Whitesteel Peaks - Chapter 2: Beneath the Snows

With the first snows fallen, Turim faces decisions and the Festival of Snows, and the Dark Elf Raiders face another unexpected confrontation.

Armageddon TM and its characters and story are copyright Terry Tibke. All rights reserved. All music and effects are listed here. 

Jake Utter [Voice Actor] - Voices Turim Gliderlance

Maia Harlap [Voice Actor] – Voices Lala Truffleroot

Ki Garland  [Voice Actor] – Voices Thalissa Gliderlance

Andrew Embers [Voice Actor] - Voices Sand Rocketblade

Ben Habel [Voice Actor]– Voices Lakalith Paledust

Mary-Anne Stanek [Voice Actor] - Voices Dark Elf & Festival Extras

Ciaran Daly [Voice Actor] - Voices Halton Rocketblade, Dark Elf Extras

Brittanie Finlay-Hayes [Voice Actor]- Voices Festival Extras

Sam Gabriel [Voice Actor] – Voices Alfort Shortford

Steve Jones [Voice Actor] – Voices Farmer 1

Produced by: Terry Tibke, Jim Rysinski, Frank James Bailey, Aaron, cfasand, Cory Fulcher; and Kiyra, Torren, Sophany, Mike, and Tippy Tibke. 

Transcript

Chapter 2 – Beneath the Snows

At the western edge of Tusokan, far beneath the newly fallen snow, a council convened. Presiding over it was the dark elf sorceress, and self-appointed leader of Steelbone’s Raiders, Kithria Wraithchasm. Words had grown contentious.

“We have absolutely no further reason to stay,” she hissed. “Your counsels, Lakalith, have[TT1] become invalid. At my word, we will move on.”

Lakalith Paledust sat at the far end of the long table, his mouth bent at the corner. “Tusokan still limps forward in its recovery. Plenty of wealth remains for the picking. I see no point in leaving just yet.”

Kithria narrowed her eyes. “And you’re sure you found no great artifacts amongst the Magistrate’s belongings or--”

“Bah,” retorted Lakalith, clearly ready to spar words again. He’d been growing bolder these past few months. “You’re speaking about that old thaluí’s words again aren’t you? That was a time of madness. We don’t know what we can trust. Evildrath died. And clearly without the assistance of any mysterious artifact.”

“But we are on its trail,” hissed Kithria again. “I’m sure of it. Evildrath fell because of that artifact. It has to be true. The prophecy that spoke of the house of Steelbone’s end has come to pass, and though the thing itself hasn’t been revealed to us, I believe it exists, and holds great power, whatever that thing is. The house of Steelbone would not have put forth such effort if it wasn’t so.”

“Well then,” grunted Lakalith, glancing to the others. “All the more reason to stay. If you think it’s here, we have to keep looking.”

She felt her anger rising like a twisting dagger at the logic in that statement. Her eyes hard on Lakalith, she too stabbed with words. “No. If we linger here too long, our numbers will eventually be overwhelmed or discovered. We should return to Dun Kasktum through the seafloor tunnels. Much moves upon Tarvú. We’ve lost most of the support we had with Evildrath’s fall, and we’ve some maneuvering to do to maintain any sort of status in the Darklands at all. We may also learn news regarding the relic, and I’d like to gather these tidings myself.”

Kithria’s half closed eyes watched the faces of the raiders sitting with them. They seemed to watch the sparring eagerly, as if waiting to see them draw blood. She could, of course, destroy Lakalith quite swiftly if she stayed ahead of his blade. But he’d remained useful thus far. It had not come to that point. Yet.

Lakalith shook his head, slow and defiant. “I’ve disputed these words before. Our place in the Darklands need no longer exist if we don’t want it to. I, for one, do not. And I can assure you, Lady, I’m not alone. The autonomy above—there are many among us who wish to stay here. Though Tusokan has been the teat from which we suckle—there are plenty of places to move on to.”

To this, several of the other legionnaires nodded, and Lakalith smirked as if he’d won some bit of ground in their standoff.

Nevertheless, most of the thalui maintained a healthy fear of her. They knew how things would fall out if it came down to a fight, and they knew how long she’d remained politically viable, long after House Wraithchasm had been absorbed. She sighed, remembering the strength of House Steelbone a mere century back. The power it once wielded. And now she couldn’t help but wonder what there was to return to. But she had to find out. She still had the favor of the King if it came to it.

“As for my final words on the artifact,” Lakalith pushed up from his stool, “I’m not looking for it anymore. With Evildrath’s fall, that’s it. I see no further point.”

