The Priest's Tale

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ather Ogam's penmanship was as exacting as the old man himself. There were no smudges or wasted ink on the page and every letter was inscribed perfectly. Discipline was Father Ogam's dictum and his diary was the only outlet he allowed himself for his emotions and doubts. It was here in this book that one could read that he was a troubled man.

There was a monster in the marsh today. We all heard its terrible call and Brother Rushcutter even saw it while he was about his duties.

I felt the Crown bearer die yester-eve ... I hoped I had imagined it but this monster and my missing priestess confirm that the time of change is upon us.

Why now? Why Me? I am too old and too tired to fight the Good fight again. The enemy is too strong and doubtless already have their plans for revenge and world domination whereas all I want to do is tend my roses and give the Holy day sermon.

I must pray for guidance.

The old man's journal lies open at his last entry. The old man himself you will find in the Chapel. He prayed until his strength failed him and now he lies asleep in front of the altar, his prayers unanswered.

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ather Ogam's journal has a new entry written neatly, but in a hurry, for the pen lies still upon the page instead of neatly put away. He has prayed and fasted for more than a day and even now he drives himself still; he prepares the Chapel for what is about to befall it. Let us leave him to his preparations and read from his journal what has transpired in his recent vigil.

At last my prayers have been answered though they did not bring the deliverance I requested. It appears we must prepare for the worst. Even now the most unholy of our enemies comes upon us and we must persevere against him.

The Good god has told me that the monster known as the Ghoul approaches us with malice in his heart determined to destroy this bastion of Goodness. The Prophetess has disappeared, and Brother Miyagi is still on his missionary journey, so the defence of the Chapel falls to me.

My poor old hand shakes as I hold this pen. I do not think it is fear because that would signify a lack of faith, and faith is the only thing I have in abundance. More likely it is a sign of my human frailty. I cannot remember the last time I ate. Perhaps I should visit the kitchens, but there is so much to do and so little time.

May Good look over us and protect us from Evil.

Outside one can hear the sounds of industry. Hammering and sawing as barricades are hastily erected and doors long left opened for all to enter freely are secured. The Chapel, a place of peace and goodness, is preparing for war.

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ather Ogam has sent the brothers, lay-brethren and other servants away for their own protection. The Chapel is deserted now save for the Priest himself who is praying at the altar. The light of the setting sun shines through a red portion of the stained glass window turning the altar the colour of blood; the Priest prays on unheeding. In the Priest's office, his diary — where he records his deepest thoughts — lies open at the last entry ...

It will happen tonight. There is an oppressive feeling in the air and dark clouds gather over the hills. I have sent the others away. It is me the Evil one wants. It is I who will prevail against him if anyone can — though I feel myself wanting.

Or is that unworthy?

I am at a loss why Good has not given me the power to smite down this horrible undead beast. Surely it cannot be part of the Good plan for one such as the Ghoul to desecrate this holy place.

Does the Evil one come to cut out the dead wood of Good's forest of believers. Have I failed in my duty? Am I to be a sacrifice for the greater Good?

I go now to prepare my soul against the beast. If this be my last entry in this journal then, so be it. I have led the Good life and am ready to accept my judgement.

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ather Ogan stood resolute in front of the altar, the long dead corpse of the undead Bear now unmoving at his feet. The Evil Ghoul stood not ten feet away from the Man of Good and snarled in hatred at his continued defiance, for he had negated its first attack with the miraculous healing power of Good.

"Time to pray," said Father Ogan resolutely.

The Ghoul shrank back, an uncertain look on its fanged visage.

"I call upon the blessing of the forces of Good ..."

Father Ogam began the general prayer of blessing hoping for some sign of support from the forces of Good. His greatest hope was that he would be gifted with the ability to vanquish the Evil creature in the same way he could exorcise Evil spirits. But any sign that they had not forgotten him would be welcome.

Fear came into the Ghoul's eyes as Father Ogam's whole body began to glow. The Evil creature could not stand that Good radiance and it retreated back outside snarling its defiance.

Father Ogam felt a feeling of wholesome Goodness come over him and in an ecstacy of deliverance felt his essence increased by the forces of Good. He had not been forgotten. Let the Evil one come at him again if it dared. He was so full of Life and Goodness he could not possibly fail now.

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he Evil one has been defeated and Father Ogam has slept the sleep of the Just. The brethren and the other people who call the Chapel home have all returned and the quietude of the grounds is disturbed while their sanctity is restored by the removal of the hastily erected barricades and barriers of yesterday. Father Ogam is in the Chapel itself praying for guidance but as is his way it is his journal that reveals his true thoughts.

The Beast is dead. Destroyed by his own vain glory and lack of respect for the forces of Good. Twice he tried to kill this poor servant, but twice he was unsuccessful and in the last he was no match for the blessing Good had given me.

To think that I doubted. To think that I thought the blessings of Good might be insufficient. I go now to pray for guidance for the future. Dire times are upon us and I must find out what Good's plans for me are.

Let us leave the Priest for a while and come back to his journal later that night when he is once more sleeping the sleep of the Good and Just.

Good has spoken. The forces of Evil are many and still abroad. I must now leave the sanctity of the Chapel and face the Evil Wizard to bring about his downfall. Good has given me a potent gift to use against my foe. Surely he will fall against me as did the Evil Ghoul.

I go now to sleep and prepare myself for the journey and the fight against Evil. I leave tomorrow. May Good guide my steps and help me fight the Good fight.

It would seem that even the most peaceful of pieces in the great game are but pawns to be roused at the whim of the greater forces. Who will win? Only time will tell.

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ather Ogham has walked throughout the day. He is unaccustomed to such exercise and it has taken a heavy toll on his elderly body. His camp for the night is under an overhang in the Hills with his very own Chapel in clear sight. His meal was brief. All he really wants to do is sleep, but first as always there is his journal.

