《The Vorrgistadt Saga - Archives (2015-2018)》


 [2015] Origins - In Places Dark & Terrible

    In Places Dark & Terrible


    WrittenNovember 26th, 2015


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    It had taken four days and nights of constant fighting to reach this point. Three of the five members of the expedition party had succumb to the cold and merciful embrace of Olthenna, the goddess of death. The last two, although alive, were exhausted, covered in dried blood and strings of gore, stinking of constant struggle beneath their fur and leather clothing.


    The first of the survivors was an adult woman, her vibrant blue eyes darting around wildly, filled with strained energy. Her long, frazzled hair, a mixture of rich browns, with highlights of ruddy copper. Her features angular, her fair skin marred by long-dried, thick splashes of rich crimson and black. Beneath the fur-covered shoulders of her garb were lean, muscular and refined arms that tensed as she leaned forward. Both of her hands pushed down upon the hilt of her bloodied, heavily notched, and downward-pointing sword that she used as a crutch to gather her breath.


    Beside her -- to her right -- in a clean area of the room where dead bodies and gore were yet to be -- upon the cold stone floor -- sat the other survivor of this journey. A wiry and small young man, slight of frame beneath the fur and leather that seemed to dwarf him. His dark brown hair was fine, his tanned complexion far darker than the woman, his eyes were wide and black like a perpetually startled cat.


    "Istobin..." The woman gasped for air, pressing hard on the hilt of her blade and stretching out her back. "I swear by all the gods, ancient and new..." She craned her head to the side, cracking her neck as she closed her eyes for a moment. "You are absolutely useless." The woman opened her eyes and directed a sharp stare at the young man near her. She stood up, breathing heavily for a few short seconds, then quickly picked up her sword in her left hand, swinging it back and forth idly in front of her in the air.


    The young man stared back at her, his expression still perpetually bewildered. His fingers preoccupied with a length of fraying rope that held the lower half of his clothing in check around his waist. He blinked hard twice and lowered his gaze to the relatively clean shortsword left abandoned on the floor by his feet. "My apologies cousin, Ghelta, I didn''t think there were any more of them this far down into the ruins."


    "Useless and dim-witted." Ghelta took two steps forward, her breath caught once again and her vigor freshly renewed. Her body moving gracefully as she paced back and forth moving her sword around herself in wide swings. She stopped, looked again to the young man whose gaze was still upon his sword. She leaned forward in front of him, bending to his eye level. "Of course the grimlocks will be down here in the furthest levels of the ruins, they love the dark. How many times have I had to tell you on this journey to never let your guard down. Ylethus told you eleven times in the last day, and now Ylethus is dead. Your incompetence led him right into the arms of Olthenna."


    The man looked up, his mouth now agape. His eyes seemed to widen even further, large black holes surrounded by white. "I..." Istobin began to stammer, and then gave a long, snotty inhalation. "I was not responsible for Ylethus'' death."


    Ghelta backed away, straightening up. Her face dropping into a frown for a slight moment, and then a sadistic grin slowly spreading across her face. "Yes. You are." She puffed out her chest, grabbing her sword tightly with both hands. "If we didn''t have a mewling coward who can barely handle a child''s sword with us, I''m quite sure both Ylethus and Phrim would still be alive at this moment. That other one, your brother that came with us. No, he''d still be dead, the fool." Ghelta pursed her lips, causing the dried blood around the lower half of her face to crack and drab. "I would gladly trade your corpse for the lives of those we lost." She took two steps back and spun slowly in a full turn on her heels. "But... What is done is done. Pick up your damn sword boy, we aren''t finished yet!" Ghelta took a step forward, the toes of her leather-strap sandals resting on Istobin''s sword blade. She gave a hard kick to push the blade back toward the young man.


    Istobin caught the blade with both hands. He gave a long look upwards to the woman with him. His expression remained as bewildered and forlorn as before, not changing. He grabbed his sword and slowly, with great strain, arose to his feet.


    "Good." Ghelta blurted out curtly. She turned away, took several steps, bent down to pick up the guttering torch on the ground she had abandoned during the previous fight, then began walking away without consideration as to the young man catching up with her. "That demented, old sage our tribe took as a slave a few weeks ago... Well, the rumors he gave to us, said that there is a great treasure down here. And if he is to be believed, we should almost be there by now."


    * * *


    The eyeless, fang-filled face of the grimlock slavered and chattered away mere inches from Ghelta''s face. The hideous thing was a mockery of the human form. Mottled, fleshy bulbs had covered over where the eyes should be. The nose was nothing more than slits of ragged flesh stretched taut over exposed, jagged bone. The hair-less head, coated in glistening mucus. Bony ridges sticking out from its jutting, over-sized jaw. Its mouth was a chittering cacophony assortment of rotted, razor-sharp teeth, leaking thick, clear saliva and sulfurous fumes. One day, ages ago, these creatures may once have been human, but now in the depths of the Below-world, tainted as they were by dark magics and their own depraved appetites, they had become something wholly other.


    Ghelta had her sword pinned against her chest, in-between the naked body of the grimlock and her own bloodstained furs. She struggled to pull the blade free with her left hand. Her right hand fought valiantly by grasping the grimlock''s thin, sinewy and slick neck. She put her weight and all the strength of her right arm into keeping the tainted beast from getting close enough to seize her with its infectious bite. One of the creature''s claws was clasped around her right forearm, its long and dirty claws raking through her flesh, causing blood to well up in rivulets from her wounds. The creature''s other claw seized the blade of her sword and kept the weapon pinned between them.


    Ghelta could hear several more of the blind creatures clamoring along the stones of darkened areas nearby. Some of them chattering away as if communicating with one another, and others raking their claws against the pitted and ancient stone of the walls, using what was left of their hearing and tactile senses to localize the commotion she was causing within their unhallowed home.


    "You damned fool! You walked us right into another den of them! Where are you?" Ghelta continued to fight against the creature on top of her. Slowly but suredly she was beginning to win the battle of strength against the beast. She could feel the sword coming free, notch by notch of her worn blade cutting through the sickly skin of the grimlock''s seizing hand.


    "Here, cousin." Ghelta could hear a strained, raspy and squeaking voice from behind her and over her right shoulder, somewhere off in the dark past the light of her, again abandoned, torch. She could hear a groan, and then a sickly wet sound like an over-ripened melon being caved in with a blacksmith''s hammer. Ghelta hoped for a moment, her tolerance wearing thin this entire expedition, that the wet sound she heard was the skull of Istobin finally giving way beneath the crushing hands of some grimlock off in the darkness.


    Ghelta''s morbid hopes were soon dashed, when she saw the blood-drenched, wild-eyed face of Istobin emerge from the shadows beside her and quickly dash behind the grimlock seizing her. A glint erupted in his eyes, and they narrowed for a brief moment, his mouth opening up to allow a limp scream of anger. His arm raising his now bloodied shortsword in the air as he brought it down at a sharp angle, into the back of the grimlock''s skull. The blade-point poked through the front of the grimlock''s neck, and with a few seizuring gasps from the monster, thick, blackened, ichorous blood soon poured forth into Ghelta''s face.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    It was simply a matter of moments before the creature''s grasp lightened and set Ghelta free. She pulled her sword away, backed up a few paces and brought the sword down hard on the head of the grimlock as it slowly spasmed its way to the floor, being propped up by Istobin''s blade still stuck into its neck. After the impact, the feeling of bone grinding on metal filled Ghelta with relief and sadistic mirth. A few moments further still, the creature was finally dead, and the job of Ghelta and Istobin to wrench free their blades began.


    "I see you finally proved your use." Ghelta looked up from beneath her furrowed brow towards Istobin as she pulled her sword free. "I don''t know what stroke of luck you pulled in not becoming food to those things off in the dark, but I am glad you could share some of your fool''s fortune with me." Istobin finally pulled his blade free with great deal of strain and heavy breathing. "Let''s not keep depending on luck. I am tired of being ambushed by these abominations. I can hear more of them scurrying their blind way towards us. We go right." Ghelta pointed with a finger towards a space of darkness nearby. "Past that outcropping, and we keep running. Do you understand?"


    Istobin looked down to where Ghelta had pointed. He stared off into the darkness, oblivious to what Ghelta was referring to. He nodded and returned his gaze back to his cousin. That wide-eyed, startled cat look that could not seem to ever be removed from his face for a single moment''s reprieve. The look that made Ghelta want to rip his eyes from his sockets, simply so that it would cease.


    Ghelta quickly ran and gathered her torch once again. She blurted out "We go now!" She pressed forward and soon began sprinting off and piercing into the dark with her torchlight. Istobin gulped hard, took three deep breaths and soon followed.


    * * *


    It had felt like an hour of hard running, numerous zig-zags, cross-backs, desperate sprints, and near ambushes, but finally Ghelta had reached where she wanted to be. The description she had heard from Ylethus of what the mad, old sorcerer had told him seemed to finally ring true.


    Ghelta and Istobin had emerged from a roughly hewn and incredibly narrow, descending spiral staircase and into a small out-cropping room. Behind them was the small opening to the stairs, and before them seemed to be a vast and empty space, filled with nothing but darkness. The stone floor ahead of them was pockmarked, gouged, cracked and seemed to gather moisture from somewhere else in very shallow pools worn into the stone over vast amounts of time. The flickering and smoky light of the torch bounced over the similarly stoned walls and roof above them, but a scant few paces before them it seemed as if light itself could not penetrate the darkness at all. As if the terrestrial world of stone, dirt and water-filled pools gave way abruptly to a grand, abyssal realm of pure shadow.


    "Do you hear that?" Istobin muttered, absentmindedly and as if to himself.


    "Yes, I hear an echo of falling droplets, and I feel wind." Ghelta continued to hold her torch above her with her right hand, staring off into the blackness before her. "I think we are inside of some out-cropping room, and before us is some sort of chasm or fissure. This rings true to the words of that cowardly hedge-wizard slave." Ghelta took two cautious steps forward, remaining on the periphery of the almost solid darkness. "If what that coward said is true, we must press forward through this shadow. There is a bridge ahead, across a vast gap, and on the other side is the treasure we have lost much to attain."


    Before Ghelta could even finish her exhalation of words, Istobin pushed by her and began pressing forwards into the darkness. Ghelta was startled at either the suddenly uncharacteristic courage of her cousin, or another bout of his idiocy at running ahead without caution. She shook her head hard and began a hard pace after him, speeding up as he continued to run faster and farther, heedlessly, ahead of her in the darkness.


    The wind began to whip up around Ghelta, her frizzled and gore-clumped hair began to lift and chaotically flip about her head, carried by wind jets that changed, mixed and whipped around without reason. Before her the ancient stone gave way to a strangely textured obsidian bridge, arching up and down and wavering left and right in winding angles. Whatever the bridge was made of was solid as stone, but the direction and curves to it were dizzying and felt like moving forward into a spiral created by a madman. The footpath on the bridge was narrow, but Ghelta traversed it gracefully. There were no supports on either side, just shadow, and a feeling of an immense fall into nothingness.


    After a few more moments of running, and once the last sense of direction and coordination had been driven from Ghelta''s mind, she saw the flickering form of her cousin, Istobin, stopped and standing before her. His gaze, again startled and bewildered, was focused upwards. Her gaze joined his soon after.


    Before them both was an immense monolith of jagged crystal. Although a sense of distance seemed meaningless in this shadowed chasm, the monolith itself seemed to be as large as a mountain, carrying onward, upward and outward away from the obsidian platform that Ghelta and Istobin stood upon. The crystalline monolith reflected and refracted the light of the torch in a dazzling array of blues, purples, silver and indigo hues. The crystal itself looked like a glassy form of ice, with a semi-opaque, bluish-white color to it. There was depth within the crystal, beneath shattered and jagged cracks. Within that depth there was something dark, moving slowly and rhythmically. Whatever it was, it was alive.


    "This is the treasure we came here for?" Istobin''s voice cracked, and his gaze never left the monolith hanging before him in the darkness. He turned his head slowly to meet Ghelta''s gaze. His damned eyes widening even further, startled and afraid. "I don''t think this is a treasure, cousin."


    Ghelta snorted hard at Istobin''s comment. She broke his gaze and leaned forward towards a stretch of crystal slightly above her height. "That book-gazing charlatan was adamant about the information Ylethus extracted from him. He wanted whatever this is to himself and no other. Not all treasures in this world are gold coins, gems and fine furs, Istobin." Ghelta leaned even closer, shoving the torch over towards Istobin so that he would take it as she examined the crystal before her. "Perhaps this thing itself is some kind of gem. Or whatever stirs beneath is some forgotten god that will grant us our every dream..." Her voice trailed off. She was transfixed by this thing.


    "Cousin, Ghelta." Istobin stammered, holding the torch now between himself and the monolith before him. "Please don''t touch this thing. I have a bad feeling..."


    Ghelta cocked her head and turned back to him, her eyes growing more vibrant and crazed the closer she got to the crystal. "Shut up, you coward. Shut your damned mouth! You have no concept of what this is. I am sick of your feelings! Sick of your whimpering!! Sick of your uselessness..." Ghelta''s face returned to the crystal. She stood on the tips of her toes, her face a few finger''s width away from the thing. She reached out her left hand, upwards, slowly, until the palm of her hand rested upon the shining and dazzling wall of crystalline smoothness.


    The pain shot through her hand and up through her arm like cold flames, piercing its way through every vein, every artery and every layer of flesh. At first the pain was unbearable, hard, jagged, cold and burning all at once. Ghelta winced and almost cried out. After a few short moments, the pain changed it''s tone and cadence to that of a piercing kind of pleasure. The coldness felt like a presence, a presence forcing its way through the crystal, through her arm, and upwards through her body, to her heart and to her mind.


    "G-Ghu-Ghelta!" Istobin tripped over his own voice, his mind whirling ahead of his body before he finally caught up to himself and reached forward to try and pry his cousin from the crystal.


    Ghelta''s right arm jerked up with an inhuman grace and seized Istobin''s neck. Her hand felt like ice, the flesh of her fingers felt like stone, and the strength of her grasp was not human at all. She pulled her left hand, slowly from the crystal before her. Her face moving, jerking, spasmodically, as her head twisted to look Istobin in the eyes. "A coward. A fool. A disappointment to our tribe..." Ghelta''s voice was harsh, broken and raspy. Each word flowed out of her mouth like a jet of cold air.


    Istobin grasped her arm tightly, straining to get his neck free from her hand. He could feel her grip tightening and lifting him upwards. His breathing becoming strained beneath the pressure on his throat. He stammered out a few vowels, but nothing coherent.


    Ghelta held Istobin off of his feet now with a single arm. Her left hand slowly reaching towards the scabbard of her sword strapped to her back. With a single clasp and pivot, she had her blade free, and in a lightning bolt''s flash, she embedded her blade, hilt-deep, into Istobin''s chest.


    Istobin''s eyes erupted, wider than ever before, in pain and fear. What few breaths he could seize upon under his cousin''s inhuman grip, soon welled up with gurgles of blood and froth. His body twitched hard a dozen times, and quickly went limp. His startled and black eyes dropping, lifelessly, back towards Ghelta''s gaze.


    "A coward''s sacrifice is still a sacrifice." Ghelta dropped her cousin''s corpse to the ground with an echoing thud. "And with this, after these many millennia of imprisonment, we are free." Ghelta looked up, her eyes changing color from her once vibrant green, to that of a shining, glowing yellow. The whites of her eyes becoming red with blood tears that soon filled over and dripped down her face.


    Within the crystal, a darkness stirred to wakefulness. Pushing through the opaque whitish-blue was a face, the size of which could capture and entire warhorse within it''s severe and fang-filled maw. A booming thunder ripped through the darkness of the chasm as the crystal began to crack, more and more. Each crack echoing and more deafening than the last. The wind whipping up into a maelstrom that seemed to lift Ghelta from the very platform she still stood upon.


    "Yes... We are free!"


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 [2016] The Shattered Oracle (First Drafts) - Glimpses of Things to Come

    TheShattered Oracle


    Glimpses of Things to Come


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    Seemingly malevolent shadows danced across the jagged and organic ornaments of the walls. Every inch of the place seemed to be alive, slick, and shiny with some sort of living substance. All of it looked like some hybrid of living tissues, metals, bones, and unknown gems.


    The air inside the room was cold and moist. The illumination within was both dazzling with its shimmering colors and dim enough to strain an average person¡¯s eyes making it impossible to focus. It was too much to take in with the limited senses of a mortal. Due to these unceasing strains, Merithault was beginning to suffer the early effects of vertigo and madness.


    She cautiously stepped forwards with her hands lightly tapping some of the outcroppings in front of her and to her sides. She had to ground herself while moving forward as if blind. She did not trust her senses as they were constantly assaulted with maddening and shifting sensations. A feeling of slick mucus with one touch. A feeling of cold metal with another. A jolting pain of multiple sharp points penetrating skin with one. A sickening ecstasy of the finest silks brushing her skin with the next.


    She could see before her some sort of dark obsidian outcroppings jutting out haphazardly from the flooring beneath her. Every touch sent her dizzy with sensory dissonance. Her eyes told her one thing and her touch another. Her ears were ringing with a cacophony of sounds; insanely blaring trumpets and the frantic roaring of a tempestuous sea. At the same time, it felt deathly silent as if she hovered inside of a vacuum. Her ears hearing nothing, but the sounds getting through and ripping into her mind, despite.


    Her nose and her mouth were assaulted with sickly sweet smells of death and putrefaction, but as soon as the smell of decay became overbearing ¡ª choking ¡ª it would quickly morph to that of the finest bouquets of flowers and herbs. Her tongue felt alive and slithering inside of her skull. Constantly twitching and wanting to break free to experience all the dissonant flavors it could capture. The pressure in her sinuses was unbearable, reaching from the bridge of her nose across to her ears and down to her jaw, like some immense pressure ready to pop her skull apart.


    Above and in front of her within the swirling masses of glimmering colors and insane hallucinations ¡ª in the center of the room ¡ª was a large dais. That is, what Merithault thought with all the disorienting glimpses her eyes were assaulted with would seem like a large dais. Above it, vortexes and fractalized patterns of light moved in organic ways shifting between colors, tastes, smells, sounds, and horripilating sensations. The light closer to the elevated area was a shimmering white with stripes and ribbons of color that looked very much like the auroras that continually encircled the Scintillating Crown of the World. A sight that she had seen many times in her travels abroad. Encircling the illuminated platform were metallic and organic reliefs raising up like scoured and glistening gums topped with fangs and juts of jagged bone that looked as if they were made of solid mercury.


    Before her seemed like only a stone¡¯s throw distance to the dais, her destination in this mind-shattering place. Every step forward seemed like an eternity. Merithault felt every jolting movement as if it was a step through time itself, backward to the very origins of the world. She pressed forward, even as every instinct flaring off in deepest recesses of her mind screamed for her to run back the way she had entered. She felt like she would die, or suffer some far worse fate once she reached her goal, but with every shred of willpower she could muster, she pressed forwards.


    She reached out with her arms, feeling as if the dais were within reach. Her muscles were tensed and sore, her fingers numb with sensation. As the tip of her right hand seemed to press forward coming within distance of the surface before her, she had to recoil.


    All around her, the sounds without source began to pitch to even higher and more frantic tones. The myriad trumpets began airing their cries louder, and faster beginning to take on a steady rhythm. The crashing of waves seemed to slow, becoming a deepening rumble that shook the bone and tissues of her skull. The tones melted together, becoming like that of a heartbeat. Each moment the heartbeat grew louder, faster, deeper, and more intense.


    Through squinted eyes, she could see the light from the dais grow ever more frantic and blinding. The lights and sensations deepened. Instead of shapes and vagueness, they seemed to coalesce into shards of memories forgotten to time. Ephemeral figures flared up out of the light, taking form for only the briefest of moments to give out a scream of primal horror, a moan of depraved lust, or declare some alien epiphany in a language lost to time, then fade away into nothingness.


    Merithault closed her eyes against the onslaught of visions. She grabbed at the sides of her skull pressing at her ears to try and vainly stop the sounds that ripped into and through her. As soon as she felt like she could take no more there came a sudden shift or an internal popping like something had ruptured inside of her. With that came a silence, an absence of sensation. The feeling of vertigo mounted until she surrendered to it. Feeling as if she were free of the world¡¯s weight. As if she were flying above the world, or falling into the deepest abyss.


    She opened her eyes at last and saw only a brilliant white light. She lowered her hands from her ears, looking down to them. Her hands were coated in some strange humor. A clear mucous substance, filled with black veins, pulsating. The veined mucus was mixed with crimson blood. Perhaps her ears had ruptured finally and this mixture of humors was the result, or perhaps some transformation had occurred within her to cause this. She began to panic, but felt an immense warmth inside of her, and as quickly as the feeling emerged, it was washed away by a feeling of detachment.


    She let her hands drop to her sides, the blood and mucus dribbling away below her into an illuminated chasm of nothingness. Her feet were free of the ground, as there was no longer anything below them. The fabric of her clothing whipped around her in a torrent of wind that seemed to not exist to her tactile senses. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out, nor breath for that matter. Here, her previous feelings of madness and terror were slowly turning to a blissful feeling of peace and comfort, as if she were curled up in her bed, thousands of miles away, lost within a most pleasant dream.


    The sense of time in this place was distorted. As soon as Merithault¡¯s mind could seize onto a memory of a moment passing, it slipped away, seeming to fall and stretch out infinitely. The moments of life felt less like a trickle of sand passing away as each grain broke free and plummeted into nothingness, like that of the normal world, but more like the endless flowing of water into a great precipice. Stretching and contorting with an elastic quality that made it impossible for a mortal mind to form or recall any memories, at all. If this was what death felt like, she felt like she could exist here, forever, in peace.


    As she began to finally surrender all of herself to this peaceful void, about to close her eyes for what could be the final time, the peace was broken. It started as a shimmering ahead of her. A dimming of the brilliant light. It moved towards her like waves. Stuttering blackness, rippling towards her, shredding the light apart and seeming to reveal the light for the deception it was. A white room given the illusion of depth, encircled by a great black void beyond. A black void forcing its way through, ripping the illusion of light away. Freeing Merithault from a prison of peace, and into a liberating void of fear.


    Every ripple and tear at the light was accompanied by an immense buzzing. A sense of time and place returned, and with the last shreds of the light being ripped away, the feeling of floating turned to that of perpetually falling. Falling through a void of darkness.


    That is when the voices began to speak.


    The voices formed out of the waves of darkness. The buzzing became the howls and cries of innumerable voices slamming into one another. Female, male, old, young. All different languages and dialects. Snippets of known words, ancient tongues, and forgotten ramblings. There were cries of happiness, cries of sorrow, screams of pain and heartfelt laughter. The voices were in disarray, becoming a cacophonous mess, soon taking order. The voices layering on top of one another, harmonizing and then blaring words as if they were a command from the gods themselves. These words being understood on almost an instinctual level.


    ¡°Little¡­ Soul¡­ Seeks¡­ Wisdom.¡±


    It took several moments for Merithault to collect her senses enough to realize the voices were speaking to her. The black void around her felt both tightening and exposing at the same time. She raised her head and looked forwards, what she thought was forwards, into the great black abyss.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Merithault took a deep breath and was surprised that her lungs were still able to draw in what felt like air in this alien place. ¡°I seek to know wisdom and understanding of what is to befall my people.¡±


    The void around her seemed to shift, ever so slightly. Dim points of light began to pierce the unending blackness, like stars revealing themselves slowly during a sunset. The points appeared randomly, starting slow and growing in speed until the entire void was filled with glittering points of light.


    ¡°Then¡­ That¡­ Is¡­ What¡­ We¡­ Provide.¡±


    There was a delay that only lasted a few moments between the last word the voices spoke, to when all forms of madness began to break loose, once again. The points of light, now revealing themselves to be distant stars, began to slowly move, gathering speed and then whirling around at a dizzying pace. The glow of the stars began to shift and change, turning red, then blue. The lights moved in patterns and flows that overwhelmed Merithault¡¯s eyes. Shifting nebulae appeared out of the void and took on organic dances as their colors changed and their dimensions twisted.


    That is when the first of the visions tore through into her mind.


    ***


    The chittering, eyeless beast before her pulled back its lips into a snarl that resembled the rictus grin of a rotted corpse. That snarl revealed, beneath withered and almost transparent lips, the long, yellowed, razor-sharp teeth the creature held between its oversized jaws. The teeth were covered in a glistening, thick, greyish saliva that vibrated and sputtered out from gaps between its fangs as the beast hissed and roared all its menace at her.


    The space in the beast¡¯s skull where its eyes should have been were replaced with mottled bulbs of tumorous flesh that trailed, on each side, around its bald skull in tear-drop shapes. Its jaws were immense and distorted to accommodate the fangs within. Bony protrusions, some spiked, some dulled, others shattered, erupted along the edge of the jawline and up around where the ears also should have been, to a ridged crest at the base of its skull.


    This hideous head, a nightmare of the humanoid form, pivoted and moved side-to-side like the predatory weavings of a cobra about to strike. The point of movement being the creature¡¯s thin and sinewy neck. Nothing more than strained muscle, and jutting lumps of spine, all covered in almost transparent, sickly skin, coated in the same rancid slime it drooled through its teeth.


    The monster was clothed in nothing more than ancient, threadbare rags that did nothing to give its hideous form any sense of modesty or protection. The tatters were draped seemingly out of habit, or perhaps mockery of human coverings, not really for any actual use. Each segment of cloth looked like a patch or a stain of mold and grime, soaked through with blood and filth.


    More pressing than any of the details of the creature¡¯s form, and only slightly more threatening than its chittering maw, were the long, sharp, and gore-encrusted claws on its long, spindle-like fingers it held in a neutral pose. The beast¡¯s claws were jagged, dirty, covered in blood and rancid chunks of meat. Each one was almost twice the length of the average fang in its skull. It held its hands at its sides, bony elbows jutting forward and bent, keeping its hands in front of it, threatening with them while also providing protection for itself.


    Merithault could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins, screaming and howling like a waterfall of blood-lust. Beneath the desire for immediate action, was exhaustion, every muscle groaned in pain, every nerve was firing at once, and every strip of flesh on her body felt like a gaping wound. As she moved into this body, feeling all that it said to her, the myriad chorus of pain, blood-lust, frenzy and fear, she also began to feel ecstasy. To the body she now inhabited, this was life, constantly on the verge of death.


    She could feel her teeth clench, blood mixing with saliva, pressing through them and over her bottom lip. She felt a howl grow from inside of her, the muscles of her abdomen pressing tightly, her lungs ready to press out the air inside of them. Her hand, white-knuckled, seizing onto the hilt of a blade, pointing downward and raised above her head. The leather wrapped around the hilt, feeling like they could give away in a snap beneath her grip, the metal, hungry for blood and sweat.


    With one fluid motion, she felt her body shift, her hips turning away from the beast before her. Two quick steps backward, as if she would turn her back from the creature and run away. A moment of panic, and then a moment of cold, hard, certainty.


    With the first pivot and step, the creature shoved its arms forwards, grasping out at her to rake at her exposed flank. With the second step, the creature dropped its hands, just a few inches lower than before and took its own first step to run after her. This is all that she needed, the slightest exposure, and she gladly took it.


    The motions were deceptions, taking advantage of the creature¡¯s limited senses. With the last step, Merithault turned on her ankles, feeling a muscle scream in her thigh under the strain, she used her hips to turn, sword still raised in her left hand, and her right coming up to palm the pummel for leverage. She used her right arm now to twist her sword, hand pushing against hand, as she slid her sword down to her left at a slight angle to her target.


    The murderous dance was almost completed, every action prepared, every muscle straining against one another, and she let it go in one satisfying motion. The sword pulled rightward across and forwards, the end of the blade piercing into the monster¡¯s flesh just above the collarbone. The force driving the sword brought it harder and further behind the creature¡¯s breastplate, piercing internal organs until it found its way towards the heart.


    The creature raised its clawed hands in desperation. The creature¡¯s right claw was useless and too far away now from Merithault to be of any danger, the left claw, however, limply tore into the exposed shoulder of her body. Her nerves slowly filling her mind with red hot whispers, finally turning to brilliant lightning flashes of rage.


    In this moment that slowed down almost to stillness, Merithault soon realized she was holding her breath since her first pivot and step. The howl within her was reaching a point that it could no longer be held back. Like a pack of frothing and baying dogs on a leash, in a frenzy to be loosed at their prey, she let the dogs free. She let all the rage inside of her free in the form of sound. The creature howled back, the chittering turning into a mewling cry of pain and fear. The last scream of a being realizing its own mortality, and knowing it had been bested by a superior predator.


    Now Merithault could feel her body shoving hard, back to its original position, and with this leverage, her right hand shoved her sword harder and deeper into the chest cavity of the beast. Thick, black, ichorous blood began to well up from the wound. The howling of the creature became a sputter, as blood and slime welled up in its throat. The creature gave four more hard gasps, moving its face towards her own, almost if they were lovers embracing. Then, the creature¡¯s head went limp, falling forwards. Its right arm dropping, its left sliding from her shoulder, with thin strips of her flesh trailing from her wound, and new daubs of her blood now painting its rancorous claws.


    Although Merithault had never known this kind of primal satisfaction before, the body she was in loved every second of it. The sensations felt as normal and as pleasant as anything she had ever experienced. The only drop in sensation came when she found herself still holding the short sword in her left hand, backing up, slightly. She let the newly dead corpse of the beast fall forwards, collapsing like an abandoned doll. With that, the realization that the blood-lust had stopped, and the tiresome work of freeing the blade now must begin.


    ***


    The vertigo was overwhelming, and Merithault could feel her senses slowly returning to her again. Feeling like she was pulling her head up from a pool of water after having her head forced downwards by some intensely powerful force. She could feel the strained muscles of her body calming, the blood-lust seeping away back into peace. The memories of the body she was in fading away.


    Her mind began to reel and search for answers into what she had experienced. Whose body was she in. Why would these entities show her such a scene. What was there to be gleaned from the memories she now had instilled into her mind.


    Just as Merithault drew in breath to speak a question, the vast entity she was currently communing with seemed to pick up on her very thoughts. Before the first syllable could pass by her lips, she was plunged downwards once again. Thrust through time into what felt like the same body she had just moments ago escaped.


    ***


    She was chasing the shadow, running forwards and soon engulfed in a curtain of supernatural darkness. Merithault was following after, trying to catch up. Her feet padding silently on strange and seemingly hollow sets of stones beneath her. The stones, through leather-strap sandals, felt like they were made of obsidian, slick to the touch, glassy, yet textured just enough to allow her to run headlong into the darkness ahead of her.


    The sensations of intense emotion pounded in her mind, the body she now inhabited was conflicted, weakened and maddened. The figure that disappeared into the shadows, that she was chasing after, was familiar. More than that, the figure was someone that this body loved as if they were a sibling or family member. It was a mixture of genuine concern and playful rivalry that only siblings or close cousins could hold for one another. It was that concern and love that drove her forwards, despite the danger of the shadows that seemed to pull at her, and the dark chasm that snapped at her heels beyond the thin bridge she ran across.


    There was something else in this body, not just her. It was something sinister. A creeping madness had taken hold of the body she was in. The sensation felt like dark, cold tendrils wrapping themselves around her, leeching away her humanity. Replacing it with something twisted and perverse.


    Just as quickly as the feelings of concern for the person she was chasing had come up, they were doused out by this other thing inside. Feelings of resentment, rage, frustration and disgust welled up, quickly. She soon began to hate the form she was running towards. The form of a disgusting coward, a simpering fool, a liability who got everyone killed.


    She could feel the tendrils grow tighter and tighter with each step. Something was outside of this body as well as inside. Out there in the endless dark, and this body moved closer to it with every step.


    A memory flashed through Merithault¡¯s mind, quick glimpses and images followed by distorted feelings. It was the face of the young man she chased after. The boy had a startled, fearful look to his wide eyes and blood spattered across his face. He was hunched over, sitting on stones. He was staring downwards at a sword on the ground, looking at it like it would reach out and hurt him.


    She felt the body she was in talk to him, first calmly, like a family member who was concerned with his well-being, then quickly turning to rage and disgust. The body called him a coward. Told him that all the death was his fault. He was useless and a fool. He would never pass his rite of adulthood. Unless he was unable to pick up that damned sword right now, he might as well impale himself on it and save this body the trouble.


    As soon as the rage bubbled up, confusion took hold. The body fought against the alien feelings in the only way it knew how. It kicked the sword to the young man and ran away, headlong into the dark to find new creatures to kill. She could feel the body¡¯s fear, the feelings that jumped from one extreme to another. It was the outside influence, cajoling, nudging and twisting every emotion this body had. Every memory in this body¡¯s mind. The other thing wanted this body to hate this boy, and it was winning.


    The chase had now ended, and the body Merithault was in had caught up to the young man ahead of her. He had stopped on a platform made of the same obsidian as the bridge that she had just crossed. The shadows were broken slightly by a cold, indigo and silver shimmering that was coming off of a great, jagged outcropping suspended above. The jutting thing before the young man was shaped like an inverted pyramid that stretched off into the blackness above. The thing was immense and although the outside of it glimmered as if it was made out of ice or gemstone, the translucency of it revealed some gigantic, living form within.


    The sensations and memories from the body became heavily distorted at this time. Something from inside that great monolith was directly influencing the body Merithault was inside of, almost as if it was trying to push her out. The young man spoke words in a primal tongue that seemed almost like the language Merithault herself spoke, but not quite. The roots of the words and meanings were there, but many things were lost in garbled translation. The boy said something about treasure and then the memory jumped away.


    Blackness and the screaming of something monstrous filled her mind now. Amber eyes peered out to her from that blackness, drawing closer with every heartbeat. Tentacles reached out and Merithault could feel them entwine around her, some of them seizing onto parts of her skin, others glancing across her as if playfully. A glint of light played off of teeth in a mouth that opened mere inches away from her face. The mouth stretching upwards into a sadistic grin that extended far more than any human face could naturally stretch.


    She was thrown back into the body she was in, the memories were no longer distorted. It felt like the clarity and ecstasy that the body had felt when killing that creature earlier. It was a sensation of immense satisfaction, almost like joy.


    She looked downwards and saw the gaping, startled eyes of the young man that this body was emotionally attached to. Behind those eyes was fear and conflicted thoughts desperately trying to understand a deep betrayal. The young man choked hard, as frothing blood sputtered over his lips. She looked further downwards to the sword that was impaled, down to the very hilt, into his chest. Wrapped around that hilt was the body¡¯s fingers.


    A voice soon bubbled up out of the body that she was in, a voice that was cold and alien. ¡°¡­We are free.¡±


    ***


    Merithault was thrown back to her own body once again, her head coming up for gasps of air. Her whole body shaking violently. The memories that the entity was assaulting her with were too vivid for her to handle. It was hard for her to separate herself from the feelings she felt while inside that body. The violation of one¡¯s very soul as something dark and otherworldly wormed its way in.


    She closed her eyes tight, clutched at her head, curled into a ball and began spinning forwards in the void around her. It felt like the dark thing that had latched onto the body she had inhabited had followed her back to her own space and time. That the tendrils of darkness still reached out at her. It took a few moments before she could fully sever any connection to that thing in her mind, realize who she was and in what chaotic space she was in.


    She opened her eyes, feeling more resolved than before. She reached out with her consciousness, not saying a word, and let the entity know she was ready. Immediately, before her thought could be finished, she was thrown through time once again.


    ***


    The smell of burning bodies was overwhelming, choking and covering the area in a sickly, rancid haze. Piles of stripped corpses were being torched by garish silhouettes, and others built, as more shadowed forms pulled bodies from the rubble of the nearby citadel. Some of those bodies weren¡¯t quite dead yet, struggling in vain against the shadowed horde, their screams echoing throughout the still night.


    Merithault was not in the body she was in before, this was someone wholly different. A completely new set of memories and sense of being. She did not feel as close to this body as she had with the previous one, and the personality of this individual was more independent from her perceptions.This body was built for warfare but did not delight in slaughter and violence. This body belonged to a man that upheld peace above all else. A man who was frightened, alone, desperate and exhausted beyond what his body could sustain.


    She felt love and longing in this body for someone very dear. She felt fear that the person this man loved might be one of those bodies burning in those heaps, or one of those wounded few, screaming, fighting against the shadows that held them, killed them, and dragged them into the fires.


    Every time that fear and worry flared up inside of this man, it was doused quickly by personal resolve. This man was adamant that his lover was not among the suffering or the dead. The woman he loved had gotten away and was doing her best to protect some person of standing. He knew this lover was unafraid, stalwart and devoted to her duty. This man must be the same, unafraid, unfazed by the carnage around him, devoted to his cause. To get out of this madness and alert his country to these unknown invaders that had taken a fully outfitted citadel in a single night. These unholy abominations sweeping through his people¡¯s lands like a great wave of pestilence and filth.


    This man welled up with resolve, goading his mind with a sense of duty to the point that he wanted to run headlong into the army ahead of them, and scream out his courage. He did not, he was rational and quickly composed himself. He looked down to the molded brass armor he wore. It was too reflective in the fires and in the moonlit night. He slowly took off his chest plate, his gauntlets, his helmet that had protected him for many years. He shrugged off the symbols of his station and his duty with great reluctance. He had upheld his role during many great battles, but this battle was lost. There was no sense in keeping up his station any longer. His duty was now higher than that of a mere soldier, his duty was to his people, and the only use he had was to survive.


    He took advantage of his darkened hiding place to hide his armor, clothes, and his weapons, which had served him well in surviving the fall of his home. He kept only his underclothes, his leather boots, a small belt worn as a bandoleer, and a dagger for protection. He must travel light and unnoticed. He must get out of this place before more of the shadowed beasts would uncover any other hideouts he could use. He would have to use the preoccupation the monsters had with gathering corpses for their fires to take leave immediately.


    He leaned to a shattered windowsill within the ruined foundation of a small hermitage he was using to hide. He looked out into the flames, the chaos, and the landscape of death that surrounded him. He leaned to his left to get a better view, and realized, thankfully, he was only a few minutes hard run from the tree-line. He was well outside the walls of the citadel, but the area between him and the forest¡¯s cover was littered with bodies, with prowling horrors, and with the invading group¡¯s armed soldiers.


    He would need stealth and luck. To keep to the shadows and take every advantage he could to get out of this place. He could run headlong for the trees, but he would be seen, he was sure of it. One well-thrown spear, a readied arrow, or a single trip on a rock that sent him tumbling to the feet of an armed beast would be the end of him in short order.


    Panic welled up again, his body cried out in pain and exhaustion. He took a few deep, prolonged breaths, steadied himself, and with a quick curse to his gods, he ran. The first few steps were hurried and he almost fell over some debris by the destroyed doorway of the darkened hermitage. He caught himself with a slide right at the door¡¯s edge.


    He pushed his body up against the stone of what was left of the wall by the door. He took a quick glance outside and to the left. A pile of rubble and a shattered wooden support blocked most of his view, but there seemed to be no activity around that area. He took another quick glance to the right. There was a fire nearby, mostly just brush and tinder that some of the invaders were clearing up, and getting ready for corpses they found around the hermitage. One shadow stood by the fire, wearing rags and a stolen helmet. It was a sentry, but a lone one. The rest, it seemed, were a few dozen feet farther away, picking through debris.


    He waited there in the doorway, assessing his options in his mind. He didn¡¯t want to be noticed, even one lone sentry who was alerted to where he was, could call to others, and a search party would be on his heels for days or longer out in that forest. He needed a clean break.


    He continued to wait, every muscle of his body tensed to the breaking point, ready to run at a moment¡¯s chance. That chance finally came when he heard a deep grunt from far to his right. The grunt was followed by a woman¡¯s scream. Someone had been found hiding nearby in the debris. This scream caught the sentry¡¯s attention and the shadow left the fire to assist its compatriots further away.


    With a great launch, the man Merithault was inside of, threw himself forward. He kept his shoulders down, throwing most of his force forwards with his hips, using the weight of his upper body to carry himself with sheer momentum. His hands were low enough to almost drag on the ground and his legs kept pumping forward with every bit of energy he could muster.


    Two more screams cried out into the night, one of the woman that had been found, and another belonging to the child she no doubt was hiding with her. The child¡¯s was more of a mewling cry than a scream of mortal horror. No doubt too young to understand just how short their life would soon be.


    He was just a short sprint from the tree-line now, a mere few yards away. He ducked behind a large rock for three quick moments to gather his breath and make certain that he hadn¡¯t been noticed. He listened intently and did not hear any footfalls nearby. There were sounds of struggling still, as the shadowed figures were pulling the woman and child away from their hiding place. Two more grunts and a shrill pleading from the female voice.


    Now was his chance, he jumped to his feet and bolted towards the trees. One step, a second, a third, he was almost there. Almost to the shadowed wall of trees and the pitch darkness beyond. He couldn¡¯t see beyond the trees, and he didn¡¯t want to. He knew his freedom lay in that darkness and each footfall brought him closer to it.


    Six more steps and he was finally free. His eyes were still focused on the darkness of the tree-line. He hadn¡¯t heard any alarum or noise from the nearby shadowed figures. His mind filled with uncertainty, and he began to doubt himself. After all the previous fighting to stay alive, after all, the horror he had witnessed, to get away so quickly and easily. Something didn¡¯t feel right.


    Three more steps away, and he had to turn his head fully around. The uncertainty was overwhelming, he had to see what was going on around him. He almost stopped mid-stride. His feet sliding on the rocky dirt beneath his boots. He turned his whole torso backward to take it all in, one last glimpse before he fled for his life.


    Behind him he saw six shadows holding the struggling woman in mid-air. She fought against them, straining, and gave out one more long scream. A seventh shadow, off to her right, not assisting the others, lifted a glittering blade from a scabbard on a cloth belt. The blade had a signature backward and abrupt curve. This man¡¯s mind remembered that image in his memories. The angle was that of the kaymalna swords used by the Tehall-Shelorra. These strange men, cloaked in shadow, their features twisted as monsters were members of the elite guard of the Shelev Empire. The man gasped, his mind reeling with incredulity and betrayal. These weren¡¯t some unholy monsters sent against his home, they were warriors sent on a vile act of genocidal war.


    He hadn¡¯t fully realized he had stopped in mid-stride. His realization was still sinking in. His mind whirled with the political and moral quandaries that a soldier of his station must try to wrest with. His thoughts were quickly cut, just as the woman¡¯s throat was cut by the blade that he focused on. Her scream was muffled, and as her life¡¯s blood flowed to the dirt beneath her, the other six figures let her body drop to the ground.


    The figure with the blade drawn now turned away, focusing its attention on two other shadowed forms who held the child by the arms, suspended from the ground. The child¡¯s eyes were wide with fear, and his mouth agape, slowly opening and closing in confused spasms. No doubt, he wanted to scream his fear out, as his would-be guardian had done before she was dispatched, but the fear was too much for such a young mind to handle. The boy had gone completely catatonic.


    The figure with blade drawn soon blotted out the vision of the child from the man¡¯s eyes. Adrenaline surged through his veins again. His mind reeled still, wanting to do something to help. His morality told him to fight, but his instincts told him to flee. And flee he did. He turned on his heels and strained his legs to bolt towards the trees while he could.


    That is when he saw the black shoulder of the warhorse before him, blocking his way. This vision of his route being cut off, the quick thought of panic. Then the black, jagged, gauntlet-covered hand of its rider, reaching down to seize him by the neck.


    ***


    Merithault was thrown back to her own body once again. She was slowly beginning to get used to the sudden bursts between inhabiting another person¡¯s body and returning to her own. It was still hard, as she needed to remember to breathe once she got back. This last surge of memories and experiences was more detached than the previous two. She felt a severe distance between her own consciousness and that of the man she was inside. Her mind questioned this, and as soon as the thoughts formed, the entity spoke, once again, in that piercing and halting set of voices.


    ¡°He¡­ Was¡­ Not¡­ Of¡­ Your¡­ Blood¡­¡±


    She scrambled at those words for a moment, but the meaning became clear in time. The previous two prophetic flashes were from the same person, a young woman. The memories were vivid, blurring the lines between Merithault¡¯s own consciousness and that of the woman she was inside. If the entity was correct, that would mean that Merithault had jumped into the body of someone she was related to by blood. It made sense then, that such a deep and profound connection would blur those memories and emotions so heavily. Two kindred souls inhabiting the same vessel.


    This man she was just in, was a stranger. His consciousness seemed detached from her own. She felt less like a participant and more of a voyeur peering at the world from behind his eyes. Her mind began to cling to thoughts, to try to make sense of more of this.


    ¡°Do¡­ Not¡­ Question¡­ Simply¡­ Understand¡­¡±


    She quieted her mind for a moment. Questions could be asked later, now was the time to experience all that this entity could give her, so that she could find wisdom, and then rummage through it all in good time. She calmed and focused.


    ¡°Good¡­ We¡­ Continue¡­¡±


    ***


    Blackness and peace, that is all that Merithault could feel at first in the next body she jumped into. A serene peace, that felt very much like when she was in that illuminated illusion when her senses exploded at the beginning of this prophetic journey. That desire to surrender to that peace, where time, space, thought, memory and mortal existence curved away into an infinite loop of nothingness.


    There was more than just the dark and the serenity. There was a feeling of warmth, as something thick, wet and slick was poured, covering whatever body this was that she had moved into. As she began to reach out to the body, she could feel the same kind of distance she felt in the previous one. This was not someone she was related to by blood. Moreso, with how languished the thoughts and feelings were, and how endless the memories seemed to be, vast vaults sealed off from her prying. She felt like she was not inside anyone that was human.


    She could feel the endless flow of memories, most of them far more deep than any memories she knew in her own life, or in those of previous bodies she was in. Years upon years, centuries upon centuries. The memories of others bubbled up like a froth of waves on a rocky shore when she experienced them. This creature she was in, the memories felt more like a vast palace, with many locked doors, traps, hidden passageways, and darkened mazes. A vast labyrinth that would seal upon her should she dare to travel down any of it. So she stayed in the moment, this languid, wet, thick torpor that this creature existed in at this time.


    The eyes that Merithault floated behind slowly opened, and with the first hazy glimmerings of light, she was overwhelmed with sensory information. She could feel herself being pressed backward against this expanding consciousness, thrown into some half-state behind the power that this being held. Every rush of light to this creature¡¯s eyes flared up imagery and intense flashes of memories that she could not morally handle, and which, overwhelmed her with stark violence.


    As the eyes adjusted to the dim light around it, all that could be taken in was a mixture of crimson and gold. The gold was from the skin of this creature, a light brown that shone with traces of gold, like a continual halo or fine coat of shimmering dust. The crimson was from the pond-sized bath of blood that this creature reclined into. Servants loomed over this creature, pouring brass decanters filled to the brim with warm, thick, blood over it.


    The eyes flicked to the face of one of the servants, a young woman in robes of white silk, stained on the sleeves and at the knees with blood. Her lips were full and colored with that same blood, that shone in the light of the hazy sunset that penetrated into this abattoir from a window off to the left. Her cheekbones were high, her skin was milky and almost translucent. Her hair was jet black, folded into cascading braids and pinned in place with an emerald scarab. The beauty of her was only marred by the thick, black stitches that held her limp eyelids closed over empty sockets and the thin, segmented, golden collar that was melted into the very flesh of her long, gazelle-like neck, just above her bare collarbone.


    The eyes moved once more to a decanter that another of the servants was in the midst of pouring over this being. A soothing feeling rang through this form as the warm blood cascaded over its shoulders and down its back, mixing with the immense pool of blood that already enveloped this creature¡¯s body.


    The servant pouring this decanter was a small boy with skin the color of obsidian. His hair was pale white, trailing over his small head to his shoulders in straightened and jagged shapes. He had dark freckles over his face, which made him seem all the younger than his tender age already was. His eyelids too were missing the eyes beneath them and sealed with the same thick black stitches. The same golden collar was melted into his flesh as well. He wore only a white cloth diaper, pinned in place with the same emerald scarabs as the first.


    The eyes moved again, flickering to the sunset for the briefest of moments, filtering in through rich wooden, and shining metallic, door frames. Then, they moved across the blood pool to a great jade statue at the far end of the immense and well-appointed room. The statue itself was ancient, carved from a single immense slab of green jade, with thick, black stripes and golden flecks running throughout. The figure in jade was that of an alien and horrifying being, perhaps some long-forgotten god.


    The head of the figure had a long snout, like that of a wolf, five immense eyes in a long half-circle arch from three small, protruding, spindle-like tentacles on each of its cheeks to the crux of its sloped forehead. Each eye was a separate and varied gemstone, the left side being onyx and ruby. The right side being emerald and sapphire. In the middle a large amethyst. The jaws of the head were serpentine, with a dislocated, and separated set of jaws, equipped with large fangs made of diamond, affixed to a golden mouth. Around the head were seven large tentacles, each side growing smaller, the final one at the center of the head, the largest, trailing back and curling upwards like some tribal head-dress.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    The body of the thing was attached by a gold encircled neck, to a large, salamander-like body. The fore-claws were prominent, raised upwards like hands in supplication, palms up, presenting a twisting sword whose blade was carved out of ruby. The body trailed downwards to a second pair of claws that looked like the fore-claws of a lion sitting attentively. The body continued backward to a final set of large, powerful legs, bowed out and supporting the creature¡¯s weight. Behind it, a long tail stretched out and upward, curving and twisting into a partial symbol of infinity.


    On each side of the statue were a queue of supplicants, each of them having the same sealed eyelids and golden collars as the active servants around the bath. Unlike the ones that poured fresh blood over the creature that Merithault was still trapped within, who were younger and more supple, these other servants looked to be in their second or third decades of life. Many of them still hale with health, of exquisite beauty, adorned scantily with bloodstained silks, near-to-transparent robes, or molded metal accouterments that accentuated and emphasized portions of their physique.


    Before those lines of aged servants, on each side of the statue, were two wizened, old women. These women were sitting upon carved, pink, marble slabs. Holding large and immensely sharp crystalline daggers. The hilts of each dagger wrapped in tanned leather. Each woman sat with her weathered and drooping skin on full display, holding nothing back of modesty. These two crones, instead of having empty, sewn-shut eye sockets, each held orbs of the finest-cut amber within their sockets, their eyelids long-ago peeled away in some grisly rite.


    Calmly and with a relaxed, but efficient pace, the queue of aged servants would move forward, the ones on each side at the head of the line would bow down before the crones, kiss their hands and lean forward over large brass disks. Within these disks were carved ancient runes and deep grooves that trailed downwards into spouts suspended over empty decanters. Once the next servant had leaned forward, their neck exposed over a support at the top of the disk, the crones, with a precision and force that belied the old women¡¯s age, would quickly draw the sharpened blades across the servant¡¯s throats. The first stroke, across the far side of the neck, towards the old woman, then upwards. The second, was a penetrating stroke through the meat of the neck, followed by a quick pull downwards, ensuring that both carotid arteries were severed and that the blood flowed cleanly into the disks.


    As the life-blood of each servant would be drained away, the next servant and the crone would hold the body up, until the last few dregs had been spent and the body went limp or convulsed. Then the body would be allowed to slump to the side, where a younger and still prized servant would drag the body off to a disposal chute behind the statue.


    The inhuman creature that Merithault was inside of watched these actions with a sense of purpose, the particulars of the task seemed boring and routine to the being she was in, but the creature became excited at the image of freshly spilled blood. In the mind of the being, an almost youthful excitement crept up. This was some ritual of significance, one that happened only at set celestial intervals. The age of the creature made it almost seem like a daily chore, given the immense catalog of memories that were stored away like secret things inside of this mind. To those of mortal age, however, this was a ritual of a lifetime.


    The creature leaned back in the pools of blood, letting its body raise up and flounder elegantly near the crimson surface. Rivulets of blood drained away from brown and golden skin. Only a few coagulating clumps stuck stubbornly here and there. It was at this time, with portions of the body exposed that Merithault realized she was inside a human woman.


    A woman of immense size, much taller than any of the mortals under her rule. Despite her size, her proportions were quite aesthetically perfect. Her legs were long, slender and with the correct amounts of muscle. Her body was taut and looked as if she were crafted by the greatest artisans ever to have lived, out of the finest of gold. Her entire body was hairless. The only accents to grace her unblemished skin were golden serpent bracelets and golden accents littered across her body. The very gold seemed to be part of her body, or expertly melted into her very flesh and bone. There was no scarring where flesh met with precious metal.


    This perplexing creature, immortal and human at the same time, leaned back in the blood. One more servant had fetched a newly filled decanter and took her time pouring the still warm blood over the fiend¡¯s face. The creature wanted to return to her relaxed and torpid state, lost in darkness, with all the sensory details lost save for the feeling of blood on her skin. That is, she intended to, until there came a hard knock at a nearby door.


    The woman closed her eyes for a few moments, feeling the blood flow through her long hair. She felt it cascade down her neck and over her shoulders, slowly and eagerly meeting with the rest of the blood in the pool around her. She wanted for all the world to ignore the meddlesome knocking. If she waited a few more moments, perhaps it would go away.


    The knocking at the door returned. A hard double-rap, this time, was more authoritative and against the golden metal that adorned the dark cherrywood. One more breath and the knocking commenced again, a single, hard knock. All of the servants, eyeless as they were, stopped what they were doing to cast their empty gazes towards the door.


    ¡°My most supreme.¡± There was a muffled huffing and wheezing for a moment. ¡°My greatest, immortal, most lovely, lord of lords. I, Toteichal, do beg an audience, concerning a matter most urgent.¡± There was some scuffling from beyond the door, the sound of an old man fumbling with his staff.


    ¡°Ah, Toteichal, I do thank you for letting me know of whom to kill for this intrusion.¡± The female creature pushed backward, pressing her back against the exquisitely tiled edge of the bath. ¡°You do realize that it is the time of Phoenix¡¯s Consumption, and you are interrupting my ritual of youth, yes?¡±


    There was more fumbling behind the door, followed by a cough and another wheeze. ¡°Yes, my most gracious. You may have my life, as you have all of our lives, to dispense with as you please.¡± There was a groan of tiredness now. ¡°I do humbly request that you forego my most necessary death, for causing this disruption, by but a few moments, so that I may tell you of a matter.¡± The staff was kicked out by a foot and collided with the door making a loud thud. ¡°A matter that will affect the entirety of your grand, glorious and beautiful empire.¡±


    The woman gave a hard sigh, clenching fists beneath the surface of the blood. As if in response to her very mood, the blood in the bath began to ripple out from her, boiling erratically in areas. Several of the servants pulled back from her, prostrating themselves on the floor of the room, arms and legs crooked, face flat to the side.


    A quick hand motion, speckling one of the nearby servants in the face with blood. One of the crones dropped her crystalline dagger on the seat of her marble slab and ran, her aged feet padding across perfectly shaped marble floors. She ran to a nearby stand, fetching a great and long silken robe. The silk itself seemed to be spun of golden weave and embroidered with emerald jewels across the edges.


    The woman got to her feet, rising an entire horse¡¯s height higher than anyone else in the room. She made her way out of the bath with only a few steps. Her body glistening with blood and gold, in what remained of the scarlet and purple sunset outside.


    She leaned forward, crouching slightly, turning her back to the crone holding the silk robe outward in her arms. She grabbed the edges and lifted it up over her body. The silk matted to her skin, the blood staining through the fabric quickly. She covered herself and twisted a clasp on the fabric around her waist, holding the gigantic curtain of a robe onto her securely.


    ¡°Do not cease the ritual. These older servants have been waiting for their release for quite some time. Keep severing their necks. They are eager to go to Gholestra, where their souls will be entwined with me as their goddess for all eternity.¡± She didn¡¯t look down to the crone she was talking to, but the old woman nodded, silently. ¡°I will be back shortly, once I attend to whatever¡­¡± The great creature gritted her teeth in agitation. Several of the hanging braziers in the room began to waver and spin slowly. ¡°¡­Pressing matters that this doddering old fool must pester me with.¡±


    With a flourish of robes and a gentle spray of blood droplets, the great creature moved forward, towards the door. Each footstep felt and sounded like thunder as if the very marble slabs of the floor would shatter and crumble to dust beneath her. It only took her a dozen steps to reach the opulent and enlarged gold trimmed, cherrywood doors, and with a single, graceful gesture, she had both doors open.


    Outside of the room, in a hallway lit only by smoldering lamps and hanging braziers stood the tiny and hunched form of Toteichal, one of the eldest, wisest and most devoted vizers that this creature had known. He stood, gently shaking under the strain of his own decrepitude, his head bowed down in deference. A great, crystalline staff held in his hand, supporting his body and giving him an air of station, despite his old and threadbare robes.


    ¡°What is so pressing, old man.¡± The great creature stepped through the threshold of the doorway and closed the doors immediately behind her. She dwarfed this mortal by over twice his height. She could see his eyes raise slightly, to take in the lower portions of her form, barely concealed beneath her robes.


    ¡°I come with most unexpected and grave news, my God-Empress and holy matriarch.¡± The man gave the slightest of bows, not out of any insult, but merely because his old joints could no longer afford him any more movement. ¡°It would seem that your mighty kingdom, the lands under your divine will, are at war.¡± The man kept his eyes lowered, taking two slow and ponderous steps back. He began shaking all the more. He was afraid.


    ¡°War?¡± The shoulders and chest of the great woman lifted and lowered quickly as if she would give out a laugh. ¡°I am the supreme will of all those mortals beneath me. I have given no order for warfare in over two centuries.¡±


    The man took one more step back. His eyes quickly darted upwards, making contact with those of the living god for a brief moment. ¡°That is precisely the reason this is so concerning.¡±


    The God-Empress crossed her arms, lifted her right hand and idly began to stroke her cheek with a single, sharpened, black claw, the size of a fighting man¡¯s dagger. ¡°What are the details of this. What areas are affected. What foolish upstarts dare to enact my will without it being given?¡±


    ¡°The affected area is the south and east coasts of the Alwhedein Empire, my glorious.¡± The old man gave a hard and phlegmy cough to clear his lungs. ¡°It is unknown who caused it, or from where, but they declare themselves as Tehall-Shelorra, your finest army, in your service. ¡± He gave a quick stop to catch his breath and wait for a nod from his divine ruler to continue. ¡°It is reported by the Qlyth Taleum spies, ever vigilant and devoted to your service, which armies have invaded, sacked and razed six primary citadels, eight townships, and put three Shulanti lords to death.¡±


    ¡°Well then¡­¡± A smile crept across the black and gold lips of the immortal fiend. ¡°For a group of unknown, usurper dogs, they do seem to be enacting my will quite well.¡± The claw stroking her face moved slowly towards her chin. ¡°I have longed to put those primitive fools up north to the test beneath my blade for some time. I would have preferred a more tactical approach, but I can capitalize off of this chaos.¡±


    The old man gave another bow, his staff skittered slightly on the black marble floor. ¡°I will dispatch my spies to gather more information for you, my supreme.¡± The old man lifted a single sandal-clad foot as if to turn and leave, but waited for response.


    The woman laughed, a slithering, cruel act that held no joy or mirth within it. ¡°Oh no, dear Toteichal. You needn¡¯t send any more of your precious spies.¡± She lowered her arms, reaching out as if to grab the old man by the shoulders, but stopping halfway. ¡°I will go there myself. I must see this with my own eyes. It has been centuries since I rode into battle and tasted death on such a scale.¡±


    She lowered her arms, then lifted her right hand with a single finger pointing outward. ¡°Get my personal guard set. Once my ritual of youth has finished.¡± She glared hotly down at the old man, who cowered before her. ¡°Without further interruption.¡± She gave that sickening smile again. ¡°We will ride across the Salt-flats of Keziak and meet these charlatans face-to-face. They will see my real Tehall-Shelorra at work, and feel the divine wrath of Shenikyrr, God-Empress of the Shelev Empire.¡±


    ***


    Merithault was thrown back to her body once again, this time with extreme pain, as if her skull might rip apart at any moment. The sensory overload, so many memories flashing up at once while she was inside of the last body were too much for her body to handle. She was merely a mortal seeress, unable to fathom the complexity and overwhelming madness that an immortal¡¯s mind contained. She had only lived a scant three decades of life, she was not prepared for what it was like to remember centuries upon centuries.


    She took several long, belabored breaths, pressing on the sides of her head for a few moments and then crossing her arms over her chest. She gave a quick, muttered incantation of healing to calm herself and let her get through the rest of this trial. She closed her eyes when she had finished. She began to breathe hard, fast and through her mouth until the pain began to abate. Slowly the flashes of violence that overwhelmed her mind dissipated.


    A few moments more, she reached out again, and before her thought had finished, she was plunged through time and space into the next body.


    ***


    The air was sweet and thick with morning dew. The dampness clung to the furs and clothing of the body that Merithault was now in. The body was chilled to the bone, but through adrenaline and exhausted activity, was warming steadily. The sensations were alive and on fire once again. This new body she was in was of her blood, but not the young woman she was in before, this was that of a young man.


    She could feel the soreness in his hips and legs. The exhaustion in his arms as he seized tightly to a set of leather reins with his left hand, and clutched a javelin, to his side below his knee, in his right. He had been riding hard for hours, he was exhausted, his horse was exhausted, but he had to keep moving at full pace.


    She could feel that he was in a strange place, somewhere he had never been before. Thick grasses insulated his horse¡¯s gallops as they tore forward into the unknown. To do otherwise felt like certain death.


    She looked behind her, feeling like she was in control of the body. She saw that behind them was a company of six warriors, also on horses, in hot pursuit. Four of the warriors were women, two male. All of them were grizzled from war, all wearing a mixture of hodge-podge armor, most of it being furs, bone, and leather.


    One of the women, a mass of lean muscle, flaxen hair, and murderous attitude lifted a great longbow from her waist height to her shoulders. She held it lengthwise, and with a single fluid motion notched an arrow and let it fly. The bare muscles on her arms rippled as she did so. Leather straps, covered in bone shards, flexed and tightened, looking like the quills of a porcupine as it moved. The strength it would take to draw such a bow was more than the young man¡¯s body could have accomplished. These were experienced hunters, indeed.


    She felt the body flinch as it readied for the arrow. He clung tighter to his horse and slightly let the side of his javelin jab into his horse¡¯s knee. He horse reeled against this and slid on the grass for a moment, turning hard to the right. This was just what was needed to allow the arrow to pass by a scant few inches to the left. It was a close call, and the hunters behind were beginning to catch up.


    She looked up and forwards to take in all of the setting around her and the body she was in. They were in high grassland, small pockets of fog clung to the ground in odd patches. Here and there, ahead and to the sides were small groves of trees. The trees had curled, long leaves, on high and sprawling canopies, but most of their bodies were winding trunks.


    Ahead, on the horizon were great, snow-peaked mountains. Their rocky reliefs framed just above the horizon by what looked like a great and still sea. The skies were cloudy. Forwards, to the right, dark clouds filled with snow and rain loomed ever closer. Upwards, to the left, what felt like west, the sky was illuminated by two suns.


    Merithault felt a great sense of unease and disorientation seeing the two celestial bodies through the eyes of this body. The world she knew, and the world she should be experiencing these prophetic visions, only had a single sun in the sky. The great sun god known as Daulmyr.


    The world she experienced through this body was familiar. The grasslands she was now traveling through, she had been to before when she was a young girl. Her people called this place, Issithal Caelta, or the Glimmering Coast. It was a rich and fertile set of highlands just south of the Crown Sea. The far mountains this body was running towards where the rocky shores of the Barrier Lands near the Scintillating Crown of the World. How could it be that there was another sun in the sky, such a thing would be completely impossible.


    The memories and sensations began to distort. Merithault could feel herself being pulled away from the vision by her own incredulity. It was a sensation of being lost, out of body, trailing after a landscape filled with flat images. She had to push through it, she had to simply accept it or she would lose her access to the experiences she needed to have. She pushed through, calmed, and the visions returned to their same intense clarity.


    As she began to feel anchored into the body again, another arrow shot by the head of the body she was in. This one had nearly killed the young man she was in, and her heart began to pound. Any sense of dissonance was now gone, lost in the haze of survival instinct.


    She could feel the body strike the flank of the horse with the dull end of the javelin. The young man did not want to hurt this horse, they were connected through years of kinship. This was his soul-bond. His will and the horse¡¯s were one. He had to keep the horse running, he could feel it flagging from exhaustion. He had to keep the creature focused as well, otherwise, it might buck in fear of the arrows flying by, and the sharp strike did just that. The horse was now resolute and its gallop increased slightly.


    The young man passed his hand through the mane of the horse, both in apology and concern. The riders behind them continued to close in, the archer¡¯s aim would be getting better with every second, but he was still too far to make use of the javelin he held at his side.


    Moments went by, two more arrows and two more near misses. She could feel that the young man was pressing his luck, but there was nowhere to go or to hide in such an open place. If they stopped, she knew, as he did, that this war party would kill the young man outright. The memories he had of them were violent, murderous, and filled with rage. They had taken something or someone from him that was very dear to him. They had destroyed all of his plans, threatened his life, betrayed his people, and now were screaming at him in some barbaric language about how they would tear him asunder like the pitiful coward he was.


    She wanted him to look back, to take in the faces of these hunters one more time, and he did so. One of the riders was close now, he was whipping his horse harshly, driving it forwards. His sword jostled in its scabbard and once he was close enough, the young man knew he could use this.


    She felt the man¡¯s grip on his javelin tighten, now was his chance. He lifted his right leg out of his stirrup, moving his hip and pressing down with his other foot. One fluid motion he was able to turn almost completely around on his horse, using the momentum to bring the javelin up, above his head in a readied position.


    He only had a few seconds before the other rider knew what to expect. He let the javelin fly, but he did not carry through with the throw. He let the weapon drop, the sharpened end dipped towards the ground just ahead of the hunter and impaled itself at an acute angle into the soil.


    That was exactly what the young man wanted, and the hunter could not react in time. The javelin hit his horse in the face, causing the creature to pull upwards against its reigns. The rider was thrown from the saddle, the horse flipped backward, shattering one of its hind legs.


    Merithault could feel satisfaction grow out of the young man. He wanted for all the world to watch that hunter die in a horrible way. To suffer as they had made others suffer, but survival was more important than revenge at this point. There were still five more closing in. With the loss of one of their own, their rage and their determination would only grow.


    She could feel him return to his correct position in the saddle, giving one quick look back to those who pursued him. The flaxen-haired archer had leveled her bow once again and was drawing another arrow from the quiver that was tied to her leg. Behind her, another woman let out a piercing howl of rage, lifting her free hand to her chest and hitting it repeatedly, hard, working herself into a frenzy.


    She had to have him turn back to his way ahead of him, he needed to be able to react quickly. A few seconds and another arrow would be loosed, his good fortune was beginning to be strained. That is when she saw that a great cliff was right before him and his horse.


    The young man had to make a choice, a very hard one. If he turned to either direction, the long loop would allow the hunters behind to catch up with him, finally. Banking would give the archer behind the perfect shot. If he drove forwards, there was no certainty that he would make it, and he knew that even if the shores of the sea were within reach, his horse would surely suffer.


    She could feel his sorrow and panic take hold. His horse had been with him since he was a small boy. He had raised it as a faun to the hearty creature it had become. The young man had lost so much and was now about to lose the animal half of his soul. She felt the horse¡¯s neck muscles stiffen slightly. The creature was beginning to pick up on the hesitation and panic that man had within him. That was when he focused hard, forwards, becoming resolute. He must not let his horse panic or doubt him. He drove them both forwards with a hard slap to the horse¡¯s flank.


    She heard clamoring from behind them, the remaining male member of the hunting party had noticed the cliff. He called out to the others and the young man knew that the archer would wait before she loosed her arrow. They wanted to see which direction he would turn. He heard their horses slow slightly.


    The man pressed forward, another snap to the flank. The horse saw the cliff edge as well as the man. Beyond it, far below, waves pounded into jagged rocks and cascaded off of pebbled shores. The horse¡¯s mane stood on end, its eyes went wide, but it trusted the young man, feeling his resolve and continued forward at full speed.


    Hooves broke from the ground, a great jump, the furthest that the horse had ever performed. The whistling of chill winds mixed with the crash of waves, and a cry from one of the hunters behind. The young man and his horse were in air, falling faster and faster, down the immense cliff to the waters below.


    The young man held the horse closely, he whispered a farewell into its ear while drawing forth a silver dagger from a belt on his back. He could feel the fear growing in his soul-bond, shoulders, and neck stiff as wood. He moved his left hand to the horse¡¯s jaws, cradling it gently. He lifted his dagger in his right hand and quickly plunged it into the base of the creature¡¯s neck. There was a grinding, as metal clashed with bone, the young man knew he had severed the spine. He pulled the dagger out, pushing down with the knuckles of his right hand into the creature¡¯s back, pulling towards him on the jaw. The neck snapped quickly and cleanly. He could feel the horse¡¯s body go limp. He did not want it to suffer, as it would not survive the fall into the waters below.


    Sorrow took hold and overwhelmed Merithault, but she knew as did the young man that he must survive this ordeal. He pushed from the saddle, one of his feet getting caught for a moment. There were only a few moments left before the shore caught up to them. He pushed himself, upwards and forwards, away from the body of his companion. The horse would fall on the jagged rocks below, but the added push from the young man¡¯s legs would carry him forward into the waves.


    She felt him go taut, falling feet-first towards the water. The last of his resolve left him and panic completely swept through his body. He knew he had to remain rigid, to pierce the water as he was taught to do when he was young. A wrong angle, from the height he fell from, would kill him. He saw the waves rushing up at him, hungry to quench his life.


    The water hit and he went under. The arctic water rushed in and pressed at him from all sides. For a few moments, she felt his disconnection from his body. She could feel his consciousness scrabbling to get back to him. She knew he was still alive when overwhelming pain tore through him, making him want to scream out.


    He hit the surface of the water at a slight angle, and several of the bones in his left leg had been fractured. As the young man began to sink into the water, ribbons of blood rising up to meet his eyes and block out the deep blues and turquoises of the sea. The man was in shock, his arms feeling like lead, and the immense pain in his ruptured leg robbing him of its use.


    She could see the darkness of the deeper water looming closer as he sunk further and further. Two arrows pierced the water above, but they bent in the current and soon stopped due to buoyancy. The young man was too far into the water now to be threatened by the hunters and was falling towards his icy death.


    ***


    Merithault was again back in her body. Her mind reeled with too many questions for her to fully feel the disconnection between her and the young man. She could still feel phantoms of the pain in her leg. Still feel the freezing water draining the life from her body. Still feel her survival instincts flaring rapidly.


    One question shot through her mind like an arrow of clarity, it concerned the presence of the second sun in the sky. Were these visions to be trusted, or was this entity deceiving her. Was all of this some grand illusion, or some bout of madness, like all the conflicting sensations she endured to get to this point. She grasped at conclusions but could not understand what it was she was being shown.


    ¡°Do¡­ Not¡­ Doubt¡­¡±


    She could feel rage growing up inside of her now. She wanted to speak out, to interrogate the source of these voices. The source of these conflicted visions.


    ¡°We¡­ Do¡­ Not¡­ Deceive.¡±


    She stopped, her jaw slack for a moment. How could a star come into being in such a short time, the greatest sages she had consulted with all stated that the great god known as Daulmyr, the only sun in the sky that she had ever seen, was countless millennia old, surely, these visions were wrong, a star cannot present itself in just a mere few years or decades.


    She wanted to know more. She wanted an explanation. Enough with the cryptic visions and glimpses inside of other people¡¯s skulls. She wanted the truth of what would befall her people. She wanted a concrete prophecy that she could act upon. That she could share with others of her culture, to expand their wisdom, and prepare them for any travails that might befall them.


    She breathed in deeply, her mind grasping and running through countless questions that might help her get to the bottom of these visions. She floated there, ignoring the void that she was plummeting through. She had to find a way to get the entity to focus and show her something more meaningful.


    ¡°So¡­ Be¡­ It¡­¡±


    ***


    Flashes struck at her all at once, like shards of memories rushing forwards at her from some great explosion. Each flash sent her mind spiraling into some barely understood set of experiences. Within a moment she would be back to her normal consciousness only to have another rip through into her and send her reeling once again. The whole thing was painful in the extreme and if the previous experiences she had thus far weren¡¯t enough to send her careening into the abyss of insanity, this was enough to do so, all on its own.


    The shards kept hitting her and ripping away portions of her humanity. They swarmed her faster and faster until it felt like there was nothing left of her remaining. Numbness took hold, a detachment that helped to insulate her from all the emotions, all the pain, all the suffering that she was exposed to.


    Another flash hit, larger this time, and she felt herself rushing through time and space as if she were falling through the furthest point of the sky, downwards and over the soil of the world-god Myrris. She was rushing northwards, some terrain she could recognize, but so many other things were entirely alien to her. Those same twin suns shone in the sky as if cruelly mocking her.


    She rushed over the glittering Crown Sea, over the rocky and barren Barrier Lands, she could see the cascading greens, blues, purples and oranges of the great Scintillation that framed the northern-most part of the world. She was heading to the land her people knew as the Kethyran Mountains, but there were no mountains there any longer. She was thrown, headlong into a gigantic maelstrom of darkness. A smoky, churning, oily blackness that ate up the entirety of the northern lands ahead.


    She felt a deepening cold, not as much a physical sensation as a spiritual and emotional one. Time seemed to slow down, what wane light was perceptible within this darkness began to distort heavily. The light of the suns in the sky seemed to be draining away within this dark fog, bleeding northward like trails of blood in water as it did while draining away into a hole.


    With one more great flash, she was anchored within a body. The body belonging to the young man she was in before, the one who should have died in the deep waves of the arctic sea. She could feel his fear and his determination wrestling like enormous serpents in his mind. He had suffered much, endured much, lost much, sacrificed all that was left of his life to reach this forsaken, cold, and otherworldly place.


    The cold wind whipped at his body, chilling him to the very bone, and no attempt at pulling his furs tight assisted him. The screaming wind around him, the very shadows that crept like phantoms, all seemed to drain the heat, life, and will from him. Any source of light from within or without the great storm all bled in faint trails around him, gathering in front of him before being sucked into some greater darkness ahead.


    He stood on ground that was nothing more than bleached, rotted and chalk-like rock. Nothing grew in this place as far as his eyes could see. The last living thing was miles behind him, and the memories that boiled up to Merithault were that of a nightmarish twisted wood, a day¡¯s travel behind. There were monsters that almost took his life when he traveled through that area, and this young man no longer had the strength to return through that area. He had resolved that once he had found what he was searching for, he would make this place his final rest.


    He moved forwards, limping, his leg had healed wrong and every step was filled with pain. He forced forwards, over rock that cracked and shook beneath his very feet. He wanted to die, he wanted to be free, to have his suffering end at last.


    One more step, then another. That is all his mind was capable of doing at this point, to force his body forwards. Small bits of debris and ice tore at his haggard, bearded face. The leather of his armor, cracking and aging as if he were some immortal wight woken from a bygone age. The furs he wore were frazzled, matted through with blood. The clothing on his legs seemed to age with every moment, becoming more threadbare and rotted through.


    Finally, he stood upon a small rise and looked out to the final destination he had traveled so far to find. He was on the edge of an immense precipice. All around him, for miles, to the very horizon and beyond was nothing. Before him an abyss that his mind could not fathom. Below was nothing but darkness, howling winds, and faint glimmering trails of light spiraling into infinite nothingness. On all sides, the land curved around to the horizon. Sections of ground crumbled and groaned, breaking free to fall into the abyss below. Some of those chunks were only a scant few yards, others were sizes of entire cities, breaking off and plummeting from the very world to some unknown realm below.


    At certain points, along the crumbling edges that encircled this ever-growing maw, there were towering, jagged spires. The spires seemed to reach upwards out of the darkness below. Each spire was at some severe angle, jutting up from rock, and each shaped differently. Some merely peaked over the edge, and others towered up to rake at clouds that were being pulled into the maw¡¯s center.


    The young man squinted his eyes and focused on one of the closest spires, to his left, rupturing out of a rocky chunk of land where the waters of a massive river fell into a waterfall over the edge. The spire was made of some black, metallic substance and was shaped like a long obelisk. It was hard to guess at its size given its distance and how perception was so distorted in this area. He would have to guess that the average width of the spire was larger than any building he had ever seen. All along it there were massive sigils and runes that glowed shades of orange, silver, and indigo in erratic patterns. He had never seen such a language before. The images would have been beautiful if they didn¡¯t seem to carry some strong feeling of dread that reached into his mind like icy, cold daggers.


    Merithault was trapped behind the eyes of the young man, she could feel everything he felt, experience it all with tremendous clarity, but she was exhausted. None of this made sense to her, none of what this man was seeing could possibly exist. She had been to the furthest north when she was young, there was no maelstrom, no crumbling world¡¯s edge, nor strange obelisks jutting up from the edge of the ground. She didn¡¯t have the strength to fight or question any longer, she just let the visions continue.


    The young man looked back out to the abyss before him, making a cautious push with his right foot to get as close to the edge as possible. Sections of the rock he was on cracked and shot up small trails of chalky dust. A small voice, his own dark instincts, tickled at the back of his mind, telling him to finally be done with this life and jump headlong into the dark below. He wanted to give in, to finally have peace, but he must try one last thing.


    ¡°I, Jykal kolst Wyrmsthraul, have endured much to get here. I am blood of the ancient Hoelath people, guardians of this land, supplicants of the ancient Kethyran Temple. I am blood of the forsaken oracle, Merithault Haullpent, the devourer of children. I am blood of Gaereth the Mad, dark conqueror of the Hoelath. I am blood of the betrayer, who freed the Algumonis, Ghelta kolst Wyghtsmourn.¡± The young man could feel the rock beneath him shatter and a portion give way. He took a few steps back to another secure area and continued. ¡°I beg of you an audience with one of the stormchildren. I seek wisdom on behalf of my people. I must know how to right the wrongs of my blood.¡±


    The pain in the young man¡¯s left leg was too much. He dropped to his knees, looking out to the storm around him. He watched intently for an answer to his calls. He could hear and feel the tremors of another immense section of the world fall away into the void.


    Merithault had noticed, intently, the mentioning of her name by the man she was now in. Her mind was red hot with anger at being referred to in such a way. No doubt the entity was trying to punish her by corrupting this vision in some form. She knew that she was not forsaken, and she had yet to earn the title of oracle. She was a humble seeress of her people, devoted to her cause. The entity was playing off of her fears, as she was the mother of two children when she was younger, and recently mothered twins in the last two years. This entity was cruel, and she knew now that it must be deceiving her in subtle ways. Playing off of her fears, taking advantage of her vulnerabilities, perhaps testing her in some malicious way.


    Moments passed and the man remained still. He could feel his limbs turning to ice, flaring with pain. Fear continued to gnaw away inside of him, doubt followed soon after. Perhaps he was wasting his time and all of this was a fool¡¯s errand, told to him by some crazed old shaman a year ago.


    The man stood up, slowly, the searing pain in his leg returned and he could feel bone grinding on bone. He looked out to the wind-whipped darkness once again. A far off chunk of the world, far out of sight, made one last groan before it was wiped away.


    The young man turned his back on the precipice, taking a step away. This was all in vain, a waste of time. He would go to a safe place for the night. He would try once more after some rest, a chance to heal his wounds, tend to his severe frostbite, and strengthen his mind. Perhaps if this failed once again, he could finally be done with this life. Perhaps one of the beasts from the tangled wood would find him and kill him in his sleep. He took one more step away, then he heard it, a small whisper on the howling wind that echoed towards him, soon becoming great waves of sound.


    ¡°Jykal¡­ of¡­ the¡­ Hoelath¡­¡± The man turned on his heels, pain shooting through his leg again. He took a few steps back to the precipice. ¡°We¡­ Hear¡­ You¡­ We¡­ Offer¡­ Wisdom¡­¡±


    The man was elated, the insane old shaman he had talked to was correct. It remained to be seen if what these stormchildren would tell him was worth the sacrifice he had paid to get here, but this was something at least. He waited quietly, looking frantically in all directions, trying to pick out any form he could focus on.


    It began as a shimmering of light coming upwards and towards him from the dark. Slowly the shimmering took form, that of a robed figure, almost translucent, floating on the wind. The figure neared to him, more details of its feminine form coming into focus. Bare feet trailed behind it, its face and body hidden beneath large, trailing robes made out of glowing silver light.


    He pivoted on his leg to stop the pain from drawing his attention away. He looked forwards and saw glowing blue eyes from beneath a robe¡¯s edge drawn over the floating woman¡¯s face. As he focused his eyes, he saw a thin, exposed hand reach up and pull the robe away from its face.


    The man dropped to his knees again, crying out in despair and loss. He hit the rock beneath him hard with a fist that he used to steady himself. He broke eye contact with the woman before him and tears trailed down his cheeks, quickly turning to ice.


    ¡°How dare you use her form! Why do you taunt me?!¡± He looked up to the woman again, half shielding his vision of her with his left hand. ¡°I seek wisdom, not remembrances of who I have lost.¡±


    ¡°We show you one we have gathered to us, Jykal. We give her form to you so that you know what we will show you is truth.¡± The floating woman¡¯s voice was exactly as the young man remembered his lover¡¯s voice being. The sound of it was bittersweet to him. To hear her voice again filled his heart, giving him strength, but it also tore at his mind, making him fully feel all that he had lost. ¡°We want you to be resolved. We need you to be whole. You have much yet to do, and there is much we must have you understand.¡±


    He turned his face to the side, looking off at another of the great jagged spires far off in the distance. He slowly moved his sight back to the woman before him. ¡°So be it.¡± He gave a long and deep breath, almost choking on the blistering wind that roared into his nostrils. ¡°What will you have of me?¡±


    The stormchild before him slowly extended one of her arms outward, her hand upturned and she signaled him to get to his feet. The man did, and this time, the pain in his left leg was gone. The woman¡¯s eyes shone a more vivid shade of blue, her hands coming up to make some gesture over her chest. Her eyes met his and burned into his vision. He felt himself being drawn upwards to her, despite his body remaining standing on the edge of the rock. Her eyes were like tunnels that pulled at him, brought him closer, filling his mind with light.


    Merithault could feel the distortion taking hold, almost as if she was half inside the young man and half not. She felt like she was floating, as herself, behind him. She didn¡¯t know what was going on, but perhaps this was an effect of her experiencing a prophetic vision, possessing someone, who was in turn, having their own prophetic vision.


    The scene changed several times but she couldn¡¯t grasp any of the details. She felt like the entity that was showing her this vision was fighting against whatever entities these stormchildren were. Events were going off, and memories were flying around, but she was outside of it all. She couldn¡¯t grasp it, experience it.


    A flash came, like lightning from a far distance. Another flash, closer, this time, tore through towards her. Three more flashes and she could see a trail of energy rippling towards her at great speed. The energy struck her in the chest, burning, crackling, and then she was somewhere else.


    ***


    Merithault was in her own body, this time, floating separate from the young man she was in previously. She looked down to her hands and body seeing that she was translucent like the robed woman had been. Her feet floated a foot¡¯s height above the ground, feeling somewhat detached, but otherwise, she could feel and perceive everything around her clearly.


    Around her was devastation on a scale she could never have fathomed. The sky was a mess of darkened clouds, roiling over each other in different speeds and directions. On all sides at the horizon was that same sickly, cold, inky set of dark winds she had seen within the abyss earlier. In all directions, those same winds churned around the world slowly, as if the land she was in was the eye of some immense storm.


    She was suspended above a floor made of ancient, cracked, and pockmarked marble. The room she was in was completely exposed to the world outside on all sides. Intermittently, in a great circle, on the edge of the room were great pillars that extended up into connecting arches. Above there was a former oculus roof, now with portions caved in, exposing the whole room to the fury of the sky above.


    The room itself was the top of a great tower, giving a perfect view on all sides of a great, destroyed city below. The world below was barren, save for burning fires and corpses strewn about the streets. Merithault could see the ruins of several other great towers in different sections of the city below, most of them had caved in upon themselves, others were teetering on the brink of doing so.


    Closer than the horizon, but off to her left she could see an immense mountain range, just a few league¡¯s distance from the city¡¯s now fallen walls. Plumes of black smoke and ash billowed forth from the peaks of many of those mountains now turned to churning volcanoes. The very air of this place was thick with ash, choking with a toxic miasma of death.


    She floated for a few moments, taking it all in. She could not figure out what cataclysm had befallen the world to send it into such a state. Whatever had happened, this was the work of no mortal, only the gods were capable of this kind of fury.


    She turned slowly to her right, seeing more of the rubble and ruin within the room. She beheld many corpses, most of their skin burned away, with exposed sections of bone. All of them looked like they had perished in horror and pain.


    She continued to turn, seeing a pile of rubble building up behind her. No, she was mistaken, this was not rubble. She turned more and realized they were skulls and bones, piled up on themselves.


    She turned fully now behind her and saw the face of the young man she was once inside of. His face was old, ancient, cruel-looking. Scars were etched across his furrowed brow and his jaw. His beard was trimmed tightly to his face, but he still looked haggard and withdrawn beneath the stains of blood and gore. His eyes burned a look of hatred, filled with glowing amber light.


    Atop his head was a large, rusted, iron crown. Along the jagged edges at the top were human eyes poked through, or bloody goblets from where others had fallen from. Where the crude metal met the man¡¯s skull, blood-matted hair met with a ring of dried entrails.


    The man sat on a throne made of skulls and bone, wearing leather, furs, and bone across his body. He clutched tightly to a large sword made of black metal, with clumps of what looked like solid mercury trailing across its form. The blade was immense, its hilt worked from a single solid piece of bone, fused with metal, from some gigantic creature. The handle was covered in leather and cloth wrappings over what looked like vertebrae of a spine. At the end, upon the pommel was a large, perfectly spherical gemstone. That gemstone was black and seemed to siphon the very light out of the area it was in, like some hungry demonic force.


    Merithault could feel horror sweep through her as she beheld this man. He was no longer human, and a strange sense crept at the back of her mind that all this devastation was entirely his fault. He was the bringer of pain. He was the destroyer of worlds. He was the reason this entity was showing her all these visions. He was the one her people needed to stop.


    ***


    A quick and sharp flash followed by the sound of insane trumpets blaring over the rush of ocean waves. Merithault was thrown back, hard, all of her normal sensations rushing back at once. Her sense of body, her sense of consciousness, and the hard feeling of corporeal reality.


    She skittered limply across the metallic ground until her head hit one of the obsidian outcroppings that framed the walkway she had just walked down. She was not severely hurt, but the waves of physical pain she felt were both comforting and jarring. She took a deep breath in, that of normal air once again. She could feel her own weight, feel the passage of time as each moment fell into the next.


    She pulled herself up to her feet, shielding her eyes from the fractalizing light that still shone in strange patterns over the dais ahead of her. The strange sensations in this place seemed lessened somehow, perhaps by the contrast of experiences she had just endured. She took a step towards the glowing light at the center of the room.


    ¡°Is the entity still here?¡± Her voice wavered and creaked out of her mouth. She was not used to speaking. The rushing tempest sound seemed to drown out her words. She cleared her throat and spoke louder. ¡°I have questions. Is the entity I spoke with still here?¡±


    The trumpets and waves coalesced into an echoing and vibrating sound around her. ¡°Yes¡­ We¡­ Are¡­ Present.¡± The voice was different than she had experienced in that void, it sounded more hollow here in reality. ¡°What¡­ Will¡­ You¡­ Have¡­ Of¡­ Us.¡±


    ¡°The destruction you have shown me¡­¡± Merithault swallowed hard and lowered her hand from her eyes. ¡°It seems to be caused by one of my blood. I must be able to stop this. I must be able to save my people from this cataclysm.¡± She took two cautious steps forwards and raised her hands in supplication. ¡°I must know what I need to do to stop this. I must be able to take action!¡±


    The room went deathly silent, pressure building up like a vacuum once again. The lights over the dais stopped their constant movement for a moment, then began to speed up to a fevered pitch. Crackling energy was building up in the room, small crackles of light jumping from one obsidian or metallic structure to another. The trumpets blared, the waves crashed and the voices spoke at once.


    ¡°If¡­ This¡­ Is¡­ What¡­ You¡­ Seek¡­¡± The voices paused. The light in the room was burning, feeling like that of the sun itself upon Merithault¡¯s face and body. Small jolts of energy pierced her flesh, causing her muscles to begin to spasm. ¡°We¡­ Shall¡­ Grant¡­ This.¡±


    The pain that tore through her body was more than she could ever handle. It felt like she was burning in the fires of Daulmyr itself. Every blood vessel of her body felt like it would rupture out from her skin. Her eyes, wide open, felt like they were melting her her skull. The air in her lungs felt like burning metal, boiling up from inside of her, out of her mouth. The only thought she could hold inside of her mind was the realization she had made a terrible mistake. She should not have asked for action, that was not her place.


    ***


    Merithault set down the gold-gilded skull on the stone shelf in front of her. There had once been wooden inlays over the stone, and a cloth pillow to protect it, both of those things had turned to dust ages ago. The gold of the skull had survived, but she knew that the bone within it would crumble to dust as well, were it ever exposed to air.


    She set it down next to two smaller skulls, both of those were gilded in gold as well. Her bony hand, with what flesh still remained on it, glittered a sheen of silver as she lightly caressed the two smaller skulls on the shelf. As she glanced by, she tightened her hand into a fist. Looking down to it, a rage boiling up in her, she saw the silver glint she had grown accustomed to. A halo or fine dust covering her taut, aged flesh.


    It had been over four millennia since she created those skulls in front of her. Since she had returned, transformed and insane, from her visions at the Ullthosian Temple at Oerstallus Neth. The first thing she had done was to travel south, to the ancient city of Morrthal. She did not eat on her journey, did not rest as she no longer needed to.


    She had thrown open the doors to her house, scoured the place in a mad rush. Then seeing her lover there, in the courtyard, playing with her children. He had looked up to Merithault, his eyes glittering with love and joy, she will always remember that look on his face. That love quickly turned to fear, and that joy turned to pain as he, in a matter of moments, realized what she had become.


    With inhuman grace and strength, she ran at him, and with a single hand, had ripped his head from his body. The children, her youngest, the twins, screamed out for their father. They ran way from her in horror, their clothing covered in the spatter of their father¡¯s blood and gore. It only took moments and she had dispatched her children as well.


    The eldest two were off at the collegium, they were warned about their crazed mother. They had gone into hiding, being smuggled away by their masters. Merithault had not been able to find them and had been suffering that failure ever since.


    She pulled back from the shelf and looked around the dimly lit room she was in. It was a huge cavern complex she had used as her demesne since she had lost her humanity so long ago. Across the walls, from floor to the ceiling hundreds of feet up, and across the expanse she was standing at, to the doorway at the other shore of a great river of water, every wall was filled with shelves. Each shelf contained innumerable skulls, some intact and others fallen to pieces, or nothing but dust after the ages had ravaged them.


    This was her home now, among the dead of her blood. She could not go out into the world, and no one heeded her cautions. They called her Merithault the Mad, the Hag of the Shattered Oracle, the bringer of death, the destroyer of the Hoelath Empire. They called her the devourer of her children.


    Despite all the troubles, all the pain, and her unceasing immortal existence, the visions she had that day from that cruel entity were crystal clear in her skull. She must find those of her blood, and exterminate them. She must stop the one known as Jykal kolst Wyrmsthraul from destroying the world.


    <hr>

 [2016] Witchling of Alsira (First Drafts) - Prologue

    The Witchling of Alsira


    Prologue - A Different Kind of Story


    <hr>


    The first details that came to me, were those that transfixed my sight. I could see great carrion birds flying overhead. Similar as they were to ravens, yet massive in their size. Each of them with wings that could blot out whole sections of the darkened and clouded sky above. There were hundreds of them, swarming the skies, and swooping low in search of meals.


    The next details were those that overwhelmed my tactile sense. The feeling of an oppressively warm sea of blood that I floated in. My body had a strange sort of buoyancy in this fetid and coagulating morass of still-warm gore. I was able to keep myself aloft on the gently moving waves, which churned and moved the vast ocean of bodies around and below me.


    The further details that my sense of smell endured were the stench of it all. Rancid meat, clumped blood, festering wounds, and recent disembowelments stretched all around me from one end of the horizon to the other. My nose and throat were filled with it, making me want to retch, yet at the same time, I was so physically and emotionally exhausted I was no longer able to even gag or heave.


    The final details and assault on my senses came in the strange sounds that moved through this world-turned-mad. The screeching of the carrion birds felt distant and had a strange reverberation to it, like hearing screams from beneath the still surface of a lake. Beyond that strange screeching was an eerie silence, like the entire world had died.


    To my left, I heard a distant warbling sound, seeming as nothing more than an echo, until my eyes moved to the source. I saw a man there, floating as I was floating, a look of fear and shock on his face as he tried, vainly, to get above the bloody, churning waves. He struggled against the bodies around him, trying to get out, but he could not. Above him, the great carrion birds began to circle and begin cautious dives down to him.


    My eyes had to pull away, there was activity in these fetid waters, as the bodies around me began to wake up. Some floundered, and others remained still, floating on their backs, or surrendering completely with their faces drowned in the gore. The birds in the skies flew into a frenzy of activity, blotting out what dim glow the sun provided in the low, storm-filled heavens.


    I looked back to the first man I had spotted, off to my left, and saw him fighting against one of the birds. Another had taken his eye, straight from the socket, and he began to scream with every bit of his breath. I looked back to the other bodies around me, fighting as they did against the birds as well. Each of these people, alive, dead, or somewhere in-between held me in looks of accusation and contempt. Their eyes burned into mine before their own carrion birds ripped their eyes from their sockets, then their screams ripped through into my ears.


    These fitful sensations of brutal chaos seethed at me from all angles, tormenting me with their gruesome revelry. My body began to tense at the horror I took in, and at my own fear of the inevitable ravaging that I would undergo once the birds sought me out for their next meal.


    My body was tensed, my arms were numb from being contorted under me, and restricted from movement. The muscles of my legs were exhausted from being stuck at sharp angles, fighting against the flow of the gore around me. With sputtering gulps, I managed to draw in several shallow breaths. These, filling my lungs slowly with each pitched effort until finally, I had enough air in me to let out my own terrified scream.


    I was given a hard shove to the ribs by some bony protrusion next to me. My eyes began to swim with distorted visions, from the horror before me and into a blurring world of dim colors. The visions of gape-mouthed, living corpses, with their piercing and accusing eyes, began to fade away. The battering wings of these huge and twisted carrion birds, as they loomed over me, and continued their pecking of eyes out of screaming skulls, gave way to a soft and familiar whisper to my left.


    ¡°Jykal¡­ You¡¯re snoring¡­ Again.¡±


    The last details of my nightmare drifted away from me, carried off and hidden away by the gossamer veils of Sethos, the faceless god of dreams. I pulled my leaden arms out from under my body, feeling the numbness within them turn into pin-pricks and incessant tingles. I looked to my left, in between milky eyes, covered in the sand-like leavings that Sethos deposited in those he took away to his realm for the night. There, I beheld the woman I had promised myself to in the bonds of brodenkynd, young as we were still, her form bent so that her face was looking down towards me. Her eyes puffy and half-open, a sour look marred her otherwise youthful and beautiful face.


    She continued to stare at me for a moment, over her nose and chin, her body half-turned away from me. I was heaped up in a ball at the foot of the bed we had made from miscellaneous furs, pelts, and authroc-down pillows. The earlier nudge to my ribs was from her bony elbow, which she continued to hold between us. I could hear the soft murmurs and snores of the children we lived with, the other members of our broden, nearby in the dark. Each of them in their own beds, dreaming their own dreams.


    With the prickles in my arms abating, their use gradually returning from their previously limp state, I lifted my hands to my face to rub the sand from my eyes. I looked up again to my brodenkynd, paired as we were in the traditional way of our people and drew in a deep breath to respond to her. As I tried to draw in, again I felt a sputtering, then surrendered to a long yawn. I tried once more and was able to draw in a breath fully to speak with her.


    ¡°Zynna, the nightmares¡­ They¡¯re back.¡± I stretched out my arms, moving my way upwards to her, and resting my hand on her side.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care. Keep them to yourself.¡± She viciously began to fluff up one of her pillows, rolling now so her back was fully towards me. ¡°Nightmares means you¡¯re sleeping. That¡¯s more than I¡¯m getting.¡±


    I quickly began to realize the source of her sleep disturbances, as I felt an echo from my earlier nightmare of being surrounded in the warm and moist gore of a dead world. Inside the room we lived in, known as a brodenskappf, it was excessively humid and warm. As my mind continued to awaken, I became aware of the known source of this oppressive heat, it was the day of Lover¡¯s Rest, the sunniest and most hot day of the year.


    Zynna never could handle excessive temperature, her body ran hot, as did my own. In this heat, with the two suns beating down on the land outside our shelter, she couldn¡¯t sleep at all, and she was now taking her exhaustion out on me. I bit my lower lip, and held her closely, feeling her shift and push against me for a moment.


    If only she knew, fully and with exacting detail, of the repeated tortures I endured in my non-waking state. Each time Sethos whisked me away to his realm of Ginnithol, I was trapped in a new vista of madness and pain. This was not typical sleep that I was in, it was more like a never-ending series of spiritual tortures. A realm that held such beauty and wonder for others, was twisted for me into a reminder of all the pain and horror that existed in this dying world I lived in.


    I wanted to speak out to her, but I couldn¡¯t press the issue. Whenever Zynna was tired, she would be in the foulest of moods. Even when she wasn¡¯t, she was often as stubborn as a herdsmoll, and as biting as most courtiers that plied their barbed tongues in the far off courts of the Alwhedein Empire. I loved her despite, and because of those personality traits she had, good or bad. I know she endured her fair share of my own.


    Breaking me out of my romantic fixations, the heavy cloth covering over the entrance of our brodenskappf lifted open with a force that set the small bits of metal, bone, and wood tied to the bottom of it, into a cacophony of sounds. We had been taught to collect small and noisy baubles to put on the entrance by our caretakers. Such items served as alarms to alert us to any animals or interlopers that made their way into our shelters.


    I sat up immediately, ready to react to any danger that presented itself. The others in the skappf around us began to roll around, groaning with exasperation and annoyance. At the doorway, hunched in silhouette against the intense sunlight outside was a form that crept forward and into the skappf. A hand held the tanned hide of the entrance, folded and pushed out of the way. It took my eyes a few moments to adjust to the shift of light and dark, but soon the details emerged from the shadow before me.


    It was Old Annesen, our broden-mother. The woman whose charge was to care for us and teach us the ways of our tribe. The leathery and freckled skin of her face was contorted into a large grin that revealed more gaps than teeth. Over her shoulders slung a long, brown and green hood. This being made of stitched linens that followed her shoulders down, breaking into two long and deep sleeves over her sunburnt arms. Around her hood, and trailing to each of her shoulders were leather pauldrons covered in crimson-dyed wolf¡¯s fur. This fur was a mark of her station as broden-mother for our community, as well as her experience being a healer and seeress of our tribe. Most members of our tribe were known for their grey and black wolf¡¯s fur, a sign of the vhulkovyr, or warrior caste, that made up most of our tribe.


