The Musings of a Writer

… “You would swear they can’t last an hour without needing me to resolve some sort of disaster”, I mutter as my fingers coursed over the keyboard. Even when I wasn’t in the office, they were still asking for my opinion on their next move. I pinch the bridge of my nose, stroke my beard, and then go to shake my head. As my head started to move to the left, I felt a sharp tug on my long hair.

“Dad, stop moving! You’re messing up my braid”, a high pitch voice from behind me says. Two little hands fix themselves on my head and put it back into position facing the screen. A smile forms on my face as I open my computer’s camera to see what exactly is going on. As expected, I see my 10 year old daughter with her hands deep in my long golden brown hair. She takes a moment to pull her auburn hair back, then resumes her endeavour. Her slender face is fixed in concentration, her crystal blue eyes with a tinge of green focused on the intricate weaving of hair in front of her. I turn back to my email, ignoring the occasional tug as I respond to my colleague’s questions on our latest analysis. My daughter hums a familiar string of notes, a Tolkien lullaby she had heard me sing an untold number of times. I don’t join in, for fear of moving my head again. As I continue to work, I hear a door open, followed by two sets footsteps coming from the floor below me.

“Mom’s home!”, my daughter cries out, “Come on, Dad, I want to show her my braids!”. She jumps off the stool she had been perched on and pulls my hand.

“Just a minute, dear”, I respond. I type the final few lines of my email and click send. I then let her drag me out of my office and down the stairs. I look on the stairwell where the pictures from the last year were hung. My favorite among them was one where I am holding my two children at the renaissance faire. I have my elven armor and cloak on, my daughter is dressed as a princess of Rohan, and my eight year old son is wearing the clothes of a young hobbit. Each of us wears a green leaf brooch. I don’t have a long time to look as my daughter continues to drag me down the stairs and into the family room. The two of us turn the corner and I look to see my son in his little league soccer jersey. He has the same slender face as his sister, but his eyes are a brilliant green, like his father.

“How does dad look?”, my daughter asks. My son looks at my hair, trying to figure out what he thinks. His uncertainty is obvious in his face. “Don’t you think it looks good?”, his sister implores.

“I think he looks as handsome as ever”, a voice behind me says. I turn to see my wife, dressed simply in jeans, and her favorite purple and grey patterned shirt. Around her neck hangs the evenstar pendant. Her hair is pulled back as usual, with two long strands on the sides holding the rest of her flowing auburn hair in check. She walks up and gives me a quick kiss. “However, I think your father may want to fix a few bits before he goes out”. She holds up her phone to show me the mess of interwoven braids of different styles crisscrossing the back of my head. I let out an irrepressible laugh. My daughter hangs her head, apparently dissatisfied with her results. I bend down and hug her.

“Your mother is right. However, each braid individually is perfect. I’m proud to have you as my personal stylist”. My daughter looks up at me and smiles.

She walks up behind me and deftly unravels my hair, only leaving a single, small braid that runs over my left ear. This braid ends in carved bone from one of our many adventures. She says, “Go get your coats, you two. We have to get going or we’ll be late for Keith’s soccer game”. The two children run to the door and put on their coats. I wrap my long hair into a ponytail using the remaining braid, the bone charm securing my hair in place. My wife gives me another quick kiss, then walks to the door where my children are impatiently waiting. She puts on her coat and the three of them begin to walk out towards the car. I take my long, flowing coat off the hook and put it on, smiling as I watch my family walk down the path to the street.

My wife turns to me and says, “Aren’t you coming?” I try to reply, but I can’t. I try and walk forward through the doorway, but I can’t. Suddenly, I feel a wet spot on my chest. My hands involuntarily touch the spot, which is spreading quickly. As I look down at my hands, I see that they are stained bright red with my blood. As I look up again, my wife and my children are still there, smiling as if nothing is wrong. My vision fades slowly as I realize that it is all just a dream.

The Arl proclaimed Khela and all his followers to be traitors, and elevated Marjoner to his former station in recognition for his unmasking of the traitor. The disease finally began to subside, and all seemed to be returning to normal. Marjoner and Annariel were wed, and things between them were very happy to all outward appearances. Astred continued to serve on patrols, and she began to see less and less of her shield sister. Annariel was rarely seen without Marjoner, and Astred noticed several little changes in the behavior of her closest friend. She ceased wearing her usual clothing, instead choosing clothes that covered her arms and neck completely. She acted slightly more withdrawn, and though Annariel always had a smile on her face, Astred felt that her shield sister was hiding something. Astred also watched as Marjoner accumulated more and more power. The Arl trusted him implicitly, ignoring all conflicting counsel. He even ignored Gellena, who suggested that the Arl may have acted in haste when he branded Khela as the betrayer. Both the Arl and Marjoner demeaned her conclusion, suggesting that she might be growing senile. She stormed from Ravndal that very day, taking her vast store of knowledge with her. No one knew where she went. Some began to suggest that she had been in league with Khela, and that she had gone to join the traitors wherever they were hidden. Astred secretly agreed with Gellena about Khela, and she often undertook patrol missions near the Valkensvi to see if she could find her missing friend. A few times she thought she caught a glimpse of him moving amid the trees, but when she checked there was nothing. Eventually, she gave up her search, and returned to focus on events in Ravndal.

While Astred searched in vain, Marjoner worked to consolidate his power. He became the Arl’s sole advisor, and was in charge of most of the day to day operations of the North. He was sure that everything he had been promised had been given. However, one night as he lay with Annariel, the charm bag again cast its blood red glow around his bedchambers. Marjoner gathered up the bag and covered it with his cloak as he made to leave Annariel was awakened by the glow, and she asked where her husband was going at this hour and what had caused the light. He told her to be silent, and to mind her own business. When she rose from the bed and pressed him for answers, he responded only by striking her face with the back of his hand She collapsed on the bed, not out of shock at his actions, but out of a certain numbness brought about by countless similar occurrences.

Marjoner stormed into the cellar, oblivious to what he had left behind in his bedchambers. As he turned the key in the lock to seal himself in, he heard the voice of the hooded woman behind him. She asked him how he was enjoying his new life. Her casual tone infuriated Marjoner, and he demanded to know why she dared to return after she had failed him so greatly with her false intelligence. She chastised him as if he were a child, pointing out that it was only because of the disease that resulted from the attack that he had been able to expose the betrayer and achieve his high rank. He begrudgingly admitted that she was right.

“Indeed, and now that you have what you desired, you must grant my request”, The woman whispered in his ear, a twisted smile forming on her face. Marjoner insisted that she make her request quickly and be gone. What she whispered next almost caused him to fall faint. Never in his life would he have ever considered such an act. However, despite any reservations, he agreed to do as she asked. In the dead of the night, they forged a pact that would change the fate of the North forever.

The seasons passed, and it seemed that peace had finally been restored to the North. Attacks from the Valkensvi had seemed to cease, and the pack of the betrayer Khela had inexplicably vanished. To all outward appearances, it was a prosperous time. However, it was in little things that the true state of play in Ravndal could be seen. Marjoner still stood alone at the arl’s side as Thelm’s only source of counsel. He greatly increased the size of the standing army within Ravndal’s walls. Increased tribute was demanded from outlying villages and towns, and those who spoke against the Arl were quietly dealt with. Before long, the atmosphere of Ravndal had turned from one of security to one of fear. Astred spent much of her time away from the city, patrolling for extended periods without any real aim. One day, she went out and never returned. Annariel was even more rarely seen, and when she was it was obvious that her ever present smile had faded slightly. Reported sightings of Khela’s pack led to a renewed hunt for the traitor, though no trace was ever found. The hunters sent by Marjoner were brutal men, who used their authority to take whatever the wished from the local population. They would threaten to name villagers as supporters of the pack, which would inevitably lead to a swift execution. There was no justice to be sought from the Arl for these transgressions. However, many of these men did have a habit of wandering drunk into the night only to have their bodies turn up a few days later. The corpses would be covered in what seemed like claw marks, and more often than not their throat would be shredded as if by an animal’s teeth. Villagers showed little pity for the dead, and simply dutifully sent the bodies back to Ravndal.

As the darkness in the capital grew, talk of rebellion began to emerge in distant villages. The brutality with which they saw the Arl govern made some chieftains even consider sending emissaries into the Valkensvi to seek the protection of the renegades. Surely, they thought, even these men who had committed such atrocities would not do so against their allies. When word of such talk reached Ravndal, Marjoner would send forces to occupy the offending village. At first, the villagers offered no resistance. However, it became evident that village leaders would be tortured or executed at the behest of Marjoner or his commanders alongside those who were convicted of inciting rebellion.  No evidence was required, just the word of one of Marjoner’s followers. As word spread, villages began to resist occupation, mustering all able bodied men and women to fight off their oppressors. However, they were no match for the trained warriors dispatched from Ravdal, and each village that resisted was the sight of a brutal massacre. Men, women, and children were put to the sword without mercy, and the village would be lotted and then burned to the ground. Any survivors disappeared into the woods, where most assumed they were killed by wild animals or enslaved by the renegades.

Despite the brutality of Ravndal’s response, talk of rebellion persisted and grew. Marjoner restlessly walked the hallways of the palace, thinking of how to root out this festering rebellion. Servants gave him a wide berth, for his violent temperament had become widely known. None were safe from his wrath, and an aura of fear followed him wherever he went. Marjoner’s influence with the Arl had not diminished in any way, and his forces were still strong.  However, with every passing day, he could still feel his control slipping away. He blamed Khela, the renegades, and anyone else he could think of for his troubles. The Arl did not act quickly or decisively enough to maintain the power of his throne. Marjoner felt he surrounded by weak fools, and that their failures would rob him of everything he had worked so hard to secure.  Finally, on a night where Ravndal was racked by storms, Marjoner decided the time had come for him to take the power that was rightfully his.

In full armor, Marjoner burst into the Arl’s throne room. As the heavy doors slammed against the walls, he strode confidently to the foot of the Arl’s throne. Many members of the court were assembled in the room, including Annariel. She wore a long, restrictive dress, and she carried no weapon. She stood silently amid the other ladies of the court, numb even to the explosive entrance of her husband. Thelm rose, startled by the sudden and violent appearance of his trusted advisor.  He began to greet Marjoner, but his words died in his throat as Marjoner pointed his sword at the Arl.

“Your weakness has brought us to the edge of ruin”, Marjoner cried, “You and your descendants have lost the right to rule over the North”. He continued to point his sword at the Arl as he listed the many charges he had against Thelm. With his other hand, Marjoner untied the charm bag from his belt. He raised the bag over his head, and in that instant, his eyes turned a deep blood red.

“By the bargain I have sworn in blood, I claim the title of Arl!”, he shouted as he hurled the bag to the floor. It burst in a shower of blood and bones, and  all manner of horrors began to emerge from the pool of blood that formed on the floor. The horned demons and tentacled abominations were the first to come forth, followed by others too terrible to be described. They seized upon the Arl’s guards, and in a matter of seconds the walls of the throne room were plastered with the men’s entrails. The doors to the throne room were barred and sealed, trapping everyone inside.  However, these monstrosities paled in comparison to the final being to emerge from the pool. It was the hooded woman, clad in a flowing black robe, who had met in secret with Marjoner and pledged to help him become the new Arl. However, she wore no hood now. Her blood red hair fell in thick curls around her shoulders, and her frighteningly pale skin was covered in the tattoos of a shaman. Her eyes were the same blood red color as Marjoner’s. On her brow sat the crown of Blaghvold. The Arl’s face contorted in horror as he recognized the woman standing before him. Her name was Fornile, the leader of the Blaghvold clan and their eldest shaman. Rumors of her great power had been prolific before her clan retreated into the Valkensvi, and it was apparent that she had only grown more powerful. She smiled, her lips parting to reveal a sharp set of fangs. While her minions restrained those who remained alive, she walked past Marjoner to stand before Thelm. Her hand caressed his face with a perverse tenderness, and she whispered words in the ancient language that echoed hauntingly throughout the throne room. Tendrils of blood rose from the pool, weaving their way through the air towards the Arl. Fornile drew back her hand, allowing the tendrils of blood to entwine themselves around her outstretched arm. She then reached out again to touch the Arl’s face one last time.

Suddenly, one of the windows in the throne room shattered. Fornile let out a scream of pain, looking down to find an arrow imbedded in her hand. She turned towards the broken window, searching for her attacker as she tore the arrow from her hand. In quick succession, all of the remaining windows were smashed. They were not broken by arrows, but by the bodies of heavily armed men and women crashing through them. Their fur lined armor glistened from the rain outside, and their lupine helms cast their faces in fearsome shadows. The warriors formed a circle around the throne room, then one stepped forward. In his hands were double bladed daggers, with smaller blades protruding like claws from the handle. It was Khela. Fornile cried for her minions to destroy the intruders, but they were quickly cut down by the pack. Khela bound forward and pulled the arl away from the witch. He passed Thelm to the care of two of his warriors before returning his attention to Fornile. Both of them bared their fangs, circling each other. However, before either could strike at each other, Marjoner attacked Khela. He swung his sword with a wild rage, attempting to decapitate the wolf man. Khela blocked with one of his daggers, then rolled away. While the rest of his pack continued to subdue Fornile’s minions, Khela fended off attacks from both Marjoner’s blade and the witch’s magics. As the fight raged, the barred door of the throne room shook. Khela and his pack fought viciously, but with Marjoner to defend her, Fornile began to summon even more reinforcements from the blood pool. The door continued to shake, as though it was being struck by a battering ram. Finally, it burst open, and reinforcements for Khela’s pack flooded into the room.Leading them was Astred, her bow in hand. She loosed several arrows as she charged into the fray. At the center of their formation was Gellena, protected by an honor guard of some of the pack’s fiercest warriors. She walked confidently into the throne room, staring at Fornile. The two shaman locked eyes, and immediately launched into competing chants in the ancient language. Their voices boomed throughout the throne room as the pack clashed with the demonic host. Gellena’s honor guard kept her safe from the monstrosities trying to destroy her, while Marjoner dueled with Khela to prevent him from attacking Fornile. The two fought with a ferocity that had never been seen before. Marjoner swung his sword in wide arcs, using heavy, powerful attacks in his attempt to overpower his opponents defenses. Khela used his superior agility to dodge the attacks, darting past Marjoner’s shield and sword to inflict little wounds. Marjoner fought on without fear, but his many wounds slowly sapped his strength. Eventually, he collapsed, unable to fight on. He stared defiantly at the wolf man, waiting for the death blow to come. Khela looked up and his eyes met Annariel, her dress was in rags, showing multiple bruises, mostly concentrated on her arms and neck. In her hands was a spear, and it was plunged deep in the chest of one of the horned demons.  She stared back into his golden eyes and gave a single nod. Khela then pounced on Marjoner, burying his fangs in his enemy’s neck. He violently tore out Marjoner’s throat, giving a victory howl as he did it. Khela then turned on Fornile. Before he could make any attack, the witch gave out an earsplitting shriek, then plunged into the pool of blood. The pack finished of her remaining minions in short order, and soon the only living things left in the throne room were the Arl, the surviving members of his court, and the pack. The Arl stood speechless, lacking the words to express the torrent of conflicting emotions. Khela stood silently over Marjoner’s corpse. Everyone else stood frozen, unsure of what to do next. Gellena was the first to move. She walked slowly to the dias where the throne stood. She turned to face Khela, and she extended her staff over him.

“The title of Arl derives from the ancient language, when great men would place the prime rune, the A, before their names. This title can only be granted by a shaman, and once granted no one may take it back.  By my right the eldest of the shamans, I declare you A-Khela, the Lord of Wolves”. As she spoke, her staff burned with light, and when it faded all could see that a new set of runes had been added. The newly christened wolf lord did not kneel or bow, but he did nod to show his acceptance. He then silently turned and walked off into the night. His pack followed, as did Gellena. Neither A-Khela nor any member of the pack ever set foot in Ravndal again.

Astred too left Ravndal, though it is unknown whether she joined the pack or journeyed on her own. Annariel similarly disappeared from history, but some claim to have seen a spear wielding shieldmaiden, alongside a similar maiden with a bow near the border of the Valkensvi. Whether they ever joined the A-Khela’s pack or not remained a mystery. Some said the pack ranged off into the tundra to finish what they had started. The appearance of renegade troops ceased altogether about six months after the pack disappeared, which led many to believe that the A-Khela had gotten the witch’s scent, and was hunting her to the ends of the earth...

… Even today there are stories of travelers who visited the North and who claim to have been saved from bandits or wild animals by men clad in the armor of the A-Khela’s pack. I myself saw no such men, but I did see a curious monument carved on a great  standing stone near the border of the Arl’s old lands. On it was carved crossed a spear, a bow, and above them a double sided dagger with claw-like blades. Below was carved this message in the runes of the ancient language. As I read the message, I could swear I heard the faint howling of wolves in the distance.

“You stand on the threshold of the Land of the Wolves. If you come in peace, you will be welcome in our dens. If you come in war, you will know the pain of tooth and claw. Heed these words, traveler, for you walk under under my watchful eyes.

I are the keepers of the woods.

I are the defenders of the North.

I am the leader of the wolf pack.

It took a fortnight until Annariel was fit to travel. While she was recovering, Astred had returned to Ravndal to report what had happened. Arl Thelm had sent another group of warriors to escort Annariel back to Ravndal. Leading them was a young warrior named Marjoner. He had a tall and sturdy build, with short dark hair and an affable personality. He had served with some distinction in battle, and he had been raised to a seat in the court of the Arl as an advisor. When he entered, Annariel stood from the bed, using her spear to support her weight. The two had met on several occasions, and they were friends, if not terribly close. He led Annariel to her horse, and the party set off for Ravndal. While they traveled, Marjoner told her that other villages had been attacked by these wolves, and that Gellena had revealed that they were products of similar blood magic to that which had created the blood ragers. The Arl had ordered that traps be laid throughout the North, and all wolves should be caught and killed so that they could not be used by their enemies. Marjoner continued, telling of how some of the wolves that were captured alive were taken to the arena in Ravndal, where warriors who were bold enough could prove their bravery and skill by facing a starved wolf in single combat. He said it was inspired by her single combat with the alpha. She shook her head, surprised that the Arl would have taken such a drastic action against nature. He had always respected the gods and nature, regardless of what other chieftains had complained about or said. He had always said that all life should be held sacred, as the gods have blessed all those under the sky. It would have taken extremely strong counsel to shift his mind in this fashion.

When they finally arrived at Ravndal, Annariel was asked to ride at the head of the company. As she entered the city, the streets were lined with people. As they saw her, a great cheer erupted from the crowd. She rode down the streets, stunned into silence by the outpouring of adulation from the crowd. As she reached the steps of the palace, with its towering wood and stone rising above her like a mountain, she looked up to see the Arl standing in his finest armor. At his side was Gellena, Astred, and many other nobles. She dismounted, and the Arl beckoned for her to approach. She advanced timidly at first, unsure of what to expect. However, a smile from Astred gave her a sense of security, and her steps became more confident. When she stood before the Arl, he motioned for her to kneel.

“Shieldmaiden Annariel, you have proven your exceptional bravery and strength against unimaginable foes”, the Arl proclaimed, “Your service is worthy of every glory and honor. Therefore, let you henceforth be known as Annariel Wolfslayer. Furthermore, I bestow on you the title of Valkyrie. Accept these tokens of your new station”. An steward came forward and handed the Arl a beautiful cloak. It was made from the hide of the alpha, dyed purple and covered in the runes and symbols of a valkyrie. The fur that lined it was still black, and the alpha’s head had been shrunk so that it could be affixed to the left shoulder of the cape. The Arl draped the cape around her shoulders, fastening it with a silver brooch set with amethyst. The alpha’s head rested on her left shoulder, it’d lifeless eye staring off into the east. The Arl then reached for an ornate spear made of the finest steel. He touched it to each of Annariel’s shoulders, then he bid her rise. He smiled, then handed her the spear and turned her to face the crowd. The newly christened valkyrie thrust her spear into the sky, and the crowd roared their approval.

That evening, a great feast was held to honor Annariel. The food and drink was exceptional, but what Annariel loved most was the dance. From the minstrel’s first note, she grabbed Astred and the two danced with a grace unmatched by any. They inspired others, and soon the hall was filled with dancing. Marjoner cut in to dance with Annariel.  He was somewhat clumsy in his movement, but his effort was genuine. Annariel smiled, but soon returned to dancing with Astred. Marjoner retreated to a corner of the feasting hall, watching Annariel as she spun and leapt in perfect time. The Arl gave many toasts, and all were satisfied. The palace fires burned late into the night, and the feast seemed to all who were gathered like a feast in Valhalla.

The next morning, Annariel was invited by the Arl to observe the Challenge of the Wolf that her exploits had inspired. Several wolves had been captured alive, and each had been claimed by a challenger. Wearing her wolfskin cloak and carrying her spear, she was seated next to the Arl in his box. The arena lay below, a simple dirt pit surrounded by a wooden wall. In the past, this had been home to hunts or contests of skill between warriors. Annariel still had her reservations about the Arl’s order, but she didn’t dare question it in public. She would have to wait until she could secure a private audience. The master of the arena read off the name of the first challenger, who entered the arena carrying a massive greataxe. A cage was positioned on the other side of the arena, which contained  a wolf with a light brown coat. It looked starved and desperate, pacing inside its cage. A horn sounded, and the cage was opened. The wolf darted out, seeking a way to escape the pit. Finding none, it turned towards the warrior. The man charged at the wolf, swinging his axe in a wide arc. The wolf dodged, then lunged at the man’s heels. He struck the wolf with the haft of his axe, knocking it back. The wolf yelped, but quickly regained its footing. The wolf dodged many blows from the warrior’s axe, but eventually its movements slowed with exhaustion. Finally, the warrior brought his axe down in a crushing blow. The axe head split the wolf’s back in two, and the wolf let out a whimper before its breath stopped. The warrior lifted his bloody axe in victory, and the crowd roared its approval. Annariel had turned her head away before the final blow was struck. She felt sickened by the sight she had witnessed, but she said nothing for fear of contradicting the Arl. Several more wolves met their ends in similar ways, with the warriors that challenged them suffering only minor wounds. Finally, the arena master announced the final challenger.

