Last Updated (Monday, 29 November 1999 19:00) Written by Jeremy F. Friday, 13 April 2012 09:12

A few days prior to the entre mois, a Shadow Elf arrives in Rosehaven bearing the symbol of Hathyq Vicikous.  She asks around for Janthyr and quickly discovers that he is not within Rosehaven.  Eventually she comes across Bird and seems to recognize her.

“You look to be the one described as bird.  I am Shi’en Cassade.  Illzof Rogeeryr Cyges Vicikous sent me ahead to make sure this made it here in time.  He will try to make it here as soon as he can, but he said it was critical that this was shared with everyone in Rosehaven and specifically with someone named Zothallus.”

~

The words in the letter appear to be hastily written based on the smudges.  The paper is ancient and brittle.

Dear Telynar,

I can’t thank you enough for giving me one last chance to make amends.  I locked the locations and keys to the vaults within various books in Mindalyn’s Grand Library.  I am the only one with the ability to illuminate the correct areas to search, so I will remain here and await the arrival of the heroes of Rosehaven.  I trust that Hathyq Vellum will carry this through the ages and make sure it reaches Rosehaven when the need is upon them.  I have left instructions below that will hopefully allow my future form to use the gates to get back to this moment.  I pray that my theories on Chronomancy hold true.  Tell Shalana that I love her.

Zothallus

Heroes of Rosehaven,

If Telynar’s seeings are accurate, you will be in great need of aid.  You are the last bastions of hope for the prime.  In ages past, heroes have been the toys of eternals and often lived with the free will of a magician’s hand.  From what I understand a shield has been erected that prevents them from interfering with the Prime.  While that is true, there is still an opportunity for you to wield their power on the prime.  I have worked with the eternals to place artifacts of their power within vaults that can only be accessed through the gates.  In order to get to these vaults, you will need to get my future self to take you through the gates.  They were never designed to traverse time, but with the restoration of Chronomancy, it is theoretically possible.

I await you on the eve of Sorcery’s destruction.  Telynar said that the form that I take in the future will not likely remember this.  Please ask me to read this.  It is in a script that I created and only I can read.  Hopefully it will ground me enough to aid you.

Mé féin a chur faoi bhráid an príomh-agus maithiúnas do na pianta agam de bharr impigh. Féadfaidh an neart mo ghrá don Shalana ais mo chuid cuimhní cinn ionas gur féidir leis an am atá caite roimh oscailt dúinn agus sinn mar thoradh ar an am roimh chaitheamh 'de asarlaiocht.

Grant me the chance for redemption,

Zothallus

Last Updated (Thursday, 12 April 2012 14:20) Written by Sean Mulhall Thursday, 12 April 2012 13:53

Tick Tock…Tick Tock…the sound pervaded the room, filling the silence. It was an odd, old clock, an ancient artifact of Phyrian origin. The study it resided in was filled with such relics of bygone ages. Around the room one could see a living testament to history. It lay in artifacts, in books, in paintings, in weapons and armor; it was the greatest repository of historical significance in the multiverse. In a corner, propped up was the Black Blade of Chrysalis the Lich. On a stand, in a glass sealed half bubble was the tooth of the great wyrm, Xrynizoatl, a true titan of his age. Against a wall was a partially built Harmonic Converger, its last notes still resonating within the mostly destroyed instrument. Another wall had a built-in bookshelf that was filled. In it one could find the lost works of Cadimus the Artificer, a Treatise on the Multiverse by Amarillion Garkana, The Nature of Mind by Nuos, pieces of the void ritual first cast by Thrax and many other works thought lost forever. Yet none of these physical manifestations were as ancient as their owner, the being whose presence filled the middle of the room like a sweeping vortex of life and death.

He was an anachronism. A thing that had existed far longer than anything had a right to exist. Most everyone and everything he had known were now gone. He was the last of his kind, a reminder of what had once been. He had seen such magnificent things, such terrible things. He himself had done many of those terrible things. The blood and souls of the countless stained his memory, stained his hands, stained his soul…if it could be said that he had one of those. There was a never ending list of crimes laid at his feet, and most of them were true. The end justified the means, a saying he wholly subscribed to and embodied, and he had endless justifications. As the Eternal of Death, he consumed the taint, the hate, the evil from the endless souls of mortals who passed through his realm of Abydos, to continue on the cycle. It had been a bountiful feast. The Aberrant was as apt a title Vahnok had garnered in his long life, and he had more than a few.

