The Dragon Expedition made a semi-permanent camp in the shadow of Mount Malarban, which lay in the territory of the Black Spruce tribe of the Bahab. Their tribes were always named for trees, though an explanation of this convention eluded me. Such names persisted even in cases where the village relocated to a place where the forests no longer contained the chosen tree. It was from this point, only a day and a half's journey distant from the lake at the base of the glacier that served as the source of the Shdulus River, that Erun organized the dispatch of parties north onto the ice to seek out the dragon’s lair. This area was chosen after one of the scouts sighted the pale blue wing silhouetted against the clouds along the horizon in the first of several glimpses that, though received at great distance, confirmed that the object of the expedition’s lengthy quest was all too real. The chieftain of the Black Spruce tribe humored our presence, seemingly finding foreigners amusing. In return for the gift of an imperial sword, he allowed us to camp adjacent to an ongoing logging operation of his people near the base of the glacier. This offered continual opportunities to trade for supplies, something absolutely necessary to support fanning out and searching the high peaks and open ice.
Mount Malarban itself possessed a slumping, ice-covered summit with a ruined tower near the crest. Climbing to that vantage provided excellent views, but the ruins themselves consisted of nothing more than cut stones, devoid of any writing, drawings, or even a distinct architectural style. The shaman of the Black Spruces, upon learning of my interest in ‘old tales,’ related to me that the fortress there had once belonged to one Rainblight, a wizard of the Obsidian Order who held the rank of dominator, which in their circles is equal to that of master. Such persons are rare. In the whole of Shdustu there are rarely more than two at a time, and often only a single one dares make the claim to such skill, for it carries with it much risk of challenge.
Rainblight was not the wizard’s proper name, but rather an appellation used by the Bahab in their encounters with her. She was a half-Kharal half-Nikkad child of mixed blood and apparently preferred the pseudonym in any case. A rare precocious mystic genius, she rose to power at a young age, gathered a band of loyal followers, and raised a complex of joined towers atop the mountain. For four decades she reigned from high atop the peak of Mount Malarban, master of the Obsidian Order in the Dumum Mountains and accounted the mightiest wizard in all Shdustu and perhaps far beyond its bounds. While such a person might be discounted as a folktale of the Bahab, Nikkad records confirm Rainblight’s reign, with several of her more notable acts noted in multiple chronicles. She procured a giant spider, said to be the size of an elephant, for the Mumsassim Khagan, that he might kill and devour it. When the Prince of Snushgud’s younger sister rose in rebellion and was defeated, the Prince prevailed upon Rainblight to unleash the greatest of punishments by transforming the rebel scion into a banshee, an incident well-documented in several murals. More dubious are tales that she discovered a fox capable of transforming into a human and took it as a lover, that she spawned a greater demon through the sacrifice of her infant son, or that she kept a naga sorcerer as her chief advisor, but even the fragmentary tales that I could confirm make it clear that this was a singular personage.
The fortress once contained five towers, and based on the shaman’s descriptions they might have risen as much as thirty meters above the slope. They were able to endure terrible blizzards with no difficulty. Given the quantity of stone left upon the site, I suspect only one tower was tall, while the others were squat and round in order to better resist wind and ice.
Wizards, more than any other mystic path, are inclined to retreat into the hermit’s life as they age and to devote themselves to the discovery of some deep secret that might serve as a lasting legacy. Rainblight did not deviate from this pattern, and for the last decade of her life she never once left the confines of her fortress. She dismissed all apprentices and followers, leaving the fortress abandoned save for the presence of a handful of trusted servants. Only such trade as was necessary to source essential supplies continued, conducted by carefully chosen Bahab hunters, many so old they struggled to climb the slopes. Strange experiments continued day after day, and the shaman explained that the clouds above the fortress were known to be many-colored and constantly changing.
The local Bahab tribes took little interest in this. Rainblight paid in silver for her supplies, and generously, and otherwise ignored them, so they were happy to leave her unmolested in turn. If foreigners came to try and end the aging dominator, and there are always those prepared to declare war on wizardry even if the condemnations in the Enlightened Revelation are subject to considerable theological debate, they were allowed to walk to their deaths in silence with their tales untold, for none would bring down the wizard with spear or bow. In the minds of mountain hunters, a wealthy hermit is a fine neighbor.
Rainblight’s tale turns instead upon the actions of another who took up residence high on the slopes of Mount Malarban, the one every shaman called the Old Bear.
This was not a title earned by some hunter. Though they stalk, kill, and consume bears, these animals are sacred to the Bahab, and none among them would ever incorporate that word into their name. The Old Bear was, instead, precisely what the words indicate, an elderly bear. He was huge, short-faced, covered in long white fur of incredible thickness, and possessed a temper even his fellow kindred, which do not have a reputation for pleasantness, would call foul. It is thought he was the war companion of a Bahab beastmaster, but outlived that warrior and was, as the law of mountain dwellers demands, duly freed thereafter.
