Mitchellx's Story
As Mitch walked to the door, the visitor grew silent. Brother Rukath explained that the man had a message for one of the monks but couldn't say which monk it was. He went on to explain that the message was urgent and private. Before Brother Rukath could continue, Mitchellx told the stranger, "I believe I am the one you are looking for." The man nodded, and the two walked off to speak in private atop the Spire.
"What memory have you of your life before this place?"
"I have none."
"Yes, that is to be expected after what you've been through."
"I do not understand..."
"Your mother, Aranasia, was a servant to the Sun Child in her youth. Most thought her quite beautiful...the kind of beauty that shone from the inside. As she grew older, however, she sought to do more to aid those in this land. As she walked the land, many came to know her as a saint. She was loved by all who met her, and she caught the eye of many would-be suitors. Unfortunately, one who became entranced by her beauty was Grimfar, a greater demon of darkness.
"Although your mother was strong of heart, she was not strong enough to fend off Grimfar's attack. After the assault, she wondered across the land for many days before finding the village of her father. Sadly, her family had been slain by demons, and she had not the strength to return to Devardec. Many moons after her return home, you were born.
"Perhaps Grimfar hoped to destroy her spirit with his attack, but your arrival gave her great joy. This is not to say you were an easy child to raise. In fact, you were an extremely difficult child. But your mother always stood beside you and helped you to control your darker nature.
"On your eighteenth birthday, your father appeared to claim you. Having never heard of him or his attack on your mother, you became enraged and leapt upon him. As your anger grew, we could all see that Grimfar's smile belied an underlying fear. Nevertheless, he easily thrust you across the room and, having become quite enraged himself, advanced on you with pure hatred in his eyes.
"We all feared your death was imminent, but your mother intervened. In the years since your birth, she had become strong enough to confront Grimfar. They fought for many hours to no avail...neither could gain the advantage. After a heated exchange, it was agreed that you would be left to choose your own path. In exchange for stripping you of your memories, your mother was able to ensure that you would be left near the castle of her former master, the Sun Child.
"Grimfar was convinced that, without memory of your mother's teaching and love, your darker nature would ultimately lead you to his way. Your mother hoped that, even without distinct memories of your youth, her influence through the years would lead you to choose the path of light. It appears that she was right.
Filled with emotion, Mitchellx asked the man if he could take him to his mother. Having sought the truth of his existence for so long, the thought of finally seeing his mother's face was more than he could stand.
"Sadly, I cannot take you to her. Your mother, my sister, passed away last year. In the time since, the family has been searching throughout the land for you. When I saw you, I knew immediately that I'd found you, my nephew.
"I wish I could tell you I am simply here to reunite you with your family, but I cannot. Your father is a very evil creature, and we believe he will now seek to break the agreement he honored while your mother was alive. Both kept a close eye on your progress in the land, and your mother was able to make certain he stayed away from you while she lived. Now there is no telling what he intends to do."
Mitchellx acknowledged the warning and tries to learn more of his homeland and family. His uncle promised to tell him all he wishes to know the following day, but asks if it can wait until then as he is tired from his travels and needs to rest. Mitch reluctantly agreed, and the two settled down for the night.
The next morning, Mitchellx awoke to find he was alone. He searched around and found no sign of his uncle, save for a small pool of blood on the floor.
The unbearable darkness seems endless, eternal. The only clear sign this is not some cosmic void is the sound of a nearby figure feebly searching for some scrap of food or other sign of compassion. Hopeless as the search may be, hope nevertheless remains.
But wait. Through the darkness and despair a small, faint light shines. Of the many prisoners, most advance eager to once again feel and see the light. Others flee to the darkest corners of the prison, having long ago lost all ability to tolerate the light.
Yes, it is a fire! Here! At its foot sits a large elderly figure, worn by the ravages of time and duty. Lost in the images that flicker in the fire. A ruse all but complete. His father sitting in his chair, plotting the demise of all he has built. The figure lowers his hooded head in deep meditation.
The father, sensing his son's journey to the spiritual plane, quickly slips out of his mortal form and joins him.
It is in this instance that he, after the years of fighting and hope to see his son destroyed, feels an odd sense of pride in the boy. He sees the spirit floating aimlessly, searching for something...lost in despair and the hopelessness of his situation. "He has grown strong and become a leader of men," he thinks, "but too bad his life has been wasted in service to others." How strong he might have been had he followed his father...
"Come my minions."