Most of it he would do again if the choices were presented back to him. He made those decisions at the time, decisions no one else wanted the burden of making, because they had to be made. Survival was selfish, and he had been a most selfish creature. Through the ages, through the cataclysms, through the risings and falls of civilizations, he had only a single true regret. His one true failure, the one thing he couldn’t manipulate, couldn’t control. After his release from the attunement of Death, that regret had come crashing back, guilty waves slamming against the rocks of his will. Out of all the beings he had wronged, in one form or another since time could be counted, there was one that he knew he had wronged like no other. It weighed on him now, a pressure he had never really felt before. Guilt was inefficient, a useless emotion he always thought, to keep one from staying resolved on their course of action. One must be ruthless to do what needed to be done, and he had been the most ruthless of all. Yet…there it was, the feeling that the circle must be complete. That amends needed to be made.

A polite cough broke his reverie. His guest sat in the chair opposite of him, waiting patiently. This was another amend that needed addressing. The chessboard between them moved another piece, by itself. The current board had black winning handily.

“So, we are coming to it?” The former knight turned assassin asked this with slight hope in his eyes.

"Yes, Thrax has bypassed the Rosehaven rules. He now is in position to win, which means everyone will lose if he does. There is one play left, one that could put the factions back on track against Thrax.” Vahnok studied the chessboard intently, his eyes resting on the white queen. The mythirian saw the object of his attention, and his eyes went wide with realization.

“You mean…the Queen’s Gambit? Are you sure, is this wise? Without…”

Vahnok held his hand up and interrupted the cursed one before him.  “Yes…it is our only play left, really, and Thrax will not expect it. No one will expect it, which is why it might work. It will give those playing the game the edge they need to turn the tables. Thrax is taking choice out of their hands, and I would see it put back. It’s the course that is left to us, and one must never shy  from taking the necessary course, no matter what’s at stake.”

“I see. And what about me, what will I do?

“Your story is rapidly approaching as well. You will soon face the crux as well. Your brother is locked, and needs freedom. You must see him through to the other side.  It is integral for all those involved. The “fate” of all rests in your hands…again. Make the right decision this time.” The mythirian sighed and got up to leave through the door that led into the study. Before leaving, he stopped and turned back to the ancient one before him.

“Vahnok…you might be the most villainous creature to ever walk the multiverse…but thank you for this

chance.” The mythirian bowed once, and left.

Vahnok stood up and walked around his study one more time, breathing in the antiquities and their mysteries. This was a timeline for him, a treasure trove of memories and events. With a last, sad smile, he walked through the Blackwood door at the end of the room, with only the building of eldritch flames in the room to mark his passing.

Last Updated (Wednesday, 11 April 2012 16:24) Written by J & A Lastinger Wednesday, 11 April 2012 15:48

Large, ornate bookcases tower over three female figures which are seen bending over a book placed on a long table.   Their movement is urgent and panicked as each in turns pushes another figure aside to scribble a few lines, and then in turn be pushed out of the way as another figure writes for a few more lines.   Though no sound is heard, each appears to be screaming, laughing, or crying alternately as they write…

We have written… We are writing … We will write…WE MUST WRITE…

Thrax Pennzuul, the one long ago poisoned by the Hydrus Star, his great intellect focused solely on annihilation, has seen the Rose Rexanus for what it truly is,  a possibility device of unlimited power.   The purpose of the device was never intended to allow such a thing, but Thrax has seen the truth of things and twisted it to make the impossible into reality.   He learned so much when his attempts to steal or copy the Rexanus nearly succeeded.  He discovered he just needed to twist its purpose to allow his possibilities to become reality, and no power can twist or change a thing like the power of the Hydrus Star.   Woe to all who have ever been.  Out of all possibilities, Thrax has used the infinite possibility of the Rexanus to bring the Fifth Netherlord directly.

The End is coming.  The End of everything.

Across the island a wave of power, twisted dark with purple and black, emanates from the True Rexanus in the Prime Veil of Rosehaven.   Roses, Bones, Skulls, and Crystals, some secure in the possession of the inhabitants of the veils, others scattered wildly across the island, wherever they are, all are blackened as ash from their once bright colors.  In each veil the questions as indicated on the Veil copies of the Rexanus change and blacken.   The Rose Lanterns of the Champions, the Colored Skulls of Lord Fel’s forces, the Carved Bones of the True Crog, and the Glowing Crystals of the eldest race, each showing the score on their copies of the Rexanus. All are changed and blackened by purple and black growths.  They change because there are no more questions to be answered.  The 5th is coming, and there is no way to stop him.

