Enos stood talking quietly with Kheslyn as the two awaited the arrival of the portal mages in Fortress Sauvage. Soon they would be off to the battleground of Thidranki to slay the wretched traitor Carrington. There were already reports within guild conversations that he had been spotted and slain by one of the Lion’s young necromancers, Khrell. This did not concern the scout, for he knew that evil always seems to find a way to restore itself. And if this Carrington had been slain, he would likely need to be killed many times to rid the earth of his influence.


The rogue pair were so busy discussing poisons and arrows and how best to inflict the most pain upon the Judas-Celt that they did not note the approach of the elder cleric. He nearly scared them out of their leggings when first he spoke.


“Ah, a brave pair off to the Lion’s business I see!”


They turned in unison to see yet another of the elder Lion’s looking down at them. The cleric Jothan MacLachlan, smiled warmly as he stepped forward to shake the scout’s hand and bow politely to the young assassin. As seemed to be the reaction of many ladies, Kheslyn nearly fainted at the sight of his handsomeness.


“Greetings master Jothan,” they each said together.


The master cleric looked at the both of them with an expression of great concern and the hairs on their necks began to tingle as he spoke to them.


“I understand Lord Arguyle has tasked the young rogues of the guild with an important mission. Ye would do well to steel yerselves for what might be ahead. Especially you, young Kheslyn. No woman is safe when it comes to facing Carrington. His silver tongue has swayed and mislead the hearts of many a lady here in our fair Albion. No doubt, even now he has rallied the hearts of many moose-women to stand at his side in Thidranki.”


“Mark well my words. He will try to trick you and beguile you, just as he now fools the Hibernians. That is to be expected, as everyone knows many of them are slow of mind, barely smarter than trolls. And given Carrington’s way with words he will certainly have the elf-ladies all fawning at his side by now.”


“Do all of us a favor, and kill him on sight. And if ye take him prisoner cut out his tongue before he can use it to lead away your hearts as he has swayed those he now calls countrymen.”


The master mages now passed silently near where they were standing and the expression on the cleric’s face brightened.


“Ye will now be off to the battleground. Always remember that evil never triumphs in the end, and Carrington’s treachery is evil incarnate. Ye will succeed my friends. Yer skills are greater than his, and our god is greater than theirs. Be well… and prosper on yer mission.”


The last they saw of him was the blinding glare of the mage’s spell, as the cleric departed for battles they would not know, and they went forth on their mission to administer justice for Albion…

 

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(ooc)


<<<No doubt, even now he has rallied the hearts of many moose-women to stand at his side in Thidranki.” >>>


<falls out of her chair laughing>


<<<and our god is greater than theirs>>>


<grumbles and takes personal offence to this>

Arguyle stared coldly at Velaron as he heard his words. He was not one to give orders often but when he did he expected them to be followed.


"This is not a request Velaron. This is an order. Choose now what side you fight for. Do you fight for the honor of the Order or do you fight to protect the traitorous dog? We are at war. Carrington is the enemy. A dangerous one at that. He knows out tactics, our strengths and our weaknesses. The longer he lives the more Albions die." said the Paladin very matter-of-factly.


As he was about to continue a knock came from the door.


"Enter." called the Highlander.


A lean man entered. Bearing the livery of a courier for the Order. He had in his hand a letter.


"M'Lord, news from Thidranki." said the Courier bowing deeply.


Arguyle took the letter and opened it. He read the words carefully and a smile spread across his lips.


"Well, it seems that our new ally Arawn has already begun to earn his keep. Khrell, the young Necromancer, found Carrington in Thidranki. Carrington is dead." said Arguyle rather gleefully.


Then a more serious visage came across his face.


"No doubt some foul Hibernian magicks will bring him back from the dead but he now sees what his insolence and traitorous ways bring to him. The game has begun."


Then Arguyle looked at Velaron. He was still standing there listening to every word.


"What are you still doing here Velaron? You have preparations to make. Be to it lad." commanded the Paladin.

Ishish stormed into the Lions guildhall just in time to see Macivor leaving.


"What goes on here!" she shouted.

Seeing the heavy bag filled with coin at his waist Ishish grabbed Macivor's arm in a steel fist.


"Its true then is it? The High Lord General has put a price on Carrington's head?"


Ishish tore the bag of coin from Macivor's belt roughly, holding it up to his face.


"And you are going to do his bidding! Is there enough gold here to kill a friend?" Ishish shouted.


"Carrington may be misguided but he has a good heart. He was one of the few who looked out for me when I came to this land. He and I and the old norseman Questor fought side by side. I will not stand idley by and watch this murder!"


Ishish turned to go, but quickly turned back to face the mercenary.


"How much gold will it take for you to kill me Macivor?"


With that Ishish left the Hall of Lions.

Carrington stood on the ramparts of the Hibernian keep in Thidranki.


