Older and Further Away
He knew he was old.
He knew because he had traveled long and far. Not just across physical distance from one land to another - but between realms in the grand cosmos as well.
It wasn't particularly impressive in the grand scheme of things, any competent sorcerer or wizard could conjure the power needed for portal travel. The more exotic spheres of existance demanded more effort, sometimes more powerful magic, sometimes artefact-keys, sometimes more esoteric material. But nothing beyond what time and determination could get you. And traveled he had.
Once upon a realm he had come across the teaching of a Chrono-Wizard who had written that time was relative. There was truth in that, he sometime pondered to himself. You can travel to one realm and live for a year and return to the other where a month has passed. Days are longer in some realms, shorter in other, and if you use the metric of a day and night cycle to extrapolate months and years then those words soon become meaningless.
Being old was relative as well. Most humans fade away in but a century whereas Elves walk their realms for millennia. Everything in between and beyond. Complicated things that he prefers not to dwell on.
But he knew that he was old. He was old for the time spent traveling and he was old for a being of his kind.
And it has begun to take it's toll. The Masquerade hides it - and hides it well. But in the flickering of it weariness and exhaustion can be gleamed.
The Masquerade is just that, a Masquerade. It is a deception, he freely confess to himself, but it is one of necessity and kindness - besides, an open deception is hardly a nefarious one. When it comes to his identity he obscures his own, this is true, but he does not lay claim to another.
Necessity...
Yes, it was necessity he tells himself.
A person looking at him from the outside often perceive his shape shifting, tall to short, slim to thick and back. His voice is modulated and mechanical. No trace of accent or other identifying marker. Colors coalesces and disperse, a slight blur. The tools available to a skilled illusionist is almost limitless. But the Masquerade goes deeper than magic.
He sometimes wonders where the Masquerade ends and He begins.
Necessity...
Such an appearance invites questions by its very nature.
He does not shy away from answering them. To the shopkeeper, the city guards and the odd adventurer the answer is the same: During his many travels he has amassed a collection of enemies. Some deserved, some undeserved and some by his own creation. Enemies he does not want to alert of his presence here in the keep. Necessity and kindness.
And that is the truth.
He thinks.
He ponders, pours through books and documents. Wandering the halls of the Guilds of the Keep collecting notes and observation. When it comes to his past there are sections... missing. Some events have a beginning and an end, but no middle. Some play out fully but with people or objects erased. Years gone.
He knows who he is beneath the Masquerade, but there is a lingering recurring thought that intrudes upon him during his quiet contemplations:
That his memories have been tampered with.
And he cannot rule out that they have been so intentionally by himself
The Masquerade
Re: The Masquerade
Time Will Tell
The Playful Maiden buzzed with its usual activity, a bustling dance of loyal patrons and adventurers darting back and forth to the portal room. Such a establishment was no stranger to a peculiar cast of characters, and this evening was no different. Seated at a corner table were two of these characters.
"Why is it that you have asked me here?" said Chronos. He was tall and armored, donning a full plate in glistening marble and bronze-tinted colors. Magnificent draconic wings sprouted from his back, their hue fluctuating between bronze and silver.
The other visitor motioned for the draconic disciple to sit as he pulled up a chair himself. "I wished only to introduce myself," he said, realizing the contradiction as the words left his lips. Unlike the regal form of the draconic disciple, his was shifting and nebulous. Even his voice modulated to obscure all identifying markers. "As much as I can—" he hastily added.
Chronos sat down, and the other quickly followed. "I realize the strangeness of a masked man asking to introduce himself, but I go by Masquerade here," said the shifting and distorted form.
"I am Chronos. Chronos Fatewing," replied the other.
Masquerade nodded. "The keep is no stranger to gods and demons."
"I often lament that I am neither," Chronos smiled.
"Your draconic blood... may I ask its origin?"
"If you’re asking who my primogenitor is, your guess is as good as mine," Chronos scratched his chin. "If it's where on the draconic spectrum he or she was, then it was a Time Dragon."
"As Draconic Disciples are rare as it is, a Time Dragon Disciple must be exceedingly rarer," Masquerade leaned closer, offering Chronos the opportunity to continue the conversation in whispers.
Chronos straightened his back and spoke. "I make no secret of it. And yes… No one in my line or family has met one," he sighed. "But we are searching."
"The odds are—" began Masquerade.
"Slim, yes," finished Chronos.
"Time will tell," added Masquerade.
A stiff silence hung in the air as they inspected each other.
Masquerade sensed an unwillingness around the disciple, despite his claim to the opposite. He stood up. "I’m afraid I must depart for now. I am conducting considerable research in and around the Keep, and should I find a mention of a Time Dragon, you will be the first to know." He bowed and departed from the Playful Maiden, leaving Chronos alone to ponder what had transpired.
"Why is it that he keeps being drawn to me? Is it malfunctioning?" Chronos wondered to himself and shook his head.
"And how many times must he and I have this exact conversation?"
The Playful Maiden buzzed with its usual activity, a bustling dance of loyal patrons and adventurers darting back and forth to the portal room. Such a establishment was no stranger to a peculiar cast of characters, and this evening was no different. Seated at a corner table were two of these characters.
"Why is it that you have asked me here?" said Chronos. He was tall and armored, donning a full plate in glistening marble and bronze-tinted colors. Magnificent draconic wings sprouted from his back, their hue fluctuating between bronze and silver.
The other visitor motioned for the draconic disciple to sit as he pulled up a chair himself. "I wished only to introduce myself," he said, realizing the contradiction as the words left his lips. Unlike the regal form of the draconic disciple, his was shifting and nebulous. Even his voice modulated to obscure all identifying markers. "As much as I can—" he hastily added.
Chronos sat down, and the other quickly followed. "I realize the strangeness of a masked man asking to introduce himself, but I go by Masquerade here," said the shifting and distorted form.
