Index:
Episode 1 - The League of Iron assembles
Episode 3 - Legacy of the Veil Breakers
Episode 7 - Home is where the hearth is
Episode 8 - Last of the Old Ones
Episode 12 - Mistress of Flesh
Episode 15 - March of the parasites
Episode 16 - Shadows in the Fog
Forenoon.
Princess Hope ran around the Fort, her giggle made aloud by the beaks of chirping birds. Her tender cheeks wet with warm dew, and eyes still kept Sister Night's cozy starlight. To charge the hearts of Dwarven archer, Elf infantryman, noble Halfling cavalryman, and heavily armored Knight, she need only smile. Yet, today was a different day and she not only danced, sang, but cited vows unbroken by Father Death himself.
Resting his tired, saddened from the loss of so much innocent life eyes upon the fort, the one who gave the dead eternal rest, sighed a sigh of relief. Came the hour of doom, he'd dragged an otherworldly spirit into nonexistence and for once, a happy smirk bejeweled Death's wrinkled face. For once, he didn't have to forever shut the yes of yet another little child, but snuffed out a most vile flame.
Degenerate beings from another planes who only brought imbalance and warped the fabric of future yet to come, had no place here!
Glowing red, Hope's heel-long hair was beautified by the innumerable fallen tree leaves. A memory of Spring flower and Summer grass, her mane freely flowed on the snowflake carrying, frost wind. Caressing armored shoulders, petting reindeer antlers, giving sharp spears battle flags, and plugging tiny cracks in the Fort's thick walls, Princess Hope flew from atop the bastions and over the heads of the Four.
Backpacks full of trail rations and supplies, came early dawn, they left Raindeer's Rest. Words that needed to be uttered, were; warm hugs full of love, exchanged, life-promising gazes cast, and tears, shed. There was no more time for comfortable rest, sleep in cozy bedchambers, warm stews, or the joy of best halfling mead. Now came the cold days of frozen dampness, and nights of trenchant shadow.
“I feel I should say this, before our boots tread the decay-infused lands of Ruin.” - Gelduin spoke, and his raised two fingers, a sign that usually meant danger, made his companions halt in their tracks.
Before them lay the Ruined lands.
Nothing but lifeless trees, magick-scarred rocks, and dust-filled craters as far as their eye could see. Like grisly markers, tall pyramids of moldy bone dominated the slaughtered landscape, and the hunched ruins of olden glory reminded the Four of their ancestor's folly. The wind, this otherwise playful Aerial, showered them from head to toe with the frozen dust of deadened soil and corpses.
The stench of doom was nigh visible, a Miasma of greenish black fume and brownish fog lay as a vile funerary shroud upon this broken land.
“This is a place of restless, olden sorrow. The vengeful wraiths of those betrayed by kin and slain by foe roam these broken hills. There are thousands of Veil Breakers, awake and lurking in dust-filled shadow, some roaming from the times when Thulm arrived on our plane. Magicks, their aim long forgotten, could strike at thee and at a moment's notice.”
The Ranger stroke his beard, and, focused at something elusive which only his mighty Dwarven eyes could see, his irises gleamed upon the morrow's light.
“Then... then there are the Bone raiders. In their many hundreds, maybe even thousands, these exiles from another world would soon assail our homes. With sword, spear, and filthy magicks, they shall bear their pointy teeth upon those who man the forts.”
As if to give even more weight to Gelduin's words, the frozen wind carried a choir of distant, breathless screams and the clank of ancient steel.
The Four cast their gaze upon the fort's gleaming walls for one last time, before these vanished from sight. Indeed, as soon as their feet touched ruined land, everything that their Ranger warned them about, manifested. Miasma obscured their sight and the brown fog's foul stench stole many a breath.
“From this day onward, remember that every breath of rest, sip of water, and bite of food may cost us our life.” - Said the Ranger, and pointed at one huge pyramid of bone which emerged from the fog, a gentle quiver visible in his fingertips, before he elaborated further:
“We will avoid these piles of death, for they are the Thulm's observation towers. Instead, I shall guide you, my companions, through trails of least resistance. Rivers and creeks, their life-giving water long since gone, would be our roads. Craters full of our kin's dusty remains, and rotten, hollow trees, our fireless camps.”
The Knight spoke, as he lifted his visor up, one armored hand pointed towards the murky horizon:
“I know that ruined Weistarr lay somewhere ahead. This once most glorious city, where our ancestors built grand monuments, crafted art unparalleled, and sang songs sublime, is now lost. Ruined not as much by Thulm hands, but by the folly of those whose hearts bled for the invader masquerading as exile...”
