My Dear Dukes and Duchesses, as stated in last month’s missive, our December session has been aborted due to tidings of good cheer! While we rejoice in the annual celebration of the Winter Solstice, allow me to once again regale you with yet another chapter of: Tales of the Crimson Empire. These short, fictitious tales will focus on the backstories and histories of the npcs, battles, politics, and events that shaped the current campaign today. Today’s episode will continue to expand and expound upon the origins of Conrad Frost; as well as, assorted members of the freshly formed United.
Hark! The minstrels are playing, the curtain is rising. Good fortune in finding a seat. And for heaven’s sake, silence yon mobile scrying devices!!!
“Calm yourself, Conrad. Your rocking and swaying will give us away.” Epiphany whispered. The Eladrin Paladin removed her hood, revealing her dark eyes and full lips, framed by her platinum blond hair. “I know you are nervous, but Christopher has been well trained. He is as ready as he will ever be.” She proclaimed confidently. Her cloak fell open, showcasing her athletic frame, highlighted by her shimmering, form-fitting armor.
Conrad Frost steadied himself, stepped away from the brush nearest the road and pretended to check the arrows in his quiver. Conrad cursed himself for a fool. He was a muscle-bound bear of a man, with rugged looks and thinning blond hair, he was dressed in leather armor and utilitarian clothes. Trained by his father, the greatest ranger in his village, how to hunt and stalk his prey. As a teen-ager, Conrad could control his movements and breathing so that he was imperceptible to deers and elks; even to wolves and snow leopards. And yet, here he was, making amateur moves that would expose their ambush. He needn’t concern himself about Christopher making any mistakes, he would ruin this mission himself.
They were awaiting an undead caravan hauling a precious cargo stolen from the Red Dragons. The Dragons knew if they were seen approaching the caravan from the sky, the Necromancer would destroy the treasure on sight. If they could safely recover the cargo, perhaps the Dragons would be inclined to join the United.
He waited with two companions: the Halfling Wizard, Abraham Freeman, and the Warforged Fighter, Gort. Abraham was short, even by Halfling standards. Impeccably dressed, he stood in stark contrast with the hulking Gort. Gort was a sentient construct, A facade of armor, with internal organs of wood, stone, and other inorganic material. His exterior had seen far too much combat. Repair upon repair had given him an asymmetrical appearance.
“First mission nerves, m’lad?” Abraham ventured, as he pulled out his pipe, then, remembering that they were attempting to ambush the enemy, put it away.
“Is it that obvious?” Christopher chuckled. He sat next to the diminutive wizard, grateful for the distraction. “Have you two been on many missions with Epiphany and my brother?”
“Oh my, yes indeed. As a matter of fact, Epiphany calls us her ‘best men’.” Abraham replied with more than a bit of pride.
“Query: Are you certain she did not mean, ‘Beast’ men?” Having lost all modulation in his voice many battles ago, Gort was forced to preface his monotone speech with his intended inflections.
Abraham slowly turned toward the massive construct. “Don’t tell me you have a sense of humor now.” He deadpanned, as his face slowly broke into a smile.
“Statement: Humor is subjective.” Gort replied.
“Hmmmm, more like ‘rejected’ if you ask me.” Abraham replied with a chuckle.
Christopher was laughing. It was like watching an old married couple. It actually reminded him of his parents. “Are you from a long line of wizards?” He inquired of Abraham.
“Oh, heavens no. I actually come from a family of tailors. Freeman’s Couturier’s was THE place to go for the finest in quality fashion. From miles around; Kings and Queens, noblemen, débutantes, merchants, anyone who wanted to make a splash on the social scene, they all came to Freeman’s.” He wistfully replied. “Our city was one of the first to fall before the Crimson Empire. I somehow survived the siege, but my Mother, Father, and Sister were not so fortunate. I was found, days later, buried under bolts of fabric, by a kindly wizard. He brought me to the Academy of Magic, where they nursed me back to health. I repaid them by offering my services as a haberdasher. Now let me tell you, Mages, by nature, are not the most fashion conscious. But when you introduce them to the finer things in life, well, they truly appreciated my handiwork. In return, many of them taught me simple tricks and spells. Well, it seems I had an inherent affinity for magic, and was soon accepted into the Academy as a full-fledged wizard. And the rest, as they say, is history.” Abraham concluded with a melancholy smile.
“I’m truly sorry to hear about your family.” Christopher replied. “My brother and I are the only survivors of our village too. Everyone was lost, even our parents.” He turned to Gort. “And how did a Warforged end up fighting for the United?”
