The Codex Avayevnon

[Seraph]

Magic of Avayevnon

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The Four Circles of Magic

In the time before the One God, the Sun and the Moon were the keepers of Magic.  It was they who first sparked life on Avayevnon.  The adujas rose; creatures that were both animal and plant, and in their in-between contained a power to manipulate the Earth.  They saw spirits in the stag, the raven, the boar; in the oak and mistletoe, and all the world was of their ancestors.  All the spirits were to them as gods.  The adu'jas found petitioning the gods on behalf of the woods met with their gracious answer, and so they found peaceful power there.

But the magic of the Sun and Moon was different:  It flowed in and out of nature, altered it.  It could mend and could destroy, it could conceal, but also could reveal.  So Sun and Moon controlled the magic called The Flow.  But magic's fluidity meant power too could flow.  An arrow from a Mehan Bow struck down the Sun, sending shockwaves through the flow.  The Sun's blood flooded Avayevnon washing the Mehani off its face.  Thus splintered magic and what was The Flow ceased to be one river but was three.  

Swallowing Sun's magic-infused blood, the One God gained great power and shone bright, to take his place up in the sky.  That blood that stained the earth and that that was the source of God's power were the same and when the blood had hardened into stones they were a channel for his influence.  The One God was the Sun reborn and gained power over light, healing, and miracles.

When the moon wept forth a sea of tears at the death of the Sun, she watered all the world full sea's depth.  The scattered tears formed stones of crystalline, which glowed at night with her soft purity.  And through these stones thus Lugra's power was channeled, like New Sun's.  And Lugra held dominion over night'"she wept and grew bitter controlling such magic as of sight, of deep emotions, of secrets dark as night, and knowledge as she knew the new Sun's crime.

But still a certain magic went unclaimed, the force of death itself, of destruction.  It was the magic that could unmake nature, could harm a person, composed of selfish power.  Magic of domination, pleasure and hate, of jealousy and anger, of lethargy and decay it was.  Vile magic of evil, left unclaimed and dormant, at least for now.

When the One God's angels went to war and seven of the fourteen banished were, the new formed demons festered in The Pit and stripped of godly gift found a new power.
Through the Pit ran gruesome River Styx that ran sluggish, thick with coagulated blood and tortured souls.  In this river ran the evil magic.  Black magic full of cruelty and vice.

Numinous Foci
The term 'Numinous Foci' refers to the set of magical focuses that must be used to channel magical power through each of the deific figures that control the fragments of The Flow and the Spirit Magic of the Druids.  These come in a variety of forms specific to the power relevant.

Bloodstones:  These ancient stones are from the blood of the first Sun and channel the One God's power on Avayevnon.  They resemble rubies in their deep red luster.  They function only for the faithful who have devoted their lives to the One God's holy service.  Set within the holy symbol of the One God: the blazing sun, they are requisite to magical casting for Clerics, Monks, and Paladins.  

Moonstones:  Formed from the tears of Lugra, Moonstones channel the Moon's power on Avayevnon.  They would resemble diamonds were it not for their smooth teardrop shape and luminosity.  They function for those who reject the One God and seek to unlock truth through magic.  Often set atop a staff or in a pendant, they are requisite to arcane casting for Sorcerers and in Alchemists experiments.

Spirit Focus:  Druidic magic has no single focus.  The deed determines the necessary focus.  Deeds of strength require a boar's tusk, protection an oak twig.  Many things can serve as a focus, most of them quite ordinary.  Whatever focus is required, druidic magic cannot be cast without it.

Essence:  The corruptive Black Magic of the demons has no focus.  One does not simply thrust oneself into evil magics, one must come to it slowly.  Some are born with evil tendencies and reach their malicious potential easily, but Black Magic is a corruption of other magics.  One must stray into it from another path.  A dark priest's Sun symbol becomes darkened, tarnished, and the stone turns black.  A moonstone looses its glimmer, dulls and dies.  Spirit foci wither and decay.  The price to cast black magicks is a terrible one:  a piece of one's soul.  The further one digs into dark magic the more of themselves they must give over.  Magical power is amplified, but the caster slowly withers away in poorer and poorer health until they become a shadow, a soulless husk, completely under their demonic master's bidding.  It is the price that all must eventually pay.