    Around her waist, trailing to the mud, ice, and sand-strewn ground was a set of leather dresses that further set her apart. Given that she was a revered member of our community, with a very important position, she was able to wear such. Many considered the old traditional dresses of high station members of the tribe to be impractical and antiquated, Old Annesen felt otherwise and rebelled against such traditions whenever she could.


    Around her chest and stomach was a further deviation from the warrior-oriented armors that most of our tribe wore. She refused to wear chest armor or coverings at all, and this made far more sense to many in the tribe, given her station as broden-mother. Old Annesen preferred to have a bare chest, open to the elements, displaying her abilities as a caregiver and surrogate mother figure proudly. At this particular time, she was demonstrating her ability, clutching a tired and naked infant to her bosom as she entered into our sleeping quarters.


    My gaze fell away from the form of Old Annesen, and to that of the infant she held to her. That child, for all the world, seemed content with its lot. It remained there, curled up, supported and well-fed. The infant¡¯s eyes were closed, and it¡¯s wrinkled and pudgy face showed the peace that came from blissful and ignorant sleep. Despite this, it continued to suckle away, with all the instinctual fervor of a typically healthy and perpetually hungry babe. I began to wonder for a moment, wistful sleep pulling at my consciousness one last time, if I ever was so content, at that tender age.


    ¡°Wake up! Wake up! You lazy, little stendrals!¡± Old Annesen usually had a kind, low and melodic sort of voice when she spoke, this time, however, her voice had taken on a sadistic and shrill sort of quality. She enjoyed waking us up in the mornings, and I¡¯m quite sure she was delighted to end our heat-disturbed slumber on this day, most of all.


    She enjoyed calling us strendrals, that being a type of bird that nested nearby our lands, within the reeds on the salty coast of the Frothing Blood Sea. The reason she chose such a term to call us, is that these particular birds were very well known for their laziness, stupidity and ease of catching. Our current Skaell-father, Brimden, who worked alongside Old Annesen to raise us, had told us many techniques for catching these birds. They were known for their lack of physical exercise, for their plumpness, and for their succulent flavor. I realized, as my stomach began to groan, that I could do with some stendral, myself.


    ¡°It¡¯s the day of Lover¡¯s Rest. Get up. Both of the burning gods are in the sky, blazing their eternal glow. It¡¯s time for you to rise up and meet it.¡± She continued to stand in the middle of the room, tossing side-to-side gently, rocking the child she held.


    ¡°If it¡¯s the day of Lover¡¯s Rest¡­¡± A muffled male voice called out, from far off into a shadowed corner of the skappf, nearby the doorway. ¡°Then for the love of all the gods, old and new, let us bloody-well rest, you old hag!¡±


    Old Annesen leaned forward, peering into the wane light and gathered shadow before her. She wavered to and fro for a moment, looking for the source of the voice. ¡°I hear you, Heskir. Now where are you?¡± She propped the baby in the crook of her arm, balancing it with all the care that a Haakuenth peasant might show a basket of freshly sheared wool. She was graceful and quick, but not given to the consideration that many would expect one to show a new life.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    She leaned forward, padding with her free hand at the furs and pillows at her feet. ¡°Ah, I feel that scrawny leg, Heskir.¡± Her voice trailed off with mirth in it. She got back up to her full height, again, hunched as it was with age. Old Annesen gave a hard kick that was eagerly met with a large gasp from a mound of furs at her feet. She had found Heskir, it seemed, right in the gut. ¡°Get up, my little stendrals. Get up now, before I teach each of you the same lesson that Heskir here won¡¯t soon forget!¡±


    With a turn of her heels and a quick wave of her arm, she was gone once more. The cloth door-cover jostling slightly and the inside of the brodenskappf returning to darkness. I reached forward, into a mess of old furs and cloth to grab my tunic and leather riding leggings. At this time, I could hear the same rustling from beside me. It was Zynna clamoring to get her tunic and leggings on as well.


    I was pulled back to her as her voice softly called out to me in the dark. ¡°You¡¯re a herdsmoll¡¯s arse, Jykal. A snoring, annoying, clogged up¡­¡± She trailed off for a moment, then gave me a light slap on the shoulder. ¡°Herdsmoll¡¯s arse!¡±


    ***


    We gathered around the area that the old elder¡¯s circle used for their meeting place, on the crest of the cliff nearby our broden-skappf. The elders, themselves, were still asleep in their own quarters. I heard from some of our broden that the elders would not be rousing this day, and so Old Annesen would allow us to use their area as a common ground for our daily activities.


    In the time it took us all to get dressed and make our way across the encampment to the cliff-side circle, Old Annesen had already managed to stop by the broden-nurse¡¯s skappf to drop off her previous infant and exchange it for yet another. This one was far more hungry and loud than the first, but she managed to lull the child into complacency once she sat down in the old skalten¡¯s seat at the head of the circle.


    She was just beginning to make herself comfortable, lightly rocking the infant in her arm, and taking to chewing some tolsen weed to keep her vigor and constitution up. She had one of the most important roles in our camp, was respected by many, but envied by few in her role. Her¡¯s was an important and often demanding lot, caring for us children of the camp while our parents were busy with matters of their castes. Most of them off hunting, fighting, surviving, playing at games of augury or diplomacy. All of them striving to continue our meager existence as a people for another day. Her¡¯s, however, was the important role of keeping the life of our tribe, the future members of it, alive.


    Still, as I began to trail off into my own thoughts once more, as important as the role of a broden-mother, broden-nurse or skaell-father was to our tribe, few took up the calling. Most preferred the role of the warrior caste, the revered vhulkovyr. It was a life of war, blood, and violence. A short life, to be sure, but one filled with the promise of adventure, with few rules imposed by tradition.


    Zynna and I had chosen that caste for ourselves already. Both of use were just two more changes of the seasons away from our Kollishi Thaulp, our first trials of adulthood. If we could pass our trials, we would be able to take up the grey and black furs of the vhulkovyr that we had sought so much.


    The other children of our broden, of differing ages, some of them paired off already with their chosen brodenkynd, while others sat lonely or huddled with their bloodclutch relatives. All of us were slowly taking up our seats upon wooden stools left out or were currently laying hide mats across the rocks or packed earth of the cliff-side. All of us tried to encircle and take our positions of audience around Old Annesen.


    Those of us like Zynna and myself, who were brodenkynd, in the traditional ways of our people, the Tolsi-Kavi, sat together on hide mats. Everyone in our broden knew the daily chores we must do, and the first was that of the morning¡¯s hair-braiding ceremony. To begin this, many of the female members of our group sat down, cross-legged on their chosen mats or stools. Then the male members would sit behind her, on his knees.


    We began each day in this way, we were taught that this was a way for us to come together as a group. To show caring for one another, and to learn the often-complicated traditional hair-dress of our tribe. First the female would have her hair braided by her brodenkynd, and then the male would have his hair braided by her, in turn.


    Many in our broden chose not to follow the traditional ways, and Old Annesen, being a bit of a more liberal broden-mother, allowed this. Many chose to keep with their bloodclutch, or immediate blood-sibling, relatives. This was contrary to many of the values instilled in the broden model of child-rearing, flying the face of old traditions, but was tolerated. Some members of the broden were paired into brodenkynd groups that were seen as non-breeding relationships, male-to-male, or female-to-female and their choices on who would be braided first were up to them. Some members of our broden had neither bloodclutch relatives, nor brodenkynd pairings, and those members often sat alone, or would partner up with a friend.


    Old Annesen had mentioned to many of us over the years, that she had traveled extensively as a seeress of our tribe before finally settling down into her current position. She had seen how many different camps, or even entirely different tribes, did things in their own ways. She had learned many different traditions and cultures in her life, as such many of us in the broden she cared for were thankful for her openness, her liberal nature, and her overwhelming tolerance.


    Zynna and I, however, preferred the older and more traditional ways of doing things. Honestly, it wasn¡¯t because of any real love for the old ways of our people, or any desire to cater to the elder circle who often set the traditions for us. It was more of a selfish reason, simply, so that Zynna and I could always be together. That is what we have always wanted.


    I began to notice, as I unfurled and set two segments of deer hide over a flat section of rock for Zynna and myself, some distracting activity over by Old Annesen. It was Jemsyn, skittering around our broden-mother like some insect buzzing around a carcass. Somehow, between us leaving the broden-skappf, and finally sitting down at the elder¡¯s circle, he had managed to find his way into Teshin¡¯s kitchen. At this time he was bringing the spoils of his trip back to the group, that being a heaping clay bowl full of sarkrass stew.


    Everyone in our broden knew that Old Annesen¡¯s favorite dish was sarkrass stew. It was just like that scheming weasel to somehow find, or more likely steal, a bowl of it so as to suck up to her. He continued his buzzing around her for a moment, until she finally got more comfortable the old skalten¡¯s seat. Once he had gotten her attention, he ceased his incessant buzzing, then held out the dish before him.


    Her eyes went wide at the sight of her favorite food before her. ¡°Oh Jemsyn, you are a kind one.¡± She took the bowl and set it beside her on the wooden, fur-covered armrest of the seat. Jemsyn sat down at her feet, looking around at the others in our broden, taking up their own seats or still sorting out their hides on the ground. ¡°All of you, I¡¯ve said this many times before, need to take heed of the generosity this young man shows to your broden-mother.¡±


    She gave a low chuckle, the baby at her chest bobbing up and down, causing it to whimper for a moment. I looked forward and could see that weasel¡¯s face turn to us, with those squinted squirrel eyes, beneath that dark and bushy brow. A sickening, smug smile spreading across his lips.


    ¡°Especially you, Heskir. I won¡¯t be forgetting the fact you called me a hag, for some time, boy.¡±


    Off to the far left, alone on a wooden stool, Heskir looked back to Old Annesen with a scowl. His arms were crossed, his brown eyes and pock-marked face holding a sour look that seemed more at home on an over-pampered toddler, than on one who was only a month away from his Kollishi Thaulp. His mouth opened to say something but was quickly met with a clucking from Old Annesen. He shut his mouth, biting down audibly, turning away to from her to gaze angrily off to the horizon.


    My eyes went back to that smug look still on Jemsyn¡¯s face. He sat there, half-hunched, like some old sorcerer¡¯s homunculus, eagerly waiting for a drop of his master¡¯s blood. He had told me several times in the last few months he wanted to become a skaldt of our tribe upon adulthood. I laughed at him every time he mentioned it. Skaldts were heroes and the keepers of lore in our tribe, they were not simpering little gremlins. I had told him many times he should take up the role of courtier, and allow some debauched aristocrat from a distant land to make merry with him. As he was so fond of manipulation to get his way, perhaps he could put that ability to good use, to actually better his tribes-people rather than just himself.


    ¡°Jykal.¡± The voice was from beside me as I finished unfurling and setting my segment of hide on the ground next to my brodenkynd¡¯s. I was quickly met with a smack to the inside of my left leg as I began to cross them, to sit down. ¡°You¡¯re staring at him again. Seriously, if you hate him so much, get it over with. Grab a rock and dash his brains. For the love of Jhulkos, you¡¯re obsessed with him.¡±


    I turned towards Zynna and mimicked the same scowl that was framed on Heskir¡¯s face. ¡°I am not obsessed. I simply don¡¯t trust him. If ever, in the future, we are in a war party with him, I know he will get us killed.¡± I gave a long sigh, closing my eyes for a moment. ¡°I know it. He¡¯s a coward.¡± I opened my eyes to see Zynna¡¯s face, just a few finger¡¯s widths from my own.


    ¡°Like I said, you¡¯re obsessed.¡± She blinked several times, looking me up and down with her face still pressed forwards. ¡°I might even think your feelings for him are more passionate then they are for me.¡± I could see a smile creep across her lips. Her grey-blue eyes glinting, as they often did when she was concocting some goad or jest at my expense.


    I gave into her goading in the best way I knew how, quickly and with the full strength of my body, I began to wrestle with her. She gave a laugh, deflecting one of my arms and trying to worm her way out from beneath me. It only took a few movements of her arms and legs and we were both pinning each other. In training, our skaell-father Brimden, always said the only equals Zynna and I had, were each other. That is, both in skill, strength, and bull-headed recklessness.


    Within a few moments, we both heard the stern clapping of Old Annesen to get our attention. Zynna and I stopped, breathless, and looked to her. ¡°It¡¯s the day of Lover¡¯s Rest, you two. Not and elder¡¯s circle dispute over a Lover¡¯s Quarrel. Cease this and begin braiding. I have a story to tell all of you.¡±


    I looked to my right and noticed that toad, Jemsyn, making his way towards Zynna and I. His face was furrowed and he continued to clap in mimicry of our broden-mother. He continued until he was with arm¡¯s distance from us and he kept that furrowed brown pointed at us.


    I let Zynna go and clenched my fists tightly. I could feel the blood rush through my veins and the warrior¡¯s rage begin to take hold. I stared that coward in the eyes until he sat down on a wooden stool next to us. I continued to watch him, realizing he was just a scant dozen feet from the cliff¡¯s edge that framed half of the elder¡¯s circle. If I could just give him a couple hard shoves, I could finally be done with his existence once and for all.


    As I entertained murderous thoughts, I was quickly brought back by a hard slap to the back of the head by Zynna. I turned to her, and I could tell in her eyes she could see the determination I had on my face. She cut through it by batting her eyes and pointing to the back of her head.


    ¡°Do what Old Annsy said. Do up my hair.¡± She pouted her lips for a moment and couldn¡¯t hold her expression for long without laughing. ¡°Do up my hair with passion Jykal. Like you actually love me, the one you¡¯re devoted to, and not the man who will someday kill us all.¡± She scooted forward on her hide mat, crossing her legs and flourishing her hair with both hands.


    I moved towards her, heeding her words, taking a few short glances back at the smug-faced toad squatted next to us. I got to my knees behind Zynna, just as she began to slap my right knee with her hand.


    ¡°With passion! With passion!¡± She continued to goad me, slapping my knee like a horse¡¯s flank with her right hand. She gave out a chuckle, and I leaned in close to her neck to give her a kiss on the cheek. She held up the side of her hair with her left hand and I took hold and began to braid it for her.


    Everyone had already taken up their seatings, some already beginning to braid one another¡¯s hair. The only two that hadn¡¯t paired up yet were the pouting Heskir and the smug Jemsyn. I looked forward and could see Old Annesen nodding her head and checking on all of us. I saw her eyes narrow on Heskir and then on Jemsyn.


    ¡°Ah, it seems that two of you haven¡¯t found anyone to take care of this morning.¡± She gave a laugh and waved her hand, motioning for Jemsyn to come close to her again. ¡°One of my dearest boys, and one of my rudest. Perhaps your gentle soul, Jemsyn, can educate our dear Heskir here in the ways of propriety.¡±


    I gave out a deep sigh as I saw Jemsyn get to his feet and make his way towards Old Annesen, and then slowly towards Heskir. I was glad that he would not be close to Zynna and I this morning. I was hoping to enjoy one of Annesen¡¯s tales without his leering presence beside me.


    Everyone in the broden, still attentive to their braiding with their hands, watched as Jemsyn took a seat on a hide mat before Heskir. He turned in place, crossing his legs, and then offered a portion of his black hair towards Heskir. The poor older boy sat there for a moment, looking to the back of Jemsyn¡¯s head, to Old Annesen, then to the rest of us, incredulous that he have to take care of someone he too had contempt for.


    Old Annesen cleared her throat and began to slowly and gently to raise the infant she carried, up and down. ¡°I¡¯ve just taken my seat, boy. You don¡¯t want me getting back up to my feet again.¡± She scowled at him hard.


    Heskir took the offered portion of the smaller boy¡¯s hair and began braiding it. Pulling hard on Jemsyn¡¯s hair until he winced. I couldn¡¯t stifle a smile at his expense, perhaps every day Heskir should have to do Jemsyn¡¯s braids. It might do the both of them some good.


    Everyone returned their gaze back to Old Annesen, who took her first spoonful of sarkrass stew. She held the spoon to her lips for a few moments, letting her eyes roll back into her head. She gobbled up the spoon¡¯s contents readily and then gave a long smile.


    ¡°Because it is a good day, my dear stendrals, and because I am in a good mood, we won¡¯t be doing our usual storytelling.¡± She lifted another spoonful to her nose and gave a long sniff, the steam from it quickly filling her nostrils. ¡°We won¡¯t be doing any parables, sagas, or that usual fluff that the elder circle wants me to instill in your mushy noggins.¡± She gave a desirous slurp on her spoon. ¡°Instead, I¡¯ll tell you a tale from our history, one you won¡¯t hear from many skaldts or sages.¡±


    She set the spoon down and lifted a cloth blanket over her lap to set the infant on, who was now drowsily drifting off to sleep. ¡°I¡¯m going to tell you about a dark time in our people¡¯s history. Of a woman, much like many of you, who wanted to grow up to be a warrior. Who was filled with courage and zeal for battle, and whose recklessness, like much of you have, not only cost her dearly but led to the end of her people.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to tell you the story of a woman named Ghelta kolst Wyghtsmourn, of the Alsi-Kavi tribe. The woman that some of you might know as the betrayer of our blood, and the bringer of our doom. This is the tale of how she became an adult, a full-blooded warrior of our people, and how she destroyed an entire tribe of our people in turn.¡±


    I could feel Zynna¡¯s breath pitch with anticipation, as I continued to braid her hair. She and I both were happy to hear a story of blood-lust and battle, finally. No more of those dusty old tales the elder circle wanted us to learn. Maybe Old Annesen was right, today could very well turn out to be a good day, indeed.


    <hr>

 [2016] Witchling of Alsira (First Drafts) - Old King Stohll

    The Witchling of Alsira


    Chapter One - Old King Stohll


    <hr>


    The air whipping past carried the crisp and dry scent of the desert dunes clinging to the horizon in the south. Sprinklings of fine white sand and the rich smell of blossoming tolsen weed were kicked up, trailing on breezes, reaching high up into the Whendan Mesas. As pleasant and soothing as these breezes were, they were also the first sign of the clear weather turning quickly into a sandstorm.


    Ghelta reached up with her right arm, feeling the sharp rocks above her with her chalk-covered fingers. She probed the crevices and peaks of the rock, using only tactile senses to gauge if the area could hold her weight. Once she found a suitable shelf of rock she gave it one hard upward push with the leather-wrapped palm of her hand, and quickly pivoted her weight to that hand.


    She let her other arm dangle and rest for a few moments while she shoved the right toe of her leather climbing shoes onto another jutting shelf of rock. She closed her eyes for a few moments, taking in the breeze, letting the kicked up sand grains caress her face and blow through the bangs and wild sides of her auburn hair.


    The tolsen weed she could smell only bloomed during severe dust storms, sending their seeds out on the winds to take hold in new areas, and take hold deeply they did, in the shadowed dips of sand dunes that comprised the land her people called the Jolash Duenr. Tolsen weed has always been one of the most important stable foods used by the tribe that Ghelta belonged to, the Alsi-Kavi of the Jolash Plateau. Used by warriors to strengthen their bones, by seers as smudging incense in rituals of power, and by the broden-mothers who watched after the children of the tribe.


    The rich smell of the tolsen blooms were broken by an acrid smell of smoke, soon starting as a faint trace, but growing heavily as the wind picked up. Ghelta opened her eyes, and leaned hard to her left, straining her right hand and right foot holding her to the side of the mesa. She looked southward, squinting her eyes due to the glow of the setting suns. Before her, a few inches below the horizon, where the rocky Jolash Plateau gave way to the canyon that encompassed the Jol River, were plumes of black smoke winding their way up above faintly glowing embers.


    A smile spread across Ghelta¡¯s face as she soon realized what the source was. The raiding party that her mentor, Ylethus, had taken to Haaken Vaulthaen to the south, earlier that morning, had been successful. They had taken the city, known as Gullcrest City in the lesser tongue, and were no doubt making merry sport of that merchant¡¯s hub at this very moment. The blackened smoke trails were fires set to many of the sulchwood buildings that made up the common quarters, merchant stalls, and lesser temples. Where the perverted members of the Haakuenth tribe gathered in cults and worshiped their usurper gods from distant lands.


    She was happy for her mentor and for the bounty that his party would bring back to her tribe. Many of the warrior caste would earn stories of honor this evening, and the skaldts would be busy for weeks hearing the boasting cries in the leiggen-skappfs as the tired warriors ate and drank their fill. As happy as she was for Ylethus and her fellow caste members, she was also filled with a deep sense of sadness.


    She wanted for all the world to be out there with them, to prove her worth against the Veshkoldan Delathi that comprised the army that secured the city. The clash of steel, the spray of blood, the cries of the dying, the warmth of the fires, the thrill of the hunt. Running through those streets, every turn and step being a razor¡¯s edge between life and death. It would be glorious, if not for the fact that she had yet to pass the rite of Kollishi Thaulp to prove she was an adult.


    She had tried several times to get into her mentor¡¯s raiding party. At first, she had tried asking Ylethus calmly after an intense day of training before he was to leave. He declined her and ruffled her hair as he often did when she stepped out of line.


    She had tried dressing up in her warrior¡¯s kit, sword freshly sharpened, leather armor oiled to a slick polish, her furs newly cleaned in glacial water and fluffed up to vhulkovyr standard, during the evening. He commended her work on pretending to seem like an adult member of the warrior caste, giving a long belly laugh at her expense, and again, declining.


    She had even tried to sneak into his raiding party as they assembled their weapons and prepared to leave at daybreak. He declined more sternly that time and took the time to remind her that she had not gone through the necessary rite and could not take any honor for herself until she had done so.


    Finally, he declined the fourth and final time, with his own blood covering his face, as she had ambushed him on the Tarenhulf Rise after leaving their home. She had put up a valiant fight against him, and she had shouted hard into his face, amidst crashes of sword on sword, that if she must prove herself to attain glory, she would gladly do so with his blood. She could see the rage in his eyes then, but when the fighting had settled and he had eventually bested her, she also saw the pride he had for her.


    The pride he had, despite the words telling her she had disgraced herself in her over-zealousness and would be dealt with when he got back. She knew he was proud of her, but he could not show it to his men, they needed to see him strong and full of fury. It was in his eyes, Ylethus could hide his emotions behind boasts, bluster, fury and rage, but he could not hide what shone behind his eyes.


    It was after that fight in the morning hours that Ghelta had run off from her home. She had a rage in her that needed to be satisfied, and if she could not have the taste of her foe¡¯s blood on her lips, then perhaps she could have her own. She decided to do something reckless then and had committed to that recklessness all the rest of the day.


    She decided to climb, wearing nothing but her daily clothes, leather gloves, and boots, without any safeguards, the tallest of the Whendan Mesas she could run to. This cliff she was on, was called Auhl-Keignfel Stohll, or Old King Stohll. It was a sacred site to many seers of her tribe, used in auguries and tests of fortitude. It was said that only a few dozen of her tribe had ever succeeded in climbing this mesa, and over a hundred had lost their lives trying. Those who succeeded were seen as great seers and inducted into a very elite group of warrior-oracles. Those who died got to meet Olthenna, the goddess of death, face-to-face, and in that were of honored standing as well.


    The wind was beginning to pick up in staggered, hard gusts. Ghelta could feel it tugging at the tattered and worn tunic she wore. The grains of sand began to take a bite to them, no longer content to lightly sprinkle her skin. A more experienced climber would abandon the cliff-side and try to make their way down to shelter before the winds became unbearable. Ghelta, however, decided to press higher towards the mount.


    She was only a few dozen feet away from the top and the hardest part of her journey was just beginning. Below her feet, as she looked down, was a drop of slightly less than a thousand feet. It was an entire day¡¯s climb, starting after she had been spurned by her mentor at daybreak, and then coming to her current point.


    She could make out some of the skappfs of her people, far below on the rocky shelf of the Jolash Plateau. The land she knew as home was in a seemingly narrow crevasse behind her, an hour¡¯s stride from the mesas. The city she was from was called Alsira Thaenat, or the City of Veils. It was a large conclave of her people, who built their home within the sides of that great crack in the earth. Lights lit up from the sentry towers along the edge of the split, some overflow living areas on the rocky surface of the plateau, and hermit¡¯s skappfs trailing towards the mesas began to light up as well. All lit with candles, torches, and bonfires for the night. A few faint traces of burning meats and rich stews began to creep up in between the gusts of wind.


    The twin suns, the burning god Dhaulm and his passionately aflame lover Tralt, were quickly descending towards the horizon, filling the sky with the shades of spilled blood and lingering bruises. Less than an hour and the world around her would be plunged into darkness. That alone was enough to make the climb precarious and deadly, the oncoming dust storm guaranteed her death on the jagged rocks immediately below.


    She let the rest of her reminisces trail away on the wind, and then returned to the matter at hand. She quickly and gracefully pushed herself sideways and upwards with her right arm and foot, grabbing hold of a new rock shelf just above her by a few foot¡¯s distance. She let her legs dangle for a moment, then scratching the side of the rock face with the inside of her left foot, she found hold again, pushing herself up further.


    Those that she had talked to on the way to the mesa, wizened hermits and decrepit seers, all warned her of the perilousness of her goal. With each press upwards, she realized there might, in fact, be truth to some of their bold claims. Ghelta was not a novice at the art of climbing, few in her tribe were, but this climb was one of the most exhausting, taxing and dangerous she had ever performed. She loved every minute of it.


    Every rock that had come loose, every painful slide down the rock face with just a few second¡¯s reaction time to grab hold or die, every scream of every muscle in her body sent her electric with the feeling of life. If she could not fight men this day, she would fight nature. If she could not stare Olthenna in the eyes on the fields of battle, she would find her here, behind a slip, and a quick fall into her embrace.


    The edge of the rock began to bow out in all directions, a sort of bowl near to the top. She had to spend several minutes for each movement now, hunting for any juts or gaps in the rock she could grab hold of and that could carry all of her weight. Her legs were becoming more and more useless as she had to hold herself by her fingertips, over a dizzying drop onto the same leering jagged rocks, the sizes of several men atop one another, below.


    The wind had lost most of its gentleness now and cascades of sand began to whirl around the sides of the mesa. Ghelta had to use her tactile senses all the more now, trying to keep her eyes shut to avoid the sting of the sand. The rock face began to become slick in areas, the sand clinging to the gaps and cracks, filling them quickly.


    A hastened look upwards, a bit of an indentation off to her right that would allow her to use her legs and rest her hands. That area was filled with cracks and shelves that she could use, and the dip in the rock might shield her some from the wind. All she had to do was move across a hard and bowed out section of sheer rock. The rock itself shimmered slightly in the crimson, dying sunlight. She thought that perhaps it was made of some type of quartz, traversing it might be painful and dangerous, but it was the best path upwards.


    She reached up, making sure her handholds were secure along a gripping edge. She let her legs go from the rock face and began to shimmy rightwards towards the sheer rock. She swung her legs hard to give herself momentum, but her right leg held cautiously pointed to her right, so as to grasp any rock she could if she lost her grip.


    A few quick moments and she had begun mounting the bottom edge of the rock she needed to traverse. The rock was becoming far more dense and sharp in areas here. She ended up cutting the tips of two of her fingers. The pain was startling for a few brief moments, the chalk and sand stinging at her wounds, but she let it slide away. A slight discomfort was far more preferable to death, after all.


    She managed to find two small shelves of rock below her and she planted her feet onto them to take her weight. She had to grapple the sides of the rock in front of her as if hugging it with all the surface area her slight body could cover. She looked upwards and saw that if she could just get over this bow, she could use the top angle of the rock as leverage.


    This was a very risky maneuver, but she had to commit to it at this point. She pushed away and upwards on the sides of the rock face before her and gave a hard kick downwards with both of her legs. For a few moments, she was in mid-air, just the tips of her fingers gliding across the jagged crystals in front of her. Her instincts flared up, a part of her mind was screaming in fear, the rest was doused in exhilaration.


    She managed to get a bit higher on the rock and that is when she had to grab and drop herself downwards. She slid a few inches, jagged bits of rock cutting into portions of her arms and exposed stomach, some more of her tunic started to tear. She had to press with all her arm¡¯s strength against the rock. She eventually stopped moving and began to kick with her legs to get some forward momentum, slowly wiggling forward over the rock face.


    A few more inches forwards and she could get herself over the ridge of the rock and take a moment to rest. She continued moving forwards, every shift felt like she was sliding forwards on broken glass. The skin of her stomach was raw, her arms had started to shake under her strain, and the muscles of her thighs were ringing with exhaustion.


    As she finally got over the ridge, she had to stop for a moment. She could feel the hair on her head and on her arms go rigid. The teasing sensation of static building up around her body. She enjoyed the feeling, as when she was a small child, many in her broden would put out a wool mat and run across it in a game to shock the other children. This was not a game, however, and she knew the sensation meant immediate danger.


    The flash of lightning tore through the skies above, faster than the eye could see and struck an edge of rock face just above and to the left of her, two person¡¯s height away. Her eyes were filled with a brilliant flash of red and white light, blinding and for a split second lighting the world around her as if it were day. She could feel the immense heat coming from the bolt as if she had stepped right to the edge of a roaring bonfire.


    Before the rest of her body could react to the shock of the bolt, she was already flinching and seizing as her body was wracked with the immense boom of thunder. The air in her lungs was sucked right out of her. The whole world she knew shook for a few moments, as the voices of the gods descended from the celestial void above, down to the human world below.


    It took a few moments before Ghelta was able to breathe again, and she took several greedy gulps of air as soon as she could. The thunder continued to roll, dissipating slowly into echoes that resounded throughout the mesas. For her, however, the cliff-side she was still on did not cease its shaking.


    She could feel the rock beneath her give away under some strain or force. It began with a slightly uneasy feeling, then turned to a jolting cracking sensation, followed by a low rumble. She looked upwards before her and saw a split forming between where the red rock of the mesa met with the boulder of quartz she was clinging to. She had only a moment before the entire piece would take her to the bottom.


    She used every ounce of her strength to lift her feet up and underneath her, her thighs and hips straining as she bent them in ways they weren¡¯t accustomed to. She managed to get a grip with her feet, and using all the power of her body, she pushed up and away from the rock, leaping into the air.


    One more shudder and the boulder broke free, slowly scraping the cliff-side and then plummeting to join the rocks below. She had only a moment, suspended in the air, and she reached out, her left hand extending as far as she could to grab onto whatever jut of rock that she could slide down towards.


    She slid a few feet downwards, her arm grasping and being buffeted and battered between rocks. Eventually, she took hold, with only three fingers on a bottom half of a deepened and angular crack in the rock. She dangled there, feet and other arm exposed to open air. She took a single breath to calm herself, then grappled with the rock face once more to get a better hold.


    It took a few minutes, and the strain on her left hand was immense, but she found her leverage once again. She lifted herself up, using the angle of the crack to press forward. The jagged areas from where the boulder had fallen, fortunately, had made the area easier to pass. A few minutes more and she had reached the depression above that she had sought.


    The area she reached had hard sides to it and a shelf the size of her foot across the bottom. She turned on her heels there, allowing her back to press against the rock, her arms stretched to either side. She waited there for a moment, to reclaim her strength.


    She took this time, to look out at the world around and below her. The suns had finally set and the first stars were beginning to appear on the farthest horizon. Most of the sky was dark, with thick and roiling clouds above that cascaded across the sky, hungry to blot out the starlight. The winds were filled with sand, flowing like rivers of glittering crystals suspended in the air. One more quick flash of light, far off to the south, was met a dozen heart beats later with the rolling sound of thunder.


    The hermit skappfs and sentry towers below her were harder to see now. Their wane light was being drowned out by the sand on the wind. The soothing smells of prepared evening meals were gone now, replaced only with the dryness of the desert winds. To the right, to the south, she could no longer see the blackened pillars of smoke or the glimmering embers of Haaken Vaulthaen. The world felt like it was closing in, like Olthenna herself was drawing a veil down, to grow closer to Ghelta. To snuff the flame of her life in a choking cloud of bleached sand and darkness.


    Her impatience was mounting, even though her body still needed more time to recuperate, she needed to press onward. She was only a few feet from the summit. She examined the area around her, deciding which way to go. She settled on a pull to her right, where several areas of the rock had been split and shattered by old erosion.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    She spun her heels again, pushing upwards and to the side. The rock was softer as this altitude and may shelves or cracks needed to have sand wiped away before she could trust them. This added time to the journey, but the worst was now behind her.


    Two dozen minutes more and she could feel her hand on the final edge of the rock face. She began to pull herself up, slowly, her arms and legs shaking. She got her head up and took a brief look over the edge. The wind was fierce now, she had to squint and look quickly then shut her eyes before looking again.


    Ahead of her, crouched and taking shelter behind a pillar of rock shaped like a hounds-tooth, was a dark figure. Ribbons and currents of whipping sand flew over the rock the figure was before, like wisping tendrils. With the first glimpse, she could only make out the figure¡¯s silhouette. With a second, she could make out a drawn cloak of tattered robes in a sickly black and green color. Sections of the tattered edges streamed like long scarves on the winds. A hood was drawn over the figure¡¯s head, and what could be seen of the face was hidden beneath stark, white cloth. A third glimpse revealed the figure lifting itself to its feet, using a large and gnarled wooden staff to do so.


    Ghelta continued to strain against the rock, lifting herself up so she could get one knee under her. Her hands gripping tightly to the rock, and her muscles tensing in case this figure might try to push her back the way she had come. She lifted her eyes again, one more glimpse, and found the figure was now a few feet away looking down at her.


    ¡°The children of Nesharr do not want you here, child.¡± The figure¡¯s voice was male, calm, deep and raspy. He stood for a moment while Ghelta got both feet under her and moved forward away from the mesa¡¯s edge. ¡°You see their displeasure around us, do you not. That bolt from the heavens was not an idle threat.¡±


    Ghelta got into a crouch, keeping low to avoid the winds. She lifted her left hand to her face, trying to shield her eyes from the sand blowing directly at her. The figure before her raised his arms to his sides, gesturing to the horizons. He brought them down quickly, striking his staff on the rock before her. He leaned forward, his stark blue eyes now being seen above the white cloth that concealed and framed the top and bottom of his face.


    ¡°You have not passed the rite of Kollishi Authrak.¡± He blinked, and looked her from foot to brow. ¡°You haven¡¯t even passed the right of Kollishi Thaulp, to become an adult!¡± He turned on his feet, and the torn trailings of his cloak battered Ghelta in the face for a moment. ¡°This is a sacred place to our tribe, girl, and you have no place here. You taint it with your very presence.¡±


    She was beginning to grow angry with this man. She knew he would have to be one of the authrakallin, the warrior-oracles that used this place as a testing ground for new members, and as a place of augury. Perhaps she would test his skill and see if he was worth his station.


    The figure remained with his back towards her and snapped out his staff to his side at an angle. ¡°Still your bloodthirsty heart, young one. You may try if you wish, but understand, where you may cause me injury, I am in my rights to take your life. You climbed far, and I can take that achievement away from you with a single push.¡±


    Ghelta grit her teeth down hard and gave a low growl under her breath. Her posture changing from a kneel to that of a predatory crouch, legs and arms bent, ready to attack. She was sick of being told by these arrogant old men that she was not permitted to do as she pleased, simply because she hadn¡¯t satisfied some pointless old tradition.


    ¡°I see you aren¡¯t one to learn from words and reason.¡± The figure turned towards her and bent its knees, holding its staff before it at an angle, between both hands. ¡°Perhaps you will learn better through action and consequence.¡±


    She gave a guttural howl, most of her voice being swept up and carried away on the howling winds. The grains of sand peppered her face and eyes, stinging as they embedded or sheared into her skin. She took a step forward and pushed with her legs to lunge at the figure before her.


    With her howl still carrying out of her, she was sent back by a hard impact to the right side of her head, just below her ear. Her feet staggered for a moment, and she was soon sent reeling by another hard impact to the left side of her head at the same place. She began to fall forwards, a sense of vertigo overtaking her. It was hard to focus, she felt lightheaded, her vision began to distort.


    Another impact took her, this one being the end of the staff striking her in the upper gut, just below her ribs. The impact was carried through and took her off her feet, reeling backward. She could see the distance from where she was previously standing, now grow larger, as the figure ran forward with his staff still pressed into her body. She could feel the wind whipping up as she was carried over the edge of the mesa cliff.


    Her mind quickly returned to her, adrenaline and instinct taking hold. She grasped the staff at her middle with all her strength. She was suspended, several feet back, over nothing but the dizzying drop she had just climbed up. She couldn¡¯t breathe, as the staff pressed in on her diaphragm, but she struggled and seized to keep her energy up.


    The wind and sand pelted at her, now feeling like an endless stream of razors tearing into her skin. The howls of the weather were like winged demons screeching their fury at the world of humankind, wanting to tear it asunder. She continued to gasp, to draw in air, her mouth agape, but she could not. Her eyes stung, her nostrils and mouth filled with sand, choking at her throat even more.


    ¡°My threat was not idle, child.¡± The figure held her aloft, still pinned to his staff. His voice was calm and his breathing was still regular. This entire action seemed to not strain him at all. ¡°Understand well, that you are bested. Continue your fury, and I will dispatch you to Olthenna, not as an honored warrior, but as a coward to be damned for all eternity.¡±


    She had heard many times as a child, as all of her broden had, of the damnation that a coward would suffer in the after-world. To be stricken as a thaekkuz was to be forsaken by Olthenna and all the gods. Those who ran from battle, those that brought disgrace to their tribe, those that worshiped usurper gods for the vain gifts they would offer. A thaekkuz would be turned into a monster in the after-world, treated as a slave by their betters, and if they gave in further to their cowardly spirits, would come back to the world of the living as a revenant corpse to feed upon the living.


    She would never suffer such a fate, she knew inside of her that she had bravery and courage. She fought hard against not just others, but also her very nature. She desperately wanted to prove herself, to attain honor and glory, not just for herself but for her people. To ride into battle, like one of the mythical authumokra phoenixes on the winds of a storm, to clash in battle and fury. Her only limitation was the simpering fools around her, slowing her down from her fate.


    She looked up to meet the eyes of the figure before her, her vision was growing dark from lack of air. She could feel her lungs burning with desire to take in breaths once again. The skin on her neck and face was flush with hungry blood, yearning for that same air. She reached out a hand and tapped at the side of the figure¡¯s staff, letting him know that she was bested.


    With a graceful swipe, as if she were nothing more than a feather in the air, he lifted her up and back to the ground beside him. He let her drop hard to the ground, pulling his staff into his person, half-hidden beneath his cloak and taking two cautionary steps back.


    She gasped hard, drawing air in like she was a dying nomad in the desert, taking the last gulp of water in an oasis. The first gasp was followed by several others, as she laid, sprawled out on the rock. Most of the gasps of air were filled with bitter sand that tore and parched her mouth and throat, she did not care, all she wanted was air.


    ¡°I have heard of you, whelp.¡± The figure walked away slowly, returning to its crouching place behind the hounds-tooth rock. ¡°You are the one who Ylethus has been training for the last four years. I now know that the words spoken of you are true. Reckless, brash and full of rage.¡± The figure let its staff fall in its hands towards the rocky ground, hammering hard near where Ghelta was. ¡°You have promise and passion, that is certain. It is no mere feat to climb up here. I know, I did so, myself.¡±


    She slid over onto her side and crawled her way behind the cover of a smaller, nearby boulder. Her chest and stomach still felt like she had been stomped on by a herdsmoll. She looked over to the covered figure with a glare of anger and frustration. Her glare was met with the same piercing, blue eyes she had seen before.


    ¡°As I said, you have promise and passion, but those mean nothing if they are not tested to their limit.¡± The figure propped his staff against his knee and using both hands, withdrew the white cloth wrappings from the bottom of his face. His face was angular, covered in several days worth of stubble. He was a handsome and young man, not usual for those of the warrior-oracles. He gave a piercing whistle, using just his lips and his teeth, followed by a very strange throat sound that seemed to vibrate the very rock of the mesa itself.


    ¡°I¡­ Have always¡­ Pushed myself to the edge.¡± Ghelta¡¯s words were halting from the dryness in her throat and the continued gulps of air.


    ¡°Yes.¡± The figure stated calmly. ¡°And despite it all, you have yet to know and acknowledge your limits. That is where true wisdom lies.¡± He lifted the wrappings back over his face and took up his staff, again.


    ¡°I¡­ Have¡­ None.¡± Ghelta pushed herself up to a sitting position against the rock. She turned away from the man for a moment, and then returned her gaze to him. He was already standing up now and taking a few steps towards the mesa¡¯s edge. The wind whipped his cloak around him, like the snapping tails of the great ghellornth beasts that lived far north in the Loch of Flame.


    ¡°I hope your confidence bears fruit then, young one.¡± The man continued to stare out to the horizon. ¡°If you manage to survive this ordeal, and if you survive the rage of your mentor when he returns, you may have a strong future with our tribe. Once you finally pass the rite of adulthood, and the test of the seers, if you ever live to see them, I will put in a good word with the elder circle for you.¡± The man turned on his heels yet again, to face her. ¡°I would even be willing to take you as a pupil in the disciplines of the authrakallin. First, though, as I said, you need to survive the mess you¡¯ve gotten yourself into.¡±


    ¡°You seem to be¡­ In the same mess¡­ As I.¡± Ghelta gave a short smile. The wind was a torrent now, and every crevice of the mesa was filling with sand. Several more cracks of thunder went off in the distance.


    The figure gave out a short chuckle and crouched to his knees. ¡°No, dear girl. You climbed up here, knowing the mortal risk. You displeased the children of Nesharr with your imprudence. And now you must survive what you have wrought.¡± The man gave another throaty sound that shook the ground. ¡°Alone.¡± With a graceful jump, the figure leaped backward, head over feet into the air, gliding effortlessly on the winds, and over the edge of the cliff.


    Ghelta scrambled to her feet and ran to the edge, dropping to her knees and scrapping them harshly on the rock. She looked over the edge to where the figure had leaped. She saw his shadow falling down the rock face, those same tattered bits of robe catching the wind and whipping in a frenzy. His arms were spread to his sides, his staff put away into a leather loop on his back.


    She was filled with incredulity, the drop was a thousand feet to sharp rocks below, surely this madman would perish. She then saw another shadow on the wind, emerging out of the darkness. It was the shadow of a great bird, its wings spread into a dive as it moved forwards and downwards to catch up with the man. With a single swift motion, both shadows became one, the man took hold of the great bird and rode it off into the darkness below.


    It took a few moments for the entire situation to sink into her. Here she was atop the highest mesa in all of the Jolash Plateau, alone, in one of the worst sandstorms she had seen in her life. She got back up to her feet, stepping back from the edge and turning to meet the winds before her. The sky was filled with sand and every grain blasted at her like shards of glass ripping away at her skin. Bolts of lightning tore through the sky on all sides and the roar of their thunder was like the howl of beasts closing in on her.


    She would need more shelter than just a rock to hide behind. Even if she could manage to have found a skappf to hide in, at this altitude and in these winds, it would be torn to shreds in a matter of hours. She would be dead by morning, the skin flayed away from her glistening bones. She had wanted to stare into the eyes of Olthenna, and the goddess was willing to grant her desire.


    She lowered herself into a crouch, trying to not expose too much of her body to the sand and winds. She only had her daily clothes to protect herself, and she realized she would have to choose between protecting her body, or protecting her face. She took off her tunic readily, slipping it over her arms. She tied it tight and secured it around her face and head, leaving only her eyes exposed.


    She laid down for a moment, tugging at her belt and leggings. She took them off and set her leggings on the ground next to her, they were leather and would not tear easily. She looked around for a sharp piece of rock and found one readily. She then began to score and shear away strips from the sides of her leggings to make wrappings for herself. Soon putting the tattered leggings back onto herself and securing some of the wrappings around her middle with her belt. It was crude, but it would provide some temporary respite from the flaying winds.


    Two more flashes of heat lightning went off around her. One was distant and burned across the sky in an arch. The second struck a large rock on the other side of the mesa, setting aflame a small batch of withered scrub.


    She crawled across the rock of the mesa, stopping behind some rocks and boulders for cover, then slowly pondering around. There had to be something she could use for shelter, even if she had to lift and pile rocks around her to cover herself. The area at the top of the Stohll mesa wasn¡¯t as large as she had thought, seeing it on the ground. One could run from one cliff edge to the other in only about a dozen minutes.


    The area she had climbed up from was a narrow area filled with jagged rock boulders. It was the lowest area of the top, and the most exposed to the winds. In front of her, she could see a slope rising to the northwest. The area of the top widened out there, with sections of it covered in dried out brush.


    She made her way forward, climbing some knee-high elevations in the rock. The pieces of her exposed skin felt raw and stung with every new blast of sand. Her knees and legs dragging on the elevations as she used her hands to keep the sand from her eyes. Her body screamed with every nerve firing at once.


    As she mounted the new elevations, she found a sheer rock face to her right, a half a man¡¯s height above her head. To her left was an open area that filled the rest of the mesa¡¯s top. Nothing existed there but rock and brush. It was hopeless, the wind could attack her from all directions here, no place would provide enough cover for her to survive.


    She dropped to her knees, which cried out again as her raw skin met with the hard and sandy ground. She looked up to the heavens, holding her left hand, fingertips now bloody from her wounds, to shield her eyes. She looked up to the darkness, the sand and the sweeping clouds above, waiting to see Olthenna¡¯s face gaze back down to her. Instead, she was met with a crackling bolt of lightning and the boom of thunder.


    She lowered her eyes and stared forward for a moment. The cloaked Authrakallin was correct, her master Ylethus was correct, all of the nay-sayers she had endured in her life were right. She was brash, she was reckless, and now her behavior would now cost her own mortal existence.


    One more bolt of lightning struck off in the distance, the light was but a strobing glimmer of white. Before the thunder could reach her, another bolt struck much closer, and with its more intense reddish glow, it illuminated the rock face before her.


    She would never have seen it in the dark, nor with the sand whipping at her eyes, but there was a crevice in the rock, just large enough for a person to squeeze through. Perhaps that could be enough to provide shelter if it was deep enough, or if there was a cave beyond it.


    Ghelta got to her feet, her legs screaming with pain from soreness and bleeding wounds. She walked, slowly, towards the crevice and began to squeeze her way through. It was tight, but she could feel the wind whipping by her as she entered. The further she continued, the more the wind began to whistle. This was a good sign, there was a cave system within this area, and the ground beneath her feet began to slope downwards.


    As she pressed forwards, downwards, the walls on either side began to open up to a passageway large enough for a grown man to walk comfortably. She continued following the passage until she came to a small room, no larger than four persons laying down, to a side. At the center of this room was a hole, lit up by flickering flames below.


    The wind coming in from the entrance was whining to a higher pitch, and causing a tremendous vibration within this room. She could see in the flickering light from below that the room was decorated with paintings on the walls. Some of them were identifiable as animals of the region, with a few hunters chasing after them with spears drawn. Other paintings were of mythical creatures, like the great authumokra phoenixes she had been told about as a child.


    One painting at the far end of the room was truly alien. It was a picture of some sort of great city, only instead of buildings or skappfs, there were huge, jagged towers reaching to the celestial void. Along the edges of these towers were orange and green runes that she could not make sense of. Here and there on the wall were images of greyish people, some holding flaming swords, others harnessing bolts of lightning as spears. She had never heard of such a thing growing up, and this was no doubt some dream-fueled work of a mad oracle, long ago.


    She turned her gaze now to the hole in the bottom of the room. She knelt down and moved slowly towards the hole¡¯s edge. Below her, she could see a few flat-topped pieces of rock, their edges worn down by traffic, and with salt deposits, like icicles hanging from their edges. These boulders served as some sort of stairway, as each after the other, from the center of the hole, trailing to her left, dropped down in height. Further to her left, in some unseen area, she could see the flickering of light casting the area in a yellow and orange glow.


    She lowered her leg into the hole, taking a step down onto the first segment of rock. She pushed herself forwards and had to lower her head to avoid the roof in this new room. She continued forward, dropping down to each new segment until her feet rested on the floor of another room entirely.


    Before her, trailing to her left slightly, was an archway carved from the very rock of the mesa. Most of the details and reliefs were worn away with age, but a few images remained. At the apex of the arch was the head of a man with a long, serpentine tongue, coming upwards from his mouth to cover half of his face. On either side were reliefs of birds, like hawks or ravens. On the sides of the archway were pillars, one being pushed into place by a man in robes, another by a woman in robes.


    Beyond that threshold was a room filled with candlelight. She could smell the smoldering wicks and smoldering wax. She could also feel the clinging moisture of cool water as well, flowing into this room from the next. There was a sound, like water trickling over stone.


    She heedlessly ran through the doorway and into this new room. Her nostrils were flaring with the scent of moisture, her parched throat screamed out for respite, and the dehydrated delirium scorching her mind made her care for only one thing. Water.


    She quickly glanced around the new room as she rushed in. Waxen candles filled the room with illumination, some merely guttering stumps, others being newly lit towers of wax almost as high as a man¡¯s hip. All of them strewn around the room, erratically.


    The room itself was a large circular area with a high roof. Around the outside, other archways trailed off into other rooms, some open and revealing scant, blurred and darkened details behind, others covered over with threadbare, dyed cloth. The roof was alive with murals and reliefs, all moving around organically in the flickering of the candlelight. Coming out from the western-most wall, and trailing out into the center of the room, a large fountain with water spilling over rounded rocks into a great shining pool. This is where Ghelta ran to, barely aware of any other details she had taken in.


    She hurriedly pulled at the fabric covering her face, first picking at the fabric to undo any of the knots and wrapping she had done earlier, finally giving in to impatience and ripping the fabric apart like a wild animal. Once her face was clear she knelt by the edge of the fountain, sticking her face as close to the water as she could, the tip of her nose lightly touching the water¡¯s shimmering surface. She took a long sniff, to make sure the water wasn¡¯t stagnant or sulfurous. As she did this, she wiped her hand on what remained of her leggings, trying to get all of the blood-tinged sand off of her skin. She dipped the edge of her left hand in the water, lifting it up and quickly licking her hand. The water was clean.


    She threw her whole head in beneath the surface of the water and began gulping like a choked minnow, caught and newly released by a fisher. The water was crisp, clear and cool, tasting like the glacial runoffs she was accustomed to. The waters of life for her people, that wound their way through the lowest cracks and breaks of the Jolash Plateau from the great ice fields of the north.


    She held her head beneath the water some more, gulping hard until she was dizzy. She began splashing the water over her head, down her chest, the raw flesh of her stomach and over the sores of her back. The water felt amazing, cold and soothing like every droplet washed away the pain in her body and seeped into every gash, cut, and blister she had.


    A few moments longer, her dizziness reaching a fevered pitch, she had to pull back from the water. She slumped herself against the side of the fountain. Her body sore, her mind reeling, her eyes feeling like lead weights. The candles of the room began to swim around her, like cloaked strangers with crowns and headdresses of flame. The figures and reliefs on the roof began to bow out of their limitations, reaching toward her, dragging her limp body up into their slithering dance above. A dance of forgotten memories and mad visions.


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 [2016] Witchling of Alsira (First Drafts) - Skaldt Tales 1

    The Witchling of Alsira


    Skaldt Tales 1 - The She-devil of Tarenhulf Rise


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    ¡°It seems the Vhollen has gone all quiet and morose on us!¡± The voice belonged to that of a scraggly and brown-haired man. He had turned on his feet to walk backward at the pace of the rest of the warriors marching forward. In between his dark-brown mustache and beard, both in frazzled lack of upkeep, he gave a toothy smile.


    ¡°Perhaps he¡¯s morose for your sake Rhalchet.¡± The second voice that broke in belonged to a blond-haired man from upwards and to the left of the marching horde of warriors. ¡°He¡¯s sick with grief, realizing this is the last mission you will be alive enough to be an annoyance on.¡± The blond-haired man gave a chuckle and shirked the weight of his bags on his shoulders.


    ¡°Pay him no mind, Amsthyn!¡± A third voice cut in from far up at the front of the group. ¡°Rhalchet can¡¯t help but watch our Vhollen, every moment of the day.¡± The voice grew louder, so as to be heard clearly over the ambient noise of the many warrior¡¯s armor clanking and groaning as they walked. ¡°Ever since Ylethus bested him in Jhulko¡¯s Maze, last night, he¡¯s developed a bit of a crush!¡±


    ¡°Is this right, Rhalchet?¡± The blond-haired man jumped on the words quickly. His blue eyes glinted with the morning¡¯s light as he turned back. ¡°Do you bend over and spread for every person that bests you in a children¡¯s game?¡±


    ¡°Watch yourself, Amsthyn.¡± A surly and bald man far off to the side of the group quickly cut in. His voice sounded raspy, dour, and not at all acclimated to sarcasm or jest. ¡°Ylethus takes the game quite seriously. I¡¯m sure if he wasn¡¯t so quiet, he¡¯d lecture you on the intricacies of it.¡± The orange light of the second sun made the man stand out with a shiny halo of light across his sweaty scalp. ¡°Besides, I heard the Vhollen likes his conquests, frisky and tight. Like that little blood-hair, he keeps for his training sessions. He¡¯s not into the old, limp, loose wretches like Rhalchet.¡±


    ¡°I take it, you¡¯d know this quite well Buethom.¡± The blond man cut in once more, turning his head towards the bald man. His voice was held in mock-concern, which was quickly betrayed by another chuckle.


    ¡°Oh, so that was you back in the barracks a few nights hence.¡± Rhalchet swiveled his head towards the other warriors but continued to walk backward on his feet so as to face Ylethus directly. ¡°I was wondering who that was that smelled of rancid herdsmoll shit, and kept whispering apologies into my ear as they caressed me in a drunken stupor!¡±


    Ylethus continued to move forward, every stride of his huge body kicked up the dust and sand of the Jolash Plateau as he walked. He rolled his eyes at the childish banter that his warriors were giving into at his expense. He¡¯d let them have their fun for now, as the banter would settle their nerves before the carnage of the siege would begin once they arrived at their destination. He had trained them well; each of them were devoted to him and to each other. Once the blood would begin to run, and the metallic thunder of swords would echo throughout the city of Haaken Vaulthaen, he knew that his men would smarten up. Before that would happen, though, he might need to punch Rhalchet in the face for his apparent insubordination. That, and for walking backward while in the middle of a forward march.


    The upwards incline of the ground was beginning to peak, and on either side of the path, the rocky ridges began to narrow. Ylethus could see the crest of the rise a few hundred feet further, after that area it would be a downward march for only a half-dozen leagues until they were at the city gates. The march would get easier, but the cover that the rise provided would be gone. They would need to move forward quickly and decisively. There was no turning back now.


    Ylethus turned his eyes back to Rhalchet, still walking on his heels and blathering on about something to several of the other warriors. He was heedless of realizing that the path was narrowing and he would soon walk into an outcropping of sharp rocks. The rest of the warriors were aware of this and had changed positions to tighten up. It wouldn¡¯t do to have him hurt himself, but Ylethus would wait a few more moments before alerting the annoying scoundrel. He took in a deep breath to bellow out to the idiot but never got to say the words he had conjured up in his mind.


    It occurred in a moment of waning light and the hazy blur of quick motion. A shadow fell upon the face of Rhalchet as he continued to walk backward. He quickly lifted his head up to see what was casting it, but it was too late for him to react. The body that had leaped from the edge of the ridge, down on top of him had already made contact with his shoulders. The weight and force sent him sprawling forward, his eyes wide, his mouth gasping. He wasn¡¯t able to catch himself and both of his arms became pinned beneath his own weight.


    Ylethus instinctively took a single step forward readying himself. He drew both of his hefty wavecleaver blades, downward and forward, from the scabbards on his back. He looked at the crumpled body of his subordinate, giving a large puff of sand as he exhaled. Ralchet¡¯s face was shoved directly into the dirt. On his back was the hunched form of Ylethus¡¯ current student. One of her hands was shoving Rhalchet¡¯s face into the dirt, the other had a short blade at the ready to slice his throat if he tried to get to his feet. Every muscle of the young woman¡¯s body was tensed in preparation for battle. Her wild and piercing blue eyes ¡ª the same color as the sky ¡ª looked straight to him. The brilliant white of her skin, marred only by occasional blotches of freckles shone in the morning light, revealed beneath torn clothes and no armor at all. Her scarlet hair trailed upward on the breeze, making it look like she was some feral monster whose head and shoulders were wreathed in bloody flames.


    Ylethus used his previous inhalation to let loose with a challenge towards the interloper who had taken down one of his warriors. ¡°You thaekkuz-damned she-devil!¡± He took another two steps forward, beginning to close the distance between him and the young woman. He pivoted the hilts of his blades from a fencing posture to a charging attack.


    She simply looked up at him and smiled. Her¡¯s was a cruel and sadistic smile that looked almost like the snarl of a wolf mixed with the mad grin of an insane, old hermit. Ylethus had seen that same smile on old and grizzled warriors who had lost their minds in the blood-lust of battle. Those mad dogs who would have to be put down, often violently, as they had grown to enjoy killing beyond all other of life¡¯s pleasures. Those that didn¡¯t murder on the behalf of others during war, but would torture and kill the innocent or the weak, simply for their own amusement.


    It took several moments for the rest of the warriors to react to the situation unfolding before them. Several gave shouts of alarm, others dropped their bags to reach for their weapons. Some rushed heedlessly forwards despite being unarmed and others took up preparatory positions on the outside of the group to watch for any other attackers or the presence of archers on the ridge. Ylethus had trained them all well, some more than others.


    Before any could react, Ylethus had finally closed all of the distance and gave the first slash of his blades at the blood-haired woman. As both of his hefty blades sliced through the air at severe angles, he noticed a half-second too late that she had jumped from Rhalchet¡¯s back into a partial back flip. As her feet trailed upwards, his blades passed through nothing more than air. Through adrenaline-heightened senses, a barely perceptible ringing was heard, as small rocks and grains of sand grazed or impacted the metal, kicked up by the force of her legs.


    Rage began to boil up within him, even before his blades had finished their movement. He looked up to her, watching closely her boot-clad feet as she fully arched her back in mid-jump. She used her free hand to push on the gritty side of the rock wall behind her, and as she began to fall back to the earth, Ylethus soon realized what she was preparing for. Her legs were drawn up to her chest, and using what little force she could gain from the wall, she gave a hard outward kick with both legs to his chest. That same sadistic grin was still held upon her face and the blue of her eyes remained wildly vivid.


    Ylethus was no small man, he towered above all the other warriors of the lands he protected. At seven feet from toe to head, four feet wide at the shoulder, and a weight exceeding twenty stones made from nothing more than pure muscle, he was easily spotted among the warriors upon any battlefield. Even as a young man he was often called ¡°the Herdulth of Alsira Thaenat,¡± an unflattering nickname, remarking on his size, his stubbornness, and with how hard a single punch or kick from him hit. This being known to him over the course of his long and arduous life, it was surprising now for him to find that his youngest student¡¯s kick had set him reeling back, knocking the wind right out of his lungs.


    Ylethus could feel his face and neck grow flush from lack of air. He gave a cough and inhaled deeply as he let his right foot trail behind him, pointing outwards to provide him some support should the little harlot give another kick again while spinning in the air. The impact wasn¡¯t enough to cause pain, but it was enough to cause him to drop his guard for a split-second. He reaffirmed his grip on his blades, pushing the left in front of him for protection, and swiveling the right to point downwards in his hand, like an assassin might clutch a dagger.


    In the moment he was off-guard, the blood-haired woman had already impacted down onto Rhalchet again, sending another hard puff of air up from him. At least he was alive, although he might be sore and useless in the siege after this. She was now doing a sideways push, a sort of half-cartwheel, off of his body and getting to her feet. Every movement she performed was calculated, graceful and cat-like. The muscles, sinews and orchestrated parts of her body moving in a symphony of predatory carnality, slowly building up towards violence. Her left hand, holding the short blade close to her chest was still prepared, the muscles in her arms tensed to spring into an attack at any moment.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Ylethus could feel movement to his left and he allowed his eyes a brief flicker in that direction. He could see one of his warriors, a tall and robust woman with raven-black hair named of Nhulmyra move forward, preparing to strike with a halberd. The woman dropped to a crouched stance, keeping the weighted and vicious end of the pole-arm in front of her as if she were a hunter ready to spear a wild animal. Ylethus held his own stance and allowed the woman beside him to cautiously move forwards. Nhulmyra hesitated for only the briefest of moments, then charged forward with her teeth barred and her voice ringing with a howl of anger.


    The blood-haired woman stood her ground for a moment, making eye contact with Ylethus. She seemed almost oblivious to the woman charging at her, but her sadistic smile grew a hair¡¯s width larger. She broke eye contact and began to charge at Nhulmyra as well, giving out a similar howl, not so much in anger as in mockery. The blood-haired woman left herself open as she ran, the short blade in her left hand lowered to her side, still held downwards and at the ready. To all but Ylethus it would seem as if the young woman were acting foolishly, headstrong, filled with emotion and heedless of the strategy that was needed in heated combat. Ylethus, being her tutor and having to deal with her since she was but a babe, knew better.


    Nhulmyra was skilled in her choice of weapon, Ylethus knew as much, which is why he selected her for this siege. She moved forwards with the halberd at the slightest of inclined angles. She remained crouched to preserve her momentum as she ran forward and lowered the haft-end of the pole-arm a mere inch, allowing it to graze the muscled thews of her thigh. Ylethus knew what she was doing, preparing herself both to lance forward with her weapon using the strength in her arms, but giving herself the option to use her own body as leverage for a slashing attack if the blood-haired woman veered to one of the sides. She pressed forward, the penetrating point above the halberd¡¯s curved blade was leveled mere inches away from the blood-haired woman¡¯s face, at this, any normal warrior would flinch or freeze up, and this would be their doom.


    The blood-haired woman was not a normal warrior, she still had that damned smile on her face as she allowed her right foot to carry ahead of her while her left began to drag on the dirt. She lowered herself just a finger¡¯s width down and to the right side of the halberd¡¯s head. The blood-haired woman had seen a flaw in how Nhulmyra held her pole-arm, one that Ylethus himself hadn¡¯t realized until he now saw it playing out before him. Nhulmyra favored her left hand, angling the head of the halberd to her right a slight bit. This allowed the more agile and younger blood-hair to push her head and neck past the pole-arm¡¯s threatening blade, closing into the other woman¡¯s threatening arc on her left side. If Nhulmyra pulled her polearm into a swing, she would only press the side of the polearm against the younger woman with the flat edge, with hardly any room to gain momentum. Her weapon was pinned and the blood-haired woman slid into a lower stance to get under any area of threat the other woman posed.


    Ylethus had to move forward and to his left, taking advantage of the few moments he had while the blood-haired woman was going in for her kill. He bounded forward and spun his leg around in a wide arc, using the momentum of his great weight to steer him behind the blood-haired woman. A rock gave way beneath his feet, causing him to sprawl out farther than he wanted to and his face almost met with the bladed end of the other Nhulmyra¡¯s halberd. He ducked under the head of the pole-arm and used the tip of his downward-pointed blade to slow himself.


    The blood-haired woman was focused on her prey, sliding down until her legs were almost spread on either side of her body. She forced them back together, propelling her upwards, the blade in her left hand rising up from her chest in a quick slash that tore through leather straps and grazed at the other woman¡¯s flesh. It could have been a killing wound if she had aimed for an exposed area, or chose to penetrate her blade rather than slash. She impacted against the muscled body of Nhulmyra, wrapping her own lithe body around her and pushing upwards until they were face to face as both women fell backward. The short blade was now held above Nhulmyra, able to be brought down in a single stroke towards the back of her exposed neck.


    Ylethus raised up his downward-clutched blade, hard to his left, higher than the height of the two embracing women. He aimed carefully as the muscles in his arm and wrist began to twitch under their precise strain. He had to separate the two before the blood-hair could make her final stroke, while still preserving Nhulmyra whom he wanted to save. He lifted his blade high, using it¡¯s curvature to pull between them, the dull end of his blade hitting the collarbone and neck of the blood-haired woman, his blade-end held towards the other. He pulled backward towards him with all of his force, using the blade as a pry-bar.


    It worked, as the thick, dull edge of his sword impacted the soft flesh of his student. He leveraged all the strength in his arms to pull her away from Nhulmyra and downwards toward the ground. The younger woman was caught unawares, still focused on her kill, and hit the rocky plateau hard.


    Ylethus had to press his advantage fast, using the sharp end of his prying blade to impale the ground beside the blood-haired woman and holding fast to the hilt. He used his right elbow as well has the robust girth of his own form to limit the space she could use to roll, jump or deflect herself back to her feet. He then dropped his left blade in mid-air, curling his fingers into a fist. The younger woman instinctively raised her head and neck upwards after the impact, readying herself to get back up. The hammering fist of Ylethus¡¯ left hand impacted her straight in the face, driving her back into the rock beneath her with a thunderous boom.


    The rest of the warriors around them froze all at once. Those that were running to assist stopped dead in their tracks. The archers nearby who had plucked from their quivers in case they might be of assistance held their arrows half-notched in their bows. Nhulmyra knelt beside Ylethus, using the haft end of her pole-arm for support, while her other hand felt the exposed and grazed skin of her chest. The only movement came from Rhalchet, who had gotten to his knees and proceeded to dust the front of his armor off while shouting out a stern ¡°Fuck!¡±


    Ylethus hadn¡¯t restrained himself, but he hadn¡¯t felt a hard cracking of bone, or the satisfying gush that often came from caving in an opponent¡¯s skull. Part of him, the sappy and empathetic side that he often tried to drown in booze, whores, and further violence made him fear that he had finally ended the life of his student. He pulled back his fist, still prepared to be thrust forwards once again if need be. He looked down to his student, the blood gushing from her nose and bottom lip matched the same as the brilliant scarlet of her hair. He held himself on top of her, fist at the ready, analyzing her. She didn¡¯t move or twitch her body at all, and he leaned in closely to her.


    That is when she spat blood in his face.


    ¡°For the love of Tole-¡± Ylethus blurted out and without thinking had let the grip on his blade loosen as he used both hands to wipe the blood from his eyes and face. It had only taken a moment and he soon realized the young woman had already managed to squeeze by him and carried her legs into a spin, using the momentum to get back to her feet.


    ¡°I¡¯m ready to fight, you old drunk!¡± The blood-haired woman still held her blade in her hand and stood just an arm¡¯s distance from the hulking warrior. ¡°I told you over and over again. I want to go on this siege!¡± As deadly as she was, she still held the impatience and temperamental ties of youth. It was almost as if she were throwing an infantile fit.


    Ylethus gave a long sigh and lifted himself to his own height, dwarfing the younger woman in his shadow. He opened his fists, his arms held at his sides almost in supplication. He took a deep breath in between sore ribs to speak to the young woman.


    He was greeted by another batch of blood and saliva propelled into his face. The little bitch was good at that and he was now growing tired of it.


    ¡°Fuck you to Gehemol, on a scalten cat¡¯s bladed lhipossa, you useless old bastard!¡± She held her ground, her arms still at her sides, the dagger didn¡¯t seem like a threat anymore. ¡°I have the right to a Kollishi Thaulp just like anyone else!¡±


    With the brutal power of blind rage, Ylethus brought his right arm up and out towards the young woman, hitting her full force with the back of his huge hand. He sent her flying backwards and into the chalky and rough wall of the path. He noticed Rhalchet scramble out of the way now that he got to his feet. Ylethus took a single step forwards, pinning the disoriented woman between the rocks and his chest.


    ¡°I am not just your mentor, you little shit!¡± He pressed forwards further. ¡°I am your Vhollen. I am your master. I am your father. I am your fucking god!¡± He punched the rocky face of the wall and sent chunks of rock splintering in all directions. The blood-haired woman winced, but could not raise her arms to shield her face. ¡°I say who goes on sieges!¡± Another punch with the other hand. ¡°I say who gets their rite of adulthood!¡± Another punch. ¡°I say who lives and who dies!¡± Both fists impacted the wall at the same time as he loomed over the young woman.


    He stood over her, making a contest of wills with direct eye contact, his teeth showing from between his lips. She looked up to him, her eyes wide and dilated, the vivid blues fading to deepest blacks. Despite the blood across her face, she looked up at him from beneath the hair of his beard and something pulled at his heart for a single beat. The same kind of look she gave him when he picked her up from that cave all those years ago. Moisture came to his eyes, but for the love of all the gods, old and new, he still wanted to rip her limb from limb for her insubordination.


    He took a step back, holding his eyes with her. He lifted his right arm and she flinched at his action. He pointed back down the ridge, back to the canyon city of Alsira Thaenat. He leaned forward, pressing his bloody face against her¡¯s.


    ¡°Ghelta! Get your scrawny arse back home. Now! You aren¡¯t an adult. You have no glory to gain for yourself.¡± He took in stuttering breaths. ¡°You are a disgrace to the vhulkovyr caste, and I will deal with you personally when I get back from Haaken Vaulthaen. You better pray to Olthenna that I die this day, for if I don¡¯t, you will wish that I had.¡± He held his stance.


    She continued to lock eyes with him for a moment, moisture creeping into her eyes as well. She gave a hard sniff and raised her hand to her face, whipping a mixture of blood and snot away from her. The blood was beginning to clot and cake around her features. He began to feel sorry for hurting her as he did. He was proud of her spirit, she had always been fierce, even as an infant. He had to remain commanding and in control for his warriors. He had to show how displeased he was with her sabotaging of his plans. One day, maybe soon, she might realize her folly, hopefully before she killed him from stress.


    ¡°Yes, my Vhollen.¡± Her voice was quiet and like a breeze as it passed by Ylethus¡¯ ears. She pressed against the rock to get past him. Taking one more look up into his eyes before turning to walk away. ¡°My apologies to all you honorable warriors from taking you away from your work!¡± She gave out a yell to the men and women still frozen on the ridge. She continued her walk past the frizzle-haired man who gave a snort at her. ¡°All except you Rhalchet. You¡¯re a fucking weasel.¡±


    Ghelta then ran off, throwing her blade to the ground. She ran like the wind down the path that led to Tarenhulf Rise. Ylethus turned around, walking calmly back to where he had dropped his blades. He picked them up and sheathed them, then stopped and stared to the gathered warriors around him.


    ¡°Are you all going to stand there like Alwhedein consorts? Slack-jawed, dumb-founded, and eagerly awaiting some sloppy lord¡¯s lhipossa to fill your mouth?¡± He strained his body and gave a hearty bellow. ¡°Or are you all gonna get back to marching forward so we can kill some Veshkoldan Delathi scum and take a fuckin¡¯ city?!¡±


    The warriors around Ylethus gave out two loud vhulkovyr battle-cries and went back to their march. Ylethus continued stride with them. He let his mind wander one more time to the past, as he took his first steps over the ridge and could see the Jolash Basin below, the city of Haaken Vaulthaen sprawling out by the edge of the Jol River. Perhaps Master Toulam was right, all those years ago. The gods help him, that blood-haired little she-devil would be his burden unto death.


    <hr>

 [2016] Witchling of Alsira (First Drafts) - Skaldt Tales 2 (Part One)

    The Witchling of Alsira


    Skaldt Tales 2 - Look Closer


    <hr>


    The many words and sigils on the loose parchment leaves that Leiros had splayed out across his wooden desk were beginning to blur together. He stopped his reading for a moment, closing his eyes, and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. It was now several hours before dawn and he still needed to get caught up on his studies but his tired body was doing its best to stop his efforts. He opened his eyes again and gazed down at the parchment that was directly before him. His eyes ran across the vertical lines of text, picking up the easy crumbs of information, yet getting lost for a few moments on the larger and more complicated sigils.


    The room he occupied was nearly dark, as the light from his candles was beginning to gutter. The candles themselves could no longer be called such, as they were now nothing more than stalagmites of melted wax curving around the workspace of his desk. He gazed up at them for a brief moment, getting lost in their details. They reminded him of a jagged mountain range in miniature with rivers of slowly cooling clear mallow cascading down to pool on the wood surface. The last two lit wicks in front of him were beginning to flicker as they approached the clear lakes of mallow that would soon drown them out.


    He pushed the parchment that was directly in front of him off to the right, turning his attentions to another parchment with an elaborately inked diagram of power. He traced his eyes around the the edge of a circle, reading the incantation notes scrawled in fine graphite. He could only gather a few of the ancient Morthavi words when he found himself feeling dizzy for a split second. It felt like he was beginning to shake or shudder out of his body, his senses growing distant, and then he came forward again. He desperately needed sleep, but he absolutely had to get this information crammed into his mind.


    He let his head slump down into his left hand, using the support of his arm to hold its increasingly growing weight. There were still a few more than a dozen parchment leaves he had to study. He knew that one of the older masters would press him on this information during the next day. Master Illenos, especially, as she always had a knack for knowing when he hadn''t studied enough information before-hand. She was exceedingly adept at the strange powers and the advanced perception of the Authrakallin, but instead of using those powers to assist others as the Order was meant to, it seemed like she used her powers just to figure out when it was best to remind Leiros that he didn''t belong there.


    Leiros gave a long sigh and absent-mindedly shoved the other parchment off to his right. He looked up, over his desk to the dancing shadows that were growing throughout his room. Most of the area was obscured in darkness, but straight ahead he could see the tattered red cloth that was hung over the doorway to his private quarters. Below the threadbare edge of the cloth he saw that the stone floor of the hallway outside was completely engulfed in darkness. It would seem that no other members of the Order were up and around at this time, probably all of them were peacefully asleep, lost in their own dreams.


    Between the doorway and his desk was an open space, the rock floor was covered by several strewn-about rugs and furs to help insulate the area. Most members of the Order kept their rooms almost empty, as if they exalted in the bare rock of the great mesa they lived within. Leiros was one of the few exceptions, he had grown up in relative luxury during his formative years, and he wished to replicate what little he could of that lifestyle while he stayed here. His was one of the few rooms with a desk, with shelves filled to the brim with parchments, scrolls and books. Behind him and to his right, instead of a rock slab covered with dried grass, his bed was an actual wooden frame with a fine authroc-down matress. He had even managed to commission an artist in nearby Alsira Thaenat to make him a few paintings that he hung on the rock-hewn walls to liven them up a bit. This space was his sanctuary and he''d be damned to the depths of Gehemol if he was going to live for a single night like a pauper.


    He returned his eyes to his desk just as the last two wicks died out in tandem. The entire room was quickly plunged into darkness. He gave out a half-hearted curse under his breath and pushed his chair away from his desk. The baser parts of his mind cried out for him to clamor in the dark over to his bed and retire to the blissful rest of sleep, but the higher parts of himself vehemently refused to.


    He crept through the dark off to his left, carefully counting the steps and feeling along the edge of his wooden desk until he met with the rock wall framing the limits of the room and then turning slightly to the left. He tapped the wall lightly with the fingers of his right hand, inching along with small steps further to his left. He reached out with his left hand at the exact time that the tips of his fingers would touch the wood of a small cabinet.


    He had memorized the exact details of his room in the dark and although he could perform a ritual to enhance his senses -- to summon light from the air itself, or push his ephemeral self out of his physcial shell into the shadowed realm beyond so as to see around him beyond the limitations of light -- he chose not to. He preferred to be subtle with the arts he had learned over his life, both to conserve his energies, but also as a form of deception to others. Something he learned, again, living the life he had when he was younger in the courts and intrigues of Morrthal City. His grandfather had taught him well that those with any sort of power should never flaunt it, lest those who envy such powers seek to destroy them.


    He knelt down now, reaching around to the front of his cabinet to pull on a metal ring, opening the top-most shelf. The wood gave a hollow and warm groan as it slid forward and he turned on his feet just a slight bit to reach into the drawer and retrieve two more candles with his right hand, and one sulphur stick with his left. He pushed forward with his knee, closing the cabinet and then turned on his heels. He counted his steps once again with a decent stride. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Soon after this, he felt the pressure of his wooden desk against the front of his left thigh.


    Leiros felt around with the toe of his bare right foot, tapping away at the fur beneath him until he found the wooden leg of his studying chair. He curled his toe out, pivoting his foot around the leg and dragging it forward so that he could sit down on it next to his desk. He reached forwards into the dark feeling the sticky wax on the edge of his desk. He found a decent section with the heel of his left hand and stuck one of the candles down into the wax with his right. He reached out again, finding another sutiable area and stuck the other candle down hard.


    He leaned back for a moment, pushing some of the remaining loose parchments on his desk off to the right so that his next action wouldn''t get any ash on them. He held up the sulphur stick he still had in his left hand, and rummaged for a moment with his right to find the piece of flint on the edge of his desk. He found the flint after a moment, came back and struck at the stick to alight it. That is when he was startled so badly, he almost fell backward out of his chair.


    As the stick lit up, casting a soft and flickering orange glow in front of him, he was taken aback by the hunched and looming figure, standing just a few inches in front of his desk. In a split second, Leiros'' imagination ran away with him and he believed that the figure was a cloaked reaper sent by Olthenna to capture his soul. As the first flash of light settled into continuous flickering and his eyes had a moment to adjust, he took in the familiar details of Grandmaster Toulam''s tattered and drawn cloak.


    The elder member of the order stood as if he were a statue, his head cast down and mostly covered by the aged cloth draped over him. Only the sharp tip of his chin, covered in white stubble could be seen within the shadows of his hood. His cloak was a faded light grey, looking like fog or mist draped loosely over his form. A few faded embroiderings of gold and crimson around his hood, deep sleeves, and sections of his front were the only designs that broke the uniformity of the grey. His hands were held before him, folded up beneath heavy wrinkles of cloth as if hidden in deep pockets. He continued to stand there, motion-less, word-less and heed-less of his surroundings.


    "Grandmaster Toulam." Leiros muttered the words as if consoling himself that the old man was indeed before him, rather than some shadowy illusion that might strike out at him at any moment. "Did you get lost in the dark, or do you have need of me?"


    The wizened figure remained unmoving, not a single piece of fabric jostled, and what few bits of his body could be seen remained frozen like pale marble. Leiros'' mind began to wander, wondering if perhaps the exhaustion had finally taken hold of him and he was dreaming all of this. He shook his head quickly, feeling the disorientation and tiredness pulling at his consciousness again. No, he was still awake. He continued to stare at the figure for two more moments and leaning forward slightly to see if he could look under the front rim of the old man''s hood to see his eyes beneath.


    Pain shot through the the index finger and thumb of Leiros'' left hand. He had completely forgotten about the lighting stick which had provided the dim illumination in the room. It had burned down to the section he had his fingers around. He instinctively dropped the stick and began waving the heat from his fingers. The light went out and the eagerly awaiting shadows cascaded forth out of the very rock, hungry to devour the light.


    Leiros continued to wave and click his fingertips to disperse the heat and pain. He continued to look forward into the darkness awaiting some sound or sign of the old man''s movements. As soon as the pain faded he heard a very slight rustle of fabric from before him and a rush of breeze that carried barely audible, whispered words of ancient power. Before him, the two candles that he had set upon his desk began to flicker to life. It was a slow flame, but as the energy in the room spun and twisted around the wicks, coalescing into a proper flame, the wicks soon blazed forth with full light.


    Leiros looked forward and upward to see Grandmaster Toulam with a single bare hand revealed from his clothing and curled with age as he held the limb forth. Small sparks of orange, yellow and redish light glinted like light off of snow above his upturned palm. The light remained for the briefest of moments and then quickly ceased once the candles were lit. The hood had lifted, showing just enough of the old man''s face to reveal the faded white-blue of his cataract-filled eyes.


    "You squander the gifts given to you by Nesharr, young one." The old man''s voice was soft, steady and slow. Each word moved out of him and into the air like the rustling of leaves of a single tree in a very slow breeze. "Sometimes I wonder..." His voice trailed off for a moment as he turned on his feet, facing to the right wall of Leiros'' room. "...Is your hesitance to use your gifts that we''ve taught you, because you weren''t paying attention and didn''t learn them, or because you''re just too afraid of your own greatness."


    Leiros gave a very quick chuckle. The old man could never pay a compliment in the absolute. He wanted his students to constantly doubt themselves. He felt that this was the only way that such gifted people could find humility among the engrossing and commanding powers that the Authrakallin used.


    "I''ve been paying attention, Master." Leiros got up from his desk, taking a single step back from his chair and pushing the chair under the desk with a foot. "I''ve explained my hesitance before. The way that I grew up..."


    The old man took a few jittering steps forward, making his way across the furs and rugs to Leiro''s bed. He stopped his stride for just a moment, looking up to Leiros. A single one of his faded eyes looked beneath a fold in the fabric toward him and he interrupted with a shrugging "Pheh!"


    Leiros stood silent for a moment, watching the elderly man finish his trek to the bed. He stood almost an entire foot higher than the slouched oracle. He saw Toulam turn to face him, lifting himself slightly to sit upon the bottom edge of the bed. Leiros moved forward, offering his hands up to assist the old man. He had only taken a single step forward when he saw the old man waving his left hand for him to stay back. He could hear a string of curses from Toulam, beneath his breath.


    "Ahh!" The old man settled his haunches on the bed, pushing up and downwards with his legs. "This is what a Bretholm-made matress feels like." A thin smile cut through the revealed bottom half of his face. "I always wondered why one of my students would bother with such decadence. Now I understand fully. You bought this to accomodate your training with astral projection and dream-travel. Heh?"


    "No, Grandmaster, I''m still a bit behind in those studies." Leiros took a step back and leaned his hip against his desk.


    "Oh? This isn''t for sleep divination?" The old man continued to smile, bouncing like a small child upon the bed. "Then the only conclusion I can gather, is that my best student is a decadent, soft-backed, lazy, little bitch!" He broke into wheeze-filled laughter as he continued his bouncing.


    Leiros raised a hand to his head, pinching the bridge of his nose to stay awake. "Is there a reason you''re here, Grandmaster?" He slumped his body slightly on his desk, raising a leg to prop himself against the wood.


    The old man ceased his joviality and returned to his serious, statuesque, absence of movement. He let the rim of his hood slump fully over his face again. He slowly rose from the bed to stand on his two feet. He took a single step forward.


    "Come with me." He turned and began to walk towards the doorway of the room. Leiros gave a single sigh, ready to draw in breath to retort agains the old man''s words but was interrupted by the elder oracle. "Shut your mouth. I don''t give a damn about how tired you are, or how behind you are on your studies." He reached the fabric-covered doorway and lifted it up with a hand. "All that theoretical summoning and binding crap that Illenos is wasting your time with can wait. I have secrets to share." He gave a little hop, looking like an impatient child who was in a hurry.


    Leiros left the side of his desk, turned around and blew out the candles as he passed by. He turned back towards the doorway, uttering a few words under his breath and began to rub his eyes. He could feel the power that he was drawing from the darkness pooling around them and coldly piercing into his skull. Slowly the lingering darkness took on a foggy substance, fading and parting around him as he continued to stare forward. Greyish-blue and purple shapes began to reveal themselves; the outlines of the furniture and walls of his room. He waited a few moments until the detail and shimmering colors of the dark were sufficient for him to move forward.


    "Good." The old man blurted out as he stepped into the hallway. "Nesharr gave you the gifts boy. It''s not a sin to use them!"


    ***


    It only took a few minutes for the two seers to make their way to their destination through the labyrinthine tunnels that wound their way within the grand mesa of Auhl-Keignfel Stohll. As they made their way upward towards the fountain chamber, Leiros could see the same glittering sparks of energy pooling around the Grandmaster''s hands as he walked up a small flight of stairs and around a bend in the tunnels. As soon as they both made their way into chamber -- with the sound of gurgling waters ahead -- the old man let loose with his energies. Hundreds of half-melted candles that littered around the room erupted into life all at once causing Leiros to shield his eyes. He soon began to quickly disperse the energies he used to see in the dark so that he could see with the eyes of a mortal once again.


    As his eyes returned to normal and he looked out in the chamber, he took in the familiar reliefs and chiselled motifs that cromprised the domed roof of the room. Lit by the flickering candlelight, each of the figures above seemed to move. Some were scenes from the history of the Order, others were histories of the ancient times when the powerful Morthavi ruled over the world, and others were merely depictions of gods or fell beasts from myth. The room itself was beautiful in its own strange way, despite the accumulation of melted candles stuffed into alcoves, or stuck to any free surface that would allow. The sound of the gurgling waters in the central fountain was relaxing, reminding Leiros of the small brook that flowed through his family''s ancestral lands in the west.


    Leiros brought his eyes down to the old man ahead of him, his back turned to his student and with a single drawn arm ending in a pointing finger to a rock slab next to the fountain. The old man silently bade for him to sit down next to where he stood. He didn''t say a word and waited patiently for Leiros to follow his command.


    "Yes, Grandmaster." Leiros made his way forward ending his stride right next to the old man and then quickly stopping before the rock slab. "I understand this is pressing for you. I wish to learn whatever you wish to impart, but I really must sleep soon."


    The old man retracted his arm and then pointed again with a sharp jerk to the slab. "These are matters that go beyond temporal considerations, Leiros. I don''t give a damn what your body cries out to you for. These are matters that transcend such petty concerns."


    Leiros sat down on the weathered rock, feeling the ages-old indentation of other''s shapes that had been subtly worn into the rock over the decades or centuries. He gave a long sigh and crossed his arms. He watched the old man take two long and cautious steps backward until the rock edge of another slab hit him in the back of the legs. He carefully lowered himself down onto the rock with a groan of age.


    "If you must continue to be restricted by temporal illusions..." The old man settled on the rock, leaning forward while rubbing his aged and leathery hands together. "Consider this young man. I have waited almost two decades to sit here and tell you these things. The least you can do is wait a few hours before you galavant off into the realm of Ginnithol to rest with wicked Sethos."


    "Grandmaster, I''ve only been with the Order for a decade. I..." Leiros cut in and then was quickly commanded to cease talking by the old man who held a single clawed finger to his ancient lips.


    "Don''t try that ''old man with a weak memory'' crap with me, boy." Toulam shifted on his rock, pivoting to the side slightly to take some strain off of his aged hips. "I know what I meant. We are seers after all, are we not? Ours is to know things that others don''t. To know things that others shouldn''t. To collect mysteries, secrets and to understand the strands of fate that the gods weave all around us, creating the tapestry that we call reality." The old man reached out a hand to give a slap to one of Leiros'' legs.


    Leiros gave a single nod and kept his tongue. He kept his mouth shut but pressed out his jaw to bite back a yawn. He pushed his back against the cool edge of the fountain and looked away from the old man for a moment. He turned his head upwards to take in the dancing forms in the roof above him, seeing the headpiece that was directly above the fountain. He took in the dancing form of Nesharr, the god that imparted the divinitory sight to the predecessors of the Authrakallin in ancient times. The exposed form of the god, half made of substance and half made of shadow, stood between the goddesses of life and death. Looming over Nesharr, half hidden in the top-most border of the relief was the insane god Jhulkos plucking threads that led down to the three immortals below. Leiros let his mind wander for a few moments, wondering if perhaps the strands of fate that the Grandmaster spoke of weren''t so much in the hands of Nesharr, as they were his twisted and mad brother.


    "Hrmph!" The disapproving sound came from the old man who knelt a little closer to Leiros as he sat near the fountain. "You''re too young to be so cynical." The old man turned to the side and began to rummage in the folds of his cloak, looking for something. If Leiros had been of any other caste or order, he might have been startled by the uncanny coincidence of the old man guessing at his thoughts. Leiros was an experienced member of the Authrakallin, however, and knew well that the old man indeed had the power to pluck the thoughts out of his mind. There were rules about such things in the Order, but the old man cared not for such restrictions on his abilities.


    "Besides..." The old man started again after finding a wooden bowl hidden in some hidden compartment of his clothing. "I know the bastard that made that sculpture." The old man held the bowl out to Leiros who took it. "He was an idiot."


    "One doesn''t need to be a sage of intellect to be a savant of the soul. A separation between knowledge and wisdom, I suppose." Leiros turned his gaze from the bowl in his hands back to the relief over the fountain. He heard the old man give a snort at this and pressed his words while turning his gaze back to his teacher. "Was it not Vhaltenesh, the precept of our Order that stated..."


    "...That truest understanding does not always come from the exercises of the mind, but from the growth of the spirit." The old man finished the words with a sour face. His blinded eyes remained locked upon Leiros''. The old man turned his head and spat openly at the edge of the room. "Don''t quote that long-dead sycophant to me. He was an idiot, too."


    Leiros leaned forward, clasping the wooden bowl between both of his hands. "Well, we can''t all be as wise as you, Grandmaster." He placed the bowl on his lap and leaned back to spread his arms across the rim of the fountain, enjoying the cool stone against his back.


    The elder seer sat across from Leiros, one leg crossed over the top of the other, his head tilted slightly to the side as a desert canine might do at an intriguing sound. Leiros knew to empty his mind, just in case the old man might be trying to penetrate his thoughts, again. The old man held his position for a small handful of minutes, waiting for the press of time to grow uncomfortable for the younger man.


    "Use the damn bowl. Drink the damn water." The old man blurted out once Leiros had admitted in his mind that he was finally uncomfortable. Toulam held his position on the rock, returning to his statuesque form.


    "Grandmaster, surely you don''t expect me to partake of the visionary waters at this time of night?" Leiros pulled his back from the edge of the fountain to look at the immobile form of the old man before him. "I''m exhausted. You said, yourself, to get proper visions one must prepare for weeks in advance. Rituals of cleansing, invocations of Nesharr..." Leiros leaned further still, trying to look under the hood of the old man and make eye contact with him, despite the futility of such. "You also stated many times that one was not to partake of these waters while they flowed during the night, lest the blood-light of Celanna might taint them."


    The older oracle gave a slightly perceptible shudder beneath his robes. Leiros knew that for one as old and as wise as Toulam was, he remained as impatient as a small child tempted with sweets, when he wanted something of someone and could not get it immediately. The old man did his best to act removed, contemplative or catatonic but what very little of his thoughts that Leiros could sip from his mind, betrayed his pressing curiosity. Leiros had never been as oppressive with invasions of the mind like others in the Order. He admitted to himself that part of the reason was that he was still learning and mastering the art, but compared to most, even his neophyte attempts at telepathy were very subtle. He rather the targets slip up and reveal themselves through clever coaxing and mild inquisition, rather than the forceful piercing that many others seemed to enjoy.


    Leiro''s father, Kolmarq, had been a member of the filidath, or the law-giver caste. His father before him was a member of the tolshatra, or courtier caste, who had earned his way into society and established Leiros'' family in the rich splendors and dangerous politics of Morthal City. It had broken Leiro''s father''s heart when he learned that his eldest son would not follow in the path that was established by his family for several generations, but would in fact part from it drastically. It was Leiros'' responsibility as the eldest son to follow his father''s orders, but Leiros chose to pick up the warrior caste''s sword and shield rather than the chisel and tablet of the law-givers.


    Kolmarq was a stern father, demanding much of his wife, three sons and youngest daughter, but as man who lived by the law and took a strong sense of purpose from the traditions of Hoelatha culture, he could not fight against what Leiro''s soul had chosen for itself. Leiro''s father knew how adept he had become at the martial arts, and how his father''s encouragement had sculpted him into a moral and honorable warrior. Being a crafty manipulator and the son of a courtier, he also knew not to break the young Leiro''s will by commanding him against his will, but rather to bend his son''s inclinations in such a method as to further the family''s prestige. That is when Kolmarq began to craft his son not only into an expert warrior who could serve the family with glory, but also to awaken the gifts of Nesharr that lay within him, so that the family could use his foresight and strange abilities to further their own ambitions.


    Leiros knew he was different from other children from the moment his father sent him off to the vhulkovyr encampments outside of Morthal City. The first thing the vhasul mentor had done was to test him. Leiros had arrived with his father far too young for the Kollishi Thaulp rite of adulthood. The vhasul had taken Leiros'' hands in his own, feeling how soft the skin was and scoffing loudly. The vhasul had turned his back to bellow out to the other students who had stopped their morning''s activities to gather around this new child who seemed so foreign to their rough sensibilities. The vhasul, a rough man himself, yelled that Leiros'' father must be mistaken as the vhulkovyr didn''t allow princesses from the Sapphire Lands entrance into their caste. The words bit hard into Leiro''s confidence, but not as much as the heckling and jeering from the female students in the vhasul''s group, seeing him as even more effeminate than themselves.


    Leiros could still remember the taste of the acrid salt of the Morthavis Highlands mixing with the blood on his bottom lip as he bit into it, trying to steel himself from talking out of turn. He waited patiently as the vhasul had his laugh, and the children had their moment to humiliate him. He turned his eyes to his father at that point and saw nothing more than disappointment and silent words upon his lips ready to chide him for not following after his own caste choice. That is when Leiros turned back to the vhasul and challenged him openly. A match to first blood, with nothing more than the long and elegant vhulthant blades that many of the Athul-kavi warriors used. Leiros remembered that he had peppered his challenge with many insults to the vhasul''s character, but he could not remember the words he spoke. The insults had worked, as the vhasul had looked with eyes of murder into him and simply waved one of his students to retrieve the blades.


    Leiros had not only managed to take first blood in that duel, but he had also managed to take the insolent vhasul''s eye as well. Something that the violent and miserable man held against him for the ardous four years that he spent training under him, that is, until his father managed to secure an advancement for him into the Authrakallin Order. Leiros was still a novice with weapons, but what he didn''t have with training, he made up for with a strange preternatural ability at anticipating other''s reactions. All it took was a single moment of calm, allowing Leiros to stretch the energy at the seat of his soul outward into the world, feeling the strands of fate as each were plucked by the decisions of the combatants. The vibrations of adrenaline carried him through the threads, giving him quickness and power that seemed almost inhuman as he moved. He knew the vhasul''s movements before his mind had conveyed them to his muscles. He was able to draw from the vhasul''s decades of training despite having received none, himself. He knew the consequences of his actions full moments before the actions could even be created. He didn''t need to learn from exercises and rote muscle memory, he just had to be exposed to those who did, and to use every one of their weaknesses against them.


    Those who were gifted with the sight of Nesharr were rare among the Hoelatha people, but were also prized. There had always been a tradition of honoring those with the sight of the oracles since the ancient bygone era of the fabled Morthavi, all the way through the once great Hoelatha Empire and now into the descent of the world. There were times in the past that those with the sight and the abilities of the oracles were hunted, and many other cultures who still hunt those of their blood, as well. Thankfully for Leiros, there was an order of oracles that would take him in, the disciples of Vhaltenesh, who had moved the seat of the Authrakallin from the once fabled Oerstav Caelii, the Isle of Oracles, which fell during the Great Cataclysm, to the desert mesas of the Alsi-Kavi people in the southern heartlands of the Hoelatha. Leiros hated deserts, but this place was the closest thing that he could call home.


    Leiros lifted the wooden bowl from his lap and set it on the edge of the fountain. As he did so, he let his eyes linger on the form of the old man still seated and unmoving in front of him. He could see a very slight curl at the edge of the man''s lips. Toulam was smirking, while no doubt reading the rememberances that had trailed through Leiro''s mind in the last few moments. That old bastard loved invading everyone''s privacy and using the knowledge he gained in his subtle and veiled schemes.


    "Isn''t that how you became the Grandmaster of the Order?" Leiros asked idly as he turned his head and looked to the wooden bowl while flicking it with a finger.


    "Hrmph?" Toulam played at stupidity. He reached up and stretched for a moment, allowing his brittle bones and rheumatic joints to snap loudly. He lifted one of his legs to rub at his knee and quickly returned to his immobile pose.


    "I assume that is precisely why you''re pressing me to drink of the waters while being so exhausted." The realization rang through Leiro''s mind as he said the words. He managed to sip from some of the thoughts trailing at the topmost layers of his master''s mind. "You are here to see and experience the visions that I would have once I drink these waters. You expect something, you old scalten cat."


    "I did say I waited two decades for this, did I not?" The Grandmaster rubbed his chin and soured his face for a moment. The tone of his voice trailed off in question for a bit longer than necessary. He was feigning senility, while at the same time using that tone as a prod against his student. Almost like an accustion of the faulty memory of the younger oracle.


    "Yeah, yeah." With a sideways motion and a flick of the wrist, Leiros dipped the bowl in the cool waters of the fountain and brought a filled bowl back to the edge. "You also want me tired, so that it''s easier to pierce into my mind. You don''t want me hiding anything from you."


    "You are my prized student, young Leiros." A grin spread across the weathered and white-stubbled chin of the old man that was visible beneath the shadow of his hood. "I don''t expect you to hide anything from me at all. Have I not always been forthright with you, these many years?"


    "If you count being ''forthright'' as being a cryptic old bastard, then yes." Leiros grabbed the edge of the bowl and brought it down to his lap gracefully. "I''ll do as you wish, but understand that if these visions don''t destroy my mind and my soul as they should do to someone who is not prepared..." He lifted the bowl up with both hands to his chin and then looked back to his mentor. "...Before the the next fest-day, you''re allowing me to do this properly. Rituals and all." He lifted the bowl to his lips and then quickly pulled away for a moment. "And, you''re increasing my status in the order, so I don''t have to put up with Illeno''s crap, anymore."


    The old man gave a single nod, then remained motionless while Leiros gulped down the entire bowl of water. He didn''t say a word while his student, once finished handed the bowl back to him. The old man wiped the moisture from it on his sleeve and set it back in whatever hidden compartment he had first drew it from and sat across from the young man for a few moments more.


    "It doesn''t taste any different than the glacial run-off of the Alsira River..." Leiros smacked his lips for a moment and leaned back, pushing his knees out for a moment. "Quite cool and refreshing. Maybe I could drink this every day." He gave a chuckle. "So, when are these visions supposed to begin, or am I so advanced in my gifts that I am immune to the waters influence?"This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "You''ll know when they strike you." The old man gave another grin. He lifted his head just an inch to match his dead, white eyes against Leiros''. "Oh, and it is worth noting at the outset. You really aren''t supposed to drink the waters during the night hours, especially when Celanna is full." The grin spread to a wicked smile across the old man''s face. "It''s fortunate for you that the Queen of Blood is full tonight, gifting the waters with her sanguine venom."


    The face of Leiros began to contort. His mouth moving upwards, deforming and stretching beyond the limitations of a human form, still cloaked beneath his hood. The snaggled and yellow teeth in his skull began to grow into razor-sharp fangs. A serpent''s tongue flicked between the crevices and gaps in his ever-growing mouth. As his fiendish face split, his jaw opening and unhinging outward, Leiros felt himself falling into the darkness of his maw as the thing that was once his mentor began to cackle fitfully, the haunting sound slowing down into a unearthly howl of a predatory beast.


    ***


    It took a few moments for Leiros to catch up with his consciousness. The sensation was the same as waking up from a deep slumber, or a moment where one was unable to breath and blacked-out. Slowly he began to remember who he was, but he could not understand where he was or how he had gotten to whatever sort of dream-like reality he now occupied.


    He knew, through a fog that clung heavily throughout his mind that he was not in the normal world he knew in his waking state. This was a world of deepest black. It felt like and looked like an infinite void that stretched on beyond his senses out into an abyss on all sides, yet this place he now occupied felt filled with some sort of cloying and suffocating ethereal substance.


