We had hoped that Turmond would be overjoyed to march into the darkness on an adventure.  We had not even considered that the young man would turn us down.  After nearly abandoning our request due to his reluctance, we discovered the reason.  It was not for a lack of interest, but out of concern that his mother would be alone on the small farm that had been his home for all of his nineteen years.  When we assured him that she would be looked after, and even travel to meet the King, he agreed to join us.  We were naive and did not truly realize what we were asking of him or of his mother.  It is something that I live with.  But this tale is best told in order.

We were not surprised when Turmond affirmed that he had indeed found a staff,  yet we were still amazed that the prophecy had played out so cleanly.  We suddenly felt relief that powers beyond our own were at work.  That somehow we were fated to succeed.  It took away a little of the pressure.  For awhile.

After a brief stop in the capital, we headed for Hamellile once again. And once again as a party of four.  Forcellus took Turmond under his protection, though the strong lad needed little.  He would prove invaluable for his hunting skills, not as much for actual hunting, as we carried some provisions, but for avoiding trouble which always plagued a road trip in those days.  And he could smell a Troc a mile away.  Forcellus extended his meagre skill at the sword, and Turmond was an eager pupil.  Especially since he had been given a new blade in DOM.  He learned fast. 

The boat trip to Giorda was calm, but we could not help but notice that the darkness had deepened.  There would be no summer this year.  By the time we reached the relief of Hamellile, we had all been reduced to a brooding silence, a dark blanket of malaise had been laid over our hearts which was only mended in the presence of the Grove.

Turmond stared in amazement at the Raylan's suspended city.  We had little time for touring however and we all found ourselves in front of the great tree within the hour.  Hamell was oddly sluggish in thought.  He confided to me that he would soon be of little help.  "I feel a slumber coming on" I heard in my mind.  I concentrated on our candidate, and Hamel's empathic answer was to bring him close.  Naralle, who was also present, felt this request as well. "Does he understand the undertaking?" Naralle asked  "Yes, he is aware, and he will permit a Mind Meld."  Thre three of us walked closer to the tree.  "Hold your staff out" Naralle told him.  We then stepped a few paces back, leaving the nervous Turmond on his own.  We knew that when his head tilted back suddenly that Hamell was searching his mind.  Then suddenly, the staff began to glow bright.  Turmond seemed not to take notice and did not move.  It grew so bright that we could not stare at it and could only look away.  When the emanating light dimmed, we looked back.  The staff had been reborn.  It was now straight and long.  At the tip there was a widening and an indentation.  I thought it must be where the Orb of Fire would be placed.  Though how, I had no idea, nor did I know of where a Fire Gem might easily be found.  Turmond seemed impressed with his new staff, even if he could not recall how he obtained it.  In my exuberance I felt the need to thank Hamell, but with his duty dispatched, the great tree had sunk into a deep and impenetrable slumber.

Next: The Quest for the Orb of Fire

Turmond was only twelve when he found the unimposing stick that would end up becoming a symbol of power and glory.  He had been out in the wood.  He had brought along his fathers old sword as he often did.  On these occasions he became a mighty warrior seeking to destroy Mortan enemies.  Morta is the province to the east of Isban.  There had been many battles fought between the two provinces in the not too distant past, but none during Turmond's short lifetime.  Still, a young man needed an enemy, even if imaginary.

The mountainous regions of Morta were home to many wild things.  It was unlikely however, that young Turmond would run into anything dangerous despite his hope that he would.  But today a young Troc eager for a prize would make Turmond's dreams come true.

Uhoc had laid a trap near the narrow trail that eventually led to Morta.  He had hoped that some human or other tasty creature would show up and take his bait. He had heard the loud exclamations of Turmond, challenging his imaginary foes.  He had peered at the youth through the trees and his beady eyes had seen no bow and arrow. Though he feared the whoosh of the humans' rusted blade, he feared an arrow even more.  He then quietly retreated and placed himself just past his trap, a hastily concealed shallow pit.  He would play the part of a stag or boar, rattling foliage behind his trap.  Uhoc hoped that the human would approach him and trip into the concealed pit, giving him the chance to grab the youth and strangle him before the sword could do it's work.  But Turmond had always had a keen sense in the wood.  Amongst his loud exclamations of "You die Mortan dog" he had heard the large creature creeping away.  It was skulking away very carefully he surmised. And instead of continuing on the trail, he decided to just as quietly, follow the creature.  He abruptly stopped the minute he knew what the creature was.  The smell of a Troc is unmistakeable.