The Magic Circle

[ic]An arrow flashed by Nala's face, but she would not allow it to break her concentration.  She might only have one shot at this, and her heart was pounding in her chest.  She cursed the slowness of it as she drew the arc along the ground with the butt of her staff'"
She still hadn't gotten used to doing magic in a hurry.  The enemy was getting closer, and one lay sprawled just feet away.  Her staff just missed hitting the corpse as she completed her circle and spoke the words of power.  She could feel the energy, the heat from the circle she had drawn.  It was a slapdash piece of work, but it would have to do'"she did not have time to be precise.  The room around her seemed to flicker, the image wavering from heat, but she made out the sight of the enemy who had come so close to killing her just seconds ago, with a new arrow nocked and ready to fire.  She flinched in spite of herself as he released his bowstring, but had little reason to worry, for upon reaching that invisible barrier, the missile changed its course, connecting instead with the wall behind her and to her right.  Lodged into the masonry, the arrow could be seen to have scorch marks fully along the length of its shaft.  Nala grinned.  It had worked, but she had no time to celebrate, for she could hear her comrade's pleas.

'A little help here Nala'  Feargus implored.
   
'I need more time!'  She shouted back.

She only hoped she had it.  She could feel her circle weighing on her, felt the strain of keeping it up, and only hoped that she could finish the spell in time . . .[/ic]

The process of working magic is long and complicated, and not one generally seen in the midst of combat.  It requires ritual circles, a focus object, and an incantation to perform'"luxuries not easily attainable when peril is imminent.  Still, it is possible to attempt such things.  Wizards who wish to use magic in combat must spend a preliminary round to cast a magic circle in which to work

A wizard who can successfully lay his circle gains a degree of protection, but he is constantly at risk of having his spells interrupted by enemies, and once the circle is closed cannot exit it without harm without first taking the time to open it.  Maintaining a circle is difficult, however, and a circle, once cast, can only be maintained as long as the caster can physically stand.  

MP'"Magic Points
Your MP is equal to your Constitution Modifier plus any bonuses a character might have.  In order to cast spells, a character must cast and maintain a magic circle.  Maintaining a Magic Circle costs 1 MP per round maintained.  The round the circle was cast does not use up an MP.  Exhausting a character's MP leaves the character fatigued until his MP are fully regenerated.
Regenerating MP
A character can use actions to regenerate spent MP as follows:
 

Full Mediation: The quickest way to regain MP, but also potentially the most dangerous in the heat of combat.  Full Meditation is a Full Round Action that regenerates 2 MP.*Standard: The standard way of regenerating allows characters to be alert and somewhat active, but hold back enough to recover.  You may take a single action (move or attack, but not both) and regain one MP.*Running on Empty:  You make no effort to regain your MP, and instead fight with all you have, taking your full complement of actions per turn.  You do not replenish MP this way.[/list]

Magic Circle
Your Magic Circle is essential to the magic you perform.  It is a highly charged sphere of magical power that fuels your spells and protects you from attacks.  However, the Magic Circle also roots you in place, and requires intense concentration and physical exertion to maintain, as explained above.  The Magic Circle affects an area centered on the caster and extending to all adjacent squares.  All characters that start their turn within the circle are granted a +4 deflection bonus to AC, but take 1d6 force damage if they break the circle by exiting it.  Similarly, any character who enters the circle takes 1d6 force damage.  If the caster fails to close the circle before their MP are exhausted, they take damage as if they had attempted to leave the circle each round until either the circle is closed, or the caster falls unconscious or dies.  If the caster falls unconscious for any reason, the magic circle immediately dissipates.  A magic user's spells can only be cast from within the circle.

Focus Object
The force that we call Magic is ultimately little more than the gathered energies of the world directed to some purpose.  While only those with the Gift or the Vocation can even hope to channel the energies of Magic in this way, even such individuals require an object to focus their magic to a purpose.  SEE: Numinous Foci

Implements
When a witch crafts a tool for her own use, she charges it with her own energy.  This energy can then be used to aid her when she does magic.  Tools such as her Athame (ritual dagger), Wand, Staff, and Sword can be used to provide her with bonus MP for maintaining her magic circle.  A wand or an Athame is not just a tool, but a part of the witch who made it.  It contains a piece of her very being, and therefore will always harbor a deep connection to its creator.  Because of this, an implement that the witch crafts herself is generally the best one she can use.  Any others will be ineffective until the witch is capable of performing an attuning ritual on the Full Moon

