Crispian woke, groaning, at the westerling sun shone into his face. He squinted into the light and grasped for one of the wines, finding it empty and through it into the surf. Pushing himself up, he looked about. His ARMOR! He scooped up sword and shield and looked about. There were no creatures about. Farkin' Bogmen! Anger rising quickly, he looked for the imagined thieves.


Thoughts ran into thoughts. Bogmen, Spriggins, Blackheath village, smoke, fires, the dead lying about, those desperate moments with Darnyk, Mirashta, Oakleif. He looked around, not seeing, unsteady on his feet, sword wavering in front of him.


More images crashing in. A young girl, a highlander, a marriage planned and ruined, rivalries, betrayals, his own body nude in the Woman's arms. Fire, more smoke, a collapsing manor house, a husband returned, slain, brought back to life by their daughter, a treacherous brother-in-law, arrest, a dank cell dripping water and smelling of offal.


And the Laughter. Crashing in like the waves of the water that had been so soothing. Cackle, snicker, giggle, laugh - mocking all, pressing down senses and reason.


"FARKIN' BOGMEN!" he screamed, whirling about looking for an enemy, his battle training, years of practice and ritual, snapping into play. No conscious thought, no reason, all instinct as he cast about, cotton clad chest heaving deep breaths as he prepared. He'd kill. Killing he could do...


He paused. The Elven stone on his breast flared warm in the light. Images flashed again.


Arguyle, smug in victory. Arguyle in a burning building as Crispian hurled himself into the Lord, pushing him out of the way of a beam. Moryan, betraying wench. Moryan, laughing friend. D'Vena as a high noble woman, and again in chain being led away.

Jashen, arm broken and bleeding as Crispian carried him home to Mirashta; Jashen, looking on in concern the last time they spoke.


He bit down on his ring, collapsing to his knees. He whimpered, hands to head, and slowly recited the Creed of the League:

"We proud few, we band of Brothers, are here met. Within these mystical tablets, you will find the wealth of our wisdom and knowledge. Here we tell you of who we are, why we have been drawn into this fight for Albion, to defend Her Shores, Her Lands, Her beaches. We proud and valiant few, scarred and battered by combat, blown across the Realm by the winds of Turmoil, stand


firm, shoulder to shoulder, as Brothers. We are anointed not with kingly oils, but with blood and sweat. The brine of life is what washes over us and from that cleansing we emerge, washed to the purity of soul, the clarity of purpose, and the righteousness of virtue that allows us to approach fair Camelot, to claim not the glory of grail or knighthood, but to claim the Glory of Albion -- the peace of the land which enfolds each citizens of this Realm. "


His voice was shaking as he finished, but reason was again in his eyes. He looked about the beach, collecting sword, shield. "It has to be Moryan or Lara," he called out. "Either face would be welcome right now!"

 

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Jashen pounded on the door, yelled through the bars. "ou've got the wrong person in here!" The reek of the cell was overwhelming, a stench of more than bodily waste, but of spiritual offal as well.


"Let me out!" he called, but to know avail.


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


She skipped along the road, high spirits coming easily. The disused path meandered up into Lynn Barfog, to a much disused house.


A beard man bowed to her. "Welcome home, Lady D'Vena," he purred to her.


Her glance froze him with a chill that went to his heart. "My tomes and scrolls," she hissed as she glided past. Not even a place that appeared on the Writ of Detainder the king had issued, this home of hers.


She walked the broken corridors to her chamber, lighting candles with a wave of her hand. Settling on a settee, she mused.


Nice to be home again.

 

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As if by magic Crispian's armour dropped at his feet.


Stepping out of the shadows Lara said, "Next time ye may nay wake up at all. I could have slit yer throat there. Sober up Crispian. Get the help ye need, now.


She vanished again sitting a short distance away, watching.

Dulled mind not able to even react, he stood there panting for breath, the shock still heavy from the seige of his mind he had just gotten past.