“Our final challenger, Marjoner, advisor to the Arl. He will face the prize wolf of today’s contest, captured on the border of Valkensvi”. Marjoner strode into the arena confidently, his sword flashing in the sunlight. The cage with his challenger was also carried in, though unlike those that had come before, it was covered by a thick black cloth.

“I dedicate this challenge to my Arl, and to the mighty Wolfslayer!”, Marjoner shouted. He then motioned for the cage to be opened. The horn sounded. The cloth was torn away. The sight that met Annariel struck her like a hammer.

Within the cage was the same wolf that had defended her against the blood ragers. It’s black fur had lost none of its luster, and the thin white stripes and paws and face were now free from the stain of blood. Unlike the previous wolves, it seemed calm, and it did not pace in the cage. When the cage door swung open, it walked slowly out into the arena. The wolf fixed its golden eyes on Marjoner, who readied his sword and shield to attack. The wolf stood its ground silently. Annariel was aghast. She could not let her savior’s fate be the same as that of the others whose blood stained the arena floor. She grabbed her spear and leapt out of the Arl’s box. She raced through the crowd as Marjoner advanced cautiously towards the wolf. By the time she vaulted the wall, the two were within striking distance. As she landed in the arena, Marjoner raised his sword to deliver a blow. The wolf made no indication that it would dodge. She stood and began to run, but she was too late. The blade fell through the air.

It found a sheath in the dirt of the arena floor. The wolf had casually sidestepped the blow at the last minute. It made no move to counterattack. Marjoner pulled his blade free and took a step back, reestablishing his defense. The two circled as Annariel raced towards them, crying for them to stop. They were deaf to her pleas amid the roar of the crowd, and Marjoner attacked a second time. However, this time the wolf did not need to dodge, as Annariel’s spear parried the strike. The crowd let out a series of confused shouts as she forced Marjoner back from the wolf. She pointed her spear at his throat and told him to disarm. Marjoner dropped his weapons and stepped back. The Arl stood and demanded to know what she was thinking. She held her hand up for silence, and the crowd complied. She then turned to face the wolf. Its golden eyes looked to her spear, then her cloak, then met her gaze. Annariel raised her spear, then thrust it into the dirt. She stripped the cloak from her shoulders, letting it fall away as she walked towards the wolf. The wolf did not move or shift its gaze as she approached. She knelt before the wolf and extended her hand. The wolf placed its snow white paw in her hand, and there was a sudden, blinding flash of light.

When the crowd recovered their sight, the wolf was gone. In its place was a man, his hand in Annariel’s. They both stood, and all took him in. He stood naked, revealing a thin, lithe body. His pale skin was covered in tattoos of black intertwining lines that mirrored the white lines of the wolf’s fur. On his left chest was the same rune that had been on the forehead of the wolf. His long black hair bore a streak of pure white. Even Annariel was stunned by what had happened. She blushed at his nakedness, and handed the man her cloak so that he might cover himself. He cocked his head to the side, seeming not to understand what she was doing. Then he spoke. His voice was pleasant and rich, with a slight bark to its cadence. However, his words were not in the common language of the North, nor of any regional dialect or form of speech from the South. They were from the ancient language of the shamans. None present could understand what he said, and he repeated himself, looking around with a perplexed expression. A steward was immediately dispatched to find Gellena and bring her to the arena. Meanwhile guards leapt into the arena and surrounded both the man and Annariel. The man panicked, dropping into a low crouch with his hands touching the ground. His golden eyes continued to scan the guards, as if he expected them to attack. Annariel ordered the men to lower their weapons, but to no avail. The tense standoff lasted several minutes. Finally, Gellena hobbled into the arena, flanked by the Arl and Marjoner. The encircling guards parted to allow the old woman to approach. She spoke to the man in the ancient language, and he responded eagerly. The two went back and forth, and she pointed to the cloak. She must have explained to the man that he was naked, as he nodded and then covered himself appropriately. She then led him from the arena towards the temple, while the crowd stood in stunned silence at what they had just witnessed. The Arl and Marjoner approached Annariel and asked if she was ok, but she ignored them. Instead, she followed Gellena and the man back to the temple.

When they arrived, she sat in the corner as the old woman and the man conversed in the ancient language. Simple clothes of black cloth were brought for the man, and Gellena helped him to dress properly. The man then walked up to Annariel and handed her cloak. She accepted it, continuing to stare as he resumed talking to Gellena. Suddenly, the two fell silent. They walked to the central fire, standing on either side of it. The two began to chant in unison, their voices mixing into a resonant whole. Some of the runes on Gellena’s staff began to glow, as did the tattoos on the man’s skin. The fire danced to the words that they chanted. Suddenly, the shaman struck her staff against the floor, and the man’s hands clapped together. He slowly turned to Annariel. Their eyes met.

“Thank you for your cloak”, the man said. His speech was flawless, and this sudden change caused Annariel to jump back. Both Gellena and the man laughed. Gellena explained that she had used her magic to allow him to speak and understand the language of the north. She went on to explain that neither she nor the man had any idea how he came to be, if he had always been a wolf, or where he was from. He had no memories of any time that he was not a wolf, and therefore he had no name.

“However, I think the whe will call you Khela”. The shaman said to the man. She then explained to Annariel that Khela was the rune inscribed on the man’s chest, and that it meant wolf in the ancient language. The old shaman said that she would keep Khela with her for the night, and teach him some of the basic manners he would need. The newly named Khela suddenly rushed forward and hugged Annariel, and licked her face. Annariel was shocked by such a forward display of affection, that she froze. Khela quickly realised he had done something wrong and released her. Gellena laughed and said that everything would be alright.  She then dismissed Annariel so she could begin tutoring her new student.

Annariel wandered back to where she lived, oblivious to all around her. When she arrived, she was met by Astred, who had just returned from a scouting mission and had heard about the events at the arena. Annariel recounted the true events of how the wolf had saved her when she had witnessed the blood ritual, and how she could not allow her savior to be destroyed. The shield sisters sat for a while in silence, both processing the events. Marjoner arrived later, but Annariel refused to see him. She had too much on her mind to consider. As she slipped into a restless dream, she thought of the prophecy that Gellena had recounted. “You will know him by his mark.”

In the days that followed, Khela was seen wandering the streets of the Ravndal. While Gellena had convinced him to wear pants out of concern for decency, he wore no shirt. His hair was pulled back, the white streak running the length to where it was secured with a leather thong. He took interest in everything he came across, asking curious questions of anyone who would suffer him. He was often accompanied by Gellena. Khela bounded around the wizened shaman, eventually exhausting her with his seemingly boundless energy. Luckily for Gellena, the pair encountered Annariel and Astred as they made their way towards the training fields. Khela raced forward on all fours and tackled Annariel, violently licking her face. Astred laughed at her shield sister’s misfortune as annariel pushed Khela off her. The old shaman admonished Khela, then asked the two if they might take him with them to the training fields to let him expend some excess energy. The two agreed, and the three set off.

The field was full of warriors. Some sparred with blunted weapons, while others wrestled or engaged in other training exercises. The three walked amid the men and women until they found an open space. Khela’s eyes were wide as he took in all the sights of the field. The women decided to test his strength and combat skills now that he was no longer a wolf. After explaining the rules of wrestling, Annariel attacked Khela. He easily sidestepped her, and she tumbled to the ground. Astred laughed, then joined in the fray. The two women launched repeated attacks, but Khela’s canine agility had carried over into his human form. He easily evaded them, and often would trip them up and pin them. He would playfully nip at their ears or nose before letting them up again. After a while, they retrieved blunted swords and shields from the quartermaster. The two women tried to get Khela to use the shield properly, but he kept abandoning it in order to attack with both hands. Finally, Annariel gave up on the shield and decided to try giving him two swords. Khela adapted to this fighting style quickly, using the swords in the same way he had used his claws as a wolf. Even with her spear, Annariel found it difficult to repel his swift slashes and agile footwork. He had natural skill as a warrior, and soon their sparring attracted a crowd. The men and women that gathered placed bets on who would emerge successful, the wolf man or the shield sisters. Amid the crowd was Marjoner, and though he did not bet, he hoped that Khela would lose. The melee was fierce, with Khela using all his wolf-like agility to parry attacks from Annariel’s spear and Astred’s sword. Finally, Khela found his opening. Annariel had retreated to prepare for another strike, so he boldly tackled Astred. He placed his teeth on her throat, and she was called dead. He then rolled to his feet to face Annariel. The valkyrie lunged with her spear. Khela barely ducked under the spear, pushing the point skyward with one of his swords while he slid into her ankles. She staggered but did not fall. Annariel swung her shield down at Khela, but he rolled between her legs and placed his blade at the back of her neck. The few who had bet on Khela gave out loud cheers, while the rest groaned at having to pay out. Khela reacted to the cheers, giving a vibrant howl. The winners of their bets echoed his howl, as did others who were impressed by the wolf man. Both Annariel and Astred wondered privately whether Khela might be the one chosen by the prophecy. He certainly had great skill, and even on his second day he was drawing others to follow him in little ways. With the mark on his chest, he seemed like he could be the champion. However, Gellena had said he would also be heralded by omens, and none of great significance had been seen. The two women could only look on as the smiling man before them led another round of howls.

Weeks passed, and Khela became a facet of life around Ravndal. He lived in the temple with Gellena, and it was common to see the two of them conversing in the ancient language at any hour. He had adjusted fairly well to life in society, but he still possessed a number of quirks that reminded everyone of his canine past. He refused to sleep in a bed, preferring to curl up in front of the temple’s central fire or on one of the balconies in the open air. He would often cock his head to the side when conversing with others. When he would see Annariel or Astred, he would often break from whatever he was doing and race over to greet them. His loyalty to them was akin to that of a hound raised from birth. In melees on the training fields, he would guard the two zealously, even getting hurt once or twice in the process. At feasts or other gatherings, he could be found sitting on the floor in front of them or seated awkwardly on a bench next to them. Once, he even curled up in Annariel’s lap when they were gathered around a campfire telling stories. Many thought that something would begin between Khela and Annariel, and the two were often seen walking together or playing games by the firelight. Khela showed similar affection to Astred, but anyone who followed his golden eyes knew that his deepest feeling were for Annariel. Whispers among some of the arl’s advisors who had been told of the prophecy said that the union of a Valkyrie with the wolf man would be a clear omen that would name him the chosen champion.

However, other forces were at work while Khela adapted to human life. Attacks continued to plague the borders of the North. Blood ragers and Drakul wolves struck without mercy, but the Arl’s patrols kept them from the heartland of his land. Much of this success was attributed to strategies of Marjoner, the young captain who had risen to be one of the Arl’s most important advisor in the current crisis. His rise had garnered some whispers that he could be the chosen one for his skill and the crest of new lordship being his mark. However, any attention he might have gained was overshadowed by the arrival of Khela. He also had begun seeking to court Annariel, but her time with Khela was making that seem less viable.  He had not been informed of the prophecy due to his junior rank, but he knew that the Arl was looking to elevate Khela, possible above him. This did not sit well with Marjoner, and he began to brood on the dimming of his newborn star.

One day while he was riding home alone from a village that had been attacked, Marjoner was approached by a hooded woman. He could see nothing of her face except her sharp chin, blood red lips, and pale skin. She whispered in his ear all his desires, and claimed to be able to bring them about. She did not reveal her identity, but the detail with which she spoke of Marjoner’s life made him feel assured that she had some place in Ravndal. She provided him with several maps and a small charm bag. The maps bore the Blaghvold clan seal and supposedly detailed routes that their blood ragers and wolves would take to try and make inroads into the Arl’s lands. The woman claimed to have found them abandoned by a freshly extinguished campfire near the tundra. The charm bag, she claimed, would reveal when her promises would come to fruition, and when Marjoner’s ambition would be realized. She would at that time appear, and make a single request of him that he must grant.  He thanked the woman, then sped home in order to take action on his newly gathered intelligence.

When he arrived, he immediately briefed the Arl on his newly discovered intelligence. The Arl gave him full leave to direct forces as he saw fit to counter the threat. As he deployed his men and women, He took care to assign Annariel to serve with him, while sending Khela to one of the most isolated targets. Within a fortnight, Marjoner stood before the Arl to report a complete success of his attacks. The Arl promoted him to the rank of Jarl, which granted him both a title of nobility and a permanent position in the court. His dimming star had brightened again, and he became the focus of the rumors concerning who the champion would be. However, the charm bag never glowed. Marjoner thought nothing of it. He was enjoying the adoring gaze of the people, and the attention of Annariel in particular. The two began spending more time alone, leaving Khela to walk the streets alone.

It was almost a year until the charm bag finally began to glow. Its deep red light lit Marjoner’s bedchambers like a darkened, bloodstained slaughterhouse. He jumped when he saw the woman at the foot of his bed.

“The time has come to grant my request”, she whispered. Marjenor listened with increasing horror and interest as she related the prophecy to him. She went on to claim to know that he would be the one to reveal the betrayer, and that he would come to find out soon after her visit. The woman handed him another map. This one showed Ravndal. Sections of the wall were marked as if to indicate points of attack. He spent the remainder of the night studying the map, and by morning he was before the Arl, presenting him with his plans to fortify Ravndal. The Arl gave his consent with few questions, allowing Marjoner to build defences against incursions at the points shown in the map. He kept the map secret in his quarters, not wanting to reveal the source of his information.

It was nearing the end of the month when the attack finally came. The cold winds of winter were still a ways off, but the air bore a chilling sense of foreboding that night as guards patrolled the ramparts. The first to fall did so silently, as blood ragers that had scalede the walls cut them down from behind. This section of the city’s defences were lighter than normal, as it had not been marked on the map. Majoner had diverted their resources to reinforce other areas. No one in Ravndal knew anything was wrong until the entire city was awoken by the sound of stones being crushed and mortar giving way as some great force pounded into the wall. Guards ran from their heavily fortified positions to see what was happening. When the arrived, they didn’t notice the bodies of their fallen comrades or the obvious traces of the blood ragers. Instead, they looked down at the base of the wall. Preparing to ram the wall was a massive boar. It stood the size of a longship, with six stout legs supporting its massive girth. Its tusks had been capped in massive steel prongs to help it batter down the wall. It launched itself forward. The guards on the ramparts held on for dear life as the wall shook. One tumbled over the crenelations and fell screaming to his death. There was no way the wall could hold back the attack for long.The guards struggled to maintain their balance as they raced along the rampart to warn their comrades.

The sound of the the assault roused Marjoner. He quickly donned his armor and grabbed his weapon. He raced out into the street and looked up to the section of wall where the noise was coming from. He cursed the woman and her map. There was not supposed to be ay assault in that area. He raced to the barracks to rally the rest of the city’s defenders. When he arrived, Annariel and Astred were already directing warriors to arm themselves. Marjoner took the men who were ready towards the wall, while the two women remained to organize the rest of the city’s forces. Marjoner was only halfway to the wall before it collapsed. Majoner pushed his men forward, praying that the guards on the wall would hold the breach until reinforcements could reach them.

Nothing could have prepared either Marjoner or his men for what they saw trying to push their way through the gap in the wall. It seemed as though the gates of the underworld had been opened on the other side of the wall. Horned demons covered with armored scales and claws like swords clambered over the rubble. Creeping along the upper sections of the walls were humanoid creatures with masses of sucker coated tentacles in the place of her arms. Drakul wolves being ridden by blood ragers dashed amid the more otherworldly attackers. It would seem impossible for anyone to stand against such a damned army.

However, there were a small number of warriors engaged in a desperate struggle to hold back the enemy. These were not guards from the walls. None of them carried a shield. Instead, each of them carried a second sword or axe. Each of the warriors had a helmet shaped into the form of a wolf’s head.  Their fur lined armor added to their lupine appearance. These men were Khela’s devoted followers. They lived with him in the temple complex, training alongside him and following him in every aspect of their lives. He was their alpha, and they were his pack. They showed no fear, moving in unspoken coordination to take down one threat after another. In the center of the breach was Khela himself. He single handedly faced off against one of the horned demons. The claws of the beast raked through the air, but Khela’s wolflike agility allowed him to slip past the beasts defences and plunged his swords into the beast’s unarmored belly. Khela mercilessly eviscerated the beast, then leapt to bring down one of the tentacled aberrations on the wall. He and his pack, despite their small size, were actually holding the breach.

Marjoner recovered his bearing and lead his forces to help relieve Khela’s forces. The two fought together against the onslaught, until suddenly Khela snapped his head towards another section of the wall. He gave a howl, and the other lupine warriors echoed the call. They all then raced away from the breach. Marjoner cried out for them to return, calling them all manner of names. Khela’s force ignored him, continuing to disappear through the streets. Marjoner returned his focus to the invading enemies. While his men did not fight with as much coordination as Khela’s pack, they continued to hold the line. He cursed the wolf man as his sword cleaved through a blood rager’s neck.

Across the city, Annariel led her forces towards another section of the wall where there were reports of enemy attacks. When she arrived on the wall, she was greeted by a gruesome sight. Several of the tentacled aberrations had killed the guards on that section. From their mouths extended a twisting tongue that ended in a sharp barb. They stabbed their tongues into the corpses, and began to suck the fluids from the bodies. Annariel and her focres overcame their disgust and horror through their anger and desire to avenge their comrades. She charged, leading her forces against the distorted beings before her. The aberrations withdrew their tongues, then lashed out with their tentacles at the warriors. The tentacles wrapped themselves around the bodies of the warriors, then thorns burst from the suckers to pierce the men’s armor. As the tentacles released the bodies, they were torn apart, spewing blood and entrails across the battlements. Annariel used her spear and shield to keep the tentacles at bay. Her forces were unprepared to deal with this threat, and, they were quickly pushed back. Soon, she stood alone before three of the abominations. As their tentacles reached out to tear her apart, she braced to enter Valhalla as a true Valkyrie. She threw her spear through the bulbous head of the nearest creature, then drew her sword. The remaining two closed in, their suckers pulsating as they attacked. Annariel began to back up, but she suddenly slipped on the gore. The tentacles reached out to end her life.

Blades sliced through the tentacles. The creatures cried out in pain and surprise as Khela’s pack attacked from behind. They tore the aberrations to shreds. Khela raced over to Annariel. He looked her over, then helped her to her feet. He hugged her tightly, glad to see her alive. However, their reunion was cut short by the arrival of Marjoner. He stormed his way onto the battlements, demanding to know why Khela and his warriors had abandoned the breach. Annariel tried to defend Khela, but Marjoner would hear none of it. Khela seemed to ignore Marjoner, looking out from the wall and sniffing the air. Marjoner tried to get in his face, but Khela maintained his focus. Suddenly, Khela let loose a short burst of barks. His pack responded silently, lining up on the walls. Both Marjoner and Annariel were puzzled by their actions. However, their reason soon became apparent. The great boar the had broke through the wall the wall had returned to create another breach. It charged the wall, slamming its iron clad tusks into the wall. Everyone held on for dear life. Then, Khela and his pack let loose a fearsome howl. Then they leapt from the wall. Annariel tried to grab Khela’s cape as he jumped to hold him back, but she was left with just a handful of fur. The pack plummeted down the wall. Suddenly, a chant rose up in the ancient tongue. The warriors did not slow in their descent, but their armor glowed faintly as they fell. The pack hit the giant beast with the force of their fall, staggering it. The boar roared, turning to face its new attackers. The pack attacked the legs, darting in and out while avoiding being crushed underfoot or gored by the boar’s tusks. Marjoner and Annariel could do nothing but watch as Khela and his pack danced around their prey. Finally, the beast fled from the wall. The pack chased the boar for a distance before returning to the wall. They raced to the breach on the ground, while Annariel and Marjoner raced along the top of the wall. When the pack arrived at the breach, they quickly cut a path back into Ravdal. They then joined the forces gathered in pushing back the enemy. When the enemy lines broke and they retreated, Khela and his pack let loose a howl of victory, which was echoed by cries and shouts from the other warriors. Victory had been achieved.

However, the costs of the battle were higher than many had first thought. Many had died. A few enemies that had broken through into the city, and they had killed several women and children. There were funerals for the dead over the following days, and healers worked around the clock to save those who were wounded. Meanwhile, a new battle had begun in the throne room of the Arl. Thelm was furious over how flawed Ravndal’s defences had been. Marjoner bore the brunt of the Arl’s anger, as he had been responsible for planning the city’s protection. Marjoner defended himself, claiming that his defences were based on reliable information. Therefore, Marjoner argued, someone must have informed the enemy of their plans. However, he was not able to offer any proof of this, and so the Arl’s trust in him faded. Marjoner was stripped of his command. Anger surged in him at this disgrace. However, he took solace in his growing relationship with Annariel. Their growing closeness caused a slight rift between him and Khela. The wolf man was never outright hostile, but Marjoner’s actions were always watched closely by his golden eyes.

Khela and his pack were honored by the Arl for their courageous actions during the battle, and the pack grew in size. The Arl tasked Khela and his warriors with patrolling the border, which meant that he was often absent from Ravndal for long periods of time. They served the Arl well, and there was a period of relative peace on the frontier. The pack even struck out into the Valkensvi, trying to find the headquarters of their enemies. They failed to find any sign or indication of a stronghold, but the did find evidence of who was leading the renegade clans against the Arl. The information gathered by the pack showed that the elder shaman of the Blaghvold clan. She held knowledge of ancient blood magic which she had used to create the terrifying forces that had attacked the Arl’s lands. Rumors suggested that she also could use her powers to change her form or bend the will of others to hers. One scrap of information indicated that she might already have someone under her sway. Khela took this information personally to Ravndal to inform the Arl.

