-*-

In the grand orchestra that is life, a single altered note may not seem to
have any influence on the rest of the ensemble. One death is usually
disregarded as an event that could potentially alter history. After all, an
individual can sometimes plead to the Fates for their thread to be spared. And
sometimes the Fates happily oblige. But even in the midst of the aforementioned
miracle the symphony has changed. Every thread in the Tapestry of Life is
affected, be it in the smallest of ways. Such is the case of the Beldame
Ethilwen Varrim in this story of Southgard.

As the seasons changed and the years progressed, the various villages in the
Basin all developed an affinity in terms of commodities. Dairuchi, for
instance, became the leader in marble trade. Those in the vicinity of water,
like Delport, were more incline to catch, and subsequentially sell, fish. But
then there was Southgard and Rockholm. Both villages had acquired a strength in
mining. This simple difference soon transformed into rivalry and fierce
competition, and not long after fostered a deep chasm of enmity which held no
opportunity to be spanned by a bridge of friendship.

-*-

A wave of heat flooded the kitchen as the Chef of the Dwarves removed a
steaming pan of fishcakes from the oven. The sweet scent of marine life wafted
through the air, riding the steam as a Knight does his mount. Nearby, a table
was saturated with an impressive assortment of confectionary delights, fresh
salad greens, and entrees. A passerby might have commented on how the large
ravenwood table appeared to be buckling under the weight upon it.

"More faeleaf!" the Chef yelled. "You there, mix up a fruit cocktail. Not too
sweet. You in the corner. Yes, you. Take these outside to cool. Careful,
they're still hot. And how many times do I have to say it? Stop licking the
spoons!" His exasperated face was flushed with color, identical to the vibrant
red hue of the strawberries in his latest masterpiece. A well-aimed jab with a
spoon ended the child's delectable enjoyment.

The rest of the Kingdom was experiencing a similar sense of euphoria and
tension. There were decorations to hang, illusions to cast, and tables to set.
Such was the occasion that even the mines were being cleaned to an immaculate
condition so that the outermost gems sparkled brightly within the safe confines
of their rocky prison. In the various shops around the Imdar Circlet the
inhabitants had tidied up their wares, leaving the rooms in a pristine state.
Nothing could dash the dwarves' emotions which were running higher than the
most elevated tide in the Inner Sea. For on this day the Village of Southgard
had pledged its resources and support to the Righteous Kingdom of New Celest.

At long last the preparations were completed and as Father Sun returned to His
rest the guests began to arrive. Celest's entire contingent of citizens had been
invited for an extravagant evening of merry-making and revelry. Of the peasants
there were many, ranging in age and economic status. A large proportion of them
were Merians, that noble race which had populated the Old Celestian Empire. The
next group to walk down the rocky path of the Southern Mountains was the
nobility. Intricate rings and necklaces faintly reflected the light from the
setting sun, adorning the bodies of the Earls. Following in full battle regalia
was the Dawn Brigade. Marching forward in sword formation, they marked the
arrival of Celest's King. He was accompanied by his wife as he passed over the
vast threshold of Southgard into the vortex of the celebrations. And the gates
were closed.

Inside the festivites swelled to a respectable level. The Cantors performed
complicated dance music, much to the audible enjoyment of the guests. There
were a handful of entertainers ranging from jugglers to acrobats, amusing the
guests with complex displays of skill. Food was eaten, drink was drunk, and
inhibitions were released like unnecessary baggage tossed away at sea.

The kitchen buzzed with activity. "You lad," the Head Chef bellowed, "scurry
outside quick and fetch me some fresh kafe. These dried bits aren't nearly
providing our beloved guests with the edginess they need. Hurry along!"

Similar to a furry creature that often scurries on the Highways, the young
Merian boy scampered away. Onlookers would have noticed the flickering of
candlelight emitting from within as the joyous atmosphere seeped over the
hills. This night Southgard was a warm heart amidst a body of stone.

Still humming the tune from the bards' latest fugue, the Merian boy clambered
over the nearby rocks in search of the kafe. The wind picked up causing the
long grass to rustle as if the blades were trying to hush the already silent
night. He paused at a stream thinking he had seen the moonlight glinting off
some metallic object. Abandoning his quest, the Merian boy crouched over the
water. Surely this was his lucky day, as he spotted a gold sovereign
half-buried in the sand. He had no more than wrapped his small fingers around
the coin when an arrow whizzed through the air and embedded itself in the boy's
chest cavity. Still clutching his prize, the Merian's body went limp and
splashed into the stream. The previously clear waters were converted into a
demonic river of crimson. And the complete army of Magnagora advanced upon
Southgard, hissing an eerie melody of hatred and contempt.

