((OOC- Many thanks to Azi for yelling at me, and a devious friend from Scotland, known to us all as Toorc, but more intimately to me as Pinhead (grin) for getting this moving again. The below is a post of his from our board, and an add of my own))


Toorc regarded the scowling young Cabalist before him. Could she really contain the essence of the astral traveler known as "Arc"? He wondered. Certainly, all his research pointed to a yes. Unfortunately, he was rapidly finding he didn't like her.

The entity known as Arc was said to have come from another reality, or dimension. There her soul was a great mage of some sort, and had caused a bridge to open across the realms, just as Crispian was fighting back the hordes of Midgard alongside the League founders. Arc's intervention had undoubtedly allowed such unskilled young warriors to defeat midgard raiders, but the actual nature of Arc remained a mystery.

And here, to all intents and purposes, was the vessel in which the Wanderer was housed. Toorc gave serious thought to the survival of this entity were he to snuff out it's current home.

Arcalan Hemlos glared at Toorc. She hated this old theurgist, with his frowning countenance and his rigid code of ethics. She hated him almost as much as those grumbling old fools at the Academy. Arcalan had a great deal of hatred in her young frame.

"So" she continued, "For the mere sum of 100 gold you can but my silence on Crispian's 'doings' in the Shadow Quarter of late" she smiled with such charm that only a defender of Albion would see through to the serpent beneath.

"Indeed" said Toorc, toying with the ice blast spell that rose to his mind. Instead, a motion from him let Arienne know now was the time to drop a Mez on her. He thanked his friend before examining the proposition of Arcalan. The base little creature wanted gold, and not too much at that. But this was extortion, and furthermore Toorc was not convinced that she really would keep her word. Crispian had of late suffered a lot, and further aggravation, though it would pass, would best be avoided for now.

With a sigh, he wrote her a promissory note that the League would redeem for the value of 100 gold. A small price to entertain this viper ‘til he was at leisure to know what to do with her. Aellona's safety depended on his carefully dealing with the puzzle.

**********

Arcalan snapped out of the mez to find a promissory note to the effect of 100 gold, and Toorc long gone. She instantly knew a witch from the Academy must have entranced her. Curse them all to the pits of hell! Now she knew that Toorc would feel her wrath too one day. But as yet she was not strong enough to carry out the plan... and the master was not yet ready.

A few moments later she set out to talk to Crispian..., she would use her knowledge to gain a foothold into the League.

**********

Crispian leaned back in his chair, scowling at the bash Saracen before him. Tannir stood quietly near the door, and Jashen was, well, close. “What do you want?” he repeated, his seneschal signet tapping at the writing table.


“It is as I said. I want admission to the League, access to her vaults, and membership. There are those who are not friends to the League and would value the information that I have,” the young woman said calmly.


“I’m not worried about my enemies,” Crispian snapped. “I can handle them myself.” His gray eyes flashed anger and rage at her. “Do not threaten me, woman!”


“There are those who would see your squeaky clean League, all shining and fair, ruined. Despite your amusements, shall we say, in the Shadow Quarter with young Tobyas, it is well known you are not a friend to those of the Shadow Guild.” Her look was derisive, bitter.


Crispian snorted. “How little you know of the League,” he snarled at her. “Some of our highest officers are from the Shadow Guild. We truly are open to all.” He was growing impatient with this little vixen.


“Obviously, some in your Guild value my silence, for I have already been paid, but gold only goes so far.” A slender eyebrow arched up. She studied Crispian closely, but his tight shuttered expression gave no hint or tip as to what he might be thinking.


“If you intend to harm the League,” he said with a deadly calm, “I will destroy you in fashions even you cannot imagine.” He had moved not an inch, remaining calmly watching her as he would a skald coming into crossbow range. “You will be watched closer that you can possibly imagine. One false step, one hint of betrayal and you will die.”


Arcalan repressed a smirk of satisfaction. “Just for the record, I do have, shall we say accounts, of my knowledge in safe hands. Should something happen to me, they will be brought to light.” Even as she suppressed a slight rush of fear, she saw that this engagement was hers. “Would it not be better to watch me from a close distance than to wonder what I might be up to out there?” She gestured vaguely out at the courtyards and streets of Camelot.