The spirit feels an uncomfortable stare upon it as it searches for the answer. And there, in the distance, he spots the source of the stare...his mother, whose death long ago still wears upon him to this day. He walks slowly toward her, careful not to lose the illusion in his haste. Careful not to give himself away.
"Come my minions!"
Slowly, a crowd forms within the prison around the figure and his wondrous fire. All stand enraptured by the scene within, an image of a son and his treacherous father. Each taking delight in their part in the spectacle. And still the crowd grows.
"Come my Minions! Come to Freedom!"
The two spirits come together in a powerful embrace. The son not wishing to let go of his mother. The father, securing a death hold on his son.
"NOW!"
A sharp jolt runs through the son's spirit form as the vile creatures below claw and tear into his mortal form. Blood flows around the fire freely as the dark prisoners unleash their hatred and rage upon the defenseless man. Alas, his last remains, still grasping for life, are thrown onto the fire, consumed by the very light that he created.
"NOOO!"
The recognition comes too late for the father. His son doesn't struggle but instead holds on tighter than before. Though each claw, each lick of the flames, fill the son with pain, he has grown strong. Strong enough to withstand great pain. Strong enough to hold his father here where he can do no harm.
"STOP!!!"
The creatures try in vain to salvage the flaming carcass from the fire. But the magical flame is too strong, its burns too deep for hope to linger.
Mitchellx's spirit whispers to his father, "We have a lot of catching up to do. But it seems we have an eternity to do it."
Grimfar and the Monks
History tells us that the Ancient Elders developed the martial arts out of necessity. There was a time when the guild was a humble place of worship; a place where followers of all the forces of creation could come together to share their respective faiths with the common goal of celebrating the world around them. Alas, each member alone was incapable of surviving with the raw combat, magic or evasion skills they developed within their spheres of worship. Thus, they worked together, learning from and teaching each other, to develop the martial arts.
These Ancients, it is said, grew so powerful that the mere presence of a monk struck fear in the very soul of all who meant harm to the land. Some were even said to walk freely among the different planes of reality; even speaking with the dead and crushing foes from within their own minds.
Yet the Elders were nonetheless mortal, and they held mortal flaws. Some could only see the good in others. Still others were so enraptured with their own growth in The Way that they neglected to follow their students' progress and guide them properly.
It was in this environment that a young monk named Grimfar learned of The Way. He was a menacing figure to behold, and yet he inspired confidence, faith, and even love in all who knew him. Legend has it that no monk before or since could match his natural attunement with the forces of being. No monk, it is said, held such mastery over both the spiritual and physical realms.
As he grew in power, he also grew in position within the guild. He became a trusted advisor to the Guild Council and earned the distinction of High Father. Some Elders grew to despise him for his rapid rise within the guild. Others seemed all too willing to make excuses for his often erratic behavior. None could have suspected the intentions he concealed within.
In those times, many were attuned with The Way, but none dared delve too deeply into the darker paths. Grimfar, once again, was the exception. From a very early age, he studied the dark arts in private and became fascinated with them. Legend has it that he grew so quickly, in part, because he used the dark arts to capture the power and spiritual forces of his foes and use them to his own ends.
With each spirit he took into his own, however, his own soul became darker and more obsessed with power. As he became stronger in the dark arts, he found the souls of those he fought insufficient to quench his thirst for power. As his mind grew more and more clouded by the darkness, he turned on his masters.
One by one, he murdered the Elders of the guild as they roamed the land. It is said that his power grew so much from these attacks that he could kill all but the strongest mortals with but a single glance. The Elders, knowing that a powerful force was preying upon them, set a trap for their unknown foe. Little did they know that their foe was also the one they went to for advice.
The youngest monks were sent away to a hidden temple as the Elders set their trap. The High Master struck out on his own as the others followed in the shadows. Grimfar remained behind in form, but left his body in search of an appropriate physical form to draw out the elders. He possessed a wandering giant and used his mental powers to amass a small army in the mountains. As the High Master approached, the army attacked. Wave after wave of foes fell at the Master's feet until the Giant appeared. Unlike any giant before, he met the High Master blow for blow until gaining the upper hand. Elders leapt out from the shadows and attacked. A powerful blast from the Giant's chest sent the entire group crashing into the side of the mountain or plunging to the depths below.
Yet one monk, a young and impetuous student who'd followed his masters against their command, had remained in hiding. As the Giant raised his powerful fist to crush the High Master, this monk leapt from the shadows and plunged his Katana into its skull. The mortal form of the Giant collapsed to the ground, and a shrieking spirit fled over the forest.
