Amurra, perched on a stone outcrop, blew on her hands. The late frost was sinking into everyone’s bones. “I still can’t believe they managed to defeat the Hopeslayer. A demon of this world, thousands of years old, and more powerful than Asheron! It is truly a testament to the human spirit, isn’t it Gideon?”
Gideon looked up from fletching quarrels. Can she not see that I’m busy? One of us must have a clue as to what’s going on around. These mountains are dangerous! “Yes, sure. Human spirit. Testament. Huzzah for the war mages. Why don’t you stop talking and hand me that letter MacNiall gave us?”
Amurra glowered at him, but dug in her pack until she found it. Eyes narrowed, she walked over and handed him the letter with testy deliberation.
Gideon perused it while packing his gear. He was curious about what MacNiall would have to say to his cousin.
“Look Gideon,” Amurra said crossly, “I’m tired of you treating me like some second-rate vagabond. I know what I’m doing! Even the Zharalim respect me more than you do.”
Gideon frowned. How am I supposed to concentrate with her prattling on like this? He turned to her, impatient–
–and saw the Iron Golem charging from behind. An old and scathing Aluvian curse fell stillborn in his mouth. “Golem!” he simply yelped instead, and scrambled for his crossbow.
Still scowling, Amurra turned around as Gideon fumbled to load a barbed quarrel he’d paid for through the nose. Yet instead of backing away from the Golem, she began to cast, an odd purplish glow manifesting between her fingers. Titanic gouts of acid surged from her hands, reducing the Golem to its base components.
“Bet you won’t treat me like a sidekick now,” she proudly chirped.
Bemused, Gideon nodded, wondering from where the Iron Golem had come.
After several months of living in the darkness cast by the shadows of the Hopeslayer and his minions, the children of Ispar looked out onto the land and saw that the taint of hate and corruption was diminishing.
Gone from the night sky were the pervasive red lightning and the watchful glare of Bael’Zharon. The waters regained their sparkling blue hue and the snows of winter fell lighter than they had the prior year. A quiet respite had fallen across Dereth.
In the silence there came a great sundering as a floodgate of power unleashed by the return of the Hopeslayer and his subsequent dismissal ushered in a new age for the Magi of Dereth. High in the mountains, removed from nearly any sign of civilization, a Menhir sprang forth emanating an essence of bygone power.
It was here, at the Essence of Strife, that the Magi of the Arm transported scrolls of immense power garnered from the chests strewn across the Obsidian Plains. These scrolls given over to the Essence became an arcane understanding that had long been absent from Dereth. A new sphere had opened to the Arch Magi of war, brought on by the resurgence of more powerful magics.
As a result of this awakened power, Magi traversed the land through the use of new gems capable of opening portals to outpost towns. Through their use, Magi assisted trade caravans in bringing the reagents necessary for casting the higher spheres to all towns around Dereth. Aided by the explorer society, these caravans assisted the outpost towns in making their wares more accessible to new arrivals from Ispar.
In the hall of the fallen Hopeslayer, warriors who wished to return to the scene of the final battle against evil were met with an unusual discovery. An infusion of black blood could now be retrieved from within the walls of this corrupt hall to alter the Sword of Lost Light. Speculation arose as to whether this was a gift of Asheron for the defeat of Bael’Zharon or a subtle reminder of the Hopeslayer’s influence. Though the truth of its appearance remained a mystery, warriors forever altered their hard-won reward into the Sword of Lost Hope.
Travelers discovered that the halls leading to where the final stand took place had become more difficult to traverse, bolstered by the remnants of those who would keep the Hopeslayer forever imprisoned.
Traversing the land, aided by sword and dagger warriors newly armed with hilted weapons crafted by the bandits of MacNiall’s and MacDugal’s forces, parties discovered that the denizens of Dereth had migrated over the land. The new groupings of like species inspired the greatest of Dereth’s guardians to journey the world together. As they adventured and experienced the evolution of the Derethian landscape, fellowships found that together they received greater rewards than they had ever obtained before.
In the larger cities and outlying towns however, there was the calm that had come after the storm, a time of reflection and rest that was well deserved and hard won. Only one question remained.
What was to come next?