"How is your wound sir?" a young soldier asked.


"A mere scratch. They think because they outnumbered us last night that they can celebrate it today. But know this...we'll be ready tonight."


The soldier nodded.


"I hear you killed many Brits last night...most notably a paladin and a wizardress at once? I'm impressed, Carrington."


"One can do amazing things when fueled by anger. Arguyle thinks he can win a single skirmish and send his assassins, and call it an honorable win. We'll see about that when they're all lying dead...at their FAILED attempt to take my life."


Carrington turned to Tayana.


"Ah, yes...Tayana...I called you hear to tell you that the Order of the Red Lions have betrayed our cause. They may, and should be killed on sight. They are no different from any Albion fool, and are a danger to our dream. If they are seen, I ask you command your force to destroy them."


Carrington turned to the man of the shadows.


"Come....we'll talk alone."

 

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Secaran sighed softly and released Tayana's hand. "Aye, perhaps we can continue later." he smiled, briefly before turning to Carrington. The warmth that had flooded into his eyes as he talked to the heroine vanished, replaced again with the ice cold killer's eyes. He bowed, barely, to Carrington. "At your service."

 

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Mac watched with a disinterested expression on his face as Ishish threw the gold pouch at his feet in disgust and stormed out of the Lions guild hall.


In truth, he was hurt that Ish would suggest that he would even consider killing her for any sum of coin. He did not blame her, his aloof behaviour did nothing to convince anyone that he was incapable of such a thing.


The mercenary kept his feelings closely guarded. He strongly believed that to show emotion was a weakness, something to be used against you. Yet he considered the brash saracen armswoman to be his best friend, maybe even a sister.


He thought about the task charged to him. Was it a smart move to get involved in MacFadden's personal vendetta? And what of Carrington? He had been a friend of Mac's in days past.


Mac bent down to collect the bag of coins. He would follow through on his contract. He had no personal desire to see Carrington dead, yet both men had changed so much since they last fought as comrades that he would feel no remorse if the young man were to perish by his hand. This was purely business.


He hoped Ishish would understand. But unlike the simple mercenary, her goal was not the mere acquisition of wealth. She was driven by dark motives, by a hatred and desire for vengeance of her own.

Raelyn had made him feel better. It was odd how a single warm smile could change your feelings. He turned back to the assassin and folded his arms. He led him away from the bustle, into a dark corner. He lowered his voice.


"There is a mass of liqour and alcohol in a large storage area in the Guild-hall of the Order of the Red Lions."


He narrowed his eyes and pulled a vial of menacing looking fluid from his cloak, shaking it in the air lightly.


"My original plan was to have you poison it, but I have a new one..."


He beckoned him closer.


"What I want you to do requires two parts. I want you to infiltrate the storage area with this poison. However...do not apply it to the drinks. I want you to make it 'appear' that you have poisoned their water supply, as well as alcohol."


Carrington gave a satisfied smirk.


"Arguyle is much to clever to fall for a poison...so, that's why the farce. They will soon find that it is not poisoned, and go back to drinking and distributing. Then, the next night, I want you to infiltrate again. See me before then and I will give you several flasks of lethal poison. One drink will debilitate their bodies to a rasping sickeness...but will not be fatal. I don't want to have to kill them...but the next time, if Arguyle does not call them off, they will all die."


Carrington raised an eyebrow, a satisfied look on his face.


"One heel turn deserves another. Can you do this?"

 

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Secaran chuckled softly. "ou're a devious man Whitethorne. Make sure that deviousness never harms Hibernia, and we'll get along fine." He took the vial and vanished.


***


Infilitrating the guild hall was child's play for the nightshade. He had actualy been there on several occasions prior on business for Ayslyn. He dribbled a bit of the poison on the lip of the well, and poured the rest of the vial into a nearby ale cask, which he left open. Then he sat, and he waited. Soon enough he heard the steps of a guard on the stairs. He dropped the lid of the cask on the ground, cursed, and then dashed the now empty vial on the ground next to the well.


The guard rounded the corner only to see an elf moments before he was slammed back into the wall. The elf vanished up the stairs. After examining the storeroom, the guard reported that the supplies had been poisoned by a hibernian sabatuer.

 

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Arguyle worked his way back through the Hall of the Lion and as he approached the winding stairs leading to the offices on the second floor he heard the heated exchange between Ishish and Macivor. More of a tirade on Ishish's part actually as Macivor didn't reply at all.


Arguyle thought about Ishish's words. They slapped him in the face like a steel gauntlet. Was he making the right choice? Had Carrington really betrayed the Order? Was this a personal vendetta aimed at the man because he was angry that Carrington hadn't come to him to ask for his help and to explain things?


"What are you doing Carrington? Why did you feel that you couldn't talk to me?" whispered Arguyle.


