Greetings dear readers, when we last left our dear, brooding Bertronius he had just received orders from the eminent Lord Topelthorpe to relocate to Perejin in pursuit of the elusive rebel forces, which put him even farther away from the dastardly Ractor. Jarthen, on the other hand, observed the conversation of his comrades, while Rethnaki confronted Jellihondor about his handling of their quest thus far.
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The rebels spent the next week marching with the blue elf Sveren as their guide through the increasingly wild Erkenheld, while an imposing range of jagged, stony mountains grew ever larger on the occasionally visible horizon. The paths were largely unpopulated, though on several occasions they passed by (and in the groups of blue elves confused and frightened by the appearance of unguarded foreigners in their closed off country. Nevertheless, after a few words from Sveren, they would move to the side of the path, and continue on their way, casting wary glances towards the motley crew of outlanders as they went. At the end of each day, the rebels would stop and make camp, exchanging tales and passing pipes full of poppletysnuff (as Zartheim referred to that most pungent of herbs) until they were completely overtaken by the exhaustion caused by the day’s exertions. Sveren, the blue elf guide, proved to be no more amiable or less reserved than any of his countrymen, including Benno, but appeared to having political and ideological leanings that were more in line with the Rebel Army than his homeland. By the end of the week, Rethnaki, who had been engaging in drawn-out conversations with the blue elf on such matters as mundayne hegemony and the inherent links between the oppressions of all elvish races with some frequency, admitted to Jarthen that he wasn’t such a bad fellow.
Around midday on their eighth day out from Norsa, the magical path they were walking on dissolved into a large open area where bright shafts of sunlight penetrated the now thinner forest canopy. Jarthen observed that the stones of the magic path broadened out into a great plaza, and suddenly realized that they were at the foot of a towering mountain! To the young lad’s eye – which admittedly lacked any sort of archaeological training – the plaza greatly resembled the ruins of a great city that, having been abandoned by its inhabitants, had been reclaimed by the wild forest that surrounded it. Nevertheless, the entire place was pervaded by an atmosphere of sacrality that left the lad and his compatriots as speechless as if they had been in the holiest of temples. Built around, and even carved into the face of the mountain! were truly imposing stone buildings of a staggering size and grandeur that left them all breathless. Almost every inch of the vast stone plaza was adorned with vines and ivy, while in some areas the trees had become so brazen as to grow on top of the buildings themselves, giving the city a very strange, wild aspect. The silence, however, was the most eerie thing about this city: to find a place that has so clearly been wrought by the hands of sentient beings completely devoid of the cacophony attendant to all social creatures is a most disturbing phenomenon indeed.
A great plaza at the foot of the mountainThe rebels, not wanting to mar the soundless landscape with their profane voices, walked in silence behind Sveren towards a staircase. It had been carved directly into the side of the mountain and stretched at least 100 feet into the sky, culminating in an open plaza on a ledge of the mountain. As they climbed the staircase they were able to gaze above, at the trees, and saw the Erkenheld stretch out infinitely beyond. After some time, their legs now burning with exhaustion, the band of rebels and their guide reached a giant-sized stone archway blocked with a tremendous stone door. Though it was now entwined with thick tree roots masking much of its surface, Jarthen could see that the door was decorated with intricate carvings of trees, plants and elves done with amazing care and beauty: they had finally arrived at the Vinkenti Gate…
She opened the door, revealing Etherton Scrubner, the young pimple-faced guard from the local garrison. “Mornin’, Mrs. Worthis.” He handed her an unmarked letter and then said, “This letter was brought to the garrison today. The quartermaster said you’d want it straightaway, you would. Fare thee well, then…best be on my way!” With that, the young man tipped his hat and left, singing tunelessly under his breath.
Felendia, still standing in the doorway, shouted for her husband to come quickly when she realized why the handwriting on the address looked so familiar – it was unmistakably her son’s! “Delando! Delando, come quick! Bertronius has written us a letter!”
Standing together, Delando unfolded the thin sheet of parchment so both of them could read the letter together.
