Welcome gentle traveller, to this ongoing deep dive into the lore of Core Space and Maladum, where we reveal how we create our worlds. I’m Wayne from Battle Systems, hello.
This week we’ll be taking a closer look at the geo-politics of Enveron, how the kingdoms affect each other and what troubles may arise in the future. There’s a lot to explore so I’ve divided this into two parts, this first part dealing with the Northern and Middle Kingdoms. If you’re an armchair traveller, like me, you can follow along on our most up to date map of Enveron here.
The relationships between the Kingdoms of Enveron is complex, and ever shifting. Kingdoms come and go, some are absorbed, some destroyed, others just fade away, unremembered. We will concentrate on the current era, a relatively peaceful time but for the alarming rise in the use of Maladum. There are no major skirmishes in this time apart from the occasional border conflicts of petty kings. We are at the cusp of a renaissance, new and exciting discoveries dragging Enveron out of the Dark Ages. That’s not to say that there aren’t power struggles behind closed doors; petty rivalries, feuds and good old fashioned land theft are still present, ignorant of a coming golden age.
HOW WE GOT HERE
The Fall destroyed almost all technology and knowledge from the advanced world of Mesa, and society as it was, was swept away with it. Actual living creatures however, persevered and started the long climb back to civilisation. After the grey dust of the Fall subsided Enveron recovered quickly, many parts of the continent exploded with green life and the temperate nature of Enveron was re-established. There were many barbarous eras, dimly remembered, and many skirmishes for territory and resources. The dominant species were not the strongest but the brightest, Men and the Kindred, the man-like species established themselves using their wits.
Agriculture was developed and small fiefdoms arose to protect themselves from raids from their neighbours. Over time towns became cities and they combined to form kingdoms, some through conflict, others through trade. The kingdoms fought amongst themselves and many are lost to history, and all of the modern kingdoms are built on the bones of the old.
THE KINGDOMS OF THE NORTH
The actual borders are often disputed but in general most consider Hyberia, Wega, the Tribes of Eld, Donnel and the Free lands as being of the North. This is purely geographical, the Northern kingdoms are not united, the kingdoms may trade with each other but run their own affairs. The north and south of Enveron is roughly divided by the intersection of the Meera Mountains and the Donnel Mountains. Some of the kingdoms bordering the mountains consider themselves as the Middle Kingdoms and do not align themselves with either the north or the south except by coercion.
HYBERIA
Hyberia is the largest kingdom of the north but only in land, the population is small and dispersed. ‘Kingdom’ is perhaps a misnomer, the tribes are fiercely independent and will only recognize a High King in times of danger when they must band together to fight a common foe. Otherwise the tribes are perfectly happy to fight amongst themselves, raiding each other for resources, paying back old blood feuds or fighting just for the hell of it. Hyberia is not for the timid.
Despite this lack of union Hyberia has been a recognisable state for a long time, it is a hard land with a hard people and other kingdoms do well to respect that. But the generations of clan fighting between the Hyberians have ensured that a proper infrastructure cannot be established, the clans remaining fiercely independent but poor.
To the north is gloomy Cliffport, where the hard faced mountain folk are replaced with hard faced fishermen, men whose nets don’t yield enough, and despite being on the brink of ruin, it’s people are too stubborn to leave. To the east is Scree, where the men and women are a grim lot, even by the standards of Hyberia. They are semi-nomadic, travelling with the seasons, building temporary abodes then moving on when game and wild fruit grows scarce. They will trade with strangers but do not welcome them. On the east coast is the Lesser Woodlands, commonly known as The Wights, a forest blighted by all manner of supernatural phenomena as well as the very real threats of trolls and bandits. Just to the south of the Wights is a vast swampland inhabited only by the Feral Eld, who we’ll come back to later.
Hyberia does not welcome the casual visitor, the Hyberian mountains are a grim place to live, where arable farming is poor, whereas the lowlands are fecund but not considered safe, trade routes are scarce and travellers may be waylaid by bandits and wild creatures. The only ‘safe’ route is from Tull, in the west, to Haven in the neighbouring Free Lands via the river Onan, but even then, the river craft are as laden with armed men as with goods.
To the south and bordering the Tribes of Eld is Dolle, a loose collection of farmsteads. The people of Dolle don’t consider themselves Hyberians, nor do they align with nearby Wega, they are a people apart, living a simple farm life. They are a fierce people, more than any match for bandits foolish enough to think them a soft target.