[spoiler=The Old Version]Magic in Avayevnon is performed by tapping into the dual powers of the Sun and Moon.  Today, the Sun is seen as the Manifestation of the One God.  But this was not always true.  In the time before the One God, there was still a sun.  This sun was pure magic.  In these times when magic permeated the earth, air, and sky, many wondrous things happened.  Sun and moon danced side by side.  The sun was the more boisterous of the two, while the Moon was shyer, but also braver.  In their presence life burst forth, strange and exotic creatures and people came into being.  Many have since faded, and many more have gone into seclusion, but magic continued to work.  That is, until the day the Sun was killed.  

The Sun was killed by an arrow from a reckless Mehani.  This Mehani was swept from the face of the world on a tide of the Sunâ,¬,,¢s blood.  He would be infused with the sunâ,¬,,¢s essence and take his place.  He would see as the Sun saw, and became wise.  He created the Adam.  But magic did not work in the same way it did before the death of the first sun.  Magic no longer saturated the earth.  Instead, the remnants of the blood of the sun solidified into stones.  It is through these stones that mortals now work magic.

The phases of the moon affect the flow of magical energies.  All magic runs powerfully at the full moon.  Conversely, all magic runs weakly at the new moon.  Arcane Magic comes from the pockets of magical energy contained within the earth itself.  This magic is tapped into through crystals called Sunsblood Stones, which are formed of the same substance, in geodesic form.  These crystals are used to channel magical energies.  The amount of energy a spellcaster can channel is determined by the following formula:

Mana Points = [Ã,½(Cha mod x Lunar phase mod)] + [ Ã,½(Source points + level points)]

Level Points are the number of points per character level for each spellcasting class.  The number is as dictated here.
So, a 1st level mage with a minor stone with an 18 Cha would be able to channel 5 mana points of energy in a day under the new moon, and peak at 13 mana points under the full moon.

Lunar Phase

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The Lunar phase influences the amount of magic a mage can use.  Just as the moon pulls on the tides, so too does it pull on the arcane energies within the earth.  The energy levels of the moon cycle monthly.  The greater the light shining from the moon, the greater the flow of magical energies.  The Full moon is the most powerfully magical time of each month, while the new moon is the most magically weak period.  
Lunar Phase Modifiers
New Moon=1
Waxing Crescent=2
Waxing Half=3
Waxing Gibbous=4
Full Moon=5
Waning Gibbous=4
Waning Half=3
Waning Crescent=2

Source Crystals

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Sunsblood Stones:  The crystalline sunsblood stones are the solidified essence of the former sun.  They are the source of magic in Avayevnon.  The larger the stone, the more magic it contains and the greater number or power of spells that can be drawn from it.  A 1st level channeler is assumed to have a minor stone.

Minor stones:  These red stones are cool to the touch and small in size.  Their connection is the weakest and most basic.  They provide 5 Source Points.
Moderate stones: These orange stones are neither hot nor cold, of an inexplicably constant temperature that seems cold in extreme heat and hot in extreme cold.  Their connection is moderate.  They provide 10 Source Points.
Major stones: These crystals of an indescribable gold are always warm to the touch.  Their connection is the strongest and they provide 15 source points.

Casting Spells

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Spells are cast by expending mana points.  The more powerful the spell, the more mana points it costs.  Spells can be augmented by expending additional mana, though achieving specific effects through this expenditure requires that the appropriate metamagic feat be taken.  Burning extra mana will otherwise increase the DC of the spell.  
But spells are channeled not only through stones, but also through the spellcasters.  While additional mana can be burned on a single spell, doing so entails a penalty.  Augmenting a spell also drains slightly on the spellcaster, dealing 1 point of subdual damage per mana point burned.

[spoiler=Spell Groups]Defense: Shield, Protection from Evil, etc.
Concealment:  Obscuring mist, darkness, etc.
Premonitory:  Foresight, etc.
Illusion:  Mirror Image, etc.
Offense:  Call lightning, flame arrow, etc.
Utility:  Feather fall, Haste, etc.