-*-

The fountain of appetizers flowed endlessly, carrying the guests on an
intriguing adventure of taste and elegance. So cheery was the environment that
even the more subtle and shy citizens threw their cares to the wind. Amongst
the celebrations one of the guards heard a barely discernable pound on the
gates. Thinking it to be a late-arriving Celestian, the dwarf set down his
tankard of ale and heaved on the mighty doors. They were scarcely open a crack
when a dark-robed figure covered the guard's mouth and slit his throat in a
single precise slash of the neck. Slowly the army swept through the winding
passages of Southgard. Yet the party continued because the revelers were
oblivious to the massacre that was being executed in a neighboring hallway.

Having completed their purging of the village, with the exception of the Great
Hall, the Magnagorans caught the party guests unawares. Glasses were broken.
Violins were shattered. Jewelry was stolen. As a ruthless bloodbath ensued, it
seemed that the Light had been extinguished. Of course the Brigade fought
valiantly, their hearts ablaze with the fires of the Old Celestian Empire, but
they were too greatly outnumbered. Gradually the resistance faltered and the
victors gazed upon the fruits of their chaos. Bodies were strewn across the
stone floor, limbs contorted into awkward positions. Tarot cards littered the
ground, soaking up the blood from their owners. Out of the deathly silence the
Magnagorans began a terrifying roar. Resting in front of her throne was Beldame
Ethilwin Varrim, dead. Her crown of precious metals had rolled to the center of
the room, steeped in the blood of Southgard's Queen.

-*-

It was dark but they couldn't risk lighting a torch. they had to move quickly
if there was to be any chance at their escape. The sound of dripping water
echoed through the tunnel, providing a sharp contrast in tempo to their
thundering hearts. Moist earthen walls taunted their flight away from their
former haven. The darkness eveloped them in its opaque shroud, suffocating
their eyes and slowing their minds. Sighs of relief were uttered as they
noticed a faint beacon of light not far ahead. The survivors, only eight in
number, scrambled across the landscape until Southgard was a mere pinpoint
against the sky. Their limbs trembled as Father Sun resumed his post, mocking
Mother Night's proceedings. For that morning the Sun's home was violently
streaked with an angry ambiance of scarlet.

Having reached a safe distance, the dejected party teleported to the Pool of
Stars. Even the aether strands, normally so orderly, were uncomfortable to
handle. Tears ran freely for those lost souls and there was a great deal of
mourning. Contact was made on the aetherwaves requesting an immediate emergency
meeting for higher ranking members of the City. Out of the entire Star Council,
only the King and Guildmaster of the Paladins managed to evade the clutches of
evil. Loyal citizens poured into the Star Palace, eager to offer their input on
a plan of action. Visions swarmed the brains of the survivors, poisoning their
innocence and feeding the fires of hatred.

"Good people," began Celest's King, "our situation is desperate. Celest's
enemy to the east has struck our righteous disposition in an attempt to send us
reeling." His voice grew as his confidence increased. "They seek to overthrow
the Light from its dominating pedestal and thrust it down into the grime of
their ways! We have suffered a great loss, one that cannot be put aside. It can
be predicted that those vile miscreants will expect us to cower in fear like
dogs. But we shall not! Now is the time to strike! They have attacked our
village and so we shall attack theirs, and rob them of their dear undead
miners. We march to Angkrag in one hours' time. May Methrenton guide your
blades!"

A raucous cheering thundered, causing the Pool to ripple. Indeed, Celest's
King was a superb speaker, blessed with charisma by the gods. Blanketed in a
flickering poise, the memory of the incident was brought upon a pillar of
vengeance. The clouds began massing above, shuttering us from the light which
we held so close. Forges were set ablaze, vials refilled, and enchantments were
cast. Bursts of chromatic flares sparked vividly along the streets. Blacksmiths
struck their ringing melody so precisely that one might have believed to be in
the midst of an orchestral masterpiece. Spigots emitted their various contents
into equally varying numbers of vials, saving a life with but a sip. For Celest
was off to another measure in their symphony against the Taint.

That hour passed quickly and the citizens assembled at the Pool of Stars.
Meleris dipped a small cup into the shimmering waters, withdrew it, and
sprinkled the army as a symbol of the duality of Celest's waters - both healing
fonts and raging tempests. They marched to an aetherways portal and entered the
Paunchy Pilgrim. However, their business was not in drinking away sorrows and
they exited via a portal to the Wyrded Forest.