    Leiros looked down to his feet, finding himself standing still on a slick and hard surface. At the same time the same surface his bare feet touched was partially submerged in some sort of viscous, dark liquid. The sensation on his feet was oddly warm, while the sensation across his face and body was that of a subtle coolness. Around him, instead of a shadow, was a set of rippling reflections of his form. Each ripple reflected a unique and disjointed view or position of his body. He stood motionless and still, yet some of the reflections he saw at strange angles were of him screaming in pain, or laughing at some silent joke, or running in place from someone or some thing that was chasing him.


    He followed the ripples around him, outward to where he would expect the liquid to meet a horizion, but there wasn''t one. What he thought was the ground and the sky were one united shade of darkness. He looked back to his feet, lifting one up to look at his bare sole. As he lifted his foot from the liquid below him, he saw what seemed to be deep crimson blood flow from the sole of his foot back to the pool below him. His foot was not stained with the liquid, however, as it seemed to clump and fall away like some mass of organic oils.


    He placed his foot down, steadying himself and began to turn around, looking in all directions and seeing nothing more than the eternal darkness that he was now trapped within. In this place he could not discern any sort of up or down, left or right, and he was beginning to panic. He soon became aware of his sense of time and began to wonder if he would be trapped within this realm forever. His mind raced at hazy conclusions that bubbled up within him like air trapped in boiling water. Had he died? Had he lost his mind? Was this some sort of punishment from the gods? Was his previous existence, as removed as it all seemed now, nothing more than a dream?


    He moved forward, walking as straight a line as he could in the ceaseless oblivion that existed all around him. His footsteps did not make a single sound. He felt a growing vertigo and anxiety with every step, that he might be lost in this strange place for all time. He reached out and around him with his arms, desperately reaching for any sort of substance that might ground him, but feeling nothing. Not even the sensation of air passing over his arms or through his fingers. He drew his arms back to his body, tightly holding around his abdomen and then reaching his hands up to shield his face. Fear began to build up inside of him. Something was not right; this wasn''t supposed to be happening. He froze and stared wildly out into the dark.


    "Here you are, beyond any limitations of time or space, and you''re already descending into fear." The voice was a feminine whisper over Leiros''s left shoulder. He could feel the voice close to his ear, causing the hairs on his neck to stand on end. He could almost feel the woman''s breath as she leaned in against him. Her voice was both playful and predatory at the same time. Her words sounded like the whispering a lover might do while holding another close in the throes of passion, or as a killer might do while seizing a victim in a darkened street right before the thrust of their blade.


    Leiros froze and raised his shoulders slightly. He dared not look over his shoulder toward what might be there. A rush of confusion swept through his mind as to who the voice belonged to and what wisdom they were attempting to impart. A vague recollection bubbled up in his mind that he was within a vision imparted to him from the gods and that he must remember succinctly each bit of information that he was given. He stood motionless and awaiting the visions around him to begin.


    "Descending into fear and expecting wisdom to be granted to you without any effort at all. How simpering and coddled." The voice whispered over his right shoulder now, it almost felt like he would feel the brush of lips against his earlobe.


    His heart began to beat faster, his breath pitching, and he continued to remain still. He turned his head to the right just a fraction of a degree and could not see anyting from his peripherial vision. He let his arms remain straight at his sides, not knowing if he should react to any threat that might be posed. Memories began to slide into his consciousness of being a small child once again. Of hiding beneath the silk covers of his bed while being startled at the shadows cast by furniture in his bedroom, given life through the dancing of the candle flame. If he was indeed in a vision, he had nothing to fear, yet every bit of his instincts flared to life as if he was trapped in the claws of some dreaded and fell beast.


    "I-If y-you are here to impart some wisdom, than do so." He felt his mouth grow dry as the words escaped his lips. "Surely, you have more to impart than comments about my unease." Feeling the goading words coming up gave him a bit more resolve. "If you are so wise, show yourself. Cease this juvenile whispering in my ears and show me something worth my time."


    He felt a cold hand with sharp claws over the fingers grab into his left shoulder and pull him around hard. The metallic claws dug in but did not pierce his flesh, the human fingers beneath them were as cold as ice and gripped with the power of inhuman strength. As he reeled around he had to steady himself on the slippery and viscous liquid at his feet. His feet slid but he kept himself standing. He looked to the ground and then upwards to see a figure standing in front of him.


    Before him stood a woman that was about the same height as himself and looked to be a few years older. The details of her appearance were almost overwhelming, dazzling and each piece of her form demanded attention. The more that Leiros took in of her with his senses, the more he became transfixed by her.


    Her brilliantly blue eyes shone with a strange internal light as well as reflecting shadows that did not exist in this abyssal world she stood in. At the edges of the icy blue was a strange ring of indigo light that seemed to pull away from her eyes in a way that was hard for Leiros to understand. If he looked at her directly, her eyes seemed normal, yet if he looked away, blinked, or her head pivoted slighly, there seemed to be tendrils of some indigo darkness that trailed and spun their way from her eyes and around her head like smoke trapped in water.


    Her hair was a mane of white, flowing from her head, over her shoulders and ending in tangled strands at the small of her back. The hair looked fine and straight, yet held a volume to it that no human hair properly had. The hair at her roots and along the sides by her ears seemed to trail out like quills which only softened to hair midway down her shoulders. Each strand was like the color of half-melted snow, white and almost translucent, yet shimmering with trapped colors. The ends of her hair, some draped over he shoulders, the others swaying from behind her back were stained and encrusted with what looked like blood.


    The woman''s face was angular but not severe, as her chin was sharp yet as Leiros'' eyes trailed across her jawline they smoothed into a curved jaw framed by high cheekbones. There were features of her face, beyond anything physical, that made the woman seem predatory and bestial, but her features remained human. As his eyes became accustomed to her, a youthfulness seemed to become more prominent in how he saw her. Her nose was delicate, the skin around her eyes and forehead remained tight, her cheeks were lightly peppered with fading freckels from youth. Her pale lips were full and inviting, and as she looked at him her tongue would flick out for a moment to glide across her teeth and end at one of her pronounced incisors that looked like the fangs of a desert canine.


    The skin on the exposed parts of her body was like a fine white jade, pale beyond any shade that Leiros had ever seen while growing up in desert climates. She didn''t seem sickly pale, but more of an inhuman lustre, where only the faintest lines of purple or grey would mark veins beneath her flesh. She seemed alive and robust, yet looked like a drained corpse at the same time.


    Her neck was slender, yet the sides of it were taut with strong sinews and only the topmost part of her clavicle was visible above the collar of her armor. The armor itself was a complicated thing to behold, on one hand it reminded Leiros of the furs and leather dress that many of the vhulkovyr caste used, yet there were strange metal adornments framing the armor at odd angles.


    Around her shoulders was matted and blood-encrusted grey wolf''s fur trim, seeming ancient and ill-used over years of constant battle. Sharp and metallic shoulder pauldrons stretched over he shoulders and dwarved her thin and muscular feminine frame beneath their spiked reach. The upper parts of her arms were mixes of half exposed pale skin as well as a mesh of tight leather straps and buckles. Large and bladed elbow protectors reflected light that did not exist off of strange mercurial metals. Each of her hands and wrists were framed with giant, black and metal guantlets. Each of her spindly long fingers peeked out from fingerless leather gloves hidden beneath vast metal claws that covered the topmost parts of her hands. Even unarmed, this woman was no doubt fully capable of killing even the largest of men with her bare hands.


    The armor trailed down her abdomen, yet in the segments that exposed her frame beneath, he could see a tattered tunic covering her midriff. Some more sections of pale skin covered by leather straps and some hodge-podge armor held in place with laces or buckles. Her hips were exposed slightly, yet the armor of her legs rose up in metalic spikes that seemed to rise up and around her hips so as to protect them despite. Trailing from below her waist were tattered and threadbare loin-standards that flowed on non-existent breezes, reaching down to her kneecaps. Whatever heraldry of her army that was once emblazoned on her standards had faded with many years to be nothing more than sunbleached grey and faded crimson. Her strong legs were covered with leather straps as well, ending in large boots covered in metal.


    The woman continually moved, even as she stood still. Every muscle of her body was tensed and graceful, ready to react at a moment to any threat or circumstance. With each breath she took, her head pivoted like that of an animal, moving and taking in details about her surroundings. When her eyes swept by Leiros'' own, he felt an exhilarating chill pass down his spine. He felt himself inexplicably drawn to this woman, both as if he were prey that she was hunting, but also as if he was a paramour drawn in by her exotic and almost inhuman beauty. He felt as if any sense of time had stopped in this place, and he simply wanted to stand there and drink her in. Observe her, find out more about her with each breath she took and every detail, cut or notch in her armor betraying some epic story about her past. He wanted her to open her mouth and reveal all the mysteries of the world to him, and to lay bare the intimacy within her. If this was his guide in the realms of the spirit, he was fortunate, indeed.


    "Are you done gawking at me?" The woman took a single stride forward and closed the distance between Leiros and herself. She pivoted her head to the side and looked downward to him. Her arms were raised slightly, her shoulders drawn back, and her top lip lifted slightly to reveal her teeth and fangs beneath. Not only were her incisors far larger than any person that Leiros had ever seen in his short travels, but it looked as if what few of her teeth in the back were fanged as well. "If you''re done looking me over, I actually do have important things to show you." One of her hands raised up to grasp the fabric of Leiros'' hood under his chin.


    Leiros reached up with his right hand to grasp the icy-cold and frost-slick metal of the woman''s gauntlet. Her grip was tight on his cloak, each one of her long fingers seizing into the fabric. Despite the strength that her grip betrayed, she didn''t seize into his flesh, nor lift him from the ground as he was expecting. She simply leaned in close to him, drawing him in with her inhuman eyes and with her breath that felt like evening''s frost gently caressing his face.


    He didn''t have time to stumble out a reply before a strange feeling of vertigo began to sweep over his mind. He felt himself falling to the side and curling inward and downward. There was a vibration against his skin, like the ethereal substances that passed for air in this realm had come to life; crackling with otherworldly energies. As sudden and profound as the sensation was, it soon passed away and stable normalcy returned.


    He could feel wind against his clothing and face now, a howling gust of air that made him reach both of his hands up to shield his eyes. The wind carried sharp grains of pale sand, like the constant sandstorms that blew through his home in the Jolash Plateau. He moved his feet to lower himself against the wind once the woman let go of his cloak. He felt the hard chips and pockmarked surface of igneous rock on his bare feet. Oddly, the sharp granules didn''t seem to pierce his skin, and neither did the sand sting at his eyes or shred his exposed flesh. His mind couldn''t keep up with the conflicting sensations, but he crouched down, drew his hood forward and attempted to shield his eyes, never-the-less.


    Leiros turned to his side and saw the woman still standing beside him, she was completely unaffected by the sand, the wind, or the situation they now found themselves in. A bolt of lightning went off some unfathomable distance away and her startling blue eyes lit up with the reflected light. He saw her shift her stance slightly, almost as if the flash of nature''s fury gave her a subtle exhiliration. A very slight smile spread across her lips, allowing the tips of her fangs to become visible against the full and pale flesh of her bottom lip. She looked around at the place they were now in and from what Leiros could glean from her reactions, the setting seemed oddly familiar to her.


    He turned his gaze from her reluctantly to take in the rest of the scene. Immediately he was struck with familiarity as well, dropping forward to steady himself with his hands on the rock beneath him. He was atop Auhl-Keignfel Stohll, the highest of the Whendan Mesas. He was at the summit of the place he called home, standing no more than a few yards from the circled rocks that he would sit at with other young initiates of the Authrakallin to hear wisdom from the Masters.


    He slid his feet and turned all the way around, the wind still tearing and pulling violently at his cloak. His mind reeled at how quickly they had come from some far off realm of visions into the waking world, so close to his home. The land around him was unmistakable, the air had depth to it, although it oddly felt hollow at the same time.


    "Why did you bring me here? In a sandstorm, no less." He pushed the side of his hood against his face with his right hand and turned to look at the woman who remained still.


    "Because, this is your first step on your journey." She continued to drink in the setting for a moment and then turned her eyes back to Leiros'' own. As she did, he felt a cold chill go down his spine, once again. "Not just of your journey, but of those that will follow you along it."


    A resounding flash tore through the sky and landed near the edge of the cliffside a few yards away. The heat and energy of the lightning could be felt by both Leiros and his guide. He lifted his hands in reaction and pulled back. She turned her head and seemed to shudder with a release of emotion. Her mouth was open now, the relief of her white teeth playing off of the dark clouds behind her.


    "Take this all in, oracle." She didn''t turn back to him, she kept her eyes on the cliffside where the lightning had struck. "You have choices to make that will affect far more lives than just your own."


    The rocky summit gave a groan and shudder beneath both Leiros'' and the woman''s feet. It felt like the lightning had struck a section of rock on the cliffside and sent it tumbling down the mesa to explode on the plateau far below. The wind picked up with even more violent gusts and the clouds above began to circle and shift quickly. What could be seen of the sky above looked like the surface of stormy waves from the perspective of a drowning man descending into the depths below.


    A few moments went by and Leiros took position behind a rock so as to be able to catch his breath. He looked at the storm going off around the summit of the mesa, and then back to the woman still standing perfectly still like a sentry, looking off to the source of the lightning strike. He did not know why the woman had brought him to this area at this time, as if this were anything other than a vision, being up at this altitude in the middle of such a severe sandstorm would be suicide. He continued to press the side of his hood against his face, both out of habit in keeping the illusory sand from his eyes as well as so to keep his breathing steady as the wind assaulted his nostrils and mouth.


    Leiros took one last look to the woman and that is when he saw some movement from out of the corner of his vision. He leaned forward, peeking around the rock and narrowing his eyes so that he could see in the dark past the flurry of sand. It was a single hand pulling up over the rim of the cliffside, followed by another, and then a moment later a crimson-haired head peeking over the rock.


    "Who would be so idiotic..." Leiros whispered over his own breath and let his voice trail away on the wind. He looked quickly back to the woman who returned his gaze and smiled broadly. She gave a single nod and then looked back to the form pulling itself over the edge of the cliff.


    The woman remained motionless, and Leiros crept forward, hiding behind some rocks of decent size so that he could see the woman pulling herself onto the summit, yet not betray his presence to her. It only took a few moments for the young crimson-haired woman to pull herself up fully and take in the empty expanse around her save for strewn about boulders. From what he could see, she wore old and threadbare clothes, simple leather britches and her hair was wild, caked with sand, blood and sweat. The woman looked old enough to be considered an adult, but based on her dress it was hard for Leiros to determine what caste she belonged to. Given her lean and muscular sort of beauty and the efficiency she seemed to possess at getting on top of the mesa, he assumed she must be of the vhulkovyr caste. Given that she had just climbed the famed Auhl-Keignfel Stohll, however, she must be a supplicant desiring to join the Authrakallin Order.


    "She''s not here for that reason." The white-haired woman spoke, heedless of whether the younger woman would notice her standing where she was, or follow her voice in the wind. "You needn''t hide yourself, either. I am showing you events from the future, young oracle. What is seen to transpire will not be affected by our presence." She turned from watching the scene to gaze directly at Leiros, once again. Whisps of indigo smoke seemed to trail from her eyes as she turned her head. "You are to watch and experience what I have to offer you, and then you must choose your path forwards."


    At her words, Leiros trepidatiously raised up from behind the rock. He turned from the white-haired woman to the crimson-haired woman a dozen feet away. He watched the younger woman for a moment to ensure that her behavior didn''t change, that she couldn''t see him at all. He emerged from behind a rock and took a few steps forward towards the young woman. Every few strides he would stop and look back to the white-haired vision-guide.


    "Why would se be so foolish?" Leiros muttered as he neared the woman and lowered himself down to look at her. "There is no one here to greet her. No one to oversee her attempt at the Kollishi Authrak." He looked up to the skies and raised his arms out to his sides. "It''s fully night, in a horrendous sandstorm. All the members of the Order are either asleep in their quarters, deep below us, or they are taking shelter. She will die up here. Alone."


    The crimson-haired woman leaned forward after surveying the area for a few moments. She pulled forwards, keeping low to the ground and moved towards a houndstooth-shaped rock that stood between the area she had climbed and the headwinds of the storm. She turned and pressed her back against the hard stone, trying to wipe the sand away from her eyes. Blood streamed down her cheeks, both from the sand in her eyes and from the small cuts the sand had already made as it cut into her flesh.


    "She has her own reasons for being here. Foolish as they may seem to you." The white-haired woman took a few steps towards Leiros. Every step was graceful and calm, like a predatory cat sneaking up on it''s prey. "Sometimes the things that people do in their lives, don''t make sense to those who observe it from outside. Yet, as irrational -- or irresponsible -- as they may seem to others, every action or choice may be pivotal to the larger schemes of fate."


    Leiros brough his eyes back to the crimson-haired woman. She had taken her threadbare tunic off and was proceeding to wrap the frayed fabric around her head. Once she had made a protective mask from the fabric, she pulled off her leggings and began scoring them with a rock. She was trying to stretch out the clothing she had to cover as much of her body as she could. A noble effort, but one that would not allow her to live, given the high altitudes, searing wind, and flaying sand. She would be stripped to the bone in a matter of hours.


    "Are you expecting me to stop a young woman from committing suicide?" He turned to look at his vision-guide standing behind him now. "As you say..." He took a hard gulp of air and tried to swallow. "Actions ripple out and affect fate. Correct? But just as actions can affect others they also cause consequences." He leaned down, almost leaning over the crimson-haired woman''s shoulder as she continued to shred the leather of her britches. "Those who would take action, must also bear the responsibility of those actions. They must suffer the consequences. Rational or not."


    The crimson-haired woman began to cover herself with the leather straps, pulling them tightly around every inch she could of her body. Wrapping her hands, her abdomen, the sensitive parts of her legs and thights, and her feet so she could continue to walk. Once she was completed, she began to look around her frantically to find any form of shelter she could run to that was more than mere boulders of rock.


    "I don''t doubt the veracity of what you just said." The vision-guide took a few more steps forward. Lightning went off once again, striking some dead scrub-brush on the other end of the summit. She stopped to enjoy that moment of nature''s fury and continued her stride once the thunder had torn through the heavens. "I am not here to debate philosophy with you. I am here to show you events that will affect your life, if you chose to follow the path that has been set out before you. It is still your choice if you wish to follow it or turn from it." She moved away from Leiros and idly walked toward some hewn-rock stairs carved into a small rise near the middle of the summit. "You must look into yourself and make your own choices. Follow your own philosophy. Choose who lives and who dies. As you said, every action ripples out. Every action has consequences."


    Leiros'' face scrunched up for a moment at the white-haired woman''s words. He didn''t like having his words turned against him, or for this vision-guide''s sense of circular logic. He was a man who was fond of debating, of understanding human nature, of conquering irrationality with rational thought. He was raised to believe that human nature was flawed and must be perfected by civilized behaviors, civilized discourse, and civilized rationality.


    "So, I am to bear the burden of other''s choices?" He turned away from the crimson-haired woman who scrabbled along the ground, keeping her body low as she moved towards the raised rock near the center of the summit. He too, took stride towards the hewn stairs, surpassing her painful and groping movements. He made his away up to the raised area beyond, looking down to both the white-haired woman as well as the crimson-haired one. "I have sworn myself to the Authrakallin Order. If you are a being of visions, beyond the ken of mere mortals, you should already know this." He turned away from both women and stared off to another rise of rock near the other end of the mesa. "We are oracles. We are observers. We do not mettle with the choices made by others who don''t possess our sight. We may guide, we may influence, but we don''t interfere. The last oracle who interfered in the lives of others became a ravening lich who slaughters her descendants to this very day. A forsaken and dark reminder of what befalls those who mettle in fate."


    Leiros didn''t need to draw upon his neophyte abilities at telepathy to realize that the white-haired woman''s patience was being tested. All it took was for her to furrow her brow slightly and turn to the side, away from him, staring off into the distance. At this, he began to feel a light sense of anxiety as he realized that none of his oracle powers worked in these visions. If he tried to reach out with his energies, or change the energy inside of himself to activate any abilities, it felt like he was gasping at air, or trying to look out while submerged in some muddy water. The abilities he had were still there, but something or someone was blocking him. Perhaps it was his vision-guide, or perhaps it was simply the nature of the visions he was now trapped within.


    "If you will be guiding me through these visions of the future, I will need to know your name." The crimson-haired woman had made it up the stone stairs and was approaching the spot that Leiros now stood. He stepped aside, letting the groping and half-blinded woman past. "Whether you are a god or a mortal, I must know to who I am trusting my fate."


    Leiros looked down to the crimson-haired woman for a few moments. With every movement forward, she smeared blood from the many cuts into her flesh across the blowing sands and rock of the summit. The white sand was hungry for her life, drinking in the sanguine humors, and carrying them away on the wind. The winds continued to pick up, the blowing sand glittered in the air, looking and acting like shards of glass. If it were not for the protection that the visions offered to him, he would be sharing the same fate that this young woman was suffering right now. The searing pain, the blindness, and the lack of hope.


    "I am neither of those things." The white-haired woman casually walked up the rock-hewn stairs and stood just a few feet from Leiros. "If you are trying to glean my true-name so as to control me, you won''t have it." She crossed her arms, the strange metal that covered her leather armor seemed to move as if it were liquid for a moment. "If you wish to know my former name, before I became what I am at this moment, I cannot provide such knowledge. I lost my name when I shrugged off my mortal coil and became what you see before you." Leiros had to take a step back as he beheld great, inky, and smoke-like wings lifting and unfurling from the woman''s back. The wings snapped out to their full breadth. The woman''s wingspan was larger than any of the great authrocs that Leiros had trained with. Larger than three grown men laying down, end to end, for each wing.


    Leiros felt his mouth open wide for a few moments, sand began to pull the moisture from his tongue and he quickly spit it out and closed his jaws. He watched as the wind seemed to pull at the inky smoke of the woman''s outstretched wings, yet they remained still like some organic shadow. He had never seen or heard of such features on human form before. Some creature that was part bird and part human, yet was neither.


    "If you must refer to me by a name, than I must give my title. I must tell you what I have become." The woman''s eyes lit up with a strange icy fire. The indigo tendrils that were only the vague hints of light now took on the same smoky haze that her wings had. The tendrils curled upward, around her head, into some sort of backward-pointing horns, or a half halo. "You may call me Zerranistra. For this is what I have become."


    "I know that word..." Leiros took a step closer to the white-haired woman. He looked her from toe to head and then stared deeply into her eyes. "That''s an ancient Morthavi term. Truly ancient. From a prophecy that came from the first oracles of the Oerstav Caelii before Merithault destroyed the entire island." He paused, feeling his forehead furrow and his jaw tighten. "It is said, that when the final age of humanity will come to pass -- when the world-mother shall die and be devoured by darkness -- the half-immortal known as the Zerranistra will cause havoc throughout the world. That word, it roughly means ''the Destroyer.''"


    Leiros pulled away from the woman, raising a hand to his face to tug on the bridge of his nose. He took a few steps away and walked toward the crimson-haired woman still making her way across the sand-strewn rocks of the risen-up plateau. He crouched down, near to the younger woman. Her struggles were getting worse. All of the exposed flesh of her body was raw and seeping with blood. Every action was belabored and painful. He felt sorry for her, that she would have to endure this horrible kind of death, even if it was caused by her own folly.


    "It shouldn''t come as a surprise if I don''t trust you, then is it?" He turned his head and looked back to the woman who claimed to be the destroyer of the world. "If you are some malignant spectre, sent to destroy all things, then I shouldn''t trust anything that you show me or say to me."


    The woman''s wings dispersed on the wind; the inky shadows being torn apart by the shards of sand. She took a few more steps towards Leiros and placed a hand on his back, as he remained crouched beside the suffering young woman. He looked up to her, wishing he could call upon the powers of his sight -- or of his telepathy -- so that he might be able to pierce into her soul. He had to correct himself. If she still had a soul and know for certain if he could trust her.


    "I am not here to decieve you. If I were to do so, why would I reveal myself to you as I have. Why would I allow you the free will to make your own choices." Zerranistra stopped her walking and knelt down beside the suffering form of the young woman. She leaned down, reaching out with one of her hands towards the crimson-haired stranger. Her face seemed pained, filled with regret, and with longing. She pulled her hand back quickly and looked up to Leiros. "I was once mortal, the same as you are now. The same as this young and foolish girl is, before you. I made mistakes. I suffered my consequences. I was burdened with the irrational choices that others made, and that I must endure." She lifted herself up, standing over Leiros now. "I suppose you could say that because of my folly, I chose to become this thing you see before you. This being the culmination of my mistakes. The consequence of my actions. But, I did not wish to become Zerranistra."


    Leiros looked up to her, holding eyes with her for a moment. He didn''t feel a cold chill down his spine this time, he only felt a sickening sort of pity for the woman standing above him. He looked back to the crimson-haired woman who had paused her movements and began to slowly sob to herself. The pain she was enduring must be unbearable. The fear inside of her must be clawing away at whatever resolve or courage she had used to climb this far. The situation began to pull at Leiro''s heart as he realized she had succeeded at her Kollishi Authrak. Such a thing should be a joyous time for a supplicant who wished to join the Authrakallin. There should be masters here to greet her and begin her training, offering her refreshments and tending to her wounds. Yet, here she was, alone, suffering and about to die.


    "You are like Merithault, then." Leiros reached out to the young woman before him, wanting to comfort her. Wanting to use what little powers of healing and regeneration he had learned in his studies to ease her pain. His hand went right through the bloodied woman. "You may have chosen your fate, but you are cursed by folly not by maliciousness." He looked up to Zerranistra, once again. "Assuming I do trust you and what you wish to impart to me. How do I know you won''t condemn me to that same folly, but for myself?"


    "You still have free will, young oracle." The woman reached out a guantlet-clad hand toward the head of the crimson-haired woman. She passed her hand across the trailing bits of the woman''s exposed head. Her eyes reflected the brilliant red color of the hair like mirrors. "Perhaps my involvement in your path isn''t to corrupt you to folly. Rather, to help you avoid it." She crushed her fingers into a tight fist, pulling back from the hair of the young woman. Her top lip snarled and her fangs flashed in the darkness. Something in seeing the young woman up close brought out the predatory and inhuman rage within her. "Maybe it is up to you to prevent the folly that gives rise to me. To save the world from what I will eventually become."


    "So be it." Leiros'' voice was firm, now. He had made his decison to trust what this entity wished to impart to him. He must trust his own self, his own abilities to see through deceptions, and his own abilities to change whatever darkness awaited this world in the future. "I will see, hear, and understand what you have to show me, Zerranistra." He stood up, pushing his hands against his knees to steady himself against the wind. He could feel the storm tugging at his cloak even harder than before.


    Both Leiros and Zerranistra stood over the crimson-haired woman. She had ceased her movements and held her head downward towards the rocky ground that was quickly being coated with bloody sand. The woman had given up, she found no succor or shelter. No doubt she had either lost her sight, or was beginning to do so. Her body tensed and then went limp for a few moments. Her body tensed again and she lifted herself into a sitting position.


    The crimson-haired woman lifted a bloody hand up to the shredded cloth that covered her face. Shakily and painfully, she pulled the cloth away. Leiros could see streams of blood pouring down from her otherwise blue eyes. Sections of her scalpt had been pulled away by the searing sands as well as most of the freckles from her cheeks. The look on her face was one of resignation along with unfathomable pain. She raised her head up, to look to the skies above.


    Leiros understood what the young woman was doing, she was awaiting Olthenna, the goddess of death, to come down and take her suffering away. She had given up on fighting against the winds and the sands. She had given up on the gift that Tolesh had given her; her own mortal coil. Leiros felt pained at this. Although he did not know her and wanted to hold some consternation towards her for her foolish act in climbing the mesa, but he could not hold onto it. He wanted to reach out to the young woman and end her suffering himself. Perhaps a quick snap of the neck, or several dagger slashes across her arteries. Anything but watching her slowly be flayed away by the sand.


    The wind sped up and so did the sand, almost as if the world itself was accelerated. He watched, wide-eyed as the work done on her body moved at a frantic pace. Her skin peeling away from muscle, her blood falling away into the sand. The soft tissues falling away, rising like ashes on the wind from a burning tree. The young woman used the last pieces of her body to keep her head aloft up to the clouds above, raising up a single arm to reach in vain towards the cloud-hidden, celestial star-sea above.


    Leiros hoped that Olthenna had taken mercy on her and taken her into the shadowed halls of Gehemol for her final judgment. He hoped her soul could find rest and not return to the lands of the living as a thaekkuz revenant for her folly. He watched as the last bits of flesh and gore left her gleaming bones and tough sinews, half covered in piles of sand.


    He saw the clouds begin to part above and the first rays of the burning god''s light break through to illumate the mesa summit and the sad scene below. As soon as he was able to adjust to the now brilliant light, everything passed again into shadow. He felt vertigo in his mind and body once again as it felt like great winds blew at his back. He thought he was falling backward towards something, but as soon as he was able to feel the sensations and panic, he was stopped once again.


    "What would you have done differently?" The voice of Zerranistra called out to him from behind him and to the right. He spun around, feeling the slippery and warm liquid on his feet as he did so. He was back in the abyssal realm, once again.


    "I wouldn''t have let her die." Leiros called out as he saw the woman behind him. "I wasn''t involved in this, however. I did not see myself in that situation, at all."


    "Because you did not make yourself a part of it." Zerranistra took a few steps towards him. She let her right foot linger, outstretched in the blood before she continued to step closer. Her arms were crossed over her chest. "Not everything is about you. Very little in this life will ever be handed to you. Sometimes you need to mettle."


    Leiros gave a rancorous chortle. "That goes against everything I''ve been taught while being a member of the Authrakallin. We are here to observe and to guide. I told you this, already." He pulled his hood back to his shoulders. He wanted to reach out and dust the sand off of his cloak, yet there was no sand on him at all.


    "You were told not to use your abilities to interfere with the paths of others, yes. I was told such by a member of your order when I as very young. Not yet the being that I am now." She gave a quiet sigh and continued to walk around Leiros. "The reason for this is not use your powers for selfish gain. Not to use your powers to harm others. Not to steal other''s free will from them, so as to corrupt and wither the strands of fate. Correct?"


    Leiros furrowed his brow in contemplation. He pressed his chin out a bit before speaking. "Yes." He looked away from the woman to gaze into the dark reaches all around him. "I suppose that is true. If you look at the larger concepts and intrinsic ethos of our precepts..." His voice trailed off.


    "Don''t get lost in fine details." The woman stopped her pacing and dropped her arms to her sides. "There is as much ruination in getting lost following the exactness of rules, as there are in only following the broadest interpretations of them." She tilted her head to the side for a moment, biting down on her bottom lip. "The power of the mind is in interpretation. The power of wisdom comes from knowing when to use it."


    "Yes. Yes. I understand." Leiros lifted his right hand up and gestured into the air with his fingers. A position he was taught by his father during proclaimations of court. He wished to let the woman know that he understood and for her not to belabor the point. "I have my own free will. I must make my own decisions, even if they must be made for others. I must temper my actions with wisdom, so as not to violate the free will of others. Yes. I get it."

 [2016] Witchling of Alsira (First Drafts) - Skaldt Tales 2 (Part Two)

    "Good." The woman neared Leiros. Her chest was pressed against his, and her face pivoted to hold his gaze. She wasn''t letting him pull away or look away. "You will save that young girl. Not just once, but many times over the rest of her life. Later in your life, she will save you. When you will falter, she will be your guide. When you in the darkness, she will be your light." She reached up one of her hands and seized Leiros by the jaw. "You won''t know it. You will come to hate her. She will come to hate you. But both of you are bound to each other. Once you take that first step on the path, the threads that weave both you and her, will become knotted."


    "If I save her, I am damned to endure her?" Leiros'' voice was thrown off by the strong and cold hand on his jaw. "If I let her die, I may suffer as she will?" He gave a chuckle, trying to pull his face back from the grip of Zerranistra. "Fine. I''ll endure her. So be it."


    "Good, it is done." The woman let her hand lower, letting the cold and slender flesh of her fingers slide down to Leiros'' throat. "Now there is more to show."


    Leiros felt her long and clawed fingers grab onto the sides of his throat with a grip that felt like a vice around his throat. The fingers pushed into his flesh and the space between the woman''s fingers and thumb didn''t allow his adam''s apple to move. He couldn''t swallow, and now realized that he couldn''t breath as well. The woman lifted him up by the neck as if his entire body didn''t weigh more than a single authroc feather.


    He reached out to grab at her hand with his own. He pried and pressed with his fingers to find a way to break free. He began to kick his legs from under him, but not even all of his force would make him sway one inch from her grip. She was inhuman, no one he had ever met was this strong. He was a slender man, but he was not the lightest.


    "Now it is time for you to know fear." Zerranistra''s mouth opened while holding a strange smile. Her teeth were barred, her fangs seemed to grow even sharper and longer. Her eyes were alight again with their indigo tendrils. "It is time for you to feel what it''s like to be prey."


    Orange and purple dots began to dance around the edges of Leiros'' vision. His neck and head felt swollen with blood and ready to pop. He couldn''t draw a single breath in. He couldn''t access any of his powers to try to thwart the fiendish woman. His arms and legs were beginning to grow numb with each struggle. Feelings of pin-pricks crawled all over his skin.


    Then everything went dark.


    ***


    The sensation of the woman''s grip around his neck still remained, like a chilled, phantom sensation. His body felt fine, and he soon realized that he could breath once again. He felt the cloak over his body, his hands and feet were free. He could feel a cold and well-polished stone floor beneath him. It was smooth and cool like finely chiselled marble. The only element that was wrong with the situation was that he could not see.


    "Are you still there, Zerranistra." Leiros'' voice felt shaky and harsh in his throat as he spoke out. He lifted both of his arms to his sides, groping in the dark for a wall or presence of some person or some object.


    "Yes." Zerranistra''s voice felt very distant and echoed throughout the space that Leiros was in. He couldn''t pinpoint what location she might be coming from. "I am, but won''t be for much longer."


    Leiros tried to activate his powers so that he might see in the dark. He pooled his energies but quickly felt the energy being siphoned away by something or someone. He couldn''t concentrate with his higher self, the parts of him that called upon his powers felt disjointed and fuzzy.


    "I am just to remain helpless? That doesn''t strike me as a source of fear." He gave a chuckle. He took a few light steps to the left, still reaching out with his hand to feel for a wall or support of some kind. "A source of annoyance, yes."


    As soon as his hand felt the same kind of cool marble in the form of a wall, his eyes were assaulted with a brilliant light from far-off and forward of his location. The light was traveling towards him, at first like a torchbearer running through a corridor ahead, but later looking like a halo as it got closer. He froze his body and looked as the light rushed towards him.


    As the light neared, he saw that did seem to be like a light cast from the middle of a corridor, lighting up a section of the corridor around him as it neared. It was only a few hundred yards away and he began to notice that it was the stone of the corridor itself that became lit. He remained still until the light rushed over him and lit the area around him.


    He looked around him, seeing white marble lit up from inside of itself. A flat floor, straight walls, and a flat roof above. Forward and backward were still cast in darkness. The marble itself was white with small specks of cascading gold, and faint veins of green. In his entire life, with all that he had been exposed to during his years with the Order, he had never seen stone that glowed like this before.


    "So, what am I supposed to do with this?" He said wryly while looking around and above him. He motioned to one of the walls and felt the previously cool stone feel a great deal warmer.


    "You run." Zerranistra''s voice echoed throughout the corridor in all directions. "You run like your life depended on it." He could hear her give a cruel sort of laugh. "Because it does."


    Leiros was overtaken with confusion. He felt himself draw his eyebrows down and purse his lips. He didn''t understand what the fiendish woman meant. He didn''t feel any sense of dread. He didn''t hear any sound other than her voice in this area.


    He looked over his shoulder, pressing his back against the wall of the corridor. He looked behind for a few moments, squinting his eyes while hoping he could make out any sort of shapes in the distance. He gave a shrug and turned his eyes forward to attempt the same. He saw nothing in either direction.


    It took a few moments for Leiros to realize that he was clutching an item tightly in his right hand. His grip was so tight, it felt like his fingers were going numb and his knuckles would break through his skin. He looked down to see a curved chukranth dagger in his hand. The curved blade was covered with still-wet blood. His hand was covered with blood as well. He lifted his left hand to see that it was stained even more so, with blood dripping from his fingers.


    Disorientation pulled as his mind while a strange feeling of deju vu took hold. He felt like he should be able to draw forth a memory, but that memory would not unfold his mind. He shook his head and began to feel a beating pressure in his ears. The pressure began to build until he felt an internal pop that broke out into yelled words from down the corridor behind him.


    "There''s the murderer!" The echoing voice was raspy and male. The voice was soon followed by the sounds of leather-clad feet pounding on the stone nearby.


    "Draw your swords, lads! Don''t let the rabid dog breathe another breath!" Another voice, more authorative and nasally. The pounding footsteps were drawing closer.


    Leiros was frozen; he didn''t understand what was going on. Who were these men clamoring towards him? What murder was he being accused of? The memories still felt foggy and disorienting in his mind. He knew himself well, he would never take another''s life in murder. In self-defense he had maimed others, but he had never taken a life.


    "Assassin! Ho! I''ll rip you into pieces! Cowardly dog!" Whoever they were, they were almost on top of him. The sounds felt like a wave rushing to him from the darkness of the corridor. He had to move, he had to run.


    Leiros dropped the knife, hearing the clatter of metal on stone as it hit the corridor floor beneath him. He wanted to approach the voices as the rational part of him wanted to talk to those that would accuse him of a crime. At the same time, the emotional part of him wanted him to run. The instinctual side was filled with dread far past normal levels of fear and panic. He felt himself push away from the corridor wall and begin a run in the opposite direction of the oncoming voices and footsteps.


    The light moved with him as he ran, a slow jog at first that broke out into a full-sprint. He looked over his shoulder to see only darkness behind him. The footsteps, yells and clanging of metal blades continued after him like a roaring wave that might overtake him at any moment. The panicked dread that pulled at his mind and heart ramped up to another level. It felt like his own heart might rip through his chest at any moment.


    Leiros threw his weight forward, pumping his legs harder with every yard he ran. He wanted to reach out with his powers to enhance his body to run harder but the same haze and siphoning of his powers drained away at him. He was left with just the powers of his body alone. The powers of this body which he had neglected in his supernal studies over the last few years. A body that was already beginning to wear out from lack of proper oxygen. His legs screamed with pain and his lungs felt like they were on fire.


    He continued his run, feeling like the wave of human violence was cresting right at his heels. He could feel hot breath on the back of his neck. The soft breeze of blades slicing through the air behind him. He wanted to give in to it all, be done with the running and finally surrender to the punishment these men demanded of him. His own innocence or condemnation didn''t matter anymore to him, he just wanted the chase to end.


    Before him he saw an end to the corridor. As he neared it, the marble illuminated just as the walls on his sides continued to do with each step. He slid on his feet across the smooth floor of the corridor. He looked forward and then to the sides frantically. His will was sapped, but the singing adrenaline in his system still told him to run, or if he could not run, to prepare to fight back.


    The corridor split, that is why the wall barred his way forward. He looked to his right and beheld another corridor of darkness. He turned quickly to his left where he was taken aback by the sight of Grandmaster Toulam. The old man stood in the middle of the corridor, half obscured by the darkness beyond him. He stood as he usually did, like a still statue, with his hood drawn past the edge of his face. Leiros couldn''t see the rest of his body as it was consumed within shadow.


    "Grandmaster, please." Leiros'' voice was frantic. He had to stop to draw in a wheezing breath. "What have I done? What must I do?"


    The old man remained still and unmoving like the very stone of the corridor. Leiros took a step forward, lifting his shoulders up to protect his neck. He expected the men-at-arms to come at him any moment, with blades piercing through the air at him. He raised both of his hands up in dire supplication towards his mentor.


    "Toulam, please." Leiros took another step into the darkness around the figure. As he neared he had to pull away quickly. Blood began to run down the face of his mentor. The blood flowed heavily, seeping into the hood of his cloak and spilling down to the embroided cloth of the old man''s chest. Leiros took a step back in shock.


    The figure of the old man seemed to glide backward, slowly being consumed in darkness. The last visible part of him was his face, which raised up meet the gaze of Leiros. Gaze wouldn''t be the proper word, given that as the old man raised his head up, the empty sockets of where his eyes would have been stared like gaping voids into Leiros'' own eyes. Blood ran down his face in rivulets as the old man gave a rictus-like grin.


    "No, Leiros. You''re on your own." The old man''s voice echoed through the corridor as he finally fell back into the dark. The last vestiges of his mouth didn''t move with the words that were spoken. "You''ve damned us all. You''ve betrayed us all. I should never have brought you in..."


    Leiros stood in the corridor, dumbfounded, and too panicked to react. He had no clue what his master meant with the words he had spoken. He hadn''t betrayed anyone, he hadn''t murdered anyone. Why would his own master say such horrible things about him. The man that took him in, the man who was the only mentor that was ever kind to him, in his own way of course.


    He turned on his heels and ran in the other direction. Just as he took his first step a sword was thrust through the air at his face. He narrowly pulled back within mere inches of the blade cutting into his flesh. He pushed himself downward and forward, sliding across the stone floor with his weight carrying him under the reach of the thrust blade. He began pumping his legs again as he ran forward into the darkness. This time the light didn''t follow along with him. He had to push forward blind.


    "Betrayer! Betrayer!" The men shouted in unison from behind him as he ran. The sounds of battering blades was deafening. "Murderer! Murderer!"


    Leiros continued to run into the dark, holding his hands ahead of him to steer him between the walls of the corridor as the stone segments seemed to rush by him. He had only just caught his breath earlier and was now already at the point of exhaustion, once again. The pattering of his feet on stone started to take on a wet sound, like the stone itself was coated in blood. He could smell blood permeating into his nostrils and leaving its coppery tastes at the back of his throat.


    "You condemned us all to death! You fool!" The voice of Grandmaster Toulam echoed ahead of him in the corridor, as if his grisly spectre floated along in the shadows. "May Olthenna damn you in the darkened depths!"


    Leiros'' frantically running footsteps started to become a monotonous beat of organic meat slapping against blood-drenched stone. He was getting ready to surrender once again. Perhaps the mob behind him might give him a clean death with their blades.


    Ahead a light became visible, only slightly brighter than the rest of the darkness but it was enough to give Leiros another burst of energy. A few minutes more of hard sprinting, he had to slow his pace as he realized that the dim light ahead was that of a starry night''s sky. He approached the edge of the corridor, which dropped off sharply. He could feel wind whistling from behind him out into the star-lit void.


    He leaned forward holding his hand against the marble wall of the corridor for any kind of meager leverage. He looked downwards and could only see the sea of stars continuing on for as far as his eyes could see. Above him and on all sides was the same.


    The clamoring of weapons and the rush of footsteps was growing closer. There were a few unintelligable shouts from the justice-craven warriors behind him. He had to make a choice fast, to jump into the unknown or to face a sure death at the ends of the blades those men threatened him with.


    He ran through the whole situation in his head. All these people claimed he had done something wrong; claimed he had betrayed them, murdered someone. He could not remember what he had done, surely he wasn''t guilty of such a mortal crime. He had always followed the Order''s rules and laws to the very letter. He had never taken a life and he never would.


    The unknown before him was a scary possiblity, who knew what pains, death or horror lurked beyond this gaping doorway into the celestial void. The prospect of being quartered by crazed men wasn''t a very good prospect either. He wouldn''t get an honest trial for his crimes, he wouldn''t know what had happened, and those he might have hurt wouldn''t see proper justice.


    Leiros looked from the void back to the violent darkness behind him. He held his breath for a moment and suddenly becoming ever more aware of the sensations his body was giving to him. The cool feeling of the dark marble under his hand and his feet. The feeling of the well-worn cloak draped over his body. The feeling of cool air rushing in and out of his lungs. He turned back to the void, taking a single step forward and calmly falling over the edge.


    ***


    The fall had felt like an unending travail that had cost Leiros hours or days of his time, yet when he looked back upon it in hindsight, he realized it had only been mere moments. His feet were firmly planted, if one could use such a description in a realm of the mind, on the slick surface coated with oily blood, once again. He stood in the endless abyss, staring out at the woman known as Zerranistra for some time before she finally opened her mouth to speak to him.


    "You rather choose the unknown than suffer the known, if cruel, fate that others would have of you." She looked Leiros in the eye. Her words where rhetorical, yet she held her gaze as if she expected a confimration from him. He provided one with a single nod. "Good. There may be hope for your continued survival, yet."


    "Was it necessary to choke the living life out of me?" Leiros crossed his arms and remained a few steps from the white-haired woman before him.


    "Yes, and no." Zerranistra lifted a single one of her white eyebrows up, causing the severe line to bend at a right angle. "Yes, in that I needed you to be afraid. I needed you confused. So that you could fall into the vision and experience what you needed to." She took in a deep breath and a smile began to curl at the sides of her lips. "No, in that I enjoyed it a little bit."


    "You, indeed are a fiend, then." Leiros feigned acting morose and broody. He wasn''t as shaken up as he wanted her to believe. He wanted to play off of any sort of emotion the woman might have, so that he could know if he could trust her. As he had seen with exercises of telepathy over the years he had worked on his abilities, as well as the intrigues of court that he had learned from his father, he had found that any person that could be touched by empathy and percieve other''s emotions could have some measure of trust placed in them. Those who only watched the cues of emotion, and then played off of them were often no more than monsters in human skin. Given that in this realm, with these visions, he was unable to access his abilities, he would have to fall back on the less supernal tactics he had learned from his father.


    "A fiend, perhaps. But a fiend that still has blood in its veins. A fiend that still feels the passion of emotion as much as you. Perhaps even moreso." The woman crossed her own arms and began to mimic the same body posture of remorse and moodiness that Leiros was performing. "I am not heartless, if that is what you''re getting at. I merely have a different set of desires when it comes to emotion." She smiled and those same fangs glittered in a light that did not exist. "You could say that my palate is more refined."


    "Refined to the most blunt of emotions. The most visceral and the depraved. Rather like being jaded. You must go for the most primal. Fear, wrath, and no doubt some elements of lust." Leiros said that last word very trepidatiously. He could handle any of her violent or manipulative outbursts, but he did not want to be trapped in a vision giving in to nothing more than carnal appetites. Although the woman before him did seem to stir those emotions within him far more than any other woman he had met in his short life up to this moment.


    "You are entitled to your opinion. Yet, it really does not matter to me one bit." The woman uncrossed her arms and approached Leiros. He flinched at her movements, beginning to wonder what new sorts of horrors she would visit on him. "I am here to perform a purpose. You are right, in that I am here to show you visions of the future. So that you can make the best choices for yourself and for those who will get caught up in your life. I am merely a part of yourself that you haven''t exposed yourself to."


    She began to walk around Leiros as he remained cross-armed and still in the abyss. She looked him up and down, analyzing every bit of his posture and physique. As she passed around him twice, she stopped and held his eyes from over his left shoulder.


    "I am not here to be your plaything. I am not here to titilate you." She pulled her face back and put two freezing hands on his shoulder blades. "I am here to shake you to action, using the tools that I have at my disposal. Your fear, your uncertainty, your curiosity, and your rage." He felt her chill breath on the back of his neck as she moved her face to his right side. "Let''s see if you can start to confront those aspects of yourself. You have darkness ahead of you. More than you could ever imagine." She whispered softly in his ear. A chill ran down the side of Leiros'' neck to his spine, feeling like her teeth were just a hair''s width from biting into his earlobe. "Let''s see if you have what it takes to surivive."


    He felt her give a hard shove. He felt his legs suddenly be swept from under him as he fell forward. The fall was far longer than the height he stood at in the former abyss of visions. A few moments passed before he felt the cold and clumpy earth of reality strike him in the face, chest and palms of one of his hands.


    Searing cold roared through his exposed flesh, especially that of his hands that were now covered in snow. The temperature of the air was far past frigid and what bits of earth he stirred up with his fall were like clumps of muddy-ice. He lifted his head from the snow, looking down an incline towards a darkened realm beyond.


    The incline slopped forward for a few hundred yards before coming to some flat land that eventually gave into a frozen lake. The lake itself was immense, trailing from the horizon on one side to the same horizion on his other side. In the middle of that lake, far off at the reaches of his vision was an inclined island. The island itself was huge, and framed in the middle of it were jagged lances of gleaming metal that stretched out into the sky.


    The sky itself was a strange hue that Leiros had never seen before. Glimmering and cascading greens played over the sky in a great ring that seemed to stretch around the entire world from far off into the heavens. The light was a mixture of greens, with slight stripes or ribbons of oranges or purples riding like celestial waves throughout. Behind these brilliant lights, the sky was robbed of color, looking like it was covered in starry bruises.


    Far off, beginning in the centre of Leiros'' vision and stretching around and behind him to his left, he could see a roaring plume of darkness. It reminded him of some of the smoke and ash plumes that some of the still active volcanoes would spew out near the Loch of Flame in the old Morthavi Highlands he used to live in. This spout of ash was far too large to belong to a volcano.


    As he began to watch it, almost as if hypnotized by its movements and strange lack of color, he soon realized just how alien this set of clouds was to how he understood such weather phenomena existing. These plumes did not roil and flow outward into the sky like those of volcanoes, mountain fogs, or storms upon the sea. These clouds flowed inward and downward, falling into some great chasm far beyond the horizion to the furthest north. His mind reeled at the notion that began to bubble up at the back of his conscious. The strange clouds he beheld were the roiling Gloom that many explorers called it. He was in the presence of the ultimate void that existed at the furthest north of the world. He beheld the very tips of darkness that was known as the Kytheran Abyss to scholars and those of his Order.


    He was very far from home, thrown almost two-thousand miles to the furthest reaches that his people had ever explored. He was abandoned in the searing cold wearing nothing more than the cloak on his back. Bare-foot, bare-handed, bare-faced and exposed to the elements. Yet, as he realized it, just the same as his vision on top of Auhl-Keignfel Stohll, the weather and the cold had a strange sort of hollowness to it. He could feel it all, yet at the same time the worst affects of it all seemed to be denied to him. He would not die from exposure or feel the horrid sting of frost-bite, but the feelings of these things would still tug at his mind and body.


    Leiros lifted himself to his feet and immediately began to dust off the snow from his cloak. The feeling of his bare feet in the chill snow was shocking for a moment. Feeling like when he would dip his feet in the ocean waves while riding his father''s skiff from Maalute Harbor to the dreary coastal city of Caerna Fhailuggach in Ferrenth. A shocking chill until one''s body acclimated to the temperature, or in this case the sensory dissonance of a vision.


    Once he was relatively dry and able to take some steps forward down the incline, he returned his eyes to the strange sight that lay before him. The great spires that strangely reflected the light coming down from the Scintilating Crown of the World in the sky. Some of the spires seemed to reach only a few hundred feet into the air while others seemed so high that they tore into a few misty clouds that moved by, falling into the gloom of the furthest north.


    One of the most prominent spires, thicker than the rest, stood forked in the sky. Jagged pieces of metal were exposed from shear and slick metal frames on the outside. In the middle of the fork between great cleaves of ice-covered spires was what looked like an immense green gem. It was hard to understand the full scale of the thing while looking at it, as the frigid atmosphere played havoc with Leiros'' sense of distance and porportion. Looking at the clouds passing by, and surmising that some of the sparkling reflective surfaces in the metal might be glass panes the size of a normal human, Leiros began to look anew at the spires before him. The great crystal in the middle of the forked tower would have to be the size of Auhl-Keignfel Stohll itself, about a thousand feet from the lowest face to the piercing tip.


    Leiros had to use his hand to try and steady himself while looking at the spires ahead. The huge height and width of them, now that he could understand their scale made him dizzy. These things were taller than any mountain he had ever seen, taller than any fortress or citadel tower he had ever read about in the histories of the Order. There was no way that these spires, no doubt far more ancient than anything he had ever heard of, were built by human hands. These things were wholly unnatural and far more complex than any of the mechanical wonders he had heard of in ancient myths and traveler''s tales.


    This dead and abandoned city of elder things was not of this world. It did not belong in the world that he had read about and studied since he was a child. Was this a palace of some unknown god? Was this a gateway to some other realm that he had never heard of? Was this all some strange image of insanity called up from the furthest depths of his mind like some seething cancer or disease?


    Leiros felt his knees buckle and he fell backward into the snow. The more he looked at the towers before him, the jagged spears and blades of gleaming metal, crystal, glass and other materials he could not understand, the more he felt a growing sense of dread spread up through him from the pit of his stomach. This place was not right, it didn''t belong, it was unholy and nightmarish. The rational side of his mind was fully split from his emotions, once again. The rational part of him grasped at old myths and stories and tried to understand it as maybe some ancient city from the time of the Morthavi Ascendancy so many thousands of years ago. Perhaps this was a city of sorcerers who used vast magics from the ancient world of Hoelv to sculpt these wonderous things. Yet, his emotional mind took hold deeply and screamed at him to turn and run away. Something called out to him, some melody that only the most animalistic parts of him could hear. It was a cacophonous symphony of murder, played on vile instruments, by inhuman hands.


    "The Dread City of Vorrginth." The voice came from his right side. Leiros turned his head quickly and saw the white-haired woman standing in the snow next to him. "You are familiar with what the name Vorrginth means, correct?" She kept her eyes focused on the spires before her, not turning her head towards Leiros at all.


    "Y-yes." Leiros soon realized his mouth had gone dry. He swallowed hard and flicked his tongue around in his mouth for a moment. "Vhaltenesh, the primarch of the Authrakallin mentioned it a few times in his teachings. He said that he had gazed upon its spires only once, but that it had left a lasting impression." Leiros tried to push himself back up on his shaking legs. "He said it haunted him. He referred to the visions he had of it as the Vorrgistadt. The road to the ruined city of the Vorr."This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    "You have now traveled that same road." The woman gave a smirk and several steps forward. Her eyes were alight now. The icy blues were like flames in her eye sockets. Every step she took towards the city seemed to cause her eyes to glow all the more.


    "Vorr..." Leiros steadied himself and focused on the misty horizon. He kept his eyes level and refused to look up at the disorienting spires scraping at the stars. He focused on the mists gathering at the base of the city on the furthest horizon. "...Ginnth." He lifted his left hand as a cover between his brow and forhead, preventing him from looking up.


    "Yes..." Zerranistra cooed from further ahead. She was heedless and looked up to the spires without any sort of falter in her step.


    "That sounds like Ancient Morthavi. I know that Vorrgistadt means the road or the quest to find this strange place. But the actual city name... Sounds like the city of the slumbering. The sleeping ones. Ginth like Ginnithol, the realm of the sleepers that Sethos gifts with dreams." Leiros began a small jog to keep up with the woman.


    "There are truths in names. Especially when it comes to words in Morthavi. They knew this world better than most, even though they were not native to this place." The woman continued her stride down the incline and now approached the flatlands closing in on the frozen shores of the great lake.


    "Is this where the Vorr dwell, then? Sleeping within the spires?" Leiros felt his curiosity gathering flame inside of him. It was said that only Vhaltenesh had been able to have a vision of this strange city. Now he was able to uncover secrets about it as well. Perhaps his destiny wasn''t so bad after all.


    "No. In that, this place is mis-named." The woman walked onto the ice of the lake, graceful and without the slightest hesitation to steady her balance. "The Vorr may once have lived here. If you call their existence ''living.'' Yet, they remain here no longer. Perhaps they were called back to the place they came from, perhaps they ceased to be."


    "Then..." Leiros stopped and looked down to his feet. He felt his face grow sour and his eyebrows lift with concern. "What is this strange feeling I have? This dread clinging not just to my mind, my body, but through to my very soul."


    "That is the part of you that is human, recognizing this place as what it is. Not human." The woman slid her feet on the ice and turned around to face Leiros. "That is you feeling the strange energies that keep this place functioning. It is also your soul crying out to you, telling you of what lies beneath these spires, trapped in the darkest of places, waiting to be freed."


    "If that thing you speak of is not the Vorr, then what is it?" Leiros'' eyes were wide now and his body tensed as he was tempted with new discoveries.


    "You don''t want to know. Believe me. It is a being of immense power, imprisoned by the Vorr themselves in times so far gone that no human would ever have memory of it. It is a being that seeths with unholy rage at the prison it was cast into." The woman''s eyes were hypnotizing with their strange light. The indigo tendrils were again flowing down from her eyes, over her pale cheeks, and trailing into the transculent white of her hair.


    "I must know!" Leiros looked to the woman, stretching his right arm out to her while clutching his left in a fist against his stomach. He stood resolute, shaking and wide-eyed.


    Zerranistra lifted from the ground, the same inky-smoke wings unfurled around her giving her an impossible flight. The wings were slightly different, more clawed and menaching this time. The tendrils around her eyes curled into the half-halo once again. Her eyes roared with icy flames ripping out from her sockets like her head was a great torch. Her fangs were fully elongated like the needles of a great serpent. Her fingers had snapped and grown outward like vast spindle-like claws tipped with razor-sharp blades. Her feet, no longer clad in metal and leather boots were like the clawed feet of a great dragon or wyvern.


    "You..." The woman''s voice boomed across the landscape, creating a shattering echo like chilled thunder. "Will..." Her claws unfurled and grasped out around her form in all directions like spider''s legs. "Not!" Zerranistra gave an inhuman and piercing howl that began to shake and shatter distant parts of the ice. Several large pieces of ice and snow from the distant spires shook and fell unfathomable distances to crash into the ground of the island ahead.


    Leiros clutched at his ears, feeling the warmth of blood trickle from between his fingers. He shut his eyes tightly feeling blood vessels burst around the edges of his eyes and salty fluid drip from his tear ducts and then down over his cheeks. He felt the earth beneath his feet heave and shatter like the ice of the lake before him. The woman''s scream seemed to drone on and reach ever higher and more painful levels. He soon felt like the very flesh and bones of his body would shattered or rip off of his body.


    Then he was thrown into a sense of calm silence. He cautiously pulled his hands from his ears. He expected to hear the incessant ringing of deafness, yet all he heard was still silence. He opened his eyes, expecting to feel the burning sensation of blood and seeing nothing more than blotchy smears over his vision, yet all he saw was darkness. He let his hands fall down to the ground in front of him and he felt the same warm and thick oil as he felt with his feet in the abyssal realm.


    Leiros lifted his eyes from the reflections of himself playing out in the ripples of the slick blood beneath him. He didn''t have the heart to get to his feet or look fully upward in case Zerranistra was still standing before him in her wrathful form. He lifted his eyes carefully to look at the feet of the woman before him. She was back on the ground -- such as it was -- and her feet had returned to being those of her leather and metallic boots.


    "My apologies for the outburst." Zerranistra said curtly and with a monotone voice. She didn''t sound or seem sorry, but she needed to say the words. "I lost control of myself, both because of your own safety and because of my dark attachments to that place."


    "You lost control of yourself, ''for my safety.''" Leiros gave a chortle and let his eyes slowly move their way up the woman''s form until they met with her eyes. He lifted himself to his feet, lowering his eyes to her neck level for a moment and then returning them. "If you can''t control yourself, and you refuse to let me know more about that place, then why show it to me at all?"


    "Your fate is drawn there. I can''t refuse that. I must show you it and let you know of it." Zerranistra took a few heavy breaths and clenched her fingers into fists. "But I don''t have to show you the horrors of that place, just yet." She unfurled her fingers and returned to a state of calm. "You must understand, just as you say that Vhaltenesh did. There are some places that are haunting. There are some places in this world that will shatter your mind if you get to close. There are others that will steal and devour your very soul if you walk into them heedlessly."


    "And the Dreaded City of Vorrginth is such a place." Leiros said it more assuredly than that of a question. He wanted to lead the white-haired woman into divulging more information about the place, yet not earn her ire through direct confrontation, again. "I understand. But, if my fate is to go there, I should be prepared, should I not?"


    "There is no preparing for what awaits you, or I, or anyone else that goes to that forsaken place." Zerranistra held her right hand out in front of her, curling and uncurling her clawed fingers. It seemed like she was reaching out for a memory, one that both seemed familiar and vexed her at the same time. Her eyes were off in the distance, many miles away. Perhaps she was looking at the spires in her mind.


    "Then, I will take what you have shown me as preparation of a kind, none-the-less." Leiros felt a cool confidence and sense of resolve take hold over his voice. "No matter what you say, I am drawn to that place now. I must uncover more. I don''t expect you to guide me there again. Obviously, you can''t handle it. I will research what I can, I will press forward no matter the cost."


    "You are stubborn. I remember being equally such when I was much younger and still had a mortal heart." She gave a cruel laugh. "Fine. Do as you wish. Seek your own folly, if you must. You have been warned."


    Leiros gave a nod and smiled. He crossed his arms and spun slowly on his feet in place. As he began to turn away from the white-haired woman, he soon began to get a gnawing sensation at the back of his mind. Perhaps she was tricking him, just like his old mentor loved to do in the waking world. Goading him into things through a kind of reverse-impulse that was all orchestrated to lead him where the other wanted him to be. To take advantage of his curiousity, his stubborn nature.


    He shook his head and spun back around to face Zerranistra. Perhaps his doubt was the case, or perhaps she was legitimately scared of the place. None of that mattered, ultimately, as his path was now set to go to the Dreaded City. He would follow the path of Vorgistadt as set out by Vhaltenesh an age before. He would uncover the hidden wonders of that terrible place and do what he could to turn it into a beneficial discovery for all humanity. Surely there must be something of redeeming about the place, some wonder that his people could use to better this dying and decrepit world they were trapped within. Some ancient lore, some ancient artifact, some hidden miracle of the gods, hidden away by an ancient and powerful people that lived on this world before even the Morthavi came here. In all dark and terrible things, there must always be a ray of light and hope.


    Zerranistra openly scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Your hope will lead to your destruction. Shatter it while you still can. Fool." Leiros began to wonder if it was her that was preventing his abilities, after all. As hard as it was for him to pool and focus his energies, it seemed like this woman was able to pierce into his thoughts just fine, as if she were a member of the Authrakallin herself.


    "I learned from one such as yourself, how to do that." Zerranistra shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes once again. "I''m not limiting your potential, young oracle. That is entirely of your own doing. These are your visions, in your mind." She lifted one of her fingers to poke him in the forehead. "If you aren''t able to summon your powers, it is because you don''t want to do so. Somewhere you realize it won''t help you on the journey you have before you."


    "Are you telling me not to use my powers then? That they are meaningless in my future?" Leiros squinted his eyes and tightened his brow. "I would trust the Grandmaster of my Order more than a fiendish illusion in a dream. He told me I must use my powers to the fullest in my future. That I need to embrace them more than I have."


    "I said no such thing." The woman smiled broadly, letting the tips of her fangs flow over her bottom lip. "You jump at my words like a frightened man at shadows in the dark." She gave a light-hearted chuckle and took one more step forward. "I have no stake in you using your powers or not. In you using them for good or ill. I''m simply stating that some things are beyond your ken and beyond your abilities for now."


    Leiros held his tongue for a moment and stared the woman in the eye; a look of challenge, expecting her to slip up somehow. He may not have used his powers as often as he could have, but it was not because he didn''t like or trust his abilities. He knew fully well how powerful the rituals, powers and miracles of the Authrakallin were, which is why he sought out tuteledge in the arts of divination. He had seen masters of his Order pull of feats that seemed almost as if the gods themselves had incarnated in flesh and blood to do them. He had heard the tales and histories of those who had performed feats beyond even what was possible now, back when the world still had more magic and mystery in it. Before the corruption of the world as the world-mother Myrris slowly sunk into her own grave. He knew he had such power within him, and it was the abuse of those powers that he feared. That he had the same ability, the same taint, flowing in his heart and mind that would condemn him like Merithault had been condemned, to be a monster of the ages, preying upon those he was meant to protect.


    "Fine, then. Embrace your arts. Follow the Path of Haethupex to its final conclusion. To madness, folly, and slaughter." The woman continued that same smile, the tone on her face becoming more sadistic than mirthful with each passing moment. "I''ll show you the fate your powers will cause, and that will be my final vision to you."


    Leiros gave a nod and remained still. The woman reached up and passed a single one of her cold, clawed, elongated hands over his face. He felt himself falling backward, downward, and into himself. He embraced the vision this time, following after the fiendish woman''s will.


    ***


    Leiros opened his eyes to behold a familar, yet starkly alien sight before him. He stood upon the ancient and ruined patchwork tiles of the Elder Circle''s counsel chambers on the great cliff jutting out over the city of Alsira Thaenat below. A sight that Leiros had seen several times before while he joined his mentor in games of intrigue, diplomacy, or favor-currying with the old Etharak Jhondd before he died and the temporary leader of Oelvann Molth took his position as acting chieftan. The shelders that many of the Etharalm and Oelvanti used were gone or cast to nothing more than burned out cinders and ash. All of the old and sun-bleached tapestries that hung over the shelters to provide some shade for the dignitaries that used the space were burned away or clinging to charred rock on the cliff-face.


    Leiros took a few steps forwards, feeling the still warm ashes on his feet as he looked out over the great canyon-city below. He couldn''t recognize it as first, it looked like some ancient site that had fallen to ruin. Then his eyes focused and he could spot the bodies piled up in the streets, with the blood-tinged, glacial river rushing beneath the city. The smell of burnt flesh and blood began to make its way up from the city and choke him.


    The city was destroyed. As he let his eyes play over the city below, looking and hoping for some form of life to show itself amidst the flames, the ruins and the carnage, he could not find any. There were no candles burning in windows, no people staggering numbly through the streets, not even a single screech of a desert hawk in the skies above. The city was dead and all those within it had been taken by Olthenna.


    "Are you saying that this is my fault?" Leiros steadied himself at the edge of the cliff. A voice in his mind pulled at him and made him want to jump off of it. This was his home, these were the people that took him in and made him welcome. These were the people that he served. "A-are you?" He felt his voice crack and with every breath the smell of the dead broke through his nostrils and clutched at his throat. "A-Are you?!"


    "In a way, it is. In a way, it isn''t." The voice of Zerranistra came from behind him again, this time a small distance away. Perhaps she anticipated Leiros thrashing out at her in his grief and fury. She was right to do so.


    Leiros clutched his hands into fists, driving his fingers into the palms of his hands with so much rage that he could feel blood begin to run. He could feel his powers reaching out, as distorted and confused as they were. Pieces of burned-out wood and small rocks began to throw themselves forwards over the cliff''s edge. He could feel his blind rage tainting the powers he was given, turning them from perception to forceful fury.


    "Do I become as corrupted as you?" His voice was a whisper, yet at the same time a low scream that seemed to tear at his vocal cords.


    "No. You become your own entity. Your own enemy." The woman''s voice was further away from behind him, this time. "This fate would happen no matter your choices. Eventually all things must be destroyed. All people must die. All societies must be turn to ash and ruin."


    Leiros remained silent and let the rage wash over him. He could feel a shuddering beneath his feet, like a slow rumble that hadn''t yet found its voice. He turned on his feet to look at the white-haired woman. She stood a dozen feet off to his left. The look on her face was one of sorrow mixed with concern.


    "Sacrifices will be made. Whether you chose to act, or you chose not to. All I can say is that if you chose wisely, some may be spared." Zerranistra began walking towards Leiros, keeping her eyes away and focused on the scene around them.


    "No one should have to suffer." Leiros blurted out, clenching his fists even tighter.


    "All people suffer. All people die. The point of the matter, is to give their suffering and their deaths meaning." Zerranistra closed the distance and pressed her chest up against Leiros'' own once again. "You wouldn''t deny them that, would you?"


    "No." Leiros turned his head away from the gleaming blue eyes of Zerranistra for a moment. She reached a hand out and led his gaze back to her with a single finger on his chin. "All life is sacred. All souls must have their fate. It is better do die for something than to die a meaningless and empty death."


    "Good." Zerranistra leaned in, pressing her icy cheek against Leiros''. "You''re beginning to understand." She brought her face back around and continued to speak while her full lips began to brush against Leiros'' own. "There may be some hope for us yet."


    Leiros felt a stirring from inside of him, more than any sort of attraction he had felt before. He couldn''t make sense of it all inside of his mind. He didn''t trust the woman, and she was obviously inhuman, but there was something about her that was strangely familiar. He was attracted to her, despite her flaws, despite the blood that clung to the tips of her hair, despite her violence and her fury. He felt his mind split again, but this time between three different forces, not just two. His rational mind was intrigued by her, his instinctual mind was afraid of her, and his emotional mind was drawn to her more than anyone else in the world.


    He pushed himself away from her, shoving his hands at the tops of her arms and taking a step back. He needed space, he needed to understand what was going on, and he needed some sort of clarity. There were too many emotions going off in his mind. Too many things that his visions were pulling and demanding of him.


    "This is what I have need to show you, young Oracle." The woman took another step and closed the distance again. She swiveled her neck, looking over his shoulder and then back to his eyes. "Your path goes beyond what I have shown you, but this is what you need to begin your journey."


    Leiros lifted his hands again, to press against the woman''s shoulders and take another step back, but this time she caught his hands and held him still. He looked Zerranistra in the eyes, feeling closer to them than ever before. He saw a whole world in those eyes, flashes of memories he couldn''t decipher, emotions he hadn''t yet begun to feel, and the threads of fate that were being plucked that somehow tied him to this woman.


    "Will we ever meet again?" Leiros gave a sheepish smile, pulling his face back a few inches so he could see her whole face.


    "Yes. I may be different than you see now." She returned the smile, but with confidence.


    "What do I need to do for that to happen?" Leiros tried to pull his hands back from Zerranistra but her grip remained firm around his fingers and wrists.


    "You need to prove yourself worthy of me." Zerranistra leaned in, her lips again brushing his. Her cold breath playing off of Leiros'' face, feeling like a chill northern wind.


    He didn''t have time to reply. His mind ran at something to say, perhaps a quip or jest to lower the tone of the mood, but he never got the chance. Zerranistra''s lips pressed against his own and he felt overwhelming energy coursing through is body. It was as if some kind of connection had been made between both of their bodies and both of their essences. He could feel tingles of energy coursing through his lips into his mind, as well as from her hands touching his.


    Something felt strangely familiar about it all, like they had known each other since they were born. With a single wave, all trepidation was bled away from Leiros'' mind. He reached out and moved his lips in return, feeling Zerranistra''s as if she were warm and human, once again. He felt his hand lifting from her shoulder, given freedom, and now he moved to to the side of her face. Her skin felt warm like her blood was pumping and her body was mortal. He felt the warmth from her breath mixing with his own. He felt her hold his other hand to her chest, feeling the skin there. He could feel her heart beating beneath her chest, as each breath she took moved herself up and down beneath his hand.


    He had never felt such a connection before, and as he began to lose himself to it, he soon realized that his eyes were closed. He opened them and beheld the blue eyes of Zerranistra. No longer lit by some strange fire within, no longer encircled by strange indigo wisps, but normal mortal eyes that reflected his own in the the tears that coated them. Faint freckles were visible on Zerranistra''s cheeks as he pressed in. Leiros looked up, pulling his lips from her''s for a moment and seeing crimson-colored locks of hair flowing down and framing her face.


    He wanted to look at her before continuing, pulling his face back just an inch, and as soon as he had done so he began to feel a strange sensation on his hand that was brushing her check and moving to the back of her neck. His fingers felt slick with some viscous and warm substance. He pulled his hand back to see his hand covered in blood. He looked back to Zerranistra, her eyes now closed. Her hair was now covered and running with blood which flowed like rivulets down her face and neck. She clasped his loose hand in her own, smearing the blood between his and her fingers and pulling him in against her chest.


    She leaned forward and he felt like he could not resist. He didn''t feel afraid of her or disgusted at all, but he was concerned for her. He felt a sense of panic that ripped through him, like he might lose her to some disease or malady. She shoved her face into his, her lips locking with his once again. He felt the same energetic charge as before, almost overpowering his mind. He opened his mouth to ask her a question and was greeted by the tip of her tongue. She caressed the peak of his top lip and lightly made her way over his teeth to touch upon his own tongue.


    Leiros was caught between a sensation of longing and that of profound dread. His mind was reeling and shaking from one extreme to the other. He didn''t want to let go, he didn''t want her to feel spurned, but his mind cried out that something was very wrong with this situation. With the blood that now poured over his eyes and face from her scalp.


    Just as her tongue began to lightly touch upon the tip of his own, he soon began to notice a strange taste of blood to Zerranistra''s breath. The slightest taste became more present and he tried to pull away again. She wouldn''t let him, her grip held him in place, her lips were locked against his own. He began to feel pain in his lower lip. Two points of pain as her fangs bit into his flesh and held him even further.


    The taste of blood now became a torrent of blood. A mixture of his own as she pierced into his flesh, and a torrent of her blood as she began to cough it up into his mouth. A slight sputtering soon became a torrent as the blood ran into Leiros'' mouth and down his throat. He tried to pull back so he could breath, but again she held him with an inhuman grip. The blood began to fill his throat and choke him beneath it. His eyes went wide once more, seeing nothing more than blood all around him. He was drowning in it.


    He pressed the last air from his chest to scream, but the blood still flowed, drowning it away into nothing more than a gurgle. His whole body was drenched. He was trapped in a churning tide of gore.


    ***


    Every vein, artery, and capillary in Leiros'' skull felt like it would burst at any given moment. He had never felt so queasy or terrible since the time in his youth when he and his cousin had gotten drunk on Thernaki Fire-brandy. It was a day and night of partying at an infamous ''place of ill repute'' in one of the coastal cities of the Arid Steppes that his father had been stationed at as envoy for the Hoelatha people. Both young men had filled their time with drink, with song, with the company of many accommodating women, and with the company of many unaccommodating tribal men. When the reddish morning light of Trallt had lit the sky with fire that morning, both Leiros and his cousin were found in puddles of their own vomit, spittle, blood and effluvia. It was the first and last time that Leiros gave in to his carnal appetites. He remembered never to feel like that again in his life.


    He opened his eyes into the harsh flickering light of the fountain room. His vision was still bleary between tears and the accumulated sleep leavings of Sethos. He leaned forward, placing his face in his hands, and pushing his back fully against the side of the fountain. He gave a long groan, feeling every blood vessel in his head pounding in unison. Finally, he began to wipe away the drying mucus in his eyes.


    "What in the depths of Gehemol was that?" He began to pinch at the bridge of his nose with one hand and massage the sides of his skull with the other. He lifted his head and opened is eyes to look at his mentor, still sitting across from him. The old man remained motionless, his hood still obscuring the topmost portions of his face. His stubbled chin and grinning mouth were the only things visible.


    "What is so damned amusing, old man?" Leiros blurted out again. The old man remained motion-less with the same patronizing grin on his face.


    "Ah ha! I see, you pierced into my mind during my visions. Did you enjoy what you saw? You perverted old fool!" Leiros leaned forward once again and prodded at the old man''s knee, causing him to move ever-so-slightly.


    Grandmaster Toulam took his time before responding. "Yes and no. The lecherous fantasies of your mind are entirely your''s to enjoy. I did view the visions you had." The old man shifted on his rock seat. He let both of his hands fall away from his over-sized sleeves and whatever he was hiding in the rumples of his cloak. "I am happy on behalf of you. You dolt. And I am happy on my own behalf as well." He continued to extend his arms, revealing a glowing orb of quartz-like crystal, held between both of his weathered and skeletal hands.


    It took a moment for Leiros to recognize the bauble that his mentor held. He had to take a double-glance from the old man''s face, to his hands and back. The orb softly glowed a silvery light with small specks of gold glinting throughout its form.


    "Is that one of the Nesharite Spheres?" Leiros'' eyes grew wide and the pain coursing throughout his skull almost seemed to fade away. "There are less than a dozen still in existence. Only the Athulla of our Order, back in the ruins of Oerstav Caelii have possession of those..." His voice trailed off as he continued to stare at the strange item.


    "Correct." Toulam continued to smile broadly. He almost seemed to relish the awe and attention that his student was focusing on him. "Last I heard, there were but nine of these damned things left." Toulam shuffled on his seat to move closer. "It wasn''t easy to get my hands on it. What I did, I had to do. Understand this later."


    Leiros seemed to ignore this mentor''s cryptic rambles. "It''s active right now? So you were..." He trailed off once again. He waited for his mentor to give a single nod. "It works? It records the memories, thoughts and visions of..." He took a deep sigh and scrunched up his face. "...Of me?"


    "Your visions weren''t just idle fancy, young man." Toulam lifted the orb into one of his hands and pulled his arm back into his cloak to deposit the orb in a hidden pouch for safe-keeping. "Nor was I spying on you for any nefarious reasons on my part." He brought his arm back through his sleeve. "As I said before you departed for realms beyond..." He gave a cough. "I''ve been waiting for these visions for decades."


    "Why?" Leiros felt his jaw grow slack and lips began to pout. He was confused, unable to reason why his visions would be more important than anyone else''s. "Why mine?"


    "You, Leiros, must walk down the path that I have been building for the whole of my life." The old man lifted his hood to show his bleached eyes. Despite his blindness, Leiros could still feel the old man''s vision settle upon him like rays of sun through cloud. "There are revelations to be had. You have quite the journey before you."


    "Why would you need to record my visions into that sphere?" Leiros pressed at his mentor.


    "So that when the time comes, you will remember them. Your visions and thoughts aren''t the only ones recorded into this particular sphere. I have been placing my own, as well as those of my master, her master, and onward before. All the way back to that senile old fool Vhaltenesh." Toulam gave another cough into his hand. He stood up, turning away from Leiros for a moment. He gave a few wheezes and caught his breath, again. "I''m mortal, boy. Just as you are now. Eventually I will fade away, like those who came before. I refuse to leave you alone in this world, without guidance."


    Leiros felt the weight of the old man''s words and the entire situation keenly. He let his eyes slump to the rock-hewn floor of the room. Time seemed to pause for a moment, the candles ceasing their flickering. The visions he had were both a boon and a burden. What awaited him in the future must be severe indeed for his master to risk his life, his station, and his very soul to have such an item. No one was allowed to personally hold one of the Nesharite Spheres. Only the twelve Athulla of the Order were permitted even to use them, see them, or even speak of their existence. To have one in secret would draw the eye of the Athulak Pharreida; the inquisitor-knights of the Order.


    "You needn''t worry about such things." The old man gave a laugh while scuffling away from the fountain. "We''ve kept this orb secret for almost a millennia." Toulam turned on his bare feet to look back to Leiros. "Just don''t go blabbing to anyone about this. I''ll keep the orb in safe-keeping until it is your time to take it up. I fear that time draws close." The wizened man gave a grunt at the thought of his own mortality then continued to walk away. He reached the doorway down to the lower levels of the mesa and with a thought, blew out all the candles in the room.


    Leiros remained on the stone slab, with his back pressed against the cool stone of the fountain of visions. He was in complete darkness, alone with his thoughts. He was beginning to fully realize just how complicated and strange his life was about to become.


    "Don''t dally, boy!" Toulam''s shouts echoed through the halls and back to Leiros'' ears. "If your vision was correct, you need to save someone''s life tonight." He could hear a crackling laugh break through the darkness. "I think that''s more important than your studies. Or your sleep."


    Leiros lifted himself to his feet with a loud and exaggerated groan. His life was indeed becoming more difficult and filled with adventure. He didn''t much like that, one bit.


    ***


    The billowing clouds were gathering and growing dark across the evening sky. The winds were picking up and beginning to howl and bluster. Leiros lifted himself to his feet and looked over the hounds-tooth rock that he was using for cover from the wind and early gusts of fine, white sand blowing in from the Jolash Duenr in the south-west. He could make out the great wall of sand and debris filling up the horizon. Tonight''s storm would be one of the worst he had seen this season. Anyone left up on the summit of Auhl-Keignfel Stohll would be flayed alive in a matter of hours once that wave of razor-like sand hit. The winds at the heart of the storm on the horizon were whipping around at speeds exceeding the fastest of desert cats. Perhaps even enough to blow the feathers off of an authroc.


    Leiros pulled his white scarves over his mouth and nose to protect himself from the sand and the wind. He pulled pieces of his new traveling cloak around his body with tight leather straps. The trailing tails of his cloak snapped in the wind like the mouthed tails of a frenzied ghellorth beast. He pulled his leather gauntlets tighter around his hands to make sure no sand got in. The soft furs inside his bracers and gloves felt warm and soothing on his skin.


    He sat back down behind the cover of the hounds-tooth rock. He stretched his arms, his legs, then crossed both in front of him. He began to reach out with the powers he was now beginning to embrace in full. He could feel the young woman''s energy as she climbed the side of the mesa. Her soul felt like it was on fire from within and burning with a frantic energy that made Leiros dizzy.


    He understood now why she was doing what she was doing and although it was a foolhardy act of rebellious youth, it was something that he found amusing. He had been rebellious himself when he was younger. He had wizened up by the time he had reached the young woman''s age, however, and he was only a few years older than her. He had to realize that people grew into their paths that their souls would follow at different times and in different ways. Still, despite this understanding, he had resolved not to make things easier on the young, crimson-haired woman.


    He would make her realize things, he would shake up her life, and he would beat some sense into her if it was necessary. He would teach her indirectly, just as his own mentor had done, and just as he realized the young woman''s mentor had done for her, as well. He would be the distant light that guided her in the darkness, yes, but he would also be the shadows that clawed at her if she strayed too far off the path. He had thought long and hard about this throughout the day, going over and over the visions he was imparted. This was the only way to guide her. She was too reckless, too rebellious, and too immature at this point in her life for any other kind of tutelage and protection.


    He would influence her to safety and he would subtly coerce her mind through his telepathic powers, guiding her to the fountain of visions. He would force her to wake up. He would force her to unlock the powers within her blood. She was the descendant of Merithault, after all, the last of her bloodline. She deserved to suffer as all the Authrakallin oracles had suffered over the ages. She would be burdened with the sight, with the powers beyond mortal ken. After all, by climbing this very mesa, even if she was not yet a full adult, she would pass her Kollishi Authrak to become one of the oracles, herself. Since it would be him to greet her at the summit, it would also be him that would become her mentor once she had passed her proper rite of adulthood.


    The visions were right and the words that Zerranistra had spoken into him were coming true. He would be bonded to this crimson-haired, young woman. He would be responsible for her as her mentor, her guide, and her distant protector. He would endure her follies as his own master, the cantankerous old Toulam, had endured his.


    Leiros leaned forwards and picked up his quarterstaff from the rocky plateau of the mesa. He placed it across his lap and continued to reach out his energies to feel the young woman approach his perch. His mind began to drift off in part, wanting to recollect the features of the woman in his visions. The enigmatic and otherworldly Zerranistra. She said to him that he would be united with her in the future, once he proved himself to her. All he had to do was endure the tutelage of this crimson-haired woman, named Ghelta, and he would eventually be able to find the woman of his dreams. He would do what he needed to do, to find that strange woman once again. His mind, his body, and his soul cried out for her.


    <hr>

 [2016] Witchling of Alsira (First Drafts) - Skaldt Tales 3

    The Witchling of Alsira


    Skaldt Tales 3- TheSiege of Gullcrest City


    <hr>


    The area around the vhulkovyr barracks was as dark as pitch. The open, cliff-side area was lit by only a few guttering, standing torches spaced out a dozen feet from one another. None of the moons that usually traversed the night''s sky were present. The canyon overhang above the space that the warriors used for training and drills were darkened with looming shadows eating away at the star-filled night''s sky.


    A little more than a hundred armed and armored warriors stood at attention on the cliff-side plateau of the canyon. Their arms crossed behind their backs, their legs spread out to shoulder width. Their polished and sharpened implements of murder were either sheathed or strapped to their bodies. Their armors were tended, re-stitched, groomed and ready to be coated with blood. All of them stood deathly silent in the hours before the dawn. Their voices were silent, their attention was focused, and the rhythmic hum of the adrenaline coursing through their veins was almost deafening to those with the refined senses to hear it.


    "Despite what some of you may have heard, this is not a campaign to conquer the city to the south." The voice was loud, deep, and rumbled with every word. Echoes of the voice played off of the rock throughout the deep and wide canyon of Alsira Thaenat.


    "This is a siege, not a pillage, not a sacking, or whatever else you dogs may want it to be." The voice continued. The rocks that made up the cliff-side groaned and the earth moved slightly with each breath the bellowing man, who addressed this crowd of trained killers, made.


    "We will surround Haaken Vaulthaen. We will show the Veshkoldan Delathi dogs that now inhabit it... That exploit it... That run that city into the ground with their treachery... We will show them the might, the speed, and the discipline of the Alsiran Vhulkova!" The voice stopped for a moment and was met with hoots and hollers of acceptance from the men and women standing at attention.


    "We are going to free those Haakuenth fools to the south. Those debauched scholars who would allow foreign mercenaries to be their guards. Those idle fools who would pay others to fight on their behalf. We will save them from themselves. Kicking and screaming if we must." There came a further rumble and a series of great, thundering steps. The man who spoke to the crowd paced back and forth at the front of their number.


    "We will show the Haakuenth, who turned their backs on us centuries ago, that they cannot live without us! We are blood! We are family! We are Hoelatha!" A few more belting shouts came from some of the warriors. A few near the front of the group slid their feet on the sandy rocks they stood upon. They stood firmer, stronger and puffed their chests out with pride.


    "You must all fulfill your duty to me, your vhollen, Ylethus. I have brought all of you here. I have trained you well. I have bled when you have bled. Labored when you have labored. I have shed tears alongside you for those of our valiant dead. I expect of you what you expect of me. Loyalty, discipline, and patriotism to our blood. Our tribe." A few more thunderous booms went off as the large man addressing the crowd walked from row to row and surveyed the warriors.


    "You are my children. I am your father. Remember this, well. We are of one blood. One family. One duty. You will fulfill your orders with honor. I will fulfill my duty to command you with that same honor. We will liberate Haaken Vaulthaen!" The large man stopped. His head and shoulders being visible over any of the other men and women assembled. A breeze pulled at his dark beard and ruffled the fading grey-brown hair encircling his balding skull.


    "You have your orders! Prepare yourselves. We meet on the Hestrath Plateau in one hour. We march before dawn!" One more loud yell broke the night''s silence. Each of the warriors gave a single shout and hit one of their hands against their chest. The hulking commander of the warriors waved a single hand and the crowd of warriors dropped out of their stances, dispersing quickly.


    "Buethom, Amsthyn, Whelam, Nhulmyra, and Rhalchet!" The giant yelled out amongst the clattering of metal and groaning of leather. "You get to stay here with me and be punished for your insolence. Don''t you dare move!"


    The rest of the warriors filed out of the yard and made their way to whatever areas they needed to, so as to get the final parts of their preparations done. Only five of the warriors stayed where they stood. Each of them looked around and through the crowd to see one another. A bald, male warrior looked over to a blonde, male warrior and shrugged his arms in confusion. The blonde man with short-cropped hair and a long, trailing beard pointed back with one hand and drew his finger across his neck with another. A dark-haired, mustached man eyeballed the other two and then looked back to the hulking man who had given them all orders, earlier. A robust, raven-haired woman stood silent and kept her eyes forward, ignoring the other warriors around her. Finally, a dark-haired man with a scraggly and unkempt beard yelled back to the hulking commander of the army and gave a rude gesture.


    Once the rest of the warriors, except the five remaining, had left or made their way out of ear-shot, the hulking man named Ylethus stepped forward. He lifted both of his hands in front of him, his fingers stiff and his thumbs up. He made a motion to the remaining few to move closer together, they did so without objection.


    "What did Amsthyn do this time?" The bald man leaned forward and made eye-contact with Ylethus. He lifted one of his arms to wipe sweat from the top of his scalp. "Whatever he did, I had no involvement with it. Entirely his own idea." He paused and used the elbow of his free arm to jab at the side of the unkempt warrior near him. "I did hear Rhalchet put him up to it, though." The bald man gave a light-hearted chuckle.


    "Enough, Buethom." Ylethus'' voice boomed out of him like he was a container filled with thunder. "The thing all five of you are guilty of is the charge of being the best in my retinue. You''ve proved yourselves to me time and again." The hulking man grinned underneath his well-trimmed and braided beard. "You''re being punished by having to be my honor guard in this campaign."


    "Shit. I rather get the axe to my neck for treason." The unkempt and dark-haired man smiled and gave a deep, belly laugh.


    "Shut up, Rhalchet." Ylethus gave a moment-long glare to the loud-mouthed warrior before him. "You will be the extension of my will during the siege. You will follow along with me, and I expect you to follow my orders exactly. You know how I work. You know what to expect of me. I shall not need to give you too many orders."


    "Yes, vhollen." The words were slight and curt, coming from the robust woman standing at attention, still. "I am honored to serve."


    "Thank you, Nhulmyra." Ylethus took a few steps away from the male members of the group to walk up to the resolute woman. He looked her from toe to head several times as he walked around her. "You are strong, fit, and decisive in battle. But, by the gods old and new, Nhulmyra..." Ylethus got behind her and gave her a hard pat on the back with one of his immense hands. "Lighten up, for the first time since your Kollishi Thaulp!"


    Ylethus held his hand at her back, leaning forward and keeping his gaze on her eyes. His dark eyebrows lifted up and the smile on his face widened as he opened his jaws slightly. He waited for a few moments to see if the young warrior would respond.


    "Yes, vhollen." Nhulmyra seemed to almost chew the words as she spoke them. "I shall try."


    "Good. This isn''t a war campaign. I''m not expecting casualties. We just need to scare the Haakuenth a little bit. Show those Veshkoldan Delathi pups who the bigger and meaner dogs are." Ylethus took a few steps away towards the other warriors who were huddled up in a group. He gave another swipe of his hand to the back of Rhalchet, almost bowling him over into the other three men.


    "Should we expect any of your usual surprises?" The dark-haired and mustached man spoke up while taking a step away from unsturdy, Rhalchet. "We all know how much you like that children''s game Jhulko''s Maze. You always have an extra set of dice up your sleeve."


    Ylethus gave another smile. "Of course I do, Whelam. Speaking of, I think he should have gotten his crusty, old ass here by now." Ylethus turned away from the group of warriors to look around the cliff-side training area for a moment. "Toulam, you doddering old fool. You here, yet?"


    As if coalescing out of the very substance of shadow itself, a grey-cloaked, hunch-backed figure took a few steps into the light of a nearby torch. His cloak was threadbare with faded grey designs down his front and a few crimson designs stretching down his long, drawn hood. The hood covered most of his face, revealing just an old, stubbled chin and a wicked grin.


    "I''m here, you uncouth scoundrel!" Grandmaster Toulam took a few jittering steps further to stand beside Ylethus. He lifted one of his arms up, a skeletal and weathered hand peeking up out of his long sleeves to idly tug on one of the braided outcroppings of Ylethus'' beard. He pulled away and wiped his hand down the front of his cloak. "Still as dirty as your mother''s disease-ridden, sop-"


    Ylethus bellowed over the old man''s words. "So! Any questions from you lot?" Ylethus clapped his large and calloused hands together, turning away from the old man still rambling out insults beside him.


    "What''s with the old oracle?" Amsthyn reached up a hand, combing his fingers through his beard and pulling out some errant strands. "Everyone in Alsira Thaenat knows he''s blind as a bat." He leaned forward and lifted his hand to cup by his mouth so he could magnify his voice. "No offense meant, Grandmaster."


    Toulam ceased his mutters and gave a little shake. "I can see things that no mortal dare see, young man. Your vhollen has asked me to put my skills to good use. I can see farther and clearer than any of your best archers. I can see through buildings, predict ambushes hours before those who would perform them have even thought them up." The old man took a few more jittering steps forward and swiped at the air with a clawed hand. "By the grace of Olthenna herself! I know when all of you lot are going to finally fall to blades of better warriors!" He leveled a single finger and swiped it across the group before him.


    "In short. He''s an asset we can''t refuse. He can feed me information and minimize our reliance on reconnaissance into the city proper." Ylethus set one of his hands on the oracle''s shoulders, dwarfing out his frail and tiny body. "Normally, the Authrakallin don''t like meddling in the affairs of our caste. Toulam is doing this as a favor to me. Respect that and his wisdom." Ylethus lowered his eyelids and emphasized the last word. "Please."


    "We''re just focusing on the outside defenses of the city?" Whelam blurted out to try and keep the group on track. He fiddled with the feathered end of an arrow he had drawn from his quiver. "You don''t want any scouts for infiltration?" He lifted his eyes up to meet Ylethus'' for just a moment. He was hinting at his personal specialty.


    "No." Ylethus let the word fall out of him slowly. "I don''t want to breach the city in any way. I want the Haakuenth to feel like we haven''t penetrated into their lands." Ylethus took a few steps forward and stood with his side towards Whelam. "That doesn''t mean we can''t use alternative forms of scouting, however."


    Whelam lifted one of his eyebrows and shot Ylethus another quick look while placing his arrow back in his quiver. "How is that?"


    "Well, aren''t you still afflicted with that horrible disease?" Ylethus turned his massive head to look over and down to Whelam. "That thing you picked up from a dirty whore so many years ago. You might as well take advantage of it."


    "Yes. I am still afflicted." Whelam glared hotly up at Ylethus. He scrunched his face up and curled his top lip in a snarl, making his mustache dance for a moment. "I was born with the wyrdling sight, you bastard. I inherited it from my mother..."


    "Like I said, that thing you picked up from a whore." Ylethus reached out a hand and gave Whelam a hard shove to the shoulder. Whelam took the impact, causing him to shudder for a moment, but his feet remained firm. "Use it. I''ll contact Lharhl at the aviary. He''ll release his birds and you use them to peer into the city. I need to know movements and key locations."


    Whelam gave a nod and remained silent. He turned his eyes away from Ylethus. He was getting what he wanted, but he had never quite learned how to take an insult or a jest, yet.


    "Nhulmyra, I want you at my side at all times." Ylethus took a few more steps and pressed into the collection of the warriors around him. "You will be my shadow during this whole thing. You must be on constant alert at all times. I know you enjoy that, never resting, and always being at attention."


    Nhulmyra gave a nod. She was still standing at attention, with her arms crossed behind her back and her legs spread to shoulder-width. She didn''t even make contact with Ylethus when she acknowledged him. Despite the hard demeanor, Ylethus could see her eyes glint for a moment. She was proud for the assignment. She even puffed up her chest a little bit.


    "Buethom, Amsthyn, and Rhalchet. You three dogs will be my forwards. I''ll give you a few more orders as we pack up and make our way to Tarenhulf Rise." Ylethus turned his massive head towards the three men pressed up against each other. Rhalchet gave a few shoves to get Buethom away from him. "As far as you three should be concerned, you''re my hounds of war. I''m keeping you on a short leash, though, so don''t stray from my command."


    All three men nodded in unison. Buethom gave a hard elbow to the ribs of Rhalchet and took a step to the side. The three remained silent.


    "Once we take out their perimeter and establish ourselves for the siege, you must all keep the other vhulkovyr in check. Temper nerves, keep them focused." Ylethus walked way from the group and back to the side of Grandmaster Toulam. "Leave the rest to me. I will command a parley with the envoy of the city. Hopefully, with some bluster and confidence on my part, we can get the Haakuenth nobles to see their folly and take us in."


    "Wouldn''t a member of the filidath caste, the courtiers, work better for such a thing?" Amsthyn let his blue eyes glance from side to side while he spoke. "We''re just warriors. We do the killing. And surely, we all know how much you prefer action to the idly wagging of tongues." Amsthyn lifted his eyes up to Ylethus.


    "Yes. It pains me to have to do it." Ylethus gave a slight nod and rolled his dark eyes. "I want the fear of the siege to drive the desire for diplomacy into the minds of the envoy that would greet us." Ylethus hammered one of his fists against a palm of his other hand. "Once we can get the gates open, I have contacted my brother, a member of the elder circle to take over the talks. He was the one born with a gilded tongue. I was the one born with the gilded fists."Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    The assembled warriors each gave nods of understanding. Grandmaster Toulam wavered on his feet for a moment, cocking his head to the side. A few moments of silence passed among the group.


    "Well, enough banter. You know what to do. Let''s do it." Ylethus scuffed the ground with one of his immense feet and then pounded a foot down with a thunderous boom. "Get your shit in order, meet the rest at the plateau. We march for Tarenhulf Rise and then to Haaken Vaulthaen."


    The five young warriors stood for a moment, hitting a fist against their chests in unison and then scrambled to catch up with the other warriors who had already left the yard. Ylethus turned his back and looked over to Grandmaster Toulam for a moment. Both old men seemed to stare at each other for a moment in silence. Ylethus leveling his dark eyes on the old man before him, and the cloaked oracle holding the gaze despite being blind, while having his head covered in a hood.


    "Don''t doubt yourself." Toulam lifted his head just a slight bit. He lifted one of his fingers to his face and scratched at his nose. "You know as well as I, how dangerous and unlikely this plan is to succeed."


    "Still..." The large warrior looked up and over his shoulder to what few stars of the night sky he could see, through the rip in the earth that comprised the mouth of the canyon. "This needs to be done. The reports of the atrocities those depraved mercenaries are committing on the people..." Ylethus let his voice trail off and took several deep breaths, each one sounding like a gust of wind. "And what they did to your grand-daughter..." Ylethus lowered his eyes to the ground and gave a few long blinks. His face and neck began to grow red and hot with a mixture of sadness as well as rage.


    "Put that from your thoughts." Toulam reached out a hand and gently pushed against the mighty warrior''s leather armor on his chest. "You have larger things to deal with now. More lives to worry about than just her''s."


    "What they did to your family. What they did to her. I would rather burn that city to the ground." A fire roared through Ylethus now, every muscle of his body tensing. "You are right, though." He slumped his arms back down and relaxed a slight bit. "No more innocents should suffer under the corrupt hands of those moneyed, foreign tyrants."


    "I appreciate you doing this on my behalf." Toulam lowered his head, allowing the full extent of his hood to cover his features completely. "I hope that I have not jeopardized your station. I know you have no love for Oelvann Molth, and now that the chieftain has passed, she will be using what powers she has, as acting regent in this city, to make your life a living hell." Toulam turned his head quickly and sharply as if reacting to a sound or presence that Ylethus was unable to see or hear.


    "I owe you, old man." Ylethus narrowed his eyes for a moment but continued. "I still remember what you did for me two decades ago. I and my adopted daughter owe you much."


    "You owe me more than just that." Grandmaster Toulam lifted himself up to his full height. "I''ve saved your worthless arse more times than I can count." He turned his head to the side and took a few steps back. He reached out with his left hand and tapped on the leather armor of the hulking warrior one more time with his knuckles. "Well, speak of the Goddess of death and she will arrive. Hush, now. We have a visitor."


    Ylethus lifted his eyes up and looked to where the old oracle had leveled an outstretched index finger from his free hand. He took in the wooden and shadowed side of a nearby skappf. He squinted his eyes at the dark to see if he could look at what the old man had already seen with his uncanny senses.


    "Show yourself!" Ylethus bellowed and took two cautious steps forward. Instinctively, both of his hands reached up and behind himself to touch upon the hilts of his sheathed, wavecleaver blades. "Don''t hide in shadows like a coward assassin. Step forward."


    A tangled mass of crimson hair moved from behind the side of the skappf and made its way into the light of one of the torches. It was Ylethus'' adopted daughter, Ghelta, dressed up in her armor as if she was joining the campaign.


