It has been my most unfortunate lot in life to be subject to inflammation beyond measure with the most lofty and noble of loves, far loftier and nobler of loves than what would be considered proper in a person of my status and position.  And while it has been my experience that those who learn of it—people perhaps of good judgment and wisdom—have praised me or held me in higher esteem; nevertheless, it has been exceedingly difficult for me to endure.

It was for love that I left the calling of the priesthood.  It was for love that I became a knight and subsequently a Raven.  It was for love that I now find myself in my current condition.  In fact, it may be safe to say that the greatest errs of my life, and the greatest hardships I have had to endure, have been due to my love for one particular woman.

I must add, of course, that these difficulties were not due to the cruelties of the object of my love.  Quite the contrary in fact, for it is my belief that she would have both welcomed and reciprocated any advances on my part.  No, in truth, the pain was solely by my faults—on my inability to see beyond the trappings of my office—and upon the immoderate passions fueled by the fervor of my conflicted heart.

All things told, I have endured a considerable amount of distress as a result of my love, but gratefully, God has decreed that all earthly things should and must eventually come to an end, and love is no exception.  And so it has come to pass that my love, whose warmth in its time exceeded all others, and which had endured all the pressures of advice, counsel, and good intentions, has likewise diminished of its own accord.  All that remains to me in my mind is the delectable feeling love continually reserves for those who habitually refrain from venturing too far upon its deepest waters.  What was once a source of pain has since transformed, shedding all discomfort, into an abiding sensation of pleasure.

Patience, my friends, for there is purpose to these ramblings, for while the pain of my love has ceased—and with it, the memory of that pain—I can still recall the kindnesses of those who showed concern for my condition.  It is perhaps a new truth revealed to me that friends and comrades remain even as lovers depart.  And so, unlike the memory of my pain, the memory of their fidelity I think shall not fade.  It shall remain with me, just as the lasting effects of its originating good-will.  And as a cause of it, it has become my conviction that the virtue of gratitude, of all the virtues, should be most highly commended and its opposite condemned.

So I have resolved to call upon whatever wanting talents I may possess to make restitution for all that I have received through that kindness.  Such aid may manifest in the strength of my arm, the solace of my God, the wisdom of my experience, and the comfort of my heart.  This I offer, not so much to those who helped me before (as I hope they would have the good sense or good fortune as to make such aid superfluous) but to all others who might have need of them.

And who would deny that such aid, however small and insignificant, should not be offered to the people and leadership of this stead?  Hard pressed on all sides and by all quarters, by enemies both hidden and known, perhaps in some small way, I can ease the difficulties suffered by Hardanger and its people?  May I warn against the dangers of a hidden enemy, for a hidden foe is far more potent than one that assaults in the daylight.  May I warn against the dangers of presenting only the image of piety, for structures built without substance are doomed to collapse from within.  May I warn against the ignorance of the past, for the lessons of your ancestors are foreshadows of the future.  And may I warn against the harboring of hatred in your hearts, for at the very least, a warrior who hates his foe is doomed to underestimate him.

In these matters, of course, I am sure the leadership of Hardanger, those learned and powerful men who are present now as well as those absent, are well-versed.  Then I merely speak towards those who are not quite as knowledgeable, those who shall remain unnamed lest they be embarrassed, as well as those ladies present, whose personal experiences or intellects may not have permitted them such simple enlightenment.

So forgive me if the lessons of my tale are obvious or widely known, and if they are, please consider my retelling of this tale as merely a diversion for the ladies, who may not be as worldly as you.

The tale I will tell was shared with me as I was seeking shelter during the alf-invoked White Wounds Plague that ravaged the province of Ventdômes, told to me by a man whose fame and breeding leaves no question as to its veracity.  I ask you not to request further details on his identity or the story’s veracity, as I am sworn by oath to their anonymity, but rest assured the nature of his occupation would leave no doubt in your minds as to the truth and wisdom of what I am about to tell.

In his tale, you will hear lessons of battle, prayers from the Certu, warnings of the future, and solace for the present.  Through these, may you learn to recognize what should be avoided and likewise what should be pursued, as these things can only lead, in my humble opinion, to the removal of Hardanger’s troubles.  If this should occur (and may God grant that it should), let you all give thanks to God, which, in freeing me from love’s bonds, has granted me the power of making provision for your enlightenment.