Hands resting on her spear, the Sorceress nodded, and tiny flames blinked inside her eyes when she said:
“There, us Arkan kin became willing masters of Creation magick, yet, unlike the Flesh witches, we never vied for supremacy over the natural order of things. Neither of my ancestors cast greedy eyes upon that what gods and goddesses hath forged, nor nourished filthy dreams of immortality!”
The Elf hummed more than a few, cheerful tones, enacting a blessing of protection upon himself and his companions. Fumes and spores hiding within the rotten fog would not harm them, not unless they lingered inside the Miasma for too long.
Ainhart cleared his throat and, voice unbounded by his helm's polished mask, said:
“Weistarr is where our benevolent gods fell, and the doom of this age, birthed. Though, I know full well we cannot change the past, sometimes, I do wish our ancestors were more careful. Instead, they embraced the newcomers and, as a reward, were stabbed in their backs.”
“Forget not the old tales about the fools who willingly helped the Thulm.” - Interjected the Dwarf, and guided his companions onto a barely visible path.
The dead fingers of rotting trees cast their lifeless shade through the foul mist.
“It would seem that back in these days, the faculties of some were rather... wanting.” - Dalnor said with as low tone of voice as possible, while checking the ominous tree corpses for danger.
“No matter how much our peers want to glorify this olden past, we should remain grounded in reality. There were treacherous fools then, just as there are now! How else would these monstrous Veil Breakers breach a fort's magick wards with such ease?!” - Eirunn spoke a bit too loud, yet she did so only when the Knight gave her a sign that their surroundings appeared safe.
“I spoke to Tholdain before we left.” - The Ranger kept looking around, as they moved slowly under the rotten trees - “He'd decoded the message from our semaphore station not a minute ago.”
“According to one of the survivors, no alarms were raised and the gate, open without a fight. Though, who let them in, this old man could not tell since the distance was too much for his eyes.”
“Beware, Veil Breakers!” - Hushed them Dalnor, and pointed at a dozen gleaming lights, unhallowed eyes which moved parallel to them in the misty distance.
The Four stayed low and weapons drawn, they waited. Because this band was far, and appeared to be roaming without a clear aim, the companions were able to spare themselves a fight. Led by the Ranger, they steered clear from open fields, and used the dead trees for cover.
“Did the old man at least hear something... anything?!” - Inquired the Elf, as they descended into an even dustier creek, their boots sinking up to the shins.
Thanks to Gelduin, they would evade some roaming bands of Veil Breakers, but not all.
“Nothing else, but the unmistakable clink of heavy armor.” - Said the Dwarf as he looked at the Knight, and gave them a hasty sign to stop since there was a pit full of rusty spears on their way.
One unfortunate rider of Alkiorn and his noble reindeer lay impaled on the bottom. Moldy bones, their flesh long gone, and rusted gear covered in piles of dust. This man was one of the few lost, lone scouts, which this fort sent out here to observe Thulm movements.
Careful to avoid his fate, the Four walked around the pit and, when their Ranger noticed another trap forward, this time a hidden string of rope, he directed them to leave the creek. He showed them a rope tied trunk; many rusted swords, daggers, and spear tips, turning this once greenish tree into a large, deadly flail.
In silence, hand signs and looks their only way of communication, they forged ahead and back under the hollow gaze of deadened trees.
“Anyone could don armor. Moreover, we know not exactly what kind of armored suit this was. Could be that a sly Thulm infiltrator stole one from our honored dead. It has happened before...” - Whispered the Knight, when they stopped for a short breather underneath a gnarled, magick-scarred rock.
“Yes, this fits their underhanded ways exactly!” - Agreed the Elf with a nod, and elaborated - “My own village was nearly destroyed like this. A Thulm disguised as a Dwarf killed the gate guards, and he would've let his friends in, if not for my father splitting his filthy skull wide open.”
Eirunn hushed him gently and hurriedly nudged her companions back the trail they came. With a sign she pointed at the dead forest beyond their temporary resting place and they increased their pace. 'Twas one of the things all Fours did before their Quest began in earnest; for everything dangerous they establish a hand gesture, a word, a grunt or hiss even.
A pointed fist meant there were magick wielding Veil Breakers at that direction or area.
Back and around the edge of the small forest they went, Gelduin spotting yet another deadly trap. A cage made of old spears, their tips tied onto it, the thing was triggered by a thin, barely visible rope. The Ranger tiptoed around and found an alarm, which those who installed the trap left for overconfident scouts.
It took another half hour for him to find a way around this trapped area, but Gelduin was successful. To not alarm their enemy he did not disarm the traps, but marked them with dwarven signs. These would aid other Rangers if they found themselves on this path.