However, in Khela’s absence, many things had come to pass. Marjoner and Annariel had announced their betrothal, with the blessing of the Arl. This union brought Marjoner back into the favor of the Arl, and he was restored to the court as an advisor, though he held very little sway. Marjoner still harbored some resentment in his heart over his lost honor, but he knew what he was promised, and his betrothal seemed evidence that all would come to pass as the woman had promised. Even as Marjoner awaited his good fortune, life in Ravndal was stuck by a second assault. It did not come from any army, but from within the walls. Those who had been wounded in the battle had seemed to recover without any serious complications. However, they eventually came down with an inexplicable fever. They could not keep any food down, and they began to develop long, thin welts the color of clotted blood on their skin. Eventually, these welts would grow and burst, violently spewing blood and puss. After this event, the patient would die by the end of the day, the whole time suffering excruciating pain. The disease spread rapidly, and none had yet survived its ravages. The healers and shamans did their best to ease the pain of the afflicted, while Gellena used her knowledge to chant a spell to protect them from contracting the disease. However, even she was powerless to stop the spread of the disease beyond the temple. Each day more infected were brought into the temple to be quarantined. Marjoner was asked by the Arl to be his liaison to Gellena, and he was often seen in the temple with his face covered, searching for any pattern to the illness that might explain its origin. He found one striking commonality, a mark born by each of the dead in some form. He raced to the Arl’s throne room to deliver his report.

Marjoner and Khela entered the throne room at the same time. Khela immediately tensed on seeing Marjoner, though he could not explain why. The Arl called Khela forward first. Khela told Thelm of his pack’s many victories, and that he had uncovered the leader of the forces against the Arl. The wolf man went on to say that he had reason to believe that there was a traitor in the city. Those advisors who knew of the prophecy gasped at this pronouncement, each privately fearing that the champion might already have been thwarted without them even knowing it.

“You know it because you are the traitor!”, Marjoner shouted at Khela. He strode forward and revealed that the only common factor in the infected was that the welts formed the same rune on Khela’s chest right before they burst.  Marjoner went on to say how Khela had known about Ravndal’s defences, and he had been on many missions where he had disappeared for extended periods while claiming to be scouting. He had seemed to be able to predict the enemy’s actions during the attack on Ravndal. Combined with his unexplained origins, Marjoner concluded that there was no other explanation. Khela must be the betrayer. The Arl immediately called for his guards to arrest Khela, but the wolf man was far too quick. He had sensed the danger from the moment Marjoner had opened his mouth. He raced from the room, knocking over the two guards who tried to block his path. As Khela raced out of the palace, he passed Annariel and Astred. The two women had heard that he had returned, and they were excited to see their friend again. As he ran past them, his golden eyes met Annariel’s crystal blue gaze. The pain of regret was obvious in his eyes, and he knew this might be the last time they would see each other. He only paused a moment before racing on, quickly followed by Marjoner and the Arl’s guards. He and the few members of the pack remaining escaped through the breach, which had not yet been fully repaired. The warriors disappeared among the trees, and none had the courage to pursue them.

The Legend of the A-Khela

A Tale of William Kennedy, Bard of House Lorain

In the wild North, they tell many strange tales. Witches who fly around in a mortar or have houses made of candied bread. Blue skinned giants who do battle with gods wielding hammers forged in the stars. Horned demons that kidnap naughty children and beat them with reeds before devouring them. It's a place and a people unlike anything I've ever seen in my travels. Some people say that they are uncivilized or barbaric, but having lived among them for a time, I find they hold a culture that would rival that of even the noblest houses in the kingdom. A culture of harmony with nature, of honor between brothers, of giving everything for one's people. Beneath their rough exterior lies a truly noble sentiment. After spending a month listening as a shaman recanted legends by the communal fire in the shadows of a gathering stone, it is my privilege to recount for you an ancient legend which traces back to the earliest days of the North. A tale of dark magics, of proud warriors, of black-hearted betrayal, and of great sacrifice. So begins the legend of the A-Khela….

Deep in the rolling hills and rocky crags of the northern highlands lay the city of Ravndal, the seat of Thelm Broadshield.  The village lay within one of the many fjords along the  Northeastern coast, where the Dakthorn Forest met the sea. The Broadshield clan had brought their village to a place of prominence through raids and alliances with the heads of other villages. They also controlled valuable resources of iron within the fjord’s cliffs, making Ravndal a center for trade. Eventually, Thelm was granted the title of Arl, winning the fealty of many of the other chieftains of the North. However, some chieftains refused to swear their loyalty. They withdrew into the rugged tundra of Valkensvi, but raiders bearing the colors of these rogue clans would often appear in the lands of the Arl, attacking traders or hunters and occasionally ransacking and burning small villages on the outskirts of the Arl’s domain. Occasionally they were joined by criminals or mercenaries from the south, but the renegades never had enough power to directly challenge the might of the Arl’s forces.

So life continued, and in Ravndal many children came of age. Among the greater houses were two young women, Annariel and Astred. Both were of slim build and fair skinned beauty. Their light hair and brilliant blue eyes caught the light of the sun and sparkled like spun gold framing twin sapphires. However, they were far from fragile beauties. They were the daughters of great warriors, and the two had trained together alongside other warriors since they could first hold a sword. While both mastered combat with the sword and shield, Annariel often traded her sword for a spear, striking at distance before closing for a fatal thrust, while Astred favored the bow, raining a hail of precisely placed arrows down upon any who stood before her. The two women often fought side by side, and despite their youth they were heralded by the Arl for their valor, who named them shield sisters. The two were inseparable, and even the bravest of warriors fled before the purple banners of the shield sisters. They were often dispatched by the Arl alongside a small group of talented warriors to search for raiders from the renegade clans and expel them from the Arl’s lands.

In response to a particularly brazen spree of raids on the border of Valkensvi, Thelm dispatched the shield sisters to investigate. During their first encounter with the enemy Astred was wounded when an enemy warrior had rushed her during an ambush. The attack had been much fiercer than any the two had ever encountered. Their foes would suffer wounds that should have instantly been fatal, but they would continue to fight for quite some time. Even the loss of a limb did nothing to dampen their rage. Berserkers had long made up a core of the renegade raiding parties, using potions and other natural materials to enhance their strength and endurance. However, these men were driven by something far darker. As the men tended to Astred’s wounds, Annariel examined the corpses of the men they had slain. Their bodies bore scars that formed jagged, sprawling runes. Annariel did not recognize the inscriptions, but looking on their ragged and scabby filled her with an intense sense of unease. Night was falling quickly, so the scouts made camp for the night. Annariel left her compatriots behind to scout the surrounding area in case there were any reinforcements nearby. With her spear and shield at the ready, she crept through the dense briars that covered the space between the great forests and the tundra. As Annariel approached a clearing surrounded by ash trees, that feeling of unease returned. The trees were black and twisted, their branches contorted into unnatural shapes. As she moved closer, she began to hear a woman chanting in the ancient language only spoken by the shamans. The runic speech was similar to that spoken by the shamans of Ravndal, and their incantations had often brought healing or settled the spirits of those who heard them. However, the words this woman spoke had a sickly, haunting tone, and they brought no comfort to Annariel.

As she reached the top of a ridge, she could finally see the chanting woman standing in the middle of a stone pool, her face cast in shadows by the twin moons overhead. The shaman was draped in a cloak of ravens feathers, and on her headdress she bore the crest of the Blaghvold Clan. This clan was the first to oppose the Arl, and many thought the clan’s chieftain sought to unite the renegades and overthrow the Broadshield clan. The shaman was surrounded by warriors, their chests stripped bare and covered in deep cuts. Their eyes were rolled back into their heads, so the circle seemed to stare at the feather-clad priestess with pure white eyes. The blood flowing from the cuts on their chests poured into the pool. As the shaman’s chanting grew louder, the blood rose in fine tendrils around her, twisting and waving in the air, encircling the gathered berserkers in their grasp. Suddenly, with a loud shout from the shaman, the tendrils seized the warriors. Each man gave out a bloodcurdling shriek, their backs arching to inhuman degrees as their bodies contorted under the manipulation of the blood magic.  Annariel was frozen in horror as the warriors were lowered to the ground. Their wounds were mystically healed, leaving behind the same runic scars she had seen on the other slain warriors. As the warriors rose, their bones cracked as their joints reset themselves. Annariel have out an involuntary cry, scared and revolted by the sounds and sights of this ritual. The shaman and her warriors all turned and saw Annariel crouched amid the briar.

“Get her, you fools!”, the shaman cried. The warriors rushed towards Annariel, picking up whatever weapons they could pick up on their way. Some had their swords and axes nearby, while others brandished tree branches or rocks. Annariel quickly came to her senses and ran towards where her troops were encamped. However, the camp was miles away, and the blood magic had seemingly instilled the renegade warriors with immense stamina. They chased the shieldmaiden relentlessly, throwing whatever they could pick up in attempts to trip her. Annariel blocked several projectiles with her shield, continuing to race towards her camp. Suddenly, she found herself facing a high cliff. She had descended it without issue on her scouting mission, and would not have had any trouble ascending under other circumstances. However, surrounded by 9 berserkers infused with dark magic, she could not climb to safety. Instead, she leveled her spear towards her attackers and readied herself to die fighting. The largest berserker loosed a great war cry and charged, raising the tree branch he wielded to crush her skull. Annariel raised her shield and thrust her spear towards her enemy. She heard a scream of anguish, but her spear was met with only thin air. She looked out from behind her shield to see what had struck down her foe. She half hoped it was an arrow from her shield sister’s bow. What she saw before her, however, was not the feathered fletching of an arrow.

It was a wolf, with its teeth buried deep in the throat of the berserker. This was no ordinary wolf. It was slightly larger than normal, and its jet black fur was marked by thin white streaks, as well as white paws and a white face and snout. A pattern of white and black fur on its forehead appeared as though it was a rune. The wolf tore the warrior’s throat out, coating its fur in blood. The wolf let out an earsplitting howl, then bared his fangs towards the remaining berserkers, staring them down with its golden eyes. The berserkers shook visibly, unnerved by the new foe they faced. Annariel, however, found new courage in the wolf’s cry, and she hurled her spear towards another of the berserkers. The spear buried itself deep in the warrior’s chest, his heart impaled on the blade as it exited his back. The wolf barked in approval, then lunged at another enemy. The shield maiden gave a mighty war cry as she drew her sword. While the wolf wrestled with its latest victim, Annariel blocked a blow from a berserker axe. She then severed the arm of the offending warrior. She instinctively ducked as the wolf jumped over her to maul her attacker, having already disemboweled his previous opponent.  The shield maiden and wolf became a whirlwind of blades and fangs, systematically decimating the remaining berserkers. Only one managed to escape the bloodbath, retreating back towards the stone pool. Annariel was too tired to pursue the fleeing warrior, instead collapsing against the rock face. The wolf walked up to where she was lying, and sat back on its haunches. Its head tilted to the side as it looked at her. Annariel swore that the wolf was somehow assessing her injuries, which were minor, as if it was concerned. Suddenly, she heard a twig snap, and the wolf jumped to his feet. It quickly sniffed the air, then, with one last look at the shieldmaiden, darted off into the forest. The next thing Annariel saw was her shield sister limping towards her. The two embraced each other, both happy to see the other alive and well. They made their way back towards Ravndal to report what they had encountered.

The scouting party secured horses in a nearby village and ride swiftly for two days and nights before reaching Ravndal. They entered the village gates just as the sun was beginning to rise over the eastern hills. Annariel and Astred were both summoned to the Arl’s quarters to report on their mission. The throne room was deserted save for the Arl seated on his throne of wood and tron and Gellena, the oldest of the clan’s shamans. She had served both Thelm’s father and grandfather, and the runes that spiraled along her gnarled oaken staff told the entire history of the North. Hidden behind her wrinkled face and piercing grey eyes were the greatest secrets and most ancient magics known in the North, her inheritance as the latest in a proud succession of elder shamans. As Annariel described the ritual she had observed and the enemies that she and Astred had faced, both the Arl and shaman’s eyes grew wide. The Arl’s mind was filled with thoughts of rebellion and civil war among the clans, and he began to earnestly question the two about how many men they had seen, and how such berserkers could best be overcome. She answered each question to the best of her ability. However, for some reason, she left out the wolf that had come to her aid.  In contrast to her Arl, Gellena stood silent, her fingers tracing along her staff. The two shield maidens and the Arl paid her no attention, loudly discussing various strategies for taking down armies of these new foes.

Suddenly, the old shaman slammed her staff on the floor of the throne room. The other three immediately fell silent and stared at the old woman as she slowly walked towards the fire in the center of the throne room. She began to chant in the ancient language, her normally quiet voice booming throughout the hall. The flames leapt from the pit, twisting to form the outlines of warriors with their weapons drawn.

“The prophecy has begun!”, she said, tapping her staff with her long fingers as she recounted the ancient words inscribed there. The flames shifted to illustrate her words, crackling and flashing as they changed their shape. Gellena spoke of a time when a great leader would rise unite the North. “It was said that his reign would bring about an era of peace and prosperity, and many would herald his greatness. However, others would grow jealous of the leader’s power and fame, and they would conspire with the dark forces of the world to end his reign. Their warriors would shed their fear of pain and death in pools of blood, and rise to fight endless battles against the lands of the North, and their merciless slaughter would spare no one”. The flames showed berserkers slaughtering men, women, and children without mercy, their wickedly shaped weapons extinguishing the light of life in these flame beings.“Even as great warriors would give their lives to defeat these blood ragers, darker forces would be brought forth by those desperate to gain power”. The flames contorted into monstrous forms the likes of which none present had ever seen. Horned demons with great clawed hands and grotesque boars with six legs and tusks the size of spears rose amid the flames, tearing through battle lines of warriors with ease. The Arl and the shield sisters looked on in horror at what they saw. They could not see any way for anyone to prevail against such power and evil.

Gellena continued, “But there is hope. A champion will arise, and he will rally a force that will defeat even the strongest of foes. None shall stand before him and live, and he will drive back the darkness”. Flames showed an agile warrior fighting against the fiery demons. Slowly he overcame one after another of the foul creatures. The Arl pressed the shaman to reveal the name of their savior. “It is not written”, she replied, “he will only be known by his mark, and by omens yet to be foretold. But with him will come another”. The flames split to form two identical entities. “As other chieftains grew jealous of the great leader, so too will one grow jealous of the champion. This man will outwardly be steadfast and loyal, but a dark secret lies deep within, a hidden lust for power and a disregard for the costs of success. He will betray the champion at every turn in a ploy to take his place. Eventually, his ambition will lead him to forge a pact in blood and dark magic with those who would destroy the great leader and seize his power. Should he succeed, the champion will likely fail to gather his force, and the North will fall to the betrayer and those with whom he has made his dark pact. He will rule as a tyrant, and all will suffer under him. Fear will dominate the world and an era of darkness will blanket the North.  The arl begged to the shaman to tell him how they would recognize the betrayer. She said, “He will be a great warrior, handsome and strong. Many will hold him in high regard, not thinking for an instant that he is capable of any wrongdoing. His heart is well hidden, but you will know him by his mark as well. It will be unnatural in appearance, and it will serve to herald pain and suffering. One will rise and one will fall. Either the champion will disperse the darkness, or the betrayer will help it consume us all”. The shaman slammed her staff on the ground again, and the dancing flames were immediately extinguished. The throne room was left in darkness, as the sun’s rays had not yet penetrated the narrow windows. The two shield maidens and the Arl looked at each other, each silently considering everything they had just heard. Thelm rose from his throne and called in several of his advisors. He thanked Annariel and Astred, and the shield sisters left the hall as a solemn discourse began among the gathered advisors.

In the months that followed, more and more reports of the blood ragers’ activities reached the walls of Ravndal. They attacked boldly and without regard for their losses, Often leaving no survivors. In response, Thelm Broadshield dispatched an ever increasing number of patrols to try and defend his lands. Annariel and Astred were often on the front lines. They formed an exceptional effective pair, with Astred’s arrows bringing down foes while Annariel kept them at bay with her spear. However, one day the blood ragers became the least of their worries. The two were in a village that had already repulsed two bloodrager attacks when a lone scout ran gasping into the village. He was bleeding from several wounds, and he barely made it through the village gate before he collapsed. The women rushed over to him. His wounds were obviously fatal, but they didn’t seem to have been caused by any weapon the sisters had ever seen. With his dying breath, the man whispered one word.

“Wolves”.

The two women barely had time to process what they had heard before a sentry’s horn sounded from the eastern tower. Astred raced to the top of the tower while Annariel gathered the town militia to supplement her scouts. As Astred looked out towards the treeline, she could see large, dark shapes moving swiftly among the trees. At first she thought they were towering blood ragers, but as she watched them she realized that they were moving far too fast to be men. She knocked an arrow and pointed it towards the woods, waiting for whatever was lurking to emerge.

She didn’t have to wait long. As the arrow settled on the bow, a pack of fifteen giant wolves burst from the woods. Each of these beasts stood as tall as a warhorse, with menacing yellow fangs and and fiery red eyes. Their matted black fur was caked with blood and gore, evidence of their past slaughter. Astred instinctively loosed her arrow. It struck one of the wolves in the  front rank, but the wolf showed no acknowledgement of the injury. The wolves then began to howl. This was a hunting cry, and it instilled a sense of fear that none had ever felt before. Before Astred could even reach for a second arrow, the wolves charged the wooden battlements of the village. Astred and the few sentries that had held their nerve fired a quick succession of arrows, but they did nothing to halt the advance of the beasts. The wolves did not slow as they reached the base of the wall. They crouched low, then used their powerful legs to leap over the battlements with ease. Once Annariel’s assembled forces saw the black beasts land, many threw down their weapons and fled. Those who stood firm braced themselves for an attack. The wolves stared down the shield maiden and her militia, their teeth barred in what seemed like a wicked smile of one who reveals in death and destruction. A few of the wolves then broke off towards other parts of the village, intent on hunting down the residents incapable of defending themselves. The largest of them, the pack’s alpha, and the others remained to face the town’s defenders. The alpha let out a threatening howl. Annariel responded with a equally fearsome war cry, and she charged the wolves with spear and shield raised. The warriors behind her joined the charge, inspired by the fearlessness of the shield maiden. The wolves lunged forward with fangs bared and claws extended.

The two forces clashed. Swords and axes hacked through thick fur and leathery hide while teeth punctured armor and flesh. Shields shattered under blows from the wolves’ massive paws. Arrows from the sentries on the walls continued to pour into the fray. Screams of the villagers and frightened animals added to the cacophony of battle. In the middle of the melee stood Annariel. She stood alone before the pack alpha, the two locked in single combat. She pointed her spear at the massive black beast using her shield to deflect swipes of its paws while jabbing at the alpha’s face and forelegs. The alpha used his superior agility to circle the shield maiden, looking for an opening to sink his fangs into her soft flesh while trying to knock her over with his great strength. It took every ounce of skill Annariel had to stay alive. After rolling under an attack from the alpha’s paw, she heard the wolf give out a cry of pain. Its left eye had been pierced by an arrow. Annariel looked to the battlements for an instant to confirm the source of the arrow. Sure enough, Astred was there, already preparing to loose another arrow. The second found a home next to its brother in the alpha’s bloody eye, eliciting another howl. Annariel knew this was her chance. She dove forward between the stomping paws of the alpha. Rolling onto her back underneath the wolf’s body. As the alpha turned its head down to glare at the her, Annariel thrust her spear straight up into the great wolf’s chest. The alpha gave a horrible death scream, and its body convulsed in its final death throws. Annariel clung tight to her spear, but she was thrown from under the wolf by its final, violent movements. She crashed against the wall of a nearby building. Her vision blurred as she struggled to maintain consciousness. Astred rushed to her shield sister’s side, her bow ready to bring death to any who would threaten Annariel. However, the death cry of the alpha seemed to have robbed the other wolves of their will to fight. They fled quickly, leaping over the nearest section of the village wall and retreating into the forest.

Astred helped Annariel to her feet, supporting her shield sister with her shoulder. The two surveyed the damage to the village. Almost half the men who had stood against the wolves were dead or wounded. Women rushed around the village attempting to tend to the wounded, while others tried to assess the damage to the village. Nine of the militiamen had managed to bring down a second wolf. Its great black corpse was pockmarked with sword and axe wounds, and the warriors were dragging it to lie beside the slain alpha. Other warriors worked to clear the bodies of the dead which littered the village. Annariel shook her head, knowing that the funeral pyres would burn for many days after this attack. She fought to join the efforts to return the village to a state of normalcy, but her injuries and Astred’s firm admonitions  prevented her. She was laid in a bed alongside others who had been wounded. Before she faded into unconsciousness, the man beside her turned to her and smiled. He spoke only two words.

“Hail, Wolfslayer.”

Kielos walked briskly towards a secure section of the Archives to view the holodisk Master Fisto had given him. He was just about to enter when a clone trooper ran up and stopped him.

“Sir, General Fisto wants you in the briefing room”, the trooper gasped between deep breaths. Kielos nodded, then the two took off at a run. Kielos’ customary black and silver robes billowed out behind him as the two raced to the Temple’s central command center. When the two arrived, Kit Fisto was waiting with a squad of heavily armed ARC troopers.