    "Be gentle with her." Grandmaster Toulam muttered under his breath. "Press too hard and she''s liable to do something foolish." The old oracle turned on his feet and began to walk way. He seemed to fade into the substance of the darkness beyond the yard with each step he took. Ylethus held his ground, turning back to the crimson-haired young woman before him.


    "I want to go to Haaken Vaulthaen." Ghelta''s words were demanding and forward, yet Ylethus could pick up on some slight hesitation and uncertainty. Her voice wavered only slightly. "I want to fight at your side and prove myself with the others."


    Ylethus gave out a booming laugh that cut through the early morning darkness and silence like an eruption of some great volcano. He took a few moments to gather himself and his breath before speaking. "You haven''t passed your Kollishi Thaulp. You''re just a child."


    "I''ve lived through nineteen years!" Her blue eyes glimmered in the flickering light of the torches. It seemed to Ylethus like the brilliant blues seemed to glow with an inward light. "You''ve trained me to fight since before I was even out of swaddling clothes. I can handle myself. I can bring you honor and victory. You know this."


    "This isn''t a campaign for brute strength and mindless aggression." Ylethus gave out one more chuckle. "If it was, I might consider your words. This is a sensitive campaign. I am uncertain as to the outcome of this." He crossed his arms over his chest. "The answer is no. You stay here. You train with vhasul Morayk. You greet me when I get back and we can have some drinks in the leiggenskappf."


    Ghelta clutched both of her hands into tight fists and held them slightly ahead of her. She lowered her head down, letting her hair obscure her youthful face. "You keep me here like your pet. You treat me like a warrior, yet you never allow me to prove myself. Constant drills and training and you never treat me like your own." Her voice began to crack for a moment. "Make up your damn mind you old fuck! Am I a warrior, or am I your coddled little girl?"


    Ylethus took a moment of silence, feeling a slight pang of guilt in his mind. He took steps forward to close the gap between him and the young woman. He placed one of his hands on her shoulder. As soon has his hand settled, Ghelta tried to pull back. He grasped hard with his fingers, dwarfing out her body and seizing into her armor. He lowered his face down to her''s.


    "Not this time." He kept his hand on her shoulder, not letting go. She looked up to him, shoving strands of her hair from her face with one of her hands so she could see him. Her eyes looked like shimmering icebergs on a vast ocean. The brilliant blues mixing with the moisture of tears. "When I get back, we will talk about your Kollishi Thaulp. You aren''t going on this siege. You''re staying here. If you can''t accept that from your father and mentor, than accept that as an order from your vhollen."


    Her pale and full top lip lifted into a snarl. "Fine!" She pulled back from his grip and he let her do so. "I''ll suffer the indignity of not being good enough for you, here, in the Gehemol-hole you call home. I''ll continue to be called names and have stones thrown at me by the broden here. Children half my age treating me like herdsmoll shit!" She grit her teeth down and crossed her arms. "Go and have your damned glory."


    Ylethus gave out a long and immense sigh. The young woman was the most stubborn person he had ever had to deal with in his life. "You still have to prove that you can be an adult. I can''t have you in the war-party as the elder circle would have my hide. For the love of Tolesh''s life-giving fuck! I have enough to deal with, girl."


    Ghelta narrowed her eyes, a few of the accumulated tears streamed down her pale and lightly freckled cheeks. "I''ll prove myself to you. Even if it kills me." She tensed up the muscles in her chest, shoulders and neck. "Even if it kills you!" She punched forward at the armor of Ylethus'' chest. "Stop treating me like a damned child!"


    Ylethus'' nerves had reached their limit. She was wasting his time now and he had to make his own preparations for the campaign. "Go home! Now!" His voice ripped through the night like a bolt of lightning. "You press me too much, girl. I have lives at stake right now. Go! Home!"


    Ghelta gave him one last glare and then walked off. She stomped her feet as she moved away and after a few steps bolted into a full-sprint run. Ylethus remained alone in the yard, frozen still. A migraine began to spread from the sides of his skull to the front. He closed his eyes for a moment and took several deep breaths to calm himself.


    He had a long siege to get through this day. Despite all the risk, all the bluster, and all the killing he would have to do. It was the stress of being a father that would probably kill him once and for all.


    ###


    As the horde of Alsiran warriors began their run down the last legs of Tarenhulf Rise, entering into the lands of the Haakuenth people, each stomp of boots against desert rock kicked up immense clouds of dust. Some of the dust would obscure the size of the warrior army from those in the lower areas of the Jol River basin, yet the clouds of dust and sand kicked up would easily alert the Veshkoldan Delathi soldiers around the city of Haaken Vaulthaen, or Gullcrest City in the common tongue, to the attack that was now at their very doorstep.


    Ylethus and his honor guard were trailing after the first rush of men and women down the incline of the ridge. He, as well as his men, were savvy enough to bring thick scarves which they had tied around their faces to keep the kicked up dust out of their mouths and noses. They had to be able to issue orders frequently; not one of them could suffer a dry throat during this campaign.


    "Remember your orders!" Ylethus gave a thunderous shout over the chaos of stampeding warriors. "Buethom, to the East. Rhalchet, from the far West. Amsthyn, nearest West. Whelam, with me and Nhulmyra!" He gave a hard breath, the cloth around his bearded face was now caked with fine sand. He tried wiping it away with a free hand as he ran. "Press hard. Do not enter the city. Kill only armed guards."


    The men at his side shouted their own words to the warriors under their command and the running group began to split off in several directions. Ylethus continued forward down the main thrust of the incline, following the well-trodden road to the central city gate. He barked out a few more orders for his men to slow to a light jog. This would give a few added minutes to the other groups to secure their areas before he made his first press.


    The city before them was always considered a peaceful port-city on the largest and most traveled river in the Hoelatha lands. Haaken Vaulthaen was considered neutral territory between the Haakuenth in the South and the united Hoelatha tribes in the North. It was once a central trading hub that belonged to the Alsi-Kavi people of the Jolash Plateau but was surrendered over to the Haakuenth as a sign of peace when that tribe, formerly known as the Haak-Kavi, split from the Hoelatha people. There were always contests against the city from both sides, but for the last century, an accord had been reached between the two different tribes and peoples.


    Ylethus was testing that peace, and in some respects, was breaching the accords and oaths that were set through hard fighting and long bouts of diplomacy. A part of his mind, the little bit that he always tried to drown away in booze, filled him with doubt and uncertainty over this action. Yet, the rest of his mind was certain that this was the correct way to move forward. The Veshkoldan Delathi mercenaries that the Haakuenth people used to fortify their lands were becoming corrupt and despotic. They were usurping control away from the Haakuenth people who could no longer bother themselves with their own defense, instead busying themselves with scholarly and esoteric matters to the exclusion of all other things in life. The depraved acts that many of the foreign mercenary soldiers had performed on the local populaces had not only affected many that Ylethus had never known, but had affected him personally through the family of his close friend, Grandmaster Toulam.


    This siege was the only attempt that Ylethus had to try and liberate the city from the Veshkoldan Delathi and, as vain as it might be, make the rest of the Haakuenth city-states wake up from their ignorance to the true serpents in their midst. The same serpents they paid for, housed and trusted with their own lives. The same serpents that had squirmed their way into their beds and now sought to bite and strangle them in their sleep.


    "Nhulmyra, stay close!" Ylethus gave another shout to the raven-haired woman at his heels. "Whelam! Take perch on the rocky jut a few hundred feet forward. I need your eyes. Relay all the information to Toulam through your strange affliction." He gave a look to the dark-haired and mustached man running beside him. Whelam gave a deep nod and cut through the crowd in a sprint towards the rocky incline. "The rest of you dogs are with me. Show your teeth! Howl out your rage! Let''s make those cowards shit themselves with fear!"


    The three-or-four dozen warriors that encircled Ylethus drew their weapons and began to shout in unison. Several of their numbers, given more towards the brutal appetites of the nomadic desert barbarians, began to work themselves up into a frothing rage. They drew long pole-arms, heavy swords, and great compound bows made from resilient and strong Jolashi wood. Others who were more at home in the canyons and subterranean shelters of the Alsiran cities began to weave on their feet, pulling grisly and clawed weapons from their sheaths. These last few were trained in the brutal and close-quarters combat of jhulkenvaelk, or trench-dueling. Ylethus had selected these warriors to cover all eventualities in this siege. The nomads were adept at large-scale fighting and could fell cavalry quite well, while the city warriors were devastating in close quarters and urban combat.


    Ylethus had other tricks in mind as well, Whelam''s sight coordinated with Toulam''s uncanny abilities would provide him with the other half of his strategy. He had to remain patient, trusting in the private orders he gave his men, and not to reveal the hidden strength he had with him. If this plan went off properly, the city would be his without a single casualty. It all relied on patience, deception, and discipline.


    Ylethus and his men pressed forwards, nearing the flat land of the basin. It was only a few more minutes before they would take up position a few hundred yards from the front gate. As long as the rest of his honor guard stayed true, this whole campaign might be over in a matter of hours.


    ###


    "Keep low and with the river to your left!" Buethom shouted to the assembled warriors around him. The group that he was in charge of was about sixteen strong. As he ran forward to them he made is way through the group, pushing ahead and touching each with a hand on their shoulders. He recognized most of them from the many drills that vhollen Ylethus would have going on throughout the day at the Alsiran barracks.


    Most of the warriors were young, with only three grizzled veterans that were older than himself. He made sure to get eye contact as he pressed forwards. He wanted each of their faces in his memory if any of them might be felled during this siege. He owed them as much in remembrance for their service.


    He was most of the way through the crowd when he lifted his right hand up at a sharp angle, his fingers pressed together. He gave a deep groaning sound that ended with a single chirp. He was signaling them to move with him and they followed as one unified group. He wanted them at the river''s edge so that they might use the cover of a ten-foot high dip between the high bank of the nearby river and where the low water level was currently. No doubt the glacial waters of the Alsirav-Ghaen River that flowed from the run-offs of the Ghaenath Valley north of Alsira Thaenat down into the great River Jol in the south were blocked by something, or perhaps the glacial waters were scarce this day. Buethom and his warriors would take advantage of this, either way.


    Buethom crouched down low and held his hand out so the others would drop down onto the silt edges of the riverbank and cease their forward movement. All of them complied without question. He moved to the front of the group and trained his eyes at the horizon before them, where the trickling waters of the Alsirav-Ghaen flowed into a tributary with the frothy, deep waters of the Jol. He spied three Veshkoldan Delathi mercenaries ahead.


    He recognized them by their crimson armor and blue standards that draped down over their shoulder pauldrons to their waists. Their armor was a mixture of leather, plate pieces, and chain undershirts made of Bretholmese Khurgra metal. He could see bits of it trailing from their gauntlets and from their belts. One was leaning his back on the silt and rock-strewn edge of the dried bank, his helmet off, while the other two were in conversation, pointing at the low waters, still in full armor. Perhaps they too were wondering why the waters were so low this day.


    Buethom held his hand out behind him to emphasize the need not to move. He looked to two of the older men beside him and patted them each on the shoulder. He looked to the river and nodded. Both men, taking up his silent order made their way into the water. One of them with a greyish beard and a long ponytail looked up at him once more. It was a look of hesitation, given that the waters were near freezing. The other man, clean-faced and with trimmed hair waded into the waters without any hesitation at all. Eventually, both were up to their necks in the frigid waters. Buethom pointed his index and middle fingers forward for them to begin wading down the river towards the mercenaries ahead.


    Buethom then dropped his left hand to below his waist and started waving it to the right behind him. This was to signal the rest of the warriors to press up against the rock banks of the river''s edge. All of them complied quickly. He then took two steps back and turned on his heels.


    "Stay against the rocks. Single file. Don''t move." He whispered to the remaining fourteen warriors. He passed by them and shoved a few up against the rocks that were slow to move. "We have the drop on them. If you remain still, they won''t see you. There''s a slight bend in the river." He stopped halfway down the line of warriors. He had seen fresh faces that had probably just passed their rite of adulthood, and others that were grizzled with a few years of fighting. "I need one of you to come with me. You must be fleet of foot. I won''t issue orders. You will have to kill."


    Buethom looked up and down the line of young men and women before him. An older man lifted his hand and made eye contact. Buethom eyed him from toe to head and put a hand on his shoulder. "My apologies, you''re the same height as myself. I need someone smaller." He turned his head to look one more time.


    A young woman with dirty blonde hair made eye contact from the back of the line-up. Her frame was slight, she seemed to be a full head shorter than Buethom. She was young, which might prove a difficulty, but something in her green eyes was resolute. Buethom made his way over to her and grabbed her by the collar of her armor.


    "You''ll do."


    [UNFINISHED]


    <hr>

 [2016] Witchling of Alsira (First Drafts) - Out of Her Gourd

    The Witchling of Alsira


    Chapter 2-Out of Her Gourd


    <hr>


    The darkness was blissful and serene, filled with a feeling of warmth, of belonging, and of innocence. She could feel herself floating, yet squeezed in-between walls of substance, nestling her frame. There seemed to be no discernible separation between herself and the realm she inhabited.


    She could hear a steady beating from below her legs, broken only by a quick sharp increase in that thrum, followed by a muffled sound from outside of her small reality. The sound was like a high-pitched resonation, followed by several deep howls from beyond.


    With a great and sudden convulsion, the moisture around her disappeared, the warmth still was present, and the walls of her realm began to dance around her. Her eyes began to flicker, a few moments of darkness, and then suddenly a creeping, blinding light from above her head.


    One more great convulsion and some strange tendrils pulling at her, grabbing first at her head and then at her arms. Where were they taking her, and why would they not leave her to stay in her realm of isolation and comfort. Things were changing so suddenly around her, and then it hit her with pain that shot through every nerve of her body. The feeling of being plunged into the icy waters of a great river.


    Her body was on fire, her mouth opening in shock, water filling her lungs. Her eyes were open now, into a world aflame with color and light. All around her, the shades of blue ice, clear waters, and the trailing ribbons of blood floating around her head. The blood of life, and the blood of death.


    It was blood and pain that greeted her into this new world. It would be only blood and pain that she would know for the rest of her life.


    ***


    Her eyelids opened for a moment as bleary white light broke through and assaulted her mind. She wanted to reach out and shield herself from the brilliance, but her arms did not move. She could feel herself being carried, jostled around as two figures, clad in tattered robes, held her aloft.


    ¡°How is she still alive?¡± One of the figures said the voice was low, young, and male. He was carrying a segment of her lower body and let one of her legs drop to drag on the ground for a few moments.


    ¡°Master Leiros said she is a stubborn one.¡± The second figure, also male, had a higher voice, yet seemed older. This man carried her upper body, two arms under her own, and gave an occasional hard kneeing to her lower back as he adjusted her weight. ¡°Stubborn and ignorant. She drank half the water in the fountain of visions.¡±


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s why I find it so odd.¡± The one carrying her feet stopped for a moment to retrieve her errant leg. He gave her body a hard twist and continued to carry her down a rocky incline. ¡°A single sip of those waters is enough to send a staid person to fits of madness. And here she goes, drinks half the damned thing.¡±


    The second figure gave a deep grunt of acknowledgement. He gave one more hard knee to her upper buttocks and shook her as he got a better hold on her arms. The impact seemed to echo throughout her body for some time before it fully resounded as pain to her mind. She could feel her consciousness slipping in and out.


    ¡°So, just a few more steps, Hethras. We¡¯re almost there.¡± The figure on her feet picked up his pace and her leg came loose again. ¡°You holding up, old man?¡±


    ¡°As best as I am able. She sure is a heavy kipper, for being so wiry.¡± The older man gave a long groan and shook her torso side to side. ¡°Tossed right out of her gourd. Not helping a damn bit.¡±


    ¡°Over here, on the cloth.¡± There was a third voice, this one male as well, but very familiar. Ghelta could feel warmth flowing from her chest to her mouth. She could feel her body tensing slightly. There was anger in her ready to come out, if only she could focus and move her body.


    Both of the other robed figures dropped her onto some cloth below, and they weren¡¯t gentle about it. She could feel her body and then her legs impact. Her head was safe, falling onto some sort of padded up cloth. The two figures stood over her, their entire forms obscured by their robes.


    The third form knelt over her, putting an exposed hand on her forehead and another on her chest. ¡°Her fever is still high and her heart is erratic.¡± She looked up towards the form over her. Those same blue eyes stared at her from beneath those white face covers. She wanted to scream out in rage at him, for abandoning her at the top of the mesa. For his arrogance in telling her she wasn¡¯t wanted or old enough. For being an insufferable prick.


    ¡°Wrap her up then, Master Leiros?¡± The younger figure at her feet gave a shrug.


    ¡°Yes, make the bonds tight. We don¡¯t need her coming loose in transit.¡± He stared at her with those eyes. She couldn¡¯t see the lower section of his face, but by the tone in his voice, she knew he was smiling at her expense. ¡°A shame to climb so far, endure so much, have her mind swim with such visions, and then have her fall out in mid-flight.¡±


    The two figures began their work of tying her up. Binding her body tightly in cloth then with thick twine. They lifted her, now bundled up, onto another set of cloth and shoved wooden staves into her wrappings to keep her rigid.


    ¡°You¡¯re taking her down to Alsira Thaenat?¡± The older figure gave another long grunt after his inquiry.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Master Leiros replied. He got to his feet, his eyes sparkling in the brilliant illumination of the twin suns. ¡°I¡¯ve consulted with her mentor. One, Ylethus kolst Hauthenstvoll, the hero of yesterday¡¯s raid on Haaken Vaulthaen. Despite all the trouble this girl has caused him, he would like her back.¡±


    ¡°Him and us.¡± The older figure, named Hethras, spoke. His arms were crossed over his chest now, and he glared hotly down at Ghelta beneath a bushy, grey brow. ¡°It¡¯ll take months for us to replenish the waters of vision that she drank up.¡±


    ¡°Would Ylethus allow us to interview her later?¡± The younger figure spoke trepidatiously and with great curiosity. He knelt down beside her, taking a quick glance of her, and then upwards towards Master Leiros on the other side.


    ¡°No, Brother Telnomai.¡± Master Leiros looked quickly to the young man before him, and then gave a two-fingered hand signal to someone far outside of Ghelta¡¯s vision. ¡°What swims in her head is for her to deal with. She isn¡¯t authrakallin, we don¡¯t know if the information you¡¯d get out of her would be corrupted.¡± He turned to his right and took two steps backwards, signalling once more.


    ¡°A shame she¡¯s such a disgrace to our tribe.¡± Hethras gave an arrogant snort. ¡°She¡¯s blood-haired. You know what they say about those. They either make damned good seers, or they go insane and end empires.¡±


    ¡°The Mad Oracle?¡± Telnomai looked up to the old man beside him. ¡°All the more reason I would want to see inside that head of her¡¯s. Maybe she¡¯s of the blood of Merith-¡±


    Hethras gave Telnomai a hard kick to the flank and moved his glare to the younger supplicant. ¡°We don¡¯t say that name Brother.¡± He took a few paces in a small circle. ¡°It¡¯s unlikely, the Mad Hag killed all of her brood ages ago. This one is just a fluke in heredity, no doubt the same source of her stubbornness.¡±


    Ghelta and all three men were soon engulfed in a great shadow. It took several moments for her eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness. She looked around her slowly, feeling a burning strain in her sockets. She could see a figure perched above them on an outcropping of rock. She did not know if she was hallucinating or not, it looked like a immense authroc-bird.


    The bird¡¯s directed gaze fell squarely on Ghelta and seemed to pierce inside of her. She felt like she was being hypnotized by the creature. Like the bird wanted to speak some great epiphany or wisdom.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯ll do it.¡± Master Leiros gave her a hard kick to the side to test the tightness of her wrappings and supports. ¡°Thank you brothers, for your assistance.¡± He took steps around the bird¡¯s perch, climbing up beside the great creature. ¡°I¡¯ll be back, shortly.¡±


    The bird unfolded one of its wings, allowing Leiros a support to get on it¡¯s back. Once taken up, he gave the authroc a gentle pat behind its head and smoothed some smaller feathers on its neck. He gave a loud whistle, the bird flapped its wings and descended to the rock that Ghelta laid on.


    Brother Telnomai scuttled away quickly, almost being struck by the bird¡¯s giant claws. Brother Hethras remained still and unphased, a yard away from the bird¡¯s landing. Telnomai got to his feet, and both supplicants bowed to their master, taking two steps backward, turning on their heels and walking away.


    Ghelta heard one more whistle, and felt one of the immense claws seize her entire form. A flurry of feathers and beating wings filled her vision. She felt herself want to be sick as she could feel the ground fall away from her, another claw came forward and seized her, pivoting her beneath the bird. Soon, the world was nothing more than sweeping wind and her sense of sickness turned to a sense of serene peace.


    ***


    The chill wind on her face blistered at her cheeks and made her nose numb. Flakes of snow blew all around her and the light sprinkle of moisture on her forehead helped to sooth her nerves. Despite the cold, she was quite warm, bundled tightly, wrapped in hides and furs, keeping her warm and comfortable.


    She was laid out, half-propped up, nestled among some items in a sled. Her bundle was next to another bundle containing strange implements and items that smelled sweet. The sled she was in was being pulled by a figure covered in furs. Every pull rocked her forwards and backwards in a manner that almost put her to sleep.


    ¡°Kolma.¡± The voice was male, stern and came from the figure pulling her along the snow. ¡°It¡¯s been six weeks now since your labor. Are you ever going to give the poor child a name?¡±


    A second figure, covered in similar furs came into view from the right. ¡°No.¡± A woman¡¯s voice, curt and equally stern.


    The female figure bent down and disappeared from view. As quickly as she had disappeared she appeared once again, now holding a handful of something she quickly showed to the male figure, and then dumped into an open sack around her waist.


    ¡°Ewhent, I told you back at the camp¡­¡± The female figure¡¯s voice trailed off into contemplation. ¡°I told you I don¡¯t want to get attached.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s our daughter, for the love of Tolesh!¡± The male figure let go of the reins he used to pull the sled. The ropes dropped to the ground and the figure took a few steps towards the female one.


    ¡°We¡¯re heading west, Ewhent. I told you.¡± The female figure took two quick steps back away from the male. Her feet crunched in the snow, loudly. She held up a hand, gloved with hide and stitching.


    The male figure stopped and held his hands up, leaning forward in frustration. ¡°It¡¯s just an old tale told by skaell-fathers to broden around a fire. The Mad Oracle of the West doesn¡¯t exist.¡± He shook his head, swiped a hand in resignation and began to walk back to the sled.


    ¡°She does. Imeith has a first-hand account. You know that.¡± The female figure took cautionary steps forward until she got to the male. She put a hand on his shoulder and leaned down to face him as he gathered the sled leads.


    ¡°That was decades ago. Imeith is a senile old fool who needs a broden-nurse to chew her food for her.¡± The man gathered the reins and gave a hard shove forwards. He continued dragging the sled through the snow towards their far-off destination.


    ¡°Imeith is my mother, you scalten cat.¡± The female figure began to walk forwards as well, disappearing once again to gather up something she found off to the far left. ¡°She¡¯s a seer who has never failed our tribe. Her memory is just fine.¡±


    ¡°Just fine my arse. What about that time she told that Tolsi-Kavi chieftain he was going to be murdered by his own bloodclutch before the next night of Widow¡¯s Solace?¡± The male gave a chuckle at the memory. ¡°The poor fool had his wife shipped off to the other side of the Athim Glaciers, and his children kept in a wooden cages.¡± The male paused for a moment, turning towards the woman who was out of view. ¡°For weeks, Kolma. In cages for weeks.¡±


    The female figure returned to view, running towards the male and giving a playful slap to his side. ¡°Okay, one time she was off. But he was assassinated, though. As she said.¡±


    ¡°Yes, by a Haakuenth spy.¡±


    ¡°Well, but-¡±


    ¡°A Haakuenth spy, hired by a Shelev Satrapi. Both of whom had never met the chieftain in their lives. The spy sent in retribution for the chieftain raiding a Shelev trading vessel off the coast of the Sea of Frothing Blood. And this being a good four years later.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s my mother, Ewhent.¡± The female figure¡¯s voice was growing stern once again. ¡°And you never know, his son might¡¯ve paid off that Satrapi and convinced his father to seize the vessel. Imeith never trusted the son. She said he had ¡®scheming eyes¡¯ and a ¡®deceitful air¡¯ about him.¡±


    ¡°Yes, a cunning mastermind, manipulating entire empires. At the age of eight.¡± The male figure continued to trudge along in the snow. The pulls forward were becoming harder.


    ¡°My love. Please. I know, she¡¯s our bloodclutch. I care for her, just as you do.¡± The female figure stopped moving around and took up stride beside the male. ¡°I¡¯m just worried. She has blood-hair. You know the Mad Oracle always goes after those of blood-hair.¡±


    ¡°Yes, love, she does. The Mad Hag goes after blood-haired children¡­¡± The male trailed off and leaned in so that his fur-trimmed hood pressed against the hood of the female figure. ¡°¡­In stories.¡± He pulled back and continued to trudge forwards. ¡°This is real-life, and this our real daughter. Not giving her a name is cruel.¡±


    The female figure stopped in her tracks, glaring for a few moments at the male figure. She moved in front of him, shoving him out of the way and headed for the sled. She leaned forwards, her face filling up the view. Filling up the entire world.


    Her face was thin, still taut and youthful, a small smattering of freckles across her upper cheeks. Ice-blue eyes, a few errant strands of straight hair, so blonde as to almost be white, falling down from out of her fur-trimmed hood. Her lips were tight and severe, curled into a sneer at this moment.


    She lifted the bundle up and the entire world changed. The home of the sled fell away, the sky became brilliant, brighter as the snow across the ground reflected and magnified the sunlight. She was being lifted high up by this figure and then brought further as the female form lifted her to the extremes of her arm¡¯s length.


    ¡°You want me to name her?¡± The female form held her so that the male figure could look at her. She saw his face now, as well. Soft, brown eyes, clipped brown hair, a week¡¯s worth of beard adding a shadow to his sharp jaw and rounded chin. The look on his face was more of tired caution than anything else.


    The female figure turned her from the male, back to herself, her face filling up the world once again. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll name her. Right here, right now.¡± The female brought her closer, cradling her between the woman¡¯s arm and chest. Despite the body heat emanating from the woman¡¯s form, she felt no comfort from her. ¡°I name her Merithault! And let her be damned! May the old hag recognize her for her own, and take her!¡±


    Tears fell down her small and chill face, over her numb nose and lips. Icy water flowing over her cheeks and pooling around her chin in the bundled blankets she was wrapped up in. The male figure pulled her away from the female one. He set her bundle down back into the sled. The world returned to normal.


    Yelling began between the two figures. It was through that yelling that she surrendered to crying and exhaustion. Soon, falling asleep and returning to trepidatious peace, once again.


    ***


    There were shouts outside the muirral-skappf, the lodge for those wounded on the field of battle, and the shouts were growing closer. Ghelta opened her eyes, still feeling like heavy tent covers that refused to stay open. She had a bit more mobility now, able to turn her head side to side, but up and down were still hard on her.


    She attempted to lift her sword arm, the left one, and it responded. It lifted a few inches from the cloth-covered straw of her bed and began to shake after only a moment. She could feel her strength leaving her quickly and let it drop with an impact of dead meat to the cloth below.


    She looked around the shaded interior of the room she was in, there were several other beds nearby, all of them empty. Some of the beds still had rough wooden frames suspending them above the partially wood-covered floor. Some others were nothing more than cloth and hide, draped over straw and rocks, with exposed earth below them.


    Nearby the cloth-draped doorway, a bundle of blood-soaked linens were piled upon the floor, and several blood and filth-soaked sack-cloth bags beside them. It would seem she had been out from the world for quite some time, as all of the wounded from the raid were no longer nursing their wounds in here. No doubt, those who were gathered unto Olthenna had done so quickly, and those that had their wounds mended were drinking away their pain in one of the leiggen-skappfs. All of them, explaining their stitches and weeping wounds behind boasts of courage to any skaldt that would listen.


    The shouting was just outside the skappf now, and she could identify one of the voices, the loudest of all, as her mentor, Ylethus. He was in one of his furies, bellowing at several other male voices and one female. She heard her name from several of the voices outside.


    She slowly leaned back in her bed, pulling the cloth up to her chin, moving her arms into limp positions at her sides and began to squint her eyes. She didn¡¯t want to seem awake when the argument entered the room. They couldn¡¯t yell at or inflict punishment on one still unconscious and recovering. She scrunched up her face and let it relax, keeping her eyelids open just enough to see between her lashes.


    It was only a dozen heartbeats of laying and staring up at the ceiling before she could feel the rush of air and the whipping sound of Ylethus throwing open the fabric of the doorway. He entered the room like a male herdsmoll aroused. Deep breaths, stomping of his feet, followed by rustling as he looked around the room. He was ready to throw any furniture around if he needed to. Then, silence as he saw her on the bed. His footsteps becoming softer as he neared.


    Three more persons came into the room, one immediately on Ylethus¡¯ heels, another holding the doorway open for the third. Someone nearby her feet took in a sharp breath to say something and then halted. She didn¡¯t need to see, but she knew that Ylethus had his arm out, a single finger pointing up, as he did when he wanted someone to be quiet during his drills. He did not want the others to disturb her rest.


    He spoke first, as he preferred, his voice deeper and calmer now. ¡°You say she climbed to the top of Keignfel Stohll, surviving one of the worst storms we¡¯ve had in years. Drinking a bunch of your crazy water to keep herself alive.¡± He took several deep breaths, one pitched off of the next. ¡°All of this, after I beat her into submission at Tarenhulf Rise before my campaign.¡±


    ¡°Yes. She cost my order a signif-¡± The voice was male, but seemed very effeminate and cold. A man sure of getting what he wanted, when he wanted it. He wouldn¡¯t get what he wanted with Ylethus, however.


    ¡°Shut your damn mouth, boy!¡± He wouldn¡¯t. No one did.


    ¡°Well, I never¡­¡±


    There was a scuffle. Ghelta hadn¡¯t the need to see what was happening to know that her mentor had just grabbed the stuffy man, most likely an oracle, by his collar and was currently staring daggers into his eyes. She wanted to smile but had to keep innocent in all of this. A poor, recovering adolescent, blissfully asleep to all the world around her.


    ¡°How may times do I have to tell you, Verran. I don¡¯t give two sloppy Bretholmi whore¡¯s fucks about your god-damned crazy water! I almost lost a student because of that arrogant Issau-Kavi bastard, Leiros.¡± She could feel a body being shoved into the foot of her bed, and someone being forced to sit down on it. ¡°Who in Gehemol does he think he is? Leaving a girl to die at the top of a mesa in a sandstorm!¡±


    ¡°Master Leiros stated it was a test.¡± The man sounded like he was on the verge of crying.


    ¡°She¡¯s not authrakallin, Verran. She¡¯s taken the oath of vhulkovyr, shes of the warrior caste. Leiros doesn¡¯t get to test her. Nor kill her for that matter. That¡¯s my job!¡±


    She could hear the man give two sniffles, sucking back the moisture in his nose. He was still being pressed into the bed by Ylethus. The other two figures in the room remained quiet.


    ¡°Yes. As you say. But-¡± The man took another sniffle. ¡°But, she did perform the rite of Kollishi Authrak, and in that, Leiros was responsible for testing her.¡± She could hear her mentor pull away from the oracle. A ruffle of fabric, and his heavy feet padding around in a circle.


    ¡°She hasn¡¯t even passed the Kollishi Thaulp. She¡¯s still a child.¡± There was a tone of concern in Ylethus¡¯ voice. It began to pull at Ghelta¡¯s heart. Could this be him showing remorse for being so hard on her earlier. She knew he was proud of her, he couldn¡¯t show it then, and he certainly didn¡¯t show it most other times. Perhaps this is the closest she could get to love out of the old man.


    ¡°As you said, Master Verran¡­¡± A third voice broke in, it was the woman. Her voice cut like a knife and there was a feeling of command in it. ¡°Master Leiros was responsible for testing her. As such, the responsibility for your lost resources falls to his actions. A broden cannot be responsible for their actions until they are an adult. That responsibility falls to their mentors, broden-mother or skaell-father.¡± Ghelta could hear the woman walk over to the foot of her bed, lifting the oracle up and dusting off his clothing. ¡°Since you were away on campaign, Ylethus, and Master Leiros took it upon himself to test her, as if he were her mentor. The responsibility falls to the Order of Authrakallin for their losses.¡±


    Verran cut in with a single limp syllable. ¡°Buh-¡±


    ¡°Oelvann Molth is correct, Verran.¡± A new voice. This must be the man standing by the door, who remained silent all this time. His was a soft voice, commanding but soothing. ¡°I believe this verdict to be true. If you feel you need to press your concerns further, we can hold a conclave within the elder circle. Understand, though, that this means you could lose face with the tribe.¡±


    ¡°Fine!¡± The overbearing oracle pulled away from those in the room and began to walk towards the doorway. He opened the cloth of the doorway, pausing for a moment. The light trickled in and overwhelmed Ghelta¡¯s squinted eyes. ¡°The brute can win this one. Mark my words, Ylethus, you oaf. She is a disgrace to our tribe.¡± There was scuffling, someone was holding Ylethus back. ¡°We may be responsible for our losses and Master Leiros¡¯ behavior. But, you are the only one responsible for raising an unwanted scoundrel, not even of the Alsi-Kavi blood. May her recklessness one day get you killed!¡±


    Ghelta could hear her mentor belt out a roar of fury. The soft-voiced man was scuffling with him to hold him back. There were some mumbled words from him, telling her mentor to keep a cool head. Whoever the soft-voiced man was, he must be someone of very high standing in the tribe, as the struggles of Ylethus were without his full strength.


    Ghelta took advantage of the noise caused by her mentor, to shift slightly in her bed, turning her head so she could get a better view of the people in the room. She could see her mentor now, tall, of dark hair and standing a head above everyone else. His head was balding at the front and top, his hair coming out sharply at the sides and then back like a frizzled bowl. His dark beard was streaked through with grey, spilling out of his face and over this armor and furs.


    His beard was longest at his chin and came up sharply to red-streaked, sharpened mutton chops along the sides of his jaw. His hazel eyes shone with passionate fire, mixed with aged wisdom, despite his large and brutish figure. His hair told many of his age and stress at his station, yet the flesh of his face and body seemed to still be youthful. The only lines and wrinkles on him were on his brow. These were etched in from years of furrowing it in contemplation of strategy, or in disappointment of those in higher station than he.


    His armor was mostly thick leathers, with a great many buckles and straps holding jagged bits of metal, as well as bone to his form. Despite the erratic look of his armor, one could still see the black cloaks of his station, and the fluffed, grey wolf¡¯s fur trim that displayed him as one of the warrior caste. He was an imposing mountain of a man, barrel-chested and riddled with the muscle that only a man who thrived in battle could attain.


    Before him was a very slight man, also dark of hair, but much younger, as he didn¡¯t have any but a few grey hairs adding an accent to his sideburns. He too had a beard, but it was heavily trimmed and close to his face, keeping to three points at its end. He was wearing the elegantly trimmed blue coats of the Alsira Thaenat elder circle.


    This man knew how to handle Ylethus, he always had both hands in the open and stood close enough to him that the hairs of their beards were almost touching. He could move quickly, keeping his form between Ylethus and the doorway. Only slightly did he ever touch her towering mentor, and it was only the briefest of brushes with his left hand. Not a threat, but more of a distraction.


    She couldn¡¯t see the woman, she must¡¯ve been further at her feet by the doorway. She could only move so much without giving her wakefulness away to the adults in the room. She would have to hope the woman came closer during any more of the conversation.


    ¡°Calm yourself, brother.¡± The slight man continued to croon at Ylethus. Ghelta was surprised that her mentor tolerated being told how to feel. No one else she had met had been able to curtail one of his infamous rages. The station of the man was one thing, but she had seen her mentor tear through members of the elder circle without a blink. Was this man indeed his brother. Ylethus had never mentioned any of his family before.


    ¡°Aldunn Yulhest, we have another matter to mention to Vhollen Ylethus, do we not?¡± The voice came from the woman, she didn¡¯t move from where she was. Her voice seemed less commanding now and more patronizing.


    Ghelta could see the slight man, known as Yulhest, raise his shoulders and close his eyes for a moment, his head half-turned towards the woman. He was hesitant to follow through with what she was commanding him to do. He gave a hard sigh and returned his gaze to Ylethus before him, direct eye-contact this time.


    ¡°Yes, she is right, brother.¡± He gave a pause to gather his breath and took two steps backward. ¡°It is a matter that concerns your student, this one here.¡± She could see the slight man look to her and motion with an open palm and flat fingers towards her. ¡°Ghelta, I believe is her name.¡±


    Ylethus squinted his eyes and took one large step towards Yulhest. ¡°Yes.¡± He gave a breath, his chest extending and puffing out, making all the straps along his chest look like they would snap. ¡°We already spoke about this matter. Those damned oracles are responsible, brother. The situation is resolved.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t about the water.¡± Yulhest gave a long sigh and a quick turn of his head towards the female by the doorway. He was looking for assistance from her, feeling thrown to the wolves. Or in this case, the alpha wolf. He soon realized he was on his own. ¡°This is about your student¡¯s ongoing behavior.¡±


    Her mentor kept his eyes squinted and the actions of his body looked like that of a bear about to fall into a hunter¡¯s trap. He looked from Yulhest to the woman at the doorway, to Ghelta, and back to Yulhest, again. She could see that he did not want to be pinned with the responsibility of her actions. He never did. He was a hands-off teacher, preferring to let a student¡¯s folly become apparent through action and consequence, rather than discipline.


    ¡°And?¡± Ylethus let that single word drag out in the air. His forehead furrowed, showing all of the wear he had gained his life. He stood tall, staring into Yulhest¡¯s eyes directly. He was sizing him up and challenging him, not blinking at all.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    ¡°Oh, for the love of Tolesh, you two!¡± The woman took a step from the door towards the two men. Ghelta could only see a slight haze of her form, just barely out of sight. Nothing more than raven hair and angular features. ¡°The behavior of your charge is unbecoming of a future warrior, Vhollen Ylethus. It must be remedied immediately.¡±


    Her mentor quickly broke his aggressive stance and tried to break the conversation with an attempt at a non-sequitur. ¡°I was a stubborn and precocious youth, myself. Don¡¯t you remember, Yulhest?¡± He was trying to bring the slight man in on his side. Whether it was matters of war or matters of station, Ylethus was fond of strategy. This is why he held his title for so long with the current elder circle.


    ¡°Yes brother, but-¡±


    ¡°We aren¡¯t talking about you or your past actions, Vhollen.¡± She knew his tactics. She also knew to keep mentioning his title, most likely to make him more responsible for the situation. She began to wonder if she would have to deal with all of these petty wars when she grew up. It must be exhausting to be an adult. Maybe passing the Kollishi Thaulp wasn¡¯t so great after all.


    ¡°Ah yes, Molth.¡± He wouldn¡¯t let her have her title. Perhaps a slight way of evening the playing field. ¡°You¡¯re right, forgive my remembrances. You see, you dragged my brother along with you for all of this.¡± So, he was his brother, after all. ¡°Having him here distracts me. It makes me think of better times. When the governance of our tribe was more enlightened, and forgave the misadventures of youth.¡±


    She didn¡¯t have to see the woman¡¯s face to know he had just hit a nerve with her. He also robbed her of using his own bloodclutch sibling against him. If only she could act awake, and had a handful of Jarrlysh Grubs, this might be like watching a few skaldts performing one of their dramas. Actually, no, she thought better of that. She always hated dramas, those would be very boring and a waste of time.


    Yulhest took a step back, his thigh was pressed up tightly against one of the beds near the far end of the skappf. He was distancing himself as far as he could from both of the bickering two. He still kept between them, evenly, so as not to show any preference to either.


    ¡°My apologies, Vhollen, for distracting you. I know that comes easily, with your increasing age.¡± She took a quick and sharp breath, continuing to talk, preventing Ylethus from getting another word in. ¡°I shall not involve your brother in affairs that I must have with you, in the future. He is an upstanding member of our tribe, and I don¡¯t wish to have his reputation sullied. Especially, with matters such as these.¡±


    Ylethus stood as quiet as a stone. A few of his furrows began to quiver on his forehead. He remained silent and watched to see where the woman was going with her words. Ghelta could tell that her mentor was growing angry once again, but the woman had cornered him. If he stuck out in one of his furies, she could use it against him. He had to swallow his pride and wait.


    ¡°You seem to have come into some glory and notoriety for your campaign against Haaken Vaulthaen to the south. Many would say that you have destabilized our relationship with the Haakuenth, leading to our ruin. Others laud your actions as necessary and forward-thinking. Either way, you have come into some worth.¡± She took another step backward, falling completely out of Ghelta¡¯s sight.


    ¡°It was necessary. The tainted Haakuenth were whispering of war with us. Their oaths of peace had become forfeit.¡± Ylethus gritted his teeth when he spoke the name of the people of the south, known as the Watchers in the Dark, to many. She had heard him discussing his plans for weeks before he launched his attack. He was consumed by the plans for this campaign. He had called it a ¡®pre-emptive attack.¡¯ He continually said that was necessary to show the Haakuenth the strength of the Alsi-Kavi.


    ¡°We shall see in due time. For now, however, we have heard that you took a slave from the city. One named, Xanolith, former member of the Order of Owls.¡±


    ¡°What of it? Vhulkovyr of station are allowed to take slaves in conquest. I feel that his wisdom will serve our people, and he will be granted conditional release upon blood-oath as all slaves, once he pays his dues.¡± The hulking man crossed his arms over his chest. A slight quiver of his bottom lip let his emotions free. For all his mentor-ship, for all his strategic wisdom, all of his wrathful fury, at this moment he acted like a child whose parent was about to take away one of his toys.


    ¡°One of our skaelosti has informed us that this slave has given you information. Information you are using to launch an expedition into the far north.¡± The woman took a handful of graceful steps, moving around the room, still keeping frustratingly out of sight. It seemed like a dance, a predatory one, as she congratulated herself. Her voice had softened from that of a commanding presence to what seemed to be a woman seducing a lover. If this is how adults played their games, it was too much for Ghelta to manage.


    The woman had nudged and moved her mentor right where she wanted him. Ghelta didn¡¯t know a great deal about how the elder circle worked, but she had listened to many of Ylethus¡¯ rants during training. He had always said never to trust one of the skaelosti. They were the spies, aides, and hands of the elder circle. Once one of them gave information a member of the elder circle, no one could counter-act that information.


    It was said that the skaelosti were masters of secrets, as well as manipulation to get things done within the tribe. They were all members of the tolshaltra, or courtier caste, who had excelled in their duties for many years. Many said that a skaelosti would not take action or give information to the elder circle that was not absolutely certain, although, to be honest, everyone had faults and mistakes. Due to this reputation, and to the personalities involved, it was seen as a punishable offense to state that a skaelosti had lied. This woman from the elder circle knew that even if she didn¡¯t have information, the merest hint of one of the hidden agents giving that information to her was enough to force Ylethus to spill all he knew, and spill he did.


    ¡°Your information is correct.¡± He practically spat his words from between his lips. ¡°When we captured Xanolith, hiding like a coward in his collection of books. He was most eager to tell us of secrets in the north, so that we might spare his life.¡± Ylethus took another deep breath, and paused during his exhalation to stare hotly at his brother, still standing by the far bed. ¡°What he told us, I feel, is deserving of an expedition to the north, so that we can secure the treasure he promised us.¡±


    The room went silent for a moment. The woman by the door ceased her pacing. Yulhest pushed himself away from the bed, looked over the the woman, and then began to approach his brother.


    ¡°We aren¡¯t here to impede your expedition, brother.¡± Yulhest put both of his hands out, pointing upwards, revealing his palms. It seemed like he was trying to calm Ylethus, again. ¡°The elder circle has discussed this matter, and we support your endeavor.¡±


    ¡°Then why in Gehemol are you two bringing the damned thing up?¡± The towering man pushed his stomach into his brother¡¯s hands. He began to growl under his breath while issuing another challenge of eye-contact.


    ¡°We see this expedition of your¡¯s as a way to assist not just yourself and your own glory, but to assist the entire tribe.¡± The woman cut in, her voice becoming commanding once again.


    ¡°What I do, I do for the betterment of this tribe and the unity of our peoples. You know that, Molth. I¡¯ve sacrificed much and served well.¡± His eyes darted across the room to the woman¡¯s eyes now.


    ¡°We aren¡¯t questioning that.¡± She gave a long sigh. She was growing impatient with the old warrior, possibly seeing him as her lesser and a waste of time. ¡°We are merely stating that you can serve the tribe in more ways than one.¡±


    ¡°My apologies, Oelvann Molth. Brother, what she is saying¡­¡± Yulhest took a step back so that Ylethus wouldn¡¯t be pushing on his hands any longer. ¡°I¡¯ll just get to the quick of it, here. The elder circle approved your expedition on the condition that you take several broden with you. Namely, my son, Istobin. So that he can use this to satisfy his rite of Kollishi Thaulp.¡±


    ¡°If you wanted me to drag your son along, brother. All you had to do was ask.¡± Ylethus immediately softened. It seemed that family was very dear to him. No doubt the one known as Molth was exploiting this to its fullest, somehow.


    ¡°He¡¯s a bit soft-handed, but I can see that the warriors take good care of him. I was thinking of taking your other son, Taybald, he¡¯s a fine warrior. He could watch after him.¡±


    ¡°¡­And one other broden under your tutelage.¡± The slight man cut in.


    ¡°Ruther? Celmas? Ulthrul? Most of them are too young. Even Istobin is very wet behind the ears, still, brother.¡±


    ¡°No. Ghelta.¡± The slight man pointed directly at her. She could feel her heartbeat flutter. She held her breath in anticipation and soon realized she needed to breathe to keep up her facade of unconsciousness.


    The towering warrior that Ghelta had looked up to and considered a father-figure for her entire life stopped and blinked for a moment. His gaze switched several times from his brother to her, still feigning sleep in her bed. The moment she had waited for all her life had finally come at last. After all her training, all her fights, all her acting out in rebellion against the rules imposed on her, now was her chance to prove herself to her mentor, to the tribe, to everyone.


    ¡°Ghelta?¡± He burst out in laughter. It began as a deep roll in his gut and built up into a roar out of his mouth. A deep and thunderous thing that echoed along the very walls of the canyon that Alsira Thaenat was built into. ¡°You want me to take, Ghelta? Has Jhulkos gotten into your skull and turned your brains to mush, brother? No way in Gehemol!¡±


    She fought back the urge to bite her lip. She wanted to grab whatever was sharp near her, some barber¡¯s shears, a sharp rock, a leftover bone, anything that would pierce flesh. Then, she would leap out of bed, taking advantage of the old man¡¯s distraction, and jab whatever she had in hand right into his neck. How dare he laugh at her expense.


    ¡°These are the elder circle¡¯s requirements for support on your expedition.¡± Yulhest used the back of his right hand to lightly hit his brother in the chest, so as to get his attention. It worked for a moment, as Ylethus stopped his laughing, and began to wipe tears from his eyes. ¡°She¡¯s overdue for her rite of adulthood. It¡¯s just a small matter and would do her some good. Get her to stop acting out.¡± Ylethus burst into laughter all the harder. He began slapping his brother on the shoulder, his mighty hands almost caving his brother¡¯s slight frame in.


    He continued his joviality for a few more moments. The woman by the doorway gave a disgusted noise and turned to leave. She lifted the cloth doorway up, letting sunlight filter into the room.


    ¡°Ahhhh. Ah! Ah! Ahhl-right, brother!¡± Ylethus gave two more slow pats on Yulhest¡¯s shoulder. ¡°If I have to, I have to. But understand¡­¡± He gave two more low chuckles, his face growing rosy and bright underneath all is dark beard and brow. ¡°If I take that miserable she-hound with me¡­¡± He stopped laughing and grabbed his brother¡¯s collar in a tight grip, almost lifting him up off the ground. ¡°Both your sons, and I, will be dead inside of a month.¡± He burst out laughing, this time more of a morbid cackle than any real joviality. He had a sneer on his mouth and his eyes burned at his brother.


    ¡°Whether you die or not, Vhollen Ylethus, those are the dictates of the elder circle. Take it or leave it.¡± The woman passed through the doorway and let the cloth fall behind her.


    Ghelta could see Yulhest walk towards the doorway, waiting a few moments and then quickly sticking his head out from the cloth. Ylethus sat down on the edge of one of the beds nearby where she was laid out. Her mentor looked like a perched bear pretending to be a human. He looked down to the floor and both men fell silent.


    ¡°Is she gone, yet, Yullie?¡± Her mentor kept his eyes fixed on the half-covered floor of the muirral-skappf. He waited a few moments and then moved his eyes up towards his brother at the doorway.


    ¡°Yes, big brother, she¡¯s well out of hearing.¡± He popped his head back through and turned on his heels to face back into the room.


    ¡°Good.¡± He got up from the bed slowly, the whole room seeming to creak and groan under his weight and size. ¡°I need her and the rest of the circle to keep thinking that Ghelta, here, is a burden on me.¡±


    His brother gave out a short laugh. ¡°She is, though. You always said she was a handful.¡± He turned one more time towards the doorway, lifting a hand to smooth the fabric, then stepping away. ¡°Hearing the gossip from some of the elder circle, about her behavior, I often feel glad that I didn¡¯t let you pawn her off onto me and Sulesi when you found her.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s Sulesi¡¯s niece. It was supposed to be your job to care for her.¡± The somber look on Ylethus¡¯ face slowly lifted into a smile. ¡°I am glad I kept her, though. She is headstrong, that¡¯s for damned sure.¡± He looked over to her, still feigning unconsciousness on her bed. His eyes twinkled with that same pride he had for her when he bested her at Tarenhulf Rise. A reserved, silent, fatherly pride. ¡°Once I beat some wisdom into her after the expedition, I¡¯m quite sure she¡¯ll be one of the best warriors I have under me.¡±


    ¡°Unless, she kills you first.¡± The look in Yulest¡¯s eyes, as he gazed over his shoulder towards his brother, was one of joking, but the frown on his face showed his legitimate concern.


    ¡°Yes, unless, she kills me first.¡± He gave a chuckle that set the furs and cloaks around his shoulders to flutter around him. ¡°You understand my reason for secrecy about her towards Molth and the rest of her ilk?¡±


    ¡°Yes, big brother. When you sent that letter to me, you described her as a hidden set of dice in a game of Jhulkos¡¯ Maze. I know she means a lot to your plans concerning-¡±


    ¡°Yes. Good.¡± Ylethus broke in. The towering warrior took steps towards her bed, standing at her side. ¡°Now shush up about it all. Who knows if that damned skaelosti has ears around here.¡± He used his left hand to unwrap some bandages around his sword hand. He gathered them up quickly and let his right hand touch Ghelta¡¯s forehead.


    All four fingers gently caressed, then held in place on her face, his thumb hovering in the air. He lifted his hand up from her, cupping his fingers together and bringing his hand to his heart. There, he held his hand open, palm to his chest. It was one of the gestures that a bloodclutch father would do for their children while they slept. To keep their life and dreams close to his heart.


    ¡°You better be glad she¡¯s out.¡± Yulhest had moved over and put one of his hands on his brother¡¯s shoulder, and began to pull him away from the bed. ¡°If she were to see you all mushy like a herdsmoll¡¯s shit, she¡¯d be one hell of a nightmare for you afterward. Probably lose all respect in you.¡± He gave a pat and pulled again. ¡°Come now, let her rest.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Yullie. Let¡¯s go put our masks back on.¡± Ylethus turned and began a slow walk towards the door. His brother held the cloth opening for him as he stepped out first.


    ¡°No, really. Did you need to mention your experiences with Bretholmi whores to one of the Oelvann?¡± Yulhest let the cloth fall back into place as both of the men left, continuing their discussion outside of the skappf.


    ¡°That is the way I am, brother. I¡¯m not like you, I don¡¯t have the tongue to wipe other people¡¯s arses clean.¡± Ghelta could hear her mentor give out a boisterous bellow that echoed throughout the canyon outside, followed by a loud slapping sound. ¡°I¡¯m mean. I¡¯m crude. And I love to watch that Lyramese gut-worm of a woman squirm!¡±


    Ghelta remained alone in her room, the cloth doorway settling and all light fading away. The fire and hate she had for her mentor had already washed away from her. She knew that Ylethus¡¯ brother was wrong. She wouldn¡¯t dare lose respect in him. All she ever wanted, was for him to be proud of her. For him to see worth in her, and now she finally knew it.


    She felt a cool tear wind its way down her cheek. Once it had taken up perch on her chin, another followed. She bundled herself up in the tattered, stained sheets of the healing bed she was in and began to cry herself back to sleep.


    ***


    She felt a sprinkle of moisture fall on her face, pulling her into wakefulness. Her eyes opened into a dimly lit area whose darkness was broken by wane, bluish light from somewhere far off, out of sight. She looked around, pivoting her head to all sides. Behind her was darkness, to her sides were immense walls of ice, and before her was a large rock, hiding the source of the light away from her.


    Her left eye stung, and she could feel something cool flowing down her face. The sprinkling of wetness had landed up on her forehead, her left eye, and a smattering across her cheeks. She raised a hand, attempting to wipe away the stinging moisture in her eye, but she lacked the coordination to do so.


    She could feel the wrappings she was bundled in become loose, falling away beneath her, exposing her to the chill atmosphere around her. She was only covered in light cloth, covering half of her body, and a woven hat covering most of her head. She was cold, she was hungry, and she was confused. She did not know where the two figures had gone, and panic began to set in. She wanted to cry out, to call to them so they could find her. She took in several large gulps of air so she could.


    A noise echoed throughout the darkness around her, and she went silent, holding her breath instead of letting it out in a shrill cry. The first noise was followed by another, a ripping sound, something organic being severed from a larger thing. There was a stutter to the ripping sound, as smaller, harder bits were giving way under force. The final sound to accompany it all, was that of a sucking, wet, popping sound.


    More moisture flew across the area, red droplets sprinkling the ice and snow around her. A wet glob of something landed where her hat met her forehead. Her nose was filled with a smell she knew without needing any memory of it. It was the same smell that greeted her into this world.


    Over the rock she was behind, she saw ribbons of crimson and dangling bits of flesh being lifted and thrown against the farthest wall, to her left. On the right, the source of this grisly set of sounds and visions, a blood-soaked, razor-fingered claw reached up and took hold of the ice wall, nearby. The hand was supporting something, allowing a creature to get up to its feet. The icy wall was stained with spatter and a seeping hand-print.


    Frizzled hair, more like a beast¡¯s mane than anything that belonged to a human, came into view. The hair itself, a brilliant scarlet, lifted up over the rock. The form got to its feet, a mere stone¡¯s throw away. That brilliant hair stretched from the crown of the form all the way to the bony rims of its hips and back.


    The body of the creature was spindle-thin, barely any flesh or bone covering its elongated limbs and cadaverous body. Pieces of its form were draped in ancient, tattered and sun-bleached robes, almost transparent from wear. The flesh of the beast that wasn¡¯t drenched in blood shimmered faintly with a mixture of silver and blue light. She could not understand if it was a trick of the light inside of this icy cave, or if it was the creature itself that shimmered from its very flesh.


    She couldn¡¯t hold her breath any longer. She let it out in a very small puff. She began breathing, but she couldn¡¯t control the speed. Her lungs were drawing in and pushing out air faster, and faster. She wanted to cry out, to scream, to call someone to her for help, but she dare not. Her body was screaming for more air, and her mind was screaming to keep silent.


    She wrestled with herself to keep herself quiet, but just as she tried to hold her breath one more time, drawing in one large gulp to do so, she felt an explosion come from within. A sneeze, propelling strings of mucus out of her nose and over her chin. The noise from her rebellious body echoed throughout the cave.


    The form careened its neck to the side, still facing the source of the light before it. The creature turned to its right, a macabre grin spreading across what was visible of its corpse-like face. The body followed after the head, in a graceful, predatory turn. The creature¡¯s eyes became visible. Brilliant orbs of blue light, scanning the area from left to right.


    ¡°They tried to hide you from me, little one.¡± The beast crooned in a raspy, female voice, that seemed to be nothing but vibration, without breath. ¡°Now why would they do that? What about you were they trying to hide from me?¡± The words were followed by a short cackle that reverberated throughout the cavern.


    The female creature lowered to its haunches and jumped towards the largest rock nearby. The form of the thing moved its head from side to side. Its legs were still hunched, its hands grasping and grabbing at nearby rocks or growths of ice.


    Moments began to slow down, as every movement of the creature became hypnotic and all-consuming of her attention. Her eyes were widening, her breath was pitched, and her arms and legs moved around erratically, pushing and grasping at everything around her. She wanted to get away, her mind screamed to get away, but her body did not obey.


    The creature turned its head one more time, those inhuman blue eyes turning to gaze right at her. That same macabre grin widened, and the creature¡¯s rotten teeth became visible beneath what was left of the female form¡¯s silvery lips.


    ¡°There you are child.¡± The creature¡¯s voice took on a low and capriciously playful tone. It seemed almost to be mimicking the kindness that a parent might to a child. ¡°I¡­ See¡­ You.¡±


    Both of the razor-tipped claws reached out, the span of the fingers dwarfed out all of her vision. The spindles reaching and swooping under her blankets, about to pick her up. That is when she let out with a roar from inside of her. The loudest cry she could manage. A scream that trailed off until she had no breath to continue it.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you fret, none, little one. It¡¯ll be over fast. This existence was nothing more than a short dream.¡±


    She screamed again, using all of her lung capacity to keep the sound going. When that one ended, she let loose with another. She could do nothing, her limbs would not respond to her commands, all she could do is scream.


    The claws, both of them cradling under her bundle, began to slowly lift her up from the icy surface of the rock below. She was being raised up towards the creature¡¯s face. That hideous, glowing-eyed, shimmering, jagged, corpse-like face.


    That is when a metallic object erupted from the creature¡¯s open mouth, spraying some sort of bluish-tinted humor across her face. She was startled for only a moment and then belted out with yet another scream.


    The eyes of the creature grew even wider with surprise. The beast tried to shut its mouth, but could not as the body of what had pierced its skull was still embedded between its jaws and throat. The clanking of rotten teeth on hardened wood was followed by a slight whirling noise on the air. That noise being quickly followed by the eruption of flesh, as another metallic object tore through the creature¡¯s cheek.


    The beast dropped her bundle back onto the rock. The impact took the breath out of her for just a moment, until she drew in a new one and continued her screaming. If this was all her body was capable of, she would continue until she drew her very last breath.


    ¡°There¡¯s an infant here!¡± The voice was male and far off near the light of the cavern¡¯s entrance.


    ¡°What in the depths of Gehemol is that thing?¡± Another voice, also male.


    Seven more objects took to flight on the air, and five of them pierced into the flesh of the creature. The thing turned, quickly, and almost with out any concern for the limitations of the human form, bent to face the interlopers in the light. The beast hissed, and a strange glow began to grow from inside the flesh of its right claw.


    ¡°What¡¯s it doing? The glowing-¡±


    ¡°Keep firing those arrows, damn you!¡±


    An eruption of force came out of the aimed claw, outwards, towards the men at the entrance. A sound assaulted her hearing like that of a sizzling campfire, soon followed by a thunderous boom. Many shouts, male and female, from the entrance, soon began to air over the ringing explosion.


    Light and shadows played out a dance along the icy walls of the cavern. Shadows of bodies being thrown back, other shadows growing in size as they ran towards the creature. Smaller shadows darted across the walls and coalesced into a physical form of deadly arrows that peppered the beast and the walls. The entire scene was pure chaos. Her eyes were open to all of it, soaking it all into her mind. The glory of battle, the shouts of commands, the blood flying through the air, the howls and cries of pain.


    As quickly as it had started, it ended. The creature leaped over where she lay and bounded behind her into darkness. More droplets of blood and glowing silver ichor fell upon her as the thing retreated.


    ¡°Where did that thing go?¡± A female voice, off to the left.


    ¡°Further into the cave. Be on your guard.¡± A male voice, behind the rock, echoing heavily from the source of the light.


    ¡°Did she take the infant?¡± A second male voice, filled with concern and nearing by the rock she was hidden behind.


    In response to the voice, she gave out another hard scream. She clawed and kicked at the air around her, fiercely, hoping that the activity would draw them near. Once her scream was finished, she gave a pitched set of breaths, her throat feeling like it was bleeding. She choked hard, coughing and sputtering for a moment. Then, drawing in another breath, and letting loose with one final scream.


    She looked up and saw a new face take up all of what she could see. Unlike the hideous face of a corpse, with glowing inhuman eyes, she was greeted with a face of kindness. A man with hazel eyes, dark brow, frizzy black hair drawn back in a ponytail, and a large, dark, bushy beard. His eyes lit up with relief once he looked down upon her and a smile crept in between his beard and mustache.


    ¡°Vhollen Khasul, I found her!¡± He reached forward, over the rock and grabbed her, lifting her up towards him. As she raised into the air, the hairs of his beard began to tickle her face. He placed her in the crook of his arm to support her entire body.


    ¡°Ah, good.¡± The voice was slow and filled with age. ¡°This whole search wasn¡¯t for nothing.¡± The voice turned away and gave an echoing yell towards the light at the entrance. ¡°Get the wounded back to the vhulthovaul, down by the river. We¡¯re done here!¡±


    ¡°Is this the infant you were concerned for, Vuthul Ylethus?¡± A female figure approached from the left coming into sight for a few moments, then turning to gaze into the dark recesses of the cavern. ¡°Does that mean those two bodies are-¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± The bearded man began to gently lift and drop her in his arms hoping to keep her quiet. She didn¡¯t need him to reassure her in such a way. Simply being curled up against the heat and comfort of his form was enough for her.


    ¡°Kolma and Ewhent from the Issau-Kavi tribe. I¡¯m related to Ewhent by my brother¡¯s marriage.¡± He paused, bit his lip and looked down towards her, his eyes glazing over with moisture. ¡°Well, I was.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for your loss.¡± The woman turned away, knelt down and dipped a finger into a pool of silvery ichor. She quickly lifted the finger up, sniffing the dribble of liquid, and then tasting a portion. ¡°Oh, dear gods! What is this crap?¡± She turned on her feet, and began a slow walk towards the entrance, flicking the clinging humor from her hand as she did so.


    ¡°You¡¯re safe now, little one.¡± The bearded giant gave her one more gentle shake and then seized her under her arms to lift her up for inspection. ¡°With all the blood you¡¯re covered in, you¡¯d think you were one of us. A warrior.¡± He gave a hearty chuckle and put her back in his arm.


    A male figure darted into the cavern, moving around erratically and staring off into the darkness. ¡°Is it gone, Ylethus?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Pokam, you scared it away with all your fury.¡± The gentle warrior gave a laugh at the younger man¡¯s expense. He lifted a large thumb to his mouth, giving it a lick, and began rubbing the blood off of her face.


    The man darted around the area, fidgeting like a bird and clacking the wood of his bow against his hip. ¡°What was that thing? I¡¯ve never seen anything like it. It took more than a dozen arrows and still bounded away. And that blast-¡±


    ¡°It was just a thaekkuz, Pokam. A cowardice-damned revenant. You should¡¯ve heard the legends about them from your skaell-father back when you were a broden.¡± The bearded warrior had managed to clean most of her face now and began to take off her hat to get the blood off her forehead.


    The younger man, still hitting his bow against his hip in anxiousness turned to give the giant warrior beside him a look for a moment. He watched him take the hat off of her head and use his index finger and thumb to pick off a piece of bloody flesh from her forehead and throw it away. The younger man turned his attention back to the darkness and ceased hitting his bow for a moment. He turned back to the taller warrior and gave a startled look downwards to her in his arm. His eyes turned wide with fear at the sight he beheld.


    ¡°Buh-blood hair?¡± He puffed air between his lips while he stammered his words. ¡°Ylethus, by all the gods, old and new. That wasn¡¯t a thaekkuz¡­¡±


    ¡°What are you sputtering, boy?¡± The large warrior looked up from her to look at the young man beside him. ¡°If I said it was a damned thaekkuz, it was a damned thaekkuz.¡±


    ¡°Nuh. No, it wasn¡¯t. It was¡­¡± The boy hushed for a moment and began to whisper behind a hand held up to his face. ¡°¡­Merithault. The Mad Hag.¡± He dropped his hand and turned towards the entrance to yell at the top of his lungs. ¡°Merithault! Merithault! Vhollen Khasul!¡±


    The large, bearded warrior took a single step towards the younger man, closing the distance between them in a single stride. With his free hand he lifted his arm up, cupping the fingers of his hand, and in a single motion, brought the entire limb down hard upon the younger man¡¯s head. He carried through with his swing, knocking the younger man off of his feet and pinning his head between a rock on the floor and the man¡¯s gigantic left hand.


    ¡°Cease your yelling, lest you bring that thing back from the dark.¡± He gritted his teeth, small trails of saliva flowing into his beard. ¡°If it means saving this child from that thing, again. I¡¯ll gladly crush your skull like a rotten tolgant-fruit.¡±


    She looked up to the man that was still holding her in his arm. His teeth gritting tightly enough that she could hear the bone straining under the force of his jaw. His hand still pinning the younger man beneath it. Her eyes moved to the younger man, as his eyes seemed to bulge out of his skull. His mouth moved quickly, sputtering spit and breath, but giving no sound.


    ¡°What is this I hear about a mad hag?¡± The voice came from the entrance and grew nearer with each word. The voice was male, confident and soft. She looked above her and past the beard of the man who held her to see a figure wearing white robes framed with purple and blue embroidery. A hood was drawn over the man¡¯s face, with nothing but his eyes being visible over white scarves covering the lower portions.


    ¡°Nothing more than the ramblings of a young man who lost his nerve in battle, Master Toulam.¡± The beard jumped in her face, tickling her a few times as the larger warrior spoke. He kept his arm pressed against the younger man¡¯s face, and their eyes never broke contact.


    ¡°Oh, I see.¡± The robed man was now standing almost between the two other men and leaned forward to make eye contact with her for a moment. ¡°What I heard from Khasul at the entrance¡­ The creature all of you were fighting against had ice-blue eyes, spoke our language, and had blood-red hair.¡± He gave a long sigh and looked at the bloody scene around him. ¡°Being able to speak a language is quite a feat for a thaekkuz, I must admit.¡±


    The robed man turned back to her, gazing for a moment at her face. ¡°She is quite covered in blood¡­¡± He trailed off while moving his right hand up to her. He let three of his fingers roll over the top of her head, then quickly seized and plucked a single short hair from her scalp. ¡°¡­But I surmise that the shade of her hair is not tainted by such.¡± She gave out a long cry as she became aware of the pain in her body. The large warrior moved his eyes towards the robed man and gave a long growl.


    ¡°Muh, muh. Master Toulam. The legends speak of children with blood-hair¡­¡± The stammering came from the man who was still pinned to the rock. The bearded one turned his face back to the younger man and cast his growling towards him.


    ¡°That they do, young Pokam.¡± The robed man twirled the fine, white-rooted and red-tipped hair between his index finger and thumb. ¡°It is said in those same legends, that any child sought after by the Mad Hag must be abandoned or killed outright, lest the one known as Merithault should bring destruction to all who shelter her.¡± Green eyes from under his hood looked towards the hazel eyes of the huge warrior, watching the larger man intently.


    ¡°It was your visions that led us here, Master Toulam.¡± The bearded man kept his eyes focused on the younger man he continued to press down on. ¡°You were kind enough to tell me that my kin were in trouble. We did not get here in time to save them, but we were able to save this little one.¡± The gigantic bear of a man gave a deep breath, pulling her closer into his body and pressing downwards harder on the young man¡¯s head with his free hand. ¡°I am in your debt for that, but I caution you.¡± His eyes broke and pierced into the robed man¡¯s gaze. ¡°Pick your next words, very carefully.¡±


    The man in white lifted the hair towards his face with his right hand, his left coming up to pull the scarves from his face below his chin. His lips puckered slowly and he blew on the hair. He let it go, watching it fly away on the air. He gave a long smile and returned his scarves to his face.


    ¡°You are correct, Vuthul Ylethus. Although this young man¡¯s recollections of ancient lore are true, his nerves have been heartily rattled from the day¡¯s battle. I question his assessment of this situation.¡± The robed man reached into the top of his robes by his chest, rummaging around for a moment, until his hand emerged with a very small glass vial. ¡°Would you be as kind as to release the young man, now?¡±


    The bearded warrior looked over her to the robed man for a moment, then looked down towards her, his eyes softening, as he saw her looking up at him. He lifted his arm from the young man¡¯s head and took two steps backward. His eyes slowly moved back to the young man and his brow began to furrow.


    The younger man was dazed for a few moments but soon got himself up to his feet once again. He had dropped his bow during his struggle and gazed around himself to find his weapon in the snow and ice. The robed man moved closer and put a hand on the young man¡¯s shoulder, then snapping his fingers with his free hand to draw the young man¡¯s attention to him.


    ¡°Do you remember what you saw, young Pokam?¡± The robed man had a gentle tone to his voice.


    ¡°Well¡­ Uh-¡­ Yes, I do, Master.¡± He looked fearfully up to the large warrior and gulped hard. ¡°It was the Mad Hag.¡±


    The robed man lifted the vial towards the young man and the man took it greedily. ¡°We will need your testimony of these events when we get back to the vhulthovaul. This liquid will keep your memories sharp so that one of my authrakallin brothers can see through your eyes.¡± The young man uncorked the vial and swallowed the contents of it in a single gulp and then nodded. His eyes remained filled with fear and transfixed upon the larger warrior before him.


    ¡°Master Toulam.¡± The larger man began to lift and drop her slowly in his arms. He stared at the robed man intently, his voice carrying a threat that he did not say.


    The young man smacked his lips a few times, exposing his tongue. ¡°Master, this tastes like fyrraberries and tanning oil.¡±


    ¡°That is because it contains those, young man.¡± The robed figure kept his hand on the younger man¡¯s shoulder. He stared up beneath his hood to the larger warrior beside them and then turned his attention back to the younger one.


    ¡°To make absolutely sure your memories of this will stay, I need you to recite a few ancient words of power. These will bind your memories to your soul. Can you do this for me?¡±


    The younger man nodded, once again. ¡°Of course, Master.¡±


    ¡°Tetan, Authral-nethka velluram¡­¡±


    ¡°Tuh, taytan¡­ Auth¡­raal nethkah¡­ Vellyu¡­ Ram.¡±


    ¡°Mala-yetrantis jhulhanti phural¡­¡±


    ¡°Maah¡­ Laah¡­ Yhetran, tiss¡­ Jhool, hahntee¡­ Fur-ahl.¡±


    ¡°Last part of the incantation now¡­ You¡¯re almost done. Vethul-vok, pharanthul hesphutas quol ishult.¡±


    ¡°Vee-thool¡­ Vok! ¡­Farr¡­ Anthool. Hissfootas¡­ Kwol¡­ Eeshoolt.¡±


    ¡°Good boy!¡± The robed man gave the younger one a hard pat on the shoulder and stepped out of his way. ¡°Now go meet up with Desan at the mouth of the cave. Vhollen Khasul will want both of you to do a patrol around the forest¡¯s ridge.¡±


    ¡°Uh- Okay, Master Toulam. Thank you.¡± The younger man took two steps forwards, grabbed his bow from the ground and ran off into the light beyond.


    She could feel the larger warrior beginning to growl under his breath as he continued to hold her close. His body tensed up and his arms curled to keep her protected. She reached up and tugged gently on his beard.


    ¡°Don¡¯t give me that attitude, Vuthul.¡± The robed man turned on his heels to meet the bearded man. ¡°He just drank one of the most powerful sedatives I have in my collection. Then, the dumb bastard recited an ancient Morthavi oath of silence. He won¡¯t remember a damned thing after a few minutes, and even if he did, he won¡¯t be able to speak about it for as long as his tongue remains in his skull.¡±


    The robed man turned away and looked at the icy walls of the cavern for a moment. ¡°He is illiterate, correct?¡±


    ¡°He couldn¡¯t spell his name with his own shit and a broden-mother to help his hand.¡±


    ¡°Good. Then your secret is safe.¡±


    ¡°Is it?¡±


    The robed man took two long steps and turned to face the bearded warrior, again. ¡°Of course, it is. I heard that your band attacked a thaekkuz in its den. Sadly, the mindless creature slaughtered your kin. What the other vhulkovyr heard as language was nothing more than howls and whines of a cowardly corpse-thing that needed to be put down.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Master Toulam.¡± The large man looked down to her one more time. His eyes revealed the feeling he had for her despite his growling and surly demeanor. She reached up to his beard once again and was met with one of his fingers. She took hold of it, a mighty spear of a thing, and his eyes began to moisten.


    ¡°Keep her close, Ylethus. Watch her well. She¡¯s your burden now. May the gods help you, from this day on.¡±


    <hr>

 [2016] Witchling of Alsira (First Drafts) - Skaldt Tales 4

    The Witchling of Alsira


    Skaldt Tales 4 -When I''m Good & Ready


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    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you used to be a Skaell-father.¡± The female voice from behind him trailed off for a moment. ¡°I thought only stuffy old men did that kind of thing.¡± Sheets and furs rumpled for a moment on the bed as the woman turned over.


    ¡°Well, I had to. There is an important sort of prestige in caring for the young ones.¡± He kept his back towards the woman in the bed, focusing hard on the sheet of parchment before him. He held a drying quill in his right hand suspended over the page. A few drops fell from the sharpened end, blotting the edge of the paper.


    ¡°Phrim. Why won¡¯t you come back to bed? I feel we haven¡¯t even got started, yet.¡± More ruffling of sheets and furs as the woman sat up. ¡°Stop the scratching on that paper and give me attention.¡± She gave out a short laugh while patting the bed beside her.


    ¡°This needs my attention right now. In due time, love.¡± Phrim looked over his shoulder for a moment, taking in the pleasant sight of the bare-chested woman smiling back at him in his bed. She threw her hair around in a flourish and laid back down on the authroc-down pillows heaped at the head of the bed.


    Phrim returned his attention back to the page, quickly dabbing the quill in a wooden ink-barge on his desk, then gliding it over the page with a few more strokes. He had to ensure this missive was completed and sent before the end of the day, if the information that was trickling in to him was correct, he would be very busy for the rest of his time in Alsira Thaenat. He very much wanted to re-join the beautiful woman in his bed, it had taken him a week to seduce her and he wasn¡¯t quite done with her, but his duties were far more pressing.


    ~~~~~


    Dearest Father,


    You were right to encourage me to travel to this city to clear my mind. The people here are quite friendly and the services I have access to are quite adequate. I have been able to stay here in Alsira Thaenat for two months and feel that my presence is causing a bit of a stir. I believe I will come into some work soon. I should be travelling for any work that I pick up, so my next missive may be delayed for a few months.


    I have had a chance to talk with Oelvann Molth who is the interregnum leader of this community until a new chieftain has been selected. The Elder Circle is in a bit of a disarray since the last chieftain died under suspicious causes. I have also been able to observe the fellow you suggested I talk with who is a vhollen of the local warrior caste. I haven¡¯t had a chance to talk with him yet, as he is quite insular and surly. I have received some information from the local patrons of the leiggen-skappf that the vhollen has sacked a nearby settlement called Haaken Vaulthaen. Many of the warriors under him who fought in the siege and sacking have fond things to say of him, yet many of the Elder Circle fear he will throw this region into chaos.


    Last eve I was able to talk to a man taken as a slave by the vhollen, he was caged in an open area awaiting his trial and then formal branding. His name is Xanolith, according to him, he was a sorcerer in service to the Order of the Owls. I believe you are aware of that Haakuenth group to the south, so I say no more. He stated that he had informed the vhollen of a great ruin far to the north that may have important treasure of historical significance. He traded this information to the vhollen for his life, and to shorten his enslavement to only two years rather than the traditional six years for war-crimes against our people.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    I must rush away now, as the pleasant distractions of this place call me from my duties, back to my craven nature. Remember the details I place in here. Vorrginth. A blood-haired warrior. Two brothers quarrel. In-experienced explorers. A blind soothsayer with grasping hands. In the shadows the servants remain devoted. I¡¯m sure those will assist you should it be some time before I get in contact with you, again.


    Give all my love to Mother Mirror, Brother Star, and Weeping Sister.


    Your eternally devoted Son,


    ¨C Phrim


    ~~~~~


    He paused for a moment, then lifted a small pile of ashes into his hand, blowing the full amount across the page. He lifted up the parchment, flicking it hard several times then folding the entire missive in a third, then a third again, finally sealing it with a heavy daub of crimson wax.


    Phrim turned in his chair, crossing his legs and gazing at the finished missive in his hand. He could hear a rummaging from outside of his skappf and held his breath for a few moments. It took the outside interloper some time to open the cloth door-cover of the skappf and stick his head through.


    ¡°Phrim?¡± A young man¡¯s voice. The face was flush with exertion, close-cropped brown hair atop a nondescript head, framing brown eyes that flashed around the room. ¡°Phrim of the Skaldt?¡±


    ¡°Yes, young man, that is me.¡± He stood up from the chair, taking two calm steps towards the doorway. From head to toe he was completely in the nude, his masculinity on full display. The young man¡¯s eyes opened wide and quickly dropped down to Phrim¡¯s endowed manhood, then quickly back to his face.


    ¡°My apologies for catching you in a private moment.¡± The young man began to stammer and breath deeply. ¡°You have been requested by Oelvann Molth of the Elder Circle. Immediately.¡±


    ¡°What does this most immediate request entail?¡± Phrim continued to remain calm and un-phased, then crossed his arms.


    ¡°I can¡¯t share too much information, revered skaldt. It is an urgent meeting. I believe the Oelvann wants you to join an expedition to the North.¡± The young man pushed his shoulder through the cloth.


    Phrim gave a confident smile and a grunt of affirmation. ¡°I¡¯ll be there shortly.¡±


    ¡°Oelvann Molth said that-¡±


    ¡°In my due time, young man. Or should you wish to inform the rest of the Elder Circle that you are mistreating their guest? A, as you say, revered skaldt.¡±


    ¡°I will inform her of your arrival.¡± The young man gave a nod, disappearing from view beneath the cloth for a moment, then reappearing. ¡°My apologies.¡±


    Phrim gave a wave of his hand to dismiss the young man who bowed once again and left the doorway. Peace returned to the darkened skappf and Phrim stood in the room consumed with his thoughts. The plans were underway and the information that came to him was correct.


    He walked slowly to the doorway of the skappf, opening the cloth doorway wide and emerging out in the burning sunlight of the twin suns above. He continued to hold the missive in his left hand, and he began to scratch at his chest with his right. He was heedless of who might see him outside in the narrow cliff-side streets of the city.


    ¡°You put the boy in his place?¡± A gruff voice stated to Phrim¡¯s side.


    ¡°Most assuredly, Dultri.¡± Phrim lifted the missive from his side and held it out to the man beside him, sitting on a wooden stool outside of the skappf. ¡°Here, I trust you will ensure it is delivered timely and with privacy.¡±


    Dultri gave a long grunt and grabbed the parchment in a dirt-covered and meaty hand. He placed the missive into the inside of his fur-trimmed breastplate, then returned his attention to the immense and jagged sword resting upon his lap. He picked up the sword and began to grind a whetstone along the edge.


    Phrim looked over the bald man whose face was a mess of beard, scars, caked blood and accumulated sorrowful wrinkles, then gave a nod. ¡°I have a woman to tend to. That pompous Oelvann can wait until I¡¯m good and satisfied.¡± He turned on his heels and went back into the skappf with a flourish. ¡°No more disturbances, Dultri.¡±


    The bald man gave another grunt, then spit upon his sword, continuing to grind away once again.

 [2016] Witchling of Alsira (First Drafts) - Best Laid Plans

    The Witchling of Alsira


    Chapter 3-Best Laid Plans


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    She was pulled, violently, away from the blissfully distorted visions, and serene peace of slumber, back into the tactile urgency of the waking world. The rush of freezing water hit with an impact that felt like a half-remembered memory from early childhood, of being kicked in the gut by a temperamental herdsmoll calf, only much colder. Immediately, the freezing water seeped into her sheets, her clothing, and bit deeply into her flesh, chilling her to the very bone. Her mind began to spin erratically, unable to do anything but react on a purely instinctual level.


    ¡°Wake up.¡± The words were said in a sly and dull tone. Part of her mind recognized the voice of her mentor, Ylethus, the rest was still reeling in frigid shock. ¡°You slept enough, lazy, little arse.¡±


    She had already bolted out of the sopping sheets and taken a perch on the top-most section of the bed. She was hunched, soaked, and glaring about the room with wide eyes, her arteries singing with the flow of adrenaline. Her teeth chattered in her skull, and she held tightened fists in each of her hands.


    ¡°You¡­ Son of a-¡± Ghelta stammered over her clattering teeth. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­ Kill-¡±


    ¡°Enough foreplay.¡± She was met with a loud and wet slap across the back of her tunic. One of Ylethus¡¯ gruff hands gave her a rub and several pats, forcing the freezing fabric against her skin, causing her mind to reel at the chill, once again. ¡°You¡¯re now ready for action. Follow me, or I¡¯ll thump you into another slumber.¡±


    Ghelta took a swipe at her mentor¡¯s arm, pushing him away from her. She slowly got out of her crouch, putting a single, dripping leg onto the floor of the muirral-skappf, the second leg came after. She took her time steadying herself on them as a new rush of moisture passed down her back. A sensation that felt like the cold, deathly claws of Olthenna, herself, had trailed them down her back, reminding her of her mortality, once again.


    ¡°You have only a few moments, girl. I expect you to run, fast as your scrawny little twigs can carry you, across Alsira-Thaenat. Get back to the barracks, get into your battle clothes, and be ready for inspection.¡± He stared at her hotly from the other corner of the room. With each word he spoke, he took a short and booming step towards the entrance of the skappf. ¡°You¡¯re expected to be ready, in full vhulkovyr standard, at my side, as we convene with the Elder Circle.¡±


    She took a few jittering steps towards the door as well, keeping an arm¡¯s length away from the hulking man, already in his armor, furs, and his cloak of station. She took a few cautionary swipes at him with her arms, ensuring the distance was kept. He got to the entrance first, lifting up the fabric of the door, pushing it aside and allowing the blinding noonday light of Dhaum in. He gave a long breath, his chest stretching out like a swelling barrel, ready to burst.


    ¡°You best not fuck this up. This has to do with your Kollishi Thaulp. The gods, old and new, forbid, you might actually get to grow up.¡±


    Ghelta bolted for the opened doorway, running through into the warm light of the burning god above, out into the narrow cliff-side streets of Alsira Thaenat. Now was her time, finally, after nineteen long cycles of the seasons, she could finally become an adult. She didn¡¯t want to disappoint Ylethus, she had to make a good impression, and this was the first time she really would be able to see everyone in the Elder Circle, including that elusive old crone, Oelvann Molth.


    She ran down the street, a smile on her face, taking in the mixture of dry, warm desert air filtering in from above the canyon, and the cool rushing air that came up from the hidden, glacial river below. Her bare feet padded over rocks and weathered wooden supports, her calloused soles barely felt any of the sting from sharp rocks or splinters. Smells came at her from every direction, the wafting of a busy community, smelling sweet, musky, and filled with spices.


    She looked around her to get her bearings, and noticed far to her left, and a half-dozen streets below her was one of the crossing bridges between the sides of the canyon. A hundred feet ahead, or so, and she would have to begin jumping across rooftops to drop down to its level. She sped up her stride even further, the sounds of her feet now taking on a speedy war-drum beat.


    She soon began passing by some of the more luxurious private skappfs used by emissaries, important visitors, or subservient cronies of the Elder Circle. The smells subtly changed from rich prepared foods, and the natural stink of the common people, slowly to that of lingering perfumes, exotic incenses, as well as the pungent smells of recent, and no doubt unwholesome, sexual acts.


    The street began to fill up as she continued her run, figures seeming to be the milling-about retainers of those pompous fools secured away in their decadent hostelry. A few courtiers sat beside the road on a wooden bench, covered from head to toe in heavy, gaudy, foreign garb. The strange paint on their faces was beginning to run due to sweat caused by the desert heat. Many were fanning themselves with reams of parchment or cloth fans. Two standing beside the sitting congregation began to waiver on their knees, complaining about the heat in their own strange languages, on the verge of fainting.


    Typical foreigners. She had heard the tales many times before, all those from Alsira Thaenat, who had traveled far, had shared their stories in the leiggen-skappfs. Many of these dignitaries and their servants thought of the Jolash Plateau as some sort of rustic, exotic locale, filled with adventure and decadent delights. Few realized the harsh reality of living one¡¯s life on the edge of a desert, at some of the highest altitudes in the lands of the Hoelatha people. This was a land of scorching days under the twin fires of the suns above, freezing nights filled with predators, or worse, and ravaging sandstorms that would flay the flesh from the most robust of men. This was not a vacation destination, this was a harsh land, filled with harsh people, and many considered it only slightly better than the darkened hell-realms of Gehemol, itself.


    Ghelta let her smile turn to that of a rancorous grin. She looked down to these preening chickens on display, through her brow as she continued her run. A few of them got in her way, and received a hard shove, or bony impalement, for their lack of awareness, as she continued past.


    A few of them had the nerve to raise their arms at her, shouting in strange and nonsensical languages their disapproval of her. She met their gazes, maintaining her stride and reciprocated their gestures with her own. A raised arm slapped on the inside of her elbow by her other arm, and a hand gesture of the mooncalf. Index and middle fingers erect, ring finger curled in, and her pinky finger erect at an angle. The foreigners may not have consciously known the meaning of the gesture, but they understood it on an instinctual level. Some backed off and gave looks of shock, others belted more cries through their flapping tongues.


    She gave a laugh, openly at their expense. No one could touch her today, this was her day, her chance at greatness. She continued to run, feeling like she could leave the earth beneath her and soar through the skies. Much like she had in that half-dream state before she was dropped off at the muirral-skappf. She was an authroc on the wind, riding ahead of a deadly maelstrom. A majestic predator among the short-lived and shorter-minded prey that clogged up the street around her.


    Ahead, around a slight bend in the street, the crowd began to fade away. Further ahead she could see a shadow in contrast to the brilliant blue sky above and beyond. A tall, well-toned, trim-bearded and rakish sort of shadow, that as she continued to run forwards, it took on the features of the man in the nude. He stood there, in front of a well-appointed skappf for a moment, heedless of who may see him in his state of undress. He handed something to a hunched form next to him, stared off into the distance for the briefest of moments, and then quickly returned to his dwelling.


    Ghelta continued her headlong run, reaching nearby the front of that dwelling. She looked forwards at the hulking brute sitting on a wooden stool in front of the skappf. His face was a hideous mixture of dirt, sourness, and misery. He wore a metal chest-plate and vicious-looking metal bracers, all lined with the black fur of some sort of forest-creature. He sat, fixated upon the heavy, metal wave-cleaver blade he was currently sharpening.


    ¡°Ho!¡± She gave out a yell to get the brute¡¯s attentions. He looked up at her quickly, beneath a blackened and bushy brow, stopping his care for his blade for but a moment. ¡°Your master has a fine lhipossa!¡± She gave a holler while running past, towards a jut in the cliffs on left-edge of the open street.


    The hulking brute held eyes with her as she stopped running, slowing to a walk. He gave a quizzical sort of look and a grunt that showed he didn¡¯t understand what the word meant. Ghelta soon had to make the meaning clear.


    ¡°Erm¡­¡± She stopped for a moment, slowing towards the cliff¡¯s edge in front of the skappf. Her mind grasped at another way to say what she wanted to say in the vulgar common tongue that many merchants and mercenaries made use of. ¡°¡­Cock!¡± She stopped, with her toes at the edge of the cliff, beaming a smile back to the hunched man. He gave another grunt, rolling his eyes in their sunken sockets and returning to the ministrations of his blade.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you enjoy it, too. Both the sight and a nice, big, mouthful of it.¡± Her smile widened even further as every muscle in her body tensed up. The sour-faced bodyguard got to his feet, with far more spryness than she would have given him credit for. He leveled his blade and made direct eye contact with her. She hit a nerve.


    With that, she fell forward, over the cliff, feeling the rush of air bellowing against her slowly drying tunic, under-shorts, and her cascading blood-red hair. She held her smile still, as she fell down towards the roof of a nearby skappf below. She hit the roof and gave a roll, throwing herself back to her feet, preserving her momentum, and continuing her run forwards.


    Above her, the brutish man loomed, his sword still held before him, but no longer having an accessible target for his rage. He watched her for a few moments as she jumped from roof-to-roof, cliff-to-cliff, heedless of any impediments. He gave a shrug, letting the jest go, returning his blade to a scabbard on his back, and then walking back to his stool.


    This was Ghelta¡¯s day, at long last, and no one could take that away from her. No one.


    ***


    She stood tall outside the well-trimmed, but weather-worn wooden doorway of the barracks. A few of the leather straps of her armor cut in at odd angles around her waist and underneath one of her breasts. She thought that while she was recovering, she had gained a couple of pounds. If she could manage to ignore the tightness and the digging for today, she would be fine. She gave one last look at the silver and black, wolves fur trim on the shoulders of her armor. She smoothed her left shoulder with the back of her hand, then fluffed it up by pulling on it, very slightly, around the edges.


    She could hear the loud booming footsteps of her mentor as he neared by where she stood. He was approaching from around the other side of the barracks, each step sounded like the strike of thunder, followed by a rumbling of clanking metal and groaning leather. She dropped her hands to her sides and then lifted them behind her to cross them. She pivoted on her feet slightly, spreading her legs to shoulder-width, settling into her formal stance. She gave one last look around her, down to the front of her armor to make sure she didn¡¯t miss any straps, laces, or, gods forbid, pieces. Then lifted her eyes up to gaze far off into the distance, as she was taught to do.


    ¡°Ah, somehow, despite your obvious inability to do a damned thing right, you still managed to get ready in time.¡± The bellowing voice of Ylethus came at her like a torrent of wind. He crossed the corner of the barracks and came into view. The harsh wind of the upper plateau whipped at his cloaks, making him look regal.


    Ghelta took a hard breath of air in, lifting her chin slightly and bellowing out. ¡°You are correct, vhollen!¡± She continued her long stare forward, only taking in the details of her mentor with her periphery. ¡°I did manage to be ready in time for your inspection. Despite my obvious inability. My inability, due to my inadequate teaching!¡± She projected her voice hard, wanting to give a smirk, but keeping her face expressionless. The leather straps began to dig harder around her chest.


    Ylethus took a final step, standing chest to chest, pressing against her. He was about a foot and a half taller than her. He had always towered over her, her entire life. His dark beard, containing a few silver stripes, hung in front of her face. With every word he bellowed, it danced in front of her eyes. He looked down at her, eyes gazing over his chin to her. ¡°I see.¡± He gave a thoughtful pause. ¡°Well, I must admit, I did lack in the teachings I gave you.¡± He relaxed his pose for a moment. ¡°I suppose the worth of the training is in proportion to the worth of the student.¡±


    Her eyes narrowed, the tops of her cheeks began to flush. He was trying to push her into a corner, he was always like that. Every conversation, every bit of training, every single lesson, was like a complicated game of Jhulko¡¯s Maze, with him. He never let up for a moment. Everything was a competition for dominance, and in that, he had taught her well.


    ¡°Does the vhollen want to continue wasting the student¡¯s time? Or does he actually have a job to do?¡± A slight lift on the edge of her lips, but she still held her form.


    ¡°Impatient as usual.¡± He gave a gruff noise of disapproval and took a single step backward. She could see a smile on his face, she wanted to return it, but that would break her formal training. ¡°Well, I see you managed to make yourself look like you were actually a warrior.¡± His eyes took in her form, analyzing every detail of her dress, her armor, and her stature. ¡°I might even mistake you for one, but I know the truth.¡± He lifted a large hand and began to tug on the longest trail of his beard.


    ¡°The vhollen is correct!¡± She barked out loudly, her shoulders shrugging only slightly. ¡°The truth of the matter is that I am but a wretched orphan! An unwanted bastard child! A disappointment to my mentor, to my tribe, and to my, all-but-forgotten, namesake!¡±


    She could see Ylethus stop and take several deep breaths for a moment. She allowed her eyes to creep up to his. She saw it then, that moisture and twinkle in his eyes. She had hit upon his emotions and ridden him with a moment of guilt. His face remained steadfast, as well as the rest of his huge body, but it was all in his eyes, it always was. As gruff as he was, as biting and sarcastic, as violent and occasionally bloodthirsty, he held a soul in those eyes. A fatherly love, a sense of true empathy and caring, a deep responsibility for those under his command, and for the one student he felt as a father to. She had hit him at the seat of his soul.


    Ylethus reached out one of his huge hands towards Ghelta¡¯s face, the entire calloused, warrior¡¯s hand dwarfed her head within its shadow. She closed her eyes for a moment in anticipation, would he finally reveal his feelings to her face to face? Perhaps she had hit a nerve so deeply, he couldn¡¯t help but reach out to her to show he cared. A fatherly gesture of his hand brushing her cheek. Finally.


    She felt a prick of pain from her scalp, jolting her from her emotional longings. This sharp and unexpected pain, causing her to open her eyes back up to the face of her mentor standing over her. He remained there, same as before, dwarfing out the light of Dhaulm behind him.


    ¡°An errant hair.¡± His hand lowered down to her level, his giant index finger and thumb holding a single blood-red strand of hair, glittering in the daylight. ¡°Obviously you haven¡¯t learned how to braid your hair properly for battle.¡± A smile spread across his face. That moist twinkle in his eye had turned to the glimmering of wickedness once again. ¡°Most unbecoming.¡±


    She let her eyes slowly return to their leagues away gaze forward, shuffling her body back into formal inspection stance once again. Perhaps the moment he had revealed to her when she played at being unconscious was all a part of some sadistic game. Every time she felt like she could have a bonding moment with him, he pulled back and shifted away, no wonder the rest of the tribe considered her a crazed, emotional wreck. He had driven her to that.


    ¡°Is the esteemed vhollen done with his inspection of the young woman?¡± The familiar, steady, and aggravatingly calm voice came from behind Ylethus, nearby the doorway of the barracks.


    Ylethus turned his great head over his shoulder to look back, while Ghelta took advantage of the lack of attention to lean on her left foot to look around her mentor¡¯s immense girth. Ylethus¡¯ beard dangled in her face and obscured her view. Quickly and without consideration, she lifted her right hand to press the facial hair out of her way.


    There he was, that infuriating, smarmy, antagonistically annoying warrior-oracle who had left her to die on Old King Stohll. She gritted her teeth hard, feeling like they might crack with the strain. Her nostrils flared with rage, but she kept disciplined in front of her mentor. Hopefully, the arrogant prick would step one step too close to her, so she could test his fragile skull with a warrior¡¯s head-butt, or perhaps a hard punch to the neck.


    ¡°Master Leiros.¡± She couldn¡¯t believe the tone of voice that was coming out of her mentor towards this fecund arse-goblin of a man. It almost sounded as if he was happy to see him, which would be a first for anyone in all of the Jolash Plateau. ¡°I take it that the Elder Circle has begun their meeting?¡± The rest of the giant man¡¯s body turned towards the cloaked and bandaged authrakallin.


    ¡°Yes. They are convening presently if we leave now we should arrive precisely when they should bid us audience.¡± His eyes, the only part of his face visible under his white face-covers, quickly glanced over to Ghelta. Her face went hot with anger. ¡°I believe, as of now, they are dealing with more mundane matters of governance.¡±


    ¡°Good. I¡¯ve never been one for mundane matters.¡± Ylethus gave a smirk and shrugged his shoulders slightly. He lifted one of his large hands and quickly snatched the wrist of Ghelta¡¯s hand that still pushed his beard out of her view.


    Slowly, his head turned and cast a harsh, downward stare into her eyes. Ghelta retreated, taking up her formal stance, again. She held her free hand behind her back, yet did not try to pull her seized hand back from her mentor. She stared forward, as if oblivious to having been caught.


    ¡°Enough of this preening and peacockery.¡± Ylethus let go of her hand and furrowed his brow. ¡°As you said, Master Leiros. We should leave now. Let us away to this mind-numbing dance of overfed bureaucrats.¡± He turned away from her, taking a few steps forward. ¡°Your inspection has ended, Ghelta. I deem you worthy, for now. Be on your best behavior or I¡¯ll gut you in front of the entire assembly.¡±


    As Ylethus continued to walk away, Ghelta shrugged out of her stance, allowing her muscles to return to normal. She beamed at the cloaked back of her mentor, smiling from ear-to-ear. This was the first time he had ever mentioned her and the word, ¡®worthy¡¯ in the same sentence, in all her life.


    Ylethus continued a slow walk back around the barracks. Leiros stood there for a few minutes, looking to the giant warrior and then back to Ghelta. She could hear him suck in air to talk with her, then closed his eyes, seeming to think otherwise. He shook his head and soon followed in step after Ylethus.


    Ghelta was glad he chose not to speak. She didn¡¯t know if her nerves could handle it. She was quite ready to break the man¡¯s nose if he so much as uttered a single word. This was her day, and not even a stuffy, pompous oracle could take it away from her.


    ***


    Ghelta had heard much about what the elder¡¯s circle looked like during her arduous growing years under the tutelage of Ylethus, yet the place she held in her imagination did not match the place that was now before her. The area wasn¡¯t so much a hall or a even a skappf, as it was a sprawling set of haphazard and loosely connected half-shelters, orchestrated around a large communal area that was nothing more than open stone. Ghelta had to catch herself for a moment as she took in the details, the floor wasn¡¯t just stone, it was cracked stone that may once have been a polished and intricately set of floors, but was now nothing more than ruin.


    Above it all, a rambling connection of threadbare tapestries and cloth coverings served as a billowing, precarious roof. Spears of hot sunlight cut through at strange angles, sending their blistering rays through to sizzle off of the ground below. Shade was in short supply now that the second sun, known as the lover-god Trallt, had risen. Many of those huddled in the circle clung to areas near the half-shelters, sitting areas, and breezy peripheries.


    Most of those that were seated on pillows and wooden benches, all beneath the most clustered of cloth coverings wore the stark blue and purple long-coats of members of the etharalm, those being the central governing body of the community. Ghelta couldn¡¯t discern too many details concerning the assemblage of people before her, she simply knew that those with the coats seemed to be the loudest of voice, and the most arrogant of bearing.


    There quickly came a long and patronizing exclamation from one of the figures seated among the most opulently covered set of pillowed seats. ¡°Ah, Ylethus.¡± The voice was familiar as that of the woman who had caused such a commotion in the muirral-skappf while Ghelta had still been mending. ¡°So glad you could finally bother to grace us with your presence. Such as it is.¡± The one her mentor had called Oelvann Molth.


    Ghelta pressed forward, grabbing the large sword arm of her mentor and pushing in front of him. An attendant in brown and red robes stood in her way, preventing her from seeing more of the area, so she gave a hard shove past him. She could hear the man give out a long sigh, but he soon went quiet, possibly after Ylethus gave him one of his famous, ¡®I¡¯ll rip your head off if you say anything,¡¯ looks.


