Standing by the lake shore she knew the Guild must be already preparing a search party for her. She wouldn't have much time, but then she didn't need much anymore.

The foundations had been laid, the deeds done to arrive at this point. She wished for a thousand hours to savour this moment of exultation, to have it stretch out before her and for her to bask in it. She was giddy with power and excitement as she walked towards the boats at the jetty.


She had been gradually uncoiling the power that lay deep in her heart, the golden boiling energy that had allowed her to master magic in such a short time, the force that let her rip through worlds and pierce the veil, such as not even Merlin was accredited with. She knew she could control it, summon the sleeping giant within her, and free her Master. A sudden stabbing sadness washed over her as she longed for someone by her side to share this with.


Ceowyr was probably now at Crispian's mercy. That poor deluded cleric had lost his faith and sought any means to restore his grace... he didn't realise that his devotion to Astaroth had been the twisting of his feelings of worship to serve a new master. He had needed someone to serve, and having lost God he was easily tempted.

It would have been good to have his mad devotion here now, for only his zeal was capable of matching her own.


Her blood seethed hot as she thought of how this moment could have been shared with Jashen. The mercenary turned infiltraitor would have marvelled at what she was doing here, and been a king more worthy than any that sat on the thrones of the three realms. He would have shown loyalty to Astaroth, becoming a terrible warrior-king, immortal and unsurpassed. His enemies would scream for forgiveness, and his allies would beg for the honour of serving him. He would have been everything any man could want, were it not for his brother Crispian. She felt like spitting to rid her mouth of the taste of that name. That man-loving twin was a poison in Jashen's mind, holding back the raw power and ruthless wit that Jashen had. All eyes turned towards Crispian, but truth be known Jashen was twice the man his brother was. Yet all overlooked that, in favour of that wretched, arrogant man.


When Jashen was shown the new god, he'd soon come round. She even promised to spare Crispian for him, even though the sight of those eyes staring blankly into the hereafter as she slid a spear into his heart would have pleased her greatly.


Suddenly she noticed a man standing by the boats, throwing a pack into one and looking up to meet her. His build was too stocky to be native here, and as he stood the kilt gave away that he was not an Avalonian by any stretch of the imagination. She recognised his instantly. She had sought someone to share the moment with, and her master, in his infinite wisdom had sent...

"Danidar!" she said aloud, but the measure of her voice startled him.


"Lady Arcalan" he said bowing "I've thought deeply on what you said, and I have decided what I want is true power. I've nothing at home, and I shall gamble my life away to gain a better one. But please, keep your voice low lest we alert it's owner." he concluded glancing back at the houses. It was the dining hour and the men were home and indoors, but they'd be quickly roused to kill any theives.


"I care not for their owners Danidar, and I accept your pledge. You are the most fortunate man, for in my generosity I will give you much even though you risked little in this venture." she stretched out her hand and a searing pain shot through his head. He reached up and felt the scar on his cheek and neck. "I mark you as a servant of Astaroth, Danidar, so that all may see you and know your Lord and Master. You will not hide anymore who you are." she broek off as a third voice butted in.


"Hold fast there you theives! What are you up to with that boat!?" barked a middle aged Barfog man, advancing on them with a spear.

"Tell me Awync" Arcalan said, astonishing the man that she knew his name, and making him notice how this woman practically shimmered as she stood there, energy crackling from her body, her skin near glowing. "And tell me truthfully... are you an Angel?" she smiled sweetly.

"An easy one missy, the answer is No. Now I have a tougher one for you. Why shouldn't I ram this spea.."

"Then I don't have time for you" replied Arcalan and gestured at him. Awync fell to the ground instantly, as the life drain curled around his corpse. She thrilled at the force she could produce.. she should have awoken this sleeping force earlier!


The two of them jumped into the boat even as other locals ran down to the water's edge. Arcalan took aim and tore to shreds every boat near the pier with one spell. The inhabitatants yelled and waved angrily, but no one was too keen on pursuit.


