I lifted from my prayers and opened my eyes to the austere and empty chapel. To the corner I could look out one of the windows that was not depicting our god-king in stained glass fashion. This small window was clear. Outside, I could see the wending mists coalesce and whirl, allowing our battle fortress to traverse the void. Tendrils of the deep dark gave it a crimson tinge which turned more pale because of the bleakness of the fog, covering the floating lands between. I was selected to chart the newly uncovered isle of the black mage. Onyx spires had arisen once Nisha, last of Mornath’s kin took residence upon in the office of Altheim.

  The wending mists bore many lands obscured by that betwixt mysteries and horror. The greyness reminiscent of an eventful life, at least in my estimation. Despite the grim darkness of space, opportunity presented itself to be excited about life still. Indeed, a spell of respite offered by the machinations of Valorhold. Such was my gratitude in serving on this Floating fortress.

  The dense clouds, I felt, held their lands in deep obscurity, As I had hidden my heart from others. Yet, I was here, chosen by Uppegandarf to serve his dead body. Kept within the mausoleum en route to Hjaldskyr, the plane above. There he would serve and cast his mighty spear upon our mortal realm. He had chosen me and my wife to serve in this vessel. The thunder from which he roared bore us a mighty son, a little giant, who now roamed somewhere within these mists between. Thinking of him emboldened my calm resolve knowing that the cold clouds would be his best mentor. And still, I wondered. Would these wending mists offer him kindness?

  I made my way to the embarkation deck in a similar state of introspection. Yet, the rattling and sizzling of cybernetic implants from servadrones passing by ceased the endless pontification. Even in the midst of technological compliance was I not granted some modicum of rest or contemplation. Though, admittedly, my thoughts veered more towards the question whether I was still as imposing a man what with being a father and all. Being a father of a giant no less certainly raised some expectations from my peers.

  Moreover, the duties of fatherhood dwarved all other things. I would no longer be the extravagant space drifter who frequented Gigaplex Khorrin’s attempt #8. Such mannerisms seemed best suited for the likes of heroic figures such as Zell’jin Uthelguard or even the Arch-chaplain. How was I ever to raise the banner as a Starskjald? A senechal of red thunder? Would I be able to embark on any of these tasks if I had to guide the way to my Giant son. Despite my demeanor and honorable character, little remained in regards of competence, discipline or responsibility.

  As of late, I managed to stay in some shape or other by means of hiking and arduous physical routines. Safe for sparring practice. My technique, speed and mobility suffered in sacrifice to my skjald songs.Which dealt with a piece of long work heralding the dark seas of Gunderhen. However, thinking of old battle-barges amidst the moss green seas of our Astral world, harboring bears, boars and wolves reheated a smoldering sense which commanded my body to take the oars and row, to search, to plunder. Even within sloth, my being was alert and active.

  For to row onwards deeper into the gaze of frozen stars searching for hearth and home, that was a good life. In this blissful trance would I search the deep pine forests of the wending mists to uncover the secrets within the tower of the black mage, and mayhap find the whereabouts of my sweet son, wandering somewhere between our cathedral and space. In so doing, I would also hone my battlehorn. Granted by Uppegandarf it had powers which would embolden the engines within this Gothic vessel, reigniting us as a tribe and our endless love, If I failed, nor would we rest, but Uppegandarf would never reach the heavens of the Septem Outpathium. For I was chosen as on of the four to be his steward. To serve him beyond his life. Nothing truly mattered safe that which was between me and my lord, knowing my son is all right, and for his mother to be at ease.

  Small slithers of of white whisps engulfed around the Thunderviper spacecraft as I disembarked from it. The hot engines spooled up once again as its pilot sauluted me and I hjim. Within a matter of seconds it disappeared in the low hanging bed of wooly clouds. The damp ground underneath me hailed autumn amidst this place between space and mandmade machinery.

  For the Wending mists were a creation advanced from sequentic magic. The arcanum qum’barini tubes which exchanged the essence of legend, and in so doing, keeping traversal void at bay. Though the season felt like autumn, there remained an unquestionable stillness within the dark green trees, as if the place were but a dormant memory of a time not even receiving the grace of being forgotten.

  ‘Why’ I asked.

  ‘-Why is my son here?’

  And still, still I had heard of little things, indeed, wondrous things that from these mists. The old light. Not that one from the suns of Irful or stars beyond the conflux, nor the scorching ones from the outpath. No, the one offered by candles as grandfathers read stories to children. The one you see in the wintersun glistening through the trees as if a small wink from the all-father. The magic not even sorcerors could understand. Not the augury, not the arcane, not the decipherable. The truest of magic, the essence, one might say. I made my way to the edge of the forest which stared at me. Maneuvering through the moss-covered branching in my thunderskjaldic armor was rather arduous and the sound of twigs breaking under my metal boots and greaves echoed acoustically through the forest. To be sure, I unsheathed my longsword and checked to see if my Krachten-axe was well adjusted on my belt. Also, I activated my pauldron laser rifle to aim at anything that moved, but not shoot yet. In this fashion, I picked up the pace as I continued through the damp forest which smelled of fresh air and stale moments.

