Tag Archives: Bandesingh

Guided by Raiden

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Alexis dreams he stood upon a vast grassland beneath a gray morning sky.The grass reached nearly to his knees and rolled away in every direction, untouched by road or wall. Far away stood the dark line of a forest. Beyond it rose mountains crowned with snow. There was no temple. No throne. No choir. Only wind.

Then Alexis noticed a man walking toward him through the grass. He was tall and weathered, dressed not as a god but as an old warrior returning from a long campaign. His cloak was patched. His boots were muddy. An ancient sword hung at his side, and across his shoulders he carried a bow. His face seemed softened by humility. His eyes were tired. But kind. Alexis knew him immediately. Raiden.

Raiden stopped beside him and looked toward the mountains. For a long while, the god said nothing. Finally… “Men build walls when they are frightened.”

Raiden picked a blade of grass and rolled it between his fingers. “Then they build higher walls because the first did not make them less afraid.” He looked toward Alexis. “Shasherak built no wall of stone.”

The wind strengthened. The grassland vanished.

Alexis saw an ancient city beneath a burning sky. Armies marched beneath banners he did not recognize. Orcs, goblins, elves, humans, and creatures stranger still fought among shattered towers. Standing above them was a figure Alexis could never see clearly. Tall. Thin. Neither elf nor orc. Both elf and orc. Every time Alexis tried to see his face, smoke crossed the dream.

Raiden spoke beside him. “He believed the world had failed because those entrusted with its protection were too weak to command it.”

The scene changed. Shasherak stood upon a mountain surrounded by bodies. Above him burned lights like stars. The Gods. Shasherak reached toward them. And the heavens recoiled.

Raiden said: “He mistook obedience for unity.”

The vision changed again. Now Alexis saw Shasherak falling. But his shadow did not fall with him. It remained standing. Waiting. The centuries passed around that shadow. Kingdoms rose. Kingdoms disappeared. Forests grew where cities had stood. Still the shadow waited. Then someone approached it. A man carrying the symbol of a black and red hand. Bandesingh. The shadow turned toward him.

Raiden’s voice became grim. “Some enemies need not survive in flesh. Hatred can preserve a man longer than blood.”

Alexis asks “Is Shasherak returning?”

Raiden does not answer. Instead he draws his sword and drives it into the earth. The ground splits. Deep beneath it Alexis sees something crimson glowing in darkness. The Tear of Avv.

Raiden looks directly at him. “The old powers are moving again. Some will tell you that power must be destroyed. Others will tell you that it must be possessed. Beware both.”

Then Raiden steps closer. “You  hold something kings would murder nations to possess. Do not ask whether you are strong enough to wield it.” His expression becomes severe. “Ask whether you are strong enough to surrender it.”

Then the wind rises. Raiden disappears.

But his sword remains buried in the earth. Wrapped around its blade is a single strand of crimson thread.

Alexis awakens.

Which Dark Power Is Trying to Rise?

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A few nights into the camp east of Nodden-Torr, as the group sits down to eat togehther.

“The Made feed on a wound. That is what makes the dead god weep. And the wound gets poisoned. Every day, with blood.”

“Drayek is the god of poison.”

Alexis’ hand grazes against the shield of Raiden that hangs at his neck..

“Drayek’s whose cult put its name to a pact with Shasherak, on that wall out in the Westlands. The terms can’t be read, but it’s clear someone was owed something.”

Alexis pauses, sitting with this. He’s been thinking about these things, but is still thinking.

“As I see it: three ways to read what Bandesingh is doing.”

“One. He raises Ath, and brings darkness on the world by bringing back the god of betrayal.”

“Two. He raises Shasherak and Ath was supposed to be the cost paid. When I gave Vorgoth the name Bandesingh, he answered that Shasherak has found another road. Perhaps this is a coincidence. But we know that Dauntless contained a piece of Ath, and Dauntless was created to battle blood magic. This is leading me to wonder if Ath is actually the god of treachery. Ath being the father of Drayek, feels like it plays into what’s going on, but I’m not sure how.”

“Three. Something else, but my gut says no.”

“Raiden and Avv want us to stop whatever darkness Bandesingh is trying to unleash on us all. We’ll be better prepared if we know what exactly Bandesingh is attempting.”

Alexis looks around the group to see if anyone else has anything to add.

Doubts and Questions

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Late into the two weeks of contemplation, exercise and study, Rask approaches Ca’armine while the others are busy with their work.

“Ca’armine, do you have moment to talk?” Rask asks quietly and nods his head to the side a bit to indicate privacy.

