Chapter 4

The stark gray tower pierced the clouds forming in the dark sky. High arched windows darkened with stained glass bearing arcane symbols peered down on the two approaching visitors. The two strode confidently, but carefully forward. Their gaze shifted from rooftop to doorway as they passed the empty buildings surrounding the great tower. A large black dog followed close behind. Leather armor covered much of his face and fore-body.
The huge iron doors creaked as the two reached the foot of the stairs. It seemed to take an eternity for the doors to part completely, but Oshiah and Wilgar stood quietly until they grated to a halt. The black dog sat to Oshiahs right, peering into the darkness beyond the gaping archway. The darkness gave way as chandeliers within came to life, casting a warm glow down the polished bronze walls. "Ok then." Wilgar spoke as he nodded to Oshiah and ascended the stairs. Oshiah turned to his canine companion and smiled. "Ok then." he echoed and they both followed closely behind the Cleric.
Within the great doors, the ceiling seemed impossibly high and the foyer reached the width and breadth of the tower. As they reached the center of the great circular emblem on the floor, a disembodied voice rang out. "Who dares enter the temporary home of the Archmage of Evermore?" Wilgar replied "Wilgar the Cleric. High Priest of Titane and..." "The only one you'll ever need as I remember" the voice interrupts, now coelescing in front of the two travellers. A man steps from nothingness a few yards from the pair. The dog instinctively growls both as a warning to the stranger and a warning to his companions. "So, if you're the only one I'll ever need, why is it there are two of you here?" The mans flowing robes conceal most of his form. A belt about his waste bears fancy pouches and the jewels adorning his fingers hint at the enchantments that must protect him. "Archmage, it's been too long. You look well." Wilgar spoke with a smile, ignoring the query of the robed one. "This is my friend, Oshiah of the Undying Nomads and we are in need...” The Archmage cut the Cleric off once again "You need my help with something." He spoke as he walked a slow circle around the three beings. "You're helping that idiot King with his quarrel with the Orcs and you need my help. Why not call upon Titane for a miracle? He likes helping these mortals." Wilgars smile turned to a look of disappointment. Oshiah chimes in for the first time "Archmage, we don't have time for games. We visit the Crescent Moon Chieftan with or without your help." The Archmage stopped in his tracks, spinning quickly to face the pale-skinned man standing before him. Each seemed to take a moment to calculate the other, reading their body language, gaging their weaknesses. Smiling, the Archmage returns to his circular pattern. "I can help you, but it'll do you no good. You're in over your head and the Orcs will never let you close enough to speak to their Chieftan. They already know you're coming and they're not happy about it." "If they know we're coming" quipped Wilgar, "then they should already know we mean to end this war before it begins."
"It matters not." the grand wizard stated, his voice calming, almost distracted. "The path ahead of you is already blocked." The smile returns to Wilgars face "Then give us another path. Misdirection. Is that not the way of a powerful wizard?" "Wilgar, you may not have noticed yet, but I'm incredibly impatient today. This little parlance is over. I'll do what I can for you, but the next time you darken my doorstep, expect to repay this favor. Now go."