Those Elders who could warned those remaining behind what they'd seen. The Master of the Scrolls, who'd stayed behind to guard the guild, saw Grimfar's mortal form in a meditative state and approached him to draw him back. Just then, he watched in horror as the shrieking spirit form re-entered Grimfar's body. His last act on this plane was to shout out, "GRIMFAR! GRIMFAR IS THE SPIRIT!"
From there, the scrolls tell nothing of what transpired. All that is known is that a powerful explosion rocked the land, and the young monks returned to find the smoking ashes of their guild. No sign of the Elders or Grimfar was ever found.
It is from these young monks that the guild was reborn. They followed the paths set by their masters, though they did so with great caution. Perhaps the power once held by the Ancients will never fully be regained. But then again, perhaps this is for the best.
More to come...
A New Beginning
Humility and caution. The lessons not learned often prove to be the most important, and such was the case with Grimfar. Power had come far before humility had a chance to take hold. Mistakes had never been much of a problem as he could always cover them, so he never had much use for caution.
The past was a blur. Much that he knew of the land and its ways had been lost. He stumbled about the dark void in which he awoke with no clear direction. All that remained was the hate.
Yet he had grown so accustomed to travel as a spirit that it had become second nature. Though he did not know how he did it, he could leave the void in this form and travel the lands freely. Whatever magic had imprisoned him in the void left his spirit unhindered. This was its only flaw.
Grimfar grew more and more as a spirit, ultimately regaining the ability to possess others for a period of time. Still, it drained him to do so. Each forced return to the void only intensified his desire to regain his former power. Each return strengthened his hatred for the guild he blamed for its loss.
On one of these possessions, he thrust himself upon a spiritually strong shaman. He was enraptured by her, as all were, but he also secretly hoped that a child born of their union would be the key to his release.
His plans, however, did not unfold as he wished. This child grew into a man who turned his back on Grimfar at every turn and, to make matters worse, joined the very guild that had imprisoned him so long ago.
As his son grew in stature, Grimfar tried to possess his mortal form and force his hand in destroying the guild. But the boy, with the aid of Alvogyl, proved far too strong-willed to be so easily taken. He attempted to lure the young monk with promises of power and gold, but his son found such pursuits unbecoming. At every turn, his son proved more and more to be the embodiment of all that he hated about the Monks.
Ultimately, he felt this child, his son, to be more a threat to his plans than a potential source of liberation or revenge. Grimfar knew he had to kill his son or risk his own destruction. And so, he hatched the plan to murder his oldest son, Mitchellx.
Grimfar possessed the Troll King and forged alliances with others he'd once considered far beneath him. Together, they kidnapped various members of the guild and sent their demands...one for the members of the guild, and one private demand to the new guildmaster, Mitchellx.
Mitch read the demand, an odd one to have come from the Troll King -- an exchange of Mitchellx for the lives of those held by the king. Mitch destroyed the note and went alone, all the while knowing much more was at hand than a feeble effort to bribe the guild of a small amount of treasure.
No foes stood in his way as he advanced to the king's throne. There the king sat alone, staring intently at the now aging monk for any sign of recognition. With but a gesture from the king, a sphere of darkness surrounded Mitchellx. As it faded into the light, his mortal form slumped to the floor.
Grimfar's spirit rose from the king and claimed the lifeless body on the floor. Grimfar was now, to all who saw him, Mitchellx.
The End
Grimfar grew weary of life as Mitchellx quickly. He could not afford to reveal himself, and yet he could not resist striking fear in the hearts of the guild's members through subtle hints of his presence. As long as Mitch held his body, Grimfar knew his son could regain his strength sufficiently to reclaim his own. No, he could not fully exact his revenge until he had crushed his son on the spirit plane. For that, he would have to wait until Mitch chose to leave Grimfar's own mortal form.
Even far from the void, Grimfar controlled the minds of those who found themselves captives there. With their eyes, he watched his son walk about the darkness aimlessly, waiting for any sign Mitch might return to the spiritual plane. Clever boy, he thought, to take refuge in the one vessel in all of creation that might allow him to regain strength.
As the days rolled on, Grimfar grew more and more weary of the pathetic life his son had chosen. Yet Mitch simply sat staring into the heart of a magical fire he'd created within the void. All the while, he sensed his son regaining his strength. Still he knew his son could not risk leaving the guild under his control for too long. Yes, he would rush to reclaim his proper form, and then Grimfar knew his son would be powerless against his strength.