The two step away from the others a bit and Rask continues quietly.

“Things have changed. This… is not the same world we left. We all can see it, I can feel the raw power of Aegir again, you can feel Raiden again right?”

Rask pauses for Ca’armine to affirm.

“I have been focused on stopping the Dark Hand, stopping Bandesing, it’s why we joined this group. What if Bandesing doesn’t exist here Ca’armine? Did we defeat the Dark Hand by changing history? Is there a new enemy we don’t even know about?”

Rask is confused, uncertain and concerned, even vulnerable.

Vorgoth, Raiden, Bandesingh, and Shasherak

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The Crimson Calling has arrived at their camp site east of Nodden-Torr, and the rangers are finalizing the details before camp is truly struck. Alexis has wrapped his winter blanket around him. He waits until the four others are near enough that he doesn’t have to raise his voice.

“Good job” Nodding at Gustav, Ca’armine, and Rask. “Before we settle in. A thought gnawing at me since the fire lake. At the time when I spoke with Vorgoth, I was just giving you all my best translations, but I was also distracted by listening to him. He said a few things that require reflection.”

A silver piece starts over his knuckles.

“I’d given him the name Bandesingh, and that he means to bring back Ath and put the world in darkness. He’d never heard of the man in his life.”

“He said: ‘Bandesingh. Another one who mistakes certainty for wisdom.'”

The coin walks.

“Then: ‘So. Shasherak has found another road. The dragon believed he would.'”

He lets that stand a moment.

“A few ways I can take ‘another road’.”

“One. Bandesingh is the road. Plain reading. I asked all of you a while back whether Bandesingh learned his trade from Shasherak or whether two men arrived at the same answer on their own. If Vorgoth’s right, that’s answered.” Alexis shugs as-if a mystery could be checked off his list.

“Two. Another road to a Tear, not to this Tear.” Alexis points to his belt pouch “Bandesingh has two. If what Shasherak wanted was one of these and not our particular one, he got it centuries ago, and we never really thwarted Shasherak.”

“Three. Another road to what he actually wanted, which was to be a god. The Tear in the time-vault was one way. He found a different one.”

“Four.” The coin stops. “‘The dragon believed he would.’ He planned for a man to go around him. Whatever he built in there, he built it knowing it would be walked past, and then he left it to five strangers seven hundred years (or longer) later.” A slight shrug, and a nod off to the side. “There’s a possibility that we were the arrangement the Dragon made for losing.”

He pockets the coin.

“But back to Vorgoth.”

“I handed him the name of Bandesingh, which he had never heard and two lines about a man alive right now. He didn’t ask me a single question. He set him beside Shasherak on the spot.”

“Earlier in that conversation I’d said Raiden. He said, ‘You say Raiden, the last true king. I saw him once in the flames.'”

“Vorgoth has stood in that room since at least some time in the 2nd age. Raiden doesn’t rise until a minimum of one hundred and sixty years after that. He cannot have seen him. Not face-to-face.”

“So. He sees forward in that fire. Or standing outside of time he’s able to see time flow outside the time-vault, which would make that fire room a stranger place than we initially gathered.”

Alexis’ tone shifts to light-hearted, almost joking “Or he has simply met enough men like Bandesingh to know one by the smell.”

The coin starts walking his fingers again and Alexis looks at his companions for any possible insights they might have.

Pre-Departure Checklist

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The last morning at the camp, before anything comes down. Alexis has his notebook open on one knee and waits until the four of them are close enough that he doesn’t have to raise his voice.

“I’ve made a list. Two halves. The first half is things I need from you.”

He turns the notebook around long enough for them to see there’s a full page of it, then turns it back.

“The three of you. I’ve watched Rask these last weeks and I know what I’m getting. Gus, Carm, Red, I want the same from each of you before we walk. What advancements in your specialties?”

“The shield. We start at the knight’s cairn. Rask’s old shield is the other way to solve this, although it went with the horses, which is its own problem and further down the page.”

“Red’s armor. Rebuilt, replace, or we just move on with a more free-moving Red?.” Alexis moves on, but with a clear expectation that Ethelred will let him know.

“Food. Gus. Going north. How many days around for us to get from here to a place where we can easily get more food? How long do you need to get us the food we need?”

“The nature of Frostpass is an unknown in this when. I’ll put the ring to it after this to assess this.”

Alexis turns the page over.

“That’s what I need. The rest is what I want to know, and it’s in the order we’ll walk past it.”

“The tree that put me to sleep. I want to know if it’s still there, and whether it still has the same nature it had in our other time.”

