by Ben Marshall
Part 3 – So Much at Stake
The Darkness Spreads
It has always surprised me at just how important the past is for so many people, while for me it is a mixed issue. While the early part of my growth has been of incalculable value throughout my lifetime thus far, over a third of my years within this world have been a period I can neither remember actually participating in nor truly escape the memories of. This period, the time of my corruption, has ever since been the sole section of my life that is known by all, and as such the majority of those that walk the land that Nature has provided for them view me with either distrust or open hostility. Those with greater information on events have sometimes told me that they know I did all I could to resist the whispering malevolence of Carrassiel, but neither them nor I believe that such a fact can stand as a defence; because it doesn’t change what I did once I was corrupted. I know I can never truly be free of my past actions but since Nature, in Her infinite wisdom, chose to forgive me I have endeavoured to repair the damage left in my wake.
I have often been asked what it feels like to be corrupted, to which my response is thus: How would you consider it to feel when all your actions are at the command of another? How would you feel if your feelings of regret, guilt, and hatred of your master only strengthened his hold over you? When you are corrupted, it is as if you are dead inside, because all you have left is hate; hate that cannot be unleashed upon the being you detest and is therefore channelled against the innocent nations you are sent to destroy. I felt nothing during my time as a commander within the army of Carrassiel, and even now I see my actions as if they were simply components within a terrible nightmare; the faces of those I killed and mutilated, though obscured though the visions, are no less horrifying for me to recall. The images haunt my every dream, and are there behind my eyes throughout the day.
I say that I felt nothing while corrupted, but the time during my transition to such a foul state was one of the most agonising I have ever known. Throughout the horror I saw my adopted younger brother Caluphim fall into the darkness, his emotions too fiery due to his tender years, and he could never escape the influence. The lad had never desired power, never wished for any of the few benefits that it could be believed he received such as the greater strength and speed, and certainly never desired the horrific transformation that was the price he paid. Many of the young members of my nation suffered as he did, and it was partially this that brought the rest of us under the dominion of my old master; for it became the kindest act for us to end their lives and such a deplorable act was too much for even the most iron-willed of us to bear.
I am pleased to remember that I resisted for a decade, though many bore the torment of their transition for far longer. I guess that I fell into the darkness because I could no longer live with the relentless images of so many pleading eyes, the youths of my nation silently begging myself and each of the other warriors that took the same actions to find a different way to end their suffering, understanding that there was only one course we could take that would free them of the evil that was engulfing them.
During our transition several of my friends spoke of the images that plagued them, finding only those of the youths of the nation accompanying the whispers, whispers telling them that they were already evil and should accept that the darkness had claimed them, and I realised then that my own torment was greater in both diversity and force. The deaths of my real parents while I was still a mere babe, and the pain I saw in the eyes of my adopted family when I told them of Caluphim, were the events that weighed upon my mind, with different strengths. The images of my true parents had little effect at first, for I had been too young to fully remember them and had seen the images ever since I witnessed their murder. They only began to affect me after five years, when the loneliness and helplessness I had felt at their passing was no longer the focus. Carrassiel manipulated the event so that I was told through the whispers that I could possess the power to finally avenge them, yet a voice kept arguing that they would not have wished me to turn murderer for their sake. Both were too pure of heart to have considered such action acceptable under any circumstances, yet that voice of reason made me feel all the more ashamed that I had slain so many because I thought I was saving them. It was after two years of such thoughts, combining with the images to further add to my deep feelings of self-loathing, that I realised I had unwittingly stumbled into Carrassiel’s trap, and my world was shattered by a sudden resignation to the fact that I would eventually enter his service. I could mount no mental defence that was not undone by the whispers that drifted continuously about me, and my fall became ever swifter. My friends tried to console me, but so many who I had once called friends had fallen that a part of me began to wish to enter Carrassiel’s service just to be with them.
Though most of the Elves within their realms, and indeed every member of the Council more than anyone else, know of what transpired all those years ago, I feel that none of them can comprehend exactly what is at stake. The rest of the Elven realms never fell into darkness; my old master wishing to remove the stubborn Dwarves, who could completely ignore the whispers due to their secretive and untrusting ways, and the fickle humans who were so easily broken, rather than waste time attempting assaults upon the fortress-like lands my brethren have settled in. Even now the human nations wage petty wars amongst themselves, and if Moragil should believe himself ready to emulate Carrassiel much of the land shall be defenceless against his will. Nature Herself has been trembling in recent years, and stirrings are ever rising from the East of some power gaining the loyalty of the many denizens of the realms beyond the Orc Trails. My nation was the first that fell to Carrassiel, but we were far from the last to be drawn into service, and the only one to be able to resist for any length of time against the misguiding whispers and their false promises of grandeur that could never be fulfilled. Since the campaign of my old master was defeated, and his troops split asunder nearly two millennia ago, several of the races have grown wiser and shall not bow down to the unnoticed tyranny of another Dark Lord’s regime, yet many hunger for power lost by the downfall of the First Coming and have eagerly pledged loyalty to the demon general.
