D o D: Session 01 -- Epilogue

General Summary

I set my thoughts to the page reluctantly. I am not a great one for prose. As I may never open ledger again to make my mark, I will do. In the quiet of tomorrow’s dawn, I go to face my own worst enemy – myself. This is no mere stare-down in a mirrored glass. I have had a gut-full of that sort of introspection and self-recrimination. The morning will bring me instead to a contest with a man so much like my own person that none might tell us apart. If he had been my twin, taken from my parents at birth and trained to be my replacement once grown, he could not be any more exact a duplicate. I learned of him what seems a great while ago but in reality is only a few weeks back.     I first heard that a group of wolf-helmed knights was ravaging six kingdoms’ lands. The fact they wore my own symbolic, helmet device drew my attention; their acts drew my ire. They coursed through an area that met within Ooran Wood. There is one place in particular, called the Flareroads, where the six kingdoms’ borders meet at a six-ways crossroads. This was the hunting grounds for these warriors. They had chosen the terrain well as it was middling in terms of busyness; not too quiet and not too crowded. Added to this was the fact that no one nation could easily control the place as there was every chance that one of the other five kingdoms’ knights might take umbrage at any interference on their soil. This allowed these ‘red knights’ an open field upon which to make their craft. Knights earn the title ‘red’ if they act in bloody and uncaring manner. These had certainly gained the title fairly, if you will. They managed to seek out and destroy many baggage trains and traveling companies with a great deal of success. Leadership seemed to be a strength. Whoever the leader of these men was, he knew what he was doing. My own history wearing a wolf-helm, made me curious about them and their leader’s tactics began to interest me more and more with each report I read. It was such a report that made me decide to find this man or woman to talk with them. In the reports starkly worded sentences, I learned that the red knights had used a ploy that had destroyed a force three times their own size. With each word of the report my emotion turned from professional curiosity, through bemusement, a sense of perplexity and finally outrage. You might think it was the callous means that was used upon the horse and riders at the Clavian Ford that caused my emotions to erupt so forcibly. That would be the wrong conclusion to draw. I was not angered by this leader’s use of Taumatenn Dye in the Clavian’s waters, upstream from where the red knights enticed their pursuers to follow them across the shallow gravel stream bed. Taumatenn dye is highly toxic to horses and is absorbed through their hides effectively. A horrific death ensues most instantly. The riders, fast on the red knights' trail were thrown many feet in the air and more than this many, across the river. Dazed, if they weren’t broken in their armours from the impacts they made with the gravelly ground, the red knights made swift and bloody employ, dispatching them as they tried to rise to their feet. I read the excerpt a couple of times to be certain of the facts laid out on the page. It was surely the dye of my former time. I questioned the sourcerers of the Lady’s court and they confirmed my belief that the dye was an unknown in Logresse. They quickly gathered the componentry I listed from the land nearby the castle and put to my description and instruction, reproduced the Taumatenn dye on their first attempt. I needed no further proof. A commander of my old empire was in the field and using my battle-emblem. I needed no one’s help in adding to my list of deeds. I called for the armourers and set them to making new greaves for my Lady’s mounts. A not so simple thing but one that once smithed would make her cavalry immune to this tactic. I swore all these men to absolute silence. In another time, they would have been killed after their work had been finished. I had ordered the deaths of many. Now I see that this is wasteful. I still see the sense in the killings but now I am mindful of what a loss as this might mean for the world.     I have changed but I am still a bloodless and heartless man.     The New Realm will only know a portion of what I am capable of bringing against its peoples. I have made a pact with myself -- that I will not do what I am capable of ever again. Not the whole realm, however, will receive my mercy. I would allow my full personal armoury to be used against the leader of these Red Wolves. If he had no compunction against using one of my own infamous means of victory, why should I not avail myself of the same mindset? It was this that led me to flip through my memories of battles fought to satisfactory end. Skirmish was my forte. I cut my teeth on bringing my heavy horse to the precise spot on the field to launch a crushing attack without them being too winded in the process. This required a means to get them to that crucial place and time, unnoticed. A daunting task for cavalry that was armoured and armed with the thickest steel. I had my ways that I will not put down here. This is not a final will and testament to reveal all my tricks…     ... The countess of Margue tried to give me a sortie of knights. “A baron should be properly equipped for travel.”, she said. I wasn’t of a mind to ask of these knights the rigour that might be asked of them. While brave and dedicated, they were not experienced in the type of battles that I excelled at. Compromise is a new thing to me but I knew well that she would insist and I would have no choice but to hear her. Knowing this, I reduced the number to a squadron and of these chose the youngest blue knights from among her forces. These had all the world ahead of them and few experiences to measure by. I hoped that this might mean that anything ‘out of the ordinary’ I asked of them would be met with only doubt as compared with opposition.       