Kithria smiled through her anger. “Then give me a reason I shouldn’t destroy you and take the raiders away myself?” she asked, reaching out to touch the magical energies of the earthen tunnels around them. “If you’re unwilling to aid me in my search…”

Lakalith leaned toward her. “Because I’ve conducted a great number of successful raids,” he answered, putting both hands on the table, “each accomplished in stealth—”

There was a noise outside the chamber. Kithria started as a younger mercenary ran into the room—one of the sentries. His face bore fear, and he was covered in blood.

“Intrusion!” he screamed in thalui.

But the most concerning detail of his appearance—at the end of his arm, hung a limp, bloody stump.

* * *

In the late morning, Turim finished hitching Sildal and Wilhea to the wagon, while his mother seemed to float as she took one graceful step up to a seat within it. Thumping steps drew Turim’s attention away to the front door as Lala came running out, packages and bags blocking most of her view.

Turim hinted at a smile, but his mind had continued to worry about the brief panicked state he’d witnessed from his friend. The night before, while whittling her present in private, he’d wondered if she’d be okay in a new home, even if it was near his mother’s. It made him nervous—about leaving her, about tonight. ‘Should I have even brought her here?’ he thought.

“I’m ready! Sorry! Took a bit longer than expected, but we should be all set!” she called.

Like his mother, Lala was bundled up in warm clothing. But while Lala’s were simpler—what they’d managed to pull together at Grendelock Keep—his laewen wore a cloak lined with fur and a long dress of many layers. At her left sleeve, she carried a white muff.  “Look at you, my son. You barely look like a knight.”

Turim glanced at her past his thick-fur-lined hood. The cloak was fastened with the golden hawk of his order. He felt himself smile faintly.

“Aw I dunno ‘bout that,” called Lala, pink cheeked. “He’s still got a look of a warrior and of noble elven blood in his eyes and in his stride, see? He’ll always be a knight to me.”

Turim swung himself up onto the wagon, still trying to remember to enjoy himself tonight. Nevertheless, he knew what he was going to have to do.

They bumped along for a couple of hours, chatting about rural matters of weather, the miller, and expected dishes. By the time they’d arrived at the circle of wagons and wire baskets, where fires burned for warmth and light, Turim had fully allowed his childhood comfort at it all to seep in and chase away his anxious thoughts.

He leapt down and pulled the horses up at one of the hitching posts just as another wagon rolled in from the northeast. He found himself on edge briefly. Approaching individuals he didn’t know seemed to spook him more than it once did. Yet in a moment, he’d gained a quick and happy recognition.

A man with a blue hat, dressed in finely made clothes unlike those of the farmers sat at the reins. Beside him sat the man’s son, already waving.

“Mister Rocketblade! Sand!” exclaimed Turim, overjoyed at the arrival.

There were other greetings, too, called out from the folk at the festival as the Rocketblade’s wagon rolled to a halt beside them.

“Turim, you’re a grown boy now,” replied Sand’s father, leaping down from the wagon. “Best you start calling me Halton. At least, when we’re outside of Daltaria.” He chuckled deeply.

“You’ve certainly come a long way, sir. And Sand, what are you doing here? They let you out for the Festival after all?”

“Tis good to see the both of you here,” added Thalissa toward their old friends. “It will be a merry night indeed.”

“Hello Lieutenant Rocketblade,” called Lala, “and Master Rocketblade!”

“Come now, Lala,” said Sand, joining his father in the crunching snow. “That whole Lieutenant business sounds a bit stiff, especially here where everyone’s known us since we were kids. Sand will do just fine.” Then he bent and gave her a warm hug. “Good to see you as well, Miss Truffleroot. Have you made anything for us to eat?”

“Wow. Right to it then,” teased Turim.

Sand smirked, rubbing warm gloved hands together.

“Of course I have,” Lala held up a pie, balanced atop several other packages and wrapped food dishes. “Missus Gliderlance and I.”

“Careful there,” Sand reached out to help, greedy-eyed. “Allow me to lend you a hand with that.”

Turim shook his head and assisted his mother down.

By the time they’d hitched their wagon, delivered their roast turok and pie to the table, and greeted a few others—all clearly happy to see the Gliderlance and Rocketblade families together—the music began, and with it the dancing.

Throughout the rest of the evening, there was eating and drinking. Turim hadn’t had anything like it since the night of the banquet at Grendelock Keep. And even then, there hadn’t been dancing.