"I am Chronos. Chronos Fatewing," replied the other.
Masquerade nodded. "The keep is no stranger to gods and demons."
"I often lament that I am neither," Chronos smiled.
"Your draconic blood... may I ask its origin?"
"If you’re asking who my primogenitor is, your guess is as good as mine," Chronos scratched his chin. "If it's where on the draconic spectrum he or she was, then it was a Time Dragon."
"As Draconic Disciples are rare as it is, a Time Dragon Disciple must be exceedingly rarer," Masquerade leaned closer, offering Chronos the opportunity to continue the conversation in whispers.
Chronos straightened his back and spoke. "I make no secret of it. And yes… No one in my line or family has met one," he sighed. "But we are searching."
"The odds are—" began Masquerade.
"Slim, yes," finished Chronos.
"Time will tell," added Masquerade.
A stiff silence hung in the air as they inspected each other.
Masquerade sensed an unwillingness around the disciple, despite his claim to the opposite. He stood up. "I’m afraid I must depart for now. I am conducting considerable research in and around the Keep, and should I find a mention of a Time Dragon, you will be the first to know." He bowed and departed from the Playful Maiden, leaving Chronos alone to ponder what had transpired.
"Why is it that he keeps being drawn to me? Is it malfunctioning?" Chronos wondered to himself and shook his head.
"And how many times must he and I have this exact conversation?"
Re: The Masquerade
In Darkness
Where am i?
Retrace your steps...
The ship. Yes, i remember now. It must have been out there, i knew it. The sea charts and maps i purchased from Captain Zim must have set him off... planning an expedition as well. To the same place? Unsure... With the risk of finding it? Certainly. I had to get here first... to my detriment. I confess it was foolish of me to rush the project. I should have taken in scout reports. Charted the nearby area. Carefully prepared dives. Samples and analysis. I told myself that my purpose for coming here was purely academic. The lie i told myself to mask my personal ambition...
Where am i?
Restrained... i cannot move. Submerged in dark waters. My magic sustains my breathing for now... but how long? The restraints are magical, careless of me to fall for such a trap. It has been so many years since last i was here... but i realise now that these halls do not remember me as i remember them.
Retrace your steps...
Take a knee and recite the Oath... as administered by Platina Aurinelle.
No, not that far.
Where am i?
Darkness.
That's where i am.
In Darkness.
Breathe. While you can.
Beneath this watery grave.
Alive... for now.
I can only cling to that elusive thread of hope:
If i found it, others will too.
Stay alive... and they will find me.
Where am i?
Retrace your steps...
The ship. Yes, i remember now. It must have been out there, i knew it. The sea charts and maps i purchased from Captain Zim must have set him off... planning an expedition as well. To the same place? Unsure... With the risk of finding it? Certainly. I had to get here first... to my detriment. I confess it was foolish of me to rush the project. I should have taken in scout reports. Charted the nearby area. Carefully prepared dives. Samples and analysis. I told myself that my purpose for coming here was purely academic. The lie i told myself to mask my personal ambition...
Where am i?
Restrained... i cannot move. Submerged in dark waters. My magic sustains my breathing for now... but how long? The restraints are magical, careless of me to fall for such a trap. It has been so many years since last i was here... but i realise now that these halls do not remember me as i remember them.
Retrace your steps...
Take a knee and recite the Oath... as administered by Platina Aurinelle.
No, not that far.
Where am i?
Darkness.
That's where i am.
In Darkness.
Breathe. While you can.
Beneath this watery grave.
Alive... for now.
I can only cling to that elusive thread of hope:
If i found it, others will too.
Stay alive... and they will find me.
Re: The Masquerade
There was a time before.
Before the encroaching darkness that now surrounds me.
I am sure there was... but now it feels like a fleeting dream.
It is a strange feeling.
When you are young you think you have all the time in the world.
But the years they pass.
And times change.
The curse of years lay heavy upon my shoulders.
The Keep i once left so many years ago is not the same Keep i returned to.
I remember the time before.
An Age of Heroes.
It will be again i told myself.
It must.
And yet here i am.
Dying.
Slowly drowning in a watery grave.
Pulled down into an inky abyss by the ghosts of my past.
It was me.
I was unable to let go.
Do i give up...?
It is tempting.
Death would be a kindness.
But there are sagas yet to be made.
Before the encroaching darkness that now surrounds me.
I am sure there was... but now it feels like a fleeting dream.
It is a strange feeling.
When you are young you think you have all the time in the world.
But the years they pass.
And times change.
The curse of years lay heavy upon my shoulders.
The Keep i once left so many years ago is not the same Keep i returned to.
I remember the time before.
An Age of Heroes.
It will be again i told myself.
It must.
And yet here i am.
Dying.
Slowly drowning in a watery grave.
Pulled down into an inky abyss by the ghosts of my past.
It was me.
I was unable to let go.
Do i give up...?
It is tempting.
Death would be a kindness.
But there are sagas yet to be made.
Re: The Masquerade
The Master and the Apprentice
I wonder if things would have turned out differently if I had just tempered myself back then. Where did all this calamity truly begin? A division that could tear a world apart. It is a delicate tale, I suppose. A memory I thought I had locked away behind the door that is now my Masquerade.
But as I fade away in this watery prison, so does the Masquerade flicker and blink, revealing for but an instant what lies beneath—the very things I created the Masquerade to suppress...
Know these words though, as you read the ones that follow: tales are by definition subjective, and memories are fickle things.
But I will tell you the tale of the Master and the Apprentice.
I was the Apprentice, and he was my Master.
The Master was skeptical, to say the least, about accepting an apprentice. "He had no face for diplomacy," he used to say. He was too insular, too alien, and no Apprentice would keep up or be able to learn from him.
Alas, as an Archmage of Starkson, it was expected of him.