“Sentinel Tar, you are being reassigned to deal with an unexpected Separatist incursion near Geonosis”. The Jedi master spoke with a sense of unmistakable urgency. “Enemy reinforcements appear to be staging at this point to attack our invasion force at Geonosis”. The Jedi pointed to the room’s holomap as he spoke. Master Fisto continued, “You will take these ARC troopers and launch a surprise attack on the Separatist flagship, a modified Recusant-class light destroyer. If you can cripple that ship, we will send our reserves to deal with the smaller ships”.

One of the clones responded, “Sir, why are we waiting to bring in the reserves until after we disable their flagship? As it stands, we are going in without any cover. Seems pretty risky”

Kit Fisto responded “ We cannot spare enough cruisers to effectively combat the Separatist flagship and still maintain support for our planetary invasion. The destroyer has far too much firepower”.

Kielos stepped forward, holding out his hand to silence the clones. He said, “Master, what kind of transport will we be using to board this ship?”.

Kit Fisto flashed his characteristic smile. He replied, “Right to the details as usual, Sentinel Tar. You will be using this heavily armored transport for your approach. It has been equipped with a specialized sensor array which will project an incoming fleet of a much larger size onto their scanners. That should let you land in one of the rear docking bays. You and the ARC troopers will be responsible for disabling the ship’s main reactor. Once your mission is complete, we will send in our reserves. May the Force be with you”.

Kielos and the clones made their way to the transport, joking and checking their equipment. When they reached the ship, Kielos strode confidently up the boarding ramp. The clones stopped outside, looking around with confused expressions.

“Sir, where is the crew?”, one of the clones said incredulously, “They can’t seriously expect us to fly this rust bucket ourselves”. The others looked around, surveying the ship’s roughly bolted on armor plating and unconventional sensor dishes.

Kielos laughed, then replied, “I’m all the crew you’ll need, Captain Smoke. Now let’s get moving. We have a ship to disable”. The clones looked at each other, then followed the Jedi into the ship. Kielos took his seat in the cockpit while the clones strapped themselves into the seats welded into the cargo hold. Kielos fired the engines, lifted off the landing pad, and set off into the blackness of space.

Kielos jumped to hyperspace with ease, then joined the ARC troopers in the cargo hold to review their attack strategy. The group would land in one of the rear docking bays , then move towards the hypermatter reactor in the tail of the ship. The team would use a number of shaped explosive charges to destabilize the primary core, which would render all nonessential systems inoperable long enough for the Republic reserves to defeat the smaller ships at the staging point. They would then regroup at their transport and make for the nearest Republic ship. Kielos returned to the cockpit to prepare to emerge from hyperspace. He took a deep breath, then pulled the ship into normal space. The Separatist fleet stood waiting, ships lined up in attack formation. The Jedi broadcast the signal jammer through the ship’s multiple communications dishes. Each of the Separatist vessels began to fire broad spreads of lasers, trying to hit ships that were supposedly on their scanners Kielos deftly flew the small transport through the laser fire, setting a direct course for the flagship. The clones held on for dear life as the ship pitched and rolled amid the the constant fire. Several lasers struck the ship, but the reinforced hull held firm. After what seemed to everyone aboard to be an eternity, Kielos brought the ship to dock at one of the emergency docking bays. Once the airlock opened, Kielos and the clones burst into the ship. Two clones were left to guard the ship, while the rest immediately set off towards the ship’s reactor. As the squad approached a corner, they could hear two droids patrolling the corridor.

“What do you think all that shooting was about?”, one of the droids asked, “there shouldn’t be any republic ships in this sector.”

“Who knows”, the other responded, “Maybe the Mistress got annoyed and decided to use another navigator for target practice. You remember what happened to 263”. The droid never finished his story, as Kielos’ yellow lightsaber blades decapitated both the patrolling droids. The clones stashed the droid bodies, while the Jedi made sense of what the droids had just said. This “mistress” they had referred to could only be Ventress. If she was aboard the ship, then she might have sensed his presence.

Kielos turned to the clone and said, “Proceed to the objective and complete the mission, If Ventress is aboard, she will likely be coming for us. I’ll stall her while you blow the reactor”. The clones hesitated, then Captain Smoke nodded and the ARC troopers raced off down the hallway. Kielos stood still, focused on searching for the presence of Ventriss. It took almost no time to locate her. She knew he was there too, and she was moving towards him. He called up a map of the ship, then set off to intercept her in one of the ship’s main cargo holds. Kielos was sure that he could hold the Sith assassin long enough for the clones to blow the reactor.  When he entered the hold, Kielos saw the door on the other side  open to reveal Ventress. A wicked smile formed on her face.

“We meet again, Jedi”, She snarled, “I don’t recall getting your name when we last met. Very impolite of you”. Her twin red sabers ignited, casting a sinister glow across her pale face.

Kielos responded coyly, “That was by design. I don’t give my name out to just anyone”. He drew his own lightsabers, advancing slowly towards the Sith. Ventress struck first, slashing with one saber after the other. Kielos easily deflected the blows, the launched an immediate counterattack. Ventress somersaulted away, then lunged back at the sentinel. Kielos parried, spinning into a rising slash with his offhand saber. The two duelists were equally matched. Ventress’ savage offense prevented Kielos from effectively counter attacking, but the sentinel’s defenses proved impenetrable. The two suddenly disengaged and began circling, each reevaluating their strategy.

“Too bad you haven’t learned anything since our last encounter, Jedi”, Ventress said, “It will be a pleasure killing you”. She then combined her sabers into a saberstaff, making ready to reenact her strategy from their last encounter.

Kielos smiled and retorted, “Oh, you think so?”. He then activated the magnetic plates in his sabers, forming his own saberstaff. He then launched his own assault, spinning elegantly as he struck at the assassin with both blades. Ventress retreated before the initial attack, surprised at Kielos’ sudden aggression. However, she quickly recovered, and the two foes traded blows at a breakneck pace. Ventress’ superior agility was countered by Kielos’ more refined bladework, and neither could seem to get the upper hand. Ventress disengaged with a Force push. Kielos rolled to his feet, then looked at his opponent to see a sinister smile forming on her lips.

“This has been enjoyable, Jedi, but I think it’s time I was rid of you”, she said. Kielos looked around to see the hold’s upper level was filled with various models of battle droids, all of which had their blasters pointed at the Jedi. “Farewell, Jedi”.

Just as the droids prepared to open fire on Kielos, a huge explosion rocked the ship. Ventress and the droids looked at each other in a panic. Lights flickered and then shifted to an emergency red. Kielos used the distraction to leap to the upper level and slash through the droids blocking his route back to the ship. He knew the clones had accomplished their mission. He touched his wrist comm to send the encoded signal to the fleet.

As he raced out of the cargo hold, he called back, “By the way, my lady, you may call me the Nightwolf”. Ventress howled in fury as the Jedi destroyed the door controls, giving him ample time to get away. Kielos raced towards the ship as the sounds of a space battle began to echo throughout the ship. When he reached it, the clones were just finishing boarding.

Captain Smoke saluted the Jedi and stated, “Good to see you, Sir. The mission was completed without any incident. Seems you survived your own adventure”.

Very good, captain”, Kielos responded, “I’ll tell you all about it when we get safely aboard a Republic ship. The two climbed into the ship, and Kielos fired the ship’s engines, detached from the Separatist flagship, and raced off into the thick of the firefight. Kielos let the Force guide him as Captain Smoke worked to contact the main Republic cruiser.

“This is Captain Smoke. Does anyone read me?”, the clone barked into the radio. A voice immediately crackled back through the speakers.

“This is Admiral Simano of the Tempest. We read you loud and clear. We will drop the shields on our starboard emergency docking bay for you”. Kielos steered the transport towards the Venator-class cruiser in the center of the battle. Droid starfighters and V-19s filled the space around the ship, engaging in a sprawling dogfight. The Jedi was hard pressed to avoid a collision with the speeding fighters as he flew towards the safety of the hangar. Suddenly, Kielos’ sensors showed one droid starfighter closing on his tail. The transport wasn’t equipped for dogfighting and had no weapons systems. Kielos relied on sheer piloting skill and his instinct to avoid the fighter’s lasers. However, as he neared the docking bay, one laser bolt hit home. The engines and stabilizers began short out, causing the craft to rock and pitch uncontrollably. Kielos gripped the helm, trying to aim the ship into the hangar with a combination of the ship’s sputtering engines and his sheer will in the Force. Suddenly, Kielos jerked the ship to the right as a defensive turret on the Tempest loosed another volley. The energy bolt narrowly missed the transport, instead smashing into the pursuing droid fighter. The transport careened into the hangar, slamming into the wall and screeching along the floor before finally coming to a stop in the hangar. Kielos and the clones emerged from the smoking wreck. Kielos was escorted to the bridge, where Admiral Simano was waiting.

“Sentinel Tar, a pleasure to meet you”, the admiral said gruffly, “I’m aware that you just arrived from a very dangerous assignment, but I need every fighter I can scrap up. Do you think you can fly?”.

Kielos replied, “As long as I have a better ship than the one I came in on”.

“Your personal interceptor was placed in the main hangar before we jumped”,  the admiral said, ignoring the Jedi’s joke. “Get going. Sentinel”. Kielos made his way to the main hangar. He walked up to his interceptor, still painted with the nightwolf markings from his mission on Tatooine. He hopped right into the cockpit and soared off into the battle.

“Sentinel, Blue squadron needs your help near the the tail of the flagship”, the admiral squawked over the radio. Kielos acknowledged and soared off towards the center of the battlefield. His interceptor handled much more gracefully than the transport, and the Jedi weaved effortlessly through the swarm of fighters.  Kielos tuned his radio to Blue Squadron’s frequency and was immediately greeted by cries for help.

“This is Blue 6, I have three on my tail, bearing 076 mark 345”, the clone pilot screamed into the radio.

Kielos responded cooly, “This is Nightwolf. I see you Blue 6. Swing right… now”.  The clone pilot turned sharply, and Kielos swooped in to pick off the droid starfighters. They stood little chance against the upgraded arsenal of Kielos’ ship. Kielos rolled to observe the rest of the battle. Most of the Separatist frigates and lighter ships were starting to retreat or had already been destroyed. However, the flagship was beginning to restore power to its weapons systems. Kielos rolled to avoid a burst of turbolaser fire from the destroyer’s turrets.

“Blue Squadron, form up on me, we’re going to make a strafing run to knock out some of these towers”, Kielos said. Blue squadron fell into a V formation behind the Jedi. The group raced along the hull of the enemy ship, dodging incoming fire from the smaller turrets while they focused their attacks on the larger turbolasers. As they reached the prow of the ship, they peeled off in different directions, circling around to attack droid fighters that were emerging from the ship’s forward hangers. As Kielos finished off another droid fighter, he turned to see the enemy destroyer retreating. Even at this distance, he could sense Ventress’ hatred. As the broken remnants of the Separatist fleet made their escape into hyperspace, Kielos landed in the main hangar of the Tempest. He made his way to the bridge, where Admiral Simano was in conference with the main fleet at Geonosis. Mace Windu, Yoda, Luminara, and Admiral Yularen were all present.

Admiral Yularen spoke first, “Simano, have you defeated the reinforcements?”.

“Of course I did, Wulf. Just happy that Sentinel Tar fulfilled his part of the bargain”, Simano responded.

Mace Windu turned to Kielos. “Your success is admirable, Sentinel Tar. However, we cannot waste any time on congratulations. We have an assignment for you that must be undertaken immediately”.

Admiral Simano turned to the Jedi Master and baulked, “I can’t very well act as this Jedi’s chauffeur. Nor can I lend him any of my ships. I know your little ships aren’t capable of hyperspace jumps, and I don’t carry around those fancy booster rings you all use…”

“Need your aid, Sentinel Tar will not”, Yoda interrupted, cutting the Admiral off, “Specially modified, his ship is, for a sentinel’s tasks. Make the jump to Hyperspace, it can”.

Kielos turned to the admiral, “Master Yoda speaks the truth. I will simply need to refuel before I depart”. Admiral Simano huffed before leaving the conference room.

“Don’t worry about him, Sentinel”, Admiral Yularen said, “You’ll find the information you need in your ship’s computer. Good luck, Sentinel Tar”

I drifted through the Blind Eternities, when I detected a plane that was filled with massive amounts of mana. I decided to continue my search for answers here.  I materialized on the shores of a shifting ocean, where giant winged lions with human faces soared through the stormy skies, and  in the distance a floating city rose above the crashing surf.  From that city came a large number of beings, flying on the winds coming from the seas.  Every member of this host gleamed in the fading light, their bodies covered by an armor of gleaming metal.  I turned to see what had called forth this formation.  I saw something that I had not seen since my time as a cathar, but it was a comfort to know my enemy was one I had faced before.  A hoard of zombies, with demons on the wing overhead, was charging towards me.  I drew my moonsilver swords and charged, as the metallic warriors from the sea landed alongside me.  Rotting flesh clashed against metal as the two lines met, with spells issuing from mages on both sides.  I stood in the center of the melee, carving my way through the undead hoard.  This plane was incredibly rich in mana, and I let its energy flow freely through me, and my blades shined with a shifting pattern of white, blue, and black mana.  While sliver claimed the lives of any undead warrior who dared to engage me, spells lashed out to decimate those beyond the reach of my swords.  Suddenly, I found myself without another enemy to fight, and I realized that a large ring had formed around me.  There was a loud roar from behind me, and I turned to face a giant demon.  With a defiant slash of my swords, I sent two arcing blades of white mana to deal with this new combatant.  However, instead of cutting through the demon, they simply shattered into a thousand glistening shards.  A black bile spewed forth from its maw, and I wrapped myself in a protective bubble of white mana.  Initially, the shield spell held back the black mana of the demon, but then the bubble began to crack. Suddenly, my ward caved in and the stream of corrupting bile washed over me.  My armor began to dissolve, and even the wards of Avacyn placed upon it could not protect me from the foul magic of the demon.  But before it could consume me, I reached deep into the mana of the plane and teleported out of the vile stream, reappearing above the demon’s head.  The remnants of my armor falling away, I fell upon the demon and plunged my swords deep into its head. In its final actions, the demon shook its head violently, and I was thrown from atop the demon.  As I rolled to my feet, the surrounding undead hoard surged forward.  I looked down to see that my swords had snapped off at the hilt.  I stood there with two useless nubs of silver and no armor against the seemingly endless horde of undead.  I reached for the fury of the angels to banish them, but the sources of white mana were cut off by the advance of an ever greater number of demons, zombies, and other forces of pure evil.  Even the blue mana that I had always been in touch with grew harder and harder to summon.  With enemies on all sides and no options left, I fully immersed myself in the the black mana that surrounded me.  I could feel an immediate change within me, as my skin hardened into a demons hide, my hands turned to razor sharp claws, and great batlike wings sprouted from my back.  I was filled with an unquenchable desire for destruction, and found around me abundant targets for my newfound demonic bloodlust. I tore through the undead warriors, ripping them limb from limb, reducing their bodies to decayed dust, and sowing chaos and destruction throughout their ranks.  Their lines soon broke, unable to stand firm against my demonic wrath. The undead fell back towards the desolate wastes from which they had come, and I descended to earth, returning to my human form.  I collapsed upon the ground, my clothing and armor destroyed, my weapons broken, and now surrounded by the metal clad host that had come from the sea.  As they approached me, I saw that the men were not clad in metal, but made of it.  I struggled to my feet, extending my hand as a gesture of friendship. I was met with a steely gaze, but then the soldier extended his metallic arm and grasped mine. I was slightly embarrassed , as I stood half naked before these elegant beings, with both their clothing and metallic bodies displaying an intricate lattice of a beautiful metal, the likes of which I had never seen.  They questioned me about my origins, and I was surprised to find that they had encountered other planeswalkers before me.  They picked me up,  A large filigree gargoyle took me in his arms, and I was soon soaring above the rough seas.  My battle wounds soon overcame me, and I drifted into unconsciousness.  

When I awoke, I found myself being tended by a healer inside a metallic tower.  I struggled to rise from my bed, but the demon had done far more damage than I had realized.  I collapsed back, staring up at the intricate designs that adorned the ceiling.  As my thoughts wandered, the door of my chamber opened, and a group of mages entered.  The healer tending to me bowed and then left, leaving me alone with the newcomers.  I pushed myself into a seated position and greeted the mages.  They announced themselves as members of the Ethersworn, and told me that I had arrived on the plane of Alara, specifically the shard of Esper, Land of Etherium.  They told me of a great event that had reunited the fractured plane, and that I had done battle with the forces of Grixis, the shard of undeath.  They continued to show their knowledge of planeswalkers, including a man of Innistrad named Vronos.  He had been deposited on Esper following a werewolf attack, and had allowed himself to be studied in order to learn the secrets of the shard.  The Ethersworn offered me a similar bargain, as they sought to understand the forces that had transformed me into a demon.  I told them the story of my ascendency, and of the events that had transpired on Ravnica.  They marveled that I had survived such ordeals, and were eager to examine me.  I agreed, on the condition that I could name my price at a later time, after I had learned what these mages had to offer.  They conceded, and then left me to resume recovering from my wounds.  

Several days later, I was finally strong enough to leave the tower and explore the world of Esper.  What struck me most was that every being had been infused with metal.  Even the birds flying overhead were clad in this mysterious metal known as etherium.  I wondered if I could not replace my ruined armor with a new mantle of etherium. Hopefully this new armor could accommodate the physiological changes I had experienced when giving in to the angelic and demonic forces within me.  I met with one of the Ethersworn who had visited me earlier, and he led me through the city.  I saw master craftsmen shaping etherium with only their hands and spellcraft, while others worked to channel their magic into a mix of protective and destructive spells. Other mages soared upon the winds, armed with only the thinnest of blades and spears.  using spells rather than their blades to duel.  Finally, we arrived at a place called the Sanctum. Here lived the ruler of the plane, whom my guide referred to only as the Hegemon. Another mage, richly decked in metal, approached me and stood between myself and the great doors.  

“If you wish an audience with the Hegemon, Sharuum, you must offer a riddle”, he proclaimed. I thought deeply before responding, wondering how much knowledge of the Multiverse this being might have.  Aware that a fellow being of Innistrad had spent considerable time here, I opted to share a riddle from my time on Ravnica.

“Ten we are, and two in each, Their paths under the city do reach. The race of power, all did make, but an eleventh did the victory take. Who are we?”. The mage stood aside, and the doors swung open.  Resting on a platform was a giant metallic sphinx.  She gestured with a paw that I was to approach, and I walked forward and knelt before the ruler of Esper.  

“Rise, planeswalker.  Tell me the answer to your riddle, that I may fully enjoy its complexity”.  I told her the stories that I had been told by Ral Zarek about the guilds of Ravnica and the Dragon’s Maze.  She smiled, and bid ask what I would of her, having seen the land over which she ruled.  I asked for new armor and weapons to be crafted of etherium, and for permission to study the arcane arts of the soaring warriors for a time.  Finally, I requested that any information that they learned about my unique abilities be told to me as well, that I might come to understand and control them.  She agreed to my terms, and my training began in earnest. I spent many months soaring on the twenty three winds of Esper, expanding my abilities with both spell and blade.  My new armor was shaped by the masters of etherium sculpting.  The armor harkened to my home of Innistrad, consisting of a long, flowing etherium coat common among the elite inquisitors and cathars, as well as pauldrons, bracers, gauntlets, greaves,  and a chestplate, all inscribed with intricate filigree of etherium alloys.  Etherium is an incredible substance, providing me with complete protection while allowing me complete freedom of movement.  It also contains Æther, the energy that makes up the Blind Eternities, allowing me to control even greater amounts of mana.  This quality also allowed the armor to shift in response to my spellcraft.  As I wielded different colors of mana, the colors of the armor shifted to match with the main body of the armor reflecting the dominant color and the filigree the other two. Using the spells I had learned under the creators of the armor, i was also able to modify its form in order to adapt it to different situations that I might encounter on my journeys.  However, no sufficient weapon could be crafted to replace the silver blades I had wielded, so I opted instead to fight primarily with spellcraft, refining the spells I had discovered on Ravnica and learning new ones from the Esper battlemages.  

Eventually, it came time to fulfill my promise, and allow the study of my transformations.  to facilitate this, Sharuum, several of the Ethersworn, and I traveled to a floating complex where there was a great nexus of white mana.  In a great courtyard under close observation, I embraced the power of Avacyn, just as I had on Ravnica.  Again angelic wings sprouted from my back, but instead of breaking, my armor shifted freely, adding a shielding layer of etherium to my new appendages.  The etherium glowed white with the immense power welling up within me.  However, I was overcome by that same fury that I had felt in the Orzhov basilica.  Thoughts condemning these beings for defiling their bodies by replacing them with foreign material rose within me.  I began to see the Esperites around me as no better than stitchers of Innistrad, creating their abominations out of metal rather that rotting flesh.  I felt the desire to destroy them grow inside me, and I raised a hand to begin with the destruction of the great sphinx before me. A blast of purifying light raced towards the Hegemon, splitting into a plethora of blades intent on stripping the etherium from Sharuum and utterly destroying her.  The spell was stopped by a group of shieldmage elites, who threw a protective barrier around their ruler.  The barrier held, but barely.  Before I could issue another bolt, I was suddenly assailed by a multitude of mages in an attempt to subdue me.  I fought against the both the spells of the Esperites and the overpowering desire for purifying annihilation coming from within. Through all of the chaos pressing in on my mind, I could sense the blue mana that the Esperites were using to restrain me.  I reached out and, to my surprise, I was able divert their mana connections and use the blue mana to free my mind from the control of Avacyn’s influence, returning to my human form.  I collapsed upon the ground, drained by the trials that I had undergone.  I apologized for what had happened, and explained the experience that I had undergone.  Sharuum looked at me inquisitively, and then withdrew to speak with the gathered Ethersworn.  I slowly stood, fearing what they might have discovered during their test.  She returned, and spoke,

“Your powers are great indeed, but not yours to command.  The mentalists sensed another consciousness within you, though only a fragment.  Given what you have told me of your origins, this may be the spirit of the angel that gave you your powers.  I can only assume a similar influence would take hold of you if you were to assume your demonic form.  I do not think it would be wise to continue studying this phenomena until you are able to gain control of the forces battling within you.”  She then dismissed me, bidding me to return to fulfill the oath I had made.  I bowed, and returned to my quarters to pack my few belongings.  With a final farewell to the denizens of Esper, I set off on the winds in the hope that answers could be found elsewhere on Alara.

