č’’Ȑ’’o@pvq t]zryP‰s‚ :|tNortheast - River Inn, Morhan Monastery North - Gaylin Dale South - Gaylin Harbor, Barron's Ford, Sagoria Southwest - Visit Selway Point Today!|4’{n|uxvvgswuxs$t$r&pBp8tgtywhuzvyxlx{wn|’|’~,’{’}’{e}gy M’ Ix }|~‚€l€‹aŽ‹dededdŽf‹eŠd‰e‡e…dƒe‚d…dˆe„d†d‡f†gˆfƒl„€ƒ‚…ƒu… „ƒ…x„v€n‚…~€yv€†~ ‡~ { ˆ~ i ‰|~~h{ ‰yŠ|n} v~ †y ‹l‚ uv\Œed‹ eŽ d dŒ e e dŽedŒŒe‹tThe King's Mines. KEEP OUT‹ŠeˆŽ‡…h‡l†‡xƒv‚g„uƒn‡d…e‹eˆe†f† g‡ †‡ ‰ƒfƒyv„‘‚‘€x‡‘„x…†~Œ~gv’w“ģĆ Gaylin Daleæ@I@¤.to make sure blue doesn't give your resources!ģ’’’ö’’’ģ’’’ö’’’ö’’’ö’’’Ąc’’’w”ļĆ Eric LeblancDH$D!#"-%)[’’’’’’’’’’’’’’ūLord Eric Leblanc, Ruler of Gaylin and the Six Kingdoms, is most famous for beating back the hordes of undead under the control of the Necromancer Raspin by a series of valiant military offensives. The most impressive of these tactics was perhaps when Leblanc faught of an ambush by Sagimyris' armies while he was marching south at Barron's Ford, which turned the tide of the war and paved the way for a much sung about Gaylin victory. Who knows what the world would be like today if Leblanc hadn't lived?žŽ"“ōĆ’ Barron's FordŠ‡bˆdŠ•…flx†Œ†l„v‡–ˆg…–}—}g{y|n|{z˜{™}{š|›z}z˜}x|g}‡}‰ƒœ„'l…'g„#yƒ#g… ‚ˆ BŠ";Š&V'Ž'‡'WŒ'ˆ$ˆ%R‡%GŠ#p‹#pŠ$p‹$p#p$pŽ$pŽ#p‹&pŒ&p&pŽ&p&pˆ!žÅ The dead are everywhere. The battle was over almost as quickly as it had begun. By the time you reached the river, Albon's army had already been obliterated. The details of the combat are uncertain to you. There are no survivors capable of relaying information. Those who lived had already retreated. Those who were wounded can only shake and mumble, their eyes quivering in fear. You walk among the dead with a heavy heart. Something went wrong. Leblanc's forces were supposed to win this battle. It was supposed to me a magnificent victory. Then you remember: Leblanc wasn't here, and nor was the castle guard or Jared Morgan. What have you done? What consequences will this have on the future you know? The river, soaked with red, is a sorry sight. Men lie crushed by their own horses. Hacked up bodies, most with swords still in sheathes and carrying bows without arrows, lay everwhere. There are the lifeless husks of Undead also, but not nearly as many. They were too quick, too organized. Albon didn't stand a chance. Finally, you find him, lying in a bunch of river reeds beside Barron's Bridge. One of his legs is missing, and most of the top of his head is caved in. His face is frozen in anger, and his eyes are glazed over. Around his body lay a pile of broken skeletons and even two dead creatures that could only be vampires. A notched and well worn sword is clutched in his badly cut up hand. And his blood is everywhere. "Oh, Michael..." you cry, falling to your knees. "What have I done? This is all my fault!" Suddenly, without warning, hundreds of skeletal warriors plunge from the wintry forests and from underneath the bridge, surrounding you quickly. We didn't even come close to beating them, you think with dismay. They will march north now, with no army to stop them. Gaylin, the castle which has never fallen, will fall! The King is doomed. And all thanks to you. Skeletons armored in a vast assortment of metal armor charge towards you. You can hear them hissing. In the distance, you see a mounted figure, clothed all in black. His face... his face is gone, replaced by nothing other than a set of glowing eyes. Is that just your imagination? Roaring laughter can be heard as he surveys the truth of his victory. It can only be Sagimyris, you decide. The King's reports were wrong, of course. The entire undead army was waiting for the Gaylin forces. How could none of them have known? How could he sneak his whole army so far north? Nothing in your historical texts could explain it, but seeing it in real life made it that much more unbelievable. You realize suddenly that the undead will be upon you in moments. They seem to come in every direction, hundreds of them, all intent on one thing: death. You consider drawing Michael's sword, but you don't know how to use it. You know no magic. The only thing left is to run, and your mind screams it at you: FLEE. Without another moment's hesitation, you run as fast as you can. 9Š;čCČ?ōCČ;č9Š’w!]u%Ÿx% z ”r#¢s$£&£'”}'¤~ ”|$”}%£|"„‡ ¦D’’’’ÖSeveral archers pace the narrow walkway along the midpoint of the tower. You call up to request passage, but the archers shake their heads. One replies, "I'm sorry, son, but it's war out there, don't you see? We can't just let anybody through these days. We need proof that you and your men pass with orders from Lord Leblanc. So either he has to come himself, or give you an official sash showing you are a member of the council. Sorry son, but them's the rules."€The archers leer at you over the ledge. "Sorry pal, but I just can't let you by without proof of your alliegience to the King."eThe archers agree to let you by in exchange for the Ambassador's Sash. Do wish to pass at this time?ƒ ˜†”ß ™D Sir AlbonpXXXČČō Č’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’Eric Leblanc's second cousin and the castellan of Gaylin Dale. A capable leader, but sometimes overeager. His bravery has won him many fantastic victories, but at times his brashness, pride, and unwillingness to withdraw his attacks has cost him many winnable battles.’ž††ƒ¦D’’’’ÖSeveral archers pace the narrow walkway along the midpoint of the tower. You call up to request passage, but the archers shake their heads. One replies, "I'm sorry, son, but it's war out there, don't you see? We can't just let anybody through these days. We need proof that you and your men pass with orders from King Leblanc. So either he has to come himself, or give you an official sash showing you are a member of the council. Sorry son, but them's the rules."€The archers leer at you over the ledge. "Sorry pal, but I just can't let you by without proof of your alliegience to the King."eThe archers agree to let you by in exchange for the Ambassador's Sash. Do wish to pass at this time?„x‰ Š §Ø’Œ{jcŠ'=€ E ; 8 ?  Y žŌThe River Inn gets its name from the fact that it is actually suspended partially above a narrow turn in the Aeron River. Many men fear to enter the establishment because they worry that one day, it will topple due its precarious perch over the rocky slopes into the river's rushing waters. Frequent visitors simply figure that since it hasn't fallen in by now, it isn't likely to anytime soon, and they don't complain either, because the Inn's rather tenuous outside appearance only serves to keep the foreign riffraff from cluttering up their favorite late night hotspot. When you make your way inside, you are assaulted by a mixture of pleasant aromas: smoke from the large fire in the middle of the main room, smells of honey and basting ham, odors of gravy and roasting potatoes. Your mouth begins to water immediately as you scan the room for your friend, Michael. Thankfully, the Inn isn't too full, so it only takes you a few moments before you spot his stunted form over in a corner, sharing a mug of ale and probably a whole slew of embellished stories with a group of would-be young adventurers. As you approach, Michael gestures towards you and laughs. "And then Sander here, he stabs the little green gremlin with his shortsword, yes! And me and him, we went a running with a bag full of gold and gems... now that was an adventure." One of the other youngsters turns to you with a questioning look, to which you respond by rolling your eyes. Seeing that you're not going to go along with his fabrication, Michael frowns, and says, setting his glass down. "Ahh, ok. Ye got me, that part was made up. Sander here wouldn't know how to use a sword in a fight. He'd just try to bore them with his books, yes." Michael starts laughing at his own joke as the other boys get up and leave, some of them mumbling about how they were never fooled by Michael's story, even though just a few seconds ago they were drooling over his tale like a pack of dogs at a pig-slaughtering. "Look what you did. You scared them off," Michael chortled, chugging some of the dark brown liquid in his mug. Michael Anderson had been an orphan since he was six, and made a living now with a motley assortment of oddjobs, which he claimed was 'just a temporary thing until his carreer as a hired adventurer' picked up. Well, it was already a six year temporary thing, and despite the fact that he was nearly twenty-one, he still sat in the Inn nearly every evening waiting hopefully for someone to come along and hire him for an adventure. In some ways, you feel sorry for the man; he has a good heart, but a dumb head. And no amount of coaxing by you has ever been able to convince him to try to get an education. "Books is for standing on so you can reach high shelves, nothing else," he always laughs. Sighing, you return to the business at hand. You are due back at lumbermill, your home for the last sixteen years, and you can't deal with Michael's wily eccentricities tonight, not after all the stress of your thesis. "Did you find what I asked for? Did you get it?" Michael frowns again and sets down his glass. "My what are we all grumpy for huh? Yea I got your stinking mercury, though I gotta ask what the hell you want it for. I mean, nobody just asks fer mercury. It stinks of something illegal, that's what it does." Though he is pretending to be disapproving, you know that deep inside he is hopeful that he can convince you to let him tag along in whatever you are planning. Well, curse you for having a caring soul. "Fine, you can come with me, but I can't tell you 'till we get there.... oh and bring that bow of yours. It may come in handy." Michael's eyes light up as he runs to fetch his bow, and the mercury you requested. Now, south to the lumbermills. Č<’žNTucked behind a thick tangle of gnarled oak trees is a small cottage, your house. It has been 16 years since you and your family moved here. You were only seven then, and it was long before your mother died of consumption. You can distinctly remember the first time you walked up this narrow little trail. It was autumn, and your father had just received word that the previous King's Lumberjack, a thick bull of a man named John Carrow who despite his graying hair and sagging skin was as tough as the giant trees that he felled for a living, had passed away suddenly in the night. Your father, Lowin Payne, nicknamed by the folks at River Inn "Chopper", was the Lumberjack down at Eron Mill and was called to take Carrow's place as King's Lumberjack. Almost immediately, your whole family (father, mother, self and younger sister) packed up their things and headed north for their new home. You remember clearly how your father beamed as the cottage came into view through the dense forest, a glowing proud smile on his face despite the somewhat shabby appearance of the house and its facilities. But dad didn't seem to care. He just slung down his enormous axe into the dirt, gave all of you a big hug in his massive arms and bellowed, "Welcome to Gaylin Dale. This is home!" It didn't seem much like home anymore. Putting aside the fact that you spend most of your time at the University, nothing has been the same since mom died. When your mother perished, she couldn't even speak; every time she opened her mouth, blood ran out of it thick with mucous, like magma issuing sluggishly from a dying volcano. Your father had stayed by her side for days, telling her stories, making her smile despite the pain she must have been feeling with every cough and breath. When life finally left her, your father didn't howl or yell or pump his fist at the heavens; rather he carried her body outside and buried her silently, and then spent the next week in the forest, taking his frustration out on the trees with his axe. Still, he has never been a happy man since; where before he would always entertain his children, after her death he simply spent all his time in quiet reflection, often walking down to the river to spend the evenings smoking his pipe and throwing rocks into the slowly moving water. Even when he lost his arm in a logging accident, it didn't stop him from engaging in his only solace. And you grew up without him... Now, as you make your way inside, you realize your father is not here. He still takes his job seriously - it's all he has left - and if he does come home tonight, it won't be until very late. You sniff back a tear. It would have been nice to see him as he used to be, his big arms crushing the breath out of you as he gave you a hug. He was always so happy to see you when you came back from school. Now you just have an empty house filled with the shadows of evening and the sounds of sad solitude to greet you. "Creepy yes?" Michael says as he pushes through the door after you. "Ain't nobody home?" "No," you shoot back, your emotions flaring. "Nobody is ever home. Sis is still at school and dad is dead." To Michael's concerned look you just sigh. "Nevermind," you say heavily, "Let's just get some food. We're going to need it." "We going on an adventure?" Michael asks for the fiftieth time. "Where we goin' huh?" "Just wait," you snap back while rumaging through the cabinets. Finally you find a loaf of bread and a jar of honey. It will have to do. "You'll know soon enough. Remember the old mines to the east through the forest? We're going there. Everything is ready. Just bring that mercury." "Ain't you going to leave your dad a note tellin' him you're going to be gone?" Michael asks as you are making your way towards the exit to the cottage. "He wouldn't get it even if he cared," you reply. Dad didn't know how to read. ’žĒIn front of you, almost made invisible by a tangle of vines and bushy undergrowth, it the gaping mawl of an enormous cave. Several abandoned overturned and rusting mine carts lie outside of the cave opening, some of them still partially filled with ore, gold and even a few gems. A whistling wind emanates from the cave's opening, bringing with it the smells of underground: mold, hard water, fungus, dampness, death. "This place haunted, yes!" Michael says from behind you, a bag filled with mercury slung over one shoulder and his trusty bow over another. He sounded more excited than scared. "What we going to do in there?" he asks. "You'll see," you say wearily, tired of his incessant questioning. ’ždThe Great Library, once a magnificent chapel, stands before you, its magestic towers seeming to stare down at you with contempt. "I dare you to come in here and find something to disprove Leblanc's honor," they seem to say. You shake your head and enter. The inside of the library is dark and poorly lit. Dozens of students wearing blue university robes like yours and several brown-robed graduates are huddled over books at large wood tables. Even some members of the Celestial Order of Magic can be seen, their immaculate white robes almost giving off more light than the flickering candles themselves. Quietly, so as not to earn a reprimand from the fat, aging, and balding librarian named Quigly, you make your way into the history section and scan the books until you find the title you are looking for: Gaylin Dale - An Objective History. You snort in derision at the title as you take the dusty volume to an empty table. You thumb through the table of contents until you find the entry for Eric Leblanc. The passage reads: "Eric Leblanc (1281-1367, r. 1302-1362) was perhaps Gaylin's most famous King. Born of King Edric Leblanc and his third wife, Marigren of Red Lake, Eric took the throne from his father when he and the elder son, Malachi, died together in a blizzard while on a hunting trip. Eric was the seventh King from House Leblanc. "In the early years of his reign, King Eric instituted many important economic policies, including...." Frowning, you skip several paragraphs: "King Eric Leblanc's reign is best known for his brilliant victory in the Undead Wars. The minor details of the war are discussed elsewhere (see footnotes). In 1321, the necromancer Sagimyris (called the Skull Lord by many at the time) began secretly raising an army of the Undead in his underground home of Gothmark. In the several years that followed, King Eric and his generals won as many battles as they lost, but unfortunately, each loss only served to swell the ranks of Sagimyris's Undead armies. "Seeing that his situation was desperate, King Eric called upon the Celestial Order of Magic and the Castle Guard to form a last ditch effort against the Undead. King Eric marched alongside his own troops to raise their morale. They met up with the rest of Gaylin's armies, then fatigued and poorly equipped, under the command of Sir John Albon, the King's second cousin. There, Eric planned to march south to Sagoria, where Sagimyris was ravaging the countryside, and confront finally the Undead leader in the hopes of striking quickly against the dark Monarch. "Unfortunately, Sagimyris had anticipated this maneuver and had already sent the bulk of his forces north to set an ambush at Barron's Ford, the only crossing of the Barron River. Eric and his men were caught off guard at the crossing and lost many men in first hour or two of combat. However, through Eric's own military genius, he managed to reorganize his troops and form a counteroffensive. He sent two divisions into the forest behind the attacking Undead and cut them off from behind, while he and his main force assaulted them from the front. Through a little luck, he managed to kill every last walking zombie, turning a certain disaster for the cause of mankind into a brilliant victory. "The Battle at Barron's Ford was a turning point in the war, as Sagimyris had lost his most able commander, Lord Fej Maraji, and most of his troops. Within four more years, the war was over, and Eric was, and always will be, remembered as a hero." You close the book, shaking your head. "I know there's more to the story..." you whisper to yourself. Pulling out a small piece of paper, you inspect your earlier notes on which you had written the name Jared Morgan, a member of the castle guard. It was a name that came up repeatedly in the accounts of soldiers who had faught in the battle. But, searching through records at the Great Library, you could find no mention of the name. Still the Great Library was known, at least by you, to be extremely biased against deviant historical traditions, and the staff was also known to edit all texts before being admitted to the library's collection. If Morgan could somehow cast doubt on historical truth.... of course he wouldn't appear anywhere in the library! You quickly return the book and leave the building. It was time to go see Michael. With any luck, he had finished the task you had assigned him. ’z ‡…{„h‰€x © 64’(ŖŽt½ō Gaylin Dale@É(«’4‹@3’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’8’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’žBŖßt½ō Barron's Ford @É&¬ %­"®$Æ%®#°&± &²*N’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’*©)³)“&µ'¶(·*ø+·-¹-¹'ŗ,»*¼%½*©)¾+æ,Ą,Į.Ā’-Ć-Ä +Å(['®&Æ$° $® $Ę#°"Æ !Ę ""! ! "Ē Č! %#Ē#É#!Ź! "%Ė$Ģ%Ķ $Ī#Ļ $½ %Š$Ń ((Ņ %¶ 'Ó'µ 'Ō &Õ &ø 'µ &Ö )×%Ų +· )Ł(±%Ś&Ū%Ü%9)Ż'Ž,:+ß+Ģ,ą-*×'į,³-ø .× -ā ,ć -ä )å *ę+ē-¼ č2’’’’ĻProfessor Ogom's house is small but cozy. A quaint fire crackles in the hearth, and you are greeted by a blast of hot air as you enter his living chambers. The fire's warmth is not matched by the professor himself, who eyes you coldly before speaking. "Well, well... Mr. Payne. Come to discuss your thesis?" he barks. You nod, and hand him a bundle of your notes. He grabs them skeptically, looks through them very briefly, and then chuckles. "Mr. Payne, you are going to have to do much better than this. While I cannot forbid you from pursuing this ridiculous topic, I am quite able to fail you if you can't find any better evidence than the ramblings of soldiers that died well over a century ago. Please, don't waste my time. Come back when you've learned a bit more about your topic. Then we'll talk about giving you that degree you've always wanted." He issues you somewhat unkindly to the door and bids you farewell. Once outside, you clench your fists in anger. "Damn the man!" you grumble. You'll show him. If your plan comes to fruition, you'll have all the evidence you need. You storm off, thinking how wonderful it will be to see the look on his face when you return with the knowledge of the truth." ½Professor Ogom comes to the door and sticks his fat face in yours. His breath smells like garlic and he rasps, "Ah... Mr. Payne. Returned already? A thesis takes time to write, and by the looks of the stack of papers you are carrying, you don't yet have nearly enough knowledge to complete the task. Stop wasting my time and don't come back until you have the necessary knowledge to write a competent paper." He slams the door in your face.8You burst into Professor Ogom's house without knocking. Your head is still aching from your brief period of time travel, and your manners elude you. The professor, fat, balding, stinky, jumps up from his desk at your rude entry. "Sander?" he bellows. "How dare you enter my house like that. I will have you expelled!" Without answering, you pull out the books that you recently found in your possession and virtually throw them at the man. He catches them awkwardly against his chest, and his glasses nearly fall off from the force of the blow. "What, what are these?" he stammers, still irate at your intrusion. "They are my evidence," you reply smugly. "My evidence that Eric Leblanc not only was not responsible for victor the Battle of Barron's Ford, but in fact he was the one who allowed Sagimyris to plan it." "Why, that's proposterous," Ogom says, his face turning red with anger. "We've had this discussion before, Mr. Payne. Eric Leblanc was a great King. I don't see why you feel the need to continue to sully his reputation with such slander." "Read the books, Professor," you interrupt. "You will see." "And where did you find such rubbish?" he asks accusingly. "I wrote one of them. The other is a personal account of one of Leblanc's highest ranking military officers. You see, sir, I went back in time. And those sum up my findings. Whether or not you believe them does not change the fact that they are the truth." "Went back in time, did you?" Ogom says, before sitting down and flipping through the books. "You didn't go back in time," Michael whispers. "The spell failed!" You elbow him. "It's true I didn't go back in time for that long. And I, personally, didn't write that book. But the spell didn't fail. And I have a feeling we can trust the person who DID write it." "Well," Ogom says finally, "We will have to discuss this going in time business at some other... time. That is against the law, as you know. And as to the quality of this... er... work..." he continues. "Well, I'll have to take a look at it. I'm not promising I will approve of it. There are too many people out there who want ruin the reputation of our greatest King. Likely, it is all just circumstantial..." You open your mouth to protest, but Ogom wags a finger. "Ah, ah.. Let me finish, boy. Despite the legality issues surrounding your methods, I am still impressed by your dedication. Whether or not the history department chooses to accept your thesis, you have still done enough work to warrant the first medal of graduation. Remember, there are still two more to go, so don't get too confident." The professor opens a drawer in his desk and produces a large gold medal hanging from a blue cord. Michael's eyes light up at being so close to the precious medalion. "Wow..." he utters. You accept the gift graciously and thank the professor for his kindness. "Now," he says finally. "I hope you'll stop bugging me every day about this 'Leblanc was a fool' nonsense. I'll read your notes and give you comments next week. Until then, I want some peace!" You thank Ogom again and allow him to usher you outside. Michael is nearly dancing. "Wow, what an adventure you must have had!" he yells. "I wish I could have been there!" "Yeah," you laugh. "Me too!" "So what are you going to do now, oh mighty nearly-graduated. Are you going to be a professional historian?" he asks excitedly. "No, I think I'm still going to apply for the Order. I know most people don't have what it takes to pass the Wizard's test, but I've just got to try." "Wow, Mage Payne... That sounds funny!" Michael laughs. "I can't really picture you casting a spell. You'd probably blow your own feet off!" You share in Michael's laughter. A part of you wishes you had read your entire account before handing it in to Ogom, but then again, it is probably better that you didn't. Who wants to know what the future holds for them? You'd rather find out about your talents through your own experiences. Maybe some day, you'll take a look at the book, when you are old and gray. "Hey Michael," you say finally. "Yeah?" he asks. "How about a drink? I haven't dined at the River Inn in ages." "That sounds great!" he replies. And the two of you race off south towards the little inn on the river. Above, the sun shines brightly, the air is crisp and clean, and clouds roll by slowly. It seems like the world could live forever unperturbed by the passage of time... ___________ "What rubbish," Professor Ogom mutters to himself after Sander leaves his home. He spends several minutes flipping through the books that the young insolent boy had thrown at him. It was complete garbage, probably all made up. Went back in time, that was a laugh. Some kids would never learn... history isn't something that you analyze. History is something that is told by your elders and should be passed along to your own children in exactly the same way that you found it. Eric Leblanc a coward... indeed. "If nothing else," Ogom sighs, tossing the books into the glowing fire that rages in his hearth, "at least these kids are warming my house." B `‹Professor Ogom's House - North. Note to students: Remember students, your theses are due in two weeks. Come see me if you need help!  `East - the King's Lumbermills‡€†xé*·%K§Some rowdy looking pikeman are loitering outside of the trading post. Probably not a good idea to mess with the likes of them. They eat bookworms like you for lunch.’’Œž9A sudden blast of cold, snowy air smashes into you as you emerge from the cave. Gray, ominous clouds smother out the blue sky above. The forest around you, choked with snow, smells like winter: smoke and wood. Although it is cold and snow-covered, you recognize the small trail that winds to the south almost immediately. "Gaylin!" you say in astonishment, finally allowing yourself to believe that this miracle of time travel has come to pass. Your house is only a little bit to the southwest. Of course, it's not your house yet.... Michael shuffles up behind you, grumbling. "You couldn't have taken us somewhere tropical, could you have? You bookies are all alike. Snow and rain and small stone rooms in the basements of your big towers. You guys need to learn the value of a bright sunny summer day. This sucks!" He tucks his hands into his armpits and grumbles some more for good measure. "Calm down, ya big wimp," you chide, "Barron's Ford happened in winter. I certainly can't just change history to be accomodating to you! Come on, let's follow the trail."’0\‡žhThe forest is noticeably more dense than it was in the time from which you came. The sawmill to the north is smaller, younger looking. Several men can be seen in the distance, singing while they process the logs brought back to camp. It feels strange to see your home, for so long sitting like an unattended corpse in the forest, so suddenly brimming with life. You search around for a bit, but can find no trace of your cottage. It must have been built some time in the future. "Come on," you say finally to Michael after eating a bit, "Let's keep going west. We'll eventually hit the coast and Gaylin Road."’ xwxx†‚ź’€‘‚ėRŚnŅ²˜This group of dwarves wear the blue colors of Gaylin. They must be in the employ of the King. Probably not a good idea to interfere with their work...’’