I can not believe that the influence of Evil is so widespread. A foul magic covers the land sapping the vitality from one. Even I, who have been blessed by Good am weakened, so Good help the normal folk.

I can not write long tonight, my body cries out for sleep, but my mission has become clear. I must rid the realm of the source of this blight and prevent the forces of Evil from reaching the Throne of Power.

The sun sets on Father Ogham, already asleep. The days ahead will be hard he will need all the rest he can get.

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t was with great relief that Father Ogam discovered that the Hex that covered the Hills near his Chapel did not extend to the countryside around the Sentinel Bridge. That meant that Evil did not hold as powerful a grip over the land as he had feared. This relief was further increased when he met his old friend the Healer at a permanent camp at the Sentinel Bridge; relief for all was available at the hands of the Healer.

"Well met, Abraham," said the Priest as his old friend came to shake his hands.

"Hello yourself, Father," said the Healer. "Don't tell me your tipping your cap for the throne?"

"Good forbid," said the Priest shaking his head. "I would no sooner sit on the chair then the game would have to start again with my passing. It's a young man's game; not for like of me."

"Just so," agreed the middle-aged Healer. "And so what drags you from your pulpit? Are you giving your parishioners a holiday?"

"It's not a matter for joking, Abraham," said the Priest becoming sober. "My Prophetess has gone missing and a couple of days ago one of the Evil undead dared attack me on Holy Ground. I had to leave the sanctity of the Chapel to help bring balance to the fight. We can not stand aside if it means that they might win the Throne of Power."

"Aye, there are indeed active. 'Twas not long ago that one of their wizards did partake of my hospitality. As you know, I must give aid to all but he was not a very likeable fellow. Oh and the Elf Erenfor did spend yestereve with me and set off hot foot on the Wizard's trail. So you are not the only one who is challenging them."

"That's good news. Though I fear his motives might not be the same as mine. Who knows how an immortal might think? We are all just lucky that he and his kind favour Good in spirit, if not in the Word."

"Now, now, Ogam. No doctrine here, please," said the Healer. "Would you like something to eat. You look all done it."

"Yes please. My stomach is finding trail rations a bit hard to get used to." And with that admission the two men walked to the fire and spent a pleasant evening reminiscing on shared memories.

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aths through the Woods that lie next to the Graveyard are many and various but as far as the Priest is concerned they all lead in the same direction; to his confrontation with the dark Wizard in that most unholy of places. Father Ogham sat upon a moss-covered piece of rock and rested his aching bones while he contemplated what tomorrow would bring.

The Wizard would be in the Graveyard; it was his place of power. Father Ogham felt trepidation at the thought of confronting Evil in such a place but Good had spoken and he must obey. He would camp here tonight; rest up before tomorrow's ordeal. There was a little stream trickling through the gully not far away and the trees were sparser here than other places but provided protection from the weather. He would even have a fire because dead wood was plentiful.

A casual inspection of the area while collecting fallen branches revealed that the stone outcrop he had rested on was not natural. It appeared to be the ruins of a building long since covered by the undergrowth. The shape of what remained of the walls was reminiscent in size and shape of his very own Chapel — perhaps this was an old temple.

Sure enough he found the remains of what might have been an altar and beyond that the shattered remains of some sort of stone symbol. Enough remained that Father Ogham was convinced that he stood in the remains of what had once been a temple of Good. In honour of long-dead brethren in the holy fight against Evil he fell to his knees and prayed ... and completed the casting of a mighty spell that had remained incomplete for untold years.

It sprang into existence complete and undiminished from the passing of the years; an anti-magical vortex of magical creation that spun around him and stripped him of his Good-given miracles. It then swirled away at great speed, its purpose yet fulfilled, leaving him dazed and confused.

What had he done? What had he set loose on the realm?

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Tonight I will not sleep for I will pass the dark hours in that most Evil of places — the Graveyard.

I half expected to find some of the Evil ones here but I fear I have a ways to go before I catch up to them as they will have set off on their attempt to take over the realm well before I recieved my own calling. Still their Evil presence has warped this place from a place of memorium to one of horror. The Evil seeps into one's bones and I fear that even I will leave this place affected by it.

But leave it I shall for I will not shirk my duty even though the forces of Evil have stripped me of the miracle the powers of Good provided me with. And if they come for me here tonight, where their powers must be at the greatest, they will find me prepared to fight the Good fight even though it might mean my death.

Dear reader, If you find this journal where I have hidden it, it will mean that I did not survive this night. In the name of Good please return this book to my replacement at the Chapel near the Crags.

With thanks.

Father Ogham, Priest of Good.

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ather Ogham writhed in agony. His dark dreams, induced by the Evil place in which he had laid down to sleep, had been shattered by a piercing pain in his stomach. He woke instantly to find himself pinned to the ground. He screamed as he saw his life's blood begin to spurt up along the blade of a sword.

A darkness from within threatened to overwhelm him but he fought it off. He knew if he succumbed to that darkness he would never wake up again and he was not ready for that yet. The very thought scared him into action. Desperately he grabbed at the sword and tried to push the blade out of himself — he failed and the pain increased because of his efforts.

He could not gain purchase on the slick surface of the strangely coloured blade and could not reach the hilt. He slumped back and felt the iron burning his insides worse than it had before. Once more he lifted himself up and grabbed the sword so tightly that the blade cut into his fingers. He put his all into one single lift and with much effort and pain flung the blade from this body.

The blackness threatened to overwhelm him again and he screamed for Good to save him & mdash; all he achieved with his prayer was to stay conscious.

Ogham levered himself up and rolled onto his knees; the blood that had pooled on his clothes poured onto his journal that he had been writing in before he had dozed off after his long march through the Woods. He gritted his teeth against the pain and pressing one hand over his wound climbed to his feet and began to walk.

He would not die here. Not in this Evil place. Please Good at least give me the Strength to get out of this place.

