Whom the gods would destroy...

[valadaar]

Kadarin whispered to mouse, "Just hide - but take care to be silent."

He had considered taking Delsordo's clothing to ward off the cold but reconsidered it.  Mouse had developed a close bond with his fellow mute Delsordo.  No, he had taken what little wealth the mute carried as well as his weapons.    Kadarin was not a believer in grave goods and from what he saw of the fate of clerics, not a great believer in gods either.

In any case, Kadarin stood quietly and listened, searching for some clue as to the identities of those that approached.  In his hand he put some rosepetals..

[Murometz]

"The Von Hellens have their Dew-Marked Rose, and the Hellschwerts their 'Unrivaled'. They--"

'They are ancient clans with madness, madness of the most dire sort, flowing in their veins, that is what THEY are"

"Mind your tongue, voices carry in darkness."

'What Rot! Voices do not carry any faster in darkness! Wives tales!"

"Which clan will we fight for, then? Lokknar's or Alair's?"

"Whichever pays us most coin, naturally."

some silence, then...

"They say a Banshee haunts this wood, yet we travel by night. Ripe for the picking, we are"

"Maybe you are, I'll slay any spirit that dares haunt me. Besides, we need make haste as you know."


Kadarin and Mouse crouched in Lamb's Ear and listened. Hiding in a forest at night was no difficult task. The voices were of two human men by the sounds of it. Kadarin could hear the occassional clank of armor, and an occassional snort of a horse. The pair were obviously walking their mounts, not daring to ride in darkness.

[Murometz]

Kyrian and Adan

Though no injury seemed to mark Kyrian, Adan kept an eye on the knight as the pair travelled. Kyrian was distant and unnaturally queit. A few times, Adan even noticed the knight shudder, as if some cold current of ice-water, had suddenly spilled into his veins. Adan left Kyrian to his thoughts. The knight had embraced death and lived. Few could claim the same.

Adan lifted his firebox to peer ahead into the gloom, and once more shadows danced upon the darknening wood. The two were slowly making their way down Theubold's Path.

As Adan neared his home, his thoughts turned to his family once more. He had missed much these last few years he surmised, if the Hellschwerts were now in some death-fued with the Von Hellens. Once he remembered, the two clans were on the best of terms, ruling their neighboring lands with noble cause, equally known for their storied valor and familial lore (and the occasional streak of madness)

Adan's thouhts were interrupted when he spied another body upon the ground up ahead. He let out a long sigh. Another body, this one sitting slumped beside a tree. A look of utter and unspeakable terror upon the man's face--a sellsowrd by the looks of him--hinted at his untimely end, though not as much as the dried blood around his ears did. The corpse wore chainmail, and a spear was propped up against the tree next to him.

[Adan Hellschwert]

"Another." Adan simply shook his head, his expression grim as he viewed the corpse before him, noting the foreign make of his mail, the strange heraldry. "Things must be dire indeed, if the sell-swords have begun to swarm. There must be much wrong." Kneeling next to the man, the young nobleman began the brief ritual of last rights, commending his soul unto the next world. But here, in the night, there was not the time to bury him. Not properly, anyway.

Rising from the fallen man's corpse, he looked over to Kyrian. "We will need to rest soon, ere dawn comes. We are not too distant from a huntsman's lodge that my family once maintained, though I know not what shape it may be in now, or even if it is still ours to claim. We may hazard to rest there, for it is a long journey yet to the nearest of my kinsman's liege man's home, and the way is exceedingly difficult. With luck, there may even be some hard stores there, as well."

[Murometz]

Hunting Lodge

The foliage muffled the hoot of the owls. Various other night noises accompanied Adan and Kyrian on the trail. After several hours, Adan paused and lifted his firebox into the darkness, looking left then right from the trail. It was past midnight now, and as the path went on, the forest grew thicker and denser around it.

Determined to press on despite the darkness, hours passed, and finally Adan and Kyrian came to a halt. Adan once more surveyed the dark forest around them, as best he could.
 