In the final battle for the freedom of the land Fate, decreed that I should don the Amulet of Planar Shifting, reversing the intentions of Moragil when he crafted it to fulfil his ambition. It was ambition that had drawn him willingly into the service of Carrassiel, willingly turning his back on our culture and all our ideals. He dreamed of ruling a realm, knowing his brother was destined for the Throne of Hujikolien and the leadership of my people while he was not. Indeed it was only his betrayal that made us aware of the evil that drifted through our streets, swirling in our minds and hearts with promises that not even the Powers could fulfil, and yet there was a time when I called him “Friend”. I believe that he forged the Amulet because he believed he could overthrow the Dark Lord, though in reality his actions were all orchestrated and of benefit to His Malevolence, and often in the years I spent in the liberation of the West, and the raising of an opponent strong enough to best the horde that followed the banners of Evil Incarnate, I held a faint hope that he would possess enough power to free himself of the corruption. My hope proved to be in vain; because instead Moragil was the first line of defence between my troops and the Dark Fortress far to the East.
The first battle against a full battalion of Carrassiel’s minions came upon the Eastern border of Lebruskt, where the mountains fall away to the rolling plains of Charad. This was truly my first great trial, for many from each nation still watched me with suspicion, and my force was woefully outmatched by Moragil’s horde. My old friend held all the advantages, his army bolstered by warriors of each nation still dominated by his master’s will, while my own held what could only be described as a disheveled selection of warriors from the various nations, and I still believe they were present for no reason other than that their various rulers considered them expendable. The only warriors that followed
me willingly were the warriors of the Fire Elves, who were all aware of my past and the causes of my…indiscretions. I am thankful beyond words that they were beside me, for I am sure that otherwise we would have perished long before we even managed to beat back the darkness as far as we had. I also think that it was their martial ability and resolve that held the others under our banners.
The battle occurred just a few miles from the foothills that marked the edge of the Lebrusktan lands, with my troops gathered inside a ruined outpost; a one-time tower reduced to scattered piles of rock and debris. It appeared as if we were re-enacting history, when the people of Charad originally tried to resist the surge of foes from the East, and I know that the soldiers beside me wondered if we would suffer the same apparent fate. None of us could linger upon the thoughts because, even as we entered the ruins, the black banners of Moragil’s army, adorned as they were with his symbol of a four-horned demon, appeared over a rise in the surrounding plain, amid large volumes of dust thrown skywards by the swift passage of his forces. It was now that another advantage at Moragil’s disposal became all too apparent: The corruption of each nation’s leaders had drawn their warriors under the control of Carrassiel’s commanders, and as such the elite troops from many lands rode beneath the black banners. Warriors from the mountains, valleys and even the islands to the East of my nation’s homeland rode or marched within the ranks, accompanied by the Saurian trident-bearers from the Southern continent, the swordsmen of my nation and orc-kin innumerable who had been corrupted or simply drawn by the power granted by Carrassiel to his endless legions. The mounted archers of the Turpoli Islands led the multitude, followed by the fabled Knights of Charad in their suits of hardened plate mail. This second type of cavalry were perhaps the more dangerous for, although the archers held greater manoeuvrability and the ability to attack from range, the un-armoured state of the Islanders meant that my own archers could strike them down with relative ease even at great range, whereas the knights of the Empire could not be struck at more than 30 metres with any effect other than their suits being dented from the impact.
A commander never has time to dwell on anything once the battle lines have formed, and my own training has led me to fight with pure instinct when the fog of war descends. All rationality fades beneath the heady rush of adrenaline, the call of the challenge, yet since my fall I have all but shackled my emotions, until I must place my trust in the instincts which brought me to Carrassiel’s attention. The Elves and Valinian archers were instructed to fire at the mounted bowmen of the Islands, while I used my own soldiers to delay the Empire's cataphracts. It was one of the few times that I have been thankful for the powers given to me by Carrassiel in his quest for the “brightest and best”, as several Loremasters have named it, because my ability to inherit, absorb and channel, the powers of others meant that I too learnt how to dominate warriors and “bend them to my will”. The youngest, and in my opinion the most short-sighted, of the Loremasters who have studied the battles during the so-called Age of Conflicts have heralded many of the battles both during and after my corruption as incredible, yet in truth I held many options that aren’t obvious to those that aren’t fully versed in the art of war. My warriors were fully under my influence, and as such there was no possibility of their resolve failing. I held no officers within my ranks, and as such I didn’t have to rely on my commands being transferred to the ranks except by my own thoughts. I also ensured that each soldier I marched with was an expert with whichever weapon he had favoured before I turned him to my cause. As such I could utilise all the strengths of each weapon without any of the vices inherent within each race: The fear of death, the desire for survival and the possibility of freezing in the face of an enemy charge. When Mother Nature chose, in Her incredible mercy, to forgive me my transgressions and return to me my soul I released each of my soldiers from their unwitting bondage, and was surprised to find that each one realised I had been in a similar state of affairs myself. When I had recovered enough of my strength to face them I gave them their freedom, and swore I would do all within my power to right the wrongs I had used them to commit. Silence followed my statement, until one who had apparently risen to be a makeshift leader of the group stepped from the crowd. He looked me square in the face as he spoke, no sign of fear or even hatred for what I had done during the years I had led them in the devastation of the Western lands of Men.