Without warning, the body before the fire slumped, cold and lifeless. Grimfar leapt upon his son's spirit without a second thought. His plan was simple. He knew that a mortal whose form was possessed in this fashion could only survive by claiming that of his possessor or reclaiming his own form. By destroying his own mortal form and claiming his son's, Grimfar knew that he would condemn his son's spirit to the underworld...stripping him of the ability to challenge the plans Grimfar had for the guild and the land.
Grimfar held his son's spirit and commanded the foul creatures in the prison to destroy his own mortal form. He held Mitch's spirit firm to prevent it from returning to the body and laying waste to those who attacked. As he watched the body torn to pieces, he sensed that, finally, his long awaited victory would be complete.
Had he learned caution, perhaps he would have been concerned that he was the hunted instead of the hunter. Had he learned humility, perhaps it would have crossed his mind that his son had grown more adept than he at the spiritual arts.
Mitch knew that his spirit had grown much stronger than Grimfar could have realized. He'd allowed his spirit to be separated from his body by the dark sphere to convince Grimfar of his superior spiritual strength and to conserve his own energy for the final battle. Drawing on this energy, he clutched his father's spirit just as the point of no return approached.
Grimfar felt a surge of power the likes of which he'd never sensed in another mortal before as it penetrated the very heart of his being. He tried to flee, but he found his son's grip far too strong for him to break. He screamed in horror for the foul creatures of the void to stop, but it was too late.
There, on the spirit plane, time stood still as Grimfar and his son remained locked in an unyielding embrace. Those who watched the embrace would have said it lasted but a moment, but for Grimfar and his son it stretched on for an eternity.
Their souls intertwined, Mitchellx read his father's thoughts and memories, even those his father could not himself recall. It was there that Mitch learned of his father's defeat at the hands of the Ancients. It was there he learned that they sacrificed themselves and all their understanding of The Way to save the land. In this final act, they had redeemed themselves for losing sight of their purpose and their responsibility to the land.
Slowly, Grimfar's spirit grew weak from his efforts to escape. The hatred that had both consumed and fueled him all these years finally gave way in the face of the Light his son held within. With a burst of spiritual energy, Mitch released his grasp and reclaimed his own mortal form...sending his father to the dark underworld for all eternity.
More to come...
Freedom and Denial
Mitchellx awoke, slumped over his desk and barely capable of raising himself from it. Though the weight of his father's constant threat was lifted, the price of deliverance had been much more than he anticipated. In the embrace which sealed his father's fate something had happened to him; something so distant from his own reality that it left him feeling ill, anguished and alienated from all around him. He had seen his father, himself, and even The Way itself for what they were, and nothing could have prepared him for the overpowering confusion that ensued.
His life, his goals, even his pursuit of The Way seemed devoid of reason in the face of this reality. Nothing was what it seemed, and yet it all fell into place nonetheless. The Way no longer a promise down some path, but an endless series of crossroads with possibilities far greater than he could have imagined. And yet here he sat, confined within his office and position with no exit, no means of escape that would make sense to the rest. Besides, there was a certain comfort in turning his back on recent events; a comfort in erasing all that he had seen from his mind.
But how could anyone turn their back on something such as this? The trappings of his existence were convenient and comfortable, but weren't those the same trappings which lured the Ancients to their end? And what of the others...those Elders whose names and faces he'd seen in Grimfar's memories who had gone mad? Had they once confronted the same freedom and chosen madness over comfort? Perhaps it had been this very madness that drove Grimfar to his end as well? No, no, that could not be it.
Like so many times before when faced with doubt, he traveled to the spire and sat in silence...awaiting direction from the Lord of Light. One day passed, and then another, but still no sign of Alvogyl was to be found. Despair turned to anger, anger to rage, and rage to ultimate acceptance of the truth that this was his choice...a choice not dictated by fate or divine intervention, but one that was his by birth.
Mitchellx left without a word. Rumors of his death spread through the guild as messengers told of his demise at the hand of Grimfar. Others claimed to have seen him call upon the void and vanish within. No matter how they came to pass, it was clear that Mitch may never return. In truth, he likely did not intend to walk the lands again. But time and contemplation of the events which had unfolded ultimately brought him back.
Some would say that upon his return he was changed. Others went so far as to consider him utterly mad as the result of some unknown revelation. When asked, however, he would say that he saw clearly for the first time. To all, however, it appeared that he had discovered his own path...a path which found pleasure in embracing the unlimited possibilities of being.