The Path to Mhaldor

By: Fig Posted on: April 14, 2005

"Lady Ourania has blessed us with a lit path," I noted. The glowing white globe hung in the sky, untainted by the inky darkness of the sky that sought to engulf it. Few stars could be seen in the blackness overhead.

My companion shrugged. "The moon is bright this night."

I glanced at this shadowed serpent that stood before me. Perhaps calling him a "serpent" was generous - he certainly had all the makings of a snake. Twirling his dirk, he tenderly ran a finger along its blade, lingering on the needle-like point. His yellowed eyes darting furtively about, they happened to flicker towards me and meet my own. "What?" he asked, almost defensively. I gestured for him to lead the way. He nodded, then stealthily crept forward, his speed somewhat surprising. Turning to follow, the cacophony of my heavy boots on the stone road could be heard. Quite a contrast we were, this snake and I, although that could be said about more than just our style of walking. Raising my head and squinting slightly, I perceived a stumpy dark shape that melted in the shadows. Caressing the gleaming pommel stone of my scimitar with a gloved hand, I tensed slightly and continued ahead. A wry smile was brought to my face as I realized that my short foe was nothing more than a rather skewed wooden sign, planted in a patch of dirt in the road.

A small sign, edges ragged and decayed,
Its words serve as guide for the traveller.
"Towards the island", a path west is made,
The Trail of Darkness, the road to Mhaldor.

-----

"The scimitar is too weighty for your style. I recommend that you use a rapier." The Master at Arms spoke to me with benevolent firmness, but still I felt irritated that he was calling my choice into question.

I nodded my head wordlessly, then grudgingly assured him that I would collect the necessary commodities to forge one as soon as possible. The tension was evident, so I attempted to obscure it with a grin and a swift bow to the senior Paladin.

Naturally, I never did make a serious attempt to obtain a rapier. Such a trend was standard in my entire life, from a small Acolyte to a full Knight of the Paladins. Always I tested the limits, placing my own instincts before the stern advice and skeptical frowns of my guildmates. And should I not have? I understood myself as no other could, I alone held the right to judge my abilities.

Throughout the course of my training, I did not have or make time for the typical pursuits of my peers. Skill with the blade was paramount - each waking hour I spent sparring or analysing my own technique. I shunned the thoughts of marriage and family; the scimitar and tower shield were my children, the fullplate, my wife.

As my abilities improved, I began to view training with the other Paladins as a simple chore. They were typically inept with the tools of their trade, preferring frivolous pursuits such as seemingly incessant prayer to Lady Tarah and Lady Miramar, or reading the Holy Codex an infinite number of times. It was with ease that I surpassed them in skill. I swept through the militaristic ranks of the Paladins, constantly training, forever awaiting the true challenge that surely lay in my enemies.

-----

I gazed at the sign and its surroundings, allowing the scene to settle into the recesses of my mind. Mhaldor. A name that I knew all too well, far beyond what I would have expected as a young knight. Its walls served as a haven for those who sought to destroy that which I had spent countless days protecting. I peered off into the distance, straining to catch a glimpse of the city of hatred, but my eyes only met the shadows of the night and the fog of the island before me.

Glancing north, I caught a glimpse of the silhouette of Ashtan, the last bit of civilization that I could see. No comfort lay there for me. I turned away slowly, my mind drifting back to the end of the sinuous, winding path of the Prelatorian, an image of the pearly gates of Shallam forming in my thoughts. But still I was unsatisfied.

"Follow me." My guide's voice cut into my thoughts, hauling me back to the inhospitable sight of his scaly face. A cool, clammy ocean wind blew past, reminding me of my quest.

My eyes narrowed, I looked once more to the island that lay to the west.

This land is not to be taken in jest.
The island reeks of worry and despair.
The heart's fears silenced at the mind's behest,
The journey through it must be in prayer.