WEGA
On the west coast of Enveron is Wega, which has relatively poor farmland but a prosperous fishing industry. Although resembling Hyberians the people of Wega have a more relaxed attitude and will trade with anyone. The large port of Ravenskeep has a very successful fishing trade despite the tempestuous western seas and high turnover of fishermen. Ships sent too far across the west never return. Despite the treacherous seas the port is a hub of trade, travellers and merchants can travel quickly to any other port on the west coast, between Cliffport in the north and Cambry in the south.
In theory Arcadia is the capital city and home to the resident king, Theophilus, although it is clear that it is not a wealthy city. The king has a weak standing within the kingdoms, his militia almost non-existent, his collector of taxes near impotent. The people of Wega are hardy and not easily pushed around and have a relaxed attitude to national pride, not caring a jot for the king or his taxes, caring only to fish the prosperous shoreline. Many regard Tiegard, a former fortress turned port town as the true capital of Wega while impoverished Arcadia is ruled by a line of weak kings losing influence with each succession.
THE FREE LANDS
On the east coast are the Free Lands, an experiment by artisans, intellectuals and escaped slaves, designed to be a haven free from kings or taxation. It failed horribly and the state is divided by a number of corrupt townships, the best run by oligarchs, the worst the denizens of bandits. The largest town is Haven, once hoped to be a shining example of freedom, now controlled by a ruthless triumvirate, each a powerful oligarch in their own right, each always looking to usurp the others. The Free lands produce very little and rely on trade with the other kingdoms, fortunes are won and lost on the streets of Haven for those who dare to trade with criminals and pirates. All types are drawn to the Free Lands, from the sheep hoping to make their fortunes, to the wolves who are there to prey on them. The Free Lands are a beacon to any young Adventurer hoping to make their fortune. Surrounded by the Greater Woodlands, feral Eld and the Wights the Free Lands does not lack in excitement or danger.
The Free Lands are virtually lawless, there are no checks on the growth of Maladum, indeed it is actively encouraged if there’s a profit to be made. The notorious Sorcerer’s Isle has long been deserted by regular folk and magical experimentation is allowed to run riot. Fledgling Maladaar from all over Enveron can practice their arts without fear of reprisal, the authorities willing to turn a blind eye. It is said that the entire island has a bedrock of Graam, a key element of Maladum. Whatever the reasonm, the island is a dangerous place to be, often witnessing the explosions and unnatural fires of Maladaar fighting.
The town of Luxon supervises all trade on the River Onan, from Haven in the Free Lands to Tull in Hyberia. From here it is possible to hire experienced boat hands who can fend off the Feral Eld and other bandits. They can even offer excursions through the Greater Woodlands to the Tribes of Eld but a warm welcome is not guaranteed; indeed a hostile one is almost certain!
THE TRIBES OF ELD
Although not recognised as its own state the Tribes of Eld remain unmolested by their neighbours, mostly because the Eld are far too dangerous a people to argue with. They reside in the Greater Woodlands, the Wega mountains and the vast plains between. The Eld are an insular people and do not encourage trade with other nations. There is constant warfare within the Tribes due to long standing blood feuds. Like their Hyberian neighbours, the Eld like to fight amongst themselves but won’t hesitate to combine forces to beat a common foe.
To the south and bordering Khaara are the golden plains, so called for the endless fields of wheat that grow wild. The wheat is harvested four times a year by the Eld and the people of Khaara, never needs to be re-sown and never suffers from blight. It is thought to be a remnant from the mythical Age of Magic and is the sole reason there is peace between the Tribes of Eld and Khaara.
Bordering the Free Lands are the Greater woodlands, a vast forest inhabited by all manner of beasts, wild and magical, and several tribes of Eld. The trees towards the centre have existed for thousands of years, growing larger and larger making parts of the woodland impenetrable.
We now come to the Feral Eld, a great source of shame for the Tribes. The Eld are a naturally ferocious race but it is tempered with intelligence. They recognise the flaw in their own nature and work hard to control it. Some Eld are born without the ability to control their malice and are often killed outright or driven to the swamplands of Hyberia where they are left to thrash out a meagre existence. The Feral Eld born to the swamplands are a purer breed than their brethren, more cruel and cunning but, thankfully, disorganised and only a threat to themselves and any foolish enough to get too close.
