The Last Words of Melehan Fulcairn

*An ancient parchment, magically preserved and written in Old Anuirean*

My dearest sister,

If you are reading this, it means that I was unsuccessful in my endeavor to rid Cerilia of that terrible awnsheghlien that is nothing like an elf. If so, I pray that you forgive me. I know I have been bullheaded at times, and have not always discussed my plans with you, but know that it wasn't due to malice or pride; you would simply try to dissuade me from my course. Besides, we Fulcairns have always been single-minded in our purpose.

My sister, ever since we were born, we had been destined for greatness. In our veins runs the blood of old, of heroes, of Cerilia itself, and yes, those that the common folk think they were gods, though I have seen the truth. If there is something I have learned from Rhuobhe, it is that he doesn't think in terms of years or decades; he thinks in terms of millennia. I know that you worry about our House and our family - but I saw a chance to finally free our lineage from our family's ancient burden. I have attained knowledge and power that few magi before me have; it would be a waste to not use it in such a noble purpose.

If there is one thing I regret, is not seeing my daughter rise to prominence. Her innate talent and bloodline strength is one of the most powerful I have seen ever, rivaling some of Anuire's greatest heroes. With proper training, she can become a force for good. I will not see her become so, but I know that you will. And to me, that means the world.

Know that I love you, regardless where I am.

Your twin brother,
Melehan Fulcairn

*A new script, written in the modern tongue*

Mara, my child. This was to be given to my sister in case of my death by my greatest apprentice. When I realized what had happened, I understood that she never saw it. In a way though, it is fitting that you read it. The rest, well, is history.

I do not ask your forgiveness. That, is reserved for my daughter and family. Perhaps though, you may understand me. The only piece of advice I can give all three of you, is that once you know what you want to do with your life, never hesitate. You must unite, or die. Blood is everything. Trust me. I learned this the hard way.

This chamber is the legacy of the Fulcairns and it is my gift to all of you. I made sure that as much of our history, culture, and heritage that I could find was kept safe here. And for you Mara, I have left for you my knowledge in Arcana. Study. Learn. One day, you will forge your own path.

Eyes Ever On Our Prey.

This Old Bitch

"Mother! Father! Aunt Sigrid's here!"

The golden-haired young man bolted across the yard behind the newly-erected wooden fortifications-- so fresh one could still smell the sweet sap of the yew planks-- with the exuberance of a boy, rather than the decorum of the adulthood that the occasion was intended to bestow upon him. Banners flapped above the new palisade, and festoons of spring blossoms scattered petals in the breeze, speckling a grey-clad figure that dismounted with some difficulty from a tall roan mare. She wore a mail hauberk, old but finely-made and well-cared for, and sported a flanged mace at her hip; both belied the cane she leaned upon to walk, and the fingers, gnarled with arthritis, that gripped it.

"Of course I'm here, silly boy. You think I would miss your wedding? I may be three-quarters in the grave at this point, but I'd crawl all the way out to be here-- Haelyn, look at you, Conor. I swear you're twice as tall as the last time I saw you. And look at those shoulders! You haven't been neglecting your drills, I see!"

"Never!" The young man grinned. "I have to impress my new bride, after all. She's the daughter of Hjalmur Yngvi, after all, and they say she can throw a spear through an oaken door six inches thick."

Aye, Conor, Sigrid mused, sadly even though she beamed outwardly. 'Tis lucky indeed that the Fulcairns have always remained close with the Yngvi. For what Anuirean noble would wed their son or daughter to one of the children of doomed, disgraced House Fulcairn? Even if those children are the finest, and brightest, and best children to walk Cerilia. She reached up-- she was a tall woman, but age had stooped her, and Conor would be a giant of a man once he'd reached his full height-- and cupped his cheek tenderly. "You are a fine boy, Conor. You do your House proud, always. The Yngvi lass is lucky to have you, and you will have a good life together."

