Jax stopped as he reached the make-shift walls of the refugee camp, and tried to catch his breath. For the fifth time that day, he cursed his expanding paunch, and his advancing years. An athletic man in his youth, Jacindus had embraced middle-age enthusiatically, refusing to let his body dictate his behaviour. Now, with his middle-age somewhat behind him Jax's body was smugly mocking him, and every day he despaired at some new myserious ache. Aging was something he had never feared in the past, and he'd worn each passing year as a badge of pride. Now he cursed every year, resented every ailment, and wondered why the gods saw fit to repeatedly save his hide from the fire.

Jax did his best to stand tall, mentally chastising his sagging gut which refused to cooperate. He nodded to the guards at the gate, briefly noticing the grime on their black Daenorrim armour, and their unkempt appearance. When the soldiers had marched north from Carakum, to erect and garrison the refugee camp just outside of Rish'nar, they had brought with them discipline, pride, and no shortage of patriotism. Now, after almost a decade, they were dishevelled, grim and sullen, the once-crimson bat emblazoned on their surcoats faded and tarnished. "Evening, Glamog. Evening, Coln," Jax said, still out of breath. The two soldiers stepped to the side, making way for him, and distancing themselves from his almost-tangible stench. Neither said anything, though Coln, a youngish soldier with a moustach far too large for his face, give him a toothless smile. Though Jax was no longer a resident of the camp, he was a frequent visitor, and the guards knew him. Jax's willingness to gamble with the soldiers, and proficiency at losing, warmed them to him, and Jax also had a reputation as man who could obtain whatever a soldier needed.

Last night's downpour had reduced the dirt streets to wheel-rutted mud, and Jax found it easier to simply wobble through the puddles than trying to steer his substantial physique around them. The streets were packed with former Vancu citizens, of all races and ages, though few appeared to be heading anywhere in particular. He walked past the 'plaza,' where the camp's inhabitants assembled every morning, currently a churning mire of mud and water. A group of hunters had slain a Tremor, a huge wyrm-like beast common to the north of Rish'nar, and were removing it's carapace to get to the meat. A Tremor would feed a hundred or more, and the hunters would make a lot of gold today.

Half rolling, half-staggering, Jax reached his destination. It was a large building, compared to the other ramshackle little hovels, yet no finer in construction. It's walls appeared to have been built from old fences and panels, perhaps from nearby farms, and offered little protection or privacy, and the roof was simply a sheet of canvas. Through the numerous gaps he could see movement, and clearly hear the laughter and conversation from inside. The smell of stale ale was a welcome distraction from the other stenches of the camp.

The Trough. Briefly, Jax smiled, took a cautious look around, and stepped inside.

The chit-chat and laughter stopped briefly as Jax entered The Trough, though the punters quickly went back to business when it became clear that the huge bulk silhouetted in the doorway was simply harmless old Jax. At night the tavern would be dimmly lit with candles, but now the afternoon light managed to ooze its way through the gaps in the walls, and permitted Jax a view of the interior. He recognised a few faces. Next to the bar, in his usual stool, was Big Bahaal, the stunted Vancu who seemed to have a taken a shine to Jacindus. He gave Jax a big smile, and gestured hopefully to the stool next to him. Jax shook his head, almost imperceptibly. Bahaal's smile never faltered, though Jax was surprised to find an element of sympathy in the stunted man's face. Sour-Face the Elf was also there, and seemed to have become a regular patron in the recent months. As always, Sour-Face was sat alone, glaring at the empty air as if daring it to attack. If anyone knew Sour-Face's story, why he was in the camp, or even his name, none spoke of it. Yet, despite his intensity, and seeming animosity towards empty spaces, Sour-Face kept to himself and didn't cause trouble.

Dominating the room was Wan-Lin. The beautiful Tanhai woman was always there, her presence overriding everything else. He didn't look at her, not directly, but he knew she was there. He felt her, smelled her, could feel the way every eye in the room was straining to avoid looking in her direction. The Huntress, they called her, and she had a fierce reputation. As fierce and bloodthirsty as she was beautiful.And she was beautiful. So beautiful. He longed to gaze at her. It took all his willpower and strength not to turn his head in her direction. But he didn't. He couldn't bear to, not again. No to see that look of disgust. No, not again....

He walked over to the bar, and managed to balance his substantial self onto the impossibly small stool. He waited for Tartaman to notice him.

