Nicholas, Jacqueline, and Tyr
At the fireside with Yaqib Mustafa Sul-Azir, Eshu
"Pass that jug of spiced wine, my friend. I must have a sip of something before I
begin. This tale is something grand, and it would not do for its teller to rasp
through parched lips."Two years ago, in the Kingdom of Apples, far east of here, a great darkness
was stirring in the land..."What's that? You've heard this? Who is telling this story, friend? Have you
heard what came after? No? Then perhaps you should sit and bide silent and see
where the story takes you."Yes, at the end of it all, as you have no doubt heard, the bold and fearless
Cassidy, whom, I am told, was as a paragon of Common virtue and a valiant
soldier for his people, won his battle with the Dragon and thereafter vanished
unto memory. Now and again, I hear that he has been sighted by a young
slaugh, or that he is responsible for carrying off an unjust sidhe from his
decadent bed, but our tale is no longer his."You see, the serpent in the garden, the betrayer of the Common cause, a Satyr
named Nicholas Riley, or, perhaps more appropriately, Sir Nicholas the Black, ap
Balor, absconded when his dread liege, the Dragon, Odunęrodón the Foul,
whom the childlings of Queen Mab's realm call Ouchytooth, fell that day. A
coward and a traitor to all, he fled the righteous wrath of the freehold, seeking
safety on long and lonely roads. But the surcease of the open sky was not to be his.
"Jacqueline ap Eiluned, a lady of the Sidhe, and Tyr, stalwart warrior of Trollish
stock, swore that very night the Oath of Crossed Blades upon Traitor Nicholas,
and did vow to hunt him unto the ends of the Earth and beyond to reap a
bloody vengeance for the hurts he had caused. I am told the Satyr smiled when
he heard of it."The road hardened all three. Nicholas' heart became blacker and colder, his lust
for villainy (which, to begin with, far outstripped his lust for wine, women, and
song) grew tenfold by the day. Tyr, whose Unseelie nature had been shorn
from him by Duke Brendan's maddened abuse of his ancient arts of Names,
found that grim, yet welcome, temper once more descending to settle upon his
troubled brow. Jacqueline, outcast among her House, found the strength that lay
waiting, undiscovered, upon untrodden paths. Indeed, to hear it told, all three
gained something of value during that journey."Of what shall I speak? Of the Balefire Nicholas stole from the Freehold of
Golden Dreams, the same fire with which he set ablaze the Dreaming's forest for
miles around, throwing his pursuers from his trail? Of the Satyr's mad flight
from the Silver Path, into the darkness beyond, when his leg was nearly rent
from his body by the Troll's mighty blade? (I hear that Nicholas' journeys into
that darkness were both fearful and revelatory, but you would have to ask him
yourself...) Perhaps you'd like to hear of how Jacqueline sent her companion, the
ferret, Puck, to filch the keys to Nicholas' Great Death Machine (crafted, of
course, by the Shadow Court's finest Goblin smiths) and so saved the inhabitants
of the impoverished but noble Barony of Pines? I could tell you of such vile
treachery, lofty heroism, great adventure, and elaborate dreams, for these tales have
spread far and wide, and the Dreaming is the better for it…"But our time here is short, friend, for I must be off with the dawning sun, And,
I can see that you are anxious to hear how the story ends."One year and one day after the swearing of the Oath, after a chase that betimes
led the Sidhe and the Troll into deadly traps, dangerous quests, and forsaken
paths, and which betimes left the Satyr dashing away, bloodied and alone, into
the darkness he had come to know so well, the three came face-to-face once more.
