by Ben Marshall
As the two of us shared a couple of barrels of good Dwarven ale, I told him of the recent events, building upon the titbits that he had heard from his drinking companions over the past few days. He holds the belief that the marking symbolises the evil power rather than their new leader, which was my theory. He heard tales, when he was a lad, of a mighty demon that led a large force of minions under the command of the Dark Lord. Indeed it is known that Dark Lord Carrassiel’s legions spread to the borders of the Elven lands, notably the land where Lonariel hails from. The demon is named Moragil in the tales that parents have told their children since their liberation over a thousand years ago, and records do hold that Carrassiel had a general by the name of the demon. These records also reveal a most startling fact, and one that must be noted exactly, so I have copied the text below:
Though Moragil commanded many attacks within Lebruskt, Barid and the empire of Charad, the lands to the East where never attacked by him. Instead Carrassiel sent a Colonel who, it is believed, possessed greater power by far than the General. This demon held within him the power to absorb the abilities and energies of others, and fast developed both magical and physical skills far in excess of those believed to exist within the living. This Colonel hailed under many names, known by those he grew up with as Santelion while others merely bestowed a nickname upon him, but since he began to regain his soul he has taken upon himself the name of Katchanga, which is said to be Valinian for “The Charmed One” in acknowledgement of the great gift he believes Nature herself to have presented to him. It is unknown whether he still holds his power, but many simply point to his overthrow of Carrassiel as proof.
I have known Katchanga all my days, though he has been to these halls seldom. Our records note of his accomplishments against the orcs and their brethren that assailed us before my birth, and indeed my king holds him in the highest regard for his timely actions, but I wonder now at what could have made his life take such turns, for next to nothing is noted by any Loremaster of the fate of the race known by many as the “Eastern Elves” and by my own people as the “Elves of Fury”; for their fighting prowess is beyond equal if Katchanga’s abilities are anything to go by. When Carrassiel hunted for minions to convert he sought out only the best, so I do not doubt that, even as Santelion, Katchanga was worthy of high esteem.
21st August, 1190
It transpires that Katchanga led Lonariel’s people into battle against Carrassiel in the war known as the Coming, freeing each of the lands until a host from each of the factions followed him to Carrassiel’s stronghold, and threw the monster into the abyss from whence he came. I don’t think it is possible to put into words the respect and admiration I feel for Katchanga, because he has come through so much.
How I wish that the Elf was here in our dark hour, because his skills are sorely required. I now have no doubt that the foul orcs that threaten our existence are aided by the dread Moragil, yet even worse news has reached our Hall. Though Moragil has not actively helped the orcs to attack my kin, preferring to grant powers while remaining behind the scenes, the Fire Giants have mobilised. It seems that the events that caused the Kuhiar to lose their ancestral home all those years ago are in motion once again. I can’t help but wonder if we are destined to suffer the same fate.
Before Katchanga regained his soul he was truly a force to be reckoned with. A full demon, though he maintained his Elven form, he gained powers far in excess of a mortal’s imagination. Though Moragil was the General of Carrassiel’s legions, the Colonel led the assaults that were absolutely astonishing. I suppose it is a cruel twist of irony that he was the one who conquered the Dwarven lands over a thousand years ago, as well as the island nations. I find it ironic that, since the downfall of Carrassiel, Katchanga has worked almost tirelessly to purge the lands of the vile creatures that he once led, though he has always had to leave a meagre remnant of any tribe that is struck down. It would seem that, since Nature returned his soul to him, he has held himself as a guardian of her order. For this reason, he cannot bring extinction to any creature unless she grants him the go-ahead for such an event.
Lonariel’s older brother was one of the few who first encountered the reformed warrior. Wounded in the penultimate battle to bring Valinia under Carrassiel’s dominion, Katchanga withdrew to the mountains within the heavily forested region that sits between Valinia and Lonariel’s land. Rumours of his vulnerable, yet no less dangerous, state drew the Elven guardians into the maze of underground passages, with wizard and warrior alike desperate to find the one responsible for so much devastation throughout the Human and Dwarven realms. Some sought him for the challenge of fighting the unbeatable, others for seeing the powers he could unleash, yet others solely wished to destroy a menace worse than any that had before walked the earth.
As the party crossed the Elven border many reported that the forest itself seemed to whisper, and some claim to have seen a faint, ethereal spectre walking a parallel path to theirs. Once the mountains were entered the warriors claim that they felt cold shivers whenever they were upon the right track, but the feeling passed whenever they took a wrong turning or turned to look behind them. The mages have since told any of their brethren who would listen to them that they heard voices telling them which path to take, though no reason can be given by even the most eccentric of them. One, an Arch-Druid of great renown named Aphelial Leavale, has occasionally told people that he saw something else that is truly special, and shall probably never be seen again. The nature of his sighting has only been revealed to a select few, all of whom were sworn to never give the details to any who are not fellow Druids or Rangers.