Upon reaching the dead forest's end, they climbed down into a scar upon the earth. A small crater dug by olden magicks, it was the Sorceress who noticed an enchantment roaming above it. Evening was near and this hole offered protection from the elements, therefore she'd “talk” with that spell.
“Cover your ears and be quiet!” - The Arkan kin warned her companions.
Energies unseen for many a decade writhe into vision before their eyes. Deadly shadow forged out of ancient wizardly will, claws sharper than any sword of steel, materialized with a hiss.
“Who goes there?!”
Eirunn threaded a single tread of yellowish magick with her finger on her spear's tip. Her boots sank deep into the soil and even though she had assumed a steady stance, her knees almost buckled. Such was the force of this spell that she found it really hard to breathe.
“I write the words of Creation.” - Eirunn's magick tread formed ancient hieroglyphs which flew at the shadowy spell, and with each stroke her finger bled.
“Feel an enemy, I can!” - Hissed the thing back at her, and its large blades clawed the air before the Four.
Focused, the Sorceress kept scribing more hieroglyphs, even though the hand she shaped them with was dripping blood from cuts reaching up to her elbow.
“Read this and obey! Pass unharmed we shall, the four of us are friends.”
The spell hissed and flames unseen shrouded its large shape. Arrows of the arcane flew at something beyond their sight and hit, disintegrated it. The sword-like claws rescinded and the angry hiss, quieted.
“I... obey...” - Rumbled the spell and before they could blink, vanished into thin air.
Ainhart helped the tired Sorceress down the crater, and, in a few minutes, the Four crawled deep inside the coziest holes their Ranger could find. Wrapped in their cloaks and huddled together to share body heat, they silently consumed their trail rations. Though the cleric's blessing protected their lungs, the food and water had to be eaten quickly. If they left anything out in this foul air for too long, it would become poisonous, blessing or no blessing.
“Sorceress, when we talked about Weistarr,” - the Elf spoke with calm, hushed voice - “you mentioned the Flesh witches' dreams of immortality. You, Arkan kin, should know how they prolong their existence.”
Eirunn winced and, as if someone was stabbing her in the heart, uttered:
“They drain the life-blood of others and using it, concoct a vile potion which extends their life. However, they cannot take the life of just anyone. The hags pick from a number of elves, whom they call...” she cast her eyes upon Ainhart and studying his face, her voice faltered.
“Unchosen Ones. Yes, though the brand on my skin is not visible with the naked eye, I assure you, it is there.”
“I heard others talk about this, but only vaguely. Could you please elaborate?” - The Knight said, while he vigorously scrubbed the dirt from his armored boots to keep warm.
“You see, that day when the Thulm infiltrator attempted to open the gates, they were coming for me... A flesh witch and her retinue of bone raiders attacked immediately after their comrade had failed to secure them entrance into my village. At the time, I was six summers old. I watched in horror how my father, brave and stalwart as he was, nearly got slain where he stood.”
“However, the Thulm severely overestimated their ability to take on our entire village with their small force, and win. Indeed, they'd overwhelmed my father and surged forth, bypassing all who attempted to stop them. By standing at the gate, my dad slowed them down and thus, following his initial warning cry, everyone who could carry a weapon got out.”
“Everyone?” - Exclaimed Eirunn and blinked, most of her fear healed by the clergyman's soothing voice - “Among us arcanists, only token few are fit enough to wield melee weapons proficiently. As you could tell from my tale, I am an exception to the rule.”
“Ours is a border village. Though small, 'tis a great, tight-knit community and everyone knows everyone. Kids train how to defend themselves under their parents or other elders, as early as four summers old. Thus, seeing the Thulm overpowering my father, I was already swirling a lead projectile over my head with the sling I always carried. Mom had a bolt loaded in her crossbow and was aiming at the witch.”
The Elf's companions exchanged curious glares, each rubbing their hands or stomping their feet to keep warm, while he told his tale.
“These arrogant murderers! The bone raiders assumed our farmer and woodsmen fathers useless in a fight. Their witch thought our mothers simple housewives, incapable of doing anything other than scream and run away. When a hail of crossbow bolts pierced their flesh and a rain of lead bullets crushed their bones, it was far too late since their raiding party was cut off and surrounded.”
“What happened then?! I really hope your parents and neighbors remained among the living...” - Asked the Dwarf, and the hope in his voice was infectious.
“Yes, please tell us that everything ended well!” - Exclaimed the Sorceress and grabbed Ainhart's hand, shaking it, barely able to stand all the anticipation.
