Asherons Call: June Rollout Article is Up!

Girion was practicing in the Chapterhouse training room. He'd been at it for over an hour, punishing the hapless Target Drudge with rhythmic blows of his heavy morningstar. He imagined the target to be a Viamontian Knight, and he could almost hear the behemoth's grunts and roars. After a particularly brutal overhand smash that was the final strike of his attack pattern, he stopped to wipe the sweat off his brow. He'd overheard talk from more highly-placed members of his Order, and knew that evil things had come forth from unknown corners of the world. He expected that he would soon be called into battle on behalf of the Order, and probably on behalf of the realm as well.

The rest of the Chapterhouse was quiet. He hadn't seen anyone else here since he began his session. A hand touched him on the shoulder, surprising him. He whirled and swung his morningstar in a rising arc. The intruder tilted his body back almost nonchalantly, and the spiked head of the weapon whistled harmlessly past his face. Girion felt a sharp, painful pressure on his knee, and suddenly he was on the ground, breath knocked out of his lungs, looking up at a younger man dressed in dark leather armor. From his position on the ground, he got a good look at the man's boots, which bore the sigil of the Order.

"Girion of Arwic?" The young man who had so easily avoided his attack and knocked him to the ground did not seem the least bit angry.

Girion blinked. After the shock of his sudden fall to the ground, it took him a moment to recognize the man he'd assaulted. Once he did, he rolled to his knees and lowered his head in a posture of abject submission. "M-my lord, f-forgive me," he stammered, shocked at his own stupidity.

"I'm no lord, friend, I work for a living. Get up. And call me Adso."

Girion stood as the man looked him over. "I did not mean to strike at you, my lord. Uh, I mean, Adso. Sir."

Adso laughed. "If I thought you'd meant to hurt me you'd already be staring deeply into a lifestone. Now, you are Girion of Arwic, yes?" When Girion nodded, he continued. "I need your help, Girion."

"Whatever you ask, my, uh, Adso. Sir."

"Come with me, then." Adso led him out of the training room and down a corridor. "We're very short on able-bodied fighters right now, Girion. I'd rather not have to discuss just where the rest of the Order has gone off to, but suffice it to say that I need you to go out and investigate something. It's likely to be quite dangerous."

They stopped in front of a door to one of the command offices. "What would you have me do, Adso, sir?"

"I need you to head out to the crater of Old Arwic. We have some information... We have friends with knowledge of ley lines, you see. I'd call them geomancers if they could do any more than sniff out the lines and map them. They swear that the crater has become some kind of throbbing pustule of corruption. I've passed through myself, and found nothing. Hold on a moment, wait right there."

Adso vanished into the room and closed the door behind him. Girion was left standing out in the hall. He waited patiently while he heard the sound of crates being levered open within the room. Adso eventually came back out into the hall with a backpack and an oblong, cloth-wrapped bundle in his arms.

"What was I saying?" Adso asked.

"Arwic is a throbbing pustule of corruption, sir."

"Yes. Yes, indeed. So I need you to go scout the crater. Stay there for at least a day. Record and report any suspicious activity. Try to remain hidden. I'm asking you because you should know the area well. And because if you won't go, I'd have to ask poor Eddred, and I don't think he's up for this kind of work any more."

Girion squared his shoulders. "I will do as you ask. You can count on me, sir."

"Glad to hear it. Here's a pack full of necessary supplies. Healing kits, potions, gems to strengthen and protect you..." Adso pushed the pack into his arms, then looked him up and down, seeming to take the measure of his physique. "You are a strong warrior, aren't you? And brave?"

Girion nodded confidently as he shouldered the pack. "I have fought in many battles here on Dereth, sir. Back as far as the Shadow War. And I was a soldier in the Viamontian campaigns back in Aluvia, sir. My commanders have never complained about my skill or valor."

"A man of worthy experience. Perhaps you'll be able to wield this, then..." Adso handed him the cloth-wrapped package. Girion unwrapped it slowly. He sighed in profound admiration as he gazed at the beautiful, if strange, mace in his arms. It was marked with a glowing red sigil, seeming to proclaim to all the world that it was a weapon of rare enchantment.

"Nice, eh? Very exotic. No doubt you'll find out soon just how powerful it is. Come along, then. Let's get moving. I have a portal gem for you, and night is almost upon us."

* * * * *

Girion stood in the woods near the crater, straining his eyes to see by the dim light of the moon. He'd had a quiet time on his watch so far, but he still had many hours ahead of him. He ran his fingers lovingly over the curiously constructed mace that Adso had given him. He'd never felt a more naturally well-balanced weapon in his hand, and he became almost giddy just thinking of the range of enchantments that had been worked into the metal. He grinned every time he looked down at it, and imagined it smashing into the head of a Viamontian Knight.

He heard a soft rustling noise behind him, almost too faint to notice. Shivering with a sudden and awful sense of dread, he turned around.

The forest was filled with red eyes. Dark shapes moved between the trees, too many to count. He heard sibilant whispering in the wind, in a tongue he hadn't heard since the days when the Hopeslayer walked the world.

"Pwyll's bones," Girion muttered, before the eyes and the darkness swarmed forward and washed over him. He swung his new mace at the first creature to come within range, and was rewarded with an otherworldly wail of pain. But they were too much... He heard, almost distantly, the shriek of metal as shadowy claws tore through his plate armor. Agony exploded from a thousand places on his body, a bitter cold that burned, and then there was darkness.

* * * * *

He woke up in front of his lifestone, far away from the Arwic crater. He sighed, and felt the ghosts of his wounds all over his body. Grimacing at the memory of the pain and horror, he muttered, "Definitely something going on at that crater... A throbbing pustule indeed."

He looked down at his empty hands, and then, in a panic, rifled through his pack.

"And now I've lost my new mace," he complained mournfully to the night.