While I hold a very dim hope that I might one day learn what he saw, I can be certain from Lonariel’s tale that it was what changed Katchanga from the evil he had become. When the party entered the chamber he was holed up in the demon’s wounds appeared fatal. Blood covered much of the floor, and the Elf was clearly in tremendous pain. As he turned his golden eyes to face the warriors, he merely smiled before whispering a phrase that many believe to have been “I was forgiven” and then lapsing into unconsciousness. Strangely, even the hardened warriors felt pangs of pity for him, and the wizards used their magic to conjure forth a stretcher, and the soldiers bore him through the web of tunnels and this time the chills had changed to a comfortable warmth, yet the chills came with a vengeance should they turn wrong.
No strength within his broken body, Katchanga’s right hand slumped to hang limp over the side of the stretcher. Mindful of his reputed powers, each member of the party were careful to avoid contact with it, especially after one warrior accidentally touched the tattooed hand as the passage led down to ground level. He later commented that sparks of pain washed through him, and Katchanga seemed to shudder slightly as the energy of the warrior passed into him. The incident was brief, but it almost rendered the Elven warrior immobilised, and two had to help him walk to the entrance to the cave network.
Strangely, they arrived to find their winged horses still waiting patiently where they had been left, since the dark caverns had been no place for such creatures. Though the steeds had not been tethered, they had remained despite the unnerving feeling emanating from the encircling forest. As the stretcher bearers exited the passages, and the pale sun fell upon Katchanga’s face, four wolves emerged from the mist that covered everything. The largest of the four, a pack leader no doubt, walked boldly straight for the prone demon. Dismissing the whinnying mounts with a swish of his tail, the beast moved over to the demon’s left and began to nuzzle against the hand that lay over Katchanga’s heart. Energy pulsed once more through him, and the onlookers saw his eyelids flutter open. Turning slowly to regard the creature, the stricken Elf smiled weakly. Something seemed to pass between Elf and wolf, and the creature trotted off to rejoin the part of his pack that had accompanied him. As the mist began to swirl about him, the wolf lifted his head in a long and mournful howl as Katchanga collapsed back into unconsciousness. The rest of the pack materiali
sed at that moment, and formed a ring around the horses and the riders. Shaking off the surprise at the scene the Elven warriors mounted and flew back to their homeland, while Katchanga’s aides attached his stretcher to a soft harness conjured by one of the wizards, and the demon was carried through the whispering forest. They were led by the wolf pack, which had fanned out as it showed them the most direct route through the bewitched land.
Once they had brought him to the leading city within their land the Fire Elves bore Katchanga to the House of Healing, where Clerics tended to his extensive wounds. During his time within the chamber he was laid, Katchanga was guarded by ten warriors from the party that had transported him. Lonariel’s brother was one of them, and the young Lonariel, being just 100 years old at the time, once went in to see him. A curious youngster by the standards of his race, Lonariel claims to have moved close to Katchanga while he lay with his eyes shut. Believing the demon to be asleep, he was simply careful to avoid touching the bare flesh of the patient, but his presence must have been felt. Slowly forcing his glazed eyes open, the stricken Elf lashed out, claws appearing at the ends of his fingers and striking against Lonariel’s head.
Overcome with pain, the young child began to flee the room, a hand clutched over his injury. Raising his still clawed hand, Katchanga brought the run to a stop, and pulled the lad back through the force of his magic. Bringing his hand over the deep cut, the entire room became bathed in a green light emanating from the wound. His features taut with agony, Katchanga kept his hand pressed in position until a wave of unconsciousness claimed him, and the wound was healed to the small scar that is now visible. I asked Lonariel why he hadn’t requested that a cleric finish the job, to which he replied that something had happened when he had been touched. At this point in the tale, we both became aware of the late hour, and so he promised to finish at a later date. I think that what happened to him affected him deeper than a person could guess, and may have been something similar to the sight seen by the Arch-Druid.
22nd August, 1190
Still no word from the clan’s force, but a forest meeting the Kharag was burnt at its centre during the night. Considering that my clan and the nearby Elven group use only dead wood to create a fire, and take great care not to allow the flames or hot embers to move beyond their control, I can only assume that the culprit was of Mannish or Orcish kin. Considering the recent events, I am almost certain it was the latter. The green-skinned brutes have no regard for anything that exists within the known world; even their tribal companions are worthless to each other. Does the destruction of several acres of such a central forest mean that my worst fears have been confirmed? King Brietrin has ordered that the news be kept under wraps, but already the rumours have spread through every mead hall within even the lowest chambers of our Hall that the incident occurred.
