Ashblades' Legacy, The

*The Ashblades' Legacy* is a short story tie-in written by Jeb that takes place between seasons 1 and 2 of The Seven Seals Campaign.

## The Ashblades' Legacy

*Beware traveller, for this land belongs to the Ashblades* reads the decrepit sign, a relic of a bygone age posted at an otherwise unremarkable fork in the road, leading down into the valley. The Nomad pauses for but a moment, heeding the warning, before his creaking carriage rolls gently by. As the caravan passes the threshold, grips are tightened on swords and bows are strung. The air is as taught as the bowstrings trained on the Nomad from the bushes by the road. A lone man, clad in ice blue leather and scale armor, stands in the road. The Gatekeeper some call him. The Toll-taker. An unimposing grey rod in his left hand, and his sword in the other, the name most know him by is Ashblade, a name that suits the aging man. Once a powerful fighter, his glory days have fallen to the grey hairs that streak his beard and mane. The Nomad, young and impulsive, has decided today is the day the Ashen Blade will fall, and the highway West become open as it was decades ago. A gust of wind blows through the misty dale, sending the fog a’curling. The Nomad and the Ashblade face each other, the sun’s light barely reaching the faceoff.

Both of them know: today they will fight. One does not send a caravan through the Ashblades’ land without warning, though Ashblade’s network of spies is as extensive as that of the Nameless One’s following. It is rumored that his three daughters head the information network, but the only truths allowed to slip out are through heavy sacks of coin. Ashblade’s sword brandished, and his fighting style spoken about throughout the land, there is no secret to the extent of his skill. Perhaps the Nomad seeks to take advantage of this, but more likely it is the spellbook hidden under his cloak that will prove to be the downfall of the legendary bandit. Magic, feared widely through the land and understood by few, is the Nomad’s ace in the hole. But Ashblade has a rich past, full of sorcery and combat. He has fought alongside and against many a mage, leaving a sea of blood in his wake. The Nomad has made a fatal error in overestimating the power of magic, an error that Ashblade can clearly see from the Nomad’s futile attempts to conceal the book; it is far too common for a wizard to attempt such a ruse and Ashblade has seen many a skilled mage fail to impress him.

The mist grows thick as the contest of wills drags on. The caravan leaders know better than to interfere in a battle between adventurers, even one of such inaction. Two skilled tacticians, each waiting for the other to make the first move, all the while attempting to predict what that move may be. The archers of the Ashblades’ Clan also know better than to act impulsively, though they did carry out his order to block any escape routes. The caravan focussed on the conflict in front of them, it was a simple matter to roll out barricades, hidden in the thick mist. A soldier of the caravan, no more than a beginner adventurer, hesitantly steps forwards. Perhaps his plan is to help the Nomad, perhaps not. The Nomad, and many of the other adventurers present, know that what they see in front of them is not all that is there, and are not surprised when an arrow passes cleanly through the poor lad’s skull, clattering into the gulley beyond. The body slumps down, but the inert combatants are unphased. The Nomad makes the first move, brandishing his spellbook with a flourish, sending waves of light and flame rolling forth. Impartial to the illusion, Ashblade takes the opportunity to test his foe’s defenses, dashing forward with inhuman speed. A powerful stab is barely deflected by the Nomad’s magic shield, and he retaliates by swinging an open hand at the swordsman. An open hand that is soon sent after the arrow that had flown by moment earlier; underestimating the speed of the Ashen Blade. Distracted, the Nomad loses his focus, losing control of the spell.

Thus, the battle begins. Those who seek to flee are confronted by the barricade, and those that stay are to fight the Ashblades’ Clan. A highway robbery long spoken about in taverns nearby came to the forefront of their mind: the last adventurer to underestimate Ashblade. The Nomad was, unfortunately, not to slay Ashblade today.

But the legend of the Nomad continues.

Ashblade was not left unscarred after their encounter. His trademark style of meeting foes in battle was not seen after that day, left to his younger, more capable, lieutenants and captains. The Ashblade influence spread, if only to prevent being pushed back by local knights and sheriffs. The Nomad, on his own path, had been taught the folly of his reliance on magic. His failure was his downfall, as his boasting on the power of magic was put to shame, and his reputation ruined. But he made his way through the world, expanding his knowledge, and power. Something Ashblade had put off for some time -- the hubris of man.

It soon came a day that word of the Nomad reached Ashblade once more. And so, he returned to that fateful crevasse where they met amongst the mist once more, without entourage or fanfare. Without witnesses. The two met, and neither left, their bodies found lying in the dirt. Both bloodied, with scorch marks and ice shards left on the earth around Ashblade, and deep furrows in the Nomad’s body. Locked together in the loving embrace of death, held up by magic; Ashblade’s sword piercing the Nomad and the Nomad’s ice holding Ashblade. Perhaps it was for the best that these men died, but perhaps not.

Ashblade was nothing if not meticulous about this particular occasion. He had made sure that, should he not return, his daughters would be the ones to receive him after the battle. Asura, the eldest, was the first to arrive, commiting the scene to memory, with her sisters close behind. She was quick to build Arataef a grand tomb, hidden in her mother’s homeland, in which he now and forever lies amongst his most prized possessions. The Nomad received an equally pompous tomb, its doors flanked by a grand statue of his final battle with Arataef Ashblade, in the grand hall of the Ashblade clan. One must pass under the Gray Sword to enter the tomb, though few ever do. Across from the Nomad’s tomb, on the North side of the hall -- the throne is set facing the rising sun -- is a mural depicting all of Ashblade’s actons, from his humble beginnings raiding merchant caravans to his slaying of the dragon, to the final battle with the Nomad. And thus, through the wisdom of his eldest daughters, the Ashblades moved from a simple bandit clan to a name spoken amongst lords in the high court. Cunning negotiations meant that the Ashblades no longer owned the land by way of fear, but by way of law and deed. It is still unknown how the Ashblade’s daughters managed such a feat, all that is known is that that is what happened.