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In a Span of Six Moons...

by F. Charles Murdock

Hail, traveler! Are we still well met? I hope to the gods we are because life has grown dark in Krytherion these last six moons. Aye, you heard me and my word is sound: nearly a half-cycle has passed since we last told tale. Much has happened in that time, true, but not to Beard Weirheowdth, no. Why, you ask? Did you not hear of the hell he caught when the warrior finally squared off against the Isenshrike? Beard’s only now recovering -- truth be told, though, he should be far-flung into the Great Beyond after such a gruesome battle.

But Beard’s a tenacious bastard, you see.

Let’s look elsewhere, then, as our lowly hero pulls himself together. See well how both the land and its people have changed and for the worse. Southron wasn’t the most peaceful region before Beard traversed it to do battle with the Isenshrike, but now? It’s the thing of nightmares: brother killing brother, friend betraying friend, whole towns abandoned or wiped away. And what of Thorgithe, you ask? Gods, have you not been listening, friend? The war, it rages on as though Hunerheim itself has surfaced to devour the Northlands.

Aye, and my ears be keen to what you must be thinking -- what vile creature has brought this ruin to the Inner World? Hear me well, traveler, and beware this knowledge I give you now lest you set a foolish foot upon a path to Krytherion: the Dark One has come! Now, to tell true, I know not whether he be man or monster or something in between, but the bastard is evil through-and-through... just ask Släfgeit (actually, that might be a deathwish on your part... you’d do better to stay away as the Overlord of Slumber is still a tad sour on the race of man after what Beard did to him and on his own plain, no less).

Speaking of Beard, it seems our hero is beginning to stir. See well the confusion on his face -- an expression that’ll be sticking around, if you gather me. Look upon the broken body of our hero and answer me this for even I don’t know how it’s possible: how in the nine hells is this bastard still going?

A part of him doesn’t want to, mind you, and I think ye know why.

Oh, and what is this? I think Beard has finally noticed he isn’t the only living thing on the Isle of the Isenshrike. Now that's a face we haven't seen before... Just who could that be?

Posted 11 years ago by Sword and Portent.
The Battle of Blades

Beard gripped the hilt of the Tattered Edge with grim determination. He knew that one day he would have to be free of it, he had seen its shadowy power that betrayed its powerful magik, but for now he needed its strength for before him stood a creature of myth and nightmare.
Shattered Dreams

The crew of the Perilous Wench were a tad upset. It was not that long ago when they were living the good life, drinking and whoring in the fine city of Southport. Such was their reward after a few honest high-seas adventures and a few not-so-honest. They preferred the term “privateer,” but seeing as they weren’t always hired by one government to rob another and instead just robbed any old ship from time to time, it wasn’t entirely accurate. However, they did take the odd job on the up-and-up and their current one was supposed to be just such a venture.
The Pipes Between

Beard fell into darkness. The last thing he remembered was jumping through the portal made by the cyclopean twins, Fate and Destiny, in their castle Or’i. He had seen Släfgeit through the portal and had felt himself moving back into the Dream Realm, but that all ended with a resounding CLANK! And now he found himself tumbling through cold, black void. Occasionally, he felt the breeze off an unseen object against his skin as it went whirring by in the dark. Every instinct in Beard’s body told him to pull his limbs close and hold his body rigid as not to collide with whatever things may be around him.
What Realms May Come

The darkness here is just that -- the absence of light. That impenetrable blackness is in truth a deep blue, which in turn is a clear azure like the sky at daybreak during the Winter Solstice. One needs only to pierce this hidden world with his mind’s eye, to draw back the curtain with will alone, to see the secrets at its heart. Courage is a vigilant guide like a lantern of purest white light. But what one sees here, he can never forget.
A Dream in Crimson

“OOOF!” said a small nasally voice. “What the heck is that doing here?” asked another. “Ewww gross! Don’t touch it! It’s, like, totally corporeal, man!” said the first. “I am just going to set it right, don’t worry. We can’t have this thing lumbering around with all that solid flesh can we?” said the second. “I suppose you’re right.” “I suppose I am.”

In a Span of Six Moons...

The Battle of Blades

Shattered Dreams

The Pipes Between

What Realms May Come

A Dream in Crimson