KHAARA
Rich in mineral wealth and centrally located Khaara has made itself the richest kingdom in Enveron. It has an abundance of food reserves from the fecund plains and the Inner Sea. It claims to own the land the Tribes of Eld inhabit, the Tribes pointedly disagree and an uneasy peace is maintained on the border. Geographically Khaara is of the north but was the first to declare itself as the Middle Kingdom, probably as some grandiose statement. Some of its neighbours also claim to be middle kingdoms, although in of itself the claim means nothing.
Khaarastad is the home of the nobility of Khaara and all wealth has been located there. It is an obscenely rich area surrounded by shanty towns. Khaarastad was actually built on top of a much older city, Qureshi, and it is rumoured that most of it is still intact and brimming with both wealth and danger, exactly the sort of rumour that attracts scruffy Adventurers. To the south of Khaarastad is Ancient Khaarastad, once a port city with a disreputable (and deserved) reputation. The former capital of Khaara was eventually relocated but many minor nobles still reside in Ancient Khaarastad trying to cling to former glories, their cloaks as shabby as their fortunes.
Portwic is in reality the true capital of Khaara, it is where all of the industry and trade occurs before the wealth is filtered to Khaarastad. It is a large port city on the shores of the Inner Sea, a pacific stretch of water that is inbound, in effect a giant lake. It is the primary source of food and commerce for many towns and villages along its coast. All trade from Enveron passes through Portwic sooner or later as does all information. The profits move to the landed gentry in Khaarastad and many dislike this, including as many high ranking officials as working men grumbling in their taverns.
Crater lake seems to be a natural phenomenon caused by volcanic activity or a meteor strike but scholars believe it to be a remnant of war damage from the Age of Magic. Indeed, Maladaar may report headaches the closer they get to it. The lake is entirely dead, there are no fish or even plant life, the wind doesn’t disturb the surface of the lake, the unnatural sterility is frightening and no one lives within miles of it. Many in Khaara do not even know of its existence as it is often absent on local maps.
DONNEL
Donnel is second only to Khaara in wealth enjoying trade between Khaara and the Free Lands. Kel, Eastel and Engel are provinces of Donnel situated along the east coast of Enveron. Donnel’s wealth is exemplified by the gleaming towers of Nodnol, its capital city. However, a long malaise has found Donnel struggling to keep control over its former provinces, Eastel and Engel have long since stopped paying tribute and neighbouring Kel does so only under threat of reprisals. Donnel has subsequently placed many of its trading ties with the neighbouring Free Lands, a wealthy but criminal state. Dirty money is the lifeblood of Donnel and corruption reigns free.
Off the coast of Donnel is Plague Island. Over a century before a great plague swept through the land and killed half of the population of Enveron. Several plague pits and small remote islands that were used to dump the dead and dying are still dotted around Enveron. After the plague receded serfs, peasants and skilled tradesmen were in great demand and were able to negotiate better wages and more rights for themselves (something the landed classes have been trying to undo ever since). The plague also greatly increased the percentage of individuals with a high Maladum level ushering in a new Age of Magic.
THE LAST OF THE NACKLA – A MALADUM SHORT STORY
“I can see the cave mouth!” Brahm shouted. He forced his aching legs on, his arms heavy with leather bags stuffed with coins and jewels and gold goblets. Behind him ran Beren, a tall, heavyset druid, and Emmerick, his apprentice. The young man had proven hopeless in Brahm’s eyes, he would miscast spells when he was in danger, which, in their business, was constant. They were pursued by Lamentors, gross perversions of humanity who had profaned the once hallowed halls of an abandoned monastery high above the city of Haven. The creatures looked like they were eternally burning from the inside, howling in torment, their long poisonous talons held out beseechingly. Brahm’s existence was for the destruction of monsters but even he was chilled by these. The three men had entered the monastery by a secret tunnel leading from the nearby caves, the same caves they were now running full pelt through to escape. They had barely picked over the monastery treasures before they had discovered why they had not been raided before by other, less honest, thieves. The monastery had been overrun by revenants, wandering without a master’s guidance, but they had found new purpose in trying to kill the intruders. The men had quickly been overwhelmed, and, stuffing what they could into their pockets, they had bolted, to live another day.
