Preface: At the turn of the current century, there was a vibrant on-line Changeling role-playing group with many players involved with various characters. I actively ran adventures for them during a period of time and would convert some of those adventures into stories. This two part story represents one of the grander adventures. I retell it here for entertainment, amusement and nostalgia. I have forgotten many of the characters mentioned herein and can't remember in every case which were even represented by players versus non-player characters of my own invention. Some of you who read this may recognize characters from past gaming experiences, perhaps even finding characters you played yourself.
The Portal
(Part One)
It had been one and a half years since the Nexus Battle. Only a year and a half since Hemlock ap Gwydion, an unknown baron serving Greenwich Village in New York City, had the audacity to appear before Queen Mab at Caer Palisades to ask the Queen of Apples to supply him with troops. After proving himself worthy in a test of will, the Queen, and other Concordian Monarchs, offered up a contingent of soldiers for the young baron to lead to the place known as Nexus.
Getting to Nexus proved to be an adventure in itself for Hemlock, a troll knight named Brekke, Dames Celeste and Caillean of Houses Eiluned and Fiona, the enigmatic sluagh Fionnuala and a nocker named Chet. But even the Mists could not keep that battle from being permanently etched in the memories of those present; not with a banner of the Tuatha de Danaan lending it’s legendary succor to the defeat of the Fomorian horde and thallain henchmen.
For a year and a half, Hemlock, now Count of Bergen, had known relative peace. His weapons were taken out only for sparring and ceremonies now, all of his enemies supposedly vanquished. Happily married, with Archway expecting to deliver a child, most things seemed to be in order.
And so it made perfect sense that the Fomorians were somehow tied into the sudden chaos which had finally erupted after a long simmer. The disappearance of Baron Drudwyn after Pennons was now a clear cut case of a machination by Hemlock’s ancient enemies. Now Hemlock worried if other disturbances which seemed so unconnected to this situation were not part of the same plot to disrupt the Gwydion Count’s sense of peace and complacency. If it was indeed House Ailil or the Shadow Court which had so brutally slain Keefe, sending his body parts to those he held dear in life, why could the timing not have been plotted by the mages of the Fomorians from beyond the lands of man, in the deepest Dreaming? Who else would have been clever and sinister enough to count on Baroness Dandelion taking off like Pelinore in search of a killer, abandoning her post when her liege needed her most? Who else would have counted on sowing the seeds of paranoia and grief amongst his vassals, leaving Baroness Jenna seeing apparitions?
And why now, when the Parliament of Dreams had suddenly announced that it would not reconvene and the honored Red Branch fracturing like a Liam tree split by the lightning of disharmony, should these problems rear their heads, even as the Kingdom of Apples finds its nobles and commoners on the verge of another Concordance War?
Many would call Hemlock a fool to voice these ponderings out loud. But the Slayer of Gray Shadows remembered how the Fomorians harnessed the darkness of banality in the very Dreaming to virtually annihilate the army of fae from Concordia. Just because there were no Fomorians, or at least not many, in the Autumn lands, did not mean they had no influence there. The turning of the once loyal Gwydion, Drudwyn, had proven that fact.
Count Hemlock Autumnsbane sat high in his saddle as the bay stallion, Summer, pranced eagerly beneath him, snorting at another faerie steed who came too close. He twirled the four rounded gemstones in his hand and looked up at his force. Hemlock paid little attention to the swirling array of colors that shimmered in his hand, as the music echoed up in a choir of ageless and wordless voices.
Fifty.
This was not Nexus. This was not a predestined battle, sanctioned by those who sat in greatness. This was not some war, preordained in the time before his birth. In fact, no one, not even Hemlock himself, knew what this was. But fifty Changelings had trusted the former Commander of Nexus enough to travel with him. Perhaps this was no more than a scouting party. Or maybe it was the first skirmish in a war that would make Nexus look like a subway mugging.
The gemstones rolled of their own accord now, singing to catch the Gwydion Count’s attention. They surely knew what their fate was. They were destined to open the portal which stood glowing in the Mists a mere bowshot away. Hemlock calmly surveyed his troops.