“This way now”, he spoke, and these were the first words spoken between them in hours. For the first time since they had entered the vast wood, they veered off of Theubold’s Path into the forest proper. The very first streaks of gray pierced through the inky blackness. Dawn had not yet arrived, but was being heralded.

Finally came the light. The two travelers and Kyrian’s mount had slogged through several miles of pine, oak, and elm, crunching needles and leaves underfoot, to at last come upon a raised hillock, sparsely wooded, from where Adan could gaze upon the Hellschwert’s once-favored hunting lodge, an impressive, octagonal keep of granite and timber, old and draped with lichen.

A cold, morning breeze picked up, chasing away white mist.

Beside the great lodge stood stables and nearby, hound kennels. No baying or snorting to be heard. All quiet.

[Adan Hellschwert]

All quiet was a good sign, at least here. Adan's eyes darted across the structure, taking in its current shape, and the shape of memories that were layered here. Rhys's 17th birthday, his coming of age hunt with both the Dukes in attendance. His own first hunt, his sister laughing at him as she had taken a boar, and he, nothing. His first captain, laughing and smoking on leave. No, now was not the time for this. After a moments thought, he pointed towards the nearest side of the building. "There, the main entryway. It seems unoccupied, and this place is a part of my ancestral lands. We should enter by the front gate."

So saying, the Hellschwert scion began to walk up towards the front gate, brazenly intending to open the door, and walk on in, using the concealed key that was, in his memory, left behind a loose stone in the rear wall of the stables.

[EchoMirage]

"There must indeed be something amiss in these lands to leave such a fine piece of real estate unmanned, uninhabited, unkept." Kyrian was used to other conditions in Jantir, where men would plot and war over a choice site in a better district, even though it was perchance thirty paces across.
As Adan unlocked, Kyrian marched inside, and led Herald to where the stables had to be. "You will require a steed as well, Adan - what kind of lord returns to his land on foot? A lance, and banner as well perchance; so browse the keep for something fitting, and Herald will bear you should you fail to procure a worthy stallion."

Of the saddle he relieved the charger and gave him ample fodder while he brushed him clean of the dust of the road. Finally, the steed was calming down from their encounter, and so was he. A blanket he threw over the mount's back, and headed off, to rejoin Adan.

Upon entering the main hall across the courtyard, he was greeted by dusty rural splendor, all polished wood, furs and hunting trophies, intermingled with stern faces gazing down from paintings on the walls. From what he could discern, there was an assembly of war spoils and cultural artifacts spanning centuries and a good expanse of the continent, most likely brought here from adventurous endeavors and campaigns.

"Ah, the abode of nobles with a lineage long and meticulously noted, tied to the ancestral land with bonds almost supernatural; so much unlike the court, indeed." He grinned as he recalled a few choice encounters with upstart nobles, so full of themselves and aloof despite having risen out of the commoner throngs just yesterday. "Their manners might not have been decent, but at least their fencing was on par, and purses full." He took in the feeling of the place, then turned to Adan once more: "I'd welcome if you told me of your family and history, while I aid you in relieving yourself of that armor."

[Adan Hellschwert]

As he drifted down the main hall, lighting lamps as he went, Adan merely shook his head. "I am a penetant, not a lord. Had justice been done, not mercy granted, my head would decorate the walls of Landeel Castle proper."