Oh, Starkson, yes. The Starkson Protectorate was once a realm-spanning organization, an institution dedicated to upholding order and balance throughout worlds.
Talan’Ith, Blackstone Keep, and all others—one by one they each fell in their separate tragedies.
Here I am in what remains of what was once the seat of power of Starkson, the Starkson Island of Blackstone Keep. Now reduced to a grave beneath the waves.
It was not in Blackstone Keep that the Apprentice and Master would meet. It was in Starkson of Talan’Ith, a faraway world. While Starkson Island of Blackstone Keep still stood, the one in Talan’Ith fell in a disaster that killed its Sovereign, Treaty Holder, and all high-ranking Starkson members except the Master, the Apprentice... and her.
Shortly before this, the Master had taken on the Apprentice.
The Master would be the first to confess that his tutelage was hard and cruel. But it was for a reason.
He remembers the first lesson. They found themselves in the blacksmith's forge of Starkson Island of Talan’Ith.
“I thought I was supposed to learn the arcane arts… not this?” the Apprentice said, frustrated. The Master shook his head. “The blade… the forge…” he motioned, but the Apprentice did not understand.
“Well,” the Master said, “I am sure you will figure it out in due time.” The sting of disappointment did not go unnoticed.
Years would pass, and the Apprentice would grow into a formidable wizard; that much even the Master could not deny.
But the Master was right. He was too alien… too insular. He never connected with the Apprentice in a way that a Master and Apprentice should. The Apprentice was merely another cog in the complex wheel that was the Master’s mind.
It was another person who would fill that void. The third member of our triumvirate that would suffer so much.
Her name was Echo.
The Master, in his usual tact, deemed her nothing special. She was a competent apothecary and healer of Starkson. Nothing more, nothing less.
But humans are strange creatures, and the bond that the Apprentice and Echo formed was something that the Master could never hope to understand. As alien as his appearance and demeanor were to them, so was their cauldron of emotions to him.
When Starkson of Talan’Ith fell, they tried to rebuild—but the pathways of fate are unpredictable and uncaring and would see them scattered to the realms of the cosmos once more.
Talan’Ith would be no more. And the three would wander a long time.
The Apprentice would blame the Master for the tragedy that eventually befell Echo. Rightfully so.
Yes… this is where the calamity truly began… with the Master and the Apprentice...
It is ironic that what began in Starkson of Talan’Ith might now end in the ruins of Starkson of Blackstone Keep—No, wait… I am misremembering this…
All this happened, that is true, more or less.
But he was the Apprentice.
And it was I who was the Master.
I wonder if things would have turned out differently if I had just tempered myself back then. Where did all this calamity truly begin? A division that could tear a world apart. It is a delicate tale, I suppose. A memory I thought I had locked away behind the door that is now my Masquerade.
But as I fade away in this watery prison, so does the Masquerade flicker and blink, revealing for but an instant what lies beneath—the very things I created the Masquerade to suppress...
Know these words though, as you read the ones that follow: tales are by definition subjective, and memories are fickle things.
But I will tell you the tale of the Master and the Apprentice.
I was the Apprentice, and he was my Master.
The Master was skeptical, to say the least, about accepting an apprentice. "He had no face for diplomacy," he used to say. He was too insular, too alien, and no Apprentice would keep up or be able to learn from him.
Alas, as an Archmage of Starkson, it was expected of him.
Oh, Starkson, yes. The Starkson Protectorate was once a realm-spanning organization, an institution dedicated to upholding order and balance throughout worlds.
Talan’Ith, Blackstone Keep, and all others—one by one they each fell in their separate tragedies.
Here I am in what remains of what was once the seat of power of Starkson, the Starkson Island of Blackstone Keep. Now reduced to a grave beneath the waves.
It was not in Blackstone Keep that the Apprentice and Master would meet. It was in Starkson of Talan’Ith, a faraway world. While Starkson Island of Blackstone Keep still stood, the one in Talan’Ith fell in a disaster that killed its Sovereign, Treaty Holder, and all high-ranking Starkson members except the Master, the Apprentice... and her.
Shortly before this, the Master had taken on the Apprentice.
The Master would be the first to confess that his tutelage was hard and cruel. But it was for a reason.
He remembers the first lesson. They found themselves in the blacksmith's forge of Starkson Island of Talan’Ith.
“I thought I was supposed to learn the arcane arts… not this?” the Apprentice said, frustrated. The Master shook his head. “The blade… the forge…” he motioned, but the Apprentice did not understand.
“Well,” the Master said, “I am sure you will figure it out in due time.” The sting of disappointment did not go unnoticed.
Years would pass, and the Apprentice would grow into a formidable wizard; that much even the Master could not deny.
But the Master was right. He was too alien… too insular. He never connected with the Apprentice in a way that a Master and Apprentice should. The Apprentice was merely another cog in the complex wheel that was the Master’s mind.
It was another person who would fill that void. The third member of our triumvirate that would suffer so much.
Her name was Echo.
The Master, in his usual tact, deemed her nothing special. She was a competent apothecary and healer of Starkson. Nothing more, nothing less.
But humans are strange creatures, and the bond that the Apprentice and Echo formed was something that the Master could never hope to understand. As alien as his appearance and demeanor were to them, so was their cauldron of emotions to him.
When Starkson of Talan’Ith fell, they tried to rebuild—but the pathways of fate are unpredictable and uncaring and would see them scattered to the realms of the cosmos once more.
Talan’Ith would be no more. And the three would wander a long time.
The Apprentice would blame the Master for the tragedy that eventually befell Echo. Rightfully so.
Yes… this is where the calamity truly began… with the Master and the Apprentice...
It is ironic that what began in Starkson of Talan’Ith might now end in the ruins of Starkson of Blackstone Keep—No, wait… I am misremembering this…
All this happened, that is true, more or less.
But he was the Apprentice.