He eyed the others in the cavalry who sat proudly upon their own steeds, and he did not envy the creatures that would fall under the thunderous assault of a charge from these warriors and quality mounts. Chieftain Brekke sat upon her huge, black Percheron, making her the tallest in the formation, her blonde, plaited hair easily spotted by the farthest footman. While it would have been nice to see Caillean Morningmist beside him again, the Fionas Kaysa, Magnus, and Arvid represented the Queen’s House splendidly. The Swedish Baroness sat proudly upon Nana, her milk white steed, garbed as a Valkyrie sent from the Halls of Valhalla. Sir Magnus sat upon an ungelded, dapple-gray, battle horse named Bucephelus. Arvid, the amnesiac, who arrived at Caer Falken with one of the missing stones in his possession, was riding the chimerical dog, Cavall, the canine being almost as big as many of the horses themselves. There were perhaps another dozen mounted warriors; fae who had been rounded up by Baroness Kaysa at short notice, eager to fight Fomorians and win honor, or perhaps merely to defend the county. Hemlock thought briefly about how much Cahira would have wanted to be part of this. But she was off in England with Colin, safely oblivious to the impending battle.
If the mounted warriors, in their glinting armor and jingling spurs, was impressive to behold, the infantry was simply frightening. Soldiers of almost every kith, arrayed in an eclectic conglomeration of armor and weaponry, stood ready to prove that one did not require the steeds of the noble class to wreak vengeance on the enemy. Sidhe Nobles, such as Baron Kealan, Count Topaz and Sir Milston stood side by side with those of the commoner kiths. Ladies Kieran and Helga, along with Sirs Svenn and Bjorn represented the troll kith, along with several others from the fiefdom of Rivervale. Dames Ping and Pong the cat pooka, their bows as ready as their swords, Andthrax the boar pooka and several fierce looking animalistic fae proved that the pooka contingent was not merely here for pranking. A handful of nockers, a few redcaps and several satyrs, eager to represent the countess’ kith in honor, made Hemlock proud that, while other Counts were warring with their subjects, he was able to count on his to follow him into battle.
Count Autumnsbane turned in his heavy sidhe armor, the shining plates sparkling against the green velvet of his long cape. He adjusted his falcon-winged helmet by the beak noseguard as he looked past the many rows of foot soldiers to see his special purpose team. Celith was there to heal the inevitable wounded, while Dame Thistle, the Champion Archer of Bergen, was present to serve as both seer and sniper. Sphynx was also on board, lending her healing and cantrips alike to the good of the war party. Kokuei was present to aid in his own special brand of stealth, and his presence ensured that even the sluagh kith was represented in this battle.
A small sigh escaped Hemlock as he seemed to be missing a face in the crowd, and his free hand unconsciously moved to stroke a long, worn braid of golden blonde hair, woven into a plait of his own platinum hair. Making sure his squire for the day had his lance and shield ready, and giving a slightly proud grin to the young eshu standard bearer who held aloft the Autumnsbane device, he turned and nudged Summer toward the Portal.
The Mists parted to the sound and waltz of scintillating colors created by the harmonic stones of the noble houses. Hemlock spared no more than a heartbeat’s worth of thought pondering potential other uses for such magnificent jewels, before placing them one by one into the sockets of the Portal. As he placed the Gwydion Emerald into its rightful place, the portal glowed green, and the floor of the Dreaming, once cracked and dry, became carpeted with verdant grass, the fragrance of the stuff pleasing to the olfactory senses as they gave the hope of spring to everyone present.
The Eiluned Moonstone wasted no time sneaking into the Count’s fingers to be placed next. Hemlock did not hesitate, and the portal shimmered briefly in silver before a strong and solid silver path shot out from the portal, parting the lush grass in a wide, well paved road of silver. The silver path wound itself backwards to the original silver path which many had veered off of to follow the Count. Perhaps even more remarkable was the fact that the cracked and eroded silver path that lead from Caer Falken to the Gryphon’s Nest was instantly restored to the strength and integrity it had enjoyed in happier times.
The Fiona Ruby was placed next into the Gate. A flash of fiery energy engulfed the archway, before sending its rays out to touch the weapons of each and every Changeling present, noble and commoner, cavalry and infantry. It even touched the icy blue flame of Lucidia, scabbarded at Hemlock’s side, causing the prized weapon to glow in royal purple for several minutes, before the red faded, leaving the portal bathed once more in green.
The Dougal Diamond was last to be placed, and was not to be outshone by any other jewel, such was its brilliance. The other stones joined it in angelic choir as a rainbow swirl of spectral color engulfed the entire gateway. A Crystalline lock hole appeared in the center of the gateway and rays shot forth from all four gems. The rays terminated together before Count Hemlock, and at the end of these threads of light there floated a prismatic key, which the Gwydion took without a moment’s hesitation.