“I’ll see to your induction, but you will be watched, Cabalist.” He snarled the last word as he waved dismissal to her.


She rose, passing out of the office, and even before the door was fully closed, Jashen was out the window to make his own contacts, sliding from third floor to the ground like a squirrel down a tree.

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


"ou let her join?" Toorc's voice was incredulous.

"Aye" admitted Crispian "She has promised to renounce her evil ways in return for a place where she can learn from us"

"ou've a soft heart Crispian" said Toorc, "I knew the mere threat of trying to scandalize you would not be enough. But mark me well, she's pure evil. I have my own reasons for keeping her alive and well right now, but I'd have kept her a safe distance from us. Her word means nothing to her."

"Dear Toorc you fret over this too much. That young Cleric Ceowyr, brother to noble Ceowyn, has become her confessor, and tells me he does think Arcalan rightly repents of her sinful past" counseled Crispian.

Toorc left it at that, but now he knew that things were going to get worse here before they got better. And he'd have to ensure Ceowyr didn't take his eye off of her....

******

Ceowyr passed a goblet of wine over to Arcalan, and she drained it dry. The two sat in a deserted shack in Campacorentin Forest, free to talk away from the crowds of Camelot.

"We've done well this week" she purred "and grow in power daily"

"I agree" he replied "But we've not finished this yet"

"Patience" she said "And don't take your eye off of me... I have the feeling Toorc will meddle with the plan, and I don't want to be caught off guard"

"My guise as your confessor makes that very easy" Ceowyr said, smiling with devious glee "I don't expect we'll have too much trouble from the League"

They exchanged a conspiratorial, intimate stare as the flames in the fireplace began to die.

 

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Crispian spared few thoughts for Arcalan, or any else, as the battles raged across the frontier. Since the two strength relics had been brought back to Castle Excalibur, it seemed that a moment of peace in the vast wilderness of the Frontier had been unknown.


Midgard hordes streamed through the Mile Gate and Albion rallied for defense. At one point, Crispian had commanded a splintered force spread through four keeps and with his own patrol making fast for the Mile Gate. The Children of Ether, Royal Order of Knights, and members of Omnia Patricius were out in deployment with him.


The constant push of command, making decisions with little hard information, was showing. Crispian snapped and barked out orders where he would request things otherwise, knowing that the request would carry weight. He constantly sent word back to the Alliance for more people, and even admonished Auntie Mir and Uncle Oak for continuing to clear the Diamondbacked Toads from Lyn Barfog, something that in normal moments he knew would aid the region as much as frontier defense.


His breaking point came at the Mile Gate. The unintended ursurpation of Glavian's command finally snapped reality into place. With shame, Crispian informed his splintered groups that Glavian commanded. Moryan and Gwiniviere scowled at him, his rash actions so out of keeping with what they knew of him.


He intended to retire to Cornwall. The battle had worn him through. The port was just over, bringing him back to Sauvage. He stepped out into the Albion sun and yanked off his helm. His golden hair was plastered to his head with three days of sweat and grime and his gambeson was offensive even to him. His feet found way to the stablemaster, and he was digging out the silvers for a horse, checking to make sure he had plenty for ale later. A voice interrupted his thoughts.


"Crispian?" the light tenor called. Crispian turned around and was face to face with Tobyas.


The young cleric, he had to admit, looked splendid. The alloy studded leather he wore was broken in and accentuated the build it hid. His fine titian hair gleamed in the sun. And his smile...so welcome after the last days.


"Brother Tobyas," Crispian said, feeling a smile come to his face. "What brings you here?" He felt a surge of relief and thoughts of deep ale kegs with Cornish brew in it fled.


"I was riding to Camelot. I was told Camlin has some armor that I might be able to borrow," he said, eyes playing over Crispian's face in a fashion that made him very aware of his stubbled chin and dirt smeared face.