* * * *

It was fully dark by the time the Priest reached the tree line. He felt cold, very cold, too cold. He reached out and touched the bark of the nearest tree for support; its bark was still warm from the setting sun. He lowered himself down and sat with his back against the tree's warmth.

He couldn't believe it. He had been surely done to death by the sword of an unknown foe. He had been so sure that Good had planned for him to be their instrument of vengeance against Evil. Now he was going to die out here all alone. At least he was away from the Evil Graveyard. At least here he could at least die in peace. His head dropped to his chest.

"What's all this then?" said an overloud voice. "Giving up when you should be trying to do something about your state of health. Shame on you."

Ogham raised his head and looked up in confusion and then recoiled in surprise. Even though it was dark the face that looked down at him was ugly enough to shock.

"Stupid man. You'll bleed to death. Here let me have a look at that."

The old woman knelt close and Ogham felt her lay hands on him. What indignity was going to be heaped on him now he wondered? He was too past caring to resist. He heard the sound of cloth tearing.

"So we're a Priest are we?" he heard her mutter as she prodded and probed at his wound un-gently. She then pushed him over so she could examine the exit wound on his back.

"Yes," he said through gritted teeth. Couldn't the damned woman be a little gentler.

"Well, don't start no praying. It'll spoilt magic."

"What do you mean?" asked Ogham confused.

"I ain't doin' this for you, you silly old coot. I just don't want ya dyin' on my patch. Don't want ya ghost hangin' round here forever, do I?"

There was a flash and a sharp pain which seem to pass right through his body from front to back. He cried out and then a smell like brimstone invaded his nostrils.

"What did you do?" he gasped.

"Sealed the wound," came the reply. "You've already lost a lot of blood and you've got a long way to walk tonight."

"What? Where are we going?"

"Not me — you. I want you out of here and its easier for you to walk than for me to carry you." She got to her feet and with surprising strength lifted him to his. He swayed unsteadily until she gave him a length of tree branch to act as a crutch. "There's one of your kind camped next to the Sentinel bridge. If you make it that far you should be right."

At a loss Ogham asked, "Who are you? Why are you doing this. Why aren't you giving me more help?"

"Too many questions. Let's just say I don't want to get involved. Oh, and sorry but I'm afraid I'm going to have to put a curse on you. Just for form's sake, y'know?" said the old woman.

"What?" A curse? Why?" said Ogham.

"May all your followers find you and your faith as obnoxious as I do, you senile old fool," said the Hag not unkindly. "Now go and don't tarry. The fellow who stuck you in the first place will be coming looking for you."

She pushed him in the direction of the middle of the Wood and her warning kept him going for several more steps before he realised how impossible the task she had set him was. How did she expect him to walk all the way to the Sentinel bridge? He turned back to try to talk to her but she was gone.

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he Sentinel stood at his end of the bridge and dreamt of days long past when people still tried their luck and skill against him. Those days were long gone. His reputation of being almost unbeatable meant that people looked for safer ways across the Storm River. He'd not had a challenger in years. Was this his real curse? Was he cursed to a life of endless waiting without even the occasional release of battle?

Suddenly the Sentinel stiffened; someone was coming. Perhaps today his life would have some interest. No. It is that Priest who passed by several days ago. It looks like he has been badly hurt. This is a job for the Healer. He sighed and resumed his post.

* * * *

Abraham the Healer was amazed that the Priest was still alive. His wound passed all the way through his body, piercing organs and intestines both. He had lost a lot of blood and the drastic magic that had been used to cauterise the wound and seal in the man's innards was now causing problems all of its own and would need to be undone so that healing could begin. It would be bloody work, long and difficult and this was not the best location for such surgery.

The man ... his friend ... would live. He would make sure of that, but he would be a long time in recuperating.

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he Healer worked all through that first day applying his many skills in the healing arts: anaesthesia, surgery, magic. All were used as the Priest's life balanced on a knife's edge. He had been badly injured and the effort he had expended in making his way to the Sentinel Bridge had drained all but the last of his life force. But the Healer had been successful. The Priest's body would survive. As to his mind and his spirit — only time would tell.

Ogham woke at midday on the second day and cried out in agony at the memory of what had happened. The Healer, and his own eyes, reassured him that the danger was over. That he was safe and amongst friends. The Healer even said he would pray to Good with him, but Ogham refused. He said that he had been forsaken by Good and that he wanted no more to do with it. With that he fell back into a restless sleep his energy spent.

The Healer stayed by his friend's side all during the rest of that day in case he was needed. And even though he was not a believer he grieved for his friend's lost beliefs.

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gham woke to find himself whole again, at least in body. The Healer had done his job and he felt grateful, but couldn't help wondering why he'd bothered. Ogham's life as a priest was over. He had obviously not been considered up to the task and the forces of Good had allowed the forces of Evil to punish him for his unworthiness. It would be better if he were dead.

"How are you feeling?" asked Abraham.

"Well enough, thanks to you," said Ogham, "though I don't think it was worth your effort. I have been forsaken by the powers of Good.

"Are you sure of that?" said Abraham. "Though I'm no mage I can detect that there is an Evil force acting upon you. I suspect you have been cursed."

Ogham remembered the woman in the Woods who had helped him and then cursed him as an after thought. "I'm not surprised," he said.

"You need a good mage," said Abraham. "Perhaps the Mystic in the Village of Talos can help you."

"Not a friend of the Church, I'm afraid. Still beggars can't be choosers."

* * * *

Ogham left the Healer and the gigantic Sentinel of the bridge and headed back into the Woods. As he walked he regretted that he had not been as thankful or enthusiastic as he should have been for the Healer. However, he no longer had much hope for his own life or the wellbeing of the realm. He was only heading off to the Village because the idea of a curse affecting the last of his days was something he couldn't bear the thought of.

