The House That Hope Forsake

[Gren Blockman]

Monday, January 27, 2014


Perched precariously on a wooden ladder, Gren was leaning against the sturdy wall of the Forgotten Layers Inn. Dressed in an old t-shirt, work pants, and work gloves, he was trying to unclog its gutters from a year’s accumulation of leaves, twigs, and ‘helicopter’ seeds. The smell of decaying foliage made Gren’s nose curl up in displeasure. He had been scooping the debris out and dumping it into a wheelbarrow below all morning.

“A sun, a moon, stars . . . and rain, apparently . . . “ Gren muttered under his breath, referencing Jeremiah’s explanation of how the pocket realm where the Inn resided was just like other worlds. Since the realm had re-opened, more visitors had begun to appear, and Gren had been helping Izira with the Inn’s upkeep since her workload had increased. Wiping his forearm across his head, he was almost finished when he felt the ladder being roughly shaken below him.

“AAAAAH! What are you doing?” Gren reflexively grabbed hold of the ladder and hung on for dear life. Glancing down, he saw the cause of his predicament. It was Moriana, his fellow Ranger. The tall, drow woman had seized his ladder with both hands and was rattling it, glaring up at him.

“STOP! STOP! Alright already! Don’t break my neck, I’m coming down!” Wobbly from fright, Gren gingerly made his way down the rungs to stand a bit white-faced next to Moriana, who had her hands on her hips and was still glaring at him.

“Now what’s this all about?” Gren asked, after he steadied himself.

Right after he said the word “about”, Moriana had grabbed his shirt sleeve and was tugging him towards the portal, pointing her finger imperiously in that direction.

“But I’m right in the middle of something, can’t this wait? I’m almost done here!”

Moriana punched Gren’s shoulder, then snatched his shirt and pointed again.

“OW! Alright, alright! Just give me a second to let Izira know I’m going, okay?”

Moriana looked angry, but she crossed her arms and waited.

“Sheesh.” Gren trudged up the steps of the Inn and stuck his head in the door. “Izira? Izira! Moriana’s come by, and I have to . . . . *Izira*! *What are you wearing*?” There was a long, awkward pause. “Reward me? Well, I was almost done . . . . I mean . . . I only needed a few more minutes, but something’s come up, and . . . “ Gren looked desperately between the door and Moriana.

Moriana curled her lip, marched up to Gren, and clutched his shirt, forcibly dragging him away.

“Hold that thought, Izira! I’ve got to take care of something! I’ll be right back!!!” Gren got the last few words out before the door closed and Moriana was hauling him down the stone path.

“This better be important! I mean, someone better be dying here!” Gren was craning his neck over his shoulder, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of Izira through the Inn’s window.

Moriana nodded emphatically.

Gren caught the nod, and looked sharply at her, then sighed ruefully. “Oh, alright. Aw, man, she had on the *red* one . . . “

The two Rangers disappeared through the portal, Gren giving off those shimmering blue lights, as usual.

[Gren Blockman]

Beyond the portal, Moriana’s horse stood, waiting. She leaped onto its back gracefully, reached down, and yanked Gren up behind her. Charging off through the woods, headed north, Gren wondered what was so urgent. Where the orcs or goblins attacking again? The trees flew past in a green and brown blur as Moriana rode on, stone-faced. Eventually their path took them into the Northwest Hills, and then in a more westerly direction towards what had once been an old forest filled with towering oaks. This area was now barren and dead, graying tree trunks bent and rotting in the midday sun. Gren knew this place, and his eyes went wide.

“Hey! We’re not going in *here*, are we? This is the ‘Forest of Bones’!”

Moriana batted at him with her free hand as if to shut him up and continued on. Gren grimaced and looked ahead apprehensively. The dead forest was given that name due to a necromantic cult that had set up shop in a nearby swamp. They had sucked the life from the forest with their black magic and unleashed a horde of skeletons, hoping to conquer the territory for themselves. The Rangers, bolstered by a nearby Magician’s guild were able to defeat them, but the area had remained in a state of decay ever since. Stories had circulated that black robed cultists and skeleton warriors could still be seen in the night, so most people stayed away from the place. And now they were riding right into it.

The barren earth gave way to marshy swampland. Dead trees still jutted upwards into the air, but now shades of green appeared, in the form of algae and vines. Deftly following an old path, Moriana skirted around a large, muddy lake, and came to a series of low lying hills. She stopped the horse, held her finger to her lips, and motioned for Gren to lie down on the ground. They both did so, and crawling to the top of the nearest hill, Moriana pointed into the valley below.

