5/2/2019

The story of Rising Tide continues and we invite you to sit back and enjoy, The Call to Valor.

By EM Malachi

The flawless stone was inlaid with a gold sword. Sir Simon watched as the builders adjusted the central marble feature of the new shrine. “The Shrine of Valor will be difficult to maintain and protect here. I wonder why you didn’t build it on the Isle of Deeds. The knights of Serpent’s Hold would have stood vigil over it at all times.”

The young king shook his head. “While I appreciate the chivalry of the Order of the Silver Serpent, I do not want the shrine to become a symbol of martial strength. Valor is not a weapon for the strong, but a calling to protect the weak. This place is about the acts of courage that any may be called to perform. Valor is something to strive for, to make a pilgrimage for.”

*****

Mold and rot covered the vegetation around the shrine, and the air thrummed with a rancorous magic. Rankin adjusted the blackened silver glyphs he had placed around the Rune of Valor.

“You promised me incredible power if you could tap into the leyline here. Instead, you seem to be making this island uninhabitable,” said Hook. The pirate lord let out his frustrations by kicking a rock directly at the shrine.

“I told you this would take time. The shrine’s very nature is resisting me, but with the Rune, I will win in the end.”

*****

It was before dawn when the old knight with trembling limbs approached the shrine. He paused for a moment to compose his words. “It seems a lifetime ago that I promised myself I would come here. My last squire long ago attained knighthood. My victories are forgotten. I no longer have the strength to fight, but I don’t know how to give up this life.”

The knight drew his sword but lost his grip, and the blade fell to the ground. Close to tears, he slowly bent down to retrieve the sword, but as his shaking hand moved closer, the sword began to sink into the earth. When it was gone, there were only small red flowers lit by the rising sun. 

The old man bowed his head and whispered, “Thank you.”

*****

The young pirate covered his face with a cloth as he cleared dying trees that had fallen near the shrine. The foul air made those who breathed it sick after a while. Jasir was not happy to have to keep debris from interfering with the dark rite. This was a place for knights and heroes, not for blight and curses.

When he was a child, his mother had told him stories of chivalry and great battles, wishing more for Jasir than the poverty of the Nujel’m slums. Looking at his grubby breeches and the cutlass at his side, the pirate wondered if she would be disappointed if she could see him now. When he had left that island so many years ago, Jasir never expected to crew alongside murderers, orcs, and necromancers.

The setting sun through the trees glinted off something near the shrine. Moving closer, Jasir saw a sword, untouched by rust. On the blade was an inscription: Protect those in need. Jasir picked up the sword and felt its heft. It was heavier than he expected, but it felt right in his grip. With his other hand, he drew the rusted cutlass and tossed it to the ground.

As he smashed the silver glyphs around the Rune, the new knight wondered if he would see his mother again.

4/16/2019

As the story  of Rising Tide continues and we invite you to sit back and enjoy, Sea of Tears

Sea of Tears

By EM Malachi

In the large iron-girded aquarium, the nixie in chains sang to herself. The song started as a wordless child’s melody of warm seas, full of wonder and beauty. It became a dirge as the song spoke of her capture and years of captivity. The final verse rose into a defiant ballad of escape. Her voice channeled the magic around her, fighting the manacles holding her. The iron resisted, glowing red and burning against the bracelets of scars around her wrists.

When she could bear the pain no more, she fell silent, the spell song breaking in a shower of sparks. Across the room, there came a mocking applause. Noxum turned her head toward the pirate lord with a small wooden chest under his arm. She looked away. “You have returned. You didn’t die.”

“You shouldn’t sound so hopeful.”

“I’m always hopeful.”

“Sea elf, hope has no place here, nor do any more escape attempts.”

Noxum held up the cooling manacles. “This cannot be suffered forever. Even death would be preferable to this existence.”

Hook scowled. “I have never harmed a scale on you.”

“Only because you see me as part of your collection, something to be owned. But I have witnessed your cruelty to others. I will never forget what you are, nor be a willing part of it.”

Hook shrugged, as he put down the chest. “Your approval is not required.” He removed the Rune of Valor from a bed of cotton and held it up to the lantern. A cut on his hand left blood on the etching of a sword on the Rune’s surface.

Something about the Rune made Noxum remember an old ballad about a nixie who saved her kin from a shark. “What is that rune to you? Something else for your treasure pile? Something to ransom with?”

Hook laughed. “On no. This is a weapon.”

*****

Hook watched as Rankin placed various objects in the circle around the rune. “Are the human bones really necessary? I thought they were the props of dramatic little pretenders.”

Rankin adjusted a femur. “Normally, you would be correct. Skeletons aren’t actually required for necromancy, but there was one Pagan school I wasn’t able to learn because it’s in the blood and marrow of a person.”

“How did you come by these? I can’t image the owner gave them up willingly.”

“When the Tempest died resisting capture, her body made its way to a friendly gravedigger. I have been saving her final blood magic for a special occasion.”

Rankin placed a final grinning relic at the North position. “Oh, Mordea. You had such beautiful blood. A pity the Royal Guard spilled so much of it.”

Hook tapped his foot impatiently. “So an old friend’s bones will give us the shrine?”

“As I explained, this is only the first spell of many. Still, I believe you will appreciate the effect. Now I need to begin chanting, so no more glib comments.”

*****

With a storm to the north and shallows to the south, escape was impossible. The Royal Navy had chased the Crown Jewel and its pirate fleet from the Cape of Heroes to just off Valor Island. With more ships and cannons, the fleet admiral was confident they would crush the pirate scourge in a single confrontation.