A sudden burst of wind temporarily blinded the pair and when it ended, they no longer saw the polished walls of the tower, but walls of stone capped by a starry sky. “I’m not fond of teleportation.” Oshiah spoke quietly, still not sure of his surroundings. Dante sniffed the air, the wall, and then the ground as he looked for a familiar scent. “Give me a moment” Wilgar spoke in a very sedated voice as he shifted his stance and thrust his mace into the air. Oshiah looked around seeing that he stood in an alley of an unfamilar town. Sounds of music and meriment carried on the air, as did the smell of freshly cooked meat. Dante noticed the scent as well and a whine escaped his jowels reminding Oshiah that it had been nearly a day since they ate. Turning to see Wilgar still standing with his Mace in the air and mumbling to himself, Oshiah scratched the back of Dante’s neck between the layers of his studded leather barding. “As soon as we know where we are, we’ll eat.” Sniffing at the air again “and if we go where the music and the food is, we’ll eat well.” “Well indeed. This will be a night of feasting for us my friend. The Archmage works in mysterous ways. But I never thought he would send us this far out of our way.” “At this point, I don’t care where we are as long as our next goal is food.” Smiling, Wilgar heads out of the alleyway and into the dimly lit cobbblestone street. “You move as if you have nothing to fear here. We’ve been watching our backs and travelling back roads for three weeks. We must be far indeed.” Oshiah looks at the stars to find his bearings as he speaks.” No, here we are safe. We can rest and relax at least for this night. A friend of mine is likely at the center of the celebration.” “I just hope he’s friendlier than your last friend. That Archmage seemed more bothered by you than a friend should.” “Heh. Yeah, he’s a very busy man. I don’t often ask him for favors, but he is a trusted ally. Besides, he has to keep up appearances. If word go out that he helped anyone that found his tower, he’d be overwhelmed with requests for aid.” “I suppose that is true. So, what should I expect from this friend? I suppose he’s a master wizard as well, or maybe another diviner of the divine.” “Actually, he’s a businessman and he’s very friendly. This may sound strange, but he’s probably the most beautiful man you’ve ever met.” Oshiah looked to the sky again, “you’re right. That does sound strange.” As the pair drew closer to the celebration, the sights, sounds, and smells of a grand celebration filled their senses. Jugglers, dancers, and musicians filled the streets. Every cart and storefront bore an overabundance of delicacies. Purchasing the first recognizable chunk of meat, Oshiah cut slices and alternated between stuffing one in his mouth, and tossing one over his shoulder where they were snatched from the air by a very hungry war dog. “You must know that I don’t like crowds. Too many people to read. You can never know what to expect amidst all this chaos” Oshiah shouted at Wilgars back, hoping he could hear him over the din of drums and flutes.
A sudden shout rang out and the music died almost immediately and the crowd parted. Guards with long spears seemed to come from every direction and surround the wayward travellers. Oshiah and Wilgar instinctively turned back to back, their hands upon their respective weapons. “I’m starting to doubt your understanding of the word friend.” Oshiah said under his breath as he chose the order in which to eliminate the guards on his half of the circle. “Calm down, I’m sure it’s just a precaution” Wilgar said to his cautious friend. Shouting to the armed men before him “We don’t want any trouble. We only want to speak with…” interrupted again! “Trouble” came the voice from the crowd. “Trouble is what you’ve come seeking and you have surely found it.” The voice drew closer and the guards parted. A man hardly dressed stepped into the circle and all the spears lifted. This had to be the man of whom Wilgar spoke. He wore only a loincloth, a fur cloak and a finely decoated helmet and bore an impressive physique. Removing his helmet revealed he had the looks to match his build. Long flowing golden locks dropped from the helmet and draped across his shoulders. A pearly white smile cut across his face as he saw the men before him. “Wilgar! It is you!” The man strode forward with the grace and style of a fairy tale prince and embraced the large Cleric. “I’m sorry for the formalities, it’s not all fun and games around here. Well, actually it is all fun and games around here, but not all is as it seems.” He smiles again while resting his hand on Wilgars shoulder. Glancing over at the purple-clad nomad, he turns his attention. “Any friend of Wilgars is… welcome in my home.” He said has he extended a hand. Oshiah returned the gesture and introduced himself. “I am Oshiah of the Undying Nomads.” “I am pleased to meet you. I am Cirox-Thong… of Port Hagos at the moment. Welcome to my party.” With a gesture, the guards disperse and the incredibly handsome man led his new guests back to a pavillion at the center of the celebration. “Port Hagos?” Oshiah queried, “That’s more than ten days north of were we found the gray tower. This time of year, Serpents Crossing is thawed. We’ll have to cross the sea to get back where we’re going.” Wilgar answered only with a knowing glance.