He picked up his armor, rolling his eyes heavenward. "All these women care for me, and I keep thinking about To- well, Him." He sighed, shaking his head. In a raised voice, he called out, "I know you're near, Lara, and thank you."


He slowly made his way toward the Landing again, his armor a heaf in his arms. Gently, he laid it on the boards of the landing, and looked toward the wine merchant. He swallowed hard and bit the corner of his lip. Looking down at his signet, seal of Seneschal on the next finger, he swore under his breath.


"Know anyone who might have some milk?" he asked the Saracen merchant, who chuckled at him.

 

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Tobyas sat on a beach not far deeper in the swamp. His leather armor was sweaty and smeared with blood, mud and gore. The quicksands had fallen time and again to him and his companions. Lynis, Achou, Kayspon, Ziala, Wolvbane, Wintir, and briefly Andus.


He had worked hard, praying for the might and power of the Almighty to bless and heal them all, mostly Ziala, for paladins took a dreadful pounding from these monsters it seemed. He had often felt the energy of the Almighty flow through him, to heal and to bless. He felt wonder and awe at it. Lynis, a minor Chaplian to the Defenders, commented that it was always thus for him.


After much battling, Lady Azi stopped at the shore, casting some enchantments, but refrained from joining them. Tobyas recalled her from the banks of the river near Camelot.


Yes, being committed to the church was a good thing. He felt that now. But his heart still wondered about Crispian, whom he now could validate as a handsome man, if those bags under his eyes.


With a sigh, he stood, ready for battle again.

Peering into the crystal, Ayslyn's grin became a confused frown. He passed the crystal to Secaran who looked at it a moment before handing it to Alec.


"So," Ayslyn began, "If she is in Barfog, who is in her cell?"


Alec took another crystal from his sleeves, "Give me a moment." He muttered over the crystal and weaved delicate patterns in the air. "It seems, Crispian." he handed the crystal to Ayslyn.


Ayslyn looked into the crystal for several moments before he looked up, "No. His twin. Jashen. Well, this had some rather unitended consiquences. I suppose, since we are, sort of, at fault for his being there, we should help him."


********


The two guards were, again, slumped against the wall, sleeping gently. Ayslyn took the darts back and turned to the door. He unlocked the cell and opened the door wide. Jashen stared at him incredulous. "Well come now lad. No time to be standing around. D'vena is out in Barfog and your brother is liable to wind up in harm's way. Not to mention Arguyle, Moryan and the rest. Scat!" He turned to the guards, administering the antidote to the poison. Singing he slipped into the shadows and vanished. Only his voice remained, echoing along the corridor.


So come fill up your glasses with brandy and wine

Whatever it costs I will pay

So be easy and free when you're drinking with me

I'm a man you don't meet every day

So be easy and free when you're drinking with me

I'm a man you don't meet every day

 

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Despite her earlier good mood, Mirashta was preocuppied. Thanks to the group of Allies that responded to her call for help, Uther's Shade had been laid to rest another day and she had been able to return the information he provided to Master Grundelth. She had even been rewarded a new cloak her Master had in stores, for service to the Realm. She did not feel her usual joy at inspecting a new item. She did not take her usual time contemplating its make and speculating how to make it better. Crispian was worrying her to distraction, her earlier jovial mood forgotten.


She knew he had gone to the Barrows before her, but he had disappeared into the bowels too quickly to speak with him again. Repeated entreaties mind-to-mind, as to his well-being fighting among the foul denizens there, produced no response.


Her consultation with the Sorcerers of the Academy had been fruitless. One excuse after another, or so she thought. "We must examine the lad directly", they had said. "Well, fark them all, if they won't help!", she muttered under her breath, stalking through the Guild House to her alotted rooms, stormclouds seeming to gather around her. The sight of energies crackling about her staff forced those in the hallways to move to one side tremulously. Upon entering her rooms, she flung the new cloak aside. "Hseru!", she called, trusting that her loyal scribe of so many years would be there.


"Aye, M'Lady?", he queried, with a note of concern in his voice.