The path through the Woods was dimly lit. It was not a place where one would want to meet anyone unexpected. So when Ogham heard the sudden cackle of a woman while walking that dark path he jumped in fright.

"Hello my dear. You looking quite perky for someone who had a sword stuck through them." The old Hag stepped from behind a tree smiling crookedly at Ogham.

Ogham put his hand to his chest and said, "You almost frightened me to death, my good woman. What were you doing hiding behind that tree?"

"Not me," said the woman.

"What? said Ogham.

"I'm not a good woman."

"Oh," said Ogham. "But you helped me, didn't you? I would have died if you hadn't used your magic on me."

"And I'm about to help you again," said the Hag putting out her hand from which something dangled — it was an Amulet on a leather thong.

"What is this?" said Ogham taking the proffered item.

"Oh, just a little trinket. I thought it something you might find useful."

Ogham looked at the Amulet. It seemed innocuous enough. He looked up to ask the woman about her curse, but she was gone, as mysteriously as she had come.

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gham paused at the edge of the Wood and looked out on the Graveyard. It looked deserted but he knew that looks could be deceiving here, the place had seemed empty the last time. Yet someone had driven a sword clear through him while he slept — he had only just barely survived the experience. And now, here he was again, and this time he did not have the strength of his faith to bolster his confidence.

Ogham had been deserted by his Good masters and so had rejected them in return. Technically he was still a Priest of the Good religion but in his heart he no longer believed that they acted for the Good of the realm. If they did then he would have not been stripped of the power he had granted just before he had been subjected to an unprovoked attack by Evil. It made no sense. They were playing games with him and he was too old for games.

He had been healed by his friend Abraham; a Healer who was good but did not follow the tenants of the Good church. Ogham had decided to follow in his example and give up the faith and work for the good of the Realm outside of the church. However before that he needed to do two things: the first was to retrieve his journal from where he had left it in the Graveyard and the second was to visit the Mystic in the Village of Talos to have the strange curse that had been placed on him removed.

* * * *

Today is the first day of the rest of my life. A life now dedicated to doing good rather than serving Good.

I rejoice that I have recovered my journal. It had been left where I dropped it; the villain who attacked me obviously thought it worthless. But to me it is priceless and I will use it to document my new life, sans the Church.

I must walk on today even though the sun is setting. I can't linger longer here, the memories are too close and the place too foul. I can feel the Evil creeping into my bones, draining me of life.

Hopefully the village of Talos will renew my spirits and the Mystic cure my ills.

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e was as sick as a dog. Had been since the middle of the night when he'd been woken by a blinding headache and the need to throw up his meagre dinner. Now all he could do was stagger along the road that lead from the Graveyard to the Village of Talos. Hopefully the Mystic would be able to get rid of this bad luck curse that had fallen upon him.

The way through the fields was in reality straight and level but to Ogham's fevered mind it swayed and shifted like the deck of a boat in a storm. Suddenly a huge wave pitched the landscape up on its side and Ogham fell, hitting the deck, hard.

Motes danced at the edge of his vision and he struggled to regain the breath that had been forced from his lungs. Vaguely he was aware of someone looking down upon him. A child? Or perhaps an Angel? Whichever it were they took his hand and bid him search them out to gain a further boon.

Ogham's vision cleared and he sat up feeling better. There was no one about so he thought the woman a product of his fevered imagination until he noticed the bright golden ring that now adorned his ring finger.

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gham reached out for the strange-looking knocker that glowered at him from where it sat on the door of the Mystic's cottage. Shaped like a lizard clinging to the door it had red eyes that were faceted stones with a faint gleam in their depths. Ogham knew that it was all for effect and that much of the Mystic's 'magic' was a sham, but if the man could remove the curse that had been laid on him, he didn't care how he went about it.

"Come in, seeker after the truth," said a deep voice from within.

Ogham sighed and pushed open the door. "Enough Mystic," he said dismissively, "I'm a failed Priest and know all about the effect a powerful voice can have on the desperate. I just hope you have some power to call you own for I am cursed with real magic."

The Mystic reached over and turned up the wick on his lantern to bring light to his darkened room. "How the mighty have fallen," he said snidely as Ogham stepped into the room. "You wouldn't have deigned enter my house when you were a Priest. But now? Now you want my help."

Ogham looked down at the seated Mystic. This hadn't started well. If he were to get any help here he would have to get down off his high horse — show a little humility. "My pardon," he said contritely. "I am indeed in dire need of your assistance. Will you help me?"

The Mystic looked up at him and then placed a hand on the crystal ball that rested on the table. "I have foreseen your coming and know what besets you. And yes, I can remove your curse, but there will be a price."

"A price?" queried Ogham.

"A price," confirmed the Mystic. "Evil has passed this way and the toll has been great. Frankly, you got off lightly. If I remove this curse. You must promise that you will chase down the perpetrators of these fell deeds and make them pay for their crimes."

Ogham swallowed. All he had wanted to do was go home to the Chapel and retire into his dotage. Let someone else have the responsibility of the Chapel Priest. "I cannot do this," he said. "I have been forsaken by Good. Another will have to be its champion."

"No," said the Mystic. "You have survived the worst that Evil could do and are now protected against their magic. And with what I have seen in here," he said tapping the crystal ball. "Good will arm you for the fight so that only you will be able to do what must be done."

Ogham wasn't sure he believed this. The man could be a charlatan. How would he know what plans Good had? He wasn't part of the Church. Ogham was about to tell him to go and jump in the River when he remembered his friend Abraham, the Healer. Abraham was a good man. He did good without kowtowing to the powers of Good. Perhaps this Mystic — despite his flummery — was also good in deed, if not in faith.

"Mystic," said Ogham resignedly. "If you can indeed remove this curse I will at least try to do what is in my power to do."

"That is all that any man can do," said the Mystic and got to his feet. "Now if you will just take off your boots and stand in this pan of water I'll see what I can do about this here curse ..."