And it was I who was the Master.
Re: The Masquerade
The Good, the Bad, and the Umgah
I: The Calm Before
Time is a curious thing. Chronos Fatewing was a Time Dragon Disciple, and he often commented on the impossible odds of cosmic convergences that must have taken place just for him to be born.
He was annoyed.
A thousand-year lineage of blood and a destiny weighed heavily upon his shoulders. It was his, and his alone, purpose to once more find the Time Dragon responsible for his ancestry—or will be responsible for his ancestry? Curious thing, as it were.
But he was annoyed.
It had been too long since he had heard about the whereabouts of the Masquerade.
He was annoyed that he had to chase after the Masquerade once more. He was annoyed because he had to postpone his own affairs again to deal with his.
And he was annoyed that the only thing he resented more than the Masquerade’s presence… was his absence.
The young man sitting across from him at the table gave no inkling of offense at this display. The Playful Maiden had seen its fair share of characters over the years, and the two sitting at the corner table now were different and yet alike.
Chronos—in a shimmering bronze full plate—silver hair and bronze-tinted skin.
Edric Storm, in silvery warplate with ornate inscriptions and short blue hair.
“Sir… or is it Lord? I mean no offense,” Chronos began.
The young man smiled. “Just Edric…” He shifted slightly in his seat. “The House of Storm is a martial one, and by the privilege of my birth, I was knighted. A mere formality, I’m afraid, and thus ‘Sir’ doesn’t really sound right to me.”
“Your father—” Chronos said curiously, “he was one of the Lord-Admirals of the Marvale Royal Navy, was he not?”
“He was,” said Edric matter-of-factly. “When there still was a Marvale Navy… or Royalty,” he sighed sadly, “or Marvale, for that matter.”
“The looming threat of the Demon-King and his cultists is not lost on me,” Chronos said assuringly, “but for now, something more urgent bothers me.”
Edric chuckled. “I am the fifth son of a minor noble house in a kingdom across the ocean. You are…” he motioned to the resplendent bronze-tinted shifting draconic wings of Chronos. He struggled to find the words, “—something else… what do you need me for?” he said politely.
“You are your father’s son, are you not? It is some naval expertise I need. I trust you still know how to sail a ship?”
“Hah!” Edric exclaimed. “Born and raised on the sea, my friend. I earned my sea legs young.”
Chronos smiled back. “Good… we’ll need them.”
--------------------
II: Shadow and Flame
The intense, searing heat of the lava rivers and lakes that flowed through the Cauldron of the Underdark like blood veins made Chronos sweat. He wondered for a moment if that meant Time Dragons preferred cooler climates and made a mental note to investigate further.
But right now, he was stalking a predator, and he was unsure how the confrontation would turn out.
His target was not hard to find—noisy and unsubtle.
“Remind you of home, does it?” said Chronos to the figure he was walking up to.
A black broadsword glowing with red energy flashed into his vision—suddenly pointing towards him.
“I come unarmed,” Chronos smiled and said peacefully.
“A sorcerer is never unarmed,” the tiefling answered, sword firmly fixed on Chronos.
Chronos nodded. “Fair enough. Let me amend that: I come with no ill intent.”
The tiefling snarled and began circling the Time Dragon Disciple. “Equally unlikely.”
“You are Astorath Hellblade,” said Chronos.
The tiefling scoffed. “And you are Chronos Fatewing. Finding names in the Keep is the simplest of things, dragon, and mine was never a secret,” said Astorath while keeping his pace around Chronos. “You need more than that to impress me.”
Chronos kept turning to face Astorath while keeping his hands up in a disarming manner. “Alright, I’ll try.”
“I know that you’ve been drifting around the Keep,” he began. “I know that you’re looking for something.” He paused for just a moment, wondering how far he should go. “I know that you visited a Woods Witch who sent you on a wild chase to Land’s End that you appear to have come back empty-handed from.”
Astorath frowned and moved closer, sword ever pointed towards Chronos. He took the bait. Chronos prepared for his final blow. “And I know that you fought in the Blood Wars. That you think you broke free and are your own man.” Astorath bared his fanged teeth and growled. “But you are not free. You think you are in control? Wrong. Right now, what controls you is—”
He moved so fast that even Chronos could not react. Within the blink of an eye, the shadowy figure of Astorath had pushed forward, and the blade whose threat was once implied was now fully realized at his throat. He had stopped just before slitting Chronos’ throat.
“—your temper,” said Chronos carefully, cocking his head backward.
Luckily for Chronos, this resonated with Astorath. The tiefling slowly sheathed his sword, yet the frown remained. “What do you want?”
Chronos rubbed the superficial cut on his throat and looked at the sliver of mercurial blood it produced.
“I’m putting together a group for an expedition… to find an old…” he struggled honestly with the word, “acquaintance of mine.”
“And?”
“And he was last seen on an expedition of his own, seeking an island belonging to a group from Blackstone Keep’s past.”
Astorath remained silent, as if waiting for Chronos to make his point before deciding.
“I have my reasons for locating this person, and right now, what our group needs is some… martial prowess,” Chronos smiled and eyed the broadsword, “so to speak.”
“You think me a simple mercenary?” Astorath sighed, as if disappointed.
“No, for I will offer you no gold. Where the Woods Witch offered you lies, I will offer you only truth. I cannot promise that you will find what you are looking for at this island. But I know it is a repository of ancient knowledge. I know that the person I seek was once a master of its domain.”
The Time Dragon Disciple offered a solemn look. “If something can help you find what you seek, it might be there.”
The tiefling scoffed one last time and turned around.
“I’ve chartered a ship off the secret coast near the Dark Forest. I’ve parlayed with the Black Orcs for safe passage.”
The shadowy shape of Astorath disappeared into the blackness of the Underdark.
“We leave at the break of dawn, should you wish to join us!”
Chronos was unsure if he had been heard.
