10/30/2020

We are pleased to release the next piece in our Grim Moments fiction series, The Three

By EM Malachi

A page from the journal of Queen Helena of Rhiannon

Something is very wrong. My husband, the great and mighty Praecor Loth, rides into battle with the three I trust least in the world.

When the Magician Umbria came to court, I feared that he was a charlatan. Oh, if only that were so! In truth, he is a terrifyingly powerful necromancer. I have witnessed the dark arts he wields in his tower. One of his failures still skitters in the dungeon, begging for a death that can never come. When Umbria looks at me with those cold eyes of his, I know he is plotting something horrifying.

Then there is General Lethe. I wish she fought for us. She is one of the greatest warriors of the northern tribes, wild and untamed. It is said that during the Fyrna Rebellion, Lethe defeated a dozen armored knights herself. Her appointment as Rhiannon’s General was a peace offering, but her fealty is not with our country or our king. Lethe has sent my husband’s most loyal knights to the far corners of the world, far from the king they serve.

Finally, the assassin Morphius who killed my brother. I know this in my heart even if I have no proof. When my husband declared war, my brother, the Lord of Logris, suggested sending mages and scouts to understand the source of the invasion, but Logris was rebuffed by the Three. My dear brother instead chose to go on that desperate mission alone.

While Logris returned to his castle after completing the mission, he died that very night. They say it was exhaustion from the journey. However, a castle maid who liked to nibble the lord’s leftovers died that night as well. I searched my brother’s library after he died. There was a piece of black stone and an unfinished letter to the King that warned of a terrible door. What could be happening on the icy plains of Fyrna?

I suddenly feel so weary, an overpowering urge to sleep.

*****

Dungeon Deceit, now

In the deepest crypt on Dagger Isle, three wraiths fed on the font of undeath. Their escape through the Black Gate had destroyed their physical forms and stolen much of their power.

When they were sated on corrupted mana, the Three set to work making bodies. Lethe pieced together the skeletons of fallen warriors, where rusting iron and bone had become one. Morphius chose putrid flesh and rot, forming organs from the most poisonous molds he could find. Umbria shaped the darkness and shadows of the dungeon into his vessel, making Deceit itself a phylactery.

When they were finished, Lethe tested a wicked axe she had found. “Now we rebuild our kingdom.”

Umbria replied, “Yes, midnight always arrives.”

10/19/2020

We are pleased to present, The Black Gate

By EM Malachi

The Black Gate

The sky was a swirl of colors, as raw mana poured in from the other worlds in orbit around Sosaria’s sun. Eight columns focused the magic toward a massive slab of blackrock etched on the border with runes: the Black Gate.

The Fellowship forces fought with zeal and desperation. The Black Gate was everything Brother Batlin had promised, and failure meant death or imprisonment. The cult was not alone. Humanity had other enemies, brought here by the Fellowship’s influence.

Britannia’s forces were much smaller. The location was discovered at the last minute, and there was not enough time to send a larger force by ship. Mages, weakened by months of mana poisoning, had dragged themselves from their sick beds to move as many fighters as possible by magic.

Dupre wiped sweat from his brow and considered the situation. Ashfall from Fire Island’s volcanoes made the air hot and caustic. Skara rangers and Zhah’s gargoyles rained projectiles down on the enemy lines. A wall of plated paladins held against a rush of orcs. Arcanists and mystics dueled with elementals, the exchange of magical power forming a deadly dance.

A ninth blackrock column had crumbled when the battle began, but not before transforming the lying druid Batlin into a towering daemon. He was not invulnerable, but too many of Dupre’s forces had to focus on the Fellowship leader.

This chaos gave time for the doorway to open. As magic pooled like ink across the dark surface, it looked as though a great hand was reaching through.

Dupre looked behind him. A group of mages had brought an artifact to try to deal with the Black Gate, but they were trapped across the battlefield. He was the only one close enough. The paladin looked at the sword in his hand, a blackrock blade reforged by the daemon Arcadion. What choice did he have?