And indeed, in his clear blue eyes, his handsome, guileless face, Sigrid saw hope, saw a light, breaking through the darkness that Melehan had dragged the House into all those years ago. A wooden castle now stood on the island in the river, the blackened and blasted ruin fading into memory. The shame, the ostracism, the plunge into shunned obscurity-- what did any of that matter, anyway? They still had each other. And the Wilders had what they always had-- their woods full of game, the rivers full of fish, and that intractable, indomitable Wilder spirit...

"Come on, Aunt Sigrid, let's get to the new great hall! I can't wait to show you around!"

Aye, titles and estates come and go. But the Wilders will always be Wilders. And the Fulcairns will always be Fulcairns.

*******

"To the bride and groom! To my dear son, and our new daughter-in-law! Long life, good health and many heirs! And may the friendship between our Houses last as long as Eirik's green earth and Nesirie's blue sea!"

Sigrid gripped her tankard, precariously in her swollen and aching fingers, hoisted it at Caedwyn's words-- Baroness Caedwyn, now-- and quaffed gladly. Gods, it made her heart ache worse than her knuckles to see her oldest and dearest friend like this. Caedwyn was smiling broadly, her voice cheerful, but her face was gaunt, her eyes ringed with dark circles, her proud bearing slumped.

Also, I don't trust that young whippersnapper who guards her these days. He looks lax, slow. If only the damned arthritis hadn't forced me into retirement. 

A hand fell on her shoulder. "Any room on this bench, Mistress Haeming? I'm inexcusably late, but better than never, as they say..." The man reached up to muffled his racking cough with a doeskin-gloved hand.

"Vigruf!" Sigrid laughed, delightedly. "It's been forever! Sit down, get some ale into you." She waved at a servant. "Miss, a tankard of ale for Master Morgenstane, if you wouldn't mind! Vig! How have you been? Where's Leisha and your brood?"

Vigruf's dour demeanor softened a touch. "Leisha's to deliver our fourth child any day now; she wasn't fit to travel. I bid the children remain behind to help; it has been a difficult pregnancy. I would never have left her side, but--" He motioned at the Fulcairns, drinking and dining merrily at the head table. Conor seemed positively smitten with his new bride, a small girl with a riotous blaze of orange curls, who'd apparently seen fit to wear a well-worn hand-axe strapped over her wedding garb. The twins were radiant in their matching green dresses. Caedwyn sat, a smile on her face but a shadow lingering in her eyes, and Lorran hovered protectively at her side.

"Listen, Vig..." Sigrid lowered her voice. "I know you and I haven't always... seen eye to eye. I just want you to know that I have always held the deepest respect for you. You have continued to stand with them staunchly even though--" she trailed off, as neither of them needed to hear the words spoken-- "and you have been the wisest and most honourable ally a House could have."

Vigruf raised an eyebrow. Aye, nothing gets past you, Vig. "Sig... what's going on? Why the speech?"

"I'm an old woman now, Vig. I've always said I wish to be useful as long as I'm alive, and alive only as long as I'm useful. I'm of no use to the Fulcairns anymore... but there's a service I'd still like to provide for them, while I can." Sigrid met his gaze, and held it a moment, and he understood, and he nodded, once.

"Vig, if you ever see... her... again... tell her her family loves her. Tell her I love her, that we will always love her. Tell her we think of her every day, and the pain of being apart from her is only eased by knowing she is safe. Tell her I, all of us, will do anything to keep her safe."

He nodded, again, silent. The serving girl returned, a tankard brimming with white foam in her extended hand.

"Let's drink, shall we? To the Fulcairns."

"To the Fulcairns."

**********************

As night fell over the Arnienbae, an accursed rain began to fall, first slowly and steadily, then fiercely, soaking through Vordhuine's embroidered velvet cloak in moments, chilling his skin. It fits my mood, at least. Foul weather for a foul mood. A foul day, all in all. His magical research had been going so well; he'd been so close to the breakthrough that would cement his position as the greatest wizard of his age, and finally show those uptight pricks at the College. But no, rebellion had broken out in the east, and Magnus had diverted his funding to the military.