*More coming soon

[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Ritual Casting]
Spellcasters can take a Ritual Casting feat in which they can add to the power of their spells. Each additional spellcaster adds +2 to the effective Caster level and may provide other bonuses (such as metamagic effects.) eg. 3 lvl 10 Wizards cast an empowered bestow curse as a single lvl 14 caster. Spellcasters can thus add to the power of another wizardâ,¬,,¢s spell by using the aid another action. Adding to a spell requires that each wizard have the spell being cast communally memorized, and using this ability expends that spell slot for all Wizards in question. Sorcerers do not have to have the spell memorized, but they must know it and using this ability still expends a spell slot for the day.[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Alternate Magicks]
Besides ordinary casting, the practice of Alchemy is becoming increasingly common, particularly among the ingenuitive gnomes. Alchemy is the process of conducting chemical and magical experiments to attempt to gain a full understanding of everything; to gain the ultimate knowledge. After all, knowledge is power. Demonology and Necromancy do exist, although both are strictly taboo, and demonology is unanimously accepted as being evil. Its practice will, in most civilized societies, be punishable by death, or at least exile. Necromancy is slightly more accepted, especially some of its subtler aspects. Many Wizards make at least some use of necromantic magic, though very few dare to pursue true necromancy, as the animation of corpses is highly frowned upon, and in some places, rivals demonology in gravity.[/spoiler][/spoiler]

[Seraph]

Life in Avayevnon

Solar and Lunar Calendars
Most nations of Avayevnon run on a solar calendar of twelve months, each of which is divided into three ten-days.  Those nations that do not use the solar calendar still acknowledge it for purposes of trade and diplomacy.  Likewise, solar nations recognize lunar calendars for the same purposes.  
The Lunar Calendar uses a shorter year of a similar twelve months of twenty four days each.  Each month is divided into the eight phases of the moon, lasting three days each, beginning with the New Moon, progressing through Waxing Crescent, Half, and Gibbous into Full, and descending through Waning Gibbous, Half, and Crescent before beginning the next month at the new moon.  Each month in the lunar calendar corresponds with an astrological sign this sign represents a characterâ,¬,,¢s Moon Sign, designating inborn tendencies that might potentially conflict with their conscious self.  
For all effects, magical or otherwise that occur once per week, the solar ten-day is used instead.

Cosmology
   The Material Plane
   The Sojourn (The land of the dead)
   The Pit (Hell)
   The Paradise (Heaven)
   The Weird (Other Outer Planes: Limbo, pandemonium, etc)

Death and the Afterlife
   The Sojourn
The Dead have a path to walk, just as the living.  But there comes a time along this path when a soul must take a fork in the road.  One path leads to Mount Achron, which lies on the border between the world of the living and the land of the dead.  Here the dead are judged and either welcomed to Heaven or banished to Hell.
There is another path, leading back to the world of the living, that few are graced with the opportunity to travel.  
The Sojourn is the plane of the dead.  It is where spirits go before their judgement.  Those spirits who refuse to take the mountain path become ghosts, haunting the material plane.  Spirits become ghosts when their place in the natural order of existence is disrupted by their untimely death.  Such spirits haunt the world of the living, trapped in a shadow of the material world.  They can only manifest their presence to affect the world of impose themselves on the world of the living for brief periods of time.  There are certain times of the year when the flow of energy lifts the veil between the two worlds, allowing such ghosts to more easily influence the material world.  Such times include the elven ceremony of Sam Beira.
   The Mountain Path
Mount Achron: It had no physical location; being simultaneously everywhere and nowhere.  At the top of this peak, a soul learns of its judgement.  Worthy souls leap from the summit and are lifted to the heavens.  Unworthy souls fall endlessly into the fires of damnation.  To mount the summit is a much desired and much feared path.  There is the hope of salvation, but also the fear of judgement.  There are those in whom the fear is too great.  It draws them off the path.  If this is paranoia or some sin is individual, but it is know that those who know great evil are drawn inexplicably towards it.  Rather than face hell, they sometimes flee the path.  Those that leave the path are doomed to another fate; their souls shall walk restless on the world.  There are other motives for which one might leave the path.  A restless soul may seek to settle some debt of life, to right some wrong, or may simply fear to leave their mortal life.