"Hseru, I need you to speak to Tannir or Lynis, and get in touch with Arienne. Tell her that Crispian needs her help. The time for keeping his malady secret is long past, and she's the most experienced Sorceress I know", Mirashta said. "Help me pack for a few day's journey. I'm going to Lethantis to consult with my old mentors there. They seem to have more knowledge of older magics, and certainly different magics, than these simpletons here! 'Academy is the center of all magical knowledge in Camelot', my ARSE!", she snapped irritably.


Hurriedly, with Hseru's help, she packed several changes of clothing, rations, all she needed for several days, just in case she needed to gallavant about the Realm in further searches. As she was leaving her rooms, she paused, sighed, turned back and said, "Thank thee, Hseru. Ye'v always been a valued friend." With that, she left.


No sooner than she was on a horse for Campecorentin Forest than she began mentally questing for the mind of Mirial, Oakleif's sister, and a somewhat experienced Cleric of the Church...


__________________


Mirial was bored.


Fyrelet had dragged her to Keltoi... again. She wondered when he would ever fight a little on his own so they would be equal in training, and could go to tackle some of the stronger creatures invading the Realm. She liked his company, even though he wasn't all that talkative. He was a stalwart warrior of the Church, and quite attractive, for a Saracen, she mused, giving him a sidelong glance.


Suddenly, the sound of magical energies being harnessed drew her back to the moment. Two Recluses were closing in on the pair, one beginning to cast spells. Quickly, she stunned the spellcaster, then the foe Fyrelet had already begun cleaving at with his two-handed axe. Her thoughts drifted again, as she resolutely began swinging her staff at the closest foe, when suddenly, "Mirial!", sounded in her head. She recognized the mental voice as her sister-in-law, Mirashta. What Oakleif saw in that tall straw of an Avalonian, she'd never understand. Assessing the situation, things seemed well in hand, so she had no fears of holding a mental conversation. "Mirial!", sounded again in a louder, more insistent tone. "Aye, sister!", she thought back to Mirashta.


"Mirial, I need ye to look for Crispian. He may need ye'r ministrations", Mirashta sent.


Absentmindedly switching targets with her staff, Mirial queried, "Has something felled him, sister?"


(Unnoticed by Mirial, a third opponent, a Keltoi Banisher, had snuck behind Fyrelet and was merrily hacking away at the paladin with its sword. "Uhhh... Mirial?", queried Fyrelet, unheard by her, of course.)


"Does no one know where he is, then?", Mirial asked.


"I haven't heard from him in hours, just please go look for him", Mirashta sent, her concern evident in her mental tone. Briefly, Mirashta filled her in on what had been happening, minus certain details perhaps embarassing to Crispian, namely Tobyas.


"Very well, as soon as I can drag Fyrelet out of here", Mirial sent back.


"MIRIAL!", barked Fyrelet, bringing her back to the moment. Immediately, she knew she'd let them get into trouble, now noticing the Banisher attacking Fyrelet. She also realized that the foes had ceased to pay attention to her swinging her staff and realized that Fyrelet had gotten nervous again and started using his heal chant, aggravating them further. Just as she was summoning the energy to instantly bless Fyrelet with health, he gasped and fell to the stone floor, knocked lifeless. While uttering a string of epithets to make any drunken Friar proud, she finished off the last two foes, with aid of a few evil repelling spells and quickly made to revive Fyrelet.


"I'm sorry", she said when he was breathing again and coming back to himself, albeit reeling from the sickness of ressurection, "Mirashta was just telling me Crispian is in trouble and may need help." "I wasn't paying the best attention, was I", she said, sheepishly.


"I noticed", replied Fyrelet in a surly tone. "A man of few words", Mirial thought to herself, smiling. Fyrelet looked up at her with mixed concern and consternation. "e needn't be so pleased with ye'rself. I know ye'r bored here and ye'v trained beyond these foes, but I just hate fighting alone, even with the new magics the Elders have taught us", he said. In a lower voice, "I thought they might gain the better of ye, the way things were going."