Once inside, a harem of scantily clad women dispursed and others entered with platters of food and drink for the three men. One even brought a bowl and a brush for the dog as Oshiah unbuckled the armor from about the dogs head, neck, and shoulders. Dante sniffed the clean water and chopped lamb before voraciously devouring it.Settling into a seat entirely comprised of silk pillows, Cirox-Thong tipped a glass of wine to his lips. “I hear you want to have a peaceful conversation with the chieftan of the Crescent Moon Orc tribe.” Sitting across from Cirox, Wilgar and Oshiah chose more sturdy accomodations in the padded wooden chairs and spoke as they ate from the food upon the table. “Apparently the Archmage felt you were our best shot at getting to him before the war begins again” Wilgar said after a drink. “Wilgar, why do you care about this war? Isn’t War your business? Shouldn’t Titane be working to draw more armies into this conflict?” Cirox quipped with a grin, winking at Oshiah. Wilgar sat his tankard down and answered, “Unnecessary war brings meaningless deaths for many. Titane is about valor and justice, not politics and subterfuge.” Cirox turns his attention to his unfamiliar guest, “So, Oshiah. What is your part in all of this? Do the Desert Nomads have some vested interest in the business of the Orcs and men?” Looking pensively at his inquisitor, Oshiah wasn’t sure of Cirox’s intentions. “It’s the right thing to do and I am capable of helping. Therefore, I help. Wilgar seems set upon a similar course. You should consider how a war could affect you. Maybe you need to walk upon a battlefield afterward and…” “Hold on, hold on. I didn’t mean to rile you, nomad. I’m just curious about purpose.” Oshiah, already irritated, stands and walks away from the table. Cirox, picking from among the hors douvers on the platter before him addresses his old friend, “Wilgar, you’ve taken to much more sensitive company than usual. What’s with this guy?” Planting his metal encased elbow upon the table, the Cleric responds with “You know I don’t ally myself with the weak. Oshiah is a powerful warrior and a trusted friend. He has saved my hide more than once.” Cirox, looking genuinely offended, “Hey, I’ve pulled your bacon out of the frying pan several times! Remember that time at the Chasm of Woe? You were about to be drawn and quartered and I…” “You bought me from that elder demon with a… a… What was it you gave him again? Some sort of crown?” “The Circlet of Dreamwalking. Oh yes, I’ve always wondered if that cursed artifact would turn up again!” The two burst out laughing. “I bet he’s still trapped in the mirror realm.” More laughter. Oshiah came back to the table with another slab of lamb. “So, how is it you can help us Cirox-Thong?” With a smooth grin he replied, “I am close personal friends with the chieftan of the Crescent Moon Tribe.”

Chapter 3

The large ivory doors opened, revealing a grand hall. The two walked sternly forward dwarfed by the statues lining the walls. Light emanated from censers behind the statues giving a shadowy glow. At the end of their walk, they both dropped to one knee, lowering their gaze to the floor. The first, clad in steel armor, emblazoned with the markings of a field cleric. His glimmering mace hung at his side. The other bore wraps of cloth, designate of the desert nomads. A bow and a scimitar the most prominent of the weapons he wore.
A regal voice from ahead of them spoke “Wilgar the Cleric? The War Priest of Titane and a companion from the Great Desert have come to my throne? How interesting. You may rise.”
As the two raised their heads, the King before them rose to his feet.
Wilgar spoke in a precise, courtly tone, “This is my friend and ally, Oshiah of the Undying Nomads. We bring you troubling news, Excellency.” Several of the king’s aides stirred uncomfortably at the mention of trouble. “I have plenty of trouble, Wilgar. I’m sure you’ve noticed we’re about to go to war against the Orcish nations again. That damned Crescent Moon clan has cost us many lives.” Wilgar, after a quick glance back to Oshiah, responded, “A war with the Orcs would cost many more lives, but would be in vain. For they are not the enemy that razes your lands. The foe you now face is one of human blood. The facemask of the Crescent Moon conceals not only their face, but their mission as well.”
“You know this?” The king responded, “How? Nevermind, I know your honor Wilgar and I don’t have time to consider the details. What is your plan to resolve this?”
“I intend to go into the northlands, peacefully I hope, to meet with the chieftan of the Crescent Moon tribe. To find out their involvement in this.”
