Lanzi - The Staff
Lanzi’s Legend Lore - The Staff
Instead of discovering and instant psychic impression from handling the Shards and the Staff, visions come over time and appear jumbled. These visions occur day and night over a period of 3 days. Clearly the fait of the artefacts is heavily connected and some visions appear to relate to more than one object…
Lanzi is looking up into the clear blue eyes of an wizened old man, whose face is heavily care worn, marked with the deep furrows of one who has lived too long and seen too much. The eyes that used to shine with life now appear humourless, dull and watery. Lanzi appears to be looking through hammered glass as the image is blurred at the edges. Pushing aside a long strand of pure white hair that has strayed across his face, the man’s skin becomes taught, ironing out some of the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes. These are replaced by deep grooves across his brow as it seems to take a Herculean effort to raise his thick silver eyebrows. His eyes become wild like a bovine monster about to be slaughtered. His head tilts up and to the right but those maddened eyes never leave Lanzi. Fear strikes into Lanzi’s heart as suddenly it becomes clear - this is the end. In a blur, from Lanzi’s left a skull appears, stuck on a short, stout staff it moves rapidly upwards. The old man calls out incomprehensibly, his face turns fully towards Lanzi and the skull-tipped staff is brought down rapidly. A sharp, loud crack echoes repeatedly in Lanzi’s head while flashes and streaks of multihued light dance and twist in front of his eyes; then darkness…
Lanzi gazes on a warrior, his armour clean and polished helmet under one arm. His face is young although his eyes tell a different story as they regard Lanzi with a mixture of happiness and curiosity. Part elf, the man is blonde, clean shaven and extremely handsome. The chest plate of his armour is painted with a rampant horse on a green background. He looks up and says, “There thou ist Ynis! My son tells me thou were stuck in the Marsh again.” “My Lord, you do tease…No, I was in Numenorea”, a second voice replies, coming from a young half-elf, dressed in green and umber, with long, flowing blond hair, keen green eyes and a small, thin-lipped mouth. “Although there is much to be done in the Marsh”, he continues. “Yes, yes…That is not why I have requested thy presence, we will get round to that soon. Look at this.” The warrior indicates Lanzi. “I believe that it was once the Great Mage’s staff, I found it deep within this Minas.” “My Lord, this will demand great study; who have you chosen for such an exalted task?” “Thou, Ynis… Thou.”
Wreathed in fire, the Balrog raises his whip and lashes down at a dwarf. On one of the creature’s fingers is a ring of pure white gold beset with a light blue gem. Shield aloft, bearing the symbol, ð and on one knee the dwarf protects himself, simultaneously lunging his enormous black plain metal sword deep into the leg of the foul creature. The sword sparks blue, the multitude of dwarven runes glow purple and the wound left on the Tana’Ri appears significant. A young warrior in bright armour, carrying a shield with a rampant horse embossed in gold and jet, parries the Balrog’s spear with his beautiful, highly polished, flaming bastard sword. His companion, a sea elf, dressed in mithril scale mail leaps up and thrusts the glowing blue blade of a broad sword deep into the creature’s ribs. Another dwarf, with the symbol ڠ, slices off the Balrog’s finger that bears the ring with a giant battleaxe. During the blur of activity, Lanzi hears the calming voice of elven song. Soothed, the battle seems remote despite its clarity. Suddenly, the song stops, the Balrog falters momentarily and each of the 3 races plunge their respective weapons into its body. The voice of Ynis can be heard, “Hail Erowin’s Force! May this hated Tana’Ri burn in the foul bottomless pit forever!”
Lanzi is scared even before he is awake. Having opened the mighty door he is stunned by what he finds. Orcus stands before them and all seems lost. The shock is felt before Lanzi sees any movement – Orcus’s great hand grabs Ynis by the throat and hurls him upwards. Lanzi too has been launched and, rotating slowly end over end, he occasionally views the battle scene below. The Tana’Ri are routing men, elves and dwarves; however, Lanzi is most struck by the image of Ynis: once a beautiful half-elf, head ripped off and lifeless body cart wheeling across the room. Later Lanzi comes to, head still reeling, alone, petrified and with a booming voice in his ears, “Once again you honour me, we shall have complete control before this age is done.” “My Lord, it is by your grace that I have sufficient power to be of what little use I am.” Looking up, Lanzi can see the profile of a young man, dressed in a brown cloak, handsome and with neatly trimmed beard and moustache. The man addresses Orcus, (although the Demon is out of sight), “I believe that they will flee along the old paths in Kaled Zem; they will not get far.” “Good!” Exclaims the Demon, “Take this with you on your journey; I believe it to have once belonged to our most hated enemy.”