His face as stern as the portraits above as he looked back at them, at his ancestors, then shook his head, and began to walk towards a statue in the center of the main hall. Tall and marble, it detailed not a man, but a woman, a warrior, adorned in armor, a long blade at her side, her visage strong and noble, yet strangely angelic. Dipping, he pressed his lips to the ground at the feet of the statue, before rising, and beginning to polish the dust from it, with a soft cloth retrieved from a near by cabinet. "With the Holy Lady, our story begins. Before Jantir was even six mud huts gathered in a ring by a river, she journeyed here, bearing a sword, said to be crafted by the rhin themselves. But in those days, this land was held not by men, but by a great devil, though his aspects are lost to history. The Lady Alis slew the devil, and here, with her men, she built her stronghold, and bore children. We have been building her mountain ever since." A gesture to a portrait upon the wall. "Lutz, conquerer of Skyrim." Another gesture. "Sorn, who went to Nehpala and beyond in his adventures."  Pointing not to one portrait, but to four, one of which was another stern woman, "Charl, Layalyn, Erik, and Noah, against whom the Jantiri laid siege for a century and a half." Another, to the far edge of the hall, a newer portrait. "My father, Rhys. Stern, but merciful. Of the five heirs he had remaining when I left, I am but the fourth.  Two elder brothers, and two sisters, one elder, one younger."

The statue polished, the devotional completed, he shook his head. "They say the land is torn by war, it would be wisest to check the rooms before retiring to them. We may yet have need of steel."

[Murometz]

Upstairs they drifted, walking the silent halls, and examining rooms. Moth-ridden tapestries depicting everything from knights battling demons to children receiving holy blessings to bear hunts, adorned the walls.

As Kyrian pushed open a bedroom door, a voice came from within. The room featured an impressive canopy bed with netting, an oval, oaken table, and several fine chairs. Some mirrors hung in places here and there, each one more baroque than the last, a nightstand, a copper tub for bathing, and not much else.

From a small fireplace not far from the bed, an eerie greenish flame, offered some light but little heat.

“Well here is something you just don’t see any more these days”, came the languorous voice from the bedroom Kyrian had just opened. Adan came up behind the knight to look within.

“A Von Hellen and a Hellschwert, St. Alys be blessed. Come to share a spirited hunt, no doubt. Cats are usually found in the household of the Von Hellen. We prefer hunting hounds here in Landeel, do we not, Adan?”

The voice belonged to Denhane Hellschwert.  An uncle of Adan’s on his mother’s side. Adan immediately recognized the man’s sleepy voice, and the top of his head. A long sandy-colored pony tail, hung from a high-backed chair of velvet, adorned with tiny iron ravens.

The man was facing a window, and did not turn to greet the pair, but merely continued staring out, the back of his head the only thing visible from the entrance.

“I knew that you were on your way here nephew, but I do not know why. Sorcery is a mixed sack of goods, I find. Don’t you agree?”

Still Denhane did not rise or even turn his chair.

"There’s a boy here somewhere”, Denhane mumbled. “Where ever did he go?  If you find him, he will bring you meat, cheese, and wine. He will look after your horses too. Whatever else you may need.”

"His name is Erund, my sister Losamund’s boy. Aptly named is he not? I find myself sending him on errands constantly. If you find him, flog him for me, won’t you? An insolent child he is, not a good assistant for an aging wizard.”

With that Denhane grew silent, and continued his window vigil.

[Adan Hellschwert]

"Uncle Denhane." Adan's voice was level, even slightly friendly as he spoke to the man, his mind running through what he remembered of the man. Unbalanced, perhaps, would have been the best way to describe him.

"Hounds and felines, each their place and time." Adan shrugged, his mail jingling as he looked through the room, not quite entirely at ease as he did so. "I fear my studies have left me little time for the sorcerous arts, however, so that I will have to take your word about it, as always."

Taking a single step towards the window, looking out as well, though not stepping closer to his uncle, nor to that cold green flame that glowed in the fireplace, "We do hunt, though it is less spirited, and more a hunt for spirits. I seem to have left behind some unfinished business, before I was sent away."

[Murometz]

"Yes, well, that." Denhane mumbled as if uninterested.

"Lyle is still alive, Adan. I am sure he misses you. Your sister is being held captive by the Von Hellens currently. No easy task that was for them, let me tell you. She killed a few before they bagged her, good ol' Gwyn!"

The man paused, as if to catch his breath. From where Adan was standing, he could hear the weakness in his uncle's voice. He was old to be sure, but sounded particularly raspy, as if speech, or even drawing a new breath, caused him discomfort.