Kielos was given an extended period of rest after his back to back missions behind enemy lines. He spent the first few days aimlessly wandering the halls of the Jedi Temple. He had been on the front lines for so long he didn’t quite know what to do with his free time. Eventually, he found himself watching a group of younglings training with their first lightsabers under Master Yoda.

The Grand Master turned to the sentinel with a smile on his face and stated, “Sentinel Tar, your opinion on the younglings progress?”.

“They certainly have spirit”, Kielos responded, “but I think their technique could use some work”.

One of the younglings spoke up, “Wolf clan is the best, Sentinel! We are ready to face any challenge”.

Yoda looked at the young Twi'lek who had spoken and said, “So certain of your abilities, are you, hmm? In order then, a test is. Sentinel Tar, you must defeat”.

Kielos picked up two training sabers, igniting the blue and green blades. “As you wish Master Yoda”. He stepped into the center of the room, settling into his fighting stance and the twenty younglings moved to encircle him. There was a moment of pause as Kielos waited for the younglings to make their move. Finally, the Twi’lek youngling led the attack, swinging has lightsaber in a wide arc. Kielos easily blocked the youngling’s attack. However, the courage rapidly spread through the other younglings, and soon Kielos was besieged by constant, if somewhat uncoordinated, attacks from all sides. Slowly, Kielos managed to remove some of the younglings from the fight, until only five remained: the young twi’lek, two humans, a nautolan female, and a kel dor.

“Work together, you must, if you wish to succeed”, Master Yoda said. The younglings looked at each other, then formed themselves into a condensed formation. Kielos probed their defences, striking at the younglings. While they were physically weaker than the sentinel, they combined their strength to hold off his probing attacks. Finally, Kielos decided to mirror Asajj Ventress and launched a crushing attack, slashing down with both sabers at the group of younglings. Four lightsabers crossed to meet his attack, holding his blades back. Suddenly, Kielos felt a sharp pain in his ankle, causing him to drop to one knee. As he looked up, he saw the nautolan sticking her lightsaber out from beneath the shield of other sabers. Kielos attacked again, and was again met with 4 sabers to block him while the fifth landed another blow. As Kielos shifted back to defence, he young jedi pressed their strategy and before long the sentinel was left with the younglings standing over him in victory. Master Yoda laughed, then walked up to the five younglings as kielos stood up.

“Younglings, lucky you are, that Sentinel Tar went easy on you”, the Grand Master said, “Still, work as a team, you did, to overcome your opponent. These skills will serve you well as you undertake the Gathering”.

The younglings’ faces lit up as Master Yoda turned to Kielos. The Grand Master said, “Sentinel Tar, I think these younglings are ready to undertake the Gathering. I would like you to accompany this group to Illum”.

Kielos bowed, “Of course, Master Yoda. I will meet you aboard the Crucible when you are ready to depart”.

The two jedi and and the younglings boarded the ship bound for Illum as night fell over the Jedi temple. Yoda had the younglings continue their training in the history and traditions of the Jedi order, while Kielos reminisced about his own experience in the Gathering...

Kielos and his fellow younglings landed on Illum as the sun began to rise. As they entered the chamber where the entrance to the crystal caves was located, the younglings were met by Master Yoda.

The Jedi Grand Master said, “Welcome, little ones. Come, the time has, for you to undertake the Gathering”. Master Yoda reached out with the Force, aligning several focusing lenses. Sunlight hit the top of the large ice wall, and the structure began to melt. Once the way was clear, Master Yoda gestured towards the cave entrance.

“Go. Seek your crystals within.”

Kielos and his fellow younglings raced off into the caves, eager to hunt for their lightsaber crystals. Kielos hung close to his fellows, especially his only other human classmate, Aayla Demora. The two had been brought to the temple at the same time, and they had been close throughout their training. The two made their ways through the icy caves, what little light there was glinting off the surrounding icicles. The two chatted about how they might find their crystals and what their lightsabers might look like. Suddenly, Aayla stopped. She looked up, as if seeing something. Kielos looked around, but he saw nothing.

He turned to his friend and said, “What is it?”

Aayla responded, “Don’t you see it? There is something glowing up there”.  Kielos looked where she had pointed, but he could see nothing.

“Maybe it’s your crystal?”, Kielos said.

“Maybe”, she replied. She began climbing the ice shelf towards where she had seen the glow. Her movements were slow and hesitant at first, but as she climbed higher she grew more confident and graceful. Kielos watched with excitement as she climbed. Suddenly, one of Aayla’s footholds gave out, the ice crumbing away. She let out a scream as she clung to her handholds, her legs flailing below her.

“Help me, Kielos!”, she cried, “I don’t think I can hold on much longer!”. Kielos looked up at her, panicking. She had climbed almost forty feet up, and there was no way he could reach her in time. He stood frozen, while his friend continued to cry for his aid. As her strength finally gave out, Aayla’s grip failed, and she began to fall. Kielos felt his fear being overcome by a sudden instinct. He reached out towards Aayla, the Force flowing through him to stop her fall. He lifted her back onto the ice shelf in a more stable location. As soon as she had found a secure spot, Kielos collapsed to his hands and knees from the exertion. His heavy breathing echoed in the chamber. Suddenly, he looked at where the chuck of ice that had fallen off the wall lay. The piece of ice glowed softly, and Kielos felt a pull towards it, still exhausted from lifting Aayla, he crawled to where the ice shard lay. He picked it up and began smashing it against the wall, seeking to free whatever was contained inside. Soon enough the ice yielded its contents, and Kielos stood, holding a Kyber crystal. He turned and saw Aayla holding her crystal as well. The two younglings smiled and hugged each other, then began making their way back towards the entrance. They looked at their chronometers, realizing that they had taken far longer to find their crystals than they had thought. Master Yoda had warned that if they did not return within the allotted time, they would be trapped until the next day, which would be the equivalent of almost twenty standard days.  However, Kielos stopped suddenly. Something pulled him deeper into the caves. He couldn’t explain the feeling, but he knew he was not finished.

Aayla looked at him with a mix of confusion and concern on her face. She said, “We need to hurry, Kielos. You already have your crystal. Let’s go!” She pulled on his hand as if to convince him to follow her.

Kielos shook his head and said, “You go on. I have something that needs to be finished”.

She responded quickly, stating, “Then I’m coming with you”.

“I’m sorry, Aayla, but this is something I have to do alone”, Kielos said. The obvious concern in her eyes hurt him in a way that he had not anticipated. He continued, “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine”. He patted her hand, then turned back to head deeper into the caves. As confident as he sounded, he found letting go of her hand incredibly difficult. They had always been together, no matter what the test. This time, however, he had to let her go and face this alone. He wandered through the caves, not sure of where he was supposed to go. As he turned a corner, he found himself at the top of an ice cliff. Kielos looked out into the cavern, which was filled with jagged icicles and stalagmites protruding from every surface of the cave. As Kielos was about to turn around, a familiar glow caught his attention. He looked down amid the icy spikes and saw the glow of a kyber crystal on a small platform. Kielos searched for a safe way to climb down, but everywhere he looked, he saw only the bladelike icicles. He glanced at his chronometer. He was running out of time. Kielos considered leaving.

“I already have a crystal”, he thought as he turned away from the cavern, “Why should I worry about this one. I’ve never heard of anyone returning with two crystals”. Kielos tried everything to make himself walk away. He told himself that it was to dangerous, that his friends needed him, that Aayla would never forgive him if he didn’t come back safe. However, no matter what he told himself, he could not leave. Finally, he turned back to the icicle filled cavern. He walked slowly and purposefully to the edge of the cliff, letting the Force guide his footsteps. When he reached the edge, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, then jumped. His arms spread like the wings of an eagle, and then he plummeted towards the crystal platform. The jagged icicles reached out to impale him, but he fell just beyond their reach. He flipped to land on his feet, then he looked where the second crystal stood. As he picked it up, he saw that it was a perfect match for the crystal he had already found, as if two halves of a whole. He marveled at what he had seen, but his wonder was cut short by a beeping from his chronometer. His time was almost up. He glanced around the cave and found an exit that he could not see from his previous vantage point. He raced through the caves towards where his fellow younglings were waiting. As he approached the exit, he saw the ice had almost finished sealing the cave. He raced forward and slid, narrowly escaping as the cave sealed. He was immediately embraced by his fellow younglings, Aayla especially. The younglings then followed Master Yoda back to the Crucible for their return journey...

As Kielos looked at this group of younglings, he smiled as he remembered his own story. However, that smile was slightly tainted by pangs of regret that he had carried for a long time. He could not dwell, on those thoughts though, as he and Master Yoda made their final preparations to land on Illum and begin the Gathering anew.

The younglings completed the Gathering without incident. With kyber crystals in hand, Kielos and the younglings returned to the Crucible, where the architect droid Professor Huyang was waiting to help the younglings assemble their first lightsaber. Master Yoda had been called away to deal with a Separatist attack. Kielos sent the younglings to begin their training while he confirmed the ship’s course and initiated the jump to hyperspace. By the time he had rejoined the younglings, Professor Huyang had begun to distribute lightsaber components to the younglings.

“Kielos Tar, it has been some time since you were aboard this vessel”, the ancient droid remarked when he turned to see the Jedi sentinel. His voice echoed with the wisdom acquired over a millennium of service to the Jedi Order. “I recall your Gathering being rather special. The one of handful of times anyone has returned with two crystals”. The younglings turned to stare at Kielos, quickly shifting their gaze to his twin lightsabers.

Huyang continued his reminiscence, saying, “If my memory banks still function properly, your crystals were two parts of a whole. A very unusual find indeed. Would you mind showing our younglings?”. The younglings looked expectantly at Kielos.

“Of course, Master Huyang”, Kielos responded. He sat and placed both of his sabers on the ground. As he lifted the sabers into the air and began to disassemble them with the Force, Professor Huyang offered commentary on the saber’s design.

“Note the curved hilts, younglings. This design increases the control of the weapon in a duel, but can make deflecting blaster fire more difficult”. The droid went on to critique some of the more ornamental aspects of the sabers, including their spiked pommels and sloped metallic crossguard while the younglings stared in awe as the sabers components came to rest in an orderly display on the floor. Only the two kyber crystals remained in the air, each giving off a pale yellow glow. The two crystals had the shape of curved teardrops, and Kielos slowly maneuvered them until the two halves united to form a perfect sphere. One of the younglings let out a gasp of amazement as the yellow glow became exponentially brighter, illuminating even the darkest corners of the room with its yellow light.

“A most curious incident indeed”, said Huyang as Kielos separated the crystals and reassembled his lightsabers. The droid then set the younglings to work constructing their own sabers. Once the younglings were busy, Kielos approached Huyang to discuss an idea of his own.

“Professor, I have been considering making a slight modification to the design of my sabers. Could I get your opinion on the best way to go about it?”.

“Of course, Sentinel Tar. What were you considering?”, the Droid responded. Kielos went on to describe how Ventress was able to combine her two sabers to form a saberstaff. The two then discussed how his sabers might be modified to have a similar capability. Huyang suggested removing the spiked pommel to allow for a similar configuration to Ventress’ saberstaff. However, Kielos had found those curved spikes to be surprisingly invaluable in combat, and so refused to omit them from the design. After much brainstorming, the two decided to install magnetizing plates along the back edges of the lightsabers’ curved hilts. This would allow the wielder to create a more traditional straight saberstaff when the sabers were combined. The plates would be powerful enough to hold up to even the strongest blows. Kielos opted to forgo an external trigger to activate the plates, instead choosing a force activated trigger within the hilts. This choice cut down on the severity of the changes necessary to implement this new design component. Once the sabers were reassembled, Kielos tested the magnetic plates. The lightsabers connected effortlessly, forming a straight saberstaff from the two slightly curved hilts. Satisfied with his modifications, he began assisting the younglings in finishing their sabers. By the time they had returned to the Jedi Temple, all five younglings had fully functioning lightsabers. When the Crucible lowered its boarding ramp, Kielos saw Master Kit Fisto waiting for him and the younglings with his characteristic smile.

It is my solemn duty to report the truth behind an unusual event that transpired in the town of Cambridge, which otherwise would have gone unnoticed by the broader public. It has taken my several years to compile the evidence to show that the death of the writer Kalen Gullikson was not, in fact, the result of natural causes. All my research points to a far more sinister culprit behind the death of Mr. Gullikson, things that are almost beyond human comprehension. However, I feel an obligation to caution you against reading any further, as there are countless aspects of this story that might prove unsuitable for those who would prefer something with a more pleasant subject matter. I thoroughly recommend reading anything else, so that you might be spared the terrible facts I have uncovered. However, if you proceed, know that you have been warned.

I should note, at the beginning, that Kalen Gullikson was not always a respected author. In fact, when he began his career, he was incredibly average. This is not to say that his writing was bad, but it simply had no impact on the reader. However, that same unemotional nature was perfect for drafting academic reports for his old history professor. These reports made him enough money live, and offered him the opportunity to travel alongside his old professor on various expeditions in order to chronicle the professor’s discoveries. I have read these reports and can attest that they are incredibly informative, but exceptionally boring and of no literary interest. In fact, if you compared these reports to his more famous work, you would swear they were not written by the same person. However, in his last report concerning an expedition to Egypt, there is a marked change in style that would foreshadow everything to come.

When the expedition arrived in Egypt, Kalen waited on the docks for his bags before heading off to the hotel where the professor was waiting. When a steward finally tossed Kalen’s bag onto the dock, Kalen saw to his dismay that his duffel bag had a massive black stain on the side. After a quick rummage through his belongings, the writer found his pen case cracked, and the pen inside was beyond repair. Shaking his head, kalen made his way towards the hotel. After dropping his bag in the room he shared with another member of the expedition and preserving his other belongings from further ink stains, he walked out to wander a street market in search of a replacement writing implement. Eventually, he found himself walking through a darker corner of the market, where a strange, hunchbacked man approached him.

“Good day, sir”, the peddler said, “might I interest you in an alabaster pyramid? Carved from the actual stones used to build the Great Pyramid”.

Kalen looked at the peddler as he continued his sales pitch. Finally, the author cut the merchant off, saying, “look, all I need is a pen”.

“I do have something you might like…”, the merchant said before ducking behind his stall. He emerged holding a black wood, which he offered to Kalen. Inside was a black pen with intricate gold inlays that spelled out ancient symbols. “You won’t find anything like this in the world”.

Kalen picked up the pen and tried it out. The ink was smooth, glossy, and black, and the pen felt very natural in his hand. He promptly bought it, and he never saw the merchant again. Now when a strange merchant in a back alley offers you a pen covered in ancient writing, you should probably ask more questions about where it came from. You never know if it belonged to a local crime lord, military official, or has a connection to a cursed tomb. All of these possibilities are dangerous, but in slightly different ways, as Kalen Gullikson would find out.

The expedition itself went on without incident. Kalen recorded everything diligently, using his new pen to record all the the professor’s discoveries. He enjoyed the writing more than ever, and the report that came out was far more richly written than his previous work. The pen continued to produce its glossy black ink. Kalen thought it was convenient that it had not needed to be refilled throughout the expedition. One would think that such an abnormal fact might cause you to stop using a pen. However, it felt so natural in Kalen’s hand and his writing seemed to flow more smoothly whenever he used it, so he continued to use it, eventually refusing to write with anything else.  

Upon his return to the States, he renewed his attempts at writing for a mainstream audience. With his new pen in hand, his feelings flowed casually onto the pages, and he was soon picked up by a publisher to write regular serials. These met with critical and public acclaim. I don’t need to tell you about his rise to fame, but what there are some details from his personal life that do bear examining in the leadup to his death. From the people that I spoke with, Kalen initially embraced his newfound fame, making many public appearances to do signings and such. However as time went on, he accepted more and more commissions, exponentially increasing his workload. While most think that his increased workload was inflicted by his publishers, I have discovered that he actually made the requests himself. He began writing more and more, and the subjects of his writing took on darker and darker tones. Some of his publishers began to distance themselves from Kalen, as his works about dark and unsettling terrors from beyond the world disturbed their readers. Some of his associates remarked that he had begun to refuse visitors, and his landlady said that she could hear the constant scratching of his pen at all hours of the night if she passed by his apartment. Most considered his near compulsive writing to be simply a part of his increasingly eccentric style. However, one night, the true nature of his sudden literary prowess was revealed to those of us who knew what we were looking for.

What follows is my best assessment of what happened the day Kalen Gullikson, based on what little information could be gained from witnesses and evidence left around his apartment.

Kalen sat behind his desk. He hadn’t left it in several days, barely stopping to eat or sleep. His mind raced with ideas and his heart was filled with overwhelming emotion that could only be released through writing. He scribbled feverously through the night, the pen gliding swiftly over the the paper as letters formed the words that formed the sentences which tried desperately to express the feelings trapped within the young writer’s chest. His pen obliged him, dutifully pouring out its thick glossy, black ink to cover the paper with the author’s deepest feelings. With every line he finished, Kalen felt himself growing weaker, his hand shaking as he continued to pour his feelings onto the page. However, try as he might, he could not stop writing. The feelings trapped within him sought release, and he could not deny them. As he covered each new page with ink, it was pushed from the desk, tumbling to the floor to join the ever increasing mound of similar sheets covered in the emotional outpourings of the mad author. Even as his vision dimmed and he could no longer feel the pen within his fingers, Kalen continued to scrawl the messages that he hoped would free him from the torment of the feelings caged within his chest. Finally, with a period, the pen fell from Kalen’s hand, and the author’s head hit the desk with a distinctive thud.

It took several days for anyone to notice Kalen Gullikson’s absence, as his reclusive habits and introverted nature had led very few to bother checking up on him regularly. In fact, it wasn’t until he failed to send in his regular serial to his publisher that any report was filed. Eventually a policeman was sent around, and after getting no response to his knocking, took the liberty of breaking down the door. Of course, he obtained permission from the landlady before doing so, as he was generally a polite fellow, especially for a police officer. According to the official report, the officer found Kalen Gullikson slumped over on his writing desk, surrounded by piles of paper. The officer was not much for reading, so he ignored the papers and checked to see if the author was dead, which of course he was. The windows and doors were locked from the inside, so there could not have been any outside assailant who could have slain the young author, and no one was found hiding in some closet or other place waiting for the perfect time to escape. The head detective and several more officers were called to the scene, and each piece of paper was collected, boxed, and moved to a warehouse filled with other evidence. The investigation of Kalen’s apartment did not last long, as the police department was having its annual banquet that evening, and all those involved in the investigation required time to properly shine their shoes and buttons for the evening’s festivities.

Kalen’s body was turned over to the coroner’s office, where a brief autopsy was done. His date of death was February 1st, and his cause of death was listed as exhaustion. No one thought much of the author’s passing, and he was buried in the local cemetery without any ceremony or memorial. I have visited the place where he was buried, though it is apparent i am the only one who has done so. I also visited the police in order to obtain the facts of the case for me own research. In the medical examiner’s report, there were several anomalies that should be noted, although most people who have read it without knowing the other facts I have presented simply saw them as a curiosity. First, his heart had an extra hole in it. As you probably know, most people’s hearts have two holes: one where blood enters the right atrium and one where the blood leave the left ventricle. These holes are very important to the flow of oxygen and nutrients to other parts of the body, and therefore are expected to be present in most people’s hearts. However, Kalen’s heart had a third hole, located at the base of the left ventricle. It was not very big, only about the size of an fountain pen’s ink cartridge. The coroner suggested that it was a preexisting condition linked to the late author’s distaste for rigorous physical activity, but that it had no importance to Kalen’s death. The second point of interest in the coroner’s report was that there was no blood anywhere to be found in Kalen’s body. The coroner said that this was due to him being dead for so long without being found. However, the average human body contains approximately one and half gallons of blood. There is no known scientific process that I have found to explain how so much blood simply disappeared. Finally, the report notes a strange tattoo located on the left side of Kalen’s chest. I have seen several photographs of it, and I will try and describe it as best I can. Though the quality of the police photographs is remarkably poor, one can determine that it shares the glossy black quality of the ink that flowed from that horrid pen. It depicts a eye of egyptian styling. Cursory students of history or archeology might easily mistake it as the eye of Horus. However, closer examination shows that its features are reversed and distorted, with an additional lobe at the outer edge. This eye is the mark of an ancient, eldritch evil which I will not name here, but know that he delights in the torment of mortal men. This mark is the most troubling of all, as it proves that Kalen’s death was connected to darker forces at work in this world.