--------------------
III: Insanity, as a Perspective
Conversing with the exiled Umgah Mage made Chronos long for discussing matters with the short-tempered tiefling once more. The Umgah had gone on for quite some time; he had started on the topic of old Starkson Golems but had drifted to the politics of Nethriss, the biology of surface walkers, and a long analysis of strange green growth that covered the ground of the surface.
“Grass,” Chronos interjected, realizing that the Umgah would never shut up unless interrupted. “On the ground… we call it grass.”
“What?” said the Umgah, as if noticing Chronos for the first time. Chronos shook his head. “Lord Arkadion—”
“AAAH!” the Umgah screamed and looked around the room of the State Building, as if worried that someone had heard them. Chronos was caught off guard. “I apologize if I offended—” began Chronos before Arkadion spoke again. “No noble titles, please. In Nethriss, the higher the titles—the longer the blades. In your back.”
“I intended it only as a humble courtesy.”
“I’m talking about getting assassinated,” the Umgah explained.
“I got that—” Chronos wasn’t sure why he even tried.
“Because in Nethriss, royalty is a prime target… for prime real estate.”
“Yes, I—”
“The throne. As Emperor.”
“—Getting back to the subject,” this time, it was Chronos who interrupted, for the sake of his remaining sanity.
“Oh right,” Arkadion had to think, as if he had forgotten in the first place. “Starkson Island, yes?”
Chronos nodded. “I was hoping you could offer some… differing perspective on this expedition.”
“I shall join you.”
“I—” Chronos said, perplexed. He had not expected it to go that easily.
“Oh, don’t look so confused, my two-legged friend! You came to me because I asked about the Golems, yes? A most inferior shape they have. Two legs? Preposterous. But intriguing. I shall lend you my spells and power. And the secrets of the Starkson Golems shall see the light of day once more.”
As Chronos left the State Building and headed toward the hidden shore, he was unsure if bringing a clinically insane Umgah Mage along was a good idea. But if he knew one thing as a Time Dragon Disciple, it was that time would tell.
--------------------
IV: What We Leave Behind
There was an uneasy atmosphere that lay heavy upon the misty docks of the hidden shore.
Black Orc raiders and reavers held their distance for now. The price Chronos had paid for safe passage was a steep one, but he did not wish to risk putting anyone in danger by exposing his destination.
Chronos had personally escorted Arkadion to the site, fearing he would try to engage the Orcs in debate.
Even in the night, just as dawn threatened to break over the horizon, Chronos’ metallic plate shimmered in gleaming bronze.
“Ill-advised!” Edric Storm shouted from the road. Chronos saw that he had discarded his own plate armor in favor of a blue and gold naval uniform of fine cloth.
“Pardon?” Chronos asked.
Edric came up to Chronos and inspected him up and down. He shook his head. “Wearing full plate at sea? Ill-advised.”
“Oh… I think I’ll manage,” he smiled and flexed his wings. “Do they work underwater? Eh, never mind. Are we ready to take off?”
Chronos gazed at the secret clearing that was the path into this hidden shore. Arkadion was skittering around. Edric took note. “At least you’re not wearing full plate. Good for you!”
“Hah!” Arkadion exclaimed. “You think just because I am an Umgah from the Underdark I am unfamiliar with the sea? We have oceans in the Underdark as well, little human. Underestimating my knowledge of the sea. Hah!”
Edric nodded. “And can you swim?”
“What’s that?”
Edric sighed, but Chronos directed the Umgah onto the ship before they could start. “I managed to acquire some information about the general heading and last known location of the island,” said Chronos. “The sea is rumored to be patrolled by a particularly cruel pirate as well.”
Edric nodded, as if taking mental notes.
“And you’ll like this—he calls himself ‘The Last Storm.’”
This made Edric chuckle. “We’ll see—”
The first breaking of dawn’s light was coupled with a thumping sound.
They both looked in that direction and saw that the thumps came from the bouncing head of a Black Orc Pirate. The other Black Orcs had quickly scattered into the forest.
A black and red shape moved up, sheathing a bloodied broadsword.
“I parlayed with them for safe passage, Astorath…” said Chronos.
The tiefling shrugged. “They didn’t parley with me.” He wore his pitch-black and blood-red plate, with a tower shield hanging on his back, and quickly made his way on board.
Edric looked at Chronos.
“Ill-advised… I understand,” said Chronos and smiled.
Edric nodded and took to the ship. “Whenever you’re ready, the wind is favorable.”
Chronos took his steps onto the ship and took one last look at the Dark Forest and the outline of Blackstone Keep in the distance.
I need to find the Masquerade, he thought to himself.
And I’m running out of time.
I: The Calm Before
Time is a curious thing. Chronos Fatewing was a Time Dragon Disciple, and he often commented on the impossible odds of cosmic convergences that must have taken place just for him to be born.
He was annoyed.
A thousand-year lineage of blood and a destiny weighed heavily upon his shoulders. It was his, and his alone, purpose to once more find the Time Dragon responsible for his ancestry—or will be responsible for his ancestry? Curious thing, as it were.
But he was annoyed.
It had been too long since he had heard about the whereabouts of the Masquerade.
He was annoyed that he had to chase after the Masquerade once more. He was annoyed because he had to postpone his own affairs again to deal with his.
And he was annoyed that the only thing he resented more than the Masquerade’s presence… was his absence.
The young man sitting across from him at the table gave no inkling of offense at this display. The Playful Maiden had seen its fair share of characters over the years, and the two sitting at the corner table now were different and yet alike.
Chronos—in a shimmering bronze full plate—silver hair and bronze-tinted skin.
Edric Storm, in silvery warplate with ornate inscriptions and short blue hair.
“Sir… or is it Lord? I mean no offense,” Chronos began.