“The undead knight and his horse. This relates to Red’s need for a shield, but I’m also curious to know the reality of this knight in our new when.”

“The Monastery site. An hour on the ‘old’ site. Notes, not digging.”

“When we are. The garden is less than a day past it, and further from Frostpass. We can look at Red’s bomba tree and see how tall it’s got. Carm, if a prayer gets us the same answer faster, I’m open to that.”

“The horses. Everything we didn’t carry in was on them, and we left them in the ‘old’ place. Rask’s shield. The glaive. So: are they here at all? If they are, then the road we took to Nodden-Torr got walked in this world too, and most of what happened to us happened. If there were never any horses, we’re standing somewhere I understand a lot less than I thought this morning.”

“Felsby. We’ve never been, but there’s a lot there.” He counts it off on his fingers. “Ingvar founded it. Bandesingh raided the town to end Torr’s line, because the sword had been Torr’s grandfather’s. Torr-van mended Dauntless there after the place had already fallen. There were gnolls under it digging for that sword, and when Bandesingh learned it was out of his reach he spent them on his working.” Alexis gives a shrug and a nod off to the side. “That’s a great deal of Bandesingh in one town.”

Alexis closes the notebook on his finger and looks between them.

“Anything to add?”

Orcs as the legions of the downfall

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While the group has a little downtime on the lush forest level in the tower-out-of-time of Nodden-Torr, Alexis muses out loud.

“Something’s been sitting with me.” He waits a moment. “The orcs that tore through Nodden-Torr had black veins running through them. Unnatural. Shadow infused in them, or some-such. Clearly altered by Shasherak. And that shadow creature we fought under Nodden-Torr, same thing: Black veins.”

He glances at the group.

“And Bandesingh uses orcs too. Different mark, same foot soldier.” He glances back. “Why orcs for both of them? Not stink lizards, not hobgoblins, not gnolls. Orcs.” A beat. “Did Bandesingh learn that from Shasherak? Is there a connection between them, or did two men arrive at the same answer separately?”

Another beat.

“There’s a spellbook tied to Shasherak that nobody’s seen in an age. I’d very much like to know where it is. I wonder if it’s being held by the Dark Hand.”

Taking A Deeper Step?

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As the group is walking back from getting the third key of Nodden-Torr, Alexis brings up a question.

“I’ve been thinking about the ring.” He keeps looking straight ahead. “If I go deeper with it, it could help us understand what’s between us and Bandesingh, and what’s waiting for us when we get there. Same way Gus was the only one who could use Dauntless, I’m the only one who can use this. Red could get there someday, but he’d have to make some choices he hasn’t made. That’s not where he is.”

He’s quiet for a few steps.

“If it didn’t cost anything I wouldn’t be bringing it up. There would be moments where I’m looking at too many possibilities at once and I’d need someone to help narrow it down to a decision. Someone with a clear head and strong convictions who can cut straight to what matters.” He glances at Ca’armine. “That kind of thinking would be useful.”

He keeps walking, lets that settle.

“There’s no danger of the ring taking me over. Same as there was never any danger of Dauntless possessing Gus. This ring was forged for one purpose: knowledge in the service of keeping humanity alive. Red wants knowledge, full stop. The rest of you want to protect humanity, to varying degrees. I’m the only one who combines both enough that the ring and I are truly aligned.” He says it plainly, but something in his face tightens. “I wish that wasn’t true.”

He keeps his eyes on the tunnel ahead.

“This is one of the great artifacts humanity has ever made. We’re going after the Tear because it improves our chances against Bandesingh. Should we let me lean further into the ring for the same reason?”

He glances sideways at the group, still walking, clearly waiting.

Ca’armine’s Dream

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On the final night at the end of two weeks of rest (and leveling), Ca’armine does not drift into sleep. He kneels. He prays. Not his morning prayers, simply a choice to connect with his god before he drifts off to sleep.  It has been a good two weeks in this Westland wilderness, on the side of Mt Lanos. It has been so peaceful that even with the howling of the undead in the woods to the south, Ca’armine has enjoyed some real bonding time with the other members of his party.

The world grows sharp.The air becomes thin, and cold like standing at a mountain pass in winter. It’s not a painful cold, but it does make Ca’armine feel alive, and awake. When he opens his eyes Ca’armine stands upon a high ridge overlooking the Red Wastes.

The wind roars off the red wastes, kicking the crimson sand into the air and making the sky seem smeared with blood. Not chaotic. Some fear the winds. This seems purposeful to Ca’armine. Countless groups of humans are leaving the wastes and finding shelter below in these first lands. Behind him, footsteps. Heavy. Measured.