Attempts at interviewing those persons involved with the case proved useless, as it was paid so little attention. So my investigation finally turned to the mountain of papers that were found scattered around the body. It took months of painstaking work to organize the papers into their proper order. I do not have the space necessary in this work to go into detail about the contents of the writing, nor could I do the tragedy contained with those pages justice. I will say that the story is one of raw emotion, and I wept as I forced myself to keep reading long into the night. The story often references a woman, although her name is never given. I have not been able to ascertain whether that woman is based on someone in the real world or simply a personification of the perfect partner. Regardless, I cannot avoid the true horror found within those pages. I do not believe anyone else has noticed what I have found within its pages, but there was a symbol that is found on every page, without fail, in the upper right hand corner. At first, I though it merely a symbolic letterhead attached by the stationery company. However, upon closer inspection, I found that it was in the same ink that was used for all the other writing. The symbol itself took me some time to unravel, but in the end, I discovered that it was an overlay of three letter in the latin alphabet: A J M. I have no idea as to the significance of these letters, but I have no doubt that they held meaning to the late author. I kept a section of the work that I found particularly impactful, which coincidentally consists of the final pages Kalen ever wrote. As I traveled researching the final details of this case, visiting other colleagues and relatives who were less than helpful in providing additional details on Kalen’s life, I spent many sleepless nights going over those pages, drinking in the tragic and painful emotions he had poured onto the pages. Eventually, I found the relative who had been gifted the late author’s personal effects, including the pen used to write these stories. I admit that I stole the pen, not out of greed or curiosity, but to protect anyone from falling victim to its evil nature. For when I disassembled the pen late that night in the room I had rented, I found that it had no ink cartridge. Instead, the inside was coated with the dried remnants of what could only be blood. As my eyes moved from the disassembled pen to the pieces of paper containing Kalen’s last words, the ink lost its glossy black tone, slowly turning to the dark, rich red of freshly spilt blood.

I have spent a week exploring the expansive city, and yet I have only just begun to scratch the surface of its mysteries.  The city is called Ravnica, the City of Guilds.  I have climbed  to the tops of the highest spires I could find, but the city continues beyond the horizon.  Many of the denizens of this city are affiliated with one of ten guilds, with each group affiliated with two of the five colors of mana.  Their cluestones mark the walls of Ravnica, each extending the invitation to join the ranks of the various guilds.  In my search for answers, I have encountered many of these guilds.  

The first guild I was unfortunate enough to encounter was the Gruul.  After the street brawl, I had decided to lay low in a ruined section of the city, as my garb was markedly different than the other citizens of the city and I had no wish to be identified as a participant. I was still enwrapped in trying to understand my newfound strength.  The spell I had cast during my confrontation with the ogre was far beyond anything I even thought was possible.  I have never manifested a capacity to wield either black or white mana, and this overwhelming use of force was shocking for me. I was lost in thought, and I did not notice the burning bush insignia that marked my entry into Gruul territory.  As I turned the corner of a ruined tower, I was met by a small group of raiders. They were a diverse group, comprised of two lizard men, known as Viashino, another ogre, and several humans. Their armor and weapons were crude, and each was adorned with their guild’s symbol, either sewn haphazardly onto their clothing or tattooed on their exposed flesh. The ogre recognized me, exclaiming, “Oye! That's the bastard who killed my cousin! Let’s pick ‘im clean and the stick his body on a pike!” I could not see the family resemblance, but there was no time to discuss this point.  His comrades gave a rousing cry of agreement, and they all charged me. I felt the magic surge forward again. However, I was unwilling to risk another attempt at spellcasting, given the horrific outcome of my first attempt.  Instead, I drew the silver swords that I had carried in the service of Avacyn and stood my ground.  The first of the group to reach me was the ogre.  He swung a broad axe in powerful wide arc, but he was slow and uncoordinated.  I easily sidestepped his blow, and relieved him of his head.  His companions fought in a similar brutal yet uncivilized style.  I was able to dispatch them without great exertion, but I must admit I was impressed with their loyalty and bravery.  however, that admiration did not inspire me to remain in this area, and I began to move back towards the more populated areas of the city.  

As I reentered the more populated areas of the city, I looked for places that might hold records or other sources of information that could help me figure out how I had come to this city and the source of my newfound powers.  As I wandered through the streets of Ravnica, I noticed a group of men who reminded me of the reclusive alchemists of Innistrad.  They carried a blue and green sigil showing a tree bent in the shape of a cresting wave.  I followed them at a distance, hoping that they would lead me to someone who could explain my situation.  The group passed through a gate marked with their symbol, and I paused, unsure if I would be allowed entrance to this district, especially after the reception I received from the Gruul.  As I stood wavering at the gate, one of the members of this guild approached me. He asked me, “what business do you have with the Simic? Do you seek knowledge of the ways of nature and the evolution of life?”.  I replied that I sought answers regarding a change within myself, explaining the events that had brought me to Ravnica.  The man invited me through the gate, promising to deliver the answers I sought after he conducted some tests.  As we walked through the Simic district, I was amazed by the sheer amount of experimentation going on around me.  bubbling vats steamed, macabre fusions of different creatures being examined by various guild members, and great libraries where scholars eagerly researched their projects.  My guide led me through many different chambers, finally bringing me into a large open hall.  There, I met a man who looked as though he had been combined with a fish.  He introduced himself as Vorel, and after a short conversation with the man who had brought me before him, the fishman turned to me. He asked me to recount the events that brought me to Ravnica. After I had told him of my experiences in the void, he asked if I could demonstrate these powers I had gained. He bid an attendant bring him small tube, from which a humanlike ooze emerged.  Vorel bid me use my power against this thing, assuring me that I would not do any lasting damage. He stated, “This is Experiment One. It was designed to to test all future experiments.  It will easily regenerate from any woulds you might inflict on it”.  I nodded, then reached within to summon the same strength.  As I willingly summoned the mana I needed to cast the same spell I had cast during the street brawl, I was more aware of the influences that my change had wrought on me.  I could distinctly feel the influences of both Avacyn and Griselbrand as I drew the white and black mana to me, as well as the blue mana that I had always been adept in wielding.  The black mana brought temptation to destroy all that was around me, and reveling in the power of the demon who had instilled me with this power.  This influence conflicted with the white mana that Avacyn had infused me with during my imprisonment in the Helvault, which urged me towards more noble use of my power, granting Avacyn’s protection to this creature.  The two colors of mana both attempted to exert their will, each promoting the desires of the one who had granted me their power.  I called upon a great reserve of blue mana in order to protect my own mind from these influences, finally gaining enough mental clarity to cast the spell I desired.  Again the bolts of black, blue, and white mana streamed from my hands towards the experiment. Though the spell carried the same destructive potential that it had during the brawl, the experiment was able to survive this onslaught of holy and demonic power, and even resisted being banished into the void.  Vorel’s face, however, betrayed a great deal of concern for the power I had shown.  He asked where I had learned to wield such spells, stating, “You strike with the fury of a Boros angel, the sadism of a Rakdos demon, and the cunning of a Dimir agent.  I have never seen such a spell”.  His words disheartened me, and I felt as though none would be able to give me the answers that I needed.  Then he paused in thought, pacing the chamber.  He then turned to me and said, “I know of another mage who I have seen with your capacity for spellcraft.  His name is Ral Zarek, of the Izzit. I find him and his kind to be too unsystematic and crazed in their pursuit of knowledge.  You can find them on the other side of the city.  Perhaps He may have stumbled across the answer you seek”. I thanked Vorel, and returned to the streets of Ravnica to follow this new lead.

I set out to find the red and blue dragon that symbolize the Izzit, among whom I hoped to find the mage Ral Zarek.  In order to reach the Izzit laboratories, I had to cross the entire city, weaving my way through the territory of the other guilds.  I narrowly avoided armed conflict while passing a Boros checkpoint, where my distinctive difference in appearance and dress set me apart from the average citizen.  Their fanaticism outpaced even the most devout priests of Avacyn, and their quick tempers made them always ready for a fight.  However, they let me passed as soon as I mentioned my service to Avacyn.  It seems they are also lead by an angel, though she seems to have a far greater love of battle than the angel I had served.  I hope to never face either them or their angelic leaders, for they appear to be capable warriors, and I know all too well the strength of angels from my imprisonment with Avacyn.  The white mana I find myself wielding is the mark of her battle with the imprisoned demons during my time in the Helvault.  I would caution any against incurring the wrath of an angel, especially if those of the Boros Legion.  

I continued on through the city without further incident, reaching the gates of the Izzit Guild.  My first impression of the guild was a large explosion on one of the upper floors, which sent several goblins flying out of the windows in various directions.  This incident was quickly followed by a loud cheer from within the building, as though this explosion was marked some kind of success.  Seconds later, there was another, even larger explosion, which was apparently not as welcome as the first.  It was not followed by cheers, but by a burst of loud swearing and frenzied action.  I shook my head, wondering what kind of answers I could possibly find here.  I approached the nearest person that I could find, a small man with bronze plated armor covered with tubes and specked with glowing blue lights.  He was so deep in thought that he did not notice me until I touched his arm. He jumped violently, and a bolt of lightning burst from a tube attached to gauntlet, Reflexively, I reached out with a burst of blue mana and counteracted the bolt before any damage could be done.  Before, this counterspell would have required a great amount of concentration to cast, but now it required no more than a casual thought.  My increased ability to wield mana still continues to amaze me.  After a brief explanation of my reason for coming here, the man agreed to take me to see Ral Zarek.   After navigating a maze of boiler rooms and laboratories and narrowly avoiding several more explosions, I entered a large laboratory which contained a several metallic spikes, each topped with a sphere.  Lightning jumped between the different balls at irregular intervals, At the center of the room stood a man with a large brass cylinder on his hip that glowed as though it contained the same lightning that was sparking through the air.  He reached up towards the arcing lightning, and suddenly, all of the towers emitted great bolts of energy.  The mage caught the lightning in his outstretched hand, channeling the energy through a large gauntlet that was connected to the cylinder on his hip.  This man was Ral Zarek, the Izzet mastermind. As soon as the lightning ceased, he turned to me and asked what he could do for me.  As I recounted my adventures, Ral listened with greater and greater interest.  As I finished my tale, he smiled and rose to shake my hand.  He said, “Congratulations, Kerym! You are a planeswalker”.  He went on to explain the complex reality of the Multiverse, and my newfound place within it as a so called “planeswalker”.  He told me of many different worlds, separated by the void known as the Blind Eternities, through which I had passed on my journey to Ravnica.  I sat there stunned. The immensity of the revelation was too much for me to process. Though the Izzet planeswalker had answered many of my questions, there were still many things I needed to understand. He knew nothing of the demonic and angelic influences that still haunted me.  I stood silently, contemplating what I should do next.  Ral waited for me to respond for some time before offering to show me what he meant. I took hold of his outstretched hand, and for the first time stepped into The Blind Eternities, and gazed around at the myriad worlds that were waiting for me to explore.  Perhaps one of these planes might hold the answers I seek.  An instant later, I was standing back in Ral’s laboratory, with the Izzet mage smiling broadly.  He said a few more words about the finer details of moving between planes.  Then he asked if I would lend him a hand in obtaining a relic from another of the guilds.  It seemed that one of the Izzet initiates had bargained with the Orzhov Church in order to obtain materials needed for his research, but did not know the power of the gem he offered in trade.  Ral Zarek stated that this gemstone should be able to amplify the lightning spell he was working on at least tenfold, if his calculations are to be believed.  I agreed, thinking that any holy society would be amiable to repairing the actions of a young and unaware soul. I set off at once, my sights set on the towering basilica that marked the center of the Orzhov district.  

Kielos arose the next day and walked down to the Jedi Archives. He had shed his armor, dressing in his normal black and silver jedi robes.  He carried his twin lightsabers openly on his belt. As he walked, he braided his long hair, taking apart his single combat braid and forming two very small braids over his ears that tied his remaining hair back. He greeted Madame Jocasta, and then went to a secure computer in a back wing of the archives to call up information on Deku Neimoidia. The planet was one of the Trade Federation’s purse worlds, and home to a large section of their business administration. The climate was warm, with large plantations run by wealthy landlords. He loaded the intelligence file he had been given by Master Plo, which gave him the location of a specific mansion along the planet’s equatorial region. This opulent estate was the home of a wealthy Trade Federation leader who helps run these colonies. While the Trade Federation had professed neutrality in the Clone Wars, it was obvious that they were lending far more support to the Separatist cause. The information that Master Plo had given Kielos suggested that there would be a meeting of several business leaders at that mansion. The Council had asked him to infiltrate the meeting and return with any information that might help them in the war effort. Such a meeting would be heavily guarded, making infiltration difficult. The Archives had basic geoscans of the planet’s surface, but neither the archives nor the information from Master Plo Koon had plans for the actual compound. This lack of information would make Kielos’ mission even more difficult.

He stood up and left the archives, wandering the halls of the temple while he meditated on what he would need to complete his mission. Lost in his own thoughts, he ended up wandering into the training grounds of the temple, where younglings and padawans learned the basics of lightsaber combat and older Jedi practiced against each other. As he wandered amid the training jedi, he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. As Kielos turned, he found himself face to face with Anakin Skywalker.

Kielos bowed to the Jedi. “Master Skywalker, I didn’t expect you to be hear at the temple. How have you been?”.

Anakin responded, “The war goes well. Just got back from an engagement with the Separatists in the Outer Rim. Heard you had a Separatist run in of your own”.

Kielos smiled. “Yes, I run into Asajj Ventress on my last mission. Let’s just say Master Kenobi’s description of her fighting style was… incomplete.”  

Anakin laughed, replying, “What did he forget this time?”.

“Only that her two lightsabers can be formed into a saberstaff. Those power strikes were a bit more difficult to deal with when you use Jar’kai”, Kielos joked, “Only a minor detail”. The two Jedi walked as they talked, eventually arriving at an open training space.

Anakin stopped and turned to face Kielos. “Then let me take the time to fix the hole Obi Wan left in your education.” He ignited his lightsaber, taking up a two handed fighting stance. Kielos nodded and ignited his sabers, pointing both at Anakin. Anakin launched forward in a power strike. Kielos blocked the strike by crossing his blades over his head, then pushed the blade to the side. Kielos spun out of the engagement, his sabers slashing as he moved out of the block. Anakin stepped back to dodge the attacks, then responded with another power slash. This time Kielos was only able to catch the blow with one saber, his arm almost giving way under the weight of the attack. Kielos recognized Anakin’s more aggressive style as Form 5, which focuses on a strong offence filled with powerful strikes. Anakin’s relentless, heavy handed assault began to overwhelm the young sentinel’s defences. Eventually, a final, heavy blow broke through Kielos’ defence, leaving Kielos on the ground with Anakin’s lightsaber pointed at his throat. Both jedi deactivated their sabers, and Anakin helped Kielos back to his feet.

“Your technique is good, but you rely too heavily on evading your opponent’s attacks and remaining on the defensive”, Anakin said, “Some times you have to take the fight to your opponent. Use both your lightsabers to strike fast, even if you can’t strike as hard”.

“Fair enough, Master Skywalker. I will try to incorporate what you have said”, Kielos responded.

“There you are, Master. I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”, A young padawan approached the two jedi, looking mainly at Anakin. She then saw Kielos, and introduced herself. “Sorry to interrupt. Ahsoka Tano, at your service”.

Anakin turned to his padawan and asked, “What is it, Snips?”

Ahsoka responded, “Master Kenobi has been engaged by Separatist forces, and the Council wants you to lead his reinforcements”.

Anakin sighed, “And just when I thought I was going to get some rest. Excuse me, Sentinel Tar”.

Kielos bowed, “Of course, Master Skywalker. Give my best to Master Kenobi”. He laced the last remark with a light tinge of sarcasm and a smile. As the Jedi master and his padawan turned to walk away, Ahsoka suddenly looked back at Kielos.

She then turned to her master, saying, “Sentinel Tar? Weren’t we supposed to give him something?”.

Anakin looked puzzled for a moment, then abruptly realized why he had sought out Keilos in the first place. “We brought back a separatist shuttle from our last encounter with the enemy, thought it might be helpful in your next mission. It’s in the upper hanger”.

“Any help is always appreciated, Master Skywalker”, Kielos said, before turning and heading towards his quarters to pack his things.

Kielos took the time to repaint his armor again. The mandalorian armor’s ability to take hits from blasters would be beneficial in case he was spotted by separatist security. Its new paint served to camouflage him amid the grain fields and other agricultural scenery of Deku Neimoidia. He left his blasters and shock bolas behind, taking only his lightsabers. He was travelling light, to ensure he could move freely and hopefully avoid detection. The black kama, hood, and tunic was replaced with lighter colored robes of a more traditional nature for a jedi. He also picked up a host of bugs and sensors that would allow him to collect the information that the council sought. With a last look around his quarters, he touched a single, ragged piece of purple cloth that hung in a corner of his quarters, then Kielos left the Jedi Temple and headed for a shuttle that would take him to the Separatist transport that he would fly to his final destination. The Separatist ship was waiting for him in a Republic cruiser in orbit above Coruscant. He couldn’t take off from the surface of the capital, or spies would inevitably report his trip to the Separatists. Once he was clear in deeper space, Kielos piloted the craft off the cruiser and initiated the jump into hyperspace  towards Deku Neimoidia.

Kielos brought the ship out of hyperspace a relatively large distance from the planet. He wanted to try and avoid drawing attention to himself as he approached the planet’s sensors. He had searched the transport, and had found the head of a B1 series battle droid in a storage locker. He had wired the head into the ship’s computer, so that his transmissions would sound like he was a battle droid, rather than a Jedi. He gambled that, given that there was no immediate threat against this planet, they would not bother to scan the vessel. The ship had been slightly damaged in its capture, and Kielos went about causing additional damage to non-essential systems. He planned to claim to be a survivor of a Republic attack that had barely escaped and was badly in need of repairs. As he got within scanner range, the ship's communications system crackled to life.

A droid voice came through the speaker, “Incoming transport, this is Ground Command. Please identify yourself”.

Kielos hesitated, looking at the droid head wired into the communications relay. He then answered, “This is Shuttle… 517”. He checked the ship’s records to confirm the number. “We have sustained heavy damage from a Republic attack and request immediate clearance to land”. He then waited tensely for the response.

The droid on the communications system said, “You sound a little odd. What unit are you from? What’s your serial number?”.

Kielos cursed, then worked quickly to generate a small explosion in the ship’s hull. He then returned to the comm station. He said, “I just suffered a hull rupture! I don’t have time for answers! We’re gonna die if we don’t land now!”

The droid on the other end responded, “Alright, alright. Just be prepared to explain yourself when you land. Sending you landing coordinates now. Be ready for inspection and debriefing when you land”.

“Roger, Roger”. Kielose responded. He breathed a sigh of relief as he input the landing sequence. He then set about making final preparations. He knew that he could not actually land the shuttle, since it would then certainly be scanned and he would be found. He would instead initiate the ship's self destruct sequence, then parachute onto the planet’s surface. The forces on the ground would assume that the ship simply succumbed to the damage and exploded. Kielos would have liked to use a jetpack for increased control in the descent, but the energy output might draw unwanted attention.  As he entered the atmosphere and reached a safe altitude, he opened the rear door, input the final commands for the self destruct, and jumped.

Kielos let himself fall for a considerable distance before deploying his parachute. As he looked up, he saw the ship continue on its doomed course, then explode. As debris filled the air, he quickly found himself on the in the middle of a tall grain field. He rapidly buried the parachute, then began to get a sense of his surroundings. Checking his holomap, he saw that he was several miles from the mansion. He set off through the grain, staying alert to any patrolling droids or harvestor beetles. The beetles on this planet were transplanted from the Neimoidian home world, were 5 meters long, and had jaws capable of splitting a man in half. They were organized into complex social structures, with most serving as workers harvesting grain and fungus from the planet’s agricultural fields. However, some acted as soldiers, and served alongside local defence forces. Kielos kept his eyes open as he made his way towards the mansion.

Kielos moved slowly across the fields, remaining mostly hidden deep within the fields. However, there were paths that crisscrossed the open land used by the beetles and local patrols. After about a mile of walking, he came to a path being patrolled by a squad of Neimoidian soldiers. They stood in the middle of the path, exchanging small talk. Kielos glaced at his chronometer. He could try and go around the patrol, but such a detour would likely cause him to miss the meeting he had been sent to observe. Instead, he opted to try a Jedi mind trick on all ten guards. He reached out in the Force, and waved his hand in the direction of the squad. Each Neimoidian turned, hearing a sound in their minds. As they turned, Kielos dashed across the path, just barely making it into the field on the other side before the guards turned back to their small talk. After a considerable amount of walking and one more close encounter, the sentinel found himself looking at the outer walls of the mansion where he was to spy on the meeting. He surveyed the surrounding architecture, looking for a way in. there was a large tree resembling a massive bonsai tree located about halfway down the south wall. Kielos could hear the clanking of battle droids from atop the walls, and he was sure that more would be located within the compound. Kielos shook his head, contemplating his plan to infiltrate the meeting. The lack of cover between the field and the wall would require him to expose himself. There had been unconfirmed reports that transports routinely entered the compound, but Kielos had no proof that this was the case, and even if it was normally true, it might not continue given the high security level of the meeting occurring within the mansion.

Kielos sighed. “The Council certainly knows how to pick their impossible objectives”, he whispered to himself. He then looked around, took a deep breath, waited. Suddenly, he felt the instinctive urge to go. Kielos raced across the open space and leapt up into the tree near the south wall, not pausing even an instant to look up to the wall where droids were patrolling. He let the Force guide his movements, as he climbed swiftly up the tree, vaulting over the wall and immediately jumping again to the roof of the complex only moments before a droid patrol turned onto that section of the south wall. Safely hidden, he took a moment to evaluate his position. He stood on a slant of the roof away from the wall, overlooking several structures of similar height and construction. The pyramid shaped roofs provided stable enough footing, and the droids would never look for a Jedi on top of the compound. Kielos pulled out his macrobinoculars and began to scan the buildings. He used a thermal imaging setting to try and find the meeting, looking for the heat signatures of the Confederacy delegates. He soon located a large number of bodies moving through the central building of the compound. Kielos jumped across the rooftops until he was on the top of the central building. He cut a small hole in the roof by driving his lightsaber straight through the roof, then dropping a small sensor though that would record any interactions in the room. Kielos linked his holodeck to the sensor, and took a quick look at the room. It appeared to be a conference room, with a long table down the center of the room and large windows that allowed the occupants to look over the estate’s gardens and surrounding land.