In the beginning, there was only void.  In the end, there will be only void.

Though we can barely stand the strain, we see so many things that have happened, are happening, and will happen… so many failures and almost no successes.  Merely placing such thoughts in writing wracks us, changes us.  Regardless, they must know. The 4 great factions united to face the 5th Netherlord in direct combat with all their might.  All were slaughtered, and now the Prime slips away to the void.  NO! IMPOSSIBLE! It cannot be.

The Champions and the Eldest will ally forces to harvest the power of the Orcs and the Undead to use against the 5th Netherlord.   Using all their power they will stand before him for almost 20 minutes.  All will be slaughtered, and the Prime will slip away to the void.   NO! THE WASTE! That is not right either.

Even now, the Champions turn against the other three factions, to make war on the 5th Netherlord as he comes.   See the Champions arrayed on the field awaiting the 5th.  See them charge with all their might.  See them being slaughtered.   See the Prime slipping away to the void.   NO!  OBLIVION!  There must be another way.

What is happening? We always see all things.  All possibilities are revealed to us, be they past, or present, or future.  We know all.  We write all. Ah, there is it, there are still critical uncertainties, which even we cannot understand.

What of The Uunbound?  The Lost.   Those cast out.  Those who know everything, yet nothing.   They went mad and slaughtered all with their incredible power…  They stand idly by while the rest suffer as they have…   They will make the ultimate sacrifice of themselves, for the slightest glimmer of hope…

A shriek bordering on insanity originates from the mouths of all three figures, and a single beam of moonlight illuminates clearly the page that all have been writing on.  Etched deeply into the paper, overwritten by the three hands many times… One word …  A Name…  Vahnokious.

Vahnokious the Njal was the key… Vahnok the Usurper was the key… Vahnok the Betrayer was the key… Vahnok the Former is again the key…  Vahnok the Lost will be the key… He will provide the ultimate knowledge to conveying the secrets to finding the powers of the Eternals.  Njal, Usurper, Betrayer, Former, and Lost; he will bring the true 5th cataclysm, and with it, the slightest glimmer of hope.

Preparations

The Mighty King Crog hunches over  a table with  War Leader Grond, War Leader Grax, and  War Leader Azog staring intently at a pile of bones in the middle. Each have an expression of outrage on their green face coupled with worry.  With a broad sweep of Crog’s arm he hurls the items to the ground, and bellows, “These are bad- void-tainted. They are worthless. The rules have changed…we must talk to those the Heroes of Rosehaven.”

Lord Liche Xenin Fel will be in rigid control with an impassive face, as he will thrust a blackened ashen skull into the face of General Silas Verdun with suppressed rage. The Reaver will look bewildered and uncertain what he should do in the face of such cold, icy rage. The Liche will gaze at Cullendra the Night Hag and his fury will become palpable when she will with great effort, slowly shake her ancient head from side to side  to indicate her lack of knowledge. With cold tones, the Liche Lord will state quietly, “I recognize Void when I see it, even if in such a twisted form. I have beaten it before and will do so again; however, there is a remote possibility that those within the other veils in will have knowledge that I must gain. I will go.”

In Ome’Chicuacen sighs deeply as his claws let the crystals which were once so vibrant and colorful, now black as the night,  fall to the ground. He grieves for his brother, the Ill-Tempered Get, and ponders.  He contemplates the loss of the “Great River” and what is means for him and fears for the great darkness which chased him as he travelled through the portal.  He knows it is time to meet with the “Legyndary Rabbits”

This dire situation has created a completely unexpected situation in which the three factions – the Champions, the Zakiri, the Orcs, and the Undead will come together for a conclave.  It is possible this could end in a bloodbath.  There is also potential this will end in an accord with all uniting against the threat of void. Or perhaps, nothing will be achieved.  Each will be represented by their supreme leader in an unheard of gathering, but they will only speak through the representative of Rosehaven’s  Champions.

So many possibilities swirl in the eyes of those who watch…. Xenin Fel, The Crog, and In Ome’Chicuacen all in one place.

This is truly the beginning of the end.

Last Updated (Monday, 29 November 1999 19:00) Written by Tim D. Tuesday, 10 April 2012 20:58

This story follows the events at the last Entre mois as a direct result of the choices made by the Champions of Rosehaven when they valiantly slew the gargantuan child of the Empress of Scale, which remanifested upon the veil of the Zakiri and unleashed destruction upon them, which they were forbidden by taboo and Imperial Edict to defend against.