“Beren, can you slow them down?”
“I can barely breathe!” Gasped Beren. He was a powerful maladaar but he was not young.
“I can stop them!” Emmerick was young and he may one day become a powerful maladaar but right now he lacked experience, barely able to control the maladum that flowed through his veins. He stopped, turned to face the screeching Lamentors, his staff held up high, his burning torch held in the other hand. The flames from the torch licked around his body, grew in size then blasted towards the enemy. Three of them ignited, to his satisfaction but the fire flew along the ceiling of the cave tunnel, over his head and into the faces of his alarmed companions. Beren squawked as his beard caught light and Brahm swore when his clothes smouldered.
“Spare me these court wizards!” Cursed Brahm. ” Just run!” The three men burst out of the cave mouth, into direct sunlight and ran down the valley towards the distant city. Emmerick whooped in delight, the Lamentors would not follow them out of the caves unless directed by a greater force. The Lamentors staggered weakly towards the light but the flames had done their work, they were dying, if such creatures could.
“Stop bloody laughing, you useless boy!” Shouted Beren still batting out the flames in his beard. Brahm looked back at the others, still clutching his treasure.”Next time, light your own trousers on fire!” He shouted at Emmerick.
“It’ll probably help me run faster!” He laughed hysterically and the two other men cackled, overjoyed to be alive. They ran all the way to the city and through the gates, laughing, to the astonishment of the guards.
Back in their room of the inn, Brahm dumped all the loot on the table. Divvying it up he was satisfied that all had gone well. True, they had failed to clear the monastery of the revenants, and the local constabulary refused to pay the reward, but they had grabbed enough to make it worthwhile and they had escaped intact, barring superficial wounds, mostly inflicted by Emmerick.
Most of their companions had moved on, travelling by foot to Ravenskeep where there was rumour of a nest of revenants that needed clearing and a populace willing to pay high. Grogmar, an almost civilised Ormen, and Artain, an uncivilised troublemaker, had stayed behind, enjoying the heady delights of Haven. It was an astonishing city, full of wonder, so long as you had the coin to pay for it. The moment you were broke you were slung unceremoniously outside the city walls. They met in the tavern of the inn and Artain was quick to accost the men, freshly laden with jewels and coins as they were. Brahm was being tight, in Artain’s opinion, surely he could spare a coin or two to his trusted companions? Artain put her arm around Brahm’s shoulder.
“Brahm, you are far too dumb and unsophisticated to know how to spend that money. You need someone to educate you in the finer things.”
“And that’s you is it?”
“Well, If you insist. Now, I think the first round’s on you. And the second. And probably all of them for the rest of the night.”
The night was long and the next day was blurry, Brahm shambled down from his room to the tavern long past noon, Beren and Emmerick were eating a late lunch and neither looked any worse for the excess of the previous night. Grogmar, who could drink more than them all together seemed to be suffering and Artain was missing, no doubt still abed, or passed out in an alleyway.
They ate and drank and joked discussing their plans for the next few days. A furtive man approached Brahm and passed him a small crumpled sheaf of paper. Brahm stood apart and peered at the note, his face grim, his knuckles large and white. Beren approached, concerned.
“What is it?”
“I send out many birds into many lands and they bring me news, some profitable, some not. But this is news I was not expecting. A creature has arisen that I thought was long dead.”
“You want me to gather up our people?” He glanced over at Grogmar, his face flat on a table, snoring.
“No, this is personal. There is no profit. But going alone would be reckless. I’ll take the boy, it will be an education for him.”
Brahm and Emmerick said their farewells and headed to the harbour. They spent a fruitless morning searching for a ship to take them to the Wights, just north of the Free Lands, but they were rebuffed and even the fishermen on their tiny boats refused the large sums offered. They would have to walk along the coast as far as they could and hope to avoid trouble.
“We will be passing through Eld territory, we don’t want to be caught out in the open.”
“I thought the Eld were miles away?”
“Feral Eld. They live in the marshlands. There’s a narrow pass that leads to the coast, that’s where the danger is.” Emmerick knew few Eld and only one Feral Eld, Galen, who had been raised by respectable sorts. She was a terrifying creature and he remembered that she had a preference for humans, especially young males and he’d always made sure he was never alone with her. In the wild the Feral Eld had no cohesive society, they made little and were unable to control the very worst vice of the Eld, anger.
