The Cradle of Souls - Prologue

An excerpt from

The State of the World

by Lord Savant Davin Enseil

Fourth Order, School of Conjuration and Illusion; Council of Magic.

Winter. 1st day of the new year, 984 Lunidor (LD)

Unrest grips our dear world once again. Last Spring, 983 LD the moons Solus and Kriesus passed over one another, aligning with our world and its sun. Council Astromancers claimed that such an event would not occur for at least another 1000 years, but clearly they were wrong. It is a black omen. In its wake is a doom blacker than a devil's heart. Something is brewing that will plunge us into darkness and I believe it has already begun. As I write this, forces had started to gather on the borders of far away Naltronia and Arambashia.

We were certain that events were beginning to play toward a favorable hand prior to the passing of the moons. Talks had begun in the council about extending protection once more to the school of Necromancy which would serve to prevent future deaths in our order from those who feared such magical arts. Such buzz and excitement in the tower halls! It has been ever so long since I have experienced so much hustle. Practitioners of the art began to build their case to win back the Council's trust. Aiding the grieving, settling disputes over heirs, and preservation of those who might be resurrected again one day. Still, others came calling out that nothing could be done to stop the art from being evil.

Some make claims that the Council's ability to regulate how the magic is used no longer has sway in the magical communities. The death of Magistrate Sol only hammered this fact home further. Had the Archmage simple left that hideous black coffin alone none of this would have happened. I believe it was the butterfly that began this chain of events now far beyond our stopping.

Factions have been fracturing away from the Council since, but there were others already beginning to break away even before that. The Crimson Robes and their flare for dramatics make them little better than peddlers of tricks, but their following is still growing. They make it easy for wizards to join and grow within the order which serves as a draw for many of the youth that have left us.

More fearful is the creation of Haveatus Oum Kour; the newest of the factions to splinter away. Led by Harmen Holeglave, they believe that magic should not be restricted. Restrictions only lead to censorship and ignorance toward expanding the art. To make things worse, they do not place an emphasis on oversight of pupils either. An Apprentice can have his own Apprentices! What non-sense, not to mention blatant disregard for safty. From what I have gathered, these 'Apprentices' even have full rights to research papers and documentation on the most powerful spells out there...

As I watched our membership slide there was at least a little relief on its way. The remaining Magi, of all orders, began to step up offering to fill in the void spaces left by the deceased Archmagi. The remaining two Archmages agreed to put the offers to a vote, and allow the members of the Council to decide for themselves. Messages were sent magically across the globe and it would only be a matter of time before we began to gather and decide. It is good to see the leadership re-established, but there is so much to do. So much abuse of powers by those wizards who have left us. We are prepared to make a stand.

I must admit that I was most amazed, and perhaps a bit fearful when Keeper Nezra stepped forward with a nomination for the outcast Necromancer Taniesa Il'Pharin. She was the right hand of the Necromancer Mar'Kashik for the love of the gods! The man who designed a plague to wipe out large portions of the civilized world. There she stood, amid the gasps of the crowd requesting to be heard. When put to a vote we decided in favor of letting her speak.

Taniesa went straight to the point without uttering a single sorry. I would have called her out, challenged her honor, but instead I paused. It was well that I kept my mouth shut.

“I would apologize now, but that would hardly change what has already happened.” She began , the eyes of many of those who had been hurt upon her, “But I did what I could to make things right. I shall let my deeds speak for themselves.” And they did. One after another, people she had saved or helped with her 'dark art' came to her defense. In the end it was the testimony of young Nezra that bent us into acceptance for Taniesa.

Nezra called out to the crowd to listen, and told of her learning under Taniesa. Of the womans will and desire to prevent Mar'Kashik from bringing his ill fated will to the world, and of the sacrifice she made to ensure that he failed. At the end of her speech Nezra renominated Taniesa for the seat of Archmage and settled into her chair. Silence filled the room, save only for the scratching of quills as the gathered magi cast their vote. Nezra had garnered the interest of the crowd, made us believe that a future with all the schools under one banner was better than each of us fending for ourselves. When the vote was completed, 94% of those present had voted in favor of the nomination and reinstatement of the Necromatic school. Those who did not agree left immediately after.

Beyond our own turmoil, whispers came to us from far away Naltronia and Darilach. An ancient temple had risen from the depths of an Issolonian lake deep within the country's borders. Delegates of the Fourth Order gated to the lands to speak with the elves about the rumors; the news was astounding. A temple dedicated to the goddess Estridae and was suspended above Lake Chilaseen, a 3 weeks journey from the coast.

