Chapter 05 - Die Alten Hofs - The Watchful Wards

Image - Die Alten Hofs approach Galadran at the Labyrinth entrance

The great archway of Harksheide loomed like a gaping wound carved into the living mountain. Carved runes pulsed faintly with blue-white light across its stone surface, the remnants of ancient protective wards etched by High Elven magi after the Fall. The entrance yawned in eternal gloom, a maw of echoing blackness from which cold air and whispers crept like tendrils.

Before the archway stood a detachment of the High Elf Command, clad in mirrored armour that shimmered faintly even in the dim light of dusk. Their banners bore the crescent of Aralayne, the Moon Kingdom — a symbol of vigilance and celestial guidance. At the centre of their formation stood Captain Galadran, tall even by elven standards, his golden hair tied in ceremonial braids and his white cloak unsullied by the dust of the road.

A faint hum in the air suggested protective magic constantly at work — wards that repelled the dark mists, traps for illusions, and enchantments that could paralyse a man with a word.

Galadran raised one hand, palm out, voice smooth and commanding:

“Who seeks entry to the Harksheide Labyrinth? Step forth and be recognised.”

There was a moment’s pause before a figure strode confidently from the party. Broad-shouldered and wrapped in furs matted with old blood and the smoke of distant campfires, Jedermann the Barbarian stepped into the elf-light.

His eyes were sharp, gleaming with that dangerous mixture of determination and something darker. Slung across his back was a runed blade — a relic of pre-fall warfare — and in his grip he carried the Lantern of Valdros, its white flame flickering steadily.

“I am Jedermann of the North,” he said, “and I bear the lantern and the map. My people were scattered in the early wars. I was raised in the cold wilds, fed by survival and fire. I do not seek permission — only to be warned of what lies ahead. The light I carry is older than this post. I will lead my companions into the deep.”

Galadran tilted his head, his silver-blue eyes narrowing. He gestured with a faint sweep of his hand, and the elven mages behind him raised their staves. Magical auras bloomed around Jedermann, flickering like the heat of a forge — truth spells, meant to weigh words for deception.

Jedermann met the Captain’s gaze without flinching. A silent moment passed. Then Galadran nodded.

“Your words ring true, though I do not care for your tone, Northman. The Lantern is bound to the path, and by its light you may proceed. But mark me well—should you stray from the known paths, the Wardens will not come for you.”

He turned to the rest of the group.

“State your names and purposes. Only those bound by Oath may pass.”

Elendriel stepped forward with calm grace. “I Elendriel Iluvatar once of the Silver Lyceum, seek the Tomb Chamber not for gold, but for the Relics. The Necromancer stirs, and his voice corrupts even the dreamscape. I must see the seal reinforced.”

Galadran’s expression flickered — recognition, or unease. He said nothing but gave a curt nod.

Next came Sundras, younger and less polished, his half-cloaked eyes clear with resolve. “Sundras, of the Nightshade Guild vow to set aside regret and fear and do this dead at hand”.

Then Helga spoke. “My master fell in the tunnels below, trying to protect the Sacred Flame. I seek to return his sword to the Hall of Echoes and finish the vow he swore. My purpose is duty.”

Galadran stepped back, placing his hand on the hilt of his ceremonial blade.

The last to speak was Gwendolyn, who stood relaxed leaning against her staff for support. “Here speaks Gwendolyn Woods, guardian and protector of this fellowship”

After a moments silence Galadran spoke thus “So be it. Five seek entry — five names shall be bound.”

Behind him, the Warden-Priests of the High Elves began a low chant. Silver threads of light wove around the party, wrapping gently like vines. Each thread shimmered once, then vanished.

“You are now marked,” Galadran declared. “Should you fall, your soul's departure will be known to us. Should you betray the realm, your oath shall burn you from within.”

The elven soldiers parted, revealing the ancient stone steps that led downward, past the runic arch and into the dark.

As the five descended into the first level of the labyrinth, the lantern’s flame brightened, pushing back the unnatural dark. The chill grew deeper. From the shadows above, Galadran’s voice followed them:

“The first chamber lies ahead. The Warding Sigils remain intact… for now. If you make it beyond, do not expect our aid. We guard the entrance. Beyond that… the Labyrinth belongs to the dead.”

As the last footfall vanished into the depths, Galadran turned to his lieutenant, a younger elf with ash-grey eyes.

“Send a hawk to Alter Hof. Tell them the Lantern is lit again.”

The lieutenant nodded.  “Do you trust them?”

Galadran stared long into the darkness, his expression unreadable.

“No. But the Labyrinth does not wait for trust. Only strength… and sacrifice.”