~žtGaylin Road cuts into the pale yet pure white ground like a scar cuts into the youthful face of an infant. Dirt and mud churned up by thousands of carts and horses yield more evidence of the war that should be at this time plaguing Gaylin. You quickly scribble a few notes in your journal. "Which way now?" Michael asks, finally catching up to you. For an adventurer, he certainly lacks stamina. "Why, north of course," your reply. "That is the way to Gaylin Dale, where I plan on meeting the King." "Oh, yeah," Michael bites back. "The famous Sander Payne is going to waltz into Gaylin Keep and Gaylin's greatest King will just drop everything to speak with him. Come on, man, he ain't gonna talk to you." "He isn't Gaylin's greatest King," you return, "And he will see me. Because I have this." You take out a small medalion that was previously hidden by your many layers of clothing. Michael inspects it closely. It is cast of gold and platinum and is shaped like an open hand, with an eye in the palm. A single, dark red ruby forms the eye's pupil. From a strictly monetary standpoint, it was worth a fortune. "Where did you get that? You aren't a member of the Celestial Order!" Michael whines. "No, but King Leblance will think so. Elyn Mar permitted me to borrow it, temporarily..." "Ok, Initiate Payne," he replies, sarcastically. "Let's go talk to your King."’€ žyThe River Inn hasn't changed at all since you saw it in your time. Still perched in its awkward position, ready to fall into the icy waters below at any minute, the warm sounds of laughter and casual conversation issue from the cracked door. Soft orange light shines through the windows and a thin trail of gray smoke can be seen rising from the chimney, bringing with it the mouth watering smells of pork and honey. Michael takes a step forward, but you put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, there's nothing of interest here. There will be plenty of time to socialize later." Michael looks displeased, but he doesn't complain.’u žŸYou are received with what could only be described as stiff acceptance, and are led by a stodgy servant from the gate outside of the enormous castle to the King's Offices. All the while, through your mind is running the conversation that will soon occur between you and the Kingdom of Eth's greatest monarch, Eric Leblanc. You only hope you don't make a fool of yourself.... (PLEASE READ CHAPTER ONE AT THIS TIME)D’„žäAs you pass the tower checkpoint, you notice a very large army camped about three miles down the road. Tents large and small, many of them brandishing the blue and gold seal of King Leblanc, are scattered about the snowy white valley like an ugly pox. Men and even some women dressed in soldier's garb stroll casually about, some fully armored and others in their wool undergarments. Even from this distance, you can hear the jarring noises of an army at rest before battle: loud, confident voices, the neighing of horses, the crash of sparring swords. You are about to spur your own mount forward, leading the small band of pikemen which accompanied you from the castle down to the camp below, when a shout comes behind you. You turn quickly in your saddle to see a man galloping on a horse towards your position. You recognize him as one of the men from the guard tower you just passed. "I'm sorry, my Lord," he says, waving a blue sash in the air. "You forgot this, and you may need it to convince Lord Albon of the truth of your words." You thank the man and take the sash from him. It feels strange being called 'my Lord', you think to yourself as you prepare to make your way to the camp. The men of Gaylin's army eye you with some interest as you finally breach the perimeter of the military encampment, marked by sharpened wooden stakes and deep ditches. You show the guards your sash, and they let you pass without hesitation. One of them offers to direct you to Sir Albon's tent. You follow quietly, absorbed in your own thoughts, trying desperately to think of some way out of the present situation. It wasn't easy to come to the decision that it would be best NOT to tell Albon of the ambush ahead, but after much deliberation, you figured that it would come closest to the way history actually had happened. After all, King Leblanc hadn't known about it, and he managed to save the day. You enter Sir Albon's tent full of unease. It is a larger structure, complete with two separate bedrooms, although the floor is still made of dirt and melting snow. Several large men are hunched over a makeshift table in the back of the main room, arguing loudly amongst themselves. The man in charge, you presume Sir Albon, distinguishable by his lavish blue cape and insignia-marked polished armor is standing up and watching his underlings argue over their battle plans, his arms folded casually across his chest. He does not look pleased, and his mustache is twitching with irritation. "My Lord Sir," the guard at your side announces, capturing the attention of the men around the table. "A messenger from the King." Sir Albon stomps towards you with more speed than you would have thought possible, encumbered as he was by his mail. "It's about time. We've been here for weeks waiting for word of his coming!" he says. You give the man a bow. "I am Mage Payne of the Celestial Order," you say, deftly allowing your movements to naturally reveal the pendant around your neck. "And this," you add, indicating Michael behind you, "Is Lord Michael of... Harquine." Albon considers you quietly for a moment, but then relaxes and says. "Welcome, Mage Payne. I apologize for my curtness, but as you can imagine, tensions are high right now. Reports are that small bands of undead are raiding the countryside to the south of Barron's Ford. Cherry pickers in the orchards have supposedly been eaten right on the job. And yet our King sits on his throne and worries over matters of state. What is he waiting for?" "If it please your Lordship," you return, "I have orders from the King himself. He wants you to move your army south and confront the Undead armies. Our men in Sagoria report that Sagimyris himself moved through there less than a week ago. His main army is likely on its way north, and you are to meet him in battle. He says that we will join you shortly with the castle's garrison, but you are to begin making progress to Barron's Ford without him." "Finally!" Sir Albon says with a barking laugh. "We can get off our asses and do something!" The other men at the table seem relieved to hear the news. "We shall begin packing up immediately and will be on the road within the hour. Corporal!" he yells, bringing a guard rushing into the tent with a stiff salute. "Signal the army. We are marching as soon as possible." The corporal salutes again and rushes out of the tent. "I shall follow your army as an observer, if you don't mind," you tell Sir Albon after he is done directing his men. "But wouldn't you rather stay under our protection?" Albon asks. "Uh... no," you reply. "The orders of my Wizard Superior." Albon shrugs, willing to let you do what you want. You clench your fists with anxiety, hoping you have done the right thing. "Oh, there is one more thing," Albon says, recapturing your attention. "You'll have to give me that Sash so I can pass the checkpoint to the north of Barron's Ford. Regulations are strict these days, and even the King's Army cannot pass without the proper proof." You agree to Albon's wishes. Turning to leave, you are surprised with Michael grabs you by the arm. There is an intensity in his eyes that you don't like. "My friend," he says seriously, "I wish to fight in the battle to come." "Are you crazy? You'll get yourself killed. And besides, we've screwed up history enough. We shouldn't risk any further damage," you reply. "I know, but I want to do this. I've always wanted to do this," he says. You open your mouth to argue, but the look on his face tells you that you won't convince him otherwise. Clenching your teeth, you leave the tent. You only hope that this disaster of a situation can be salvaged. The worst part will be watching from afar, helpless to do anything. (PLAYER NOTE: YOU MUST GIVE SIR ALBON THE SASH) D’† ž>You watch from afar as Albon and his army begin to cross the Barron river. What a vulnerable position they are in, you think to yourself. The entire cavalry division has dismounted, desiring to lead their horses across instead of trying to navigate the treacherous rocky riverbed from atop their mounts. Soldiers and archers have put away their weapons so as not to get them wet. There is no noticeable formation. An ambush, you realize, would be perfect. Almost as if cued by your thoughts, a sudden rush of screams and blood curdling cries assails your ears. Barron's Bridge, directly beside the ford (although too narrow and fragile for an army to cross) suddenly bursts into vigorous flames. The forest, which comes right up to the river, seems to be alive, and all kinds of shapes rush out of it. From this distance, you can see men dying before they even have a chance to draw a weapon. Mass chaos seems to be taking over Albon's entire army. And then, you can see nothing. Too much smoke. You must get closer to investigate. Nervously, you spur your mounts forward.’p$n$i $k $l$m &i $i$j$l&g?odi dk dm dp o p o el pamnplkœnelejejdieidieifggp loGnUSWdQWeXVaTVbUX[V[WbYXģ܄’Ma'Goon’’’’’’’’’’’’’’ DšÉ Mage Guild 2āYou receive a rolled up sheet of parchment informing you that, due to your stellar performance, the Order of Celestial Magic has granted you permission to study magic in their Room of Minor Spells at Ma'Goon. Congratulations!’ Mage Guild 3éYou receive a rolled up sheet of parchment informing you that, due to your stellar performance, the Order of Celestial Magic has granted you permission to study magic in their Room of Intermediate Spells at Ma'Goon. Congratulations!’(8LibraryĶYou receive a rolled up sheet of parchment informing you that, due to your stellar performance, the Order of Celestial Magic has granted you permission to access their library at Ma'Goon. Congratulations!’. Mage Guild 4ćYou receive a rolled up sheet of parchment informing you that, due to your stellar performance, the Order of Celestial Magic has granted you permission to study magic in their Room of Expert Spells at Ma'Goon. Congratulations!’Cx[YUYbVZc\Zc\[œRXySYgZSaVa_W`XbdUgVXTUTbWRagTgSacRbgMagOgQadPaVPa\QaYPWMaYNa[Ka\Na]La]NVJWIbYIœZHa\R\TbgKagIbgGbgE\EafC^CabB^C`GacGbHģ܄’ Mt. Fortress’’’’’’’’’’’’’’‹8@²A€ É ALL MAGICėYou receive a rolled up sheet of parchment informing you that, due to your stellar performance, the Order of Celestial Magic has granted you permission to study all of their magical resources at the Mountain Fortress. Congratulations!’hųZIbeEbdFbeHdDbcE\EŽ[Hœ^Nn]Oƒ]Pv\RuaMv_P€_O`N†^QubSa^Tg\Ng[Ty_YŒ\X¦i’’’’YA wiry mage eyes you as you approach the small outpost wedged in between the two faces of sheer, icy rock. He wears the white robes of the Order and leans heavily on a gnarled staff. "Only members of the Order of Celestial Magic can seek the wisdom of the Mountain Fortress. Come back with proof of your membership, and I shall let you pass."GThe mage is adamant. Without the Pendant of Free Will, none will pass.ęThe mage again returns to the side of the small outpost and stares at your pendant suspiciously. "Well," he finally barks, "You don't look like any mage *I'VE* ever seen, but I cannot deny your passage. Proceed, but be careful."_Ml^Lķ’_Kœ^H‚_Jw[[›UZjbWaeWbcWī’fWgfYd`Xya[ef\eaXgcXydYybYvcZ‘a[xc\‘bXļ܄cYšb[šg]dgXdgZdg[de_eg_eg`dgbd`bebń’geeecyadeafdegechdggeghdfjd_geaaŒ_eeaidccņ ܄dcóbdóddōbeōcdõadöce÷]ed[dd[`fZbd[ag\`l[bv_aų’\_€\aƒ^c‚\bō_]l`]u_^€^^y__g^_gPYdY^nY^y\]‚Uaź’U[łYisS[™Ra™X_zY_˜UbjSbXdYcŒWcgWayW`ƒTd‚Tcļč܄Rc§Tb§U^–NZś’OYŒMZfMYeOWeSUeQUeSSdTRŒSOeRQePSdM\dPZgOZyN\gP[yQ]€Q`Šekcibgkgickū’fl]Aü[CücAżgBżgAžc@ž`Aü_?’g?žg=žc>üXGüXE’WEüTGżXCüZAübH‰\ge]id_ieZhŒQ\yPb’Slģ Ļ­Ż’Ma'Nere’’’’’’’’’’’’’’D‚ÉWlØ’[klXkg[mœ]lx_mnTl‰UjjYm€SicSj›Vh}`r’cr`ra^sbcscogmbgkgdpŒdsegnŒgogdogaoŽam‰\l’X[Yd’etdLfeJheHjdIldKndLkLlbMnbLhL]bPaMgbNfdMi’OhePhgNivOj{Oj‡Mk˜QghShœQf‰Pf›;)ü?*ž;'ż8(’8+ü;*\>*=(?+żQW onm o  n  n  q r r s r q sssttpt’tx w uv |z y ywv&‰·HĶņ’  %†ü'‡ž#ˆ’)‰)‡-Š4’-‰*ˆ.‰2ˆ 2‰!’+‡"’/†#-‡0†$0‡%’)Œ&(Œ'(‹('Œ)&‹*#Š+!‰,‚øHĶņHarquine ‚-įWA cClubber@œ’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’z’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’ž€./€0ƒ. ƒ1~2ƒ223‚4ƒ5%Œ6$‹D7Ž]ƒ8’9ƒ5„9ƒ: |;’!†<!‡< ˆ5!ˆ= …2„4!„9!ˆ> †1ƒ?‡@ƒA„B…5„<†C D’ €E’ƒ"’ €/ 3 }< ~F }A3‚1‚G ‚H I ‚I „J„A …9 „H~.{I‡B ˆ<ˆF‡9 ‡=†K †? ‡L‰\ ‰MŠNˆO‰PŠõ Šõ }ļ½HĶņ ~§ |§ @}1|3z>{QxH z5 x4 w9 yR zS…T‹4‹U’‹HŠFŠOŠ=‰VŒIˆK‰D’ˆE’†W’ˆ/‡Oˆ1ŠXˆH‰RŠH‰YŠōˆõŠõxZ’o4’l n m m[’n\’ t] s^ rS t_u`¾HĶņuōuavaubn÷nónóoņæHĶņnōoõuBvKu>wRycydxdyņĮHĶņ~e{fz9zg}F|S‚AK …9…cˆS†1‡XƒGŒhŒhõŒiĆHĶņ ŒjNK€HQ‚DEƒRƒKG‚I DƒJEƒ<B…A† ?„?C… E† G†.I†K‚9Q„S†S‡T‰U‹U‹?S‹ S‰MˆOˆQ‡P…PˆWQˆkH„l’O†H‚J‚mAel’’’’Somewhat removed from the hustle and bustle of the magical grove, you come across an enormous dead oak tree, so twisted and gnarled with age that it seems more like a monster out of a children's horror story than a plant. Certainly, it doesn't blend into the harmonious grove through which you just passed. It does, however, take almost no scrutiny whatsoever to realize that the tree, some twenty meters wide at the base, has carved in its trunk several windows and a large, intricate door. A soft glow emanates from the crack under the wooden doorway and from the gaps in the also wooden shutters. As if cued by your thoughts, the door opens eerily, washing you in warm fire-light. You cautiously enter. The room inside of the tree seems much larger than what you would have thought possible from the outside, as if it was created by magic. A very high-roofed but asymmetrical antechamber is cluttered with tables, books, half-eaten food, cobwebs and birds, many of which are in metal cages. An enormous staircase circles the perimeter of the room (also, you assume, the perimeter of the tree), and a strange human-sized cage with an open door can be seen hovering above a hole in the middle of the chamber. Extending from the top of the cage, and disappearing into an similarly shaped hole in the ceiling of the room are three dark black ropes. The light of the room comes from hundreds of fist-sized glowing orbs that are floating in what seems like random locations. You take in the sights before you with great awe. What kind of place is this? Your analysis of the chamber is broken when a stunted dwarf-like creature presents himself before you, although you don't realize he has done so until he lets loose an angry throat-clearing noise from somewhere near your feet. You look down in embarassment, meeting his eyes. "Can I help you folks," he says. "Yes," you reply, somewhat amused by the dwarf's appearance. Though recognizably old by his gray hair and wrinkled, baggy skin, his circus-like size and ridiculous pointed white hat make him appear almost childlike. "We were sent by Thyon, to attempt the Wizard's Test." "Test of Wizardry, eh?" he squeeks. "My, Thyon must be getting desperate for a hero. The puppies he sends me get uglier every week." "I don't underst --" you begin to protest. The dwarf waves a hand in dismissal. "I'm just being facetious, of course," he snorts. "My name is Gideon. Like all of the Wizards on this island, I have retired from the Order. But I still meet all the new recruits and guide them towards the Test of Wizardry. If you are able to finish the test, you will come back here to earn your medal. You may take as much time as you need, of course, but do not tarry too long. You probably passed the tests on the way in, but just in case you didn't, they are behind the three green gates that you passed in the underground passage." "Each test has a different challenge, and passing each test will award you with a magical trinket. Bring all three trinkets to me, and you are officially a member of the Order of Mage Initiate status. To begin the test, visit the big Green House to the south. There is a nonrefundable exam fee of a thousand dollars. It is nonrefundable because if you don't pass the test, you will likely be dead and won't have use for the money anyway. Ok, that's about it. Are you ready? Any questions?" The dwarf speaks so fast that you can barely follow what he says. With no intelligent questions to ask, you simply thank the man and exit the interesting house via the door through which you came.éYou enter the Treehouse again and Gideon confronts you almost immediatey. Wagging his finger, he scolds you and says that he cannot offer you any help on the tests of Wizardry. You must figure out how to get the artifacts yourself. Gideon is surprised to see you back so soon, and he jumps up with a start from his table when you enter the Treehouse brandishing the three artifacts of the Wizard's Test. "My, my!" he exclaims. "So you have passed. That is excellent news! Follow me." He leads you to the cage in the middle of the room and steps in. You follow cautiously. Once inside, he slams shut the barred door and whispers a magic word. The cage shudders and then begins moving upwards slowly, pulled by the cables above. "An invention I've been working on," he says proudly. "Do you like it?" "Beats walking up stairs," you reply, receiving a chuckle from the dwarf. Eventually the elevator makes its way through the hole in the ceiling and you arrive at another, much smaller and darker room. You step out of the cage and follow Gideon to a large table, on which sits a gleaming medal such as the one you were wearing when you impersonated a mage of the Order. Gideon grabs the pendant and hangs it around your neck. He also provides you with a white robe and matching white belt. "Congratulations...??" he says, hinting that he doesn't know your name. "Sander. Sander Payne," you reply. "Congratulatoins, Initiate Payne. It's been a while since we had a new induction. You will make a fine Wizard, I'm sure. I know of your quest and it is one of dire importance. Thyon and the Wizards of the Mountain Fortress await your presence. You should go there immediately. This pendant will allow you passage. Some of the ancient ones living on this island may accompany you for a bit of money. You would be wise to accept their service. They are adept in the ways of magic and may aid in the strengthening of your army." Ushering you back into the elevator, Gideon says farewell. "I know, there is no big ceremony. Most Wizards prefer it that way. You will continue your education while you build your army and prepare to take on Sagimyris. Remember, go to the Mountain Fortress. You will be told what to do there. Good lucky, Initiate Payne!" With a final pat, the dwarf slams the gate shut and the elevator begins descending. All the while, you can't help but think in amazement, while fingering the pendant at your chest, that finally you are a member of the Order. Who would have thought....iGƒNƒnRˆoK…oG… N†oNƒ HƒJƒ;=cpÄHĶņ’ 2ApÅHĶņ -Q®0RÆ*R°.S±/UpĘHĶņSagoria 3T±,U©*UĶ1Uß2RĖ+[q’+Wq’0Wq’0[q’9T°8VĘ6TŠ8XĶ6Vß5Wr’4WĢ3TÖ3XŃ4Xs(Xt)Z©)X“2XŁ)[µ([²'Zø*X³3[°4Z©)]Ę+]u-_±%[Ń$\¾'\å$\v%]Ņ)]ę0^Ī4[ŗ2^Ė5Yw4\x:[»2\y1[z4]5\Ó2]².Y{1Y|’*Y|’,]²,\Ä*Z}/^µ.^~/\³.\fo{gp€erjep‰fpxeq‘gvnfsƒ'\’#ZĖ%Zß"X¼(SĢ'Tą'T‚’>bŗ>aÆ;b®9dĘ=^Ę3^ƒ2_²;^µ8dŁ4f±3d³4fŠ7bt4_Ö7cŅ5eĶ1ew7a„2d¶2d°0dĘ/du-d…3b†0b}-cß+d¼+bą+a‡+bÕ,aˆ8\8]‡6^°:_ą8`Ģ8iĶ9iĄ8gÖ:fs9g‚’1O®5MĘ8PÆ:QĘ6P‰’8S²1Oµ4M“1P¶5Oą8P97LĖ:NĶXO’>Wæ;XŅ?Yy[‹UŁ?^°@\ĆEa±Ca…?cŽ?c¶:i…k@jß>ką>iĪ=ix=j²?dq’;QŁg’@gæ?f‘>fsAeÕ@jöIgüKe’Fi’FjżGlżJožGoĖIpŽFmĶClEmwEkĢCj)Cg,Bh“Ch”Df(Hd•Jb+Hc*FdFMddJc–Jc8JaBKagM`yJ]ŒK`€J_ƒK_‹J^POd‚NclSggSe„M]tZMa'Goon and Mountain Fortress -- East Ma'Nere and the Magic Coast -- South Sagoria -- WestI]ŁG\?H\—G]F^˜I^ąG[¼K[f7Bµ9BŁ6D“4Eį7E¶:Cæ4Dą4AŽ5B¼5A8A¾6Fy2D3@Ķ5@ 3> 0?.@ .AĖ/@ĢIĖ=GÖ>Hæ?HxAH™@G9>G¶>F¶J£5f§’7K”&SØ)R©*OØ*L¬*N©(OŖ)K«'K¬&K­&L®%I¬$HØ2;Æ2<°3=¤7A4@±:>7<5?6?²6=4;³7@c5R~9@“;?µ8@;?¶;@¤żZ?’^9Y:Ć]=ĮW?$W<ĀU?ĀU=ĀW98\9B_:żb;$d;Āg;$e9Āg9$g7$c9ÄU<©U9ØR6¬T8¬S4ØU5­T6®Q5©N6¬T3©R0¬V0©U0¬U1ÅV0ĘO7ĒA"©D"«C#Ą•„ŗmBelalunaI?$¬E$ØG"«>"©>'«?(¬B(­A)B)ÅB'¬B(Ę@'ČB'É@+ŹA*ŖB,ĖB*ĢC8Ķf5$g5$d5Āb6$a4Āc2Āg0$g.&e0Āg2üg0żg3żc3’d6Īc5a6_8Ļ_5$a8Š_6¾^4&]8_3]:Ńe7Āc7#`7^6&_/$`0Āb0Ā`2$].$[/Ā\0ĀZ1$]1Ā^2$Y4ĀX5Ā[3Ā]3%Z4&X5Ņ[3]4Ó[6Ō’\5Ī\6Õe-­f+©f,Øg-¬d(«f&©g&¬e&¬g(Ŗe'Ög'×g)Ęg+Åb(Ą™„ŗm’Éb%«`'©^)¬`-«b-Ø]-©Z.ØY,¬Z: Z7d[8dW3ŲZ2ĀY2­V7ŖV:ÄW6“X6Łi;$o;Ām;'k;&i6'o7$o9$m98k:8m6&k6'k68m7&_C\aCbaEj>žn>üo>’k=$o<$n=Āh!­g#¬g%¬e!Øc!Śl9ol7\i7Ū\7õ^7“]7ōE;\F;;G=G<F;ŹG=ÜŽŠ“Ķņ©¦’„‹Ż„#Žˆ"ß’ˆŠß’ŠŒp‹ŒpŒpŽŒp‹pŽ‹pŠ‹p‹‹pŽpŽŽpŽpŒŽp‹ŽpˆŒˆ#.ˆ‹.ŠŽVˆRŽŒ‰'>Š=‰>‡W‡G‰ˆŠŠ;ˆˆ8……%i…%†h…&‚†&k’…Ž‚†Žk’…g„lƒ'ąƒąƒ‹g„‹y†!į†‰į…‰……!……ˆ‚ƒˆ{ƒ‡œƒ‹ƒ†‹†‡†„ˆ„‡ˆ„…x……–€†x}†x††lˆ›‰~ˆ‡› ŒeˆŒ†eƒØ’Š†‰‡~ˆ†g‹Œ‹‡ŒŒ†d€ā}…‰}„—‡š}†‡z†˜|†›|‡gzƒ˜z„}}„{{„™}‚}‚‚|ƒn}ƒg{ƒy|{‚ƒx€„ā‚‚ź’€ƒ‘„‰„„h„„v‚ƒ…ƒf†„Œ‡„bl|~4’‡c‡‚c‚€jŒdŠdŠ„dˆƒd‹ecŒ{‹‚e€e€•€€e€~•~}g€g‚€d‚d‚~g€€gƒ€v…i…€i…hˆŽ‡€l†€‡€x‡~„~u…}†ƒ~n}vŠeŠ€eeŽeŒeŒ€eŽ€e€ezr{}n|Š|}Š||u{|l{{x|x}lx}{w|ƒw|hv|yugu|zu{gx{†w{nw{xvvzxšxzšyzPynz‚yynzx‚xxv|xt‚Northeast - River Inn, Morhan Monastery North - Gaylin Dale South - Gaylin Harbor, Barron's Ford, Sagoria Southwest - Selway Pointvxqvwgtuk’wuJ’t{$sz$ry$py8sztygsxzswwsu€yvŠ|vn‚t:wlwv‚uu‡s‰‰ i‡q†‰qi‰ps†qg…q„†ć†vćf~{Œzf‚Œeze‚{Œ{v€{x‚|‘ƒ{y„{‘†{x‡{‘…{{‡zī’„}x‡}€ˆ˜ˆ{˜Š•‹•Š|•Že‹|•Ž~e}dde{ey\‹g‹zgŠ{dˆī’Šd‰eˆye†ye„ze„e„xeˆdˆvd‡weŠ dŠudŠwe‹yexdydweŒvdve‹tdtete‹oaŽn‹l‹pdŒrepdperemdmdjekeje‹je‰kd‰i•‰md†og…oƒƒ gƒtg‚ f‚sf„ e„se}uv~t†sx~si} ą}uą~r‡r‰} ā‚p…ƒp„pv„„o„n€ƒn‚ƒml‚lm|’€llm€nv€n†nuoy€pn~ph~o€~n,’}o’|o~|p~}qā~q{qˆzˆ{p’zp}z äzräysM’yu›y ›xsāyt‹x šxsšvrN’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’{q‰}nąwp“»$x’vq~y eyqe{oezaznavmcshsnhtqhsrirqjr™sgspgtjv™v ~tpjvp™rqeqdr erpdt œs gtslttœstgt k’s €rtå’qsns œr å’ssœq nprgptgqunq jqujqmpjqvmpvjpetrrmtlwbwlbpmgtkarivjyk{jaxib‹g‹yg€}ą}Œ|mŒ•~v~mv~~lkf€k{kb†ld„ld†ndˆne‚k•‡je…jeƒjeje}jdjdhg…pxzu‡=[ę;Z³<[P>Zć6[ŃR€Ń 5 4Ņ 2Ā’/K2Ģ 1Ī391Ė3·2Ü3ŗ5Ķ3ø5ē5č 5Ų 6Ų 7é 7į0ź’/Ł0į/Ų/“(z(¼*Ń&ė&ā(“'Ņ)Ś(Ś)³,³/ģ 0ķhNortheast - Shiver Inn, The Vamp House South - Gaylin Harbor, Barron's Ford, Sagoria North - Gaylin Dale~ˆ”€$]€"Ÿ€Œ]€ŠŸŽ£}¤”|Š„|Œ”}£zˆ”y"¢yŠ¢y$ŸyŒŸx"īw"’xŠīwŠ’w‰]uŸr‹¢sŒ£x 1O’Bß’%OŖ½$x’ Shady Mill @ÉCįCįDįDįDįCįCįDįDįFįFįFįFįFįFįGįGįGįGįGįGį:ļ’<š <Ā’;ń’ ;Ø ;­ =Ę?Ē >Ö >¬?į@¬Aņ’BóCóCŻ>ō>õ>ö?÷?ē ;įEØH¬J©L«MØN¬MŖMŚN¬LĶMĶKĢKÅIĘJĒOųDĢEą <¼ 9ł :ą 8Ņ Dį Cį!Dį!Cį$FØ&CØ$D¬$DŖ%?«$A©%@Ę"D×"Eō!@Ķ@ąB¼@ŅBśAä?¬?«=­>ß<Ķ<Ģ?Ė=Ž@šAšA9DĖEĪHŅGĢ;ų<Ø9¬8¬8Ŗ8Ņ<ŗ;ą8ŗ9:Ņ9ś$@Ņ#Bē#Aū&NĶ&PĢ#MĢ"PĪ"Ną N!Oŗ%KĶ$KĪ#Ią"T­"U¬#V¬#XØ$Xź’%Wą&UŽ$Q%Rą#Yx#RK S¬QŚP¬N­HŁI»M±MČMÜNąK9KąIÅ’IĖ IßIąH9NĘ JōOĀ’"J” Gö"<Ģ!>ß:Ķ9²9²#;° ;Ė!;Ķ=Ģ:Ķ:ß9Ģ7Ķ2ß2Ī3ą 4Ī3Ģ3H-Ķ.ß,H1Ķ2Ž0Ķ0ß/Ż/Ņ1Ņ*Ķ+ß-Ķ/±0µ-Ł1“0ü/Ė,Ģ-Ė0x/Ö 0Š1ż"3Ķ#9Ģ!9ß%7Ģ#2Ķ&1»(3Ķ'4ß&5ŗ%2ž’&(Ķ(ß.Ķ*Ģ,Ė!/Ė".ß$0Ķ%/Ķ&0ß)1Ķ'/Ķ +Ķ!-Ķ#+­!)Ŗ#-Ø&-«(.¬&Ķ!(±#µ#©!²!Ł#ą!Ė"Ķ #ß $Ž"#Ģ!"Ķ#!Ž!x$ x$%© &µ"'¬$*¬&(©$&Ø($©&!¬-!’)%¾$x Tuscarora?¶ķĄ @Stuff For Orange#Stuff For Orange to Recruit Nasties'”)%Ó$xR Eric Leblanc æ  I–KS „Q2OKM$D!#"%%)~[’’’’’’’’’’’’’’ūLord Eric Leblanc, Ruler of Gaylin and the Six Kingdoms, is most famous for beating back the hordes of undead under the control of the Necromancer Raspin by a series of valiant military offensives. The most impressive of these tactics was perhaps when Leblanc faught of an ambush by Sagimyris' armies while he was marching south at Barron's Ford, which turned the tide of the war and paved the way for a much sung about Gaylin victory. Who knows what the world would be like today if Leblanc hadn't lived?ž)!¬*#­-$Ė. * ."*"*!.!;"©9$¬:'«8!¬6"©8"­3 Ŗ0 ®2!­1#¬0!Ę2"Ę2#×7$¬7'Ø7)©5$¬6&Ø5&«4(Ø;#’:$Å;%=#7®>8Ŗ@8Ų=9®?4Ģ:6>5=66;7<4Ī4938:<’:;8;:;88:B998=>BDKDI CO EQES EO FRFLGKHM ILGJ!II!KK IN!FOGP"JM JL#HHDM$GIŸDKIKŃJJKJ%HJ&LI EH&GR IS'FPGQ(JOGSjOG”JNõMLõKG)KF8JIBMG*FF+LFpFN,@D-AG?FBG>C'@A AEBF@F#?B&CG.DG/BE^@CECDDCF=E±?EEAFB0CAFEFCB@;DDIFC9@B’5;öD'1G'ØH!¬L"«K'¬I&ŚM(ŖP&ØO)ØS(«P'­R*©M'Ś2U21UŅE'E(ĘK'ųB*E*3G#4’I"5’Q"«M!¬R!¬S&¬T$ØS#¬N"5’Q#4’K#4’M#ŚM&ŖJ%6K:¬T?«Q<ŖN8­K8ŲL<¬M=ŚM:7’Q;6S8 P=ÅM<8R?Q@QAŅRB$QCŠPDNEPBN>&LEĪLDCMBDP?’U!’Y!żW %’T"&W!6V$U#CZ"9T%V%T&ĪV&DU%ŃT'ÕV(9Y#&Z$Z#:X",U"“X'–\!Ø\#¬] _ ö` ;^ į\!šS+<’T*āR*ēP+ēT+įS.ēM*·M,ēP,ųW,5’P0=’M.·P/ēO/ N13O1ša+”A0ŲH6ŚJ7ØE6U’H7ŚI7­D5®H6>A,?’B,@E+;J)’G(G)K*8F*BH*AK*G+H1ĮF1fH1•D.(H2 I0ŁJ2BF2“F-K/¾K3,I,–JA]A;ŸKB”ID£<ę<P;čY&)Y'Ł](­ZocXpCZpnWp‚WqvYqv\nl_ig_k‹\kƒMpdOqdOrdQsdStdZu^tŒbuŒgyeOnlQqäRo›SojTm}NnäOljSm™UoˆUr‡Rq~SrnUp†OnxQoyLjgZs€WsuTtgTswav`ux^v‘[t‰[ug_ny_pf\py[q€Ztgcxlaxgeu’btgctydu•cvgbvyew™gu€Vf{Th˜VmņĘ$xWmdUndMjōNlõNkbOm`Ē$x_uDŹ$x_tō_sō`sEblbcl÷bmōcmōenDĢ$xdmõdnõalDĖ$xO[iĶ$x]`ļĻ$x]aõ^ZōT^õLaō[{4’gzhyHfzg}e~Fc|6c dydz2azcy!c€&g€Bd€8g€O’LrU’KpLqKqNrMqRuTuPt TvCSv0KshLtōYw$[wÄ\v+[zGXy(Rx1]{0ZyB]x8VvōSxKb}o^{oPso\yoWxoWwHQw*gƒog…oe€og‡g…b…Bb„ęc„PbƒBg„Äg‚BcƒBf‚*fšd‚šgōdƒ÷eļŅ$xTx§8?ō7?EŽI(ŽŁŒ”(ož&o)m,ož.pż*p’*rż-q6,pC0pŠ1q1rÕ.u’.t4tż/w2s/q0v&2zJ4uÓ/tC2tD4v62vD.xH5x=5w:/rõ0xK0wō3wP4wę.uŃ0uF`ję^kōE3 G4(A0ęA1PB3ŚD4Ś>-”)³@c§Bb§Aci»v85Qņ¼v86Qh3Qh:VDæv8:Ua:Wa9Wō;Tō:Tb7Y`Ąv86Xa6Ya5XōYš=YļĮv8'^ņĀv8&^ō&]ó']ó'Fd*Fd(Fō)F`Äv8<=ņÅv8:=ó;<óC7hD7hA7ōB7õB5`Čv8B6÷59§6:§7:ō5:õ6;õJ+§H+§I+ōI*iŹv86I”5GL’7F±7J’1HC5H`Ėv84Hõ3Iõ69iĢv8R,ļĶv8S,šQ-šP-õV"õU!õV#÷W#`Īv8a"ņĻv8b"óe#ōb#óc#õd#b:hõ:gō;hõō>ō<b?ņśv8Jņūv8JōJōGōGiüv8<iżv8=§;§ =ō2ō2š2š3š3ižv83÷#3ó"4ó#4ō"5õ!5ņ’v80ō ,ō ,ō.ļw8(ņw8'E'ō)ō,«w8B Fej Moraji †9ī;Č=–?dAKEC2’’žCŗw8Køˆ9č:į=–?dAKC2E’’žQXž You step - or more accurately, are thrown - out of the portal and are assailed by a blast of sunlight. You gasp and put a hand over your eyes. The light, shining at an intensity you haven't experienced for weeks or months, burns through your eyelids like liquid fire. After a few moments, the initial shock dies down, and, though still somewhat dazed, you are able to remove your hands from your eyes. You look around to see yourself immersed in a pristine winterland. Snowcovered trees and mountains surround you in all directions except south, where a slightly used muddy trail leads away from the portal. You look down with frustration at your bare, very badly bruised and very dirty feet. Already, they are going numb from the intense cold. The air is thin, and you are finding it hard to breathe. You must be at high elevations, you decide. Again, you take a moment to study yourself, and are shocked at the state of your torn and soiled clothing. How will the mages admit you into their home when you are dressed like street trash? A cold gust of wind brings your thoughts back to your present situation. You will have to worry over those details when you come to them. With a shiver and a shudder, you pull your clothing around you the best that you can, and trudge south.’WYžJCastle Ma'Goon sits cuddled by the snowy mountains, it's tall, pristine towers rising into the sky like a priest's hands beseeching his god. As you jerk to a halt, astounded by the sight of the Order's main stronghold, you wonder how the place stands at all. It is an architectural wonder, with sweeping bridges, hidden walkways, sky-high minarets and a whole slew of other seemingly improbable stone structures. The castle appears to be carved from a single block of marble, as there is no mortar or individual blocks of the white stone that you can see. The walls are as smooth as ice, and almost mirrorlike in their ability to reflect light. The entire stronghold is white, from the walls to the snowy ground to the rustling flags and tapestries that are hung from every window and towertop. There are very few people entering or exiting through the small, unassuming gate at the bottom of the castle, but the cold air nonetheless spurs you forward. Surely, a place like this is warmed. Your ankle, red and swollen, is throbbing by the time you reach the castle gates, which were deceivingly far away from your earlier vantage point. With no shoes, your toes are badly frostbitten and your entire body aches with cold. A guard eyes you airly from his perch upon a stone pedestal, a white-shafted pike grasped nonchallantly in his gloved hands. Clearly, you decide, the presence of guards is simply for show; the Mages and Wizards here are probably more than capable of dealing with any minor threat to their home. Still, as if determined to prove his usefulness, the pike is lowered abruptly, barring your process. "Name and business," the guard demands blandly, clearly bored. For a moment, you stumble over your thoughts. Suddenly remembering, you croak back. "Sander Payne is my name. I am here to see Thyon, sent by Mage Sarius." The guard laughs at this, a harsh bark of a noise that sends icy spittle into your face. "Well, I'm sure the HighLord Sorcerer would love to speak with you, but unfortunately, he has an entire guild of Mages and Wizards to oversee. Come back when you have some clothes, why don't you, and then maybe I'll let you through." The guard gives you a little shove with his weapon to drive home his point. You frown but see no way to bully yourself past the guard, and are about to turn and leave in frustration, when a hurried voice calls to your ears. "Wait, wait... come back, sir." You turn to see a very fat, aged man with long white hair and a bushy beard running - or at least trying to run, rather unsuccessfully because of his wide girth - towards you. He wears the white robes of the Celestial Order and a purple stole is draped around his shoulders. A Wizard, you realize, and a highly ranked one at that, given the yellow sigils embroidered on the end of the stole. The guard seems disinterested by this new development and returns to his post. The Wizard stumbles to a halt and leans forward with his hands on his knees, endeavoring to catch his breath. Finally, after several moments of labored breathing, he stands up and, with a hand on his forehead. "I'm sorry. I saw you from my tower laboratory and ran nearly twenty flights of stairs to reach you!" "Reach me?" you ask. "Yes, we did not want you getting away. It is no surprise you were being turned down at the gates! My, my, look at you! That rascal Sarius couldn't even give you a coat or a pair of shoes before turning you loose?" Suddenly seeing that you are staring at him in confusion, the Wizard nods in apology. "Oh, I'm sorry, dear boy. I forgot to introduce myself! My name is HighWizard Aronson, the head of the Celestial Alchemy Guild, I'm sure you know. Please, come with me! I'm sure the HighLord Sorcerer will want to see you immediately. Yes, yes! He told me to bring you to him the moment you arrived. We've been waiting for you for so long! Very, exciting, yes!" Before you can protest, the old man, who seems to have more energy than a hummingbird, grabs you by the collar of your tattered shirt and drags you enthusiastically into the castle. (PLEASE GUIDE THE NARRATOR TO CHAPTER TWO AT THIS TIME).’Pƒl’H<R5R=J9Q4IBJAJFPBK<O5N9LBNKMRQBI<H5R5N=K9JBP5P=K4M_s£R- The Narrator(’’’’’’Č’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’F’’b’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’>You are The Celestial Narrator. Your task, for better or for worse, is to record in the Journals of Time, the progress of humanity on this world and many others. You live outside the world of time, and as such, it would be inaccurate to say you have been doing this task forever. And yet, you know nothing else....’