Greetings and Gestures
Different greetings signify different intentions and thus different greeting are used in different circumstances.  A bow is a sign of respect and submission.  Thus when a peasant greets a noble, the proper greeting is a bow.  A bow is often frequently used in courtship to greet a lady.  This is sometimes accompanied by kissing the ladies hand, though this is often viewed as presumptuous and is general reserved for a lady one is has been engaged to.  Sometimes however, a peasant will kiss a ladyâ,¬,,¢s hand in light-hearted flirtation to mock the stuffy nobles (though never when a noble is around to see).  A wave is considered vulgar, even among peasants, and is only used in desperation to catch someoneâ,¬,,¢s attention from a distance.  A handshake is a customary battlefield greeting and when used outside of the context of combat it is meant to show that one is trustworthy and honorable.  A handshake is used among equals.  A peasant and a noble would never shake hands (unless the noble has a VERY good reason to condescend to such a level).  If a peasant were to offer to shake a nobleâ,¬,,¢s hand, he would be viewed as insolent for considering himself the equal to a noble.
A handshake in a combat is meant to be conducted with the off hand, to ensure that there is no concealed weapon.  A handshake that occurs outside of battle should be performed with the main hand, as one is not expected to have a weapon in that had when not engaged in battle, and a concealed weapon is more likely to be in the main hand.  Outside of battle, it is therefore considered an insult to be offered the non-weapon hand.  It is a sign of distrust, suggesting that the one offering his hand is on his guard and ready to pull a weapon if the other attempts anything.  A kiss on the hand of a lady one is not engaged to, except where mentioned to be in good humor, can be considered an insult to the lady, suggesting that she is easily won and perhaps untrue or even a strumpet.  

Oaths and Curses
People will swear by an angel, by their honor, or, in the case of a particularly strong oath, by the One God himself.  This is seen as particularly strong as invoking the One God attracts his attention.  As such failure to carry out the oath almost always results in the Oath-breaker being cursed for eternity, or sometimes merely until he can amend the situation.  Curse words are limited largely to religious words (such as damn, Hell, etc.)  Personal insult curses are much more elaborate affairs.  They consist of an offensive noun accompanied my one or more offensive adjectives.

Employment
Most people are peasants or serfs.  Many work fields, though the greatest concentrations of people are in cities and towns.  These towns spring up where there is a water source.  Towns generally have one or two farms near the outskirts, but larger cities may have to have food brought in from elsewhere.  Men work as farmers, smiths, masons, magistrates, scholars, artisans, artists, hunters, guardsmen, and sometimes as thieves.  Women work less frequently outside the domestic unit than men.  The most prominent employment of women is as a maid at an inn or to a person of nobility or as a barmaid.  Women also often receive work in bands of performers as singers or dancers.  Prostitution is frowned upon and not deemed a legitimate employment, but exists.  Both men and women at times go into the ecclesiastical field as monks or nuns.  Adventurers are considered exceptional, and exceptional women are no less likely to adventure than exceptional men.

Red Pestilence

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   It was midday in San Riezco and the filthy streets were deserted.  The streets were always deserted as of late.  The people were under orders from Shardmoore not to leave their homes.  None dared; they feared a creeping menace in the shadows and right before their eyes, a fate unpredictable and deadly.  It could not be seen until its work be done, and by then it has passed and left only the corpses of those who would detect it.  Some called it an unholy blight, but all agreed that whatever it was, it must be avoided at all costs, but how can you avoid an enemy that does not live or die, who does not eat or sleep, who cannot be seen nor heard?

   The silence was rudely broken by the clottering of cart-wheels upon the uneven cobblestone of Via Pureza towards the afflicted home.  Ahead of the cart strode a tall man with black robes and a mask of a great ibis bird, its long bill stuffed full of hay and cloth.  Upon the cart lay three emaciated figures each a peculiar shade of deep red.  They were dead.  The ibis-masked man mounted the three roughly hewn stone steps to the modest and dirty doorway.  He took hold of his long straight staff and rapt upon the door with its end.  It was long and black with a silver censer at the end hanging from a chain of two links so that it could be swung lightly from side to side for blessings.  The door cracked open and a yellowish eye peered out at the priest.  The two whispered a few snatches of conversation and the door closed, removing the yellow eye from sight.  