As Macivor walked from the building Arguyle made his way to his office and walked to a bare wall. Looking to ensure that the door was closed securely and the drapes window still shuttered he reached to the ceiling and deftly moved his hand until he heard a click. Then he turned and watched as a single board rotated in the floor in the opposite corner. Just in front of the fireplace. He walked to the area and took a deep breath.


Was he sure that this was the right thing to do? Was he making a mistake in revealing his deepest secret?


Shaking his head he knelt to the ground and withdrew a teakwood box. Walking to his desk he placed the box sqaurely in the center and placed a tiny key in the lock. The top of the box opened with a creak and Arguyle could smell the musty air from inside the box expel.


This box and it's contents had been handed down from generation to generation to the heads of House MacFadden. From father to son it passed. Arguyle's father had given him the box nearly 20 years ago. He had never opened it. But the contents of it were burned into his brain.


Inside were 2 simple items. A signet ring bearing the image of a lone acorn. Beside the ring was a stamp with the same insignia. Arguyle almosted gasped at the sight of the two artifacts. Until now he had not really known the truth of the Great Secret. Now it was staring him squarely in the face.


The insignia was that of an ancient Hibernian house. House Creel had served Hibernia faithfully for thousands of years until one day three hundred years ago an Albion Army led by none other than Uther Pendragon rode into the heart of Hibernia. To the gates of Tir na Nog they came. Death and destruction was all that was left in their wake. The Empress called her people into the mountain home. She ordered the gates locked magically so as to aid in holding off the marching army. As the mages were completing the last of the rituals to seal the gates shut there was a trumpet call coming from the direction of Mag Mell.


Smoke and flames could be seen from Tir na Nog as Mag Mell burned. The thunder of hooves made the mountain itself shake as the Albion army raced over the hils separating Tir na Nog and Mag Mell. The standard of Pendragon, a Red Dragon, flapping in the wind as the army rode hard to the Hibernian capital. For days the Albions laid seige to the city. The grounds were stained with the blood of Albion and Hibernian alike but the Albion army seemed to be unending.


Everyday it seemed that more and more appeared to aid in the destruction of Tir na Nog. The great siege rams pounded the gates. Buckling them at times. Only the powerful magicks of the Enchanters and Druids working together was able to keep the doors reinforced enough to hold. Catapults rained fiery pitch into the city. The brave warriors of Hibernia fell in waves of flame and oil. The death screams heard throughout the city.


Then on the 8th day of the siege there was a shout from outside.


"Creel!!! For Hibernia and the Empress!!" came the battlecries.


The Empress watched as from the north came what appeared to be a thousand riders crashed into the flanks of the Albions. Rangers rained arrows into the ranks of Albions soldiers felling them by the scores.


"Creel!! Creel!" came the shouts.


Then she saw the man who had borne her honor for many years. Torlo Creel with his flaming red hair rode hard into the Albions. He swung his great Celtic Spear from atop his horse slicing men in half as he rode hard for Uther Pendragon.


"Creel!! Creel!! came the shouts.


Then the Empress heard it. The shouts of women mixed in with the men. She looked as closely as her elven eyes would allow and she saw them. The women of House Creel bearing swords and bows. Felling enemies and being felled alongside their men.


"Creel!! Creel!!" came the shouts.


Feeling her spirits rise and rage the Empress called for the magicks on the gates to be released and the Hibernian's inside to charge. As one they crashed into the Albions. Hibernian arrow and sword drove deep into the heart of the Albion army. Suddenly she could hear a trumpet sound 2 sharp blows. Then the Albions began to fall back.


Retreat?


The Albions turned and rode as hard as they could back toward Druim Ligen. They were running back to the frontier. They were retreating.


She glanced a green and white clock in their midst. It bore a lone acorn on its surface. It was a woman. She shouted for rangers to bring her back. Suddenly armored men surrounded the woman and subdued her. Then she saw Uther himself lay the bound woman across his horse and ride north.


As the Empress surveyed the battleground she found the same cloak as that of the woman lying on the ground time and time again. Finally, she came across the one she was looking for. Torlo Creel lay face down in the mud and blood. A dozen arrows in his back and an Albion pike driven through his heart. His bloodstained cloak, bearing a lone acorn, whipping in the wind.


Arguyle shook his head bringing himself back to the here and now. He could see the battle as clearly as if he were there. He sat and put his quill to parchment.


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


Ayslyn,


I beg your aid. I beg your counsel. What has happened to Carrington? What has happened to me? What can I do to stop this death and destruction?


Ghosts of the past call out to me. Begging me to stop this madness. Faces of the present beckon me to go on. To carry the fight to the enemy.


Speak with Carrington. I must know his intentions. Why does he continue to deceive and betray?


I beg your aid.


I remain,


Arguyle MacFadden

Descendant of House Creel


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


He then dipped the stamp in hot wax and placed sealed the letter with the seal of House Creel.


Then tying the note to his pigeon he sent the bird on its way.