“Hopefully”, Kielos thought, “this will be the meeting place for the delegates”. He took out his macrobinoculars and rescanned the area sure enough, the heat signatures were climbing the stairs. However, instead of continuing to climb to the top, the began to sit down on a lower floor. Kielos cursed under his breath, then slid to the edge of the roof. He slid over the edge, then silently slid open one of the large windows. He then flipped into the room, moving towards the only doorway. As he approached, the door slid open, and Kielos passed through and onto a landing at the top of a large flight of stairs. According to his macrobinoculars, the meeting was only one floor below him. However, further investigation showed that droid security forces had moved into position around the meeting chambers. There was no exposed rafters or other convenient way for the Jedi to get any closer to the meeting without being detected. He also could not cut through the floor as he had done with the roof, as the meetings participants would undoubtedly notice a lightsaber blade coming through the ceiling. Suddenly, he came up with a workable plan. Kielos fished another small sensor from his belt. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sensor. It lifted out of his hand, rising towards the ceiling. Kielos guided the probe through the Force as it slid along the ceiling towards the meeting room. None of the droid guards looked up to see the small metal sphere entering the meeting room. Kielos was forced to focus his concentration solely on the sensor in order to keep it in place. There was nowhere to set the sensor down where it would not be noticed. The sensor sent all the information it was recording to Kielos’ holodeck, so that it could be reviewed later by the Council. Suddenly, Kielos felt a disturbance in the Force. That disturbance was immediately followed by a blaster bolt that flew past the Jedi’s head. Kielos snapped out of his focused trance and ignited his lightsabers, blocking several more blaster bolts. While he had been focussing on maintaining the sensor’s position, he had ignored the rest of his surroundings. Now he was face to face with four B1 battle droids. The droids stopped once they saw Kielos’ yellow blades reflect their bolts.

“Hey, it’s a Jedi!”, one of the battle droids exclaimed.

“You buckethead, of course he is. Just blast him!”, one of the other droids responded. The droids quickly resumed their attack on the Jedi. Kielos backed his way up the stairs, deflecting blaster bolts back at the droids. He ran then back through the room where he had entered, vaulted out of the open window, and back onto the roof. He raced across the compound’s rooftops as an alarm was raised. He reached the outer wall, vaulting into the tree he had used to gain access, then descending to the ground. He then took off across the fields. B1 droids chased after him on speeders. Additionally, Droideka rolled along the paths that crossed the landscape, chasing Kielos as he raced across the landscape.  He didn’t know exactly where he was running, but he let the Force guide him as he raced away from the pursuing droids. His lightsabers flashed in wide sweeping arcs as he deflected blaster bolts back at his pursuers. Suddenly, one of the speeders descended in a strafing run. Kielos leapt into the air and decapitated the droid pilot in a single stroke. Kielos revved the speeders engine, weaving to avoid fire from the other speeders and from the droids on the ground. The speeder allowed him to outpace the ground troops, and his piloting skill coupled with the Force allowed him to evade the fire from the other speeders. He continued to trust his instinct and, after a lengthy chase he found himself approaching a civilian airfield. He jumped off his speeder, letting it crash into another droid as he rolled to his feet. Kielos selected a small, innocuous looking ship that hopefully had a hyperdrive. However, before he could reach the ship, two lumbering beetles towered up in front of him. Their massive mandibles indicated that they were soldier beetles, and they advanced aggressively towards the Jedi. Kielos deactivated one of his lightsabers, using the other to deflect attacks from the remaining speeders. Kielos reached out with the Force, touching the simple minds of the beetles. He only had enough concentration to imprint a single thought: “I am the queen”.

A moment later, a squad of droideka rolled up behind Kielos. He reignited his second lightsaber and resumed blocking the hail of incoming lasers. Two beetles shook themselves from the trance Kielos had put them in and charged forward. Kielos leapt over them, rolling to his feet and preparing for their second charge. However, instead the beetles continued to move forward towards the droids. The droids’ blasters couldn’t penetrate their hardened exoskeletons. The beetles slammed into the droids, giving Kielos the opportunity he needed to escape. He ran towards the ship, fired his engines, and then lifted off. The ship did have a suitable hyperdrive, but it was a civilian ship with no offensive capabilities. As the Jedi left the planet’s atmosphere, he was greeted by a swarm of droid starfighters. Kielos deftly maneuvered his ship, trying to program the navicomputer for a successful hyperspace jump while simultaneously not being shot out of the sky. Weaving through various other space traffic and even one of the doughnut shaped control ships, the Jedi was able to keep his enemies from getting a clear shot. Finally, he heard the computer beep, confirming that the coordinates for his jump were set. He pulled out of a collision course with a nearby freighter, watching two droid fighters crash into it before engaging the ship’s hyperdrive and jumping to safety.

After a few more jumps, Kielos found himself back above Coruscant. After giving the proper identification codes, he was directed to land on a Republic cruiser orbiting the planet. As he disembarked his stolen ship, he was greeted by Master Plo Koon. The two took Kielos’ holodeck to the command center to review the recordings that the sentinel had recovered. The recording was short, but it contained one piece of information that was of real importance.

A Neimoidian on the recording said, “I have the assurance of the Count that our shipyards have produced a great weapon that no Republic fleet can stand against. It has had several successful battles already”.

A Muun representative of the Banking Clan replied, “I hope that the Count is not careless with this weapon. It was very expensive to construct”.

The Neimoidian responded, “the ship will be going to the Abregado system, far away from any current Republic forces, until its next mission. Do not worry, my associate”.

The sound of blaster fire rang out in the recording, and all the delegates turned to the sound of blaster fire. The recording cut out right after that.

Master Plo Koon turned to Kielos and said, “I assume that is where your mission when awry”. The Kel Dor master chuckled as Kielos shrugged.

“Well master, you always taught me to try new approaches. This time it just didn’t work out quite as I planned”, Kielos responded, flashing a smile at his old master.

I leave behind this story to any who may have followed the trail of my harrowing journey from Chicago to the shadowed lands in the Northeast, where strange and horrifying occurrences are known to be frequent.  Some of you may have noticed the abrupt decline in my communication, while others may have marked my decreasing interest in my usual endeavours. Any person brave or foolish enough to have come across this note must also have realized my newfound fascination with those eldritch secrets found in such books as the Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred and  Friedrich von Junzt’s Unaussprechlichen Kulten.  If you have come this far so as to find this note, I will offer one final caution.  Many of the things I am attempting to record here are of such a nature that they defy proper description, only leaving a lasting impression of horror that threatens to overtake my sanity even as my pen struggles to form coherent words upon this page.  The story I leave behind bears no happy ending, but it is my hope that you who read it might understand the forces in my life that have scarred me forever, and why I have recklessly sought out those horrors which sensible men actively avoid.

My flight from Chicago was not of note to any of the papers, though I had heard that a few ads were placed inquiring for any information about me by my family. I shall give the briefest of overviews of what occurred.  Then a student of psychology, I was an exceptionally rational thinker, concerned with my studies and with the few hobbies such as can be afforded a devoted student.  I was not inclined to interact with my fellow students, preferring instead to devote my time to exploring the more lighthearted facets of ancient mythology and indulging my love of theatre.  The latter of these, I fear, proved my downfall, as it was there that I first felt its presence.  I had been working on a production of King Lear with a local theater, doing technical work regarding lights and such.  God, how I wish I had never set foot in that accursed space! For, as any who know me are well aware, it was there that I met Adriana.  Our initial interactions were brief and professional, but eventually became more personal, with me helping her with the little problems of everyday life that plague each of us. Around that same time, I slowly found myself distracted from my usual work, my thoughts of neurons and neurosis replaced by singular and wholly irrational thoughts about the future. I dare not commit them all to paper, as I doubt that even the most stout hearted of men could bear to envision the things that I have seen. One example should suffice in convincing you that these thoughts had no origin in my purely rational mind, but must be a product of some malignant external force.  The example I shall give is a dream, recorded in my diary on July 07.

In my dream, I found myself standing in a Gothic cathedral, with great vaulted ceilings of black basalt and high narrow windows that let in very little light.  The candles burned not with the usual warm orange glow, but instead gave off a dim purple light.  As I gazed around the cathedral, I saw that the pews were filled with people dressed in sombre black clothes, but the shadows cast by those unsettling purple flames were such that I could not identify any of their faces.  Suddenly, a hideous cacophony arose from behind me, as from a pipe organ which has been intentionally been made out of tune.  At this sound, my legs lurched forward propelling me down the main aisle towards what I can only imagine was some kind of altar. It was crafted from the same black stone as the cathedral walls, though the angles at which it was cut defied any geometry that I had ever encountered in my life.  Its alien form inspired in me an immediate sense of horror, conjuring images of unthinkable rites that I had heard of only partially from others who had delved deeply into the darker areas of mythology.  As I grew nearer, I saw another figure, dressed in white, standing before the hideous altar.  The discordant music of that daemonicly tuned organ swelled, and I shuddered as I recognized the tune to be a grotesque perversion of a wedding march.  I strove to flee, to race away from this blasphemous ritual, but my legs would not obey my commands. They continued to carry me towards the distorted altar and unknown bride. I stopped as I reached the foot of the altar, my heart pounding in my chest in fear of whatever ritual was about to commence. The music ceased, and from behind the black altar rose a towering, black robed clergyman, his face cast in shadow by the violet candlelight. This lighting gave him a gaunt, spectral appearance, as though he were a corpse of some ancient cult leader, summoned from within some crypt within this terrifying cathedral for this black sacrament.  Though he spoke in a language that my mind did not comprehend, my body reacted to his commands.  My mind continued to fight for control of my limbs, to make even some small voluntary movement, but it was no use.  My body turned to face the bride next to me.  My hands raised to lift the veil from her face, and my mind filled with boundless dread at what would be revealed...

I cannot go on writing. What I saw beneath that veil I cannot in good conscious relate. Needless to say that it inspired such great fear in me that I awoke screaming, waking many who were living in my building.  This was one of a series of such dreams, others of which showed other macabre visions of a bizarre and terrifying future that I could not comprehend. In my waking moments, I continued in my studies, though my professors noted that I had been more careless in my writing.  I also continued to work on the production of King Lear, where I continued to meet with Adriana. She had been gathering props for the production, and we had begun spending a great deal of time together.  She was remarkable in her intelligence, and incredibly easy to talk with.  As I was hanging lights in the rafters, I noticed that some of these props had been set aside.  I went to the table to examine these odd props.  They had no purpose in this show that I could think of.  There was one item in particular which stood out. It was a necklace with a small pendant, carved in the shape of a star, with a flaming eye in the center.  A shiver ran down my spine as I recognized the black basalt stone from which the pendant had been carved was the same that formed that gothic cathedral from my dream.  I returned home early, citing fatigue from my studies. That night, I found myself trapped in the dream cathedral.  Again, that haunting clergyman repeated his occult chanting, and again I saw the hideous face of the veiled bride in the violet candlelight. However, instead of fighting to gain control of my body, I decided to focus on remembering the chanted words of the ritual. The few words i could recall when i awoke I immediately recorded, and place here for your reference: “Umr At-Tawil! Iak-Sathath! YOG-SOTHOTH NAFL'FTHAGN!!!”.  

The next day I attended no classes, but instead consulted some of my colleagues who had studied for a time at the Miskatonic University in Arkham.  When I showed them what I had written and told them of my story, their faces contorted in looks of horror that I did not imagine possible for the human face. They took me with them to a part of the library that I had not previously known of, and from the shelves they produced ancient tomes from which they told me many dark and hateful things about the world beyond our own.  Given that whatever had been assaulting me was strongest in my dreams, they explored with me certain means by which men can enter a world that exists only in dreams.  There, they theorized, I might be able to find some secret lore or patron to help alleviate my troubles.  Throughout the day, I felt a strange compulsion to return to the theater and meet with Adriana, but the thought that she had some connection to that basalt pendant that held the horrors of my dreams within its carven surface kept me away.  Instead, I made the preparations to enter the dreamlands, as prescribed by my colleagues. Over the course of a year, I worked harder and harder to reach the Dreamlands, neglecting all other pursuits.  The only thing I found impossible to neglect was my interactions with Adriana, who somehow managed to pry me away from my work from time to time for frivolous activities.  I found it hard to resist any of her requests, and she tugged at regions of my emotions that I had never considered important. with time, the dreams grew worse, and her constant intrusion upon my life became unbearable.  I removed myself from Chicago,  quietly heading to the Miskatonic University.  I told no one of my leaving, so that I might be left alone to work.  There I delved deeply into forbidden lore, learning many secrets which are too terrifying to relate here.  Even at this great distance, thoughts of Adriana would insufferably intrude upon my waking thoughts. Her presence in my mind, combined with the steady increase in my nightime terrors, caused me to wonder if she was not connected to all this, aiding those dark forces which sought to assault my mind.  I was glad that a great physical distance separated us, despite the undeniable desire to be near her. In spite of these unwelcome thoughts, I tried as hard as I could to remain focused on my mission, and rid myself of these horrifying dreams.

It was almost two years after my ordeal had begun before I finally succeeded.  After final preparations and instructions from a professor in Arkham, I drifted into sleep and began my journey.  Down the Seventy Steps of Light Slumber I went, and further down the Seven Hundred Steps of Deeper Slumber, until I entered into the enchanted woods.  There, I searched through lands so magical that I was tempted to remain. Only my mission and the oppressive weight of the lurking evil behind my dreams kept me in search of answers.  As my wanderings turned north, I felt as though I was being followed. I had been warned of the ghouls and other dark beings that haunt the dreamlands, but this presence reminded me more of the beings I had encountered in my previous dreams.  I felt control of my limbs leave me, as though another presence was attempting to gain control of my body.  Only then did I notice that a thick black fog ad begun to circle around me.  Responding to an impulse that was not my own, my hands rose and made strange signs in the air, while my mouth issued forth incantations that I had never before heard. These actions seemed to thwart the fog, driving it off.  When it was gone, I regained the use of my body.  I found that around my neck was that strange black pendant from the prop table.  Though I found it repulsive, I could not muster the will to remove it.

I wandered on through this land of dreams, but none that I met could provide any guidance to protect me against the incursions into my dreams.  The only place that might prove to be of aid to me was the people of Leng who, though reviled throughout the Dreamlands, had the most dealing in such otherworldly influences.  Therefore, I resolved to journey to that place where others feared to go. However, as I passed the onyx cliffs that bar the way to the Plateau of Leng, when above my head I saw a great shape.  I had been forewarned of the Shantak, giant birds the size of elephants with the heads of horses that guard the path into the unknown northern regions of the Dreamlands. It was in utmost paralysing horror that I watched them descend on me and I made no move to resist when their giant talons grasped me and carried me away into the starry sky.  Only now did I recall a snippet of knowledge of a being within the Dreamland who commanded such flying terrors.  He is called Nyarlathotep, the Crawling Chaos, and is the herald of the Outer Gods.  The Shantaks brought me before his throne, in the wastes far north of Leng.  There, dressed in the robes of a pharaoh of ancient Egypt, stood the dreaded God of a Thousand Forms.  He greeted me, laughing at the terror on my face.

“Welcome to my halls, traveller. It is good to see that you have survived your journey in the Dreamlands.  I have waited a long time to meet you”.  I remained where the Shantak had dropped me, too frightened to rise to a standing position.   Nyarlathotep continued speaking, “I apologize for the dreams I have visited upon you, but it was needed to draw you into the realm of dreams.  You are a special man, and through you I will accomplish great things in time. First, though, I’m afraid we cannot have your mind remain in its current state.  You proved to be very capable at resisting my influences within the waking world, but here, in my domain, I will mold you into my messenger, that you might return to your home and bring my power into the waking world as it was in days of old”.  He turned, and I saw behind him a great circular window, opening into the night sky. The Dark God raised his hands, and uttered such incantations that the stars in the window faded, replaced by a portal into the infinite void.

The Messenger of the Outer Gods called forth into the void, “Azathoth, Daemon Sultan, throw back the veils of reality, and shorten the distance between where we are and where you lie in the nucleus of the world! Answer me, Father!” I heard the faint piping of the flutes that constantly sound in the presence of the blind idiot god who is  at the center of all things. Suddenly, a ray of intense violet light burst forth from the black basalt pendant that still hung from my neck, shattering the portal.   Nyarlathotep screamed in anger, turning to face me. His form began to shift, becoming amorphous and continually contorting into a series of shapes that I cannot bring myself to record. As he surged towards me, the pendant emitted another flash of violet light, momentarily blinding me. When my vision returned, I saw a battle raging before me.  Nyarlathotep, constantly changing shape in his attacks, was in contest with a woman clad in purple robes, brandishing the same light that had protected me earlier. As the battle raged, it struck my mind that this light, had always kept the greatest of horrors in shadow, preserving what little sanity I had retained through my ordeals.  Suddenly, the woman stood next to me, and there was another blinding flash of violet light.  

I found myself in the enchanted woods, where I had begun my journey in the Dreamlands.  The woman was standing over me, but I could not yet discern the details of her face. She told me of  Nyarlathotep’s plans, and gave me some knowledge of signs and incantations that would protect me against his influence.  She then began to walk away, but as my eyesight recovered, she turned to look back.  I was stunned to see that it was Adriana, she who had haunted my mind throughout all of my trials.  I had always thought her to be a part of the evil that assailed me, and that freedom from these nightmares might also bring me freedom from her.

Only now do I realize the cause of those feelings.  It was Love, that madness from which there is no escape.  She had added a meaning and flavor to life that I had not yet known, and doubt that I will ever know again.  My journey has led me far, and has taken many turns that I had no intention of  taking.  I was blind to those who might have helped me, and acted in ways that hurt those whom I should have placed first in my life. My dreams have changed now.  I have ventured many times into the Dreamlands, and have worked aside the cats of Ulthar and the Great God Nodens, and have hunted the servants of  Nyarlathotep and the Outer Gods to the ends of the Dreamlands and even into the waking world.  I wield the same light as Adriana, save that my light is green.  Despite my successes, without her, it means just a touch less.  I remain the man I was when you knew me: rational, clever, and driven to success. In love, I found something that I had not earlier considered.  I found that, amid all the things that one might want in life, there are some things that are not as easily perceived, and often we find out their importance too late.  I have read in a Chicago paper that Adriana is soon to be married,  I have heard of the man, and know that he will make a good husband.  That she will be happy brings a fleeting smile to my face, but I will not lie to you and say that I do not still suffer from thoughts of her.  Of all my old nightmares, only one remains, and it has a much different overtone. It is that which I related earlier in this final message, but the setting is bright and more fitting to a wedding, and instead of a nameless horror for a bride, the veil reveals the lovely face of Adriana.  

A sonnet by William Kennedy

As the Sun bids the world farewell

and descends into the west,

Twilight comes to cast its spell

and lay the world to rest.

The Moon ascends to claim her throne

and rule the darkened land,

and her pale rays begin to be sown,

guided by her gentle  hand.

A distant breeze begins to blow,

and fallen petals start to dance.

Their colors gain a subtle glow

as they swirl through the Sky’s expanse.

These bands of color soon combine

as they circle through the field,

and at the center of their shrine

The greatest beauty stands revealed

Framed by flowers and silver light,

Year: 22 BBY

While the Clone Wars raged across the galaxy, many Jedi had taken up the mantle of military command. However, Kielos Tar had been chosen to serve as a Jedi sentinel, hunting Sith artifacts and preventing them from falling into the hands of the Separatists and Count Dooku. The Council of First Knowledge had intercepted a coded transmission from a smuggler known to work for the Hutt Clans that referenced cargo from the Massassi Temples on Yavin 4. Those temples had been built by the ancient Sith and their slaves, and held the promise of both immeasurable wealth and exceptional danger. No one knew what dark secrets might still linger within its deserted halls, so an immediate investigation was ordered. Even if this smuggler was lying about his cargo, the risk was too high to ignore. The Council selected the young human sentinel to travel to Tatooine, hoping that the young Shadow would be able to investigate these rumors and report back while they turned their attention back to the war.

Kielos’ first task on Tatooine would be to establish himself as a powerful bounty hunter, which would permit him access to more exclusive areas such Jabba the Hutt’s Palace. To reinforce his cover, Kielos procured a few pieces of Mandalorian armor recovered from operations against the Deathwatch. Kielos immediately set about modifying the armor in preparation for his mission. He striped the Deathwatch paint and insignias from the armor, repainting the armor black, with silver strands twisting themselves into depictions of wolves. He added an ARC trooper’s kama, which he lengthened to the floor. Finally, he layered a black tunic over the armor, with a hood to conceal his identity. Pleased with the armor’s outward appearance, Kielos proceeded to more functional improvements, including a multiple blaster holsters and a concealed belt holsters for his twin lightsabers. The slightly curved saber hilts tipped with filigree metal blade guards and spiked pommels would betray him if carried openly, and so they would remain hidden in a magnetically sealed case on the rear of the Jedi’s belt. He also created a specialized set of shock bola pouches on his kama to provide an edge in catching a fleeing target. These bolas were tipped with flat weights, making them much easier to conceal. Kielos also repainted his Jedi interceptor starfighter, which had already been extensively modified. Its elongated wings sported additional cannons and more powerful thrusters, and the the extended cockpit provided room for a hyperdrive capable of keeping pace with a standard Jedi starfighter with its booster ring. Nicknamed the Nightwolf by other Jedi, it now sported a design more befitting its name than its previous Jedi markings. With his preparations complete, Kielos Tar departed Coruscant for the Outer Rim.