A small pirate ship had already fallen to the naval cannons. Assuming that the pirate leader was trying make a break for open ocean, the admiral had ordered full sail. He was surprised when the pirate crews lowered sail.

There was a sudden pressure change, and the waters churned around Valor Island. The storm at the fleet’s back surged south, growing in both intensity and fury. The wind and water smashed against the naval fleet. The sailors hurried to lower the sails, all fully unfurled for the chase, but half the armada lost masts in the first few minutes. Crews who managed to lower their sails were helpless as their ships ran aground off the coast and were raked by heavy cannon fire.

While a few ships managed to skirt the storm and retreat, Britannia had lost half its southern fleet. Watching the destruction from the Crown Jewel, Rankin laughed. “Those fools in Moonglow will respect me now.”

4/1/2019

As the story  of Rising Tide continues and we invite you to sit back and enjoy, Treasure Island.

By EM Malachi

Treasure Island

The damp air on the ship had brought out the mildewed smell of Rankin’s spellbooks. The mage struggled to cram the last tome into his pack. He eventually gave up and removed some clothes to make room. As he dragged the heavy bag to the rowboat, Rankin looked at the others who were preparing to go ashore. Two porters were doing inventory of cured meats and hardtack for the expedition. A bulky gargoyle named Forskis was staring up at the sky. Hook was giving some last minute orders to the crew of the Crown Jewel. The pirate lord was excited. If this expedition went well, the secret that the Guild’s leadership had kept for generations would soon be in his hands.

*****

The expedition had made good progress on the first day, but on the second, disaster struck. They had felt tremors all morning, but thought nothing of them. Hook heard the roar first. He shouted a warning as a river of lava flowed through the jungle around them. Rankin’s panic led to a hasty teleport spell, while Hook and Forskis scrambled out of the way. The two porters had nowhere to run. Only one of them managed to scream.

As the survivors caught their breath, they took stock of the situation. The lava flows cut off the most direct route to their destination. Studying the map, Rankin considered the alternatives. “Not good. We’ll need to go days out of our way, and the safest route will take us at least a week. “

“That’s unacceptable. Even if we had the provisions, I cannot be off ship that long. An unwatched crew is a mutinous one.”

“This path is shorter, but it might be blocked as well. Can your gargoyle scout ahead?” Rankin made flapping wings with his hands.

Forskis shook his head and pointed to jagged scars along his wing patagium.

“Hook, you brought a winged gargoyle that can’t fly? Of all the things! A wingless would have been a stronger porter.”

Forskis snarled and took a step forward, but Hook put a hand out to stop him. “Don’t insult my friend. Like you, he has unconventional value.”

Forskis picked up what remained of the dead men’s supplies and trudged into the jungle.

*****

Rankin was complaining about wanting a clean shirt, when Forskis held up a fist. The path in front of them came close to a brackish stream. At the edge was a giant blue-green creature with the shape of a salamander. Forgetting his complaints for a moment, Rankin exclaimed, “A Triton!”

The triton’s eyes followed their movement, and opening its maw, the beast started to slither toward them. Hook and Rankin prepared for a fight, when Forskis stopped them. “Mine.”

The gargoyle drew a pair of curved knives and charged forward. His first stab took one of the eyes. The triton tried to close its jaw around Forskis to crush him, but the flurry of blades left jagged cuts along the creature’s flank. In agony, the triton gave up and tried to retreat, but Forskis wrapped an arm around its body and kept stabbing until long after it was dead.

Hook laughed. “See why I brought him?”

*****

Staring at the rock face, Hook scowled. “The map says it’s right here.”

Rankin closed his eyes and focused for a moment. “The mana in this location feels strange. There is an entry here, but a spell is concealing it.” Opening his eyes, Rankin sat on the ground and started removing the library in his bag.

“How long is this going to take?” asked Hook.

Rankin already had his nose in a book. “Let me work.”

Rankin had tried several standard counter-spells and poured water on the wall, but nothing at all had happened. Impatient, Hook had Forskis smashing large rocks against the wall. Consulting his books again, Rankin took a length of golden cord from his pack and started chanting.

He whipped out the thin cord, and BOOM! Where the end had struck the wall, explosive magic was crumbling rock and burning away the spells there. When the smoke cleared, there was a cave mouth.

Lighting a makeshift torch on a dying ember, Rankin gave a sweeping bow. “Fire cultists are such passionate teachers.”

*****

They followed the narrow stone tunnel to a chamber which contained a large stone box. On its top was etched the inscription: “A Lawless Lord is the Crooked Key.” There was also an indentation in the shape of a keyhole. Forskis reached to pull off the stone top, but jumped back in extreme pain.

Rankin examined the reliquary. “A minor magical trap. Give me a minute to disrupt it.” He read a chant from a book and focused the spell toward the stone chest. The mana from the spell rebounded onto Rankin. The mage fell to the ground as the arcs of energy wracked his body with pain. Forskis grabbed a bedroll and smothered the mana sparks, thumping the mage against the hard stone floor.

Catching his breath, Rankin thanked him. Forskis tossed the singed bedroll away and shrugged. “Hook said you can’t die. Yet.”

Hook read the inscription again. “What does it mean?”

Rankin picked himself off the ground. “I think it’s a bloodline key. Budo the Second wanted only his line to be able to open it.”

“It mentions a lord. Rule of the Den is not passed by family, but by vote.” Hook took out a knife and made a cut. He smeared his blood against the lock. The stones of the reliquary opened, revealing what was inside: the Rune of Valor.