-----

My first kill occurred on the eighth night of Chronos, 361 years after the fall of the Seleucarian Empire. In a full fledged raid by the soldiers of Mhaldor, the gates were swarmed by Tanjinn and Maldaathi alike, swiftly followed by their Apostate and Naga brethren. I remember swinging my scimitar over my head and sweeping it through the neck of the sneering necromancer knight, an Infernal of the Maldaathi, that stood before me. As bone splintered and blood splattered, my heart surged to heights of absolute ecstasy in knowing that I, a Paladin of Shallam, was indomitable! I went on to slay many an enemy that night, blade swinging with impunity, casting down any who dared to stand before me. The night ended with a crushing victory by Shallam's forces.

I was brought before my Guildmaster, the Grand Champion of the Innocent, the next day. Yes, I would finally be recognized for my absolute excellence, the superiority that I had displayed for years over all other Paladins! But it was then that I experienced the most disparaging defeat of my life.

-----

I slammed the metal encased heel of my foot into the path to keep from slipping. The trail, thin and treacherous, fluctuated throughout the mountainous passes in the island. My guide navigated the path with relative ease - clearly he was no stranger to this part of Sapience.

"Watch for lycopods around here." His words mingled with the rumbling of the ocean that surrounded us. I nodded, then gazed out into the lifelessness that was the very nature of the island.

Contorted screams periodically pierced the air. They likely belonged to the fabled abominations, twisted reminders of the Mhaldorian war with Moghedu. We were on the correct path.

Abominations of the land drift by,
Tortured they are, the mhun and orc combined.
The lycopods twitch and quiver and sigh,
Waiting for the weak upon which to dine.

-----

"We feel that you are straying from the ideals of the Paladins," the Guildmaster stated, not a trace of hesitation in his voice. I peered at him in confusion, struggling to make sense of a situation that drastically differed from what I had expected.

"While your defence of our walls was admirable, more than a few Paladins voiced their discontent with your conduct during the battle. I believe many used the term 'bloodlust' when speaking of your methods. I need not remind you that although we are the sword of the Church, our duties are not in taking pleasure in rampant slaughter. We must battle our enemies, but it is crucial to acknowledge that cruelty on our part will never convert anyone to our cause."

Truly, I was stunned! The slaying of Mhaldorians, the plague of my beloved city, would now be the source of a punishment?

"Your falconry privileges have been revoked temporarily. Leave your weapon and armour in the armoury of our guildhall until further notice is provided." His voice softened, but his gaze remained as stony and dispassionate as ever. "There is no doubt that you are a mighty warrior. However, ability must be tempered by spirit. Take comfort in the temples and libraries for now. When you are ready, we will know."

-----

"We are close. The scent is on the air."

I turned my nose to the sky in response to the snake's words; permeating through the salty odour of the ocean was the smoky musk that he spoke of. Mhaldor's smell was as vile as its reputation, it seemed.

"Stay near, Paladin. A wrong turn could lead to the Leviathan. Your precious Codex would do little for you then!"

I pointed my finger at the trail, ignoring his taunts. Why should I waste my time in a verbal spar with a mere snake? He flashed an impish smirk and continued on ahead. I followed, my eyes carefully tracking the stone path ahead of me. It seemed to weave about, entwining itself into the rocks of the mountain, leading me forth while constantly attempting to deceive me.

The path is weighted with the noise of the mute,
Each step forward bears the burden of dread.
The only sound, stone underneath the boot,
Indeed, upon this road the Damned do tread.

-----

The days were cruel to me. I would hide within my quarters, shielding myself from the Light of Shallam, the shame that I would undoubtedly face if I were to set foot outside. I found sanctuary in the shadows of the night, travelling through the empty streets, my eyes always straying to the armoury, my thoughts wandering to my blade and armour.

It was in those hours of the night, seeking solitude in the dark corners of Imperial Museum, that I happened across a rather odd parchment. Among the dust behind an exhibit, it was brownish and dark, its edges crinkled, forgotten by all but time. On it was a poem of words that were rarely spoken in Shallam, let alone recorded on paper.

The path to Mhaldor. The poem spoke of the journey to the land of Evil, the Baelgrim Fortress. Had I been younger, I surely would have burned it, eager to prevent any bit of Mhaldor from tainting my city. But something stayed my hand that night. Perhaps it was the lack of fulfilment that I felt, the nagging feeling that Shallam as a whole had cast me aside, that, having been forced away from my art of fighting, I was incomplete. I read the poem.

