From alt.pub.dragons-inn Sun Jan 23 11:47:39 1994
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Path: netcom.com!netcomsv!decwrl!olivea!sgigate.sgi.com!sgiblab!swrinde!cs.utexas.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!usenet.ins.cwru.edu!usenet.mcs.kent.edu!news.ysu.edu!malgudi.oar.net!sun!vax.cns.muskingum.edu!hsexauer
From: hsexauer@vax.cns.muskingum.edu (Rapunzel)
Subject: [Legacy] Revelations...
Message-ID: <1994Jan21.165405.1@vax.cns.muskingum.edu>
Lines: 329
Sender: root@sun.cns.muskingum.edu (Operator)
Organization: Muskingum College
Date: Fri, 21 Jan 1994 21:54:05 GMT


	[ADMIN]  Oops.  Did I forget last time?  Shows what color my hair is.
		 Thread name is Legacy of Lyorn.  

	Aleric didn't think he'd ever seen anyone as old as this man appeared
to be.  He was at present sitting before the decrepit old man watching him poke
the fire into greater flames.  Upon entering the little hut he had been
beckoned to the hearth by what at first had looked like a twisted staff. 
Closer inspection revealed the staff was actually the arm of the oldster.  His
limbs were twisted with age, skin stretched tightly across ropy tendons and
bones.  What little hair remained on his head tangled in wispy strands around
his ears and neck, and the scraggly beard that clung tenaciously to his chin
looked like it had been partially hacked off with a dull knife.
	"I suppose," the antiquity began in a cracked voice, "that since I
brought you here the least I could do would be to extend my hospitality."  He
continued mumbling to himself while he rumaged through several piles producing
a pot and assorted weathered vegetables.  
	"If I may ask, er... sir," Aleric began.
	"No question, no questions!" the old man protested.  He waved his arm
at Aleric in a sharp gesture.  "When I am ready to talk, I will ask the
questions and you will tell me answers."  He subsided again and turned his
attention back to the stew he prepared.  Once it was hung over the fire to
simmer, the old man cast a speculative eye at his guest.  "It has come at last
to you has it?"  Aleric looked slightly alarmed when a strange gargling sound
came from the man's throat.  He had just realized the sound for the man's
laughter when the ancient human pulled himself nose to nose with the young
Lyorn.  
	One bony finger prodded Aleric's chest and the old man's fetid breath
assailed his nose.  "You've the look of the old line, you do.  If I'd doubt
before there's none now that I look at you.
	"You've the height and structure of the old blood.  And look at that
coloring!  Head crowned by beaten gold it is..."  Still an inch from the young
man's face, the old man peered into Aleric's widened eyes.  The Lyorn had the
feeling he was staring straight through them into his soul, his whole being.
"Surprised, eh?  Your eyes are what give you away.  They always have.  I've had
centuries of experience reading such as yours!" he crowed.  The man pulled away
suddenly and whirled back to the fire.
	"Don't worry about your friends.  They will not miss you, I took care
of that!" he added, ignoring Aleric's alarmed reaction.  "They see what they
want to see, one who looks like you and will act like you until I have no
further need of your services."
	"If you wanted..." Aleric tried to break in, but the gnarled form waved
him silent again.  Surely there was a more conventional way to obtain his help
without spiriting him away in the night or deceiving his companions.
	"Want to know how I found you?  The instant you crossed the sea and
neared this land with Xel'ha in your possession I knew the time had come for
the prophecy to be fulfilled.  In ages past I crafted your fine blade myself
and gifted it to your tribe.  The Lyorn were a strong and proud race, but no
match for the forces they faced.  For all their fighting prowess and wisdom,
they had no way to combat the enemy they couldn't face.  And so in my effort to
aid the clans I was ensnared and doomed to serve until one of the blood feed me
by defeating the evil.  Thus did I know you were to be my salvation."
	The ancient man fell silent while he tended his fire.  Aleric had very
little idea what he was talking about, but the man had named his sword as
though quite familiar with it.  Aleric knew he had never met the man before and
he certainly hadn't had time to tell him anything about either himself or his
sword.  His family, the few members there were, had lived in the farmlands just
south of Generica for generations.  Although he did remember vaguely his
great'grandparents' tales of a time long past when they came from another place
far distant.  Always at the end of the tale his great grandmother would say
three short lines in a foreign dialect.  They had fascinated him as a child. 
Aleric and his younger brother Jaerodyn had amused themselves by begging their
grandmother to teach them the lyrical words.  
	"Shekiren il Lyornae progeiz uran,
	 Os dan flujae Nilsangehir wen Xel'ha
	 Chisun ray e botu jeiron," Aleric breathed, barely aware of speaking
aloud.  The effect on his host, however, was electric.
	The sunken eyes locked with Aleric's very blue ones.  He repeated the
phrases and spoke at length in the same musical tongue.  "You are the one, I
have no doubt.  Do you even understand what you said?"
	"No.  My brother and I learned them as children.  Just pieces from our
cradle stories," Aleric protested.
	"Much more! Much more, youngling.  It's the first part of the prophecy
in your own native tongue," the old man explained.  "In its entirety, and
translated so you can understand, it is:

	The wounds to the Lyorn clans from the Sundered are grave,
	But in the hands of the Lastblood shall the fiery blade
	Purify the soul and heal the breach.
		
	In the heart of the sickened land lies the Sundered's Keep:
	Look to the Hall of Ages where the hunted's hope doth sleep.
	Therein may the Youngblood find the fate of each.

	When comes the dark mistress for whom the sword will cry,
	Seek then to win the talisman from neath the evil's eye--
	With Lyorn blood alone to cleanse celestial blade benighted.

	And defeating the Sundered shall the Lastblood stand
	To rejoin the Youngblood in restoring the ancient clans
	By the power of the sacred blades united."

	Aleric considered the prophecy, it really had no special meaning to
him, but judging from the ancient man's words, he should know it.
	"What's the significance of it?"  Aleric asked perplexed.  "I don't see
what that has to do with me.  Who are the Sundered, and what happened between
them and the Lyorn?"
	The oldster sighed and settled his limbs more comfortably.  "That is a
question that will require some background.  It's a lengthy tale, so you may as
well eat while you listen."  He scooped a generous amount of stew into a bowl
and handed it to Aleric, pointing out a spoon to use.  Aleric accepted the
offerings and leaned back against the wall to listen.
	"It has more to do with you than you think, young Lyorn.  In that range
of mountains you see to the east is where your tribe lived in ages past.  AS I
said, the Lyorn were a strong and proud race.  Prowess with weapons was much
vaunted but together with the wisdom of when to use them.  Quite tall they all
were, as you are yourself.  Fair of skin and hair for the most part.  And in
many, their eyes were not a definite color, for the shade would vary to reflect
the mood.
	"Now in the tribe there were several clans.  Each had its own chief,
but all were governed more or less by the head of the chief clan.  The seven
great clans were composed of related families, and each had their specialties
and little quirks.  But the entire tribe was united under the old Dragon clan
which had possession of the tribe's treasure.  A very special sword called the
celestial blade, or Xel'eman in the true language.  I won't go into the history
behind the blade itself right now.  It is very long and complicated; suffice to
say that the origins were lost in the mists of legend.  But the key to this
talisman was that it held all the combined power of the people.  That's where
their downfall was to come.
	"So Xel'eman, held by the Clan-Chief was the rallying symbol for the
people.  As long as it was present they would win their battles and live thier
lives in the usual felicity associated with such things.  Personally, I think
they placed too much faith in the weapon and not enough in their own
considerable skills.  Anyway, so the Lyorn existed for a thousand years or so. 
Until about six hundred years ago when the Sundered, or Shekiren, gained
control.
	"The daughter of the Clan-Chief, a beautiful woman named Euskaya,
decided she wanted to find out the secret of Xel'eman and why it had the powers
it did.  She coveted the power of the blade.  She was not satisfied with
possessing it, she had to take control of it and have its powers for herself. 
So she began researching the mystic resources available but found no true
answer.  To be honest, she _did_ find the truth, because it was never hidden. 
But in her fervor, she overlooked it as trivial.  You see, Xel'eman only pools
the collective energy inherent in the Lyorn blood with the power of their
belief and converts that into the great force which defeated the enemies.  But
the silly wench couldn't understand that in her ignorance.  So she kept
looking.  
	"She finally decided it must be the work of a guiding spirit, and
delved into the ethereal realm.  Unfortunately for her and the rest of the
tribe, she was careless and was deceived by a malevolent force.  Her soul was
infused by the evil, and Euskaya became the tool of the dark force.  To shorten