Arcalan had Danidar row out to the centre of the lake, while she focused her powers...


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In the Hammerfel household the packs of armor in the corner were surrounded by a plae blue glow, that suddenly lept ablaze around the whole massive suit of platemail. The packs were turned to ash in a moment, and the dread armour was ethereal and difficult to see in the light of this uncanny conflagration, save that the unholy runes were glowing with red-white fury, like living things tightly bound, struggling to break free. As suddenly as it began it was ended. The armor was gone, leaving naught but ash in the place where it had sat.


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Toorc held the soil in his hands. "Good sir Greenwillow" he began, his colour draining away from his face "I know you can travel paths not open to most men... else you'd not have returned so fast. If it still be the case that you can do this, take me to my homeland once more I ask you, an evil of immense proportion has been labouring upon the League, and Judan's capture was only the most recent step, for Moloch was a pawn in this. Something wicked is coming, I can feel it." standing tall in the elf's house he felt older and more fragile than ever before, but he knew that Crispian needed his strength now more than ever before.

/bump off page 2!!!

 

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/ooc - Given the sudden presence of rosaries, crucifixs and the like from Avalon City, I took a decidely Christian tone with this next installment. I hope none are offended. TU


Tobyas walked into the chamber where Ceowyr was resting. They had chosen the room he had trained in here at the chapter house for its connection to his past. Clad in the stark black cassock and white surplus that was standard for such matters, he was trailed by Camlin, uncle to Crispian, and his oft time assistant. Already in the room were four stout men of his acquaintance, and a healer who would watch over Ceowyr. On a table at the bedside sat a vial of holy water, two candles and a crucifix. Tobyas took up the vial and shook it in three strokes over Ceowyr’s reposing form.


Earlier, they had met and talked again. Following the attack in the archives, a few questions had revealed that there was some outside influence acting through Ceowyr, and they both had agreed that an exorcism might be of great aid. Now, they were to begin this grave procedure.


“Evil Spirit,” Tobyas called in a firm voice, “you will reveal your name to us, through the Power of Jesus over you, who has died to free his servant and loved one Ceowyr. Through his power, Jesus, we command you to name yourself and what name you will obey!” His voice was steady and direct.


Immediately, all the room sensed the change in Ceowyr. He had been relaxed when Tobyas had started, but now he grew stiff, rigid. His face grew unlined, unnaturally smooth. His eyes rolled to Tobyas’ own, and held them. “Grunting pig man, mud-boy walking on ape legs, you have no power over this one, he is ours!” The voice was not Ceowyr’s, indeed it seemed not even human. There was no sense of gender, and very little accent. But the hatred, that was unmistakable.


“Not through any power of mine, but through the power of Jesus, who has defeated you and cast you out through his death and resurrection, will you obey us. We act only as his instruments, and with his power, and you will answer us. By what name shall you be called and will you obey?”


The howling moan seemed at first to be coming from Ceowyr, then at the same time to be coming from nowhere. It rose, assaulting the ears of all assembled, even as an unnatural cold began to permeate the room. The crescendoing noise hammered at the senses of all within the chamber, but Tobyas perhaps the most. His ears became instruments of pure pain even as he held the crucifix forward, saying in a wavering voice, “Evil Spirit, you will obey the will of He who commands you and reveal to us you name, in his power we command you!”


Words of no battlefield general had ever carried such power as his at that moment. Ceowyr contorted and sought to rise from the bed, but the assistants held him firmly in place. Their hands pinned his arms and legs down as the groan rose from him. “That one cannot claim our home!” it croaked miserably at last.


“You have no home here,” Tobyas said flatly, “in this creature of God, Ceowyr. He is saved through the death of Jesus, and over him you have no claim. You are a thief, seeking to gain your way in him through lies, deceits and treachery. In the name of Jesus, the supreme victor, we command you name yourself and leave him.” Even as the words came, they each were like a physical blow to Ceowyr.


He turned and thrashed, murmuring low sounds to himself. “Herald, we are called Herald, for we announce the coming of the One, the Power, the Will.”