“Declaration: The Warforged were created many years ago to defend our kingdom.” Gort replied. “Statement: My brethren and myself were imbued with sentience, a soul if you will, to enable us to make moral decisions on the battlefield. Statement: We brought peace, protection, and prosperity to our nation. Exclamation: The Crimson Empire overwhelmed our forces; invaded our kingdom. Statement: Most of my fellow soldiers, my brothers, our creators, were destroyed by the undead hoards. Declaration: I failed to protect my kingdom from the Crimson empire once. I shall not fail so again.” Gort’s monotone voice seemed to waiver, as he recalled his past.
“It seems we have much in common. We have all lost our families, our friends, our homes, in this war.” Christopher grimaced.
“War makes orphans of us all, I’m afraid.” Abraham replied.
“Query: If we are all orphans. . . does that make us brothers?” Gort questioned, in his monotone voice.
“Why yes. . . yes, I believe it does!” Abraham exclaimed, as he and Christopher broke into laughter. “Now, it seems, you’re a philosopher as well.”
“Conrad, behind you!” Epiphany shouted. With her heightened elven reflexes, she leaped and knocked Conrad out of the way, as the oaken door was blown off it’s hinges. The door flew and struck Epiphany, full force, in the back. She hit the ground hard; she made no attempt to get up.
“Epiphany!!!” Conrad screamed. He ran to her side. Gently raising her head, he saw she was unconscious, but alive. “Thank the Lord!” Conrad exclaimed.
“Are you addressing me?” Came a mocking voice from behind. Held afloat by crackling, mystic energy, a ghastly being emerged from the doorway of the wagon.
Heart pounding, brow sweating, Christopher recalled Epiphany’s training. “Breath! Always remember to breath. Oxygen will keep your mind sharper, reflexes faster, and muscles stronger. Stop squeezing your sword’s grip with all your might. Hold it firm, but gentle, as if you were holding a bird. Strong enough so that it cannot escape, but not strong enough to crush it.” By the age of 14, Christopher was one of the best swordsmen in the United. By 16, he was even better than Conrad, though he would never allow his big brother to lose to him. Only Epiphany and General Sterling were his superiors. But that was all practice. Here. . . today. . . now, it was all too real.
The Necromancer had climbed off the carriage and was striding confidently toward Abraham. Raising a wand, he launched a scorching heat-ray, followed by a series of magic missiles. Abraham’s mystic shields easily deflected the spells. “Now hold on there young man. Am I not due at least some wrathful words, or a running monologue?” Abraham protested. “I believe it’s mandatory.” He snorted with mock indignation.
“Forgive me Halfling. I almost didn’t see you standing there. How’s this: I’ll make your death as painful as possible!” The Necromancer sneered, as he cast a poisonous vapor toward Abraham.
“Good start, but it needs a wee bit of polishing.” Abraham grinned as he used a gale force wind to dissipate the poison, while sending two arcs of lightning to strike the Necromancer from behind.
Christopher stood perpendicular to the Wight, his sword hand over his heart. When the Wright swung at him, Christopher fell backwards. Simultaneously, stopping his fall with his left arm and using it to spring back to his feet. He unleashed the full force of his backhand swing and decapitated his undead opponent with one swift blow.
The Undead Sorcerer hovered a few feet above the ground. “Frost! When last we met, you deprived me the use of my legs. I really should thank you, it forced me to learn new methods of mobility.” Wolfram leered as he performed a pirouette in mid-air. Suddenly, an arrow was protruding out of Wolfram’s chest. Followed by another and another. Conrad was firing a volley of arrows into the evil mage.
Cursing Conrad beneath his breath, the dark sorcerer rose higher into the air. He began to launch a barrage of fireballs toward Conrad. However, Conrad would deftly dodge each blast and fire another arrow. Growing frustrated, Wolfram floated even higher, above the wagon, above the treetops. Here he could see the arrows approaching and avoid them. He clasped his hands together and began to form another fireball, only this time larger, much larger.
The smoldering and singed mage arose with venom in his eyes. Whipping out a glistening black orb, an evil grin played across his lips. “Even you cannot withstand the force of my orb! It harnesses the most powerful magic of all!” He exclaimed.
The perplexed Necromancer stared at Abraham. Then, a stray glint of light caught his eye. Turning to the right, a massive steel fist sent him flying across the road, slamming into a large birch tree. Comically rending the bark off the tree, as his limp body slid down the trunk.
Picking up the orb, Abraham addressed Gort. “We really do need to work on your timing.” He said, shaking his head.
“Statement: With humor, timing is everything.” Gort deadpanned.
Conrad saw Wolfram readying to hurl the gigantic fireball and prepared to dodge. But then, he turned and saw the trajectory would send the fireball directly toward Epiphany. She was just regaining consciousness. There was no way he could reach her in time and carry her out of the explosion’s radius. Too late, Wolfram launched the enormous fireball. Conrad ran and leapt on top of Epiphany, he tried to shield her. He prayed his body was large enough and massive enough to prevent any harm to come to her. And then, the fireball struck.