It is obvious that our lives—since they, like all temporal things, are transient and mortal—are filled and surrounded by troubles, trials, and tribulations and fraught with infinite dangers, which we could without a shadow of a doubt neither endure nor defend ourselves against if God’s special grace did not lend us strength and discernment.  In the times long ago—long before the Wars of Empty Horror and the destruction of Háimóþli—the troubles of the people were both mortal and terrifying.  My story begins at just such a time—much akin to our own—when another war against the race of beastmen you know as udyronde, known in my homeland as centaurs, wrought deadly havoc upon the land and its people, bringing near endless heartache and misery to those who witnessed or experienced it.  This war was fought far from here—some say it was ancient Ehre, some say EroBernd, some say distant Synes or elsewhere—but the lessons we can learn from it are just as valuable.

In the country hardest pressed by the centaurs, there was a king who possessed three enchanted castles of the highest quality.  Each guarding the passes into his kingdom, each ruled by one of his sons, they were all that stood in the way of the inhuman hordes.

The first stood within the great green expanses of the northern forests.  Endowed with the richest of stained and polished hardwoods, this palace was considered the most beautiful in all the world, richly appointed with all the furnishings and trappings suitable for any monarch of the highest order.  In times of war, it was considered one of the most impenetrable fortresses within the Tribe of Man, and no known army had ever occupied its lands for any period of time.  Formed by the very living trees of the woodland, no harm could ever come to its ever-growing walls.  Any breach, any chip or hole, was immediately sealed and healed by the living wood.  Within, it’s occupants enjoyed lives of unparalleled opulence and security.

It was from the north that the wolf-like invaders swarmed, in countless packs of unmatched numbers, and so they met with the castle of wood first.  The darkened forests echoed with their howls, and the populace fled within the protection of their keep’s walls.  These foul creatures, not brought up in any court or taught any modicum of manners or proper behavior, were raised on the dung heap of all the scum of Zå’s iniquities, and they preyed most harshly upon the unfortunates they captured.  Around and around the enceintes the shaggy beastmen stormed, ravenously yet vainly seeking purchase and weaknesses within the walls.  Wherever they attacked with their weapons, wherever they set their fires, the wood always healed itself before they could exploit the breach.  The defenders’ arrows took their toll among the udyronde, and it was not long before the fields around the castle were littered with countless dead.

From within the walls, the great Prince mocked the railing centaurs and the ineffectiveness of their costly efforts.  The hordes howled their frustrations to the night sky, while the men inside plied themselves with excellent wines and sweetmeats.  The music of their parties reached the ears of the invaders and further inflamed their savage anger.

The chieftain of the horde, a uniquely powerful and wily wolf-brother, quickly realized the futility of his efforts thus far, and yet he still drove his army fearlessly against the unyielding walls.  Every day, from dawn to dusk, he stood upon a distant hill and watched the battle waged before him.  From his place, he could see the glittering pennants flying from the proud towers.  He could see his armies swarm around the walls, attacking, retreating, dying.  He could see, from his vantage, how the lives of the soft humans within the walls continued unaffected, comfortable and carefree, as if his countless minions were of no threat at all.

Rage grew and stewed in his heart, for it was true, despite the matchless ferocity and power of his armies, life all around this castle continued almost as normal, and this was anathema to his feral spirit.  Women and children still frolicked in the streets.  Vendors still sold their wares.  Even the birds still sang without worry.

The birds, he began to watch with special care.  The simple, feathered things would fly from their nests in the thatch roofs of the human shelters each dawn, visiting to the forest to forage and sing, and returning to their homes each night.  Day after day, it was always the same, and seeing such behavior, a black yet brilliant plan formed in this cunning hunter’s heart.

At the end of that day, he gathered his strongest generals and marched before the gates of the city.  There he stood before the human Prince and made his demands.  He made assurances that this city will fall before his armies and that every citizen within shall soon be at his mercy.  To avoid the certain and terrible deaths he promised, he described the conditions for the city’s surrender:  Every man over the age of 15 must be executed.  Every man-child under the age of 10 must be executed.  One of every four females must be turned over to his army to satisfy their varied and disgusting pleasures.  The city is to be razed—no human-made structures would they suffer allow standing in his domains—no fires would be permitted, no adornments or clothing or tools or any other symbols of man’s arrogance over animals.  The remaining humans must survive naked beneath the night sky like the other of the beasts of the wild.  These were the centaurs’ demands, and should the men refuse, the warlord promised results that would be even more catastrophic.

Of course, the Prince laughed at these terms.  Thus far, he has seen no reason to entertain any thought of surrender.  Thus far, the only blood to stain the earth has belonged to the invaders.  With sharp rebukes and mocking insults, the Prince sent the centaurs away.