We cantered away from Castle Brass on a day of mist and a rain that only just peeked its head from its foggy comforter. My riders took this to be a high omen of success. The people of the Margue find good things in what many would not. It comes of living in a marshland, I suppose. I was glad enough for them to feel the spectrum was with them. I tried to keep my pensiveness about what lay ahead to my own thoughts. I had thoughts and plans to consider to make the travel pass by. With riders along, it meant I did not need to watch out for the ‘bog standard’ variety of creatures that inhabit the Margue. I have ridden what feels like more miles than I have crawled and walked in my life. The sway of horse and man is like the rhythm of war to me and I used this ride’s measure to order my plan, as a clock’s counter-weight measures the passing moments moving from one to the next in an orderly sequencing of events.       It was in this reverie of outmanoeuvre that I was recalled to my place. The alarm had been raised and I only acknowledged a subsequent cry, not the first, as my concern was not for what might emerge from the marshes. There were many enough to handle these things. What I saw when finally alert was a shock. I have had most of the usual surprises in life and a few that most will never have to consider. This was greater than all those that had come before to me. Surrounding my squadron, rising out of the muck, were rhabeens. Creatures of the marsh that were twice the size of a draft horse. Their over generous mouths were lipless and filled with long, thin needles for teeth. I had been told that these creatures were the reason that the Margue had no horses of its own and had to import their mounts. This situation would be bad enough but that these rhabeens acted in a cooperative way was almost as troubling as the fact that astride each creature rode a Red Wolf knight. All was not lost, however bad things seemed. Further from the encircling knights I heard a shout of support for our number. A warriors’ cry to lift our spirits sounded "For Meliadus!”, came to my knights and me. I needed nothing else but my hand on axe-haft to begin. I knew my young squad would be hesitant so it fell to me to show them the way out of this trap. In a normal battle, I would expend my energy most cautiously. What point in defeating all before you if in the end your arm is too tired to raise itself in defence? This was no time for such long-term thinking. My knights wouldn’t need rallying later if we didn’t break free from this encirclement. In a smaller circle, my axe’s blade moved around my head. No word came from me but from my helm a sound did issue forth. My wolf visor closed automatically as designed by the scientists of long ago empire. My fame such as it was, began with this battle cry of mine. Less meaningful than words, this call was more a roar than anything intelligible. That is how I came to be known as ‘The Wolf’. A name given to me by the prisoners I took across lands too numerous and time-distances to recount. I felt my usual elation as my horse moved by the aggression trained into it, leapt toward the creatures’ curved line. The Margue's horse trainers had done their work well. My battle-smile took its place on my face. My helm’s workings sensed this and raised my visor. This had been made a feature as a general had once seen my face at work upon the battlefield. He told me that even though I was on his side, he had backed away from me, concerned that I might take his head as well as any other. I’m not proud of this aspect of mine but a man must be himself when he is called upon. It felt good to be freed to fight. This was simple work. Work I had a natural ability with. No planning left to do. Just let fly the blades and stand at the stoppage if able.     Being left standing would have to wait until the rhabeen mounted had been slaughtered. I urged my horse forward, through the reins in my left hand, to bring me to striking distance. I didn’t wait to see if it responded but began a backhand swing with too much force and less than sensible guard. The rhabeen was a predator and not used to being attacked. I had counted on that. It responded to my obvious threat by throwing open its huge mouth. The thing’s needle-like teeth glistened. Lickspittle dripped from every one of its uncountable fangs. Long as my arms, any one of those teeth could as well be a poignard, stabbing death. I let fly my over-ripe swing. My axe’s edge smashed into the rhabeen’s teeth. Splinters of bone flew rightward from the beast. Broken bits of its teeth lacerated the rhabeen mounted knight next to my target. His creature struck out nearly unhorsing me but not nearly enough, as its swipe was made at the source of this pain. My target took the force of this blow from its own. The war-chaos began. The Red Wolf knight atop the broken toothed rhabeen lunged at my exposed left. His heavy lance whispered its song of malice in my ear. My smile grew and I shouted, “I remember this music, Sirrah!”