    She could finally see fully into the circle and took in the details of the woman before her, who had now lifted herself to her feet. As Ghelta began to drink the details of her form in, she soon began to realize the presumptive imaginings she had of her in her mind matched the features this woman had succinctly. Her features were stark, angular and broad. Her jawline was severe, at a strange angle that made a person want to take a double-glance at her to make sure they saw her correctly. Her eyes were a rich shade of brown, yet held no warmth to them, at all. The dress of her hair seemed like it didn¡¯t know what it wanted to exist as, the front half around her face was loose with long bangs that draped to her neck, the back part remained pinned tightly, almost painfully, to the back of her scalp.


    The woman seemed to be around the same advanced age as Ghelta¡¯s mentor, yet she had none of the ruggedness or weathering to her skin. For one who was native to this inhospitable desert climate, her skin remained clear, and an almost pale yellow in complexion. Rather than the mixtures of ruddy tans and swarthy browns that composed most of the Alsi-Kavi tribe. Her hair was a patchy mixture of golden blonde and deep black, with slashes of aging grey cutting through. Her nose was hawkish and sharp, looking almost like the beak of a ferocious bird. Her lips were severe, thin, framed with wrinkles in the tight rim of her mouth, held in what could only be described as an eternal snarl of bitterness.


    ¡°Oh? You actually started something of worth?¡± The booming voice of Ylethus seemed to fill every bit of the space in the circle. Otherwise preoccupied eyes in chattering skulls quickly turned to look at the hulking warrior before them. ¡°And here I thought you were doing nothing more than the idle clucking of hens.¡±


    Ghelta stood proudly beside her mentor, attempting to mimic his gregarious stance. As she took a step forward and broadened her shoulders, she could feel the incessant constriction of leather seize and tug at her skin beneath her armor. The sensation was painful, she wanted to reach in and adjust what was wrong, but she dare not. She felt as if a cholnath razor-snake had coiled around her entire left breast, and portions of her ribs, as it began shredding skin as it constricted tighter around her.


    ¡°Shall we commence, or would the vhollen like to bask in his own glow for a few more minutes at the elder circle¡¯s expense?¡± The voice came from a tall and gaunt man, who had emerged from the shadows behind one of the half-shelters. He took a few steps forward, taking up position behind and beside Oelvann Molth. He began to tap two of his right hand¡¯s fingers against the inside of his left elbow, showing impatience and possibly giving some sort of signal to the rest of the circle.


    Ghelta turned her head to see where that annoying oracle who had followed her and her mentor to the congregation had gotten to. She could see him moving through members of the crowd at the edges of the circle. He would stop for a moment, looking intently at people who themselves were watching the activity, or speaking to each other in hushed tones. For a few moments he would gaze off and flutter his eyelids, with one hand raised before him, as if he was somehow drinking the thoughts of the people around him, or picking up some harmony that no one else could hear. He would glide again to another group, and another, as if he were invisible, or as if he were some sort of keen desert canine who had managed to hide amongst the herdsmoll he soon sought to devour.


    She quickly turned her gaze back to the figures before her, trying to find someone in the group that seemed familiar, even in passing. The only other person there that she could remember the features of were that of Ylethus¡¯ brother. He was standing, half-hidden behind one of the shelters, using the stark brilliance of the outside light as one might use shadow to conceal themselves. He was no longer wearing the azure long-coat of his station, but was as of now standing in a tightly fitted, interlaced set of brocade white and green robes that bellowed around his leather leggings. These robes came up to a long hood that he used to try and conceal most of his face. Yulhest made eye contact for a brief moment with his brother and then turned away to leave the circle.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Enough chatter. We are here to settle this business concerning the vhollen¡¯s request for an expedition to the north.¡± Oelvann Molth projected her voice sternly and loudly to the congregation who slowly went quiet. ¡°Vhollen Ylethus, despite his brashness, and his quarrels with many etharalm of late, has served our community well. He has petitioned the elder circle for resources and leave for this expedition.¡± She raised her right hand, holding her middle and ring fingers aloft, then sweeping that same hand outward in front of her in a grand gesture. ¡°I have had a chance to speak with him on this, and with other members of the counsel here. I believe it wise to grant the vhollen this task under certain conditions. I thus pass the motion to everyone here.¡± She raised her left arm, crooked at the elbow, perpendicular to the ground. Her left hand held out, and then allowed her left arm to drop parallel with the ground.


    The commotion of a multitude of voices roared up from the crowd after Molth¡¯s gesture was made. She retreated for a moment to take up her seat in her sheltered area, while a silk-clad male covered in wrappings of fine metal chains began to fan her frantically with a linen fan mounted into the end of a large serpentine staff. Ylethus remained silent for a moment, gazing around to the chittering faces of the circle around him. The look on his face grew harsh and impatient, his brow furrowing and quivering.


    Ghelta could sense that her mentor did not enjoy this entire situation. He had to stand here, almost helpless, while a group of over-fed, over-powerful, over-sexed, and under-worked bureaucrats spoke about him in hushed tones and generalized assaults on his character. He continued to stand proud, tugging at the leather straps of his chest-guards, keeping his bearded chin held high, but again his emotions betrayed him through his eyes. It was almost painful for Ghelta to see him so impotent before his lessers.


    She turned her eyes away and decided to follow the example that Master Leiros was currently displaying when it came to the crowd. Many eyes were on Ylethus, surely, but none seemed to be focused on her. She didn¡¯t want to leave her mentor¡¯s side, but as he had taught her many times in exercises ¡ª good reconnaissance leads to a quick victory. This in mind, she made her way around the circle, putting on the guise of an idle and inquisitive broden whose curiosity was getting the better of her.


    ¡°He dares to start a war with the Haakuenth in the south, and then wants to gallivant off into the north?¡± As Ghelta approached a small group of men wearing almost nothing more than green and purple robes, strange hats and sandal-clad feet, she could hear the sharp voice of the eldest among them with clarity. ¡°He burned Haaken Vaulthaen almost to the ground. Surely, those Watchers who hide in Mount Kenikal would seek vengeance against us. And here he goes, wants to go on an adventure. Phaw!¡±


    ¡°Surely, Tramsom, there is more to this than mere adventure. I heard tale from one of the aldunn that the vhollen attacked Haaken Vaulthaen under fear that the Haakuenth would attack us, first. There have always been rumors that those Veshkolden Delathi soldiers stationed there were becoming more hungry for blood and warfare. They were fighting against the Haakuenth who were merely using them as city guards and mere displays of power.¡± A younger man lifted a hand and put it on the older man¡¯s shoulder to get his attention and calm his nerves. The younger man¡¯s voice was soothing and level, almost drowned out among the cacophony of voices playing out amidst the elder circle.


    ¡°I believe it a simple matter of causality and gross power-mongering, brothers.¡± A louder, nasal and more arrogant voice soon spoke over that of the soothing young man. This new voice, despite wearing the robes of a philosopher or pauper, seemed like he was some arrogant noble of station from some far off land. He had a strange accent and his body mannerisms seemed to belong to a man who was far too sure of himself. ¡°I heard from several attendants and a skaldt, that the brute known as Ylethus, took a slave unto his house during the sacking of Haaken Vaulthaen. A sorcerer of foul hedge magics, known simply as Xanolith. That sorcerer is the one who guides Ylethus to the north. No doubt for his own gain at power, at the cost to all of us!¡±


    Two more male voices cut in sternly and with a few more remarks the group of robed men were soon yelling over top of one another. Ghelta continued moving forward, around the circle, and approached a new set of people. These were an exotic set, wearing heavy crimson and gold scarves around their bodies. Their skin was the same as most of the members of the Alsi-kavi tribe in the city, yet there was a somber darkness to their eyes, lips and their hair that set them apart. Despite the heat of the blazing suns, these men and women sat comfortably in head-to-toe scarves and coverings. They did not seem to sweat or show discomfort at all, they merely sat quietly, whispering to each other behind raised hands, their voices sounding almost like the billowing of the cloth roof above in the gusting breezes winding their way through the canyon.


    Ghelta continued on, a dozen steps ahead was a small shelter filled with blue and purple long-coats barking at each other and consulting some set of parchments they kept handing back and forth to each other. She took a few steps forwards and entered into the light cascading in from outside the circle. The brilliant light dazed her for a moment as she began to stare straight into it. She turned back, dancing green and orange lights swept their way across her sight for a moment, while everything around her took on several more shades of darkness. She took another step forward, that is, straight into the side of a man who was not in her way a moment earlier.


    ¡°Whoa, there, young warrior!¡± Unlike most of the others that Ghelta had run into that day, this man didn¡¯t seem to react like a pompous snob. His voice was jovial, calm and had a strange accent that seemed more whimsical than arrogant. Ghelta couldn¡¯t make out any of the details of his form from the brilliance of the daylight sky battering at her eyes. ¡°My pardons for getting in your way, but I must press by as I¡¯m¡­¡± The man leaned in to Ghelta¡¯s ear for a moment and whispered. ¡°¡­Rather quite late.¡± He pulled back and despite not being able to clearly see much of the man but his shadow, she could tell he was smiling broadly, amused at his own expense. ¡°I¡¯m here to see some man named Ylethus. Could you point me in his direction?¡±


    Ghelta lifted her left arm and with a directed finger she pointed towards the huge and darkened shadow of her mentor at the far end of the circle. She wanted to smile back or to stammer out something to this man, but her tongue held firm and her face remained like stone. She was happy that he recognized her as a warrior, at least someone this day had.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± The man brushed by, bringing up a wafting smell of spices, high-priced ale and a faint hint of perfume. The man took several steps into the circle and then turned around to look directly at Ghelta again. ¡°Oh, and thank you for the earlier compliment in front of my heostal-skappf. My man there, told me you remarked about my fine lhipossa.¡± The man lifted his arms to his side, gave a short chuckle, turned away and continued his stride towards the center of the circle.


    Ghelta did not know if it was the heat of the twin suns upon her face that made her cheeks feel hot, or if it was the embarrassment that earlier actions and words were coming back to bite at her. The one man in this multitude who had treated her with what she felt was respect and kindness, and it was the same naked man she had remarked on a few hours before. She stepped forward, out of the light and decided that she was done with her eavesdropping. She began a slow walk towards her mentor.


    She made it halfway through the circular area at the center of the ring of crowded shelters and strewn about benches when she heard a shrill voice bark out beside her. ¡°Phrim! You deigned to acknowledge your summons, at last!¡± It was the voice of Oelvann Molth and it made Ghelta want to cringe.


    She looked up, and so did the man she had earlier talked with. He froze in his tracks, looking to the side. Ghelta continued her walk towards her mentor, her shoulders hunched up, and the annoying constriction in her armor growing worse with every breath. She kept her eyes down when she neared the man, slipping past behind him and out of sight.


    ¡°Ah! Most gracious Oelvann. I finally made it here at last! It seems that boy you sent, gave me the wrong directions. I wouldn¡¯t want him to be scolded for his misgivings, but if it weren¡¯t for such, I would be here and already be put to your exalted service.¡± She saw him lift up his arms and give a long bow from the edge of her sight. She realized that the man she had run into was quite at home here in the crowd. A silver-tongued bastard without a shred of shame.


    Ghelta reached the side of her mentor and turned on her feet to face back into the center. She could feel the faintest edge of Ylethus¡¯ armor pressing against her side, felt him give a shudder, and then grumble of displeasure. He wasn¡¯t happy that she had left his side, but she would make up for it by telling him what little she had heard once the congregation was done. She took one more step back, pressing against his side, to show solidarity and support. He lifted one of his large hands and placed it on her right shoulder. She thought it was less a sign of fatherly support, and more of a gesture to prevent her from straying off again.


    ¡°Oh? It was hard for you to find one of the largest areas in the entire city? The highest point, on a cliff that overlooks the rest of the canyon? The place that any citizen of this fair city could point you to, should you bother to ask?¡± She was really trying to hammer it home to this Phrim fellow. Ghelta now concluded that the Oelvann had no sense of humor whatsoever, and it would be wise not to cross her in the future.


    ¡°My apologies, Oelvann Molth. I am but a visitor to your fair city from the lands of the Tolsi-Kavi in the north. I will endeavor to do better in the future.¡± Ghelta could now make out more of Phrim¡¯s figure as her eyes began to readjust to the shade. He was a handsome enough man, dark of hair, a slightly paler complexion than anyone else in Alsira Thaenat ¡ª save for the stark alabaster skin of herself ¡ª with a well-kept beard. His clothes were efficient and seemed to be halfway between the leather armor of a warrior and the tight-fitting coats of the elder circle members. His body was lean and youthful, his eyes were like glimmering emeralds, and his face looked kind. He didn¡¯t break eye contact with the woman before him and held a sly grin on his lips. The look on his face seemed almost as if he were challenging her to a duel.


    There soon came a loud and deliberate clearing of a throat from the tall and gaunt man who stood next to the shelter that Oelvann Molth sat in. He lifted his left hand, making a half-circle with his fingers and began to move that hand down his right arm; another gesture to get the members of the elder circle¡¯s attention.


    ¡°Right. I take it we¡¯ve had enough time to discuss this matter.¡± Oelvann Molth blurted out as she got to her feet. She derisively hand-waved the man in silk who was fanning her and made a few quick strides towards the center of the circle. ¡°Does any of the counsel have anything to add to this matter?¡± She lifted an open palm up and waved it around the room, going around and back again.


    The room fell silent. A few people kept whispering in hushed tones into ears and behind lifted hands, but within a matter of moments everyone ceased. The tall man moved forward to stand beside the Oelvann and watched the congregation around him intently. He would make eye contact with a few persons, tap his fingers on his chest, nod and move to the next. Not a single person in the group stood up or lifted their voice.


    ¡°Ylethus, do you have anything to add?¡± Oelvann Molth finally turned her eyes towards the elder warrior. Ghelta could feel him bristle at the mention of his name.


    He gave a long breath; not quite a sigh, but more of a groan. ¡°I reserve my words for the proper time, Oelvann. Once you have mentioned the conditions I must have for my expedition.¡± He turned his head to survey the room around him. One of the three-pointed tips of his beard brushed by Ghelta¡¯s cheek. She saw his eyes stop for a moment with his head turned somewhat to the side. She followed his gaze to a gap in the sheltered areas where his brother Yulhest had returned. Beside him were two young men, dressed in the vhulkovyr armors of young warriors. One was a large and imposing young man with a brooding face. He wore full armor and furs. Beside him was a smaller and less masculine young man who wore only partial armor, allowing sections of his arms, legs and mid-riff to be exposed. The younger man had wild eyes, like a perpetually startled cat.


    ¡°Fine. I put my conditions forward.¡± Oelvann Molth allowed her upper lip to curl into a snarl and she gave a long sigh. ¡°Ylethus, the expedition you seek shall be granted with the following conditions present. You must take three younger broden who have selected the vhulkovyr caste as their chosen lifestyle for their adult life. It would seem that you have been neglecting your duties in ensuring the younger members of our tribe can attain adulthood through their rite of Kollishi Thaulp. Thus, this elder circle will enforce that you do so with three broden as an example. We hope that we will not have to enforce this kind of thing in the future. Yes?¡±


    Ylethus gave another grumble and nodded deeply so that the entire congregation could see his movements. He didn¡¯t say a word. The hand that he held on Ghelta¡¯s shoulder clenched, with his fingers digging into the leather and fur shoulder pieces. She couldn¡¯t understand if he was being protective of her or if he was mad with her.


    ¡°Good. The three broden that you will be taking with you, are the two sons of aldunn Yulhest. Taybald kolst Leippendrahl, and his younger brother Istobin kolst Leippendrahl. You will also be taking a direct student of yours who you have been neglecting for some time. An orphan by the name of Ghelta kolst Wyghtsmourn, first and only of her namesake.¡±


    Ylethus waited a few moments after the Oelvann¡¯s words and then began to draw in a breath to respond.


    ¡°I¡¯m not finished, vhollen.¡± Her eyes locked with Ylethus¡¯ and it felt like a chilling wind blew between them. ¡°You have also petitioned the elder circle and the Order of the Authrakallin to take one of the warrior-oracles with you. You stated that this is necessary to ensure that the memories of this expedition are preserved and authenticated. I agree, however, your petition to take Master Leiros is denied.¡± She stopped for a moment, a smile tearing at the thin lips of her face, watching the warrior squirm.


    Ghelta looked up to Ylethus and saw his eyes narrow until the color of his eyes faded between his weathered and sagging lids. Ghelta could feel heat and anger coursing through his body. Faint sounds of snapping or expanding leather in his armor let her know he was tensing every muscle beneath them. She lifted her right hand to his and gave a single pat. She felt him relax as his eyes turned down to her¡¯s, then quickly went back to their chilling gaze upon the Oelvann.


    ¡°You will still have a member of the Authrakallin to ensure you what you wanted, Ylethus. But, given matters that are happening here in Alsira Thaenat concerning the fall-out of your siege to the south, we need Master Leiros here. His talents are best suited to use by this community.¡± The smile on her lips grew wider, making Ghelta want to wince at the tightness and pain it might be causing. ¡°We will provide you with the expertise and services of Master Verran, instead. You are familiar with him, yes? He consulted with you, aldun Yulhest and myself, concerning the commotion your student caused at Auhl-keignfel Stohll?¡±


    Ylethus gave a single downwards nod. He was clenching his teeth in his jaw, making the sides of his face near his ears and the remaining hair on the sides of his head sprout out and quiver with each muscular spasm. He would be in a ferocious rage when this congregation was finished. Ghelta began to wonder what objects in the barracks he would break first, or if he would go straight to his sword and begin cleaving into the side of the barracks, itself.


    ¡°Another condition, Ylethus.¡± The Oelvann continued to push herself, if only she knew how close she was to suffering a warrior¡¯s rage and perishing in bloody slaughter. ¡°All knowledge, all assets, all treasures attained on your expedition are the rightful property of the elder circle of Alsira Thaenat. This expedition is not for your wealth. This is granted on behalf of all the Alsi-Kavi tribe. What you return with, will be ours. Hopefully to use for the betterment of our people.¡± She stopped for a second and motioned slowly towards the man named Phrim closer to her. ¡°To ensure this, as well as to provide a proper chronicle of your expedition, we will be giving you the services of notable skaldt, Phrim kolst Skathuld. Understand that he is a chosen representative of the elder circle, as well as the grand circle. Should anything untoward befall this man, you will be held for high treason.¡± The smile grew, showing teeth this time. Ghelta thought she could see fangs in her mouth. ¡°Do you understand?¡±


    Phrim turned towards the Oelvann and scrunched up his brow in confusion. He turned slowly towards Ylethus on the other side of the area. He looked down to the ruined stone of the ground, then up to make eye contact with the hulking, and enraged warrior. He lifted both arms to his side, palms up, as if he were begging pardon. Perhaps he didn¡¯t realize that he would be used as a tool by the Oelvann in such a way.


    ¡°Now do you have anything you¡¯d like to say?¡± Oelvann Molth took two steps towards Ylethus, then dragged one of her feet on the rough stone, turning her back completely towards him.


    ¡°No. Oelvann Molth. I accept these conditions and will work for the benefit of my people.¡± Ghelta felt his hand leave her shoulder, falling to his side. She looked up towards him, almost afraid to make eye contact. He narrowed his eyes for a moment and turned his head very slightly towards her. He lifted his same hand again and rested now upon Ghelta¡¯s left shoulder, closest to him.


    Searing pain shot through Ghelta¡¯s body and overwhelmed her for a moment. With the weight of his hand now on her left side, every bit of constriction she felt grew to a fevered pitch. She could feel the binds in her armor cutting directly into her skin, whole sections of her flesh were screaming out to her or numb and filled with constant prickles from lack of blood. She bit her bottom lip until it bled. It was too much and she had to get the armor off. Something was very wrong with how she put her armor on.


    ¡°For the sake of Tolesh¡¯s brilliant fuck!¡± She felt the words erupt from her mouth as she scrambled and tugged at her armor. She shoved her mentor¡¯s hand away angrily and began work unbuckling and untying the pieces of her armor on her left side. She ripped her fur-covered pauldron off of her body. Pulled for a few moments until she got her chest-plate off. She tugged and ripped at the buckles on her left side, opening up the bare flesh of her left breast to the crowd before her. She looked down and examined herself, seeing the reddish blemishes spread across her ribs and chest. Seeing the now bleeding cuts along her side and beneath her bosom.


    Commotion grew in the elder circle once again voices gossiping amongst themselves about the activity they had just seen. Ylethus took a step back from Ghelta as she continued to examine her flesh and scramble to pick up pieces of her armor she threw upon the ground. There were a few gasps and a few chuckles from the crowd.


    ¡°Well, I see why this one may not have been ready for her rite of adulthood.¡± The voice of Oelvann Molth cut through the din and once her words were finished, laughter followed after. ¡°It seems like she follows after her mentor. Or that she doesn¡¯t even want to be a member of the vhulkovyr after all.¡±


    Ghelta seized and held the bits of her armor in her arms. She looked up towards the Oelvann with tears and rage in her eyes. She gave a quick look to the people around her, all those arrogant, favor-currying rats were laughing at her expense. She looked to Yulhest who was ushering his two sons out of the circle. The oldest one, Taybald kept to himself as he left, Istobin however stared at her with a slacked jaw and that same annoying expression of bewilderment in his eyes. In the middle of the circle, Oelvann Molth gave another sadistic grin, the tall and gaunt ass-licker beside her held amusement on his face as well. Phrim, however, looked horrified and legitimately concerned for Ghelta¡¯s well-being. He took a few steps towards her, but realized she had no place to and remained where he was.


    ¡°I think we are concluded here. You may leave, vhollen. I¡¯m sure you need to discipline your student before you leave on your expedition.¡± Oelvann Molth turned and walked back towards her opulent shelter filled with pillows. She sat down and motioned to the servant to continue fanning her. ¡°We move to other business now. Kaulmin, go fetch the dignitaries from Corannithulta. They have an audience now.¡±


    Ylethus gave a hard shove to Ghelta¡¯s back to get her to move away from the circle. She complied, still holding pieces of her armor in her arms. Her eyes were completely filled with tears and the brilliance of the suns turned her vision into a glowing, watery mess. She followed her mentor at his side as he walked away. She wondered where that annoying oracle had gotten to, he wasn¡¯t with them when they left. No doubt, when he didn¡¯t get what he wanted, he left. It seemed like something he would do.


    Today was Ghelta¡¯s day to prove herself to her mentor and to her community. This day was indeed taken from her, by circumstance, her behavior, and the cruelty of those she must now lay her life down to protect upon adulthood.


    ***


    Ylethus didn¡¯t leave much time for anyone to get settled before he told his retinue that they would be leaving. They had just arrived back at the barracks to an entire crowd of people preparing all that they needed for their expedition. Ylethus wasn¡¯t one to sit idle for very long. He enjoyed to be as prepared and ready as possible for any campaign or action.


    He had handed Ghelta some traveling clothes in a rush. Grabbing her armor and shoving it in a large bag that he carried with him. He didn¡¯t talk to her the entire time he got the last preparations done up. They had left the barracks and the city of Alsira Thaenat in under an hour. What few words anyone could get out of the old warrior were simply that he wanted to get the trip under way while there was still daylight in the sky.


    When the last sun had finally set, the members of the expedition, as well as a few members of the ahlketh caste ¡ª those people given to a lifestyle of labor and support to the community ¡ª had made an early camp a stretch of miles into the Jolash Plateau, north of Alsira Thaenat. The smoke and lights of the canyon city could still be seen on the horizon to the south and remained as a now distant reminder of home.


    Ghelta avoided everyone in the group. Phrim had come to sit beside her when they first made camp. She responded by getting up and moving to another area. He got the idea quite immediately and did not press the matter further. She had been utterly humiliated in front of all the people whom held power in her tribe. Many of those jaded old fools would probably continue to talk about the uncouth broden pretender for weeks. That is, until some other bit of gossip took their fancy. Her existence was nothing more than joke to those people.


    The younger men sat huddled around a roaring campfire. Taybald and Istobin sat together, quietly talking to themselves. Phrim sat next to them, occasionally looking towards the two brothers and wanting to talk, but remaining silent. Once or twice he looked behind him to the fringes of the camp where Ghelta sat on a rock in solitude. She remained, looking back to the twinkling lights of her home, or to the stars mirroring their glow above them. Four older warriors that were hand-picked by Ylethus sat on the opposite end of the fire from the younger men. One was busy staring into a horn cup of alsinat mead, while three were playing a game with a set of faded, old cards, and some dice.


    Ghelta knew that Ylethus had moved to the other side of the camp, to another fire nearby that was set by the ahlketh retinue that were supporting the warriors on this trip. Many of the Ahlketh seemed to be of good humor as every few minutes one world blurt out in drunken song, or give rise to tell some raucous campfire tale. Only twice did she hear Ylethus¡¯ voice speak out from the rest of the ahlketh, as he gave orders to one of their luegin-yarls. She hadn¡¯t noticed where Master Verran had gotten to, he refused to sit at the fires with everyone else. The last Ghelta had seen him, he was forcibly grabbing a bowl full of stew away from Phrim and stomping off into the darkness. She hadn¡¯t heard what he shouted at the skaldt, but given her earlier introduction to him while she was healing, it no doubt involved his typical fits of impotent rage for being selected on this expedition.


    Ghelta had taken off most of her clothes, and sat on a still warm rock. She wore her favorite threadbare tunic and a set of comfortable leather leggings. She was bundled up in a thick authroc-down blanket from the growing chill of the night-time desert. She was soon growing numb from ruminating on her folly earlier in the day. She was mad at herself for her actions, mad at the people around her for their cruelty, and shamed for letting down her mentor when he needed her. She kept her eyes to the horizon, and moving slowly to look at the silhouettes of the great Whendan Mesas west of Alsira Thaenat. Those immense towers of ancient rock stood like blackened sentinels against the star-filled sky.


    She looked to the tallest of them, trying to see if she could see any fires or light from the top of Old King Stohll. Perhaps that is where Master Leiros sat, beside his hounds-tooth rock, awaiting to hit another person in the stomach with his staff. Or maybe he remained there brooding, like Ghelta was now doing, angry that he was unable to go on this expedition. He was an arrogant prick, but despite all that he had done to Ghelta in the past, he seemed like a distant friend compared to the fickleness she had witnessed in the elder¡¯s circle.


    ¡°Are you still stewing in your rage?¡± The voice was that of Ylethus. Somehow that hulking herdulth beast of a man had managed to sneak up on her while she was off in her own thoughts.


    He walked in front of where Ghelta sat, grabbing a hefty stone, as wide as a man¡¯s arm, from the cracked surface of the plateau and dropped it with a loud thud beside her. He sat down on the small boulder with a loud groan and the cracking joints of an old man. He was still in his full armor, but he had taken his cloak of station off, along with some of the metal bits around his lower arms. Ghelta looked to him once, a sour look on her face, and turned on her rock to face away from her mentor.


    ¡°You can¡¯t be in a pout the entire voyage, you know.¡± He continued on despite her silent protest to his presence, as if he was almost oblivious to her reaction. ¡°Eventually you¡¯ll have to kill something. Maybe then you¡¯ll be in better spirits.¡±


    Ghelta remained silent, her eyes upwards towards the stars ahead of her. Maybe if she could just ignore him for a few more minutes he¡¯d go away. He was stubborn though, so she may have to endure him for an hour or more.


    ¡°I have something to show you. I worry you¡¯ll just end up more mad at me. All I can say in my defense is that I¡¯m older than you, I¡¯ve dealt with far more shit in my long life, and I did it to help both of us.¡± She could hear him rummaging around in a pack, pulling a few pieces out and setting them on the sandy earth of the plateau in front of him. She gave a quick glance over her shoulder to see what he was doing and saw him arranging the pieces of her armor on the ground.


    ¡°Are you going to look over here, or do I need to grab your head and force you?¡± He was switching back into the stern tone he used when he taught her as a mentor. She gave a half-hearted shuffle of her behind on the rock to face in his general direction. She didn¡¯t face him head-on, she wouldn¡¯t give him that satisfaction, but she did look to him from the side.


    ¡°You are still young yet, although you¡¯re older than most students I¡¯ve taught over the years. I¡¯ve tried to impart most of what I know to you about combat and warfare. You can handle yourself with a sword, I know that.¡± He leaned forward and picked up some pieces of her armor, laying them across his knee. ¡°There are many things about life that you don¡¯t yet understand. One of the most important, are the games that we older warriors need to play. Games of politics with those that would not be settled until they turn our caste into nothing more than puppets for their empowerment.¡±


    He lifted up one of the pieces of her shoulder armor, as well as a few buckles and straps that she would use to keep her armor around her chest and stomach. He handed the pieces to her and she took them up in her hands. She looked down to them and then up to his eyes.


    ¡°Next time you¡¯re in a rush to get your armor on. Whether it be to prepare for glorious battle, or simply to look your station in front of those who might kill you in other ways. You best inspect your armor closely. The slightest malfunction, the slightest over-worn strap or lace, and the slightest amount of sabotage might mean your doom.¡± A softened smile spread across his face, separating his dark mustache from the grey and black mass of his beard.


    Ghelta¡¯s crimson brow pressed upwards in confusion. She looked down to the pieces in her hands. At first glance they seemed perfectly fine. She was about to state as much with a drawn in breath. She flipped the pieces over in her hands, looking down at them carefully, and inspecting every last lace or buckle. That is when she saw that half of her laces were several inches too short. Small knots tied into the strings ate up their length, hidden in amongst the inside padding of her armor. She grabbed her chest-plate from the ground in front of Ylethus. The buckles were reset to a be three notches smaller than her normal frame.


    ¡°You Jhulko¡¯s lhipossa-sucking¡­¡± She stammered as she grabbed more pieces of her armor and found even more subtle bits of sabotage. ¡°You rotten, herdsmoll fucking¡­¡± She threw the pieces down to the earth in front of her, standing up to her full height and shrugging off her blanket. ¡°Thaekkuz-damned, arse-hole!¡±


    Ylethus slapped his knee and gave out a single chuckle. ¡°That¡¯s more like my girl!¡± He got up to her feet, dwarfing out the height and any threat that Ghelta could pose to him. He reached his arm up and gave her a powerful slap to her back that almost sent her face-first into the ground. ¡°Now pick up your shit and get your bony, little arse back to the fire! We have tales to tell and mead to drink.¡± He stretched and let out his chest. ¡°Contrary to what that corpse-faced bitch back in the elder circle thinks, we¡¯re not on an expedition to the north at all. We¡¯re on a quest, my dear girl. A quest for treasure and power, to the fabled ruins of dreaded Vorrginth!¡±


    He stomped off away from her carrying the bag he had her armor in before, beaming with pride and in a more cheerful mood than Ghelta had ever seen him in before. She grabbed her blanket and spread it out on the ground, tossing the pieces of her armor into it so she could pick them all up easier. She was still furious with him, but now she understood that the whole event was some sort of deranged lesson on behalf of her mentor, which took some of the bite out of her rage. At least, now she had someone to direct her fury at, not just herself.


    ¡°You! Skaldt! Thimm, or whatever your damned name is. You best have a damn good tale to tell.¡± He reached the fire-side and seemed to eclipse the entire light from it. ¡°Nathbhurn! Stop staring into your bloody cup and go get some more mead for the rest of us. We have young warriors to get drunk!¡±


    She picked up the last piece of her armor and pinned the corners of her blanket together to haul the whole thing back to the fire. She¡¯d take her mentor up on the mead, the food, and the joviality. Maybe, she thought, in a few hour¡¯s time once the old man had gotten good and drunk, she could get her revenge on her mentor.


    After all, this was still her day; her chance to become an adult. Anyone who got in the way of her this day would pay dearly.


    <hr>

 [2016] Witchling of Alsira (First Drafts) - The Journey North

    The Witchling of Alsira


    Chapter 4- TheJourney North


    <hr>


    Ylethus should have brought horses. The words soon became a resentment-filled mantra that echoed throughout Ghelta¡¯s mind as she continued to walk forward over the barren and rock-strewn lands of the Jolash Plateau.


    Never in her life had she rode a horse, nor ever seen one for that matter. She had no idea what kind of demands it would take to care for one, and she honestly didn¡¯t care about such things at this moment. All that kept that thought alive was the ever-present soreness in her feet, the exhaustion in her back, and burning fire in her shoulders from carrying her equipment for days, upon days, on end.


    If it was exhaustion from warfare or hunting as she would begin to ruminate on in her mind ¡ª the roles she was meant to play in her caste ¡ª she would be delighted and overjoyed. Instead, she felt this was menial work with no bloody reward at the end. No bursts of adrenaline to keep her going. This was the clean and strenuous work of laborers, not of warriors. There was no glory in trudging across an almost endless expanse of deserted nothingness, carrying heavy packs, and enduring the whining of other warriors around her.


    All of the vhulkovyr around her, as well as the skaldt that they had to drag along, carried their own burdens while trudging along together. Ghelta had turned behind several times over the last few hours to check up on Istobin, the youngest member of the party. Although she was not related to him by blood, Istobin was the nephew of Ylethus, and given that Ylethus was in some sense her adopted father that made them some kind of family. A strange, messed up kind of family, but one nonetheless.


    Ghelta was surprised at how seemingly stalwart the young man acted while he carried his pack and continued to move forward with the rest of the warriors. He was trailing behind, of course. Every few hours, his older brother Taybald would fall back to try and motivate him to pick up his pace.


    Taybald could take care of himself, he had been training under Vuthul Morayk for most of his life, a most stern and demanding sort of mentor. There was no doubt that he would pass his kollishi thaulp and become a full-fledged warrior. Istobin, however, despite the stalwart silence, didn¡¯t seem like he belonged in a group of warriors set out for adventure. He looked like he would be more at home in a jhukollen-skappf with other scholars, reading books by candlelight, and being continually startled at his own shadow.


    Ahead of the group were the three perpetually drunk warriors that Ylethus had hand-picked for this expedition. There was Buethom, the loud and bald one. Whelam, the roguish one who refused to wear a beard and would only keep a long mustache with muttonchops along his jaw. The third was Amsthyn a man with sun-bleached hair, almost white, and an excessively long beard with shortly-cropped hair.


    Following behind the first three was the ever-morose Nathbhurn, who continued muttering to himself and remaining completely oblivious to the world around him. Soon after was the hulking form of Ylethus, covered with bags and satchels over every inch of his form, yet seemingly unphased by any burden at all. Beside him was Phrim, who would occasionally try to talk to Ylethus throughout the day and would be promptly told to ¡®shut his damn mouth¡¯. Ghelta would frequently lose track of the authrakallin that was sent along with them, as he refused to walk in stride. Occasionally she would catch sight of him walking along far ahead or off to one of the flanks. He carried nothing more than his staff which he would only use to steady himself should the expedition ever reach an slight incline in the plateau. He must have left his belongings with the ahlketh laborers who made their way a few dozen yards behind the warriors.


    Many of the ahlketh who had joined them, managed to bring with them beasts of burden to help carry the extended supplies, shelters, and rations. A few brought with them robust jolashi herdsmoll who were able to store water for months on end, and whose bodies could provide milk to the expedition. Some brought herdulth; large beasts of burden with armored plates on their back and the strength of a hundred men. These were good for carrying supplies and if ever the expedition needed to use them as beasts of war should any interlopers attack. Finally, even Master Verran managed to bring with him three young authrocs, cared for by several falconers in the ahlketh who were currying favor with him to perhaps join or do work for the order of authrakallin after their return home.


    After taking in the details of the motley crew one more time, Ghelta turned her gaze forward to stare off at the distant horizon. She let her feet flag to the right a few strides so she could see past the cargo-heavy and muscled bodies of the other warriors ahead of her.


    Ahead, deep into the horizon she could see the mist-shrouded cliffs of the Sulath Tablelands. She had heard that those cliffs ¡ª shrouded in clouds, jagged as a wall made of spears, and almost impossible to climb ¡ª towered over the already high lands of the Jolash Plateau by several thousand feet. Those few who had mentioned stories of those cliffs to her in leiggen-skappfs between slurred words and thirsty gulps of booze mentioned how any who had tried to conquer them would die of exhaustion both from the climb and from the thinning air. Despite these stories of their height and precariousness, they seemed like nothing more than an cloudy step upon the distant horizon.


    Atop those cliffs stood a very slight haze of green foliage, not lush by any stretch of the imagination, but seeming like the fuzz that would gather on old men¡¯s balding heads as they aged into decrepitude. Above this thin line of vegetation were the glimmering, frost-laden peaks of the Athim Mountains. Those frigid peaks that encircled and sustained the great Athim Glaciers that provided most of the clean water to the land around the Jolash Plateau. Although that life-giving run-off was often trapped below ground, or cascading its way through ancient chasms, canyons and crevasses. Much like the chill waters of the Alsirav Ghaen-minas that flowed through the bottom of Alsira Thaenat, and flowed its winding way to drain into the Jol Minas to the south.


    She stopped for a few seconds, making it look like she was adjusting the load on her back. She could only grab a few short seconds of rest before she knew that Ylethus would belt out a threat and tell her to keep moving. She let her eyes trail from the north to the east. Following the darkness gathering on the horizon that was soon following after the dimming light of Dhaulm off to the west. There she was able to see something that seemed altogether surreal for her.


    For several dozen miles, the plateau to her side stretched on and dipped downwards until finally breaking into an immense cliff¡¯s edge. Beyond and below that cliff was a vast sea of trees that stretched on into the horizon to the east. Clouds of moisture roiled and shifted throughout that sunken area, but the immense forest, known as the Thotevash Nohlstrath, remained like a quiet green stain upon the world.


    Ghelta had never seen a forest before, the closest to any sort of trees she had seen growing up were the thin and withered sultchwoods surrounding Haaken Vaulthaen to the south, or the watery willows of the Alsithom Valley that they had just passed three days ago. For her to see such a lush forest, with such tall trees, that stretched on into the horizon almost unbroken save for a few meadows and glens, was strange in the extreme.


    ¡°It¡¯s a damned forest! Keep moving or I¡¯ll throw you into it!¡± The voice cracked through the dry air of the plateau towards Ghelta¡¯s ears. ¡°There are things in that place that would strip the flesh from your bones in a matter of minutes. Move now or you¡¯ll get to meet them!¡±


    Ghelta gave a wheezy groan and continued moving forwards, it took a few steps for her to break a stride again. The soles of her feet were screaming to her to stop and rest, so the blisters on her heels could finally heal. She trudged forwards, picking up pace and catching up to Istobin. Once she met his slow pace, she gave the young man a hard push to the shoulder with her free hand.


    ¡°Ever been this far north?¡± She leaned in and grinned at him while asking her question. He kept his eyes trained on the ground before him, slumping forwards with every tired step.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    It took a few moments before he lifted his head to look at her in the eyes. ¡°No.¡± He gave a long breath in that took far longer than Ghelta had patience for. ¡°My father took me on a few trips with him, but they were always to the south.¡± He gave a cough to clear the dust from his lungs. ¡°Mostly to some Haakuenth settlements in the desert. Furthest was Chresthom in the Tolubrin Riverlands.¡±


    ¡°Did you ever see something like that before?¡± Ghelta slid the straps of her water canteen up on her right arm to free her hand, then pointed off to the sea of trees.


    Istobin raised his head a few inches and pivoted slightly to look beside her and off to the distance. ¡°Yes. There are forests in Tolubrin. It¡¯s mostly marsh and swamp, though. Those look like brinwood and cedars to me. Must be dry land beneath that canopy.¡±


    Ghelta stared at the young man for a moment. She hadn¡¯t a clue what a brinwood or a cedar looked like. She¡¯d never been to the Tolubrin Riverlands and Ylethus had never taken her on any trips except out into the plateau or into the desert for survival or endurance training. She began to feel jealous of the young man but didn¡¯t want to say anything. She pressed forwards, taking faster strides to get away from Istobin and catch up behind Ylethus. Once caught up she gave a swipe to one of the packs dangling from the warrior¡¯s back.


    ¡°Good. You caught up. Now I don¡¯t have to abandon you.¡± His head looked over his shoulder to her and a smile broke through his mustache and beard. He took in a long breath and yelled with enough force to make Ghelta want to wince. ¡°Two more hour¡¯s walk you scoundrels! Then we make camp! Buethom, because you seem so talkative and full of energy up there, you¡¯re first watch!¡±


    The stride of the group picked up once the promise of a rest was given. The only complaint came from Buethom at head of the group, who turned on his feet to face Ylethus behind him and grab the crotch of his trousers while yelling a garbled profanity back. Ylethus, not letting the offense stand stooped for a second to grab a decent-sized rock from the ground and hurled it at the bald warrior ahead. Buethom ducked under it nimbly and gave a laugh before returning to his walk.


    It was going to be another night of rich food, hearty mead, tall tales and possibly a few fist-fights. Ghelta was slowly getting used to this kind of lifestyle as a full-fledged warrior, but she still was itching for some action. Maybe a band of thieves would attack them in the night, or some foul beast crawled up out of that wood to the east. Something other than soreness, sleep, booze and dreams of home. Something to make her blood boil once again.


    ***


    ¡°Watch your corners!¡± Ylethus gave a quarter-volume shout over his shoulder to the rest of the group that were huddled up behind him. ¡°Whelam, you take point, up through those scrags to the left. Amsthyn, Buethom, Nathbhurn, you take up the flanks and rear behind us.¡± Ylethus reached out a hand to grab Nathbhurn by the fur-lined collar of his armor. ¡°You watch our arses. You got it?¡±


    Nathbhurn pushed the elder warrior¡¯s giant hand from his neck and gave a slow nod. He lifted the index finger and middle finger of his right hand above him, pointing his hand to three locations at the back of the group. He, Buethom and Amsthyn moved away and down the incline.


    ¡°Taybald, Ghelta, Istobin¡­¡± Ylethus looked over to the younger members of the party. Ghelta could see worry in his eyes despite the decisiveness and command in his voice. ¡°¡­You stay close to me and you watch after each other. Don¡¯t lose sight of each other, but don¡¯t bunch up on my arse, got it?¡± The two young men gave an exaggerated nod. Ghelta held her eyes on her mentor for a moment and then gave a slight nod as well.


    ¡°And where should I be?¡± The voice was a harsh whisper from a darkened alcove of rock to the left of the group. It was the silver-tongued voice of Phrim. ¡°Also, what should that oracle be doing as well?¡±


    Ylethus pushed through the group towards the voice. He reached out a large hand to grope at the rock before grabbing the arm of Phrim and pulling him into the group. ¡°You shot your mouth off about how great you are with a bow a few night¡¯s ago, right?¡±


    Phrim gave a nod and pulled away from the warrior by a few inches. ¡°Yes, I did.¡±


    ¡°Good. Take the extra short-bow that Amsthyn has and go point with Whelam. You see anything that moves which isn¡¯t us, and you fill its corpse with arrows. Got it?¡± Ylethus gave a shove to Phrim who took a few moments to fix his armor and then look down the incline towards Amsthyn. A bow and tied quiver with arrows was tossed up by the blonde man below, which Phrim caught and prepared quickly before pushing forward. ¡°As for that damned oracle¡­¡± Ylethus stopped for a moment and looked around the group, pressing down his hands on the heads of the younger warriors so he could see over them. ¡°Where in the blazes of Trallt¡¯s weeping lhipossa are you?¡±


    There was silence for a few moments before a shaky voice whispered up from the right of the group. ¡°I told you all that I should have gone with the Ahlketh. I have no business here with you ruffians.¡± Two hands holding a staff came from around a pillar of rock, soon followed by the dust-covered green robes of Master Verran.


    ¡°You¡¯re right in some sense.¡± Ylethus gave a harsh tone that sounded more like hissing than a whisper. ¡°I don¡¯t abide useless cowards in my war-parties.¡± Ylethus didn¡¯t touch the authrakallin ahead of him, instead he let his feelings be known by squinting his eyes with anger. ¡°But, I have to put up with you here. You better be of use. I don¡¯t know what kind of twisted sorceries your kind can do, but you better use some of them for our benefit.¡±


    Verran gave out an impatient sigh and sucked in air to reply. Ylethus lifted a fist and gave a hard strike to the rock just before the oracle, sending chips of sandy rock bits into the air. The oracle straightened his stature and seized his fingers around his staff with white knuckles.


    ¡°You will follow after the children. Got it?¡± Ylethus raised himself up and puffed up his chest. ¡°Use what few skills you have to keep them safe. A single hair on their heads gets maimed or tussled¡­¡± His teeth began to peek through his snarling lips. ¡°I¡¯ll skin your star-worshiping hide and wear you for undergarments.¡±


    Verran held the eyes of Ylethus for a few moments and then gave a sharp nod. He took a few steps to his left and joined in with the group, moving to the back, behind the younger warriors. He gave Istobin a hard shove as he passed by, which was followed by a severe glare from Ghelta. She reached out and grabbed the young man and forced him ahead of her, away from the temperamental oracle.


    Ylethus settled down for a moment and leaned forward so he could speak to everyone assembled. ¡°There is a good reason why I sent the ahlketh and the supplies westward through the Jolash Pyl. They can¡¯t follow us where we are going. We¡¯re cutting through into Ahtesher¡¯s Pass, through the Suthav Cliffs, and up into the Athim Mountains.¡± He took some moments to gather his breath and make eye contact with as many people as he could. The group remained silent.


    ¡°We will meet up with the supply caravan in Koelaphur on the other side of the mountain range. Understand well, we¡¯re entering into hostile territory. We are no longer in Alsi-Kavi lands. There are beasts that dwell here and forsaken members of the Tolsi-Kavi who have turned away from human decency. You must be alert at all times. You must be ready to fight at all times.¡± Ylethus held eyes with Taybald for a moment, and then moved to Ghelta.


    There came an interruption from behind the younger warriors. A throat was cleared. ¡°You would have the children startled by shadows and scared of normal people.¡± The voice was that of Master Verran. ¡°We are entering into the heart of Tolsi-Kavi lands. Yes, they are a different tribe than we, but they are united in brotherhood with the rest of the Hoelatha tribes. They are not our enemies.¡±


    Ylethus winced and lifted a hand to his face for a moment. ¡°You would have us trust in the common brotherhood of strangers? In lands we do not know. People we do not know. Are you a fool?¡± He let his hand drop and turned his gaze to the oracle behind the group. ¡°Not all people are as enlightened, weak, and civilized as yourself, Verran. Many groups in this world live by nothing more than savagery and violence.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m simply letting the children know that they need not be afraid of all people they come across. Not all are bandits or forsaken cannibals out of some old camp-fire tale¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve seen much about the depravity of humanity, oracle. From high atop your mesas, or locked in darkened holes lit only by candles. Rubbing your thighs as you flip through pages of lore, or sit in circles holding hands with your brothers and sisters while navel-gazing.¡± Ylethus began to clench his fists in front of him. ¡°How about this, to settle our differences so we can move along¡­¡± He relaxed his hands and turned to Whelam above and behind him, then back to the three at the bottom of the incline. ¡°¡­Should we come across any people on the rest of our journey, it is now Master Verran¡¯s job to parley with them. He¡¯s the voice for our group. Hopefully, after he wags his tongue at a few blood-soaked primitives out here and they slit his neck from ear-to-ear, we can be done with his cowardice, as well as his enlightened views on human nature.¡±


    Whelam, Buethom, Amsthyn and Nathbhurn gave smiles and deep nods from the edges of the group. Taybald, on the other side of Istobin from where Ghelta stood, gave a wry grin as well. Istobin seemed startled and looked around himself, pivoting his head in all directs, his wild and startled eyes trying to make sense of the situation around him.


    ¡°Are we going to sit around here talking about useless shit all day, or are we going to move forward. I¡¯d like to get to Koelaphur before the ahlketh catch up to us. I know a woman there who is in need of a good fucking.¡± The voice was that of Phrim, high above the group, leaning on one of the pillars of rock. Ghelta appreciated him getting the group¡¯s focus returned but knew it was the skaldt¡¯s way of asserting that he wasn¡¯t a coward like Master Verran.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Ylethus¡¯ tone changed back from anger to what seemed almost like joviality. ¡°We need to move forward. Now. We all need to go take turns with Phrim¡¯s strumpet. Now move your arses, don¡¯t get killed.¡± He turned his back on the younger warriors and began to climb the rocky incline into the pillars and cracks of rock above. ¡°And for the love of Tolesh, don¡¯t listen to damned thing Verran says.¡±


    <hr>

 [2016] The Shattered Oracle (Second Drafts) - Canto VII

    TheShattered Oracle


    Canto VII - The Book of Awakenings


    <hr>


    If you find yourself, such as I,


    Staring into the darkness of the night,


    You will find yourself staring into the past.


    Looking out into that darkness of ages;


    Above to the stars,


    Seeing in them the illusions of celestial realms,


    Of worlds now forgotten, or long-ago destroyed.


    There, if you look hard enough,


    Long enough,


    With eyes beyond the limited ken of mortals,


    You will find what I will now speak of.


    You will find the horrible truth,


    Echoed out among the myriad worlds.


    As I have.


    And as this knowledge enlightens your mind,


    It will carve away your very soul,


    Driving you to fits of hopeless despair.


    The world that we now call home,


    The God-Mother Myrris,


    Was not our first,


    But she will be our last.


    We are not her children,


    As those that follow the gods would have you believe.


    We are not her guardians,


    As those who follow the elementals would command.


    We are all souls trapped within her womb,


    As she dies.


    Long ago, eons upon eons hence,


    We came to this world.


    We sought refuge from a world that was dying,


    Stripped away of warmth, of life, and of grace,


    We fled to this world screaming.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    The world our ancestors abandoned,


    Was once called Hoelv.


    A place of abundant magics,


    Where great philosopher kings and queens,


    Pierced the veils of life and death,


    But something followed them through that shroud,


    And laid waste to the entire world.


    Cold, clawing arms of death,


    Reached out from beyond,


    Strangling the very life from those who dwelt there.


    Those of our ancestors that were the best,


    The brightest,


    The strongest,


    Pooled their magics together to reach out,


    Further than magic had ever reached before,


    To pierce the void between worlds,


    To create a great bridge of light,


    And our ancestors followed it here.


    If you seek evidence of my claims,


    Look ye to the distant north;


    Look to the scintillating lights,


    That crown the world.


    These are the echoes of that eldritch magic,


    That rent the limitations of the celestial spheres,


    And deposited our ancestors here,


    To this world that will be our tomb.


    Look ye always to the past,


    To the darkness above and beyond.


    Do not look into the light;


    To the future,


    For as haunting and saddening as the past is,


    The future contains far worse.


    Do not go to those places where the world is weak;


    Do not go to those places of magic and sorcery;


    Do not look into the light.


    Looking to the future can only glimpse one thing,


    Destruction.


    As it comes for us all.


    Gaze not into that abyss of light,


    As seductive as its call may be.


    Looking to the past may drive you to despair,


    As I have been driven.


    Looking to the future will give you clarity,


    And turn the world around you,


    Against you.


    As madness spreads throughout the world around you,


    Revealing the horrible truths,


    You will be bereft and alone.


    The only sane one,


    In a dying world,


    Filled with horrors and woe.


    With no hope left,


    And a seething, creeping insanity,


    That turns friend into foe.


    Canto VIII; Awakenings


    The Chronicles of Vhaltenesh, the Seer


    Written 168 years Post-Cataclysm


    The Sixth and Final Age of Humanity


    Translated from High Hoelatha into the Common Vulgate


    <hr>

 [2016] The Shattered Oracle (Second Drafts) - In the Refuge of the Azhemyra

    TheShattered Oracle


    Chapter 1-In the Refuge of the Azhemyra


    <hr>


    She stood silently, half hidden among the ancient shadows, her other half lit only by the dim and reddish light given off by rivers of molten rock. The oracle-turned-crusader Maenthrai Haullpent, remained motion-less like a statued sentinel lost in deep concentration. Her sight was cast over a subterranean realm made from hewn stone as well as expertly cast metals that comprised the myriad walls, rooves and buttresses of a city that was built back when the world-goddess had yet to forsake all of humanity. Winding roads, pitched windows, and exquisitely fine chiselled reliefs played out a feverish dance using the extreme contrasts of wane light fighting against oppressive shadow. All of which, pulled an onlooker away from the mundanity of the terrestrial world and cast them deeper, through to a weirdly supernal realm beyond. It was in this supernal realm of unrestrained thought and energy, existing parallel to the chained world of flesh and blood, that she reached out using the powers she had perfected over three decades of her life.


    Maenthrai was ardently focused while she began to pull the ephemeral substance of her soul from the corporeal anchor of her physical self. Silvery tendrils of quintessential energies trailed between her higher self and her lower one, eventually snapping or crackling with the sound of miniature bolts of lightning under the strain of her will. The senses of her body were becoming like a distant vibration as her consciousness lifted itself upward.


    The crumbling balcony that her mortal coil stood upon was fading below her as she lifted herself higher, now being free of gravity or any of the other entropic constraints of the physical world. The city below her changed her perspective from one who was trapped within the labrinthine streets, to one who soared above them like a bird on wing. She could see the patterns of the streets, buildings, and molten rivers below. With her sight no longer limited by the perception that her eyes granted her, she could see dancing flickers of energy moving throughout the city. Some of those flickers danced like the soft, twinkling glow of fireflies during a warm evening. Other sources of energy streamed through the city like glowing wyrms on a predatory hunt. Even more, seemed like stuttering echoes of dimming energy that played out moments from the city''s ancient past, trapped within the very vibrations of the dense and eldritch stones.


    She turned the focus of her sight upwards, seeing the vast and vaunted roof of rock that served as a shadowed firmament to the realm below, moving towards her with ever increasing speed. There was no impact as her soul flew into the stone, metals, and earthy minerals of that barrier. She continued to float upwards, faster and faster, as each moment multiplied her rate of ascent. It was only in the breadth of time that it would take for a living person to take a gasp of air that she saw herself pull free of the earth and rise into the atmosphere beyond.


    Her ascent soon swung from upwards momentum to a forward thrust. Jagged peaks strewn with snow and ice began to sweep past her ghostly feet. Vast lakes, fjords, and lochs of steaming glacial waters streamed by as her speed continued to incease further. In this existence there was no exertion of body or force of strength, simply the limitations of thought and force of will.


    A few wisps of morning cloud passed away underneath Maenthrai as she continued to soar. Warm air moving eastward from the Heartsblood Sea was beginning to mix with the frigid airs flowing down from the Kethyran Reaches in the North, creating blankets of thin clouds. Eventually, the clouds would settle, lowering down to be raked at by the jagged peaks of the Loch of Flame below. Their mists would soon become a heavy snowfall by the evening hours. It reminded Maenthrai that her body was still trapped within the warm confines of the earth, hundreds of miles away. She continued to push forward through more dense clouds, a few able to block more than half of the Burning God''s celestial light.


    A few flashes of grey and white, then she felt herself growing near to her destination. The sensation was like a deep tugging at her higher self. The weight of nostalgia and memory pressing through to drag at her feet, pulling her down. She began to descend through the billowing clouds towards the world-plane below. The clouds were far thicker in the place she now arrived. The world below was cast in a depressing grey-blue light. In the distance the echoing booms of thunder began to shatter the sky. She had arrived in a dead land. A land that was once her home.


    She continued to lower herself, wanting to press forward towards the earth, yet she hesitated and remained aloft. Every few feet lower towards the world reminded her of a game that she would play with her younger brother and the twins she grew up with. In their house, the ruins of which existed far below her now, they had a doorway to the catacombs beneath the city they lived in. It was a dark and forbidding place, providing access for living members of the family to consult with their ancestors. Maenthrai started the game one day as she stood in the doorway looking out in the darkness of the catacombs beyond.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Her mind would swim with horrors from her imagination. Arisen skeletons clawing at her with bony fingers. Wraiths of the ancient deal revealing their faces through the darkness to utter curses and cryptic warnings. Or the very real threat of the thaekkuz revenants that occasionally haunted her people when those that died returned to a shambling semblance of life due to some cowardice they could not let go.


    It had started as her attempt to build up courage when she was younger after reading many passages concerning the art of necromancy that her mother collected as idle fancy in her studies as an oracle for her people. She had read harrowing tales of those that consulted with the dead, or those that had to put them down should they come back to the world of the living. Those tales had given her nightmares all thoughout her childhood. So there she would stand, staring into the darkness where the dead dwelled, pushing herself forward, step by step. She did this every night for a few hours. That is, until her younger brother Serranos woke up one evening and caught her.


    Maenthrai and he made a game of it, pressing each other further and further into the darkness. Each testing their mettle more and more, making creepy sounds, recalling the morbid tales that she had learned in her younger years. When the twins were old enough to walk and talk, Maenthrai and Serranos tried to get them to participate in the game as well. The twins weren''t as fun, nothing seemed to phase them. They could stand in the dark for hours, staring with their creepy and wide eyes out into the realms of the dead. The game lost it''s interest then, with both Maenthrai and Serranos coming to see the twins as otherworldly.


    She loved her siblings dearly, and despite the strangeness of the youngest two, Maenthrai was panged by the loss of them. She pressed forwards a few more feet, still remaining thousands of feet more from the land that was once her home. Unlike the imaginary threats she faced down while she was a child, the threat she faced now as a very real and present one. An all-consuming threat that had not only taken the lives of her sibling-twins, but of her father, and all the lives of the people that dwelled in the land she once called home. The land that was torn asunder in gouts of flame and vortexes of chaotic energy below her now.


    This was the land that was once called Oerstav Caelii, a once beautiful volcanic island that was seen as the jewel of the Hoelath Empire. The capital city of this land, the once thriving city of Nesharr, was her home. It was the place that her mother''s family had lived in for centuries. Each of them had served as an oracle of the Sharr-vhult, those who guided the city and advised the leaders of their people. Maenthrai had followed after her mother and become an oracle as well, although not of the same order. She wanted to travel to the lands of the south, to the heart of the Hoelath Empire, Morrthal City. She was driven to a cosmopolitan life, rather than a life of hermit-like mystics living in a temple for most of their days.


    Her mother said it was her father''s blood in her that made her seek out the novelty and bustle of a city life. Her father had moved northward to be with her mother. He was a member of the Filidath, or the law-giver caste. He managed the day-to-day existence of people in the city and ensured those managments were enacted as law. It was her father that raised her and her siblings more than her mother did. He was always present at home, while her mother was always away at the Ullthosian Sanctum for elaborate rituals, deep contemplation, and the ardous refinement of her divinatory abilities.


    A bolt of reddish energy shot by, blinding her with its searing heat, knocking Maenthrai out of her memory-filled reverie. The bolt carried through the atmosphere alighting currents of air like blood roaring through the arteries of a human body. Each arc of current set off a boom of thunder as the final segments of energy bled themselves out before reaching the ground below. The energy itself would have killed a mortal person, but all it would have done is discorporated the energies in Maenthrai as she was. Most likely sending her back to her body in a flash, and stunning her for several hours. Thankfully, despite the close-call, it didn''t bring any harm to her.


    She wanted to reach out and enter into the lands below her but the threat down there remained waiting for her to pass the threshold. There was a real thaekkuz revenant down there that truly would harm her if she stepped too far into that darkness. That threat knew her well and possessed the same uncanny abilities she had. She began to worry if being even this far away, in her ephemeral state, might be enough for that threat to reach out and see her. She would have to disperse her energies when she returned to her body, taking a long route through the busy energies of the South and far to the empty expanses of the Hoelath Valisilas grasslands to the East. She mustn''t have that dark being following her back to the Refuge of the Azhemyra. It had taken her a little more than a decade to find that ruined city beneath the world''s surface to act as a safe haven.


    The once immense volcanic island nation below her was now torn asunder. In the time since her childhood, the land had torn itself apart into smaller isles. Many of the high peaks that encircled the central city, resting upon an island in the heart of an ancient caldera, had tumbled in on themselves. The great volcano had not erupted, itself having become extinct many millenia earlier, yet the energies tearing through the land below seemed to stir it almost to life once again. The northern waters of the Heartsblood Sea fell into steaming gashes in the earth''s surface to meet with the magma pools of Gehemol, the land beneath the world-plane, far below. The once lush forests in the valleys and ravines of the island were aflame, caused by the thrown up boulders and embers of molten rock. The forests that she had spent many nights and days in with her siblings on camping trips were all either alight or reduced to ashes.


    The great city of Nesharr had been torn apart in previous years. Some of the city may have survived and sunken to the bottom of the great caldera lake at the center of the island, but most of the city had either fallen into the great burning chasms or been reduced to rubble in the earthquakes that still shook the island to this day. The once glittering lights of the city had faded away to nothing more than a distant memory. Only the distant lights of the port cities in Fyrrantha, and the coastal townships of the Hoelatha Empire shone any human-made light. The island of Oerstav Caelii, now referred to as the Shattered Oracle Islands, were dead of any human life at all.


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 [2016] The Shattered Oracle (Second Drafts) - A Vista of Worries

    The Shattered Oracle


    Chapter 2-A Vista of Worries


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    The sky above the city of Nesharr was aflame with the dying light of the Burning God as his last sputtering flames rippled over the great world-plane. Glowing mixtures of oranges, deep crimsons, and effervescent purples reached like giant, corruscating waves across the firmament above. In the east, the first stars were beginning to peek through the dimming halo of light that just moments ago had lit up the great celestial sea during the daylight hours.


    Merithault remained motionless, gazing out and drinking in the details of the world around her. She was currently seated on the edge of an immense and aged stone slab. These ancient stones made up the trailing mountain steps that wound their way from the western edges of Nesharr below, up to the dizzying heights where the Ullthosian Sanctum was perched. She sat on the chill stone, that grew colder by the moment as the heat of Dhaum''s light was steadily being drained away by the frosty night winds of the North. Her place of rest and contemplation was only a scant fifty stone steps away from the foundation of the Sanctum above. It was a short distance compared to the thousands upon thousands of weathered and cracked steps that separated her from the glittering lights of the city, several thousand feet below.


    The city of Nesharr was once limited to the island of Sharrva that preoccupied a deep, mountain-fed lake at the center of the much larger isle of Oerstav Caelii. The glittering city had overgrown its limitations in recent centuries since being fed with great bridges and had begun to ramble off into the sides of the steep mountains as well as the dense forests that encircled it. Merithault remembered from her childhood, being taught by several pre-eminent sages of the Nesharite Collegium, that the isle of Sharrva and the lake that surrounded it were made from the caldera of an ancient, dormant volcano, which once stretched across all of Oerstav Caelii. There were no records of the volcano''s eruption by the sages, given that it must have spent itself out long before humanity had fled to this world from the one they had forsaken so long ago.


    As her eyes began to trail downward over the sheer cliff-faces of the mountains on her left and in front of her, she let her eyes fall to the shimmering lights of the city to her right. She hoped that the sages were correct, that the volcano had long since blew itself out many millenia before humanity came to this world. Should another eruption come forth from the bowels of Gehemol, the dark and heated lands below the world-plane, she would lose all that she held dear. Her blood was from the very soil that made up the island of Nesharr and the city that now stood upon it. She was raised here, and although she had reason to travel over her four decades of life, she would always grow sick, longing to return. Not only was this the land of her birth, this was the land she had founded a family upon with her husband. Three of her four children''s blood was of this same soil. Should this volcano, almost forty miles in diameter, decide to one day erupt again, it would destroy her world and all she held dear within it.


    Merithault continued to look out over the city below, the glittering lights seemed to grow with intensity as the fading light of the sky turned into bruised purples and deep black. The stars were revealing themselves in their entirety with even the pink and blue Hejran clouds out in the celestial sea casting their hues on the world. The distant, double-slitted eye of ever-watchful Vorthyl was slowly coming into focus over the lower hills and smaller mountains of the east. An eye made of two encircling discs of dense stars that stretched out across the celestial void and backwards into the depths of time, or so she had learned in the Collegium.


    She began to wonder if her husband, Jornath, had arrived home from his work in the Nesharite Bureaus and if he or her eldest daughter Maenthrai had made dinner for the evening. Perhaps her daughter wasn''t home, as the last time she had recieved a missive from her husband, he had stated she and her eldest son Serranos had been accepted into the Morranthal Collegium to the South. It was a grand place of learning, which only accepted the best and the brightest students. Maenthrai wanted to follow in her mother''s footsteps and become an oracle, although not of the Order of Sharr-Vhult that came from Nesharr, but rather a new order that was beginning to form in the southern lands. Serranos, however, wanted to take up the role of Morrthaen Vhulkovatti, the wizard-knights of the capital. Both were prestigous positions and would demand much of her children. She hoped that she would still have time to finish her divinatory rituals and get back to her family before they left. It would be an empty household if when she returned, all that was left were her youngest twins. Both were always so sullen and quiet.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    She continued to stare off despite noticing a minor commotion and flurry of footsteps behind her. She could hear the padding of sandaled feet on the ancient stone. A few muffled grunts as the figure dropped off a particularly high or narrow set of stairs, and a light flutter of fabric as the chilled wind blew through their robes. The figure stopped two rows of steps above where she sat. She didn''t turn to look at the figure that approached her, she knew fully who it was.


    "Being moody again?" The voice was female and had a sharp, high-pitched cadence. The figure sat down on the steps beside and a bit behind that of Merithault. "Primarch Ollianes told me to get you. The rituals are almost prepared." The voice trailed off and took on a slight echo as the other woman creened her neck to aim her head and voice back up to the sanctum above. "You did take a sacred bath, right?"


    "Yes, Bruhjiet. I did." Merithault kept her head forward, turning slightly to the right, as if to further ignore the presence of the woman talking to her. She raised her eyes back up to the stars. The slightest crimson glow of the Bloody Goddess, Celanna, was beginning to peek over the forested hills of the north-east. "All nine agonizing hours of purification. Bathing. Washing. Incense blown in my face. More bathing..."


    "Good. It''s necessary." Bruhjiet turned her head back to Merithault, and her voice became louder and more directed as she did so. The voice hurt Merithault''s ears. It wasn''t an unpleasant sort of voice. It was young, naive, distracted, and filled with a slight tinge of entitlement. She simply preferred silence to the shrill vibrations of other people''s vocal cords.


    Merithault didn''t turn or acknowledge the other woman''s words in any form. She continued to stare out into the stars above. These could very well be her last moments alive, if anything were to go wrong with the rituals and with her act of divination. In several more hours she would endure even more rituals, a bit more purification, and then be guided in great pomp and ceremony past the monastery that many called the Ullthosian Sanctum. She would travel up along another disused staircase even higher into the mountains to the west. There she would follow a winding path, alone, through a cave complex and down into the Ullthosian Temple. The stories she had heard of the place during her studies when she was younger, as well as the speechs she endured from Primarch Ollianes over the last few weeks made her blood run cold. Few returned from the depths of the place where the Secret Master behind the fabric of reality, the hidden god, Ullthos pierced into this world. Some of those who had entered the true temple to learn from the Secret Master died outright upon the threshold. Others had wished for death throughout their lives as their sanity had been shattered into pieces. A rare few others had come back irrevocably and inhumanly twisted. The rarest of all came back as the true seers of all things. Merithault hoped for the later option, yet still feared the other possibilities.


    Every moment that Merithault could spend procrastinating her eventual fate was a moment she felt was well-spent. She wanted to drink in all she could of the world around her before she would be thrust through into the supernal realms of pure essence. Thrown beyond the realms of time, space, or human notions of sanity. She wanted to be left alone, her only companions being her thoughts, her emotions, and her memories of her loved ones. Instead she was being pestered by a young woman half her age, who probably didn''t even understand the full ramifications of this rare and fated event. Who couldn''t grasp through common empathy just how severe this situation might be for another person. Merithault didn''t need to draw upon her powers of telepathy to know that for young Bruhjiet, this was an event of purely academic curosity.


    "I can see the old coot up in the doorway." Bruhjiet had turned her head back to the sanctum. A stiff breeze almost seemed to carry the last words she spoke away on the wind. "Yeah, he''s frowning now. He''s got his hands curled up in those knots he aways does when he''s being impatient. We best get back." The young woman reached out to put a thin and delecate hand on Merithault''s robe-covered shoulder.


    Merithault gave a long sigh, pulling herself up to her feet, and ending the exersion with a slight groan. She let Bruhjiet''s hand fall away and she was glad for the physical contact being broken. She gave a few long breaths and tried to burn the beautiful evening vista into her mind''s eye. She hoped, once again, that her husband remembered to make dinner for the twins. They were still growing and if he was exhausted from his work as a law-keeper for the Bureau, he could become scatter-brained.


    "Come on, Meri!" Bruhjiet gave a whine from a few steps up. "This is a very auspicious night. It''s not every night that someone gets to go into the Ullthosian Temple." She continued to drone on as Merithault turned away from the vista, closing her eyes for a moment and making her way slowly up the remaining stairs behind the young woman. "You''ve been chosen, even though you''re only a Haethrex Secundi. You''re the first one to step into that place in over one-hundred and eight years." Merithault raised a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. She continued the rest of the stairs in a strained silence. "Just imagine what you''ll see in there. I wish I could be with you. You know?" Bruhjiet turned to stare right into Merithault''s face as she approached the doorway of the sanctum. "It''s a great honor."


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 [2016] The Shattered Oracle (Second Drafts) - Maenthrais Letters

    TheShattered Oracle


    Lore-Maenthrai''s Letters


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    My love - Kaisos,


    I hear from one of the lead Azhemyra here at the refuge, that the work being performed on the artifacts I''ve asked them to create is almost complete. It should be just a few more months of rituals and weavings, then I can finally return home to you.


    If the completion date is as the artificers claim, it seems somewhat auspicous that it should be done twelve years, almost to the day, since my mother first caused the calamity we must now endure. There isn''t a day that goes by that I don''t feel the blood-ridden guilt inside of me for her actions. Before the event, she was always a kind parent, and I have no doubt that she loved my father, myself, and my siblings dearly. From that, the actions she did when she returned from the Ullthosian Mount were all the more monstrous in contrast.


    I always looked up to my mother, you''ve heard that so much since you came into my life. I wanted to follow in her footsteps and become an oracle as well. Not of the Sharr-vhult, as I found those mystics to be stuffy and too famliar. I always wanted to create my own path, my own way of doing things. I forget, you know this well, you''ve endured me for so long.


    I know you fight me on this, but I hold it to be truth since the very moment I heard about what my mother had done - what horrors she unleashed on this world - when I had to go into hiding with Serranos. To think, the woman who brought me into this world would become a monster that would slaughter my family and hunt me to the ends of the world-plane. Perhaps the murder she gave to my youngest siblings and my father was a mercy. She wasn''t as merciful when she destroyed all of Oerstav Caelii in her wrath.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    I''ve always wondered what visions she saw that would drive her to such madness. What powers were there in that old temple that might turn a mortal woman into such a fiend. Despite your continual warnings, I will soon find out. You know that I have not been able to return to Oerstav Caelii. Many of the oracles I work with state that to do so would be suicide as my mother still roams that land in search of myself and Serranos. I sent some members of the Guardian Knights and a few trusted oracles of station to look into the ruins of the Ullthosian Temple. They''ve just returned with shipments of artifacts, marbles and ancient stone from that place. The Azhemyra are using those artifacts to create the orbs I requested. We will be able to use the energies of those artifacts to reach through and pierce into the time that Merithault was there.


    I will finally be able to see what my mother saw those years ago. When the enchantments are completed, these orbs will be able to store and hold all the memories of the oracles. We can use these to keep our culture alive when the world dies. I know you doubt the visions of old diviners, but I must assure you, this will come to pass. The horrors that my mother let loose will tear this world asunder. We exist in the calm before the storm, and we must seize this time to prepare.


    Please give my love to Isyn and Loelan. I know it must be painful for us all to be separated like this for so long. This must be done. Please understand my love, this is all we have left.


    A letter from Maenthraei Haullpent to her husband


    Found in the archives of the Sharr-vhult


    Morrthal City


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    What have I done...


    Kaisos, my love... Take the children and run...


    Go where she can''t find you...


    Where I can''t find you...


    You must ensure our bloodline survives at all costs...


    The world is going to end, my dear love, we are all damned...


    She is on her way. Save the children. They are our only hope...


    Blood scrawled across papyrus


    Preserved in the archives of Morrthal City


    Assumed to be the last message from Maenthraei Haullpent


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 [2016] The Shattered Oracle (Third Drafts) - In the Refuge of the Azhemyra

    TheShattered Oracle


    1 -In the Refuge of the Azhemyra (Revised)


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    "While I''m gone, Thraya, it will be your job to take care of your brother and the twins."


    Thraya sat with her wrists crossed over her lap. She gave a single downcast nod. She held her eyes on the ground for a moment and then cautiously looked up through her long, auburn hair at her mother.


    Despite the length of hair, she hid her features beneath, her brilliant blue eyes managed to pierce through the shadow. Tears had begun to well up, giving her eyes the appearance of shimmering ice.


    "Please don''t start. It''s only two years. It may seem like a long time to you ¡ª being so young ¡ª but the time will fly and I''ll soon be home."


    Thraya''s mother reached forward from her chair. She lightly grasped her daughter''s arm with her left hand, a show of both command and assurance. With her right, she gently moved Thraya''s hair from her face and tucked it behind one of her ears.


    Thraya raised her chin up fully. A single tear ran down her high cheekbones and over the myriad freckles that adorned her young face. She remained silent and held eyes with her mother.


    "I need you to stay an extra year in Neshran. You remember that I told you this, earlier? It''s not a punishment, dear. I need you to know that."


    Thraya gave another single nod. Her eyes dropped again, as did a few scarlet locks of hair. She gave a heavy breath ¡ª a sigh of reluctance with her mother''s wishes ¡ª but the breath held no sound.


    "I don''t know if I''ll have finished the rituals before you and Serranos head off to Morrthault City for your education. I do hope I will be back before then. It means the world to me, please remember that."


    Thraya''s lower lip began to quiver despite how calm and resigned she seemed. Two of her fingers crept up to tug on the fingers of her other hand.


    "Serranos."


    Thraya''s mother turned from her with a slight groan from her old and worn wooden chair. She made eye contact with the young boy sitting on his own chair beside Thraya.


    "You take care of your sister and the twins. You follow what your father says while I''m gone. He is the master of the house."


    Thraya''s eyes looked up and beyond her mother to her father standing near the entrance to the dining area. He gave a sardonic smile at these words while rolling his eyes. She wanted to smile at her father, but she couldn''t muster the energy. Thraya turned her head slightly to look over to her younger brother.


    Serranos met her eyes for a moment. His blue-green eyes were always comically magnified, given the large spectacles he wore. She could see his eyes welling up with tears as well. Far more than Thraya, given how young and emotionally sensitive he was.


    "I don''t want you to go."


    The tiny voice was like a faint whisper on the air. Serranos adjusted his glasses with a single hand, letting the tears flow beneath the rims and down his face. He reached out for the gray robes draped over his mother''s leg before him.


    "We talked about this earlier, Serranos. I have to. It''s not just a matter of duty, but..."


    Thraya''s mother reached out to hold Serranos'' hand above her robes. She turned her head to share a look with her husband at the edge of the room. They both nodded to each other, agreeing to some question and answer that was beyond words.


    "This is a matter of the future of our people. Do you remember that tale I told you of Boulka the Warrior-Queen?"


    Serranos gave a nod and a long sniffle. He lifted one of his ill-fitting sleeves to rub at his nose.


    "Well, Boulka couldn''t have saved the old Morthavi Empire from the Demon-King Vholgisaal without the help of the prophecies. You do remember the old Morthavi prophecies from the Book of Talmuis, right?"


    Serranos managed to clear his nose with another long sniffle. He raised his head up; his interest piqued and his emotions momentarily suspended. He was like his father and loved old lore and fables. He opened his mouth to reply, his tongue rolling around for a moment and then his jaw shut.


    "Well, what I must do is write those prophecies. I fear that another great war will happen soon. It''s my job to write down the information that a new Warrior-Queen, or Warrior-King, might use to save all of us."


    The words were followed by an exaggerated nod and Serranos took a moment of quiet contemplation to think on his mother''s words. His eyes darted through his glasses up to his father. He turned his head to look at his sister once again. He then returned his eyes to his mother.


    "Someone else can do it. I want you home."


    The tears began anew and Serranos pulled his hand from his mother''s grip. His chin danced on his face and he muttered quiet cries under his breath.


    Thraya, without thought, reached over with her left hand to grab the boy''s chair and drag it close to her. She lifted her right to grab him at the base of the neck. With a light touch, she brought her brother''s face into her arm and chest to comfort him. The boy began to wail softly into the fabric of her tunic.


    Thraya''s mother pulled back and pushed on the wooden back of her chair. She gave a nod to her daughter, knowing that she would take care of Serranos. They had always been close and Thraya had always watched over him like a mother authroc to her chick. Thraya''s mother''s eyes began to well with tears as well.


    "As for you two..."


    Thraya''s mother quickly stifled her emotions and turned in her chair to look at the twins playing on the floor nearby. Both stopped their play to look straight up at their mother''s face. Unlike the rest of the family who had auburn hair like their mother, the twins had stark white hair from birth.


    "You two understand. Correct?"


    The twins held eye contact with Thraya''s mother for a moment. They turned to look at each other, seeming to speak a language without words; complex thoughts beamed into each other''s tiny skulls. They momentarily came to a consensus and then returned their eyes to their mother. No words were spoken but the air seemed to dance with a strange energy.


    "Good. I know you two will behave. All that I ask is that you start learning how to speak more. Once you go to school, you''ll unnerve the other children."


    One of the twins seemed to squint for a moment, picking up something from their mother. Both soon shrugged the sentiment off and returned to playing with their toys.


    Thraya''s mother turned to look up at her husband, now leaning on the wooden doorway with his arms crossed. His eyes turned to the twins and then back to his wife''s eyes.


    "You can handle them, right? Who''d of thought the youngest would be so adept at Haeth. They''ll be oracles in no time."


    "Just like their mother."


    Thraya''s mother gave a warming chuckle at her husband''s words. She held her eyes on him, again saying something that words couldn''t properly express. Although they both came from very different life choices and from different castes, they had always loved one another and took great pride in their family.


    "I''m not going to Morrthault and joining the Authrak to spite you, mother."


    The words crept out like dry and crackling leaves from Thraya''s throat. She gave a hard swallow and a deep breath. She felt Serranos stop his sobbing for a moment and then his arm lifted up to hug her under her ribs.


    "I know, Thraya. I don''t expect you to follow in my footsteps and join the Sharr-vhult. You must choose your own path. I am thankful that you''re going with Serranos to Morrthault City upon both of your graduations. He will need help and guidance when he starts his training with the Guardians."


    Serranos stopped his sobbing and pulled away from his sister. He shuffled back into his chair and then looked up at Thraya skeptically through the corner of his glasses. He seemed to be more resolved now. With a few wipes of his face on his sleeves, he had gotten his composure back.


    "If you must go. I want you home before we leave. I won''t become a Guardian without you."


    Thraya''s mother pulled her head back in a mock sense of disbelief. Her eyes went wide with an exaggerated sense of awe at the command her son was now displaying. She softened her features and leaned forward, grasping his small hand in hers.


    "I can''t promise such. Understand that I want to. It is my place to know the future fates, but beyond my departure to the Ullthosian Sanctum, I can''t see further. I will do whatever it takes to be back before the two of you depart."


    Serrano''s resolve quickly faded but he tried to remain strong. He gave a sideways sort of nod.


    "More than anything else, whether I can get back or not, please remember one important thing."


    Thraya''s mother''s eyes began to well up once again. She grabbed Serrano''s hand tightly in her left hand and then reached forward to grab Thraya''s with the right.


    "I love all of you. No matter what happens. No matter if I''m here or not. No matter what might befall us in the future. Always remember that I love you. It is for your future that I do what I must do now. I''m going to the Ullthosian Temple to find out what will befall our people, and it is my duty to ensure the safety of the Hoelath Empire. But all I care about are you. Serranos. Thraya. Jhulessi. Nesbinet. And my dear Jornath. I love you all."


    Thraya''s mother turned her gaze from each of her children and then up to her husband. Tears ran down her face and Thraya''s father returned the sentiment. Thraya had never seen her father cry before and this made her want to as well.


    Thraya had to turn her eyes away or else she would begin sobbing. She looked over to the twins to make sure they were okay. Both had stopped playing with their toys to stare silently up at their mother. It only took a moment for each of their midnight-blue eyes to well up with tears as well.


    "I love all of you so very much. Not even death would tear me away from you. Always remember that I''m with you, no matter what. I am a part of you, as you are all a part of me. I will always be watching over you."


    ***


    Many things had changed over the last two decades of Maenthrai''s life. One of such was that she no longer acknowledged her childhood name of Thraya. She had discarded the childish name her mother had given to her long ago upon becoming a woman, relishing the abandonment as much as she could.


    That wasn''t the only of her names that had changed; she had gotten married during her early adult years in Morrthault City. She had taken her husband''s name upon marriage instead of preserving her own. It seemed fitting to throw away the family name of Haullpent so as to replace it with her inherited family name of Ahlmunast. The ties that held her to her blood name had been destroyed in her younger years. Putting some distance between her and her past had let her focus on her own life, her own family, and her own path as an oracle.


    It had been an arduous two decades since she left her childhood home in Neshran to move to Morrthault City. She remembered the hope she had on that day. She was brimming with pride at her studies and felt like the whole world was opening up for her. She was dismayed that her mother hadn''t managed to make it for her last day with her family. Perhaps if her mother had of made it, the path that Maenthrai''s life had taken would be vastly different. It would have saved her and her brother more sorrows than they could currently endure. It would also mean that the rest of Maenthrai''s family might still be alive.


    With a flurry of anger, Maenthrai lifted her right hand up from the wooden table in front of her and crushed her fingers into a fist. In sympathy with the motion, a piece of parchment fluttered up from the table and crumpled into a ball, violently. There was a crackle in the air as she did so; a feeling like at any moment lightning might go off. A guttering candle at the edge of her writing desk flickered under the strain of the emotional energy as if struck with momentary fear.


    With an exaggerated throw of her hand, she let the crumpled ball fly from the air in front of her and out the opened balcony doors, slightly to her right. She gave a grumble under her breath, seizing a small wooden writing stick in her left hand and then setting back to a fresh piece of parchment before her. Her long fingers wrapped around the writing stick and set it forth, frantically scratching runes in horizontal lines down the leftmost two-thirds of the parchment. She scrambled to get her thoughts out, feeling the pressure of time and obligation to do so.


    Her emotions were running high and every now and then a trinket from inside the room she occupied seemed to shift as if jittered or moved by unseen hands. Her powers were bleeding into the very air of the room. Such was the price of a powerful oracle. With fevered emotions came the unfocused blasts of her telekinetic or telepathic powers. Given the emotions that were flying through her at this very moment, she had now become a whirlwind of disjointed energies.


    Beyond where she sat ¡ª outside the rusted metal-trimmed balcony doors and beyond the stone balcony just outside ¡ª the world was cast in shadows. There was a light that crept in despite the darkness; a mix of shimmering reds, blues, and deep violets. These colors mixed and moved in strange ways like all three were caught in a hypnotic and tranquil sort of dance. The light was dim and pulled at the edges of perception with a strange and uncanny sort of brilliance.


    The warm and harsh hues of reds crept inside the room from the churning rivers of molten rock that dripped around the edges of the outside city; these flowed into rivers that wound their way through the crumbling ruins beyond. The shades of blues came from the refracted light shimmering gently off the immense layers of ice that encapsulated the domed roof and the many walls of this subterranean city. The violets were born from the eternal silver and indigo flames mounted outside that illuminated this once thriving city; the same flames that lived on despite the people who had once used them for light so long ago now being nothing more than ash.


    Maenthrai continued to scratch out her runes upon the parchment before her. She sat at her small wooden writing table at an arm''s length distance from the rusted metal and crystalline doors of the balcony. She remained hunched over her desk and took a slow pause to gather her thoughts. Her left hand fiddled with the writing stick; a flurry of activity that seemed to keep the stick held above her long and slender fingers. Her right hand held her head up; occasionally breaking contact with her jaw to rub the tensed muscles and sinews of her neck and shoulder.


    The guttering candle that perched at the far edge of her desk seemed to peek over the melted wax cautiously while she mulled over her thoughts for a moment. The light from the candle was adequate, yet ¡ª oddly ¡ª seemed to be dwarfed by the dazzling light that came in from outside the darkened and otherwise disused room. As soon as her thoughts caught up with her and she returned to scrabbling out more thoughts upon the parchment, the flame hid back behind it''s melted castle of wax, flickering once more.


    Maenthrai''s sharp elbows seemed to dig into and pull on the chipped and aged wood of the table. With every rune, the table creaked and moaned on its carved lion-like legs. The metal filigree around the edges of the desk was heavily rusted, yet each segment held its place with remarkable perseverance. The lacquer that once preserved the rich wood had begun to peel in places, but despite a few chips on the surface, it remained smooth on top.


    The chair that Maenthrai sat upon was covered with rich and decadent fabrics. The upholstery had begun to fray and stain in places. Some sections had been gnawed at or worn down by pests who had once called the room home during several centuries or millennia before Maenthrai had occupied it. The stuffing had become brittle, causing Maenthrai to pivot her hips at regular intervals. This strained sort of dance made her all the more frantic with her scrawling. Despite this, she gladly suffered her minor discomforts, much preferring the chair to the alternative of sitting on the chilled, stone floor.


    The room around her was a bedroom belonging to a person of some renown who had once lived in the ruined and forgotten city. Despite the harsh extremes outside the room; the churning heat of the magma and the frigid chill of the ice, all the furniture as well as the ancient accouterments, filling up bookshelves and niches, had survived the passage of time quite well. The city had sat abandoned for untold amounts of time, and it was no doubt due to the supernatural skill of the artisans who created the entire city that what was left of it was well-preserved.


    Behind her, by a dozen steps, lay the bed she had been using during those few hours she could pull herself away from her studies or her magickal weavings to sleep. The bed was equally as decadent as the rest of the room. The mattress was sophisticated and showed the craftmanship that the previous occupants of the city had used in all aspects of their life. Those supernatural artisans were the esteemed Azhemyra artificers of the ancient Morthavi people. Each of whom had called the ruined city home, once as a place of pride and later as a place of refuge when their Empire ended so long ago.


    The mattress had been the first that Maenthrai had ever seen that contained metal springs inside of it, as well as the fine, ancient feathers of the Authroc birds that the old Morthavi had bred as pets and beasts of burden. Those birds, almost extinct now save for a few places in the far-off lands of Jolant, were said to be bred from the truly powerful Authrumokra Phoenixes of old. Those magical birds who could once speak human tongues, weave elemental magicks and live as peers with the Morthavi before they all fled to the farthest corners of the world plane. Perhaps their flight, as old books filled with lore surmised, was due to some long-ago slight the Empire of old had thrust upon them.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    The bed, much like the strange feathers within it, was enchanted. It was able to conform to the dimensions of those who laid upon it as well as warm itself according to the conscious desires of its user. The entire contraption had a seducing sort of comfort to it as well; one that Maenthrai had noticed quite early on, which was why she avoided the bed as much as possible.


    The previous occupants of this ancient, forgotten, and ruined city had led very comfortable lives. They should have, given that they were all descendants of the first artificers that had given the earliest forms of technology to humanity. They had begun their work in the first centuries of the exodus, right after humanity had left the fabled lands of Hoelv to start anew in this world. They were those of the ancient Morthavi people who remembered how to harness the subtle energies of magic and the commanding energies of nature in equal measure. It was they who crafted the earliest and the greatest wonders that even mundane persons, with no aethyric aptitude at all, could use in the betterment of their lives. Wonders that were slowly becoming lost to the Hoelath people who had followed after them in this faltering age. If it wasn''t for the Azhemyra''s duties, their uncanny abilities, and their constant demands for perfection, the early human settlers of this world would have surely perished.


    The rest of the room sat in the same chilled darkness that it had most likely remained in for all the time since the last of the Azhemyra that once called this place home, had died. That is, to the point in time when Maenthrai and her cabal had once again started to use the place as a refuge. The only disruption in that veil of ancient neglect draped over the room came from the very slight shuffling and rustling coming from the far corner. There, half-hidden in the darkness, with a reddish light setting a subtle contrast to his features, was a man reading a book.


    He was covered in heavy leather armor from the high collars around his neck to the worn leather of his boots. He remained still, pushing with his feet and balancing himself on the back legs of another ancient chair. He remained quiet, save for the occasional groaning of his armor or the rustling of parchment as he flipped a page. The book itself sat suspended in his fingers just a few inches above his lap.


    Despite his relaxed demeanor, a sheathed ¡ª yet readied ¡ª sword swung between the arms of the chair and the floor. The sword occasionally coming within half an inch or less of scraping the ancient stones below.


    Maenthrai took these moments to dwell on the tired details of her room while she thought out the last few runes she must scratch into her letter. As she did so, her attention was pulled through the crystalline-windowed doors before her and out into the ruins of the city beyond. Much of the city still sat disused and abandoned, yet there was a small spark of bustling life near the center-most area of the city. She could feel the energy there being harnessed by those last descendants and students of the ancient Azhemyra. It was she that had found and brought them here after being alienated for so long from their home.


    She had scoured a sizeable chunk of the Hoelatha Empire to find those still skilled in the arts of artifice and enchantment to help her. Although their numbers were few, they were devoted people who had traveled with her across the northern lands to re-settle this ruined city. They jeopardized their safety, knowing that by helping her they faced the same horrible monster that stalked the ruins of the north trying to find her. They had done so much in such a short amount of time and if the news that came to her was true the last of their efforts were now before them.


    Maenthrai let her attentions come back into the room. She placed a series of more runes upon the parchment and then pushed herself away from the table. She lifted her right hand limply and in response the parchment raised from the table to float just before her face.


    The parchment remained suspended between the light of the candle before her and her eyes, allowing bits of the flame''s light to seep in through the fine vellum. Her eyes scanned over the runes in High Hoelatha script. The page was almost filled with horizontal scrawlings, with only the right-most third of the parchment holding much more complicated vertical runes. These extra runes held the notes for her courier who would take the letter to its proper destination. Her eyes, glassy with strain, flowed over the runes while skimming the words contained within. She didn''t really take any of the information in, but she felt that it was far more satisfactorily written then her previous attempt.


    She gave a long sigh and allowing her will to ebb, the page dropped to the surface of the table, once more. Feelings of longing and emptiness welled up inside of her and were soon corrupted into a sense of impending dread. She let the writing stick fall from her fingers. The object rolled to the edge of the table where it wavered for a moment before finally falling to the stone floor. She pivoted her hips one more time, turning sharply to look over her right shoulder and back into the darkness of her room.


    "I have your word ¡ª Jephrin ¡ª That this missive will reach my husband in two weeks?" Maenthrai lifted herself from her chair, getting up to idly approach the crystalline-windowed doors between the bedroom and the crumbling stone balcony beyond. She rested her hand on the metal trim of the doors causing a popping sound and rusty creak. She kept her eyes focused on the darkness at the other end of the room. "This is very important to me. You know that."


    The shadowed figure let his feet drop to the floor with two almost inaudible impacts. The scabbard''s metal tip finally scrapped for a moment along the dusty stone. The figure looked up, closing the book in his lap and gave a single nod. The figure of Jephrin otherwise remained silent. That attention and his simple motion were enough to satiate Maenthrai''s inquiry.


    "Good. I will hold you to that." She gave a lighthearted chuckle and pulled away from the rusty door. A few steps and she was back at her desk where she sat down to loom once more over the table.


    She seized the parchment once again and framed it with both of her hands. Her eyes scrolled through the lines one last time, this time reading the missive in full. The runes she had written in her cursive style rolled in front of her eyes as she made absolutely certain that all of the thoughts and feelings she wished to convey were properly trapped within.


    <hr>


    My love, Kaisos,


    I hear from the lead Azhemyra here at the refuge, that the work being performed on the artifacts I''ve asked them to create is almost complete. By the time you get this missive, it should be just a few more months and then I can finally return home to you.


    If the completion date is as Thaellon and the rest claim, it seems somewhat auspicious that it should be done twenty-two years ¡ª almost to the day ¡ª since my mother first caused the calamity we must now endure. There isn''t a day that goes by that I don''t feel the blood-ridden guilt inside of me for her actions.


    Before that fateful day, so long ago, she was always a kind parent. I have no doubt that she loved my father, my siblings, and myself dearly. Because of this, the actions she did when she returned from the Ullthosian Temple were all the more monstrous in contrast.


    I always looked up to my mother, you''ve heard that so much since you came into my life. You know well that I wanted to follow in her footsteps and become an oracle. Not of the Sharr-vhult, as I found those mystics to be stuffy and too familiar in my youth. I always wanted to create my own path, my own way of doing things. I wanted to join the early Authrak Order. Well, I forget, you know this well. After all, you''ve endured me for so long.


    I know you fight me on this, but I hold it to be the truth since the very moment I heard about what my mother had done and what horrors she unleashed on this world. When I had to go into hiding with Serranos, and when your family took us in despite the dangers. To think, the woman who brought me into this world would become such a monster. That she could be capable of slaughtering my family and hunting Serranos and me to the ends of the world-plane. Moreover, that she would dare to purge the world of the oracles who might one day save the world from her depredations.


    Perhaps the murder she gave to my youngest siblings and to my father was a mercy. I do hope they passed quickly and without suffering. She wasn''t as merciful when she destroyed all of Oerstav Caelii in her wrath. She managed to reduce the entire city of Neshran to nothing but ruins and ashes in a matter of days. At least, that''s what I heard from a scant few survivors in the port cities of the Morthav Highlands when I began this journey here with my students.


    I''ve always wondered what visions my mother saw that would drive her to such madness. What were powers there in that old and musty temple that might turn a mortal woman into such a fiend? What could corrupt her so thoroughly that she would make a pact with a demon and become such a creature?


    Despite your continual warnings, I will soon find out. You know that I have not been able to return to Oerstav Caelii since my last day there in my youth. Many of the oracle students I have saved and trained to be here with me state that to return to my home would be suicide. My mother, it is said, still, roams that land in search of Serranos and myself.


    I recently sent some members of the Guardian Knights and a few trusted students of sufficient abilities to look into the ruins of the Ullthosian Sanctum and the Temple nearby. They''ve just returned with shipments of strange artifacts and unearthly stones from that place. The Azhemyra are using those artifacts and stones to create the devices I requested. We will be able to use the energies of those artifacts, along with the post-cognition abilities I have been perfecting, to reach through and pierce into the time that Merithault, my mother, was there.


    I will finally be able to see what my mother saw all those years ago. When the enchantments are completed, these orbs will be able to store and hold all the memories of the oracles. We can use these to keep our culture alive when the world dies. I know you doubt the visions of old diviners, but I must assure you, this will come to pass. The horrors that my mother let loose will tear this world asunder. We exist in the calm before the storm, and as such, we must seize this time to prepare.


    Please give my love to our children, Isyn and Loelan. I know, it is painful for us all to be separated like this for so long. I understand how hard this must be for our children, as I endured the exact same when I was young. Please know that this must be done. Know ¡ª most of all ¡ª my love, that this is all we have left.


    Keep the children safe. Let them know that I love them dearly and I can''t wait to be at home to care for them like a mother should. I miss all of you more than I can ever express.


    With all of my heart and soul, eternally yours,


    - Maenthrai


    <hr>


    As her eyes passed over the last lines of runes, tears began to well up in the inside corners of her eyes. It felt strange for her to cry after so long. It had been over four grueling years since she had seen her husband and her children. In that time she had only ever heard of her family through the many letters her husband sent to her. It was hard for her to think of her young Isyn becoming a man at last. The last time she had seen Loelan was when she was still in swaddling clothes. It had been far too long a separation.


    Maenthrai let her eyes rest on the runes of her name while she pinched the bridge of her nose, hoping to stop the tears before she started gushing. She wiped at her eyes with both hands and then settled her focus on the flickering candle flame before her. The flame seemed to console her despite her earlier tempestuous energies. She let her self wax poetic in her thoughts while staring at that single, vulnerable flame. She imagined it to be the last light of the world; the last beacon of hope before all things were snuffed out in the darkness that her blood brought forth into this world. That light was a symbol to her in this moment of what she was trying to accomplish ¡ª the very reason she had been separated from her family for so long ¡ª the last memories of her people that she would try and preserve within the artifacts that Thaellon and his Azhemyra students were busy crafting at this very moment.


    It seemed that due to the capricious whims of fate, she had become very much like her mother when she was young. She had abandoned her own family, her own children, to seek out secrets in order to protect her people. Her sadness turned to a flash of anger. Her hands clenched into fists on the writing table before her. A wind began to howl and tug at the rusted metal doors to her balcony.


    Breaking this shot of anger was a hand upon her shoulder. This jarred her away from her overwrought thoughts; from her sudden rage and her sadness to be anchored back into the moment. It wasn''t an overly familiar gesture, but it was one she welcomed as soon as she calmed herself.


    Jephrin had been in her service as shoanvyr ¡ª a personal bodyguard issued by her husband''s house ¡ª since she was a teenager. Those few who were still loyal to her family and took Serranos and herself in after her mother''s inhuman change had provided young warriors of worth as well as courage to take care of them. Kaisos'' family had selected Jephrin who had sought a life of dutiful service after being a bit of a rogue. He sought redemption and used his oath well. Jephrin was as much a part of her as her own brother, although he led his own life in those few-and-far-between times she hadn''t needed his service. In all those years, he was a silent companion, a strong rock of support, a skillful cohort, and a friend when she was away from Kaisos and her children.


    This calloused and strong hand on her shoulder was one to shake her away from her thoughts. He wanted her focused on finishing the letter and her duties. The hand slid by her arm for a moment, bending towards her wrist. Once almost on her right hand, he detoured sharply and quickly snatched up the parchment before her. Jephrin lifted it away from her, giving a single glance at the runes upon the page. He gave a half-audible grunt, then folded the missive into thirds. He gave one last glance at the courier notes scrawled on the exposed last third of the page, then tucked the parchment away into a small pocket above his breast.


    "Thank you for doing this." Maenthrai pushed the wooden chair away and raised up to her feet. "I know you have your reservations about my safety." Her eyes darted around the room for a second and then rested upon the dimly-lit face of Jephrin before her. Blotches of green and orange danced around his features, obscuring them. She had stared into the flame for too long.


    "...Like you said." Jephrin took a deep breath, allowing his shoulders to lift up into his drawn collar. It was more of a shrug and sigh than a breath of air. "Getting to head home would be good for me. I deliver your letter, and I get to see my dear Hyalbrinn." A wry smile crept across his stubbled and weathered face. His brown eyes, peering at her from beneath his dark, brooding brow looked at her with hesitation and longing. He didn''t want to leave her side. She knew he thought it was a mistake. "I''m only spending two nights in Morrthault City. Just enough to rest from the road and get proper provisions. I''ll be back before the hither-month is complete."


