Chapter 1 – Old Statues
It is not often that a lone man travels the realm of Jormag. The dangers there are endless. Great wurms, elemental beasts, and the bitter cold claim most who dare traverse the frozen lands. Some would call those to be the lucky ones. "Better to have your body ripped apart by a snow wurm than to have your soul ripped away, only to become one of the dragon's new abominations of snow and ice," they would say, warning those not to venture far into the icy north.
Bundled in layers of thick hides and soft furs, Dassk Wade searched the white landscape. He has not seen a human for months, but he did meet some Norn last week. A wurm shot up through the ground below, sending him soaring through the air. All kids dream of flying. It was not all he had hoped for.
He was found, contorted and battered yet not altogether dead, by a Norn hunting party that was tracking the wurm. They got him to one of their settlements and gave him a bed to rest. They dressed his wounds and fed him. He recovered in the cold while exploring their cozy encampment built into the side of a mountain. He felt short, weak, and overdressed, though he was not made a spectacle. Forget flying, thought Dassk, If only I had their tolerance for cold, I wouldn't be burdened with ten pounds of grawl fur!
On his fifth day at the Norn camp, he gathered his things and set out to continue his search. The Norn at the gate tried to dissuade him. They told him not to go so far north, that even Norn do not travel the area in parties of less than six. The gatekeeper smiled as he walked past. Apparently, the Norn understood him better than Humans.
Dassk was glad when he left his homeland. He felt as isolated there as he does out here. The new Warmarshal at Ebonhawke said he found a message from his predecessor. Dassk was told that there was something he must find, here, in the far northern reaches near the coldest of mountains. He would wager the Warmarshal just found an excuse to be rid of him. The ice welcomes him, people do not.
Shifting his third and fourth fur overcoat to better retain the heat, the frigid traveler finally arrived at his destination. Amidst the frozen lake, Dassk could see a giant building. From afar, the massive structure appeared to be abandoned, yet as he reached it, there seemed to be a sort of warmth from within.
The young traveler spent the next hour banging his shoulder into the door, chipping at an icy hinge with his knife, and cursing loudly. Eventually he opened the heavy doors enough to squeeze himself through.
It was impressive enough. The walls were large and ostentatious. It must have taken a long time to build. Dassk did not feel the need to linger in the outer chamber. He never had much care architecture, so long as it held sturdy and was sealed well enough to impede the cold. For all its flamboyant ornate design, someone decided to build this room with an open ceiling. Did they not realize they were building it in an eternal winter? He felt eager to enter the main chamber.
Dassk fell hard as he toppled into the inner chamber. He ran, expecting once again to have to barrel open doors that were frozen stiff. As he got up, rubbing the numb spot where his arm should hurt, he looked into darkness. This room did not have an open ceiling to allow for light, but there must be some way to rid the chamber of darkness.
Dassk felt around until he bumped into a loose branch. Duh, thought Dassk, A torch! He wrapped his outermost layer of fur around the branch and made use of what little magic he knew. Though he couldn't actually create fire, he could concentrate enough to make sparks. Its barely suitable to impress the children, but it is sufficient to catch fur aflame. Dassk Wade was momentarily pleased as he saw his impromptu torch light the room. His glee was short lived as the fire spread quickly to a nearby tapestry. It burned quickly. It looked expensive.
It did allow enough light for Dassk to see a nearby brazier, which he guiltily lit as the fine tapestry was quickly consumed by the flame. The new light allowed for a better look at his hand held lighting fixture. It was not a torch. It was a flaming fur coat wrapped around a half burnt bow. He rushed to put out the flame. The bow now had its only use as kindling and the tapestry was all but non existent. Oh well, he thought still feeling a bit guilty, no one will know but me.
With the newfound light, Dassk looked where he grabbed the wooden bow and found a vast collection of artifacts, mostly weapons, arranged in a display with plaques and labels beneath them.
There was a single empty display. The plaque said, "Here lies the bow of Urgoz, spiritual demon of the Echovald Forest." Dassk looked down in despair at the scorched piece of wood to his side.
He moved sheepishly on towards the next display. Shiro's daggers! Now excited he enigmatically stalked from one display to another. Next he saw an am fah mask, a margonite chest piece, a sunspear's spear, and a shield of the mursaat. The next bow he recognized with a chill. He did not need to read the label below. "Here lies the Ironwing Flatbow of Beta Ray Wade."