There Gren saw a broken down stone house that looked as if it had been unused for centuries. Vines crawled between the rocks of the main building, and its windows, which should have been dark, were lit with single candles. Skulls of various creatures were mounted into the plaster that held its stones together. The place gave off an eerie glow that gave Gren chills. He had heard the stories about the place, from when the Rangers had defeated the cultists. They had driven them back to this stone house, which they had used as a base for their invasion. The Rangers that went inside were so shaken by what they saw that they could hardly describe it. They only used words like “macabre” and “hellish”. They refused to repeat its name, forged in whatever black tongue the cultists had used, but in Common it was known as “The House That Hope Forsake”.

In its wrecked courtyard, black robed figures could be seen, moving up a stony path and into the massive doors of the house, which stood open. Gren gaped at the procession, and hurriedly whispered to Moriana.

“We need to get back to Headquarters! We have to go and warn Perrigan!”

Moriana punched his shoulder and shook her head, then pointed down past the courtyard.

There was a supply dump on its far side, containing crates and barrels. Peering into the area, while rubbing his shoulder at Moriana’s punch, Gren could make out a steel cage, large enough to contain a person, and there was indeed a person within. Gren immediately recognized the bald head and portly body of Haddon. He was sitting on its floor, with his head in his hands.

“Haddon!” Gren impulsively exclaimed in a low tone, and he quickly covered his mouth with his hand.

[Gren Blockman]

Moriana held up her fist in Gren’s face as if she was going to slug him again, then pointed to a narrow forest path that wound down behind the House. Moving silently and trying to keep out of sight, the two Rangers snuck down into the valley and around the backside of the buildings until they came out near where the supply dump was.

“We should find ourselves one of those black robes for a disguise.” Gren said in a hushed tone.

Snooping around some of the boxes, Gren found one that contained some of the cultists’ wardrobe.

“This one fits me, let me see . . . “ Gren turned to motion Moriana towards the box, but he gaped as he saw what her solution was. Moriana had grabbed a nearby cultist, and using a lead pipe, had knocked him out with a heavy blow to his skull. Gren blinked a bit.

“Well . . . I guess you took care of that.” Gren gulped, and they dropped the cultist’s body into a nearby crate. They donned the black robes and picked a large one out for Haddon to wear before moving through the supply dump towards where Haddon was held prisoner.

Haddon still had on his grey Ranger’s cloak and gear, but his face was scratched and bleeding, and he looked as if he had been roughed up by the cultists. From his cross-legged sitting position he glanced up apprehensively as Moriana and Gren approached. His look soon changed to one of pleasant surprise as he recognized his fellow Rangers.

“Mori! I knew you’d come for me! And Gren, my boy! I take back all those times I called you a wuss or a virgin or a . . . “

”Alright, alright!” Gren said in a strangled whisper. “Keep it down, we’re surrounded by cultists!”

“Oh yeah! Right! Ain’t this an embarrassin’ predicament I’m in, eh? Hah!”

Gren sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “How did you get caught like this, anyway?”

“Well, Mori and I went up to Blackthorn Tavern to unwind after our mission this morning. When we got there, there were all these barrels of ale laying around in the yard out front. So, I just helped myself . . . “

Moriana tapped Gren’s shoulder, then pointed at a cluster of barrels sitting nearby.

Gren cringed. “You mean you drank these cultists’ barrels of ale without asking them?”

“Aw come on, Gren, it’s not like they had their name on them!”

Gren just stared at Haddon for a long moment, then hung his head.

“Let’s not point fingers here, Gren my boy, please tell me you’ve got a plan to bust me outta here!”

“Maybe there’s a key around here . . . . Oh, crap, someone’s coming!” Gren exclaimed, then he and Moriana turned and pretended to be tending to some of the boxes in the supply dump.

A solemn procession of a dozen robed cultists appeared at the doorway of the House. There was an evil looking man with a tattooed face and a black goatee, wearing a red robe, at the forefront. The procession made its way to Haddon’s cage where it halted.

“Has the altar of SACRIFICE been prepared?” The red robed man spoke pompously, giving Haddon a pointed look of evil satisfaction.

“Yes, my Lord”, the other cultists intoned.