The Order requested permission from the elves to travel their land, to which the elves agreed, lending the magi Eudd lizards to ride upon. This blessing did not go unnoticed. It is rare to be granted permission to travel in elven territory, and even rarer for them to offer their sacred mounts for transportation. The journey took us deep into the lands, ending at a crystal lake where high in the sky floated the great temple.

Ivory walls looked down from a floating island uprooted from some deep place beneath the lake. Golden light appeared to pool down from the heavens, flowing into the ivory dome atop the isle. From there it spilled down the sides forming bridges of radiant light that connected the temple to the ground. Sapphire tears of water fell from waterfalls that flowed endlessly from above, showering the lake in a river of mist.

We ascended the bridges and were greeted by a young raven haired woman dressed in a glorious golden dress. Her hair was held back by a blue ribbon, matching with her eyes that sparkled with joy. “Welcome” she told them, “to the temple of the White Lady. The Forgotten Light discovered again.” Already there were some who had come before them, guardians to the temple trained as paladins by one of the first to arrive at this holy site. They called their order the Harbingers of Hope and have dedicated themselves solely to the protection of the temple.

We should have started preparing then. If the goddess of Life was gathering warriors to her cause we should taken heed. Instead our heads were looking to the stars, hoping that Oontarm would reveal the ways of the world and things to come. So presumptuous we were that he would show us with flair and dramatics. It seems we all want a chance to be like the Crimson Robes from time to time, but our lord is the god of Magic and he is far more subtle.

Harder times are becoming widespread, touching even the elves of Tyr. They are not known for their kindness toward other races and as such, some scholars have written that these signs were directed to them as a message to repent from their ways. I doubt that very much. Something greater is at work here, and will take much more investigation than scholarly surmising.

The elves have been preparing to mount an offensive against the orcs of Omgarr according to the few friends we have made among their kind. Their reason is old as time; a need to prove that they were the chosen race of the god of Fire. I am certain that there is far more to it than that, but they refuse to shed any more light than what they had already revealed.

Their naval fleet had grown in size and was actively doing drills in the southern seas. They failed to report to their commanders during the fall of 982 LD. A flying division was dispatched to investigate, but what they found was far from what they expected. Great icebergs were floating in the sea, and a harsh winter breeze was blowing in from the south. Curtains of mists engulfed the waters, rising like a wall into the sky as mountains devouring the clouds. Wreckage from their ships could be seen floating below, and bodies drifted in the water. They attempted to retrieve the bodies, but the chill of the water kept them away. In some places it had become so cold that the water was turning to ice.

Then the winds started, blowing in massive gusts, churning the mist into whirlwinds of razor sharp ice. The Tyran elves retreated, calling out to Demuen to protect them as they went. The chill wind stayed on their heels and spread over Tyr for two weeks. Each night when the sun went down the wind howled with an angry cold, and in the morning when the sun rose ice drifted into the harbors and mist filled the bays.

Many elven historiographers claimed to have heard ancient dwarven chants echoing on the breeze. Others said they saw figures drifting in the mist, but after two weeks it all simply vanished like waking from a bad dream. Tyran druids attempted to explain what had happened by claiming the supernatural weather patterns that flowed in the south had conjured up the cold, blowing the Icecap wall toward them, but even they seemed unconvinced. They had felt no changes in the magic, and reports from other druids claimed that the Conclave had not experienced it either.

Our own concerns were confirmed during the eve that the chill winds ceased. High in the sky, blotted out by clouds in many places of the world, Solus and Kriesus had aligned. After that moment events began spinning out of control. The elves of Tyr received word that Orcish shamans had infiltrated their lands to get revenge for recent killings of those orcs who had refused to leave when given the chance. The orcs were interrogated and then sentenced to be hung in Vertanu, the elven High Capital. The elves soon began gathering their forces and ended contact with the Council of Magi.

Weeks later news came from Arambashia that an offensive was being mounted at Dantis. Naltronia had attacked but their assault had been stopped by adventurers from Mishar who had infiltrated the Citadel of Hope in Barrier Hold. The Citadel had been destroyed, and many of the Templar had been killed. Naltronian forces had employed dragons to attack Dantis but Arambashia's Pegasus riders had managed to infuriate the dragons by attacking with swarms of arrows. The result had been devastation on both sides.

Barrier Hold appeared to have suffered the greatest toll and the Arambashian forces were standing by to begin their attack but intervention from the Mishari adventurers ended the conflict in a truce that seemed as if it could crumble at any minute. Both sides have continued to grow their forces since.

It is only a matter of time before the standoff becomes an all out war. I fear that it will dawn in the same moment that the elves strike at the orcs. In my heart I know something more dangerous is out there stirring up the pot and with no indications present, I fear that we only have to wait.

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