Having wrung this small victory out, and easier than he had first thought he could, Tobyas pressed on. “Herald, in the name of Jesus, and through his power over you and over death eternal, you shall tell us why you possess this creature of God, Ceowyr.”


Ceowyr again thrashed, his neck bulging and straining. “He wished us enter. He sought us enter. He is ours now, he is of The Kingdom!” The words were spat out as in a rage, tight and hurled. Tobyas felt the landing of each on his ear, his mind, and his will. “You cannot make us leave him, arse-rider! Nor the feeble eunuch with you! We hold claim here!”


Even as his vision dimmed and his mind came under the horrid of attacks, Tobyas clutched at the crucifix. “It is not through my power that you obey, but through the power of He who defeated you!” His voice was steady, even, but laced with great pain. “Jesus commands you leave this servant of his, this creature Ceowyr whom he loves. Through his love, and his power, you shall obey!”


The assault did not let up, but intensified. More images of all Tobyas held beautiful, lovely were sullied in his mind, dragged through the images that Herlad forced there. His childhood, his mother, his faith, his love – all seemed to be made mockery and vile. His knees buckled, knowing that now was the moment of greatest contest. It was clear that Herald felt it would be easy to launch so direct an assault so early.


Tobyas pressed the crucifix to his lips, murmuring over and over, “Jesus have mercy,” as the efforts of Herald increased. As he had before, he looked into himself and willed his choosing of faith, of love, accepting again the death of victory of Jesus over evil, over death, as God made Man, perfection of Humanity, yet not human. Slowly, the assault receded and Toby open his eyes to see Ceowyr lying calmly on the cot, his face composed.


“Herald,” Tobyas pressed on, his voice faltering slightly from the strain those past few moments had cost him. “Herald! You shall obey, you shall leave this creature of God, Ceowyr, through the Power of Jesus!” He took up the vile in his left hand, making firm gestures of blessing over Ceowyr. With each, he said clearly, “You are cast out! You are defeated! You are compelled!” The savage anger in his voice, the pure contempt caused even Camlin to look sharply toward him. “You are as nothing in the Light of Jesus, you whom chose from your inception Lies over Truth, Hate over Love, and Filth over Beauty! In this World, saved by the death of our Savior, you have no authority and you have no place!” His blue eyes blazed anger and conviction as he proceeded on.


“Ceowyr, creature of God, saved by Jesus, do you renounce this agent of Evil, this Evil Spirit, Herald, that he must go forth from you?” His eyes locked on Ceowyr’s holding them. In a quiet voice, he whispered, “You must consent. You must will it!”


Ceowyr, held deep in thrall himself, could but barely nod. His own pain, his torment, was intense. He had been shown power, standing, station, and rewards. He had wanted them, coveted them. He nodded again. “Yes,” he croaked out in a pain-wracked voice.


Tobyas again blessed him with water, holding crucifix forward. “Through the Power of Jesus, with the Consent of Ceowyr in his faith, we command you, Herald, to go forth from this servant of God, Ceowyr!”


The noise came back, filling the room. “Where, where shall we find a home? Where can we go?” The bitterness, forlornness, and loss was acheingly clear to them all.


“You have no home, no place, in this world, reviler of the Most High, Destroyer of Love and Beauty!” Tobyas’ voice was a thundering rejection. “You are cast forth! You are expelled back to that base pit of lies, slime, and putridness! You are rejected, by the Power of Jesus and his love for this, his creature, Ceowyr!”


There was a violent lurching, a shuddering as Ceowyr gasped for air, sucking in great gulps of breath. The room seemed to become deeply chilled as plumes of breath came from each person. A deafening roar filled the air and receded, until at last there was silence. A silence that was so alien to previous hour that were shocked by, the very jarring nature of its quiet.


Tobyas sagged from the effort, even as Ceowyr opened clear and lucid eyes at them. The assistants relaxed, and Camlin tended to cleaning up the area.