  Travel was smooth on my weary mind but became an icy omen when knowing I was the first to walk this forest. What was the essence of legend truly if it sprang forth from lush trees which bore complete abandonment?

  The thick forest eventually lead me onto small swards of light gfreen grass which merged into fields and little hills. It was the whispering ability of the trees that put me somewhat at ease. Gazing up the sky showed me slithers of cloud as an amalgam of colorful stars presenting themselves to me. There was little else I wanted in life than to look up at these stars with my family lying next to me. My sweet wife and my adventurous child. To be excited about life outside our life.

  A quaint hamlet stood in the middle of the dark forest. Laughter and murmur could be heard from within. Two gigantic wolves stood in front of what I had deduced to be a small inn or tavern of sorts. At least a small cottage build against the bark of an old tree offering beer in abundance.

  A brown wolf with white stripes stood watching me as well as the blackest of wolves next to him. From the way they both eyed me, a spell of expectancy could be sensed.

  ‘Arch-king trialdus-infoldous of Meriabok has been slain by the elves of Pesh and the Stonerage dwarves. Where does your allegiance lie senechal?’ The brown wolf asked. After his announcement and inquiry I could see hem sniffing the grass as he awaited my answer. The two wolves appeared to be from my home-realm Gunderhen. Allegiance to royal affairs and being despised by regicide seemed to be what Uppegandarf, my wise master, would have always wanted. I myself was also not opposed to the ways of the Arch-king. Yet whispers of heretical sacrifice and other rumormongering orbited his position ever since he inherited the crown. Moreover, doubts seeped as he started his alliance with the Levintransk Empire.

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  ‘What can I say? This is not the way Uppegandarf had envisioned his funerite voyage onwards to Hjaldskyr.

  From within the Hamlet a woman came out wearing a naveldeep battledress in bright limegreen colors. She herself had a bit of a caramelesque tan and she reminded me of the seamstresses and dancers of puppet theatre on the exotic moments I had come to witness plays from the jungles of Pas.

  ‘Nothing is as important as what goes on between a man and his lord’ She said.

  Eying her I reconsidered my answer.

  ‘Fine, I liked the arch-king. Even though he was considered inept on the martial fronts, his investment into the acadamae has left me wondering whether indeed the study of that which lies beyond the veil can withstand the horrendous truths of war.

  ‘So you’re in favor of the king and Levintransk. We know enough.’

  It dawned on me. I knew this woman. This was Alyx Grace, the bellwitch. The serrated tips of her arrows cautioned me to apprehend and subdue her instead of joining forces. While her knowledge of local flaura and fauna within these wending mists would be a worthwhile addition to my quest for sure, I simply could not risk siding with a lesser creature with this regicide going on. She was a huntress and awitch after all. A huntress of her stature could easily be affiliated with the league of blades and the elves that were behind the murder. As instead, I would rob her of any valuables she might have on her and utilize any knowledge she possessed. This would include any information on demand. There was something to be done, not to be questioned.

  ‘You will surrender to me woman, for I am a senechal. Now kneel’ I stated.

  She raised her thin eyebrows and broke the spell of my presumed authority by drawing her blade.

  Combat had started.

  She moved in tranquill fashion as she seemd to try and leap forth to strike, but in fact she was casting a spell that entered the reaches of my mind. Stalwart-like, I resisted the incoming curses and the damage, to me, was a low hum which nullified further attempts targeted at my mind. Given that we were exchanging these spells I cast heroism on myself which added a +2 on my attacks. She came for me in a sweeping steps and strides. I had assumed she would attack lightly so I had already adopted a more defensive stance.

  She bluffed however and masked her lightness for attacks which bore a heftiness surprising for her lithe figure. This lead to three consecutive and successful slashing attacks. Which, in total, halved my stamina. She moved towards me. It seemed she kept on walking slowly but closing the distance rather effectively, somehow. The woman appeared well-versed in feints.

  She, this mysterious ashen huntress shot an arrow which deflected against my ceramic armor. The brown wolf ignited in flames and with crimson frothy foam from canines bit a dent my leg armor. I struck the fiery hound for 16 damage and , with another shot from my mounted gun, the wolf hopped away. The black wolf adopted a mantle of frost and came lunging at me. I identified the heavy attack and punched him with my thunder gauntlet for 6 damage. The huntress approached me and cast a wall of fire and ice towards me. The flames seared and the ice wall pushed me backwards for 11 fire and cold damage.

  The fire wolf then came but I apprehended him and dodged his pounce. With his back towards me I slashed his back. His low howls made him retreat effectively resulting in the frost wolf and ashen huntress as the remaining opponents. This time I bellowed somewhat insanely in an attempt to carve my foes in frenzied sweeps.