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he was a little woman, the Village Healer. The Mystic called her in when he realised that some of the Priest's condition was due to illness and not a curse. The good woman took one look at Ogham's priestly vestments and charged him full whack for her services commenting that it would do him good to return some of the Temple's tithe to the community. He was hardly in a position to argue and so handed over the last of his money.

Sure enough the healing dose of horrible tasting elixir, the bowl of tasty chicken soup and the day's enforced bedrest in her back room helped Ogham immensely and he woke after a very long night sleep feeling much improved.

Tomorrow he would start out again on his mission, but for the moment it would be best to get some more rest before the deprivations of his coming journey.

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he ring of toadstools glowed faintly with a pale green light. Ogham had seen the faint glow emanating from the small dell and eventually had given into his curiosity and left his campfire to investigate. A Fairy Ring. He had heard of such things but never thought he would live to see one. Perhaps there are Fairies around, he thought and started searching the ground at his feet.

"Up here," came a tiny voice.

Ogham looked up to see a tiny glowing figure descending towards him from out of the sky. A small trail of sparkling motes followed it down winking for a small time and then disappearing.

Ogham felt no fear. In fact he was delighted. Fairies were Good creatures second only to Angels in the Good hierarchy. He felt himself priviledge to have seen one.

"Hello, Good person," said the Fairy from about a foot away. "I have been told that I am to do a Good deed for you. What would you like? I can give you health, wealth, Strength or wisdom and if magic is what you need I can teleport as well or even teach you a spell."

"Told? Who by?"

"Did I say that?" said the Fairy waving her wand at him. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Shouldn't have said what?" said Ogham confused.

"Nothing dearie. Now what do you want? A spell. Some gold. Increased Strength or perhaps Wisdom. How about some healing? You look like you could use some. Or perhaps you have somewhere you want to be in a hurry. I can do that too."

"Are you saying you're going to give me a wish?" said Ogham thinking that perhaps he had missed part of this conversation.

"Yes," said the Fairy. "Look I'm sorry. I'm new at this and I've got off to a bad start. Can we start again?"

The Fairy lifted her wand but Ogham suddenly spoke out, "No. Please don't. I know what I want," he said hurriedly.

Intrigued the Fairy lowered her wand and said, "Yes?"

"I want to be taken somewhere I can find a weapon I can use to fight Evil."

"Oh! What a clever human you are," said the Fairy waving her wand and suddenly stars transported Ogham away.

* * * *

The sight of a feminine hand holding a large lance free of the waters of a pond in the middle of a grassy plain is not something you see very often. Ogham the ex-Priest however, was not intrigued, instead he was elated for he knew that the Holy Lance was one of the greatest of Good's weapons. He fell to his knees and averted his eyes.

Suddenly the lance struck the earth just in front of him its head burying itself full length in the soft ground. He reached out a tentative hand and took hold of the still quivering shaft.

USE IT WELL, OGHAM.

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oday has been an interesting day so I thought I should record it in my journal. Which in itself is another step in my recovery. Every day I feel surer and more confident in my self. The self that religious recorded his thoughts between these pages ... and so I begin the practice again.

Today I used the Holy Lance to kill a wild Boar. A younger me would be wondering if this was sacrilege. The man I am now accepts that this is all part of Good's plan.

I stumbled upon the animal rooting through the carcass of some other beast — they will eat just about anything it seems. The huge beast took one look at me and charged and I am sure that if I had not had the Lance and been able to bring it to bear in time it would have knocked me down and even now be rooting through my own bones.

Instead it ran itself onto the Lance. In fact its momentum forced it halfway up along the needle-sharp shaft before the weapon was dragged from my hands. The beast died quickly and what was a threat has now become supper ... though I fear only a truly hungry man would want to eat this charred repast. I am not the best of cooks.

Tonight I take my rest amongst the Ruins of an ancient city. I have heard of this place but this is my first visit and what impresses me most is the sheer size of the site. Why would a city so large have fallen into such ruin? Where did all the people go? What made them leave? Were they taken by some natural disaster? The scholar in me has so many questions, yet I have not the energy to go exploring. It was all I could do to wipe the pig grease off my hands before opening this journal. Oh how quickly we revert to the basics of survival ...

It is later. This place is not as dead as it seems. I have just had to put down one of the restless dead. And who knows how many other spirits inhabit this forlorn place. I no longer think I will have a restful night here amongst these Ruins and look forward to hopefully meeting some living people tomorrow when I reach the Fields that I can see in the distance.

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he Maiden sat by the side of the road weeping. She was a sweet young thing, barely sixteen summers old, and it tore at Ogham's heart to see her in such distress. He approached her to see if there was anything he could do to help her.

"Miss? Are you all right?" he asked.

"No," she sobbed. "I'm lost."

"There is a settlement at a Tavern just a little further along this road. Is that where you come from?" said Ogham as he kneeled on the ground beside her.

"No. I come from the Temple. I think its over there," she said pointing away from the road.

"How did you get here?" he asked looking across the broad sweep of the River.

"I don't know," she said starting to sob again. "I fell asleep and when I woke up I was here."

"Well then," the Priest said and patted her on the shoulder. "Don't you worry, I'll get you home. Now what is your name?"

"Faith," said the little girl.

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gham was in his cups and knew it. However, it had been so long since he had partaken of the robust red wine from this part of the realm, that he was well past caring and was willing to let consequences take their toll in the morning. He raised his glass and saluted the troubadour who had been entertaining the crowd in the Tavern and then called for another refill.

"I hope 'nother Druid takes Crown of Command," came a deep voice clearly through the noise around him.

"You don't know what you're talking about, you fool," said Ogham carelessly to his empty tumbler. The sudden silence that occurred as he spoke meant that his comment was heard by one and all.