the tale: Euskaya had several followers whom she infected with the evil.  This
was how the Shekiren came to be.  They are the corrupted Lyorns of the ancient
tribe.  Euskaya took possession of the blade from her father and set about
bending the whole tribe to her domination.  Now naturally, the very nature of
the clans cried out against that, so unwilling to submit to her tyranny, they
fought back.  But they had little hope of success because she had the celestial
blade.
	"I know this will sound very silly, but your ancestors could be silly
people at times.  In the struggle that followed, the Lyorn were decimated by
their own powers for the simple reason they couldn't shake their faith in the
celestial blade.  So their best weapon was used against them.  The battle did
not go well, Euskaya and her servants tried to enslave the clans, and the clans
would die to prevent that from happening.
	"At the time I was a friend to one of the clansmen.  I was an aspiring
warlock who fancied himself the equal of Euskaya!  Ha!  In the council of war,
I pledged my support to the Lyorn tribe.  In similar likeness to Xel'eman, I
crafted another blade into which I put every protective spell I could think of. 
And then I did the most important and dangerous part of the work.  With the aid
of my Lyorn friend, I stole into the Keep where Euskaya kept the celestial
blade.  In a powerful enchantment, I bound the two blades together and tried to
transfer the soul of Xel'eman to the new talisman.  Only I didn't quite get it
correct.  The new talisman took on the same characteristics as the celestial
blade, but it did not drain it of power.  It became an equal source of strenght
but bound to the celestial blade at the primordial level.  It was irrevocably
paired to Xel'eman.  
	"I then had to also bind it to the Lyorn blood of my friend to preserve
its identity as a separate entity, otherwise Euskaya could have controlled it
as well.  And so Xel'ha was forged.  It burned with the heat of the Lyorn
blood, forever linked to the race and to my friend's clan i particular.  For
myself, I had been linked in the same way to the celestial blade and doomed to
submit my strength to Euskaya's evil purpose.
	"As to the Lyorn people, they had been almost destroyed in the
struggle.  The power of Xel'ha was not strong enough with the people scattered. 
So Euskaya defeated the Lyorn tribe with their own talisman, forcing the
survivors to flee lest they be singly hunted down and destroyed.
	"In desperation, the remaining members of the clans gathered one last
time before scattering to the four winds.  An augury was cast to determine the
future course of events.  We learned of the prophecy to restore the Lyorn and
the coming of the new age.  In one child of the Lyorn people would descend the
heritage of the old tribe.  This Lastblood of the people was instrumental in
the grand design.  But to aid the Lastblood, to a second child would come all
the hope of the future generations of Lyorn.  This was to be the Youngblood. 
The reasons for the duplicity were obscure, but I think it had something to do
with the fact that there were now two swords of power where there had only been
one.  You'd have to ask to present duan for the exact reason.  Only the
star-eyed can understand all of it. 
	"Anyway... between the two it says the Sundered line will be defeated,
and the celestial blade recovered.  Then the two representatives of the ages
together with the two talismans will restore the Lyorn to their heritage.  In
order to preserve the bloods, the handful of clan families remaining fled to
all parts of Nexus to await the coming of Nilsangehir, the Lastblood, and
Chiyasangehir, the Youngblood."
	The old man coughed long, his throat parched by the long story.  He
reached for the wine jug on a nearby table.  Taking a long draught, the
wretched form slumped in exhaustion.  Aleric sat transfixed by the remarkable
tale of his heritage; the fire beside them dying to embers, long forgotten.
