Love Conquers All

cy 4884, Janos 29th - Febrian 10th

It is dawn after the death of Arial and the academy of the dragon is quiet. Reds Dull gathers the dragonmasters to inform them that Elena visited him shortly after the death of their companion. "She told me that Arial wrote a last will and testament; a document that bequeaths everything she owned to Andur Jarikstar. Though his grief is great at the moment she believes he will come for the sword.

"She also told me that the dragonstaff’s arrival is imminent; within sixteen days in fact at the full moon at midnight in the month of Febrian."

"What use has he for the sword?" Morik says, "I mean he can’t even wield it."

"There are stories, myths from the temple that Andur was indeed a great swordsman – that in his youth he sparred with – and regularly beat – both Malakar and Elena during their formative years."

Morik shrugs. "It is of no consequence because I will not give him the blade; this damn thing has been a problem from the start and the only way to rid Grayhawk of its folly is to destroy it. If it’s all the same to everybody I will hide in the shadows whilst this situation develops."

Next day Illeum Runesabre says his goodbyes to the dragonmasters. Before he leaves he is given a priceless gift; a well-crafted pistol created by a Bretonian weapon master of great repute. Illeum smiles at Morik; "This gift is beyond all the jewels on Grayhawk – I have no way to repay you, Morik."

Morik smiles back but says nothing.

That same day Sklaran flies north on Sullern to bring Losana – the Mistress of the Paths and a good friend – to the academy. The ageing elf is impressed by what she sees but wastes no time on sightseeing; instead she starts to teach Sklaran in the subtle arts of the Paths.

On the fifth day of Febrian Andur Jarikstar arrives via the temple to speak to the dragonmasters. All are present except for Morik, whose absence Andur notes with a strange expression. He wears black and tells them that he will always wear black until the end of time.

"I have come for the sword called Ishtar, as is my right, as it was bequeathed to me by my lover – Arial. It will become a shrine to her; a memory of the greatest swordswoman I have ever seen. It will never be drawn in anger again, no matter what the threat, and remain as a beacon of all that is good in the world."

There is an awkward silence as they listen to Andur’s powerful words. Only Reds Dull is brave enough to respond. "No one here doubts the legitimacy of your claim, Andur, but there is doubt about the ownership – as you are aware Morik has the blade and he is absent."

"There are hidden enemies that gather," Andur says cryptically, "even now they realise the blade is abroad – they believe that there is an opportunity to get their hands on it."

"What enemies?" Faros says. "Tell us their names."

Andur regards Faros with dark eyes, his gaze riveted to Rosa who stands close to her lover. "And watch you cause death and destruction as you hunt them down? I think not thief! The blade is mine. Return it to me before dawn…I will be in the temple until then."

That night Reds joins Andur in the solitude of the temple. The paladin prays to Jarik Saal and can feel his grief, feel the hurt deep within.

"Speak to him," Andur says quietly, "speak to your assassin friend; perhaps he will listen to you and relinquish the blade."

"Of course I will speak to him, Andur, though I am not sure he will listen."

That night Morik and Reds Dull talk in private. It becomes clear that Morik has no desire to give up the blade, preferring to destroy it than have it cause even more trouble. When Reds tells Andur the words the sorcerer sighs, thanks Reds for trying then vanishes.

On the ninth day of Febrian Faros, Rosa and Morik – three aspects of vampirism – meet to decide upon an alliance to protect themselves against Andur if he should move against the blade. "We cannot allow him to take it," says Morik, "it must be destroyed."

"Agreed," says Rosa, "but I believe that Andur is just waiting for an opportunity to take me out – he still believes I am responsible for Arial’s death."

On the tenth day of Febrian Andur Jarikstar returns. His mood is still dark and the dragonmasters gather to speak to him. Andur seems calmer, more confident and delivers words that stun the assembled dragons and their masters.

"I offer you a trade; the blade Ishtar for the Dragonstaff."

Sklaran frowns. "But you don’t have it – it hasn’t appeared yet."

Andur smiles. "I will return in five days."

When he is gone Sklaran reaches out to contact Hamroth – the Glaennyn Lord – and within minutes the gargantuan dragon sits perched on the highest towers of the academy. All other dragons defer to him, all masters and students bow to him, but the Glaennyn brings grave words.

"Andur Jarikstar is integral to the arrival of the Dragonstaff," he says, "through him – who has Glaennyn blood in his veins – the universe will conduct the energy required to form the symbol of all dragonkind. An ironic situation that the one unifying force in the universe is being ransomed for a dark blade."

But Reds Dull is already two steps ahead of the conversation. "Then our next course of action is clear; we must destroy the blade before the full moon."

"Sounds easy," quips Faros, "any ideas?"