“You?” the king stared as if Wilgar were insane. “You are going to just wander into the Orc lands and ask the chieftan of his involvement? Do you know this chieftan? What makes you think he’ll talk to you with your head still intact?”
“No, Excellency, I do not know this chieftan, but I do know the Archmage of Evermore and he can ease my entry into the orclands.”
“Bah, I should’ve known you’d rely on some sort of sorcery.”
“Of course. I stand here at the will of Titane, so I have the power of the spirit on my side. The Archmage weilds the power of the mind, and Oshiah weilds the power of the body. I fear not these Orcs, I only wish to prevent an unnecessary war.”
“What do you need of me then? I have no men left to send with you, I can only give you my prayers in your success and my blessing on your mission.”
“That’s all I ask.” Bowing as they withdraw Oshiah and Wilgar head back through the ivory doors.
“So, who is this Archmage? You’ve not mentioned him before.”
“He’s an old friend. I only hope that our need is in his best interest.”
“And if it’s not?”
“Then the marauders will be the least of our worries.”

Chapter 2

Crimson blood dripped from his face onto his bare chest. A stark contrast to the pale white of his albino skin. As he tried to focus his eyes and remember where he was, another shock of pain shot through his head. The steel gauntlet, splattered with blood withdrew from his face, drawing his focus to its owner. The gnarled face before him spat in his face and spoke, the sound echoing through Oshiahs already ringing skull. “Where is the War Priest, Wilgar?”
Oshiahs eyes narrowed as he stared into the face of his tormentor. These were the men impersonating the Orcish clan known as the Crescent Moon Tribe. In this guise, they’ve cut a path of destruction through local villages, leaving the mark of the Crescent Moon, placing an easy blame on the Orcs. The peace between the local Humans and Orcs has been broken by this act of violence.
With a jolt of memories, he remembered how he got here. The fight with these impersonators was quite spectacular. The pale-skinned nomad was in rare form, a true tribute to the temple monks he spent his childhood with. The sheer numbers of warriors he faced was the only strength they had that he failed to overcome. This one, the torturer, was one of the last faces Oshiah saw before he was subdued. A combination of a poisonous dart and a relentless barrage of fists and weapons had taken him down. Ahh, the poison. That would explain the pain within his head, which almost numbed him to the pain in the rest of his body.
Another stream of blood ran down his face from the open wound on his temple. His eyes followed the drop, as it hit his chest and dripped onto his leg. As he focused on his legs, he could see the bandage wrapped around his thigh. The torn cloth was dark with blood. Shifting his weight, he could tell the leg was broken, likley a compound fracture. Disjointed memories of the beating he’d received danced across his vision. Many of the men hitting him with clubs had wounds of their own. He managed a smile as he recognized his work. Precise arrow hits cutting vital tendons and piercing major arteries. If it weren’t for their healer, many of these men would’ve died by now. A vision of a quite pleasing move came to mind. A backflip off of the bar to dodge a sword swing while firing an arrow, killing one of the tribes’ archers.
The vision was disapated by steel against bone as the interrogator backhanded Oshiah’s weary face again. “Tell me, wanderer, or I’ll carve my name in your chest with a rusty dagger.” Oshiah, fighting the pain in his jaw as he managed a few words, finally spoke. “Don’t you worry. Wilgar will soon find you.” Oshiah sneered at the man, wondering which of them looked worse. The flayed skin on his assailant reminding him that it was Oshiahs blade that cut it open. The mans face twisted as the rage burned in his eyes. “Ahhh!!!” The man screamed as he kicked Oshiah in the chest, knocking him backward in his chair. The manacles bit into his wrists as his full weight came down on his hands. He heard something heavy drag across wood. From the corner of his eye, he could see a large flanged mace dangling from the mans hand as he approached. Taking in a calming breath, Oshiah took a quick assessment, calcuating his options as certain death approached. As the man neared, a pounding echoed in the chamber. As the man turned toward the source, Oshiah could hear other footsteps, as someone must’ve gone to answer the door. He closed his eyes as he focused on the sounds. The sliding of the bar from the door, a strangled gasp, and a body flung to the floor. The howls of several men and the unsheathing of swords and he knew he was no longer alone.