"Where to begin, Adan. Where to begin....Perhaps I should begin at the end, for that is where we all find ourselves now. At the end."

“Half of our respective clans are dead and buried--or worse--and the feud rages on. The remaining Von Hellens along with their liegemen and retinue siege Brightblade Keep. The Hellschwerts remain behind their granite walls. Your lord-father is dead, burned alive by the bastard-duke Von Hellen. Your lady-mother Alair has fled the bloody pogrom, blessed be her name, but your twin Gwyn, that hellion, is said to still be alive. Lyle is alive as I mentioned, but has grown madder since your last visit, if that be possible.”

“They say a few champions of the Von Hellen’s yet remain, beside Lokkner, Hegvolt of the Dew-Marked Rose yet lives, still loyal to his demon-loving duke and--- ”

"Oh yes, Kyrian of the Dew-Marked Rose!" Denhane's voice rose ever-so-slightly. "Demon-loving I called your grand duke. If my words insult you, I would understand. But truth be told, your duke has been tainted by demons--malignant forces which even I do not yet fully comprehend. Though---he is no better than our own rabble. Once, there was no man or elf, as noble in heart and spirit as Lokkner. Now..." Denhane trailed off.

The whole time, the man remained motionless, only his pony-tail bobbing as he spoke.

"Do not come much closer, Adan" he redirected his voice toward his nephew, still sounding casual. "You'll catch a horrible chill by the window. Those d**n fires--no heat, all sickly, green light.

Finally remembering the last thing Adan said, Denhane added with finality. "If its spirits you are after, there is a troublesome banshee that keeps killing the sell-swords we sent for, ours and the Von Hellen's men as well. At least she has no biases-heh. Haunting Theubold's Path she is. Perhaps you can hunt her down."

[Adan Hellschwert]

"Gwyn!" The one word that Adan manages is a strangled, gasping yelp, a noise somewhere between feral panic, rage, and terror. Though the unusual bond between himself and his twin was poorly understood outside the immediate family, and occasionally rumored to be magical in nature, it was little more than ineffable closeness. And that struck at him now.

It would be long moments before the still bemailed knight fully recovered, enough to look at his uncle, and query, "And of Aron? Of Thea? Live they yet?" 

[Murometz]

"They yet live, Adan. They yet live." He paused as if considering wheher or not to say something more, then----"Do not fear overmuch, my nephew", his uncle's voice suddenly sounded softer and more caring, "They will not kill her. Not yet anyway. She is too important. You have time." With that, Denhane stirred, then made a strange, indeterminbale noise.


"But where are your manners? Find Erund, give our guest here some food and drink. Let it not be said we Hellschwerts have forgotten the laws of hospitality. Break bread and crush salt with the brave knight. And leave me. I grow tired now, and it won't be long..."

[Murometz]

At that moment, a youth bearing the general family resemblance, appeared in the doorway. Eleven, maybe twelve, a serious looking boy with sandy locks like his uncle Denhane. He was one of the sons of Losamund, half-sister to Lady Alair, as he himself explained. His brothers and sisters had been taken by the Von Hellen vassal--Emmeraut, the Giant's Son--after the huge warrior and his men had successfully sieged Losamund's Hall in the Von Hellen name, a minor Hellschwert estate in southern Landeel.

Denhane would speak no more, but the boy proved talkative.

"I have been with Uncle Denhane here, since they destroyed our home, Uncle Adan. I am hoping to learn magic from him. My sword alone won't do i fear, in exacting my revenge. Do you go to Ashe Keep? Verlyn still holds out. Tough old bastard. His walls remain intact, and he swore to nunc' when we saw him, that if he had one hundred able men, he'd march on the Mad Duke's castle himself!"

"Do you wish food? There is aplenty here. Wine in the cellars too. Barrels upon barrels. I can fetch one. And weapons, uncle! Spears, bows, swords..."