Turmond had only run into Troc once before, when hunting them with his father and his two uncles.  When they discovered a nest of them, he was told to stay back. The men began their butchery, making quick work of all but the one that hit his father on the head with a muddy club, scattering his brains in an instant.  Turmond had instantly been transported back to that moment.  He had vowed that if he ever again got into this situation that he would marshall his courage and take his vengeance, but instead his youthful fear got the better of him.  He turned and began to run.  Smelling his fear, the Troc lit out after him.  Turmond had a lead, but caught a root with his foot and landed hard.  His sword clattered just out of reach as the Troc stopped above him.  His heart pounding, Turmond frantically grasped the first thing his hand found, and swung the large twig up at the Troc.  It struck the gangly creature on the nose and gave Turmond a chance to stretch and retrieve his sword.  The Troc then chose the wrong moment to leap upon the boy and the creature impaled himself, his own weight supplying ample force to pierce his gut.  Wailing in agony, the creature forgot Turmond. Covered in Troc blood, Turmond extricated himself from the creature that partially covered him.  He pulled hard at his sword and it came from the creature with a coating of gore.  He brought up the weapon and thinking of his father, crashed it down hard.  The Troc was silenced.  Turmond walked home, his body shaking.  He soon realized that he had not let go of the stick that saved his life.   He later carved this stick into a short staff, which he would carry with him on his travels.  It was of oak, but it was not exactly straight nor would the grain ensure any great degree of strength.  But it would serve.

Next: The Approval of Air

The City of Isban bears no landmarks from their Zorbeshi origins.  Indeed very few of the inhabitants even know that their forbears fled the wars of the southern deserts to seek refuge in this colder land.  They were now Domish in every way.  The only relic of the past, were a few, rarely observed holidays.  The one most observed was "Kanak", which fortuitously occurred only a few days after our arrival in Isban. No one that we encountered could tell us the origins of Kanak, which oddly was a celebration of dogs.  On that day, every dog was called Kanak, which meant "queen" according to the locals.  I speak some Deniz-Zorbeshi, and that is not the word for Queen, but no matter.  It was apparent that little excuse was necessary for a celebration in Isban.

Now, how to find a staff wielder?  Veltek had a confidence (in me) that I did not share.  Forcellus, I believe, had no such faith, but he pretended to for my sake.  Towering over the Isban men, Forcelus was an intimidating presence.  I could feel that the Isbans were staying clear of us partially for that reason.  But Forcellus Blaad was as kind and thoughtful as he was deadly.

The evening before our trip, I had gone on a Shamanic Journey.  I desperately wanted some sort of direction.  My vision presaged our visit, and I saw dogs, or rather wolves.  They chased me at one point, and in the end only one reached me.  I was not sure how this would translate, but upon arriving I determined that the one man who reached out to us, would be our candidate.  Best I could do.

Unfortunately, the first person that approached us was Duke Telak Isban.  The Duke was a man of some sixty years.  Hardly a fit candidate.  "Welcome your Eminence" He said to me.  A title that has followed me for many years, but that I will always be uncomfortable with.  "Please enjoy our festivities" he went on.  The Duke apparently relished his festivals, and did not apologize for conducting one in a world increasingly enveloped in darkness.  In the end, we had to beg our leave to look for our candidate.  The duke apparently assigned us a lackey to serve us during our stay.  We asked the man, whose name was Turmond to take into the oldest part of the city.  My thinking was that our candidate would be as close to the original culture of the city as possible, and cling to any vestige of old Isban.  We marched through most of the city.  We must have been viewed as tourists, or fools.  The latter was the truth.  I had no idea what I was doing.  Veltek and Forcellus were kind.  Neither called me on it.  Despairing, I took us to the Duke's palace.  Perhaps we should have the Duke just assign someone.  Perhaps in his family line.

"You shall share our feast" the Duke announced as we were welcomed into his great hall.  "You honor our humble celebration" he went on.  We thanked him.  "I see that you have added one to your number" he said, motioning to Turmond.  "Yes, thank you." I said  "He has proven very valuable."  The Duke looked at me curiously.  "Thank you for lending him to us." I explained.  "I sent no one" said the Duke eyeing the young man.  All of us looking at him now, Turmond finally spoke "I just wanted to meet a Raylan.  And especially the great Tirian.  I am sorry if I took advantage of your mistaking."  Thinking now about my sore legs that had covered miles of the city, I could not help but laugh at my own pomposity.  We had found our man within ten minutes of our arrival!