Wilgar, having broken the neck of the first man at the door, kicked it wide welcoming the tide of weapons as he faced the attackers. With a clawing gesture, Wilgar felled one assailant, the man doubled over in pain as Titanes might clawed at his very soul. Wilgar twirled his mace above his head and smashed the first attacker within reach. A sideward swing attempting to take Wilgar’s leg from him barely marked the enchanted plate protecting him. With a flury of gauntlet and mace, Wilgar tore through the cluster of assailants, leaving them in a broken heap. He now stood, face to face, with the torturer.
A scarred and malicious man, the torturer held a chain-whip in one hand and his own mace in the other. Blood ran down the shaft of the mace from the stained gauntlet on the mans right hand. Wilgar quickly assessed his foe as he circled to the right; the man twirled the whip around preparing to strike. Wilgar took the first opportunity to enter with the mace, but was deflected by his foes mace. As he withdrew, the whip came about. The chains, in an unnatural movement, entangled his feet and with a yank, he was on his back. The man, confident from his successful takedown, stepped over Wilgar to plant a solid strike on his face. As he raised his mace above his head, Wilgars steel gauntlet shot up into his groin. Not a punch, but a grab. As the steel hand twisted, so did the expression on the mans face. The mace slipped from his hand and dropped toward Wilgar’s face. At the last moment, it glanced aside, Wilgar’s invisible helmet protecting him fully. Kicking his attacker aside, Wilgar returned to his feet. As he strode across the room, he assessed the damage done to the barely recognizable figure before him. Through dirt and blood, he could still see the white skin and hair, but little else identified this mess as his companion Oshiah. Standing over the broken body, he set to a rhythmic chant, summoning forth the will of Titane and placing Oshiah in a painless slumber.

Chapter 1

The room lit up as torchlight crawled through the opening door. The two entered cautiously and quietly. The first, Oshiah, dressed in the layered garb of a desert dweller with all but his eyes concealed crept along the wall, his hands empty. The second, a living icon of religious presence in battle, Wilgar, strode more dominantly through the door. Spiritual symbols marked upon heavy armor told the tale of his faith and prowess.
As the light filled the room, its stark contents were made clear. The far corner bore the subject of their venture. A brass stand bearing a grand tome stands as the solitary presence in this closed cold room. Oshiah was the first to break the silence. “It appears as if we’ve found it. If the accursed thing didn’t move itself, this would be so much easier.” Wilgar, with a knowing glance, spoke “It is as it should be.” He then strode confidently to the tome and began turning the pages, quickly scanning the words upon them. His lips moved as he skimmed each page, subconsciously speaking the occasional name.
Oshiah turned his back to the Cleric, his eyes narrowing as if he were attempting to listen beyond the door. The Clerics reading suddenly stopped. Oshiah turned just in time to see him become rigid and fall to the floor. A final gasping name, “Yarrokon” escaped his lips as his eyes closed and his body went limp. Oshiah, cautiously looking around, released a controlled breath, expanding his senses. His cautious, silent footsteps, like those of a cat, led him to kneeling by the fallen Cleric. His fingers searched for pressure points on the Clerics upper body. A couple of seconds and he knew his companion was alive and breathing well.
Oshiahs eyes darted about, checking the door for light and movement and then to cast a suspicious gaze upon the tome. Suddenly the painful silence was broken as the door flew open. Three men in metal masks burst in bearing jagged Orcish war implements. Moving with the grace and speed granted him by the rigors of the Shan Ti Temple, Oshiah dove toward them to come up from a roll in front of the lead assailant. His heel shot out from beneath to strike solid on a kneecap. The bone-shattering sound echoing in the small stony chamber. The attacker, yet to even react to the desert wanderer’s aggressive move, yelped in pain and dropped his jagged blade. The attacker on the left, being more responsive than his now-crippled companion, turned to drive his jagged knife into Oshiahs chest, the third bypassing the others, headed for the unmoving cleric.