All that night, the centaurs rested, listening to the men’s revelry and music and laughter.  They bided their time and gathered their strength.

The next morning began like all the others.  The shining sun rose.  The birds flew from their nests to the forest trees.  Bakers filled the air with the sweet smells of their breads and rolls.  Bells tolled for the gathering of Mass.  But no attack came from the invading army.  Much to the surprise and concern of the defenders, the fields were empty of the bestial army, though the forests rang with hidden activity.

For in the forests, the packs ran, some with nets, some with slingshots, some with their bare claws alone, and through the day they trapped and captured the birds that nested within the roofs of the city.  By the thousands, by the millions, they captured them.  Soon, their pens were filled with the panicked cacophony of countless fowl.  With each they caught, they tied pitch-soaked strings to their feet.  Come dusk, they released them all, blackening the sky with their numbers.

But before the did, they made sure they set alight those strings.

The birds followed their nature.  Panicked by the flames at their feet, they fled to the safety of their nests within the city.  The thatch roofs caught fire quickly, as thousands upon thousands of birds carried their fatal brands home.  Too quickly for the humans to extinguish, soon the whole of the city was an inferno.  With nowhere to flee, they had no choice but to throw open their gates and rush into the claws and teeth of the waiting centaurs.  The warlord’s vengeance was terrible, and not a man, woman, or child survived the slaughter.  In all, the only survivor was the Prince, whose bodyguards honorably and nobly laid down their lives so that he might escape.

And so it was through patience and cunning that the men were overcome.  The impervious circle of trees still stands even today, though now it guards nothing but barren wasteland within, and that land is a place now unfriendly to mankind.

The Prince fled to the castle of his brother, to the second of the three great citadels.  This castle guarded the most precious, most beautiful realm of the human lands.  Few parts of the kingdom, if any, were reckoned to be more delightful than this land, where small towns, gardens, and fountains dotted the shores of a mighty river.  The largest fortress in the known world guarded this land, its two great towers spanning the mouth of the river.  Built from the living stone of the towering canyon walls themselves, great falls of white water and foam cascaded down their impenetrable stone faces.  Just as the sky is bejeweled with stars on cloudless nights, the battlements of this great fortress shimmered and shone with countless beads of dew and water.  It was a terrible, impressive sight to behold, one that filled any invader’s heart with fear.

The two Princes felt secure in this castle, for no attack had ever been successful against it.  Entrance was only allowed through the smallest, most easily defended of passages, while high above, countless windows and portals permitted its occupants to rain down infinite abuse and punishment upon any trespassers.  What’s more, within this castle was the kingdom’s most powerful sorcerers, for this place served as their residence and university.

When the terrible centaur armies arrived, their pelts and maws were still running with the bright blood of their fallen victims.  They took one look at the castle’s fortifications, at the towering battlements and the siege engines and catapults and the cauldrons of oil and the countless archers and swordsmen inside, and immediately knew they could not conquer it by sheer strength alone, nor by trickery.  They circled and beseiged its proud towers with their endless numbers, guarded the river, and ensured that none could escape.  And once again, the chieftain announced his terms.  And for the second time, the men inside laughed, feeling safe in their fortress of stone.

So, within sight of the castle, the beastmen drew a great circle and marked it with the blackest of evil writings, glyphs of untouchable, primal hunger and hatred, such that no man could conceive or understand.  Into this circle, they drove 10 virgin girls, stolen from the countryside during their cruel rampage, and before the defenders’ horrified eyes, slayed them in the most horrible of manners.  Within that steaming swill of flesh and blood, the wolf-like warlord prayed.

The Princes mocked the crude ceremony being executed before them.  Such was their confidence that their wizards could thwart any magical assault, diabolic or divine.  Great wards sheathed the stone walls, tendrils of power sought out and struck down any enemies that strayed too close.  No thought was made to appeal to their own gods, so confident they were in their safety and in the power of their own wizards.

But a direct assault against the castle was not the centaurs’ intent.  It came as a great surprise to the defenders when the prayers of the warlords were answered and the waters of the river began to rise.  Growing in strength and speed, soon it was rushing across the pavers and through the gates of the castle towers themselves.  The armies within struggled to resist the tide, but soon it was carrying away the boulders and blocks of stone of the foundation itself.  The great towers of the castle trembled beneath the onslaught, and soon the men within scambled to escape.  With a great slow roar, one tower fell against the other, and the two collapsed, crushing all still within and forever damming the river.  Few survived.  Most of those who did were drowned in the raging river, and those not claimed by the river were easy prey for the ever-hungry packs.