Raiden stands there. Not a god of light and glory. Not crowned. Not radiant. He stands in travel-worn armor. Leather scarred. Cloak torn. A longbow across his back. A sword at his side. His ears are slightly pointed. His face weathered. His eyes are very human. And tired. Perhaps even sad. But resolute.

Raiden Speaks…“This is but the first gate, as they have taken to calling it.  Many will wish to stay here after our long journey. Yet we still have so far to journey before we can build again. I know that this is not what you seek, but it is important for you to remember. I can sense, beneath your guise of peace and calm, an anger burns.” The wind does not drown his voice. “Good. You wish to fight the corruption of our order, to fight the disease that attacks our roots. But first we must remember what is worth saving.” He gestures to the Red Wastes below. Ca’armine sees visions in the sand:

Large groups of humanity are fleeing from a scene of mass destruction, cities falling, civilization destroyed…Orc hordes cresting the Middlebarr pass and pouring into the land…Sutheron in ruin…Humanity scattered.The last scene, a young family, a man and woman and child, hiding in the woods as dark murderous forces move past…they are silent, not just in feart, but in determination. “We survived because we did not break.”

The sand shifts again. Now Ca’armine sees a scene between two figures, one of them familiar, Tarkus, in a familiar warehouse in Ghanil..Red iron shipments are discussed. A need for dark rituals. The importance of gathering power. The mysterious figure is clearly in charge.  As they speak Ca’armine notices shadows coiling around an image of a broken crown that seems to ethereally sit over the head of the unknown figure, commanding Tarkus to obey him.

“The enemy believes humanity is weak.” Raiden says. The sand turns to glass and in the reflection Ca’armine sees himself after one of his more taxing battles with the Crimson Casling. Bruised. Wounded. But standing. “We are not weak.”

Raiden steps forward. The world swims and a new vision comes into focus. Now Ca’armine stands in a ruined city, perhaps Sutheron centuries ago from the look of it. Orcish warbands approach the gates. The defenders are few. Raiden leads them, but does not charge. He does not shout. He plants his banner. “Hold” he tells them. These human kin, they are resolute, and you know already that they win in dominant fashion, finally driving the hordes from Sutheron, and eventually over the Middbarr pass.

“Strength is not domination.” the world weary Raiden says to Ca’armine. The wind rises. “Strength is endurance.”

The vision swims and fractures again. Ca’armine now sees something he was not expecting: A new figure, a member of some kind of unknown imperial army by the looks of it, preparing to defend against a large force of elves and dwarves, that upon further inspection looks tired, hungry, and desperate. It is hard to make out specific qualities of the figure that the vision is focused on, but elements of his character shine through. Brilliant. Driven. Certain. He routes the enemy army and those around him swarm to him in celebration. Yet the figure quickly moves away. While the others celebrate, Ca’armine watches as this mysterious figure wastes no time returning to his tent and planning…always planning his next move, and the one after that, and the one after that…so many plans stretching far into the future.  Raiden watches him with no hatred. But you detect your god does feel sorrow for this figure. “He may have destroyed the last empire, if you can believe such things are the result of a single person’s actions, but he is not chaos.” he tells you. “He is conviction without humility. Even as the others celebrate they are blind and lost in his web of dark desires. And while he is long from this world, from a time before now, you must prepare for his return for his machinations have never ended.”

The wind stops.Everything becomes silent.

“You will face men who believe they are saving humanity.They will sound righteous.They will sound necessary.They will sound like me.” Raiden grips Ca’armine’s shoulder. It is solid. Real. “You must remember the difference. Like when you left the Order, with purpose, no longer willing to be deceived…determined to fight for me, for us, for humanity. For the good that we can all do. That is why, no matter the darkness they can bring, or the evils they can choose to do, our people must be saved, for the good that we must encourage them to foster, on each other and the world around them.”

The scene shifts one final time. Ca’armine stands before a massive storm rolling in from the north. Black clouds. Lightning. Shadows moving within. Banners of the Dark Hand on a towering citadel surrounded by snow, ice, and black rock.  A reoccuring figure again, the one who spoke with Tarkus in that warehouse…maybe Bandesingh. There is a ritual underway.  You hear echoes from another time resounding as the ritual continues. Something awaits in the long ago and far away dark…something returns…something that will spell doom for all mankind while trumpeting it’s defense and salvation.

Raiden draws his blade. It does not glow. It does not blaze. It is steel. Simple. Reliable.“You will not stop the storm. You will stand in it. You will anchor the others. You will not bend. You must not break.”