Dassk knows of this legendary archer all too well. He has seen the painting of Beta Ray Wade wielding this fabled bow in the lost ring of fire islands, traveling with a small group of heroes to fight the Lich Lord, who unleashed the Titans on the lands of Tyria. Dassk's mother named him after this warrior. He has been ridiculed since he was a child about someone he never believed to exist until now.
His eyes grew wide, frantic at his newfound realization, and he saw a sparkle in his peripherals. He was disappointed to find that the glimmer of light originated from a celestial longbow, taken from the distant lands of Cantha, and not the Legendary Stormbow he used when he fought The Great Destroyer. Dassk took a moment to calm himself. Perhaps some of the stories could be true, not all of them of course, embellishments gaining grandiosity as time passes. Despite his disclaimer, here were the artifacts that seemed to hint towards these tales' veracity.
Onward he moved to the next display. This contained various sets of armor. In the center was the dragonscale armor of Beta Ray Wade, crafted from the remains of the undead dragon known as Rotscale. To its side he saw a set of Druid armor and a set of fur armor, likely the very set of armor he wore in these very regions!
Daskk began to wonder about this place. Could it be some sort of monument build to pay homage to this historical figure, or was it something more, something that has somehow kept itself isolated from the filth and decay that seems to have taken hold of the rest of Tyria.
His answers would be revealed at the next display. If this was some sort of monument, then they would not have made this shrine. Tittles, deeds, historical records, and maps of planed routes with hand drawn buildings and locations. This is the real proof that the legendary heroes existed, conformation that this isn't just some sort of monument. This was a place where the hero must have spent a lot of time. Before him lies the plans to strike an assault at heart of The Great Destroyer.
Dassk moved on to the statues on the far side. The plaque on the bottom shined Hall of Fellowship.
The statues were skillfully carved containing lifelike intricate detail. There was the great warrior, Tzimite Dreadlord, the wizard Arkillius Deathmage, and the famed paragon Wonko the Sane. There was also an unknown dwarf that seemed to be missing the label below where it should say his name. Dassk looked to the side to see the hero's greatest companion, one of the great white moa's which are now extinct. He looked at the plaque below in anticipation to read the name that has been lost to records. "Birdie." Dassk thought it to be a stupid name. Oh well perhaps the man was too busy saving the world and such, so his lapse in creativity could be forgiven.
Onward he moved to a pool in the center of the room. There was a thick liquid in the center. It looked to be a pool of melted iron, yet flowed thin as water. Dassk saw shadows form and light bend. He bent down to take a look closer. There was an image forming in the center of the strange liquid.
"You look just like him, you know." A raucous voice bellowed throughout the hall. It sounded like a sword scraping granite. Dassk had assumed he was alone in the room, the door was shut and hadn't been opened for generations. He looked around. No one was there. Am I hearing things, he thought. His face was contorted; his eyes held bewilderment.
"My apologies." Dassk could still not tell where the voice came. It echoed throughout the chamber.
Frantically looking around, Dassk reached for his knife to the side of his boot. "Show yourself," he cried.
"It is I, over here." Dassk sought the sound of scrapping stone. To his amazement, one of the statues in the Hall of Fellowship began moving. "Ahh," the statue groaned. "I seem to be a bit stiff. I have not moved for some time. There are not exactly visitors here."
"A stone dwarf!" shouted Dassk, still clutching his knife, too excited to notice his grip still held. "They are told about in legends but I thought it was just some exaggeration of the truth. And wait, what did you say?"
"I said you look like him," the stone dwarf said, apparently less rigid, now able to raise an arm to point to the statue of Beta Ray Wade in his preferable sets of armor. Dassk walked over and took a moment to examine these statues closer. He actually did bear quite a resemblance to the hero of legend.
"And what do you intend to imply by saying that?" Dassk said cautiously.
"Nothing really," said the dwarf, now able to raise his legs. He began slowly moving off the platform with the other statues. Dassk wondered if they would start moving as well. The stone dwarf tried not to let his gaze linger on the burnt bow and tapestry. Dassk look down abashedly. "We dwarfs, we see things, and we tell people what we see. Everybody else takes too close a look at what we say. I say you look like him. That is all there is to it. Just a simple observation from an old dwarf."
"Right," Daskk retorted.
"And now I see some strange visions forming in the Scrying Pool over here." The dwarf looked more limber now, he freely strolled down the stairs to the room's center, which held the mysterious liquid. Dassk joined him. There were indeed images that were coming into focus. Dassk thought he saw a baby.
"That must be you," said the dwarf. "Let's see what it wants to show you."