. Standing in my stirrups, I brought down my free arm to clamp his lance to my side. Both of us jousting with the same lance! As I had the angry tip just beyond my kidney, I knew had to act fast. Relying on my leverage and strength I applied as much downward, twisting torque to the weapon as I could, while urging my war stallion to dip its fore quarters in salute. My knees’ command was answered by my mount’s obedient bow. Just as well as the rhabeen’s clawed strike passed between the horse’s bowed head and my own. The combination of his mount’s momentum and being on three legs at best and my added force, meant that my foe was doing all he could to remain saddled. This saddle was a cumbersome looking thing, with covered fairings for a rider’s legs. Well protected no question but locking a Rider's legs in place more than a normal saddle. This was to my happy advantage as he now grimaced from the effort of trying to regain sole control of his weapon and the added strain on his lower body. I re-weighted my body and my war mount reacted throwing its hind to the right. This forced my opponent to grasp at the lance with his free hand. He managed to latch on. I leaned in to him. Bringing my head forward and at the last, flicking my chin to chest rapidly, my helm’s visor was forced shut on the man’s extended forearm.       ... Long ago, in Steelfield, the mightiest of imperial foundries — that was later swallowed by water and its forges extinguished in the greatest of quenchings — my helm was formed. This was a painful process as my head had to be held in clamps while the thing was fastened to me. The pain of trying to remain still in that iron vice of a contraption was obliterated by the searing wash of flame as the helm was locked to my skull. There were only four rivets that were required to hold it together as it was so well constructed. These rivets were hammered into place by a machine while I wore the helm. A stiff drink and a dagger’s tip in both palms, the only distractions for the four hammering blows needed. It was explained to me only afterward that for my pain, I would now have the most articulated helmet possible. It would move for me as my own head might do. I have never been able to point out a flaw in that description. The Wolf’s Helm has served me better than my own head has, from that day to this new one...       The visor’s saw-tooth edges locked down on the Red Wolf’s arm. As I clenched my jaw, the visor bit down hard. Instincts shouldn’t always be heeded. In this case, my foe shouldn’t have listened to his baser self. He pulled his arm away without thinking first. The visor’s teeth sawed though his arm and armour as cleanly as a swordfish through calm water. His forearm came away from him. The taste of his arm’s sweat and blood washed over my lips and down my chest. I had no desire for his arm to remain in my face but I knew too through experiences like this, that the effect of seeing me like this could well be demoralising to an enemy. My foe’s anguish was plain to see as he writhed in his saddle, clutching at the wounded, missing limb. I raked my spurs on my horse’s flanks. It reared and screamed, drawing eyes to me. My knights roared. Now their battle-fever was fully born. I wheeled my axe about my head, the red knight’s vambrace still in my helmet’s mouth. Then I triggered my Wolf’s helm to howl. The arm of course dropped away as my chin tilted skyward and the helm’s war-cry was voiced by the strange mechanism. Powered by the blood of a defeated foe, the Helmet’s crystal eyes blazed and electrical discharges flashed out into the surrounding enemy. Several rhabeen pulled frantically away, causing breaks in their circle. I ousted my opponent from his perch and managed to hang on to his lance. As it was near useless to me, armed as I was, I raised it up in one hand and slashed it in half with my good axe. I smashed the chopped end of what remained of it into the next nearest Red Wolf’s shoulder. We engaged for a few sweet seconds. He thrust with his sword. I swung my axe. He struck me hard in the weakest part of the rib cage and I felt the familiar stinging song of muscles weakening. I smiled my savage smile at that and I saw him blanch. My face would have been a horror of blood and exultation. I would be giving my controlled self over to the black battle-tide in moments. It was my way. I would only know what happened after, from accounts told me by my men. This often would come out in hushed tones. They were afraid that they might rouse me to the same fervour should they excite me in the recounting of my deeds. I knew that in this fight I had to remain present. Something about the sudden appearance of these red riders struck me as well-conceived. Ordained. I flexed my injured ribs to bring me back to the here and now. I looked to my most recent sparring partner and shouted, “Who commands you? Point him out.” The knight could only point in the direction with shoulder shrug and tilted helm, such was his pain. He was wounded somehow but I didn’t know what I had done to achieve the effect. Paying him no mind for the moment, I turned in his indicated direction and finally spied the leader of the Red Wolf-Knights.     