Pallid Tartaman, the hulking yet pale Karnacki who ran the bar, turned to Jax. "Jammy," he said with a smile, though there was no warmth in hs eyes. "Twice in one week. Why?" Tartaman's grasp of the Common Tongue was tenuous at best, but he was not prone to pleasantries either way.

"I'm here to see your brother," said Jax.

"Yeah? Well I told you last time. He don't want to see you, pox-face! He don't trust you. And he don't like you!"

Jax sighed. Few of the refugees knew who Jax was, or who he'd been, and it allowed him...a certain freedom. Tartaman knew though. And his brother Garagan. Oh yes, they knew all about Jacindus 'Thrice-Blessed.' It was the reason he was here now, the reason that Garagan wouldn't see him and, if he was honest, the only reason he wasn't dead yet.

"Well I get that," said Jax ernestly. "Seems to be a popular opinion these days," he added, mostly to himself. Jax was never one to indulge himself in nostalgia, and he certainly knew better than most how easy it was to glorify the past. Yet, he felt a sudden pang of sadness, of despair even, of all that he had lost. Jax the fair, he was once called, and the maidens sang of his golden locks, and his voice that could tame the wind. Men envied him, and aspired to be him and, in truth, many loved him too. His name was whispered with lust by the fairest and highest in the land. Even later, as his prestige grew, and they feared him, still they wanted him. Yet now....

"He doesn't have to like me," Jax said, a little anger in his voice. "He's got something I need, something that's mine. It's just business." Tap. Jax tapped a coin gently on the bar.

"Business with you?" Tartaman mocked, leaning so close that Jax was almost overwhelmed by the stench of his breath. "Why he trust you, Fat Jax? Why he trust you, bitch of Death Queen? All words you speak a lie! All words! No, you hear me, Fat Jax! You go, get out."

Tap. Tap. Jax tapped the coin again as he looked around the tavern. The sensible patrons were studiously examing the woodwork, definitely not paying attention to the discourse. Only sweet Wan-Lin seemed untroubled. The sweet smell of marigold drifted from her, threatening to knock him of his stool. "You have something of mine, and I mean to have it. I'll pay," he said, opening his palm and showing the coin he had been tapping. A regal. The coin glittered as the sun caught it, and he hoped that the Ardanian gold would impress Tartaman. "A lot," he said gesturing to his bag.

If Tartaman was surprised to see the gold, he masked it well. He simply laughed, a deep and hideous sound, like the ravens of Eglador. "Gold? For the sword? What value is the sword? What value? We know the sword! There is not enough gold in the land!"

Tap. Tap. Tapetty-Tap. "I said I mean to have it," Jax said, the movement of the coin indicating his mounting anger. "One way or another. I will take it, if I must." Tap. Tap. Tapetty-Tap.

Tartaman's face darkened as the anger seemed to swell in him too. "Get out from here now, big worm," he said in a quiet voice dripping with murder, "You go now, or I make you go. They say you can no die! I think that a story, right? You die like all men! You bleed like all. You go, and come no back! You come no back third time!"

Tap. Tap. Tapetty-Tap. Tapetty-tapetty tapetty-tap.

"I will not come back a third time," Jax said, with a smile, his voice low and melodious. "Now, I want to see your brother. Let me in."

The anger seemed to drain from Tartaman's face. He stood there, confusion in his eyes, as if wrestling with his own thoughts.

Tap. Tap. Tapetty-Tap. Tapetty-tapetty tapetty-tap.

"Let me in," Jax repeated, his voice almost a whisper.

The other occupants in the tavern seemed to be looking their way now, though their eyes were distant, as if they were looking through Jax.

Tartaman merely stood, his eyes also growing distant.

Tapetty. Tap. Tapetty. Tap. Tapetty-tapetty tapetty-tap.

"You will let me in," said Jax, a gently lilt to his voice. "You will let me in,"

"I will let you in," Tartaman intoned, in perfect Common Speech. He stood back, lifted the hatch in the bar, and gestured to the door behind it. "I will let you in."

Jax nodded, picked up his bag, and dismounted from the stool. He looked at the coin, smiled, and tapped it on the counter once more for luck, then lurch towards the door.

As he entered the room, Jax was overwhelmed by the smell, a mix of horse dung, sweat, and burning oil. The room was small, though it's resident had attempted to instill it with a certain grandiosity. Bear pelts had been hung on the walls, blocking the light from outside and providing a veneer of privacy. A large tapestry dominated the back wall, a fine Perunian weave depicting the battle of Tethysia. A Perunian tapestry was worth a princely sum, and Jax was surprised to see one here, of all places. He admired it briefly, remembering the Tale of the Sinking of the Highspear, and the Drowning of Baravere.