The 'one', who had originally spoken scraped back his chair and got to his feet. "Who called me a fool?" said the gigantic farmer and looked around the room.

"You're a fool if you think that Neutrality is the best option for the Realm," said Ogham. The sudden apprehension that had settled on the room hadn't registered on his wine-befuddled senses. "Evil of course would be the worst option, but Neutrality is almost as bad, it engenders inaction, which is a sin of omission."

Ogham slowly became aware of the silence in the room and then felt the overwhelming presence of the huge man who had stepped up to his table. He looked up at the swaying figure who stared down at him beligerently.

"What do you want, sir?" asked Ogham. Did this lout really think his size would impress me. I carry the Holy Lance. I am blessed of Good.

"Ye called me a fool," said the giant, "I want ya to apologise."

"I don't apologise to fools," said Ogham taking up his lance and getting to his feet. "Now go away before I decide to teach you a lesson."

The man didn't reply, he simply hauled off and hit Ogham as hard as he could with his fist. Ogham, who was not aware of the man's reputation for brawling, was taken unawares. He was lifted off his feet by the force of the blow and thrown up against the wall many paces behind him. He sank into oblivion as his body slid down the wall.

* * * *

Ogham awoke shortly thereafter to find the front of his robes covered with blood. His jaw throbbed and his nose was clogged and he was having a great deal of trouble drawing breath. A young lad, one of the Tavern's stablehands, was at his side helping him up to a sitting position.

"I think ya nose's broke," said the lad with glee. "Hanrahan really clocked you good, mister."

Ogham couldn't see anything to smile about.

"Ma told me to take ya into the back room. There's a physik coming to see to ya, but Ma told me to tell ya that it'll cost ya.

Ogham tried to tell the young lad that he surely didn't have enough gold to pay for a physik, but his jaw would not cooperate. Trying to ignore the looks and jibes from the Tavern patrons he let the lad help him across the floor of the taproom and into the back room.

As the lad helped him sit down on a barrel he suddenly realised through the veil of his drunkeness that he didn't need a physik. He could heal himself. He had a spell.

But the spell would not work. The magic would not come. The Amulet he wore prevented such stuff. He took off the item and placed it on a nearby box and cast his spell and in short order was right as rain, broken teeth, broken jaw and nose things of the past. Even the haze of the alcohol was lifted from him.

"Could you please go and get your mother and Farmer Hanrahan," Ogham said to the amazed boy. "I would like to apologise to them."

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he young boy returned shortly carrying Ogham's Lance and other belongings. The boy said that his mother would be along shortly and Ogham could tell from the sounds of belligerence coming from the tap room that Farmer Hanrahan was also on his way.

The young boy was in the middle of telling Ogham just how light he found the Holy Lance when Hanrahan burst through the door. The red-faced man was reeling drunk and Ogham was having second thoughts about apologising to him already. The man was obviously a menace and would have picked a fight with anyone, most like.

"So," said the Farmer staring bleary-eyed at Ogham. "Ye wanted ta talk to me. Ya wanted ta 'pologise, ya weak-kneed Good'un. Mos' likely, can't and won't stand up for ya principles." The man's face crinkled into a sneer.

"'Ere, mister," said the boy and thrust the Holy Lance into Ogham's hands with remarkable foresight but lethal consequence.

Ogham couldn't believe the man could be so ungratious and words failed him. Fortunately for him his reflexes didn't, as the Farmer swung at him again, unprovoked. He brought the Holy Lance up and deflected the man's clumsy swing so that it missed. He then brought the Lance's point down to point at the man. Maybe under its threat the man would see sense and let bygones be bygones.

To Ogham's horror the man pitched forward onto the Lance's point, impaling himself through the throat. Everyone stood stunned for a moment, especially the innkeeper's wife whose unfortunately-timed entry and accidental trip had made her fall against the swaying Farmer and push him onto the weapon.

The Farmer sank to his knees, his life blood spurting up along the Lance's shaft to add its own scarlet stain to that of Ogham's blood that had already besmirched his appearance.

"It was an accident," shrieked Ogham and the woman simultaneously.

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gham performed the rites of the dead over the body of Hanrahan the Farmer the following morning. He didn't want to; he felt himself responsible for the poor man's death. However, there had been no one else available and he could not bear the thought of the man going into the ground without him being shriven. Now he, the innkeeper and the innkeeper's wife sat in the taproom sharing their feelings of guilt and a bottle of brandy.

The wife, her eyes red from crying, put down her tumbler and said, "I keep seeing it, him pitching forward like that, blood everywhere."

"Now, now wife," said the husband. "It were an accident. Nobody blames you."

"You are not to blame ... I am," said Ogham. "You were but the impetus. It was my weapon that killed the poor man. My, supposedly, Holy Lance." He drained his tumbler and placed it in front of the innkeeper for refilling.

The man started to pour and then stopped. "What did you call my wife? An impishty?" he said with a scowl.

"Hush, husband," said the woman, placing a restraining hand on her mate's arm. "He meant no disrespect."

"Drink please," said Ogham, oblivious.

"Here, take the bottle," said the innkeeper getting to his feet. "Come wife. We have customers."

The innkeeper's wife also got to her feet. "Yes, husband," she said giving Ogham a pitying look.

The two of them left Ogham alone with the bottle of spirits. From experience they expected it to be empty when they returned.

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"um, the little girl is hungry."

The Tavern keeper's wife looked at the Maiden who stood behind her son looking very nervous. She gestured for the girl to come forward and then led her across to sit at the table next to her husband who was having a late supper.

"Did the man not feed her," said the Tavern keeper as his wife brought the girl some food. "The poor girl should have been fed and in her bed hours ago. And here he is sleeping off a skinful in our taproom. It's shameful I tell you."

After the girl had eaten and was nodding off at the table the Tavern keeper took his wife aside. "He has to go," said the man. "We cannot keep providing charity for him and his charge, no matter who he says he is. Let him take her across River back to her family. Let him drink their grog and eat their food without paying.