žMHKBN4Q?I@RCSJSLIPHQHMQ1GGKQQ0UQF .U .H?G3S1P BO4N =L 5K FG 5G 4H FF HO 2H =H SM 4H 2IFR 5T =T 4K ?K LJ1LžGreetings, noble Story Teller. You have again been summoned by Algemosh, the Lord of Tales, to recite the story of an unknown hero to the Observer from the other side of the Great Glass Barrier, He Who Sits on the Chair. He who even now looks down upon our world with interest in our affairs. His Timelessness was very satisfied with your work before, in the Land of Aryth, and although the story of Roger Valkynborg was a grim one, you recorded the story with expertise and a lack of bias. But your skill at storytelling is needed again, Celestial Narrator, for, on another world, very far away from Aryth, another young man is about to embark on an adventure, although he does not yet know it. The deeds of this young boy will be instrumental in the forming of the region's history, and they should be recorded now for future generations to admire... or perhaps to serve as a warning. This will, of course, be up to you to decide. Therefore, without further procrastination, I welcome you to Eth, a Land of Magic very different from Aryth. Our story begins with Sander Payne, a young scholar studying at the University of Gaylin Dale, deep within the heart of the Kingdom of Eth. Good luck, my friend, and remember, your story is being read by the Face Beyond the Glass, so tell it well....’MRfPlease follow the Path of Time, Narrator. You will be told when to proceed from Chapter to Chapter. J R)Chapter One: In the Presence of GreatnessM KN 4K ž‚-You spend what seems like several hours pacing back and forth in the waiting room outside of the royal offices. The castle is almost identical to the Gaylin Dale you know of in your time, save for a few tapestries and sculptures here and there. It is amazing to you how some places seem immune to the ravages of time. While following the liveried servant who directed you to this room, you had taken almost four pages of notes for your journal. This thesis, you decided, was going to be a smashing success. Provided, of course, the King and his advisors believe you are a member of the Celestial Order - the servants at the gate had believed easily enough, but then again they were just servants. The King himself could afford to be a little skeptical. "This is ridiculous. Adventures aren't supposed to be BORING," Michael whines, for at least the thirtieth time. While in town, he had forced you to stop at a clothing store, where he had bought the most ridiculous outfit, complete with puffy, slashed silk sleeves, baggy breeches and the most absurd wide brimmed feathered hat. He looked like a genuine idiot, but at the same time, almost managed to pull off the part of a member of the Gaylish nobility rather well. If it wasn't for his somewhat backwater accent and unfortunate habbit of biting his fingernails, he could almost pass for a lord of the highest station. You didn't ask him where he got the money for such a costume, and you didn't accept when he offered to buy you one as well. As a feigned member of the Celestial Order, you had to be content with white robes for the time being. Finally, the great oak door opens and an old, balding man wearing a blue velvet suit approaches. He carries a black long stick, a walking cane perhaps, and points at you with it. "Mage Payne," he says with an air of self importance. "His majesty King Leblanc will see you now. But you must make it quick. He must be dressed for battle within the hour and be ready to march south so that he may smite down the evil hordes of Sagimyris!" It is always amazing to you how brave and assured of victory people can be when they are not the ones doing the fighting. Although many castle residents were going about their lives normally, you were nearly run over twice in the hallways by groups of swordsmen and even the occasional colonel or general. The whole place was in an uproar as preparations were being made to march south. "Thank you, Mr....?" you reply to the man, standing up from your chair. "Jeeves," he finishes for you, turning on his heel and starting to walk back through the door. "Please, follow me." Michael trails after you, mumbling something about how butlers always seem to have the same name. The Grand Audience chamber is enormous, causing you to gasp in disbelief. You have never seen it before. The King himself is sitting, bedecked in the finest blue silk robes, atop a steel throne on a dais at the other end of the room. A golden crown sits casually on the top of his head; it is studded, appropriately enough, with the most brilliant blue sapphires you've ever seen, not that you've seen many. A long blue carpet extends from the raised platform across the room, back to the door through which you just entered. Several guards carrying long swords -- the King's Elite Guard -- stand like statues at regular intervals along the carpet. They eye you with suspicion as you make your way towards the dais. Not surprising they would be tense, you decide, noting twitching fingers hovered above the hilts of their swords. A mage is never trustworthy because you can't force them to leave their weapons outside. Although the Celestial Order has since recorded history began always been on friendly terms with the aristocracy that ruled Gaylin, they are an order that operates under its own autonomy, and therefore, as far as guards are concerned, not completely trustworthy. You approach the King radiating as much self-importance as you can possibly muster in your somewhat unconvincing youthful body. A guard wearing a badge of intermediate office suddenly steps in front of you. "That's far enough, Mageling," he says sternly. "You can address his magesty from here. State your name and business if you please." Michael jerks to a stop behind you. You clench your teeth in irritation before turning back to the men in front of you. King Eric Leblanc is everything the tales had told -- strong, masculine features, an oak-brown beard flecked with gray, wise, almost black eyes, a handsome face. No wonder people held him in such great esteem. Your eyes wander to the King's right, where the armed officer who stopped you had retaken his place, and to the left, to your dismay, is a white-robed member of the Celestial Order, whose green eyes are at this moment scrutinizing you like a cat scrutinizes a mouse caught in its claws. You hadn't expected to be challenged by another member of the Order, a challenge which you, having no knowledge of real magic, would certainly fail. "Well," the armed man says, jerking you back to the conversation, "Speak!" "Your majesty," you say finally with a bow. "I... uh..." you search for something to say. "That is, the Order sends me bearing their pledge of support, and they wish you well on your journey to the south. I have been sent to assist you as an observer -- for the historical chronicles of course." The plan seemed like a good one at the time, and you thought it might just have a chance at succeeding. The King yawns. "You mages and wizards, for all your intelligence and talent with the arcane, have about as much common sense as a donkey. Your Order," he says, leaning forward, "Has already sent me someone for that very purpose, and while I am grateful for their dedication to my cause, if they can't send me anything better than their pledge of assistance and neutral observers, then I'd be happy if you all stop wasting my time. I don't need more than one." He indicates the Wizard at his left. "I'm sure you must know Wizard Thyon." You shake your head, giving Thyon a professional look of courtesy. "I'm sorry, we haven't met. My name is Mage Payne." The wizard, a young man in his mid-thirties with long black hair tied into a pony tail, gives you a curt nod, and his eyes again stray to the medallion at your chest. He is clearly not convinced of your story, but has elected to give you the benefit of the doubt, at least in public. "And who is this man you bring with you?" the King asks, indicating Michael, behind you. "Mages seldom travel with company." You open your mouth to deliver your prepared excuse, but are interrupted when Michael struts around you, bows so low that his forehead almost hits the floor, presents his feathered hat to the King and declares loudly and with exuberance, "My liege, I am Lord Michael Anderson of House Moray, from the Kingdom of Harquine. Traveling with the good Mage Sander Payne because I so wanted to meet your lord Magesty." Michael bows again for good measure. You could just strangle him for this ridiclous show. "Harquine?" the King says. "Now I haven't seen someone from Harquine in many years. Tell me, why did you wish to meet me?" You place a warning hand on Michael's shoulder, but he continues unheedful of it. "Well, my Lord, we are really just interested in accompanying you to Barron's Ford. Very interesting yes!" "Why, what is going to happen at Barron's Ford?" the officer at the King's right asks all of a sudden. You suddenly are overtaken by a fit of anxiety. This is very bad, you decide. Why wouldn't Michael just shut up for once. "Nothing. He just wants to see the city," you say nervously. "What city?" the King demands sternly. "There is no city there, just a tiny farming village. Why are you sweating Mage Payne? What is going to happen at Barron's Ford?" "Uh... " you stammer, thinking of some excuse. You lick your lips. "Well, sire, um... you see.. .there's this... um... well we think that there might be an... um... ambush. But I'm not sure... uh..." The officer suddenly darts forward. "Ambush?" he yells. "Sagimyris has set an ambush at Barron's Ford?" You can only nod. Lying more will only make matters worse. "How do you know?" You can't tell them the truth. Never the truth. Making up a lie quickly, you reply, "Well, we passed through there, and saw some... undead lurking around. It is probably nothing, my friend is just a little overzealous that's all. You should just march as you planned and we'll just observe." You turn to make a hasty exit, but are stopped by a strong hand on your arm. It is the officer. "My Liege, if there is even the possibility of an ambush, you must not march south. You cannot. Your life is too valuable," the officer says. The King frowns and gives you an angry stare, although you can't comprehend why. Thyon's features are shaped with casual interest at this turn of events. Then, Leblanc's features relax and he is once again the handsome hero. "Perhaps you are right, Lord Morgan," he replies, his dark eyes still on you. "But certainly my men will lose heart if they are to march south without me. I cannot have that." Leblanc seems somehow insincere. You can't put your finger on why. Something in the tone of his voice that seems, well, oily, smug. "Perhaps you should go and lead them, Jared." The officer shakes his head. This must be the Jared Morgan you read about in all your accounts. He does strike you as a valiant figure. He radiates authority and goodwill, more so than even the King, from which you get a surprisingly uneasy feeling. Perhaps it's just being in the presense of such an important historical figure. "No, my King. As Castellan of Gaylin Dale, my place is here with you. The men of Gaylin need to keep you safe. Your cousin, Sir Albon, is already on the field and in control. He is an able leader, if a bit overanxious at times. Certainly, he can lead the men south and fight off any ambush. If they get to Barron's Ford and there is nothing, then he can send word north and then we can join them. Is that copacetic?" The King considers for a moment, and then replies, suddenly happy with the plan of action. "Yes, that is good. Ready a messenger to send to Sir Albon immediately." In a panic now, for this is not the way history was supposed to happen at all. Your thesis was turning into a disaster that was threatening your very future! "My Lord," you interrupt, "Please, reconsider. The men need your presence. How can they defeat an army of undead without you?" The King just laughs. "They don't need me to crush dead bones and rotting flesh." Thyon laughs with the King, although his eyes never leave you. Thinking quickly, you interrupt again, your voice filled with urgency. "Then allow me to go south with them, my Lord. I will deliver your message. I need to observe the events anyway." The King glares at you with suspicion, but finally consents. "Alright, Mageling. Go south and tell Sir Albon. Take this sash as proof of my orders." He hands you a blue and gold scarf imprinted with the King's seal. You thank the King and walk, hurriedly, out of the throne room. Your head runs with terrible thoughts. Michael trails behind, but you ignore him. This is all his fault. To think it is YOU marching south now, instead of the King. What will happen if, without Leblanc and the garrison of the castle, Gaylin loses at Barron's Ford?? And how can you, a measly student, a mage imposter with no magical or military talent, prevent it from happening?’G/L RThe End of Chapter OneP R"Chapter Two: The LordHigh SorcerorQ @P 3R ?RJS MR NQ >R GQ IK IQ žb0"Sander Payne, I've been expecting you." Did the man even speak, or did the message just appear in your brain? For all the intensity of the statement, the LordHigh Sorceror, Thyon Baleor, hadn't even looked up or put down his quill. High Wizard Aronson, despite his wide girth, had moved with surprising speed as he nearly dragged you down the gaping halls and walkways of the Citadel of Ma'Goon. The main castle of the Celestial Order was nearly as complicated inside as it was outside. Winding, narrow staircases and hallways, some large enough to admit an elephant and some no bigger than a large dog, seemed to travel in nearly every direction, and long, brittle looking bridges would span even the smallest of antechambers. The whole fortress seemed to be carved from a single hunk of white marble, as even the floor was seemless. Hundreds of men and women, both young and old, wandered about the place, each one wearing a face full of furious purpose, and most stared at you with either disapproval, intense curiosity, or casual indifference. By the time you had reached the LordHigh Sorceror's apartments, a series of stately rooms perched pensively at the top of an especially grand staircase, you were thoroughly lost and out of breath. "Nothing to say?" the mental voice says, pressing you for some response. It sounds amused. Still, Thyon, a rather old yet powerful looking man, doesn't look up from his work. It is entirely infuriating. Finally, after more silence, Thyon set down his pen and leaned back in his wooden chair. Unlike most of the other members of the order, Thyon wore a robe of deep crimson, tied at the waste with a golden cord. Clearly, his was a position of great power in the Order. Sorceror was the highest of the three main Order divisions (Mage, Wizard, Sorceror), and a LordHigh title stuck in front of anything usually elevated you a degree or two. Despite his obvious power, the man seemed humble enough, with shaggy unkempt graying hair, a frumpled beard and a slightly hunched-over frame. Even his quarters were a bit drab and unimpressive: dark and poorly lit, they possessed no canopied bed or well stuffed cushions and luxurious rugs as you might expect from man of power. Rather, Thyon slept in a very unassuming flimsy cot and every piece of furniture in the place, save for a rather plain looking chair facing his desk, was cluttered with books, scrolls, half-used candles, fully used candles, unused candles, the occasional human skull and even a few rats. It was the stereotypical wizard's laboratory. As if sensing that you were finished looking over his living space, Thyon finally gesturs at the chair in front of you, urging you to sit. He waits for several more moments, eyeing you intensely, before sitting forward, his hands pressed together like a steeple. "Mr. Payne," he says at last, his voice tired and dry. "Do you know what the penalty is for impersonating a member of the Order?" Your eyes dart away, catching Wizard Aronson leaning casually against the far wall. The fat alchemist seems to be paying more attention to digging around in his nose than to your conversation. "No," you finally squeek back, evoking a brief tight smile on the lips of Thyon. "It isn't execution, as you might think," Thyon replies. "Although the Order considers it a grave offense, we let those accused of impersonation try to take the test of Wizardry. All of them die, of course. But we feel somewhat secure in the knowledge that it wasn't us who swung the axe." A brief pause, but then Thyon continues, while standing up and walking away from the desk. "But we cannot perform this sentence on you. Because you, too, would die, like the rest, and we cannot have that. You are, unfortunately, too important." "Important?" you ask, suddenly interested. Thyon jerks to a halt and turns around, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, child," he says, amused. "Certainly, you understand the consequences of what you have done. The rules against performing Time Magic are in place for a reason, after all." You shake your head. "I do not know what you're talking--" you begin to protest, but Thyon rushes forward with lightening speed and grabs your jaw in his iron fist. His eyes glow with the intensity of a forest fire. "The time for insolence and denial is well past, Sander. Time is critical. I will not play word games with you." His words come forth with the stench of sulfur and ash. The sudden outburst frightens you. The smell of electricity is in the air, and you can feel the magical fury sparking off him like static electricity on a dry winter day. You simply bow your head. "I remember you," Thyon says finally in a calmer voice, letting go of your face. "The day you came to Leblanc's court. I had felt the tremor in the weave of time that morning. I knew someone had done what was forbidden. I even knew it was you that morning. I'm sure Sarius explained to you that a Wizard can spot his own kind easily. I knew you were not the Mage you claimed to be, but what was I going to do there, in front of the King and his retainers? You left too quickly for me to apprehend you, and by then, the deed had been done anyway. I didn't recognize quite the gravity of the situation at the time..." Suddenly, you remember where you had heard of Thyon before. He was the Wizard that had eyed you so suspiciously in your meeting with King Leblanc before you had so disasterously ruined history. He had rose quite far in rank since that day. He looked older, much older. "How long has it been?" you ask suddenly, catching Thyon off guard. "How long has it been?" he repeats your question. "Mr. Payne, it has been 37 years since you disrupted the weave of time. "You have been missing for 37 years. We could not find you, and have thus been unable to make things right. Even now, it might be too late to correct the wrongs you have done. But we must try, and only you can do it..." "I don't understand..." you whisper. "Of course you don't," Thyon replies. "You are not a Wizard, or even a Mage, and you know nothing of magic. Whoever gave you the time traveling spell was a fool. But, as I said, the time for insolence and petty bickering is past. You have committed a wrong and there is nothing we can do about that... yet." The Sorceror's words weigh heavily upon you. So it is true, you alone are responsible for all this chaos. "Please, tell me what has happened. What have my deeds accomplished?" "Well," Thyon says airily, sitting down at his chair again. "Soon after Sagimyris defeated Leblanc's army -- that fool Sir Albon didn't stand a chance -- the Undead overwhelmed Gaylin Dale. The King himself disappeared. We still haven't found his body, and suspect he was been transformed into one of Sagimyris's undead abominations. Gaylin Dale is now a massive swamp, choked with dead vegitation and volcanoes. What little human life there is left there either serves Sagimyris out of fear or hopeless loyalty. Ma'Goon and our own little space of Eth is all that is left untouched by the Undead hordes, and only because he needs our magical talents to hold his unholy empire together. Even with our relative independence, we still are compelled to follow his laws, which include restrictions on what type of magic we can cast and what types of resources we can produce. It is only by pure luck that one of our agents discovered you. Who knows how much worse it would have become?" Thyon lapses into silence, and you shift uncomfortably in your chair. "So what can I do? And why must it be me? I am but a measly student, with no talents for warfare or magic." Thyon gestures to Aronson, who jumps suddenly at the opportunity to be of use. "Time travel is tricky business, Sander," he says, in a voice that reminds you of Professor Ogom. "It is a hard concept to accept, but the physical world and the realm of souls, where our own spirits reside, are tied together by a very tenuous thread. Time is sort of the glue for it all, but it's not very sticky, if you follow my analogy. By going back in time, you allow the physical world to change course and it therefore doesn't... um.. stick to the world of souls. But you see, Sander," Aronson pulls in closer, speaking quieter, for dramatic effect, "without its tie to the world of souls, the physical world cannot survive. It will decay! Traveling through this world, you will see the damage that has been done. The world is dying! It has been severed from contact with the reservoir of human souls that sustains it! "Now," Aronson continues, backing up and resuming his didactic tone, "By going back in time, you become a very special person. Your own soul remains tied with the new direction of the physical world. As long as you live, Sander, the physical world still retains some tie to the world of souls, and reversing the process is possible. If you die....... " Aronson raises an eyebrow and pauses. "Anyway, you get the point. Which probably explains why you haven't aged. Sagimyris must have been using some necromantic spell on you to keep you young. He is an accomplished Wizard himself, and no doubt understands your importance. Likely, he is searching for you now." "And?" you ask, urging Aronson to tell you what exactly, a peon like you is supposed to do about it. It is Thyon who answers, his gray eyes beating into you. "And you are going to have to go back in time and fix your bungling before you get killed. You will have to somehow put the physical world back on the right track. Unfortunately, there is a litle problem. As we have said, we are somewhat limited in our capabilities at the moment, and we are unable to perform the spell that will return you to the time of Barron's Ford." "You will learn more about this later," Thyon continues. " By the Wizards who will be casting this spell. They study at the Mountain Fortress, to the North. You will have to consult with them and find out exactly what you will need to do to make casting the return spell possible. Be assured that it will not be easy, as you will likely be required to venture deep within the territory of the Undead. And before you can even enter the Mountain Fortress, you need to be a member of the Order. That means passing the Test of Wizardry." You sigh and sink deeper into your chair. You cannot believe all of this. Why has this all fallen onto you?? All for a stupid thesis project. Sensing your feelings of hopelessness, Thyon's features soften and he says in as soothing a voice as he can muster, "Do not worry, Sander. We are here to help you succeed in this quest. You will be permitted to use the facilities of Ma'Goon. You may recruit of our members, you may use our library and our mage guilds to learn spells as you progress in talent, and you may use anything you find along the way. Our members in the Mountain Fortress are ready and willing to assist you and will tell you exactly what you should do. To the south is Ma'Nere, our southern stronghold. We are protected from the armies of the Undead by our own magical barriers to the west and you will not have to worry about facing them until you are ready. We also have magical portals throughout Eth that will take you directly back to this Castle, all of them guarded by those same magical barriers. Your first priority should be undertaking the test of Wizardry. See out Aaron of the Grove, through the Green Portal to the south. He will be the one to judge you. Once you earn your membership into the Order, return here and you can visit the Mountain Fortress. "In short, Sander," he says finally, adding in a smile. "We are excited we have found you. You have potential. Work with us, and we can make things right. Just remember, millions of people are counting on you." After a few last minutes of consolation, you are lead from Thyon's chambers. You aren't sure how you feel, but you certainly don't feel good. All this pressure on one very inexperienced person. Perhaps, before beginning your adventure, you should walk around Ma'Goon and get a few troops to accompany you to the test of Wizardry, and maybe a trip to the mage guild to purchase a spell book wouldn't be a bad idea either. This is what you always wanted! 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Start at the Wreckage of the Flying DutchessD^_Secret Treasure Trove of the SeaCrooks Direction #6 Go North by the amount of feet on a lemur.mŸ mŸl”kVn¢mąl¼#j”"k¤!l&j]$j¢#i„'hī%g&f”kVjgmeWYV^a^^¤U¤UŒž}An aged man with a patch over his left eye and a giant two-pronged hook for a hand stomps out of the tent. Through a beard so thick you can not see his mouth, he grumbles, "So ye want access to me secret treasure trove, do ye? Well, I suppose I can give it to ye, 'cause clearly I don't have no use fer it no more. Just be sure them pirates don't get their grubby paws on it..."’uft t•s•sŁv(v“tÕw9u8t8uBvÕxC*] *n;o -ņw8O‡ž©You step out of the cave into an idyllic grove. The ground seems to sparkle and you swear that you can feel the magic all around you. Tucked into the large trees that seem to surround you in all directions, you can make out little glowing windows and doorways, the homes of people you realize. To the north, you can see a large lake surrounded by flowers and giant mushrooms of all colors. This is certainly a magic place.’'U<(V³'Vū#Y¶L‚gKhF…iQ‡oO…jG†kH‚iE„lG‰H‡l’HŠI‰kKŒPŒR‹ NŒO‹oM‹oLˆoJ‰H†J‰*HˆUI‹JŒJ‹L‹VM‹O‰IUąV¼Q‰NŠW_~a|\^|R`}`Test of Wizardryr]r„q‡„rƒ]t]?