I'll roast every rebel like a boar on a spit, personally, if I can get back to my work as soon as pos--

A jerk, a crunch, the bone-chilling sound of his horse shrieking in pain, and suddenly he was flying over the saddle pommel, over his own horse's head, to land, with another crunch, and a breathtaking stab of pain, flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him. He struggled to rise, and almost instantly fell back down, the pain blinding. Something's broken. How the hell did this happen? Healing, unfortunately, was not his specialty, and it might be hours before any traveler passed down this back road through the woods.

And then he saw the old woman shuffling down the path, leaning on an iron-shod cane.

"You there. Come, assist me," he barked.

...And then he saw the flanged mace, tied with rope into a gnarled fist that could no longer grip it properly, and with a sick shock realized he knew her face, knew it from all those years ago.

"You're... you're Caedwyn Fulcairn's dog."

"Aye. And you should have never come near this old bitch's pups, you son of a whore!"

The mace arced, a streak of silver, even as Vordhuine gestured and frantically yelped the words of a spell.

********************

The Imperial guard came looking for Vordhuine when he did not appear at the Emperor's court for nearly a week. On one of the back roads approaching his estate, they found a strange sight indeed-- the Imperial court wizard's corpse, skull crushed, and next to him, the burned corpse of an elderly woman with a mace tied to her hand. Horrifiedly, they gathered the court wizard's body, and unceremoniously dumped the old woman in the woods.

At least one of the guardsmen noticed that the old woman, though her face was burned nearly beyond recognition, appeared to have died smiling.

**********************************

In the Great House Records and Genealogies codex, retrieved from the Fulcairn Keep Catacombs by Cathal, Cuinn and Mara, was the following entry:

Sigrid Morgenstane
Fourth Child of Vigruf and Leisha Morgenstane
Chief Advisor to Baron Conor Fulcairn the Second

 

 

Session 23 Recap

Choosing to stay in Boeruine a while longer, the Fulcairns curry some political favour. Cuinn shares an evening drink with the Archduke in an attempt to gain more of his confidence, and to gain more information as to his motives and plans. She discovers little, but Boeruine displays both shrewd diplomacy and boorishness in equal measure.

Cathal seeks out Tashairah at a diplomatic dinner feast elsewhere in the city. Tashairah greets him warmly and Cathal, rather stoically, has her recount all she knows of the political goings on in Boeruine. She tells him that people come and go from everywhere, that it's mostly business as usual, but the people of Dhoesone have brought troubling news of a Rjurikan horde massing somewhere in Stjordvik under a ferocious warrior queen. Cathal seeks out the ambassador from Dhoesone and confirms the rumours. While the ambassador has little else to add beyond what the astute Khinasi poet had already said, his tale intrigues Cathal further. Cathal says his farewells to Tashairah and returns to the Fulcairn rooms.

They return to Fulcairn Keep shortly thereafter. They speak with Melehan on their return, explaining that they have been forced under a Geass by the Archduke and his mage. They ask if he knows of anyways to dissolve its magical shackles should the alliance with Boeruine become untenable. Melehan reprimands them softly for allowing themselves to be dominated so, but graciously agrees to research a means to do remove the Geass.

Abbess Gwenevier requests an audience with Cuinn. She declares that she has determined an appropriate quest to serve as penance for the fiasco that befell the Sword of Haelyn within the walls of the castle town. She asks that they travel to a remote settlement in the Seamist Mountains where a great threat to the world, in the form of a child, has been divined to reside. Cuinn is skeptical of the value the quest, and Cathal and Mara are both reluctant to remove a child from their family, but the Fulcairns acquiesce for the sake of their relationship with the Abbess.

They travel east and Cuinn leads them through the rugged wilderness until they come upon an uncannily idyllic village in a hidden vally deep within the mountains. Cuinn gathers the villagers in the main square and, approaching them respectfully and fairly, speaks with hetwoman openly about their purpose there. Cathal manages to talk a young boy into coming forward, and then brings the voice of Anduiras to bear, convincing the boy's parents to accompany their son back to Fulcairn Keep. They are compelled to agree, and Fulcairns return to the castle, the boy and his parents in tow. Mara studies the boy with her magic, and determines that the threat is a frighteningly strong bloodline derived from Azrai, the old, dead god of darkness.