"But, father ..." began the woman.

"Ach, I know what you be going to say, mother, but no. She has her own family. It would not be right to keep her from them."

He turned to look at the Maiden and then with lowered voice said, "Tomorrow I will tell him that they have to move on."

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"lease Mister Ogham, where are we going?" said the little girl known as Faith.

"We're going to the Market," said Ogham looking over her head at the scowling face of the Tavernkeeper. "I'm hoping that there will be someone there who knows you. Someone from across the River. Hopefully, they will be able to take you home."

"Oh, yes please," she said, almost jumping up and down with excitement. "I would like to go home."

Ogham smiled at her even though his head was splitting and his mouth tasted like he had broken his fast on the ashes of the taproom fire. He then lead the little girl away from the Tavern towards the market.

* * * *

Hours later Ogham felt little better physically and his spirits were at their lowest ebb. The little girl was asleep, huddled up against his side, where he sat with his back against a tree. The Market had proved useless. No one had known the little girl or expressed any interest in taking over her care. And now they would have to spend the night outside on the fringes of the Market.

"Priest?" said a dark figure. Ogham jumped, causing the little girl to murmur before settling again.

"Who is there?" said Ogham, reaching down and taking hold of his Lance.

"A word of warning, Priest," said the voice in the darkness. "The dark Wizard, Alastor, already assails the Inner Realm. Good needs your assistance. Why do I find you here in the Outer Realm playing nurse maid?"

"Are you a servant of Good?" asked Ogham. "If so I could use some help."

"No, you fool, I am not a servant of Good." said the man. "I'm just someone who would rather have Good win than that bastard, Alastor. Now listen, for I will only say this once. Several days journey from here, towards the City, there is a Magical Portal. That is how the Wizard got to the Inner Realm. You could follow him there and save the day for Good."

"But, I have responsibilities," said Ogham gesturing towards the child at his side. But it was too late. Whomever it had been in the shadows was gone.

What was that all about, thought Ogham, scratching his head.

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torm clouds and then snow. The change in the weather had been so sudden that Ogham suspected that magic was involved. But magic on such a huge scale that it affected the Outer Realm? The shadowy figure at the Market must surely be right. Evil must be stopping at nothing to gain the ascendancy. He had to hurry. Maybe he could atone for his tardiness and lack of conviction if he hurried.

The snow drifts, his young travelling companion, and his old bones all conspired against him until he reached the Wood. Then travelling became easier because the foliage and the canopy overhead kept the ground clear of snow and the worst of the wind at bay. However, the cold was a killing cold, and he feared for the safety of the Maiden.

Close to dark they crossed the path of the Wild Boar. It took offence at their presence and charged, singling out the young Maiden as its target. Ogham stepped in front of the beast and tried to bring the Holy Lance to play in their defence, but he was too slow and too inexperienced with the weapon and the pig knocked both it and him aside and then proceeded to gore him brutally several times. Finally the animal left his unconscious body to chase the Maiden up a tree.

Night came to the Wood but not silence. The Boar still rampaged; offended by the girl's escape. She sat in the boughs of a tree shivering with the cold of the blizzard and calling out to Ogham to come and save her. But there was no answer from the figure that lay on the ground slowly being covered by the snow that made its way through the canopy of the trees.

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t wasn't until after dark that the Wild Boar finally left the area. The Maiden, too frightened of being alone to stay in her tree, climbed down and stumbled over to the silent form of the Priest. Just as she was building up the courage to touch him he groaned and rolled over.

"Ohh, Ogham, I thought you were dead," she said in hushed tones very much aware that the Boar could come back.

Ogham groaned again and sat up. "I'm lucky to be alive. Good be praised. Help me up girl."

The old man got to his feet with the aid of the little girl. It was too dark to see the full extent of the injuries he had sustained from the Boar but Ogham could feel that the front of his robes were stiff with cold dried blood.

"Oh, Ogham. What are we going to do?" said the Maiden sniffing.

"We must go on," Ogham said. "I had a dream while I was asleep. That devil beast was a creature of Evil sent to slow us down. We must go on and find the Magic Portal. It is are only chance."

* * * *

It was late in the night when they reached the plain. Snow lay deep on the ground for as far as the eye could see through the darkness. In the distance there was a strange flickering light. Both were extremely tired but there was no where to sleep out here in the open and neither wished to go back into the Woods so they dragged their weary feet on in the direction of the strange phenomenon.

Eventually they reached the source of the light. It was the Magic Portal lit with the shifting scenes of the changing landscape beyond. Despite his tiredness Ogham was intrigued. Those times when the Magic Portal gave off light it seemed to show the inside of buildings lit by either lanterns or fires. When it was dark the occasional blast of cold air and flurry of snow came through meaning the other side of the Portal was out of doors.

Ogham finally felt some hope that they might escape their predicament. If he was right their rescue from the cold and dark of this dreary place was just a matter of timing.

Suddenly, a familiar scene appeared and without hesitation Ogham grabbed the Maiden's hand and pulled her through into the warm quiet of the great hall of the Temple across the River.

They caused quite a stir; appearing as they did in the middle of dawn prayers.

Ogham fell to his knees and prayed aloud his thanks to the powers of Good for rescuing him. The startled protestations of the assembled clerics were suddenly stilled as an aura appeared around Ogham's head; his prayers had been answered and he had received a gift from Good.

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gham felt safe for the first time in a long time; he was in the Temple, the central site of his religion. Not that his mission was over. He still felt that he could contribute to the fight against Evil but to do so he needed to recover his health. For the moment however he was content to rest and pray and let Good prepare him for the coming fight.

The Maiden, Faith, had become something of a mystery. He had thought that her family was at the Temple so he had handed her over responsibility of the girl to the Priestesses to be returned to her family. Unfortunately, no one claimed her and she insisted on staying close to Ogham saying that he made her feel safe.