“As far as I can recall, Sir, we are all guilty of committing crimes against our people, and so I doubt that we would be welcomed unless we too atone for our sins. We have fought beside you for several decades, and I know that such a period of time will have meant that my life could never be the same whether I atone or not. Being beside you has granted me many abilities that are useful only for war, although maybe my view will change over time. You have given me skills I had previously only dreamed of, gifted me with immortality, so I could never return to my homeland, because then I would have to watch even my grandchildren succumb to old age while I am unchanged. For this I now realise that my days will be filled either with misery by lingering in my freedom, or in excitement upon the field of battle beside you, driving our enemy from every realm he has usurped. So command me, My General.”
Surprisingly, his final statement was taken up as a shout by all who had served, and for the first time since my corruption my world seemed bright. Love stirred within my heart, as I looked upon five hundred warriors who had accepted what I had done but didn’t care. They are still in my service, for their deeds have continuously impressed my own Lord and Lady and Their reward for any fallen warrior of the Vale has been Rebirth. Some consider this event to be of a similar ilk to Reincarnation, yet the similarity ends at the being’s return to the Mortal Plane. Reincarnation is where the essence of a person, or his soul if you prefer to consider it thus, is returned within a different form, while Rebirth returns the being to the Plane as he was at the time of his passing, and as such I have retained my force and even strengthened it by fresh troops swearing such an allegiance to my cause. However my mind wanders from the event I was recalling, the event that I believe was responsible for the forging of Moragil’s amulet, because it revealed to Carrassiel just how tenuous a hold he had over the lands he had poisoned. The peoples he had enslaved.
The effect of my various archer troops was that the charge was swiftly ended, with the mounted bowmen from the Islands unable to mount an effective barrage of our position due to the cover offered by the piles of rubble, and the greater range of our archers created by the slight hill upon which we stood meant that both types of cavalry were overwhelmed before my front line came within their respective ranges. The bowmen of the Islands were routed with nearly two thirds of their number cut down, before even a single volley could strike the barrier of broken walls that rose in front of my troops, as the thrown riders from Charad were forced to either march unprotected and separated from their comrades or to retreat and risk the wrath of their commander.
They chose the first option, and I ordered that all the archers held their fire. The Valinians were loathe to obey, while the Elves looked questioningly at me but followed the order nonetheless, and my own troops silently drew their hand weapons. A whole array of weapons from swords and axes to maces and flails were gripped in readiness for the coming melee. The Elves did not draw their blades but, like me, they held an arrow in preparation for the final volley as we watched the shaken warriors of Charad advance, their comrades barely five hundred metres behind. I kept my men in check until the warriors of Charad had closed to twenty metres, when fifteen hundred arrows flew as a swarm into their ranks, cutting over a third of the advancers down as they started to charge the barriers between us and them. Clouds of dust covered the scene, and I have little doubt that we all became invisible to the rest of Moragil’s army, while the double-headed axes of Charad were knocked aside by the weaponry of the liberated lands before the bludgeoning and cleaving finished the task. The rising dust cloud was the perfect concealment, an
d now I signalled for the horsemen of Lebruskt to ride against the light infantry of the Islands, whose heavy blades were impossible to wield against the swift hunters who used javelins, arrows and thrown axes to cut down their foes from a distance, before closing and crushing bare flesh beneath the thundering hooves of their steeds. The heavy infantry of Charad were flanked by spearmen from the wild lands of Barid and the Saurians, and I was thankful for the keen vision of my Elven brethren as I signalled for them to launch their shafts at the front of the ranks while the swift lancers of both Camentar and Berinan attempted to outflank the Saurians. The lizard-folk were seasoned at such fights, however, and their tridents scored many a serious blow before enough pressure was applied so that they were struck down. The barbarians of Barid I allowed to approach because I had no more cavalrymen to spare, and trident-bearers must be forced into tight packs to prevent them from utilising angles to bring down either mount or rider. This was achieved at a heavy loss, and I had no choice but to withdraw my various knights from combat until the tenuous situation could be reassessed. This action, combined with the sudden appearance of fresh waves of orcs, would almost certainly have cost me both the fight and the war had it not been for the timely arrival of Dehujin’s colony. His father had rallied a hundred of his fellow dragons, each soaring with golden-scaled majesty towards the sea of filth-encrusted abominations. Spurts of fiery fury emerged from their reptilian jaws as they soared overhead, reducing many of the foe to ash and charred flesh.