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I am told that such circumstances are not uncommon. The white-furred bears are known to live as many as forty years and are more durable in combat than any human warrior, so the bear surviving beyond the handler happens as often as not. Usually, when liberated as a result of the death of their partner, the bears do not survive for long. They are unsuited to hunt alone and have a noted tendency to challenge foes beyond their ability to defeat unaided. All too often they are trapped and slaughtered by the hungry members of the Sunfire Cult.
The Old Bear found a different path. He located an empty cave near the peak of Mount Malarban and took up residence there. He made his home the high meadows, where he gorged on berries and summer flowers and hunted among the rocks for the seemingly numberless pikas. On fine sunny days he took to rolling about on the slope, making shapes in the snow using his bulk. Rainblight, so the stories say, watched the bear from her tower window and found his antics greatly amusing. She, as the acknowledged mistress of the mountain, issued an order forbidding any from harming the animal. The association became a formal one after the Old Bear broke his leg and the wizard reshaped that limb, and the other paws, to be stronger and more potent than before. This reduced the bear’s final years, but insured he would be hale for all of them.
Rainblight’s own research focus changed in response to the bear’s presence. She expended great effort devising methods of wizardry to prolong the health of elderly animals, especially those used in heavy labor. In many eyes this is a most useful practice, as an animal who can be restored to work after injury or illness is greatly increased in value. In some cases, this even prolongs life, saving lifestock who must otherwise be sent to the Lord of Death in mercy as they can no longer keep up, such as horses with severely broken legs. It is a peculiar form of kindness, certainly, and opinion on its acceptability is deeply divided, but there are many who would make such bargains. Though the tendency of animals treated in such a way, which violates the natural progression of bodily processes, to present greenish patches of skin or to ooze foul pus in places as their bodies adjust at best imperfectly to the impact of wizardry is deeply discomforting. It does not appear, however, that animals treated in this way suffer from the same diseases of the mind common to humans who are similarly treated by wizards.
The treatments pioneered by Rainblight are now among those most often administered by Shdustu’s wizards, secretly of course, and many a high-ranking Kharal noble has ridden into battle on a steed with curiously painted patches of hair. Techniques derived and refined from the original form have even begun to cross the Shdus Desert, and I suspect it is merely a matter of a generation or two before they arrive in the Sanid Empire. None of which would have occurred if an old woman had not laughed at a bear rolling through the snow. In such strange ways may the world be changed.
Folly is another source of change in the world, and such actions lie at the conclusion of Rainblight’s tale. The Prince of Dumumshtu lost three fingers in a sparring accident, sliced free by an errant strike. He hired a wizard of the Obsidian Order to restore the digits, but this practitioner was lacking in skill and the result was a lump of misshapen flesh where the fingers ought to be, unable to move or bend. After the Prince had the wizard murdered using slow poison, his advisors suggested that the dominator had the power to properly restore the lost digits. Accordingly, he gathered a war party and marched upon Mount Malarban. The Bahab claim the prince offered a fortune in payment, but Rainblight had long since given up treating travelers and wizards are not known to take kindly to demands of any kind, regardless of rank. She refused, and openly rebuked the prince for daring to disturb her solitude.
Infuriated, and a man of intemperate disposition, the prince ordered his soldiers to drag the elderly wizard from her fortress and force her to treat him. Truly a mad demand, for who would ask one they have grievously offended to reach into their body using mystic powers? As might be expected, Rainblight took the opportunity granted to her to reduce the foolish prince to a degenerate pile of undifferentiated flesh.
His soldiers, horrified, claimed vengeance, and while wizards reinforce their bodies against blows, even the strongest flesh yields to steel in a steady grip. Rainblight and her servants were slain, her towers were torn down and set aflame, and every scrap of value was plundered. This loud and violent action roused the Old Bear from his slumber, and the beast, though aged, retained sense enough to smell the blood of his benefactor on the blades of the Nikkad. Claws and teeth tore through the interlopers in feral wrath. None of those who had gone up the mountain returned home.
It is said that the Old Bear, bleeding from one hundred wounds, stepped into the flames as they consumed the tower and burned away alongside the wizard who had shown him kindness and in so doing earned the chance to be born human when restored through the cycle to life again.
Such is the tale, concluding in heresy. Truthfully, I suspect that the Bahab, considering bears sacred as they do, were responsible for the deaths of the Nikkad warriors. That the Old Bear fought, however, is perfectly believable, for the fighting beasts trained by the mountain hunters are formidable combatants, and animals do not lose such skills simply by growing old.
This story is also illustrative of the power of a single mystic to change events in a wide region, for the death of this prince induced chaos into Dumumshtu. It was forced for a time to accept external rule and the borders of the khanates shifted as a result. For a full generation the Bahab, counting themselves hideously insulted, refused all trade with the Nikkad.