	"And you?  You have been serving the Shekiren all this time?" Aleric
asked incredulously.
	"Not serving, precisely.  More like fueling," he corrected.  "I have
seen many horrors in six hundred years, but I never take active service in
anything.  Still linked to Xel'eman.  So tired.  But I can't die until released
from the bond.  And such a burden it is..."  The old man trailed off, staring
out the window at the evening stars.
	"In all this time the Shekiren must have gotten very strong,"  Aleric
mused.  "They could have spread far by now."
	"Not at all... You forget they are the corrupted Lyorns.  Only a few
are they," the man whispered conspiratorally.  He beckoned Aleric to lean
forward, then in a low voice continued, "Only as many as they started with. 
Euskaya and her ten followers.  But they have changed over the centuries.  The
evil that feeds from their bodies has altered them.  Little more than hollow
shells of evil now.  The followers don't even look precisely human any more. 
No one has seen Euskaya in over two hundred years, so who knows what she looks
like now."  The old warlock nodded to himself in satisfaction.  
	Aleric sat pensively for a long time running through the information in
his head.  There were many very obvious blanks in the warlock's story.  For
one, Euskaya's part didn't fit in very well to the rest of the tale.  There had
to be more to the tale that the man wasn't saying.  And exactly how did the
Shekiren decimate the Lyorn tribe even with soem mystical weapon.  There were
only eleven of them for the gods' sakes against how many Lyorn?  Plus the
questions of Xel'ha.  Wasn't it crafted specifically to defeat its counterpart? 
And why was it necessary to bind the blade to the blood of the people.  What
identity could possibly need conserving in a bit of forged steel?
	Over his shoulder Aleric reached for the hilt of the great blade.  It
pulled forth with a steely rasp.  Balancing it on two palms, Aleric held Xel'ha
up to the firelight to inspect it.  AS familiar as he was with the sword, its
craftmanship and design suddenly took on an alien aspect.
	The metal was a truly fine piece of steel with a feather sharp edge
that never seemed to dull.  The hilt and crosspiece were intricately wrought
and etched with the image of flames twining around the inscription in a foreign
tongue Aleric could only assume was ancient Lyornae.  The steel hilt was
embellished by a fine wash of bronze that brought the flames to life, making
the sword seem to flicker in the changing firelight.  Despite its immense size,
it had no more weight to it than an ordinary blade.  Although, Aleric had
noticed in times past that this last effect was only for his family.  Others
had tried to lift the blade in the pst but had been unable to wield its
tremendous weight.
	"Alright.  So how did I come into possession of Xel'ha?  Or rather, my
family I suppose," Aleric asked.  "I would assume any number of the Lyorn could
use it."
	The warlock nodded.  "Use it, yes.  As in an ordinary weapon.  But it
remained in the possession to the mystic woman, or duana, who cast the augury. 
Xel'ha had to remain safe to Nilsangehir.  If Euskaya ever got hold of it our
last hope would be gone."
	The old eyes glittered in the blackness before him.  Aleric could only
distinguish the lines of the warlock's face that were illuminated by the embers
of the fire.  As if suddenly noticing the darkness, the old warlock commanded
Aleric to fetch some wood from the pile of tangled branches in the corner and
build up the fire.  Aleric did so and settle back to hear the rest of the old
man's explanation.
	"Now the duana Rialeth knew she had to keep track of the lines
descended from the survivors.  So she began her travels during which she
visited each newborn babe before the naming.  She would attempt to foresee the
child's future, and she would give the mothe one of the child's names.  That
name was never used or known to any but Rialeth and the mother and child.  But
a contraction was used to signify its presence."