Next: The Staff of the Elements

We arrived back in the capital fifteen days after we had left.  Morale was at a low ebb in the city and I was not a welcome sight.  None of us were.  By now everyone knew we were seeking a solution and as light had not returned, we were marked as failures.  In council, we related our findings to the King.  I recommended that we find the fabled elemental staff to combat the darkness, which I identified as an evil entity.  I was jeered.  "Where is this entity?" they asked.  I could not answer, for I still had no real idea.  "The staff will help us find it" is all that I could say.  "Where is this staff?" they queried, with undisguised sarcasm.  "Well," I continued, "it may lie in the fabled Catacombs of Zenabesh, where it was probably placed millenia ago".  "A MILLENNIA ago?" shot back the King.  "Nine millennia ago, sire."  The King looked at me with what must have been hatred.  The rest of the council either followed his lead or stifled derisive laughter.  The King stood and pounded the council table "By the Esamic blood-and-bile I will have everyone's head in this room if we do not find a cure to this darkness that does not take us back nine thousand years!"  Everyone fell silent.  No one had an answer, so no one spoke.  No one spoke about it the next day either when the bad news arrived that the Porthan Grand Duke had gathered his councilors and abruptly sailed out of DOM in protest of their ignored colonies in Uranta.

When we met again, the King informed me that Karsh would remain at his side.  I would miss his company, he so reminded me of Lythe.  But I knew that the King needed his son to help deflect criticism of our elusive cure and to deal with the Porthan situation, so I did not protest.   He also sanctioned me to do whatever I thought best about the darkness.

I endlessly studied every bit of information that I could locate.  There is no record of the Staffs eventual disposition.  I assume it was placed into the Zenabesh catacombs.  If this repository had been discovered and broken into, however, then it would be doubtful that we would be able to recover it.  My search revealed another possibility, that another Elemental Staff could be constructed.  A description of the staff has existed since ancient times that described the process;

"A stave of earth shall of and by innocence be found and then reborn before Air.  It shall them be transmuted before Water with fire and then once again be the servant and receptacle of Earth."

This description is supremely vague.  I would hate to have to bake bread from such a recipe.   The special lettering describing the elements in certain words (but not others) meant that both Avatars of the elements and elemental ingredients were to be involved. Thus, my translation is: "A wooden staff is accidentally found by a chaste human (or grimdon).  The staff is then brought before the Avatar of Air (Naralle) to be "reborn" (not sure about this one).  The staff is then brought before the Avatar of Water and there the staff is transmuted, adding some object of Fire (a Power object?)  The staff is then complete, and is usable by the human/grimdon [earth] wielder. Alcazar wrote that using a grimdon would probably have skewed the staff too far toward earth seeing as it is powered by the Alak-Ans, the great earth object.  He mused that the ancient Rayla probably used an Isban man due to his Fire-Water lineage.  He thought that this would perfectly balance the elemental mix.  Who am I to argue.  So I need to find a chaste Isban man that just happened to find a staff.  Then I have to find an orb of Fire, and an Avatar of Water.  All before the Dominion sinks into the abyss.  By his obvious impatience I know Veltek is coming.

Next: The Young Man

This map depicts the colonies of Uranta, including the short-lived colony of New Portha.

In 1280, twenty years before my noisy enlightenment occurred in the Great Library, DOM had launched itself in a bold new enterprise: it became a colonial power.  As far back as 1260 seafarers from the coast of Blaad (Old Gastor province) had made it past the destructive and dreaded weather and currents of the Great Northern Flux and had reported seeing land to the northeast.  With Porthan advances in ship-making such journeys were more frequently made.

The first official DOM colony of the new land that eventually became known as Uranta was made by Elian Gandus.  And despite much criticism, named the colony "New Portha."  Gandus was not the first nation to claim a portion of Uranta.  Moritania had occupied it's northeastern end for at least twenty years beforehand.  And more recently, the nation of Traisge had also established a colony on the southern end of the continent.  There was also a native population there that probably emigrated from Tixtlan during the Glacial Epoch. 

The colony proved a costly endeavor, as violence between colonists, natives and the other colonial powers was ongoing.  Moritania felt they had claimed the entire continent and were therefore particularly troublesome. 

The days of the Traisgan Empire were waning.  They had lost control of Meildon, Femer and Predische to the south of Traisge, and so the Traisgan Emperor looked to the north.  He began to seek trade with the islands and countries of the Marepise using ships.  Naturally a port in the north would be advantageous to this end, especially with the thought of mining and returning the untold riches of the new world to the mother country.