„;]xt Cape Selwayx~t Selway Point` Selway PointKŠmN‰ŃN…n’IŠBJŠIK†`–Welcome to the Emeritus Island, home of the Test of Wizardry. Potential Applicants should see Gideon Whiterose, the Master of New Recruits, at North.xx„xx„xw”u”v¤ss„st”wZv”s„stVw€”u€”x€s€s„s‚t‚”v¤x„x‚xƒ„w„„w‚Zvƒ”t„Vsƒ„s„x„ ”” žA gentle breeze whips through your hair as you climb the steep cliffs that meet the ocean at Selway point. In the distance, to the south, you can see through the fog the northern end of the famous formation of rocks known as "Goran's Square", jutting up from the choppy watters like the fanged mouth of some vicious sea monster. This is a beautiful place, and you wish you had more time to spend gazing out over the ocean waters, but you have chores to do. Maybe you can come back here when your thesis is finished?’yž|A cold wind bites your face as you climb the steep cliffs that meet the ocean at Selway point. In the distance, to the south, you can clearly see the famous formation of rocks known as "Goran's Square", jutting up from the choppy waters like the fanged mouth of some vicious sea monster. Almost everyone knows that this was the place that almost wrecked the ship of King Malwin I, the first king of Eth who landed at Gaylin Dale almost a thousand years ago. If his ship had been even twenty meters more to the west, it would have splintered itself on the icy hardness of one of those rocks, and Eth may never have become a kingdom...’w„88”8”89„9¤:”:;„<<V;”<„9„:;„<:ZLŠž¤An old Wizard sitting at a table outside of the Green House demands payment for the test. You hand him a 1000 gold coins, which he snatches up greedily in his skinny arms. He then proceeds to look you over and then snorts back a derisive laugh. You consider offering him a piece of your mind but then recall that he is a Wizard and, like all Wizards, could probably do some nasty things to a non-Wizard like yourself.ü’’’M‰¦Ȕ(9’’’’„This seems to be another Tower owned by Joe. Remember you need to defeat those ugly trolls before he will let you visit his Towers.©Without defeating those trolls, Joe won't grant you access to his towers. You had better hurry! Who knows what you'll be able to see from atop one of these structures?ŠWith a bag full of ears as proof of your deed, Joe agrees to let you use his Lookout Towers. He seems to be very glad that those trolls will no longer be performing tasks for Sagimyris and his Undead vermin.Xq¦Ȕ(9’’’’ĘDirectly to the North is an enormous tree with a small wooden house perched in the highest branches. A skinny beared man by the name of Joe saunters out of a small hut at the base of the tower. Waving his arms frantically, he says, "I wish I could help y'all. My Towers have aided the citizens of Eth for generations. But Sagimyris ordered a squad of filthy trolls to raid my treasury and I don't have enough gold any more to keep the place open. If you was to go and kill them trolls, which I hear reside in the caverns beneath Gaylin Dale, I would open the Towers, which are scattered around Eth, to you as a favor. They still have a bunch of my gold, but its yours if you kill every last one of them!"©Without defeating those trolls, Joe won't grant you access to his towers. You had better hurry! Who knows what you'll be able to see from atop one of these structures?ŠWith a bag full of ears as proof of your deed, Joe agrees to let you use his Lookout Towers. He seems to be very glad that those trolls will no longer be performing tasks for Sagimyris and his Undead vermin.€¦Ȕ(9’’’’„This seems to be another Tower owned by Joe. Remember you need to defeat those ugly trolls before he will let you visit his Towers.©Without defeating those trolls, Joe won't grant you access to his towers. You had better hurry! Who knows what you'll be able to see from atop one of these structures?ŠWith a bag full of ears as proof of your deed, Joe agrees to let you use his Lookout Towers. He seems to be very glad that those trolls will no longer be performing tasks for Sagimyris and his Undead vermin./u¦Ȕ(9’’’’„This seems to be another Tower owned by Joe. Remember you need to defeat those ugly trolls before he will let you visit his Towers.©Without defeating those trolls, Joe won't grant you access to his towers. You had better hurry! Who knows what you'll be able to see from atop one of these structures?ŠWith a bag full of ears as proof of your deed, Joe agrees to let you use his Lookout Towers. He seems to be very glad that those trolls will no longer be performing tasks for Sagimyris and his Undead vermin.J¦Ȕ(9’’’’„This seems to be another Tower owned by Joe. Remember you need to defeat those ugly trolls before he will let you visit his Towers.©Without defeating those trolls, Joe won't grant you access to his towers. You had better hurry! Who knows what you'll be able to see from atop one of these structures?ŠWith a bag full of ears as proof of your deed, Joe agrees to let you use his Lookout Towers. He seems to be very glad that those trolls will no longer be performing tasks for Sagimyris and his Undead vermin.5Z¦Ȕ(9’’’’„This seems to be another Tower owned by Joe. Remember you need to defeat those ugly trolls before he will let you visit his Towers.©Without defeating those trolls, Joe won't grant you access to his towers. You had better hurry! Who knows what you'll be able to see from atop one of these structures?ŠWith a bag full of ears as proof of your deed, Joe agrees to let you use his Lookout Towers. He seems to be very glad that those trolls will no longer be performing tasks for Sagimyris and his Undead vermin.5[õ+¦Ȕ(9’’’’„This seems to be another Tower owned by Joe. Remember you need to defeat those ugly trolls before he will let you visit his Towers.©Without defeating those trolls, Joe won't grant you access to his towers. You had better hurry! Who knows what you'll be able to see from atop one of these structures?hWith a bag full of ears as proof of your deed, Joe agrees to let you use his Lookout Towers. He seems to be very glad that those trolls will no longer be performing tasks for Sagimyris and his Undead vermin. He also encourages you to visit as many of his towers as you can, as they may reveal things that you haven't yet seen beyond the edges of the horizon.85¦Ȕ(9’’’’„This seems to be another Tower owned by Joe. Remember you need to defeat those ugly trolls before he will let you visit his Towers.©Without defeating those trolls, Joe won't grant you access to his towers. You had better hurry! Who knows what you'll be able to see from atop one of these structures?ŠWith a bag full of ears as proof of your deed, Joe agrees to let you use his Lookout Towers. He seems to be very glad that those trolls will no longer be performing tasks for Sagimyris and his Undead vermin.\:¦Ȕ(9’’’’„This seems to be another Tower owned by Joe. Remember you need to defeat those ugly trolls before he will let you visit his Towers.©Without defeating those trolls, Joe won't grant you access to his towers. You had better hurry! Who knows what you'll be able to see from atop one of these structures?ŠWith a bag full of ears as proof of your deed, Joe agrees to let you use his Lookout Towers. He seems to be very glad that those trolls will no longer be performing tasks for Sagimyris and his Undead vermin.U&¦Ȕ(9’’’’„This seems to be another Tower owned by Joe. Remember you need to defeat those ugly trolls before he will let you visit his Towers.©Without defeating those trolls, Joe won't grant you access to his towers. You had better hurry! Who knows what you'll be able to see from atop one of these structures?ŠWith a bag full of ears as proof of your deed, Joe agrees to let you use his Lookout Towers. He seems to be very glad that those trolls will no longer be performing tasks for Sagimyris and his Undead vermin.HK¦Ȕ(9’’’’„This seems to be another Tower owned by Joe. Remember you need to defeat those ugly trolls before he will let you visit his Towers.©Without defeating those trolls, Joe won't grant you access to his towers. You had better hurry! Who knows what you'll be able to see from atop one of these structures?ŠWith a bag full of ears as proof of your deed, Joe agrees to let you use his Lookout Towers. He seems to be very glad that those trolls will no longer be performing tasks for Sagimyris and his Undead vermin.=o`Iž:Crouched on a jagged peak is the Mountain Fortress of the Order of Celestial Magic. In stark contrast to Ma'Goon, an architectural wonder of carved marble, the Mountain Fortress is a misshapen, grotesque mass of twisted granite sporting a motley assortment of towers (some stunted and others tall and skinny, like pulled taffy), crumbling walls, and a portcullis conspiculously missing half of its iron bars. A gray sky resembling dirty cotton paints the entire background of the grim sight before you. Indeed, you are almost afraid to walk into the place, as it appears that it may fall over at any moment. Despite the somewhat dilapidated appearance of the castle, you realize that a strong fort is not only unnecessary, but also impractical. A larger structure likely wouldn't fit on the narrow rocky foundation, even if the mages who live there decided they wanted to erect one, and who needs strong walls when an advancing army would be restricted to one path of entry in the first place because of the deep gorge's icy cliffs that surround the castle on all four sides. The only route of access is a narrow, brittle drawbridge that crosses the great chasm in front of the keep, and only two or three men could cross it at a time. Still, don't expect to see an enormous castle built here anytime soon. (Please Read Chapter 3)’E]µaJdJPžėBy the time you gingerly urge your horse to come to a halt at the foot of the delicate bridge to the Mountain Fortress, your face is numb with cold and you are struggling to breathe. All around you can be seen the sharp, dagger like peaks of nearby mountains, some covered with twinkling snow, others bare and metallic gray and resembling the tips of halberds, as if the entire mountainscape were an enlarged version of a bed of nails. The air is thin and crisp, and will not support even a stiff breeze, but the barest hint of wind that does occasionally whip through the snow-covered mane of your horse is enough to send your teeth clenching and your hands seeking the delicate heat of your arm pits. The only sounds permeationg the thick silence are the heaving breaths of your famished horse and your famished self. The Wizards of the Mountain Fortress welcome you warmly enough, and soon after crossing the drawbridge and offering proof to the guard of your Initiate status, you are admitted to a surprisingly comfortable dining room and served warm potato soup with a crusty heel of bread. After two mugs of a very bitter tasting tea that warms your insides almost painfully, a door opens at the far end of the cavernous dining hall. You look up to see Thyon, dressed in his Sorcerer's robes, crossing the hall towards you, his feet echoing on the stone slabs that comprise the chamber's floor. He is looking tired and only smiles briefly when he makes his introduction. "It is good to see you again, Mage Payne. I am pleased to see you have passed the Test of Wizardry," he says, sitting down beside you. "Now your real mission can begin." "Yes," you reply as a young servant dressed in black brings the Sorcerer a fresh bowl of soup and plate of bread. "I am anxious to begin as well." "Good" Thyon says, dipping a piece of bread into his soup and stuffing it into his mouth. By the looks of it, he hasn't eaten in a while either. "Enthusiasm is always the mark of a good Wizard." "So what must I do?" you ask after a brief silence. Thyon is eating so fast that you are afraid he might choke. "I'm sorry," he says, wiping his mouth with the corner of a linen napkin. "I only arrived myself and am frozen to the bone and hungry as a pregnant pig. Forgive my manners." You casually wave the Sorcerer's apology away. "Don't worry about it," you laugh. You allow Thyon to finish his soup in silence, a process which only takes a matter of minutes, and after he downs a mug of near-boiling tea without so much as a cringe, he turns back to you. "My, that was tasty. Nothing like real cooked food, huh? At Ma'Goon, the Wizards make the food and let me tell you, magic might heat up a hunk of meat, but it can't provide the taste. I've seen better cooks in prisons than those Mages... Now, where were we?" "My next tasks." "Ah yes," he says, leaning back. "I hear you have recruited some of the Emeritus Wizards. That is good. They are very talented. Along with the armies you have been building from our castles and your progress at spell craft, you might actually stand a chance against Sagimyris. Now, the Transportation Wizards have been working hard to erect a portal that will take you back in time. They are taking extra precautions to ensure that your travel will progress without incident. Unfortunately, as I said before, they are lacking several key components of the spell. But they can fill in the details better than I. As soon as possible, you should visit them. Because Sagimyris has outlawed Tranportation Magic, they have to work in secret. There is a small narrow road leading west from here through the mountains. Follow that road and you will see a small cave tucked into the rock. They are building your portal in there. Some of them may teach you a spell or two if you are lucky." "So that is it? I just visit these Wizards and they will tell me what I need to get them? Then why this business with the armies and the spells?" "Because," Thyon says, leaning forward, "as I understand it, some of the reagents are in the direct possession of Sagimyris himself. He's not likely just to give them to you if you ask." "Of course," you reply, ashamed of your stupidity. "So where do you recommend I go first?" "Well," the sorceror returns. "As I have told you, the only land in Eth not currently controlled by Sagimyris is the land owned by the Order. As soon as you go west towards Sagoria, you will encounter men under the control of the Undead, mostly, by our reports, denizens of the swamps. To the Northeast, under the flag of the old citadel of Belaluna, are a host of devils led by a llord named Magalen. The Island nation of Harquine was overrun by barbarian pirates shortly after Sagimyris took power under the leadership of a ruthless man nicknamed "Clubber". And of course there is Gaylin Dale itself, the root of Sagimyris' power and the center of the undead hordes, although there are some reports that Sagimyris still resides in his underground fortress of Gothmark. We have been unable to confirm this. "So you see," Thyon says with a note of hopelessness, "we are surrounded on every front. Where you go first is entirely up to you, but certainly keep the Quests given to you by the Transportation Wizards on your mind and be on the lookout for clues. One thing is certain: before you are able to take on Sagimyris, you will have to beat back the armies of his allies. It will not be easy, but I have faith that you will succeed. If you don't this world is doomed." Thyon's final note strikes you like a chime of discord. Could so much really be weighing upon your shoulders? As if realizing his effect on you, Thyon attempts to smile, and says in a lighter tone, "I do not mean to frighten you, my friend. Our gates still hold the enemy back. Take as much time as you need, but remember, as you gain in strength, so do they, and their resources are better than ours. So the sooner you strike the better. Feel free again to make use of our numbers and facilities. Rest here for the night and then see the Transportation Wizards tomorrow. I wish you well, Sander." Thyon stands up, gives a final bow of farewell, and clop-clops out of the dining chamber, letting you finish your now-cold soup in silence. It doesn't matter, you don't have much of an appetite left anyway.’Q R$Chapter Three: The Mountain FortressQ9N=O`End Chapter ThreeP 5O 1]DžŹAs Thyon had promised, the mountain road, barely discernable through the snow, ends in a narrow cave opening. It doesn't look too inviting, but you need to speak with the Wizards who are working there.’QbptŪfįŒThe mages recognize you as the man Thyon freed from prison and offer to join your ranks, claiming that you can use all the help you can get.’’ZrpyŪfįŒThe mages recognize you as the man Thyon freed from prison and offer to join your ranks, claiming that you can use all the help you can get.’’`^p|ŪfįŒThe mages recognize you as the man Thyon freed from prison and offer to join your ranks, claiming that you can use all the help you can get.’’]zp~ŪfįThe mage recognizes you as the man Thyon freed from prison and offers to join your ranks, claiming that you can use all the help you can get.’’I_ž The road down from the snowy heights of the Order is short and steep. At the base of the mountains, you find yourself in a much different environment. You and your men quickly throw off your heavy winter coats and capes, for you are suddenly in the midst of a teeming swamp. The air is thick and oppressive, the insects vicious, and the stench is indescribable. Is this what has happened to your precious Eth? What has Sagimyris done to the place?? Can all of this corruption be due to one man!? The road you are on seems to still be in pretty good condition. Likely, it leads to Sagoria, the major city of what used to be the Great Central Plains. Surely, it is probably a major stronghold of Sagimyris's forces. Maybe you should attempt to find some information within its stately walls.’Nv!’)²@.žA red-hot river of lava flows from north to south, cutting through the wildnerness like an axe-wound on the chest of a well-loved hero. To the east, north and south, you can see large volcanoes in the distance, vomiting forth gasses and dirty ash. Where did these unnatural mountains come from? Suddenly you remember something Thyon had told you about the fact that, separated from the realm of souls, the world of reality was dying. Your presence as a last link to the immortal realm slowed down the process, but perhaps these volcanoes aren't just the result of some foul Undead magic, but rather are due to your own actions! The earth is bleeding, you realize, and it is your fault! You must do something, and fast, to repair the great harm you have done to your beloved world.’C&ž›Glaring down at you like an imp is the most grotesque, ugly pile of black rock you've ever seen. To call it a castle almost stretches impossibly the definition of the word. This fortress is to a castle like what the burnt remains of an oak are to a youthful sapling, or the soul of a priest is to the soul of a rapist: a twisted, blackened mass, both vile and repugnant, almost gaggingly foul, evoking thoughts of childhood nightmares and buckets of month-old vomit. You would amost rather take a nap in a truck-load of rotten, moldy fruit than spend another minute looking at this awful place. Could it actually be the great Citadel of Belaluna, the same wondrous castle of which the minstrils used to sing in the court of Gaylin Dale when you were a youth? The beautiful Belaluna, whose nighttime sky was supposed to be so breathtaking as to make strangers into lovers almost instantly? And now it is this.. abomination? This castle is not an archetype of splendid architechture. It is a man struck by lightning: still alive, sure, functional in the most general sense, but mad as a shrew, prone to bouts of uncontrollable defacation, known to drool and slobber, to bite and cast unwarranted aspersions, and generally shunned by everyone. Trying to hold back the bile that is rising to the back of your mouth, you proceed, intent on burning this place into the pile of smoldering rubble which it already so nearly resembles.’'f¦z’’’’OThe wall of rocks that rise above the choppy ocean waters come to a bottlenecked passage here. As if guarding the strait, a squat, round tower rises from one of the larger rocks like a stubby finger. An orange flag ripples in the gentle sea breeze above the structure, although there is no sign of a human regiment standing guard. Not wanting to have to negotiate with the tower's inhabitants, you attempt to sneak by, passing the message to all of your men to keep their voices down. You are almost past the tower, and about to heave a sigh of relief, when a sudden loud boom shakes the ship and causes you to put your hands over your ears. Then, without warning, the water off the starboard side of your ship erupts in an explosion of seawater, drenching you and most of the nearby deck. Your men stare about in confusion, but then the source of the noise becomes apparent: extending from one of the square windows along the tower is a large iron cannon, still smoking from its recent blast. Figures can be seen loading other cannons along the length of the tower. With no other choice, you signal your men to lower the sails. Within minutes, a small rowboat begins making its way from the tower to the side of your boat. Six large, muscular men sit in rowing positions while another man, somewhat skinny with a rough-shaven face, a black patch over one eye and a ridiculous green parrot perched on his shoulder, stands resolutely on the bow of the small craft. His arms are crossed and he is giving you an angry scowl. When the small boat is within speaking distance, the leader of the group signals for his men to stop rowing. Turning to you, he shouts, "Well, well, I am thinking I have just caught meself a fishie, arrrgh. Tell me you weren't trying to sneak by me in this poor excuse for a boat, lad. Don't ye know we kill trespassers?" "Kill the trespassers! SQUAWK!!!" the parrot echoes. "Shhh!" the pirate says to his bird. "I be speaking, Gwaihir. Don't interrupt." In response, the bird shrugs and begins preening itself. The pirate turns his eyes back to you. "No, uh.. sir.." you stammer. "We thought the place was vacant. There is something we seek up north. If you would please just let us go by, we wouldn't be of any bother to you." "Aye, let ye go by," the pirate says, rubbing a chin. "This here is the land of the SeaCrooks. We can't just let anybody go by. We have a reputation to uphold. No, I'm afraid we are just going to have to sink your ship, argghh.." "Sink your ship! SQUAWK!!" Gwaihir chirps, dancing up and down. "I said shut-ye up, bird," the pirate scolds, smacking at the bird with his arm. Gwaihir dodges and hops to the other shoulder, much to the pirate's annoyance. "Stupid creature," the pirate mumbles. Seeing the pirate distracted, you consider making a run for it, but the sight of several cannons aimed at you assures you that you wouldn't make it far. It looks like groveling is going to have to save you. "I'm sorry," you plead. "Is there anything we could give you that would buy our passage? We have much in the way of wealth." The pirate bellows in laughter. "Trust me, we can take what we please from you, foolish boy. Still, there is something you might do for me that I would be willing to accept in exchange for passage. And I'll even let you keep that floating log you call a boat. "My name is Joshua Redbrow, Captain of the Northern Seas, and the unfortunate overseer of this hunk of rock. The SeaCrooks are led by that knave Jasin Ecker, whom members of our order have nicknamed Clubber. He currently resides in that dunghole called Harquine. Ever since he took over that island, he's turned landlubber on us. He doesn't even know a ship from his own arse anymore. And yet he retains complete command of the SeaCrooks, while I, the most capable captain in the world, am told to sit here and rot on this little island blowing ships out of the water from a fortress like a coward!" "Like a coward! SQUAWK!" Gwaihir chimes. "Damn straight!" Joshua agrees with the bird angrily. "Anyway," he says, turning back to you, "I don't have the land army to take out Clubber, but if you could somehow slay the bastard and bring me back his head, I'd be willing to forget I ever saw you pass this way." You don't see what choice you have. You agree to Joshua's request and leave the area quickly, lest the pirate change his mind.zTwo short shots from a cannon remind you that Joshua will not let you pass until you have brought him the head of Clubber.TYou enter the area of Joshua's tower cautiously, waving Clubber's head above you on a pole like a flag. The lack of any cannon shots tells you that they at least are coming out to investigate. Again, Joshua arrives standing on the bow of the tiny rowboat, accompanied by his six rowers and that silly bird of his. He is squinting, trying to make out the features of the severed head from the distance. Finally, he laughs and shouts, "Well by the stormy seas, ye have done it! At long last, the SeaCrooks are mine! Now, give me the head. I wish to eat it." "Eat the bastard. SQUAWK!" Gwaihir intones. "That's right, Gwaihir. I'll give you a taste, too. No crackers tonight!" Skeptical and a little disturbed, you remove the head from the pole and toss it down to Joshua, who inspects it like a child inspects a new toy. Gwahir hops on it and begins pecking at the scalp. With the head in hand, Joshua turns to you and smiles. "I'm just kidding about the eating it part, of course," he says. "I must thank you for this deed. You are welcome to pass, though remember, this is still SeaCrook territory, and any pirates who see you will likely attack. Be prepared, and I wish you luck in your search for whatever..." "Kill the bastards! SQUAWK!" Gwaihir chirps, head turned towards you menacingly. "No, no, Gwaihir. We can't kill them, although I know you above anyone would like to betray our new friends. Such an unscrupulous little birdy you are! Don't worry, though, others will come along, and we can kill them." Laughing, Joshua and his men return to the tower, leaving you free to head north. hX&gķ"The Great Reefs. DANGER, KEEP OUTƒžTucked into the rusty brown desert mountains to the north, you see the great island city of Harquine. In your time, the duchy of Harquine was one of the richest in the world. As a peripheral region of Eth, it was really only a nominal territory, and more or less operated under its own authority. Merchant traders from all over the world would meet at this location to trade their goods. It was said that during the height of summer, the harbor was all but impassable because of all the ships that would anchor in its shallow waters. Although still packed with people, this is not the vibrant colorful place that you had heard about in tales told at the River Inn back home. Big, mean looking men stalk the streets, sending the commonfolk scattering like chickens before them. The Seacrooks took over this island not long after Sagimyris's victory at Gaylin Dale, displacing the native government and imposing their own barbaric laws. Particularly feared, you discover, is their leader, Jasin Ecker, appropriately nicknamed Clubber because of his tendancy to have citizens charged with any crime beaten to death without trial. This is clearly the center power in Sagimyris' navy and probably an important part of his economic regime. Taking it out would be a large blow to the Undead armies. ’-Vž}You find yourself standing in what was once the Great Plaza of Sagoria, perhaps Eth's second greatest city, behind Gaylin Dale itself. The infamous Coliseum of Champions, where gladiators would fight for honor and money, lies nearly in ruins; it is used now primarily as entertainment for the lizardmen who now rule this area and who enjoy seeing human slaves kill each other for the possibility of freedom. Typically, the victor is killed anyway. The whole site is choked with weeds and swampy vegitation, and your men complain of having to march in the mud. Several times, you are ambushed by small parties of swamp creatures. Your men fight bravely, but are fatigued. Morale is low and you fear that too much more time spent in this dismal place will drive you mad. Unfortunately, you have the feeling that it is not going to get any better as you work your way north towards Gaylin Dale. Perhaps things will be better after you reconquer Sagoria. Not only will it give your own troops a burst of positive energy, but it will be a major strike against Sagimyris and his evil hordes. (Please read Chapter 4 after defeating the castle).’K RL QM`Chapter 4 - Out of the MudKMLžzThe seige of Sagoria is an ugly one, fought in bloody mud. Sagoria was never by any means a visually attractive city; even in your day, it had the reputation of being a gray, industrial metropolis. As the original home of the Alchemist's guild, its buildings, all built in a cold, squarish style, are almost always coated with a layer of black soot, and the locals often complain of never being able to see the sunshine. Since Sagimyris took over the city, the Alchemists guild was dissolved (and since has taken up secret residence at Ma'Goon), and the already blackened and dilapidated houses fell into even more disrepair. Nearly everything is coated with green slime and dark brown, foul-smelling mud. The sorry state of the city unfortunately did not aid in your offensive seige. In fact, scaling walls was nearly impossible. The swamp creatures, in their native terrain, fought viciously, and many of your men were lost in confusion when sorties of lizard men and large insects would surround them in the muddy valleys and trenches that litter the landscape outside of the castle. When your men finally stormed the rusty gates, it was not done so with great enthusiasm. In fact, you had to threaten many of them with your own sword to prod them forward, so fearful were they of being drowned by the hideous enemies in the boggy terrain. Finding the present Lord of Sagoria was not difficult. A slimy lizard wearing a muddy red cape, he had barracaded himself with a handful of archers and swordsmen in the main audience chamber. From behind a pile of broken furniture, he attempted to strike a deal, promising you and your army great honors from the Undead Lord if you would turn back your assault. It was with great glee that you personally took his scaly head from his scaly shoulders with your broadsword when your men finally were able to break through the barricaded double doors. With grim satisfaction, you selected one prisoner from among the LizardLord's retinue. The rest of them were hacked into bloody green pieces by your fatigued but proud men with a morbid voraciousness that almost makes you feel remorse. Almost... Taking the archer you selected aside, now shaking with fear, you set him a stern glare and, with sword still unsheathed, you ask, "Sagoria is mine now, do you understand? No help is coming for you. Talk to me... tell me where Sagimyris is." "His Undeadness will haunt my grave if I speak," the creature hisses, his narrow pupils gleaming like those of a hungry cat. "I tell you nothing." Tired of being the virtuous, patient wizard, you push the Lizard to the floor and stomp towards him. With a lightning-quick move that admittedly shocks you, your sword darts to the right and cleaves the poor creature's arm off at the elbow. The Lizard hisses and grabs for the severed member. A pool of green blood splatters on the tiled floor. "Now," you say through clenched teeth. "I shall ask you again. Where is Sagimyris. Haunt your soul or not, I can make the next hour very painful for you. Talk, and I may even let you live." "The UndeadLord lives to the North," the Lizard says finally. "Towards Gaylin Dale. But you cannot enter there. He has the road sealed off by a black magic. The counterspell is guarded by the Seacrook Pirates of the Southwestern Islands. Only they can grant you passage.... that is all I know." The creature's eyes roll back in his head. Is it fear you see in his features? Have you become the devil? You stare at the bleeding lizard and then at your own sword, drenched in green sticky blood. What has happened to you? You drop the sword on the ground, with a clatter, and storm from the room. ’K`End Chapter Four[ž§Nagivating the narrow rocky waterway is treacherous and slowgoing. Suddenly, your ship is ambushed by a fleet of large skiffs. You wheel around to defend yourselves.