Lala seemed to especially enjoy herself. “Come out and dance!” she begged both Turim and Sand.

“Have you been at the plum cider, Lala?” said Turim with a smile. In truth, he was relieved to see her enjoying herself.

“Who hasn’t!” she laughed.

“Not wrong there,” Sand elbowed Turim. The two of them had had their fair share already as well.

Turim’s moustache turned up. “So, the Grandmaster let you go after all then?”

“Without the imminent threat of war, with the battle over, several were allowed to go on leave. Aye.” There was a twinkle in his eye of joy that Turim tried to hold onto himself. “And let me tell you, it is great to be here.”

Another of the farmers, the miller Alfort Shortford, struck up a conversation as he approached. “How did the Knights of the Hawk fare?”

Despite protests by Turim and even Sand, talk around them continued to touch on the war and the Battle of Black Dawn.

“What was it like to look Gewurmarch Rottbone in the eye?” came another question Turim had to field. He wasn’t sure how word had spread of his final blow to the Gewurmarch, but no one had ever accused a Genovan of holding back a story.

Though Turim had partaken of the plum cider, and was more forthcoming than he often was with stories of the battle, he still didn’t like it much. The people he’d grown up with had no real idea about the war yet. To them, it still sat a long ways off on the other side of the River Itinerus because they hadn’t been overtaken by the Dragon Army. Not like Daropel. Not even as occupied as Ys had been. Even the recent order to go west during the Battle of Black Dawn hadn’t seemed to have left any lasting impact on the Genovan farmers he’d grown up with.

“I’m just glad to know that you all remain safe,” he said, trying to end the topic once again. “It’s for you that we fight. And for our continued freedom from tyranny.”

“Here here!” cried those gathered round.

In truth, Turim was most trying to avoid talk of his death on the plains. None of them knew what really happened, but even those rumors would spread in time. He didn’t want to talk about it with these people. Not before he’d had a chance to discuss it with his mother, at least. He swallowed hard. “Tonight,” he resolved to himself. “It needs to be tonight.” He drank another mouthful of the cider.

Eventually the exchange of gifts began, various pairing-offs popping up all around the festival. After one pair would resolve, individuals moved about re-pairing and sharing their gifts and good cheer.

As he watched Lala and his mother trade presents—a scroll of recipes from Lala and a book of elven stories from his lawen—a faint howl in the far distance made him look up at the cloud covered moon a moment. The air was definitely cold. Light snow had begun to fall again.

He looked back to see Lala walking away from Thalissa with the book of stories beneath her arm.

“It’s time,” he whispered to himself, then rose from his seat.

Slowly he approached his mother’s sitting spot, upon a log a short distance off. His laewen’s eyes watched him come, reflecting the bonfires behind him.

“Oh my little knight.” She smiled the same smile she used when she talked about his father.

Turim sat down on the cold log next to her. “I suspect laewen, by the tone you’re giving me, that you’re holding words.” He allowed himself a smile, though his mind still spun with everything that he was about to say.

“I must admit, my little knight,” said Thalissa softly. “Something has been bothering me since you’ve come home. I’m not sure what it is, but it seems to trouble you as well, in your own way.” She slid towards him and put her hand on his. “Do you wish to talk about what’s wrong?”

“Did Lala say something?” he asked.

“She did not betray your trust, if that is what you’re asking,” she replied, brushing away a flake of light snow. She gave a reassuring tilt of her head. “She is a good friend to you.”

She’s been through a great deal,” Turim said, glancing away to the fires. “I’m wondering if maybe she should stay with you for a bit longer.”

Thalissa gave a patient but gentle laugh. “I have no problem with such things. But you are now stalling, my son.”

“Alright, mother, yes, there is something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’ve been trying to find the right time, but…”

His mother’s eyes beckoned him to go on.

“More ask you than tell you,” Turim crept forward with his words. “You see, during the Battle of Black Dawn, I fell.”

“You fell…” 

Then with a last breath, his story erupted. “I fell to ruin upon the plains. I was—slain. And then, after I died, I saw the Seraphim, Lumina. And ever since, I’ve been uncertain of what to do about it—about what it means.”

Thalissa’s hand went to her mouth and she let out a feint gasp. “I, don’t—” she stammered. “I do not understand your words entirely. Surely you were only near death, and not wholly passed on?”

Turim rubbed his hands together. “No laewen. The black Gewurmarch drove me from the skies and I fell bleeding to the earth from a height that no man or beast could have possibly survived.” He took a breath. “I was dead.”