The only time young Erund queited down was whenever he caught glimpse of Kyrian in the doorway. He had heard of the homo felis in his studies, and had seen elves before. But never such a warrior as this. An aura of glory seemed to hang upon the knight's shoulders like a garland. And Denhane had mentioned he was of the Dew-Marked Rose. A Von Hellen man! Erund was confused and wondered to himself, why his uncle Adan wold consort with the enemy.

Adan allowed his half-nephew to speak his mind, and Kyrian stood listening as well, still trying to comprehend the words of Denhane. Demon-loving Duke? Kyrian's patron, the Grand Duke Lokkner, was the epitome of a knight, and more than that, one of the few men Kyrian truly admired.

This was no feud which they were about to walk in on, they thought as they listened. This was a bloody war!

[Murometz]

Meanwhile

Morning came finally to the woods, birds chirping happily, and Kadarin and Mouse rose to stretch their legs. Their choice seemed simple at first. A single snaking trail, well-trodden, judging by the previous night's noises, lay a few dozen feet away from their bushy night's camouflage. Peering through some trees in the opposite direction however, allowed Kadarin to see something he had no way of seeing during the night.

Apparently the two had spent the night on some incline in the forest, a raised forest-ridge, and looking below, away from the trail they had focused on previosuly, Kadarin could now see a rather grim structure amidst an overgrown estate of some kind. A granite and timber keep, complete with stables, and what looked like kennels to the side. The latter was empty of dogs, but a horse's whinny could suddenly be heard from the former.

Kadarin stared, but no movement or other sound could be heard. It was as if the whole place was abandoned, except for the one horse apparently, though Kadarin could not see the creature at this angle. Lichen fought for living space with ivy everywhere he looked.

A mere three-hundred yards away or so, though getting there through the brush would prove tiresome, he knew.

[EchoMirage]

As he listened, Kyrian grew ever more bewildered at the events said to transpire.

"A mire we have marched into, Adan; a path ahead I see not, I know too little. Duke Lokknar, consorting with fiends, holding a noble damsel captive? From his right hand I received my spurs, by all that is sacred! The Roses, marching to war in rank and file? Unheard, I tell you, for we are but guardians and keepers, of one person at a time, a deserving paragon of virtue it has to be. Writings requesting the aegis of a Brother of the Rose pile up in heaps five feet tall every time the imperial courier blows his brass horn at that blessed keep, all pleading to send one of us forth. The order was never meant for mundane bloodshed, by the seven hells; what becomes now of ladies imperiled, without a knight by their side?"

He shook his head furiously, to clear it and let the infuriating thoughts settle down a bit, though his heart was racing.

"Adan, tell me that dream is not clouding my eyes. Correct me, young Erund, that I hear not folly, and this is but a cruel prank. Fear not, I will not take part in whatever madness passes for reason in this conflict, yet it is imperative that whatever dark eminence draped its lies over the sound judgment of just men is dragged into the light, screaming. I will have none of this! The knights of the Order are companions, keepers, duelists when it has to be, teachers informal more often than not. Never were we hounds of war, never will we deign to such!"

He laid his hands upon Adan's shoulders, and looked firmly, deeply into his eyes.

"I know well that you have high stakes in this twisted game, friend. I myself am torn. If sanity is in such short supply here, it may fall upon us to bring this folly to a halt."

[Adan Hellschwert]

"You, who are one, cannot even begin to understand the stakes that I have in this affair, my friend. Though blood sings for vengeance, that is not the way of St Alys, of Trigu. The madness must be cut to its core, e'en if one worthy of it must take up the Brightblade and take the light to it." He shakes his head then, closing his eyes. "It is a shame. It was for this purpose that the Unrivaled were founded, to scourge the deepest shadows from the land, in memory of Her Holiness. They will need awakened to their true purpose."

