Timeline

Small images between paragraphs divide the seasons to gaming sessions.

[ 1203 | 1204 ]

Fall 1203:

After the preparations of the summer had been made, some of the magi were already eager to start the battle that inevitably was coming. There were still some who wanted to prepare themselves better, or to face the assault behind palisades and armaments of our island. A small boat with a familiar messenger brought new information into our plans. The same vitki that had earlier warned us of the rising threat towards our Order had come to visit us once again, bearing news.

After the procedures at the docks, he was brought to our tavern and greeted by the first magi that hurried there. The vitki came with news, both good and bad. The bad ones were about the Isle of Man, where Cormac had started his reign of terror, strenghtened by supernatural forces, giants and draugr. Whole villages had been murdered, robbed and burned, their inhabitants killed or forced to run away. The farming lands were scorched and deserted. The destruction was clearly coming southwards, with only one target: the Calf.

His other news was a welcome ray of light into our dark moment. The forces of Cormac were much smaller than we had anticipated and calculated. There was only a fraction of the supernatural beasts Cormac had brought with him, and the dwarfed war force was camped to Tynwald Hill. An easy prey for the Order!

Quite needless to say - you wouldn't even have to be the most suspicious one of us to get into this conclusion - there was something wrong in his news. How could a war party of that size wreak havoc all around the isle and then shrink only to a fraction of its former size? This called for Frosty Breath of a Spoken Lie, and the vitki was strongly persuaded to undergo the spell's effects. It was not a big surprise to find out that he had lied to us.

He explained that he wanted us to make our move, and had lied to make us hasten our decision to go to war. He asked for our forgiveness, and we called the council, with some fresh faces from the visiting magi. They had appointed a foreman for themselves, a mature Tremere magus, Edgar. After several hours of discussion, arguing and making plans, we had a plan in front of us. Edgar volunteered to be the brains behind the operation, and clearly had the strength, wisdom and experience to rightfully be in charge, so we let him. Even Crinos stood behind him.

Our plan was this: There was a Tytalus on Calf, who knew the Rain of Oil. We needed to create a task force, who would sneak to Tynwald Hill, cast the ritual while the main force would land ashore from Calf, walk to Tynwald just in time to surround the hill and see the rain start and ignite. After that we needed only to wait for the casualties to run to cover from behind the palisade and finish the forces in disarray.

It was like a clockwork. The day when Cormac and the Order of Hermes fought was like the apocalypse; fiery rain fell from the sky, strong men in best armour and with sure sword-arms marched into the thick of battle, while powerful magi let go lightnings, flew above the mortal's heads, smite the Cormac's forces with balls of fire, caused deep chasms to open beneath their feet, conjured impenetrable walls in front of them and trapped them in strong webs and commanded the plants and trees to trap them. The fight was furious, but the advantage was ours, and we emerged as the winners.

Later, collecting our wounded to a base camp nearby, recovering casualties and after taking a pause from the fighting, we began to see that our victory, while still glorious one, had been too easy. We had battled mortal men - although the best Gallowglaichs and norse champions the land had to offer, still men - and giants, there had been no sign of Cormac on any of our battlefronts. We hadn't seen his undead forces either. Perhaps it happened many times at once, but it was Absolon, who told us what was going on.

Absolon had gone inside the palisade after we had stopped the fiery rain. Finding nothing but burned corpses inside, he had tried to see, if there were anything magical inside; and had found a regio covering the hill. Seeing through its borders, he had seen bloated corpses the size of bears and other foul things the land should not carry inside it.

Our fight was far from over.

[ 1203 | 1204 ]

After tending to the wounded and collecting the fallen, we made plans for the next step. The regio could be suppressed and the draugr and other infernal beasts could be brought to our level of existance, but it required quite a lot of vis and a magus skilled in the art of Vim. We were spread around the hill, organized into packs of magi and grogs, and Absolon began the chanting.

Slowly at first, then faster and faster, the regio walls began to shrink towards the top of the hill. Undead draugr were appearing where the protective infernal regio withdrew, but they didn't take long to think about their changed situation. The battle started, and it was a bloody one.

