The next day, after a much-accelerated trek, thanks to the speed boosts provided by the rangers, Mortalius and Joe, the three guild squads reached the base of Mount Serabuk before the sun had reached its zenith. That distance would have taken someone walking a day and a half to cover, yet the eighteen guilders crossed the miles in just a few hours. Thanks to endurance buffs, they stopped with almost full stamina to boot.
The teams set up their base camp at the break in the wards. Myllo erected a magical fortified pavilion out of which his team, No Moor, would work on repairing the breach. With him was Vexor to help him with the magical reconstruction. Isias was on translation and lookout detail. Edror and Kerrig were the group’s protectors, with Taylyn along ‘just in case.’
On the valley side of the braided ward, the Hellions began clearing a path to the ziggurat. The undead in the valley were fierce, fast, ghoul-like creatures called Dirge Wights. They looked like desiccated predatory beasts that had been warped into humanoid form. Wolves were the most common, but smaller creatures such as foxes and minks were present as well, twisted into a size equal to the lupine horrors. The most dangerous aspect of the ravagers was not their unnatural speed or deadly sharp claws but the contagion residing within their attacks. The wounds they inflicted quickly began to putrefy, attempting to turn the victim into another of their ravenous masses. Mortalius was forced to spend a hefty chunk of his mana removing the corruption from his companions.
Hunting outside the wards, the newly minted and as yet unnamed team cleared the area around the base camp. These undead were formed from the corruption leaking out of the valley. The undead created in this way were easy enough for the team to dispatch as they were all low-level. They found only two over level ten in the hour they spent hunting the shuffling cadavers. Their touch also bore the taint of undeath, but it was significantly less virulent than what the Hellions were confronting. Joe’s [Purge] had no trouble removing it.
As they effortlessly cleared the forest edges of the lesser ghouls, the six guilders bantered team name ideas around. Kendall and Tezeno kept suggesting hardcore names like the ‘Invincibles’ or ‘Uncommon Valor,’ but the others were not feeling those grandiose monikers. Yuk, unsurprisingly, knew dozens of words that meant a collective. While the team was a mishmash of individuals, none of the words resonated with anyone else. Joe had some Earth-based play on words, but they did not spark any interest with the Illuminarians. He thought ‘All for One’ would resonate with the others, but it fell flat with those who had never even heard of Dumas’ masterwork.
RC liked the names that were clever turns of phrases instead of the boastful ones.
Throughout the discussion, Hah’roo had also remained silent. Finally, she spoke up as the conversation fell into a frustrated lull.
“The problem so far has been you have two very different views competing with each other,” she pointed out with her airy voice. “You have Kendell’s and Tezeno’s sense of order and tradition battling against Earcellwen’s and Joe’s more wild natures. I fit with the latter group. Yuk has been silent for a while, so I cannot gauge their opinion.” The group looked at the ragged young man but only received a shrug in return.
“Maybe a name that combines two opposites might work for us,” the wind-dancer added.
“Oh. I love oxymorons. Like ‘Jumbo Shrimp’.” Joe exclaimed, only to be pelted by a handful of small objects from his unappreciative companions.
“Not helping,” Kenda grimaced, plinking Joe in the forehead with a pebble. “I like this idea, Hah’roo. If you take what you just said, then the obvious combination, at least to me, is ‘Wild Order.’”
Joe tried to toss in ‘Minor Miracle,’ ‘Even Odds,’ ‘Awfully Good’, as well as a couple of others, only to be resoundingly denied. Wild Order stuck, and, to be honest, he had to admit he liked the sound of it, too.
The group cut back and forth along the edge of the trees, obliterating the undead lurking in the shadowy fringes. After two hours, they ended their hunting when they encountered a figure striding across the hilly field toward them. The man’s shaggy hair was white and frizzy, ruffling in the wind above his long, snowy beard. Regardless of his apparent age and slight stoop, Corra Loigen’s stride was as solid and sure as a man in his prime. The fey knight was carrying his silvery staff. Strapped across his back was his thundering black shaft.
“Was wondering which side of the Veil was gonna find that hole in Mur Glen Cumha first. I would have spent silver it was gonna be my kin, but that coulda been the pessimist in me. I sure am glad it was ye folk instead. There is too much at stake in the Gossamer Courts over this. I doubt Gloriana or Morrigu would be measured with their answer to this breach.”
“Greetings, Sir Knight,” Earcellwen stated, bowing to the wiry old man. “Why would the Fey Queens care about a broken ward in the mortal realm?”
“On account o’ what’s in that valley, missy,” Corra replied. “Let’s go see Myllonell. I don’t want to have ta jaw this out twice, and I reckon the young crow is as clueless to the purpose of Glen Cumha as you all are.”
Joe had no idea why the old man was calling Myllo a crow, but since RC seemed to take it in stride, he filed the thought away for later. He followed the others back to the base camp as Yuk sent a small swarm of flying insects to recall the Hellions.
Roughly half an hour later, the three squads had gathered in the giant magical tent. Myllo and Master Loigen had greeted each other as old comrades, not exactly friends, but they talked for quite a while about days long past, days so long ago that only the elves and Edror had even been alive for them. Myllo was obviously much older than he appeared to be.
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When they were all seated, with Myllo and the knight standing at the front of the pavilion, the guild-leader spoke up first.