"Well, care to stop over to Ludlow, then? I could use a bath and some company would be welcome," Crispian said, telling himself it was just the comradeship of the League, brother to brother. But the young cleric's nod filled him with other feelings.


"That would be very pleasant," Tobyas said, turning shy as he did.


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


As the two made their way toward Ludlow, hiking over the pass out of the Sauvage approach, a snicker rose into a chuckle and then a laugh.


"Drink will drown your thought,

The Lad will deal with ought

Else as is Needed.

Soon thy soul will be bought,

The Last battle havin' been fought.

And I will hold the deed!"


D'Vena sat back and surveyed the scene playing before her, watched them retire into an inn together, and toyed with a letter, soon to be sent. Sometimes, the best tools were the simplest, she thought as she laughed again, thought fleeing even her mind as she did so.

 

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/shameless OOC bump


((You're welcome for yelling. Don't leave poor Crispian hanging in D'vena's grip! He's been through enough already!))


/end shameless OOC bump

Crispian pulled a fresh tunic on having packed his armor carefully into his traveling bags. The bath had invigorated him and refreshed him. Now, he and Tobyas sat in a small room above the tavern in Ludlow. Tobyas finished lacing his jerkins back up. An awkward silence filled the room as both of them restored their clothing and personal items.


Finally, Crispian broke the silence. "I'm not sure things can continue like this, Toby." He was pulling on his city boots, worn leather that had long seen much service. "I know that, well, whatever it is that I feel and," he finished lacing the side of the boot up and tied it, "well, do with you is driven by D'Vena."


Tobyas paused, the laces dropping from his fingers. His eyes narrowed. "Just by D'Vena? So this," he gestured at the mussed cot Crispian sat on, "was just the by-product of some spell?" His lips tightened into a thin line. "And I guess I am, too, then, right?"


Crispian watched Tobyas' every gesture and change of expression. "No, Toby, it's not like that." He stood, looking up at Tobyas. "I mean," he tried to figure out all the confusion, what was magicks, what was him. "I dunno what IS what. But, until she cast this, this curse or whatever on me I never would have..." He let the sentence hang in the air.


"Known man, in the biblical sense?" Tobyas sneered at him, fingers tugging the laces of his jerkin into place. "Is that it? What you wanted to say? Well?" His green eyes bore into Crispian's gray, until the armsman turned away.


"I guess so, yes," he said quietly, scooping up belt and sword. He tugged the end of the belt into place, looping it to secure it in place. The plain white leather of a knight contrasted with the simple garb he wore, but Crispian felt no need to conceal his knightly status ever.


Toby came up behind Crispian, hands setting on his shoulders. "Consider this, your Lordship. D'Vena's curse may be pushing you into indulgences, but at least I won't torture you about it." He felt Crispian's shoulders sag.


"I worry about being, I dunno, I guess genuine, honest, or something, with you, Toby." He drew a deep breathe, closing his eyes for a moment. "I think we should just try to get through this D'Vena thing without..." He paused again, the air eating his words it seemed.


"Indulging?" Tobyas finished, turning Crispian to face him. "It shall be as you command, noble Seneschal," he smirked. "But I don't think it will be as easy as staying sober."


Crispian laughed. "It seems the witch has challenges aplenty for me then, Toby." He drew away, finishing his packing of gear. "But now, to Camelot." He hefted his pack as Tobyas finished settling his gear in place.


They slipped out the back and into the eve, blending with the people of Ludlow before turning for the hike over the hills into Camelot. Tobyas was nervous, for he had not been to the city since the night at the Church and was nervous. What would the League think of them arriving together? Or others? He breathed a prayer to the Almighty as they passed the warders of the North Gate.

 

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The Welcome in the city was indeed brief. The Council of Seneschals, leader of St. Crispin's League, had assembled. The Guardians of Val Sans Retour had left the Alliance.


Much arguement and debate arose, some with voices barely in check. Demotion was discussed, but in the end, Crispian stood to his own fault for the matter.


Following the conference, he and Darnyk, who was charged with his behavior, retired to Cornwall and Lyonesse.