Upon returning, they speak shortly with Gwenevier about their journey. Cuinn speaks frustratedly about their penance, questioning its necessity and validity. Gwenevier, distraught that the baroness may have learned nothing from the task, chooses to leave Fulcairn, and serve the people of Wilder's Gorge in the fields and hedges, as a missionary. Cathal, knowing that they would much rather Gwenevier on their council than a more opportunistic priest from the Western Imperial Temple tells Cuinn that he'll get her back and rushes after the Abbess.

Cuinn and Mara go to speak with Melehan, and he informs them that he has a plan to deal with Ruobhe Manslayer once and for all, but the effort will probably destroy him. Regardless, he wishes to do it, and claims that he will not truly die, but pass into another form. Mara is saddened, and troubled by the prospect of no longer having a mentor to guide her. Melehan reassures her, and asks to be left to prepare.

Cathal catches up with Gwenevier and asks her to stay on at the castle, if not to save Cuinn, then to protect his own soul. He persuades her of her importance on the council, even if Cuinn does not much care for her religion. Gwenevier is appeased for the time being and Cathal returns to the keep.

Cathal is informed of Melehan's plan, and, embarrassed for his ill treatment of his uncle, Cathal asks that they journey to his mother's old cottage at the edge of the Aelvinnwode. There, Melehan and Mara scrawl their names in the flesh of the Carving Tree, and Cuinn cuts her new name in under the old. Mara is made a Fulcairn in full, and the for once in a long time, a sense of family settles upon them. They stay a few evenings at the cottage, then return to the keep so Melehan can begin his ritual.

The Fulcairns ascend to the uppermost reaches of Fulcairn Keep, where Melehan has prepared his altar. Mara helps Melehan with the ritual, aiding him in channeling the massive energies of the Mebhaigl and Caermebhaigl, the two sources of divine energy residing in the earth of Wilder's Gorge. Melehan crafts a great maelstrom of magical energy, and sends it into the northeast to bombard Ruobhe in his stronghold. Despite the great distance, Cuinn and Cathal can see enough to watch the titanic magical battle unfold. Melehan's might, bolstered by both of the Gorge's arcane wellsprings, is too much for the Manslayer, whose defenses begin to crumble. All is not quite well, however.

Mara is able to see Melehan's true intentions through the energies they share. The archmage plans to drain Wilder's Gorge of its Mebhaigl, the land's lifeblood, in order to destroy the Awnshegh. But not only this, Melehan intends to absorb the energy of the Caermebhaigl and ascend to a higher state of being. Mara is left with a hard choice.

She can cut the ritual off abruptly, returning the Caermebhaigl and Mebhaigl to their within the land. Doing so will release Ruobhe from the shackles Melehan had previously placed upon him. It will also utterly destroy Melehan.

She can allow the ritual to continue unabated, which she is sure will destroy the Awnshegh forever, but Melehan will take all of the energy of the Caermebhaigl for himself. The Mebhaigl will be completely consumed, sickening the land of Wilder's Gorge, possibly forever, and making its energies untappable in their upcoming conflict.

Lastly, she can allow Melehan the Caermebhaigl, and he can use it to ascend. However, she can wrest control of the Mebhaigl from him, and hold its power just long enough to ensure Ruobhe's imprisonment for at least the near future. The Caermebhaigl, possibly the greatest source of magical power in Anuire, would be gone for good, but she would finally control the Mebhaigl of Wilder's Gorge, the strongest of its kind in Taeghas.

Mara, showing her evolution as a person and the bearing of a true mage, chooses the last option, the compromise. Melehan senses what she is doing, and after a moment's protest relents, absorbing the Caermebhaigl, and ascending into the heavens. The great roil of magical energy dissipates, and Mara slumps to the stone of the battlement. Cathal and Cuinn, baffled at the events that have unfurled before them, rush to their beloved sister's side. She is tired, but unharmed, and a new day dawns over the crenels Fulcairn Keep.