"Ah! To have been there! What a grand sight it must have been! The rain
assaulted the dark forest in waves, drenching the Earth. Lightning tore the sky
asunder, lancing through the great thunderheads above in brilliant hues of
purple, blue, and white. The wind raised its voice in a terrible keening, like the
Bean Sidhe itself, yet not so loudly that it could drown out the words that passed
between the three..."'Vengeance,' spoke the Troll, 'Vengeance for your betrayal. I will have blood
for your crimes.' His sword mirrored the flash of a bolt from above just then,
reflecting dimly across Nicholas' shadowed eyes."'Of what do you accuse me?' the Satyr questioned, 'Of crushing a weak Duke
with his own hubris? Of slaughtering those Sons of Adam who have failed to
give up their rightful tithe of dreams? Of loosing the Dragon and breathing new
life into a dying Dream? Of what am I guilty?'"The lady of the Sidhe watched impassively as Tyr replied, 'Of the treachery that
laid low our closest friend. Of the lies you spoke from your ashen heart. Of your
kinship with the Shadows. Of the thousand villainies you have wrought across
the land to spare your own worthless hide. That is what I accuse you of.'"'And,' Jacqueline added, ‘For the Oath we have sworn, now we are here to end
you, Nicholas...'"At that, the Satyr hissed, 'Very well, then,' a smile spreading like a bloodstain
across his haggard features, 'Death it is.'"Thunder rocked the land as Nicholas grasped their naked blades and thrust
himself upon them, betraying them even to the last. As his life seeped out,
between his lips, falling to become lost in the great sea of watery mud below,
Nicholas gasped, 'Know you what manner of place this is?'"A terrible sound arose from the wood then. A score and more of voices raised
madly in wickedness pealed like the crashing of a wave. Eyes lit the voids
between the high trees. Gutteral whispers promised unspeakable torment."'Welcome,' Nicholas managed to murmur, 'to Nightmare's Crossing, Freehold
of the Shadow Court. I'm sure my brothers will have many great surprises in
store for you...'"The Satyr fell then, facedown, in the murky pool beneath his hooves, sinking
into the mud like a shadow made of blood and lies. A fierce horde struck from
the darkness, driving back the Troll and the Sidhe. Tyr bellowed, 'I'll not go till
I've looked into his lifeless eyes to see that he burns in hell!' And yet he knew
that the Dream had spoken, for the kiss of Glamour welled up in his soul and the
iron hand of Banality gripped him."'We must retreat, Tyr!', the Lady cried. 'We are outnumbered, and the Oath
is fulfilled! We must lose this battle, but the day is ours! Let's GO!'"She wove a spell then, frantically and against hope, seeking the Silver Path
and escape from the vicious mob that assailed her. Fortune smiled, for the
powerful freehold concealed many trods and her small skill was just enough to
unveil one. As she stepped back, defensively, onto the Path, Tyr wrenched
himself away from the grasping hands of a pair of Ogres, stumbling upon a
gnarled root and shouldering into Jacqueline."As they stood on the cusp between worlds, a Sidhe sorcerer, an Ailil, if memory
serves, gathered a lance of living flame in his hands. His smile was poison in the
reddish light. Just as Tyr tensed to charge him, Jacqueline sealed the gate, in all
likelihood saving both of their lives. Nonetheless, even through the sealing gate,
Tyr's rage was heard for leagues around."At least, that is what I am told...
"As to whither the two went from there, I cannot say, for he who relayed the
tale unto me knew not. Who told me? Perhaps you mean to seek him out
yourself and hear the story from his lips, then? Very well. He concealed himself
with a ragged cloak and his voice was a breathless rasp, full of equal measures of
venom and mirth. He shared a fire with me that night, and a jug of wine, much
like ourselves tonight."Who do I think he was? Who can say, my friend. Why did I believe him?
Friend, the truth of the tale is in the telling. How does it matter what the truth is;
this tale, true or no, has seen us through to the dawn."And now, good sir, I fear I must take my leave of you. There are other fires to
share and stories to trade. Perhaps you'll meet him who gave me this story. If
you do, ask if he's any new yarns to spin. I should like to hear them if ever we
cross ways again…"
Story by Steve DiPesa, with Trish Petinatti and Scott Coutcher.
Back to the New Angle
House Balor device copyright White Wolf, Inc. Used by permission.