Once should have been enough, I should have torn that accursed parchment to shreds! But each night, skulking through the streets, I would creep back to the museum and slip past Oghma the curator, drawn by an inexplicable desire to immerse myself in the poem's verses once again, to feel as though I was voyaging to the city that I had been taught to stand against.

One fateful night, after finishing my ritualistic reading of its words, I did not return the paper to its hidden space behind the exhibits, to be obscured by the shadows. Instead I brought it back to my home, to spend the entire night staring at it, obsessed with unravelling the subtle meaning that lay behind the words. And as Lady Mithraea hauled the sun into the sky, a realization dawned on me. For me, Shallam only held emptiness - to solve this I had to look beyond her walls. It was in the golden rays of the early morning sun that I resolved to restore my soul. I would travel to the land of the red mist, the desolate island. Thus, I began the journey to reach Mhaldor.

-----

Its thickness taints each corner of the isle,
The heavy red fog surrounds ev'ry thought.
Essence of Sartan, a presence so vile,
Reminds of a war for Him that was fought.

"We have arrived," my Naga guide hissed. Indeed, there was no doubt that I had reached the destination that I sought. As I peered ahead, my gaze was met with the foreboding presence of the mountainous gateway of Mhaldor. I could perceive wraiths and liches, carefully watching me, ready to leap into violence at any moment. The pale glow of their cruel eyes stared back at me, unblinking and ominous. But this puzzled me greatly. They could see me - why did they not move? Surely they would come bearing down upon me, to capture me and drag me through their gates?

I closed my eyes slowly as it dawned upon me. Only a few more strides were necessary for me to enter the city of Mhaldor, but only I could take those fateful steps. No man but myself could commit my body, mind, and soul to the service of a cause of this magnitude. I opened my eyes once more, and straightened to my full height. Was I ready? Was I able to find my fulfilment in the least likely of places? Was I prepared to pledge myself to Mhaldor? No. The battle waged on in the depths of my mind. Mhaldor, the land of thieves, murderers, and cowards. How could I possibly make such a reversal from the ideals that I had once sworn to uphold? I turned to glance at the snake beside me, but there were no answers in his jaundiced eyes. No, he was likely nothing more than a thief, representative of the scum that I despised most in Mhaldor.

And yet still I remained rooted to the rocks beneath my feet, resisting my reflexive motion to turn back. One element alone prevented me from turning away from the dark mountain before me and making the long trek back to the Jewel of the East. Over this entire journey, I had felt a pull, an allure that rivalled the song of a Siren. It was the call of strength. In Mhaldor there was the opportunity for true strength, and every bit of that power was speaking to me, enticing me, offering me what I had craved for so long.

I shifted slightly, and felt a familiar weight on my back. Slinging it around my shoulder, I grasped my shield in both hands and stared at it - Azure, a pair of swords in saltire Argent. These arms had been emblazoned upon my tower shield since I first had vowed to follow through with the path of the Paladin. But as I scrutinized it, I felt no remorse or hesitation, no shame over my thoughts. My choice was made. I would relegate Shallam to memory alone; no longer would it be my motivation and inspiration. With a sneer, I tossed the shield aside, watching as the red mist engulfed it, as though Sartan Himself wished to rid His island of the little Shallamese trinket.

It was done. I had hurled away the last vestige of my former self, and now stood as a reborn, more formidable man. I could feel the life seeping back into my bones, my body being infused with the lust for strength that had once guided me. Tilting my head, I stared at the lone ball of light in the red-tinted darkness above my head, then spoke only once.

"The moon is bright this night."

I willed my armoured feet to lift themselves, to walk through the final pass of Sartan's Island. My thoughts turned once more to that crumpled parchment, its words engraved into my mind.

Final obstacle to the land of spite,
At last, the blackened and bloodstained great gates.
Past these unyielding slabs is Evil's might,
The Baelgrim Fortress of Mhaldor awaits!