čxYdaYdxčŠ’Y[ž3Buried in this hole is a small quantity of mercury!’ZeMd„MY-‚ńy`Smudge˜:’’[(‡[(’’’’ž[ŁZž7You dock your ship on this little island. To the north, you can make out a small encampment tucked into the rocky cliffs. A small army can be seen encircling a very large black sorceror's tent. This must be the secret to passing the magical black gates that Sagimyris has in front of the road to Gaylin Dale.’Z“PõQžŖA large nearly perfectly triangular pyramid sits on this small desert island. Loud shuffling and moaning sounds can be heard within. What unnatural creatures are these?’PŒžFollowing the instructions that you found in the Great Reefs, you arrive at a small stretch of beach along Emeritus Island. Your men disembark and begin digging all over in the rocky sand. Just when you are about to give up, one of your diggers calls you over. Sure enough, half buried in the sand, is a large lockbox. Inside, you find the secret treasure trove of the SeaCrooks.˜: Øa,’=ˆ¤^^FSecret Treasure Trove of the SeaCrooks Direction 3 Take 4 Steps WEST.p’ q¤7o[Fw’dž§Nagivating the narrow rocky waterway is treacherous and slowgoing. Suddenly, your ship is ambushed by a fleet of large skiffs. You wheel around to defend yourselves.č–^a^–čŠ’^^HSecret Treasure Trove of the SeaCrooks Directions #4 Go 10 Spaces SOUTHcž PIRATE BOOTY!°6’P^GSecret Treasure Trove of the SeaCrooks Directions #5 Go 23 Spaces EAST H]G”HVGF¤FīE„ F] H¤DžThe land only gets worse as you proceed north. The Western Monastary, now to your south, seems to have been transmogrified into some grotesque cathedral of the Dead. Squadrons of skeletal knights tilt lances in the trampled courtyards outside of the great stone structure, playing games like squires. Several figures, perhaps once human, could be seen dangling like Christmas ornaments from a large leafless oak tree outside of the Monastary. The corpses were wearing priestly garments. You shuffled your men by the site hurriedly. Then came the once lush, tasteful orchards of Barron's Ford. Such destruction... it seems like only yesterday that your father, before the death of your mother, had taken you down here during the harvest time to participate in the annual ApplePick. And now, the trees, all of them dead and blackened, stand in perfectly even rows, like the corpses of soldiers. It is a dreary place, walking down the dirt path towards the city of Barron's Ford, which you can only assume has also been turned into a den of debauchery like the other towns before you. With a heavy heart, you prepare for an assault on the city.’ 0™3ž' The Gaylin woods, now a swampland, are still familiar to you. Your men question your slow progress, but you snap back a short reply to the first one who asks you if it wouldn't be better to move faster. You continue slowly, navigating your way through the twisted, slimy trees without thinking. This is home, after all, and nobody forgets how to get home. Without realizing it, you feel the tears sliding down your cheeks. The lumberhouse is surprisingly not in as bad shape as some of the buildings you have seen. The front door is ajar when you step into the tree-filled front yard, and some of the windows are broken, but it doesn't look too much different, save for the muddiness of the ground and the swampy stench that tingles your nostrils. Could it be that your father wasn't harmed by Sagimyris' horde? You hang onto hope tightly with an iron grip. Suddenly, you hear a noise from inside the house. A bang, like splintering wood. Your father! The impulse, despite having no knowledge of whether he is truly alive, sends a burst of energy to your legs. You rush forward, clearing the front yard in a matter of seconds. The doorway is filled with shadows that move with the sounds of struggle. Someone is in there! Without caution, you poke your head through the door, only to have in nearly cleaved off by the swing of a rusty axe. You fall back, tripping over your feet in the attempt to free your sword. Fumbling for anything resembling a weapon, you begin to crawl backwards. But the musty sound of a familiar voice stops you. "Huuuuunnnggrryyyyyy...." the word is maddeningly slow but deliberate. You spin around and gape at the sight before you. A single figure steps from the doorway. The man, if it can be called that by virtue of the fact that it has two legs, is a sorry sight. What flesh it has left is gray and yellow and some bones and rotting meat can be easily seen between the gaps in the diseased skin. Yellowish green sludge drips from the creature's nearly toothless mouth and sightless eyes, and part of its skull seems to be missing. Hair and skin drop to the ground as it approaches you with a limping gait. But it is not the sight of the creature that sends a paralyzing fear through your bones; no, you've seen these Undead creatures before. It is the fact that it is missing most of its right arm, and is wearing what remains of your father's favorite cloak. "FATHER!?" you scream. The creature pauses, as if some inkling of rememberance flutters through its decaying mind. A few gurgles that really don't sound like speech at all, bubble through its mouth, but it resumes its approach almost immediately. You scoot back until your back is against the deck railing. "Please, father. John. It is me, your son!" You beg him with your eyes to remember, to recognize you, but it is no use. If he hears, he does not listen. Within seconds, your men come to your rescue. With no remorse (in fact some of them yell taunts and victorious battle cries), they hack the zombie to pieces, spraying blood and pus all over the deck. The creature emits a gurgled cry of pain and then is silent. The mound of chopped meat that remains causes you to avert your eyes. You vomit and wave your men away. It is several hours before you are able to stand and lead your men onward, with your father's axe in hand.’,ž®You are somewhat happy to see that the River Inn is still perched upon its promontary above the Aeron river. And yet... a look at the heroes who frequent the place now makes you think twice about going inside: necromancers, rowdy barbarians, and even more sordid individuals. The sounds of breaking glass and angry shouts can be heard within. Still, maybe you can find a hero willing to join your forces, for a price of course.’"Qž±The land beyond the Black Gate is scarred, tortured, a remnant of the idyllic beauty that once stylized the landscape of Northern Eth. Stark, dark volcanoes form a sickly rash on the tender country like pox on a diseased peasant; they erupt slugglishly, caughing forth their magma to ooze down their black slopes like pus from infected boils. The charming farmhouses that once stood along this road are now little more than the skeletons they now house. Despite the heat and the fire that chokes the land, plants are still abundant, although they are better described as dense weeds. Growing like a tumor, they have metasticized over the entire coastline, killing off the crops of strawberries, apples and other fruits that dominated this region. You swear that some of them look... carnivorous. Sullenly, you issue your men forward. From time to time, you come across small groups of undead creatures, mindlessly performing their tasks. For the most part, they ignore you, although some unfortunate battles ensue. They are surely only a shadow of what is to come.... After some time, a large group of corpse-like buildings come into view. If they were humans, you could only describe the sight before you as resembling a mass-grave. Many of them have caved in; others still stand but are burnt badly. Still others seem to have been repaired, but the architecture is alien to you, full of strange unnatural angles. Curious, you continue to advance until a small signpost along the road reads Loren's Mill, with the "Loren" crossed out and "Shady" scrawled in black ink above it. In some shock, you step back... could this really be the beautiful little hamlet of Loren's Mill, where farmers would travel to sell their wares at the large Sunday markets? In the distance, shuffling between the destruction of the town, are skeletal creatures. This place is infested, you realize, with the Damned. And they don't look like they are only here temporarily.’)žLFinally, at long last... Gaylin Dale, the Grand City of Eth, lies before you. The Great Metropolis sits mostly in ruins, its magnificent walls nothing but sad piles of rubble and the opulent palaces that used to grace every pair of meeting streets lie largely in disrepair. Many towers have toppled over into the cobbled roads, and armies of skeletons and higher Undead vermin seem to litter the entire city. Still, despite the disrepair and the infestation of these heathenous creatures, it is good to see your home city once more. (Please Read Chapter 5 after Defeating Gaylin Dale)’Lž]By the time you have finished your siege of the Gaylin Dale, there is hardly enough left of it to call a city. The Undead destroyed almost everything in their thirty year occupation of the castle, and what little had remained was destroyed by your siege engines. No human civilians can be found; only the dead, numbering in the thousands, can be seen littering the street. The vagrant Undead, wandering around without a master, are slaughtered mercilessly. You recognize some of them as your friends and colleagues from your time, and each one sends a pang of guilt shooting through you. Still, despite your best efforts, no sign of Sagimyris can be found. You have your men search every chamber of every palace standing, and not a trace of the great Undead Lord presents itself. The Undead do not answer questions, and so interrogating them is useless, but something Thyon said about Sagimyris living still underground prompts you to pay a visit to the Old Gaylin mines. Perhaps he can be found there..... Your men, meanwhile, are operating under a boost of morale. Seeing the greatest city of Eth back in human hands is a great cause for rejoicing. You spend the evening in gleeful celebration, content to let your men - and yourself - have at least a night's respite from the endless toil of warfare. You must admit, it is wonderful to take your mind from thoughts of battle, even if it is only temporary. Still, you hang back from the heaviest partying, content to watch the dancing and music from a distance. For you know that the greatest evil still lurks underneath the Earth... and you must still face him.’K`Chapter Five - Gaylin DaleM`End Chapter Five1Ń1µ1™)V¹Ńv8pp’’ž)VqG$rÓv8:Magalenp’’žD%sF.t2¦8’’’’öA lone tower guards the passage to the Old Gaylin mines. It would be wise to make sure you control Gaylin Dale before venturing underground. Bring back the Boots of the Dead as proof that you have vanquished the armies stationed at Gaylin Dale.MYou must control the area completely before risking an underground adventure.iNow that you have reconquered Gaylin Dale, the threat of a flanking attack is gone. Do you wish to pass?MeP`'Chapter Six -- The Fall of an Evil LordPQQžSagimyris howls in rage as you burst into his personal chambers. A quick slur of enchanted words from the angry necromancer sends the first men who clamber over the tattered remains of the wooden door shreaking as the skin melts from their bones. Despite the Undead Lord's amazing powers, they are not great enough to incapacitate the flood of warriors under your command who come in during the second assault, and within minutes, the Undead Lord is restrained by your personal retinue of lesser wizards. You stroll in arrogantly, self-assured, angry yourself at all the pain and suffering this THING has caused. You stare at him with smug pleasure. Sagimyris is a lich, a powerful Wizard who traded his life long ago for the promise of immortality. His body sports no flesh; it has long since rotted away. The skeletal remains are hidden mostly by a thick black cloak, except for his skull. Why is it that skulls always seem to be smiling? Did he in fact find the situation humorous, or was it just his lack of lips that caused him to seem to be smirking at you. No matter, you decide. It is clear who will have the last laugh. You stroll towards the creature, who struggles against the invisible bonds that hold him. "Silly little boy!" he spits, his voice deep and raspy. You can't help but think it sounds like snakes and insects. "How foolish are you, to think you can take me on? I remember you... you who thought he could handle the magic of time. What a fool. You made my conquest that much more simple..." "You'd be surprised," you interrupt, strolling around the necromancer with a nonchallence that surprises even yourself. "What my future was like. It was conspicuously devoid of Undead..." The necromancer seems to be confused by this. "No matter," he finally barks. "This is the future now. Give yourself up to me, and I will spare your men. Look at your wizards. Even now, they are straining against my power. In moments, I shall break their puny bonds and boil the skin from their bones. And you... unfortunately you I cannot kill... but you would be surprised what kind of bodily torture the magic of necromancy can heal. You may not die, but life is sometimes a greater penalty..." Indeed, your wizards seem to be grunting with the effort of containing the powerful sorceror. This must end quickly, you decide. Without stalling further, you step forward and stick your face into his, something you almost immediately regret; the creature's breath is unquestionably the most foul thing you've ever smelled. "Where is the Orb?" you ask. "Give me the Orb." The Necromancer only laughs. "There is so much you do not know," he replies. "But I will answer you this: the Orb is not here. I do not have it." "Liar!" you shout, pointing an accusatory finger at Sagimyris. "Believe what you want, child. But even if I had it, I wouldn't give it to YOU." At these last words, a sudden pulse of magic ripples through you, causing you to shreak in pain. Several of your wizards collapse to the ground. One of them explodes like a bag of water, drenching you in blood and bits of bone. Suddenly freed, Sagimyris begins chanting. The walls begin to shake, your vision blurs as his magic begins to gather in power. He is weaving some devastating spell, you realize. Something that you will probably regret. Without a second thought, you grab your sword and charge the Undead King. Not expecting the maneuver, Sagimyris drops his hands and prepares to fling a magic bolt of some sort at you. He grins wickedly (if a skull can be said to grin), thinking himself victorious. But you are too fast, faster than he can possible predict, and his grin disappears instantly when your sword smashes through his skull, cleaving it into two neat, identical halves. Sagimyris falls apart like a snapped twig. His cloak and skeletal body fall to the floor with an embarrasing clatter. One of the halves of his skull spins for a bit and then rolls to a stop at your foot. You grind it to powder with your heel. Your men stare at you in awe and wonder, clearly shocked by how easily you just eradicated the greatest wizard in the world. Suddenly, you feel something strange... a tingling... as the Undead Lord's soul escapes from his body, the magic that held him to this plane evaporating into nothing. His bones, before a crisp clean white, suddenly become yellow and very brittle, and then turn to dust. Sagimyris is no more, you realize with happiness. Your mission is complete... Or is it? There is still no sign of his Orb. You search through his robes and find only a handful of artifacts, none of them resembling the Anti-Magic Orb of which the Order spoke. Where could it be? Still, your attention is caught by one certain artifact, a pendant, shaped like a skull.... what could this be for? You tuck it into your pocket and place the rest of the artifacts in your backpack. "Come," you say finally, "Let us leave this place. The Undead shall bother us no more..." Your surviving men, some of them just regaining consciousness, seem very happy to comply.’RCS5UBTKR`End Chapter Six jž§Nagivating the narrow rocky waterway is treacherous and slowgoing. Suddenly, your ship is ambushed by a fleet of large skiffs. You wheel around to defend yourselves.č–^a^–čŠ’+Ł*Ł)&žżSomething tells you that this might be the place... you feel the magic leaking from you as you near the dark citadel that obscures even the sky, as if some giant invisible sponge was soaking up knowledge right from your brain. Just as a test, you weave a minor spell, and are dismayed to see it fizzle like a doused candle right before your eyes. The sight doesn't do your men any good either, and some of them shift in their saddles. For so long, they've relied on your magical talent to turn the battles in their favor. But this time, they'll have to do without... Ahead, flying over the enormous keep, are great black winged and blue beasts. Dragons.... so he's been breeding dragons as well? Your men sag in their saddles, and the pikes and flags, always held stiffly at attention, now hang limp in fearful hands. A few people turn and run, but your own commanders grimly cut them down. It is a sad task, but necessary to prevent further desertion. Feeling the need to ameliorate an already deteriorating situation, you turn in your saddle and address your army. "Men!" you shout. "And women," you add for the benefit of the several groups of female warriors who have joined your ranks. "Today is the day we take back Gaylin. Eric Leblanc, King of Eth, has betrayed his people. He has remained unpunished for over thirty years. It is his fault that your towns have been turned to ashes. It is his fault that your mothers and fathers, brothers, sisters, children are dead. It is his fault that your homes are destroyed. It is his fault that you go hungry. Eric Leblanc, the Dark King, must be slain. He must be punished. And we will be the ones to punish him. For remember, no man can hide from the anger of the innocent. No man can buy protection from the people he has wronged. Justice is a relentless killer. And justice will have her way today, or else justice will die forever." A loud cheer erupts from your army, and without even your command, the seige begins. (Please read Chapter Seven after the Battle)’h8žWith the aid of Arestra's spell of flight, you eventually land in a small clearing of the forest. Several pixies scatter at your arrival. To the east, you see a large gaping cave. What place is this? Perhaps you will find something useful within those winding tunnels.’PILILIQIT`%Chapter Seven -- The King of the Dark žWith the crowds thinned, you can at least breathe again, although the air is no less dense and the sun is no less hot. You pause for a second to collect your thoughts. Ah, yes... you finally remember. Before returning home, a small woodcutter's cottage to the southeast, for your vacation, you had two errands to run, errands important to complete if your plan is to work. First, to the Great Library, to the west. And second, your friend Michael had asked you to meet him at the River Inn sometime before tomorrow evening.’ žThe Gaylin highway is paved in stone. Tents of every shape and color squat outside the great Southern Gate of Gaylin Dale. Merchants in equally colorful clothing call out to pedestrians from behind long display tables. Hundreds of shouting, sweaty, smelly people mill about, trying to sniff out good deals on everything from kitchenware to quick panaceas for just about every disease you could imagine. It is deep summer, and a murky haze from the violent sun above mixes with the dust and dirt below to make a sweltering amalgamation of uncomfortable conditions. In your blue university robes, you are sweating as profusely as a decapitated man bleeds, only adding to your general discomfort. To the south, you see Marlin Tower to the west and Skykiss to the east. At least, you think to yourself, the crowds should disperse somewhat once you leave the immediate vicinity of Gaylin Dale.’)ž€As Jared Morgan promised, buried under the ruins of the old Windmill you find a large room filled with several useful artifacts.ų$ c(l[’UIVREnd Chapter Seven.WCW=\F[<Z=[5Už/ Leblanc is already dead when you find him, laying in a pool of his own blood. He looks old, gaunt, weak, not the strong-bodied man you had met before. The hilt of a knife juts out of his chest, sticky with blood. He clearly took his own life when he realized the castle was being stormed. It's a shame, really. You would have liked to question him. "I guess he wasn't immortal yet," you quip, kicking in a little bit of frustration at the corpse. "No," Morgan, who accompanied you in storming the castle, replies. "The process takes several decades to complete. He was still very much alive. Perhaps that is why he shut himself away in this keep, to ensure that nothing happened to his body while he was waiting." You shrug, uninterested. You feel strangely empty, almost betrayed. This man was someone in whom you grew up trusting. He was the role-model for just about every child in Eth. "Do what Leblanc did, take him as an example, and you will one day be a great man," they were told. What a laugh... to think that the historians of the Gaylin capital would fight to protect this man's reputation from being sullied to the point of bringing criminal charges against those who besmirched his honor. Well, you will change that... "Come," Morgan says, grabbing you by the arm. "He was an evil man, and his story began and ended like every other evil mans: first bathed in his mother's blood, then bathed in someone else's, and then in his own. It is a sad cycle, one that always repeats itself. There is nothing you can do. It is over. But we must get you back to the Order before any more damage is done to this world." "Yes," you reply dryly, your eyes fixed on nothing in particular. "You are right, we must go. But first..." Without finishing your sentence, you walk gingerly over the crumpled corpse, dressed still in the King's blue livery, to the dais at the far end of the royal antechamber. Sitting on a pedestal is an intensely glowing red orb. You stare deep into it, mesmerized by the swirling clouds of color. The Orb suffocates you, not drawing breath but drawing magic. It makes you week. You pick it up carefully and drop it in a bag to be taken to Eron back at the Mountain Fortress. Finally, your tasks are finished. The portal can be constructed, and you can go home. Without another look, you begin to leave the room, but are stopped by a question from one of your soldiers. "Shouldn't we bury him? He was our King, after all." You turn to the man, who flinches at your angry glare. "No, he wasn't," you hiss. "He stopped being our King the day he killed thousands of his own countrymen. He wanted to walk the Earth forever... so let it be. And let it be known that the man who buries Eric the Dark gets to spend eternity with him, in the same grave." Without another word, you leave the castle.’%(­&(ę),«.,­Œ‡uvwLW ?R  @‡žgYou step out of the portal and are immediately assailed by a blast of cold wind. Large drifts of wet snow make travel in any direction nearly impossible. Suddenly, pulling your rather thin white robes closer around your body, you wish you had remembered to bring a cloak. Where is this place? Did Eron and his Wizards make an error in their spell? The thought of beating back the Undead hordes of Sagimyris just to fail because of a time travel miscalculation nearly makes you dizzy. You consider going back through the portal, but finally decide that while you are here, you might as well take a look around.’Šž“As a group of red-flowered trees come into sight to the south, you finally realize where you are: Barron's Ford! Row upon row of cherry and apple trees are an almost shocking sight after spending months in the war-torn future. You had grown so used to seeing Gaylin Dale as a grim abode of the Undead that you had nearly forgotten how beautiful it once was. As if lost in a dream, you continue south.’Žž6The King's Road is muddy and well-worn. It will be some years yet before King Lucas II decrees that all major kingdom thoroughfares should be cobbled. It seems as if a large army has moved through here recently, however, by the sheer number of footprints. By your own reckoning, it must be the work of Sagimyris' army, moving up through Barron's Ford and Sagoria in secret. Likely, the Undead Lord is preparing his forces for the staged ambush at the river. You continue along the road towards the bridge, half expecting to be ambushed yourself at any moment. ’ˆ‰žōYour men cautiously ford the river, while you warily scan the edges of the northern forest for any signs of an attack. Is that movement you see, or is it just your imagination playing tricks on you? Likely, you could end it all and ensure a happy Gaylin future by hunting down Sagimyris now and preventing the battle of Barron's Ford from occurring in the first place. But who knows what consequences that might bring about? No, the only way for you to set things right is to find and prevent your younger self from interfering with the King's decision to bring his own personal army and Jared Morgan to the battle. Only then can you be sure that history will play out the way in which it is supposed to. The rest of your army, mostly hidden by your own magic spells, crosses the river without incident. Either Sagimyris cannot penetrate your disguise spell, he does not wish to attack, or he is not situated yet. Whatever the reason, you offer a secret prayer of thanks to the gods and continue north. ’…‡žfAs you follow the road north, you take note of the fact that Sir Albon's army is not yet in place. The Wizards must have sent you back at least several days before your own initial arrival. Perhaps it would be possible to wait underground for your younger self to emerge from the portal and therefore easily prevent any deleterious events from happening. ’ƒė«&2b²˜This group of dwarves wear the blue colors of Gaylin. They must be in the employ of the King. Probably not a good idea to interfere with their work...’’