Many legends and tales have been told of the grim slopes and mist shrouded peaks of Cader Idris, the mighty and solitary guardian of the southern reaches of Snowdonia. For centuries, denizens of the windswept villages of Barmouth and Dolgellau have spoken in cracked whispers of the lurking presences and half concealed horrors of the old mountain, under whose watchful shadow they lived their lives.
Few outsiders ever ventured to this rainy and near forgotten corner of Wales, isolated as it was from the outer world of civilisation. Local shepherds spoke of mysterious inhabitants of the mountain and of the reputed presence of the Grey King - the lord of the underworld himself, who never failed to press his dark claim on the souls of any traveller foolhardy or brave enough to venture into the upper reaches of his domain.
All such stories were simply bait to the bold spirits of Christendom's greatest adventurers. Freshly returned from the siege of Antioch, there were few dangers at which the valiant knights Efnisien Paddhammer, Philarchus Grosses Von Tronnenheim and Nor Torch of Jihad would blanch.
So it came to be, that in the cold summer of the year of our Lord 1102 our bold gentlemen three struggled from their warm corners of the world to the barren foothills of Cader Idris and with a hastily muttered prayer on their lips, and a flickering thought for wives and retainers left behind, they set their sights on the mysteries and reputed treasures awaiting them at the summit.
The beginnings of the journey were inauspicious, as the brave warriors battled their way through densely forested foothills, laying steps to tame the wilderness and fighting off the swarms of orc who poured down the slopes to repel their advance. The companions had a right sweat on by the time they reached the eery central plateau of the mountain. With the jagged arms of the mountain reaching up into the clouds on every side, a deafening silence descended upon them, heavy with the promise of hidden malice and unspeakable creeping things.
The adventurers finally reached the edges of a still black lake, where they set camp and took a break to renew their sustenance. Suddenly the vast neck of a lake monster reared out of the unfathomable depths of the lake and grabbing Efnisien by the butt cheeks whilst he was defecating by the lakeside, dragged him into the depths. Not to be deterred, Philarchus and Nor- in full armour - dived unhesitatingly into the black depths to confront the monster as it prepared to have it's wicked way with their comrade. Fearlessly they hacked off the beast's head and dragged their friend to the safety of the land, only just in time to preserve Efnisien from certain violation.
Wet and shaken, the heroes were ill equipped for the next, strenuous part of the climb, as they battled against terrible odds and hurricane force winds through the layer of clouds. For days they struggled with no visibility and against the titanic forces of the Grey King himself, who with mighty gusts attempted to wrench them from the slender and slippery rocky footholds and hurl them into the yawning abyss. At the end of their endurance, Efnisien swallowed the magic beans he had purchased from a sorceress at Llantesco. All at once the powers of the wind-gods raged within him and he fired tempestuous fury at the Grey King, beating him at his own game.
After many trials and tribulations, the three adventurers reached the summit of the mountain and gripped hold of the sacred stone of power, and with an unearthly groan, the grey King relinquished his grasp and roared away, defeated. All that now remained was for the adventurers to claim the hidden treasure, which legend had it was buried beneath the hut of the sixth century hermit St Diego of Maradonna. Locating this hut close to the mountain peak, they searched in vain for the treasure. Outside the storm began to rage anew and the friends knew they would be holed up in the hut until the winds abetted. they knew they needed warmth and food, and should prepare for renewed combat in the morning, as the grey King regrouped his fiendish hordes.
Lighting a fire was their first challenge.... Nor, being of Moorish extraction, has the natural ability to create explosive bursts of fire and, coupled with gusts from Efnisien's magic beans, they attempted to muster a fire with which to cook their supper of roast elk, wheat porridge and pickled nun. Sadly the cloud cover was too damp and the winds too strong for the fire to hold. In a cunning stroke of genius, Philarchus weaved his huge mass of soft hair into an effective wind break, and the fire was finally able to hold. A curious thing it was that Philarchus, though a giant of 20'6", has a mass of curly hair reminiscent of a hobbit whereas Efnisien - himself a hobbit of no more that 1'9" in height, was bald as the day he was born.
After a hearty meal the three warriors returned to their beds, where they polished their weapons vigorously throughout the night, anticipating the dangers that may appear with the return of the sun.
Without warning, in the darkest watch of the night, a mysterious light appeared from the direction of the summit, filling the entire hut with a cold blue glow. The warriors bravely braced themselves for combat as two sinister figures approached the darkened doorway. Imagine the surprise of the bold adventurers three when instead of the emergence of the the expected fiends of hell, in through the doorway came two bold knights of Christendom, who had embarked on the self-same quest up the mountain. The party agreed to join forces and together search for the treasure, and to make an escape from the clutches of the mountain, fighting every step if need be.
The night passed without incident and together they began the long journey homeward. The two newcomers pointed out a pony trail which promised an easier descent of the mountain, and as the storm was still raging the three adventurers eagerly accepted their offer as guide. All boded well until they reached a fork in the path, and the newcomers indicated that the treasure was located in a mystic lake beyond the rise of steep bank of scree. Nor, with his unquenchable lust for gold, eagerly agreed to follow. Efnisien and Philarchus were sceptical, and agreed to guard the party's rearguard from marauding beasts. If separated they were to meet back on the main path leading off the mountain to Dolgellau.
Efnisien and Philarchus waited for hours, and when no sign of Nor appeared, they began to worry, and to retrace their steps to the main path. As they waited they spied several mirages appearing as parties of travellers on the hills and once even thought they saw Nor himself, but then the vision faded. Too late they realised that the two knights were not who them seemed, and that the Grey King had plotted their destruction in an most ingenious way. Heaven only knew what could be happening to Nor at that moment, although Efnisien and Philarhcus had a pretty good idea...
Philarchus knew they had to trace the road across the valley to discovery the magic wand of communication, where they might be able to contact Nor and even drag him back from the land of the faeries. The two men were pixie led for many hours before they were able to find the wand of communication. On activating the device a desperate message from Nor came through, that he was trapped in a faery prison at Dolgellau. Efnisien and Philarchus valiantly set out to his rescue, and using a combination of arcane chants, where able to force the Grey King to disgorge their prisoner from the dimension in which Nor was trapped. By this time he had been rogered many many times. Reunited again, the three heroes had to admit they had been foxed by the Grey King and with weary limbs (and rectum in Nor's case) and without any treasure, they wended their way back toward civilisation.
The great grey shrouded mountain of Cader Idris stands still, it's slopes a lurid warning to any other adventurer who might consider himself a match for the Grey King!
As narrated by Philarchcus Grosses Von Tronnenheim, AD 1102
1 comments:
It is interesting to note both the Spanish and Arab commentators who have left records of this event both state that it was the heroic actions of Nor, by persuading the two - unamed - Crusaders to return to the slopes of the mountain, that led to the rescue of Phillarkus and Efnisian. The Arab commentators also mention that Phillarkus and Efnisian had been wandering in circles for many hours prior to their rescue by Nor and that Phillarkus had even been reduced to drinking his own urine (amongst other body fluids); Efnisian is reputed to have had several pints of fresh water when he was rescued but had inexplicably failed to mention this to Phillarkus.
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