“He’s gone, Father,” Ceowyr said in a quiet voice. He felt strangely diminished by the whole event, and now was unsure. He had turned from the truth of the Church so long ago that he was not even sure when it had happened. “I am alone again, for the first time in a long while.”


Tobyas looked at Ceowyr, brother cleric of the Church, returned from something that most never could fathom even being a type of reality. “Your ransom was long ago paid, brother,” he said quietly as he turned to leave. “Rest, and reflect. I myself need some sleep now.” The younger cleric walked from the room, looking weary.


He knew now for certain that they faced an evil of ultimate power in this being that Arcalan toyed with. He could only hope, and pray, that she was not perfectly successful. If she were, the cost to everyone, all of Albion, could be great, and the League would pay worst of all.

Dim moonlight poured into the empty streets of Camelot as Azi's boots rang softly on the cobbles. She'd come this way hundreds of times before, she could have found her way with her eyes closed if there was a need. And a good thing, for she walked in such a daze that every step seemed unreal, dreamlike. She passed a guardian here and there, saw them bow with respect as she made her way, felt her cloak pull at her shoulders as it flapped gently in the breeze.


Where was Crispian? Hadn't he said to meet at Vetusta? It had taken most of her will to pull herself up from the garden bench and make her way to the abbey, and he hadn't been there when she'd arrived to meet him. She swallowed her panic, wondering exactly when she'd begun to be so paranoid.


"He can hold his own," she murmured to herself, "He is fine." Her feet clinked on the stone stoop of the League hall, and she pushed the door open softly and peered inside. The hall was empty, not unusually so. It was an ungodly hour, quiet in the dead of night. She crept to Crispian's quarters and knocked softly, but her heart sank when she was met with no answer. She wodered where Tannir was, and again forced herself to suppress her worry. She turned back toward the main room.


It was then that she head it, a low thudding from the other end of the hall, a distant call. She rushed toward the door of the training room and rested her hand on the latch.


"Hello?" She asked tentatively, and was met with a loud THUMP and triumphant cry.


"Azi! Is that you?" The voice was muffled, but she knew it well.


"Crispian?!" She breathed a sigh of relief, then jiggled the latch and found the door was locked. "Where is the key?"


"It's Jashen, Azi.." Azi blushed. Would she never be able to tell the twins apart? "I don't know where the key is. Arcalan must have taken it if it isn't there on the hook."


"It isn't." Azi jiggled the latch with more authority than before, and pressed her good shoulder to the door.


"That isn't doing us any good, Azi. I've tried breaking it down, but I can't from this side." Azi stepped back and sized up the door. It was a good meter taller than she, and thick wood if she remembered correctly. "I need out of here, Azi!" He sounded more urgent than desperate, and Azaeli bit her lip. She could pay for the repairs..


"Stand away from the door," she called as she pulled her archmace from her pack. It hadn't failed her at any keep door yet.


CRACK! She swung hard, sending splinters of wood flying.


CRACK! The door flew open, smashing against the wall to reveal Jashen, grinning broadly.

Jashen grinned as he stepped through the ruined portion of wall. "I'm glad to see you, Azi!" He hugged her tightly, jarring her shoulder. As she winced, he looked at her. "Cris told you to get that tended to, Azi."


Sparing her only a short look, he headed toward his quarters, the soft leather of his boots shushing on the floor as he went, Azi in close tow. He spoke in a sharp, clipped tone that was a reminder of his brother.


"Arcalan is taking her final steps in whatever the hell it is she's doing. It seems to focused on bringing back some one or something from death, and he sounds nasty who ever he is." As he entered his quarters, he started to strip off his leather armor without thought to Azi's company, who turned a pale pink as he got down to trews.


Shrugging his way into a padded gambeson, he reached for the heavy chainmail he used to wear constantly. "We have to stop her Azi, we have no choice." He looked into her blue eyes. "I hope we can save her though."

 

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"I knew it.." Azi said, her face hot from blushing. She rubbed her eyes, still red and sore from earlier tears. "I knew that woman was behind this.."