Quickly, Oshiah spun on the floor, coming to his feet while sweeping the feet from under the attacker with the broken knee and narrowly avoiding a downward chop. As the yelping fiend crumpled to the ground, Oshiah drew his enchanted scimitar from his back in time to deflect the second blow from the determined attacker. With a side-winding whip of the blade, he cleaved the upper thigh of the attacker and dropped the scimitar as his bow leapt from its case and into his hand. The painful groan echoed from the stone walls as the gout of blood gushed from the intruder’s thigh. The third attacker nearing Wilgar raised his blade for a lethal strike. Before his jagged axe could reach its apex, two arrows burst through his body, followed by a third from his throat.
Oshiah, diving away from the two wounded attackers, rolled to his knee facing them with arrows already in flight. Before either could utter a word of surrender, they were both pierced through the chest and lay dead. With a whirling spin, Oshiah clipped the legs of the still standing foe near Wilgar, topping him and dropping a final knee to his throat. His metered breathing the only remaining sound in the room he relaxed the pull on his bow. After tucking his weapons back into their respective places, he leaned over Wilgar. Pressing his fingers into specific points on Wilgars face and neck, he awoke Wilgar with a start. “Wilgar! Wilgar, awaken. Whatever it is that you saw within that tome, it has distracted you from a task at hand." Wilgars voice cracked as he spoke. "He's Alive! The S.O.B. is Alive! Here! Look!" Pointing at the last entry in the book that he was reading right before he hit the floor. "While you were sleeping, we were assaulted by these three.” Oshiah said has he gestured at the mess about the room. “They wear the masks of the Crescent Moon Tribe, a band of Orcs of the Northern Region, but…" removing the mask from the nearest one, "these are no Orcs" revealing the human face of the dead man.
“Can you tell me of this Yarrokon, Wilgar?” “Yeah...he owes me money,” Wilgar said with a smirk. Oshiah, apparently missing the humor in the statement, "Does he have any dealings with Orc tribes of the north? Perhaps this was his attempt to clear his debt to you." “No. The sum is not that great, and I am sure it would be beyond him to stoop so low as to send assassins.” As he stares at the metal mask in Oshiahs hands, Wilgar speaks again “Crescent Moon? That sounds familiar too. But why would humans be parading around in Crescent Moon masks?” Oshiah again, "Their facade implies an attempt at misdirection," as he dropped the mask to the floor. "The Tribe is our only lead currently, but surely whoever they are, they would send more than three, even if they thought to catch either of us alone, these three could not have prevailed." "I agree. So were they sent with the intention of failing? Were we meant to discover this deception?” Wilgar asked.
Looking to his friend’s eyes, Oshiah said "Perhaps. So, is a trap lessened if we walk into it knowingly?" Wilgar said “Considerably...and not at all. Quite the dilemma. Are there any other things of interest we can learn from our attackers? Oh, and Thank You for saving my life here today." Kicking the body nearest him, Oshiah said, "Yes, this one here came directly for you, while I was entangled with the others. It seems they were determined to end your life." As he admired Oshiah’s accurate hits, he replied "Just what I need...” Out of habit, Oshiah checked his weapons and spoke as he walked toward the door. "I'd suggest we not wait here in this room of little purpose. We should go out into the city and perhaps the next assailant will reveal themselves." Wilgar replied with “Always looking for trouble, aren't you?" "I don't need to look for trouble, but I prefer to sleep without worrying that more of these people show up. Might as well go find them." As he passed the two bodies at the door, he stopped to say, "Perhaps if you'd been conscious, one of them may have survived long enough to give us more answers." To which Wilgar said, “I'll be sure to sleep with one eye open next time..." "I think it was that Elvish wine we had for breakfast, made you a little light headed” Oshiah quipped. "The elves sure know how to stomp grapes. I am a bit annoyed at myself for the reaction I had" Wilgar said as he shook his head.