Released, then, the knight knelt before Erund with a clatter, setting the helm at his side. "Child, it falls upon me, and not upon thee, to bring justice to the perpetrator of this crime. Stay your hand, for St. Alys teaches us not revenge, but justice, and you are of her holy line. Stain not your heritage of Light with hatred." A pause, and he reaches out to touch the boy upon the shoulders, as Kyrian had just done to him. "At first light, we leave, for Lord Ashe's fortress. Would you lay out traveler's rations for us in the morning?"

[Kadarin]

"Well, I think we should go and see if we can avail ourselves of the lord's hospitality.  I am no ranger that can live well off the land, and forgive me, but I do not suspect you are either."

With that said, Kadarin made his way to trail, the grey stone keep his destination.

"You did grab Delsordo's sword, right? Perhaps we could even procure a decent burial for our old friend."

[EchoMirage]

"Well spoken, Adan. Even if I am no faithful in Trigu - I doubt he would have me! - there is merit in you steps. But enough of the gloom! Never forget - fortune favors the bold. We shall not shy back, and you will see, in the end, there will be well-deserved celebrations, a masterful painting of you upon that wall, and maidens will wear fresh smiles upon their lips. Ha! Now off to bed with ye both, and I shall do likewise."

And so he did, the anger he felt a moment before abating as a flash flood.

There was a course - he would find it. A reason behind the madness - sooner or later to be revealed. Bandits - bound to run on his blade. The world had a way of working itself out, it always did. Especially when he was well rested...

Kyrian fell into trance-like elven sleep, and his mind drifted through a moonlit dream, wandering amongst spirits of the wild...

[Adan Hellschwert]

Retiring with little food, willing to take little more than jerky and water, Adan retired at last as well, though he allowed Erund at least to aid him in shucking the heavy armor. His version of rest that night would be fitful at best, punctuated with pacing and cursing beneath his breath. The captivity of his twin did not sit easy with him, it would seem.

[Murometz]

There was not much for Erund to say after that. He nodded, trying to look as mature as possible, and then proceeded to prepare the supplies for the coming day’s journey.

While Kyrian dreamed, Adan tossed.

Toward dawn, unable to sleep, he wandered the hunting hall once more, like some apparition in the night, examining among other things the hunting lodge’s arsenal.

Just then, passing a window, Adan froze as he noticed two figures outside, approaching the main gate. As he stared he recognized them. It was the young wizard Kadarin and his apprentice, what was his name? Lemming or Titmouse they called him?

What in the world was the wizard was doing here, Adan thought perplexed. Just then the knocker sounded downstairs, announcing the wizard’s arrival.

----------------------------------------------------------


Kyrian dreamed as he was wont to do, but towards morning, the dream he was having began to change. Now he was opening the door to Denhane’s bedroom, walking in, and approaching the old man, who was still seated in his chair by the window.  Stepping in front the old Hellschwert wizard, Kyrian paused to examine the figure. Denhane looked up then and thinly smiled.

“I have minutes left, Ser knight. I do not wish to disturb my nephew; his heart is heavy with his past, made only heavier by his future. I have done what I could to unlock the terrible curse, I have done what I could to seal the vault—I—gods know I have tried. The feud and war will rage on. Tell Adan he MUST seek the blade now, there is no other choice. Nothing is at it seems, with your clan and mine. But I fear. I fear the Brightblade’s power. You must help him finish this. YOU must!", he coughed then, and a trickle of blood escaped his lips. Just then Kyrian could see the man’s waist, as Denhane lifted his folded arms from his lap. The wizard was nearly disemboweled. An impossibly large gash in his lower stomach, allowed several of his intestines to spill out ever-so-gently into his lap, quivering there like an undercooked suet and blood-pudding. He finished coughing and his hands reached down to hold his own bowels once more.

“It had to be this way. They have discovered me, and there was no other way. I could not hide anywhere in this world or in any other. I will die honorably instead. Tell Adan would you, that his uncle made no fuss, with his dying breath, asked for no healing draughts."

He paused to draw in a difficult breath.