   Some minutes later the door opened once more to reveal an aging man with a grizzly two-pronged beard.  He wore a filthy brownish jerkin over a tattered shirt more yellow with stains than white.  He walked hunched over from the weight of what was clearly once a woman.  She wore a fearful, pained expression on her lined and once beautiful face.  He skin was dripping red from every pore and orifice and the spots marked clean by the mans grimy hands shone eerie white, and beneath her skin could be seen a web of mangled varicose veins, as if whole blood vessels had ruptured of their own volition.  The smell of her was the unmistakable smell of blood, blood which had literally seeped like sweat from her gaunt and empty shell of a body.  Scholars and priests called this Cruentus Contagiumâ,¬'Laypeople called it Red Pestilence.  This was the plight of San Riezco.

Cruentus Contagium
Called Red Pestilence by common folk, this plague can sweep through cities and town, putting thousands in quarantine at a time and killing mercilessly.  Its victims sweat blood as their veins and arteries burst.  It is known to put entire wars on hold as both sides seek shelter from the predatory plague.  Battles and wars are lost by unfortunate armies caught in the path of the deadly contagion.  Some of the most desperate turn the plague on their foes, catapulting their sick and dying into enemy camps to infect their foes.
Red Pestilence is an unholy blight upon Avayevnon.  It was spawned by the demon Pazuzu, the worldâ,¬,,¢s most insidious foe and he sends it to wreak havoc on the land.  Only an act of faith can rid someone of the plague and holy water is employed as a defense.  Once infected, a victim is quarantined to prevent the disease from being spread to others.  Priests invoke the One God in their treatment of the diseased.  There have been stories of druids similarly able to cure victims by invoking spirits.  Such stories are unconfirmed.
Infection:  Red Pestilence is spread by rats and vermin.  It can be spread through injury by a bite in which the contagion is entered into the bloodstream where it causes the vessels to burst and the skin to secrete blood.  The plague can also be spread by contact with infected blood secreted from the bodies.  After the incubation period and a failed fortitude save the victim takes 1d6 constitution damage each day.  The DC to resist infection is 18.
Incubation:  Cruentus Contagium may lie dormant for as long as a ten-day once infected before the victim shows any symptoms of the disease.  Upon a failed fortitude save to resist the disease, roll 1d10 to determine the incubation period before the victim begins to take constitution damage.
Healing:  Ordinary use of the heal skill is insufficient to cure Red Pestilence.  A victim can only be cured of Cruentus Contagium through use of the spell cure disease, cast by a cleric or druid.  

[Seraph]

Tales of Avayevnon

Here may be found tales of the world of Avayevnon and its inhabitants.  Some will be heroic, some will be tragic, while still other will be gruesome and vile.  

 

Retribution

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In the grim grey morning Proditus woke, wheezing.  Visions still flitted in and out of his head, flashes of a dream that would not fade from his mind.  They were screams of terror and the memory of a sadistic glee.  Who were these people?  He did not know.  Nor did he care.  They were heretics, unbelievers, and so they must die.  He could hardly remember last night's inquisition, there were so many and one villain flowed into the next.  That defiant flash of eyes might belong to the baker's daughter who brazenly refused to believe that there really was a One God who watched over all we do, or perhaps it was owned by the occult demonologist whose proceedings were interrupted as he attempted to worship that horrible beast.  As his head throbbed with the images of despairing guilt splayed across the faces of the damned an unearthly iron voice he knew to be his own echoed forth its creed: Thus always for the Heretic.

He could not remember who these people were or even what sacrilege they'd done.  What he did remember was the string of heresies following the capture of the little bread wench.  The swine had gathered a full-fledged mob in front of the church.  Their shamelessness in protecting an unbeliever was sickening.  He had never seen so rash and so suicidal an expression of blasphemy.  Surely they knew the consequences of their actions?  Surely they knew the fates of all who turned from their faith in the Will of Sol?  In his disgust he could not help but also feel a twinge of triumph.  His lip curled at the edge as he contemplated with hungry longing the apprehension of such a mob.  Then remembering his duty and his place turned to his superior.

'Lord Pontiff, what action shall I take against these impious apes?

The aging but formidable man considered for a moment and responded: 'The will of the One God and Bethor must be done.'

'And what is Their Will?'  Proditus knew the answer before he asked.  His tongue caressed the last word as he awaited permission to do the deed.

'I trust you are familiar with Adonai 20:13?'

'Intimately, your holiness.'

'And remains there any question of your duty to the One God Sol?'

Proditus grinned.  'No, your holiness.'