They trekked along the coast and the going was good at first. But the beach became narrower and they had no choice but to climb up to the verge where the land was boggy and treacherous. They trekked onwards and several days passed, trudging along the boggy land, their going slow. At night they did not set a campfire as they were close to the Feral Eld’s territory. They took turns on watch, each sleeping for two hours at a time. The morning was chill and gloomy and they resumed their slow slog, the boggy land wetter with each step, at points the mud was past their knees. It was hard going with tiny insects biting all the way.
“Take this.” Brahm handed Emmerick a small bottle. “It’s anti-venom, the Eld like to use poison on their weapons.” Emmerick swallowed the bitter brew and handed back the empty vial. “You have a potion for everything?”
“Of course. Potions for poison, potions for healing. This one sharpens the wits, this one strengthens the arm. The effects are small but can be the difference between life and death.”
At noon the sun was hot on their heavy clothing, the infernal insects still biting. “Do you have a potion for these things?”
“No, but I bloody well will the first chance I get!” Emmerick stopped and peered into the distance. His eyes were sharp and he spotted a number of figures on the horizon. Brahm looked through his spyglass. Four, maybe five, moving slowly towards them. “Feral Eld. They’ve spotted us, they can probably smell us on the wind.”
“Why are they all the way out here? This is poor hunting ground.”
“This is what they have. They’re not welcome in the Tribes of the Eld. Pick up the pace, the Wights are not far now.” They headed to the distant tree line and the mountains of the north, every step slow, the sun bearing down on them, the insects biting. Every few miles they checked the progress of the Eld. The marshes were a hindrance to them too, they were up to their thighs in mud but they were still closing the gap on the two intruders.
“They can see we don’t want to enter their territory, why are they chasing us?”
“They’re hungry.” Emmerick shivered. Now he wondered if the lascivious looks Galen had given him were of a more primal hunger. He tried to force his legs faster through the marsh but he was having trouble breathing, he wanted to collapse on the ground and into a deep slumber. He looked up and the tree line was definitely closer, he could now make out a stream and individual trees. He looked behind and he could see the figures distinctly, all were bare chested and of different hues, a couple were green, another a sickly yellow, one almost purple. All seemed to have their hair cut in a stripe on their heads. He thought the Eld were hairless? He realised with a shudder that they wore scalps on their heads, probably of Men. The Eld were now close enough to start loosening arrows. In return Brahm shot off two of his pistols. Neither struck their targets but the Eld retreated a little. The tree line was closer, the swamp was getting drier, each step slightly firmer than the last. The Feral Eld were screaming at them and a volley of arrows made their mark. One nicked Brahm’s backpack and another struck deep into Emmerick’s thigh. He cried out and collapsed and Brahm hurried back. Brahm snapped off the head of the arrow and pulled the shaft out of Emmerick’s leg. After a moment’s hesitation he pocketed the arrowhead.
“You got lucky, boy, it missed your bloodline. If there was any time to earn your bread then now’s that time!” Emmerick had been focusing for hours, a small part of him had concentrated on a single spell, even as the rest of him fought exhaustion. He knew that violent spells could backfire and he wasn’t good at that sort of magic, he was apt to panic. But he was good with illusion and distortion, and perception. And he had time to think, and time would be the key. Emmerick staggered up and raised himself to his full height, raising his staff. He encanted the spell, and the Eld slowed then stopped dead, as if frozen. They were still moving but at a tenth of their speed, they were in a bubble of their own time, to them the two Men seemed to redouble their efforts and speed ahead.
“They’re moving slowly!”
“They shouldn’t be moving at all! I don’t know how long it will last!” The maladum had been drained out of him and Brahm had to practically carry him. Every step they took was precious but they were soon beyond reach. By the time the spell faded the Eld hissed at the woods, they had no intention of following into the Wights. They turned sullenly and retreated back the way they had come.
The two men didn’t stop until they were deep into the woods and collapsed by a stream. “They won’t dare follow,” wheezed Brahm, “They’re afraid of the forest.” That seemed scant reassurance to Emmerick, what were the Eld afraid of?
They built a fire and dressed Emmerick’s wound, and rubbed a foul smelling unguent onto it. The leg was stiff but it could move and would ache every winter for the rest of Emmerick’s life. Brahm looked at the arrowhead. “As I thought, this is too sophisticated for the Feral Eld to manufacture. This is from Meruta if I know my arrows.” He tossed it into the fire and it hissed. “Poison.” Said Emmerick. “I think your potion just saved my life.”