The King of DOM however, did not see the advantages of a colony on Uranta.  He was not a seafaring man, and believed that trade over the seas between the nations of the Marepise would be a failure.  This short-sighted decision would later prove a disaster.  The King repeatedly ignored Portha's requests for increased aid for the colony.  By the time the darkness appeared, Portha was the colony's sole supporter.  By the time our party returned to DOM from the Great Library at Reva to report our findings, The Porthan colony was under siege and not expected to survive.  The colony lasted twenty years until it's death in the autumn of 1300.

Next: The Colonies of Uranta

The experience is hard to describe in writing.  Had you skill in Vibroturgy, you would better glean my witness from this page, but only this page.  No copy would do.  Not because of any grand power I have, but because my emotion is left like an ink on this parchment.  Fleeting glimpses and vague communal understanding recorded.  I know what it looked like.  Sitting before a tree and staring at it.  I have spent too much time among humans not to appreciate the humor in the situation.  But my nervous self consciousness gave way very quickly to awe, and then to silent immersion.  It is oddly like the Shamanic Journey, but with a warmth and a sense of understandable chronology missing from the journey into the pink mist.  Like I was meeting an old wise friend for a listen and a long walk.  I posed questions as they came to me, and they were answered not in words, but in brief emotional feelings that allowed me to imagine the situations they pertained to.  It was Vibroturgy that was open-ended and seemingly endless, but also comforting and warm.  I knew that the tree liked me, and was as happy to see me as if an old and lonely relative.  I also quickly realized that Hamell could not predict the future.  He was simply a living entity that had been around long enough to know a thing or two about the past and present.  I also discovered that one needed to have a bit of historical knowledge to place his answers in context.  I lacked that information at the time.  In fact, I did not put his answers into perspective until a week after my visit to Hamell, when I visited the Great Library at Reva.  It was in the halls of that institution that my audible shouts of final understanding disturbed the pilgrims there. 

I had wanted to know the nature of the darkness, how it began, where it was going, why Hamellile was protected and how it could be defeated.  In answer to my initial barrage of questions, I felt a wave of emotion that nearly floored me.  An incredible shame that quickly gave way to resolution.  I discovered this to be the trapped emotion of the Raylan Domination, when we Raylan sought to dominate the other races for their own protection for a time, then discovered that we were the ones that they needed protection from.  The resolution was the Elemental Pact.  A resolve that produced the Staff of the Elements.  A fabled construct that incorporated the four elements and that was to keep the elemental faiths on an equal footing and to keep deities and other entities from being summoned into this plane of existence.  I knew then why Hamellile had been protected, it was the birthplace of the Elemental Pact.  So, either the elements were out of balance, or something had been summoned.  This led me to recall another emotional gift given to me by Hamell, the greed of men.  Or rather a man.  A greed for power, then a sudden and great humility.  The man had stepped beyond his reach.  Someone else had taken his power and now he was the least powerful of men.  Finally, Hamell had shown me his fear; of a presence released from bondage in a prison.  "I know what it is!" I shouted to the faces of the scholars now facing me in the Library.  "The prison is Zenabesh!  The ancient catacombs of the Great Age of Magic have been opened and an entity has not only been released, but is unconfined and is now here seeking to destroy the Elemental Pact."  My joy of discovery was short-lived however, when I recalled Hamell's fear: without the Elemental Staff, the Pact would lose, and in fact IS losing that fight…

Next: An Exotic Digression

The four of us headed toward Giorda.  We rode horses acquired in Baritor.  Mine was "Windrider" and was darker brown than the others.  She also started out the least accommodating.  I am not much of a horseman, but Animal Empathy revealed that she had been the second mare in her old stable, and now in this new herd she desired the lead.  This proved difficult as Karsh had established the human (and horse) hierarchy.  I convinced both animals invlived that Karsh was leading at my request, and that Windrider was in fact the lead.  A minor amount of nudging between the two confirmed this, and except for their ongoing brittleness at the continual darkness, we were all fine.  By now you may think me mad - this was done without words - Animal Telempathy and mild Suggestion are wonderful things.  I never bothered telling the others about this insignificant tussle, it's the kind of thing they would roll their eyes at.

We rode along the shore of the Dorcer Sea from Baritor to Giorda.  We headed straight for the Dorcer Tavern "to get the lay of the land" explained Karsh and Forcellus, but I suspect that the ale and other delights there were the way the land lie. 