“You could probably use a wizard. But not me. Not anymore. Before you leave, take my--some small gifts", he lifted a bloodied hand to gesture toward one of the mirrors in the room. "Fare well, Kyrian. Take Erund to Ashe Keep, Verlyn will look after the boy. I hope I am not forgetting anything---one other thing, go quickly, they hunt me, and I feel them close now. The Devil has come to Landeel.“

"Tell Adan---tell him----Helfen, Wehren, Heilen."

Kyrian opened his mouth to speak, but instead found himself yawning in bed, the sun’s rays nearly blinding him through the opened drapes of his own room.

[Adan Hellschwert]

Having collected, at last, the sword and knife that he had remembered admiring as a child, Adan heard the knock at the doors, and descending the stairs, he lifted a buckler from the walls almost casually, gripping it confidently in his left hand. Paranoia it would seem, should be the order of the day, in a demon haunted land. Sliding back the small window on the door, his sapphire eyes peered out, his roughly handsome face only barely visible from outside. "Kadarin! What brings a friendly face to this benighted realm?"

More readily, the portal was opened, the magi and his familiar permitted in, after which the small keep was closed, and tightly locked, the slit once more closed. "We've not long in this place, I fear, but I bid you enter, at least for the moment. I should introduce you to mine uncle as well, who is in residence as he fled those who have chosen to hunt my family." Meaning to lead the other towards the upper studies, he steps towards the stairs once more, looking back to see if the other follows.

[valadaar]

"Adan? Why of all the odd coincidences! I cannot start to tell how I got here - and perhaps indeed know little about that.  In any case, I am happy to see a familiar ace.  How fare you?"

Kadarin and mouse followed Adan to the study, and grateful to be indoors...

[Adan Hellschwert]

"The gods scowl upon this land, and upon her ruling families." With a sigh, Adan looks about the keep as he walks, almost sadly, his eyes drifting up towards the portraits on the walls, assorted noblemen, many of whom bear some resemblance to the blonde knight. "My kin are dying and imprisoned, Kadarin. I must act, but I cannot act alone. I have not the command of sorcery, and.."

Stepping off the top stair, the young nobleman pushes open the door ways to the study, and as he finds the scene within, he falls silent, the blood and guts hanging from the chair where his uncle sat telling the tale in its entirety. "..." The sound that comes from his voice is little more than a strangled  yelp. Another.. but how? No, Denhane must have been injured before even arriving, and staved off his end through willpower and sorcery, but for what purpose? "Trigu verdammen!" His bare fist slammed down into the study's table with a crashing sound, though it was not quite enough to break the baroquely decorated slab of wood on the top.

[Murometz]

[ooc]Pages from a book perused briefly in the hunitng lodge's humble library by Adan or Kyrian at some point during previous evening...[/ooc]

Ages ago the devil came to Landeel. Banished by the Brightblade was he, but not before causing much grief and strife. One such remnant of this arch devil, name unspoken, which remains to this day in Landeel, is the Peryton. Native to this land’s forests and crags, very rarely seen in other lands, the Peryton is an amalgam-horror, a creature borne of a twisted and thoroughly evil imagination. It is said this devil took particular delight in laying waste to castles and slaying knights with his talons. Those that he destroyed took no comfort even in death, for their souls he claimed and refashioned, turning them into creatures of hell. Grotesque hybrids, the devil gave them the heads of elks with great, sharpened antlers to represent the puny lances the knights had wielded against him. He gave them the bodies of stags to represent their fighting spirit. He gave them wings to symbolize their vanities. He gave them talons to symbolize his own. He gave them the shadows of men to mock them. He gave them---

--Here there is a break in the text, then a footnote added by someone of a later generation—

“In practical terms, the peryton combines the body of a giant eagle (5 feet tall with a 25 foot wingspan) with the head of a powerful stag. Its skin is impervious to weapons that are not magically enchanted. Its body has dark green plumage and yellow talons. Its stag head is blue-black with pale orange eyes and glossy obsidian antlers. The peryton casts the shadow of a human rather than its own shadow most of the time, and smells like a human as well.”
                                                                                           --G v. H