Count Hemlock Autumnsbane turned once to look upon his small army, and he knew that this was the right thing to do. The fate of Bergen rested upon this action. He gave no thought to the Dreams he had received all week long about his death on the other side of this portal. He simply placed the key into the lock, releasing the gateway to allow entrance into a deeper part of the Dreaming than he had been to in a very long time. The phantom key dissipated into motes of light, but the humming jewels held fast. Taking up his lance and shield from the awed squire, he kicked Summer’s flanks and charged through the gate.
The fifty followed Count Autumnsbane. And their D'an.
Getting to Nexus proved to be an adventure in itself for Hemlock, a troll knight named Brekke, Dames Celeste and Caillean of Houses Eiluned and Fiona, the enigmatic sluagh Fionnuala and a nocker named Chet. But even the Mists could not keep that battle from being permanently etched in the memories of those present; not with a banner of the Tuatha de Danaan lending it’s legendary succor to the defeat of the Fomorian horde and thallain henchmen.
For a year and a half, Hemlock, now Count of Bergen, had known relative peace. His weapons were taken out only for sparring and ceremonies now, all of his enemies supposedly vanquished. Happily married, with Archway expecting to deliver a child, most things seemed to be in order.
And so it made perfect sense that the Fomorians were somehow tied into the sudden chaos which had finally erupted after a long simmer. The disappearance of Baron Drudwyn after Pennons was now a clear cut case of a machination by Hemlock’s ancient enemies. Now Hemlock worried if other disturbances which seemed so unconnected to this situation were not part of the same plot to disrupt the Gwydion Count’s sense of peace and complacency. If it was indeed House Ailil or the Shadow Court which had so brutally slain Keefe, sending his body parts to those he held dear in life, why could the timing not have been plotted by the mages of the Fomorians from beyond the lands of man, in the deepest Dreaming? Who else would have been clever and sinister enough to count on Baroness Dandelion taking off like Pelinore in search of a killer, abandoning her post when her liege needed her most? Who else would have counted on sowing the seeds of paranoia and grief amongst his vassals, leaving Baroness Jenna seeing apparitions?
And why now, when the Parliament of Dreams had suddenly announced that it would not reconvene and the honored Red Branch fracturing like a Liam tree split by the lightning of disharmony, should these problems rear their heads, even as the Kingdom of Apples finds its nobles and commoners on the verge of another Concordance War?
Many would call Hemlock a fool to voice these ponderings out loud. But the Slayer of Gray Shadows remembered how the Fomorians harnessed the darkness of banality in the very Dreaming to virtually annihilate the army of fae from Concordia. Just because there were no Fomorians, or at least not many, in the Autumn lands, did not mean they had no influence there. The turning of the once loyal Gwydion, Drudwyn, had proven that fact.
Count Hemlock Autumnsbane sat high in his saddle as the bay stallion, Summer, pranced eagerly beneath him, snorting at another faerie steed who came too close. He twirled the four rounded gemstones in his hand and looked up at his force. Hemlock paid little attention to the swirling array of colors that shimmered in his hand, as the music echoed up in a choir of ageless and wordless voices.
Fifty.
This was not Nexus. This was not a predestined battle, sanctioned by those who sat in greatness. This was not some war, preordained in the time before his birth. In fact, no one, not even Hemlock himself, knew what this was. But fifty Changelings had trusted the former Commander of Nexus enough to travel with him. Perhaps this was no more than a scouting party. Or maybe it was the first skirmish in a war that would make Nexus look like a subway mugging.
The gemstones rolled of their own accord now, singing to catch the Gwydion Count’s attention. They surely knew what their fate was. They were destined to open the portal which stood glowing in the Mists a mere bowshot away. Hemlock calmly surveyed his troops.
He eyed the others in the cavalry who sat proudly upon their own steeds, and he did not envy the creatures that would fall under the thunderous assault of a charge from these warriors and quality mounts. Chieftain Brekke sat upon her huge, black Percheron, making her the tallest in the formation, her blonde, plaited hair easily spotted by the farthest footman. While it would have been nice to see Caillean Morningmist beside him again, the Fionas Kaysa, Magnus, and Arvid represented the Queen’s House splendidly. The Swedish Baroness sat proudly upon Nana, her milk white steed, garbed as a Valkyrie sent from the Halls of Valhalla. Sir Magnus sat upon an ungelded, dapple-gray, battle horse named Bucephelus. Arvid, the amnesiac, who arrived at Caer Falken with one of the missing stones in his possession, was riding the chimerical dog, Cavall, the canine being almost as big as many of the horses themselves. There were perhaps another dozen mounted warriors; fae who had been rounded up by Baroness Kaysa at short notice, eager to fight Fomorians and win honor, or perhaps merely to defend the county. Hemlock thought briefly about how much Cahira would have wanted to be part of this. But she was off in England with Colin, safely oblivious to the impending battle.