That I was suspect became quickly evident.  The inn would not dare refuse me service.  I was not only famous, but in the company of the Prince.  But I could tell that they distrusted me.  This was the closest large town to Hamellile.  Their reason for their emnity was made clear on the following afternoon when after riding through the small human village of Buhween and into Rayla, the cloud cover began to lift.  By the time we were spotted by Raylan sentries near the sacred grove, we felt the sun on our backs.  Something was protecting the grove from the darkness and I needed to know what it was.

The Rayla construct their homes in the forest canopy of Raylan trees.  They use the structure of the tree to form the support for their dwellings, they do not hammer into the trees, which they regard as sacred protectors.  They are not as kindly toward other tree species, however, and fell some for construction.  Communal in nature, each dwelling is connected to form a village in the trees.  Hamellile is a great circle of a city that surrounds an especially sacred grove of unmolested Raylan trees.  At the exact center of this grove is the eldest Raylan tree, Hamell.  It is to this tree that Raylan pilgrims journey for communion, and it to this tree that I come for answers.  I am certain that the others, (save for the ever-curious Veltek), thought this something that needed to be crossed off the list to placate me.  That the answer to the protection riddle must lie with some charm or magic.  They viewed with skepticism that a tree could hold any form of answer.  And truth be told, after so much time spent with humans, I doubted it myself.  Still, I soon found myself standing in front of the great and silent Hamell.  Next to me were my three compatriots, a few unknown pilgrims, and Naralle, the Raylan "Lilla", or "grove tender" of Hamell and his grove.  Naralle had revealed worriedly that Hamell had been sleeping lately.  This is of great concern to the Rayla, as the tree falling into slumber had not occurred since Raylan fought against Raylan over 9,000 years ago when Dunall went to war against Kalaiis of Dramellile.  "This sleep" Naralle went on to reveal "has only lasted a few seconds."  I shot Forcellus a caustic gaze after he mumbled "looks asleep now."  I later explained to my compatriots that the tree does not actually "talk".  They seemed relieved at that.  "I am an Empath" I said, stating the obvious.  "Empathy is a Raylan skill, and I use that skill to communicate with the tree."

Next: Hamell

We were given a room in the palace.  We were invited to share our experience with the King, but we ourselves did not yet fully understand the deeply personal journey we had undertaken, we declined until the following day.  In the meantime, we decided to share with each other what had happened.

Forcellus was first to blurt out that it was the worst experience of his life.  That it was a horrible nightmare full of vicious dogs and enemies tearing at his flesh.  Karsh's experience was similar, reporting that he had been sucked into a pit full of roots and vermin that he desperately tried to crawl out of and finally succeeded.

Veltek then told us that he found himself unable to stop asking multiple questions in his head.  He could not narrow it down.  An hour after I had entered my trance, he finally managed to still his thoughts, but he simply could not concentrate on the pit.  He said that by that time Forcellus and Karsh were raving and that I was swooning.  He said that he looked at the Shaman at that point and received a face full of powder from him.  He went right into the pit after that.  In answer to my question he said he met with few roots, and no vermin.  He simply slid into a pink mist.  "I saw faces there" he said.  "What was your question?" I asked him.  "I wanted to know the nature of the darkness" He said.  I assumed that his vision after he got past the mist would be similar to mine, given that our questions were so similar, but I was wrong.  The "cause" was my request, the "nature" was his, and so his result was markedly different.  He continued; "after the mist, I found myself lying in my bed.  It was a warm summer night, and the coverlet was down.  But suddenly, it grew cold.  I pulled up the coverlet.  I pulled it up too far at first, for it covered my face.  I then pushed it down a little.  As I lie there, it worked it's way up again, and again I pushed it down.  Almost immediately it came up again, but this time, I could not for the life of me pull it down.  I decided to get out of bed, but found that my legs could not move.  I knew that the coverlet was gripping them.  That this quilted bed covering had somehow come to life and was trying to keep me on the bed, and keep me covered.  But it did not stop there.  Soon I was battling it for my very breath, and ultimately, I lost."  He looked at us in fear.  We suppressed our laughter in the face of his obvious trauma in the wake of a coverlet attack. 

I then recounted my tale of human children and colored eggs.  No one took me seriously.

We decided that the overarching take away from our experience was that the darkness was not caused by natural means, and that it was somehow malevolent in nature.  I am not opposed to more such journeys, despite the mad nature of the experience, I felt it worthwhile.  It is said that Esam, who hailed from Baritor, used to be a master of such Shamanic exploration.  I am sure that I can discover more about the darkness, and more about life in general. 

Before leaving, I accepted Duke Ezak's gift of a small skin drum.

Next: The Raylan Grove