After a moment, he lowered his eyes to the desk in front of him, and locked eyes with Garagan Marebreaker. If the Karnak was surprised or perturbed by Jax's presence, his eyes showed no indication. He simply regarded Jax, patiently and curiously. Garagan, like his brother, was a muscular man, with a physique forged and tempered in battle. His face and bare arms were covered in Karnacki tattoos, each mark a symbol of a victory, or a defeat, or an oath or...his mother? As much as Jax enjoyed indulging himself in cultural lore, the Karnacki weren't exactly forthcoming about their traditions and, in truth, Jax had little patience for them.

"That was quite the trick," the Karnack smiled, gesturing beyond the door to the tavern.  Unlike his brother, Garagan spoke the common tongue flawlessly. "Would you care to sit?"

Jax perched on a high-back seat just across from Garagan. The Karnak picked up a bottle from the floor next to him, and poured a thick black substance into a two mugs. He passed a mug to Jax. "Dress," the Karnak said. "Have you ever tried it?" Jax hadn't. Dress was reputedly made from some kind of mushroom, deep in the caverns of the Netherrealm. "It's foul, and tastes of arse. But it does the job!" Jax smiled in gratitude. He didn't fear it to be poisoned. That wasn't the Karnacki way. The Red Maid would reject the soul of any Karnak who dealh with foes so cravenly.

Jax's eyes glanced upwards, behind Garagan's makeshift throne. A golem stood there, almost twice the height of a man. It was made from wood, it's long arms and huge hands carved from the strongest oak. Its cylindrical head, featurelss save for two deep empty eyes, was crafted from black-ebony, from distant Mat-Maiza, and it seemed to be scrutinizing Jax. Jax lowered his eyes quickly, uncomfortable meeting the empty stare. "I like your new toy," Jax said, indicating the golem.

Garagan laughed. "I thought you might," he said. "I found it. Just before we left Vancumar. I've named it Karazan, after my late brother. Still works. I find it...has a calming influence on my guests." Garagan's smile was more malice than mirth.

"You found a lot of things, I heard," said Jax. "Things that weren't rightly lost." Jax looked around the room, noticing a large ornate chest in the corner of the room, half-concealed by a haphazardly-placed saddle.

"And so we come down to it," scowled Garagan. "You've come for the sword." Jax said nothing, and Garagan sighed. "Tartaman said you'd be back. I didn't think you would. I thought you'd be keeping your head low. You know, trying to blend in. Folk are jumpy where your kind walk. The powers that be certainly don't take too kindly."

Jax took a sip of the black liquid, and his lips tightened as he tried not to choke. "They say that when the Shadow Mage first came to Gaellia, the first thing he did was kill all the bards."

Gargan nodded. "And the second thing he did was recruit his own bloody bards," he laughed, holding his mug in salutation.

Jax returned the toast, with a smile. "You are right, of course. It's not easy here, being...who I was. If they found out who I was, and that I was here. Well....I've left it behind. Most of it. My lyre, my..fame. It's all in the past." Jax summoned the courage to take a another sip of Dress, and felt surprisingly proud of himself when he surpressed the cough. "Most of it. It's mostly in the past. There are some things I cannot forget, some things I cannot leave behind." Jax looked into Garagan's eyes, trying to keep his stare from wandering to the golem. "I do not want to take what is mine. That is no longer my way. I came back with gold. A lot of it."

Garagan's mien turned serious. He stood, and walked over to the chest, placing the saddle onto the floor with reverence. He swung open the chest, grunted as he moved something out of the way, and then pulled out a blade. The sword was curved, and forged of Elven laen, the glass-like compound famed for it's keenness and durability. Upon the blade, near the hilt, was a small image of a chimera, etched into the laen. He held it out to Jax who took it, his hands shaking. "The Sword of Valania," Garagan said, his voice almost a whisper.

Jax looked at it, a flood of memories threatening to drown him. His blinked back tears of regret.

"How sad that the blade should still be here, long after she has passed," Garagan said, with respect in his voice. "Of all that has come to pass in the last decade, it is her death that we feel the most," he exclaimed. Jax wasn't sure who 'we' was, but he nodded.