Thalissa’s eyes seemed saddened, nearly to the point of tears. “And yet you are alive.”

“I was returned. The white lady spoke to me, and called herself a messenger of The God,” said Turim. “She said that the Dragon Army brings all of Caball closer to its doom. If I don’t stop the Gewurmarch—or perhaps she said Gewurmarchs—that it may come to its end. She said I’d been given the task by The God himself.”

Thalissa said nothing.

“Oh, it all fades so quickly. But I know that she was beautiful. Just as I’ve carved her for your gift, or at least, it’s the best I can recall of how it was she looked.” He took the opportunity to hand over his small wrapping to her. “But I stray. She also said that I was to become a paladin. A paladin, laewen! What am I supposed to do about that? She said I was supposed to spend time with the Paladins of Lumina at the keep, but… my duties, they always get in the way. I know how it is there. I know how I am—”

“Oh, and ever since the time when I felt myself return cold to the Plains of Sirik, I’ve had words come to my lips in prayer—prayers I don’t know. Thunderclap would’ve died on the field if I hadn’t healed him, and I wouldn’t have defeated the black Gewurmarch if they hadn’t come when we fought!”

Thalissa sat calmly now, touching the little sculpture of Lumina, half exposed from its wrapping. But Turim could tell the story had shaken her. She was digesting his tale, already making her own assumptions about it. She always sat so placidly after managing to get him to spill his thoughts this exhaustively. He frowned.

“My little knight,” she said, after what seemed like an age. “Among my kin, and of most elven kind, true gifts are usually given only in great need. Yet, only in greater need have there ever been gifts given of the Seraphim. Let alone visits. I’ve never heard of this happening—ever.”

“But you believe me.”

“Of course I believe you.”

“Laewen. I don’t know what to do. My purpose is… my path is… difficult to follow.”

Thalissa leaned in and brushed back Turim’s brown bangs. “The paladins at the keep are there to help guide you.”

“Like I said, I won’t have the time—”

“You will have to make the time, son. I don’t have the answers you seek, truly. The words and plans of The God cannot be fully understood by a mere elf of this world.”

Turim shook his head. “You know, I thought talking to you about this would help me see more clearly. I feel comforted—somewhat. But I still have no idea what else I should be doing about all of this.”

“And so it shall be,” said Thalissa. “But though you worry and give thought, don’t fear it. To me, a good thing has happened. Don’t mar that by fearing to speak of it, nor sully it by being afraid. Give it awe, yes, but not fear. People may understand when you tell them,” said Thalissa, straightening her dress to stand, “or they may not. That really doesn’t matter much. But I’m glad that you’ve told someone now. You cannot keep those things inside.”

“Im ael thalaim, laewen.”

“And I you, my little knight.” His mother leaned in and hugged him tightly.

A piecing howl and a snarl tore through the night, far closer than the one before. Thalissa lurched back and Turim spun to see several of the farmers crying out in fear. 

Then clearly came Sand’s shout. “Commander!”

Out in the night, just beyond the firelight, were a pair of frost wolves.

Turim reached to his side before he realized he had not brought the Aureate or a weapon of any kind. He hesitated a moment before darting forward. ‘What’s going on? Normally they won’t come anywhere near such fires and light—let alone a gathering of people singing Festival songs!” he pondered as he ran.

But as he reached Sand’s side, ready to put together a plan to scare the frost wolves off, he realized that someone else was armed. She was always armed.

“Roarrr!”

Lala had summoned fourth a golden colored sun grizziak. “You leave these people alone right now!” she shouted into the moonlit night. “We were doing dancing and a party!”

The grizziakw charged towards the pair of frost wolves, and while the wolves stood their ground briefly and Turim thought they might fight, it took one swipe of the sun grizziak’s mighty paw and they went scrambling through the snowy darkness and were gone.

“Ha ha, good riddance!” called Sand after them. “You’re lucky she only called a grizziak!”

There were applause and relieved sounds of thanks from the occupants of the festival as Turim and Sand walked over to Lala, who’d allowed her sun grizziak to wander off into the night.

“That should do it,” Lala patted her gloved hands together, then looked up towards Turim. “Nothing to worry about. Except why those pesky wolves were so close.”

“I was wondering the same,” Turim replied, still staring off into the darkness. “Maybe something spooked them out there?”

“Strange stuff,” agreed Sand, turning around. “And looks like that’ll probably wrap up the festival in the most exciting way possible. Heh.”

With Lunari’s moon now shining high in the skies above, the snow picking up, and the last bit of fright chased away, folks and families began to head home.