The young man smiled. “Just Edric…” He shifted slightly in his seat. “The House of Storm is a martial one, and by the privilege of my birth, I was knighted. A mere formality, I’m afraid, and thus ‘Sir’ doesn’t really sound right to me.”
“Your father—” Chronos said curiously, “he was one of the Lord-Admirals of the Marvale Royal Navy, was he not?”
“He was,” said Edric matter-of-factly. “When there still was a Marvale Navy… or Royalty,” he sighed sadly, “or Marvale, for that matter.”
“The looming threat of the Demon-King and his cultists is not lost on me,” Chronos said assuringly, “but for now, something more urgent bothers me.”
Edric chuckled. “I am the fifth son of a minor noble house in a kingdom across the ocean. You are…” he motioned to the resplendent bronze-tinted shifting draconic wings of Chronos. He struggled to find the words, “—something else… what do you need me for?” he said politely.
“You are your father’s son, are you not? It is some naval expertise I need. I trust you still know how to sail a ship?”
“Hah!” Edric exclaimed. “Born and raised on the sea, my friend. I earned my sea legs young.”
Chronos smiled back. “Good… we’ll need them.”
--------------------
II: Shadow and Flame
The intense, searing heat of the lava rivers and lakes that flowed through the Cauldron of the Underdark like blood veins made Chronos sweat. He wondered for a moment if that meant Time Dragons preferred cooler climates and made a mental note to investigate further.
But right now, he was stalking a predator, and he was unsure how the confrontation would turn out.
His target was not hard to find—noisy and unsubtle.
“Remind you of home, does it?” said Chronos to the figure he was walking up to.
A black broadsword glowing with red energy flashed into his vision—suddenly pointing towards him.
“I come unarmed,” Chronos smiled and said peacefully.
“A sorcerer is never unarmed,” the tiefling answered, sword firmly fixed on Chronos.
Chronos nodded. “Fair enough. Let me amend that: I come with no ill intent.”
The tiefling snarled and began circling the Time Dragon Disciple. “Equally unlikely.”
“You are Astorath Hellblade,” said Chronos.
The tiefling scoffed. “And you are Chronos Fatewing. Finding names in the Keep is the simplest of things, dragon, and mine was never a secret,” said Astorath while keeping his pace around Chronos. “You need more than that to impress me.”
Chronos kept turning to face Astorath while keeping his hands up in a disarming manner. “Alright, I’ll try.”
“I know that you’ve been drifting around the Keep,” he began. “I know that you’re looking for something.” He paused for just a moment, wondering how far he should go. “I know that you visited a Woods Witch who sent you on a wild chase to Land’s End that you appear to have come back empty-handed from.”
Astorath frowned and moved closer, sword ever pointed towards Chronos. He took the bait. Chronos prepared for his final blow. “And I know that you fought in the Blood Wars. That you think you broke free and are your own man.” Astorath bared his fanged teeth and growled. “But you are not free. You think you are in control? Wrong. Right now, what controls you is—”
He moved so fast that even Chronos could not react. Within the blink of an eye, the shadowy figure of Astorath had pushed forward, and the blade whose threat was once implied was now fully realized at his throat. He had stopped just before slitting Chronos’ throat.
“—your temper,” said Chronos carefully, cocking his head backward.
Luckily for Chronos, this resonated with Astorath. The tiefling slowly sheathed his sword, yet the frown remained. “What do you want?”
Chronos rubbed the superficial cut on his throat and looked at the sliver of mercurial blood it produced.
“I’m putting together a group for an expedition… to find an old…” he struggled honestly with the word, “acquaintance of mine.”
“And?”
“And he was last seen on an expedition of his own, seeking an island belonging to a group from Blackstone Keep’s past.”
Astorath remained silent, as if waiting for Chronos to make his point before deciding.
“I have my reasons for locating this person, and right now, what our group needs is some… martial prowess,” Chronos smiled and eyed the broadsword, “so to speak.”
“You think me a simple mercenary?” Astorath sighed, as if disappointed.
“No, for I will offer you no gold. Where the Woods Witch offered you lies, I will offer you only truth. I cannot promise that you will find what you are looking for at this island. But I know it is a repository of ancient knowledge. I know that the person I seek was once a master of its domain.”
The Time Dragon Disciple offered a solemn look. “If something can help you find what you seek, it might be there.”
The tiefling scoffed one last time and turned around.
“I’ve chartered a ship off the secret coast near the Dark Forest. I’ve parlayed with the Black Orcs for safe passage.”
The shadowy shape of Astorath disappeared into the blackness of the Underdark.
“We leave at the break of dawn, should you wish to join us!”
Chronos was unsure if he had been heard.
--------------------
III: Insanity, as a Perspective
Conversing with the exiled Umgah Mage made Chronos long for discussing matters with the short-tempered tiefling once more. The Umgah had gone on for quite some time; he had started on the topic of old Starkson Golems but had drifted to the politics of Nethriss, the biology of surface walkers, and a long analysis of strange green growth that covered the ground of the surface.
“Grass,” Chronos interjected, realizing that the Umgah would never shut up unless interrupted. “On the ground… we call it grass.”
“What?” said the Umgah, as if noticing Chronos for the first time. Chronos shook his head. “Lord Arkadion—”
“AAAH!” the Umgah screamed and looked around the room of the State Building, as if worried that someone had heard them. Chronos was caught off guard. “I apologize if I offended—” began Chronos before Arkadion spoke again. “No noble titles, please. In Nethriss, the higher the titles—the longer the blades. In your back.”
“I intended it only as a humble courtesy.”
“I’m talking about getting assassinated,” the Umgah explained.
“I got that—” Chronos wasn’t sure why he even tried.
“Because in Nethriss, royalty is a prime target… for prime real estate.”
“Yes, I—”
“The throne. As Emperor.”
“—Getting back to the subject,” this time, it was Chronos who interrupted, for the sake of his remaining sanity.
