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The Dark Path (Gryffyn) The Ayrlin reaver known as Gryffyn, friend of the Elfenkind, brother to the Wolf, never had a home as far as I know. When in Arkijah he would usually stay at my humble inn, and often I would see him in the common room when all others had retired for the night, sitting by the fire and writing of his life. These notes, along with the many weapons and pieces of armor he had collected over a lifetime of wandering as an Ayrlin killer, he left in my keeping. One day Gryffyn informed me that he was leaving again. This time, he said, he would not return, and he bade me keep all of his belongings and to do with them as I willed. Having read what he spent so many hours chronicling, I am compelled to tell some of his tales -- tales of great adventure, of terrible creatures, of love won and lost, of bloody vengeance sought and gained. It seems fitting to begin at the beginning.... --Caras Andor, Innkeeper He was born in Arkijah, in the Enigmatic Kingdom, to Bryncour, a human-form Ayrlin, and Margrette, an Arkijah-born human. His name was Gryffyn, and the unusual circumstances attending the most unusual union of Ayrlin and human is a story for another day, and it was one that held many mysteries for Gryffyn until much later in his life. If you are at all acquainted with the way of things in Tharassos, you know that the marriage of Ayrlin and human was profoundly criticized by immortals and humans alike. Margrette was banished forever by her kin, while even Bryncour, held in great esteem by the Ayrlin who knew him, was angrily denounced by some. The reason for the scorn heaped upon Gryffyn's parents lay embedded in the history of the generations-long battle that had been waged in Tharassos between the Eyrlin and the Phaedir. Ayrla was the daughter of Aigir, and the apple of his eye, favoritism which rankled Aiger's son, Phaedru, to such an extent that in a fit of jealous rage Phaedru attempted to destroy his sister. Failing, he fled from the sight of Aigir and was thereafter known as the Fallen. He was consumed by hatred and resentment. From him were spawned the Phaedir, immortals who could inhabit any mortal form. From the House of Ayrla descended the Unfallen, the Ayrlin immortals who had battled the Phaedir since before remembering. Caught in the middle of this conflict were the mortals -- both man and animal. The Ayrlin believed the Phaedir to be monsters who had to be put to the sword. The Phaedir adopted a more subtle strategy in hopes of gaining victory. These wicked spirits often disguised themselves as mortal creatures, and many avoided open conflict with the Ayrlin, working for the day when their numbers were so superior that the Reckoning could take place, and all the descendants of the House of Ayrla overwhelmed and destroyed. It was common for Ayrlin warriors to describe the Phaedir they hunted as "monsters." Unfortunately, it was sometimes difficult to detect those who were Phaedir among the mortal populations. And so it was that many of the Ayrlin adopted the strategy of killing indiscriminately, the result being that a great many human mortals believed the Ayrlin had become the true monsters. For this reason, Margrette was ostracized for bearing a son for an Ayrlin reaver. And Bryncour was admonished for siring a halfling whose immortal blood was diluted, even though nowhere in the Lanuam Scripts did it say that one who was not pureblood was in any sense less than a true Ayrlin. Unlike a great many of the Ayrlin, who lived out their lives as wanderers in a constant search for Phaedir prey, Bryncour had a home, a modest home on narrow lane off Warriors Street in the southwest section of Arkijah. Nearby was a School of Survival, where Ayrlin went to learn how better to kill the Phaedir and to survive the many perils of a reaver's life. As often as possible, Gryffyn would go there, and the master of the school, Sovignem by name, allowed the boy to sit quietly and watch the students -- humans, orcs, elves, dwarves and drows -- improve the skills of their craft. Sovignem's school was the only place outside of his home where Gryffyn felt completely accepted and at ease. Often he was treated with thinly veiled contempt by Ayrlin and human alike. Margrette's greatest fear was that there might even be a few who so hated what Gryffyn represented that they might try to kill him. "Though you are immortal," she told him, "you are not of age, and those who die before that time cannot return to Tharassos, but instead go to a place that, though peaceful and secure, is one where I shall never be able to go."  