Turim helped Lala, whose balance had become rather tipsy, up to the wagon.

“Will you stay with your father long?” he asked Sand, as they all stood in a jumbled circle around the rest of the carts.

“I’m staying with my pa tomorrow,” Sand said, coming towards Turim. “Then off to Grendelock the day after. I was given leave for the Festival of Snows mostly. Now that it’s come and gone, time to head back. So should you.” He snickered.

“I won’t be much longer either,” replied Turim with a smile. “I just want to make sure Lala is settled.” He glanced into the wagon where Lala had her head resting on his mother’s shoulder already.

Halton came alongside and grunted to his son. “When will you be a Wing Commander, so those mandatory leave laws apply to you?”

“Who wants to be a stuffy Commander.” Sand laughed. Turim joined in, well aware Sand was poking fun at him. But he also knew the expectations of Sand’s father. “You know, there’s been rumor around the keep that Grandmaster Strongthorn himself is going away for a bit. Don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

“No. I hadn’t heard.” Turim tilted his head. “Curious. The man certainly doesn’t travel often.”

“No,” agreed Sand, gripping the wagon edge. He pulled himself into his seat next to his pa. “See you back at the keep, my friend. It has been a night! Never had frost wolves at a festival before! This has been one I’ll aways remember!”

They gave their last goodbyes and soon both wagons were loaded with passengers, heading off along their separate paths toward very separate homes.

* * * *

“We have been invaded!” cried the dark elf guard. “Dragoons!  Dragoons!”  A spear  skewered him through the chest from behind. 

He went silent, and fell, blank eyed.

The moments after were filled with sudden panic and instant vigilance. An invasion of their tunnels was rare. Nevertheless, Kithria and Lakalith exchanged silent looks of alliance, then hastened from the cavern, taking many of the legionnaires with them.

Kithria began to whisper rapidly, speaking the ancient thalui words as they passed into the tunnels.

“A spell?” asked Lakalith, drawing his blade. 

Most of the other mercenaries probably hadn’t realized what had happened yet. “It won’t last long,” cried Kithria. Then she began to issue commands. “Get to the raptors. Make the best use of your speed and reflex and split up. They cannot follow us all.”

“Lady Wraithchasm, most of the raptors have been killed!” called back one mercenary, running up to join them from another tunnel.

“What!?” cried Lakalith. “How?”

“Poison!” the dark elf gasped.

“So be it,” Kithria continued. “My former order stands. You two contingents split up. Go quickly.” Splitting up their warriors would keep the dragoons moving in all different directions. Some would be sacrificed to ensure at least some number of her thalui would escape.

Lakalith frowned at her, but turned to issue his own orders. “Khalria, Ethgor; remain behind in this passage to hold the hunters off. Make them taste the blood of your blades.”

The hall suddenly filled with several of the dragoons clad in monstrously shaped helms. In their hands, they bore spears. In a flash, they moved to slay each dark elf in the tunnel.

Kithria again acted swiftly. Her next spell covered Khalria and Ethgor’s skin with the might of stone—grey rock plated across their bodies. The bounty hunter’s first strikes against them set sparks into the air like will o’ wisps in the Deep, hissing and angry.

“Sandscorpions here?” she cried out in anger.

“How in The God’s ass did they enter?” growled Lakalith, slashing out to sever the hand of one of the dragoons.

“I don’t know!” said Kithria. “They are skilled hunters to have found us. Let alone poison the raptors. “Someone had to have pointed them in our direction!”

Lakalith was off, running down the tunnel. Kithria moved swiftly behind. They fled, moving away from the turmoil. One of the remaining legionnaires went with them, but the others that followed split off to another tunnel and were gone in an instant.

“We make our way to the emergency point. If anyone escapes, they’ll be there to meet us. And I think now, maybe, you’ll heed my advice, Captain Paledust.”

“What advice is that?” asked Lakalith with annoyance in his tone.

“To return to Tarvú,” answered Kithria, calling forward to him ahead of her.

At last, he agreed. “So be it. I’ll go with you. But only because of what happened here tonight.”

They continued onward as screams of agony filled the many delvings and tunnels behind them. Yet the sound faded the further they went. They’d escaped. But they were alone, and it would be a long journey beneath the sea to Tarvú.

 [TT1]Soulraker’s Prophecy
Far away beyond the end
Beneath blue smoke and yet within
a relic of steel and iron will come.
Death without a burial,
At its designs shall mighty fall
What once was great and terrible
The House of Steelbone one and all.