 

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/bump


<waits impatiently for more...>

The League Hall was quiet, for almost all memers had been sent on errands this morning. Sunlight had begun to filter across the rooftops of Camelot, and there was a hint of rain to come later in the day. A soft breeze floated behind Toorc, stirring things as he walked softly down the hall, ready to billow into a speedy run at a moments need. He turned the corner to be confronted with the young Lord Crispian, looking out of the window.

Toorc approached his friend Crispian with some reluctance. He had always believed that Crispian's strength of will would pull him through the trials with which he was recently beset, but the letter from Arienne's research showed he faced more than anyone had suspected. The demons Crispian faced were all too real, feeding from the soul of D'Vena, the pain of Crispian... consuming and blackening all.

The gigantic Avalonian towered over Crispian, a moment that would have been comic had the situation not been so grave.

"My friend" Toorc began "The League is in good hands, and the countryside is well patrolled by our alliance. Midguard has lost much of her glory in battle, though they reamin a dire threat." he sighed "but I mean not to trouble you with other matters..."

Crispian sighed, his head in his hands

"Master Toorc, she's in here, all the time" he tappped his head "and the Laughter... the pain of it" his face contorted briefly, but in pain or rage it was impossible to tell.

"Toby awaits you outside Crispian, Ceomyr and Phalos stand watch alongside him. Soon you will set out for Llyn Barfog, but I have something to give you first" Toorc moved over to a cabinet and opened it to reveal a block of stone. He placed his hand against the smooth surface and it sank into the depths of the rock. The element seemed like water to Crispian, when under Toorc's touch, and as Crispian watched a ripple did indeed seem to cross the surface.

Slowly Toorc withdrew something, a flash of gold was seen, black leather and an emerald set in... a hilt, yes, as his hand withdrew the blade emerged from the stone. It's metal was black and dull, and a strange patern was etched very lightly down the blade. The craftsmanship was astounding, and Crispian best of all appreciated the masterpiece he set his eyes upon.

"I had the privillage of handling the Tome of Fate" remaked Toorc, holding the blade up to the light "before it fell into the hands of Morgana. Most of it was beyond my ability to decipher, as was intended, but some things of interest were to be read there." The sunlight did not gleam off of the blade, but instead it's surface seemed to hold the light, reflect nothing, and remain impenetrably dark. "I read of this very blade, and I know it's destiny." Toorc placed the blade reverantly across Crispians outstretched arms, that he may examine it better "It was taken from a Reaver, dread servants of Lord Arwan, who hold dominion over the dead. I came by it in pursuit of a great evil that s now taking shape, though I cannot tell yet quite what that is..." Toorc turned to Crispian "It is the blade that slays D'Vena"

Crispian began to shake violently, and the blade clattered to the ground. For a moment Toorc moved to steady his friend, but Crispian held up a hand to stay him. Slowly, and with great effort Crispian stood up straight and ceased his palsy. The gleam in his eye was like the diamond dug from the bowels of the earth, maginifcant yet terrible in having been dragged to the surface. Toorc could only guess from where his friend's fortitude arose, but he knew for certain it was no magic that aided him thus.

Slowly Crispian stooped and picked up the blade. Held it, and tested it's balance.

"ou will know when you are strong enough to use it" said Toorc.

Suddenly Toorc glance over his shoulder at the empty air. His face broke into a grin, and his eyes instantly sought out the silver ring on Crispin's finger. "I have one more thing to tell you, dear friend... but it's not for the ears of elves!"

With that a sphere of magic settled around them, obscuring the scrying of certain Hibernian magics </grin>

When Crispian emerged, horses were saddled and waiting for him. Toorc appeared at his right hand.

"I have another journey I must undertake Crispian, to the Halls of the Corrupt. A lot is resting in the balance this day, but only my blessings can accompany you on the road you must tread"

The brothers in arms saluted each other, and Toorc mounted his steed, and rode off.

Crispian rode in the company of Phalos, Ceowyr, Tobyas, his brother Jashen, and Achou are far the Retreat deep in the Swamp. His horse minced at the ground under his control as he watched the group dismount.