As the sun passed below the peaks, I felt joy of a level I had almost forgotten could be felt. A soldier, weary and horribly bloodied, made his way into the entrance chamber. Collapsing from blood loss the Longbeard was swiftly tended to by Clerics, who are with him now. He remains too weak to respond to any enquiries, so I haven’t been able to ascertain whether he is the sole survivor of an incursion, or if better news will be heard when he has regained some of his strength. I pray that my grandfather remains well, yet the hope seems to be all I have now. I am reminded of Lonariel’s story now, and can’t help but wonder if the Longbeard’s survival, should he not succumb to his injuries, will be as beneficial to us as Katchanga’s survival all those years ago.
23rd August, 1190
It is almost the day’s end, and the Longbeard has only just regained some semblance of consciousness through the endless efforts of our Clerics. King Brietrin is growing increasingly desperate for news of the soldiers he sent away, as am I. Though it is only logical to assume that my grandfather might be killed during the battle he had gone to find, I cannot hold the thought in my head for even a minute without my chest tightening so that I am unable to breathe. My king is questioning him now, though it is very difficult to understand the words he speaks due to his weak state.
The king has just exited the chamber, and the Clerics have returned to continue the task of healing the soldier. I could tell instantly that the news was pleasing, because he was smiling, though when he saw my presence the look became very grim. I have always considered Brietrin to be perceptive, and he kindly allowed me to leave the question unasked and unanswered. The orcs were tracked to a network of caves within the northern reaches of the mountains, and were slaughtered while they camped at the mouth. It was said that my grandfather killed several scores by himself, and indeed was alive at that battle’s conclusion. While resting and eating, some of the scouts took up roles as sentries and brought some dire news to the ears of the other soldiers. According to a set of tracks, the main body of the orc band had dispersed before my kinsmen had arrived, splitting into two other parties that were still travelling through the mountains. One section must have been the ones responsible for the fire that we witnessed the other night, and my clan’s warriors subsequently split and pursued the two bands. The Longbeard had travelled after the forest burners with my grandfather, while the other group followed the orcs into the tunnels beside the camp they had assaulted. Of the second group there is no news for obvious reasons, and I almost wish the same were true of my grandfather’s band. They swiftly caught up with the orcs, and the battle was fierce even by the standards of previous exploits. My grandfather killed many orcs, but eventually faced a group of ten with his back close to a burning tree. Many good Dwarves were lost to the blaze, but I think my grandfather would have charged courageously at the orc scum rather than have the flames leap over his flesh. He died as he always wanted, and so I know I should feel no lasting sorrow, but the pain is unbearable.
24th August, 1190
I have reached a decision, and I can only hope it is the right one. I am going to find the camp where the initial battle with the orcs took place, because I have been checking maps of the north. If the longbeard’s details were accurate then I fear that there may be worse things than orcs to come. The maps show that the only caves within the area that matches the description are not as they appear from the outside. They are actually shown to be a sort of back door that leads to the lost hall of the Kuhiar. If that is the case, then I can only hope that the giants are no longer dwelling there. If they have remained in the hall since the time they cast out the Kuhiar, then I fear that they may be involved. With the demise of so many of our best warriors, we no longer possess the strength of arms to repel a concentrated assault by the orcs, let alone orcs with giant allies.
I spoke to Brietrin of my concerns, and he confirmed my fears. We cannot spare any warriors to investigate the matter further, yet nor can it be overlooked. With a heavy heart, for I doubt I shall ever see my home and friends again save in the afterlife, I bid them farewell and set off. I wasn’t alone, however, because Lonariel and Farim caught up with me soon after my exit. Though I tried to dissuade them from the journey, they were adamant that they accompany me. Lonariel pointed out that his original intention had been to examine the ancient hall of the Kuhiar, and what better time than when it would also be of tremendous value to “Dwarves he had come to look upon as friends”. Even Farim agreed with this statement, and I feel humbled by their goodly attitudes. For Farim to consider me and my clan as friends, despite his nation’s stand on those they view as “Outsiders”, is a great honour. Even the merchants that rely on our goods and our coffers do so only with a sense of professionalism, of indifference.
So, although my journey is, in part, a search for knowledge as to the full nature of our enemy, it is also taken partly out of a desire for vengeance. Many of my friends, and of course my grandfather, have been lost due to whatever malevolence is bringing this war upon us, and I would see the pain paid back upon its beastly hide should it be of corporeal form.
27th August, 1190
We have come upon the site where th
e forest was set aflame, and the sight is truly ghastly. Almost an acre wide is the circle of ash that shows the scene, and it is completely covered with scorched and disfigured corpses. Though I take some pleasure from seeing that most of the bodies are those of the tusked orcs, I see also my grandfather’s charred remains. Surrounded by heaps, nay perhaps they are more mounds, of slain orc-kin I can see clearly the bitter final stand he made. The acrid fumes almost overwhelm me as I sit beside him, and I can’t help but wonder if his face is the smile of acceptance or of defiance, or if maybe I am just imagining the expression due to my fatigued state of mind.