Here I sat on my horse and there, unlike his riders, he sat on a horse as well. He too wore a wolf-helm; mine was painted darkly with lupine features exaggerated, his was a burnished, silvered wolf’s head. He raised a hand, part salute and part mocking wave. He then raised his visor to reveal his face. It was my own face that stared back at me. He looked unperturbedly at my astonished reaction. It was plain to see that he was not nearly as shocked as I. He motioned to his trumpeter. Horn-call sounded. Rather than a retreat or call to arms, the rhabeen and their riders began to dissipate. A sorcery. As he too began to vanish, his hand motioned to an armsman next to his trumpeter. In response this soldier lowered their battle standard to me. A more honourable salute this than the one the leader had offered. When all the other red wolves had disappeared, this lone standard bearer remained. I looked at the banner more closely. A red and deep blue banner, surrounded by silver-gilded threaded needlework. A wolf’s head above a single word, embroidered heavily that said, ‘Meliadus’. I had never had a personal banner. It was not the imperial fashion. Nothing like it ever in my life. The man who looked like my own reflection, shared my name but not my history. This banner was the proof. I realised that my exuberant attack, based on the idea that a relieving force sent from the Margue that was just out of view and that they had shouted my name was misguided. The shout had been for him. Ridiculous luck and hubris had allowed me to survive what should have been my downfall.     The standard-bearer knight lifted the banner and simply was gone. Perhaps this standard was also a staff of chantried strength? Nonetheless, he was a brave man to stay when all had gone. I nodded to where he had stood. Then I dismounted and took a knee. This was not in thanks but simply relief as realisation washed over me in a series of waves, that I was fortunate to be alive still on this ground. My knights also took this as a cue to copy my actions. I lowered my visor to make sure my dismissive face was not seen. I cannot stem the tide of my lack of chivalric nature but I would not stay the hearts of those who have it in them. Knowing that whatever I had planned needed to be reappraised and well, I ordered a turnabout and we rode easily, if quietly, back to the Countess Yisselda’s castle.         Two days later I was ready. A new form of plan had come to me while I slept. This copy of me had my nature but not my history. That meant he might surprise me again. I had learned more of him from inquiries at the castle. It was only their code of conduct that had not allowed them to tell me of this ‘relative’ of mine. Chivalry demanded that they not , “… cast me in the shadow of my blood-kin’s light.” This I took to mean that that though we shared a name, these of the Margue court would not assume we were of the same inclination. The countess did remark that the other Meliadus had come to the keep three years before me. He had some in the ‘Aspect of Peace.’ She laughed delicately at the memory and when I pressed her on it, she acknowledged that this can also mean romance as much as treaty or alliance of another kind. She still found the other Melidaus’ attempts to win her over amusing. My heart almost winced at the thought that this man might have acted as I once thought to in that distant land of Karmarg and with as much chance of success as I had known. I had consoled myself with my martial life. The countess told me that this Meliadus was not so inclined to retreat. She said he had sworn on his banner and before his Red Wolves that he would have her for his own, willing or otherwise. My news of the trained rhabeen mounts hit her twice-hard. The first as it meant that his forces were well on the way to gaining atl least equal footing in the marshes. The second, that he had not given up on his oath to take her by any and all means. She was evidently upset. I wished to let her know that while I was no sportive knight to wear her favour and defend her honour as widow to my long-time foe and vanquisher, that I would take care of this mockery of my name and features. For this same reason, I could not bring myself to utter this. She had lost most of what she had valued. So had I. I knew something of her loss and pain. She had not chosen the end that I had attempted but in her manner I sensed she had considered that very final end. Her torment, to be alone in a world that was perfect save for the missing pieces of her former life, was easy to see. I left off saying what I might have. Logresse was a world where the heroic came before all else. I was no hero.     My plan was simple and direct. This was intentional on my part. I knew subtlety would fail with a man like me to contend with! I would issue challenge. By writing it, he would have no choice but to accept. The written challenge being sent in a scroll, would be read aloud by his chamberlain as was customary here. Once made public in this way, he would have no recourse but to accept. It would have meant nothing to me, positions reversed but he had made a life for himself on Logresse and the codes demanded he respond appropriately. Red knight or black, they all must still live within the chivalric tenets that bind them. A knight could of course refuse but only at the cost of his spurs, sword and standing. The only sop I made to my more cunning self was to use a scroll case of the chamberlain’s making, from my designing mind. The case allowed the holder of a small, mirrored case to keep track of where it was. It would be too late to do anything about this constructed item when the contents were read but before the scroll arrived, should anything occur to messenger or scroll, I would be aware… The countess had spies abroad in the kingdoms of the Great Centre. I imagine her best of spies might even risk entering the Horn of Br’Tagne. All I needed I gained from one I will not name here. A useful woman whose gifts include seduction and death. Not poison drops in a man’s tear ducts. She is an adept at deathcasting and takes care those who uncover her in that way instead. By this her name is still secret. I live because she knows me and my ways and that I value her arts more than most on this world. Not to say she didn’t make it amply clear how a chantried death is an accursed death. I have already passed to the other side and know better than most that I do not wish a return to that drear plane while in caste fashion.     