Chronicles of the World of DaoTyr

The story as it would be told later by the chroniclers who survived it, by bards who never quite understood it, and by the knights themselves, who would rather forget parts of it but never could.

The Darkening of Gildensong

Deep in the vaults of Castle Edderoth, the thing sits. An object, yes, but something more. The thing the Bladesong Knights had taken at terrible cost: the phylactery of an ancient power, Volukai. Volukai waits and plots for the world to break enough so that he may again enter it as ruler of what will be an all-consuming blight. The knights were told they had contained him, that the evil had been contained. Something old and malignant was out. Something evil was free. It took hold in the soil and spread outward like a bruise.

Volukai was not alone. His lich-sister, Matildae, sat openly in the Court of Lady Vivianna now. This abomination was tolerated out of desperation. Lady Vivianna, ruler of Gildensong, gambled that the dead might be turned against the dragons. It was a bargain made with eyes open and soul clenched tight. What she did not know, indeed a secret no one yet could have known, was that Volukai and Matildae were already playing both sides, shaping a betrayal vast enough to swallow kingdoms.

Beyond the court, another doom gathered its wings. Severin, dragon priest and ancient fanatic, father to Vivianna and to her corrupted sister Skylla, rode beneath storm-dark banners. Once the lover of Alustriel herself, he had long since abandoned love for prophecy. Allied with the elder dragon lords, he sought the return of Tiamat and the annihilation of Gildensong. He rode the brood-dragon Taelashinon, spawn of the dread Ooandar, and where his shadow passed, cities listened and trembled.

Skylla, Witch of Silverymoon, walked beside him in spirit if not always in flesh. She stole the sword of doom, Rendgray, from her sister’s keeping, believing it would break Vivianna’s reign. It was Volukai’s design, whispered through Matildae, and it set the final pieces in motion.

The Four Knights of Granitehome

Against this darkness stood four knights. Kinghts young by the standards of Edderoth but already battered beyond their years. They had fought at Blue Spire Keep, and the victory had cost them more than blood. It had broken illusions they did not know they relied upon.

Zun Alta, captain of Granitehome, Paladin of Vengeance, carried the heaviest burden. He learned that his old comrades of the Shadow Cloaks were not traitors; the betrayal he had hardened his heart believing for so long was not true. Zun discovered his adopted niece, Sparrow, was not born of shame, but of truth long buried. Twice in the past year, Zun had been bitten by the vampire Acertana, and now she haunted his dreams with her black eyes that called to him from a deep, soulless well. Justice became the obsession. Justice by any means. In Port Edderoth, he executed two criminals publicly in two weeks; an act unheard of in the town’s long, orderly history.

Loralin Galdirion, sun elf bard and Bladesong knight, arrived too late to stop the executions. He had been traveling the countryside, healing the land with song, earning wealth without corruption, somehow untouched by the rot spreading outward from Castle Edderoth. Once a prisoner of an archfey for centuries, the last of his people, Loralin, now walked free, and yet, the Feywild had not released him completely. A small fay-imp named Shimatizi followed him now, companion and reminder both.

Syelle, assassin, merchant queen, and unlikely knight, ruled the Mice Eyes thieves’ guild from the shadows. Once a thief herself, knighted by the now-dead Sir Kaelor Thorne, she balanced commerce and crime with ruthless precision. She told anyone who would listen that she did not sleep well. She did not tell them why. Her mentor, Rhun, was dead. Her best friend’s sister had tried to assassinate her and paid with her life. She profited from poisons and perfumes alike, and only her blink dog pup, Kaia, reminded her what innocence felt like.

Korrath Charir, the prodigal red dragonborn paladin of devotion, carried a power that frightened her. Bound now to Gnarmyr, the dragon hound, she felt a storm inside herself that the world might not survive unbridled. When she climbed the sacred mountain Papadin to perform the ancient ritual of K’zen-Dau-Bier, she dueled a planetar from an age before gods were divided. She lost. Her family blade, the Justicar, shattered. Broken-hearted but unbowed, she returned to Port Edderoth knowing defeat was not the same as failure.

