As told by Magnus of the Island of Seren.
The letter from Lord Syraen was more than I had thought possible. Firstly, it sounded like he would hold me to my promise of an unknown service in the future. I fully intend to serve him as we agreed, but in my heart I know that I will never commit an act that aids the Defiler or the forces of darkness. I will die first. I can only hope that the elf mage has the same foes as I. In that way, my service to him would be a joy. He suggests that he has knowledge of the Winter Coalition and that I should seek him out for information.
Re-reading the letter, this maul is tied to the Winter Coalition and we have often thought that somehow our party (whoever its members?) had a connection to the re-emergence of the Winter Coalition. As Lord Syraen suggests, the paths of prophecy are involved. Somehow, if I am able to wield this weapon, something will change (in me? in the world around me?) that will aid in the reformation of the Winter Coalition. How would that happen? How would I know what to do? Would I become so different that I am alone and must leave the party? Would we all go the way of Rendar, called to higher purpose? Is this the gateway I have been seeking that will lead me to aid Lucerix in the rescue of Seren? How could a white dragon bone that draws power from cold help the Bringers of Fire?
I laid awake in the comfortable bed at the Royal Bear. Hours passed and the moons moved overhead as I tried to understand and as I considered the fateful day ahead of me. In the end, the down pillows, soft blankets, and thick mattress won out over my disquiet. I slept.
Morning came and we met for breakfast in the common room. As Lady Amaryllis had predicted, heavy snow was falling in the usually warm city of Wroat, more evidence that the fates are involved in our lives. Kard was still busy with his healing hand and temple duties, so he would not accompany me. I hoped I wouldn't fall and need his curing. Dar had sought the wooded parks to consider her own fate. I would have liked her to come with me, but she is new to us and our fates may not be bound.
Cypher was caught up in his refashioning of Rungo in the workshops of House Cannith. I was upset by this. All along I have relied on Cypher to help me understand what was happening to us. He alone of our group was with me when this all began in the gnome city in Zilargo. Even my dwarven friend Doongul, the first companion I had made when I arrived on the continent (the Land of Demons), was no longer with me. The dark elf Xoma had left us mysteriously. The shifter Cyzicus returned to his homeland. And Rendar's path was no longer ours. Cypher, at least, was still with me, and he remembered who our real enemies were. What if this mace required knowledge or understanding of prophecies? What if I could not answer the call? Without Cypher I feel afraid of my own lack of knowledge. I trust that somehow, this is all as it was meant to be.
Clarion would come with me, however, as will the flighty and fey Aleae, and I am glad of their help. I feel that they have an interest in all of this and that they have a great part to play.
Clarion is a warrior, forged for music and war in the land of Aundair, but he also serves the goddess Dol Arrah. I know little of this goddess but they say she is sometimes depicted as a red dragon: So I know his purpose must be true. He heals with music and a cold metal touch and his shield is strong!
And Aleae, whose full name no one can pronounce but Aleae (except maybe Cypher), comes from another world altogether, a world of faerie stories like those the elders used to tell us. But those faeries are real now and one of them is my companion and she sprouts wings and throws spells as mighty as any Seren shaman's. Enemies and owlbears beware!
 |
| A glimpse of Thelanis, the Faerie Court (aka the Feywild) |
We rode the horses out of town with Clarion running along tirelessly. Warforged continued to amaze me. I often wonder what the dragonspeakers back home would say of them. They are artificial beings, that is clear. Some of the elders would probably dismiss them as mere animated toys, but not all of them. Perhaps is has been the Dragons' design all along that the warforged be created in this modern time now that they are are needed? Lucerix would know.
Some ways out from the city, amidst the snow fall, Clarion and Aleae started to magic-message us that we were being followed. Far at the edges of perception, they heard something. Maybe wings. Yes, some of our enemies have been winged. But then so have some of our friends. I wondered briefly if the pseudodragon Matheu would reappear, as dragons do at times. In time, a building sense of purpose started to flow through me. I could feel the mace calling me. I began to search for a place to do that which I was summoned to do. A clearing at the forest's edge presented itself, an old campsite strewn with some boulders and lone trees. This would be the place.