If the mounted warriors, in their glinting armor and jingling spurs, was impressive to behold, the infantry was simply frightening. Soldiers of almost every kith, arrayed in an eclectic conglomeration of armor and weaponry, stood ready to prove that one did not require the steeds of the noble class to wreak vengeance on the enemy. Sidhe Nobles, such as Baron Kealan, Count Topaz and Sir Milston stood side by side with those of the commoner kiths. Ladies Kieran and Helga, along with Sirs Svenn and Bjorn represented the troll kith, along with several others from the fiefdom of Rivervale. Dames Ping and Pong the cat pooka, their bows as ready as their swords, Andthrax the boar pooka and several fierce looking animalistic fae proved that the pooka contingent was not merely here for pranking. A handful of nockers, a few redcaps and several satyrs, eager to represent the countess’ kith in honor, made Hemlock proud that, while other Counts were warring with their subjects, he was able to count on his to follow him into battle.
Count Autumnsbane turned in his heavy sidhe armor, the shining plates sparkling against the green velvet of his long cape. He adjusted his falcon-winged helmet by the beak noseguard as he looked past the many rows of foot soldiers to see his special purpose team. Celith was there to heal the inevitable wounded, while Dame Thistle, the Champion Archer of Bergen, was present to serve as both seer and sniper. Sphynx was also on board, lending her healing and cantrips alike to the good of the war party. Kokuei was present to aid in his own special brand of stealth, and his presence ensured that even the sluagh kith was represented in this battle.
A small sigh escaped Hemlock as he seemed to be missing a face in the crowd, and his free hand unconsciously moved to stroke a long, worn braid of golden blonde hair, woven into a plait of his own platinum hair. Making sure his squire for the day had his lance and shield ready, and giving a slightly proud grin to the young eshu standard bearer who held aloft the Autumnsbane device, he turned and nudged Summer toward the Portal.
The Mists parted to the sound and waltz of scintillating colors created by the harmonic stones of the noble houses. Hemlock spared no more than a heartbeat’s worth of thought pondering potential other uses for such magnificent jewels, before placing them one by one into the sockets of the Portal. As he placed the Gwydion Emerald into its rightful place, the portal glowed green, and the floor of the Dreaming, once cracked and dry, became carpeted with verdant grass, the fragrance of the stuff pleasing to the olfactory senses as they gave the hope of spring to everyone present.
The Eiluned Moonstone wasted no time sneaking into the Count’s fingers to be placed next. Hemlock did not hesitate, and the portal shimmered briefly in silver before a strong and solid silver path shot out from the portal, parting the lush grass in a wide, well paved road of silver. The silver path wound itself backwards to the original silver path which many had veered off of to follow the Count. Perhaps even more remarkable was the fact that the cracked and eroded silver path that lead from Caer Falken to the Gryphon’s Nest was instantly restored to the strength and integrity it had enjoyed in happier times.
The Fiona Ruby was placed next into the Gate. A flash of fiery energy engulfed the archway, before sending its rays out to touch the weapons of each and every Changeling present, noble and commoner, cavalry and infantry. It even touched the icy blue flame of Lucidia, scabbarded at Hemlock’s side, causing the prized weapon to glow in royal purple for several minutes, before the red faded, leaving the portal bathed once more in green.
The Dougal Diamond was last to be placed, and was not to be outshone by any other jewel, such was its brilliance. The other stones joined it in angelic choir as a rainbow swirl of spectral color engulfed the entire gateway. A Crystalline lock hole appeared in the center of the gateway and rays shot forth from all four gems. The rays terminated together before Count Hemlock, and at the end of these threads of light there floated a prismatic key, which the Gwydion took without a moment’s hesitation.
Count Hemlock Autumnsbane turned once to look upon his small army, and he knew that this was the right thing to do. The fate of Bergen rested upon this action. He gave no thought to the Dreams he had received all week long about his death on the other side of this portal. He simply placed the key into the lock, releasing the gateway to allow entrance into a deeper part of the Dreaming than he had been to in a very long time. The phantom key dissipated into motes of light, but the humming jewels held fast. Taking up his lance and shield from the awed squire, he kicked Summer’s flanks and charged through the gate.
The fifty followed Count Autumnsbane. And their D'an.
to be continued
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