    "There''s no need to rush, Jephrin. No one knows we''re here." Maenthrai lowered her eyes to the floor and began to tap on the ancient wood of the table with her long, aristocratic fingertips. She gave a short rap and pulled her hand back up to her chest. "We''ve made assurances to hide our magicks. The scouts that returned with the base materials were not the scouts that went to Oerstav Caelii. We''ve used double-blinds and secondary agents to make sure no direct path in or out of this place can be traced."


    "All except for me." Jephrin began to pull his riding gloves over his hands. He turned his gaze from what he was doing to give Maenthrai a sideways glance. "I will be leaving here and heading straight to your family. You know I don''t agree with this haste." Once both gloves were on he wiggled his fingers to make sure they were secure.


    "That is why you''re going to spend the next two hours undergoing a cleansing ritual." She gave a soft smile to Jephrin and then turned away from him to stare out the balcony doors. "Before you leave, you need to go see Mileana. She should be nearby where the Azhemyra are working in the Hestumarch. She will remove my stink from you and the letter your carry." She gave a soft chuckle to herself; that her aethyric energies may actually have a smell. "She''ll escort you to a dummy location before you leave. She will also present you with some instructions on how best to return. You''ll get a scenic route. You may even enjoy it."


    Jephrin gave a dissatisfied grunt and then pulled the insides of his gloves tighter on his fingers, pressing into the spaces in between. He walked over to the chair he had previously occupied and gathered up the book he had set down upon it. He lifted it up, thumbing through the pages to where he was previously. He read one last line from the page, replaced a torn segment of parchment into the book to lock his place, and then threw the book onto Maenthrai''s bed.


    "It''s a good story. A bit heavy in parts." He turned his back towards her as she turned to see him walk away. "Thank you, for letting me read it. Although, I''m not really into all that romance. The adventure elements are worth the slog." His leather boots padded softly across the stone floor. He wasn''t a light man by any means, but his movements were graceful and muffled through refined skill. "Keep my page, until I return." He turned on his feet near the far door out of the room and gave her one last stern look.


    His eyes met hers and she knew exactly how he felt without him needing to say it, nor with her having to pierce into his thoughts with her abilities. The eye contact was enough. The look was a warm, but reluctant goodbye. He had severe reservations about leaving her side. He grumbled them to her loudly, every chance he could, for the last three weeks. He left the room quickly, like a gust of wind, shutting the door quietly behind him.


    Feeling the most alone she had in years, Merithault turned her eyes back to the darkened, ruined city beyond her balcony doors. She hoped that Jephrin would make it safely back to Morrthault City. She missed her husband and her children. The pain of their absence tore through her very being. She began to wonder for a moment if this is how her mother felt when she left her family all those years ago. When she abandoned them to become an inhuman monster.


    <hr>

 [2016] The Shattered Oracle (Third Drafts) - An Astral Sojourn

    TheShattered Oracle


    2-An Astral Sojourn (Revised)


    <hr>


    "Thraya. Thraya. I can''t sleep."


    It took a moment for her to open her eyes. She lifted a hand to rub the sand out of her right eye. The voice came from her left; a small shadow perched over her bed and with its arms outstretched, vigorously shaking her at her shoulders.


    "Thraya. Wake up."


    With her left hand, she swiped the arms from her and sat up in her bed. It took a moment for her consciousness to fully enter her body. The small shadow began to poke at her exposed ribs to get her attention. She quickly lowered her bed-shirt which had bunched up around her chest while sleeping.


    "What in Gehemol do you want?"


    Her voice was curt, whispered, and groggy. It must have been the middle of the night. No light shone through her open window at the other end of the room. The room was cast in shadow save for a tiny and guttering candle that the shadow child had brought into her room and placed on her wooden desk by the door.


    "I had a bad dream. I-"


    "Serranos, it was just a dream. Go back to sleep."


    She turned away from her brother in the bed and began to fluff up her pillow. She could feel herself give a groan of exhaustion before she pivoted to lay back down. The poking at her ribs had ceased and now was replaced by two clammy hands firmly on her exposed thigh, trying to rock her back and forth.


    "It was a thaekkuz. I think one got into the house."


    Thraya could feel her eyes rolling beneath her heavy and dry lids. She knew her brother was just bothered by the stories she had been telling him earlier, and the games they used to play. She knew the very second she let him in on her nightly game of courage, that he would work himself up until he would become a nuisance.


    "There''s no thaekkuz revenant in the house, Serranos. If there were, I''m sure father would have dealt with it by now. Or we''d all be dead. Go back to bed."


    "You don''t understand, Thraya. It isn''t a normal one." He paused for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. "Not some shambling undead thing from the catacombs below the house. No. It was more like a shade; a ghulg."


    "We live in Neshran, Serranos. You know, home of the Sharr-vhult oracles. Since mom is one." She got back up into a sitting position and turned to make eye contact with the boy. "Oracles are pretty good at getting rid of ghulgs. If there was even a single restless shade in the city, the Sharr-vhult and the Order of Lanterns would have dealt with it. What in the world-plane do you think you or I can do about it?"


    The boy bit his lip. His eyes were wide with fear and he kept glancing around the room at the shadows given life by the guttering candle-light. He stood with his legs taut and kept padding on the floor with his right foot. He always did that when he was legitimately worried about something.


    "It''s more than that."


    "It''s always ''more than that'' with you, Serranos." Thraya propped her head up in her hands while her elbows dug into her thighs. She was so tired that she wanted to scream. "Fine."


    She pushed him away from her bed and swung her legs over the side. She moved forward and lifted herself up onto her tired and shifting legs while tugging the ends of her bed-shirt below her rump, to cover her thighs.


    Her brother moved toward her desk to pick up the light he had inside of a candle-holder. He stopped right before her bedroom door to stare at her. His free hand went up to his mouth so he could bite a single fingernail.


    "Well!"


    The word escaped from her lips louder than she would have liked. She didn''t want to wake up her father or the twins. Both her and Serranos would get in trouble due to the ruckus. She prodded him with her long and bony index finger poking at his forehead.


    "Take me to where you saw this half-shade, half-thaekkuz nightmare of yours."


    Both of them made their way out of her room. Serranos opened her door up fully, taking a moment to stare back at Thraya and make sure she hadn''t gone back to bed. His eyes were still wide and wild. He slid into the hallway outside.


    Serranos'' footsteps were quiet as feathers falling on the wooden floor of the hallway. He moved cautiously and deliberately, making sure that every single footfall never hit any of the creaky spots of the floor. Thraya, however, was tired and clumsy. Each footfall was a loud slap of flesh against wood and every other step seemed to set off an alarm of creaks and moans from within the bowels of the old house.


    Serranos stopped for a moment, halfway down the hallway, and one of his perpetual cow-licks of auburn hair on his head managed to unfurl and stand up at attention. His head shifted from one direction to the next and he held his breath for a moment.


    Thraya gave him a light slap across the back of his shoulder blades and took a few steps to get beside him. She didn''t feel or sense anything in the hallway. She looked where her brother had looked and only saw the darkness of the hall ahead, turning towards a foyer were the stairs down to the main level were. On either side of them were the doorways for the twin''s room which was currently shut tight, and the doorway for Serranos'' room which was partially ajar.


    "There''s nothing here. What''s wrong."


    "This is where I saw it. I had my door open. Slightly. As I always do. I opened my eyes and saw a shadow glide down the hallway."


    Serranos stopped. He gave a long shiver at recalling the details in his mind. Thraya, although not fully adept in her studies of Haeth to pierce his thoughts, could feel the empathetic vibrations of fear come off of her brother. She now knew what he had seen was either real or was a convincing enough illusion in his mind to convince him it was.


    "It went from far down." He stopped and pointed a finger behind them towards Thraya''s room. "I think by mom and dad''s room. Or maybe the side stairs up to the third floor. I don''t know."


    Serranos paused for a moment. His eyes began to well up with tears which glittered in the moonlight filtering in from a window down by their parent''s door. He held out a single hand, his index finger pointing right at the doorway.


    "It followed the hallway. It didn''t make a sound. Not that I heard, anyway. It stopped by my door for a second. Blotted out all the light. Then turned and went into the twin''s room."


    "Did you check on the twins before you woke me up?"


    "No." Serranos paused and could see the concern and anger welling up in his sister. "I was afraid."


    Thraya took two steps towards the twin''s door. The door itself was shut tight and hadn''t seemed to be disturbed at all. Surely if a thaekkuz was in the house, it wasn''t smart enough to close a door behind itself. Shades, however, had no use for such physical barriers and would have passed right through it.


    She placed her ear on the warm wood of the door so as to hear inside. The room beyond was silent. There was no sound of any disruption at all. She let her hand take hold of the brass knob and begin to slowly turn it.


    "Watch for father. If he catches us sneaking into Jhulessi and Nesbinet''s room, he''ll tan our hides."


    Serranos'' eyes went wide. The earlier tears were sucked back into his sockets. He turned and stared at the end of the hallway as a sentry. He lifted his other hand to cover the candlelight.


    Thraya turned back to the door and having felt a click of the knob, began to softly lift and push the door on its hinges. One of the doorjambs gave out a quiet groan under the strain.


    Once the door was open sufficiently and no disruption seemed to come from either her father''s room or inside of the twin''s room, Thraya released the door and took a single step inside. The haunting white light of Ishep filtered in through the bare window at the end of the room. On either side of the room were small wooden beds, each containing a gently snoring occupant.


    Thraya pressed her luck and took two more steps into the room. She was now between both beds filled with their slumbering occupants. She leaned into Nesbinet''s bed and cautiously felt the bed covers over his chest. She could feel his breathing in quiet little bursts. She pivoted on her hips and lightly touched Jhulessi''s forehead with the palm of her hand. The young girl''s temperature felt normal.


    She turned on her feet, lightly creeping back to the doorway. She could see Serranos glancing from her to her father''s doorway nervously. She gave a grin and the thought that they might actually get in trouble for sneaking into their sibling''s room.


    She took another slow and wide step to avoid any kind of creaks or groans from the floor. Her hand grasped the carved ball of wood on the end of Nesbinet''s bed. Obviously whatever Serranos had seen was enough to scare him, but the twins were safe, the house was secure, and the evening''s imaginary phantoms would soon pass once everyone got back to sleep.


    Once her foot struck the rug-covered floor without a sound she looked back up to see Serranos staring directly at her. His eyes were wide with fear and his pupils had dilated to pure blackness. She felt her eyebrow perk up at this, wondering if her father had somehow gotten the drop on them.


    Thraya could feel a chill coming from behind her, maybe a draft from the window. As she thought about the window, she soon noticed that the room she was inside of had suddenly gone completely dark. The only light she could continue to walk by was the flickering candle Serranos held in his hand. Surely a cloud hadn''t passed in front of the Night''s Lantern so quickly.


    She noticed her brother in the hallway shaking now. Clear wax began to jostle out of the metal candleholder and fall in droplets upon his bare feet. He didn''t notice the heat or the pain. He continued to stand and shake. She looked at his face and saw him mouth out the words "Right. Behind. You."


    Thraya immediately turned on the balls of her feet, heedless now of what noise she might make. Something was indeed behind her. Whatever it was was large enough to block out all of the window''s light. Whatever presence was there was beginning to leech the warmth from the room, possibly to coalesce with more of a form.


    She turned to see the face of her mother as a shade. Her mother''s auburn hair was the color of blood. The hair itself seemed like gushes and rivulets of half-coagulated blood flowing from her head and over her shoulders.


    Her mother''s face was white like alabaster and transparent enough that the bones of her skull were able to be seen beneath blackened veins. Her eyes were black as pitch, seeming to draw any light or warmth into them to be devoured.


    The clothing that covered her mother''s form was a mess of tattered, gray robes. She looked as if her oracle robes of station had been shredded by wild beasts or by decades of neglect. Her feet never touched the ground and her form seemed to hover as if suspended from the very fabric of darkness itself.


    Her mother''s arms reached out for her, each of her hands were soaked up to the forearm with blood. The blood was mixtures of old stains and brilliant freshness. Her bony fingers, more like a skeleton''s than the hands she remembered pushing her bangs out of her face so often growing up, reached out towards her as if ready to seize around her neck. Long and silvery claws, like the stuff of mercury, danced and curled as her hands reached forth.


    At once the jaws of her mother''s shade opened wide ¡ª wider than any human skull could allow ¡ª and a great piercing cry erupted into the room. The cry itself was beyond description; being a mixture of incredible agony and rage all at once.


    Thraya noticed that as her mother began to wail, so to did the twins who had now sat up straight in their beds. Each set of the twin''s eyes had gone white as if turned fully in their sockets. Their mouths gaped open at a painful angle. The darkness flowing over her mother''s form seemed to reach out and embrace each of the twin''s upon their bed; ready at any moment to lift them up.


    "What in Gehemol!"


    The voice from behind Thraya was that of her father. She turned her head sideways from the fearful shade in front of her just enough to see him enter the room from her periphery. He soon went quiet with fear.


    She could hear Serranos'' quiet sobs from outside of the door. She let her head turn back to the looming shade before her. She could feel the energy inside of her crackling to life. She wasn''t trained yet in how to offensively attack with her will, but the energy was there and her intent to protect her family felt like enough.


    She faced the shade completely now. Her hands were curled into tight fists. She could feel her nails piercing the skin of her palms. The energy inside of her welled up to a level she had never felt before.


    The shades'' wailing face, filled with fangs and blackness was a mere inch from her eyes. She looked up to take in the hollow blackness of her mother''s gaze. The energy inside of the room felt as if lightning would go off at any moment.


    "Fuck off! You undead bitch!"


    Tendrils of energy snapped out from Thraya''s body and went into a whirlwind of lashes about the room. The twin''s beds lifted from the ground and began to assault the floor and walls with repeated thumps. Several of the twins toys that were on the floor flew into the air and began to throw themselves at the shade-form before her.


    Serranos'' candlelight outside the room began to burn with the intensity of a rogue firework. A plume of flame welled up and sent the young boy scurrying to the other side of the hall.


    The glass of the window shattered and the wooden frame gave in under the telekinetic force that Thraya assaulted it with. Shards began to whip around in a frenzied whirlwind, shredding at the shadow substance of the demon before her. The wail of the shade and the twins turned from one of rage to one of pain.


    With an immense force that seemed to rip the paint from the walls and rupture the very wooden beams of the house, Thraya created a telekinetic shockwave before her that cast the shade out of the window. The force was enough to send everyone in the room deaf for a few moments. The air in the room seemed to be quelled along with the shade who was blasted out the window. The walls on either window seemed to rupture forth under the continued strain.


    The shade was gone into the night outside. Eventually, the sound of the room returned and the wail ceased. Thraya could still feel the tendrils of energy whipping throughout the room, ready to go after the threat should it reappear. Every bit of her attention was focused on the energy rippling out of her. She felt like a god.


    "Thraya!"


    "Thraya!" The voice repeated a second time.


    "For the love of the gods old and new. Thraya! It''s gone! You can stop! While the house is still standing!"


    The voice was the frantic cries of her father behind her. As soon as his words got through to her mind, she could feel the power in her ebb and wane. The tendrils faded away within a moment and she felt herself slump to her knees on the floor of the room.


    Her father''s frantic voice was accompanied by the soft and scared cries of the twins. She turned to look at them, with barely enough energy to turn her head.


    Her father knelt down with the twins. Jhulessi was sobbing and grabbing at his chest. Nesbinet had his hands around his father''s side and neck and was wailing with fear. Serranos stood behind his father staring at Thraya with wild and wide eyes. Her brother held her eyes for a long moment of silence. She couldn''t understand if the look on his face was one of fear or amazement.


    "Why is momma trying to kill us?"


    The voice was from Nesbinet. His words were innocent and filled to the brim with fear.


    "Why did momma get inside of us?"


    Jhulessi''s voice wondered as she clutched at her father''s shirt and let the tears flow.


    "I don''t know. I don''t think that was Merithault, children. There is no way. Your mother would never harm any of you."


    The room went quiet for a moment after Thraya''s father said those words. It seemed like everyone in the family had to take a moment to realize just what had happened. Surely their mother hadn''t of died and become a ghulg. So, if she was alive, then what in the world-plane had just visited them?


    "Remember what your mom said before she left for the Sanctum. She loves you. There is no way that thing was her."


    Thraya turned away from her father and slowly got up to her feet. She took a few steps forward, her feet getting cut by the broken glass and shards of jagged wood. She didn''t care about the pain. She didn''t care about the blood. She continued forth until she could press her hand on the ruptured wall of her sibling''s room.


    She stared out into the darkness of the night. The haunting white light of Ishep lit up the rest of Neshran in shades of blues and purples. She lifted her eyes up, following the distant lights of the Thousand Stairs of Sorrow that made their way from the farthest edge of the city, up into the mountains that encircled its limits. She held her eyes on the twinkling, far-off torches of the Ullthosian Sanctum far into the peaks of the Auhl-athum Mountains. There, supposedly, is where her mother was undertaking her rituals and trials as an oracle.


    "Thraya don''t get too close to the edge. Oh, for Tolesh''s sake, you''ve cut up your feet. Come back, Thraya."


    Her father beckoned her but his hands were filled with the others. Thraya stood at the edge defiantly and continued to gaze out into the night.


    "Serranos. Jhulessi. Nesbinet."


    Thraya''s voice was like a whisper. As she spoke, each of the children went quiet and stared out at their sister.


    "No matter what. If that was mom, or not. Remember this..."


    The room went silent. Her father''s jaw went slack at how easily the children seemed to take heed of their sister over him.


    "If that was mother. I will kill her. If that wasn''t her, I''ll find out what this thing was and I will end it."


    Thraya''s father took a step back towards the doorway. Fear and a strange sort of pride began to well up inside of him. He didn''t understand what kind of strange connection the children had beyond the peculiarities of their mother''s blood, but they were united by Thraya''s words.


    In unison, the children gave a single silent nod.


    ***


    Maenthrai stood alone with her thoughts, her back turned to the door her dear friend had just left through. He kept her eyes transfixed on the city beyond the balcony doors. The pain that welled up inside of her was becoming too much for her to handle. The candle on her writing desk had blown out in a gust of telekinetic power she must have let loose in the last few moments.


    Having Jephrin leave her side was the same kind of separation she endured when she had left Kaisos and her children in Morrthault City a few years ago. She felt her shoulders slump, giving into a long and belabored sigh.


    She truly was alone now and although she trusted the remaining Azhemyra and her student-oracles with her very life, none of them knew the internal guilt and sorrow she held within her. She dared not confide in any of them, although she knew well that several of her more adept students could pierce her thoughts during her weaker moments. She didn''t confide in them not because they wouldn''t listen, but because they shouldn''t have to endure the burden that was hers to carry, alone. The last remaining heartstring she had in this ruined and forgotten place was her brother, Serranos.


    He was never the same after they had both heard the news of their family''s slaughter at the hands of their mother. The news had come to them almost two decades ago.


    Serranos was always a very introverted and emotionally sensitive person, even as a child. After the news, however, he turned cold and distant. Maenthrai felt like she constantly had to walk on egg shells around him ¡ª wearing a mask of false joviality ¡ª being frozen forever as the teenage sister who tried to keep him safe. She couldn''t be serious around him. There always had to be some sort of playful sibling rivalry between them. She kept it up so he could stay sane; so that he could keep one last thing from his childhood, to remind him that not all of this world had become doom and gloom.


    She would have to see him sometime in the evening. She could fee the energies building and bustling throughout the city. She knew it would be a matter of time before she heard a knock at her door. There would be some of Thaellon''s students, ready to tell her the news that she could feel through the aethyric energies around her. That the artifacts she had commissioned and researched would finally be finished.


    She began to feel a little bit giddy at the realization that within just a few hours she would have to prepare herself through arduous rituals of cleansing before she took the same ritualistic journey through time and space that her mother had done at the Ullthosian Temple so long ago. She would endure her own visions, just as her mother had, but these would not be granted by some alien intelligence from before the days of humanity''s arrival into the world; the visions would instead be focused on what her mother endured during that time in her own visions. She would finally find out why her mother had turned into such a monster then, and what motivated her to slaughter not just her own family, but all of those people ¡ª innocent or not ¡ª who lived on the island that Maenthrai once called home.


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    With a push on the rusted balcony doors, creaking loudly as she did so, Maenthrai allowed herself to step out onto the crumbling balcony beyond her room. The ancient precipice gave a groan beneath her feet, but she felt that it could still hold her weight. Most of the balcony was still intact, with its finely chiseled railings being able to be used as a support. The far right corner of the balcony had given way some time ago ¡ª perhaps years, or more likely centuries ¡ª in the past. Stress fractures were spilling out from that spot like spider''s webs, yet the ancient hands who had constructed this place, using their intricate magics and artisan skill, ensured it could last a few centuries longer.


    She took the rusted metal trim and marble-topped railing in her hands. The shifting and churning lights from the rivers of molten rock, the magickal braziers illuminating the city, and the glimmering reflected light from the ice encircling the city lit up her form. It took a few moments for her pupils to get used to all of the stimulation bombarding them at once. The shifting light, the deepest shadows, and all of the complex details that comprised the sprawling city around her.


    Her eyes surveyed the subterranean realm as she stood like a silent sentinel on the balcony. For a brief moment, a chill wind blew through the buildings near where she stood. That whispering breeze, seeming to carry the voices of the dead, began to tug at the gray robes that covered her. She let her eyes fall to the shadowed streets below. Some of them were littered with debris and others remained almost frozen in time, looking as if they had just been cleaned by diligent city workers the night before. The streets were like twisted rivers of shadow, cutting swaths through a labyrinth adorned with expertly hewn stone buildings. The diverse kinds of walls, roofs, and buttresses of the city wound around, trailing off to the walls of deep ice, or over highroads that gave way to rivers of molten rock slowly flowing below.


    Pitched windows and exquisitely fine chiseled reliefs seemed to play out a feverish sort of dance using the extreme contrasts of wane light and oppressive shadow. The details of rusted or decaying metals ¡ª once great works of art ¡ª throughout the forms of the buildings served as yet another reminder of the immense ages the city had remained abandoned. The silent and darkened windows peered into the interiors of the neglected and empty buildings. The only sounds echoing through the city was that of the occasional rush of wind, the creaking of some metal doors or windows, and the very rare crash of ice falling from one of the encircling walls to hiss as soon as it becomes engulfed in the extreme heat of the magma below.


    The entire vista was an oddly otherworldly one, where each detail felt like a spiral into the supernal realms beyond the mundane physical. The haunting scape of a ruined city called out to be the domain where the shades of the dead would dwell. The dazzling lights and the deepening shadows seemed to pull at the consciousness of the onlooker and send them rushing into an empyrean land beyond the physical senses. Errant thoughts began to string together like a macabre symphony inside of Maenthrai''s mind. Each thought pulling into that distant, ephemeral realm ¡ª to a place of unrestrained thought and energy ¡ª existing parallel to the chained world of flesh and blood. All of the sensations seemed to activate the powers within her ¡ª seductively calling to her and goading her to reach out beyond her body ¡ª to use the strange powers she had been given through her blood.


    It was only a few moments before she gave into that whispered longing, completely. She felt alone in this place, haunted by the shadows not just of the city''s past, but her own past as well. The shades of the restless dead seemed to whisper into her ears, inviting her to join them in the vault-like halls beneath the earth, or in the echoed realms beyond the ken of the living. She felt homesick, not just for the members of her family that she had lost, but for the land that was taken from her so long ago. She wanted to return there, even if only for a moment.


    She would do so, using the powers she had focused during her studies an oracle. She would reach beyond the physical realm and perceive the lands beyond. She would use her spiritual self to travel that distance ¡ª back to her home ¡ª to see what now remained of it. She might be able to gather for herself some sense of closure at long last, now that her travails were close to completion. She would remain distant, however, as even in the relative safety of the spiritual realms, the monster that hunted her had the powers to find her. She would ride to that place, but she would diffuse the trail of her essence before returning. It was a risky act, but she couldn''t hold back any longer. She closed her eyes and subsumed herself into the emotions and energies building up inside of her.


    Maenthrai felt her mind shift from overwhelming emotion to that of a quickly focused state. She began to pull the ephemeral substance of her soul from the corporeal anchor of her physical self. Silvery tendrils of quintessential and aethyric energies trailed between her higher self and her lower one, eventually snapping or cracking with the sound of miniature bolts of lightning under the strain of her will. The senses of her body were becoming like a distant vibration as her consciousness lifted itself upwards, now free of the entropic gravity that belonged to the physical world.


    The crumbling balcony that her mortal coil still stood upon was fading below her as she lifted herself higher. The city below her changed within her perspective, from one who was trapped within the labyrinthine streets gazing upon the world with the limitations of eyes, to one who soared above them like a bird on the wing, seeing beyond the limitations of light. She could perceive the patterns of the streets, buildings, and molten rivers below. With her sight no longer limited by her body, she could also see the dancing flickers of energy moving throughout the city. Some of those flickers moved along like the soft, twinkling glow of fireflies during a warm evening in the woods nearby Neshran City. Other sources of energy streamed through the city like glowing wyrms on a predatory hunt. Even more sources of energy seemed like stuttering echoes of dimming blues and purples that played out moments from the city''s ancient past; these echoes trapped within the very vibrations of the dense and eldritch stones that comprised the city, itself.


    She turned the focus of her ephemeral perceptions upwards, seeing the vast and vaunted roof of icy rock that served as a shadowed firmament to the realm below. This darkened wall moved towards her with ever increasing speed. There was no impact as her soul flew into the stone, metals, and earthy minerals of the barrier. She continued to float upwards, faster with each moment, multiplying her rate of ascent. It was only in the breadth of time that it would take for a living person to take a gasp of air that she saw herself pull free of the earth and rise into the atmosphere beyond.


    Her continued ascent soon swung from upwards momentum to a forward thrust. Jagged peaks covered with snow and ice began to sweep past her ghostly feet. Vast lakes, fjords, and lochs of steaming glacial waters streamed beneath her as her speed continued to increase. In this existence, there was no exertion of body or force of strength, simply the limitations of thought and the force of will.


    A few wisps of morning cloud passed away underneath Maenthrai as she continued to soar. Warm air moving eastward from the Heartsblood Sea was beginning to mix with the frigid ais flowing down from Issautha and the Kethyran Reaches in the North, creating blankets of thin clouds. Eventually, the clouds would settle, lowering down to be raked at by the jagged peaks of the Loch of Flame below. Their mists would soon become a heavy snowfall by the evening hours. It reminded Maenthrai that her body was still trapped within the warm confines of the earth, now almost a hundred miles away. She continued to push forward through more dense clouds, a few able to block more than half of the Burning God''s celestial light.


    A few flashes of gray and white, then she felt herself growing near to her destination. The sensation was like a deep tugging at her higher self along with a ghostly pain of her past. The weight of nostalgia and memory pressing through the astral realm began to drag at her feet, pulling her down. She began her descent through the billowing clouds toward the world-plane below. The clouds were far thicker in this place. The world below was cast in a depressing gray-blue light. In the distance, the echoing booms of thunder began to shatter the sky. She soon broke through a thick ceiling of cloud to gaze at the land below. She had arrived at the threshold of a dead land. The land that was once her home.


    She continued to lower herself, wanting to press onward toward the earth, yet she hesitated. She remained aloft, but every few feet she allowed herself to slowly descend began to remind her of a game that she would play with Serranos when they were younger. In their house, the ruins of which existed far below her now ¡ª if it still existed at all, given the devastation she could barely see ¡ª they had a doorway to the catacombs beneath the city they lived in. It was a dark and forbidding place, providing access to the living members of the family so that they may consult with their ancestors. Maenthrai started the game one day, in her youth, as she stood in the doorway looking out into the darkness of the catacombs beyond.


    Her mind would swim with horrors from her imagination in those times. Arisen skeletons clawing at her with bony fingers; Wraiths of the ancient dead revealing their deathmask-like faces through the darkness to utter curses and cryptic warnings; and the very real threat of the thaekkuz revenants that occasionally haunted and stalked her people when those that died returned to a shambling semblance of life due to some severe cowardice or regret they could not let go of upon death.


    It had all started as her attempt to build up courage when she was younger after reading a great many passages concerning the art of necromancy that her mother collected as idle fancy in her studies as an oracle. She had read harrowing tales of those that consulted with the dead, or those that had to put them down should they come back to the world of the living. Those tales had given her nightmares all throughout her childhood, but she couldn''t pull herself away from the darkly morbid books. So, there she would stand, staring into the darkness where the dead dwelled, pushing herself forward; step by shivering step. She did this every night for a few hours. That is until her younger brother Serranos woke up one evening and caught her.


    After he had shown some interest in her tests of courage, Maenthrai and Serranos made a game of it together. Each of them pressed each other further and further into the darkness. Both, besting their mettle more and more, making creepy sounds to rattle each other; recalling the morbid tales that Maenthrai had learned in her younger years; Each playing off of each other''s fears so as to push each other to get over them.


    When the twins were old enough to walk and talk, Maenthrai and Serranos tried to get them to participate in the game as well. The twins weren''t as fun, nothing seemed to phase them. They could stand in the dark for hours, staring with their creepy and wide eyes out into the realms of the dead. Both of them, with their stark white hair, pale features, and strange energies seemed to be well at home amongst the shades. The game lost its interest then, with both Maenthrai and Serranos coming to see the twins as truly otherworldly.


    She loved her siblings dearly, and despite the strangeness of the youngest two, Maenthrai was wounded ¡ª deeply ¡ª by the loss of them. She pressed forward a few more feet, still remaining thousands of feet more from the land that was once her home. Unlike the imaginary threats she faced down while she was a child, the threat she faced at this very moment was a very real and present one. An all-consuming threat that had not only taken the lives of her sibling-twins, but of her father, and all the lives of the people that once dwelled in the land she called home. The barren and shattered land beneath her ghostly versions of feet. That land was now torn asunder in gouts of flame and vortexes of chaotic energy at this very moment.


    This was the land that was once called Oerstav Caelii ¡ª meaning in High Hoelatha, the Isle of Oracles ¡ª a once beautiful volcanic island that was seen as the jewel of the Hoelath Empire. The capital city of this land, the once thriving city of Neshran, was her home. It was the place that her mother''s family had lived in for centuries. Each of them had served as an oracle of the Sharr-vhult ¡ª those oracles who guided the city and advised the leaders of their people ¡ª a long tradition stretching back to the fall of the Morthavi people in antiquity. Maenthrai had followed ¡ª at least in some respects ¡ª after her mother and become an oracle as well. She was not a member of the same order. She wanted to travel to the lands of the south, to the heart of the Hoelath Empire; the bustling capital of Morrthault City. She was driven to a cosmopolitan life, rather than a life of hermit-like mystics living in a temple for most of their days.


    Her mother said it was her father''s blood in her that made her seek out the novelty and bustle of the city life. Her father had moved northward to be with her mother when they were young. He was a member of the Filidath ¡ª the law-giver ¡ª caste. He managed the day-to-day existence of the people in the city of Neshran and ensured those managements were enacted as law. It was her father that raised her and her siblings more than her mother ever did. He was always present at home, while her mother always was away at the Ullthosian Sanctum for elaborate rituals, deep contemplation, and the arduous refinement of her divinatory abilities. Even at this moment, Maenthrai could feel the resentment she had for her mother bubbling up inside of her.


    A bolt of reddish energy shot by her, knocking her out of her emotional reveries and blinding her astral senses with its searing heat. The bolt carried through the atmosphere, alighting currents of charged air like blood roaring through the arteries of a human body. Each arc of current set off a boom of thunder as the final segments of energy bled themselves out before reaching the ground below. The energy would likely have killed a mortal person, but in Maenthrai''s astral state, it would only have discorporated her astral body and sent her flying back to her body in an instant. She would most likely be stunned for several hours, if not stuck in a coma for several days. Thankfully, despite the very close-call, it didn''t bring any harm to her.


    She wanted to reach out and enter into the lands below her but the threat down there remained ever vigilant in its wait for her to pass the threshold. Down there was a real thaekkuz revenant who truly would harm her if she stepped to far into that darkness. The threat knew her like only a mother could, and possessed the same uncanny abilities she had, if not moreso. She began to worry if being even this far away, in her astral state, might be enough for that threat to reach out and see her energy. She remembered immediately that she would have to disperse her energies when she finally returned to her body, taking a long route through the high intensity and busy lands of the south and far into the empty expanses of the Hoelath Valisilas grasslands to the east. She mustn''t have that dark being that was once her mother following her back to the refuge of the Azhemyra. It had taken her a little more than a decade to find the ruined city of Kalshuyr Azkholl beneath the world''s surface, so as to be a safe haven from her mother''s depredations.


    The once immense volcanic island nation below her was completely devastated and shattered into several smaller islands. Many of the high peaks that encircled the central city of Neshran ¡ª itself resting on an island in the heart of an ancient caldera ¡ª had tumbled in on themselves. The great volcano, now exposed below, had not erupted. Thankfully it remained extinct as it had been many millennia earlier, but the energies tearing through the land below seemed to stir it almost to life once more. The northern waters of the Heartsblood Sea fell into steaming gashes in the earth''s surface to meet with the magma pools of Gehemol ¡ª the forsaken and darkened land beneath the world-plane ¡ª far below. The once lush forests in the valleys and ravines of the island were aflame or already burned to cinders. The fires were caused by the thrown up boulders and embers of molten rock that still soared into the sky from the great gashes below. The forests were the same ones she had spent so many nights and relaxing days in with her siblings and her father on camping trips. Now nothing remained of them save for ashes.


    The great city of Neshran had been completely torn apart and the damages seemed to be very old. Perhaps some of the city may have survived and sunken to the bottom of the great caldera lake at the center of the island, but most of the city had either fallen into the great burning chasms or been reduced to nothing more than rubble in the earthquakes that still shook the land to this day. The once glittering lights of the city had long ago faded away to nothing more than a distant memory. Only the distant lights of the port cities in Fyrrantha in the west and the coastal townships of the Hoelath Empire in the east shone any human-made light, below. Twinking lights, held at bay beneath the dark canopy of clouds that dwarfed out the day-time light. The island of Oerstav Caelii, now referred to many in the Hoelath Empire as the Shattered Oracle Islands, after the abomination that dwelled there, were dead of any human life at all.


    Maenthrai felt herself beginning to panic, the mortal sensations of hyperventilating and blood draining from her extremities called to her separated consciousness. These mortal feelings echoed through the distances she had traveled from her mortal body back in Kalshuyr Azkholl, to her astral self here at her old home. The land below seemed almost entirely alien to her now, yet there were shards and pieces of painful familiarity in the devastation. Those shards pulled at her heart, filling her with a sickening unease, and weighing down her essence. The feelings of nostalgia mixed inside of her with feelings of sanity-shredding, mortal horror. Her thoughts tried to pull herself away from the disjointed memories and severe emotions of her past. One thought echoed in her mind more than all the rest; this entire astral sojourn had been a grave mistake.


    A weight pulled at her ephemeral feet, tugging at her and distorting the astral echo of her mortal body. It had been a slow and persistent tug since she first arrived, but now that several moments ¡ª or what she thought might be moments; perhaps hours ¡ª had gone by, the pull was increasing. It felt like the depths of a great ocean pulling her down from the surface of the water. Using her will she kicked and floundered, trying to pull herself up, but the effort to keep aloft seemed to grow with each heartbeat that echoed through time and space from her mortal body. She couldn''t feel a presence in the pulling, this partly because of the severe concentration she had to maintain to keep her astral essence from being discorporated or forcefully snapping back to her body. Her telepathic powers were useless in this state.


    She began to worry that maybe something down there yearned for her essence and aethyric energies. Perhaps it was her deep connection to the area, or some aspect of the violent energies ripping the place apart. Worse yet ¡ª her mind began to scrabble and claw at the dark possibilities ¡ª it might be the very same monster she feared below that drew her in now. The monster of her mother, given a renewed and unholy set of powers in her undead state. Her mother was always a powerful and talented oracle, some even said she might be the most powerful oracle in the world. Who knew what kind of powers she might have been imbued with that day at the Ullthosian Temple. What powers she might have perfected over the last two decades she spent hunting Maenthrai, Serranos, and the last surviving oracles down.


    The panic turned into a sense of full vertigo. Maenthrai had a hard time keeping track of which direction was which. Space around her seemed to flux and twist. She didn''t know if she was spinning or curling in upon herself. If the dark tug she kept struggling against was beneath or above her. She had truly made a horrible mistake giving into her emotions, her nostalgia, and her darker impulses. She should never have given into her longing and curiosity. This dreadful place was always meant to be forbidden to her since she left it so long ago.


    No matter which direction was towards the hellish islands, she soon felt the last of her strength give way as she began to fall towards it. She threw her ephemeral arms out ¡ª more of an instinctual reaction than anything logical ¡ª grasping and clawing at the aether of the astral plane around her. There was nothing there for her desperate flails to seize upon. The only solid forms in this echo of the physical world were the forms of will-made-manifest. Her will was stripped of her; upward, downward, sideways, inward, outward, she began to fall.


    There was a flash of bright and brilliant light as she fell through the gathering clouds below her. Their misty substance seemed to coalesce out of the very air like a dark hand reaching up to capture her within its grasp. Another flash went off just a fraction of a second later. Three more stole her senses from her in a staccato burst. As she passed through the fingers of the hand-shaped cloud, continuing her fall to the world below, she could see tracks of land whipping by at an incredible pace. Whole provinces, cities, and landmarks were cascading by faster than she could fall. She was moving backward to her origin point. She was being violently summoned right back to her body. The last bursts of ground she could see were the jagged and snow-capped peaks near the Loch of Flames.


    She braced herself, putting her half-transparent arms up around her head ¡ª another instinctual reaction of no use to an astral form ¡ª as she fell to the hard rock below. Flashes of blackness engulfed her sight and then one last, brilliant burst went off. It was a flash of light in a mixture of reds, blues, and rich purples before everything went dark.


    <hr>

 [2016] The Shattered Oracle (Third Drafts) - As Oracles are Wont to Do

    TheShattered Oracle


    3-As Oracles are Wont to Do (Revised)


    <hr>


    "Are you sure that Mom isn''t dead? I''m pretty sure she''s dead."


    Serranos crossed his arms in defiance while staring across the room at his father. He lifted one of his hands, giving it a shake to break free of the loose-fitting sweater that he wore. He lifted one of his knobby fingers up to the bridge of his glasses to push them higher on his face.


    "For the last time. Your mother isn''t dead. I already told you this."


    Thraya stood at the other end of her father''s working area, nearby the window, taking in the conversation between Serranos and their father. Her brother wasn''t listening and her father had pulled away from his desk ¡ª still sitting in his chair ¡ª almost pleading with Serranos to drop his insistance on this subject.


    "I know what I saw. Mom even told me; ghulgs are the shades of those that have died."


    "I don''t know what we saw that night, but it wasn''t a shade or a revenant. I got a letter from your mother this morning. She says she''s fine and she''s going to look into what happened."


    "I don''t believe you."


    Thraya''s father lifted a crumpled set of parchments from his desk and offered them to Serranos. His eyebrows lifted up while his eyes went from the set of documents to his son. He shook the pages a moment before Serranos finally snatched them up greedily.


    "She says it might have been a dream we all shared. Or some kind of psychic omen. I don''t know all of this oracle mumbo-jumbo. Thraya, do you know the name of it? When people can subconsciously manifest entities from their dreams..."


    Her father turned to look at her, he leaned on the back of his wooden chair. Serranos had already made his way across the room, finding a comfortable section of floor to sit on and sift through the letters from his mother. He adjusted his glasses several times and exaggerated his scholarliness at dissecting the words before him.


    "Nethengheist." Thraya blurted out absent-mindedly. "I don''t think it''s that, though. Usually, that''s a projection of a single person''s powers of Haeth. It can manifest as a trickster entity, a demon-like entity, or just a whirlwind of energy. It usually only happens to young people who haven''t yet realized their potential for magickal energy. Those people who can''t adequately tap the aethyr."


    Thraya took a few steps further into the room, walking to her father in a sort of haze. She detoured sharply to make her way over to her brother. She had decided that his time with the papers was up. She wanted to read what her mother had said. She gave Serranos a hard kick with the toe of her left foot to his thigh.


    Serranos belted out a whine and glared beneath his glasses at his older sister. He lifted up the papers and held them against his chest. His tongue came out in yet another act of defiance.


    "Stop it, you two. I think it might be a ''whatever-geist.''"


    "Nethengeist."


    "Thank you, but mind your elders, Thraya. Like you said, it''s caused by untapped powers of Haeth. The gods old and young, your mother gave all of you that kind of capability." Thraya''s father mused and turned back to his desk for a moment. He tapped his fingers on the edge of the large wooden desk. "Who knows what all four of you are capable of. All it took was one of you to blow out the side of the damned house."


    "I already apologized for that." Thraya turned from her brother to stomp a foot and stare at her father''s back, as he idly rummaged through some papers on his desk. "It''s bad enough I had to give up my room to the two gremlins until the work crew is finished. For the sake of Tolesh, I was just trying to save everyone."


    "Hmmph. I know. But, I still lost a month''s wages to fix that, dear. Surely there are better ways to slay monsters than almost killing our entire family by leveling our house over our heads." Thraya''s father swiveled in his chair to face her directly. "Like I was saying, untapped potential for Haeth. You''ve got it. Gods know the twins have it. Serranos probably has it."


    "We aren''t ''untapped'', father." Thraya gave a long sigh and relaxed her posture. "I''ve been studying at the Collegium since I was six. I should have graduated last year if it wasn''t for Serranos being so damned slow..."


    "Lay off your brother. He''s young. He''s already head of his class. Your mother told you about this before she left."


    "Whatever-" Thraya scrunched up her freckled nose. "But, like I was saying. I''m trained in Haeth. Serranos is studying for the Guardians; he''s already learned the beginnings of the elemental disciplines. The twins, although strange have already realized their abilities with Haeth."


    The door to the workroom opened with a slight creak. Both twins stood in the doorway as if summoned due to some geas, by their mere mention. The two entered the room, shutting the door behind them. In unison, they marched over to Serranos and sat behind him. Each of them took a moment to glance at their older brother and then back to the other as if they were talking to each other without words about what they found inside their older brother''s skull. They were letting him read the documents ¡ª doing all the work ¡ª then they were picking the thoughts right from his mind.


    "Like I was saying-" Thraya walked over to the twins and began to scold them with her thoughts. They picked up these chidings and stared blankly back at her. "I don''t think it was us that created the entity with our powers. It distinctly felt like the entity was trying to enhance, corrupt, or even drain our abilities when it was here."


    "Maybe Old Ollianes did it."


    Serranos blurted the words out while still being lost in the letter pages on his lap. He gave a moment, hearing everyone else''s silence, to let the thought sink in. Behind him, the twins looked at him then to each other and then cocked their heads to stare at Thraya. They picked up the thoughts that were forming in their sister''s mind, looked back to each other, and then shook their heads in unison.


    "No, Serranos. I don''t think Master Ollianes would do that. He would have the abilities to do it. But, why would mother''s old mentor want to disturb us like that? He''s old, he''s creepy, and I certainly don''t trust him, but what motivation might he have for such a thing?"


    "Now you''re going on a witch-hunt after some old man?"


    Thraya''s father''s voice started before he had fully turned around in his chair. He gave a stern look back to Thraya and then held it upon Serranos until the boy looked up. Thraya''s father had never liked Master Ollianes and often would complain loudly at Thraya''s mother about how she spent more time with that ''old coot'' than with her own family. The old oracle of the Sharr-vhult was a point of resentment in their relationship.


    "Yeah, it doesn''t make much sense. Master Ollianes wants Mom to spend more time at the Ullthosian Sanctum. He''s all into Mom being a part of that damned ritual in eight months. He''d know by attacking us with a nethengheist like that, it would only make Mom want to come home faster. Or abandon the ritual altogether."


    Thraya stood behind her brother with her arms crossed and her head down in severe contemplation. She lifted her right hand up to rub at her temples. She kept fighting against the situation, trying to make sense of it. There had to be a rational explanation.


    "What if it''s some kind of twisted test? Ollianes did it to make mother choose between us and him? You know how he always acted towards us during meals and fests when Mom invited him here. He always looked down his nose at us." Serranos took a minute to look over his shoulder at the twins. "And you remember how he always kept being really creepy about the two gremlins. He kept trying to touch Jhulessi''s head when she was still a baby."


    The twins stopped and looked at each other with a startled expression. Jhulessi lifted her hair up so that Nesbinet could rub her head in pantomime with the memory coming out of their brother''s mind. Jhulessi shook her head and Nesbinet stopped. She leaned forward and began to massage his head as well. Nesbinet gave a queer look.


    "You''ve been listening to your mother''s and my arguments too much. Stop it. Don''t make any more allegations about that senile old fool."


    Thraya''s father turned back to his work in a huff and his voice was getting cross. Something about pinning the event on the old oracle didn''t feel right to Thraya. He was creepy, and he was capable of just about anything in her mind, but the presence she felt in her sibling''s room that night didn''t mesh with that accusation. The feeling felt like her very mother in the room; a dark, twisted, and unholy reflection of her mother, but very much like her.


    "It could be a different kind of omen."


    The voice was quiet like a whisper. At first, Thraya didn''t understand if it was spoken or was some errant telepathic thought occurring to her mind. It was when she saw her father turn to look over at the twins that she realized it was from Jhulessi.


    "We''ve felt that kind of thing before. We call them ''ripples.'' Sometimes the energies don''t move just right. Sometimes they flow upstream."


    Thraya''s father''s eyes went wide, both at the shock of hearing his youngest children''s voices, but also at the complex and bewildering thoughts that such young minds could produce. Thraya leaned forward, putting her hands on her knees and knelt down into a stoop beside the twins. Serranos remained oblivious and focused on the letter.


    "Stream of thoughts? Of energy?"


    Thraya let her voice run with her thoughts. The twins were always vague when they spoke, being more adept with thoughts and complex concepts rather than with verbal communication. It was their strength and their weakness.


    "No. Time."


    Jhulessi looked over to Nesbinet, waiting for him to take over. A crackle of subtle energies moved between them. The next mouth to begin speaking words would be Nesbinet''s.


    "All of you think of time as a river that only flows downhill. Once you''ve passed a point in the river, you never see it again. You have a memory of it; an echo. That is all."


    Nesbinet stopped and allowed Jhulessi to eagerly pick up where he left off.


    "This is a flawed way of seeing. Time is too complex for that. The ripples we see can move through time into the past. With enough energy, all things can be. No matter how many limitations you think exist between you and it."


    "You''re losing me. I got that ripples can flow backward in time. I''ve learned about that at the Collegium. This is the ultimate source of divination. This is the crux of the Haeth arts. I, understand that. Are you trying to say that Mom, will die? That her shade could travel back in time to haunt us? Maybe she is warning us?"


    Thraya took a seat in front of the twins on the floor. She was startled by how many words they had bothered to speak in such a short frame of time. Her father was equally as awestruck as it seemed his jaw was about to hit the floor from his perch on his chair.


    "Hmm." Nesbinet mused for a moment while letting his hand move toward and then clutch his twin sister''s. "Not a haunting. Not something as basic as what you said. More..." He trailed off.


    "More like an echo from the possibility of what could be. It is not foreseen by us, or by Mother if she is to die. She could die. In one of many worlds like this, she will die. This is the ripple from the..." Jhulessi turned to look at her brother for the proper word.


    "The Many; the One; the All; time and reality is like an onion that gets more complex with each layer you enter. You never know if you''re going out or in if you break away from the layers and float above the streams. So many layers and so many times. So many choices of what could be, what is, what was, and what will never be."


    The room went silent for a moment. Thraya leaned forward and extended her energy out to the twins so that they could transfer the complex thoughts and images in their minds to her directly. The thought of an infinitely complex onion of time was more than she could handle.


    "What in Gehemol are you two on about? Time? Onions? Ripples?"


    Their father''s voice was filled with bewilderment, concern, and a bit of anger at the confusion that was happening. Ideas of Haeth had always been beyond him. He usually just referred to how strange his wife''s lifestyle was, and thought of it almost as a disease or strange predilection that she passed on to her children. He always felt removed whenever magickal topics came up.


    "So, we were a conduit in a way. This ripple in time and reality came after us, because of our powers. This was an omen, then. Perhaps Mom is right in her letter."


    Thraya took the twin''s hands in her own. Her father continued to lean his chin over the wooden back of his chair. He lifted his head for a moment to give it a furious shake, trying to get the nonsensical thoughts out of his mind. Serranos continued to be enthralled with the parchments being strewn on the ground in front of him as he finished reading them.


    "It''s the Ullthosian Temple. I think that is what is causing the ripples."


    Serranos'' voice was curt and monotone as he spoke. He didn''t lift his head from the papers. He had two across his lap while he let his index fingers of both hands run across the parallel lines of both papers.


    "The reason Mom said she would be gone for two years is because of the ritual she has to do to prepare for the Ullthosian Temple. Do you remember what she said to me before she left? She said she had to make a prophecy for some future King or Queen to save the world. Like Boulka had in the old Morthavi legends."


    The rest of the children remained silent and focused on their brother''s words. Thraya''s father had returned to muttering under his breath as he sorted papers on his desk.


    "''Two years to prepare.'' That''s what Mom said. She mentions here in her letter how worried she is about going to the Ullthosian Temple. Few have gone and fewer have returned from that place. Apparently, it''s a place of power. Where the tapestry of time frays and the barriers between worlds are weak."


    "Serranos, are you saying she''s going to die there, or that the whole thing is a mistake in time?"


    Thraya scrunched up her nose as she spoke. This whole situation was more than she had learned about at the Collegium. Matters of divination, magick, the gods, and the celestial realms were all very complex but this wasn''t an academic quandary, this was personal. Her attachment to the situation made everything muddy, uncertain, and very frustrating.


    "Mom could die. Or she might not. Like the two gremlins said, it could just be an echo of what could be. An echo of what happened in another world based off of something that Mom did or didn''t do. We won''t know for certain until she does it."


    "So what are we supposed to do then? How are we supposed to fix this? How are we supposed to understand what happened? Should we go to the Sanctum and stop her?"


    Thraya cut into her brother''s words as her nerves were beginning to wear. She never liked things that were confusing. She never liked being in situations she had no control over.


    "We aren''t. We won''t."


    The words came from her father at his desk. He didn''t look up. His hands continued to shuffle paper, sorting them into neat piles for his written responses later.


    "We trust in your mother''s ability to do what she is in this world to do. She''s the most powerful oracle known to our people. She can handle whatever is thrown her way. I don''t care what happened in another version of reality. I don''t care about the possibility of the matter. I don''t care about phantoms in the night. Your mother will come back to us. Your mother will be fine. Your mother will accomplish what she set out to do."


    Thraya''s father cocked his head slightly to the side, stopping his sorting as he did so. He stared at the children from the side of his vision. The emotions cascading from him were those of raw determination and true faith in his wife''s abilities.


    "Go quandary about other matters. Go play like normal children, for the god''s sakes. Know as I know, right now, that your mother will be fine. Stop giving power to shades and nightmares. Put your faith where it belongs, with our blood, with your Mom."


    Thraya''s father turned his gaze back to his work. He picked up a writing stick with his right hand and began to scratch away at a few papers in front of him.


    "Don''t mention it again. I''m not going to threaten a punishment. I shouldn''t have to. You know as do I. Keep faith in your mother and don''t mention it, again."


    The children all looked to their father. Thraya got up to her feet. The twins sat motionlessly and then slowly got up into a slouch. Serranos had tucked the papers under his arm and got up as well. All of the children gave a nod towards their father''s wishes and left the room quietly. Maybe some things were best left unknown ¡ª Thraya began to ponder in her mind ¡ª and some things simply can''t be solved.


    ***


    The first bodily sensation that Maenthrai could feel as her consciousness erupted into her body once more, was that of her lungs filling up with air as she prepared to scream. Her eyes tore open at once, taking in all of the whirling light from the city around her. Those familiar shades of reds, blues, and purples danced around the edges of her sight like taunting spectres. At the center of her sight was a great black chasm that seemed to gnaw away at the central part of her vision. The vertigo she earlier felt was intensified as she felt herself falling forward into that shadowy emptiness before her. The same darkness that slowly came into focus with more and more details within its abyssal form.


    As her eyes adjusted to their mortal limitations with the speed that only the adrenaline shock of a deadly threat could provide, she could make out the silhouette of a railing as well as some rock debris being swallowed into the shadows ahead of her. Within a mere moment, a sound like rolling thunder made its way toward her ears as the first pieces of debris struck the darkened cobblestones far ahead.


    The sensations of touch she felt were erratic, making her feel nauseous. Her arms were at her sides, held up and grasping at nothing. The chill wind that blew through the streets ahead and upward at her began to assault her face. Her bare feet from when she had been inside writing, were losing their purchase on the cold and rocky surface that was rising up behind her. With a start, her full faculties returned and she realized the balcony she had been standing upon had given way; she was now falling towards her end.


    The last of her panicked inhalations filled her lungs as she prepared to give one long, last scream of mortal fear. She could feel the tensed muscles of her throat and her chest as they might burst at any moment. Moments began to slow down as the final shots of adrenaline coursing through her arteries heightened very one of her mortal senses to a fine razor''s edge.


    It was in this moment of deadly fear, right before giving into the nihilism of abandoning her life, that she felt two large hands grab the back of her robes. One seized around her shoulders, the other dug in around her thighs. These mighty hands gave a hard yank on the fabric around her body and on the captured flesh they dug into. She soon felt herself being pulled away from the precipice before her.


    Her attempts at a last scream ¡ª more instinct-driven than a desire ¡ª were robbed from her as the breath in her lungs came out of her throat in a single hard aspiration rather than a final, shrill cry. Her stomach felt like it would erupt from her mouth right after the air from her lungs. She had been stopped in mid-air, hanging over what was left of the shattered bits of balcony strewn across the streets below. The same hard tug which seized her yanked her further back toward the balcony doors behind her.


    As she flew through the air ¡ª half-stunned and entirely bewildered ¡ª her mind began to calm down almost immediately. Her senses were still flared up with animalistic focus, yet her cognitive senses began to return to her from her primordial state. Her mind switched into an emotional sense of anger and embarrassment with herself. Soon, a savage gravity took hold over her body as she saw a frightened face of a young woman pass by her, off to her right. Her faculties, still returning but not coherent enough to recall the finer details of the young woman''s name. Despite this, a section of Maenthrai''s mind wanted to give out a breathy chuckle at how dumb-founded the poor, young woman looked.


    Maenthrai felt her left leg hit the stone of the balcony by the doorway, soon followed by her right foot and her buttocks. The impact was hard, but the merciful tides of adrenaline in her system drowned the pain out into a hollow echo.


    As she impacted, her head got knocked upward. This allowed her to see the strained face of the bearded man who had yanked her free from the maw of the abyss a moment earlier. In this dilated sense of time, Maenthrai was able to take in all the details of this man''s face and form. His eyes were closed, his teeth gritted together with immense strain. Beads of sweat ran down from his dark hair-line, being collected in his wispy brown-and-gray brow. The hulking arms and broad shoulders of his frame were barely constrained beneath a series of leather straps and buckles. Large molten-metal plates were attached to many of those leather straps. The salt-and-pepper hair on his head ended in a loosely braided ponytail, the end of which was held together with metal molten right into the collected ends of his hair. Unlike the young woman she had passed by, she had no mirth concerning this person, she knew he had just saved her from a most dire fate.


    With the last impact of her head against the crystalline glass of the metal door, her senses returned fully to their normal focus and speed. Tremendous pain erupted up from her body and the smell of her own blood filled her nose. The last impact on her head was still a hollow one, but that only lasted for the briefest of seconds, before the pain tore through her entire skull. She was back in the mortal world ¡ª such as it was ¡ª completely now.


    "She-" A female voice stammered for a moment. "She almost died!" The voice changed in pitch as the woman ran towards Maenthrai who was now sprawled against the doorway. "What in Gehemol?!"


    The large man let go of Maenthrai''s robes, slowly. His knuckles were white with strain and his fingers seemed to quiver. "What in-" His voice broke from lack of breath, yet he continued after he took in another. "Hoelv, were you-" Another deep breath. "Thinking?!"


    Maenthrai raised her right hand up to the impact point on her head. She let her fingers run through her long, fine, blood-colored hair until she felt her scalp. She continued to train down over the most painful parts of her skull ¡ª noticing a bump that was beginning to form ¡ª until she felt satisfied enough to pull her fingers up to her face. Rivulets of her blood-colored hair fell away from her hand, slowly exposing the remnant blood spots on her flesh. There wasn''t much, which was a mercy. She knew from many personal experiences just how badly most head wounds could get. Thankfully, it was mostly just an impact rather than gash.


    The large man leaned forward, putting his rough and meaty hands on his knees. He gave a few puffs of air while the look on his face turned from one of strain to one of confusion. "Surely, you weren''t trying to end it all, were you?" His eyebrows peaked and scrunched together. He raised his left hand from his knee, offering it outward to Maenthrai. She leaned forward and took his hand. With a burst of strength, he managed to raise both of them up to their feet.


    "Hyah! Ha!" The young woman on the other side of the collapsing balcony clapped her hands together and stomped one of her feet. It was a moment of unbridled, youthful emotion which she immediately regretted once she heard some crumbling from the balcony beneath. She froze for a second, spreading her feet out and looking over to the large man who still held Maenthrai''s hand. The young woman''s green eyes went wide and she immediately pushed by Maenthrai into the metal doors. "Maybe we should get off this thing and get back inside, neigh?"


    "A good idea if ever I heard one." The large man let Maenthrai''s hand fall and he began to softly push her towards the door with his revealed ¡ª broad and hairy ¡ª forearms. "We were able to save you once, we might not be able to do so twice."


    Maenthrai followed his directions and squeezed through the rusted doors after the incessant pushing and scrabbling by the young woman ahead of her. As she stepped over the threshold and took her first step into the warm and sedate confines of her room, she looked over her shoulder to see the large man lift his forehead up one more time at her. It was less a look of confusion and more one of childish fear mixed with impatience.


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    "Heh! Here we are, Hildger, in some forgotten ruin; we''ve been on the run for years from some immortal horror; we''re delving into forbidden magicks we have no business bringing up; all for this here, oracle, right?" The young woman spun on her leather-covered feet in the middle of Maenthrai''s room. She stopped on her toes to look Maenthrai straight in the eye as the oracle let her other foot take hold on the stone floor. "We''ve suffered much and are just about to let her know that all our efforts and sacrifices are bearing fruit." She stopped and lowered her eyes at Maenthrai. Her feet and lower legs arched outward as she did so while she pivoted on the balls of her feet. "Finally." She looked back up and swung her arms in loops at her sides. "...And here she goes, wants to jump off a damned balcony!"


    Maenthrai caught herself glaring at the young woman for a moment, still somewhat groggy and slow in her mental reactions. She hadn''t realized that she cut the man behind her off at the doorway. He managed to push by her, sliding from her left into the room. She took a few steps closer to her writing desk. His eyes were still panicked at the prospect of being trapped outside on the crumbling balcony, yet his mouth was pursed to scold the young woman inside the room. Maenthrai took one more step forward, giving the large man even more room to get in and decided to save him the trouble of articulating his words.


    "I wasn''t trying to kill myself." Maenthrai''s words were curt and seemed to scrape out of her throat. She hadn''t realized how tense up she had been in her mortal terror. She cleared her throat and took a few steps closer to her chair. "I was lost in visions." She sat down in the chair, lifting her arms up to hug at her chest.


    "Well-" The large man named Hildger interjected as he finally had both feet on secure stone. "That is what oracles do, right?" He squinted his eyes and gave a scathing sideways glance to the young woman who continued to stand defiantly in the middle of the room.


    The young woman lifted a finger-less, leather-gloved hand up to her face and placed her index finger on her cheek. She still stood bow-legged on the balls of her feet to accentuate her almost-juvenile dismissiveness. "Yes-" She feigned introspection for a moment and then lunged forward a few steps. "That is what they like to do. Being all mystical and stuff." She lifted both of her arms up and moved them in waves to emphasize her last few words. She pursed her thin lips into a round shape as if she would begin to make an "Ooooo!" sound, yet remained silent.


    Hildger reached out with one of his large hands and grasped the young woman directly by the head. His blackened and calloused fingers seemed to seize the woman''s entire skull with a single palm. The mighty hand seemed to dwarf out all of the young woman''s features. The back of his hands were covered in a few leather belt-straps he most likely used in holding his forging equipment. His fingers clasped down tighter, with the woman''s brown and blond hair sticking up jaggedly between each. Her voice rang out beneath his hand but was muffled heavily. He gave her a push, backward, causing her to land on the side of the bed.


    "If you really must know. I was projecting. I felt homesick." Maenthrai closed her eyes and turned away from the two for a moment. She let her arm fall to the wooden top of the table. Her fingers splayed out over the wood, flexing and moving around like tendrils. She clasped her fingers downward, feeling the wood give in under her fingernails as she idly began to scratch at it. She could feel the rage burning up from within her. Her energies were slowly coming back from the exhaustion her earlier astral projection had caused. The rage wasn''t directed at her saviors, nor at the presence, she felt while she was in the astral world; the rage was directed ¡ª completely ¡ª at herself.


    "You sent your spirit back to that accursed place?" Hildger''s eyes grew wide and he let his hand fall away from the young woman''s face limply. He further let his shoulders slump forward and he took two thunderous steps toward Maenthrai at her desk. "You told all of us how dangerous that place is. That the thaekkuz witch still lives there and stalks you and your brother. I remember Thaellon explaining to us just how murderous that witch is." He took a laborious and wheezing breath before he let a tiny question escape his lips. "Why?"


    Maenthrai lost control over her rage. She felt her fingers clench tightly at the wood of the desk. The wood itself screamed under the assault of her nails, splaying up ancient splinters and weathered lacquer. Once her fingers were clenched, she hit the table hard, causing it to jump a few inches from the floor. A gust of wind blew in through the open balcony doors and tore several books from a nearby shelf. Each of the books went flying to the floor at the other end of the room. With the bang and supernatural events, both the large man and young woman jumped. Hildger''s eyes went wide for a moment, while the young woman lifted her arms to shield her face.


    Once the outburst had ceased, the young woman lowered her arms. Her earlier youthful behavior had dropped to a look of concern. She took a step backward and clutched at the fabric of Maenthrai''s bed-covers while half-standing against the bed.


    "It was a moment of stupidity." Maenthrai got up to her feet. Her robes seemed to billow and flow around her on a wind with no discernible source. The energies were crackling around her, but much more subdued than before. Her anger at herself was bleeding heavily into reality, using her powers as a conduit into the material world. Both of the metal doors slammed shut with a loud groan followed by a thunderous impact. "It was a moment of weakness!"


    "Well, you''re here now, neigh? It was just a spirit journey, you said." The young woman gave a half-hearted grin. She lifted one of her hands from the bed and offering it outward. Her palm was upturned as if she were balancing an invisible object in her grip. "You got lost in your head. As oracles are wont to do, and you almost fell off a balcony like a clumsy sod." Her eyes closed as she chuckled at the thought; it was more nervousness coming out of her than mirth. "We save you. No big deal, neigh? Don''t say ''thank you'' or anything."


    "No." Hildger''s voice was low and rumbling when he let the word slip out of his mouth. "It''s not that easy, Wynnol." He let his broad shoulders slump some more until looked like he was half-crouched forward in defeat. "Maenthrai betrayed us."


    Maenthrai stopped to stare at the large man with the corner of her eyes. She wanted to direct some of her building rage at him for his words. She could feel sparks of telekinetic energy rippling out from her like tendrils. Each of the tendrils ¡ª imperceptible to anyone other than a well-trained oracle ¡ª reached out, snapping like whips in the air. All it took was for one of those conduits of aethyric energy to make contact with his body and she might toss him across the room like a rag doll. It didn''t matter his size or how far her will might throw him. She held her powers in check, however, letting the tendrils dissipate or return to her. She knew he was right. His words were honest. Her emotional weakness, her bad choices, and her carelessness had betrayed them all.


    "I don''t understand." Wynnol kept her hand aloft and turned her large, green eyes toward Hildger. She scrunched up her nose for a moment, causing the freckles on her youthful cheeks to bounce up and down. "She projected, saw her home, had an accident. The balcony really wasn''t that big a deal. Like I said, nothing to say ''thank you'' for." She stopped and set those green eyes like daggers at Maenthrai. "It''s only an eighteen story drop, or so." She softened her eyes and let a morbid chuckle out.


    "I take it, when you traveled to Oerstav Caelii, something there let you know the Mad Hag felt your presence?" Hildger turned his attentions back to Maenthrai and ignored the ramblings of Wynnol. "Mileana explained some of how projection works to me." He turned his eyes towards Wynnol with these words. His brow arched severely and his jaw was set at an angle. He was using his body and tone to tell the young woman to pay attention to what he would now say. Obviously, these two must have a history together. "You weren''t able to disperse your energies by taking a long way back to your body, right? When you were falling, the mortal shock drove your spirit to you directly." Hildger took a deep breath. "Mileana told me a similar thing happened to her when she was training under you. She was projecting as part of an exercise and fell into a stream. The shock sent her snapping back to her body immediately." He lowered his gaze and took a moment of contemplation. "So, whatever spooked you ¡ª well, we know it was the Mad Hag ¡ª at that horrible place, will be able to follow your soul-trail to this place."


    "Sounds like a lot of gobbly-gook." Wynnol crossed her arms over her chest, giving a long sigh and rolling her vibrant eyes in tiny circles. She gave a puff of air to blow a few errant hairs from her low bangs out of her view. "She floats to her old home. Evil witch feels her out. Boo! Scary! Now follows her here, just because she started to fall?"


    "Essentially, and ineloquently, yes." Maenthrai let the words escape her without any effort. Her previous rage was still simmering inside of her, but she felt more self-conscious now that two other people were dissecting her actions right in front of her. They were discussing her folly like she was some specimen in a botanist''s lab. "For all the work we''ve done in securing this place, my selfishness has now doomed us all." She lifted her hands to her face and bent forward. "...And so close to finishing what we came here to do."


    "She''s your mother, neigh?" Wynnol interjected, oblivious to Maenthrai''s emotions. "Mothers can be killed. She comes here, we drop the Great Forger''s Hammer on her head." The young woman smiled and clapped her hands together for effect. She held the smile for a moment while looking at Maenthrai, moving her eyebrows up and down hoping to get Maenthrai''s attention and some sort of affirmation towards her statement. Maenthrai kept her face in her hands while ignoring her. Wynnol, now feeling spurned by Maenthrai''s in-attention looked over the Hildger, seeing him standing there shaking his head at her while glaring softly with his brown eyes.


    "Come on!" Wynnol blurted and crossed her arms over her chest. She pouted her lips out slightly. "I don''t mean to be insensitive. I know I wouldn''t want to have to kill my own mother-" She lifted her left hand up and let it fall out at the wrist as if she were balancing something only she could see and touch within it. "But ¡ª honestly, here ¡ª if it comes to us or her-" A large grin spread across her face, again. Her baby-like cheeks lifted up as her mouth stretched to its limits. Her white teeth revealed themselves, with feline-like incisors peeking over her bottom lip. The grin gave her face a wicked sort of look. "I choose us. The hag can die."


    "I''m sure if it truly is as easy as you say, the Guardian Knights of Morrthault would have dispatched her the minute she started tearing up Neshran." Hildger shook his head and turned his face away from the younger woman. He lifted his right hand up to tug on the end of his beard, both as a form of contemplation and to pull some errant strands from beneath his metal neck-brace. "This isn''t some mindless thaekkuz come back from the dead, Wynnol. I''ve heard of Merithault''s-" Hildger stopped in mid-breath. Maenthrai quickly lifted her head up from her hands to stare hard at Hildger for speaking that name. "Erm ¡ª the Mad Hag''s ¡ª power. She isn''t to be trifled with." He gave a long sigh and turned his eyes from Maenthrai over to Wynnol who seemed to be rolling her own eyes at him as he spoke. "They say she was imbued with dark powers, maybe even possessed by the Dark Master Ullthos himself. She can kill with a thought; she doesn''t tire; she doesn''t die. There is no humanity left in that creature."


    "If you saw what I saw and felt what I felt when I returned to that place-" Maenthrai got up to her feet again and tried to remain resolute despite the swirling emotions tugging at her once again. "You''d know just how dire our situation is. Especially, as of right now." She clenched the muscles in her arms and hands, curling her long fingers into fists at her sides. "Enough of this! Tell me what you came here to tell me! You said the great project is only bearing ''fruit?''"


    Wynnol shook her head as if trying to exorcise the emotion in the room like a dog might shake moisture from its fur. She took a few steps toward Maenthrai, happy now to do what she came here to do. She saw that Hildger was about to open his mouth and answer Maenthrai''s question, but she held up her right hand to cut him off. "More than just ''fruit.''" She gave a chuckle, once more. "We''ve already finished!"


    Hildger gave a grumble and stepped closer as well. He was frustrated at not getting to share the important news first. "The young lass is correct, Maenthrai. Our work is completed. We came to summon you back to the Hestumarch to see the spheres for yourself. Serranos is already there waiting. So is Thaellon." He lifted up his left hand, palm up-turned towards Maenthrai like a gentleman might ask for a lady''s hand. He then moved is hand away slyly, moving it to point in the direction of the doorway. "We can wait for you to prepare yourself if you need to. I think with the latest development which now hangs over our heads, all expediency might be best. If you pardon my directness."


    Maenthrai arched one of her auburn eyebrows quizzically and then gave an exaggerated nod towards Hildger; willing to play along with his request. "You''re right. Thank you." She took a few steps forward, passing right to the side of Wynnol who still leaned on the side of her bed. Maenthrai placed her left hand on the young woman''s shoulder. Her action was more as a gesture to move out of her way than anything kind or supportive.


    Wynnol looked up at her with a puzzled look, then down at the hand that still held her shoulder. She reached up one of her hands to quietly push Maenthrai''s hand away. She didn''t understand the gesture and scrunched up her face at the unsolicited physical contact.


    "We must anticipate that my mother is already on her way here. I don''t know how much time we have exactly. It could be days, or it could be a matter of hours. I don''t know how powerful she has become over the last few decades." Maenthrai gave a long sigh and looked over to the book that Jephrin had tossed on her bed. "The last time Thaellon and I ran into my mother, just a few years ago, we almost didn''t survive the experience." Maenthrai looked back to Wynnol and she could feel her nostrils flare with subdued anger. She was tired of trying to be subtle with the girl. She leaned over her bed, grabbing up the book that Jephrin had tossed near the middle of it.


    As she leaned forward she gave a hard push with her hip against the body of Wynnol, dislodging her from leaning on the bed and shuffling her slightly into the middle of the room. Maenthrai placed the worn book on the nightstand nearby the bed and began to smooth out the wrinkles on the bed-covers. She gave a slight glance over her shoulder at the young woman, giving a glare of territoriality at her. Once finished trying to remove the young woman''s disruption from the bed, she looked over towards the large man to her left. "I will rush my rituals and ceremonies, but given that these artifacts will force me into visions beyond time, I must purify and prepare myself. I shouldn''t be more than four or five hours. I''ll meet you-"


    "You don''t need to." Wynnol interrupted Maenthrai''s words with a very flat tone. Maenthrai moved to gaze back over at the short woman whose arms were crossed high on her chest. Her chin was held up in the air as she spoke. Hildger took a step forward and pressed in right behind the young woman.


    "Of course I-" Maenthrai began to start a rebuttal. She tried to keep her tone civil but the behavior of the brash and far-too-young Azhemyra was beginning to wear on her nerves. She felt her earlier rage begin to rise up. She didn''t have the time to explain these matters of being an oracle to someone so young and impetuous. Oracles always had to perform rituals of purification before undertaking such deep and intense visions into time, lest the impurities of mind and body taint the divinations they must interpret.


    "No ¡ª actually ¡ª you don''t." Wynnol continued. She wasn''t budging one bit on this; both with her behavior and her words. Maenthrai decided to stop smoothing her bed and idly preening nearing her sleeping area to stand up straight and face Wynnol directly. She proceeded to stare daggers at the headstrong artificer. Wynnol''s chin seemed to tip further upward at this.


    Hildger reached one of his large and brawny arms over his head. His hand maneuvered between metal plates and leather straps to scratch at his back. He lifted his ponytail up, shortly after this, to reset it over his shoulder. "I think what the young lass is getting at, Haethrex-" He was using Maenthrai''s formal title as an oracle. He was obviously nervous about her reaction. "We''ve, uh-" He began to tug at his beard now while pursing his lips for the briefest of moments while thinking up his next words. "We''ve taken the liberty of solving that problem, so to speak."


    "We perfected your flawed design for the artifacts." Wynnol cut in dryly. She took a step toward Maenthrai defiantly and looked directly up at her. The young woman wasn''t more than chest-high to Maenthrai, yet the glimmer in her eyes showed startling resolve. "You don''t have to do any of that mystical crap, anymore." Wynnol remained standing a few inches from Maenthrai but deigned to break eye contact for a moment to look over her shoulder at Hildger. She held that position for a moment and returned back to Maenthrai. A look of pride and large smile was on her face. She was showing how proud she was of her and Hildger''s work. "Anyone can now use the artifacts to pierce into time or to transfer their memories into the spheres."


    "How is this possible?" Maenthrai crossed her arms. The smugness on Wynnol''s face was beginning to anger her, as well as the fact that the Azhemyra might have sabotaged all of her efforts just to show off their proficiency. "I only asked that you create enchanted artifacts out of the materials from the old Ullthosian Temple." Maenthrai could feel tendrils of aethyric energy coalescing around her. The energy wasn''t more than a slight static in the air, but with every passing moment, she wanted to harness it to slap the look off of Wynnol''s face.


    "Yes, I stated I would be using them to look back into time, and I hoped they could be used to transfer oracle''s knowledge for future use." Maenthrai squinted her ice-blue eyes and lowered her crimson brow. Her full lips began to curl into a snarl, but she did what she could to hold it back. She could not stand to look at Wynnol further, lest she tempt the darkness inside of her to command her abilities, instead she focused her attention on Hildger; the more polite one. "How can divination be possible without the ritual observances of the oracles? These rituals have been passed down since the time of the first Sharr-vhult. These aren''t easy tasks; to pierce time, to control thought, and to harness the power of memory."


    "Hah!" Wynnol blurted out and took a step back. Her head careened back while her arms still rested high on her chest. "You oracles are so stuck in your old ways! You haven''t even bothered to change or alter those rituals..." She trailed off. "Probably since the time the first Morthavi left from Hoelv, neigh?" She dropped her arms and that same left wrist of hers lifted up to go limp, as if she was holding something invisible in it, yet again.


    "You stated how important it was that we make the spheres able to store and capture memories, knowledge, and visions. Well, so, that future generations might use them." Hildger scrunched up his face as he spoke. He took a moment to let his lips dance on his face, pursing them from one side to the other. "We did as you asked. But, given that we are Azhemyra and the philosophies we abide-" He trailed off into thought again. He enjoyed choosing his words carefully, even if he talked very slowly. On one hand, Maenthrai commended him for his tact, while on the other his habits were getting annoying. "We to the initiative to, uh-" He lifted his left arm out and began to drum the fingers of his right against the metal gauntlet over his wrist. "I guess, ''stream-line'' the process."


    "It makes it so that anyone with even the most rudimentary understanding of aethyric energies can use the spheres properly. Latent ability or perfected, it really doesn''t matter." Wynnol crossed the room towards the foot of the bed, turning from it and looking back. "The spheres don''t just need the Haethrupex arts to work. Like you said when you first convinced Thaellon to come with you here, a few years back. The oracles are being killed off. You and your students are the last, neigh?" She smiled and sat on the foot of Maenthrai''s bed. She lifted up one of her legs, bare from the knee down, to slowly cross over her other. "You said the spheres were for future generations. Well, who knows if there are any oracles in the future, let alone anyone proficient in magickal arts."


    "I can see that point, but-" Maenthrai couldn''t finish her thought before the young Azhemyra cut in.


    "You oracles all think you''re so special." Wynnol was getting cockier by the moment. "Well, now the ''non-special'' people can use the spheres just as well as anyone else. Even a rural hedge witch can use these artifacts just as well as you could. Gehemol! Even a bumpkin farmer could at least use them to call out the basic memories trapped inside. You said the world is ending, after all. The first thing to go when the piss hits the fire is higher knowledge."


    "We took the dependency of aethyric energies out of the activation properties of the spheres. We realized that being a part of the Ullthosian Temple for so long, being exposed to all that energy, and thus having that energy contained inside of it-" Hildger stumbled over his words for a moment. "Well, why not use the innate energies and get rid of the activation, all together. Now a common person can at least use them. Maybe not to the depth an oracle or other disciplined mage might-" Hildger let his eyes drop for a moment as his voice tried to catch up with his thoughts.


    Hildger wasn''t that skilled at articulation, obviously, but Maenthrai could see and feel his mind churning feverishly with thoughts he could barely contain. He was a very proficient artificer, after all. "I mean not to offend. It still takes a lot of skill with the Haethrupex Arts to be able to record and store memories and information into the spheres. We consulted with your oracles for help with that. We just-" He stopped for another moment and caught up with his thoughts, again.


    Suddenly, Hildger stormed forward with a burst of nervous energy, grabbing Wynnol by the back of her tunic, almost lifting her from the ground. He moved towards the doorway with her in tow. "We wanted to be on the safe side. Not show off. Just-" He opened the door now. "Who knows what the future has in store for all of us, you know?" Wynnol feigned to fight him as he moved her out the door. He managed to slide her out as if she were nothing more than a rag doll, or a small misbehaving dog. "Let''s just go, okay? We''ll show you when we get there. Thaellon and Serranos can explain it better than I can."


    "I''ll take your word for it." Maenthrai followed after the panicked man. In fluid motions she moved towards the door, passing by the foot of her bed to quickly sweep away the ruffles that Wynnol had caused. She snatched up her long-coat that hung from a metal outcropping from the stone wall nearby the doorway.


    With an elegant flourish and a stretch of her arms, her coat was over her body. She stopped for a moment in the doorway to look back at the chair that Jephrin had been sitting in for most of the morning. She felt alone without him here to protect and guide her. The loneliness only grew with the dread that began to gnaw at her mind concerning her mother. That inhuman monster making her way with every passing moment closer towards the ruined city. Every thought in her mother''s mind ¡ª if it could still be called such ¡ª was no doubt focused on murder and destruction.


    "No rituals! Just hurry up! Thaellon is waiting." Wynnol''s voice echoed through the darkened stone hallways outside the room. Her calls were soon followed by her voice making a loud exhalation like she had been impacted in the side. There was a momentary scuffle echoing throughout the walls near the stairwell. "Oh come on, you giant lug!" The voice got softer and more distant. "What in Gehemol was that, ''pardon my directness,'' crap? Since when do you kiss people''s arses?"


    Footsteps resounded as the two made their way down another flight of stone stairs, getting even more distant. "Oh, I see now. You''re all gushy because you''re worried that stuffy old oracle might look into your mind. See you have a thing for her, neigh?" Another hard impact and scuffle.


    Maenthrai lifted her right hand up to pinch at the bridge of her nose. Apparently, these were the most skilled artisans she could find. The last of the Azhemyra artificers of legend. The students she had brought with her were the last of the oracles she could find, and these artificers were the last of Thaellon''s students. She had to trust in their abilities, despite some of their lacking personalities. She just hoped the spheres would work as she had originally planned. She needed to find out why her mother became a monster. She and her students needed to use the spheres to store the last bits of wisdom and knowledge they had for future generations to use.


    The gods old and new help them all. She let her hand drop from her face, giving a long sigh and then she shut the door behind her. Bereft of her love, separated from her family, removed from her shoanvyr, orphaned from her family, and now hunted by her inhuman mother; Maenthrai felt very much alone.


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 [2016] The Shattered Oracle (Third Drafts) - The High Road

    TheShattered Oracle


    4-The High Road


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 [2017] A Blood-soaked Legacy (Fourth Drafts) - Descent

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    EpisodeI


    A Blood-soaked Legacy


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    This forsaken and dying world was not meant for us. Our ancestors, faced with the certainty of utter destruction, fled here out of desperation. This world ¡ª the one they ran to with oblivion gnashing at their heels ¡ª was savage and barren. Whatever gods that may have existed in this realm had perished from lack of devotion or consumed one another to slake their hunger eons ago.


    Despite the odds, our ancestors survived and grew a new land from this barren plane. Life slowly returned to the earth while new gods were breathed into the higher rungs of existence; fed with devotion and the dwindling magicks the first of us brought with them to this world. A beautiful empire was given life within abandoned ruins built by inhuman hands; an empire sustained on blood and maintained by fear of the darkness outside of its walls.


    All things, however, from the crumbling surface of this dying world to the edifices of blood-soaked empires must give in to the inevitable pull of entropy. What is built from ruins will eventually fall back to such a state. What was not meant to exist will eventually cease, no matter how hard one fights to preserve it.


    Our ancestors fought hard against the tragic crumbling of their society. Wars raged across the land letting loose the dark desires of humanity. Nature rose up in a great fury and stripped flesh from bone beneath scouring winds. The great magicks that our ancestors commanded turned back to bite them, sundering and twisting their very souls. The best of us fought to the last, but like all that had come before, their bodies and efforts were cast like dust upon the maddening winds.


    In spite of all that has come before ¡ª due to the stubbornness of the human heart ¡ª we still exist in this world. Some may call it folly and wish to blow out the guttering flame of our existence, while others exalt in the continued bloody struggle of life. The gods we once created and venerated have turned their backs upon us. The magicks we once commanded are now nothing more than secret whispers tainted by darkness. Those that were once the best of us have lost all of what made them human, becoming corrupted immortals that prey upon us like livestock.


    More than ever before, the world has become a cruel and darkened place. Pockets of fallen society cling to the ruins of the past as they struggle to live another day. In the darkness of the world, there are places were mortals should never traverse. There are places of ancient power, whether made by human hands or something else and in these places corrupted power still grows.


    Our ancient ancestors came to this world to escape the destruction of our first home, yet they brought that same hungry darkness with them. Here, among the ruins and barren sands, it has grown strong once more. In those places of darkness, decay, and bloody magicks that darkness grows hale while sharpening its teeth upon the bones of the dead.


    Do not stray into those darkened places of the world. Stay close to the guttering flames of civilization as the last of your days draws close. Do not tempt the hungry maw of oblivion with the human curse of curiosity. Any knowledge you might gain from the darkness will drive you mad as it enlightens your mind and hollows out your very soul.


    - The Journals of Vhaltenesh


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    A frigid cloud of mist flowed over the sloping floors of the descending passageway as silvery light cut its way through ice-filled fractures in the ceiling. The light from the surface made its way through the rock and ice, to become trapped deep in this subterranean realm. The captured light reflected in distorted shapes off of the slowly flowing pools of water. This stagnant water and trapped light flowed throughout the myriad tunnels and chambers, growing darker as they burrowed below.


    Shifting forms made from ephemeral shadow coalesced out of the deeper darkness to flit between swaths of shimmering light. These forms, some clinging to the walls of chambers while others danced to and fro trying to avoid the shifting light coming in from above. These forms of shadow took momentary shelter behind some of the ancient stalagmites before scattering away to other recesses and niches beyond. This eternal dance of light and shadow continued on, as it always had, for the span of hundreds of mortal lifetimes.


    This entire realm was bathed in an eerie silence, as it remained removed from the rest of the world and entirely forgotten by those few who might remain upon the surface. It had remained undisturbed for millennia, save for the occasional groan of rock, the slow music of dripping water, or the slow shattering of ice. No mortal eyes had taken in its beauty, and no mortal feet had traversed its depths.


    All things, however, from the lives of mortals to the ancient peace of icy caves have their end. The silence of these forgotten chambers had found its own finality in this moment. An eruption made its way through the tunnels followed by a wave of cold air. This unexpected disruption sent the mists and shadows into a whirling frenzy. The energy of this wave shattered some of the more fragile icicles that had held onto their moorings for untold centuries.


    For the first time in millennia, fresh air swept its way through the tunnels once more with a new source of light at the mouth of the central passage that erupted forth. Pieces of rock and ice flew through the air and settled upon the darkened ground further into the tunnel. Behind the alien light came the thunderous echo of mortal voices as life returned to these sunken halls and burial chambers.


    It remained to be seen how long this renewed life would be tolerated in these new moments of disruption, or if it would be quelled like it had been in ancient times. The darkness within began to plot out the fate of these interlopers. Deciding if they would be welcomed by the slumbering inhabitants of these deep and dark places, or if the ancient silence that slept here would stir forth to consume them for their folly.


    "Truly remarkable gifts you have Tyverus." A wizened and gravely male voice echoed down the central passage. "It would have taken us days to cut through the ice using traditional means." The voice drifted into contemplation for a few moments and then returned with a renewed sense of focus. "I must admit, that I was hesitant to bring a knight on this expedition. I thought your ilk as hollow-minded and rough-mannered soldiers."


    The older male voice gave out a resounding laugh that sounded like yet another burst of thunder. "I''m glad to be proven wrong." The voice was followed by a tall and broad silhouette that stood before the new light at the mouth of the descending passage.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "Bhergom, really?" A softer and younger female voice interjected behind the older male. "Would not a bit of decorum, or at least thanks, be in order for the man who just helped us considerably?" The lighter female voice echoed forth and seemed to resonate with the ice in the caverns.


    "No, it''s fine. Really." Another male voice, less gravely and haughty than the first, echoed throughout the tunnels below. "Isilda, I know my reputation with oracles and scholars like yourselves. I am simply glad to be of service to your expedition." The voice softened and lowered its volume for its remaining words. "Before I took up the mantle and wards of the Guardian Knights, I was drawn to the ancient mystique and wisdom of your path, Master Bhergom."


    "You mean, that of the oracles?" Bhergom gave a breathy chortle and then paused. His large frame eclipsed the light at the mouth of the passage as he pressed forward. He held both sides of the tunnel entrance in his arms and then slowly turned on his heels, letting his right hand fall to his side. "You do have gifts, young man. I do appreciate those gifts, but they are very different than the Haeth arts that we use." Bhergom''s voice trailed off into contemplation once more.


    "He doesn''t think you''re sophisticated enough." A new male voice cut in. This voice was deep and low, with a strange accent that set the vowels into a set of trill-like chirps like spring-time birds. "Don''t take it hard, lad. You''re good enough for the dirty work, like me, but not much else." A phlegm-ridden combination of a laugh and cough followed the man''s words.


    "Vhoggli, seriously. That''s not what Bhergom meant." Isilda''s voice set the sunken realm of ice and stone into a harmonious vibration once more.


    More shadows began to pile into the mouth of the passageway, causing sharp beams of light to cut through their gaps. The harsh contrast of light gave more furtive movement to the shadows that lurked and scurried all the more. It seemed as if the shadows were feeding off the new energy given from these still-living interlopers.


    Somewhere, far off, a deep rumbling made its way through the chambers to dwarf out the echoes of voices for a few moments. The rumbling thunder caused by a chunk of ice or rock breaking free from its crumbling anchors to fall toward some uncertain depth. As the rumbles ceased, the voices returned to their earlier life.


    "Well, here we are at last. It''s hard to think that before the Cataclysm and before the devastation that tore this land apart, this was the very birthplace of our order." Bhergom mused to himself as his large form pressed downward into the darkened and jagged tunnel ahead. He pushed on the sides of the ice-encrusted walls with his broad hands to keep sturdy. "I''m glad some of these passages survived all the upheaval that ravaged the surface."


    "Do you think these are the old catacombs? The ones that existed beneath the city of Neshran; those that are mentioned in the old records back home in Alsira Thaenat?" Isilda pressed in behind the taller and older man. The silhouette of her form was slender, smaller, and partially obfuscated by draping robes. Her voice was frantic with awe and speculation.


    "Perhaps so, those few of the catacomb passages and burial chambers that still survive. Although, I highly doubt we''ll find any bones or crypts in this area." Bhergom stopped in his tracks to kick a row of sharp icicles clinging to a niche in the rock near his leg. "The shifting ice flows would have destroyed almost everything over the last few millennia. Still, we''re here to look, just in case anything survived."


    Next, the small and stout shadow of Vhoggli pressed into the passageway behind Isilda''s slight frame. Vhoggli''s form gave a sharp elbow to the tall, high-collared, and well-armored form of Tyverus still partially obscured by the silvery light beyond. Tyverus took a moment at the lack of decorum of the small fellow and then, shaking off his wounded pride, took up the rear of the expedition. Slowly, the four forms pressed forward and downward into the dark.


    "You know what they say about these lands so close to Gehemol..." Vhoggli''s voice drifted off. The purpose of such was to add a rhetorical effect more than to wait for any sort of reply from a member of the group. "Do I even have to speak the beast''s name?" Another phlegm-filled laugh bubbled up.


    "No, you needn''t. I would prefer to keep superstition to a minimum. Our journey is dangerous enough. Thank you very much, Vhoggli." Bhergom''s voice was filled with disdain and impatience.


    "I understand the purpose of avoiding superstition, Master Bhergom, but if there is a beast in these tunnels, I best be aware of it." Tyverus had just taken Vhoggli''s bait as he pressed in at the rear of the party. "You stated that there is the chance of danger here, which is why I joined you. What beasts are we speaking of, exactly?"


    "Not a beast." Isilda''s words twinkled on the ice once again as she spoke over Bhergom''s grumbles. "Well, not as quite. Old legends from before the Cataclysm speak of a woman who once lived in these lands. A woman who was an oracle, much like Master Bhergom and myself. A woman who, in a sense, became a beast." Isilda stopped moving to look over the low and scraggled head of Vhoggli and up to Tyverus. "Legends of our order, going back all the way to the days of Vhaltenesh, mention her. It is said she still haunts these lands and it was in her god-like fits of rage and anguish that she tore this land apart."


    Tyverus gave a chuckle at the incredulity of Isilda''s words. "Surely, not even an oracle has such power. Your kind are far too subtle with your arts. Those of the Guardian Knights, some of the most legendary, have capabilities that could level entire cities or towns, yes, but not an entire island."


    "You''d be mistaken, young lad." Bhergom had grumbled and restrained himself from talking on the matter, but the knight''s assumptions had eroded his restraint. "She was not a member of the Authrakallin. She was, should she ever have existed, an exemplar of what we should never become. She is why our Haeth arts are so subtle. She was from a time before, when oracles were far more..." Bhergom took a deep breath. "Direct." Bhergom slowed his pace over a large step in the floor of the tunnel and turned his head to look over his shoulder at Tyverus for a moment.


    "She sold her very soul to some dark god from beyond. She was given powers that humanity was never meant to earn. She killed the first oracles; then she destroyed this island; now she hunts the oracles again." Vhoggli''s voice was flat and his words were curt as he gave a push to the side of Isilda and pressed in behind Bhergom. "Well, some say she only hunts those of her blood; those cursed to be Witchlings; those with blood-red hair."


    "Well, then." Tyverus slapped his gloved hands together causing a crack of thunder to echo through the caverns. "Good thing that none of us have red hair. Good thing, as well, that I''m not an oracle." He gave a sly chuckle at his own words and waited for Isilda to turn her head to glare at him.


    "Enough talk about old legends told by reactionary and senile oracles. We have enough dangers here and enough difficulty on this expedition. We don''t need to be jumping at shadows and muttering about monsters." Bhergom''s voice was loud and low as he pressed forward even harder while kicking at some more icicles in front of him. "Vhoggli, part of why we brought you with us is in the power of your eyes. Use them and not your wretched mouth. Is that a chamber ahead and off to the right?"


    The shadowed and stout form of Vhoggli pressed in beside that of Bhergom''s towering frame. A glint of two gray-green orbs flashed in the dim, reflected light from the water at their feet. A wide mouth opened in a grin filled with far too many tiny and sharp teeth to seem fully human. The smaller man couldn''t press ahead of Bhergom, being burdened with too many packs strapped to his back, and the broadness of the old oracle taking up most of the passage.


    "Yes, that''s a chamber ahead. Off to the right. This passage continues slightly to the left, steeper down, but we''ll need the torches for that." Vhoggli''s voice was filled with a morbid sense of glee. He began to lick his thick, frog-like lips while inching forward to impatiently press into the back of Bhergom.


    "Good, we''ll check this chamber first. I want to use as much of the natural light as we can before we start burning torches. Who knows if the heat might melt the ice and cause a cave-in." Bhergom kept his footing despite the small man eagerly riding his heels. He swept forward in one fluid motion and into the chamber ahead.


    Each of the party continued after, with Vhoggli on Bhergom''s heels until he found enough room to squeeze forward into the chamber while Isilda and Tyverus kept looking at each other expectantly. All of them, save for Vhoggli, seemed hesitant and exceedingly cautious.


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 [2017] A Blood-soaked Legacy (Fourth Drafts) - A Matter of Runes

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    At the entrance to the chamber, when Isilda turned to seek out the towering presence of her mentor ahead, Tyverus took advantage and pressed into Isilda''s back while placing a gloved hand on her shoulder. He wasn''t quite sure of this familiar action given the shyness and quietness she had toward him earlier when they were making camp on the surface. Feeling the warmth of her and the delicate flesh of her exposed shoulder through his leather glove made his heart skip a beat. The moment lingered and his nerves soothed as he saw her turn her head to smile at him in the dancing light. She lifted her shoulder to bring his hand close to her cheek and then relaxed.


    "Well, look at that!" The booming voice of Bhergom cut through the moment and the darkened silence like a hot knife. Both Tyverus and Isilda jumped and separated thinking the words concerned their actions. The large man continued on without heed. "Perhaps something did survive all these ravaging centuries, after all!"


    Isilda took a few hurried steps forward into the chamber to see what her mentor had discovered. As she took her steps, she let her left arm linger behind her, as if to summon Tyverus to follow. The knight followed after, keeping within an arm''s distance just in case Bhergom or, worse yet, Vhoggli might have noticed their earlier moment.


    Ahead, Bhergom had bent forward with his hands on his knees to look at some dark set of rock at the far edge of the chamber. There was not enough light to allow anyone to see what was on the rock, but what little the old oracle could see in the shifting and reflecting light was enough to intrigue him. Vhoggli, despite his uncanny ability to see in the dark, was not assisting Bhergom but was rather preoccupied with a small entrance at the far end of the room. A hole in the rock that looked like an ancient doorway. A doorway that held the stout man''s attention and filled what could be seen of his face with erratic twitches of fear and desire.


    "Isilda, come. Look at this. Somehow this section of rock has lasted the erosion of water and ice. I do believe these to be old Hoelatha runes." Bhergom waved one of his hands beside his head, yet remained with his eyes firmly fixed on the rock. "I can barely make any of this out in this damned wane light. I really don''t want to have to break out the torches..."


    Isilda took up position beside her mentor and leaned further toward the rock. She reached out her right hand from beneath her long sleeve to feel the cold stone. She let her slender fingers run over some of the chiseled and eroded figures for a moment before turning her head to look at her mentor.


    "I believe these are..." She took a steep breath and then held it for a moment. She quickly bit her lip with excitement. "No, this can''t be."


    "What in Tolesh''s Light is it? What do you feel?" Bhergom''s voice pitched with his questions. He lowered himself to one knee and pressed one of his large hands over her own.


    "I think these runes are Morthavi, not Hoelatha." Isilda pulled her hand away and began feeling more of the rock with her fingers.


    "Absurd! There is absolutely no way that any Morthavi runes could have survived this long. Old Hoelatha, perhaps. Are you sure about what your senses tell you? Some of the runes may be similar-"


    Isilda cut off her mentor in mid-lecture. "What I feel right here with my fingers is the old Morthavi rune, ''Khasus.'' It''s unmistakable. It''s crude, but I can feel it."


    "I know just the trick to fix this situation." Tyverus'' voice cut through the moment. Both Isilda and Bhergom looked away from the stone and back at Tyverus to be momentarily blinded by an immense flash of orange light. Both lifted their arms up to shield themselves from the brilliance.


    "You damned fool! I said no torches!" Bhergom''s voice raised from a growl to a yell at the imprudence of the knight. Isilda raised to her feet, still attempting to shield her eyes from the light and walked towards Tyverus.


    "As you said, Master Bhergom, ''no torches.'' I simply remembered an old cantrip from my survival training. I feel foolish that I didn''t bother to use it earlier." Tyverus held a small, glowing orb of orange and purple plasma in his gloved hand. The light had blinded him as well, so he began to close his fingers over the orb so as to drown out some of its severity.


    "I''m not concerned with the problems of light, you grunt. I''m concerned with the heat and the smoke. The heat will melt the roof and the smoke may overwhelm us." Bhergom had gotten to his feet and took a large swipe at Tyverus with a muscled arm. Tyverus dodged the arm deftly while still holding the orb of plasma in his fingers.


    "You needn''t be concerned with either, Master. The energy of this light is fueled not by combustion, but with the essence of my being." Tyverus stopped for a moment and shrugged while dodging another swipe from the old oracle. "Well, not just my essence, but rather that of my mantle and wards as well. I can''t take all the credit." He gave a grin.


    Isilda closed into Tyverus and took his hand in hers. At this, Bhergom stopped his outbursts and stared at the young knight through squinted eyes and a furrowed brow. Tyverus opened his hand allowing Isilda access to the plasma orb dancing and whirling around. She lifted a free hand, closing her other fingers and pointing her index finger towards the light. She took a moment to fix her shining green eyes on Tyverus'' shimmering blue as if to silently ask for permission. She poked at the orb once and withdrew her finger quickly as if anticipating a burn.


    "It''s not hot, really." Tyverus continued to smile through his words. He reached out with his free hand to take Isilda''s in it and both approached the dancing orb of light. He held her finger in the plasma for a moment and then allowed her to pull back slowly.


    "Tyverus is correct. I don''t feel any heat from this flame. A unique cantrip." Isilda took a breath in with her eyes wide and gave a sideways smile to the knight.


    "Something that goes beyond what even codgy, old Grandmaster Toulam is capable of..." Bhergom gave a snort of dismissal at Tyverus'' ability. "A flame without heat. Wholly unnatural and possibly breaks a dozen laws of the arcane arts." The old oracle rolled his brown eyes and tugged on his long sleeves nervously. "I''ll take it, though." Bhergom turned to kneel down before the rock once more but turned his eyes back up to Tyverus for his last words. "No more sudden and helpful tricks without my say so."Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Tyverus gave a nod and a step forward. He remained silent while standing between the two oracles as they returned to their studies. He focused the orb in his fingers to cast illumination on the dark rocks before them.


    "Well, then." Isilda cracked her jaw between the words and gave a sideways look to her mentor. "I suppose both of us were correct after all."


    "You''re right, but this doesn''t make any sense. I rather be proven wrong than be confounded." Bhergom let his left-hand slide over the surface of the rock as if trying to swipe away the information before him. "The mixture of Old Hoelatha and Morthavi runes can''t be like this."


    "Pardon the ignorance, Master, but I don''t quite get the issue with this simple rock." Tyverus kept his glowing hand aloft but lowered himself down to a crouching position to see the inscriptions before him easier. "Obviously the worn runes were here from the time when the city of Neshran still stood. Although they''re worn, they were precisely carved. I can only make out a few of the words and none of the grammar in them. Yet, surely, the newer marks were made hastily and quite recently."