He didn't really mind this, he had grown fond of the child and would find her family for her. When he left the Temple he would take his little Faith with him.

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he main shrine in the Temple is a magnificent place. Much money has been spent in its creation and people from all over the Realm came to see the wonders of the statuary and stained glass. Ogham found it all a little gaudy. The Priests there seemed more like entertainers ensuring that visitors had a good show rather than got closer to Good. He preferred one of the smaller shrines where he could be alone with this prayers.

And his prayers kept getting answered. He had not felt this close to Good for a very long time. So much so that he approached one of housekeepers and had his robes properly cleaned and mended so that once more he looked the part of a Priest. And every day, while his health slowly improved, he went to his little shrine and, with Faith looking on, he prayed for guidance and made his peace with Good.

Father Ogham was back.

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new journal.

I don't even remember where, or when, I lost my old one. I think perhaps it was at the Tavern and on remembering my behaviour at the time I suspect the journal itself may have abandoned me as being unworthy. But I shall not dwell in the past. Good has seen fit to forgive me, so I should forgive myself as well.

I am getting stronger. My injuries are healing slowly, so it will still be a while before I am ready to resume my task, but I feel more alive than I have in a very long time.

Faith is getting impatient. She wants to start looking for her family again. She confided in me today that she is even missing her brother; apparently he teases her. But she is happy enough here, the serving women of the Temple all look kindly on her. She is newly clothed and well fed. It won't hurt for her to delay a little longer.

I shall wait until I am either fully healed or receive a sign from Good that I must go. Every day I spend here makes me stronger, more capable of fighting the Good fight, and if Good is not worried about the time spent here ... then who am I to argue.

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raise be to Good for its beneficient gifts of knowledge and reading.

Yes, I have found a library. Not the library, the normal library open to the public is full of the standard texts. Books I have read over and over again for years. This is a special library. A library full of the accounts of the Priests who have taken part in the great game before me. Here I must certainly find many clues to the task that awaits my proper healing.

Faith grows more impatient — not that she is complaining. We are both being treated very kindly — but I think she is missing her family more and more. I shall try to spend some time with her this afternoon. Perhaps a walk down by the River will improve her spirits.

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have just discovered that the lay priest who took away the dishes from our evening meal must have accidentally locked the door after him. It is late and Faith is asleep, so I won't make a ruckus, but it seems we are stuck here for the night.

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have discovered that my little Faith is more than she seems. This morning while praying she appeared before me completely renewed. Her dress was so clean that it almost glowed and all the small damages that had been inflicted on it during out travels had been invisibly mended. I almost wept at the sight of her. However, that was but the smallest of the surprises in store for me.

Her eyes — they glowed with the softest white light and she spoke, not with the voice of a child, but with the voice of ancient feminine wisdom as she told me that I was to take her with her when I continued my mission.

And the biggest surprise of all was the Talisman she gave to me. A Talisman that would allow me to fight against the forces of Evil even unto the Valley of Fire itself.

A sign. I have received a sign from Good. Tomorrow we will leave this place and continue our mission against the forces of Evil.

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ather Ogham drew the child Faith close to his side and with the Holy Lance in his other hand spoke the words of the spell Good had given him. The small shrine where he had spent many days in refuge faded from view to be replaced by the ornate door that he'd been concentrating on; a door he had seen only once before, long ago in his youth. The Portal of Power. Set into the side of a mountain it was the only way to gain physical access to the Inner Realm of Talis. All contenders for the Throne had to pass the test of opening this door.

Trusting in his Goodness Father Ogham tried ... and failed.

TO BE CONTINUED ...

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hings were happening too fast for Father Ogham's liking. He was not a young man any more. He liked to think things through. Unfortunately that was not a luxury he had at the moment. He would have to take things on faith. Yes. I will help you, he thought in response to the voice in his head. It could only be the Crown Bearer and Good would surely not allow him to be duped by Evil in that way.

He was currently in hiding — cloaked by a spell of Invisibility — from the man who prowled the Portal chamber. An ill-favoured individual, if ever there was one, his foe carried Sword and Shield but it was the dark look in his eyes that Ogham was more wary of. The man was obviously intelligent and intent on finding them.

Ogham moved and felt the pull of Faith's tiny hand on his robe. He pointed to the doorway and made motion that the girl was to run. He saw tears well up in the girl's eyes and she hugged him briefly before she obediently turned and ran for the door.

It was her action that broke the spell.

The man turned in her direction. Ogham acted immediately to draw attention away from her. "Stop, villain. Fight someone who can defend himself."

The man spun round and brought his Shield up. "You missed your chance, old man. You should have stuck me with your fancy pig sticker while my back was turned."

"That's not Good's way, Evil one. Now let's see what this pig sticker can do." Ogham thrust directly at his foe, knowing full well the man would bring up his Shield; it was Ogham's belief that the Holy Lance would easily penetrate the man's mundane defences.

Lance met Shield and penetrated, but there is where Ogham's plan went awry. The man did not yield an inch under the blow and as Ogham realised that his foe's Strength was far superior to his own the Lance was wrenched from his hands as it and the Shield it was stuck in were thrown to one side.

As if in a dream Ogham watched the villain's Sword thrust forward and plunge into his chest. He felt the blade cut through bone and heart with equal ease and all he could do was stagger back a little to avoid being knocked down. The blade was withdrawn and Ogham followed the movement to look into the eyes of the man who had killed him.

"The girl?" said Ogham looking for some sign of mercy in his opponent's eyes.

"Don't worry," said the man, who also seemed surprised at the turn of events. "I won't kill her."

Ogham wanted to protest that that was not enough but everything had started to go dark and he fell to the floor unable to continue standing. And the last thing Ogham saw before the light went out of his world was the Thief taking the Magic Ring off his unresisting finger.

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