Arkijah was a dangerous place. The streets ran red with blood by day and night, for few were the places where the Ayrlin did not prowl to seek out the Phaedir. It was even more dangerous for their son, Margrette told Bryncour. He insisted that the code of conduct by which Ayrlin warriors lived forbade any of them from taking another immortal's life outside of a Chaos Zone. "That may be so," replied Margrette, "but my kind does not abide by any such code. They fear our son because your blood runs in his veins. And it is human nature to seek the destruction of that which we fear." Over the years Bryncour and Margrette had reconciled most of the differences that one would expect might spring from a Union between Ayrlin and mortal. But one they could never reconcile was his tolerance of those Ayrlin who killed mortals as well as Phaedir. Some Ayrlin were more adept than others in seeing through the disguises of their enemies. It was said, for instance, that when there was no light the eyes of the Phaedir gleamed like bright moonlight on snow. Where the source of Ayrlin power was in the blood, the Phaedir power came from the foul and wicked spirit of Phaedru himself. In Bryncour's opinion, almost any sacrifice was worthwhile to keep the Phaedir at bay. "There are so few of us," he would say, "and the Phaedir are so many. We can never hope to destroy the House of Phaedru. But we must keep their numbers under control. If we do not we will soon be overwhelmed and the Ayrlin will no longer be able to return to Tharassos. To do so would be to face slaughter as soon as rebirth occurred. Some mortals call us murderers and monsters. But they would surely lament our absence if the Phaedir held full sway over this world." "What your father is saying, Gryffyn," said Margrette, wryly, "is that while some of his kind kill mortals, they do so to save those very people from an even worse fate." Living in such an environment, Gryffyn learned early on to be alert and cautious. He was reticent around strangers. He listened rather than spoke. He greatly respected his father, but Margrette was his safe harbor. She calmed his fears when he was a young child prone to nightmares by telling him tales of beautiful faraway lands without strife, spawning in her son a wanderlust he would never be able to quell. And she would tell him to close his eyes and imagine the places of which she spoke before she blew out the candle and left his bedside. When Bryncour thought his son was old enough to comprehend what he would witness, Gryffyn accompanied his father to Revival Square, located in the center of Arkijah. There Bryncour and other Ayrlin would use their cure spells to heal with the touch of a hand the terrible wounds inflicted upon the immortals who were reborn in the shimmering light contained within the framework of ancient, rune-carved wood at the top of a stone pyramid sixteen feet high. Gryffyn's blood ran cold as he watched the expressions on the faces of the reborn -- shock, anger, agony, despair, determination bordering on obsession. Due to the regenerative qualities of the blood in their veins, the wounds began to heal -- slowly -- as they descended the stairway, but the touch of Bryncour and the others who waited at the foot of the stairs hastened the recovery of those who did not yet know how to harness the full potential of the cure spell. Sensing Gryffyn's distress, Bryncour put an arm round his son's shoulders. "It is a grim way of life upon which you will embark in your sixteenth year. You will die many horrible deaths. Everything will be stripped from you -- your weapons, your armor, your pride, the breath from your lungs. You will be spared none of the pain, but you will be instantly reborn, right here. You will venture out again and again to kill the Phaedir that plague this land. You will go, even in the certain knowledge that you will once more suffer and die." "Is there no other way for me?" asked Gryffyn. Bryncour pitched his voice low. "There is one other. When you die you will see two paths before you. One is filled with light ...." "The one that will bring me to this," said Gryffyn, pointing at the bright portal athe pyramid's apex. "No. The path of light will take you to Aigirwaen, a place without pain and bloodshed. It is where you would go if you died before your sixteenth year. Once you pass through its gates you will live forever in peace and comfort, but