When Kielos landed in Mos Eisley, he wandered past the stalls of the junk dealers to find a place in one of the many noisy cantinas that litter the northern part of the port. He pushed past a pair of drunken Rhodians, approaching the cantina’s bounty board. Faces of criminals and scoundrels flashed across the display. After watching several names pass , a bounty posted by Jabba himself came on screen. The target was a Besalisk by the name of Palo Karsin, a smuggler who had apparently cheated the Hutt crime lord out of a significant sum, as well as killed several of the previous bounty hunters who had tried to take him. Kielos knew that successfully completing this bounty would put him in the good graces of the crime lord and maybe even get him the information he needed. When no one else stepped up immediately to take it, the Jedi sentinel stood and said quietly but confidently, “If none of you womp rats can muster the courage to take this job, then the Nightwolf will”. Another grizzled bounty hunter, a Devaronian, shoved Kielos back.

“You don’t know how things are done around here, boy. Whelps like you stay out of the way of real bounty hunters”, said the Devaronian as he walked towards the bounty board to claim the bounty. Suddenly, the bounty hunter fell flat on his face. A bola was wrapped around his legs. Kielos walked past the fallen man and downloaded the intel for the bounty. On the way back, he pressed a button on his wrist com. Electricity coursed through the Devaronian, his screams ringing through the cantina. Kielos knelt next to the bounty hunter and whispered, “Seems you were right. Those unworthy should stay out of the way of their betters”. He then walked out of the cantina to hunt his quarry.

The holo-data Kielos had been given showed that his target was likely still hiding out in Mos Eisley. Jabba was smart enough to watch the hangers spread throughout Mos Eisley, and would have known if Palo had left the system. Therefore, the four armed smuggler must be either hiding in the city or making his way to another port, such as Anchorhead. Kielos climbed to the top of the Dowager Countess. This crashed colonist ship jutted high in the air amid the center of the port, allowing the Jedi to a perfect vantage point to search for his target. As night fell with no sign of the besalisk, Kielos settled into a meditative state, reaching out through the Force to search for his quarry. He had learned to sense the thoughts and feelings of others while he was a padawan under Jedi Master Plo Koon. The kel dor Jedi was gifted with natural proficiency in Force telepathy, and Kielos had adapted his master’s technique to hunt for specific thoughts in the minds of others. As his mind stretched through the port, he pushed aside the prevalent emotions of greed and desire, specifically looked for a strong fear of the Hutts and a desire for escape. Those thoughts would likely be overwhelming in his target and therefore would betray his location. After hours of searching, he could not find any trace of the smuggler. Those feelings were just as prevalent throughout the port, which made sense given the immense power of the Hutts as well as the inhospitable nature of Tatooine. Frustrated with himself for not thinking of this earlier, the young Jedi descended from the top of the ship and returned to the docking bay where his ship was stored, spending what remained of the night in a restless sleep.

The next day, Kielos turned his efforts towards a different avenue of investigation. If he could not find the smuggler through the Force, he would try and hunt down the smuggler’s ship. While Palo would not try and leave Tatooine in his ship, he might have sold his ship to get enough credits to pay for another ship or for passage off the planet. Given the rampant corruption within Mos Eisley, the docking records could not be trusted. However, Kielos knew that though officials would be paid off, mechanics were not. Kielos made his way into the Old Quarter, walking through the stalls of various merchants. Eventually, he walked into a salvage yard filled with different ship parts.

A human stepped out from behind a tower of junk parks. “Heard about you. The new bounty hunter who caused a scene with Creis D’rect. What’s your business here?”. The junk dealer kept moving around the shop while talking, moving various items around his shop while Kielos followed him.

The Jedi responded, “Looking for anyone trying to move an XS light freighter, or looking for parts for one.”

“Those ships got replaced by the YT series. Not many people looking for one these days. That means what you’re really looking for is a smuggler, or at least a smuggler’s ship. Can’t help you with that. Smuggling's against the law, you know”, observed the dealer.

Kielos dropped a pile of credits on the counter. He said, “Nope, just looking for a mechanic who can fix one. Know a man for the job?”.

The junk dealer shrugged. “I just might, now that you mention it. Ask for Cade Brakson at Dock 32. He has some experience with that class of ship”.  

The Jedi thanked the junk dealer and headed towards the Dock 32. Hopefully this mechanic would have information he would need to track down his target. As he approached the docking station, he could hear the sounds of a fight within the docking bay. Kielos raced through the doorway to see a toydarian mechanic being held by a human and a twi’lek, while the devaronian bounty hunter Creis D’rect questioned him. An XS series freighter was resting on it’s landing struts in the center of the hangar, surrounded by cargo containers and mechanics tools.

“Where is Palo? You repaired his ship, You must know where he’s hiding”. The bounty hunter punctuated each statement with a blow, attempting to beat the answers he wanted out of the mechanic.

“I don’t know what you are talking about. I just was brought in to repair the ship. I swear!”, screamed the panicked mechanic, “Please, just let me go!”

The devaronian leveled a blaster at the mechanic’s head. “Then it looks like you don’t have any further use to me” Creis scoffed. A blaster shot rang out through the hanger.

Creis spun around, grasping his hand in pain. In the doorway of the hanger stood Kielos, his blaster drawn. “You shouldn’t be interfering with my bounty” the Jedi said softly. “This is your last chance. Leave, and I’ll forget I saw you.”

“You have no right to this bounty. It’s mine!”, howled the devaronian, producing another blaster, “Kill the bastard!”. The two other henchmen each drew their weapons, diving behind supply crates for cover. Kielos dove behind a mechanic’s bench as bolts of red laser fire sprayed across the hanger. While he couldn’t use much of his jedi training for fear of being discovered, he could still use the Force to evade danger and enhance his physical abilities. As more blaster fire filled the hangar, he drew one of his shock bolas. Sensing the exact moment to act, Kielos leapt up from behind the bench, firing a spray of yellow bolts at Creis while flinging the shock bola at the human. The bola wrapped itself around the mercenary’s arms, causing him to drop his weapon. Creis and the Twi’lek remained sheltered behind crates. As Kielos landed, he activated the shock coils in the bola, sending a non-lethal shock through the entangled mercenary. As the human dropped to the floor, the remaining bounty hunters ran out from behind their cover, firing wildly at the Jedi. Kielos rolled behind one of the landing struts of the ship, returning fire when possible. The two bounty hunters rushed the young Jedi. Kielos slid out from behind the landing strut, knocking the twi’lek’s legs out from under him. He then leapt at Creis, throwing a hard punch at the bounty hunter. The blow connected with a bone shattering crunch, staggering the injured devaronian. Using the Force to maintain his balance, Kielos spun to deliver a roundhouse kick to the falling twi’lek. His boot connected with a sickening thud, and the mercenary dropped to the floor. Kielos the turned to face Creis.

“I told you to stay out of my way”, he whispered, “Next time, I will kill you. Am I understood?”.

The formerly brash bounty hunter now cowered in fear of the Nightwolf. “I’m sorry! It’s just business! The bounty is yours!”, he cried.

Kielos stood, and the bounty hunter ran out of the hangar. The Jedi turned his attention to the mechanic, helping the toydarian to his feet again.

“Thank you, my friend”, the mechanic said, “I was scared that those bounty hunters would kill me”. The toydarian startled suddenly, “wait, you’re not going to try and kill me, are you? I don’t know anything about this Palo character the other bounty hunter was talkin’ about”.

Kielos responded cordially, lowering his hood, “Worry not. I don’t use such barbaric tactics. Though I would like to know if you know anything about where I could find the owner of this freighter. I’ve heard you are the one they come to get the best repairs”.

The mechanic relaxed. “I did have a man approach me about doing some work on this ship. Came here to see what shape she was in. The guy said he had bought it at a steep discount from a besalisk who was a bit too eager to sell it”.

Kielos kept his voice measured, despite his internal excitement. “Do you know where I might find the seller?”

The mechanic scratched his head. “I think I had a friend down by Dock 94 who said there was a ship taking on passengers, including a big four armed alien. Ship’s set to leave day after tomorrow. Guy you’re lookin’ for is probably staying nearby”.

The young Jedi smiled, “Thank you, my friend. Stay out of trouble.” He then raised his hood and left the docking bay to continue his investigation.

The twin suns were setting as Kielos approached the nearest hostel to Dock 94. The lobby was deserted except for the sleepy looking human behind the counter. The young jedi approached the clerk and said, “I’m looking to find someone who might be staying with you. A besalisk named Palo. Do you know where he is?”.

The clerk shrugged and replied, “Can’t really recall. We get a lot of weird looking aliens in this place”. Kielos could sense that the clerk knew more than he was letting on. He raised his hand, reaching out with the Force.

“You will tell me where the besalisk is”. The Jedi’s hand moved in coordination with his words, and the eyes of the clerk glazed over.

“I will tell you where the besalisk is”, the clerk repeated hollowly, “He is in room 320”. He then resumed his sleepy watch behind the desk. Kielos strode past the desk and up the stairs, quickly arriving outside Palo's room. He tried the door, but it was locked from the inside. This wasn't surprising, given the bounty on the occupant’s  head. Opting for a more direct approach, Kielos blasted the doors controls. He then closed his eyes and reached out with the Force to pry the door open.

Suddenly, the door flung open and a massive fist collided with Kielos’ skull, knocking him back into the wall. Dazed, he saw Palo racing down the hall and down the stairs. Kielos briefly reflected that perhaps his straightforward approach wasn't the smartest idea. He quickly regained his composure, giving chase to his quarry. However, instead of chasing Palo down the stairs, Kielos raced through the besalisk’s dingy room. As he reached the room’s only window, he drew one of his lightsabers, igniting its yellow blade just long enough to shatter the glass. He leapt through the hole, somersaulting through the air. Kielos hit the ground and rolled, coming to his feet and turning to see Palo coming out the front door of the hostel. The besalisk spotted his pursuer, and turned to run down a back alley. Kielos immediately gave chase. the two raced through streets crowded with drunk cantina patrons and other pedestrians taking in the Mos Eisley nightlife. Palo ploughed through the crowds, using his huge girth to force people out of his way or trampling them underfoot in his attempt to escape his pursuer. Kielos was the opposite, using his Force enhanced agility to weave through the crowd and keep up with the fleeing besalisk. The crowds prevented Kielos from using his final shock bola or any other weaponry for fear of hitting an innocent civilian.

As the pair rounded another corner, Palo ducked into a cantina. Kielos followed close behind, racing into the bar only a few seconds after his quarry. As he entered, he was greeted with the sight of a dozen blasters pointed at him, one held by Palo.

"Looks like you're luck’s run out”, the besalisk said between deep breaths, "Blast him, boys!". The instant before the cantina erupted in a hail of blaster fire, Kielos dove into an alcove. Several bolts burned holes in his kama, and one glanced off his shoulder guard. He took a deep breath, taking a second to consider his options. He could use his lightsabers to cut through these hooligans, but that would reveal his true identity. He poked his head out from behind the alcove wall and fired a spread of yellow blaster bolts, looking for any way to gain the advantage. In the few moments before he had to take cover again, he noticed a trandoshan hunter with a thermal detonator in his belt. Kielos reached through the Force, trying to activate the thermal detonator from behind cover. A blaster bolt shattered part of the wall Kielos was hiding behind, breaking his concentration. The thermal detonator fell to the floor without activating. The trandoshan looked at the detonator with a confused look, as did several others near him. This break in the battle allowed Kielos to regain his focus. He again reached out with the Force, and the thermal detonator flashed to show it's countdown had started. The trandoshan gave a loud shout, and those closest to the detonator dove for whatever cover  they could find. After a few seconds had passed, the bar was rocked by the powerful explosion. Kielos stepped out from the alcove, both blasters drawn and trained on those few left standing. The bar was a shambles, with the explosion throwing bodies, glosses, and furniture in every direction. Those few who were unharmed by the blast were too stunned to fire on Kielos as he moved towards his quarry. Palo was pinned under the shattered remains of a table, his head rolling as he faded in and out of consciousness. Kielos placed a special set of binders on the besalisk, restraining all four of his massive arms. When it seemed like the huge alien might regain his senses, Kielos knocked him out cold with a swift elbow to the face. As he stood up, he looked around the destroyed cantina.

"Sorry about the mess”, he said casually. He then turned to address the rest of the bar, "Anyone have a speeder I can borrow? Jabba doesn't like to be kept waiting”.

The bartender shook his head. "I can give you a ride, if you'll help pay for the damage you caused”, He replied, "Not like I can do any more business tonight”.

Kielos nodded, "Sounds fair. Let's go”. The two loaded the unconscious besalisk into the speeder and set off for Jabba the Hutt's palace.

When they arrived at the palace, the sounds of debauchery could be heard from outside the walls. Kielos paid the bartender, and dragged the still unconscious Palo to the front gate. A mechanical eye shot out from the wall, looking over the two. It asked in Huttesse what his business was. Kielos flashed his holodeck bounty, and the eye retracted. The gate opened, and two gamorrean guards came out and dragged Palo away. Another guard then led Kielos to Jabba's throne room.

The Hutt crime lord chuckled as Kielos entered, “Chowbaso murishani. Mee stuka u brought myo do present”.

Jabba’s protocol droid translated, “The Great Jabba welcomes you, bounty hunter. He congratulates you on your capture of Palo”.

“U will be moolee-rah much che do capture o doe ulwan”, Jabba said, motioning for one of his attendants to bring forward the case full of credits.

As the case was brought forward, the protocol droid stated, “You will be richly rewarded for your capture of the smuggler. Here are your credits”.

Kielos bowed, then responded, “Mighty Jabba, I accept your payment, but I would rather have information than your credits. I have a score to settle with a smuggler who works for you Someone who claims to have contraband from Yavin 4”.

Jabba called for another attendant to bring him a holodisk. As Kielos was given the disk, Jabba said, “Unko sa doe information u naga. Hagwa hurt doe ulwan peetch much”.

The protocol droid translated, “Here is the information you will need to find Vundai Daddose. The Mighty Jabba asks that you don’t injure him too severely”.

“No promises, but I’ll try”, Kielos remarked as he turned to leave. The Hutt laughed and the debauchery resumed. Kielos found his way back to his ship, where he began to analyse the holodisk’s contents. The smuggler he was looking for was a dug named Vundai Daddose. The holodata went on to say that he was preparing to meet a client in the remote planet of Saleucami. Kielos boarded his ship and left at once to try and catch up with his target.

As Kielos exited hyperspace above Saleucami, he began to scan for his target. His ship’s modified scanners quickly found the smuggler’s ship. The young Jedi landed about a mile from the smuggler’s location, not wanting to scare the smuggler off. He got out out of his ship, and began moving through the shrubby grasslands of the planet. As he walked over the crest of a small hill, he could see the smuggler’s ship in the distance. Another ship was circling for a landing. Kielos pulled out his macrobinoculars to get a better look at this new ship. It was a separatist shuttle, probably here to pick up whatever cargo the smuggler had brought. He decided to observe the transaction rather than intervene and cause open conflict. He crouched behind a section of thick foliage and waited as the shuttle began to land. However, as the shuttle came closer, he could sense a disturbance in the Force. A powerful user of the dark side of the Force was on board that shuttle. Kielos wondered whether this was Count Dooku himself, or one of the Sith’s assassins. He began to move closer, wanting to determine who was attending this meeting. As the shuttle ramp lowered, a slim, hooded female descended to meet the dug smuggler, followed by several B1 battle droids. Kielos knew that this had to be Asajj Ventress, Dooku’s most prominent assassin. The Council’s suspicions that the smuggler had been carrying sith artifacts must have been correct. Kielos continued to creep closer, hoping to hear what was being said.

“Do you have the item?”, Ventress snarled, “The Count does not look kindly on those who deceive him”.

The dug replied defensively, “Hey, Hey, don’t worry! I’ve got everything you looking for. Weapons, information, contacts, you name it. Vundai has it all… for the right price”.

Ventress rolled her eyes. “You know what I want. The artifacts you recovered from Yavin 4”, she said, her impatience showing in her voice. Her hands drifted towards her lightsaber on her hip.

The dug smuggler panicked, “Woah now, no need to get violent. I’ve got what you are looking for”. The dug ambled into his ship, returning with a small case. He opened it, revealing a pyramid shaped object made of red glass and gold. It glowed slightly, and Kielos could sense the power of the dark side emanating from it.

“This must be one of the Sith holocrons”, Kielos thought, “There is no telling what the separatists could do with the knowledge contained in that device”. He looked on as Ventress examined the holocron. However, her eyes suddenly narrowed.

“Jedi”, the assassin hissed, beginning to scan the area. She motioned to her battle droids stating, “search the area. I know he is out there somewhere”. She turned to the smuggler. “You assured me no one would know about this meeting”. She began to choke the dug with the Force, sneering, “looks like you’ve made your last delivery”.

Kielos couldn’t wait any longer. He drew both of his lightsabers, vaulting over the bush he had been crouched behind. As he landed, both of his yellow blades ignited, plunging through one of the battle droids. He then deflected two blaster bolts from the remaining two  droids, with one bolt bouncing back to kill one of the droids. He then raced forward, slashing the final droid in half before turning to face Ventress. The assassin had dropped the smuggler and drawn her twin red lightsabers. Kielos assumed the core stance of Soresu, with his right foot back and both his blades pointed towards his opponent. Ventress attacked viciously, swinging her blades together in in wide arc towards the young Jedi. Kielos crossed his blades, deflecting the power strike. He spun back, pushing her lightsabers up and away. Ventress pressed her attack, lunging forward with one of her blades. Kielos again slipped past the attack, using one of his sabers to push the thrust aside while slashing at her exposed arm with his second blade. Ventress twisted to avoid the blow, with the Jedi’s yellow blade coming within an inch of her exposed arm. She regained her footing, taking a step back before attacking with both of her lightsabers again. Kielos’ defences held again, and Ventress flipped backwards out of the reach of a counter attack.

The assassin smiled. She said, “Little Jedi, you can’t possibly think you can defeat me. I’ve fought far more powerful Jedi than you”, she sneered as she and Kielos circled each other.

Kielos responded sarcastically, “I have heard about you from Master Obi Wan. He said you weren’t as strong as you say”. Kielos had studied advanced Form III combat under Kenobi during a brief session when the master was not engaged in other aspects of the War, and the Jedi master had warned his students about confronting both Ventress and Grievous. Kielos had combined what he had learned with his Jar’kai fighting style to increase his defensive abilities. Kielos knew his training was about to pay off.

The assassin fought aggressively, using her rage and skill in the dark side to launch a wide variety of attacks, agilely maneuvering around the Jedi to try and penetrate his defences. Kielos stood his ground, constantly spinning his twin blades to parry and block Ventress’ blows while building momentum for a counter strike. After another disengaging backflip from Ventress, the two returned to circling each other.

“Too bad my dear Obi Wan isn’t here to save you”, Ventress retorted. She then twirled her sabers and fused them into a saberstaff. She launched herself at Kielos, spinning her blades in a devastating attack. Kielos barely warded off her advances, staggering back from her more powerful two handed slashes.

“Master Kenobi never mentioned this”, Kielos thought as he continued to stumble back towards the smuggler’s ship, barely holding off the sith assassin. His two bladed fighting style forced him to grip each saber with only one hand, limiting his blocking strength. As Ventress continued to use her saberstaff to batter the Jedi, Kielos tripped over one of the smuggler’s supply crates. He rolled away, deactivating both his sabers to avoid accidentally losing a limb.

Ventress scoffed as she moved in for the kill, “I warned you, little Jedi. Now you die”. She raised her blade and came forward to strike the young sentinel down.

“Not today, assassin”, Kielos spat back, hurling a box at Ventress and using the force to push her back. Kielos then ran, fleeing back to his starship. Ventress considered chasing the jedi, but she knew that her primary objective was to recover the holocron, which was in the box the jedi had thrown at her. She laughed as she finished killing the smuggler and loading his other items onto her shuttle. It wasn’t until she was lifting off that she even considered opening the box containing the Sith holocron. However, when she raised the lid, she let out a scream. The box was empty!

Kielos smiled as he fired up his hyperdrive to return to Coruscant. He reached into one of the hidden pockets inside his tattered kama and produced the glowing red pyramid. With a sigh of relief that he had survived his adventures, he locked the coordinates into the navicomputer and began the long flight back to the Jedi Temple.

When Kielos arrived at the Jedi Temple, two temple guards approached him. They escorted him to the main council chambers, rather than the chambers of the Council of First Knowledge. The only other beings in the room were Master Yoda and Master Plo Koon.

Master Plo spoke first. “Hello, Sentinel Tar. Your report mentioned that you survived an encounter with Asajj Ventress and recovered a very important Sith artifact. Quite an accomplishment, my former apprentice”.

“Indeed. Survived a dangerous encounter, you have”, Master Yoda added, “Now, show us what you have recovered, young sentinel”.

Kielos reached into his hidden pocket and produced the Sith Holocron. The two Jedi masters came forward and took the holocron, examining the artifact for a long time. Both of the Jedi masters looked to each other and then Master Yoda spoke.

“Powerful, this holocron is. Dark in the knowledge contained within. Examine it further, the Council must”, The Grand master said, “Glad, I am, that Count Dooku did not acquire this holocron”.

Plo Koon nodded in agreement. “You have done well, Kielos. We have another mission for you”.

Kielos bowed to the Jedi master, replying, “What do you need me to do, master?”.

Yoda turned to Kielos and said, “To Deku Neimoidia, you must go. In need of intelligence, the Republic is”.

Master Plo Koon continued the briefing, stating, “There is a meeting of important Separatist corporate leaders on the Trade Federation purse world. We need you to report on the meeting and see if you can gather any useful intelligence. Security will be high, but I know that you will succeed. Stay hidden, my young friend. May the Force be with you”.

This is the Diary of the Planeswalker Kerym Thornblade, Formerly of the Thraben Guard.

The Spark Ignites