“The murderous Thulm raiders and their Flesh witches are not to be underestimated. They are, by far, some of the most deadly opponents our people have ever had the chance of facing. However,” - the Elf flexed his muscles, a giant smile on his chiseled face - “they erred more than once, this day. My grandfather's weapons gave us an edge, which we honed by daily sparring. Four of our neighbors lost a leg and an arm, seven more were heavily wounded and my father nearly died, but our village triumphed.”
“Before mom shot the flesh witch, this one attempted to worm herself inside my head. 'Kill your parents!' she ordered, while they fought tooth and nail to protect me. I remember looking rather stupefied at my friends, who were launching bullet after bullet, more asking myself than her: 'Why should I harm my mother and father?'”
“I now know that had she had more time, the witch would've broken me, or some of my friends. Others told me that in some cases, the Flesh witches ask people to kill themselves. In my case all she could do was promise 'You will be ours' and 'Everyone you know and love will die!', as mother was bashing her ugly mug in with a cudgel.” - Ainhart said boisterously, and his companions chuckled.
“But the mark did not vanish,” - Dalnor soured the mood a bit - “am I right?”
“True, yet... what are we to do in the face of certain death? All my life until this attack, I witnessed how my parents, neighbors, and friends persevered. Thus, I did exactly what anyone else in my place, would.”
“I think I can see where this is going.” - Said Gelduin with a grin, and now calm, combed the dirt from his marvelous beard.
“What? No, I can't see it!” - Exclaimed smiling Eirunn, and nudged the Elf - “Please, I want to know.”
Ainhart's honest smile grew so wide, his companions could swear it was almost a source of light and warmth.
“Oft, complicated problems require simple solutions, my grandma always said. I was never the strongest, nor was I the toughest, or even the wisest among my peers. Average, that's what I was. Therefore, instead of hiding in some temple or leaving the lands of Alkiorn altogether, I adopted an extra tough, special training regimen.”
The Elf clergyman flexed his muscles and elaborated:
“Everyone in my village helped me. I and my friends did pushups, pullups, squats, and they urged me to keep going when I thought I couldn't. When I ran, they ran together with me. If I couldn't reach my goal, they'd help me walk and even crawl if I had to, but finish my run. As I lifted weights, they were there too, keeping me safe and helping me do more and more, every day. The chores which every kid in my village had to do, my friends did for me. My only task was to train, and train I did!”
He spoke with such calm, collected pride of his merit, that his companions could do nothing else, but be happy for him.
“My father taught me the axe, and my mother, the crossbow.” - He patted his weapons - “The axe is a gift from dad, while mom commissioned the windlass heavy crossbow. These childhood friends of mine bought the high quality steel my armor was forged from, and, my grandparents purchased the glow-steel helm.”
“I knew that warriors, no matter how strong, are less likely to be chosen since there are so many. Therefore, I feverishly prayed to Mother Vayila, and in my spare time, composed songs in her honor. I was happy with my progress. Even if the goddess did not pick me as her priest, I'd still venerate her and volunteer for border fort duty. Better to be among other soldiers when the witches come for my blood!”
The stalwart man made a hand sign and sang a blessing:
“Blessed are thou who learn to help themselves, for it is them who save others.”
“One day,” - he continued, eyes shut, and hands clasped together in prayer - “the head priest of our largest temple came to my village. I was sixteen summers old then, and, oh, no longer average were my muscles. The clergyman told us he was bestowed a dream by our goddess. In it she sang to him that I was 'a man shaped by stubborn tenacity' and 'one of the most wholesome guardians of peace she ever heard singing.' The rest, as they say, is history.”
Ranger, Knight, and Sorceress gazed upon their priestly companion, who avowed his brutal intent with the utmost of confidence:
“My goal is to visit the Flesh witches before they visit me! With a Sorceress beside me, they shan't be burrowing inside my head. The sharp blade and armored shoulder of my Knightly brother shall be a bulwark against the Thulm. A Ranger's swift sword and peerless arrows shall guard my back, as I sing the blessings of Mother Vayila. Thus emboldened, I will follow my mom's leading example and end the bitch who branded me the Unchosen one!”
***
Dear reader, if you liked this story, you might enjoy my published work.
FINALLY! Someone else portrays Elves as mighty, burly and buff! I've been doing that with my Iron Elves (or about to show that in Darkspire) and the fact so few others are willing to do so since Tolkien has been a great source of exasperation. Cannot praise you enough for this, great gift mon ami!
The Ruined Land - excellent visual description early: Lifeless trees, bone pyramids, "the frozen dust of deadened soil and corpses". And the last line was a great finisher to the piece: "Thus emboldened, I will follow my mom's leading example and end the bitch who branded me the Unchosen one!"