-*-

Back within Southgard's mighty walls the Warlord's arm swayed drunkenly as he
took another draught from his jeweled goblet. Upon their capture of the village
the Magnagorans had looted and pillaged, nourishing their greed with fanciful
trinkets. The fine food, that which could be salvaged, was hastily gobbled up
into anxious gullets. By indulging in the rich wine they confused their brains,
unable to distinguish the shadows from the salient.

In a drunken stupor the ur'Guard toosed the corpses down the mountainside.
They jeered unrelentingly with every crunch of bones and broken skull. And as
if the evidence of their inhumanity could not be heightened any more, the
Nihilists allowed their devilish fiends to devour the dead Merians. Between the
effects of the alcohol and their natural savageness, the Magnagorans proved the
dull rumours of their successive bondage to terror.

The holy standard of the City of Light was exiled to a life of ashes, replace
by the gruesome banner of the Engine. Ornamental decoration sacred to Celest
was immediately smelted, smashed of spat upon, their vacant positions filled
with ranks of grotesque furniture. Surely these could not be considered as
individuals. Magnagora was a sloth of disease, despair, and desolation, not the
noble city which it claimed to be. And Japhiel was ready to conduct the judgment
of these heathens.

-*-

With wolf-like stealth the Celestians kept to the shadows in the dark forest.
Mother Night had embraced the land, Her eye no able to penetrate the thick
overgrowth and foliage of the canopy. Avoiding thorn beasts, spiders, and the
ever-malicious zombies, they moved in a south-easterly direction until they
reached a rugged mountain path. And there, looming ominously, were the Black
Gates of Angkrag.

Perhaps it was a lack of numbers of just the chill of the night breeze that
caused the stalwart Celestians to shiver as the gates yielded to their pulling.
A Cantor quickly played a captivating note and the guards did not have time to
react. In moments the last Marshal slumped to the ground in death. Continuing
on, the raiding party ventured deep into the mines in search of their prey. The
executions were biased as the picks of the undead miners were no match for the
serrated shortswords and suffocating streams of water. Thus the infiltration
went smoothly and resistance was futile. Cautiously, and with mild suspicion of
having made their presence known, the Celestians exited Angkrag and tugged on
the aether strands back to the Pool of Stars with the undead miners. Much to
their surprise, however, they were unable to travel home.

"There must be a monolith around," a Paladin concluded. "Find it! With haste!"

Mother Night's reign wavered as dawn approached, yet the Celestians were
unable to locate the camouflaged sigil. They waited for orders in apparent
frustration.

"Even at a brisk pace, running to Celest would be too risky and would endanger
the complete success of our operation. I propose that we head towards the enemy
where our company will be least expected," said the King.

Wary glances were exchanged with uneasy looks.

"Surely you do not mean going to Magnagora, my Liege?"

"No. I was leaning more towards our lost village, Southgard. The nagaradja
caves are nearby and would provide sufficient harbour until the commotion dies
down."

A consensus had been reached. The Celestians worked their way over the rocky
cliffs to the hidden cave. Southgard was visible in the distance, its stench
causing a few of the Celestians to cough. It appeared that the nagaradja had
been recently killed, judging by the dried blood splattered on the sand. In
exhaustion, the undead miners were piled in the corner and the Celestians
relaxed to rejuvenate after a long night.

-*-

I saw those slimy fishes murder my brothers. As usual we had been down in the
mines working for the glory of the Engine, collecting those beautiful golden
nuggets. But then they came, yes they did. And I hid underneath one of my
fallen brothers. Then I thinks to myself, they's going to steal him and then I
will be found! So I scurried to a spider corpse and laid it on top. Its venom
oozed over my head but I was safe.

When they began to leave, I followed them. Outside, I hid behind a boulder and
dropped a brown monolith. Luciphage would have been proud. I listened to their
words and almost shouted with glee. They were going to the nagaradja caves, yes
they were. After they left I hurried to the Warlord in Southgard, congratulating
myself on uncovering the location of our nemesis.

-*-

The Celestians slept undisturbed through the day, their dreams enveloped in
honour and glory. The Lady General awoke at dusk to steal a breath of fresh
mountain air. As she passed the miners, she hesitated. She counted quickly and
rushed to wake the others.

"We're one short," the Lady General said.

"We're one short what?"

"Miner. Somehow we must have overlooked one. Battle attire. Now!"

Promptly the Celestians scrambled to put on armour and envenom weapons, but it
was too late. Blasts of cosmic fire blistered extremities and illuminated
ghastly crucifixions. Demons quenched their thirst for blood of the enemy. The
warriors of the Light were obliterated by the Magnagorans, who now controlled
Rockholm, Angkrag and Southgard; the entire mining industry. And a final
haunting note floated across the Basin, the last note in the symphony of
Celest.