“Oh right,” Arkadion had to think, as if he had forgotten in the first place. “Starkson Island, yes?”
Chronos nodded. “I was hoping you could offer some… differing perspective on this expedition.”
“I shall join you.”
“I—” Chronos said, perplexed. He had not expected it to go that easily.
“Oh, don’t look so confused, my two-legged friend! You came to me because I asked about the Golems, yes? A most inferior shape they have. Two legs? Preposterous. But intriguing. I shall lend you my spells and power. And the secrets of the Starkson Golems shall see the light of day once more.”
As Chronos left the State Building and headed toward the hidden shore, he was unsure if bringing a clinically insane Umgah Mage along was a good idea. But if he knew one thing as a Time Dragon Disciple, it was that time would tell.
--------------------
IV: What We Leave Behind
There was an uneasy atmosphere that lay heavy upon the misty docks of the hidden shore.
Black Orc raiders and reavers held their distance for now. The price Chronos had paid for safe passage was a steep one, but he did not wish to risk putting anyone in danger by exposing his destination.
Chronos had personally escorted Arkadion to the site, fearing he would try to engage the Orcs in debate.
Even in the night, just as dawn threatened to break over the horizon, Chronos’ metallic plate shimmered in gleaming bronze.
“Ill-advised!” Edric Storm shouted from the road. Chronos saw that he had discarded his own plate armor in favor of a blue and gold naval uniform of fine cloth.
“Pardon?” Chronos asked.
Edric came up to Chronos and inspected him up and down. He shook his head. “Wearing full plate at sea? Ill-advised.”
“Oh… I think I’ll manage,” he smiled and flexed his wings. “Do they work underwater? Eh, never mind. Are we ready to take off?”
Chronos gazed at the secret clearing that was the path into this hidden shore. Arkadion was skittering around. Edric took note. “At least you’re not wearing full plate. Good for you!”
“Hah!” Arkadion exclaimed. “You think just because I am an Umgah from the Underdark I am unfamiliar with the sea? We have oceans in the Underdark as well, little human. Underestimating my knowledge of the sea. Hah!”
Edric nodded. “And can you swim?”
“What’s that?”
Edric sighed, but Chronos directed the Umgah onto the ship before they could start. “I managed to acquire some information about the general heading and last known location of the island,” said Chronos. “The sea is rumored to be patrolled by a particularly cruel pirate as well.”
Edric nodded, as if taking mental notes.
“And you’ll like this—he calls himself ‘The Last Storm.’”
This made Edric chuckle. “We’ll see—”
The first breaking of dawn’s light was coupled with a thumping sound.
They both looked in that direction and saw that the thumps came from the bouncing head of a Black Orc Pirate. The other Black Orcs had quickly scattered into the forest.
A black and red shape moved up, sheathing a bloodied broadsword.
“I parlayed with them for safe passage, Astorath…” said Chronos.
The tiefling shrugged. “They didn’t parley with me.” He wore his pitch-black and blood-red plate, with a tower shield hanging on his back, and quickly made his way on board.
Edric looked at Chronos.
“Ill-advised… I understand,” said Chronos and smiled.
Edric nodded and took to the ship. “Whenever you’re ready, the wind is favorable.”
Chronos took his steps onto the ship and took one last look at the Dark Forest and the outline of Blackstone Keep in the distance.
I need to find the Masquerade, he thought to himself.
And I’m running out of time.
Re: The Masquerade
The Ghosts of Starksons
The Starkson Protectorate was once a beacon of stability- a shining light against the encroaching darkness.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
After all these years, I found it. Broken. Sunken. In ruins.
Something is holding me here. An arcane trap? Perhaps a forgotten experiment, an ancient ward reactivated that no longer recognizes me- or maybe something else has claimed dominion over this place since it sank.
But it doesn’t matter. Nothing ever mattered.
I remember it as it used to be.
“I suppose you think this is all my fault, then?” The inky water coalesces into a twisting, amorphous shape. Slowly, it begins to take form: two red wings, white hair, and black skin. A radiant Drow princess with the blood of Red Dragons. “For taking you in?” she says, sadness in her voice. She shakes her head and disintegrates. The black liquid swirls again, forming a shape I knew of but had never seen myself- a tall elven archmage. “I’m glad they burned me... What did my wife ever see in you?” he sneers, and in a cloud of darkness, he is gone.
I turn my head and see a valiant Paladin sitting by the great tree. He locks eyes with me before disappearing. “You don’t even remember the words of your oath, do you?” Now, it is a cleric draped in platinum robes. “You think your body is broken now?” she chuckles. “You could barely kneel back then.” And with that, she vanishes.
“I understand why you sought out the arcane arts,” says a mage in a purple robe, wielding a scythe. She rests the weapon on her shoulder. “It is a shame we never had that duel. Perhaps you would have been a formidable opponent.” She looks down. “Now, we’ll never know.”
The form shifts once more, becoming a woman clad in druidic and divine trappings. “The treaty died with me… Our graves are now yours.” She disintegrates into the black mist.
“Is this all the arcane might you can muster?” Another voice I recognize, though it’s distorted—as if something is missing. “That is what you told me, isn’t it?” Could it be?
A young man, no- only a boy.
“When I was still your apprentice.”
The apprentice... I cannot even bring myself to say his name. He stands before me now, surely judging me.
“Tell me, old master,” he begins, “why are you still here?”
He’s taunting me. He can see that I am trapped in this place.
“No,” he affirms. “Do you think it’s water or some arcane trap that’s keeping you here?”
He laughs in a mocking tone. “Were you not once the master of this domain?” He moves closer, staring into my eyes behind the flickering mask. “It’s not water,” he says with a sinister smile. “It is the blood of all those you have failed that you’re drowning in.” He sighs. “And there are so many.” He circles me. “And it’s not some magical contraption that holds you down.” He now stands before me again. “It’s the grasping hands of the corpses of all those you murdered, pulling you down.”