She looked at Jashen as he stood before her in the mail that he'd so recently put aside. Resolve and concern flashed in his eyes, and she found herself feeling comforted by his very presence, safe, protected. She looked at the leather he'd cast aside, and her eyes met his again in understanding.


"We have to stop her, Jashen, at whatever cost. But we cannot do it alone, the force behind her actions is far to powerful, and I don't even know where to begin. Crispian went to find Tobyas. I was supposed to meet him at Vetusta, but when I arrived neither of them were there." The words spilled from her lips as the two made thier way to the main room, and she wanted to tell him about the armor, but she had her own questions.


"Do you know where to find her?"

Ayslyn frowned at the urgency in Toorc's voice. He thought for a moment before nodding. "Aye, I can, if you have the strength." At Toorc's nod he smiled and stood. "Follow me then." He lead him out of the common room and into the vast library that adjoined it. Mounted on the back wall was a bow, but not a recurve as Toorc might have expected. Indeed, it looked to be a longbow, but of a design that Toorc had never seen again. Ayslyn took up the bow gingerly, as though reluctant to touch it. "I never thought I would use this again." He smiled, almost wistfully.


Shaking his head to clear it, he led Toorc even further into the complex. He entered a room that Toorc instantly knew the use for, a magi's laboratory. There was another elf there, one that Toorc hadn't met as of yet. The elf looked surprised, not by Ayslyn's bursting into the room, nor by Toorc trailing behind him, but by the bow. "Is that..." he began.


"es." Ayslyn interupted. "Where are they, Alec?"


Alec looked into the scrying pool that dominated the center of the room. "Azi has just released Jashen from the room he was locked in. He has taken up his chain again. Perhaps he regrets his choice to leave the mercenary life? Arcalan is in Barfog, on the lake."


"Barfog? What is it about that place... First D'vena now Arcalan. Nevermind. For now we will go to Camelot and try to find Azi." He turned to go, Toorc following around in his wake. He led him down through the corridors until they reached the room of roots. Ayslyn stepped up to the archway, muttered a quick prayer to Rhiannon, and began to trace the symbols along the roots. Toorc watched, fascinated, as the gateway flared to life. "Follow me, and don't stray. The Ways can be very dangerous." Ayslyn stepped through the gate.

 

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The water of the lake rippled gently with a beauty Arcalan had never noticed before, like a soft and living thing. Standing upright in the boat she found her balance and began to speak aloud to the night sky.


"Lord Arawn here my words! I have taught men the ways of Necromancy again, and taken the forbidden books from the library, as you bade us do. My end of the bargain is completed, O keeper of the dead, now grant that which you had promised!"


clouds began to gather and obscure the shining moon, and Dandiar shivered in the boat.


"Lord Arawn, with thy power and thy authority release the hold of death from my Master. Bring forth a drop of broth from your Cauldron, which cures all ills and makes men whole again! Release your magic, grant my Master the power to live again!"


The waves churned and Arcalan had to fight for her balance.


"Astaroth! Astaroth my leige! Cabalist Omni Primus! First and greatest of my art, lord and master of my soul, I entreat you, live again!"


The pale blue light filled the depths of the waters, and filtered up to the two of them in the boat.

Jashen looked at Azi. "Barfog, I'm almost positive. She was more obsessed about that place than Cris was. She must have gone there." They were crossing the main common room of the hall as they spoke.


"Who was more obsessed?" Crispian asked from the doorway, sunlight reflecting on his armor.

 

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"Crispian!" Azi felt the weight on her shoulders lift ever so slightly as she no longer had to worry about her friend's whereabouts or welfare. Her smile quickly faded, though, as her thoughts returned to the matter at hand.


"Arcalan," she frowned at the name. "I knew she must have been a part of all of this, Crispian, and Jashen agrees. What did she say to you?" She looked from Crispian to his twin. "No, on second thought, we should ride. There isn't time to spare, if you're certain, Jashen." She brushed aside a strand of golden hair and slid her mace into the pack at her side. Her eyes slid to Crispian, awaiting his word.