She bade me the other Meliadus’ southern house. A place he went to in disguise so that he might spend some of his looted gold on the things many call pastimes. In this house he left a small retinue, who save one individual, knew nothing of his profession. All they knew was that he paid them well to mind his home. That he was rarely there only made their pay that much more valuable as it was near enough gold for little more than nothing. The one man who knew more of ‘Meliadus’ was named Rhegules. I learned from her that he was something of an anomaly. A warrior yet not a knight. Strong enough to best most knights but had refused the spurs offered him by at least three monarchs and one of these, the Princess Odaveele, had offered to share her kingdom! Rhegules was no knight but also no miscreant on the make. He wore next to no defensive armour but had survived many challenges and quests. I queried that fact. Why would a man not interested in knighthood, make an effort to pass their quested tests? She told me that he seemed to find simple pleasure in these tests. At one point when the kingdoms had for a time no quests for him, he had made a great fuss. He had a crier visit all the kingdoms of the Great Centre to proclaim that someone needed to issue three more quests and sharply, as he needed to complete a dozen such in short order. She did not know, nor did anyone, why this meant so much to him, as he wouldn’t say. The implicit threat behind this announcement was never revealed either. The kings and queens had no trouble finding him three such tasks to complete. In fact, they made up three rather fanciful challenges that all felt beyond completion. Rhegules finished the last of the three and much before the anyone had learned of the first’s being managed. That he retired on this and was living well in town, shocked nobody. He was decidedly strange and no worthy man. As he refused the spurs, people ignored him and Rhegules seemed content with that. I felt there could be none better to act as my scroll’s messenger than this man. He was well able to defend himself and that was what counted. I addressed the scroll case to him and planned to send it off with a trusted coachman…     All was in readiness. The countess called me to her rooms. She sat no throne as she didn’t do the ‘queenly’ much at all. I was grateful for this at all times but not so nearly much with her admonishments not to travel alone. She then called in her chamberlain and chief sourcerer. She had evidently been speaking to them about me. The sourcerer told me of a means of communication with those I knew well. Some detailed explanation ensued. The man’s words grew ever larger and more complex as he sought to reveal the mystery behind his art. Something about minds being linked through cosmic events and interactions. Pathways could be in the telling – or some such phrasing. Whatever his practiced ways, they were able to allow me to reach out with my mind to speak to another should there be one with whom I shared a bond of this important kind. I could think of no other but Renaissance, my erstwhile enemy turned benefactor. I did as instructed. A strange thing to be aware of two places at once. I was present in the countesses’ court and with Renaissance as well, on his chosen world. That this world was not Logresse I can safely assure although I did not know the place at all. The sourcerer empowered our mental link and offered a chance to meet Renaissance by bringing him here. As this was Yiselda’s wish, I agreed, as did Renaissance to the invitation. He brought one other. His name is Loki. A deep voiced man with knightly mien and a past within Logresse, though his birthplace is the world that Renaissance had just come from. There is more to him than I can quickly uncover so I do not bother. I may have only a few days left to me. I do not need to fill them with trivia.     With this unexpected change, I decided that these two would be better able to deliver my scroll case and its contents to the house of Meliadus. We made our way to the town without trouble. Once on its fringes, Renaissance and Loki set off into to town to place the case where Rhegules would find it. All went well for a time for my two companions but when they returned it was clear not all had gone to plan. Rhegules had found them out while they were depositiong the scroll case. A struggle had ended with them getting clear of the fellow. Now Rhegules seemed to be doing as I had hoped and was making his way to my enemy. He passed us by on the road south. This was odd and I mentioned as much to my companions. It was but a ruse to throw off followers. Soon enough Rhegules doubled back and re-approached our position. It was then that thoughts, which had been shown in Renaissance’s travel to Logresse to have inestimable power, reared their unseen hand again. I know I was thinking of how much like a man named Gerard, this Rhegules seemed. I believe the other with me might have been thinking similarly. Within the speed that one thinks of something that he shouldn’t and disells that same thought, Rhegules appeared before us. He seemed not at all shocked by his sudden transference. I was shocked enough for both of us. He seemed to have the upper hand and was more than a bit self-satisfied in his speech. He revealed that he was indeed the Gerard I had known. His story remains to be told but I’m sure knowing him as I do, that it will be too long in the telling.     In the morning ‘Rhegules’ will deliver the message as planned. The following morning, I will meet with my counterpart to make an end of Meliadus – one way or another.