"No worries", Mirial said jovially, smiling even broader at his concern. He was even more adorable when he was upset. "Come though," she said, hauling him to his feet, "we have to go to the Guild Hall and see if anyone's seen Crispian."


A few Gremlins, a run to Caer Ulfwych, and two horses later, they reached Camelot after several hours, not having camped for the night. Mirial hurried as fast as her knowingly short legs would carry her for the Guild House. Bursting in, she immediately asked, "Has anyone seen Crispian?"


"Last I knew, he was near to West Downs", Lynis replied immediately, being one of the few awake at such an early hour.


"Well, if any see him, do let me know. Mirashta's worried. Seems he's in a terrible state", she said.


"Aye," Lynis replied, "he's not been quite himself of late, stomping about and snapping at everyone."


"Well, let's just hope he realizes he has all these friends. I think he needs them", she said as she hared back out the door into the faint early morning light.

Arienne re-read the little note the pigeon had dropped in her hand. Written by Hseru, it said Mirashta wanted her help with a problem Crispian was having. Not many details, something about moods and uncharacteristic behavior, and a suspicion of mind magic at work. Arienne reflected that she’d not seen Crispian in ages, and wondered if she could even find him to learn more about the problem. As her horse approached her father’s castle, she was mentally composing a few pigeon-notes of her own, thinking she’d ask her guildmates what they knew of Crispian’s whereabouts. Just then, she glanced up and noticed a figure in armor striding off the causeway toward the stable—it couldn’t be, too much of a coincidence! But in fact, it looked too much like Crispian to be anyone else.


She held her breath and slid off her horse, landing badly and stumbling to the ground. She pushed aside thoughts of the stain on her new skirt, and scuffs on her fine suede boots, and looked to see if she was seen. One of the guards had noticed, and was trying to hold his face calm: if he let out so much as a chuckle he knew she would freeze him at attention for the rest of his shift. But Crispian apparently hadn’t noticed; he was still heading to the stableman. As quietly and stealthily as she could, Arienne followed.


When the Senechal of her guild stopped to deal with the stableman, Arienne peeked around the curve of the nearby tower and examined his aura. She saw a confusing mass of influences: the haze of alcohol, wearing off but still fogging everything; a jumbled mass of foul memories, being fed by…yes, there was evil magic at work here, and powerful. In addition, there was some sort of warding spell, partially countering the curse.


Both the curse and the ward were beyond Arienne’s knowledge, but she quickly considered what she might do to assist Crispian, who was so important to so many people. Compulsion wasn’t right, that simply wasn’t done with friends, likewise mind-lock or brain-fog, they were simply too direct and potent to be of help here, something more subtle was called for. She considered trying to bolster the ward that was already in place, but…it was an alien magic, strange and unknown to her. No use trying to modify it. What else did she know that might help…


Of course! Amnesia! A bit of selective amnesia, to block the memories plaguing him! She quickly wove a block against the worst of Crispian’s torments: the foul laughter, and images of fire and treachery, an endless parade of foul alehouses and nights of self-torment, and someone named D’vena and someone else named Tobyas. She tied off her spell just in time as her contact with Crispian was broken; she looked up to see his horse spiriting him away. She knew the spell wouldn’t last long, a day or three at most, but maybe it would give Crispian some relief from his troubles and allow him to recover himself.


She turned back toward the castle. The curse, that was the real issue. She didn’t know its source, only that it was far away, but she had the feel of it now, and meant to investigate. Perhaps Magus Edaev had something in his library that would allow her to trace the spell to its source. It had been years since she studied in his library, and she quickly hoped he hadn’t changed the lock.

Crispian rode north, toward Castle Sauvage. His head was clear, he noticed. He could actually tell!


Throughout the night, he led. He commanded. Benowyc came back into Albion's hand, as did Hurbury, and he commanded. Old life surged through him. The pain was eased.


But still, he recalled the copper haired cleric.

 

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ooc - I feel slighted I was left out of the adventure with the Vigilant souls...