Justice, Poison, and the Road North

Zun’s third execution nearly happened before anyone could stop it. A thief, caught red-handed, knelt beneath his blade as the town watched in silence. Only the arrival of Ardenthal, dragonborn road warden, and Sir Evaston the Red stayed his hand long enough for the moment to crack.

That night, Sir Evaston brought grim news: Rendgray had been recovered from Skylla and could not be moved further. The blade had a will of its own and lay now at the Silver Oak Inn, under the protection of Sir Paulnes the Acorn Knight. A strange fay named Cormojo was there as well, demanding to speak to Zun alone.

By morning, Sir Evaston was dead in his bed—poisoned by the Silver Serpents, a faction Syelle knew too well. She said nothing. Two days later, the knights rode north.

Blood, Fey, and Night Mist

At the henge of Felsparia, the world thinned. The archfey Ellythar called to Loralin, and Acertana inadvertently revealed her true name as Aceritiana, an older and far more terrible being. Shadar-kai emerged to protect her, and beneath moonless skies the knights fought shadows and banshee screams until dawn. They prevailed, but the knowledge gained was a curse without clear use.

The Silver Oak Inn welcomed them with warmth that felt unreal after the road. Elsa and Sir Gareth ran it with love; their children played beneath its beams, guarded by a pixie protector. A silent myconid sovereign lingered upstairs, unmoving. For a brief moment, it felt like safety.

Cormojo appeared then, a mandrill-shaped ancient thing, brilliant and vile. Once companion to Volukai and Matildae, he spoke the truth no one wanted: only evil could touch the blade. To save the kingdom, Zun must give in to the darkness already growing in his heart.

Before a choice could be made, the dead came. The Bone Blight Horde, led by Golgarion, death knight aspirant and servant of Severin, marched on the inn. Three drider brothers guided them. Golgarion rode the shadow dragon Sharkal Sharkool, and Rendgray called to them like a bell rung in the grave.

Sir Paulnes evacuated the innocent. The knights stayed. They fought all night. The inn burned. The dead fell and rose again. Kaia died first. Gnarmyr soon followed. By dawn, hope was a memory. That was when Ythian, dark elf ward-walker and Syelle’s lover, appeared. He could save them all, but she would owe him something she did not yet understand. Zun’s eyes went black. He took Rendgray.

The Hall of Night Mist

They were torn from the world and cast into the Hall of Night Mist, a demiplane built for endings. The trap snapped shut. Volukai’s avatar manifested, drawn by the sword. Severin arrived on Taelashinon. Skylla descended on the shadow dragon Yropa. Aceritiana stood revealed at last.

Nothing made sense. Enemies turned on each other. Dragons struck at Lich. Knights fought everyone. Loralin tapped polymorph to destroy Sharkal Sharkool, transforming the shadow dragon into a fish and sending it plummeting to almost a comical death. Severin then escaped the scene. In the final moments, Loralin understood the vampire’s true name was not as a weapon, but a path. As Zun destroyed Aceritiana, the rupture opened a ley-line to a Feyhold beyond time. Loralin vanished through it. Three days passed for him. Three seconds passed for the others.

He returned with the Justicar reforged, radiant and whole. Korrath took her family blade, roared her grief into the void, and smote Volukai’s avatar from existence. The Hall collapsed. The dragons fled. The night mist tore itself apart.

Aftermath

The land began to heal. The knights did not. They returned changed, hardened, and bound together by something no oath ever formalized, Rendgray wrapped in layers of oiled leather and secured beneath Granitehome. And somewhere in the Feywild, unseen by most, the threads tightened around a different blade, a different bearer, and a different war yet to come. Because evil had been defeated that night, but dreadfully, it had also learned.

This entry was posted on February 10, 2026 at 3:08 am and is filed under Gildensong with tags books, fantasy, fiction, short-story, writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.