"Keep yourselves safe," he said, raising a hand in farewell, "and grow stronger for the realm." Jashen, decked out in new chain armor, saluted his brother with a grin.


"Stop worrying, Cris. We'll be fine. Phalos has promised to protect us." The mercenary smirk impishly at his armsman brother. "And who better than a sorcerer to guard you, right?"


Phalos scowled at the quip. "I just might not mezz the ones headed your way, Jashen," he said mildly, arching an eyebrow.


Turning his horse in a tight circle, Crispian could not help but smile. That his brother seemed safe from the curse he carried was relief, even for all else that was happening. "Keep yourself well, too, Tobyas."


The young cleric met his leige's eyes for a moment then looked away. In the past days, Crispian had been removed and distant from him, and it pained him. He knew that laws, convention, and even Crispian himself did not make romantic entanglements easy. However, the recent emotional removal had hurt him.


"And you, m'lord," he said with a formal bow. He did not look as the armsman rode off, but made a pretense of checking his gear, hiding his face from all others. "And may the Lord Almighty watch thee," he whispered.


Crispian rode the rest of the way to Cornwall, thinking on the blade, D'Vena, the strange absences of Carrington, Moryan, even Arguyle. This whole mess was dragging on and he felt at times near to breaking, and at others as resolute as ever. Azi was even around less these passed days.


He stabled his own horse and sought out Darnyk, but even the Black Friar was apparently not around at the moment. With a shrug, he entered into the tavern/roadway house and sat at a scarred table. The business of Cornwall filtered heavily into this place and many familiar faces came and went.


The quiet was annoying. Not that Cornwall station was a solemn place, but the way people would move away from him, seeming to go out of their way. Finally, with a signal, he ordered ale. The fine Cornish brew went down in an easy swallow.


When was the last time he had had Cornish ale? The night of the letters, before Tinalynth suddenly left the Covenant, before Kelvyn, the tower, the dead elf. Gods, that was weeks ago. So much tormoil. Alliances falling, Guilds being shattered. As he started the second mug of ale, Crispian reflected on it all.


How much tied to D'Vena? Or was there something more going on? Or was it just politics?


The third ale helped to clear his thinking of those matters and he chuckled. What did an armsman, a farmer with a sword, know about politics anyhow? He laughed again, a bit louder.


And deep in Barfog, hidden from hunting parties who had been about in the area, many led by Mirashta and Oakleif, another laughed, and sipped at her third goblet of wine.

 

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Stumbling up the stairs at Cornwall, Crispian took to a familiar room. He paid extra to have it clean, with water for bath and a stand for his armor. He sagged down on the bed, eyes vacant, ale fumes filling the small room as he slumped down on the narrow cot.


The night's dreams were of a familiar type to him by now. Failures rolled out, one atop the other. Deaths in battle, smaller failures in life, his own lost love from late childhood, absent friends, the slighting of Tatyanna, the losses to the League of so many good people, the departure of Guardians of Val Sans Retour from Omnia Patricius, his own failed drive to hunt more agressively, raids on the frontier...not one shred of possible hope revealed itself as he slept, tossing and moaning with the torment brought forth.


D'Vena toyed with her mini-figure of Crispian, enjoying the moment and the wonderful taste of his pain and anguish. Why had she not found such a joyous pass time before? So much easier than her many past meddlings, even if the cost to her was greater.


But she had her freedom, and more. She smirked as she turned to the blond Briton sleeping in her bed chamber, already thinking of the horrors he would go through for his resemblence to he who had slighted her, used her passions against her. Oh yes, this little toy would suffer for Crispian's boldness, she thought. And none would stop her. So many foes were gone from the land and she had not even lifted finger against them.


She smiled to herself, allowing the sinister laughter in her head to fill her with a shiver of joy. But, now was time for work...


A scream pierced the halls of her manse at the exact moment Crispian sat bolt right up in the cot, a sudden pain in his palm waking him.

 

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/bumpity bump bump