The inhuman armies of the beastmen danced and frolicked amidst the destruction, reveling in the doom of the humans.  And so it was, through the Princes’ lapse in piety, that this second great fortress was destroyed.  Of the countless numbers within the castle, only the two Princes escaped, and they fled to center of their kingdom, to the third and last castle, ruled by their brother.

The capital of this grand nation was guarded by the greatest, most magnificent of castles in the world.  The third of three, it was a mighty citadel of pure iron and steel.  So strong, so thick were its walls, that no earthquake could shake it, no river could shift it, no sorcery could damage it.  Fire, weapons, and the elements were useless against its strength.  Only the mightiest of the nation’s knights defended it, the most skilled of bloodletters and slayers in the lands of Man, and in addition, in order to defend their heartland, the Princes mobilized all their kingdom’s resources, including those of their friends and kinsfolk, and assembled a huge army within the castle.

Upon the arrival of the centaur army, they froze in place in awe of such a magnificent sight, but the chieftain was not daunted.  For the third time, he rode before the gates and made his demands to its occupants.  And for a third time, the men inside laughed and mocked and taunted their invaders, daring them to topple this castle.

But much to their surprise, this time, the chieftain left quietly.  No effort was made to occupy the surrounding city.  No effort was made to make sport of the peasants they seized.  No assault was made against the cold steel walls.  No spells, no tricks, no attacks.

The enemy milled about, as if aimless and confused, until finally they settled into countless small camps all around the capital.  The men in the castle watched as one after the other, the beastmen threw aside their weapons and, gathering in groups, began playing games!  Could it be, some wondered, that their campaign was over?  Humans captured from the city and surrounding countryside were brought forth and invited to participate in the festivities.  Everyone could hear their pleasant talk and merry laughter from all sides.  Musical instruments were produced, and many melodious tunes were struck—for it is well known the quality of music produced by this race—and in pairs and in groups, the centaurs began to sedately dance.  And when the dances were over, they sang a number of gay and charming little songs.  As the heat of the day waned, fields were defined, and the centaurs began a series of contests—races, jousts, wrestling, and other events—and much shouting and cheer rose from the crowds, man and centaur alike.

All this was watched with suspicion by the guardians within the castle, and they watched the next day as it was repeated.  And again the day after that.  And as the days past, they saw no sign from the armies that they were intent on any further rampage, and many began to wonder if the wolf-like invaders had finally sated their bloodlust and perhaps they had finally tired of war?  The people outside cheered and pleaded for their friends to join them, to celebrate the end of the bloodshed.

Day after day, the knights of the castle watched the games longingly, anxious to show their prowess as well.  Day after day, the lords and ladies listened to the music and envied the charming play enjoyed by the participants.  Finally, after a month’s time, all in the castle were convinced of the centaurs’ good will.  Throwing open their gates, lances fewtered, pennons flying, the knights and lords and ladies rode out to join the festivities.

Sadly, of course, though they had thrown aside their weapons, wolves are never really unarmed.  Rising as one, the great army leapt upon the unsuspecting parade with tooth and claw.  Knights were slaughtered, the lords and their ladies torn apart and consumed.  The castle laid open and defenseless, the centaurs savaged the land and its people, obliterating it from history.  Of all their victims, they saved the three Princes for last, allowing them to suffer as witnesses to the dismemberment of their country and vassals.

* * *

“And with the fall of the Castle of Wood, the Castle of Stone, and the Castle of Iron, the udyronde had claimed one of the proudest, most powerful of human nations,” Guiromélans says, “and with that fall, my story is complete.  Through it I have endeavored convey my important lessons.  I hope to have warned you against the harboring of hatred in your hearts, for it was through the underestimation by their enemies that the udyronde were able to conquer the castle of wood.  I have shown the dangers of presenting only the image of piety, for the same brought about the destruction of the castle of stone.  And I have warned against the ignorance of the past, for denial of the centaurs’ nature brought about the destruction of the castle of steel.”

“And lastly,” Guiromélans says, “I wish to warn you against the dangers of a hidden enemy, for a hidden foe is far more potent than one that assaults by daylight.  My story has shown the deadly nature of the udyronde, of their rapacious appetites when angered.  But in Hardanger, the udyronde attack in the daylight.  In Hardanger, the true threat, the real danger attacks by night, and it still remains hidden.”