  I slashed the wolf with my sword in a pirouette, followed it up with a punch from my gauntlet and shot him down afterwards resulting in a whipping overall damage of 25.

  He too perished.

  The ashen huntress held up her hand.

  ‘Good, you have proven yourself a seneschal. I shall take you to the tower of the Black mage and the giant that guards it.’

  But the woman had tried me and now had not allowed me to relish in superiority. I had to know I could master her as well. Moreover, her allegiance, what with the recent regicide, was too much of a risk to leave unattended

  I slashed her three times with my longsword which had done the deal. She was agile and relatively strong, but simply no match for my wielding of martial weapons. I did not hold back either slashing her leg and kicking her back on the mossy grass and sludged mud. I stepped on her arm with my metallic boots making sure she would not move and surrender.

  Combat had ended and I started looting her. She wore this mantle that had several charges for stealth, fire protection and frost protection. She also had a basic survival kit which contained rations, a rope, a bedroll, a torchlight and a flintstone. Furthermore, there was a medallion from whatever place she hailed from.

  I left her there on the muddy plateau and addressed locations from inside the tavern. They mentioned the lay of the land and pointed towards the frost hills which surrounded the lake. In the middle of said lake resided the isle of the black mage. A demon resided within who protected lady Anjou, but also kept Valorhold orbiting a hellish planet. We needed manouvrability and fast.

  ‘The giant that guards it’ she had said. I wondered if it was about my son. However, upon further investigation I found out that it was in fact one of the Ishanic shade hunters. Undead giants who still honor the ways of the sequence. They were kept within the wending mists to guard and protect its mysterious shadows and vapours. Yet, this one seemed to be enchanted somehow. I had decided to lock up Alyx Grace. She resisted a bit urging me to take her with me and work together. But I wanted to do this on my own. If I was to see my son, traversing this mystical realm. I would do so myself. His mother, now a famed admiral, was cursed by amnesia after giving birth to him. She had adopted a new life and the Sherebun had shielded her from the madness magick stemming forth from the birthing of these majestic beings. The sorrow and loss to a realm was too much to bear for a mother. So he was my secret. In due time, I would be granted permission to show and reunite the two together. My giant son, my pride knew no bounds. He would craft the best fangforge hammers to uphold the might of the storm giants. Once he comes of age, he would make hammers and retire to lodges filled with fire, friends, women and mead. Pontificating the future might of my son, I traversed the frost hills with little to no apparent challenge. Not until in the distance behind the clouds I could see the cloaked fiend. A giant skeleton who eyed me from the mists within the dale.

  Combat had immediately started.

  I was surprised, and I realized that I was not ready for this. Not at all. The only thing that was good about seeing him from within the dale, was that I could pinpoint the location of the tower where the black mage resided.

  The skeletal giant had aimed his gun at me from behind the mountain and shot. I dived behind a boulder and he missed. This was my opportunity now. I activated my boosters and ran for him across the land. He kept shooting at me as trees exploded in bursts of splinters. Branches rained down on me. The 7 foot long bullets tumbled and crashed as I evaded them, hiding behind the occasional boulder amidst the plateau within the forest.

  ‘The whelp runs, I’ve seen him fight you know?’ Bellowed the skeletal giant from behind the clouds. He prefers the double hatchets. Unusual for those who wish to ascend to Sturmenheim’.

  He meant my son. The skeletal giant sniper I was fighting knew about my son. Sturmenheim? Could it be?

  This was going to be a long battle.

  The skeletal giant shot me and hit me for 21 damage. I felt the shot blasting me backwards into some old ruins. I shouted a battlecry and closed the distance to him again. I was definitely nearing him. I tried to shoot him before entering melee range.

  The skeletal giant timed my nearing perfectly and had rearranged or transformed his sniper rifle into this serrated butcher blade from the other end of the barrel. He broke my defense completely and hit me for 16 damage.

  The blade destroyed my armor and I was exhausted at this point. There I stood, my chest armor completely disheveled and sweat glistening over my once sinewy body. I struck at the arm of the skeletal giant which was close to me now for 15 damage. Giant seemed to be doing fine though as his sword came down at me cleaving me for another 25 damage. I had 5 hp left. My resolve points were 5 so I had to disengage. I eventually made a sprint for it to escape the skeletal cloud giant. The giant swirled into an insectoid swarm mist that looked like the hypermites of Ishtar. Like a locust they came at me and drove me off/ At the last moment he appeared again in his giant form and took aim at me once again with his strange sniper rifle. I duck behind a bark and seemingly survived, albeit barely.

  I had to return to Valorhold, would take Bellwitch with me and turn her in for a reward.

  As I reached the hamlet I unlocked the door where I had kept her. She looked at me expectantly.

  ‘I can help you’.

  Whatever it was that she could offer me. One thing was for sure. I had failed my quest and had to return with comrades to subdue the skeletal giant.