At that moment, Wolfram heard a terrible, primordial, screech behind him, accompanied by the sound of gigantic leathery wings flapping. He turned and tried to scream, as row upon row of massive, sharp teeth shred him to pieces. Only a lingering red mist remained of the once powerful sorcerer.
Conrad felt the force of the impact, the heat of the explosion. But. . . nothing? He opened his eyes. Epiphany was staring back into his.
“Why Mister Frost!" Epiphany teased in her sing-song voice. "I never would have thought of you as one who would take advantage of an unconscious woman.”
Conrad bolted up. “ I wasn’t. . . There was a huge fireball. . . I would never. . .” He stammered. Epiphany propped herself up on her elbows. She raised her eyebrow in a mischievous manner, and looked toward her hips. Conrad looked down. He didn’t realize his legs were straddling Epiphany in a compromising manner. Quickly jumping off, his face turning red, He offered his hand to Epiphany.
Rising, she gave Conrad a peck on the cheek. “I know exactly what happened. And I do appreciate your efforts to protect me. Although, I am not certain why, or how, we are unscathed.” She then pointed to the sky. Conrad turned, just in time, to see Wolfram devoured by a huge Red Dragon.
Conrad’s heart stopped, as he raced toward the still figure. Then, two white orbs permeated the blackened facade. A powerful cough sent a plume of soot out of his lungs. Hacking and choking, Christopher sat up. Brushing the soot off, his smile seemed even brighter as he laughed. “The sorcerer made an ash out of me!” He proclaimed.
Conrad was flabbergasted. “How. . . how on earth did you survive that fireball? It should have vaporized you!”
Christopher laughed, causing him to cough and wheeze even more. “I got here just as Wolfram was launching his fireball. I snatched up the oak door from the wagon and leapt in front of you at the last second. The door took most of the impact and absorbed the heat. Though the explosion was still strong enough to send me flying.” He beamed. “How did I do big brother? Am I ready for our next mission?”
Conrad surprised him with a bear hug. “More than ready. I’ve never been more proud!’ He exclaimed.
“A teacher can only ever be as good as the student she works with. I merely helped refine your inherent skills.” Epiphany chirped.
Abraham and Gort emerged from the other side of the carriage. Abraham was shaking the ebony orb and peering into it. “’Reply hazy. Try again?’ Why, oh why does this accursed orb vex me so?” He exclaimed. And then, they were shaken off their feet as a Huge Red Dragon landed beside the carriage.
“We haven’t had time to check on the treasure. But yes, all of the enemies have been defeated.” The sulfuric stench of the Dragon’s breath brought tears to Conrad’s eyes.
The Dragon reached into the carriage with it’s massive clawed hand. “I’m interested in what’s so precious about this particular treasure.” Christopher whispered to Conrad.
Overhearing him, the Dragon replied. “More than precious, it is the future.” As his hand emerged with three large Dragon’s eggs. “The Crimson Empire would have used these to create the first of their army of Dracoliches. You have my gratitude for their safe return."
Kilgorah extended himself to his full height. “Hail Epiphany, daughter of Scrimshaw. Though the war was bloody, I have many good memories of our alliance with the Eladrin. There is no one I would rather fight side-by-side with than your father. There is to be a council of Dragons the next full moon. I shall address this matter to my brethren then. Again, you have my sincere gratitude.” And without a second look, Kilgorah took to the skies, clutching his precious treasure to his chest. They watched until he became a faint dot on the horizon.
“Declaration: Only time will tell. Timing is everything.” Gort intoned.
Heading toward their mounts, Epiphany playfully bumped Conrad with a hip check. “I still can not believe you would take advantage of me like that.” She stated with mock indignation.
“I was trying to protect you. I assure you, I derived no pleasure from it.” A flustered Conrad implored.
“NO pleasure? Not ANY pleasure at ALL?” Epiphany pouted her lips in a feigned hurt expression.
“Yes. . I mean. . . No. . . I mean. . . You do realize that there is no way I can answer this without getting in trouble.” Conrad sighed.
Abraham was still fiddling with the mystic orb, as he looked up toward Christopher. “Wrong? Whatever are you talking about?”
“Back there. When you told the Necromancer that friendship is the most powerful magic.” Christopher grinned.
“Oh, really!” Abraham asked, in an exaggerated, mocking tone. “Then what, pray tell, IS the most powerful magic?”
Nodding his head toward the bickering Conrad and Epiphany, Christopher replied: “Love.”
As if in response, the black orb in Abraham’s hand revealed a new answer: “Yes. Definitely!”