}}žfTo the east, you see the break in the trees that leads to your house and the King's Mines. It is there that you want to travel, in order to locate your younger self before he can cause the damage that he is going to cause. Continuing north to the castle of Gaylin Dale would be counterproductive, and would only chance further damage to the history of Eth.’€tžPThe River Inn sits again perched above the river as you remember it. It seems strange to see everything whole once more. Still in its awkward position, ready to fall into the icy waters below at any minute, the warm sounds of laughter and casual conversation issue from the cracked door. Soft orange light shines through the windows and a thin trail of gray smoke can be seen rising from the chimney, bringing with it the mouth watering smells of pork and honey. You stop yourself from going in, however. A job must be done. The River Inn will be waiting for you when you get back home.’uužrBefore you lies the great castle of Gaylin Dale, sitting stoically and watchful atop a great pile of snow-covered rock, like a dragon surveying the land outside of her cave. The historians say that Gaylin Dale has never been sacked in battle. Well, historians always say that about beloved castles, but whether or not the story is true, seeing the tall stone towers and crenelated walls now you know that the mere sight of the fortress would at the least give any attacking army a moment's pause. Ahead, the great portcullis known as the Talon Gate lies open, like a giant iron-toothed mouth. Pikemen and halberiers stand at attention, paying no attention to the thin crowd passing both ways under the massive gates. It is cold and windy, and most pedestrians, it seem, chose to stay inside today. Still, despite the apparent sang froid of the castle, you perceive a noticeable tention, a darting of guardsmen's eyes, a clenching of hands, nervous tics. It is war time, and even in a seemingly impregnable stronghold such as this, the people must wonder constantly: "Will my life still be the same tomorrow, or will I be a corpse?"’u žrBefore you lies the great castle of Gaylin Dale, sitting stoically and watchful atop a great pile of snow-covered rock, like a dragon surveying the land outside of her cave. The historians say that Gaylin Dale has never been sacked in battle. Well, historians always say that about beloved castles, but whether or not the story is true, seeing the tall stone towers and crenelated walls now you know that the mere sight of the fortress would at the least give any attacking army a moment's pause. Ahead, the great portcullis known as the Talon Gate lies open, like a giant iron-toothed mouth. Pikemen and halberiers stand at attention, paying no attention to the thin crowd passing both ways under the massive gates. It is cold and windy, and most pedestrians, it seem, chose to stay inside today. Still, despite the apparent sang froid of the castle, you perceive a noticeable tension, a darting of guardsmen's eyes, a clenching of hands, nervous tics. It is war time, and even in a seemingly impregnable stronghold such as this, the people must wonder constantly: "Will my life still be the same tomorrow, or will I be a corpse?"’uqžßOne of your men, a captain named Frad Smythe, approaches and says politely, "M'Lord Payne. What are we doing here? What do you hope to accomplish? We need to repair the wrongs that have been done. We don't have time for sight-seeing. Please, my Lord. Let us leave and finish the tasks at hand?" You suddenly realize that the man is right. You are wasting you time here. With a last look at the icy castle walls, you turn around and lead your invisible army to the south.’žYou wake up with a flash of light. Pain shoots through your temples. You look down and find the gaping wound in your thorax has been repaired. All that remains is a faint tingling. What happened? A low moan beside you causes you to look over. Michael, foppy hat dented in and discarded to his side, lays face down in the grass. He rubs his head and tries to sit up. "Man, what the hell was that all about?" he groans. "You drag me underground on some supposed adventure, stab yourself, and then BAM a flash of light and we end up out in the middle of a stinking meadow. What kind of joke is this?" You shrug. It wasn't supposed to be a joke... Elyn Mar promised that the spell would work. And it seemed like it had. The portal came up like it was supposed to, and you swear, for a moment, you had seen the past version of the King's Mines. But everything else is a blur. You remember seeing a man, dressed in white. He looked just like you... in fact, you swear he almost WAS you, but he was much sterner, must stronger looking. Older, wiser... not a boy, but a man. He said something... something about how he was protecting the future from something you had done. That was silly, wasn't it? You hadn't done anything. You hadn't even had a chance to draw a breath.. And then he had shoved a book in your hands and all the rest is blackness... then you ended up here. What a let down. Suddenly, you feel something digging into your back. You sit up and reach behind you and pull out what appears to be two ancient tomes. There is no title on the fronts of either of them. "What are those," Michael asks, drawing closer, his greedy finger reaching out. "Can I see?" "No," you scold. "Hold on, will ya?" You open the first book, the larger of the two. Written on the first page are the words, "An account of the Great Dark Time. By Jared Morgan." "Interesting...." you mutter. You put the first book down and open up the second. After a few blank pages, you begin to see some writing: "June 2nd. I leave today for my greatest adventure. With the help of Elyn Mar, I have finally secured the secrets to traveling back in time. My friend Michael has procured the necessary mercury, and as soon as classes are over, I shall meet him at the River Inn. It is my hope to go back in time and show, once and for all, that Eric Leblanc was not the hero of Barron's Ford, but rather was some unknown soldier named Jared Morgan. Only with this type of proof will the professors at the university believe me..." You flip through the book and see literally thousands of entries, all of them undated, in the same hurried handwriting. One reads: "Today on our ship-voyage, we met a man named Joshua Redbrow, of the SeaCrooks. He says that we may not enter the northern reefs untill..." Again you flip, mesmerized by the story that is being told. Suddenly, you put the book down and reach into your own backpack. You pull out a book of your own. It has the same faded design on the cover. You open up the tome and flip through the first couple of blank bages, which are new and crisp. You had just bought the book a few days ago. On the fourth page you find the familiar text: "June 2nd. I leave today for my greatest adventure. With the help of Elyn Mar, I have finally secured the secrets to traveling back in time. My friend Michael has procured the necessary mercury, and as soon as classes are over, I shall meet him at the River Inn." This old book was yours! But who filled it in? Michael leans over your shoulder, trying desperately to see. Suddenly, the truth hits you, and you realize what has happened. "Oh my god..." you utter. "What?" Michael asks, confused. "Follow me!" you say, getting up hurriedly. "I'm not going underground again," Michael complains. "You almost killed me last time." "We're not going underground. We're going to go see the professor," you reply, heading west through the fields of Gaylin Dale.’ é­&2bKu‡w{ xxlwƒzC{)W“<\“MuBNu+Pv8OvõRwDWxyVx§Ux8]}B`€8aMW4ZzW<Z2[XXžó"Celestial Navigator! You have done your job admirably," a voice echoes, "He Who Sits on the other side of the Great Glass Barrier has followed your tale well. Rest now, for though our hero's journey has just begun, yours is over. For now...."’4 24{4 {4 øłv81’’ž3 NSvoYyõ[}|-Œ|q} q¶HĶņ Tq`Č$xRpų’bK~B=8)f]&d]#fŸI^{2^’HELP!! We, the crew of the Flying Dutchess, are stranded on a bunch of rocks northwest of Emeritus Island. You can see our ship wrecked there...ŒIGM×Ļ NOVICTORY‰ b¤^~õ_šb‚8a‚š`§f‚og O2`§ yW’[|õ]|PPMt+KthLsņŠ$x“{W„å Gaylin Dale?Ą @¤e"’]!’G©Q†\H€0sž€A sudden loud noise nearly throws you from your horse. It is a loud humming, so deep and resonating that it causes you to put your hands to your ears. Your horse, bucks and whines, clearly disturbed by the sound. You look around, trying to find some source for it, but can see nothing that would emanate such a unnatural noise. It reminds you of... magic, like the sound that might accompany a powerful and permanent spell. Whatever the cause of it is, you quickly urge your horse away from this spot, as the sound is accompanied by a course vibration that seems to emanate from the earth itself, and it almost makes you want to vomit.’0tÕIßGąJ­KĖIŖH¬EBč{§”æüØ You enter a small wooden shack. The smell of disease makes you gag, and you have to squint in the darkness. At the far side of the one-room structure is a bed and the bed is occupied by a sleeping girl, no more than 15 years of age. An old man is sitting next to the bed, his head in his hands, and he is weaping. You approach loudly, so as not to surpise the man. He turns in surprise nonetheless, and seems angry that people have invaded his home, meager as it is. "What do ya want?" he yells angrily. You hold up a hand in a gesture of peace. "Please," you reply, "I only want to help." "There's nothin' you can do," the man says, his shoulders lumping. He has no will to fight, anyway. "She's already dead." "Who is?" you ask. "My daughter," he replies. "She's got the White Fever. Her mother did too and she's already dead. It's only a matter of time, couple months. Please, leave us." "Surely, someone must be able to help her," you reply. "Yeah, those Monks of Morhan are supposed to be great healers. And they were here, too. Said that they'd be back in a week or two with the cure. But did they return? Nope! Then them undead folk been coming around here and the whole place has gone to hell. The only reason I ain't dead is 'cause them lizard things are afraid to come into my house. They says its cursed. Well, they is right." "The Monks never came back?" The old man shakes his head. "They lied. They don't have a cure." "Well," you say finally, "I'm no healer, but I had a friend who had the White Fever when I was a boy, and the Monks cured him right up. They are very good. I tell you what," you say finally, "I'm going up that way. I have an appointment at Gaylin Dale and, although it may take me a while to get there, I will pay the Morhan Monastery a visit and see if I can't find Melgalis. Ok?" The man's eyes brighten up. "Oh, you would do that for me? I can't give you much," he says, "But I'm sure I could think of something. Please, hurry though. She won't last but another few months at the most. I think their leader's name is Melgalis. He is the one who makes the cures. My name is Jim, by the way, Jim Jameson. I would be so greatful if you could save my daughter. She's all I got left!" The man gives you a big hug. "I will try my best, Jim. Just sit tight, and I'll be back with the monks who can cure her." You hate to make promises you can't keep, but who knows, maybe the Monks of Morhan have found some way to remain unaffected by the Undead Hordes. It can't hurt to look. You are on your way out when Jim stops you. "You said your friend was alright, right?" he asks eagerly. You nod your head and smile. "Yeah," you reply, "it was me."ĆJim seems distressed to see that you've returned without the cure. "Why are you back?? Where's the cure? My daughter is dying and you're playing games! Please, don't return without the cure."bJim nearly faints when Vela and his retinue of clerics and healers enter his house. Within an hour, Jim's daughter is running around again as if she was never afflicted with the horrible disease. Jim falls to his knees and thanks the green-cloaked monk repeatedly, kissing his hands and his feet. Vela blushes but accepts the praise with humility. Then Jim turns to you. "Thank you so much, my friend," he says and then hugs you. "I don't have much money but I wanted to give you something as thanks for what you've done. I'm afraid all I have of value is this old shield. It's been in the family for centuries, although none of my relatives that I know of could fight worth a lick. Please accept it as a token of my thanks." You graciously accept the shield and try it on. Surprisingly, it is perfectly balances, and a slight buzzing tells you that it is more than just an ordinary piece of metal. You and Vela exit the house and are please to see Jim's daughter playing with butterflies and flowers like a healthy daughter should. "Come," you say to Vela. "We have work to do and a very bad man to kill."F¹’GŃFõG¦Ȕ(9’’’’„This seems to be another Tower owned by Joe. Remember you need to defeat those ugly trolls before he will let you visit his Towers.©Without defeating those trolls, Joe won't grant you access to his towers. You had better hurry! Who knows what you'll be able to see from atop one of these structures?ŠWith a bag full of ears as proof of your deed, Joe agrees to let you use his Lookout Towers. He seems to be very glad that those trolls will no longer be performing tasks for Sagimyris and his Undead vermin.)žĄOnly barely resembling its former self, the Morhan Monastery now serves as the abode of a family of vampires. What used to be the tallest church steeple in the known world now is nothing more than a pile of rocks and an open cylinder, housing bats and other vermin instead of the holy divinity. What happened to the monks who lived here and Melgalis, their leader? How can you ever help Jim and his little girl? Perhaps you can find some clues.’'žIn a side house, you find a small journal of a monk named Bascar. Most of the contents are either too water stained to read or simply are of no importance. Especially towards the end of the journal, whole pages are missing and often weeks go by without an entry. From what you can gather, the monks fled after Sagimyris began enslaving everyone. Melgalis seems to have been ostracized by the Order, but no reason is given. The journal is too incomplete to make any real deductions about the fate of Morhan. Still, the journal is not a completely worthless find. The second to last entry shows a hastily drawn picture of a portal and also contains a scrap of paper detailing a magical incantation for making magical portals. Boscar wrote: "Having some trouble... Celestial Order book tells how, but does not offer detailed instructions. Initial portals work, but some weird effects. Odd sounds, lightning effects... first few trials ended up killing a few people. Can't seem to get the reagents right! I can't believe they expect me to figure this out. If only those damn wizards would give up their secrets... wouldn't have had to steal their stupid book and learn it myself... will keep working on it... time growing short.. Sagimyris demands allegience. We'll have to have the final version ready tomorrow... hopefully it will work." The sentences are broken and difficult to read, but it seems the Boscar was trying to build a magical portal and was having some difficulty. If you find this portal, maybe you can find where they went! ’I3Hž½Again, a loud humming causes your whole spine to rattle and you are overcome with the worst feelings of nausea. But this time the source is easily identified - a huge, mishapen, ugly portal that could only have been created by someone who really didn't know what they were doing. The noise makes you want to never eat again. You have some doubt as to whether you should even risk going through it. Could this be the portal that Boscar built?’,pčO qy†’’’’,An old woman naming herself Margaret claims that her grandfather was the direct descendant of a famous knight, Sir Mathar Meer, and that she still has in her possession his legendary greatsword, named Stinger. She is willing to part with the artifact in exchange for proof of your worthiness. You must find and capture several different types of creatures and bring them back: the Lords of the Bull-Men, a Purple Dragon, 4 elementals of the Earth, 7 mummies, and several creatures constructed of Magic. Return with these specimens, and Stinger is yours.No luck in finding the 10 Minotaur Kings, 5 Psychic Elementals and 1 Faerie Dragon? Well, it looks like Stinger will have to stay unused....ŲYou return to Margaret's house with 10 minotaurs, a purple dragon, and 5 psychic elementals in tow. She inspects them carefully and then nods her approval. "You have done marvelously!" she exclaims. She runs back into her hut and returns within minutes carrying a large sword draped in velvet cloth. She hands the weapon to you and tells you to use it for the cause of righteousness. You give the woman your word and then depart, Stinger clasped tightly in your hand. dxõfrõ]bõb]õO\õL_õMsõE=Y‚ƒ„…†‡‡ˆ‰ Š ‚‹ {NOŒ‰‹Ž‹‚\‰‹\‚‡‚Š„Š†‰ƒ€…~„‘~‘}ƒ~’’“”‚”ˆ‰„• Šƒ Š„ ŽŠˆŠ…ˆƒ‡…‡ –|ˆ… {† ‚… Š…N…‹O‚¼‚ŒžQYou finally reach the place that you have been looking for, a small alcove between two natural stone pillars. You chose this place because the magic demands an area of strong earth power and this seemed like as good a place as any. You couldn't find any definition in a book of a place of strong earth power, so you figured a cave was your best bet. A small altar consisting of a large flat rock lies in front of you; two half-used candles and a large, moth-eaten book opened to a page somewhere in the middle of its contents lie on top of it. Behind the altar, the result of many days of painstaking work stands as testament to your diligence: what looks like an arched doorway without the door, formed by twenty one precicely shaped rocks, each rock marked with a precicely carved rune. The keystone, made of jade, reflects the light of your torch, casting the entire room in an eerie green light. The place looks... freaky. Michael comes up behind you and drops the sack full of mercury. "My god!" he says in astonishment. "What IS this place?" "This, my friend," you reply, lighting the large candles on the altar. "Is my thesis project." Your friend turns to you and says, his eyes bent in confusion, "But I thought you were a history major." "I am," you smirk, "And what better way to study history than to BE there!?" A confused look by Michael reveals that he doens't understand. "It's simple," you explain, "I want to study Eric Leblanc. That's my topic. But the best sources of information to support my thesis are second-hand accounts, which aren't sufficient according to my professor, especially because my topic is somewhat unorthodox. So," you conclude, beaming at your own brilliance, "I'm going to go back and see for myself." "You're going to go see WHAT for yourself?" Michael asks, incredulous. "I'm going to go meet Eric Leblanc. I'm going back in time," you reply casually, as if explaining the rules of a board game. "But how??" "It wasn't easy," you explain. "My unusual inquiries at the library attracted the attention of a member of the Celestial Order of Magic, MS Elyn Mar. She was interested --" "A Mage Senior? You know a Mage Senior??" Michael interrupts. A Mage Senior was the highest rank an intiate could attain in the Order before advancing to the status of Wizard. It was a respectable position. "Yes, and as I was saying, she took an interest in my studies. She is young and wishes to raise herself even higher in the Order, and agreed to help me if I would give her credit in my thesis. She gave me instructions of how to build a time gate, a secret which is guarded well by the elite of the Order, which requires a lot of mercury and the setup you see here. So now you see why I needed the mercury, and where I'm going." "And where are we going," Michael asks, still amazed. "Or shall I say, 'when'?" "To the year 1321. I want to witness the Battle of Barron's Ford." Michael nods in disbelief. You open the bag of mercury and begin to pour it over the stone gateway. Turning to the book, you follow the instructions told within. In several minutes, you have the ritual completed except for one final step. You reach for a curved knife laying under the book, take it, and bury into your chest to the hilt. The pain is almost unbelievable, and within seconds, you can feel your life draining away. You feel sluggish and the pain subsides. You are dying. "What are you doing?" Michael screams. "Must be... on the brink... death... otherwise...life force... interferes...with magic," you stammer, blood dribbling from your mouth. "Need you... push me through the portal...." "But how do I come with you?" Michael asks, quivering with anxiety. "You don't," you reply, wheezing. Michael pauses for several seconds, but realizing he has little choice, he bows his head and begins to drag you toward the now shimmering gateway of stones.œ’’’’ž£The abandoned mines are just as you remembered them: dank and filled with running water. Little streams, after years of steady flow cutting into the rocks, run alongside the floor of the cavern, and more water drips from stalactites in the ceiling. It is cold down here, not a wintry cold but a cold like death that makes you shiver even though as far as temperatures go, you've experienced much worse. Your little torch dispels darkness only immediately in front of you and sputters with every gust of air. Silently, you pray to whatever gods are out there that your flame doesn't go out. The thought of being stuck down here in the darkness is almost too much to bear.’„žDarkness suddenly implodes and light is born. You gasp. Air rushes into you and tastes sweet. Your lungs tingle as they fill with life-giving gasses. And then you remember the gaping wound in your chest. As if nerves were only dependent on your memory, pain suddenly shoots through you. You realize that your legs have gone numb and you are laying on the floor, blood pouring out of you and onto the cold stone. Your lungs suddenly contract, making breathing difficult. You feel dizzy and your vision blurs. Quickly, so as not to lose precious time, you fumble at your belt, searching for one of the life-giving potions that you brought with you. Finally, you locate it, a small sealed flask on your left side. You pull the stopper. Your hands are shaking now, and you struggle while trying to bring the potion to your lips, which are frothed with blood. The potion tastes like liquid fire, and you gasp and gag in pain as it goes down. You feel like screaming, like rampant flames are eating your entire body. Maybe death was a better choice than this! But, no, it is receding now. You feel a slight tightening of your chest. You look down and are shocked to see the bloody hole mending itself. Within minutes, your chest, still bloody, is covered in skin again. You feel it just to be sure. The skin is raw and stings a bit, but otherwise, seems real. Shaking your head, you stand up. "Wow!" is all you can sputter while checking your body to make sure everything is whole again. Suddenly, the portal behind you, having since gone dark, flares to life again. Swirls of brown color nearly blind you, and then, with a choking scream, another body issues forth, slamming into you. The two of you fall to the ground. "What the...?" you say, turning the body over, only to find the bloody face of Michael staring at you. He is coughing and choking. Looking down, you see your dagger biting into his stomach like a hungry snake. He tries to smile, but only gasps in pain. "Damn you!" you growl. "What have you done?" "I... wanted to... you need help... adventure..." he stammers. You roll your eyes and grab the second - and last - potion from your belt. It was supposed to be for your return trip. In your anger, you get a brief moment of temptation to just let the poor idiot die. With a sigh of resignation and a last look at your safe return home, you uncork the flask and force Michael to drain its contents, which he does quickly. He gasps and grabs his throat, which you are surprised to see turn bright red for a moment, and then his spasms subside. For a moment he is quiet, but then he sits up. "Whoa... what a rush!" he smiles. You, however, are in no mood for jokes. "What do you think you are doing?" you demand. "Now we have no way to cure ourselves when we get home. I can't get any more of those easily, my friend." Suddenly, a horrible thought runs through your head. You quickly scan Michael's body and are dismayed to find that he carries nothing but his bow and the knife. "Where's the rest of the mercury?" you ask, grabbing him. He just shrugs. "I'm sorry, man. I was dying over there. I can't think of everything!" You push him away. "Now what are we going to do. We're stuck here," you say angrily, gesturing at the darkened stone archway. "Relax, beetle-brains. This is an adventure. I'll just have to do a little adventuring while you're out booking around," he replies, standing up. "Well?" he asks, seeing you not moving. "Let's go find this king of yours. And hurry up, it's kind of cold in here."œ’’’Hō’’’õ‚A small group of goblins jumps out as you reach for the cart of gold. "Get away, little boy. This our gold. Go back before I eatssss you," their leader hisses. You can feel Michael just itching to plunge into battle against these creatures, but you hold him off. Valiant as he may be, his bow will only kill one of them before they surround you and follow through on their promise.’’’’’’TK’’’’’’}ėż·%Ā˜This group of dwarves wear the blue colors of Gaylin. They must be in the employ of the King. Probably not a good idea to interfere with their work...’’†ė(·%ž˜This group of dwarves wear the blue colors of Gaylin. They must be in the employ of the King. Probably not a good idea to interfere with their work...’’P ģNŚnŅVertigo@‰ B’¤L P ƒPcLćRzLbRPbNOnNNŠKvJ€MjO€N˜O~NˆM{KšS›LlO‰M‰P–RvQ€QgLyP‚MnQ˜L{O˜M{MˆOxMO‘M ‘O † 9‡ :‡ ;‡ <— <‡ ;‡ :‡<—<‡;‡8# 8"9‡:‡;‡<‡<—;‡:‡<—:˜܄’XOrgalĄ]X’UOrgal studied air magic in the Celestial Order for years before being arrested and sentenced to death by Sagimyris for dabbling in the magic of teleportation. The Celestial Order protested this judgment but to little avail: Sagimyris long ago outlawed the study of travel magic, necromancy, and offensive magic. Orgal now awaits execution. :˜܄’” ’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’4’ž :˜܄’(Arestra(# ’’’’’’#’’’’’’’RArestra studied air magic in the Celestial Order for years before being arrested and sentenced to death by Sagimyris for dabbling in the magic of flight. The Celestial Order protested this judgment but to little avail: Sagimyris long ago outlawed the study of travel magic, necromancy, and offensive magic. Arestra now awaits execution. <¦i’’’’*Sarius bends down and unlocks the manacles around your legs. They have to be forced open because of the rust that has accumulated around the hinge. He tosses them aside with a loud whack. You look around, half afraid that the real guards will hear the commotion and come running at any moment, but your attentive ears are only provided with the occasional cough or shuffle from neighboring cells. You look down at your dirty feet and are surprised to see that your ankles are raw and bloody and scarred from the metal fetters. How long have you been down here, anyway? "Now, Sander, before I open the gate, there is one thing you must allow me to do," Sarius says while standing back up. He stares at you thoughtfully. "Yes?" you reply tentatively, images of bloodletting and other weird rituals rushing through your head. "You must return the Pendant of the Order. It is not yours, and the Order will not tolerate imposters of its members." "It is mine," you stammer back. "I am Mage Sander, Initiate of --" "You are not a Mage," Sarius shoots back, "any more than I am a dragon. Simply wearing the Pendant may fool the mundane, but any member of the Order can sense the magic spark in another member, and you, my child, have no magic spark. At least not yet.... so, I ask again, will you give the Pendant?"