    Bhergom gave a sharp snort and pivoted on his knee to look Tyverus directly in the eye. "That''s precisely the problem, lad." The old oracle got up his feet and began wiping some of the water and grime from his trailing robes. "The newer runes are an older dialect than the worn ones." He gave a long sigh. "Although crudely done, the runes and contexts used would be dated to the height of the Third Age."


    "Third Age?" Tyverus scrunched up his face and leaned closer to Isilda who kept her eyes trained on the stone. "I''m not familiar with ages of cultures in my history. During my training, we were given important historical events and dates according to the Ahn Scroll of Years."


    Isilda didn''t take her eyes off the stone while responding to the young knight. "These older runes were from the time of Neshran and would be about five-or-six thousand years old. Although they are in good condition, they show their wear to be about that old." Isilda pulled Tyverus'' hand that held the light closer to the rock and pointed with her index finger at the newer runes. "These ones seem to be carved anytime in the last year to several decades. The edges are still sharp. Yet, the language and wording used on these haven''t been written or spoken by a living soul in over eighteen-or-twenty thousand years."


    Tyverus pulled his hand back a bit and gave a nervous chuckle. "You''re joking. Simply finding something older than a few centuries in a place like this is remarkable enough. I can understand the rarity of finding something a few thousand years old here, okay. But, you''re talking about a language that is older than recorded history. Not even sages-"


    "Precisely, lad." Bhergom began pacing back and forth in the center of the chamber. He lifted his fingers to his scruffy chin several times and fidgeted with the length of his sleeves. "Only the eldest and most experienced members of my order even understand a handful of Morthavi runes. Young Isilda, here, was brought with me because of her exceptional understanding of ancient languages and even she can barely read it!"


    Isilda looked over her shoulder back to Bhergom and then looked over to Tyverus. She gave a sheepish smile and shrugged her shoulders at her mentor''s words. She accepted her own ignorance, which seemed to make Tyverus even more enamored with her for her humility.


    "You know what problem this presents." Bhergom stopped in mid-stride and stared harshly at Isilda. "You know what Master Illena said before we left Alsira Thaenat."


    Isilda gave a nod and pursed her lips. She looked from her feet back up to Tyverus, seeing in his face a puzzled expression. "Dictates from the Grand Circle given to us before we left, are to report any ruins, artifacts or scrolls that utilize the Morthavi language. We were here for a simple expedition at the request of our Grandmaster, Toulam. This..." Isilda gave a long sigh and looked back to the harshly chiseled runes while lightly letting her fingers glide over them once again. "This will slow our work down considerably."


    "It will." Bhergom''s voice boomed throughout the chamber and reverberated through the passages beyond. "Only if we stop what we''re doing and report it immediately. As we were informed to do." One of his bushy, gray eyebrows shot up and the corner of his mouth pulled into a grin. "However, I do believe we only casually glanced at it, as of now, and we didn''t realize what we found. We best busy ourselves with looking at more of these ancient catacombs." Bhergom cleared his throat. "That is, unless our Guardian Knight and enforcer of the Morrthault Laws, here, would say otherwise."


    Tyverus got back to his feet and closed his hand with the orb in it to quell the non-burning flame. He gave a half-hearted laugh and turned to see Isilda''s wide eyes looking up at him in the dim, icy light. "You''re right, Master. I simply saw a stone with some old runes on it. I don''t understand the significance of it or what language it was in. We best continue our explorations. At your discretion of course."


    Bhergom smiled and nodded to the Tyverus. "Good. Now, where did that little monster, Vhoggli, get to." The larger and older man took some steps back to check the passageway they earlier descended and to look into the darkness of the off-shoot passage nearby.


    "I believe he was over here looking at an old doorway, Master." Tyverus held out a hand to help Isilda up and both looked over at the doorway nearby them. "Perhaps he got bored of old stones and continued onward, in this direction."


    Bhergom stormed back into the chamber and leaned on the cracked stone frame of the ruined doorway. He stuck his head through and then momentarily pulled back to stare at Tyverus and then Isilda, directly. "You''re correct. I can smell his overbearing musk from here. Beyond this doorway is a sloping passage and light coming in from another chamber below." Once his words were out he stormed through and disappeared from view.


    Isilda grabbed Tyverus'' hand in hers and marched for the doorway after her mentor. Tyverus went along with her, but hesitated at the doorway and let her hand slip forward into the dark passage beyond. He stood in the threshold and held hold of a stone that may once have held a door hinge many millennia ago. He looked back into the chamber towards the enigmatic stone and then to the passage entrance they had entered from.


    Something didn''t feel right to him and it manifested as a nauseated feeling in his gut. He had only ever had such a severe feeling as this once when he was sent to Fort Haalgen near the Star-shatter Peaks. It was his first assignment and had almost been his last. He felt it right before his regiment was ambushed by the abominations of the Hzvennith Phall -- the Disciples of the Mad Forge. He had lost many friends in the bloody days and nights that followed. He had earned many scars, three metal ribs, and two advanced wards to assist in keeping him alive.


    Surely, a simple expedition to a superstition-haunted land wasn''t going to be the same as the Battle of Wounded Wolves with all its savagery and carnage. He tried to steel his nerves with courage and with a dash of rationality. After all, he was in the company of two esteemed oracles of the Authrakallin. They were known for their divinatory abilities, their caution, and their removal from worldly affairs. There would be no mad berserkers armed with ancient weapons built into their very flesh, here in this place. Surely, most of all, the beautiful Isilda, with her strange abilities of divination, would let him know if anything untoward would happen and he would handle it as he was trained to.


    Tyverus steeled his nerves while forcing a smile and took his first step into the darkness beyond. The thought of Isilda calmed him. In this place, with the history surrounding them, she seemed happy and at peace. This was enough for him to find peace in this strange place as well.


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 [2017] A Blood-soaked Legacy (Fourth Drafts) - Tombs

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    "There you are you damned scoundrel!" Bhergom''s voice erupted forth and sent the large chamber ahead of him into a cacophonic whirl of echoes and vibrations. "Are you trying to steal some treasures before we can keep up?"


    The squat and shadowed man turned his head slightly at Bhergom as the larger and more robust oracle fully entered the chamber. His eyes glinted the same pale green in the darkness ahead and a flash of slick, yellowed teeth came from his wide mouth as he began to hiss with contempt. Vhoggli''s hands were clamped onto a rectangular slab rock ahead of him. He had lifted himself the scant few feet of height he could muster, standing on his very toes, and was interrupted from peering into whatever existed inside.


    The room was much darker than the previous and was only lit with diffused, silvery light trickling in from a raised tunnel in the wall of the far end. Huge pillars of ice served as a glittering and semi-transparent natural portcullis at the mouth of that elevated tunnel. The room was much colder than the others the expedition had entered and there was no presence of water anywhere in the room, however some dancing light ¡ª shining off of water somewhere beyond ¡ª made its way through the tunnel above and was reflected upon the ceiling of the chamber.


    "I have no interest in treasures or trinkets, you old fool." Vhoggli''s voice was more of a growl than his earlier chirps. "You know I''m here on a mission from Grandmaster Toulam, as much as yourself." The wide head of the man-creature turned back to the slab of rock and with a protracted grunt, he tried to lift himself up and over the edge.


    "What is it that you''ve found there?" Bhergom crossed his arms and took a few steps further into the room. He could hear the soft footsteps of Isilda entering in behind him and the large clamoring of Tyverus immediately behind her.


    "Given the dimensions and workmanship, I would believe it to be a sarcophagus." Vhoggli raised himself into a perch on the edge of the slab and then hopped inside the confines. "Quite weathered and long open to the elements." The squat man''s scraggle-topped head peeked over the rim and a bony hand covered in leather rags for a glove pointed further into the darkness. "I believe those stones over there to be the lid. They are shattered, no doubt due to some severe force, and given their age have crumbled significantly."


    "Well look at you, pretending to know what you do not." Bhergom took a few more steps towards the sarcophagus and turned on his heels once he was certain that both of his companions were behind him. He saw Isilda taking in the details of the room, and the armored silhouette of Tyverus behind her. "It would do to have some light in here, young man, don''t you think?"


    Tyverus immediately snapped to attention, passing by Isilda and catching up to the side of Bhergom. The knight gave a nod and opened his left palm. Wisps of energy streamed toward his palm, spinning into a sphere that soon flickered with plasma flame. The orb in his hand was much larger and brighter than his previous one. He used his concentration to lift the light up from his hand and keep it floating near the middle of the room.


    "Much better, you are proving to be a useful lad, more and more." Bhergom crossed the rest of the chamber to stand over the stone sarcophagus. "It would seem our pustulant, resident sage on all things has mentioned that the lid has been broken." Bhergom raised his eyes from the stone to see Vhoggli crawling out of the sarcophagus on the other end and then scurrying into the dark recesses at the edge of the room. "Isilda, come here. What do you make of this?"


    Isilda made her way over to the sarcophagus and bent her path to pass within an arm''s distance of Tyverus. The knight looked at her and then quickly back to the flame he concentrated upon. She let her hand linger once again, and he followed after her. Once she got to the edge of the stone her forehead began to furrow in consternation.


    "Vhoggli was correct." Her focus was now consumed by the stone slab that raised up to her waist. She leaned forward and began to run her hands across the stonework. "The remains of the lid are strewn about the other end of the room, yes, and this stone is quite exquisite."


    Bhergom leaned in on the opposite side. "How so?" He took a few steps to his right and looked disdainfully at the bits of weathered stone chunks around him. "The remnants of the lid are scattered all over. Surely if a grave-robber got this far, they''d merely shove the lid off of the thing. It should mostly be intact; maybe just a few cracks."


    "Yes, grave-robbers would likely crack the lid while it was still sealed, or find some method of pushing it off, causing it to impact the ground and crack as well. Yet..." Isilda''s voice trailed off as she ran her fingers over the stone some more. She lowered into a crouch to see the edge of the stone at eye-level. "You see these here. These weather marks? And these cracks in the foundation of the stone?" She looked up to smile at Bhergom. "This sarcophagus was sealed quite well."


    "Well, yes. Trapped air beneath heavy stone would do that. Once a body begins to decompose, the flora growing within would eat up all the oxygen, creating a sort of vacuum." Bhergom began to trail off as he quizzically looked over to Isilda. He hoped his words could cover for his confusion at her fascinated reaction.


    "Yes, you''re correct, in most instances that is what happens. There are instances where improperly treated bodies can burst due to gases, yet they''ve never been severe enough to cause damage to their confines. Hmm, it wasn''t merely a natural vacuum that kept this lid on." Isilda lifted the trailing edge of her robes and took a step into the stone. She straddled the edge for a moment and pointed to the rock. "You see these grooves? Truly magnificent workmanship. They''re weathered down due to all the water and ice in here, but these ribs fixed the lid directly to the foundation. There must have been small wooden slats placed every few inches or so, as well as some resin, creating a natural seal and method of forcing out the air inside." Isilda looked behind her to give a wide-eyed smile back to Tyverus. "Whatever body was inside, didn''t have a chance to grow any flora that might create a natural vacuum or cause any gases. The body would have been perfectly preserved."This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    "Truly?" Bhergom scratched at the stubbled edge of his chin and leaned to look inside the sarcophagus once more. "Such a shame nothing is left. No doubt that grave-robbers took the corpse and whatever else was sealed inside." The old oracle gave a ¡®harrumph¡¯ and kicked at one of the heavy chunks of stone near his feet. "The lid would have been sturdy. How in the world would they have gotten it off?"


    "They didn''t, you old fool." The voice of Vhoggli echoed throughout the room from some dark place that no one could see. "As the young lass mentioned, the lid was broken into chunks and the foundation has cracks in it. The force came from inside the sarcophagus." A growling hiss and wail reverberated in the room as the man-creature simulated an explosion with his voice.


    "Surely not!" Bhergom stood and looked around the room in an effort to find the source of the ominous echoes. He took a few steps towards some nearby stalagmites and peered around them hoping to find Vhoggli squatted there. He didn''t find him and marched back towards the center of the chamber.


    "He''s right, Master Bhergom." Tyverus'' voice was broken and distracted. He was leaning in beside Isilda to examine the stone foundation. While Isilda was fully inside the sarcophagus and busy running her hands along the right angle edges at the bottom, the large knight was focused on several indentations in the rim''s edge. The blue eyes of the knight flashed up to Bhergom and then back to what his gloved hands had seized upon.


    "What is it, lad?" Bhergom crossed the chamber to get in beside the knight who took a step back to make room.


    "Do you see these scrapes along the rim?" Tyverus kept his left hand aloft but pointed with his right. "They seem to start within the sarcophagus and get deeper and harder as they come up to where the lid would have been. From there I believe the lid was shattered due to some extreme force on its inside edges." Tyverus gave a sideways glance to Isilda who nodded up to him. "Once broken and the shards of rock blasted about this chamber, the same claw-like marks continue around the rim''s edge. To here, on the outside, these deep gouges. They look like claw marks actually breaking into the rock, possibly to lift itself up."


    "Are you telling me they kept a beast inside this?" Bhergom scratched at his neck and his brown eyes squinted harshly while trying to make sense of this information. "Why would the ancients bother to try and trap a beast in such a place? Would not the vacuum that Isilda mentioned suffocate such a creature?"


    "I don''t think it was a beast." Tyverus'' words were curt and dry. "The indents on the outside, well Master..." Tyverus made a claw out of his right hand and placed it to the side of the stone. His gloved fingertips entered into the holes in the rock. "If this were a beast, not only can it survive a vacuum, shatter stone, but it also has the hands of a human."


    Bhergom took two steps back from the sarcophagus while shaking his head profusely. "You''re mistaken. I''ve heard of great feats of strength but shattering a seven-inch-thick slab of rock while confined is too much. Let alone the ability to break a vacuum, or survive one for any length of time..." Bhergom''s voice trailed off as he looked away.


    "Tyverus is correct." Isilda stood up and began to clap the dust and dirt from her hands. "Someone or some-thing was trapped and sealed inside this tomb. Sometime in the last thousand years or so, it erupted forth. Who knows how long it was trapped inside. The weathering on the rubble and inside the sarcophagus places it to about a thousand years. Maybe a few centuries more."


    "Do you think it was a Thaekkuz?" Tyverus looked over to Isilda and held her eyes for a moment. The young oracle broke contact and shook her head.


    "No, but if it was, it''s an entirely different kind than any I have heard of in lore. Revenants that return to their bodies from the hells of Gehemol usually aren''t nearly as strong as this." Isilda lifted herself over the edge of the sarcophagus while Tyverus quickly reached out his free hand to help her the rest of the way. "Thaekkuz are notoriously strong, and they don''t seem to need air or rest like the living." She pursed her lips once her feet hit the ground. "No, if it was a Thaekkuz it would still be inside the sealed tomb, scrabbling at the stone for all eternity. They''re strong, but not that strong."


    "Then what in Tolesh''s Light do you think it is?!" Bhergom''s voice was getting frantic as he began to pace about the chamber. It seemed to be more than an unresolved conundrum that was pulling at his nerves. Perhaps a gnawing fear was growing at him that whatever foul thing this was, it might still be in the catacombs somewhere.


    Bhergom, Isilda, and Tyverus remained quiet in the room for several moments. The reflected light from beyond continued to shimmer and dance on the ceiling. Tyverus'' orb of light continued to shine and waver among hidden breezes near the ceiling. A growing sense of worry seemed to pass from the old oracle to his apprentice and then over to the knight as each looked at each other.


    "It was Merithault." The voice of Vhoggli was distant and echoed throughout the halls and chambers of the catacombs. "This is her domain, and that was her resting place."


    The words stirred Bhergom into a silent rage as he bit his lip and turned red. Isilda looked at her teacher, her blue eyes growing wide, and then over to Tyverus. Tyverus stood silent with his arms crossed and a gloved finger pressing beneath his bottom lip. His gaze was cast downward in heavy contemplation, but a twinge of worry showed through his features.


    Isilda knew the dangers that Vhoggli''s words presented. From what she had seen thus far of this accursed place, she fully believed that the legends of the mad oracle might be true. She could see and feel through her sympathetic energies that Bhergom was afraid of this. He was stubborn and did not want to give into superstition and conjecture, but the evidence was mounting that something unnatural had transpired here. She gave an inward chuckle at Tyverus, as she could feel that he was blissfully unaware of the dangers they had just walked into. He was cautious and on edge, she could feel his awareness reaching out, but his mind was filled with worries about tactics and defensive strategies more than unholy horrors from ancient times.


    "I know the old and clueless one doesn''t believe me, despite the evidence." Vhoggli''s voice continued to echo as it got even more distant. "Perhaps you all should follow me and see this for yourself. I believe what I have just found proves it once and for all."


    Isilda looked back to Bhergom to see him clench his fists at his sides. He rolled his brown eyes and stomped through the chamber to head in Vhoggli''s direction. She watched him move into the darkness and disappear. She stood for a moment until she felt Tyverus'' armored form behind her, pressing in on her back.


    He raised an arm around her shoulders and with a wave of his uplifted hand, the plasma fire returned to his palm. The orb grew small and the light in the room diminished to a wane glow. He gave her a soft push and together they stepped forward. Isilda careened her neck to give one last look at the sarcophagus at the center of the chamber. From there she and the knight stepped from the room and into the new catacombs beyond.


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    Version 4.0.01


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 Episode I - A Blood-soaked Legacy IV

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    "There you are." The scathing voice of Vhoggli echoed throughout the blackness of the next chamber. "Took you long enough to get down to me, and here I thought you actually wanted to explore this ruin."


    The chamber was completely dark and it was uncertain where in the area Vhoggli had perched himself. The echoes of his voice seemed to increase with volume as it bounced off of the space around him and into a cacophonous whirlwind. Only he had the strange ability of vision in such a place and he was taking full advantage of it to teach Bhergom a lesson as he emerged from the tunnel and into the dark reaches.


    "Where are you, scoundrel? This isn''t the time for games." Bhergom''s patience with the little gremlin-of-a-man was running out. He felt powerless in the dark while the other seemed to be taunting him. "Reveal what you''ve found and cease being a cryptic fool."


    The soft pattering of Isilda''s footsteps neared in behind Bhergom and gave him a bit more courage in the shadows. Immediately behind both of them echoed the heavy and metallic clangs of Tyverus. Bhergom openly let his contempt for the knight out in a snarl hidden by the dark.


    "Young lad, now would be another opportune time for your little cantrip, don''t you think?" Bhergom emphasized the last three words as if they were their own statement. He could feel Isilda raise up a hand to clamp down on his shoulder. He first took this as a sign of reassurance, yet his familiarity with her eroded that feeling away quickly. It was her silent way of saying, "Stop bullying the poor boy."


    Bhergom gave a grunt and took a few defiant steps forward while the young knight pooled his energies to summon another orb of glowing plasma. He didn''t understand why Tyverus couldn''t keep the cantrip going constantly. He knew the lad had to focus his energies to keep the light going, and he hoped he would keep that up. That is, keep his focus on the one useful thing he could provide, rather than continually flirting with his pupil.


    The light soon erupted into the cavern and was quickly drowned out by darkness. The glowing orb that Tyverus called forth seemed like a guttering candle in the shear immensity of the cavern the four now stood inside of. The knight groaned for a moment trying to summon more energy into the sphere, yet the darkness here seemed hungry.


    "Something doesn''t feel right," Tyverus muttered to himself as he continued to focus his energies into the slowly growing orb in his hand. He tried to let the sphere fly out of his hand, but it felt like if he let it too far from his person, it might dissipate at any moment. "I''ve never experienced anything like this."


    "It''s probably just the size of the room, young lad. It is quite large." Bhergom took a few more steps forward to marvel at the sheer size of this subterranean cavern he now stood within. The walls that he could see stretched upward almost a hundred feet and the width of the area was far larger than he could ascertain with his eyes. "Such a marvel."


    The sound of icy water could be heard trickling and slushing below them. From what Bhergom could see, the three of them were standing on a shelf that gave way to a natural bridge of rock that spanned some dark reach ahead. On the topmost of that bridge stood the crouched form of Vhoggli, staring at him with those same glimmering eyes that unnerved him so much.


    "Well, what is the delay?" Vhoggli remained on his perch at the edge of the rock-bridge and gloated openly at Bhergom. Despite the words ushering from his lips, the strange fellow held an unnaturally long smile across his face. The fang-filled mouth seemed to split his lemon-shaped head in half. "I have such things to show you, but here you are doddling like a trembling and scared child."


    Bhergom stormed forward and took his first footsteps upon the bridge. His patience was now completely eroded. The light behind him continued to flicker and he soon stepped heedlessly beyond the limitations of the light and into a strange land of silhouettes and shaking outlines.


    "Do you not feel that?" Tyverus spoke idly to Isilda while still concentrating on his cantrip. He reached his free hand to grab hold of his other wrist. The hand holding the light seemed to be growing heavier with each moment.


    "I honestly can''t feel a thing. Well, not much anyway. I can sense your energy and the strain you are under." Isilda stopped for a moment and stared from Tyverus to her mentor approaching Vhoggli on the bridge. Her face narrowed with concern as a realization flashed into her mind. "Actually, I''ve been blissfully separated from my advanced senses since we stepped into this place."


    "And doesn''t that seem a little odd to you?" Tyverus continued to grip his hand with strained force. He took a step forward into the cavern and with that single motion felt even more of a draw from his energy.


    "Not really." Isilda''s look of concern quickly faded into a smile. "It''s oddly comforting." She put a hand on Tyverus'' straining arm. "Perhaps this is what more mundane people get to experience, a sense of serene detachment. Anyway, enough about this, Vhoggli has something to show us." She let her hand linger for a moment and then pulled away with a flourish of her fingertips running down his arm.


    Tyverus remained fixed on the spot and began to worry about what this strange effect might mean. Isilda seemed far more flighty than she had been traveling to this place. Tyverus began to question in his mind, should not an oracle be concerned about being separated from their higher arts while in such an ominous and possibly dangerous place. As his mind got pulled into this quandary, he could feel the control over his light fading and had to refocus.


    "It would be good to have some light further ahead so that we might actually be able to see what this little beast wishes us to find." Bhergom was growing more irritated with each step towards the grinning gargoyle ahead of him. He was nearing into the shadow far beyond the range of the light behind him.


    Tyverus soon followed after Isilda with his eyes focused on his hand and the globe of light in his grasp. Each step caused the light to flicker and fade momentarily. Prickles of pain were beginning to gnaw at his skin as he continued to have to put all of his essential energies into the cantrip. He hadn''t felt this fatigued by spell-work since his certamen training. Of course, at that time he was funneling devastating spells at another knight-in-training.


    Isilda and Tyverus soon caught up to Bhergom who was within arm''s distance of Vhoggli on the bridge. As the light from Tyverus'' hand moved, the walls of the cavern faded away into darkness. All that seemed to exist in this area were their figures on the rock bridge and the sounds of water streaming an uncertain depth below.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    "Good, you''re on your way. Follow me if you dare." Vhoggli gave out a cackle after his words and bounded off into the shadows. He first scurried on all fours and then seemed to leap near the threshold of the light into the darkness beyond. His final words echoed out from the depths. "Don''t be frightened."


    Berghom stood at the apex of the rock bridge with his hands in fists at his sides. His face was growing flush with rage-filled blood. He took two more steps and stared forward into the darkness beyond the bridge. Isilda narrowed in behind him and stopped at his side.


    "Don''t let him get your goat. He''s been helpful thus far." Isilda bit her bottom lip while she paused for a moment. "I know you didn''t like Toulam commanding you to bring him, but the Grandmaster no doubt wanted to provide us with help."


    Bhergom turned on his heels with his mouth open to yell into his student''s face. He caught himself as he drew in a breath and immediately calmed. He could see the concern for him on her face and that was enough to snap him out of his earlier rage.


    "I''m sorry. I don''t know what is coming over me. The further we get into this place and the more that bastard taunts me, the more I-" Bhergom stopped and began to smooth the front of his robes with his hands while gathering some composure. "This is very strange."


    "This is all very strange." Tyverus was two steps behind Isilda and continued to stare down at his hand. "Both of you are acting very oddly. I''m quite sure this place is causing it."


    "Hah!" Bhergom gave out a derisive laugh. "It''s a simple set of catacombs young man. I didn''t think a knight, as yourself, would be so easy to startle at shadows and tombs!" He could feel his earlier anger boiling up once again and tried to keep it at bay with false joviality.


    "Both of you seem blind to whatever is going on." Tyverus passed by both of the oracles to aim his hand like a lantern before them. He continued slowly stepping forth into the darkness and over the apex of the bridge. He lifted his head slightly to look back at Bhergom. "This isn''t natural, and has nothing do with fear."


    With one last step forward from Tyverus he stopped and could feel the drain on his energy grow to an unbearable level. He dropped to his knees, barely able to keep his left hand holding the light straight in front of him. He gave out a groan that turned into a scream.


    "Tyverus! What is it?" Isilda rushed in and dropped to her knees beside the young knight.


    Tyverus remained still, with every muscle in his body flexing and contorting rapidly. Small pricks of blood boiled out of the exposed skin of his forearms and neck. The hair on his face seemed to wave around as if on a shifting breeze that did not exist. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he continued to try and wrest hold of his voice from a scream.


    Isilda turned her eyes from Tyverus'' face and arms to that of his hand being projected out in front of him. The orb of plasma in his palm danced wildly, growing in size and then shrinking. The colors changed from the earlier hues of orange and purple to that of brilliant greens and searing reds. Tendrils of errant energy seemed to splay out from the light like a growing, sentient fog.


    Bhergom ran forward and stopped in behind the knight as he finally got control over his voice and kept it low into a groan. He was fighting his own body and his own energies inside of himself. The old oracle wished he could help but didn''t know how.


    "I-" Tyverus stammered out some words. "I can''t control my own-" Blood sweat began to bead and drip from his brown hair and onto this face. "I can''t stop it!"


    Isilda kept her eyes on the growing tendrils of plasma that streamed out of his hand. The energy was alight and spreading out further like some kind of eldritch thing. The light provided from the energy began to slowly light up the whole cavern and set the shadows into a dizzying dance.


    "He-" Tyverus gave out a small scream and then regained control over his voice. "Help me!"


    Isilda felt hypnotized by the brilliant display of dancing energy spilling out of Tyverus. She had to shake her head and pull her consciousness back to the moment. She turned her gaze from the energy to the young knight''s pain-filled face beside her. She reached out her hands and grabbed hold of Tyverus'' arms. She let her right hand seize onto his right wrist while she moved her left to cover the top part of the orb of light still blazing in his left.


    For the first time since entering this strange place, she could finally reach out with her abilities and focus her own energy. She began to call upon her Haeth arts to both heal Tyverus'' body and revitalize his energies. Within a matter of moments, she began to feel the drain on her as well.


    The light in Tyverus'' hand seemed to grow and take on a bluish color as her energy spilled into his. She began to feel the prickles on her arms as her muscles began to strain. She grit her teeth together and pulled deeper from within her to keep the energy going between her and the knight.


    Bhergom took a step back from the display in front of him. He didn''t want to admit that the beast-man might be correct, but he was growing frightened with each moment. In his many years as an oracle of the Authrakallin, he had never seen such a thing befall anyone. Whatever was pulling at the young knight and his student was truly hungry for energy.


    "Bherg-" Isilda''s voice began to strain as well. Her eyes were filling with tears as she continued to try and choke back a scream building up in her throat. "Bhergom! Help us!" She soon gave in and let out a shrill scream that reverberated throughout the cavern.


    Cowardice began to pull at Bhergom. His thoughts froze for a moment as he saw both of the two in front of him strained in unbearable pain. He was afraid that whatever else was beyond would pull him and devour his energy as well. He wanted to step away from the display and run headlong back into the dark.


    "Hah! We see your true colors at last." Vhoggli''s taunting voice echoed in the darkness beyond. "You asked him to bring the light, you fool. You are responsible for this. Step forward and accept your fate." The voice seemed to surround and pass through Bhergom.


    "For the last time! Shut your gods-damned mouth!" Bhergom shouted over the screaming of his student and the young knight in front of him. "Damn you, you beast!"


    Vhoggli''s laugh echoed once more through the darkness beyond and then seemed to slink away into silence. Bhergom took a step forward and with rage boiling up from within him he grabbed hold of both Tyverus'' and Isilda''s shoulders. He began to pour his own energies into them.


    The display of energy grew all the more, now taking on a silvery hue. The tendrils furthest from the bridge began to fold in on themselves while reaching out to random points in the darkness. The prickles took hold over Bhergom''s body and he could feel his aged limbs convulsing. He strained his legs to keep standing and began to pour from the depths of his power.


    With a brilliant flash, the three bodies were thrown backward across the bridge. The energy before them alight like slowly moving lightning across the entire cavern. Silver bolts of light seared through the air towards crystals mounted near the top of the cavern. The light continued to burn and crackle until the last drops of energy were sucked up by the hungry crystalline fixtures.


    The light emitted from these crystals ebbed for a moment and then roared to life from within. The entire cavern lit with a bluish-silver light. The full immensity of the area was laid bare at last. The rock-bridge, the icy river below, the full banks, and the wall of skulls adorning the far wall.


    Bhergom lifted himself slowly from being on his back. He pushed himself with a groan onto his side and then into a crouch on his knees. He reached out a hand to help Isilda up. Her face was covered with blood-matted hair. Her errant blonde locks peeking from her hood and over her face had been turned a copper.


    Bhergom turned to look at the young knight who had already managed to swivel his legs and push himself back up into a crouch. All three of them looked like the very life of them had been drained out. Tyverus looked the worst for wear as he used his gloved hands to wipe the rivulets of blood from his eyes.


    Tyverus gave a sardonic laugh and then stared directly into Bhergom''s eyes. "Like I said, this is all very strange."


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    Version 4.0.01


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 Episode I - A Blood-soaked Legacy V

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    It only took a few moments for Isilda to get her feet under her once more. Tyverus had attempted to help her to her feet, but she waved him away. She understood that how badly she now felt, having endured what she had previously, he must be suffering far worse. She felt like something had tried to peel away her body from her soul.


    "Any ideas on what in Gehemol that was?" Tyverus'' voice was a little shaky as he pushed his blood-matted hair away from his eyes. "Perhaps Bhergom might know, given how arrogant he''s been lately." He turned his head to glare at the old oracle who had to push against a nearby rock to get to his feet.


    Bhergom remained silent except for an extenuated groan. He avoided eye contact from Tyverus as well as Isilda. His confidence was shaken and he knew the two younger members of the party had seen his cowardice on full display.


    "That was entirely beyond what I''ve experienced before." Isilda''s voice cracked in her throat. "I can barely see with all this blood in my face. Are you faring any better, Tyverus." Isilda groped in front of her until she grabbed the young knight by his scabbard and then lifted her hands to his arm.


    "Yes, I suppose I''m used to blood and gore in my eyes." Tyverus leaned forward to try and see beneath Isilda''s matted bangs. "Also, I have far shorter hair. My skein is empty, though." He patted his belt feeling a light water-skin against his armored thigh. "There is water below, I''ll quickly fetch some for the lot of us. Do you have your footing?"


    "Yes, I can manage." Isilda gave a sheepish grin and let go of Tyverus'' arm. She leaned forward, making out hazy shapes of the ground before her and walked away. She did her best to avoid Bhergom as she moved as the thought of being near him after seeing his actions was too much for her.


    She held one hand out in front of her as she walked forward in a half-crouch. Her free hand wiped away the coagulating blood on her forehead and around her eyes. The first stings were beginning to fade away, but the clumps of blood around her eyes made it hard to focus. She soon realized that the blood in her hair wasn''t going away without some water.


    A few yards ahead sat a small boulder that she could sit on as she regained her strength, and in front of that was a rectangular altar of some kind. She reached the boulder within a few footsteps and she lifted herself onto the flattest surface she could. The prickles in her arms were still going strong and the muscles in her body were still screaming from their earlier strain.


    "If it was a trap, it wouldn''t do to have all of us stuck in it." Bhergom didn''t even bother to apologize for his behavior. "It was a dangerous gamble." The old oracle continued his lumbering walk towards where Isilda sat. She lifted herself on her hands to turn away from him. "It was something I had to think about. I had to weight the consequences."


    Isilda sighed and allowed her shoulders to slump, but otherwise remained quiet. She slowly turned her head away with each step Bhergom took towards her. If the old man wanted her forgiveness, which she knew he did, she was going to make him work for it.


    "What would you have me say?" Bhergom reached the stone altar and groaned as he pressed his backside against the edge for support. He lifted a hand toward Isilda in supplication.


    "I would expect an apology." Isilda cut in harshly. She turned her head to look at her teacher but had to turn her head at an angle. A large clump of drying blood covered his face in her sight. She tried to pick it away. "Well, for starters, at least."


    "I''m sorry." Bhergom''s hand was still held forward in supplication. Isilda couldn''t see his face beneath the blood and her matted hair so it was hard to know if he meant it or not. "You are my student and it is part of my duty to watch out for your well-being."


    Isilda gave a cruel laugh and shook her head. She managed to free a large clump from her left eye. She began to bunch up the robes of her hood around her chin to wipe at her cheeks.


    "I seek forgiveness." Bhergom pulled his hand back to steady himself on the altar. "I''ll do better with the rest of this expedition." The old oracle leaned back against the cool stone and stretched while looking up at the glowing silver-blue crystals above. "I don''t know what it is about this place. I don''t feel like my usual self. I''d say there is a presence here, but I can''t feel anything."


    "Perhaps the source is whatever tried to rip our energies from our bodies." Isilda took the bait at talking about another subject. She wanted to put the past behind them and keep focused on why the four party-members were here. "Tyverus and I were conversing about that particular thing while you were fighting with Vhoggli."


    "What exactly would that be?" Bhergom tugged on his sleeves to pull a small bit of blood from his forehead. He had obviously fared far better than Isilda and Tyverus. "The source of our strange behaviors, the source of our energies being ripped away, or the source of this strange fog over my abilities."


    "Our abilities, Bhergom." Despite Isilda''s compromised sight, she could still see the old oracle be taken aback by her using his given name, it must have hurt his ego not to be given the respect he thought he deserved. "I know the crystals above are responsible for the pull of our energy. Perhaps they are an ancient artifact that is attuned to pull far greater reserves of energy than we currently have within us." She began to probe at the side of her right eye. "I don''t believe the crystals would affect our behavior or cloud our abilities of Haeth."


    "Perhaps Vhoggli is up to something." Bhergom scratched loudly at the stubble on his face. "I never trusted that little runt. Who knows what evil things he picked up from Toulam''s old books."


    "Vhoggli is an asset to us. We wouldn''t be here if it wasn''t for him." Isilda gave a cough and let her head droop for a moment. She didn''t need to see to know that Bhergom had rolled his eyes at her statement.


    "Then, perhaps it''s the boy. Maybe he knows far more arts than simple light tricks. He might be a saboteur from Morrthault City. You know how those members of the Order of Lanterns hate our order." Bhergom lifted himself to his feet once more and cracked his neck to the side. "I doubt very much that the legends of the Mad Oracle are true. Perhaps it is he who would pretend to be her."


    "You''re stretching believability." Isilda raised her right arm on her knee and let her head drop to her upturned wrist. "How do we know you aren''t a saboteur, hmm? A cowardly one at that."


    "Well, speak a demon''s name and he will appear." Bhergom openly ignored Isilda''s last statement and took two steps forward.


    "Vhoggli?" Isilda lifted herself from the boulder and turned towards where her teacher was facing.


    "No, not that rapscallion. The other one." Bhergom grumbled and walked away from the altar and back towards the bridge.


    "It''s ice water, but it will get that blood out of your eyes and hair." Tyverus gave a chuckle as he approached. Isilda took a few steps forward, almost stumbling over a crack in the floor. He caught her with his hand and helped steady her. "The stream runs right under the bridge. Northward it goes on for some time, well into a dark area. Southward it seems to break off into two sources."


    Tyverus lifted his water-skin and began lightly pouring the chilled water on Isilda''s face. She lifted her hands to keep some of it under her chin and rub away the remaining bits of blood from her eyes with her wet fingers. The water had a sharp cold to it but was soothing against her skin.


    "You''ve got a nasty clump in your eyelash." Tyverus lifted his free hand to lightly pull some dried blood from her eye. Isilda looked up at him and pursed her lips at being groomed by someone else. "Sorry, it just looked pretty big."


    "Thank you." Isilda went back to splashing and rubbing away the blood. "I think I can handle my face, just fine." She began to comb the blood out of the fine strands of her blonde hair.


    "From what I can see, you''ve almost got all of it." Tyverus gave another chuckle and continued to pour the last bits of the water. "Good thing, too. I know you''re going to want to see what''s behind you when you''re done."


    "What''s that?" Isilda continued to greedily splash the water on her face while rubbing the last bits from her forehead.


    "Was Vhoggli down there near the water?" Bhergom interrupted the two and began to walk back towards Isilda from the bridge. He had his arms folded behind him and his face was in a scowl.


    "No, Master." Tyverus turned away for a moment to answer Bhergom and then went back to dripping the last bits of water on Isilda''s head. "I lost track of him when you did. I didn''t see him down near the water, or any wet tracks on any of the shores I could see."


    Bhergom gave a grumble and began to walk past the young knight and the young Oracle. He stopped for a moment to look down the incline that Tyverus had climbed a few moments before. He looked back skeptically at Tyverus and then wandered off.


    "What''s his problem?" Tyverus turned his eyes back to Isilda who was wiping the blood-stained ice-water from her face with her sleeve. The water-skin was empty and he idly tied it back onto his belt.


    "He''s trying to cover for his own cowardice with strictness. He won''t get out of his mind that Vhoggli has betrayed us somehow." Isilda finished patting her face with the sleeve of her robes. All down her front was wet blood stains. "Now what is it you wanted me to see?" Isilda winked some leftover moisture out of her eyes and looked up to Tyverus while smiling.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "It''s a little hard to miss." Tyverus smiled and pushed by her. He walked forward and held his arms wide at his sides. "If you three came here to find artifacts, I think you just hit the mother-load."


    "What?" Isilda turned on her heels to look back at Tyverus. She could see him with his back towards her, still with his arms held wide. She pushed beside him to see what was in front of him. She blinked the last bits of blood from her eyes.


    Before them was an immense wall that trailed from the edge of perception on one end to the other. Where Isilda had earlier been sitting was a set of small boulders around a stone altar in an alcove of the wall. Along the wall were innumerable indents about a yard in height and the same in width. In each of these smaller alcoves sat a skull. Flowing from the left to the right seemed to be the passage of time, as the leftmost alcoves held nothing but dust or bone fragments, while the rightmost seemed to have more intact skulls inside.


    "What in Tolesh''s Light..." Isilda let her voice trail off as she took a few steps toward the wall. "There are thousands of them."


    "Tens of thousands, or even more. Entire scores of the dead." Tyverus gave laugh that was half-filled with fear. "Are these the people that died in the city above?"


    Isilda continued to walk forward in a haze, her head lifted up slowly as her eyes trailed along the many skulls in the wall as they trailed upwards into the dark that the glowing crystals could not reach. "No, there''s no way." She stopped at the edge of the wall and let her fingers reach out towards one of the alcoves. She pulled back sharply.


    "Well, you said these were the catacombs beneath-" Tyverus stopped and lifted an eyebrow while thinking. "What was the name of the place?"


    "The city of Neshran. The first city of the Oracles, long ago." Isilda let her hands glide over the stone as she began to walk parallel to the wall, making her way towards the alcove and altar in the center.


    "Yeah, Neshran. If these are the catacombs, then wouldn''t it make sense for all these skulls to be those who were buried here?" Tyverus began to walk after Isilda, keeping just an arm''s length behind her.


    "Neshran was destroyed thousands of years ago, Tyverus. None of these skulls should be preserved at all. Not even fragments or dust should remain. The world has been through so much since that time. The destruction of Oerstav Caelii, the Cataclysm-" Isilda''s voice trailed off again.


    "So these skulls are more recent?" Tyverus stopped and scraped his foot in a wide arch on the stone floor. "So, those are the older ones." Tyverus pointed far to his left. "And these are the more recent ones." Tyverus pointed to the far right. "Some of those down there look pretty new." He began to wander off in that direction.


    Isilda stopped in the alcove and moved behind the altar. In this recess of the rock wall, only five skulls remained in one large alcove. All five of these skulls were coated and sealed in some silver-like metal. She let her fingers run across the stone that they rested upon and feeling the ancient remains of what might have been cloth.


    "I believe these five were the first." Isilda stopped and began to look at the skulls before her. Each was pristine in their metal seal. Jagged runes were scratched into each skull''s forehead with enough force enough to gouge the strong metal. "These are the most important."


    "Well, I found the newest." Tyverus came back and stood beside Isilda. He offered up a skull in his hands while smiling. "Looks like it was taken quite savagely, too." He rolled the skull in his hands, showing bits of decaying sinew holding the jaw in place, and a rattling bit of spine held at the neck by mummified muscle.


    Isilda turned her head toward Tyverus and shot him a glare. "These are the remains of the dead. They aren''t toys." She grabbed the skull from Tyverus and began to run her fingers over it. "Given the curvature and shape of the jaw-¡± Isilda was lost in concentration for a moment and then regained her voice. ¡°These are more feminine features. This-" She leaned forward to survey the skull in her hands. "Given the look of what''s left of the tissue near the neck, I think this is only about two decades old, maybe a few years less."


    "Well, that''s far more recent than when Neshran fell, right?" Tyverus scratched the back of his head and gave a sheepish smile. "So, who is storing a bunch of people''s heads in an old catacomb?"


    "Put this back." Isilda handed the skull back to Tyverus. "Carefully. These are the last remains of who knows how many people."


    Tyverus gave a nod and exaggeratedly held the skull in front of him in both hands. He pivoted his head forward and began to slowly walk back to where he had stolen the skull. Isilda turned away and back to the alcove.


    "As I was saying-" Isilda increased her volume and went back to staring intendedly at the metal-clad skulls in the alcove before her. "These have to be the oldest and the most prized."


    Isilda reached out her fingers towards one of the leftmost skulls on the shelf. She pulled her fingers back, afraid to touch them. She swallowed hard and reached out once more to let her fingers lightly glide over the forehead of the one she focused on.


    "How''s that?" Tyverus bellowed from yards further down the wall, in the dark.


    "There are runes scratched into these skulls." Isilda slowly lifted the skull and took a single step back from the alcove. "These are-" She took another stride backward into the light to see better. "These are ancient Morthavi runes."


    "What, like the ones on that runestone earlier on?" Tyverus continued to bellow but his voice was broken by the clanging of his armor as he walked back to Isilda.


    "Yes." Isilda rubbed some of the dust and frost from the metal to see the runes better. "These runes are truly ancient and in one of the first languages of humanity." She blinked hard and began to chew on her bottom lip. "I can barely make them out and there are only four runes scratched into this one."


    "Well, you know some Morthavi, right? Try sounding it out." Tyverus took one last step and slide in behind Isilda. He leaned forward over her shoulder to see the skull she held up in the light.


    "This one is Ameath." Isilda pressed her thumb over the leftmost rune on the skull. She shifted her thumb right to the next. "This one is Dhottan." She pivoted her right thumb to the next. "This one isn''t a central rune, it''s more of a sounding rune."


    "Sounding rune?" Tyverus blinked and gave a snort of confusion. "You mean there are more than just like Hoelatha? The ''ans,'' ''bhers,'' and ''caels.''"


    "Morthavi has a lot more than just the few we use now. It was an elegant and complex language. Many scholars believe it to be the very language of magick itself." Isilda turned her head to stare intently at Tyverus. "The incantations you use for your elemental rotes are bastardizations of this language."


    "Okay, okay." Tyverus rolled his eyes and then looked back to Isilda. "But what sound do these last two make?"


    Isilda turned back to the skull. She pressed her thumb in tightly to the runes. "This is a slightly modified one. The tanztur at the top going from the left aspkan to the right drahm-" She stopped for a moment and let her tongue flick across her lips. "I''d say it would be something like ''maen'' or ''may-en.''"


    "Okay, and the last one?" Tyverus reached out his hand and pressed his thumb above the last rune. "I don''t know what a drahm is, but what is this one?"


    "This is more complex." Isilda bit her lip and furrowed her brow. "I''d say it as either ''thrayn'' or ''thraya.''"


    "Okay." Tyverus squeezed in behind Isilda and pressed her back against his body. He reached another hand over her and pointed at the first two runs with his index finger and thumb of his left hand. "So, you said these two were central runes. So they''d have common definitions, right?"


    Isilda moved her shoulders and hips to get closer to Tyverus. "Yes. I''m guessing, if the last two runes are a name, then these would be-" Isilda fluttered her eyes for a moment and leaned her head back against Tyverus'' chest. "Dearest daughter."


    "So, it would be, ''My dearest daughter, Maen-thrayn?" Tyverus gave a sharp breath in and let Isilda push her head further into his chest.


    "No. ''Thrayn'' would be masculine. I think her name would be Maen-thraya or Maen-thrai." Isilda opened her eyes to look up at Tyverus from beneath his chin. She gave a genuine smile after licking her lips for a brief moment.


    "Well, there we go." Tyverus slowly took hold of the skull from Isilda''s grip and pulled backward. He swiveled from behind her and began walking towards the alcove to put the skull back on its shelf. "See, I can help. I may not be an oracle, or know anything about these runes, but I can still help."


    Isilda took a step toward Tyverus and took a sharp breath in to say something but wasn''t able to even start. A smile remained on her face and one of her hands outreached. Tyverus took a step to close the distance.


    "Where in Gehemol is that little shit!" Bhergom roared and neared towards Isilda in an almost-run. "Did either of you see that beast scurry by here?!"


    "No-" Tyverus immediately dropped his hands to his sides and stared over to Bhergom with confusion across his face. "No one other than yourself came near us. What happened?"


    "He stole it!" Bhergom''s face went red with rage. "I told you he couldn''t be trusted. I told you!" Bhergom clenched his hands into fists at his side and began marching towards Isilda. "Were you in on this, too?"


    Tyverus jumped between the old Oracle and Isilda. He lifted one of his hands up as a barrier between himself and Bhergom''s wrath. Bhergom leaned past the young knight to stare daggers at Isilda.


    "I have no idea what you''re talking about?" Isilda took a step back with genuine concern and fear spreading across her face. "What was stolen?"


    "One of the most powerful artifacts in the world, you dumb twit!" Berghom raised one of his hands and pressed past Tyverus.


    "Whoa, now." Tyverus grabbed Bhergom by the wrist and pushed himself in front of the old man again. The young knight''s gloved fingers flowed over the old oracles hand while his other hand grabbed the man''s elbow at the joint. Within a second, Tyverus had Bhergom in a painful arm lock and pulled him back.


    "I don''t know what you''re talking about. I was here with Tyverus examining the skulls." Isilda looked from Tyverus to Bhergom. She took a step forward with her arms out, wanting to reassure her teacher. She looked to Tyverus who shook his head. She stepped back.


    "You-" Bhergom began to start and then tried to pull his arm free from Tyverus'' hold. As he did so, the knight clamped down harder into the lock, making the old man wince in pain. "Both of you are responsible for this!"


    "Calm down, or I will make you calm down." Tyverus'' voice was firm as he neared his face to that of Bhergom''s. "How about you show us what happened before you jump to any conclusions?"


    Bhergom beamed rage up at Tyverus. The knight seemed entirely unphased and in his element. "Show us, now, or I''ll break your arm."


    "Fine!" Bhergom gave a hard shrug, but Tyverus didn''t let go. "I''ll reveal to you all of your guilt!" Bhergom looked over to Isilda and then back to Tyverus. "Let go of my damned arm!"


    With a quick and easy motion, Tyverus let go of Bhergom''s arm and raised both of his hands up in front of him with open palms. "Okay, then. Go."


    Isilda stormed after Bhergom and then stepped in front of him. "Show us what happened, before you try to hurt one of us, and yourself, in your impotent rage."


    Bhergom stormed after Isilda, still as red-faced as he had been before. He swallowed hard while shaking his head in defiance of Isilda and Tyverus'' innocence. Rage was still boiling in his veins.


    Tyverus took a moment to gather his thoughts and his breath. He had come very close to breaking the old man''s arm to protect Isilda. He honestly didn''t know what was going on, what this powerful artifact might have been, or why these damned catacombs were so important to these two oracles. He doubted that Vhoggli had done anything wrong, but with a few steps after Bhergom and Isilda, he would soon find out.


    <hr>


    Version 4.0.02


    <hr>

 Episode I - A Blood-soaked Legacy VI

    <hr>


    "Gaze upon the situation you have wrought." Bhergom pressed past Isilda at the mouth of the chamber. "While your idiot-knight dragged us into almost having our souls ripped out, the little gremlin fleeced the entire place!"


    The round room was illuminated by a single blue-silver crystal mounted into the domed ceiling. The walls were made of roughly hewn stone with a remarkable lack of ice present, although frost still coated many of the surfaces within. The floor was cracked and weathered stone rubbed bare by sparse but repeated traffic over millennia. Bhergom stood in the middle of the scene, his arms outstretched and facing a small stone altar near the curved wall at the other end of the room.


    Isilda roughly pushed by Bhergom, almost knocking him to his knees. Her patience was gone with the old man''s accusations, growing paranoia, and prevailing cowardice. Tyverus cautiously had to stoop into the chamber while glancing behind him repeatedly into the dark corridor backward.


    "What is so important? No one expected there to be any artif-" Isilda''s voice got caught in her throat as she realized what was before her. "By Tolesh''s Light, there was something here."


    Bhergom crossed his arms and stood defiantly beside Isilda. He lifted his chin and nose in the air and gave a stern snort. He remained silent and stared from Isilda to Tyverus.


    "What is it?" Tyverus pressed into the chamber yet kept aimed near the corridor. "I''m not familiar with artifacts, you''ll have to describe them to me."


    "It looks like a stone altar, but I''m quite certain it''s a display dais. Exquisitely cut ignis stone, although it''s been pockmarked with time." Isilda ran her hands above the stone before her but did not touch the surface. "There are six round indentations on the far side, and one larger one in the middle." She ran her finger across the frosted indentation near her right hand.


    "The six smaller ones haven''t been touched. I don''t think anything has been there for some time." Isilda continued and then stopped for a moment. "The middle one is absent of frost and dust. Something was here. I can see hand-prints around it. The hands are small and clawed, much like Vhoggli''s."


    "You see!" Bhergom raised his arms above his head and neared Isilda. "You see, now!" He slammed his left hand on the surface of the rock which made Isilda jump. "He''s stolen it. He was never with us as a guide, he was here to steal it!"


    "What precisely is it? Why would he care about it so much?" Tyverus'' voice was low and unemotional. He kept his eyes on the corridor behind him. He shifted his feet and crossed his arms momentarily. He stopped to give a quick look back to Bhergom to emphasize his words.


    "One of the Nesharite Spheres, you dumb lad!" Bhergom gripped the edge of the rock with white knuckles and let his right hand dance in the air. "The very first Sphere ever made! The one that the ancestors of our order could never find!"


    "Yes, he''s right. The other indentations are the six other spheres that have been found. It is said that Vhaltenesh, the creator of our order, found all seven spheres. It is rumored he found them here, in the catacombs beneath the ruined city of Neshran. He stole them and fled for his life."


    "If he took all of them, how would one return?" Tyverus looked over to Isilda for a moment. He pursed his lips and then looked back to the corridor he was nervously fixated upon.


    "It is said that Vhaltenesh gave six of the Spheres to the Hoelatha people to help unify us. The six were given to the Grand Circle in Morrthault City. He kept one Sphere for himself, hidden away. When he grew old and had finished his training of the oracles, he became a hermit." Isilda continued her story while staring at the dais before her. "It is said the sphere was lost with him. Some members of the Order of Lanterns, our rival order, said they had found the ruins of his hermitage and his journals. They state that he had written that a great monster stalked him. That the Mad Oracle from ages passed wanted to steal the sphere from him and kill him for his earlier theft."


    "So, the Mad Oracle stole it back and brought it here?" Tyverus filled in the rest for Isilda. His voice had a tone of impatience to it. "So, not only was there a priceless artifact here, but it proves that the Mad Oracle is real."


    "Hah!" Bhergom interjected and crossed his arms again. "Hogwash! She is nothing more than a cautionary tale to frighten young oracles."


    "The things we''ve seen thus far, prove that she did exist, Master. If not now, then in the past." Tyverus glared hotly at the old oracle. "I would recommend that we find Vhoggli as fast as we can. I have a hard time believing he would simply steal the artifact and run. He seems loyal to your order, if not to you."


    "Actually, I agree, in part." Isilda turned away from the rock to look back to Tyverus. "Vhoggli may have taken the Sphere, but I trust its safety in his hands, far more than I would someone else." Isilda turned to glare at Bhergom and then turn away. "You seem so obsessed with him, so I suggest that Bhergom goes and finds him. I''ll stay here and try to use what I can of my powers on the skulls. I believe they have a story to tell. Maybe I can find out what happened to Merithault the Mad, after all."The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "Are you sure?" Tyverus offered a hand to Isilda, worrying about her safety. "I can stay with you here. Make sure you''re safe."


    Bhergom rolled his eyes and gave an audible snarl. He threw his hands into the air and stormed out of the chamber. The hard stomps of his feet began to echo back from the corridor beyond.


    "No, I would greatly appreciate it, but you must help Bhergom find Vhoggli. Vhoggli may have gone back to another previous chamber, or even made his way back to the camp above. He will continue to hide from Bhergom, especially with the artifact in hand. You are the calm one, and I''m sure he would trust you." Isilda walked back to Tyverus and put a hand on his chest.


    Tyverus gave a nod and a long sigh. "Alright. I''ll stay with you a few moments, though. I want Bhergom to work off some of his steam. I can''t stand the man, right now."


    Isilda chuckled and stared up into Tyverus'' eyes. "I can''t stand him either. There is a lot to be found out in this place, but to be quite honest, I would rather be heading to camp soon." She let her vibrant green eyes hold on to the icy blue of Tyverus''. She pressed her head against his armored chest and walked with him down the corridor, back to the skull chamber.


    "I don''t know how you could have put up with him as a teacher for so long." Tyverus pulled back but reached out with his gloved hand to Isilda. She took it and pressed her chilled fingers into the warmth of his leather glove.


    "He wasn''t always this way. You didn''t talk with us much when he traveled here from Morrthault City, but he wasn''t this way then. This place is affecting him, as you mentioned. I think it''s affecting us all in different ways." Isilda continued with Tyverus through the dark corridor and back into the glimmering light of the larger area. "For him, it must bring out his cowardice and temper. For me, it must bring out my detachment and longing. For Vhoggli, perhaps it is preying on his more animalistic instincts; to steal and to hide."


    "And what of me?" Tyverus held her hand for a moment and then let her go. "I feel fear at this place, and a growing distrust of Bhergom, but I don''t feel that strange."


    "Perhaps this place won''t affect you, because of your training." Isilda took a few steps towards the wall of skulls. "Maybe it only affects oracles. This land was once our birthplace, so long ago. Even when the oracles of that time faded away or were hunted down..." Isilda trailed off for a moment and let her hands run over the metal skulls in the alcove, again. "When the last oracle, Vhaltenesh, decided to bring our arts back, he came here as well. This place is powerful. It makes sense it would affect just us."


    "Well, I don''t mind being uncompromised." Tyverus chuckled to himself and began to fidget with his gloves. "We best get to this, then. I best help Bhergom find Vhoggli. As for you, find out what you can from those skulls. The faster we can get out of here, the better."


    Isilda turned back to smile and nod in Tyverus'' direction. He turned back to pick up the previous skull she had studied earlier. She carefully held it in her hands and began fluttering her eyes.


    "You can really do as you said?" Tyverus became distracted and took a few steps towards Isilda. "You can read the past of objects?"


    Isilda gave a nod and let her eyes return to normal. "Yes, I can." She took a few steps over to one of the smaller boulders and sat upon it. "It will be hard, as this place seems to drain my energies and continually distracts me." She placed the skull on the altar before her and began to run her fingers over it. "I shall try, however, to see what I can."


    "Remarkable." Tyverus neared the altar and began to loom over it. "Can you do that with any object? Can you see the past or the future?"


    Isilda looked up to Tyverus with a playful crossness to her face. "I can look into the history of objects, and can cast spells through them to their owners. With skulls, however, it would be different." She returned her focus to the skull before her. She stared intently into the empty sockets. "There is a chance, that if some essential energy still lingers in this skull, I may be able to see what the dead person saw in life. Some fragments of memories, some sympathetic connections to loved ones, and hopefully some inkling on who she was."


    "Quite fascinating. Far more subtle than my arts, but no less powerful or practical." Tyverus continued to loom over the altar. He looked down his nose at the skull and then over to Isilda. "Is it demanding of your energies?"


    "Yes." Isilda broke concentration to look up at Tyverus. "Even more so, given the nature of this place." She gave a smile and then crossed her hands on the rock. "Perhaps, it would be best if I had some quiet to focus my waning energies?"


    "Oh, yes." Tyverus pulled back and gave a light slap of his gloves on the altar. "You''re right. My apologies. It would be best if I find Bhergom before he kills Vhoggli." He gave a deep nod and a step backward.


    "Let me know what you find out. I''ll be fine here. Just me and the dead." Isilda gave another grin. "I know how to handle the dead."


    "And I know how to handle the living." Tyverus gave a half-bow and turned away from Isilda. He began a slow walk towards the bridge beyond. He stopped to give one last look back at Isilda. He took in her form and then put his attention forward.


    He had to find Vhoggli and ensure that Bhergom didn''t take his temper out on the small fellow. He didn''t want Bhergom getting hurt, either, as he could easily storm into a dark crevice and be lost. He gave a quick look up to the vaunted ceilings above.


    It was strange that the crystals had to drain so much energy out of three people just to produce such a scant bit of light. Whoever created such artifacts must have had quite a well of personal energy to draw upon for such a simple purpose. He gave one last look to some crystals mounted above the far end of the bridge. It seemed the energies were slowly dissipating. Darkness was beginning to reclaim the room.


    There was still enough light for Isilda to do her work, but he had to put some drive into his steps. Tyverus began to run across the last bits of the bridge and aim himself to the dark corridor ahead. He agreed with Isilda, they best get their work done expediently and get back to camp before nightfall.


    <hr>


    Version 4.0.02


    <hr>

 Episode I - A Blood-soaked Legacy VII

    <hr>


    "Where in Gehemol are you, you little shit!" Bhergom bellowed through the darkness ahead of him. The sounds of his leather shoes thundered throughout the darkened chambers and narrow corridors of the catacombs. "I''ll make you choke on what you stole!"


    Bhergom stopped to gather his breath for a moment. He steadied himself against the ice-rock wall of the corridor he was climbing through. He began to pinch at the bridge of his nose with his free hand. He would be damned if such an important artifact to his order be stolen by someone as dubious as Vhoggli.


    He knew he should have stood his ground when the expedition started, back in Alsira Thaenat. The very moment that Grandmaster Toulam tried to shuffle the ugly, little runt onto him, he should have said, "No." Isilda worked her treacherous magic on him, softening him up with sugared words. He should never have relented.


    By the gods, old and new, he could have found Neshran himself. It might have taken a few more months, but he was up to the challenge. As far as he was concerned, Vhoggli wasn''t even a member of the Authrakallin Order. He was some slinking pet that Toulam kept for his own amusement. A slithering thing that stole knowledge from old books and provided nothing of worth to the order.


    "You can''t get far on those stubby little legs, you monster!" He bellowed again into the dark. "If you don''t reveal yourself at this very moment, I''ll kill you with my bare hands when I do catch you!" He lifted his steadying hand from the wall and punched the ice. A crack broke in the wall and echoed off. "Reveal yourself, now!"


    He stomped up the rest of the steeply inclined corridor and made his way around a bend in the wall. He emerged into the large chamber containing the sarcophagus. A quick glance around the room revealed the absence of Vhoggli''s stout form.


    Bhergom walked slowly up to the sarcophagus before him, making sure to avoid stepping on ice or shallow ponds of frost. Once he was a few steps away, he bolted forward and screamed into the rock coffin. "Where are you, devil!"


    He beat his fists on the ancient rock walls of the sarcophagus. His temper was growing with each breath. He could see the steam rising from his head and billowing in front of him from his face.


    He stood for a moment among the tomb of the dead. He looked at the ice wall and the stalagmite-strewn cavern mouth above him. He didn''t see any scrabblings or claw marks on the ice wall. He knew the little runt was agile and sneaky, but he had no way to know for certain if Vhoggli had mounted that wall and climbed to another area.


    Light continued to filter through the ice above and from the mouth of that cavern. Shapes moved across the ceiling as light bounced off the surface of gently rippling water high above. The light was fading, however, as evening approached. The shadows grew long and it was hard for his old eyes to focus.


    He looked behind him and upward. Shadows began to dance on the walls and across the ceiling. He narrowed his eyes and tried to focus hard in the dark. For a moment he thought he could make out a stout form leaping from one pillar of rock and ice to the next. He soon realized it was the dark playing tricks on him.


    "Tolesh damn you! Olthenna curse you and take your wretched hide!" Bhergom took one more scouring look around the chamber and marched off to the next corridor. "The first of the Nesharite Spheres is not for you or any of your unsophisticated ilk! Return it now!"


    As he made his way through another narrow corridor, he knew his words were correct. Such an artifact had tremendous importance to his order. The memories of the first oracles were trapped within. The legends of the Hoelath people were documented in each of the seven spheres. The first sphere was the very one that Vhaltenesh kept with him during his last years.


    He stopped for a moment in the corridor. To his right, the water-carved stairs trailed downwards into a deep darkness. To his left was the incline up to another room he had been in. He cursed Tyverus under his breath for not being with him to supply light. He soon cursed himself for not bringing a torch.


    The little creeping bastard had vision in the dark. Bhergom didn''t know how powerful that ability was, if Vhoggli needed some scant bit of light, or could see things beyond the ken of mortals. Surely, it wouldn''t make sense for him to run further into the dark with his prize. Even one as sly as he could get lost in the perilous tunnels and ancient chambers below.


    No, he had to have gone back the way he came. If he was playing some kind of spiteful game, he knew that Bhergom wouldn''t follow him to his death below. He would hide where it was familiar, where he could loom in the shadows. Or he would run like a coward and thief back to the camp above. Would he wait for them there, or would he steal their rations and make his way off this accursed island?


    He turned to his left and began to march up the steep incline to the room above. He wished he could use his Haeth Arts and feel the little bastard out. He knew his essential stink from traveling with him for several months. He had the abilities, but this accursed place was playing havoc with his mind. He tried once more to reach out and feel for Vhoggli.


    A snapping sound rang out in the dark. A feeling like a whip had been set loose right into Bhergom''s mind. The feeling tore through him and made him stumble. He grabbed the wall before he lost his footing.


    This feeling was different than when he had tried to use his arts earlier. Before all he felt was a strange sense of fog and detachment. He felt confusion then like something kept tickling at his mind and pulling him away from pooling his energies. This was entirely different. This was intentional.


    "Damn you!" The words erupted from his gritted teeth. He clutched his head tightly in his hands. The echoes of the whiplash rang in his mind and with each ring felt colder. A sensation like a skeletal hand reaching out of the shadows to penetrate into his skull was taking hold. "If this your doing, Vhoggli, I will indeed kill you."


    Whatever or whoever this presence was seemed to laugh at his words. There was no noise to be heard, but the feeling tore through into Bhergom''s mind. He tried to reach out to the presence but it always seemed distant. Every time he tried to focus, it was as if his attentions were swatted away like he were nothing but a gnat.


    As quickly as the cold lash and grip took hold, it receeded. Fog rolled back over his senses and that same tickle made his mind turn abruptly. More anger boiled up at him and his attentions were placed back on Vhoggli.


    Bhergom shook his head and pressed forward into the dark.


    * * *


    Tyverus made his way into the dark corridor beyond the skull chamber. He continued about a dozen feet until the corridor split in two. The catacombs were becoming increasingly dark as the last of the twin suns far above were setting. He took a moment to gather his energy and thoughts.


    He was drained from having his energies ripped away earlier. Some of his essential energies were beginning to pool into him again, given speed and focus by the glowing runes of his mantle. He didn''t have enough to fully call upon his cantrip of light, but he could at least make a glow that would help him in the dark.


    He breathed in deeply, calling upon the waning reserves inside of himself. Tiny sparks began to coalesce out of the dark and pool in the gloved palm of his hand. He waited for a moment, watching and intently focusing on their dance. An orange wisp of plasma formed just above his hand. It was more like a miniature tornado of energy falling into itself over and over. The light produced was barely that of a flickering candle. That was enough for him to see, at least, his training in dark areas would have to cover the rest.


    With a bit of light to guide his movements, he felt his attention draw to the right-most split in the corridor. He hadn''t followed that path before, and curiosity pulled on him. This place was deep and complex, no doubt containing far more rooms than he had seen thus far. Who knew what other strange things existed in its depths.


    If this is what it was like to be one of the Authrakallin Oracles, always on the search for new discoveries and hidden artifacts, he was beginning to wonder about his own choice of caste. He wasn''t lying when he told Bhergom that he originally wanted to be an oracle as a child. He was born far away from harsh lands of Alsira Thaenat, where the Authrakallin made their refuge. He was born to the luxuries of Morrthault City.


    Being born in such an international and metropolitan area didn''t allow him freedom to seek his own path. His father demanded that he put interest in subtle arts away as a child. His path was to join the Guardian Knights of Morrthal. It was a prestigious choice of caste, and like all choices a young person must make in Hoelatha culture at their coming of age, it was a permanent one.


    Tyverus knew he had, at least in a sense, made the correct choice by following his father''s demands. His skills were needed in the battles that he fought for the greater good of the Hoelatha people. From the Battle of the Wounded Wolves, which had drenched him in gore and far too many nightmares to live with, to his stationing in Fyrrantha and his almost-romance with a young druid there.


    He remembered the horror he witnessed; the savagery of human-against-human when her village was burned, and her people were sacrificed to some perverted god from far-away lands. If it were not him and his detachment sent there, no one would have remembered that village, that poor girl, and no one would have avenged them against the Ssvacnothi raiders.


    Still, there was some lingering and selfish regret that took hold of his heart. Battles were always fought and people always died; it was the sad fate of all in this world. What kind of life could he have lived if he followed the subtle path of Haeth instead of the destructive path of Maela, as he had. He had the power within himself to drawn upon elemental magicks that could sunder kingdoms if harnessed properly. Yet, the strange arts of divination always pulled at his soul.


    Vengeance was had, wars were quelled, raiders found their violent ends due to their savage choices, all by his hand. What if his hands weren''t soaked in blood, but instead held the same life-giving powers that Isilda''s hands held. Would his choice of being an oracle meant that more lives could have been spared? Was he willing to give up the memories of that young druid and her village, for a life he could have spent with Isilda instead?


    Tyverus shook the growing thoughts and feelings in his head. What was done was done and he was here now. The choices of his life, just like those of Isilda, Bhergom, and Vhoggli, led them to this place at this time. He may not be an oracle, but he was here with them and in the presence of a beautiful one at that.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    He might not be able to draw upon the powers of the past, of the future, or of the mind, but he was here to learn from them. He was here to discover the things they discovered. He could finally take part in something other than death and murder.


    The darkness to his right continued to seduce him with its promise of discovery, but he pulled back from it. He turned to the left and began climbing the water-worn incline of rock. He took a few forward steps and then turned back wistfully to gaze at the darkness he turned his back on. Just like he had turned his back on so many life choices before.


    Far off in the darkness above, he could hear the distant echoes of a voice bellowing. The words were muffled, but a few jumbled, vulgar words made it to his ears. It was the anger-filled voice of Bhergom, spewing his hatred of Vhoggli into the halls of the dead.


    Where his curiosity stole his resolve, this dedication to duty bulwarked him. He made a promise to Isilda to find Bhergom before he killed himself in the dark. He wanted to find Vhoggli as well if only to see what this profound artifact might look like. He pushed on into the darkness, climbing further. Each footstep was resolute, and his pace began to quicken.


    * * *


    Isilda sat for a moment with the metal-coated skull before her. She held both hands a few inches from the surface of the skull and focused intently upon the runes carved into the metal and bone. Her energies were depleted and it was hard to concentrate, but she had to try and get some answers, even if they only came to her in fractured bursts.


    "Maenthraya, or Maenthrai, the beloved daughter of someone long ago. Please, share with me what you saw while you were still alive." Isilda closed her eyes and allowed the tips of her fingers to touch upon the chilled metal before her. "If your shade remains in this world, please come to me, show me what I must know."


    Isilda drew energy from the area around her, feeling the fine hairs on body stand on end. Deep muscles in her solar plexus began to tighten as she felt a warm energy growing there and spreading throughout her body. Beneath her closed eyelids she observed the cascading flow of her mental energies folding out as a blue, purple, and gray tunnel stretching into infinity. Sparks and rings of energy flowed from her into the depths and after a few moments, the first ripples began to come back to her.


    The rings took on a brighter shade as the first rolled back to her slowly, and then with increasing speed. With each wave of energy hitting her consciousness, the energy inside of her began to grow. There was still information in these old remains, and an echo of a soul was reaching back to her.


    Wave after wave struck at her with increasing speed and her body began to convulse slightly with every impact. Images began to focus out of the depths she reached into. Fuzzy details of a young man''s face. A disjointed feeling of happiness and sorrow at the flash of a young woman''s birth. The memories cascaded with greater speed until Isilda''s consciousness could barely contain them all.


    The waves were forming into one long cascade of energy now. It was hard for Isilda to control all of it. She fought against the constant memories coming at her and the feeling inside of it of some consciousness wanting to take over her own. The sensations were growing painful and the convulsions in her body were wracking her with increased force.


    Then everything went cold. The waves stopped, and darkness crept over her. She felt a snap come from inside of her, like some resistance in her mind had finally given in. She couldn''t feel her body anymore, all she could feel is omnipresent cold that transcended any kind of physical sense.


    "You should not be here." A soft feminine voice reached to her from the dark realm all around her. "You are meddling in things you were not meant to."


    "Who are you?" Isilda ignored the cautionary words. She couldn''t see anything and had no sense of body. She called out with her mind into the abyss all around her.


    "You should not be here." The voice became more commanding and louder. The voice no longer seemed to be coming from a single point in the abyss, but rather from all directions at once.


    "Maenthraya? Is that your name?" Isilda continued to ignore the voice. She tried to coalesce some astral form from her energies but every mote she gathered seemed to be dispersed on a wind that grew in intensity. "Why will you not share your secrets with me?"


    "You mean nothing, young one. You don''t know what powers you mettle with." The voice began to swirl around Isilda''s consciousness while gathering force. "You pretend to know the powers you draw upon. You pretend to know the past of the world. You delude yourself with the purpose of your futile, and short life."


    "What do you mean? All life has purpose." Isilda pressed her will forward and kept pushing against the growing winds around her. A slight incandescent form of her body could be seen beneath her. "I am here among the living. You are among the dead. I am the candle in the wind, and you are the echo of what has passed."


    "That is precisely the source of your delusions, young one. You pull at energy that you don''t know how to harness. You use arts that have had their time and died long ago. You walk into a den of evil and dare to pierce the secrets hidden within."


    "The catacombs?" Isilda could feel more of her astral form growing in this place. She could feel the strong winds billowing on her ephemeral skin. She could hear the howls echoing throughout the darkness. "How is this a den of evil?"


    "Mother dwells here, child." The voice was so loud as to be deafening now.


    "Your mother? Merithault?" Isilda reached a hand out into the darkness, seeing the particles of energy making up her ghostly form. "Merithault is long gone. This is a place of the dead now."


    "How naive you are." The winds pulled back for a moment and then hit Isilda like a hard wave once more. "Evil in this world does not die, it lingers and grows hale off the sins of humanity. She is as strong as ever. She bides her time until she can seek out the last of my blood." The winds dissipated Isilda''s energy for a moment, but she reformed herself easily. "The last of our cursed lineage. The Forsaken. The Witchling of Alsira. The orphaned daughter of destruction and madness."


    "Alsira? That is my home." Isilda paused for a moment to gather her fragmenting thoughts. "Who is this Witchling? Who is the last heir of your blood?"


    The winds remained silent as they continued to whip around Isilda at a feverish pace. The darkness began to dwindle for a few moments, with images that looked like the skull cavern her physical body sat within. Isilda could see different perspectives of herself from out of her body.


    "You are not meant to know. You aren''t supposed to be here. Leave before mother returns." The winds howled against her. Isilda could see the hood on her head blow down her shoulders and her blonde hair rise and fall with each word.


    "I must know. I can seek out the Witchling. I must know if I need to protect her."


    "You are not meant to be here!" The voice tore through her like the skin-stripping sand-winds of her home during a storm. "Leave now, or suffer our fate!"


    "Your fate? Who do you speak of?"


    "Myself, my family, and all those of my children, their children, and onward."


    "These skulls are your children? Who killed them and took their skulls to be placed in this cavern."


    "Mother."


    "Is your mother, Merithault? Are you the daughter of the Mad Oracle?"


    The perspective of Isilda moved around her physical form. She could see herself from above, from the sides, and from other oblique angles. Each shift corresponded to each word spoken by the voice of the other entity in this abyss. The winds continued to gather and then suddenly went quiet.


    "Leave!" A hard gust of wind hit Isilda and sent her physical form into a convulsion backward. "Now!" The next gust threw her physical form backward off the boulder she sat upon. Her hands broke contact with the skull.


    Isilda opened her eyes and felt the pain growing in her neck, chest, and arms. She pulled herself from lying on the rock and ice-strewn floor of the cavern to get back to her feet. She could feel groans of pain from her body that grounded her more to her physical form.


    She walked over to the boulder, sat down upon it once more, and defiantly held her hands over the skull once more. She wasn''t going to let this stubborn entity hold secrets from her. She was here to find out what knowledge this place held, and she''d be damned to let an errant shade get the best of her.


    Isilda held her hands over the skull and then let her fingertips touch the skull once more. She threw caution to the winds and began to pool energy within her without constraint. She was focused now and she would rip the knowledge from the entity whether it liked it or not.


    Isilda felt her eyes begin to flutter as she tried to form the same tunnel in her mind as before. She could feel erratic sparks of her consciousness reaching out, but they never seemed to come back to her. She tried to close her eyes fully, but could not do so as they continued to flutter.


    She tried to pivot her hands to get a better grip on the skull and she soon realized she could not move her body. With a hard snap, her head was tossed forward and then backward. Her eyes flew open and she could not manage to shut them.


    She stared at the skull in front of her as silver-blue light began to flow from the dimming crystals overhead to pool around the skull in front of her. The metal of the skull grew painfully cold as the energy gathered. No matter the pain, she could not sever the connection between her and it.


    Tears began to well up in her eyes, beginning first as water, and then with the sting of blood. The growing blood tears began to stream down her cheeks, freezing to them before reaching her chin. Her breath became pitched and the steam coming up from her nose and mouth soon dissipated. She could feel the cold air reaching into her lungs and freezing her from the inside out.


    The blue light began to form a faint outline before her. It looked like the silhouette of a woman clad in ancient robes. Features slowly began to form within the energy until she could make out eyes and the vague features of a face.


    Isilda began to cough hard, unable to draw in breath. She gave gulps, hoping to capture what she could, but air continued to escape her. She coughed once more and blood began to spatter out from her mouth. The droplets seemed to float on the air and slowly drift to the form in front of her.


    Each cough and sputter gave more blood to the form, and each droplet met with the others, freezing in place and forming what looked like strands of hair draping from beneath the female form''s hood. The form was enchanting and beautiful in a strange way.


    Pain soared throughout Isilda''s body. The pain in her chest felt like she was drowning in ice-cold waters. The chill of the metal skull tore through into her hands with a frostbite beyond any she had felt before. Her eyes continued to sting, and despite the blood frozen over them, she continued to see everything around her in a crystal focus.


    "My name is Maenthrai. I am the daughter of Merithault. I am the last of the true oracles. I am inheritor of the blood-curse, from my mother to all those of my blood." The voice from the form before Isilda was hypnotic and commanding. She could hear every word, yet the accents of the language seemed foreign to her. "I was murdered by my mother after I created the Nesharite Spheres. I crafted them to keep our ancient culture alive, once I knew my mother would destroy all that had come before. I sought out the source of what turned my mother into the unliving creature she now is. In doing so, I found out the future of this world. I was given the choice to allow my mother to fulfill her dark impulses, or to hope that one of my heirs would be able to fight back against her."


    Isilda continued to remain frozen in place. The words and visions began to wash over her consciousness. The form was now opaque although shadowed in darkness.


    "It was my dying wish that I could redeem my mother, but I failed. The Spheres I built fell to unworthy hands. The world I wanted to save, has now crumbled to dust. The only hope remains in one of my lineage. The last one to be cursed with the true powers of Haeth. The one that can be found with the blood hair."


    The form leaned in close to Isilda. She could feel sparks of energy hitting her chilled flesh. The pain inside of her made her want to die, but she had to stay conscious long enough to learn the secrets of Maenthrai.


    "You are not supposed to be here, child. I have warned you and you still do not heed me. If you must suffer the fate of your ignorance, then I might as well impart my wisdom to you. Perhaps your soul can be of use, one day."


    The form moved back from Isilda and reached out a hand in her direction. The hand seemed to be clothed in transparent flesh. The bones beneath shone through with brighter energy than the ephemeral flesh coating it. Searing cold emanated from the hand as it neared Isilda''s face.


    The hand reached forth and grabbed Isilda by the skull. Cold, skeletal fingers penetrated through her scalp and to her very bone. She could feel the cold pressing in on her mind, freezing her while exploding her consciousness from within.


    "You wish to know what I know, and see what I have seen. Then so be it."


    Isilda convulsed backward as a brilliant flash of light went off in her mind. The sensations were overpowering. The emotions were more than she could bear. The visions tore through her and made all that she had ever known seem like specks of dust on the wind. Her mind was being ripped apart from the inside-out as each revelation struck her with increasing ferocity.


    <hr>


    Version 4.0.01


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 Episode I - A Blood-soaked Legacy VIII

    <hr>


    "I''ll find you and rip your damned throat out!" Bhergom was beginning to run out of insults to bellow into the darkened caverns around him. He was now starting to get inventive with what tortures he would inflict on Vhoggli.


    "I''ll rip your fetid innards out with my bare hands and choke you to death with them!" He dropped to his haunches to catch his breath and pressed his back against a cold rock.


    He was in the chamber where Isilda had noticed the ancient runes. The very rock he pushed his back against was that same rock. He couldn''t make out anything in the waning light and he didn''t really care. His entire rage-filled focus was aimed directly at Vhoggli.


    "Jhulkos take you and tear you to pieces, you filthy little wretch!" He pummeled his fists impotently against the rock behind him and lifted himself back to his feet. "You can''t hide from Oracles, you damned fool!"


    Bhergom took a moment to think back to his home among the mesas and canyons of Alsira Thaenat. There he directed some more of his rage at Grandmaster Toulam, the head of his order, and the one who had sent them on this expedition. It was Toulam who forced them to bring Vhoggli. It was Toulam who, against the better advice of the Master''s beneath him, sent this haphazard group to this ill-begotten place.


    Master Illena had warned him before he left that this mission would be folly. She had mentioned several times before he left that the Grandmaster was becoming irrational. It was beyond her place to question the old sage, but she had mentioned over a few drinks of mead, the possibility of removing him from power over their order. At the time Bhergom deflected the idle and insurrectionist thoughts, but now being in this cold and dark place, he saw the wisdom in her veiled words.


    "I hope the bauble you stole is worth it!" Bhergom howled into the growing darkness around him. "If it''s worth enough to betray us, it better be worth enough to die for!"


    He lifted himself back to his feet with a long and lingering groan. He was in the middle ages of his life and although he kept himself healthy, some aches and pains of age were making themselves known. Part of his mind wanted him to take a long rest, or to return to the camp and sleep. He hadn''t suffered as much exhaustion as Isilda and Tyverus earlier on in the skull chamber, but it had drained a great deal of his vigor away.


    He didn''t have the patience anymore for Vhoggli''s cowardice. He was tired of yelling into the dark and being the only one with the wherewithal to search him out. It should have been Tyverus to do the legwork. Isilda had keener senses than he had, and he knew that little gremlin of a man had a soft spot for her.


    Back on his feet now, Bhergom took a few ponderous steps towards the last archway of the caverns. He stopped to hold his hand on the arched stones. He looked to his right into the deepening darkness as the passageway beyond folded into deeper recesses. He turned his head to the left and up the slight incline to where the expedition had entered the catacombs. Orange and red light of evening filtered through the ice above.


    "You tucked tail and ran all the way back to camp? Damn you!" Bhergom slapped his palm against the archway and pressed forward and to the left. "Fine. I give up on this damned place. I''ll meet you there and kill you in your sleep."


    Bhergom stormed up the water-carved steps towards the entrance of the catacombs. Each step seemed like a portion of weight was slumped from his shoulders. The oppressive and disorienting feeling in the caverns seemed to pull back the closer he got to the waning lights of the twin suns, Dhaulm and Trallt.


    The entrance was a mere stone''s throw away now and the darkness growing at his back felt sinister. He stopped for a few moments to look over his shoulder. He could hear distant footsteps scurrying in the dark. Shadows coalesced from the recesses to flutter for a few moments. He could swear there was something there, looking back at him.


    "You coward. No more, I''m done." Bhergom''s face was filled with fear but he turned away from the darkness to stare into the dimming light ahead. He was defiant now and his own fear made him want to bolt into the light all the more.


    He took a few more cautious steps ahead and stopped as his foot crunched loudly on some of the broken icicles he had kicked from the wall at the beginning of his misadventure. The feeling on the back of his neck was hot like someone was staring right at him. Cold breath blew on the back of his neck. He refused to turn to confront it.


    One more step forward and then the whole world seemed to turn upside down. Dizziness struck at his skull and made him drop to his knees. He clutched his head as the cold breath behind him reached out to chill his body. Pain soared throughout his head and made his closed eyes feel like they were frozen in place.


    "Damn you. Let me go!" His voice was shaky in his throat as the words crawled up like coagulated blood.


    Bhergom forced his eyes open through the ice coating his lids. It looked as if the walls ahead of them were growing as ice reached out to slowly fill the light ahead of him with darkness. He knew this couldn''t be and began to viciously scratch the ice from his eyes.


    The pain was searing and wracking his body. The tips of his fingers felt like they were dead, yet the nerves inside them screamed as if they were plunged into a smithy''s flame. He managed to free his eyes from the ice and reach out one hand into the light before him.


    He was mistaken about his earlier certainty, the walls were sealing up in front of him. He felt the fingers of his outstretched right-hand glide across the growing ice and stone that slowly closed in front of him like great doors. Not more than a sliver of light cut through between the ice and he hadn''t the strength to press forward.


    That last sliver of light was extinguished and he dropped to his belly on the icy floor of the passageway. Somehow, something sealed off his escape. He began to slowly sob to himself and bang his icy fists upon the stone around him.


    "What horror is this?" Bhergom could slowly feel the pain in his head and hands dissipating now that whatever had caused it had succeeded in trapping him in this place. "What do you want? Why do you torment me like this?" He clenched his hands into fists and raised himself up into a sitting position.


    Silence reigned over the darkness around him. The only response came from a slight rumbling and vibrating around where he sat. He reached out his left hand to sturdy himself against the wall so he could get to his feet once more. As his hand touched the chill rock and ice, he noticed the walls were moving in on him.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Hurriedly, he pushed himself from the wall and fell forward onto his hands and knees. The rumbling intensified and began to shake the whole passageway. Whatever power had sealed off his escape was now wanting to crush him in the darkness.


    He scrabbled forward a few feet and then managed to push himself up to his feet. He could feel the walls closing in behind him and on his sides, forcing him forward and downward into the dark. As soon as his feet were fully beneath him he began to run back the way he had come.


    He closed distance next to the archway that held the runestone chamber beyond and looked forward into the descending passage. As soon as his eyes got used to the dark once more, he could see the extremities of that passage begin sealing. Whatever force controlled these catacombs seemed to want him to return the way he had come.


    Berghom forced himself through the archway and began a full sprint into the chamber beyond. He could see a scant bit of purple light filtering in through the ice roof and caught himself staring up at the freedom so close, yet so far away. That is when he quickly cursed his lack of focus as he impacted something cold, metal and heavy.


    Bhergom fought the obstacle ahead of him off with his hands and found a cold grip on his left wrist. He continued to push by and another grip took hold on is right. No amount of movement would free him in his frantic fit.


    "Whoa, there, where are you going in such a rush?" It was the voice of Tyverus, as coolly nonchalant and unphased as ever. "Isilda sent me to check up on you and help track down Vhoggli. Have you seen him, yet?"


    "Let go of me you fool!" Bhergom yanked his wrists free and the knight let them go. "That bastard is the least of our worries at this moment."


    "How is that? Surely, he must''ve gone past you and up to the surface. We can just continue up to the camp. I''m sure this is all just a misunderstanding." Tyverus pushed past Bhergom and took a few steps in the dark towards the archway of the chamber. He turned back to Bhergom with a smile on his face.


    "There is no way out of here you thick-skulled twit." The instincts calling out to Bhergom were to continue running back in the dark and ignore this dullard of a hired sword. He held his place for a moment and began to walk back on his heels.


    "I cleared the passage ahead when we first entered the catacombs. Surely this place can''t be affecting your memory as well as your mettle." Tyverus gave a short laugh, amusing himself at Bhergom''s expense. "I know your old feet might not be able to take it, but it''s just a few more steps."


    Tyverus turned away from Bhergom and began walking to where the archway was. He lifted his right hand out to feel the wall. He ran his hand over the wall, feeling in the dark to where the archway once was. He began to walk to the right and then to the left.


    "The light really is fading fast. I know it''s here somewhere."


    In any other situation, Bhergom might have been amused at the folly of the young man. At this moment, however, it was beginning to grate on his nerves. This moment was one of solace, and he knew that it would soon run out. The rumbling had stopped for now, but a feeling began gnawing at the back of his mind that whatever entity controlled these catacombs, still had its attention firmly on him.


    "One moment. You said this was a handy little knack, so I might as well use it." Tyverus lifted his left hand up and began to summon his powers. He let the dim energy coalesce once more into a very small orb of plasma dancing in his hand. "Well, damn. Where did the door go."


    Bhergom stared at his frostbitten fingers for a moment and then looked over his shoulder to Tyverus. The knight was pawing at the wall with his free hand. He stopped and looked back to Bhergom with a quizzical look on his face.


    "There might be something to what you just said. The entrance to this room seems to be gone." Tyverus turned back to the wall and continued to grab and claw at the rocks hoping to find one that would give. "I doubt that Jhulkos has stolen my senses, but this is hard to believe."


    "Believe it." Bhergom looked back at his hands while clenching his fingers. "There is more than ancient artifacts and strange powers in this place. Whatever it is, doesn''t want us to leave."


    Tyverus gave a despondent snort. He continued for another few moments and then began to push his shoulder into the rock where the doorway should have been. He backed up a few steps and then charged the wall with his shoulder.


    As soon as Tyverus'' armored shoulder impacted the rock and ice, a lance of rock shot out from the sealed wall towards his face. With a moment''s reaction, Tyverus was able to pull away just short of being skewered through. A sharp protrusion from the lance caught him across the cheek. The shot of pain made him wince and pull back further.


    Bhergom stopped staring down at his hands to look over to what had just happened. Blood drained from his face and cool sweat began to bead on his brow. He took a step towards Tyverus out of concern, and then took two more backward out of fear.


    "I guess this wall bites back." Tyverus gave a chuckle and pulled himself cautiously from the wall. He took two steps back while keeping his concentration on the wall ahead of him. "Do steer clear."


    "You don''t have to tell me. This wicked place not only defies logic, it seems to want us dead." Bhergom took another step back and felt the runestone press into his hip. He adjusted himself and continued to back up to the far archway.


    Tyverus began to walk away from the wall, taking a few nervous glimpses over his shoulder. He began to wipe the fresh blood from his cheek with his free hand while still holding his light aloft. He stopped for a moment to give a long sigh, just in front of the runestone.


    In a flash, another lance of rock shot up from between Tyverus'' legs, towards the hand he held the ball of light within. He tried to pull his hand free but the tip of the rock cut into and pinned the back of his hand. He yanked his hand free, shredding the leather of his glove and forcing his hand into his face.


    Tyverus was blinded by the light in his hand for a moment, stumbling backward until he was free from the threat of the newest rock projectile. He lowered his hand from his face, taking control over the plasma flame once more. He shook his head trying to get the dancing green burns from his eyes.


    "It seems to like me." Tyverus opened and closed his eyes slowly, hoping to free up his sight. Another lance of rock and ice broke through the floor just behind him, causing him to jump forward into a haunched stance. "I think we best get out of here."


    Bhergom was already at the archway, peeking his head through at the threats growing around Tyverus. The old man gave a grumble and disappeared into the darkness. His cowardice was getting the better of him once more.


    Tyverus lunged across the room and with the lightest of footsteps made his way to the archway at the other side. As soon as he pushed his armored form through the narrow passage, the rumbling began once more. The sides of the arch sealed right behind him. Tyverus thrust himself into the dark and bowled into Bhergom in the passageway beyond.


    "I think we best hurry. Whatever this is, will kill us, surely." Bhergom''s voice was matter-of-fact as he pushed the knight off of him and began descending the passageway into the dark. His footsteps were frantic as he held his arms at his sides, yet feared touching the rock of the walls.


    "I agree. Whatever this is, seems to be cutting off our means of escape. I think we best regroup with Isilda. That room is much larger, and we might have a better chance of figuring out what''s going on." Tyverus held his orb above his head and pushed behind Bhergom. The passageway seemed to narrow around him, tightening to a claustrophobic degree.


    The rumbling continued and the walls behind the two seemed to meld into a wall of dark rock. It was unfathomable that something could have such control over the very elemental nature of this area, yet here was the lethal evidence made manifest. Bhergom was openly afraid, and Tyverus continued to try to hide his fear.


    "I do hope Isilda is alright. Who knows what terrors are stalking her as we speak." Tyverus gave a shudder at the thoughts. He took advantage of the width in the passage ahead by the arch to another room. Beyond, in the dark, the further recesses of the passage sealed in front of him. He pressed in front of Bhergom and led the way through the sarcophagus room beyond.


    <hr>


    Version 4.0.01


    <hr>

 Episode I - A Blood-soaked Legacy IX

    <hr>


    Isilda''s mind couldn''t take any more of the intense memory flashes coming at her all at once. Her own identity was eroding away under the onslaught of a dead woman''s tragic life. The emotions that tore through her, the depths of painful sorrow and the unbridled tears of joy, were more than she had ever felt in her own life. Mysteries of ancient times and the complexities of a deeper culture than she had ever known cast her into the depths of a labyrinth she felt she could not escape. That one person could live such a life and command such power was unfathomable to her young mind.


    Just as she continued to scream out in pain, the visions that assaulted her began to slow down. Like a frenzied beat of war drums slowing to a deeper and louder rhythm. A few more memories tore at her with thunderous command, each wrenching her physical form back and forth in a whiplash dance.


    One more flash and one more resounding rumble of thunder then all turned to a brilliant white light. The brilliance overwhelmed her mortal senses and pierced into her soul. As soon as she began to grow accustomed to this endless space of white, she found herself falling into a physical form once again.


    With a rush of wind and the sense of falling some terrible distance in a flash, she found herself standing in a room unlike she had ever seen before. Her soul was clad in flesh in this place, although the flesh seemed ephemeral and slow to react to her will. The senses reaching out to her mind were distorted as if she were in a waking dream. The air that touched her skin felt more like a distant memory and the light that met her eyes in this place fluctuated in brightness and tone like candlelight.


    Isilda turned on her heels to survey the room she found herself in. The walls, roof, and floor were made of solid chunks of stone. Each section was perfectly formed with techniques that were far beyond anything she had ever known. Stained and ratted rugs warmed the floor. Behind her was an old bed with freshly cleaned sheets and a cover. She knew it was a bed, but it looked like something she had never seen before. There was no straw sticking out of the mattress, and no feathers peeking from the pillows. A single sheep-skin book sat near the foot of the bed.


    To her left, opposite of the bed, was a small wooden writing desk. A parchment and writing stick were placed upon the desk. Across from her was a large wooden wardrobe with metalwork affixed to the wood. The strangest part of the room was the lighting. Strange rods affixed to the stone of the walls gave a purple-like glow that turned silver-white the further the light got from whatever created it. The light was dim but allowed one to see every detail of the room.


    More light filtered in through metal and glass folding doors beyond the writing desk. Colors of dancing blues from ice and warm reds from magma glittered in from the balcony outside. Outside was dark despite the light coming in. The sky outside was made of ice and rock with a height that was farther than most clouds she had seen roll across the lands of her home.


    Isilda took a few steps to the balcony doors. She placed her hands on the rusted metal and felt it groan beneath her grip. The tactile sensations from her hand felt like an echo in her mind, where she was aware of the sensation immediately, but the ramifications of her movements came a few moments later.


    She turned her eyes to the cityscape before her. She was on a floor more than a hundred feet above the ground below. Other buildings of the same height stretched around her creating vast canyons and chasms of winding roads far below. She could see a slowly churning river of molten metal in the distance. Above her was the dark vaunted ceiling of this subterranean city. Pillars of ice twinkled like stars in the dark recesses above.


    Throughout the city around her, torches of indigo and silver light lit up streets and other balconies. Torches tended not by human hands as there was no one in this city but her. Despite being alone, there was a feeling of immense serenity in this place. A feeling pressing in on her that called this place home. A pride to this place that made her heart long to be here once more.


    "Breathtaking, isn''t it?" A female voice that was as cold as it was soft came from behind Isilda.


    She turned on her feet and stepped back into the room. She looked over at the bed and found the shade of Maenthrai sitting on the edge. The woman''s face was half skeletal and half covered with the ephemeral, almost translucent, skin of her ghostly form. Her long, blood-red hair danced around her head as if she were floating in the depths of some frigid ocean. Her countenance was still as frightening as it was unearthly, yet she was not as terrorizing as she previously had been in the skull chamber.


    Maenthrai reached out a skeletal hand to the book on her bed and picked it up. The bones of her fingers seemed too fragile to hold something of such weight, yet she held it with a gentle and steady grasp. She flipped through a few of the pages and found a piece of torn paper that was placed within as a bookmark. A smile crept across her ghostly face.


    "He never got to finish this. I lent it to him and he promised he would." The dead woman was lost in her own memories for a moment. The smile dropped away and her ice-blue eyes raised up to stare hauntingly at Isilda. She placed the book back down on the bed and crossed both hands over her lap. "You aren''t supposed to be here."


    "What is this place?" Isilda avoided the anger in the ghost''s eyes. She turned around on her heels and motioned to the room around her with outstretched hands. "This is remarkable and ancient. I have never heard of such a place in my readings."


    "This is the refuge of the Azhemyra, the name of the city is not meant for your tongue and will be lost to the ages." Maenthrai kept her eyes on Isilda. The shade did not fidget or move like a living person might. The only movement from her corpse-like body was that of her hair flowing around her like blood in water.


    "Who are the Azhemyra?" Isilda continued to wonder and play with the ghost to get as much information as possible. She refused to be unnerved by the dead woman''s strange appearance, or the obvious hatred she projected at her from beyond the grave.


    "They were a group that was as important to the Morthavi and Hoelatha cultures, as the oracles. The oracles made their home in the city of Neshran, my home. The Azhemyra made their home here among their enchantments, artifacts, and wonders."


    "That must have been tens of thousands of years ago." Isilda''s voice trailed off as she raised a single finger to her bottom lip. She began to chew on the tip of her finger as she slowly returned to the doorway of the balcony to stare outward. "Where is this place located? Is it still in Hoelatha lands?"


    "This isn''t for you to know." Maenthrai remained still on the bed. Her eyes narrowed and the faintest trace of a snarl was found on her ephemeral lips. "The knowledge would be of no use to you."


    "Then why are we here?" Isilda turned back from the doorway and crossed her arms over her chest. She rolled her eyes and returned the snarl.


    "This is a place of significance to me. This is where I made a great deal of my last memories. This is where I worked on creating the artifacts that your founder stole."


    "You mean the Nesharite Spheres? By founder, you mean Vhaltenesh?" Isilda gave a laugh and cocked her head to the side. "You actually would claim that you, of all people, created some of the most important artifacts in the world?" She smirked openly and raised her hands to her shoulders.


    "I did not craft them, but it was I who made them. Each of those artifacts hold a portion of my memory, my soul, and my power." Maenthrai got up from the bed to float a mere inch from the stone floor. "They were made to keep the power of the oracles alive when the world would slip into barbarity."


    "Well, we are using them well, then." Isilda smiled broadly. "Our elders use them to guide our people. The powers of the Oracles survive to this day, thanks to Vhaltenesh, and my order."


    "You do not use them well. Your order knows nothing of the true powers of Haeth." Maenthrai''s eyes began to glow a freezing blue brilliance. "You are but children who have squandered the riches of the world. You are barbarous heathens, drunk on your own ignorance." The shade''s voice began to blow through the room like a chilled gust of northern air.


    Maenthrai raised her skeletal arms to her sides. Her long fingers seemed to stretch into tendrils that raked at the very air around her, tearing through the substance of memory that made this room manifest. Her rage made her form more vicious and feral. The curves of her bones seemed more jagged, and the ephemeral skin over her form seemed more demonic.


    "We do what we can." Isilda stood her ground against the ghost. She crossed her arms once more and took two defiant steps forward. "You state that we are ignorant, yet we use the tools you left for us. You say we are barbarians, yet it was your people who stripped our culture bare. You say that we don''t know the true powers of Haeth, yet it was the curse of your blood that killed the old oracles."


    Maenthrai stood frozen in the air. She lifted her chin up while keeping her alien eyes firmly affixed on Isilda''s. She remained silent and still for a moment further and then reached out to grate her claws across the gossamer substance of this world. With two gouges forming under her skeletal fingers, she tore through the fabric of reality and sent the tatters to fall into an abyss below.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Isilda found herself standing in front of Maenthrai still, as the world around them both fell away like fabric drawn into a black void beneath them. A wind whipped around this newly torn world, sending Maenthrai''s blood-red hair into a frenzy along with errant strands of Isilda''s own blonde hair from beneath her hood.


    There was another brilliant flash of searing white light that blinded Isilda and sent her reeling upon the astral substance of this strange place. She felt disembodied for a moment and then slowly felt herself reform as the light faded away. Maenthrai was no longer in front of her.


    She felt herself falling again, and with an abrupt tug upon her soul, she found herself standing in a well-kept yard. She was barefoot now, with cool and gentle blades of grass between her toes and cradling the soles of her feet. She could feel her breath steaming up into a chill night sky bare of any clouds. Glittering jewels of stars adorned the black-veiled heavens with the white, soft light of Ishep shone its light upon the cold world below.