you may never leave. It is the dark path that returns you to Tharassos. You're wondering why anyone would choose the dark path over the light, to suffer in a battle against evil that can never be won." Bryncour paused and resumed his healing for a moment that seemed interminable to Gryffyn. Then, with an element of resignation in his voice, he said, "You will return because you will need to. It will be in your heart and it will burn in your blood. When you die, you will not be deceived by the light. Do not surrender to despair, or let the pain of death defeat you. The dark path is the true way." He glanced at Gryffyn, smiling faintly. "You don't fully understand, and I would not expect understanding of such things from one so young. But when you are out there alone, both the hunter and the hunted, you will satisfy a craving that cannot be sated anywhere else, especially Aigirwaen, where the craving, never fed, becomes an agony worse than any that will be inflicted upon you here. Or so we've been told by the only one who ever saw Aigirwaen and returned." Gryffyn's mind was filled with so many new and confusing thoughts that he did not even ask the identity of the "one" who had done the impossible. Watching the reborn  he wondered if these were the doomed heroes of Tharassos or -- as some mortals claimed -- the true monsters? He had but one childhood friend, Nevrim, who, unlike most other children, immortal and human, spurned the one they called the Halfblood. Nevrim was an elf, and their friendship spawned in Gryffyn a lifelong affection and respect for the Elfen people and their ways. The two were as different as sun from moon. Gryffyn was cautious where Nevrim was bold to the point of foolhardiness; he was quiet and Nevrim boisterous, he was solemn in contrast to Nevrim's sunny optimism. Nevrim accepted Gryffyn without reservation, and they were steadfast friends. So it was for this reason that Gryffyn could not refuse when Nevrim asked him to join in a great adventure. They would go, that very night, in search of Ferroth, the rat monster who lived in the Arkijah sewers. Gryffyn was stunned. No one ventured into the sewers and lived to tell it, for many deadly creatures resided there. Nevrim just laughed at the expression on Gryffyn's face. As good friends can, he knew Gryffyn's mind. No, they would not go into the sewers. There was no need for that. Nevrim had it on good authority that now and then Ferroth would come up from his subterranean lair to seek its prey, and that usually this occurred in a narrow alley west of the Arkijah Inn. Nevrim knew also that his friend rarely ventured out of his home after dark, so protective was Margrette of her son. "You need not worry," he assured Gryffyn. "I often sneak out at night. I know my way around this entire city. We probably won't even be seen. We will keep to the darkest places." He produced two bandits daggers, giving one to Gryffyn. Gryffyn could not say no. Nevrim was his only friend. They left their homes in the middle of the night and remained undetected as they made their way through a labyrinth of dark sidestreets and alleyways to the appointed place. There, in Ferroth's favored hunting grounds, they waited until nearly dawn -- and the beast did not appear. Gryffyn was relieved, and hoped that it was the end of this matter, that Nevrim would move on to some new adventure. But Nevrim was persistent. He wanted to see the legendary rat monster with his own eyes. Twice more they made their nocturnal sojourn, to no avail. Then, the fourth time, after but an hour of waiting crouched behind a stack of empty casks, Nevrim saw shadow move within shadow at the other end of the alley. "Did you see that?" he whispered fiercely. "What was it?" Gryffyn hadn't seen anything. "Probably an old beggar." "No. Come, let's get closer." Before Gryffyn could issue a warning, Nevrim was gone. Reluctantly Gryffyn rose from his place of concealment and took a step to follow, only to freeze in place as he heard a sound behind him. Slowly he looked round -- to see two figures walking past the mouth of the alley. They were talking and laughing, and Gryffyn decided they were humans. He stood perfectly still, intuitively aware that they would not see him in the nightgloom of the alley if he was motionless. When the pair had passed he turned -- and just then a guttural scream so primeval that it made him shudder violently ripped through the darkness. He plunged blindly forward, calling out to his friend. And in the next instant he saw