žYou consider arguing some more, but realize that the situation is fruitless. Clearly you have been found out, and the choice between the Pendant and freedom is not a difficult one to make. You bow your head in acquiescence. Sarius says a few words in a strange tongue and waves his hands above the clasp at the back of your neck. You feel a sudden surge of heat, a painful flash of light, and then the Pendant collapses from around your neck. Sarius holds it in the light and inspects it. Satisfied, he turns to you, "Only a Mage trained by the Order can remove one of these, which explains why Sagimyris let you keep it." Sarius pockets the Pendant and unlocks the door to your cell. "Now, come," he says in a hurried whisper, we must make our way out of this prison and back to Ma'Goon, the home of the Order. There your questions will be answered. I cannot come with you, as my presence would be missed. Along the wall to the south, you will find a small fissure in the rock. Follow the passage to the south until you find one of the Order's transportation portals. That will take you directly to Ma'Goon. Once you are there, tell them who you are and that you wish to see Thyon. I wish you luck, Sander. The hope of the world, I'm afraid, rests upon your shoulders." Without another word, Sarius disappears into the shadows. You don't contemplate his words for long before exiting the cell and making your way south.;™:‰<ˆ <‰ 9™=”?” ?”?” =”=”:”:”8”8”4N’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’5Y 5Y 9š9š 8‚8‚ 6›6›5— 5—6œ 8 7ž7Ÿ; ?  ?” ?=‰=K B¼BOG¼D¢HjGkJ”K»KNM{H£L£M¤L„NhOį@Ž ?¦?§=Š>>ˆ?š>ƒA—>Ø?‚?©>i>¢?„LK‚JI‚M™KˆK‰N žś The light intrudes upon your peaceful sleep. What is this place? You wonder. A small citadel, tucked into a snowy hollow, stands in stark contrast to the vast emptiness around you. You just exited from this building... again. You know not why. It is just and empty building carved from the very rock on which it sits. You come here often. Every night, it seems. But what is night anymore? Night and day, they are all the same to you... black nothingness. The details of how you got here elude you. The battle.... that was so long ago now it seems. Was it days? Weeks? Longer? You tried to run. You tried so hard, running and running until it felt like swords jabbing into your side. Looking back, you were dismayed to see they were keeping up with your pace. And they were but lifeless corpses. They weren't going to tire. When you finally collapsed in exhaustion and pain, each breath feeling like you were taking in fire rather than air, they pounced on you immediately like wolves finally tracking down a wounded deer. Despite your terrible position, it was hard to feel angry or sad. In fact, you were relieved. At least, you had thought, the nightmare would end. They would kill you and it would be over. The world was ruined anyway and it was all your fault. The world would thank this necromancer for ending your worthless life. But alas, they didn't kill you. No, they simply surrounded you, poking you with their rusty swords. Though most had no flesh on their faces, you could swear that they were smiling, laughing. Finally, after several minutes of abuse, the necromancer you had seen earlier approached on his horse. Without even a gesture or a spoken word from him, the undead rabble that had you cornered backed off, enabling him to dismount and approach you. You had looked around desperately for anything you could use as a weapon, but all you could manage was a fistful of snow. Sagimyris (or at least that's who you assume it was) was in no mood to be pleasant. He picked you up with one boney hand and brought your face within two inches of his own. You realized with astonishment that he was human. Where before you could have sworn was only blackness and glowing eyes was a human face: bleak and pale as a rainy day, with an ugly nose and jagged teeth and sinful eyes that would make a little child have nightmares for years. "Ah...." he breathed, blowing the smell of death and sulphur into your nose. "You are the one. The one I have felt. My name is Sagimyris," he sneered, "But I presume you know that already. I'm not sure what you've done, how you did it, or why, but you, my little mageling, are mine!" The necromancer's words did not make sense to you, but you had little time to ask for clarification, for without taking another look at you, he tossed you roughly on the ground, and issued a verbal order to nobody in particular to "immobilize you". Which meant, unfortunately, the flat of a blade to the face. When you gained consciousness, you were in a dark, dreary place. That was so long ago, but without the sun to gauge the days, you have no idea how long. And every time you fall asleep, you visit this place, though you have no idea why. A voice calls for you, from the south. Always you follow it, to the same end every time....’Nž‡The voice echoes again, beckoning you forward. You can't pinpoint its origin, and you've never met the speaker. You have before wandered off this road and met with little success. One time, you recall, you had walked east for what must have been hours, only to arrive again at this very road, as if you were standing on some miniature spherical world. The only place you can go is South.’Nž‰Again the voice calls, but never does it mention your name. "The man," it calls, sounding like wind. "You must bring me that which I need. You must!" The voice is urgent. "Only I can make things right!" "WHO ARE YOU?" You scream loudly. Your voice does not echo. "What do I need to bring you?" You ask for the hundredth time. "And where do I bring it??" Again no answer. The voice only repeats itself. "Only I can make things right!" You sigh, pulling your clothes around you to keep out the cold. To the south, you see the gate. You walk through it every time, but it never takes you anywhere. Always, the same thing happens.....’:ž³You wake up with a jolt, and the real world hits you like a rock. The place is the same as you remember, except your water bowl has been changed while you were asleep. "Always when I enter the gate," you mutter, clutching your aching head. "The voice always tells me, 'it isn't ready yet!', and then I wake up." As a reflex, you survey your living quarters again, if they can be called that. A single room, about six meters to the side, the walls formed by thick iron bars. The floor is wet and smells of urine and human excrement, most of it yours, although, because the whole place slopes towards your own cell, the wastes of inmates further down seem to flow to and collect in the corner right where you sleep. You can hear the scurrying of rats and the sickening coughs of dying people in the distance. At first, you had tried to keep track of how long you have been here. You did this by putting a scratch into the wall every time a meal was brought. But the wall filled up, and you were forced to abandon the plan. Meals are brought to you at almost painfully long intervals, by the same grimy fat human guard, although the food itself is nothing to look forward to. The guard himself eats most of the good things, leaving you with bark, bugs and, if you are lucky, the occasionally rotting piece of meat or fruit. You choke it down because your stomach asks for it, but you have considered on more than one occasion tasting the damp straw mattress on which you sleep to see if it has any more flavor. With a painful groan, you sit up. Again, you take note of how awful you smell. It makes you want to gag, and, despite the fact that you don't get many opportunities to socialize, you clutch your arms reflexively against your body. You can't do this for long, however, for your hair and new beard are both crawling with bugs (just like your bed, and your food for that matter), and they itch dreadfully. You are in the middle of your usual morning routine, which consists of stretches and rock lifting to keep your muscles from atrophying, when a sudden sound captures your attention. Is that a human voice? It is coming from the bolted gate of your cell. You drop the rocks and move to investigate.’ ;žB "Psst, over here!" a voice whispers, drawing you closer to the iron gate that prevents you from leaving the cell. Between two bars, you can just make out a small face, mostly obscured by the darkness of the prison. A finger beckons forward. Although you aren't really inclined to trust anyone, you don't see what harm the man can possibly bring to you, so you indulge him and approach. When you are close enough to see him (and for him to see you), you stop. He appears to look you over, and his eyes eventually come to rest on the pendant around your chest - the only object that wasn't stripped from you when you were captured. The man's eyes widen in apparent disbelief and then his smiles. With another whisper, filled with glee of all things, "It is true! Finally, you have been found!" Your eyes scrunch in confusion. What was this man talking about? You move a little closer to do a little examining of your own, and are surprised to see that the man is dressed in the garb of a jailor, complete with a set of keys rattling at his waste. You get the sudden impulse to make a dive for them, but dismiss it quickly. The man did not appear to be a threat, and you might be able to get some information from him. "What do you mean?" you ask finally. "Who are you?" "My name is Mage Sarius," the man replies enthusiastically. "I am a member of the Celestial Order of Magic, investigating a tip that we received that told that the Corruptor was here. And so you are! This is a great day indeed. Thyon will be most happy." You stare back in shock. A Mage? Of the Order? You are somewhat unconvinced by the man's rather un-magelike garb. As if sensing your doubt, Sarius - if that is truly his name - pulls aside his dirty leather overcoat to reveal a hand-shaped pendant hanging from his neck by a leather cord. "It is, of course, necessary for me to dress in this clothing when I am impersonating a member of the guard," he smiles. "But why would you impersonate a member of the guard?" you ask. And then, suddenly, a better question pops into your mind, and you ask it as an afterthought. "And whose guard are you impersonating, anyway?" "All of your questions will be answered in time, Sander," he replies, evoking a surprised look from you when you discover that he knows your name. "The Order always has agents hiding out in enemy territory. I was assigned some time ago to Sagimyris, if only because of my magical talent, and when I heard from an informer that you were down here... well it was my duty to see if the rumor was true, and if it was, to extricate you from this place. Which is what I'm going to do. Come here, and I will remove those chains from your feet." You see no reason to mistrust him. It is either accept and risk being killed, or continue to rot in this cell forever. You do as he asks, and move towards the gate. ’Kę Š­ ‹Ę ‰Ŗ ‰  ŠĒ ˆ¬ Ž¬Ś ‹\‹@ŠØ‰ŲŠŚŒŲ‹«¼HĶņ ‡A group of enormous brown beasts lounge about the volcanic cavern. They seem particularly interested in eating humans, as evidenced by the large piles of bones and rotting hunks of meat that are spread around them. Behind, in the distance, you can make out the Star Portal that Thyon spoke of, so these must be the beasts you were asked to eliminate. You sigh and urge your men forward. ˆ(ŲŒ¬ ŽŲ Ŗ ‹hŠęj)k*h+Šl,“k+‚c(¬c(g`,Šb*‰b)­a(Š`)Š_*£`*la-ke/h/®f/j.j.Šk-ŽH=\J=ÆH;¬G<°F=°K>¬D>°AC]EFŸGH]MHŸNF£ME’LDVNC”GEīN@¤B;£??Ÿ??¢BA„PJ]QI¤RGVOGYPHY F>gJ>³I>ŠG?„QOBZ”AXŸBUV:Z;\¬=\ˆ>_‰=_õ=^ō>^÷=]“¼$x<]‡OaMbŽKc‰McōNbõLcš=QõF]8HŸ]'Ÿ_$”f+Ÿ^%”b%ī])]^&Y]'Ya%XHNžIMõGLhHMILgHL„F?PE?ęHKNIa{Lb³JbhIb‰Gc™Hb„:)\&!Ŗ±v8Gothmark?ųĢ·ķĄÉStuff for PinkStuff for Pink ˆ„&!ŗŗv8O SagimyrisšIJ =,;ōC–E<Ad9X?,7h’’’’’’’’8YP’’’’’’’’’’’’’Nobody knows much about Sagimyris' background. There are those that believe he was a member of the Celestial Order until he was banished by its superior members for practicing the forbidden magic of necromancy. The Order generally keeps such records strictly guarded and neither confirms nor denies these rumors. In any case, Sagimyris is a very competant spell caster, rivaling in talent even he most accomplished of the Celestial Wizards, and he should not be underestimated. His specialty is Earth Magic.?"#·!!$'"ø%#!%$#"$¹&%$"&ŗ"'ŗ&'ŗ&&ŗ%& "%£%%h(#Œ("¢$$č%'į#!»& į""ē'#»&!į""į#"¼#%F6,°9)°7*¬5(°;&¬7&®8%µ7&—9&='“<'½;)‘>(ƒ<*š?)µ?*Ø>)ž>(j7&”5'g3(j8¾<æ<¾<¾ <¾%,#*Ą&*{(,×&+£"*g#)j%)k"+i$*„*,ā(+¢&/ē$.į>,;+‡;,?,›<+Ÿ?+ƒ?-µ<-Į>.Ā 6˜²v8’ Jared MorganŠ~’’ž4+®2*®0*ƒ.,Ć,-µ).›5.®5/Ä7,Ä<.Ä8+Ž;+7.:-‚:1=0Š>/Å?.¦90‡80Å;-—>-ž<0©6/ˆ8-ˆ8+h9,„8/i6-g:+æ8,M;60M9.M40ML:/M=.M ” =žäTo the north, other cells can be seen. It is too dark to make out their inhabitants, and you do not have the tools at the moment to free them. You make a mental note of their presence, however, as you may need allies later on.’>žfJust as Sarius had promised, there is a small crack in the wall here, close to the floor, just big enough for you to crawl through. A half dozen rats scurry by as you get on your hands and knees and prepare to enter the hole. Behind you, you can hear the sound of a guard as he makes his way into the cell area, probably with a tray full of the slop they have been feeding you. Even though it tastes like trash, the thought of food makes your stomach growl, and you are suddenly aware of the fact that it has been hours since you ate. Clenching your teeth in determination, you press onwards into the darkness.’HįIlGžThe passageway is nearly pitch black, with only a faint light seemingly radiated by the rocks themselves reassuring you that you are still walking in a real place. You stumble and fall more than once. At one point, you swear you must have split your ankle open, and you now walk with a shuffling limp, but there is not enough light to inspect the wound. The sounds of guards died away long ago, and now you are only entertained by the disturbing squeeks of vermin, the sounds of running water, and the haunting inexplicable creaks, moans, and crunches that seem to permeate any area of darkness. You consider several times just giving up, but then you remember Sarius' words: the hope of the world rests upon you. Somehow, you push yourself forward into the darkness.’Lž6At last, you see the portal to which Sarius was referring. It is a small doorway, marked by three flashing dim lights. It seems to lead into nothing but the rock wall, but you have seen enough magic recently to realize that it probably leads somewhere else completely. You hope that this Ma'Goon is not far from the portal's exit, as you are completely exhausted and famished from lack of rest and food. Your leg aches horribly, and your limp is getting worse. The portal seems to glow brighter as you approach, inviting you to enter its magical swirling colors.’aD‡_@–`C‚`Bƒ`@™_B{aAŁcB“cAÕbCSeDlFniD–iBvgDxjC{kE˜fD™r5us4q4q5vs5vr4–q6xs6xt8€t7lt9‹u7‘t;nu:‚s:gs8‰u9€q7•q9,p8“p:6q8Dq;Co7EsG’qDĆqAƒsB€s@vsAq@‘q=xq>s;js>ˆq?}s?–s<‘s=†q<tEqDtFĪsHtGĒ¼HĶņ’’’’½Inside of an old mushroom carved out to resemble a house, you find an old man. Along the fungus walls are shelves filled with hundreds of bottles, beakers, flasks, disks, mortar and pestles, boiling apparati, glass tubes and just about any shape of glass container you can imagine. There are dusts, potions, herbs, minerals, powders, corrosive liquids, oils and slurries in hundreds of colors, and an equal amount of distinct odors assail your nose at once. It is an amazing sight. The old man, wearing what might have once been an old robe, identifies himself as Colonius, the Apothecary. "So, I hears you needs a Life Potion," he says in a shaky voice. "Well, I can makes you one but I needs some Rust Dragon blood. Only that will make the potion strong enough to bring you back from a mortal wound. Unfortunately, I ain't seen no Rust Dragons in years. If you could kill some of them for me, then I could get to work on that potion immediately!"ŻColonius wobbles out of the hut. "That ain't Rust Dragon blood!" he squawks like a wounded hen, "You can't make Healing Potions from no dead cats, so go out and kill me some Rust Dragons and don't come back until ya do!"4Colonius grabs the bottle of Rust Dragon blood you proffer him, uncorks it, and sniffs it vigorously. "Oooooh---eeeee!" he squeels. "That's some fine fresh Rust Dragon blood! Where'd ya find it? And better yet," he adds, eyeing your somewhat skinny frame, "How'd ya manage to talk them into dyin' for ya!? Ah, well, never ye mind. I'll go and make yer life-potion. Gimme two ticks of the clock and I'll be back." Within minutes, he returns from the hut carrying several small flasks of deep red liquid. "Here ye be. I made ye a few extra just in case." `tGÕqIoG6oHEnDDpF“nF¾uFŁuDœuDxuEoF`Colonius the HealerM ‰O ‰;N:ȵęøČOne-Way Portal Makers’’Z+‚c/‘\*\+{Z,č_0\/_+¦HAžYou look forelornly out over the underground lake. Even with the ability to Walk on Water, you need somewhere to walk to! All you can see is gently rocking waves as they lap against the dark, sandy shore at your feet. In the distance, you see the occasional rock, but nothing that really resembles land. Maybe, if you had a telescope, you could see far enough.... but where can you get a telescope? And even if you DID get a telescope, what if you STILL couldn't see anything? There must be a way across....’_DÉ`EžxYou are attracted by the sounds of chanting in the far reaches of this frigid cave. Moving closer, you are surprised to discover a lone mage sitting silently in the darkness. As you approach, her eyes flip open suddenly and study you. In a whisper, she says, "So, it is true. You have been found. Approach, child, and I will teach you a spell which may be of assistance."’L Ź’Q Ź’P {L {Q ™K €O }M ˆO ˜M ˜f}6e~h~5ii€6ccb€!g€Lg~f de‚Sg€*a€QeUdGf\b€[ƒY„X…X…Wƒ;S„WT„V„9M‡M„WJˆ Pƒ Q„CL†DK‡EP…VP…+]{ĖY{YzRTeleport[zR EarthQuakeY|RSorrow[|RDestroy Undead[~R Force FieldY~RProtection from Earth]}Ģ[ĶYĪY}Ė]z£]|±]~£WzW|W~¹R‰5RŠ<VŠ2V‰1Q‹YV‹YSĻV9U=VŒcQŒSU‹MR‹MKzŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’N9NNƒHO{³L{³L}³O}³NƒŃT‡S†RSˆD‡E…BˆF†F‰GˆFˆ-F‡@_ƒ\ƒ`ƒaƒ;_‚Ņ[‚c‚X]‚RN€`The Test of Wordly IntelligenceMž:A very sterile, electronic sounding feminine voice booms from nowhere when you enter the chamber, which is almost perfectly square and filled with a number of plain looking yellow boxes, each of which is about waist-high. "Greetings, Prospective Wizard, to the Test of Worldly Knowledge. This room will test your knowledge of foreign places and your ability to solve puzzles. Only one box contains the artifact which you seek. All other boxes contain certain death. The correct box is the buoy seen from Selway Point." The voice stops dead, leaving you in silence.’LzŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’MzŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’OzŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’NzŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’PzŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’K|ŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’K}ŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’K~ŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’L~ŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’L|ŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’M{ŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’N{ŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’M}ŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’N}ŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’P{ŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’P|ŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’P}ŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’P~ŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’K{ŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’O~ŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’O|ŠDo you wish to open this box?’’’’’’’’’’’’’’eZ€ŃY€;[€`Test of ScholarshipT‹Óʔ(9oA small group of large beasts charge you as you approach. They seem especially fond of eating Wizard wannabes.ČlSŒJTŒeS‰QT†`Test of Strength and CourageS‡ŃZž+A very sterile, electronic sounding feminine voice booms from nowhere when you enter the chamber, which is almost perfectly square and filled with a number of plain looking signs and again a number of waist-high yellow boxes. "Greetings, Prospective Wizard, to the Test of Scholarship. This room will test your knowledge of wizardry and spells. Only one box contains the artifact which you seek. All other boxes contain certain death. The correct box is the one whose answer is NOT a third level spell." The voice stops dead, leaving you in silence.’XzŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’X|ŠDo you wish to open this box?’’’’’’’’’’’’’’A\zŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’\|ŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’X~ŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’\~ŠDo you wish to open this box?’’ōčččō’’TˆžÄA very sterile, electronic sounding feminine voice booms from nowhere when you enter the chamber, which is almost perfectly square and filled with sand and a moderate sized group of scary looking creatures. "Greetings, Prospective Wizard, to the Test of Courage. This room will test your ability to defend yourself. Only the person who can defeat these creatures is worthy of calling himself a Wizard." The voice stops dead, leaving you in silence.’d€ž|You find yourself in a very interesting looking cave. Lush vegitation grows even on the walls of the cavern and a well paved road can be seen leading away from the mouth of the cavern and into the darkness. Warm yet comfortable air blows towards you in a gentle breeze and although the darkness is oppressive, you almost feel welcome. Perhaps these tests won't be bad afterall.’ L·Lē Lč L¢ IOE{ G» HNI¾GŌȔ(9čAThe army of trolls, their hideout discovered, attack immediately.’’FõČFEEōrA¦`o~’’’’Eron is in the middle of the road, taking measurements with a large piece of tape. A long stick of writing chalk is tucked studiously behind his left ear, and he doesn't seem to hear your approach. When you tacitly tap him on the shoulder, he jumps with a yelp and whirls to meet you, the tape-measure held out like a weapon. "Oh, it is you," he says, recognition dawning. "Do you need to be reminded of your mission? Remember, you need a Healing Potion, a vial of concentrated mercury, and the Orb of Inhibition before I can finalize the Time Travel Spell. Come back when you have these three items, and do not tarry. I DO have other things to do!"X"Oh, it is you," Eron says again, turning away from his calculations. "Do you need reminded of your mission? Remember, you need a Healing Potion, a vial of concentrated mercury, and the Orb of Inhibition before I can finalize the Time Travel Spell. Come back when you have these three items, and do not tarry. I DO have other things to do!"Eron seems initially annoyed by your presence, and he jams the tape measure in his pocket with a huff of annoyance. "Have you come to bother me with questions again? I told you, I cannot make the portal without the three items which I ordered. Now, why don't you go away and..." In answer to the Wizard's angry lecture, you simply hold out the three items which he had previously demanded. Eron seems shocked that you managed to acquire them so quickly. "Well, well!" he says in astonishment. "It seems I underestimated you. Indeed, you have found a healing potion, a vial of concentrated mercury, and the Orb of Inhibition. One day, you will have to tell me how you managed to retrieve these items. But now, we have work to do! Follow me, gentlemen, and we will export you to the past in a matter of minutes!" The aged Wizard drops his measuring tape and proceeds north through the chilly cavern.qBčČ’’’’»A very pudgy looking alchemist tells you that if you bring him the mercury you need to make the portal, he can concentrate it for you into a small flask so that it is easier to work with.·"I can't concentrate the mercury if you don't GIVE me the mercury," the Alchemist screeches. " Come back with 200 of it, and I'll concentrate it for you. Otherwise, leave me alone!"–Finally! Here, give the 200 Mercury to me, and I'll concentrate it into a little vial for you to carry to the Wizards who will construct your portal.obAžÅThe cavern is surprisingly warm compared to outside, even though snow can be seen lying along the periphery. A well cobbled road leads away into the darkness. You can hear voices in the distance.’jDpsŪfį U You come across a group of Wizards sitting around a large oaken table, immersed in conversation. When they notice your presence, they fall silent immediately, eyeing you skeptically. You quickly introduce yourself. One of the Wizards, the oldest by appearances, stands up when he hears your name and beckons you forward. "Greetings, Initiate Payne. We have been expecting you. It is nice to see you have passed the Wizard's Test. My name is Eron, HighWizard and Chancellor of the Department of Transportation Magic," he says with a bow, "And these are my colleagues. I trust that Thyon has filled you in on our predicament?" "Well, sort of," you reply. "Basically," he continues, "We are nearly finished with the construction of your portal back to the past. Unfortunately, Sagimyris has been pretty strict about our magical abilities and we are missing a few of the necessary pieces of the spell's completion. We will, of course, need you to find these things and bring them back to us before we can finalize the spells. "First," he says before you can interrupt, "As you know, the spell requires mercury, and lots of it, to function. Sagimyris has destroyed all of the local mercury refineries in order to stymie our ability to cast destructive magic. It has been largely effective. Unfortunately, we do not know where you can procure a large enough sample of mercury to be of use, although we do know that Sagimyris has a supply of his own. You will have to locate his refineries and procure no less than 200 units of mercury. One of our alchemists will convert the mercury into a concentrated form so that it is easy to work with. "Second, you will need a healing potion in order to revive you once you arrive at the other end of the portal. It doesn't help us to send you back if you bleed to death on the other side. Talk to the Apothecary in this cave to find out how you can make such a potion. As I understand it, he does not have the necessary reagents to create a potion of sufficient potency. "Finally, and this will perhaps be the most tricky task to perform, Sagimyris is somehow preventing some forms of magic using a magic artifact of his own. The Orb of Inhibition was in our archives for hundreds of years, but during the fall of Eth to the Undead, it was stolen from one of our citadels in Gaylin Dale. He is using the Orb to block any attempt of ours to cast powerful magic spells such as time travel will require. We will need you to find the Orb, which is most likely kept very close to the Undead Lord, and return it to us. Keep in mind that in the immediate vicinity of the Orb, no magic works! "So, Sander, do you think you are up for the task? Well, it doesn't really matter, does it? The task needs to be completed whether you are up for it or not. As a token of our dedication to your cause, my fellow Wizards are willing to join your army. I will of course stay here and continue the preparations. I wish you luck!" The rest of the Wizards introduce themselves and join your ranks. Something tells you that these tasks are going to be more difficult to fulfill than you had originally thought.’’5*O",į#-N2ž„You are surrounded in darkness. Cold darkness. It smells like death down here. These caves are alive... alive with the Dead. A lot of footprints lead to the west, and you can make out faint noises from that direction as well. Scraping and moaning... like suffering humans? To the east you can hear and see nothing, and fear overwhelms you. What could lie down that unholy corridor?’2™2N3{1¦h’’’’ZA solid stone wall blocks your passage. Footprints lead right up to the wall, as if someone had walked through it. Curious, you investigate the abnormal structure more closely and find that there is a small indentation about three feet from the floor, shaped like a human skull. Perhaps you need some sort of key? Who would have such an item?KThe wall still impedes your progress. You need to find a skull shaped key.žYou remove the pendant from your neck and place it over the hole in the wall. It fits perfectly, and you wedge it in with a loud click. Suddenly, the wall shifts and moves aside, revealing a passage to the south. The moans and wails are louder now....