Fight was going on all around us, and it didn't go as well as before. The undead charged upon us, and with some well-placed spells we were able to halt them. Their skins proved resistant to our weapons. Then there were some commotion on top of the hill: Cormac, their leader, urged his followers to attack. There were heavy casualties on both sides, as the winged servants of Cormac swooped down on us, and not even our most skilled fighters could cut through their hard skin.

Then it happened. Cormac pointed his finger at us, the fire of recognisation burning in his eyes. He vowed to kill the magi of the Insula Maledictus, once and for all, to the last standing man. As he was making his vow, he changed shape, and turned into our old nemesis, Crom Cruagh, the demon from behind the Lunar Sphere, and the malediction of Ireland. He came running towards us, while his svartalfar were attacking from the air.

With some lucky blows - our spells could not penetrate their defenses - one of the swoopers were cut down, her head severed. It didn't help us much, since Crom Cruagh was now upon us. We didn't have the holy sword we used to defeat him the last time, it was hidden somewhere in Ireland. The demon was wreaking havoc amongst us, and then it sighted Bearnárd, only magi of the crew present when it had been killed the last time. It jumped into the air, spread its wings and lunged at Bearnárd, who quickly activated his ring, and went up flying.

A high-speed pursuit in the air followed, and when Crom Cruagh saw that his wings could not take him to his prize, he activated some foul magic, and his speed increased even further. By spending lots of vis again, the demon was blinded, and Bearnárd returned to ground, but the demon was quickly back there as well. On the ground, the other swooper had been killed with inventive use of spontaneous magic and lots of vis. Spells flew, some penetrating the demon's magical protection, but only thing that could harm him was Nerienda's lightning. The air was thick with the smoke from burning vis.

The fight was not going well. Our vis stocks were running dry, and casting our best spells again and again, burning vis to make them penetrate, but still being unable to do anything to the demon started eating our spirit. The demon flew at us, swinging his massive sword until Caligula rusted it away, and after that the thing just hit us with its massive fists. It seemed like nothing we could do could harm him. While Crom Cruagh was again pursuing Bearnárd in the air, Absolon was harvesting vis from the fire giants on the battlefield.

Absolon's plan was to fly at the thing and sacrifice himself in a giant ball of fire. Taking the feathered necklace with him, he flew at the demon, casting the spell at the same time. The demon snickered, and launched itself at Absolon. A moment before they met in mid-air, the spell was released. A bright light suddenly burned in our eyes as the world went white. Pieces of the demon and Absolon were falling down as the forces of Crom Cruagh realised that their victory was taken from them. They panicked, and while some escaped, most were cut down.

Absolon was collected on a stretcher under a sheet. He was taken back to our covenant, and a honorary guard was posted by his side. At night, while Kif was guarding the remains of our hero, a bright light shone from under the sheet, and it began to rise and fall, like someone was breathing under it. By some kind of miracle, Absolon was brought back from the dead.

The threat to the Order of Hermes had been vanquished. One by one, the magi left Insula and returned to their own covenants and tribunals. A second covenant was never founded on the Isle of Man, for it now belonged to the heroes of the Order, magi of Insula Maledictus. As the years went by, the magi discovered new spells, crafted new enchanted devices, participated in grand adventures and kept the Order's light shining. At some point in the future, the magi took in apprentices, trained them, and made their mark on the history, never letting their legacy die.

[ 1201 | 1202 | 1203 | 1204 ]

This is the story of the Insula Maledictus, its inhabitants, its enemies and places they ended up in their travels. While their adventures were numerous, this is not the place to tell them anymore.

I'd like to thank all the people who have had the stamina to read through these ramblings. For five years I have been writing things down, and after each time, the story has gotten a bit longer. Now it's time for us to look somewhere else; we'll be beginning a new campaign with the Ars Magica 5th Edition. It is the story of five brothers, whose father, a magus as well, sent his sons to different parts of known world to get their Gifts nurtured and fed, and now return home after seeing a vision of their fathers death. The new campaign, Germanitas, will be hosted on a new website as well.