This was all that he needed.  He marched from the room exerting every effort to contain his excitement.   He barked quick commands to the church guards and the Inquisitors present.  His attendants rushed to don his Inquisitorial Vestments, his armor and his deep crimson robes.  Weighted down with plate mail Proditus found himself possessed with a new vigor and the blood red tunic and robes filled him with a lust for blood itself.  Finally, his mask.  An altar boy strode forward with a mahogany case with clasps of a cold looking steel.  With frightful fingers the boy unlatched Pandora's Box.  He knew the havoc Proditus could wreak; he knew the wicked man grew heartless when he donned his iron mask.  Suppressing a thought he knew to be impious, the boy automatically began tallying the lashes he would have undertake to cleanse himself of that small transgression.  The lid retracted and so was revealed the consummation of the Inquisitor's transformation, staring back at him with eyeless slats of sockets cut from an expressionless orb-like thing that should have been a face.  Proditus lifted the thing from its velvet bed and placed its concave side up to his face, fitting the back strap around his shaven head and dropping the cowl of his cloak to shade his iron face.  The transmutation was complete, and though it could not be seen through the mask, Proditus smiled.

            *      *      *

The square before the church was pandemonium.  Frightened protestors fled for their lives, run down by red robed horsemen, slashed and beaten, bloodied and killed mercilessly.  It had already begun when Proditus arrived.  He watched the panicked scurrying of the heretics and thought how much like animals they were, trying to escape the hunter's trap, colliding with one another and fighting amongst themselves to reach salvation.  But there was no salvation to be had, only death.  A bloody peasant sped past Proditus, and the inquisitor thoughtless drew a crossbow from the saddlebag of his obsidian haired horse Nachtfaust, firing a quivering bolt into the back of the terrified serf.

Proditus galloped forth into the stricken crowd, felling first one man and then another.  He turned and saw a woman, babe in arms, the child wailing at the noise and fear, the mother caked with the blood of her husband and countrymen.  Her eyes met his and she fell back trembling, tripping over a corpse and crawling back.  Proditus advances on her, his blood hot with ecstatic anticipation as he drew closer and closer to her helpless form.  Woman stared unblinking at the iron face of her death bearing down upon her, all the more imposing from its towering height and jet black steed.  Proditus looked back at her face, where seemed to mingle fear and defiance and maternal protectiveness.  It was the defiance that he loved.  A challenge.  Though they both knew that she would die and thus defiance but a shallow gesture, the spirit in his quarry aroused him.   The muscle in his chest increased its tempo as he lost himself in bloody fantasies.  He saw her face beneath him all revulsion as she kicked and struggled under his weight.  The vision faded out but her face remained swimming between fantasy and reality, where the backdrop melted from bedroom to bloody square and she was there beneath him, not struggling but paralyzed with fear.  He spoke to her in hoarse and tinny, rasping voice:

'Rise'

She did so instantly, on his power, not on hers, obeying mindlessly from fear.  She knew her fate was no longer in her hands, and at the same time she knew nothing.  Proditus could see in her eyes the overwhelming desire to run, and run fast, but the fear that was induced at least in part by the simple fact that her legs refused to carry her, they would not follow her command to run.  The back of his neck tingled and he had to contain his shudder of glee.  

'Know thee this face?'

The woman did not respond, could not.  Proditus repeated, drowning the sounds of the massacre around them.  It was not a question but an order that must be obeyed.  Deep within the soul it reverberated, so that in the end one could not possibly remain ignorant.

'Know thee this face?'

The woman nodded.

'Know thee this voice?'

Again the woman nodded, vehemently.  It was the last thing she did.  A column of fire enveloped the woman and her baby, who screamed in pain for but a moment before the life was snuffed completely from them both.  Their flesh melted from their bones in seconds, their muscle tissue fused together into a useless blob before burning away, leaving nothing but a charred husk of ash as evidence that either of the two had ever existed.

In his voice of grating metal Proditus proclaimed:

'The sinful shall be purged in the cleansing fires of Retribution, and Bethor shall speak forth His word and all that is dark will die, and all that is light shall live.  And the darkness will be never was, for where there is light there never can be darkness.  Thus always for the Heretic.'