A vision of a Wolf being bated at spear point by elves, men and dwarves, clears to reveal a man, stripped to his waist kneeling before a beautiful female elf who sits on an intricately carved wooden throne. The elf is sylvan and wears silks of many colours; her silver hair is tied up and secured with a single band of gold. Her face has a dreadful solemnity. The man looks worried, thin, unshaven and bedraggled. Head down, Lanzi cannot see his face; however, he feels as if the man’s eyes glow red. In front of the man, next to Lanzi, are 2 crowns - one with 5 points encrusted with green gems and the other with 7 blue ones – and 2 shards of a larger stone. Holding out his hands to plea, Lanzi notices that 2 of the man’s fingers are missing. “Lady of the forest, I mean you and your folk no harm and would be left in peace to go from this land.” In elf the Lady replies, “Dark Wolf, yes I know who you are, these items that you offer for your life do not belong to you.” “No my Lady, they are yours…For my safe passage of course.” The man elevates his head and looks carefully at the elf. “No, they are not mine either. Your treachery has come to an end. Take him away!”
A High elf sits at the top of a long table on which Lanzi is sat. The elf is dressed in autumnal colours and wears a gold medallion fashioned in the shape of a burning sun. To his right is another elf, this time Sylvan and female. Her brightly coloured clothes have intricate patterns made by different leaves falling through a crystal clear blue sky. Her silver hair falls in waves around her shoulders and her delightful blue eyes seem to welcome all who look upon them. At the High Elf’s left is a half-elf, dressed in finest mithril with a breast plate bearing the symbol of the rampant horse. His long blonde hair is tied into many plaits so as not to conceal his comeliness. Next to the young half-elf is a much older man, dressed in sack cloth tied at the waste with a knotted rope, his bald pate lowered in respect. Opposite this man is another half-elf. Dressed primarily in greens and browns his light buff-coloured cloak stands out. He has a curious appearance: unkempt, of indeterminate age, hawk nosed and with keen, unblinking black eyes. Two dwarves complete the gathering; sat opposite each other, they resembled each other greatly. Both dressed in mithril coats each has a shield propped against his chair – one with the symbols פּ ן סּ and the other б . The most notable difference is that the latter has a 3-pointed, yellow-gem encrusted crown. It seems as though the gathering has come to an end. The unkempt half-elf bows politely to the Sylvan elf at the head of the table and says, “I will take care of it my Lady.” The high elf says, “Study it, we need to know if it is truly his staff”, he goes on, “All of you are charged with the capture of the Dark Wolf. Bring him before me so that we may discern more of the artefacts that we all seek.”
“You dare face me Haemrandir, do you not realise you are defeated?” Demands a human who wears a burnished breastplate on which is embossed the head of a grey wolf with rubies for eyes. Clasped to the plate at the shoulder is a grey fur cloak, with a deep hood thrown back so that it hangs to the small of his back, covering his semi-empty backpack. His legs, are covered with brown trousers also partly armoured in burnished metal. His left hand holds a long sword, the hilt of which is plain in design but contains some magnificent gem stones of all colour. His right hand clasps a long wooden staff which Lanzi does not recognise. The man’s face is elegant - long and narrow – but lined, revealing his advancing years. His black hair is swept back, tumbling into his hood, and held in place with a platinum crown which holds 7 blue gems. “We all fight on and there are more who would join us against you – powerful allies indeed – you would do better to return to your dark dwarven home.” Returns Haemrandir again dressed primarily in greens and browns with a light buff-coloured cloak. His curious appearance - unkempt, of indeterminate age, hawk nosed and with keen, unblinking black eyes – betrays no emotion. He carries a staff which Lanzi recognises as Lastar’s, without pommel or claw. “Not this time Haemrandir, my time to rule has finally come!” The man sweeps a sword in a great arc, narrowly missing the half-elf, whilst commanding a great blast of fire to emanate from the staff. Already wounded, Haemrandir staggers backward down the slope up which he had fought all day. Two warriors are quick to defend the half-elf from any follow-on attack. “Out of my way!” Screams the man as he cuts one warrior down and fires magic missiles into another, killing both, “I will have that!” Powerless to stop the onslaught, Haemrandir finds the Staff plucked from his grip as yet another blast of fire engulfs him.
Awoken from a deep sleep by voices, Lanzi hears, “You will cede to me all that I desire, including that which was once most dear to your heart.” “And if I do not?” “Your life is forfeit. This time, there will be no escape Dordraug – I am not a petty bloom that will wilt and be forgotten!” Lanzi is transfixed by an oriental man, middle aged, dressed in a deep purple kimono with a black and white obi. His hair is tonsured like that of a samurai and around his neck, carved from black sapphire and opal, is a woman’s face - half white, half black. In his hands is a vast black bastard sword, covered in dwarven runes and faintly glowing a purple-blue. On his left hand is a ring with a prominent green gem set in a band of pure white gold. A finger is missing from his right hand. “I have much of the power that you once had, do not test me. You have something that I desire most keenly.” The oriental man points to Lanzi. “Death is the only way I will be parted from my treasures.” “Another soul for my Lady then!” The sword is whipped up and, in a huge arc, comes crashing down…