“Very well. Let us ignite the rebirth of this unholy place with the blood of this greedy Ranger. This forest will know the bitter taste of fear as ‘The House That Hope Forsake’ rises from the ashes!”

Haddon gave a steely gaze back to the man, but said nothing. Grabbing the cage, the cultists lifted it into the air, and carried it through the door and into the depths of the House.

Gren and Moriana looked at each other, then quickly fell in line behind the cultists, wondering if they could find some way to save Haddon.

[Gren Blockman]

Any apprehension Gren had at entering the evil place was hurriedly repressed as he made his way into the foyer with Moriana. A magical pentagram had been created with black tiles on the granite floor, and candles on stands of iron lined the walls. They moved past and into the main hallway, where skulls of various creatures peered at them through hollow eyes. Most had horns or some other feature that betrayed the fact that they were not all human. Gren could hear chanting coming from the stone walls, low and indecipherable. He fought the urge to panic, trying to focus on saving his friend from a violent end.

Soon the hallway ended in a series of stairs that descended below the ground, into a vast cavern. The path they tread on was surrounded by stalagmites, which pointed upwards towards a ceiling that was lost in shadows. Ahead, they saw a ruddy orange glow, and as they crested a ridge, they discovered where it was coming from. A vast fire pit smoldered at the end of the cavern. Surrounding the pit in a semi-circle were hundreds of black robed cultists, who were either on their knees praying, or bowing in fealty. The path became a narrow rock bridge that rose above the pit and towards a shelf that contained an obsidian altar. Behind the altar, and built into the rock wall, was a large brass door, ornately carved with inscrutable magical runes. The procession filed their way up the rock bridge, and formed a semi-circle around the obsidian altar.

“We must hurry, this man is a Ranger, and his friends will be looking for him”, the red robed high priest said, referring to Haddon. The cultists set the cage down, and forcibly pulled Haddon from it. It took eight of them to finally force the big man down onto the altar, where his hands and feet were tied with rope. The priest took up position between the brass door and the altar, on the side opposite the semi-circle of cultists. He produced a curved ceremonial dagger from his robes, and held it aloft for those assembled to see.

“Hear me, my faithful brethren! Those of you who stayed true when we were driven from our holy place! We have come home here to the House That Hope Forsake, in order to rekindle the flames that were extinguished so many years ago! But we have only just begun. We must purify this place with vengeance! We must take our revenge on those that destroyed our Order and robbed us of our tomorrows! We will take that first step today, with a sacrifice of blood on the Altar. Then “He” will be reborn!”

“Reborn Reborn Reborn” the cultists chanted and swayed.

“Let the Doors be opened! Let “Him” see our humble gift of flesh and blood!”

The brass doors behind the priest grunted in protest, then finally swung outward with loud creaking as the cultists forced them open. Gren and Moriana could see a swirling vortex of red energy churning behind them.

“Prepare your magical energy! Our incantations must be at full power!”

The cultists’ swaying and chanting became more pronounced, and the platform upon which the altar stood hummed to life with magical power.

Gren shot Moriana an apprehensive look. Moriana glanced back at Gren with her steely gaze, then briefly showed him a series of gestures with her hand, as if communicating a message. Gren nodded and gulped.

“Let this be the first stroke in the battle against those who laughingly call themselves “Good”! From the ashes of the past, we are REBORN!”

As the priest began his final sentence, Gren had withdrawn a highly concentrated smokestick from beneath his black robes that Moriana had given him before they entered the House. A smokestick was a piece of wood that was treated with alchemy to produce a thick smoke, and could be used in emergencies if a Ranger needed to make a quick escape. Grenlit the smokestick, then threw it down, causing and instant burst of smoke to cover the platform.

“WHAT? What goes on here?” The high priest screamed in frustration.

Moriana quickly stepped forward, her lithe body quickly closed the gap between her and the high priest, and she decked him with a punch to the face, hard enough to cause the man to fall backwards and drop his dagger.

Curses and shouts could be heard as the other cultists groped in the fog, looking for whatever was the cause of the confusion. Gren had already began to cut the ropes that bound Haddon, and in no time had the stocky Ranger free.

“Now let’s get out of here while we’re still breathing!” Haddon cried.