The wind returns. Now fierce. Now glorious. Ca’armine feels strength surge through him…Endurance. Rootedness. A mountain stance.

Raiden’s speaks one last time to Ca’armine…“When you doubt, remember all of this, the struggle and the desperation, the power of choice and the need to stay strong in the face of all that which wishes to undo the good that we sow into this world.”  There is a spear in Raiden’s hand which he entrusts to Ca’armine. Ca’armine grasps it with intense determination and it glows with the power of Raiden.

The vision fades to a final image. The Middlebarr Pass. Raiden is standing alone at its narrowest point but you can tell it is simply an ethereal vision of him which only you can see. This is a possible future. Behind him is an army of sorts, the tired, the hungry, the desperate. Other humans like Ca’armine. The rebels of Aegier…refugees most of them, not true warriors. They are preparing to fight, yet you can smell the fear emanating from all of them. Before Raiden stands a horde unlike anything Ca’armine has ever imagined, spreading down the pass and far off into the north…as far as Ca’armine can see.  Orks, goblins, bugbears and hobgoblins, banded together from countless tribes to form a massive indomitable army. They are not there out of greed, or a desire to pillage. This is a host bent on the destruction of every human in the lands. The blood that they will spill will be like oceans to feed the appetites of their dark gods. Raiden does not move but you can tell he is speaking to those who can not see him, trying to give them courage in the face of so much death and destruction and evil.“Hold.”

Remember The Peacemakers

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Alexis dances a silver coin across his knuckles, watching the firelight play off it.

“So. Bandesingh.” He catches the coin. “Two Tears of Avv. Enslaved how many humans now through the Dark Hand? Sold them to goblins and orcs. Used blood magic to make those orcs nastier. Had gnolls digging for an artifact tied to the weeping god. Until he found out we got there first. Then he sacrificed all those gnolls. Fed them to his evil working.”

He pockets the coin, looking up.

“End of the Second Age, every race turned on humanity. Tore down everything we’d built. We’ve worked with some of them since. Carnoah, the litigious dwarves, the invisible dwarves, kobolds. Not all of them are monsters. But Bandesingh’s making deals with the worst ones. Goblins. Orcs. Making them stronger while he weakens humanity from the shadows.”

He adjusts his hat.

“We get that Tear from Nodden-Torr, we might actually have a shot at stopping him. So that’s the job. Let’s not forget it when things get ugly in there.”

Post-Gate Reflections

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The group is almost back to E’armos from the First Gate. The group has traveled through the Howling Wastes, but has made it out of them. Alexis is walking beside Ca’armine.

“You know,” Alexis said, eyes on the horizon, “I keep thinking about the Gate. About what we walked away from.” He hooked a thumb toward the north-west without looking. “They knew Bandesingh’s name there. They knew his allies. We tracked the weapons being made to there. That wasn’t nothing; we had a trail, and we left it cooling.”

He glanced sideways. “You’ve said Raiden wanted you to turn back. Maybe. Or maybe… it wasn’t about turning at all. Maybe it was about where to put our eyes. We were looking one way, but the truth was sitting right there in front of us. Or maybe going to the First Gate wasn’t the most direct way to get to Bandesingh, but perhaps it could have been the quickest way, that Raiden knew-if asked, to disrupt his working, or to topple the Hand.” Alexis shrugs at his thought that will never be known and was never tested.

“And Drennos. You said he taunted you. Maybe he did. But it sticks with me—reminds me of that beggar in Sutheron. ‘You may have killed the snake, but the wolf still hunts, the spider weaves, the king behind the throne is coming.’” Alexis pauses to gather his thoughts. “Whatever that poor beggar was trying to say, Rask certainly took it as some sort of curse or threat. But sometimes messages come in ugly wrappers. Perhaps Raiden was working through Drennos.”

Alexis kicks a stone forward, watched it skitter. “And those visions—the ruins of Raiden’s long-gone armies? They don’t have to be warnings. That could have been a clue or an omen of both weal and woe. When his armies fell, they almost certainly left something behind. Power. Tools. Maybe even a key to tearing the Hand apart or to stop Bandy’s evil master plan.”

“So maybe the Gate was a pit.” Alexis nods his head towards Ethelred, to emphasize ‘pit.’ “Fine. And we climbed out. And we carried things with us when we did. Maybe doom wasn’t the only story written for us there.”

Alexis keeps walking beside Ca’armine. Letting the words hang between them as the group moves closer and closer to E’armos.