##žA murky black fog obscures the already murky black darkness. You find it hard to breathe. The only thing that draws you onwards is the faint hint of an underground castle to the north, barely visible in the darkness. Could this be Sagimyris' home citadel, Gothmark, the origin of all things evil? Is this where his conquest began? You know of nobody else who would reside in such a dark, unholy abode. You order your men to sally forth, prepared to engage in this final battle. They follow, but you can detect the fear in their very movements. This is not just anybody who you are asking them to throw their might against. This is perhaps one of the most capable Wizards in the known world, certainly more than a match for a novice such as yourself. He will be surrounded by the most elite forces of his army. And who knows what dark magics he has planned to wield against you..... Still, the deed must be done, and you begin the long march towards Gothmark and the evil that resides within. (Please Read Chapter 6 After Taking Gothmark)’(,REast - the Mercury MinesjŒl¼~nOo”p»‚oN‚p‹‚rŠƒs‚‚s{…wŠ‡ Õ’† ½… Žƒ“‚‰€vŠ€w“w‰~xˆx”€x‡‚x‡‚wˆ{w‘zwƒ{x’’{z„}z…{Š€zƒz‰†~ˆ~Žˆ}‚ˆ|\†{ˆ½‰“…|½†|“ˆ…{„{—„vÕ’vŽƒu½‚uŽ c b cÖ d×ccWdd e fefe h< gŲ dŁ’d< e; fIfg. ih! h;ijpf@ fYgRijpgžYou dock your boat on lush shores of green plants and colorful flowers. Some sort of bizarre magic must sustain this place! To the north, you see a very unique purple building, with strange tubular rooms and a curving staircases. What manner of creature could live here? ’5žŅ"You enter a very dark room, lit only by burning flames in the corners. Shadows dance upon the walls, causing your men to tread with nervousness. Large bars can be seen to the south, and the sounds of hungry moaning can also be heard in that direction. This must be the Undead Prisons, where you first awoke. A sudden voice from the west catches your attention. "A mage? Can it be? A member of the Order is here?" You approach the cage -- for that is what it is, a cage no bigger than a closet -- and eye the man who is enclosed within it. He is dirty to the point of appearing inhuman, completely naked, about 50 years old by the color of his hair, but well-muscled despite emaciation. But there is something about his eyes, about his face, that pauses you in your approach. He looks... familiar. "It is true," his voice is rough and thirsty. "Then Sagimyris has been killed! For only he can come down here. This is a day to rejoice, quick, let me out, I." A sudden pause, confusion running across his features. "Wait, I know you... you are.. the mage I saw that day. But how is it you haven't aged?" You shrug, not following the gist of his speach. "No, you don't remember me, do you?" he says excitedly. "My name is Jared Morgan. I am -- was -- castellan of Gaylin Dale, when it fell. You were there, the day before the army marched towards its death at Barron's Ford. We met at the castle, remember?" Suddenly, you remember. Jared Morgan, the hero that didn't make it to the battle of Barron's Ford. Your thesis project! It is all coming back to you... so THIS was the cause of all your troubles, because this low-ranking military officer wasn't at his place at the battle, Gaylin lost to the Undead, and the rest is history. The wrong history, but history nonetheless. You rush forward to unlock the prison cell. Morgan nearly collapses in your arms. "Oh thank you," he says, clawing at your white robes. You try to ignore his stench. "I thought the world was doomed forever under the heels of those fiends. How ever did you pull it off? Oh, nevermind, it doesn't matter. We must convene the Gaylish military council, if any of them still live, to elect a new king. Hopefully there have been no wrongs that cannot be righted.." The former castellan seems half mad, and blathers on about how wonderful things will be in the future. You have to shake him to bring his attention back to you. "You don't understand," you shout. "None of this is right. None of it is real. This is all my fault, and I need your help to correct it." If anybody knows the ins and outs of Gaylin Dale better than this man, then you'd be surprised. It is rather fortuitous that he is still alive and that you found him. "I... I'm not following. None of this is real?" Jared replies. Calmly, you begin telling the man your story, how you went back in time, how Jared was the one who was supposed to be at that battle, or at least that's what your hypothesis is. You tell him about how the Order found you, and your quest to find the Orb. Finally, you relay the events of the fall of Sagimyris. Jared takes the news well enough, as well as you should expect. After all, he was just finding out the last 30 years of his life weren't supposed to happen. "So you see," you conclude. "I need to find the Orb of Inhibition so that the Order can send me back and I can correct everything!" "Well," Jared says with a sigh, "The reason you didn't find the Orb with Sagimyris is because Sagimyris doesn't have it. Eric Leblanc has it." The news sends shock and confusion coursing through you like electricity. That makes no sense. Maybe he IS mad. "Eric Leblanc?" you ask, finally. "But he died during the Wars. How could HE have it?" Then the possibility strikes you. "He was turned to the Undead after the War?" "No," Jared says sadly, realizing that the Order was much less informed than he had hoped. "Leblanc didn't die in the war. He planned it." "I don't understand," you return, still not confident of the man's sanity. "Eric Leblanc organized the whole thing. He was the one who provided Sagimyris with money and the secrets to Gaylish defenses. He had planned on journeying to Barron's Ford to witness the massacre of his own men; he knew well that Sagimyris' Undead Hordes were waiting for him at that river. He was the one who told them to wait there. And then you came into the room and that friend of yours blathered the whole thing... what was he going to do? He was probably most disappointed that he couldn't witness the destruction of the human race himself." "But why would he do that?" you ask. "He and Sagimyris had a deal. Sagimyris got Gaylin Dale, and Leblanc got immortality. But Leblanc runs the show, because Leblanc has the Orb and controls magic in the realm. I'm not sure where he came upon the artifact, but he had it for quite some time even before Barron's Ford. With it in his possession, Sagimyris was his pawn. The Undead couldn't touch him. So that's why you didn't find the Orb. Eric had it, and still does." It sounds crazy to you, but in a way, it makes sense. The King had, you remember, regarded you with displeasure when Michael had broken the news to the audience hall. You can only imagine that in the REAL world, Leblanc took Jared Morgan with him, expecting to see the destruction of his own armies. With an ambush planned and succeeded, the necromancers would see their own plans of conquering the greatest kingdom in the world, and then, in payment, they would make King Leblanc immortal. Only Leblanc hadn't expected his meager commander, Colonel Morgan, to lead the human forces to victory. You can only imagine the King's shock... and yet he lived on to be the hero. Likely, with the necromancers defeated and Sagimyris killed, he had put the whole thing behind him, taking credit for the victory himself, and shuttling Morgan off to some far-away place where he couldn't cause any trouble. Now that's a skeleton in your closet if you've ever heard one. "But how do you know all of this?" you ask finally. Morgan smiles. "As castellan it was my job to know what was going on in my own castle. I had my suspicions, but nobody, not even the Order, would believe me. After the takeover, Sagimyris imprisoned me and told me the whole story in that haughty arrogant style of his. He was so proud of himself and he wanted me to personally witness the destruction of the world. It looks like he almost succeeded." You spend several minutes in quiet thought. So, you were right the whole time. But who would have thought this! Eric Leblanc, the greatest King of Eth, personally responsible for staging the entire War? Wouldn't Professor Ogom be surprised. Still, you should be thinking of how to get back to the past rather than dwelling on personal accolades. "So, if Eric Leblanc has the Orb, then I must find him and take it from him. Where is he, do you know?" you ask. "No, I do not. He keeps his castle's location a secret. There are rumors that you can only reach it by going underground. I wish I could help you." Morgan pauses, then resumes, a light shining in his eyes, "Although... Sagimyris soon after the War proclaimed transport magic of any kind illegal. He locked up many wizards specializing in the magic of flight or waterwalking. Perhaps... perhaps you need one of these types of magic to reach his home? I'm sure if you freed the other Wizards from their prisons, as you freed me, they would be more than willing to aid you in whatever fashion they can!" "I will do that. Perhaps we can find it with their help. Is there anything else you can tell me?" "Only that King Leblanc is not a man you should challenge lightly. He is most likely well fortified, and as I hear it, he has had his own warlocks creating magical items of immense power for quite some time now. Also, your specialty is clearly in magic. With the Orb, he will be able to render your magical talent useless. "But I think I might be able to help you even the score a bit," Morgan continues, leaning closer, "To the east of Gaylin Dale, where the old windmill used to be, I buried a bunch of my own family heirlooms. You might find them of use against the Dark King. I believe that property is own by old Joe the TowerKeeper now. You will have to have his permission to enter the area. It would be wise to solve whatever little task he has set you upon so that you can retrieve my treasure. It wouldn't be a bad thing anyway; you can probably learn much from visiting his towers that are spread about the country. That is all the aid I can give you, aside from my own services." You thank Morgan for his help and offer him a place in your staff. You can use a few seasoned military commanders under your belt, especially if you are to beat a seasoned veteran like Eric Leblanc. ’r6ž¬ You stand by and wait as Eron and his Wizards make the finishing touches on their spell. The Orb of Inhibition is placed in a safe place, and you are relieved to feel the magic coursing through you again; it is like drinking after a long period of thirst. The mercury is once again poured over the stone gateway and the remainder is given to you for your final trip back to your time after you make the corrections in the past. As Eron begins the final incantation, you are interrupted by a loud voice. "Halt! Do not proceed!" All eyes turn to see Sorcerer Thyon, in his trailing scarlet robes, marching up the cavern. Nearly out of breath, he stops and allows himself to recover for a moment. "Damn altitude," he mutters. "I didn't want you to leave without us saying goodbye," he finally says with a smile. "You have done an amazing job, Sander, surpassing even our most liberal estimates of your abilities. One day, you will make a fine Wizard." The priase warms your heart. Thyon steps aside and Jared Morgan steps forward. Bathed and clothed, he is beginning to look like the warrior he once was. He approaches and gives you a hug. "You don't know how grateful I am to you. You have done an amazing thing." You thank him for his kindness and are about to turn back to the portal when Jared puts an arm on your shoulder. He pulls out a large, dusty book and hands it to you. "I want you to have this," he says. "It is all of my notes, my journal entries, from being in prison. They explain everything of Eric's treachery. I have had Thyon, despite his wishes, ensorcel it so that it will survive the trip through time. The people must know the truth about their history." "It is the greatest gift I could imagine. WIth this knowledge and proof, the historians of my time will be forced to believe me." You hug the man again, and then turn back to the portal. Eron says a final few words in the arcane tongue, and the portal springs to life. "I have arranged for this one to stay open for a brief period of time, so that you may return if you need to," the Wizard says. "Now, go. You will be taken back to the time of Barron's Ford. Do what you need to do there, and then return to your own time. We thank you again. The world owes you a debt of gratitude." You thank all of the Wizards standing in the cavern, and then, with the knowledge of the truth in hand, you stab yourself in the chest and walk through the shimmering gate.(’:BžŒYou find a corpse lying on one of the rocks, wearing a beautiful helmet. You figure since he is dead, he probably won't need it anymore....{’_.מ"’! A^/žĻA small building lies silent and dark in the recesses of the cave. Perhaps it is some kind of abandoned city. Your men urge caution, but you decide to enter anyway. You might find something useful inside.’a*žƒA large house resembling a hornet's nest hangs from the ceiling above the dark, rippling waters of the underground lake. An old ladder, nearly thirtyfeet tall, extends from the floor to the lowest arched doorway on the structure. You climb up and knock on the door. A creature that resembles about fifty percent bug, fifty percent human woman answers and offers to share maps with you of all the caves she has ever explored. You are hesitant to trust such a weird beast, but the tables full of rolled maps and parchments behind her convince you otherwise. Who knows what nooks and crannies this arachnoid creature has found her way into?’g,„j,\c@\wŚ‚Œ„»¼»†}ž1A quick magic spell lights up the cavern. As you remember, your journey started in this cave, lit by a small golden torch. How young you were then! Suddenly, a new light seems to resonate through the undeground tunnel, and you hear the sharp crackle of magical energy. You move forward to investigate.’xžÖIn front of you stands another portal, sending magical sparks splintering to the ground and ceiling. The sheer power of the spell causes your arms to tingle. What were you thinking casting a spell of this magnitude? Better yet, what was the Mage who gave you the spell thinking when she provided you with such dangerous magic? You don't have much time to dwell on the question, for all of a sudden, a human body is flung from the magical device with such force that you both almost end up sprawled on the floor. A quick look at the newcomer is all it takes to realize that it is you, or at least your younger self, dressed in the white robes of a Mage and with a large dagger wound to the chest. You - or rather, he - is bleeding profusely. And yet you can't help but laugh at how ridiculous he looks, dressed up in a uniform he was not prepared to wear. Sighing, you pick your younger self up. He is gasping, blood frothing from his mouth. He looks at you and then his eyes roll back in his head. Was that recognition? Dropping the thought, you shake him awake. He is fighting consciousness and you don't have much time. "Sander!" you yell at him. "Sander, listen to me. You must listen. You have done a terrible thing. I am sending you back to your time, before you can do what you are about to do. Here," you urge, handing him Jared's book and one of your own, a journal you had been keeping, "Take this with you. It will explain everything." Your younger self clings onto the tome weakly. Death nearly has him. Without another thought, you thrust him through the magical gate, and he disappears instantly. Within seconds, you begin to feel dizzy. You look down, and you notice that your hand is shaking. Your men back up, clearly sensing something is wrong. A few of them collapse themselves in violent convulsions. Of course, you realize. Now that your younger self has been sent back, history is changing again... and your men, nor your present self, for that matter, are supposed to exist. Your vision blurs, and you stagger. The portal, still open, beckons to you. For some reason, some silly sense of self-preservation, you attempt to enter the magical gate... you stumble forward, and then all is lost in blackness.’T|S¼RO9*žLTo the south, behind the great gates that stand before you, are several enormous industrial buildings. Literally hundreds of metal drums line the walls of the huge cavern, and many small green creatures can be seen wheeling fresh drums to where the others are already stacked. Large, ghostly dragons can be seen encircling the whole area, watching to make sure that the process runs smoothly. This must, you realize, be Sagimyris' secret mercury mining facility. With so much mercury, acquiring 200 of the valuable substance should be easy! If only you could get through this gate...’Q`!Sander's Folly. Version 1.21beta^\}ŪEM×Ļ?Yikes what ugly creatures! Better not mess with these nasties!’’ÜFM×ĻGHOSTS!?! ARGH!!!!!’’\‚`%Test Registration -- Proceed East. G…`)Registration Center-- Please Enter Portal5č 5į 2įE‡ž}Set into the rocky, mossy cliffs to the west is a pile of stones shaped conspiculously like a doorway. As you go near the structure, it suddenly comes to life, sending green magical bolts of energy to the ground at your feet. The hairs on your arms and legs stand on end and you take a cautious step backwards. Could this be the gateway to the beginning of the Test of Wizardry?’D‡\Cˆ2NŻ:Ż0s€2q0q0qW/r*3rS.rB.sR.tG1r3s1vIƒHžŅA sudden, low pitched but extremely loud humming noise nearly throws you to your feet. It is so deep and resonating that it causes you to put your hands to your ears. You look around, shaken, trying to find some source for it, thinking that perhaps your cell guards have found you and it is some kind of alarm, but can see nothing that would emanate such a unnatural noise. It reminds you of... magic, like the sound that might accompany a powerful and permanent spell. Whatever the cause of it is, you quickly get your balance and move away from this spot, as the sound is accompanied by a course vibration that seems to emanate from the walls of the earth itself, and it sends your stomach into fits of convulsions.’(y|’*z|’'{|’*y(xW&y*'z+~V+}'|S&|B)}(|80uH0w/v.u;1uI(zŽ{§”æ– Without pausing, you and your men rush down to intercept the monks before they can form a viable defense. Many of them begin firing magical bolts of energy at your charging forces before you have a chance to show them your peaceful intentions. Some of your men are hit by the blasts, and they fall from their mounts screaming, parts of their bodies in some cases completely eradicated by the magical energy. Seeing that the situation is becoming desperate, you suddenly halt, jerking your mount to a stop. The monks, now in a defensive circle, seeing that you've called off the charge, also hesitate. They number in the hundreds. "Melgalis?" you call. "I only wish to speak to Melgalis. We mean no harm to you. I am a member of the Order of Celestial Magic!" You hold up your pendant to prove your point. "Any fool can hold up a pendant," a gruff voice barks back. One lone monk, tall and wiry and wearing a green cloak, sits atop a proud horse in the middle of the ring of defenders. "But can any fool do this?" you reply, waving your hands and whispering the arcane words of a fire spell. In seconds, the air above you bursts into colorful flames, making your own men and the frightened monks gasp in disbelief. The spectacle is over in only a few moments, but it is impressive enough make their leader at least pause and consider your claim. Finally, he urges his men to be at easy. Clearly, he must have realized that if you had wished them dead, you would have had no trouble slaughtering them to the last. Satisfied that none of his men will try to be a hero, he urges his horse forward. You do the same. The monks' leader is a man of about forty, tall, with sand colored hair and a salt and pepper beard. He doesn't seem amused by your intrusion upon his territory. "Melgalis?" you ask. "Melgalis is dead," the man replies coldy with no hint of friendliness. "Dead?" you ask, suddenly your heart heavy. Is your quest for naught? "How?" "I killed him. Cut him in two, just like he did to my father," the man spits. "I don't understand," you reply, confused. "I thought he was a member of your Order? The leader, in fact!" "Melgalis stopped being a member of our Order when he killed my father, the Viceroy to the King, and proclaimed the Monks of Marhan to be in allegience with Sagimyris. To think that such a man was ever in our Order is to defecate on everything we believe in. It is no wonder the men at the gate would not let you pass. I am Velarinius. These pious men call me Vela. What do you want here? Why were you seeking the Vile One?" You explain to Vela all that has happened, from your corruption of the timeline, to your quest to restore it, to the old hermit Jim and his dying daughter. "So you see," you conclude, "I only wish to help a sick girl. If you could please come with me..." "Impossible," Vela interrupts. "Marhan stays here. We cannot risk depleting our numbers further, especially after you have already killed most of us. The only reason I don't kill you now," and his eyes tell you that he might well be able to, "is because the world seems to hinge upon your survival." "There is no danger anymore," you reply. "There is little left of Sagimyris' evil regime. Now is your chance to strike back! Come with us and make a difference!" Vela considers your offer for only a minute. Finally, he smiles. "Ok, mageling. We will join you. But first, you must take us to this man Jim. I will personally see to his dying daughter." Turning, Vela issues the orders to his men, and the city begins to come apart. ’’3tß+|W.}„-}Ė,y,z+zB*{R)|Y-z5.|ą’ 22 K22 -|8/y8/z*2tž³The musty odor of dirt and fresh grass assails your nostrils. What is this place? In the distance, you can hear the sounds of chanting echoing off of the stone walls of the cavern. Despite the fact that you are apparently underground, the cave is extremely well lit and it almost seems like daytime. Large, lush trees and flowering bushes are growing everywhere. This feat is clearly the result of some sort of magic... but whose?’/{žPTwo large towers and a gate loom before you. You can see many robed and armored men prowling the top of the walls. Your presence seems to have sent them into a state of alarm, as men are rushing back and forth passing weapons amongst themselves. Who are these people? As if hearing your thoughts, one of the individuals calls down to you. "Turn back strangers. We, the Monks of Marhan, have no use for outsiders." So this is where they have fled. Once Sagimyris and his undead began rampaging the countryside, Melgalis and his Order must have moved underground to as to protect themselves from the wrath of the unholy tides. In hiding the entrance to their home, they ensured their own protection. No wonder they are wary of outsiders, however. They did not move underground only to risk being betrayed by their own kindness. "We mean you know harm!" you shout back, "We only wish to speak to Melgalis!" In reply, an arrow is shot from the wall. It grazes your left ear. "And that wasn't an accident," the voice from the wall adds. Sighing, you prepare for a fight. Nothing is ever easy.’+{žThe valley opens up to a small sized village. Robed figures scurry back and forth, many of them scurrying faster when they notice your approach. In the distance, you can see a force of men organizing, clearly intent on defending their establishment to the last. A warning bell rings from one of the church towers. You must intercept them fast, before they are organized. You do not wish to slaughter these men, but they do not know your intentions and, having already slain many of their comrades, you are clearly perceived as an enemy.’tIõLThe Wizards of the Order allow you to borrow some money from their treasury.Z=WN Heading1-Sander's Folly Normal Difficulty Version 1.6’Heading2Created by Timothy V. Duncan’In the beginning....Ó"And so," Professor Ogom says, his eyes peering condescendingly over his wire rimmed spectacles, "your THEORY, Mr. Payne, is not only incorrect, but is entirely ridiculous. Eric Leblanc was not, as you seem to think, merely a coward who got lucky. Sure, King Leblanc was aided by many enchanted artifacts, but magic, I will remind you, is never a substitute for bravery and raw intelligence. Leblanc clearly outwitted the necromancer Sagimyris at Barron's Ford through nothing more than his own military genius." The professor finishes his oratory with his nose high in the air. "But Sir," you reply, reaching for a short stack of papers sitting at your desk. Some of the other students frown as you start sifting through them. "There are accounts. Men who were actually at the battle --" "Nothing but the lies of blackhearts who would sully Leblanc's name," Ogom returns, holding up a gnarled old hand to forestall any other arguments from his students. "Gaylin owes everything it is today to the valiant actions of King Leblanc and his generals. These are established facts. Now, are there any further questions?" The professor stands still for several seconds, his ears perked to receive any other deviant historical analyses that he could shoot down. Not content to let the matter rest, you raise your hand again. "But Professor, I don't under--" "That is about enough from you, Sander." Ogom's reply is short and taut, like stretched rope. His eyes meet yours and glare angrily. "We are out of time anyway." After several more seconds of reproachful silence, Ogom's features relax and turn to the rest of the class. "Remeber students," he said, "your senior thesis drafts are due in two weeks. I have regular office hours if you would like to discuss your topics with me." Ogom's lingering stare at you before he storms out of the room suggests that this last bit was meant for you. Sighing, you pack up your belongings and file with the rest of the students out of the class.’... there was dirt.While walking towards your lockbox after class, you are plagued by disturbing thoughts. The oligarchy that seemed to rule the history department at Gaylin University is infuriating. They are so intolerant of deviant historical views. "The hipocrites!" you growl, punching a fist into the wall. "Dammit!" you yell again, clutching your now bruised hand. They preach the necessity of thinking for yourself and practicing historical objectivity and then they ignore obvious facts because they are afraid of besmirching the image of a long dead hero. It is perplexing, irritating, frustrating, and makes you wish you hadn't decided to major in domestic history. Because you weren't forced to. All of the other students know you by reputation: Sander Payne, the smartest guy in school. Since being at the elementary level, you had always scored at the top of everything. Math, science, language, history. It didn't matter what subject you pursued. You were good at all of them. Even before you entered college -- two years earlier than is normally recommended -- you had received scholarships and offers from every department to major in their field of study. But you chose history without even giving the others a moment of consideration. It had seemed to interesting, learning about the past, that which makes the present the present. You wanted to investigate the past in the hopes of improving the future. But now, in your senior year, you question that choice. Because how can you learn from the past if you refuse to acknowledge it!’And it will end in dirt.And then there is the matter of your thesis, you think again as you pack up your books. Each student is given a small lockbox somewhere on the university where they can store their belongings for the day. Of course, to get a good grade (and good grades are necessary if you ever hope to make it into the Celestial Order of Magic) you will have to kiss their asses and just write about what they want to hear. Still, it is tempting to do something unconventional, to really show them that you are not afraid to find the truth. But they simply won't believe unless you go to drastic lengths to obtain proof. "See you tomorrow, geek-boy!" an oddly dressed pillar of muscle named Tomas Loman yells at you, breaking your concentration, as he and his posse of buddies storm down the main hall of the university. One of the meaner jocks smacks you on the head as he stomps past, eliciting a round of howling laughter from the other boys. Your books and papers scatter onto the floor as your body goes flying towards the wall. You grumble to yourself as you pick up your papers and pens from the floor. What you wouldn't give to be a little stronger and bigger... Suddenly, a shrill sound resonates down the hall. "The four o'clock bell!" you curse. "I'm late!" Scrambling wildly, you pick up your remaining things and run down the hallway, causing the blue Gaylin banners along the walls to flutter in your wake. ’ Oh and....ÖA note to the player: Unfortunately, you are an impoverished college student, and although you are on full scholarship, every penny you earn must go into your education. Sorry, but that's the way the world works.ģ’’’ö’’’ģ’’’ö’’’ö’’’ö’’’ą±’’’'Resource Boost for Tan, Teal and Purple  ˜:d)Resource Weekly for Tan, Teal, and Purpleą.d,Resource Stopper for Purple and Teal and Tanē’’’ń’’’ē’’’ń’’’ń’’’ń’’’hÅ’’dResources for Red, Orange, Pink  Ÿ†•