"Valania, the Chimera," Garagan continued. "The hero of Diandor. The slayer of Hranagal. The Chosen. The Everthere," he said, counting her various epithets on his fingers. Valania had been one of the finest generals of Vancumar, and one of the Death Queen's most loyal servants. So loyal was she that the Death Queen had gifted her with immortality. A Vancu raised by the Kazacki, she united the Death Queen's forces in a way no other could. A military genius, and a compassionate leader, she was responsible over the centuries for the conquest of Terrumal, and for maintaining their grip on Diandor and Lustania. Though all worshipped and revered the Death Queen, the soldiers gave their allegiance to Valania. She was their queen, their hero, their very own legend.

"And, so I've heard," continued Garagan, holding up a fifth finger, "she was also your lover." He stared at Jax, with a mix of admiration and incredulity.

In reply to Jax (msg # 3):

Ohhhhhhhh... Colour me intrigued! Really looking forward to more. I will try to have a bit more up this week as well!

"And, so I've heard," continued Garagan, holding up a fifth finger, "she was also your lover." He stared at Jax, with a mix of admiration and incredulity.

Jax was quiet for a moment, as he sought composure. "Therein lies a tale," he said softly.

"Regale me then," said Garagan, his wide smile revealing blackened teeth and sharpened incisors. When Jax said nothing else, he made no attempt to conceal his disappointment. "Pah! The High Bard of Deranis! Jax the Glib! Voice of the Death Queen herself. Never hoped to see you lost for words."

Jax squirmed, not at the mocking words, but in fear that others had heard his name. He placed the blade gently on the table, though he didn't sit. "What do you want with the sword?" Jax asked Garagan.

Garagan remained seated, and looked whistfully at the blade. His finger traced the outline of the chimera, almost absently. "They're gone," he said sadly, after a moment. "The ones that matter. Most of them at least," he sighed. "My father. My brother, Karazan. Both my wives. My blood-brothers. So much lost, so much gone. And for what?"

He stood abruptly, taking Jax by surprise. The golem didn't flinch. "For what?" he asked again, this time in anger. "They died for her. For the Empire! They died willingly, for Vancumar! I would have, too! Some things are just...." he calmed his voice. "Somethings are worth dying for."

Jax said nothing, appreciating the simple truth of the words. Garagan turned his back to Jax, seemingly admiring the tapestry which hung behind the golem. "Some things are worth dying for. Yet here we are, all of us. Alive, whilst the Empire burns. Worse, it's burned. Gone. And we did nothing," he turned around again, anger in his eyes, but his voice composed. "We live, and we are here. Begging in a foreign land, seeking food, and shelter. Begging, like goblins, like dogs. Seeking...sanctuary," he spat the last word. "We...they...died for the Queen. Our Queen. And look at us now? We've surrendered. The fight is not over. But we've stopped. We've stopped fighting. The Empire was bigger than her! It was more than her!"

"Such is the fate of all Empires," said Jax, sadly.

"It doesn't have to be so," replied Garagan, lifting the Sword of Valania. "This sword. This sword has power. It is a symbol. A legend. Valania. She understood the Empire, and she understood it was greater than one person. She fought for it, to the end. She fought on, regardless. And others followed her. Not just because they adored her- and oh, how we adored her- but also because she believed. The Empire was in her blood. She was the Empire! She died for Vacnumar, and here we are, crawling on our bellies, and begging for mercy! What would she have thought of all this? What would she have done?"

Jax sensed that the question wasn't entirely rhetorical, but he kept his silence. Few were privy to Valania's most personal thoughts, and Jax was unwilling to change that.

"But, with this sword," Garagan  continued, placing it back on the table. "With this sword, we can change that. This is more than just a blade. The people will rally behind it. The soldiers will fight for it. The Blade of Valania could unite the people once more. I co...whoever wields the blade could rebuild, reforge! The Empire could rise again. We could sweep the cursed Antillian bastards from our land. We could make the damned Daenorrim shuffle on their bellies to us!"

"Or," said Jax, "the last of us will be slaughtered. The Daenorrim will see to that. Every last one of us, rounded up. And killed. Butchered. There are not enough of us. We could lose everything we fought for, these last years. Everything."

"Only a coward accepts his fate!" Garagan growled.

Jax sighed, and walked to the back of room. He looked out through the narrow gaps between the wood, at the camp. The sun was setting now, and the folk were settling down for the evening. A man was butchering a pig, ready for the communal dinner in the square. A child was chasing a three-legged cat with a stick, laughing in delight at the cat's plight. Two more children were playing a game with stones near a chicken coop. The sound of a woman's laughter echoed from a nearby alley. "Tell me Garagan," said Jax, slowly turning away from the view. "Have you ever heard of the Whispering Door?"