it -- the creature crouched Nevrim's sprawled, motionless body, and when Ferroth turned its head he could see the bared fangs and eyes gleaming like liquid silver. The creature leaped at him. Ferroth was the size of a forest boar, five or six stone heavy and with surprising agility; Gryffyn struck wildly with the dagger, a glancing blow that only wounded the beast but was enough to slow Ferroth so that the fangs clicked scant inches from Gryffyn's face in a rush of hot, fetid breath. The impact of the giant rat's body knocked him down; claws tore through tunic and flesh. Gryffyn ignored the pain, scrambling away, only to sprawl over Nevrim's mutilated form. For an instant Gryffyn stared in horror, then saw the dagger in Nevrims's hand and took it as he turned, sensing Ferroth's attack. Again the beast lunged, and Gryffyn, rising from the ground, thrust the dagger in his left hand through Ferroth's soft throat, pinning his jaws together. The creature made a terrible screeching noise that set every nerve ending in Gryffyn's body aflame, but the screeching abruptly stopped as the boy slashed furiously at its throat. A torrent of hot blood sprayed across Gryffyn as Ferroth's fell away from the daggers in its death throes. For a moment it writhed on the alley's paving stones, then lay still. Gryffyn fell to his knees besides Nevrim and cradled his friend in his arms, knowing at once that he was dead. He knew not how long he stayed there, and was only belatedly aware of the movement of figures down the alley. There were three or four of them, he could not be sure in the gloom, but he could see that their eyes gleamed as Ferroth's had, like liquid silver. They were Phaedir, but Gryffyn felt no fear. He rose, bloody dagger in either hand, standing between them and the body of his friend. They came on, skulking in the shadows -- and then, abruptly, turned and fled. Puzzled, Gryffyn watched them go, then turned to see two more figures approaching from the other direction. By their weapons and armor he assumed them to be Ayrlin reavers -- a human male and Elfen female. The former glanced at the corpse of Ferroth and grunted in surprise. Quick as thought he brandished a sword and cut off the beast's head with one mighty stroke. Then he glanced at Gryffyn. "The spirit of Phaedru cannot leave the body if you remove part of it," he said gruffly. He rose and looked at Nevrim and at the paths Gryffyn's tears had made down his grime- and blood-splattered cheeks. He offered no words of sympathy. None would have sufficed. Brandishing the sword, he swept Nevrim's limp form up in his arms. "I know his family," said the Elfen woman. She looked at Gryffyn. "Come, we will take you both home." The next few days were a blur for Gryffyn. Many people came to his home to speak to Bryncour, and to see him, the Halfblood killer of Ferroth. But all Gryffyn could think of was Nevrim, who had by now taken the path of light to Aigirwaen. Someday, he thought, he would see his friend again, and apologize for letting him go alone to die. Perhaps, though, it was better that Nevrim never travel the dark path. Finally, in the third night fell, Gryffyn was beyond exhaustion, and lay down in his bed to sleep. Beneath his head he tightly grasped one of the bandit daggers. As always Margrette came to tuck him in, but this time she did not tell him a story, sensing that nothing she could say would soothe his fevered mind. "Close your eyes, my dear," she whispered as she bent to extinguish the candle burning beside his bed. "You are safe here." Gryffyn did as he was told, heard the rush of her sweet breath as she blew out the candle, felt the brush of her warm lips as she kissed him good night, and heard her moving softly for the door. This time, though, Gryffyn opened his eyes, straining to see in the darkness, afraid of what he might see, but compelled to see if it was there .... "Mother?" She turned. "Yes, darling?" He saw only darkness, and his mother's slender form framed against the doorway, and he breathed a sigh of profound relief. "Nothing," said Gryffyn. Margrette turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Only then did she open her eyes. END The idea for writing this actually came from a post by a reader in the log I've been keeping at the Newcomers School forum. I had a slow afternoon at the office the next day and wrote it. I wanted to see if I could explain in story form why the world inhabitants of DS had to be killed and how it was that players' characters were reborn. -- Gryffyn