Bertronius' tear-stained letterDear Mother and Father,
I write this from an Imperial Army camp on the Fethilian front. I am sure that you realized I had not gone to Opleneer some time ago, but I now feel that I should tell you where I am, what I am doing, and why I felt it necessary to deceive you.
I did lie about my intended location, but I told the truth about my motivations for leaving – I am on a mission to avenge the cruel and untimely death of Jarthen Furblog. I know that both of you must be thinking that there is no good reason for me, a boy of thirteen, to appoint himself to such a hard task, but who else would poor Jarthen have? His mum and her mush? His father, may I remind you, was complicit in his death! He had no one but me!
As a Worthis, I know how important honor is – not just one’s own honor, but the honor of those who are dependent on you in some way. After Jarthen’s death, I saw no option but to join the Imperial Army, search out the man who impressed him, and kill him. Only then will Jarthen’s honor be restored. This is exactly what I have done: I talked my way into the army, and I have recently taken a position as a spy (please keep that last bit mum). I have not yet found the dastardly rogue who brought about the tragic loss of Jarthen, but when I do, I plan to snuff out his life without pity or remorse.
As surely as I knew that this was my heavy burden to bear, I also knew that you would forbid me from taking these actions. I know that you must be shocked and angry with me for what I’ve done, and I understand that my actions are inexcusable. I did not write this letter to ask for forgiveness, though I hope that you feel somewhat more positively inclined towards me now that you know why I have undertaken this. I write to you only to tell you that I am alright (the fare in the army leaves much to be desired, but I have found friends and am warm enough at night) and that you do not need to worry. Now that I have established myself here, among the spies, I feel no need to keep up the deception. I will write to you as often as I can.
I love you, Mother and Father. I hope that I have not disappointed you too much.
I remain,Your faithful son,Bertronius
Jarthen recognized the truth in Jellihondor’s advice – the rebels were indeed leaving the Erkenheld and Elothnin far behind, and would presumably not return anytime soon – and began to reflect on the situation. The Erkenheld Forest had been his home now for almost half a year, and his life had been changed so significantly by the events that had transpired within its extensive bounds that it was hard to imagine living outside of it again. In the midst of this reflection, however, the lad realized that life in the army meant leaving lots of things – places, possessions, even people – behind, and that he would have to buck up and get used to it.
Not feeling much like talking, Jarthen turned his attention to Elcrona and Zartheim, who were chatting idly about the pending adventure. “Well, naturally, I’m absolutely thrilled to be on this journey! I’ve never seen the Brovnajian Steppes, you know. It is, after all, my people’s traditional homeland, and I can’t imagine how exhilarating it will be to finally see the crucible in which the mighty compounds of my ancestors were formed.” The giant spoke with a wistful look in his eyes as he gazed keenly towards the gate.
“Ye’ve ne’er seen yer homeland, Zartheim?” Elcrona asked curiously. “I’m glad ta' hear tha' ye’ll be seein’ tit then. I canna imagine how hard it ‘twould be to ne’er ha’ known one’s roots. Me family lived in ta’ Fethil since ta’ firs’ displacement o’ our people, an’ we were lucky enough not ta’ lose our home when ta’ humans took ta’ Fethil – curse their lyin’ hides! - present company exceptin’, o’course,” the young elf concluded this passionate outburst by delicately touching Jarthen reassuringly on the hand, but the lad’s attention had already shifted to Rethnaki who, sitting just out of earshot, was apparently having yet another serious conversation with Sveren.
Despite his pathological fear of the blue elves, Rethnaki had been convinced to first tolerate the presence of Sveren in his smoking circle: after a few nights of liberal pipeweed consumption (a particularly potent batch of which was provided by Sveren himself), he had come to have a genuine affection for the blue elf. Seeing Rethnaki’s mood so improved, Jarthen began to feel considerably better about the coming journey, but still could not help but feel slightly jealous that this strange, taciturn intruder was now getting all of the charming elf’s attention.
In the meantime, Jellihondor had finished putting on his ceremonial robe, strapped the dagger to his hip, and conjured a flame atop the torch, which did not burn yellow, red and orange as an ordinary fire does, but instead emitted a very pale blue light that looked almost cool to the touch. Ceasing their conversation, Jarthen and his comrades watched intently as Jellihondor approached the gate with a grim, determined look on his face.