	"But what did she do with Xel'ha?" Aleric interrupted.  "Did she die
and pass it on?"
	"Keep your mouth closed and you might find out," the wizard reproached
sharply.  He scowled fiercely.
	"There came a time when Rialeth became too old to travel much longer. 
She needed to find a successor.  She she returned to one of the women whose
child was named as a star-eyed.  To that new child she entrusted Xel'ha and
instructions for his new duty as a duan.  And so she passed her duties to
Melagro who continued the search for the Lastblood as the new duan.
	"Since the surviving Lyorn had been few, the task was not great ad
actually was getting easier.  In the absence of tribal unity the number of true
blooded Lyorn was diminishing.  When Melagro passed his charge on there were
only four of the seven great clans remaining, the other three having died out
entirely.  So it was deemed best to leave Xel'ha in the care of one clan, and
passed from father to son.  That clan happened to be that of the Wolf.  Yours,
in fact, because it was linked to your Bloodline.  
	"Oh yes, I have kept track of the sword's progress and that of the
clans.  One is on the verge of extinction, while the last member of another
passed from the land only fifty years ago.  The final two are reduced to only a
few families."  He reached for his pipe on the table and began packing it with
shredded leaf.  
	"However it happened, Xel'ha made its way to you.  And though I don't
even know your given name, I can see by the sword's reaction to you that you
are the Lastblood."
	"What reaction?  It looks the same it always has to me."
	"That's because that's all you've ever known it to be.  Look at the way
it flickers.  And is it not warm to the touch?  When I held it, it was cold,"
he replied knowingly.  The warlock took a pair of tongs and lifted an ember
from the hearth.  After using it to light his pipe he dropped it back in the
fire.  Aleric noticed none of this because he was contemplating his sword.  It
did flicker slightly, but Aleric attributed that to the play of light from the
fire.  And yes, the sword did feel warm, but it was warm in the room.  No real
proof.  He'd never really paid much attention to the details so he couldn't say
for certain if they existed in the past.
	"Who are you?" Aleric asked slowly, glancing up at the dried form
before him. 
	"Not that it really matters who I am, but my name is Tevore.  Or was a
long time ago," he answered softly.  "And your given name is...?"
	"Aleric n'hir Lyorn."
	"N'hir.  You do know the full name don't you?"
	Aleric did not answer immediately.  He knew it of course, but he wasn't
sure he was ready to lend all credence to Tevore's history.  The old man was
leaning forward intently watching for a reaction.  If Aleric were to admit it,
his name would surely convince the old wizard beyond all recall and commit him
to Tevore's goal.
	"Do you?" Tevore asked again, eyes glittering in the shadows of the
overhanging brow.
	"Yes."
	"Say it.  You must believe in it."
	"Nilsangehir."
	"Yes, Aleric, Lastblood of Lyorn."  There was an exultant ring in the
querulous old voice.  "You are the hope of your people.  Nilsangehir."
	Aleric closed his eyes.  The sound of his hidden name addressing him
for the first time resounded in his mind like a key fitting a lock. 
Nilsangehir.  Lastblood.  Unconsciously his hands, still balancing Xel'ha,
closed over the blade.  They were not cut, but a peculiar vibration shook the
sword under his palms.  The metal grew warmer under his touch.  Aelric opened
his eyes to see Xel'ha finally come alive with his birthright.  A faint nimbus
glowed amber around the blade and the engraved flames actually danced on the
hilt.  The glyphs the flames surrounded shone in sharp relief against the hilt. 
	For good or ill, Aleric Lastblood of Lyorn was committed.



-- 
Heather Sexauer
Muskingum College
hsexauer@muskingum.edu

	"If you can't ignore an insult, top it;
	 if you can't top it; laugh it off;
	 if you can't laugh it off, you probably deserve it."
				-- Russell Lynes