Dupre charged the gate, ignoring a pair of cultist guards whose spears pierced his side. The paladin struck the Black Gate with all the force his battle-weary body could muster. The sound of clashing blackrock magic drew the attention of everyone on the battlefield before the door across worlds exploded.

When the dust cleared, the Black Gate and Fellowship lines were broken. The son of Trinsic was simply gone.

Dupre was gone.

10/2/2020

We are pleased to present, Daughters of the Eclipse

By EM Malachi

Daughter of the Eclipse

The trail through the woods was blocked by decades of overgrowth, but the house and its gardens were untouched by the years. Sparkling fae flitted about, tidying and repairing the home of the woman who slumbered inside. The Seeress Penumbra had withdrawn to this sanctum forty years before.

Several pixies fluttered close and watched the approaching paladin. Dupre removed his iron blade from the scabbard and gently placed it on the ground. This seemed to convince the sprites of his good intentions. They returned to watering the flowers with tiny crystal pitchers.

At the door to the house, Dupre found a collection of wooden figures. He examined a few: a baby, a butterfly, a man, and a skeleton. The puzzle was another of the seer’s safeguards. Penumbra’s kin had told him that the solution was personal to each visitor: the story of their life.

Dupre found a figure that reminded him of his father. A wooden mallard stood in for a childhood pet. A goblet dyed by mulberry was his life as a paladin. The skeleton reminded Dupre of the conflict with Juo’Nar and the night he lost Trinsic, but a toy siege engine was when he took the city back. Finally, he found a crown for the kings and queen he’d served in the faction wars and beyond. Dupre placed the figures in a line on the threshold, and the door unlocked.

Candles came to life as the paladin stepped into the house. The air was unnaturally still, held in stasis by magic. Dupre found Penumbra on a stone table in the center of the main room. She looked unchanged by her long sleep. Dupre placed four of Blackrock pieces around her as instructed, and time flowed into the room.

Penumbra opened her eyes and smiled at him. “Dupre, it is good to see you. You have destroyed the blighted monuments. Thank you. Like wolves, the three prowled my sleep. Had I been awake, they would have made prey of my mind and soul.”

Sitting up, Penumbra examined Dupre’s face. “My paladin, I see the pain and sorrow written on your face. So the Ranger King has already fallen in the night? I have overslept. You need me to do a reading.”

Dupre nodded. “I must know what happens next.”

Penumbra closed her eyes. “I have had the same dream again and again for the past few years. I have seen the end to your time on this world. This you cannot escape, but you can still save everyone else. The midnight door must not open completely. I have seen the ruin and darkness that steps through. You must prepare for the battle at dusk.”

“What can I do?”

“Three things stand before you: You must find a blade darker than obsidian, revered by a daemon. You must find the soul of Virtue in eight sigils for the Tinker’s ghost. Then you must follow the Lying Druid who led many into ruin, but do not let him steal the reward of the gate.”

Dupre silently considered Penumbra’s words.

Penumbra put a hand on Dupre’s shoulder. “You must hurry, my paladin. You do not have long…”

*****

Batlin watched as hired smugglers opened the crate and showed him a black pedestal on a bed of straw. Batlin smiled approval and tossed a bag of coins to the ship’s captain. As the pirates departed, Fellowship workers carefully lifted the artifact from the crate onto a cart. They set to work removing dust and debris from the surface.

Batlin ran a hand along the surface of the artifact, tracing the symbols before stopping on an “Ort” rune. “I need you to raise this one near the others.”

One of the cultists asked, “I thought we already had the columns necessary to focus the alignment of the eight? What is the purpose of this ninth column?”

“We need a replacement ready should there be a problem. We must not fail. Trust thy brother.”

The workers seemed convinced. With the column polished, they began moving the cart up the path toward the ritual site. When they were out of earshot, Batlin whispered, “The final one is for me alone.”