“Remember that next time we’re in a town and you’re drinking away your ill gotten gains! I’ll be in the market gathering materials.”
“As will I. Teach me what you know.”
“Very well. In the next apothecary I’ll show you a few tricks, I suspect Beren only knows how to brew healing balms.”
“And mead that turns you blind. In return I can teach you the ways of a maladaar.”
“No, maladum flows sluggishly in my veins. I’ll stick to what I know best.”
They moved through the forest until the sun set. Emmerick slept and had disturbing dreams, but would only recall the uneasiness. He woke and saw pale lights in the distance, moving through the woods. Brahm ordered him to sleep and he collapsed back into a dreamless sleep. In the morning he felt better and they headed north, taking readings from the sky when they were in the open, climbing trees when they needed to see clearer.
“So what is this creature we’re after? You were vague in Haven. What does it look like?”
“It looks like… nothing.” Emmerick was puzzled but didn’t question him. “It is the Nackla,” said Brahm. “I don’t know where it comes from but it’s very old. And evil. it delights in torturing its victims. It destroyed my village piece by piece and then it took my family, one by one, and I was alone, a child. I ran away and I think it let me go, as part of its game. Years passed and I never forgot, apprenticing myself to any who could teach me how to kill the creature. It’s a long story but I eventually tracked it down and destroyed it. Or I thought I had.”
Days passed and they made slow progress through the woods, always north. Several times Emmerick had seen the pale lights in the distance.
“Ghost lights. Don’t follow them off the path.” Emmerick thought he could see figures and hear voices. The forest was haunted but Brahm was unperturbed. “You’ll come to no harm if you ignore them.”
There were other things in the forest, whispers and glimpses of inhuman forms. Emmerick marvelled at Brahm’s stoicism, if he had been alone he would have run screaming, no doubt to dash himself in a ravine, pursued by nothing. He felt that he was always being watched.
Then, in the deepest part of the forest where no light touched the ground Emmerick felt something behind him. He turned and looked up to see two large feline eyes staring at him. He froze with terror, every hair bristling. Even Brahm went pale. “It won’t hurt us,” he said, but he laid his hand on one of his pistols.
“Humen,” whispered a soft voice. “No humen have lived in these parts for years. They left and the forest reclaimed the settlements. Now you have returned, how wonderful.” It chuckled and Emmerick felt his teeth on edge. “What do you want, phantasm?”
“Want? Oh, nothing. Except… there is a creature that does not belong here. It is a blight on my beautiful woodland. You must cut it out, like the canker it is.”
“Why should we?”
“Why indeed? But I can see our goals are one and the same. When the time comes you will not fail. Consider it my gift to you.”
“We don’t need your gifts!” Roared Brahm. “Begone from us!” He drew his pistol and the eyes narrowed then disappeared. There was nothing with them, the presence had gone. “Never make a deal with the devil.” Brahm muttered.
Later they found a stone signpost but the words had weathered to illegibility. “We’re getting closer.” Said Brahm. He seemed more subdued the closer they got to their quarry. “There was once a city here, that straddled the coast and reached miles inland. All gone now.”
They stopped in an opening, a small hillock with no trees growing on it and took turns resting. Emmerick had the final watch and sat looking over the glade as the morning approached. He could see in the dim light a pile of boulders at the edge, in the tree line. The sun rose slowly and Emmerick could see that the boulders were in fact a crag troll, huge and unmoving, foliage growing on it as it would on any other rock. Emmerick felt in no danger and eventually the crag troll turned away and was lost under the trees.
As they travelled they saw more signs of civilisation, broken paths and tumbled ruins, the forest had reclaimed much. Brahm’s resolve seemed to be wavering, he would start at the scurrying of the forest animals. Sweat beaded his forehead although it had grown chill. Emmerick marked the change and did not like it. Brahm seemed to be receding as he grew closer to his childhood terror.
“Where are you from, Brahm?” Emmerick asked with a sudden suspicion.
“Here.” Said Brahm and would say no more.