Garagan looked a little impatient, but shook his head. Jax continued. "Far to the west, beyond Hangar, beyond the Chaos Wastes, even further than Angudum, is a land called Shandara. Wretched place! The hottest and most insufferable place I've ever been to," he said. "But they speak there of the Whispering Door. The door is magical, and powerful, and hidden away and guarded by the most mysterious of creatures. Or perhaps an old lady. The legend is vague. However, according to the Mages, whoever opens the door will find the greatest of treasures, the most powerful of magics, and all the knowledge in the universe. And they should know, for they are wise." Garagan seemed intrigued by the story, and Jax continued. "According to the clerics, however, priests of all the Gods, old and new, beyond the door is darkness. Suffering. The vilest demons from the beyond the Gates of Night. According to them, there is knowledge to be gained, and power, but only through pain and torture. And they should know, because they too are wise." Jax picked up the sword again. If Garagan was alarmed by that, it didn't show. "According to the bards," he smiled. "what is beyond the door is determined solely by the heart of those who enter. A good soul will, of course, encounter only happiness and an...underserving...soul, only misery or death. Maybe not wise, but it's at least a good tale."

"But, do you know what the wisest of all say, in Shandara? The wise peasants and farmers and those who work the land? Those with so much to gain from opening the door, and yet oh so much to lose? Do you know what they say?"

"They say, don't open the fucking door!" Jax threw the sword on the floor and it landed unceremoniously in the corner. "Garagan- leave things well enough alone. The Empire is dead. Let it stay that way. Do not open this door, for you do not know where it leads!"

Garagan was livid now, "You show such disdain for the blade? Yet you came all this way for it? It is mine, Thrice-Cursed. I mean to do what I say. Now, it is time for you to leave. Take your sack of gold and scurry off. If you're lucky I won't let old Karazan beat you to a pulp" he said, gesturing to the golem. The golem just stared solemnly at Jax. "Walk away from here, and I'll let you live."

Jax Thrice-Blessed stared up at the tall Karnacki, his eyes studying the warrior's soul. He resigned himself to what he must do.

"I didn't come for the sword," he said. "I have no interest in it, or it's symbolism. I cared only for who she who held it. Let the sword rust, along with the Empire," he said.

"Then why...." Garagan began.

"I came for him," Jax said, indicating the golem. "Him. You took him from my home, along with the sword, when you burned it. My home. Mine and Valania's." Garagan had the decency to look nervous. Doubtless, the Karnacki had no idea it had been Jax's home too.

"You lied to me about a good many things today, Garagan," Jax said. "About letting me live, about finding the sword, about your respect for Valania. But the biggest lie you told me was that old 'Karazan' here," he said indicating the golem, "was working."

The Karnacki paled, and Jax saw his hand resting on his dagger. "Only one person can command Lumber," Jax smiled. "Get him, Lumber."

Garagan grabbed his dagger and attempted to lunge across the table, but he was too slow. The Wooden Golem suddenly sprang to life, surprisingly fast, his eyes glowing with a bright green light. He grabbed the Karnacki by the collar and hoisted him above the desk. Garagan struggled, and uttered a string of expletives, only a few of which Jax recognised.

"You're a dangerous man, Garagan, and I can't permit you to live. The Empire must die, and that means so must you. I'm sorry- I really ratherliked you,"

Garagan began to plead. "No, wait, I.."

"Accept your fate, Garagan." He nodded to Lumber. The Golem simply twisted his large oaken hands, and the Karnacki's neck snapped with an audible crack. The body hung limply for a brief moment before the golem threw it to the floor.

"Good to see you, old pal," said Jax, smiling, and slapping the golem on the lower back. "How've you been?"

"I must confess to being somewhat aggrieved by my recent mistreatment," said Lumber in a flawless Parzifan accent. "But, all things considered, I would be amiss to complain!"

"Good man, good man" said Jax. "Now, pick up that chest, and let's got out of here,"

The golem hoisted the chest, and easily tore down the wooden wall. The two of them strolled out into the camp, leaving the Sword of Valania in the dirt.

Loved the wrap up to the chapter mate!

I am going to go through the whole thing again and write down some questions, so that next time we meet up I will have a better idea how to interweave some of the ideas into Shandaal's story going forward!