From behind him, another familiar voice- a voice deeply connected to the two of us. “There are sagas yet to be made?” Echo steps out of the murky shadows, looking just as I remembered her. “That is what you told yourself, was it not?” She comes to stand beside the Apprentice. “But that doesn’t sound like something you would say.” She scratches her chin thoughtfully. “No... that sounds like…”
Chronos.
She is behind me now, whispering in my ear, “The Time Dragon Disciple is keeping secrets from you…”
Echo chuckles playfully. “That’s reason enough to stay alive, is it not?”
“Something you would know very well, old master,” the Apprentice chimes in. “How does it feel to be on the other side of that, I wonder?”
Echo looks over at the Apprentice. “Oh my dear... How could he have known?”
He shakes his head. “That’s it… he never had any control over what happened. Strange, then, how many corpses litter the road of his inaction.”
“He always did what he thought was for the greater good,” Echo interjects.
The Apprentice shakes his head again. “The greater good always seemed to coincide with his best interest.”
They’re right. All the calamity that came to pass… was because of me.
Now they stand beside me, Echo on my right and the Apprentice on my left. Echo gently places a hand on my cheek. “Why did you assume the form of the Masquerade? What is it that you’re hiding? Or hiding from?” She smiles. “There are still so many mysteries to uncover. Isn’t that something you used to thrive on?”
“No.” The Apprentice crosses his arms. “Now is your chance. Let go of this mortal life, Old Master. Sleep now. Sleep and dream forever.”
Echo makes one final plea. “There are reasons still to live.”
But it is the Apprentice who claims the final words.
“Let your death be the last gift to all those you failed.”
The Starkson Protectorate was once a beacon of stability- a shining light against the encroaching darkness.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
After all these years, I found it. Broken. Sunken. In ruins.
Something is holding me here. An arcane trap? Perhaps a forgotten experiment, an ancient ward reactivated that no longer recognizes me- or maybe something else has claimed dominion over this place since it sank.
But it doesn’t matter. Nothing ever mattered.
I remember it as it used to be.
“I suppose you think this is all my fault, then?” The inky water coalesces into a twisting, amorphous shape. Slowly, it begins to take form: two red wings, white hair, and black skin. A radiant Drow princess with the blood of Red Dragons. “For taking you in?” she says, sadness in her voice. She shakes her head and disintegrates. The black liquid swirls again, forming a shape I knew of but had never seen myself- a tall elven archmage. “I’m glad they burned me... What did my wife ever see in you?” he sneers, and in a cloud of darkness, he is gone.
I turn my head and see a valiant Paladin sitting by the great tree. He locks eyes with me before disappearing. “You don’t even remember the words of your oath, do you?” Now, it is a cleric draped in platinum robes. “You think your body is broken now?” she chuckles. “You could barely kneel back then.” And with that, she vanishes.
“I understand why you sought out the arcane arts,” says a mage in a purple robe, wielding a scythe. She rests the weapon on her shoulder. “It is a shame we never had that duel. Perhaps you would have been a formidable opponent.” She looks down. “Now, we’ll never know.”
The form shifts once more, becoming a woman clad in druidic and divine trappings. “The treaty died with me… Our graves are now yours.” She disintegrates into the black mist.
“Is this all the arcane might you can muster?” Another voice I recognize, though it’s distorted—as if something is missing. “That is what you told me, isn’t it?” Could it be?
A young man, no- only a boy.
“When I was still your apprentice.”
The apprentice... I cannot even bring myself to say his name. He stands before me now, surely judging me.
“Tell me, old master,” he begins, “why are you still here?”
He’s taunting me. He can see that I am trapped in this place.
“No,” he affirms. “Do you think it’s water or some arcane trap that’s keeping you here?”
He laughs in a mocking tone. “Were you not once the master of this domain?” He moves closer, staring into my eyes behind the flickering mask. “It’s not water,” he says with a sinister smile. “It is the blood of all those you have failed that you’re drowning in.” He sighs. “And there are so many.” He circles me. “And it’s not some magical contraption that holds you down.” He now stands before me again. “It’s the grasping hands of the corpses of all those you murdered, pulling you down.”
From behind him, another familiar voice- a voice deeply connected to the two of us. “There are sagas yet to be made?” Echo steps out of the murky shadows, looking just as I remembered her. “That is what you told yourself, was it not?” She comes to stand beside the Apprentice. “But that doesn’t sound like something you would say.” She scratches her chin thoughtfully. “No... that sounds like…”
Chronos.
She is behind me now, whispering in my ear, “The Time Dragon Disciple is keeping secrets from you…”
Echo chuckles playfully. “That’s reason enough to stay alive, is it not?”
“Something you would know very well, old master,” the Apprentice chimes in. “How does it feel to be on the other side of that, I wonder?”
Echo looks over at the Apprentice. “Oh my dear... How could he have known?”
He shakes his head. “That’s it… he never had any control over what happened. Strange, then, how many corpses litter the road of his inaction.”
“He always did what he thought was for the greater good,” Echo interjects.
The Apprentice shakes his head again. “The greater good always seemed to coincide with his best interest.”
They’re right. All the calamity that came to pass… was because of me.
Now they stand beside me, Echo on my right and the Apprentice on my left. Echo gently places a hand on my cheek. “Why did you assume the form of the Masquerade? What is it that you’re hiding? Or hiding from?” She smiles. “There are still so many mysteries to uncover. Isn’t that something you used to thrive on?”
“No.” The Apprentice crosses his arms. “Now is your chance. Let go of this mortal life, Old Master. Sleep now. Sleep and dream forever.”
Echo makes one final plea. “There are reasons still to live.”
But it is the Apprentice who claims the final words.
“Let your death be the last gift to all those you failed.”