More ruins and paths lead to a great manor house, sitting alone in the woods. It looked old, far older than the returning forest should have made it. The manor house had collapsed in on itself, the large doors had been pushed rudely aside by the woodlands. They picked their way through the ruins until they found a staircase down into the basement. It was pitch black and everything in Emmerick told him to run. The light from Emmerick’s staff was warm but here it seemed stark and cold, every blemish in the plaster of the stairway was etched forever into his memory. They descended slowly into the dark chill of the basement. The stairs had fallen in near the bottom, everything was rubble and smelled wet with decay. They moved on, the basement was huge and divided into rooms. Along one corridor they saw a flickering light as if of a single candle. They approached and Emmerick saw that Brahm was trembling, he had never seen him afraid. They entered a large room, a paltry flame flickered in a huge fireplace and in the centre of the room sat the Nackla on an oversized chair, almost a throne. Emmerick could see no features at all, it was but a black shadow. It rose slowly and Emmerick could make out a cloak, and long hair, a human shape but far from human.
“So you’ve come at last.” It said. It’s voice was that of an aristocrat, cultured, mocking and in its prime. But underneath was another voice, old, decrepit and pathetic. The young/old voice invited them to make themselves comfortable motioning to the ruins.
“How are you alive?” Brahm asked, his voice shaky. “We cut you to pieces and burned the remains.” The creature hesitated, for a moment. “I was dead. And then I was as a wisp, a broken shadow. I fed on insects, and rats, their souls sustaining me as I grew stronger. Then creatures from the forest. And finally… men. It was not hard to draw you here. A woodcutter, a fisherman. A child. I ate them all and rumours spread of my return. And now you have returned, to me. To pay your debt, for did I not set you free?”
Brahm was frozen, and Emmerick sensed his turmoil. In his mind Brahm was a child again, skinny, small, living for months on scraps. Looking up into the terrifying form of the Nackla, a black void in the shape of a man. Emmerick was unable to move and he started to panic. He was no good at fighting in the moment, he needed to plan. Then he thought of the eyes in the forest, the phantasm that had made him a promise, that he wouldn’t fail. And he knew then that he couldn’t fail. Unbidden, a spell rose to his lips. The Nackla looked at him, in surprise, his whole attention had been solely on Brahm. It looked at Emmerick and saw a reflection, of itself. It didn’t like what it saw. Emmerick saw too, as if through a dark glass, the Nackla had once been human but now it was old, and withered, its cheeks sunken with starvation, its eyes empty and hollow. Its fine robes were tatters, it’s hair matted and dirty. A pitiable creature.
“Now.” Said Emmerick and Brahm awoke from his trance. With a single smooth motion he unsheathed his sword and lopped off the head of the Nackla. It flew across the room and was lost forever. The body crumpled to the ground. Brahm looked closer and saw that the body was now but his own shadow. The Nackla was gone.
“It had me there, for a moment. Its only currency is fear but I’m not afraid. I’m no longer a child. And neither are you, Emmerick, you did well.” They searched the room and found a number of jewels, which Brahm passed to Emmerick in payment.
They travelled north out of the Wights and stumbled upon a small fishing village where they paid passage to Cliffport and from there to Ravenskeep in the eastern kingdom of Wega. Brahm had been in a good mood and they had spent the journey playing cards and drinking and the rest of the time Brahm gave Emmerick detailed instruction in potion craft. He had paid for everything and told Emmerick to put away his money.
“This has been expensive for you.” Said Emmerick.
“And worth it. Every coin spent, every ingot, has taken a stripe off my heart.”
“Will it return?”
“No. I think it willed me there to kill it. It wanted relief and could find none.”
Their ship docked into the port town of Ravenskeep and Brahm noticed with satisfaction that the notice board in the town centre still had a warrant for the destruction of the nearby revenants. He took the warrant and tucked it into his coat. Like a spell broken the fear had been forgotten and was replaced with vague images of a time that he could barely recall. It would be good to get back to work, destroying fell creatures was what he lived for. In many ways the last few weeks had been far too quiet for his liking.
Next time I’ll be tackling the remaining Middle Kingdoms and the Kingdoms of the South. If there’s anything you want to know specifically about Maladum or Core Space, whether it’s the lore, the creative process and what goes on behind the scenes, then let me know here or on the socials.
Also feel free to leave any other queries in the comments, I’ll be sure to answer them in a later article.
Further Links:
An updated map of Enveron in PDF format:
Start the conversation