We hobbled the horses a few dozen feet away and I asked the others to take cover, for I was about to start the ritual and I knew not what will come. Clarion preferred to present himself to whatever the mace brought. I am thankful for the support of my friends and their willingness to stand by me in the face of unknown powers.
With that in mind, I cast the mace to the ground and say the name of the entity that inhabits it: “STORRGRIM!”
Immediately, icy clouds billowed from the mace, frozen air blustered about us and I could see neither my allies nor the mace. I step forward into the cold fog (was I supposed to? would this ruin it?), and I could not see the mace, but I did see some giant boots. As the fog began to clear I can see a twenty-foot frost giant. He was haggard, with a long white beard and a huge horned helm. He bore a mighty AXE. He looked like a giant icy Seren. Unless I am mistaken, we were to fight.He looked about with cold blue eyes and was not impressed. In a deep rumbling voice he asked me a question, but not in any language I knew. He repeated it with disgust, now speaking an a harshly accented Draconic. "Who are you?"
I answered, but he said, “You cannot be worthy. You are pitiful and small and have not the bearing of a conqueror.”
I shout, “I am MAGNUS of Seren Isle! I have yet to be killed! Many have come before me and all have fallen beneath me!”
He returned with “Never has a wretched human successfully wielded Harauch.” He raised his axe, and twice offered me the chance to escape with my life by walking away. Doing that would be failure. Instead I charged him, running between his legs and smashing at him with my old jungle mace. He scoffed and swung his axe. I heard the snarl of a great white wolf as well. Battle was joined! Purpose! Swinging weapons! The promise of bloodshed! Whatever the outcome, this would be a wonderful memory for me. Even if I am slain.
Vaguely I became aware that my friends had become involved in some other battle as Storrgrim and I squared off. I heard a roar and then a screech to my left as a huge blue wyvern dropped out of the snowy sky to the ground. I saw its female rider (the witch from the tavern fight outside the Dragonwood?) climbing out of the saddle get hit with a couple of Simel's arrows.
I continued to smash away at the giant’s legs. His gray-blue flesh was harder than a human's, but marks begin to appear and fluids begin to flow from the wounds. He landed a few glancing blows (thank the dragon for the spells Aleae and Clarion cast to protect me) but I stood up to him.
Around me, huge ice spells turn the area into a (more) frozen waste. Blasts of icy air, Hail stones, lightening, thunder, and the crackle of wand magic surround this battle. Clarion pushed through the fight to come to my side. A huge winter wolf also joined and breathed an icy blast upon us. More than once, Clarion’s shield saved me from a chop of Storrgim's massive axe, and Clarion got badly mauled. The giant demanded to know what Clarion was, and Clarion called out that we would stand triumphant over the giant’s corps before day's end, demoralizing Storgrimm with magic.I managed a particularly good mash into a giant leg. Instead of screams of pain, I look up to see an amused smile amidst his snowy why beard. Apparently Storrgrim liked this fight better than he thought he would. Although I know he meant to hew my body apart, I felt something burn inside me—like the kinship two matched foes feel sometimes—and I think he may have appreciated me. I write this only in looking back, because at the time, my mind was full of rage and fiery-red purpose.
I yelled out: “I will cut you down to size and mash your head in the end!” More guffaws from the
giant.
Around us, I saw an air elemental arrive as a vortex of screaming wind—that is the definitely the lady from the tavern brawl.I saw the wyverrn hop up and move towards Simel with its lashing, venomous tail, and more blasts of magic passed between two sorceresses. Wounded by falling ice, the enemy witch soon retreated into the tree line, but then I saw Aleae stalk after her and point her Wand of Wonder. A stream of shiny-bright rocks blasted out of the wand and knocked the wyvern-riding witch to the ground. That is good.
Storgrimm and I are not seriously wounded yet. I am sure that will change soon.
