Your attack on Keldomar, the ex chancellor of Barrasain, was the first instigation of combat since placing the Ishiaki amulet over your head. That first second that you wore the amulet you were aware of a profound change in your own power and inner talents. Moreover, the first physical attack was that leading to the death of Keldomar and you are struck by some distinct changes in your fighting technique.

The most crucial change was the inability of the Nyrondian to deal with your attacks. The Ishiaki adepts were warrior mages whose descendants became the Darkland warriors you have seen today. The basis of their power lay in their most unusual use of haragei. The modern equivalent of this sense has found its way into the skills of the ninja, who use it to great effect and appear to have an almost uncanny ability to sense the future, or future occurrences. This haragei was developed directly from the Ishiaki version, although they are inherently different. As you attacked Keldomar you were struck by his seeming inability to defend the blows. Ishiaki haragei allows the adept to ‘project’ his aura and so making the defender struggle to see or anticipate the incoming blow. (DM: This effect is automatic during combat - the defender gains penalties against dodge and parry rolls).

This in some way explains why Barrasain was so severely toyed with by his attacker, although in that case the attacker was able to bring the full power of Ishiaki to bear in defeating the king. Your quick kill of the Nyrondian, whilst satisfying, merely touched the edges of the potential within. You felt a sense of overwhelming speed and swiftness whilst in combat and this had the strange effect of seeming to slow the whole experience down. The Ishiaki warrior married the skills of phenomenal combat with the guile and power of the sorcerer to produce a unique form of opponent not seen for many millennia. The sorcery within seems to be focused upon the amulet and is not at all similar to your own casting technique. It seems to be more spiritual than physical and it’s boundaries cannot be measured easily with the constrictions one would normally place upon the modern magician.

The amulet is a truly ancient thing. You become aware of it’s antiquity and wonder if the killer has one like it. The gold lies heavily upon your chest and each time you touch it you can almost sense the Ishiaki adepts many thousands of years ago when they populated the wasted realm that is now the Darklands. You become acutely aware of the pain of your father, Andriath, and the terrible burden he has kept secret. A dark secret assaults your mind and the lines across Andriath’s face now tell the tale of your birth - as if the amulet has opened a forbidden door and allowed you to peer inside.....

"We must kill it, Grimstock," your father pleads as your mother struggles for life on the birthing table. "It is a demon."

"No," Grimstock says calmly, "your son is no demon, my friend. You must let him live - you must let him thrive. Your own survival depends upon his."

"Riddles !" Andriath says angrily. "Gwendar is dying on that bed and you urge calm. What have I done ? What horror will I sire ?"

"Perhaps I should not have told you, Andriath. It would perhaps have been better."

"Perhaps not," your father says. "I mean, it can’t be many babies that cast spells within their mothers womb, can it ?"

"It wasn’t exactly a spell," Grimstock says.

"Then what the Hell was it ? You’re a sorcerer. Tell me what’s going on. I demand to know !"

Grimstock sighs. "My good friend, I haven’t got the faintest idea. Although I know of no other instance where a child would use magic inside the womb I have heard of babies exuding certain magic powers from early ages. It is not entirely impossible that your unborn child is actually helping Gwendar through this most difficult of pregnancies. I can’t be certain."

"Call yourself a sorcerer," your father fumes. "A charlatan, more like !"

You have always known of the conversation and seem to hear it from the womb. The more you concentrate upon the amulet the more you seem to be distracted and your mind wanders through your past or through your spiritual self, particularly recalling dreams from your childhood.

Your mind drifts again and you are a boy. A stern man is attacking you with a large wooden sword, directing your defence and occasionally becoming vexed at your lack of concentration. It is difficult to concentrate today, you feel, and become acutely aware of the tall man who moves between the pupils at the school, offering advice to individuals as they train. The masters and teachers defer to him and you ‘feel’ his presence more profoundly than any other man. You are aware of his sloping eyes and dark hair and he soon gravitates to your fight. His dark eyes bore into you and your stomach churns.

"This is Anstran, master," your teacher says. "he is a little slow but we have great hopes for him."

The man takes the teacher’s wooden sword and swings it at you. You recall the stupefying pain and the sharp crack in your ribs as you are felled by his stunning force. Your teacher is dumbfounded as the man chuckles. "You are right, he is slow. Get up, little one. The lesson is not yet complete." You remain slumped to the ground and the man moves away, laughing harshly. Even your stern teacher is shocked and helps you to your feet.

You can still feel the dull ache in your ribs. Then reality assails your senses once more and you are searching Keldomar’s body. As your hands rifle his pockets and take various knives and vials you begin to gain a sense of the man’s spirit. Keldomar was an honourable man who somehow lost his way. Upon touching his hands you feel the blood of hundreds of men who fell by his skill and guile. Moving across his chest you sense his unique emotional state - a kind of perpetual anger rooted deep within him. Keldomar had a harsh childhood and fought, cheated and murdered his way to the top of his chosen career. Your hands touch his brow and you get a feeling for his astute, quick-thinking mind.

It is as if you feel his spirit drift away to it’s resting place.

You feel no remorse....

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