“FOOLS! Do you know what you’ve done?” The Rangers heard the high priest say. Just as he finished his words, a tremendous rumbling came from the swirling vortex behind the door. The magical spell gone awry, coupled with the lack of a sacrifice, apparently made whatever lay beyond the door angry. An explosion of magical energy rocked the platform, causing everyone on it to fall to the ground, and in some cases it lifted cultists into the air, dropping them into the fire below. Then a series of purple tentacles shot out towards those remaining. The high priest shrieked in horror as he was grabbed and enveloped by the appendages.

“RUN!” Gren shouted.

[Gren Blockman]

Leaping from the rocky shelf, the three Rangers ran for their lives from the enraged demon. The remaining cultists were either too busy dodging tentacles or staring in shock at what was happening, and Gren pushed through them and back down the narrow path surrounded by stalagmites. Withdrawing his staff, Gren frantically batted at the purple tentacles that were shooting past him, threatening to block his path or grab him and smash him against the jagged rocks of the cavern. The shrieks of the dead and dying cultists filled their ears, as well as the outraged growls of the monster.

“Up the steps, quick!” Gren yelled, as they ascended from the cavern. Moriana tried to help Haddon up the stairs, as Gren had resorted to running backwards to fend off the multiple feelers. Finally they made it to the hallway. The stout Haddon had already turned red in the face from his exertions at trying to make such a fast getaway.

“We’re almost there! Through the foyer!” Gren cried. Just then, when he was swinging at a tentacle that was trying to wrap itself around his neck, another circled around his ankles and drug him to the ground. Moriana looked back sharply and took a step back to try to help Gren. “Don’t worry about me, just get Haddon out of here!” Moriana nodded once and moved with Haddon towards the exit. Grendesperately struck at the tentacles that were threatening to envelop him. From the corner of his eye, he saw a sputtering torch on an iron stand next to the wall. Twisting and reaching, he grabbed for it, and swung it down onto the tentacles wrapping themselves around his legs. A distant howl could be heard, and they released him and shrunk back. Using the torch as a weapon now, he scrambled to his feet, jabbing it into the air to keep the appendages at bay, while he hurried down the hallway and into the foyer.

“Moriana, shut the doors!” Gren called, but he saw she already had the same idea. She, along with Haddon, almost had one of the double doors shut, and Gren leaped out through the other opening. All three Rangers turned to push against the final stone door, as the demon’s tentacles began to fill the foyer. Before the demon could grab them, they closed the door, which gave off an ominous tone as it slammed shut.

Gren groaned and leaned his back against the stone door, putting his hands on his knees. Then he raised up and looked at Haddon. “Are you alright?”

Haddon was breathing heavily and holding his side as if he had a cramp. “I am now, Gren, my buddy. A few more seconds and I would’ve been carved up like a Christmas turkey.”

Moriana glared at Haddon, made a cup with her hand and took an imaginary drink, then shook her head, as if to say “No more taking ale that doesn’t belong to you.”

Haddon laughed. “Aw, Mori honey, I can’t make any promises! Trouble just seems to find me.”

“I think you’re the one that finds trouble, not the other way around, Haddon.” Gren corrected him.

“Well, either way you look at it, at least I got a damn good barrel of beer out of all this.”

Gren and Moriana sighed, and set off with Haddon to alert their Guild of what had transpired.


Tuesday, January 28, 2014


Westerguard and about a hundred Rangers, including Gren, were lined up outside the doors of the House That Hope Forsake. They had marched that night and into the morning, intending to stamp out whatever cultists were still holed up inside, before they could finish what they had started. Westerguard glared at the doorway, as he had sent two scouts within to find out what inhabitants still remained to be dealt with. Soon, the scouts returned, scratching their heads with a look of bewilderment on their faces.

“Well?” Westerguard asked bluntly.

“General, sir, there’s nothing in there.”

“What do you mean?” Westerguard narrowed his eyes.

“There’s a cavern just like they said, but no signs of life. No fires, no bodies, no monsters. Nothing.”

Westerguard stared at the two scouts for a long moment, then looked at Gren. “What is this @%#&?”

“Sir, honestly, we wouldn’t make this up, it happened just like we told you.” Gren insisted. Haddon and Moriana both nodded their agreement.

“Christ. Alright, you two scouts stay behind just to make sure there’s nothing around. The rest of you, let’s get the hell out of here.”

The Rangers turned to obey their General, falling into marching columns and trudging back to Guild Headquarters. Westerguard stayed briefly, staring at the House through narrowed eyes. Something’s going on here, he thought. After a few more moments, he grunted and fell in line behind the Rangers making their trek back home.



End