“So, for those of you who have not had the dubious pleasure of being introduced to our guest, this is Marchog Corra Loigen, a knight-errant of the Swan Court of the Fey. He has information for us before we move forward. I have known him for many, many years, and he has my trust, so you can take his word as truth.”
“Greetings, mortal-folk,” the old warrior began gruffly. He cleared his throat before continuing. “As you may know, these forests were home to the lords and ladies of the Fey long before the founders of Fort Coral found their way over the Baerrok Peaks. We moved our courts to the Lands Inbetween, to give you room to grow. Now, we exist just across the Veil from you. The same land but not all at once. So, some of the remnants of our time on this side of the Veil remain here with you all. One being Glen Cumha. That vale tis one of the greatest tragedies of the Gossamer Courts. Why don’t we all fill our mugs and gather round? I will tell you the sad tale of the Erlking and Vale of Lament, as well as the fell task facing ye.”
When the assembly had resettled, Corra spoke in a deep, nuanced voice that would have made a master bard jealous. He moved his hands as he spoke, adding even more depth to his dark tale.
“Long, long ago, there was a bonnie, noble lad. The Lord of Larks was how he was known. He was fair of face and form, brimming with song and beauty. He was said to be a master of glamours; so much so that even the queens came to learn his bindings and charms. He was renowned as a bringer of joy and the harbinger of spring. Wherever he went, larks followed his steps.
“So beloved was he that some elevated him to the equal of the two Queens. They named him Erlking and honored him with a court equal to Morrigu’s Court of Crows or Gloriana’s Swan Court. Of course, this could not stand. Strife broke across in the lands of the fey between the Erlking’s ‘Court of the Larks’ and loyalists of the queens, who sought to bring the upstart down.” Corra twitched his fingers when naming the Erlking’s court, much like how one would use air-quotes on Earth.
“In the end, he could not stand against them both. He was cursed by a hag of the deepest night, Devilbone Kava. Morrigu’s bog-witch perverted the man’s bountiful charms into a most dire bane. The Erlking lost control over his beguiling nature. What was once his greatest boon became a nightmare of unhinged madness. All who heard him speak fell in love with the noble fey. This was not the love of a supporter but a jealous mania. Soon, his surest allies were at each other’s throats, tearing apart any rival they saw to his perfect love.
“The Erlking tried to save his people, to bring them back and make them immune to his cursed nature. Instead, he warped them all, including himself. His fallen faithful became festering, twisted monstrosities. The fey had never known the touch of undeath before those days. Not long after, his false cure became a plague that spread to you mortals as well.”
The old knight took a deep drink before turning his gaze to the west. “The power held by that vile necromancer crouching over the mountains was born from Devilbone Kava’s curse. Both of our people have suffered due to the vanity of one who sought to rise higher than he should have.”
Corra Loigen was silent for a moment before picking up his tale once more. “A great battle was fought. Both courts, even the Wild Hunt, joined forces to exterminate the mad and the dead. They could not succeed without destroying themselves. To wipe the Erlking from the world would have changed the very nature of the Fairyfolk forever. With no other choice, save destruction, the queens were forced to lock the twisted lord and his throng away. A great braided ward was built to contain the fallen Lord of Larks, which has stood to this day.”
The fey took another sip from his tankard before sighing, “Yet this crack suggests that the end of the ward may be due. If that is the case, then the Fey will return in force, and I doubt they will care what mortal establishment resides nearby. They will not be gentle. Not in the slightest.”
“So,” Myllo stated. “It is up to us to restore the ward fully before word of the breach reaches the Fey Courts across the Veil. Even though our primary goal will be repairs, we would be remiss if we did not assess this threat.” The guild-leader’s words took on a similar tone and cadence as those spoken by the knight. In telling the tale, Corra’s tone had shifted from his hillbilly-like twang to that of a royal courtier. Myllo’s words bore a similarly formal inflection. “We will use the time needed to mend the break to clear the valley and gather information regarding the ziggurat. Any questions?”
“I got one,” the shaggy old man spat, reverting to his drawling accent. “What kind of dumb-ass sends kids ta get eaten in that unholy edifice when I just told ya what kinda evil lurks in there. Ya crows are supposed ta be the smart ones.”
“Master Loigen, please. This is what the charter of Fort Coral demands of us. A threat this close to our city needs to be evaluated. I’m surprised it took this long for us to do it. Even taking the misdirection of the ward into account, someone should have assessed the danger this valley poses to us long ago.”
“Ya’all did,” the tall fey barked. “That’s how ya lost yer big swordsman. Maybe that should tell ya ta leave the damn valley alone.”
Joe himself had suggested that Margen’s Morn and Glen Cumha were the same place. While the group had felt he was right, hearing it confirmed by someone old enough to know for certain still shocked many of the Forters. One after another, their faces fell into sad contemplation.
“Be that as it may,” Myllo resolved, “we are going in. Carefully, for sure, but we cannot keep turning a blind eye to this valley. If you would be so kind as to help us with the ward, Corra, we will be out of here that much faster. Your historical knowledge of the ward and those days may help us with the repairs.”
The disgruntled knight huffed and puffed for a few minutes but eventually consented. While he was still grumbling and pacing, the Hellions and Wild Order gathered their gear. Joe found himself in the middle of the combined squad with Tezeno on one side of him and Mortalius on the other.
As they stepped through the breach and into the gloomy valley beyond, Joe’s hackles rose. He was sensing weakness coming from everyone around him. While his skill was not a true danger-sense, there was no question that he and his companions had just entered a perilous land.