For a few moments the old red elf stood before the gate in silence, gazing at its stony façade, as if to open it by will alone. With a sudden wave of the torch, Jellihondor shouted something in the tongue of the blue elves before striking the door with the torch sending a shower of blue and green sparks all over the surrounding area. The party waited in silence for at least a minute, but no change had been affected on the door, which stood as motionless as ever.
Undeterred, Jellihondor stared at the gate for another few moments before repeating a similar maneuver with a different set of blue elvish words. This course of action again produced no results, and was repeated multiple times over the next hour…but still, the giant stone door remainined motionless. Though Jellihondor continued to perform his magic in the same calm, deliberate manner, Jarthen thought that he could see frustration start to crease the well-worn lines of the old elf’s face.
After yet another failed attempt, Jellihondor waved his hand over the still lit torch extinguishing it, before returning to his pack. He rooted around in the rucksack shuffling through its contents until he withdrew several cylindrical, leathern tubes, which he opened to reveal a series of neatly rolled scrolls. As he crouched down to unroll one of the scrolls and peruse its contents, Jarthen turned to Sellior and Zartheim in the hopes of getting an explanation. “Why can’t he it open?” the lad inquired.
“Well, lad,” Sellior replied in a hushed voice – everyone was speaking low tones while trying not to make their watching of Jellihondor not overly apparent – “I reckon it ‘tis a rather tall order ta’ open tha’ gate. ‘Tis very old magic after all, an’ magic has a tendency ta’ go all akimbo when it tain’t used fer too long.”
“Quite right,” Zartheim replied. “By the look of the thing,” he said, gesturing towards the great stone door, “this hasn’t been opened in ages. I would imagine that it will take quite a bit of elbow grease to get it ajar.”
The rebels watched quietly as Jellihondor continued to pore over his scrolls before making some fresh, unsuccessful attempts at opening the door. After another hour of failed attempts, the old elf was clearly angry and stormed off into one corner of the platform, where Glothnafar went to console him. With evening fast approaching, Jellihondor returned to examine his scrolls in greater detail, clearly for searching for some esoteric sign that he had missed on one of his previous inspections.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jarthen noticed Sveren tentatively approach the old elf. The blue elf gently got Jellihondor’s attention and said in a slightly cautious tone, “I t’ink dat I can help you, Jellihondor, but I vill ask vone thing of ya in return…” Jellihondor, intrigued, nodded and urged Sveren to continue. With a grim, determined look in his eye, the blue elf said, “I vish ta accompany ya and your troops on your journey. I vish…I vish ta join your noble cause!”
Jellihondor peered at the blue elf with his piercing eyes, scanning Sveren’s expression for any trace of artifice, before replying, “Aye? Alrigh’ ye can come wit’ us – ta’ Rebel Army ain’ in ta’ business o’ turning folk away. Now…how do ye get this blasted door ta’ open?” At this point, with a wry twinkle creeping back into his previously annoyed eyes, Jellihondor clapped Sveren affectionately on the back as if he had been with the Rebels all along, which elicited an endearing and unexpected grin from the new recruit.
Sveren knelt looked the great stone door up and down, as if he was looking for a weak spot in its hard countenance. Suddenly it appeared that he had reached some sort of resolution, and, touching his hand to the ground. Suddenly, a small shoot erupted from the ground: it grew rapidly, tracing the outline of the stone door until it connected with the stone ground on the other side, and stopped for a moment. The rebels’ eyes were fixed on the door while they waited breathlessly for some sign of movement. A minute passed…then another…then, just when everyone was beginning to get disappointed, a tremendous groan issued from the great stone door! With an almost painful slowness, the stone slid aside, revealing an impossibly long, empty black passageway.
With the rebel troops’ mouths agape at the great passage ahead of them, Jellihondor spoke in a calm voice, “Well, there t’ain’t nothin’ else for it: we best be movin’ on. Time ta’ go t’rough ta’ gate!”
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