Within the depths of the most recent, flame-scorched crater, a single figure stirred as the sun began to crest the horizon of the Scaled Veil of what had one day been known as Rosehaven.  The scent of blood and death lay in a greater pall over the area than even the deadly fires which had swept over the four Scaled races there.  There were few bodies, most of those who had dwelled here only a few nights past were dead,their bodies and spirits alike consumed by the ill tempered Get of the Empress of Scale as it unleashed its wrath upon its cousins.

In Ome’Chicuacen emerged from the crater, his form again compressed to a size that the other races of scale would not find overbearing. One of the vyperyn survivors did not flee at his approach, though the fluttering of their hood and the rapid nictitations of their eyes showed how close they were to panic at his presence and his approach.  Both he and his mother’s other child had assumed their largest size during the battle and even some of the smaller and slower drakes were crushed beneath them.

The vyperyn raised itself high as it was able and offered its throat for the killing, as was proper, despite its obvious terror. He hissed his curt dismissal of the offer of lifeblood and surveyed the remnants of the most recent Grand Experiment. Though his eyes were sharp enough to spot prey two miles away on a night with no moon, he could see fewer than two dozen survivors of the almost a thousand which were supposed to have lived here, to say nothing of the three to six thousand deceased slaves that the “Legyndary Rabbits” had killed by releasing the most violent and unstableof his mother’s children.

So much had changed since yesterday. Since more than 40,000 full cycles had passed. Since in only the second time in the long history of the Empire a child of the Empress had been killed. Since instead of dozens ofthe Empress’ Children to oversee the Prime there were fewer than three. Yesterday there had been four. He looked upon his hands at the blood of his mother’s other child and once again wished it had not been necessary.

He deigned to pay attention once more to the vyperyn and noticed the fire blackened markings upon its hood and face.  “You are the Master of the River’s Mouth or his living successor?” he asked softly of the vyperyn, “I fear the Empress will have much to say about the state of her Empire in this time. I will require you to open the dam and allow the River to draw me back to my proper time”.

There was a long pause as the vyperyn struggled for words.

“That will not be possible, Profane One, Second Sixth, Born to Speak Truths Most Feared. The River of Time has escaped us.  When you journeyed here, something came through with you. A Darkness the likes of which I have only heard in whispers, perhaps some aspect of the Ill-omened Hydrus.  While you battled your brother,it drew the River of Time from the Great Breach into itself and phased away.”

The vyperyn gestured to the toppled and crushed buildings,the smashed dam, and the field of crystals which shattered at the sound of his mother’s child’s death scream. “This devastation could easily be fixed with your power alone, Great One, but the loss of the River … that is something from which we cannot recover. We must wait for the Empire to reach out to us andthen we can avenge ourselves upon those … Rabbits.”

Ome’Chicuacen had learned at an early age that he could think further and deeper in the time of three breaths than most would in as many full cycles.  His decision took only two breaths. “No, we shall not avenge ourselves upon Rabbits. I shall go and treat with them. For they cannot be Rabbits if they are worthy of our vengeance and I fear that our remaining strength is not enough to save this world without them. I have discerned the heart of the Hydrus, and know now how and why are people are no more. Go forth to those across the ocean and bring them forth,for it is here that all will be decided. Here the Hydrus will seek to complete its curse.”

The vyperyn inhaled with its one right lung, as if to speak but was forstalled by the choking gaze of Twelfth Born of the Empress.

“I know your thoughts and protests. There are but hundreds of us left from our True Time, perhaps a thousand at most. Poison your bias against the rabbits and we may still save the world upon which both we and my Mother were brought forth. Delay and you jeopardize not only what little life you have, but the chance of life for all. I have spoken. Go”. With a wave of his hand he created a Twist which, though it would kill the vyperyn, the vyperyn’s spirit would be able to remanifest in the nearby jungle which his folk had created near the desert where the Rabbits trapped the First Singers in glass.

Turning away from the devastation, he inhaled his rarely used third lung and intoned a specific Chord, with his other lung, he intoned aName. “Olam”.  A weapon appeared in his grasp, formed of alabaster and living golden oak, its stone blade glimmering with razored edges of mithril and diamond. With a well-practiced cut, he opened a Way into the Pathway of White Guardian and set forth to plan with the last remaining of his childhood advisors and one of the few entities older than his mother, the Empress of Scale. “Olam, wise counselor, I require your knowledge of the last 30,000 cycles.

Tell me of the young races, of Mythir, of Brithrigale, of Njal”.