The Dogs of War

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Snow crunched underfoot as the warriors flew over the windswept hills.  It was summertime, so the snow only covered the hillside three hands deep.  The storm had broken, and time was short.  If the snow began again, the curtain would be drawn and they would be lost.  They moved quickly, confident of their path and their objective.  Their eyes fixed forwards, alert, hardly met with one another's but they had no need of eye contact.  They were a unit, and had learnt to trust that each would be there when the other had need of him.  They ran in tandem, spread in a careful haphazard.   Each knew his position and his purpose.

They approached the hill before their destiny.  Each man in his heart swore a quick prayer for safety.  They had come thus far without harm, but their ease of passing was more ominous to them than bloody hardship.  Still they continued.  Hreyrgal did not so much see as sense some members of his war band split from the main group to trek along where the hill made a ravine against the bank of the River Anjilling, half frozen even at this time of year, bearing man-sized blocks of ice in its chill rapids.  The hill sloped steeply upwards, bisected along the middle by tall tufts of yellowed grass and brambles, so as to form a hedge to negate sight.   The blasted trees about him bore no leaves despite the summertime, and stood instead gnarled and outstretched, as if frozen amid a dervish of many arms, grey and knotted, preserved in death as an immortal picture of past life.  And these watchers stood sentry over the coming battle, careening their stiff necks in anticipation.  

The sounds of battle met his ears and Hreyrgal knew his moment was upon him.  He mounted the hill, preparing him his spear when he heard the shouts of his companions and the barks of their foes.  A root, rising up out of the ground, just hidden in the drift, snatched hold of his foot to bring the warrior down.  As he fell he feared his death by the villain's agency, but no blow came and Hreyrgal took to his knees.  Ahead he saw in monstrous form a hound of war whose malevolent snarl and salivous jowels threatened his demise.  Reaching for his spear he met naught but the wet white powder all around him, so completely had his weapon been swallowed by the snow.  He groped about in sudden desperation for his one defense against this adversary, feeling the creature's advance shrinking ever the distance between life and death.  His fingers found the felled branch of a dead tree, and found it snapped and broken to a point'"a primitive weapon indeed, but now his only hope.

Scrambling upright, Hreyrgal faced his foe.  It was as if a moment of recognition passed between the two, that this was the moment of testing.  The two stared into each other's eyes for a second of eternity, as the sounds of battle muted for these two duelists.  They stood there, the primordial hunter and the beast, each one defiant, each one challenging.  The reverie broke and the combatants charged.

The distance closed and Hreyrgal knew he could not stop the monster's motion.  He waited for his moment, hoping only to escape the ravaging claws.  He matched each bounding leap of his foe three furious steps, and so matched his foe for speed.  Finding itself in range, the canine gave a mighty leap, and so did Hreyrgal, for in this final moment, he did throw his weight to his left and fly with all his strength of legs out of the path of doom, aiming his branch towards his flying foe.  His weapon scraped and splintered on its side, cutting shallow across the skin and snapping shattered at the haft.  

The wasted remnant mocked him in his hand.  He had delayed his death, but had not overcome his enemy.  He saw the canine turn undaunted to pursue him, the blood trickling unnoticed from its side.  Where were his companions now that he needed them?  He lay unarmed and soon to be destroyed.  He'd counted on his friends as he had always done before.  He'd saved them for each time that they'd save him.  Together was the way they worked, each other's partners, each other's eyes.  Yet here and now he was blind, for he had none to help.  And as the hound prepared to charge again, Hreyrgal did the last thing he could do:  He ran.  

He fled, each step a struggle to exceed of reach of death's cruel jaws.  Yet each step he felt the beast draw nearer, each step his panic seized him ever greater.  He feared each step should be his last.  He felt it hit him, knocking him winded to the ground, a heavy black shape from his right.  Hreyrgal grunted as he fell under the weight of this second beast.  He felt the jaws of the canine close upon his head and could feel the prick of its teeth, the wet stench of halitosis on its breath.  Pinned there, it seemed to Hreyrgal that the beast waited for some signal to bite down.  He dared not move for fear of prompting it.  He could see nothing'"nothing but blood-spattered snow.  A voice spoke and a pair of feet came into the corner of his sight, black booted and ringed with tattered, green-brown robes.  

So this is the Druid, he thought, my enemy.  At his feet I fall and fail.  What shame.

The Druid seemed to contemplate his captive for a moment, appraising him.  He seemed in no great hurry.

'No,' said a female voice.  'No taking chances.'  Then commanding, 'Isaz, kill him.'