"We know there is only one way to destroy it," Reds continues, "so we must go to Malakar and force him to tell us."

The dragonmasters saddle up with Reds taking the lead on Aggrar, on the back of his mighty dragon is Adriana, a black orc female sorcerer and his newest student. Morik decides it best not to accompany them but Rosa slips in behind Faros as they take to the skies.

Aggrar teleports them a few miles outside Malangrad. The towering Malakarian citadel houses the largest temple on Grayhawk and nothing much has changed since they helped the current archpriest – Magrand – take control. It is to him that they now turn for help.

Demonic imps flitter about in the air, scant protection from the squadron of dragons approaching. Aggrar scatters them like straw in the wind, his massive teeth snarling at them as he heads for the top of the spire.

They alight and head into the tower, a spiral staircase winds down on the inside of the structure and they take this precarious route down into the main altar chamber. From below they see priests and paladins disperse, fearing another attack by the dragonmasters.

The only priest that greets them is Magrand, who nervously bows.

"We’re here to speak to Malakar," Reds says.

"Alas I think the Dark One is suffering at the moment; for your own safety I suggest you turn back and leave this place."

Faros glides in behind the archpriest unseen, before any defence can be offered he has a blade at Magrand’s throat, Rosa stands in front of them daring the temple warriors or priests to get close.

Reds turns to the black orc called Adriana. "Follow me."

Without hesitation she follows her master and places a hand on the altar – then instantly wishes she hadn’t.

Reds is familiar with the palace of Malakar but the last time he was there it was orderly and clean. Now it looked as though an army of thieves had spent the last year ransacking it. Every piece of furniture was wrecked, blood and bones littered the floor and the stench of death was ingrained in the very rock.

No servants – demonic or otherwise – remained. All were dead, butchered by the raging dark god who – Reds knew – was present in some dark corner of this slaughterhouse. It takes Adriana all her courage, a monumental effort just to take one step into this deadly place.

When they find Malakar he is a vision of abject horror. What little humanity he possessed was now gone, even his beautiful maimed face is twisted in pain and anger, its visage now a picture of brutal ugliness. A blood-soaked rag is wrapped around his left hand – no more than a stump that oozes blood constantly, a reminder of the power of Andur Jarikstar – a wound that is beyond even the universe to heal.

Malakar turns on the newcomers and snarls; Reds knows that he must constantly feed upon souls to stop the bleeding getting out of hand, to stop the wound overtaking him and destroying him utterly.

"I want my blade!" he yells.

"We have come here to destroy it," Reds says, "and you are the only creature alive that knows how to do that."

"Ha! Then you are more of a fool than I thought!"

Without warning Malakar leaps at the black orc, grabs for her soul with astonishing speed. But Reds Dull deflects the blow with his shield and turns more blows from the god before reaching for Selamar. He feints a few times but Malakar does not fall for it; Reds realises his mistake when the dark god catches his wrist.

The awesome strength of the god is frightening; Reds tries to break the grip but it is impossible. He remains tight hold of the demonic mace as the power of the dark god reaches for his soul. Only a matter of time now Reds thinks as the pain blossoms.

Adriana hurls a magic missile at Malakar but the god’s power deflects it easily. She backs off, watching helplessly as Malakar brings the paladin to his knees, wondering how quick she will die. But something is not right. She watches as Reds Dull refuses to die, in fact Malakar struggles to reach his soul.

Reds stares deep into the dark god’s eyes and the revelation hits them both at the same time; Red’s soul is protected! From Malakar’s eyes he sees the truth – the stolen kiss by Elena has shrouded his soul, given him an armour of love that not even Malakar can penetrate.

Malakar yells out in anguish and cowers back into a corner of the broken palace. Despite the pain Reds Dull feels nothing but pity for the dark god. As Malakar cowers Reds stands over him.

"How do we destroy it?"

"At least let me have the orc."

Reds shakes his head. "The blade, Malakar, how do we destroy it?"

"There is the irony of the situation; you see the only way to break it is to return it to the heart of it’s maker; I created the blade with love and only when it cuts through my heart will it disappear."

Reds nods and turns to Adriana. "We are leaving."

Adriana does not need to be told twice, she follows the paladin quickly as he heads for a dark portal in the basement of the chaotic palace. In the misty black shroud of a small doorway stands the most beautiful woman Adriana has ever seen, a deep contrast to the hellish evil and ugliness she has just endured. She realises that this is Elena – the goddess, the sister of the dark god himself.

She notices a single tear fall from her eye and roll languidly down her cheek. She places a comforting hand on Reds Dull’s face and says; "Thank you for not killing him…there is still hope for my brother."

Reds simply nods and takes the black orc through the doorway and back to the temple at Malangrad…