    On the far horizon, above a dense forest and the rising peaks of ancient mountains, the first bloody crest of the Celanna moon made its immense presence known. Forward and slightly to the left among the snowy peaks of the great mountains a glowing light of immense flame sat as a sentinel against the night. The light from this tower of flame held Isilda''s gaze for quite a few moments.


    "This is my home. This is where it all began. This is the land your physical shell now inhabits." Maenthrai''s cold voice made its way to Isilda''s ephemeral ears like a gust of frozen air. "This was the city of Neshran before my mother destroyed it and all who dwelt here."


    Isilda turned around slowly, taking in the full view around her. On all sides of this yard stood the tall and strong trunks of ancient trees. As she turned to face Maenthrai, she saw an old wood and stone house. The design was ancient, yet the house looked in perfect condition. A three-floored manor of considerable size with a wide back and peaked roof. On each end of the house stood a wooden dragon, in the style of the old Hoelatha ruins.


    Maenthrai stood silent, hovering a few inches over the grass. Her blood-red hair continued to cascade around her head, and the tatters of her robe that barely clothed her form trailed from her like chains and webs anchoring her into some non-physical medium. What could be seen of her ephemeral face was cast with sorrow and longing.


    "This is Neshran before the cataclysm? This was your home?"


    "Yes. Beyond the forest is the ancient city from my memories. This is the place I grew up. This is the place that I, my mother, and my family held by blood."


    "Remarkable, to think that this place not only sustained life so long ago but was a thriving city. All we were able to see was ruins and devastation." Isilda turned away from Maenthrai to look back to the haunting light high in the mountains beyond them. "What is that place?"


    "That is the Ullthosian Temple. That is the source of the power you call Haeth. That was the sanctuary of the very first oracles."


    "There is something unnatural about it. It dominates this area." Isilda stopped for a moment and then remembered fully where she was. This was a place borne of a dead woman''s memories. If such a place shone so vibrantly, there must be some importance beyond lore and explanation. "That place was important to you, wasn''t it?"


    "Yes. Every night as a child, I would sit in my room, or come out here onto the grass and stare at that beacon light. The torch of Ullthos built into the sanctum. I longed to go there, for that is where my mother was."


    "Why was she separated from you like that? Why were you never allowed to go there?"


    "She was one of the most powerful oracles. It was her duty to forsake her family for years at a time to perform rituals and studies in that place. I was abandoned by her, left to the diligent care of my father. She chose the path of the Oracle over that of being a mother to me and my siblings."


    "A sad state of affairs. Is that why you chose to become an oracle, yourself?"


    "I did. Of a different order. I left my family with my brother, for Morrthault City in the South. I grew up there after my mother murdered my family and I turned my back on this forsaken place." Maenthrai stopped for a moment. She didn''t need to take a breath as she was beyond such concerns. "I ended up doing the same thing to my own children. Abandoning them, just as my mother had abandoned and betrayed me."


    "Why did you do that? Was it what you knew from your past?"


    "My mother abandoned us because she was consumed with saving the world from the calamity that would come. She wanted to pierce the barriers of time so that she might save our culture from the fall. She sacrificed her own humanity, her sanity, and all those around her in her quest." Maenthrai stopped and floated over to Isilda. Her presence was cold against Isilda''s back. "I was consumed in the same way. I abandoned my children with my husband so that I might seek out why my mother had turned into a monster. I found the source of her madness in the refuge of the Azhemyra years later. It was in that moment, that the Nesharite Spheres were created."


    "Your mother had good intentions and was driven to evil by them. You had good intentions and fell to your own folly. I assume, given that I am holding your skull at this moment, that your mother caught up with you."


    "She did. She killed me, as she killed the rest of my family." Maenthrai paused and moved from the back of Isilda to her side. She reached up into the night air with a grasping, skeletal hand towards the beacon in the distance. "My mother has been hunting down all that hold my blood. All of my descendants. In her insane state, she believes that the final destruction of this world will come by the hand of one of my blood. For millennia she has hunted down those cursed to carry my and her sins."


    "The Witchlings? I have heard the tale, although we of the Authrakallin have only considered it a legend. It is said all those who are touched by Merithault, the Mad, can be found by having blood-red hair. It is said they are the most powerful oracles left in the world." Isilda paused for a moment while collecting her memories. "Grandmaster Toulam told me it was only a myth. Yet, I have seen him with a young woman recently. A child with red hair."


    "Hold those thoughts to yourself; bury them deep within you; for my mother still hunts the last to carry my blood." Maenthrai pulled her hand back to her chest. "All those skulls you''ve found in these catacombs are what is left of my lineage. The dead reminders of lives sacrificed to her murderous impulses."


    "I understand now." Isilda took in a deep breath, despite not needing such in the astral realms. The comfort of the chill air helped to ground her to the severity of her realizations. "When you found out what happened to your mother, you made your own path, didn''t you?"


    "Yes." Maenthrai turned to stare deeply at Isilda. Her ice-blue eyes shone like unholy orbs in the night. "My mother decided to hunt down those of my blood to save the world. I knew better and have done what I can to save my descendants from her. She was driven to madness by Ullthos and turned into one of his servants. The revelations she had were corrupted. She believes one of my last descendants will destroy the world. I believe that they are the last to save what will be left."


    "Then I know what I must do. Perhaps this is why Toulam sent us here." Isilda broke contact with Maenthrai''s eyes to stare off at the rising blood moon over the distant mountains. "That young woman must be protected from your mother."


    As Isilda focused on the blood moon rising in the sky, the world around her began to fall away once more. Blood began to seep up from the grass beneath her feet. The large trees surrounding her fell into themselves like decaying bodies slumping into a gore-filled sea. She turned her gaze away to look back at Maenthrai''s ghost. What she beheld was a full sight of her skeleton reached toward her to tear her sight away.


    Instead of brilliant white, the world was swallowed in blood. The blood grew thicker, higher, and darker with each moment. Before Isilda could take one last gasp to scream, the world faded into endless darkness.


    * * *


    "You managed to use your elemental magicks to blast through the ice before." Bhergom''s voice was breathless and frantic from running. "Why do you not do so again?"


    Tyverus looked over his shoulder to shoot a glare at the old oracle. "I fully intend to try, Master, but I would rather we make sure that Isilda is alright." The armored knight continued to press through the narrowing passageways, guided by the dimming light in his hand. "I would prefer us to combine our abilities to get out of here, rather than sacrificing it all so that you can escape alone."


    Bhergom groaned through his labored breathing. He didn''t appreciate having his cowardice brought up again, but he knew that the young knight was correct. He was fully intent on abandoning his apprentice if it meant that he could get out of this damned place alive. Some moral part of him agreed with Tyverus, but that part was diminishing by the moment.


    "Good, the last room." Tyverus got another burst of energy as he pushed forward and to the right. He barreled through a tightening archway into the skull chamber beyond. Bhergom soon followed after as the rocks and ice moved in on his heels.


    Tyverus stopped just beyond the entrance to the skull chamber. Bhergom fell onto his back and pushed beside the knight. As the old oracle turned to look behind them, he saw the archway seal over. Whatever entity it was that controlled this area, seemed to have such powers that the very earth was at their will. This was more than mere magick.


    "Well, boy, we haven''t much time. We''re trapped now. So go and get her." Bhergom turned away from the knight to stare at the darkening room around him. The lighting crystals were heavily diminished in power now. There was barely enough light, even with the knight''s cantrip to see what was around them.


    Tyverus took a few steps forward into the darkening hall. He held his left hand out like a torch and noticed as he did so that the light was guttering in his hand. He was afraid of putting any more energy into it as the hungry crystals above might drain him once more. He took a few cautious steps towards the bridge over the river at the center of the chamber.


    "Isilda!" Tyverus'' voice was shaky and less loud than he had wanted. "Isilda." He pressed to the bridge and took only two steps up. "Come to me if you hear me. We must get out of here, now." He wished she was alright. He could barely see over the bridge.


    "I hear you." Her voice was distant but nearing. "I see you Tyverus. Please come closer."


    Tyverus took a few more steps up on the bridge, near the crest. He made sure to stand clear of the area where the crystals drained him earlier. "Isilda, we have to go, now."


    He added a bit more of his energies into his flame, willing to risk it so that he might find her in the dark. As he did, he could make out Isilda''s form across the bridge. She was standing with something in her hands. He pushed a bit more of his energy into the orb.


    He could see her clearly on the edge of the bridge. In her hands she held the metal-clad skull she was focused on earlier. Her hood was drawn over her head, but Tyverus could see frosted blood streaking down the young woman''s cheeks. She was pale as a corpse as she stepped closer to him. She was still several dozens of feet away on the other side of the bridge.


    "I saw what she wanted me to see, Tyverus. I know the reason we were sent here." A smile formed on Isilda''s blood-stained lips. Her eyes looked up at him, half-crazed and spotted with blood. Her cloak few behind her on a soft gust of wind, yet she remained still as she stood with the skull in her outstretched hands. "We have to protect her. Toulam was right to send us. I know it all, now."


    <hr>


    Version 4.0.02


    <hr>

 Episode I - A Blood-soaked Legacy X

    <hr>


    "I saw what she wanted me to see, Tyverus. I know the reason we were sent here." A smile formed on Isilda''s blood-stained lips. Her eyes looked up at him, half-crazed and spotted with blood. Her cloak few behind her on a soft gust of wind, yet she remained still as she stood with the skull in her outstretched hands. "We have to protect her. Toulam was right to send us. I know it all, now."


    Tyverus remained just a few steps away from the crest of the bridge, holding his orb of light above him. He reached out a hand to Isilda so that she might walk toward him. The crystal lights above had already lost all of their energy. He didn''t want to step forward and tempt their hunger once again.


    Isilda gave a nod and took a step toward the bridge. She continued to hold the skull in front of her and stare at Tyverus with wide and ensorcelled eyes. It was obvious from the details of her face that she had seen something far beyond the ken of mere mortals. The frozen blood that had run down her cheeks glittered in the dancing light of Tyverus energy.


    Tyverus turned his eyes away from Isilda to gaze at the darkness beyond her. There was something not right with the forming shadows and how they dancing in the guttering light. The shadows seemed to deepen and flow after Isilda as if she were walking through murky water. He didn''t quite know if it was his nerves along with the tricks of light, or if it was something more. Some instinctual sense pulled at his gut and made him wave his arm and reach forward one more step, ushering the oracle to him.


    "You can tell me all about it once we get out of here. Whatever entity commands this strange place is awakening. We must leave, now." Tyverus lowered down to reach his hand even further. He pressed his right foot sideways against the rocks of the bridge to keep him from moving forward. He held the light in his hand above and behind him, not wanting to tempt the crystals above.


    "You have no idea." Isilda continued to stare at him with maddened eyes. "She showed me everything. Who knew that the dead could hold such secrets." She took a few more steps and a strange grin spread across her face.


    The darkness behind Isilda grew into a large black blotch that seemed to swallow all light. It was hard for Tyverus to first notice it, yet he could see strange icy tendrils of light flowing out of the darkness above Isilda. At first, it looked like icy fog gathering, but the forms were becoming more pronounced with every pounding heartbeat. The tendrils flowed from some height far above to just above and behind Isilda''s head.


    "Please hurry." Tyverus was growing impatient at Isilda''s dazed state. His arms and legs were straining to keep him still yet every thought was to lunge forward and grab the young woman, toss her small form over his shoulder and bound back to where Bhergom stood. He had just witnessed the very walls close in on him, who knew what other strangeness this place held in store.


    Isilda was just three steps from the edge of the bridge now and no more than two dozen feet from where Tyverus stood. Her slow and plodding pace would seem normal under more calm circumstances, but with adrenaline coursing through his veins, this pace infuriated Tyverus to no small degree. She continued to stare at him with that wide-eyed and grinning look. The same look Tyverus had seen from blood-maddened warriors milling about on the fields of battle with their limbs severed and their life spilling onto the hungry soil.


    Tyverus saw it now, a form flowing from the vaunted darkness above. It seemed almost like an illusion or a mirage at first, but within a moment it coalesced into the form of a woman. A dead woman with dimensions and details that terrified Tyverus to his core, and also brought pain to his eyes. This woman was not remotely mortal ¡ª she was no longer human and no longer something that merely existed as base matter ¡ª she was something wholly other.


    "Isilda!" The word fell limp out of Tyverus'' throat.


    The form pressed forward with what could be described in only the haziest and most conceptual way as an arm. Then other arm reached out of the darkness at a lower angle. The first seized upon Isilda''s skull and long fingers seemed to burrow into the very flesh and bone. The second arm seemed to come in and contact Isilda in the back.


    The young woman froze in mid-step, her eyes widened even further, this time no longer with the crazed look of the mad, but with mortal fear. Her mouth opened to give a gasp of pain, but blood began to bubble up from between her lips rather than air. The blood began as a frothy dribble but soon began to spray forth in gushes as a few gurgles of screams erupted forth from her.


    "Isilda!" Tyverus prepared to lunge forward, heedless of his earlier cautions. His right hand, driven by years of ingrained muscle-memory, went straight to the hilt of his sword strapped to his side. He flicked the first few inches of his blade up with his thumb. He jumped over the crest of the bridge, landing a few yards forward and began to run.


    Just as soon as his feet hit the rock and his legs prepared to burst forward, he felt his body go limp. He felt the searing pain tear through his body once again, as the crystals above reached for his energy to fuel them. He could only muster enough strength to get to keep his knees on the ground, but otherwise, he was frozen with pain.


    Before him, just out of reach, Isilda gave one more scream between the frothing gushes of blood coming out of her mouth. The sound of cracking followed by sounds like leather being torn apart came from her body. The alien hand grasping at her skull pulled upward with a sharp movement. The flesh of her neck tore away. Immediately after, another series of low and resounding cracks, like the striking of a smithy''s hammer upon the forge.


    Tyverus remained motionless. He couldn''t turn off the energy he was supplying to the hungry artifacts above. He couldn''t turn off the light in his left hand. Every muscle in his body thrummed with pain and the adrenaline of fear and rage was all that kept him looking forward.


    With one last loud snap, the body of Isilda fell to the rock and frost-coated floor. Sprays of blood caught Tyverus in the face and across his front. The still-screaming, but breathless head of Isilda, with her spine, limply hanging, continued to stare at him in horror, pain, and longing.


    Slowly, the crystal lights began to awaken now that they feasted upon Tyverus'' energy. The silver-blue lights above began to slowly reveal the monster that stood behind Isilda''s body. The dead woman stood almost two heads taller than the tallest man that Tyverus had ever seen. Her shoulders pressed forward as if she were some kind of feral beast. Even stooped, she was taller than Isilda had been.


    The most striking features of the monster were her glowing ice-blue eyes and the blood-red hair that flowed from her skull. The face of the monster was barely recognizable as human. Almost translucent skin clung to a savage skull, which smiled at him with fangs that were barely recognizable as human teeth.


    Her body was clothed in ancient tatters of fabric that didn''t cover any of her form. The tatters seemed to blend in with the ephemeral tendrils of indigo energy that flowed around her. Her arms were bone-thin, yet revealed strange and inhuman power. Her hands were skeletal, with long fingers that seemed to end in long and savage claws.


    Beneath her translucent skin, Tyverus could see black veins coursing with some kind of rotten ichor. Her skin and what bones could be seen beneath glowed and rippled with essential energies that pained the eyes. She didn''t glow brightly, but there was something powerful in her form that made staring directly at her like staring at the brilliance of the twin suns in the sky above.


    The woman''s legs were thin and powerful, looking more like a beast''s legs than humans. Her lifted ankles stretched into long and powerful feet of a predator. She looked like she might pounce forward at any moment. Her feet ended in blood-stained claws that seemed to float mere inches from the floor of the cavern. Some kind of dark energy kept her aloft and suffused her body with unholy power.


    The monster lowered itself to Tyverus'' height and met his gaze with her own. She gave a cruel smile at the emotion bubbling up out of him. The silver-cast human teeth in the front and the long fangs in the back glinted off of the growing crystal light above. The beast cocked her head to the side and then allowed her eyes to break from Tyverus'' to look at the head she held still in one of her hands.


    With the grace of a spider flexing its legs, the monster lifted all of her fingers up and let Isilda''s lifeless head fall to the earth. She looked at the head impacting the ground and then up to Tyverus once more. Each movement was lightning fast, yet in the pain and rage that Tyverus held, it seemed to be a long and consuming dance. As soon as her eyes lit up, the shadows around the monster lifted her into the air and up into the pooling shadows that the crystal lights could not reach.


    "Pitiful creatures." The monster spoke in the language that Tyverus knew, but the accent to it was alien and strange. For a moment, Tyverus was shocked, despite his pain, that the beast could actually speak. "You have become so weak in these ages. You soul-less little things can''t even muster enough energy to..." There were sounds of claws and running across the roof above. "To turn on a simple light."


    The crystals above soared to life now, with enough light to fill the entire chamber. Even with the pooled energy of the three earlier, the lights had never been this bright. Somehow this monster had reserves of energy inside of her to will them to life with a mere thought.


    "Pests." The monster began to croon from the distorted shadows and crevices above. "You dare to walk into my resting place and steal from me." An inhuman laugh resounded throughout the immense chamber.


    Tyverus could feel the drain on him stop. He was able to turn off the cantrip light in his hand and move once more. His body screamed at him, but he managed to pull his sword completely free from his scabbard and use it as a crutch to get back to his feet.


    He kept his eyes trained on the limp body of Isilda in front of him. As he got to his feet, he shakily began to walk over to her. His legs felt like they were being torn apart from the inside by glass, but he forced himself forward until he got to the body of the Oracle.


    As soon as he made it there, he dropped to his knees once more. He let his sword fall to the ground with the sound of metal on rock. With grasping and cloying hands, he reached out to seize upon Isilda''s body. Her blood-matted hood covered most of the grotesque parts of her neck. He lifted her body up, like a parent might do with an infant and pressed his armored chest against her lifeless one.


    He let the body fall from his grasp in front of him and with both hands reached to grab her head from the cold ground. He turned her head over and lifted her up. Her skull trailed behind like the body of a grisly snake. He looked down at her and began to wipe the blood from her face with his gloved hands. Her eyes were held open with a look of fear, and her jaw remained slack as if she were still screaming.


    Memories of her welled up inside of him just as the tears that came to his eyes. He had only spent a few short months with her on this expedition, but it was enough that his heart had bonded to her. The time spent with her made this moment one of the most painful he had endured in his life.


    He remembered the way she looked when he first met her back in Morrthault City. When the Paladarc of his regiment had mentioned the chance for him to go on an expedition with oracles, he had jumped at the chance. He fully expected them to be stuffy old scholars, but he was overjoyed to see her standing in the entrance chamber of his barracks.


    The way the light from the doorway lit up her blonde hair made her seem bathed in a divine halo. When she turned towards him, he was awestruck by her eyes and the shape of her face. The minute she bid greetings to him, her voice seemed to resound like the bells of ancient temples. When he bid her greetings back, his voice got caught in his throat. He couldn''t think straight, and she responded simply with a kind smile.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    As their travels began, Tyverus had been unsure of showing his feelings toward her. The days and nights spent on the ship taking them to Oerstav Caelii had been incredibly long. Each day he wanted to let her know, but he always pulled back. As the days turned to weeks, he spent more time with her. He would make excuses to talk with her about lore and obscure bits of history just to be in her presence and hear her voice.


    One of the best memories of that voyage was when he caught her one night on the deck of the ship staring off into the icy waters of the Heartsblood Sea. She stood with the light of Ishep reflecting off of the waters. He had inquired if she was alright and she had said she wanted him to stand with her.


    The night was chill and he had covered her in his cloak. She took advantage of him being there and pressed into his chest for further warmth. He held her there as the ship made its way across the still sea. He remembered how striking the stars were that night, and how the Glittering Crown of the World danced. The elevated green, blue and orange flames slowly moving to the powers and songs of the gods far to the North.


    She whispered to him about where they were going and why at that moment. He didn''t hear all of what she said, as he was lost in her voice. The moments spent with her then seemed to stretch on for eternity. He wished they had, as anything was better than seeing her lifeless like this.


    Most of the time they had together once they had reached the shattered islands were fleeting. Bhergom rode the expedition hard and always seemed to be present when Isilda and Tyverus had a moment alone. Vhoggli had a strange knack of always popping up at the worst of moments. Still, Tyverus took what moments he could.


    Time spent by the fire-side telling tales, or the brief touches when he helped Isilda climb over rocks on their way. The ability to see the life and joy in Isilda''s eyes as they neared their destination. She was always driven by a ceaseless curiosity about the past and her being able to be in the presence of such a place as this was what gave her life.


    If only that same curiosity and that same joy could bring her back to life right now. Tyverus cradled her head in the elbow of his right arm while grasping at her body with his other. Some childish thought passed through his mind that if he could just put the pieces of Isilda back together than she might be alive once again. As soon as that thought came up, he dismissed it. He had seen so much death on the battlefields of the world, that he now felt stupid at the notion.


    Tears continued to stream down his face as he clutched her body. He held her head close to him, brow to brow as if willing her spirit to enter him. He let her body return to the ground and while still holding her head. He reached up with his left hand to close her eyes with his fingers. He set her head and spine upon her body with a light and caring touch. He hoped that her troubles were over and her soul might be able to find rest.


    The world around him had faded away. The voice of the monster continued to speak and taunt him, but he didn''t hear a word. He reached slowly over to his abandoned sword and felt the weight of its hilt once again in his hand. He pushed himself up to a standing position. The pain he once felt was gone now, and a soothing numbness fell over his body.


    He wiped the tears from his eyes with his free, gloved hand, and took in a slow breath. The fear in him hand gone, and now the sorrow turned to a dull anger. Within the span of a few heartbeats, the anger turned to rage. The rage inside of him boiled up, quicker and quicker until he could feel nothing but the desire to destroy this monster once and for all.


    "I can smell your cowardice." The monster''s voice continued to croon as echoes mirrored her voice throughout the chamber. "You pretend to have the powers of the oracles, yet you know nothing. I was once the most powerful oracle in this world and not even the worst of my students were as weak as you."


    Tyverus turned to look back the way he had come. Bhergom stood on the other side of the bridge looking up at the ceiling in terror. His back was against the wall of the chamber. He clawed at the rocks and ice of sealed entrance and then turned back. A few steps away from the wall and then the old oracle dropped to his knees. He lifted his hands up as if in supplication to the monster above.


    "W-we know not wha-what we d-do." Bhergom stammered his words and kept his eyes up to the ceiling. "Let us l-leave, and I''ll inform my order never to return. I-I will re-retrieve what was taken. I w-will let you have the beast that tuh-took it."


    That same horrible laughter echoed throughout the chamber, yet did not seem to betray the position that the monster held above. There was a sound like scurrying as claws chipped and dug away at rock, and then everything turned silent.


    Bhergom reached up his hands, further away from his body, as if begging to whatever was above. His hands were upturned to the ceiling and the look on his face was one of awe and mortal terror. Some part of him thought he could rationalize with this thing.


    As soon as Bhergom''s quivering left hand reached out a few inches more to the ceiling, a sharp lance of rock tore upwards into the soft flesh and aged bone. Bhergom gave out a howl of pain and shock. The jagged stone had broken through his hand and tore it in half. He recoiled the mutilated limb back to himself, staring down at his limp fingers. The rock had shattered his bones, leaving his index finger and thumb on one half of the separation and the rest of this fingers dangling uselessly from the other. Blood began to patter on the ground.


    Tyverus took a single step over the slain body of Isilda and made his way slowly to the bridge. He watched with uncaring eyes back to Bhergom as the old oracle clutched at his hand and pressed it against his chest. Tyverus'' pace did not quicken, but with each step, the rage in him continued to burn hotter and brighter.


    "I-I don''t... Want tuh-to... Die." Bhergom continued to stammer above his winces and pauses from pain. The old oracle remained on his knees as he pushed back. Two more lances of rock shot up around him, missing him by mere inches.


    Tyverus felt his heavy boots crunch on the rocks at the base of the bridge. He continued to march forward with his sword held outward at his side. He gripped the blade so tightly that the leather cover of the hilt began to groan under his strength. Each step he took was like thunder in his ears. His heart was like an engine of lightning sending adrenaline and waves of vengeance-fueled blood throughout his body.


    Ahead, the same tendriled shadow lowered from the ceiling and took up perch behind Bhergom. He was unaware of what was happening and entirely consumed with his own fear and pain. With his still functional hand he pressed against the ground to push himself backward and as he did so he bumped into the reforming body of the monster.


    Bhergom¡¯s eyes went wide and he froze in place. He held his mangled hand against the robes of his chest and began to reach forward with his free hand to get up to his feet and get away. He wasn¡¯t able to, as some unseen force held him in place. The veins across his face bulged out and his face turned red against the strain that was now on his body. He wanted to get away but the will of the monster behind him held him in place.


    Like a rag doll being picked up to be played with by some child, Bhergom was lifted limply to his feet. Both of his arms shot out from his sides, his free hand grasping at the air while the mangled flesh of his other dripped blood upon the ground. His mouth formed words that held no sound and only a harsh set of gasps could be heard. Slowly he lifted into the air, looking suspended upon nothing like some traitor nailed to a board in the old cities, displayed for their shame and suffering under the whips of the commonfolk.


    Tyverus continued his slow march towards the monster and the old oracle. Some part of his mind wanted him to hurry so that he might save Bhergom, but the grief and rage pulling at his heart blinded him to the suffering of the old man. His mind was consumed now with his rage at the loss of Isilda and the only thing tempering it was the coldness of his training as a warrior. His mind was blind to concepts of empathy and compassion, all that burned inside him was the desire to slay the beast, even if it cost him his own life in the process.


    ¡°I have the same powers within me as you claim to have.¡± The monster¡¯s face manifested from the shadow to croon in Bhergom¡¯s ear. ¡°I can see into your soul and the rot of cowardice that exists there.¡± She moved fluidly from one of Bhergom¡¯s ears to the other. Her clawed hands scraped over the flesh of his back like rakes through cream, ripping open his robes and causing bloody gashes. ¡°They always say that a man¡¯s mettle lies as much in his heart as the guts inside of him.¡± She pivoted once more and pulled back from the oracle. ¡°Let¡¯s see if my perceptions are correct.¡±


    With a sharp movement, the monster impaled both of her hands through Bhergom¡¯s abdomen from either side of his back. Skeletal and clawed hands erupted from the soft flesh of the old man¡¯s belly. With jagged movements, the claws lavished his exposed skin with swipes and movements that sheared open his stomach. With another plunge, both hands erupted once more with their palms upturned holding the old man¡¯s steaming intestines.


    Bhergom¡¯s mouth opened into a scream, yet now sound came out, save for the soft gurgles of blood flowing over his lips. He looked down with his horror and tear-filled eyes down to his stomach, taking in the savageness that the monster was doing to him. He shuddered in the air for a moment, and then blissful shock took over. His eyes lulled into the back of his head and his head went limp.


    ¡°Just as I thought, no mettle or courage to be found.¡± The monster¡¯s eyes glittered in the supernatural crystalline light as she leaned over Bhergom¡¯s shoulder to examine the gore she had wrought. ¡°And you dared call yourself an oracle. Your powers were as pitiful as the strength of your character.¡±


    With her amusement gone, the monster pulled her hands to the sides and tore through the rest of the old man¡¯s body. She blinked once and cocked her head to the side. Her unholy powers relented and let Bhergom fall to the ground like puppet whose strings had been cut. She continued to stare down at his body with an inhuman look that seemed to be a mixture of rage, joy, contempt, and hunger.


    ¡°Merithault, the Mad.¡± Tyverus stopped as he got to the other side of the bridge. He dug his right foot into the ground behind a small rock to steady his pose. The monster turned her gaze to him and began a silent hiss at hearing her name on mortal breath. ¡°They call you the Hag of the North. The Shattered Oracle. They speak of you in hushed whispers and ancient legends.¡±


    Tyverus¡¯ words seemed to flatter the beast as she lifted herself from her predatory stance to her full height. She held her arms, crossed at the wrists, in front of her as Bhergom¡¯s blood and gore still dripped from her hands. Tendrils of indigo energy whipped at the air around her. The unholy aura she had burned at Tyverus¡¯ eyes but he held them on her in defiance.


    "If the legends are true, you have taken much from this world. They say you are the source of the strife and tumult that grips at us all. It was by your hands that the original Oracles of old died. You have fed upon this land like a parasite ever since.¡± Tyverus raised up his sword in challenge. He had to continue talking to see if he could prey on any mortal vanity the monster might still have. He could tell by the icy flashes in her eyes and the snarls she made, that he was hitting a nerve, no matter how atrophied. ¡°You, who killed your own family. Who slaughtered her own children. You, who sold your soul to some unknown force. You speak of Bhergom¡¯s cowardice, yet you are blind to your own.¡±


    Two shadowy tendrils of energy whipped forth and cracked in the air beside Tyverus¡¯ face. The energy in the attack sent ripples throughout the essence inside of the knight. Whatever gave life to those things was powerful indeed and could most likely flay the life force from a living creature upon contact. He did not flinch at this and remained resolute. He had nothing left to lose and escape was not an option. All he could do is continue to goad the beast with emotion, hoping she would make a critical mistake.


    His energy was severely drained by his earlier encounters with the strange lights. He couldn¡¯t depend upon his personal essence to keep going once the monster attacked him. It would cost him dearly, but he had to depend upon the powers imbued into his mantle. It was from this armored collar that all Guardian Knights drew their elemental magicks. Bonded right into his body and his soul, he would have to drain himself to the point of death. So be it, as long as he might have a chance at taking out this abomination before him.


    Tyverus closed his eyes for a moment, reaching out with his energy to activate the emergency runes on his mantle. Green and red runes burned forth from the metal etchings around his neck and chest. He opened his eyes to see the world changed. He could see the flows of energy around him, all being tainted with black veins of ichor that sprouted from the undead thing before him. The colors of this bleak place blazed forth and a shot of pure energy crackled through his body. Pain and ache were replaced with renewed vigor. The emotions in him built up like static energy before a severe thunderstorm. Each thought he had was elemental now and the fury of the world itself was inside of him.


    With the rush of the magma in his veins, he clenched a muscle in his arm which breathed fire into the blade he held in front of him. With a stomp of his boot upon the ground, rock and metal began to pool up from the ground like liquid mercury flowing through an alchemist¡¯s contraptions. The rock coated his form and then began to harden in place over sections of his body like added armor. Within a scant few moments, he was almost unrecognizable as the young man he had once been.


    Merithault grinned at the challenge in front of her. Her silvery teeth and fangs peeked through her translucent lips. The energy around her began to build up as well as she pulled from her pools of taint in this unhallowed place. With a sharp movement, she lifted one of her long legs up into a predatory stance. She almost looked like a monstrous ballerina pivoting on the shadows. With a flash of light in her eyes, she brought her clawed foot down upon the skull of Bhergom laying at her feet. The impact set off an echoing thunder throughout the cavern as bone exploded and sent chunks of meat and rivulets of blood across the stone ground.


    ¡°This mortal won¡¯t die so easily.¡± Tyverus moved his body into an offensive stance. He held the hilt of his sword in both hands while letting the plasma flames of his sword lick at the metal and stone covering his face. With one more twinge of his thigh, he summoned the powers of the air and rushed at the monster while allowing the air in his lungs to come up with a howling fury.


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    Version 4.0.02


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 Episode I - A Blood-soaked Legacy XI

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    ¡°You almost had me.¡± The heavily armored knight stepped to the side while giving a laugh. He spun his sword in his hand, letting the hilt slide in his glove until he could get a better grip on it. ¡°You have a lot of determination in your stance, but you lack commitment.¡±


    Tyverus lifted himself up from crouching and seized the upturned hilt of his sword from the snow-covered ground. His side, just under the ribs, hurt from where his master had thumped him hard with the flat of his blade. His breath puffed out on the cold northern air as he lifted himself back up to a combat stance. He swiveled his sword and leveled it at his instructor.


    ¡°When you are ready to take up your mantle, you will be channeling the very powers of the elements.¡± The old knight turned his back on his pupil while a cold breeze blew in causing his crimson cape to billow and dance. Taking advantage of the breeze and the rippling crimson fabric behind him, the knight stepped backward. His feet never seemed to touch the snow-strewn ground as he turned in the breeze and struck downward at Tyverus.


    Metal clashed against metal as Tyverus lifted his sword to parry the unannounced attack. He let his right foot slide in the snow while bending into his left leg. The downward thrust of his mentor¡¯s blade was more than he could sustain despite having deflected most of its power. He felt his right leg go too far into the snow and his left leg buckled. Before he knew it, he was face-down in the snow.


    ¡°Commitment is everything, young man.¡± The breeze immediately ceased as the soft footpads of the old knight could be heard on the snow beside Tyverus. A gloved hand grabbed him by the stitchings on the back of his leather armor, pulling his wiry frame from the ground and up to a standing pose. ¡°You thought I was taking advantage of the breeze to deceive you, didn¡¯t you.¡±


    Tyverus felt his feet under him once more and turned to face his master. He gave a slight nod and remained quiet. He lifted his gloved hand, palm up, to his nose to check for blood. Thankfully, there was none, but the pain in his face was still stinging.


    ¡°The breeze was not something I took advantage of, it was my will that commanded it into existence. When you command the powers of the air, you must use it to your benefit. Your will must be absolute. The slightest hesitation, the slightest worry, will send you flying off from your target. The powers of air are fickle.¡± The old knight let a gloved hand fall on Tyverus¡¯ small shoulders. ¡°You don¡¯t have your mantle yet, but it¡¯s my job to beat commitment into you. Now prepare yourself again.¡±


    Tyverus gave another nod and took up his default stance once again. He lifted his sword up and watched his master intently. This time he made note of any breezes upon the air.


    * * *


    An indigo tendril of unholy energy tore through the chilled chamber air to strike at Tyverus¡¯ metal-and-stone-clad face. Sparks and chunks of metal went flying from just below his cheek. The power of the tendril¡¯s attack was enough that if he hadn¡¯t called upon his earthen powers, the entire side of his skull might be missing at this very moment.


    Rage continued to burn inside of Tyverus, giving him a resolute focus that kept him from flinching at the attack. He kept his attention firmly on the monster ahead while he continued his flight towards Merithault as she stood a dozen feet ahead and below him. He let the grip of his left hand go loose on the fire-drenched sword he held like a downward-pointed lance. The weight of his sword moved to his right hand as he lifted his left arm up into the air. Crackling white energy rippled from his fingers as he steered himself with his elemental powers.


    Another tendril tore upward at him trying to knock his sword from his grasp. He could see the energy with preternatural clarity now that his mantle was fully loosed and dangerously overdrawn. The world around him moved slowly, giving him more than enough time in these split seconds to let his sword lower a few inches. He took advantage of the attack to pull his sword back up toward him once the tendril flowed past the blade. He let his crackling left hand break him for a fraction of a heartbeat on the air. He curled into the break and spun in the air.


    He was attempting to keep his armored form between the monster and his blade. This proved to be a good decision as another tendril aimed at his sword struck him just above his right hip. Stone splintered from his armored form as pain welled up from his torn flesh beneath. He let the stimulation go cold in his mind as he continued to bend in the air.


    The elemental energy he was calling upon kept him moving as he spun back to his forward facing stance. He lifted his right hand holding his sword up, feeling the air flowing over the sideways swiping blade and causing the flames to lick ferociously back at him. He brought his left arm in tight to his body and allowed the hilt of his blade to be drawn up to his chest. There he grasped the hilt tightly between his right hand and the palm of his left. The tip of his sword was pulled downward to his feet and then with one more push, he brought it out and up like a giant dagger plunged forward in murderous hands.


    Tyverus felt his eyes grow wide with focused hatred and a bloodthirsty snarl made its way across his dry lips. He let the power of the air, of his momentum, and the hungry gravity of the world draw him to his prey. His legs lifted behind him as he pushed forward a few more inches. It was only a moment before he felt the scalding tip of his sword bite into the body of the monster. Quickly the smell of burning ichor filled his nostrils.


    Merithault hissed and then howled like a wounded beast beneath Tyverus¡¯ blade. The sword impaled her between the shoulder and collarbone, driving deep into her chest. Her pierced flesh burned black beneath the heat as silvery trails of smoke came up from the boiling ichor within her. Tyverus let the full weight of his form carry him further into her body and the feeling of bone grinding on metal made his gloved hands rumble slightly. The blade was now more than a foot¡¯s length into the monster before he began to pull up with both of his hands as air swelled backward at him, given life by his elemental might.


    As soon as Tyverus began to pull upward with his command of air, three more tendrils of deadly energy ripped towards him. He turned, narrowly missing two of them that were aimed at his head and neck. Another tendril hit him and tore through the stone and metal covering his right upper arm. More pain soared through his heightened consciousness, but again he let the concerns of his mortal body fall away into nothingness. It no longer mattered if his body was intact or if he lost any limbs, his body was now a weapon of vengeance which would continue to fight until its last breath.


    Tyverus no longer wanted to be so close to this abomination, as the ephemeral tendrils of energy were too focused near her. He used the rest of his aerial command to focus a gap of energy in front of him. The air between him and the beast rippled for a heartbeat as a globe-shaped vacuum formed between them. He let go of his sword for a moment while tightening his left hand into a fist. His right hand held the hilt with white knuckles.


    Merithault looked up with her unearthly eyes to gaze at him just as he launched his fist into her face. His arm couldn¡¯t reach to punch her, and he was quite certain such an attack would be folly so soon into the battle. He opened his fingers and with his will forced the orb of vacuum to go off directly into her face. Thunder soon roared between them and the explosive force of the impact sent Tyverus backward.


    The grip he held on his sword proved strong enough to keep the blade in his grip as the force on the blade tore open Merithault¡¯s wound. One-third of the monster¡¯s chest exploded outward in a gush of ancient bone fragments and sprays of black ichor. The continuing waves of energy pushed Tyverus a safe distance back into the air, now a safe distance away.


    Tyverus folded his sword sideways across his chest and bent inward toward it to keep his momentum. He flipped backward, preparing to land on the ground near the bridge when he noticed that Merithault was no longer wincing in pain. The undead fiend was focused intently upon him with her right arm raised towards him. A wave of otherwise invisible, telekinetic energy came from her skeletal palm towards him.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    The impact of Tyverus¡¯ feet upon the cold earth didn¡¯t come and he soon realized she was holding his armored weight aloft with the power of her mind. With the force of another small explosion, he felt his arms get torn to their sides and his legs being spread apart. He was suspended upon nothing like a man prepared to be drawn and quartered.


    Slowly he began to notice that Merithault was pulling him in, and with each inch he drifted towards her, her cruel smile widened. He began to struggle with the invisible bonds that tightened upon him, but as soon as he could move, the monster tightened her grip further. As his mind began to crawl at the possibilities of getting out from her power, he noticed three more tendrils of energy soaring at him.


    Each tendril tore more rock and metal from his frame. He could do nothing but suffer these lashes as his mind frantically contemplated his situation. He drowned out more pain and closed his eyes focusing the remainder of his spent energies. In a clear moment, he remembered a conversation he had with Isilda when they were setting up camp.


    It felt like a million years ago, but it had only been two days before all this trouble began. Isilda had mentioned that before she was asked to come on this expedition, she was learning the first powers of telekinesis. She had joked with him about how it had taken her eight months just to learn how to flip the pages in a book or carry a feather in the air. She had mentioned how powerful the masters of her order were with their abilities. She ruminated about how it seemed like a long stretch for her to be able to lift and fling boulders around.


    Isilda had displayed some of her abilities when stirring stew over the fire at the camp. She let the ladle drop into the stew and then with some focus and a slight nosebleed, she had managed to slowly stir the stew with the ladle. She could only maintain the concentration for a few moments before she grasped the utensil in her hands and sheepishly looked up at him. Tyverus remembered the warm and proud smile on her face as the blood dripped over her full lips.


    Isilda promised to teach him how to do it when the expedition was done, she had emphasized her taking him to Alsira Thaenat to see the home of her order. It was a promise that made Tyverus¡¯ heart skip a beat with hope and expectation. The chance to learn some of the powers of the oracles as he had wanted to do as a child while being in the company of a woman he had become enamored with in such a short time.


    Tyverus, as he was, wanted to show off to the young woman. As soon as he saw her wipe the blood from her lips and return to stirring their evening meal, he remembered a trick a fellow knight had shown him during the Battle of the Wounded Wolf. He raised his hands out and clasped Isilda¡¯s hands tightly causing her to drop the ladle.


    ¡°Watch this. I think I can command the Haeth arts as well as you.¡± He said while smiling and staring into her eyes. They moved their entwined hands away from the pot and both looked down to the stew. With seeming little effort, the ladle began to stir the stew on its own.


    ¡°How did you manage that?¡± He heard her say with that enchanting and soothing voice she had. The voice that could make ice twinkle and dance. He kept up the ruse for a few moments but then relented and explained it all to her. The command he had over the elemental earth and metal, as well as that of small, well-timed air gusts, allowed him to simulate the same effects as telekinesis. It was crude and demanded more energy in lateral and sympathetic ways, but it had worked.


    Tyverus¡¯ eyes shot open as the memories faded away. He would need to do a similar thing to fight against the force of the monster¡¯s mind on his body. If her command of telekinesis was powerful enough to freeze him in the air, immobilize him, and drag him slowly to her, his command of the elements would need to be even more powerful.


    He began to focus some of his last reserves of energy from his mantle to command the powers of the earth. It was fortunate indeed that his body was covered in both rock and metal from the earth, and that his sword was born of finely crafted earthen steel rather than meteoric iron like many other of the Guardian Knights.


    As he continued to near Merithault, two more tendrils of energy tore forth to impact his left forearm and his right leg. The impact on his arm had some give to it, but the impact on his leg was enough to cause a severe open wound. Tyverus gulped down the pain and began to focus his will on the rock surrounding his body.


    The force on his sword arm began to grow as he melted the metal around it and reformed the rock at strange and unnatural angles. The pain began to well up to the point that he could feel his consciousness leave his body for a few moments, several times. With each inch he neared the monster, the elemental energy of his arm and sword grew to fevered heights.


    He bit his bottom lip until it bled as it was all he could do not to shatter his teeth under the strain. Tendons in his arm felt like they would snap along with the bones trapped and contorted between the tightening rock. The flames dancing across his blade began to lick higher and with greater hunger melting the steel of his sword. Every muscle in his arm was tensed beyond measure, the heat upon his gloved hand was almost too much to endure.


    The grinning skull of Merithault was terribly close now and her outreached arm sending waves of invisible energy was nearly within reach. One more heartbeat filled with overwhelming pain followed by a second as time slowed even further. Then, with a howl of pain and rage, Tyverus unleashed the last of the energy he had been welling up.


    The rock and metal on his arm contorted and squealed under the heat and strain. Pebbles shot out along with rivulets of newly unleashed blood as his arm forced itself forward like a sling loosed. The bones of Tyverus¡¯ arm snapped in multiple places, and the strain of the rock held his useless hand in place on his sword. The melted hilt of his blade scorched through the rock as well as leather covering his hand to fuse the blade right into his flesh and bone.


    His flaming, bladed, and crushed arm flung forth from his restrained body as he continued to aim the rock at Merithault. The arm swung around from his shoulder and the blade in his hand into the monster¡¯s arm in front of him. The searing metal cut through the unnatural flesh and bone like it was butter. The same burning smell of ichor quickly welled up as the beast howled in pain and shock.


    Tyverus dropped heavily to his knees upon the ground. It took a moment for him to grab his crushed sword arm with his still functional one. His mind fluctuated between overwhelming pain and the disjointed bliss of oncoming nervous shock. The bones of his arm were crushed beyond repair and his shoulder was now dislocated. He could no longer feel his fingers, as the metal of his hilt had merged with the metal and rock of his armor, as well as the flesh and bone of his hand.


    He looked up at the cowering form of Merithault. She stared daggers at him from her glowing ice eyes as she grasped at her severed wrist. The limp limb sat smoldering on the ground a few yards in front of him. He looked from it back to the snarling face of the abomination and smiled.


    There was no moment of respite as Merithault welled up a sudden thrust of telekinetic energy that flung Tyverus backward with tremendous force. Tyverus held his smile as he flew through the air backward until he impacted the roof of the cavern. The impact felt dull compared to the pain in his arm, and he kept his eyes closed trying to relish his small victory.


    ¡°Impudent worm!¡± Merithault screamed in rage from far beneath Tyverus. He opened his eyes to see the fiend staring up at him with her remaining arm tensed and outstretched while flinging him this distance.


    He did take his moment of solace now, as he realized he was quite far from the reach of her shadowed tendrils. He was still being pressed against the rock by Merithault¡¯s telekinetic powers but she hadn¡¯t yet seized upon his limbs with focused energy. He looked around him to see several ancient stalactites of considerable size and one of the shining crystals embedded into the rock next to his dangling right arm.


    ¡°You actually think you can wound someone such as I?¡± Merithault let a sadistic cackle follow her hissing words. She kept her eyes focused on him as she let her remaining hand¡¯s grip fall away. She focused her powers with her mind only while crouching down to the rock beneath her. She seized upon her severed limb with her hand and broke contact for a single moment to gaze upon it, then back up to Tyverus.


    Merithault lifted her severed wrist up to the burnt stump as she continued to gaze hotly up at Tyverus. Veins of ichor reached out and latched onto the burnt flesh. The veins seemed to pull the severed hand back into place and sealed the burnt wound once more. A charred bracelet of ruined flesh still graced the monster¡¯s wrist, but with a flex of skeletal fingers, Merithault showed that the limb was once more functional.


    Tyverus let his eyes quickly fall on the gaping wound in Merithault¡¯s chest and he soon began to see the same veins of ichor worming up from the wound like little snakes of shadow. The wound began to glow from within, like night-time stars shining and twinkling off of a still lake¡¯s surface. The translucent flesh of the monster was slowly knitting itself together.


    ¡°I am a servant of Ullthos, impudent boy.¡± Merithault crooned up at him. She began walking forward in both a totteringly unnatural and fluidly predatory fashion. Those same ice-blue eyes shone up at him, now with the sadism, a child might have to a captured insect, rather than with her earlier unholy rage. ¡°It is by the will of the gods that I exist. I am a weapon in their hands, and I will exist far past the time this world will turn to ash. Or until I succeed in my mission. It is not your place to stop me.¡±


    <hr>


    Version 4.0.02


    <hr>

 Episode I - A Blood-soaked Legacy XII

    <hr>


    It took the last two days to reach the highest ridges of the Stvattstromm Mountains. Here was the training ground of the Guardian Knights, located a few dozen miles north of Morrthault City. The air was overwhelmingly thin and cold causing most of the young knights to be gasping for air, even while they remained still and huddled in front of the braziers strewn around the training area. Smoldering embers in metal braziers did little for warmth, bringing only pain in the frost-bitten hands that the knights held over them vainly. Still, it was enough heat to stave off further frostbite.


    ¡°Today will be your final exercise of earthen command training.¡± The loud and gritty voice of the Paladarc resounded and echoed throughout the chilled air. His crimson cape was crusted with ice and snow while he held it close over his arms for what little warmth it might provide. The metal of his armor had iced over, but the runes on his mantle glowed through. ¡°I know you all can command both the defensive arts of earthen armor, and the offensive attacks of earthen shock, but this test is more focused on your abilities to restrain and sustain your force.¡±


    The Paladarc walked in front of the huddled mass of young knights as he looked them up and down. The emotion on his face was incredibly subtle as he took them in and sized them up. The deep snow beneath his feet didn¡¯t seem to phase him at all as he openly stomped forward, taking only the briefest moments to make eye contact with a specific knight and then moving on to the next.


    ¡°Chace, step forth if you please.¡± The Paladarc turned his back to the group, stepping away from them and pointing to the ground beside him. ¡°I want you to come here.¡±


    One of the young knights looked up from the brazier he and a few other knights shared. His green eyes shot up to the Paladarc and then to the other knights around him. He wiped shocks of brown hair from his face, tucking them up under his head-scarves with his cold fingers. He stepped forward and took up a cautious stance next to the Paladarc.


    ¡°You are too soft with your abilities. I want you to uproot that large fir up ahead. The one that is dead with little needles left.¡± The Paladarc turned to stare down at the young knight. ¡°Tear it up in a single thrust.¡±


    ¡°Sir, I¡­¡± Chace stumbled over his words for a moment. ¡°It¡¯s over thirty feet tall, sir.¡±


    ¡°Height means nothing, boy. Focus on the earth around the root system beneath the tree. I don¡¯t want you just pulling it from the earth like a sour turnip. I want you to sunder the ground around it and send it flying upward.¡±


    ¡°Sir¡­¡±


    The Paladarc turned his head to stare down at Chace. He didn¡¯t need to say another word. Chace knew his training and that an order from one of the senior commander knights was something to be done immediately, with no choice in the matter, other than how fast it was to be completed.


    The young knight focused his energies while the mantle around his neck and chest began to glow a soft green color. He moved his hands in front of him, furling and unfurling his fingers like he was caressing the roots of the tree deep beneath the ground. His eyes rolled into the back of his head for a moment and his eyelids fluttered beneath the ice on his lashes.


    The ground beneath the younger knights began to vibrate as groans ushered up from the rocks around the dead tree. The groaning protests from the rock raised in pitch until the constant grinding sounded like prolonged trumpets, out of tune, echoing through the mountains. Small pebbles and stones leaped up from the snow-covered earth, given life from the strain beneath.


    The sounds roared to life as the earth around the tree began to shake violently. Sections of the ground collapsed, while small boulders began to jut forth. Chace¡¯s eyes lowered and focused intently on the tree ahead of him. As he lifted his hands up with a hard thrust, the roots of the tree ripped up from the earth in sympathy with his motions.


    ¡°Remember, with force.¡± The Paladarc turned from the tree to his student¡¯s side. ¡°Make it fly, boy.¡±


    Chace curled his fingers into fists and took up a stronger stance with his legs apart. He groaned as the earth before him did and pulled his fists further upward. Ahead the earth burst forth like a geyser of dirt, rock, and dead roots. The tree¡¯s trunk broke free and soared over forty feet into the air. The roots of the tree followed after in a groundswell. Dirt and tiny pebbles began to fall upon the gathered knights who lifted their arms to shield their faces.


    ¡°Almost, lad.¡± The Paladarc slapped a gloved hand upon Chace¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I would have preferred if it was in one piece, though.¡± The remnants of the tree¡¯s shattered roots fell back into the earthen crater. Immediately after, the dead trunk of the tree impaled itself into the fresh dirt like a massive spear.


    Chace relaxed his stance, letting his arms drop to his sides. He looked up to the Paladarc with a confused and whimsical sort of expression. The elder knight gave him another hard pat on the shoulder and then pointed to the huddled young knights behind him. ¡°Go back lad, you¡¯ve proven enough. You still need some work, but you have the basic idea.¡±


    Chace returned to the group and the Paladarc walked back as well. The elder knight crossed his arms behind his back, under his cape, rocking back forth on his boots. He looked the group up and down once again, this time much quicker than before, with pursed lips within his massive beard. He closed his eyes for a moment and gave a long sigh.


    ¡°Tyverus.¡± The Paladarc kept his eyes closed and took a step back with his arms still crossed behind himself. ¡°Step forth. You need work.¡±


    Tyverus didn¡¯t look sheepishly at the other knights around him as Chace had done. He immediately stepped forward and took up stance beside the Paladarc where the other young knight had been. He remained silent with a distant gaze, awaiting the orders of his superior.


    ¡°You have raw power in reserve, lad. You¡¯re focused like a knife¡¯s tip, and that¡¯s precisely the problem.¡± The Paladarc opened his eyes and turned to Tyverus. ¡°You need to learn finesse with the arts of the earth. You seem fine with the rest of the elements, but you¡¯re too hard-focused with this one.¡±


    Tyverus gave a nod and focused his eyes on the ground before him. He continued to remain silent. A bit of his pride was hurt, but he realized that this was the time to learn from any of his mistakes before lives counted on him.


    ¡°Those cliffs on the ridge above us. I believe that should be about a hundred feet or so. I want you to shake that cliff thoroughly.¡± The Paladarc looked from the jutting cliff above the group and then back to Tyverus with a smile on his face. ¡°Shake it hard, lad, without a single rock falling from that face.¡±


    Tyverus¡¯ eyes widened and the Paladarc seemed to smile even wider. He looked up to the snow and rock-strewn cliff beside the group. The cliff-face seemed ancient and brittle. Several errant pieces of scrub had wormed their way through the rocks making it even more fragile-looking. He looked back to the Paladarc with an eyebrow cocked up. ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    ¡°Then do it, boy. Before the rest of us turn blue from the cold and lack of air.¡±


    Tyverus fixed his eyes on the cliff-face and raised his frozen hands in front of him. He flexed his fingers and began to harmonize with the rocks and earth ahead. A soft glow of green light emanated from his mantle as only a few of the runes within lit up. Snow began to fall away from the cliff¡¯s edge and the tips of scrub began to sway back and forth.


    ¡°Don¡¯t massage the cliff, lad. Give it a good shake.¡±


    Trepidation and fear began to gnaw at Tyverus as he continued to focus his energy forth. He always knew he had a hard time properly commanding the earthen element. His training had been rigorous over the years, but there was something about commanding the powers of the earth that made it hard to focus. His instructors always complained that he was too light, or too hard with his powers.


    The gnawing worry started with a twinge in his fingers as they began to shake. The rocks above began to groan and a few small pebbles fell to the snow next to the group of young knights. A few of their number looked up from their braziers following the motion of the shuddering rocks above. The rocks that fell away began to grow in size and some of the young knights scurried away to crouch next to farther away braziers.


    ¡°I did say not to let a single rock fall, lad.¡± The Paladarc raised an eyebrow at Tyverus but remained with his arms crossed behind his back. ¡°Despite this, you may continue.¡±


    Tyverus couldn¡¯t stop if he wanted to. As had happened many times before in training, a sense of feedback came from the rocks and entered back into Tyverus¡¯ body. The rocks seemed to sing out to him, and as he tried to shake them, they reached out shaking him back. Flashes of Tyverus¡¯ youth shot through his mind. Glimpses of emotional memories stole away his focus with each flash and he closed his eyes for a few moments.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The first memory was from when his mother died, he was only a few years old, and the sorrow of her loss tore through both him and his father. The next was the memory of when his father had made a mistake in legal proceedings against a corrupt local lord, which led to him being condemned to exile from his hometown. That was the first time he had struck Tyverus in anger when he had found the boy lacking in his studies.


    The next memory was the disappointment on his father¡¯s face when he had come to him during his legal studies, asking to become an oracle. His father had screamed into his face and told him that his future had been decided. The only way his father could get back into law was to sell Tyverus to the Guardian Knights. He did so, soon after, and was able to enter into the prestigious halls of Morrthault City with his reputation wiped clean.


    The final memory was from when Tyverus had been accepted as a Guardian Knight and received his mantle. Before the rest of his training was to commence, he was given a day¡¯s leave and he took it to return to his father¡¯s home. There he ran into several of the city¡¯s reclaimers stripping his father¡¯s manor down. He asked what had happened and was informed that his father had died from poisoning a few weeks previous.


    It was assumed that the same corrupt lord had tracked him down and removed him to make way for several county proclamations that would enhance his trades. Such was the lot of those who lived by law and his father¡¯s bad decisions had cost Tyverus the freedom of his future for nothing. By becoming a Guardian Knight, Tyverus had forsaken any claims to his family¡¯s lands, properties, or ability to fight for his father¡¯s honor against the local lord.


    Tyverus remembered standing at his father¡¯s pauper grave that day. He had spent some of his coin on his father¡¯s favorite wine and left it at the grave-site below the cheap stones. He spent hours screaming at his father and pounding the earth that covered his rotted corpse. He wanted to tear up the earth beneath him and shake his father¡¯s body until it fell apart.


    With a startle, he opened his eyes and saw the cliff-face before him shaking apart. Boulders and uprooted trees were falling to the ground. In front of him, his hands had turned to shaking fists. The young knights behind him had crowded around three of the most distant braziers.


    ¡°Depend upon the powers of your mantle, lad.¡± The Paladarc hadn¡¯t moved from his original spot and his eyes were trained on the quaking cliff above him. ¡°Calm the energies that course through you and try to reign it back in.¡±


    Tyverus let his head drop to the right and downward. The energy coursing through him felt unnatural and was grating upon his nerves. The pain of his memories continued to gnaw at the back of his mind filling him with sustained rage. Hatred of his father, hatred of the Guardian Knights, hatred of his dead mother, and hatred of this corrupted world. He wanted to reach out with every fiber of his being and shake the entire world-plane into dust.


    Three trees fell from the cliffs above, each almost twice the size of the one Chace had sent flying a few minutes previous. Above, a boulder split and showered pebbles upon the ground below. The ground beneath Tyverus began to vibrate in sympathy with the cliffs above.


    ¡°Reign it in, lad!¡± The Paladarc¡¯s voice was commanding but betrayed a cadence of fear. He stepped backward and neared Tyverus. The other young knights looked up from their cold hands to gaze worriedly at Tyverus and their superior. ¡°Let it go and drop the power. You¡¯ve proven enough.¡±


    The words didn¡¯t matter to Tyverus anymore and neither did the other knights around him. The earth reached out to him and was one with his rage. He gave out a howl and opened his fists to grasp at the throat of the world.


    Boulders twice the size of a grown man fell to the ground before Tyverus and the Paladarc. The younger knights scrambled and ran away. Trees screamed as they were ripped from the earth and torn to splinters. With a swipe of his left hand, the cliff-side crumbled and fell away. With a swipe of his right, the front of the mountain just mere inches from his feet crumbled down to the valley far below.


    Dust and snow erupted up from the rock-slide. The world itself submitted to Tyverus¡¯ focused hate. Miles away the echoing rumbles of other mountains and rock-slides reached his ears. All around the valley below clouds of dirt and snow erupted forth.


    For untold moments Tyverus stood there with a cathartic calm and peace washing over him. At his side, the Paladarc remained with a shocked expression on his frost-covered face. Far away the sounds of thunder erupted as a sundered mountain collapsed into a heap of rock.


    ¡°I only asked you to shake the cliff, Tyverus.¡± The Paladarc turned from the devastation to look at him straight in the eye. He lifted one of his gloved hands to put on his shoulder. ¡°You have power with you, lad. You need to learn to temper it.¡± He let his hand drop away and crossed his arms over his chest while gazing back at the recently widened valley. ¡°No more training when it comes to the element of earth. I don¡¯t think we have enough land left to test you on.¡±


    * * *


    Tyverus knew he only had a few moments while the monster below him finished healing. She still had him pressed against the ceiling of the cavern, but she hadn¡¯t yet limited the motion on his limbs. He remembered how she had earlier commanded the elements of her lair; sealing off passageways and causing lances of sharpened earth to bolt out of the ground. It was only a matter of time before she lost interest in him and did so while he was immobilized.


    Merithault returned her right hand, upraised towards him while channeling her telekinetic energies. She looked from him to the charred ring around her previously severed wrist. A few worms of ichor protruded from the flesh to dance in the air before knitting themselves back into place. The wound in her chest was almost fully healed. Her ribs and collarbone, visible beneath her strangely clear flesh, were knitting themselves back into place.


    Tyverus looked around his spot on the ceiling to the stalactites around him and the glowing crystal light to his right. Several of the jutting pillars of rock were heavy and jagged enough to make lances of his own if he could command them with his energies. He remembered well the training of his youth and how he had a hard time commanding the earth to do as he wished. He could command the powers of earthen armor easily, even a few tricks with metal and stone, but the power to shake the pillars of rock to use as weapons might be more than he could handle at this moment.


    Quickly, he closed his eyes and gripped the stone around him tightly with his still functional left hand. He cast his consciousness into the rock above him to feel its depth and composition. The rock sung out to him about itself telling him it was deep and heavy with more rock than ice. There were veins of dense ore above him and many different minerals. The rock was over six-hundred feet thick and beyond that, he could feel the lack of vibrations that signaled seawater.


    Tyverus opened his eyes and sunk his fingers into the rock above him. He was resolute now, knowing what he must do. He never really got the hang of limiting his powers over the earth, and now would be the perfect chance to use them. He would bring the entire cavern down on the beast and on himself.


    He gave a hard and dry swallow at the proposition of ending his life in a single action so that he might be able to seal away this horror. He felt the beating of his heart and focused intently on what he must do. This was it, his last chance. There was nothing left to live for. After all, the woman he loved was dead and the man he swore to protect was nothing more than a pile of gore below. All that could be done now was to protect the world from this unholy abomination once and for all.


    The memories from his life welled up inside of him once again; the rage at his father, the rage at the society he was born to, the rage at not living the life he wanted, and the rage at his mother for choosing the deathly kiss of Olthenna rather than her own son. The rock around him sang with his rage, quaking behind him. He reached out with his will to shake some stalactites the size of warhorses free from their moorings hoping to send them down to the evil witch below.


    Merithault turned to look up at him, her eyes glowing once more, the expression on her face was empty as she tried to understand what was about to happen. Slowly her top lip raised into yet another predatory snarl, but this time there was a hint of whimsy to her countenance. It seemed she wanted to see what her prey had up his sleeve.


    With a sharp quake, a half dozen stalactites broke free from the ceiling to fall towards Merithault below. Each piece of rock was over twice a person¡¯s height and had sufficient weight to either crush or severely impale the monster. As the rocks fell towards her, Merithault dispatched several with her indigo tendrils of energy and deftly dodged the rest.


    ¡°Such paltry tricks.¡± Merithault got up from a roll to stare back up at Tyverus. ¡°Show me the full extent of your rage, young knight.¡±


    Tyverus reached out and broke off a section of the ceiling right over the corrupted oracle to send several tonnes of earthen debris to fall on her below. She broke up several of the chunks with her tendrils and sent a few of the larger boulders flying away with more of her telekinetic prowess. Several large chunks managed to batter at her and a sharp tip of a stalactite got through to pierce her thigh.


    Merithault growled from beneath the heaping stones and broke free of their combined weight with ease. Tyverus felt her anger as she seized onto his limbs tightly with the force of her mind. It soon felt like she was reaching a hand out to choke him from the throat. He gasped hard but quickly refocused his energies once more.


    He could no longer breathe, but he could feel his heart beating steadily in his chest. He focused on that sound and the rage boiling up in his veins once more. Above him, he felt the entire ceiling give way as huge splits formed in the rock. Around him, the cavern began to quake with each beat of his heart until whole sections of the cavern began to collapse. He wanted to draw in one last breath of air before he died, but the monster ensured he could not. With one more rumble, he felt the entire weight of the world above give way.


    Rocks and shards of ice began to fall past him to the ground below and within a moment he felt himself fall down with them. The monster had been struck by a heavy and jagged rock to the head causing her to lose focus on him with her mind¡¯s grip. The vertigo of the fall was soothing and Tyverus was able to draw one last dusty breath in.


    He continued to fall along with the debris from the roof in what felt like an eternal moment. A smile of vindication spread across his lips. As soon as he felt like he could be lost in this moment, he felt the impact of water on his body. As he struck the surface of the water he was impacted by several jagged pieces of rock that knocked off more of his earthen armor. The rush of icy water on his exposed skin and wounds was at first painful and then morbidly refreshing.


    The weight of his form drew him several feet down to the bottom of the subterranean river. The impact on the bottom was hollow and light. Tyverus held his breath and curled into a ball to prepare for the full impact of the world collapsing upon him from above.


    With any hope, his final moments would come soon. He grasped at the mantle around his neck and chest his left hand, feeling the last bits of the energy inside of it. He could also feel the metal fused to his right hand lightly scrape along the rocky bottom of the river. The cold around him was serene and he hoped that in the hereafter he might be reunited with Isilda¡¯s soul. As long as Merithault the Mad was finally sealed away, perhaps there might be a single ray of hope for this wretched world, after all.


    <hr>


    Version 4.0.03


    <hr>

 Episode I - A Blood-soaked Legacy XIII

    <hr>


    Tyverus opened his eyes into a darkness that surrounded him. As his senses came back to the world of the living from the depths of slumber, he could feel a mass of furs covering his legs and the pitched rocking of waves. The sounds of snoring mixed with the groans of wood with each wave that struck the hull of the ship.


    He pushed the furs away and swiveled his legs over the side of the bed. The sounds of snoring sailors and Bhergom¡¯s nasal whistling were all around him. Tyverus lifted his hand up and snapped his fingers to summon sparks from the air. With each snap, tiny embers came to life allowing him to see all the other beds and hammocks around him. Several metal lanterns chained to the roof of the hold swayed with each wave. The candles within had burnt themselves out a long time ago.


    All around him, every hammock or bed was occupied by members of the expedition or the crew of the ship they had commissioned, that is all but the bed beside Tyverus¡¯. A moment of concern washed over him as he stood up and ensured his breeches were tied secure. He let one of his hands run over the metal mantle branded into his exposed chest. He reached beside his pillow to pick up an old tunic and pulled it over his body to cover the metal and his exposed flesh. Next, he grabbed one of his wolf fur coats he had draped over the end of his bed for warmth.


    The waves striking the hull of the ship didn¡¯t affect him much as he made his way from the hold up to the midship. He was used to being on ships that had taken him to many of the battles he had seen in his short life. He made his way up the wooden stairs to the midship and grasped a nearby ladder to get up on to the deck. All around him the ship swayed in the water. Any crew manning the night-shift were practically invisible in their duties if they weren¡¯t already asleep in the hold below.


    As he opened the hatch to the deck, the chilled northern wind blew into his face and made him shudder for a moment. He pulled himself up onto the worn wood deck and made his way to the aft castle. He didn¡¯t know where Isilda had gotten to, but she would suffer the cold out here if she was on deck.


    ¡°You can¡¯t sleep either?¡± The now familiar and soothing sound of the young oracle came to Tyverus¡¯ ears from behind him. He turned to see her pressing her back against the wall of the castle, with her arms stretched out and gripping at the wood frames on either side of her. ¡°I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s just my nerves or all this damned rocking.¡±


    ¡°Nerves?¡± Tyverus walked towards Isilda and leaned against a nearby door-frame. ¡°Don¡¯t you want to go back down to the hold? You¡¯ll catch your death out here.¡± Tyverus looked her up and down, seeing her barefoot and wearing nothing more than a nightgown covered by loose-fitting robes.


    ¡°I can¡¯t be down there right now. I need to be up here and see the waves with my own eyes.¡± Isilda pushed her chin out to point at the dark mass of water around the ship barely visible over the deck. ¡°As for the nerves, well, we¡¯re almost there and I¡¯m a little excited.¡±


    ¡°Oerstav Caelii.¡± Tyverus remarked rhetorically and looked to his right over the bow of the ship. ¡°How can you see any of the waves when you¡¯re hidden over here by the aft castle?¡± Tyverus leaned away from the wood with his arms crossed and looked around the deck nearby. ¡°I can¡¯t see anything from here. Don¡¯t you want to move the rail to see?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Isilda shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m afraid of falling overboard. The waves are too much for me.¡± She paused and sighed. ¡°Well, I might not be able to see the waves, but I can see the stars, okay?¡±


    Tyverus gave a chuckle and pushed from the door-frame to stand astride on the deck. The ship rocked and pitched beneath his feet but he kept still. He looked back to Isilda and then pressed toward the nearby port railing. He grasped onto the wood and raised an arm back to Isilda.


    ¡°No way.¡± Isilda shook her head vehemently and then stared down at her feet. Her nails dug into the wood around her. Her left foot slipped on the deck when one large wave tossed the boat but she caught herself.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. I¡¯m here to catch you. You won¡¯t go over as long as I¡¯m here.¡± Tyverus smiled confidently back to Isilda and pushed his arm towards her a bit more. With his other hand, he patted the railing like it was a skittish horse. ¡°I¡¯m a knight, I know how these things work.¡±


    ¡°The waves are too much.¡± Isilda let go of one of the frames to clutch at her chest and then quickly grabbed the frame again. ¡°The deck is icy over there, too. I trust you, I really do, but¡­¡± She trailed off and looked up at the sky above. ¡°I¡¯m from the desert, we don¡¯t have ships like this and we certainly don¡¯t have waves for that matter. I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    Tyverus felt the ship dip hard to port and saw a wave crash against the hull, sending spray over the deck. He pursed his lips and let his outstretched arm drop. He didn¡¯t want to force the young oracle into anything if she would be fearful of it and there wasn¡¯t much to do about the waves. He wanted to help ease her nerves and show her that the water below wasn¡¯t as frightening as she thought, none of the elements were.


    ¡°I have an idea.¡± Tyverus raised his eyes to stare at Isilda. Her green eyes shone back at him expectantly. ¡°Would you come over here if the waves stopped?¡±


    Isilda gave out an incredulous laugh and turned her face from Tyverus. ¡°Yeah, sure. If the gods came down and quelled the entire Heartsblood Sea, I¡¯d gladly go over there.¡± She smiled and looked back to Tyverus. A shock of her golden hair flew over her face on the wind. ¡°Good luck with that.¡±


    Tyverus grinned at her words and lifted his arms up over his head. ¡°Well, then let¡¯s see if I can call down the gods.¡± He closed his eyes and concentrated on his elemental energies. He reached out to the sea around the ship and let his consciousness meld with it. He thought of the feelings that were building up in him concerning Isilda and the soothing presence she provided him. That same soothing and serene feeling he sent out to the sea. After a few smaller waves caressed the hull the ship ceased its pitching.


    Isilda gasped and then slapped one of her palms on the wooden frame beside her. ¡°No. It¡¯s just a calm. The waves will start up again.¡± She muttered to herself under her breath. She reached out a foot from her place of safety to touch her toe upon the distant wood. ¡°No way.¡±


    ¡°It is done.¡± Tyverus opened his eyes and looked back to her. ¡°I have summoned the gods and quelled the sea.¡± The ship remained perfectly still despite the sounds of distant waves crashing against each other. He stepped away from the railing defiantly and kept his arms raised to his sides.


    ¡°You¡¯re joking.¡± Isilda took a few steps away from the door-frame and then quickly ran back. She patted on the wood with one of her feet and then took another furtive step away from the frame. ¡°Is this another of your pranks? You got me three times now since we left Morrthault City.¡±


    ¡°No pranks. Come see for yourself.¡± Tyverus let his arms drop and patted the rail beside him once more. ¡°Everything is safe, no more waves.¡±


    Isilda took another cautious step and then ran at Tyverus. She stopped on her heels and grabbed onto the railing like a falling climber might grab onto their last bits of rope. Taking advantage of her momentum, Tyverus pulled his fur coat from his shoulders and caught her in it, draping it over hers so that she might be warm. She looked at the water quickly, and then back up to Tyverus. Concern marred the beautiful features of her face. She tucked the warm fur around her and smiled up at him with thanks.


    ¡°You¡¯re glowing.¡± Her remark was flat. She cocked one of her eyebrows up and lifted a hand to pat the tunic Tyverus wore. He looked down to see that his mantle was glowing a soft blue from beneath his clothes. Isilda turned away and looked back out to the water.


    All around the boat the sea was completely calm. The black surface was like a dark mirror reflecting the light of the stars and the glowing white of Ishep on the starboard horizon. A hundred feet from the boat on all sides, waves crashed and spilled over the glass-like surface of calm water. Beyond that barrier, the world resumed its usual chaotic dance, uninterested and entirely blind to this bubble of serenity.


    ¡°I heard that the Guardian Knights of Morrthal could command the elements, but I never thought it was like this.¡± Isilda kept her eyes on the ocean around her. Getting braver with each moment, she leaned slightly over the rail to look at the water below. ¡°I heard the stories about the devastation they caused. That they violently stole the powers of the elementals away. Tales about wars and bloodshed.¡±


    ¡°In some respects, the tales you were told were true.¡± Tyverus leaned forward to see what Isilda saw of the sea. He lifted his head to look her in the eye for a moment. ¡°We are all trained as warriors. We don¡¯t work with the elementals like those druids in Fyrrantha. We command the elements directly.¡± He paused for a moment, as some old memory gnawed at him. ¡°I wish we were more peaceful with our arts, but we serve a vital purpose to the Hoelatha people. We are their defenders, and to defend things, sometimes we have to resort to war.¡±


    Isilda bit her lip and gave a little puff of air. ¡°Well, at least I can see now that this particular knight isn¡¯t all war and duty.¡± She gave a sheepish sort of grin and went back to looking at the water with fascination. ¡°I suppose even powers meant to destroy can create things that are beautiful.¡±


    Tyverus felt his heart skip a beat and he neared Isilda by a step. He wanted to reach out and hold her hand, but he didn¡¯t know if that would be too forward. He was duty-bound to protect her, and her master, by the Paladarc of his legion. He didn¡¯t want to muddy the waters between them in case she rejected his feelings. He knew it would be hard for her to trust him to protect her if she wondered if he would keep pressing himself on her.


    ¡°The Scintillating Crown of the World is strong tonight.¡± Isilda pointed up to the northern sky ahead of the ship. Ribbons of green, orange, and purple flowed over the northern center of the world-plane high above the concerns of the mere mortals below. ¡°Do you know about the significance of those lights?¡±


    Tyverus turned to look at the slowly moving ribbons of glowing energy. ¡°Not really. I remember hearing stories when I was still a child.¡± He paused and took in a sharp, cold breath. ¡°I¡¯ve seen them so much on the fields of battle. I remember they shone brightly during the Battle of the Wounded Wolf a year ago. I guess I never really bothered to think about them.¡±


    Isilda made another little puff of air and continued on. ¡°Well, they are a very important part of the world. It is said that they flow in a ring around the northern center of Aelth Myrris.¡± She let her hand slide down the weathered wood of the railing near to Tyverus¡¯ hand. ¡°It is said that within those ribbons of light are portals and conduits to one of the realms of the gods.¡±


    ¡°Which god?¡± Tyverus continued to look up at the lights gliding among the twinkling stars high above the clouds and mists of the northern lands. His mind began to wonder if it was a god of war that looked down upon the slaughter of knights and would-be conquerors here on the world. What god was it that watched his friends die at the hands of bloodthirsty savages.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Nesharr.¡± Isilda¡¯s voice cut through Tyverus¡¯ thoughts with a matter-of-fact tone. ¡°He is the god of visions. He is the one who graced the first oracles with their sight when our ancestors fled their old world for this one.¡±


    ¡°Nesharr?¡± Tyverus contemplated the name for a moment. ¡°That sounds similar to the name of the ruins you and Bhergom want to go to. Wasn¡¯t that once a city on Oerstav Caelli?¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡± Isilda pivoted from heel to toe and smiled at Tyverus. ¡°It is said that Neshran was where Nesharr came to earth, from his realm in those ribbons, and he graced the first Morthavi survivors with the arts of Haeth. That was before the Morthavi faded away, but those who rebuilt society and called us Hoelatha did the same.¡±


    ¡°So your order was gifted by one of the gods?¡± Tyverus gave a chuckle. ¡°Must be nice to have the sanction of such high beings.¡±


    ¡°I take it you¡¯re not a believer in the gods? Have you not seen their works in your life? Look at those lights there. Look at the stars in the sky. Look at the waves crashing around us. The beauty of the world comes from them.¡±


    ¡°The only god whose work I¡¯ve seen in my life is that of Vaekas, the god of war.¡± Tyverus slid his hand away from hers on the railing. ¡°More than that, I only see the power of humanity. The power to destroy, to enslave, to corrupt, and to squander.¡± He paused for a moment and leaned on the rail to look at Isilda. ¡°My apologies for the morose words. I do wish I could see as you do. I wish I could see the beauty of the world through your eyes.¡±


    ¡°You can. You just have to open yourself to it.¡± She slid her hand a few more inches after his. She looked at him with determined eyes and her lips tightened with a smirk of wisdom.


    ¡°If the world is filled with such beauty, answer me this¡­¡± Tyverus leaned further into the rail and sideways into Isilda¡¯s ear. ¡°Why do you fear the waves and the sea? Can¡¯t you see the beauty in this living sea around us?¡±


    ¡°I do, but I fear it.¡± Isilda¡¯s voice was filled with energy at the prospect of Tyverus¡¯ philosophical challenge. ¡°Is it not the nature of us all to fear what we don¡¯t know?¡± She lifted her hand to point at the waters around the boat. ¡°Like I said, I come from a land of deserts and mesas. A body of water this wide and deep is beyond my understanding. It doesn¡¯t cease to be beautiful, any more than a dire wolf or wyvern ceases to be beautiful. Yet, each must be respected and feared.¡±


    Tyverus gave a nod and looked at the still water for a moment. ¡°I understand.¡± He turned back with an inquisitive look on his face. ¡°So how do you travel in the lands of the Alsira, then? I know there are river ships in Haaken Vaultaen to your south, but how do you traverse the deserts and plateaus? Surely horses couldn¡¯t stand such harsh lands.¡±


    Isilda openly laughed and patted her side. ¡°You call that place, Haaken Vaultaen? Only the Haakuenth call it that. We call it Gullcrest City, and it¡¯s not a part of our lands anymore.¡±


    Tyverus remained silent for a moment and took in the information that Isilda was giving him. He knew from several knights who had been stationed near the Alsira lands that the Haakuenth and the Alsira had squabbles. He had always heard that name for the city in the Haakuenth language, hearing its name in common Hoelatha was strange.


    ¡°Anyway, as for how we travel. We do so by air or by foot. I guess it¡¯s all traditions really. We don¡¯t really believe in beasts of burden, or in building strange contraptions like this ship.¡±


    ¡°How do you fly by air? Do you fly on brooms like witches, or do you soar by the currents of magic like sorcerers?¡± Tyverus gave a chuckle at the absurd notion.


    ¡°Authrocs.¡± Isilda said curtly. ¡°We raise them from chicks. Each member of the Authrakallin Order is bonded to an Authroc from the time they are born. They are our soul-animals.¡±


    ¡°Authrocs¡­¡± Tyverus furrowed his brow and pursed his lips at the word. ¡°Those birds are descended from the ancient Phoenixes. How on earth do you domesticate them to use as mounts?¡± The thought of this demure oracle before him riding a bird twice the size of the ship they were now on was perplexing to Tyverus¡¯ mind.


    ¡°We don¡¯t domesticate them, silly.¡± Isilda crossed her arms for a moment and then lifted one of her hands palm up. ¡°We are soul-bound to them. They are like our¡­¡± She looked up to recall the word. ¡°¡­Familiars. We don¡¯t ¡®mount¡¯ them, they help us and we care for them.¡±


    ¡°You fly these giant birds around.¡± Tyverus turned and pushed his back against the railing. ¡°You soar across the skies, with nothing beneath you but open air.¡± He held his hands up, together, mimicking the wings of a bird soaring around. Isilda nodded at his words and smiled. ¡°With all that danger. One slip. One fall. One well-placed arrow in the heart of your bird, and you fall to the earth¡­¡±


    ¡°I know where you¡¯re going with this.¡± Isilda looked at him with a deadpan expression. ¡°I can handle the dangers and fear of the air, but I can¡¯t handle the dangers and fear of the seas.¡±


    ¡°Exactly. They are both elements. They are both things to be conquered.¡±


    Isilda looked at Tyverus with a slacked jaw, her eyes were wide. ¡°Conquered, you say. I think that¡¯s the difference between us.¡±


    Tyverus turned and leaned back on the railing. He had set lines in the sand between them with his words. He had failed in building trust and companionship between them. She no doubt thought of him as just another meat-headed soldier, now.


    Isilda leaned in and got up on her toes to whisper in Tyverus¡¯ ear. ¡°I suppose that is what one must do with fear. I suppose that is what the knights and the oracles do. We both conquer things in our own way. Whether its the elements of nature or the mysteries of the past. To conquer something is to understand it, and by knowing it, you strip the fear of it away.¡±


    Isilda reached forward and placed her hand on Tyverus¡¯. He lifted his gaze to look up into her beautiful green eyes. She gave a genuine smile and took a step towards him. She pressed her body between him and the rail, lifting up his arms and putting them around her.


    ¡°You conquered the seas for me. You showed me their beauty without fear. I hope I can do that for you in the future, in my own way.¡±


    * * *


    Beneath the surface of the underground river, Tyverus continued to wait for his end to come. The moments dragged on as his lungs continued to burn hungrily for air. Other than a few rocks falling into the water around him, the moments continued to drag on.


    The memories of Isilda popped up in his mind and he wished her soul could reach out to him and pull him away from all this pain and suffering. If he could seal away Merithault once and for all, maybe he would be rewarded by whatever gods existed by being reunited with the woman he missed so much. If all of his life lead to this moment, this final sacrifice, that was worth it to save the world from such a fiend.


    The moments continued, making Tyverus begin to wonder if the gods had chosen a different fate for him. Maybe he was trapped in a hell of this eternal moment. Maybe he had made wrong choices in his life, or this was the price he was to pay for all the lives he took in battles and wars. He was doomed to sit here in the cold waters waiting for the end but it never coming for him.


    He resolved to break the cycle of hellish waiting as he put his left hand and feet beneath him. He pressed himself up to a standing position on the bottom of the river. The rock and metal still clinging to his ravaged body allowed him to stand firmly despite the soft current of the water flowing past him.


    One step and then the next through the cold water. His lungs screamed for air, but he continued on with one foot ahead of the next until his face broke over the surface of the water. He took in a large gulp of air and spit out the ice-water that had filled his mouth and throat. The world around him hadn¡¯t ended as he expected.


    All around him he was blinded for a moment by veins and ribbons of overpowering energy. He could feel the crackle of power on his exposed and torn flesh. The very air, the very rock, the very water of this place was alive with some unholy energy. If this was the end, it was something he had not expected.


    Tyverus looked up from the surface of the water towards the ceiling of the cavern and instinctively stepped back into the water at what he saw. Above the entire roof, the cavern had collapsed under his power, yet every rock, every chunk of ice, and every vein of ore was suspended like dancing planets above his head. Flows of sea water from far above flowed in between the pieces of slowly rotating rocks with no regard for gravity. Ribbons of shadowy power shot through the air like chaotic lightning.


    A resounding crackle echoed throughout the cavern and slowly the sound changed to the semi-human cackling of Merithault. ¡°You dare to try and destroy my home?¡± The monster¡¯s voice seemed to be omnipresent throughout this place that had turned into a realm of chaos. ¡°You think you could just seal me away like that?¡± The cackle intensified. Overhead several boulders of rock impacted each other and exploded with terrible force.


    Tyverus took a few steps forward until the water was only up to his hips. He looked around to see the monster standing at the arch of the bridge. The tendrils of indigo energy around her were busy in a dance conducting the shards of this place above her. Her icy eyes narrowed at him and that same predatory snarl returned.


    The gods had forsaken him, his sacrifice was for naught, and nothing he could do seemed to stop this abomination given life from some dark power. It was not yet time for him to be reunited beyond the veil of death with Isilda. The fighting had to continue, the pain had to be endured, and the rage within him burned all the brighter.


    Tyverus raised up his left hand at the creature above him and clenched his fingers into a fist. The water of the river around him responded to his command and began to slowly spiral around him. The monster looked on in a state of amusement as the waters spiraled away from Tyverus¡¯ feet and into a whirlwind with him at its center.


    With a sharp pull, Tyverus brought his fist close to his shoulder and the river moved with his limb. The whirlwind formed into a giant tentacle of water and ice. With a swipe of his hand, the tentacle impacted the body of Merithault, lifting her from her perch. The tentacle of frozen water pounded upon her, lifting her from the ground, and then with one more motion, sent her flying with extreme force toward the far wall of the cavern.


    Merithault¡¯s body flew through the air until she impacted the stone altar by her wall of skulls. The altar cracked and shattered beneath the force of her body. The force of the water continued to assault her and shear at her flesh with shards of ice. The wall behind her cracked, sending hundreds of skulls to fall behind her.


    With some powers of air and water, small rivulets of elemental power lifted Tyverus from the empty riverbed and up to the crest of the bridge. The water continued to flow around him, creating spirals around the bridge. The energy he commanded continue to grow with each moment as he barraged the monster with everything he had.


    ¡°You should not be!¡± Tyverus screamed at Merithault from the higher ground of the bridge. The water continued to attack her, pinning her against the debris of her altar. ¡°Die already!¡±


    Shards of ice the size of a grown man tore away at Merithault¡¯s prone form. The water pinned her against the rock as Tyverus¡¯ rage-filled assault continued upon her. Her left arm broke backward at a sharp angle under the force of the river. A chunk of ice tore away fingers from her right hand. Her legs were twisted behind her with bones sticking out from torn flesh. Still, the monster had light in her eyes which shone at him with mirth and a cold rage.


    A sound like rusted metal being dragged on granite began to echo up from the fiend. Slowly the sound turned back into the same inhuman cackling as before. No human could withstand such an onslaught. No mortal frame could still survive the crushing weight of an entire river wielded in rage.


    Tyverus focused harder while drawing more water into his attack. He would drown the beast in his rage if he had to. He would keep going until all the dwindling energy in his mantle had been spent. Even when that had been exhausted he would choke whatever substituted life from Merithault with his bare hands if he needed to.


    The cackling stopped and all that remained in the cavern was the constant roar of waters flowing faster than a mortal eye could fathom. Tyverus was about to let up, but he resolved to press on. It wasn¡¯t until he began to doubt himself, that he noticed the tonnes of boulders flying toward him from above and to his sides. The monster still had energy and she was now using the ceiling of the cavern as a weapon against him.


    Tyverus managed to dodge the first few volleys, but the rest struck him hard. One rock knocked him in the head, sending him dizzy spin. Several others impacted his chest and legs. Between flashes of light, he could feel the dull pain of his legs breaking as he was cast backward with tremendous force.


    Sparks from the metal he used as armor went off around his eyes. Chunks of his elemental armor went flying as it shattered around him. Beneath all the impacts, he could feel the cold ground of the cavern hit his back. He slid for a moment as more rocks and pebbles took their turns pummeling him. Eventually, his head hit the far wall of the cavern and everything went blissfully dark.


    <hr>


    Version 4.0.03


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 Episode I - A Blood-soaked Legacy XIV

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    Tyverus opened his eyes to a world of chaos and blood-drenched savagery, all around him the ground was covered with still-burning embers, blood, debris, and dead bodies. It took a moment for all of his other senses to come back; the sounds of men howling with fury or screaming with pain, the bitter smell of gore liberated forth by the slashing of metal and the taste of his own bitter blood on his tongue. All around him was the doom that all of humanity brought upon its brothers and sisters. This savagery was the only true gift that the gods above had bequeathed upon all of mankind: War.


    Without having to be conscious of it, Tyverus took a step forward and ducked under the blade that was sweeping across the air toward his head. The blade swung in mere inches from cleaving in his skull. Attached to that blade was a barbarian covered in furs, yelling at the top of his lungs. Bones of birds swayed from threads woven through the barbarian¡¯s nose and up the sides of his face. His beard was matted with blood and gobbets of flesh. What was to be seen of his face beneath the splatters of blood and dirt, was painted in the blue clay paint that the Khollisthenna people ¡ª The Death Wolves of the North ¡ª were known to wear to war.


    This particular warrior of the barbarian tribes had previously struck Tyverus in the face with his metal bracer, sending him into a moment of blackness. He didn¡¯t need to be fully aware of his state, as he was trained well enough. Without needing to think, his body was reacting to every thrust and slash the barbarian warrior sent his way. The Khollis berserker had gotten in a lucky shot and it was now time for Tyverus to ensure it would be that warrior¡¯s last.


    Tyverus had dropped his blade a few moments earlier and since that had become quite enamored with the blade the barbarian had tried to kill him with. Keeping up momentum in his first step he dropped into a crouch and turned his back to the still-roaring barbarian. He let his left foot slip on the pool of blood at his feet allowing him to hit the barbarian in the chest with his shoulders. The momentum was enough to knock the wind from the howling man¡¯s lungs.


    A small command of earthen power was made as Tyverus channeled the energies of the ground below into his right hand. Rocks and pebbles formed along the leather glove he wore to reinforce him. With a downward thrust, he pummeled his fist into the swinging sword arm of the barbarian. Behind his right hand, his left greedily reached out to grab the hilt of the berserker¡¯s sword. Tyverus¡¯ impact was enough to break the warrior¡¯s arm almost in twain. Bones shot up from flesh and a light sprinkle of blood covered Tyverus¡¯ face.


    Before the warrior could suck in air for a cry of pain, Tyverus had clutched and stolen the blade from him. With a swing and pivot, Tyverus took up his earlier stance before the man and sent the singing metal of the blade into the barbarian¡¯s neck. As soon as metal impacted bone, the Khollis warrior grabbed Tyverus by the neck with his other hand. Meaty fingers dug into the knight¡¯s flesh just above his mantle and for a moment it felt like the barbarian might lift him from the ground.


    Tyverus knew how hardy and powerful these tribesmen of the northern lands were, but he never thought that such power could be held by a man who had his own sword embedded in his neck. Spouts and sprays of steaming blood-drenched Tyverus¡¯ front as he continued to pull the blade through the warrior¡¯s neck. Bone grated against metal as he managed to pull the blade downward and free. The grip on his neck hadn¡¯t abated.


    The sky-blue eyes of the warrior stared hotly with rage and judgment at Tyverus as he stood his ground and let the blade fall away to the ground. The grip on his neck began to loosen as each heartbeat brought more of the barbarian¡¯s blood up and out of his body. Slowly the grip fell away and the warrior dropped to his knees.


    ¡°You fought well.¡± Tyverus spoke softly under his breath. ¡°Join your ancestors and your kin in the halls of Olthenna.¡± He took a step backward as the warrior continued to stare at him hotly. The warrior did nothing to staunch the spilling of his own blood. Slowly his eyes closed as he knelt forward to grab up his sword from the ground with his functional hand and impaled it tip down into the steaming soil. He got back up into a full kneeling stance, leaning on the cross-brace of his weapon. The warrior opened his eyes once more to stare at Tyverus, with a look no longer of rage, but one of peace at dying in battle against a superior opponent.


    The life soon left the warrior¡¯s eyes, but he remained still in his kneeling pose. Tyverus turned away from the warrior and grabbed up his own sword in the grass nearby. The sounds of battle echoed out and a few explosions roared through the smoke-filled air.


    Sword in hand, Tyverus launched himself forward into the fray, stepping over burning embers and dead bodies as he sought out more barbarians to send to the goddess of death. Ahead by a few hundred feet, he could see the silhouettes of warriors crashing arms against one another and he aimed there with his feet.


    Off to his left, as he ran, he could hear another fray and with a look over he beheld several barbarians closing in on a prone knight. Each of the barbarians raised up their swords or axes as they plunged towards the disarmed and wounded knight. As soon as Tyverus couldn¡¯t see the knight over the warriors closing in on him, he felt a slight breeze tugging at his matted, brown hair.


    Knowing exactly what that breeze heralded, Tyverus dropped into a crouch and slid on his right foot. He pulled into a somersault to the right just as a fiery explosion went off to his left. Air drew in with hunger towards the explosion, and immediately after the heat of flames shot out at him. He lifted his left arm to shield his face. The flames hit him first, followed by the hail of scorched chunks of flesh and bone. It would seem that the fallen knight had decided to take the warriors with him into Olthenna¡¯s grace.


    Tyverus shook the heat and momentary disorientation from him for a moment and then got back up to a crouching position. As soon as his senses sharpened once again, he heard the whistle of arrows on the wind. Two heavy bolts the size of his forearm bit into the ground by his feet. The whistling of the third bolt ended with a hard impact to his left shoulder.


    As soon as his left arm flew to his side under the impact, he raised himself back up to his feet. Without thinking his eyes darted into the smoke before him. By the sounds of the arrows and the direction of the impact, the archer was ahead and to the left. Given the size of the bolts, it was uncertain how far away they were, but he knew they would be notching more arrows within a few seconds.


    Tyverus lifted his sword-arm, holding his blade forward and pointed at the source of the arrows. He closed his eyes to focus on his elemental commands of the air, feeling the wind whipping up around him. He opened his eyes to gaze into a small vortex of air reaching out from the tip of his sword like a lance of wind. The lance of swirling smoke spread forward and grew in size.


    The whistling of three more arrows came at him and with a slight movement of his sword in his hand, he sent all three careening off in different directions. He focused hard and swelled the air in front of him to whip the smoke away. Before him, his vision elongated through the smoke, creating a spear of clean air. The moments seemed to freeze as he focused all his intention on widening and furthering the area he could see.


    The spear of clean air stretched out almost three-hundred yards from where he stood. Ahead he could see several tree trunks and high grasses beyond a snowbank. He stretched the spear wide to create an elongated cone of visibility before him. That is when he could see the blue-painted archer beyond the first trees.


    Tyverus couldn¡¯t help but smile at the cleverness of the young woman that stood before him on the other side of the battlefield. She was one of the Khollis archers who were famed for their deviousness as well as the strength of their bow-arms. The woman had already notched another three arrows into her longbow and stood perfectly still to stare through the tunnel of cleared air at Tyverus.


    The archer was painted in the same blue clay paint as the rest of the barbarians. Her golden hair, braided and held in check with gemstone beads whipped around her head on the air. Her arms tensed with a strength that most men that Tyverus had met in his travels, from city to city, would be incapable of. On her face was a look of cold determination to fell her prey.


    It took only a moment for Tyverus to realize, despite the extreme distance counteracted by his heightened senses, that the woman had slightly pivoted her bow-arm to a sharper angle. The gemstone beads in her hair, trailing over her face, allowed her to gauge the intensity of the vortex Tyverus commanded. With precise skill, she had recalculated her trajectory and was about to loose her new arrows.


    Tyverus had no arrogance or conceit about his abilities, knowing that these warriors were well-trained in fighting his kind over the last several years of this war. They had the determination of a people fighting for their home, and the cunning of the wolves that were their tribal namesake. He had to think fast as those arrows made their way to him. He couldn¡¯t cover the distance in time to make it to her and he was on his own in this fight.


    He turned his head slightly to see the burning crater far to his left. The elemental fires still burned among the chunks of fallen warriors. The embers of burnt wooden huts cast on the wind still glimmered at his feet. He would need to draw from this fire to take out this archer before she ended his life.


    As soon as Tyverus turned his face to the fires on his left, the fires went out. Flames flowed on the air in rivers toward him as he reached out with his left hand to grasp them. The flames from the embers around him soared to life and raised up like fiery snowflakes to his outstretched hand.


    One arrow struck the ground near Tyverus¡¯ feet while two struck him in the armor of his chest. The two that hit him didn¡¯t penetrate through, but the impacts caused him to reaffirm his footing. The fire met with his left hand and roared in his grasp.


    Tyverus reached his flaming hand over and let the fires leap to the blade of his sword in his right hand. He still kept the sword pointing before him, and as the flames welled over his blade, he lowered himself and ran forth towards the archer in the trees. He kept his feet moving and he pivoted hard from left to right, swaying to the beat of war-drums in his own mind. He had to keep his steps as erratic as possible.


    The archer watched him from the tree-line and with precise movements pulled another three arrows from over her shoulder and notched them into her bow. Time seemed to dilate as Tyverus made his way closer to her. He could see her slowly draw her bow-arm back to the full extent of her strength. The bow seemed to distort under the strain as the arrows were drawn to their heads.


    Tyverus kicked up the flames around him from his sword. The heat licking at his face was enough to burn the stubble from his tired skin. The flames roared with more life and seemed to well up in front of him like a shield. The heat soon became unbearable, but he ran on. To offset the pain his hand and on his exposed flesh, he howled in rage. He began to yell like the Khollis berserkers would do before running into battle. The bellows of rage sent his mind behind him and the pain seemed to dissipate.


    The archer loosed her arrows once again while holding her stance to watch them as they neared the screaming knight. The flames around Tyverus grew with an even more fevered heat. The arrows impacted the fires around him and burnt to cinders in the air.


    The archer¡¯s eyes shot wide open as the Guardian Knight covered more ground towards her. She didn¡¯t reach for another set of arrows this time. She lowered into a crouch with her bow dropping to her waist.


    Tyverus continued in his run and now needed to release the built up fire in front of him. With a flash, the fire abated and roared into a swirl around his sword. He raised up his sword and aimed it ahead of him like he would with a bow. The archer continued to stare at him, wondering what he was about to do, and that is when he unleashed the fires upon her.


    A gout of flame erupted from the tip of his sword and flew through the air with a howl sounding like wyverns taking to the skies in hunger. The rippling plasma launched itself into the trees as the archer turned on her heels to run for cover. Her reaction didn¡¯t help her as the forest around her lit up under the heat of the flames.


    The sound of thunder went off around Tyverus as the gout of fire exploded and spread into the trees like dragon¡¯s breath. He aimed the sword in front of him, stopping his run, and swept the flames from side to side. In the distance, he could hear the archer howl in pain as her body alighted and burned away.


    Yes, Tyverus knew that the only true gift that gods gave to humanity was that of war and horror. When man fell against man and the seas turned red with the blood of the innocent, that was the only time the gods were sated. In all the horror he had unleashed over his short life, all the lives he had taken, each of them was a sacrifice to the hunger of the distant gods above.


    * * *


    Tyverus opened his eyes slowly, as each lid felt like he was lifting the entire weight of the world. It took a few moments for the blurry and dazzling light before him to become coherent images in his mind. He fluttered his eyes several times and the world returned to a focused state.


    His gaze was upturned towards the destroyed ceiling above. Great rivers of water followed on the air between innumerable chunks of rock. Glowing crystalline lights continued to sway on nothing as they shot out erratic streams of lightning at nearby boulders.


    The pain began to soar within him as he pushed against the rock floor to try and get up. He could feel the cavern wall against his head and he used it as leverage against his neck to get up partially. As his head moved, he was able to look down at the devastation of his body.


    The rock and metal he had summoned as armor had fallen away into crumbled heaps around him. His body was fully exposed save for the plate and leather armor he usually wore. Both of his legs were broken in several places, his left arm was shattered beneath a large rock. His right hand was a mass of burnt flesh grafted to the metal slag that was once his sword. Somewhere inside of him, he felt a shudder and blood began to leak through the leather covering his abdomen.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    He knew that he was mortally wounded and could no longer fight. He closed his eyes once more and reached out to the power of his mantle. The energy within surged back to him, dulling his immense pain enough for him to breath normally once more. The energies within his mantle were at their last dregs. He had enough power to either keep his body alive for a few days, hoping that someone might save him or for one last desperate attack. He didn¡¯t know which would be the best course of action, but he knew being saved was beyond hope at this point.


    Tyverus opened his eyes once more to the elemental chaos around him. He watched the sight before him and began to wonder if this was a vision of what Gehemol might be like: The realm of the damned, deep beneath the world-plane. For a few deep breaths, he remained motionless and lost in contemplation of his own mortality. That is until he saw some motion from across the cavern.


    Something was shifting beneath a pile of rocks and skulls, between the shattered pieces of the altar at the very farthest edge of the cavern. Within a moment a hand reached up from the debris. Lengthy and skeletal fingers reached up to the chilled air above followed by a broken arm. The bones of the arm snapped back into place and began to push a nearby boulder away.


    With an eruption of dark energy, the debris was blown apart and the broken body of Merithault was laid bare. Tyverus pushed himself up a bit further against the far wall in fear and preparation. As he did so, so did the monster before him. She raised slowly to her broken legs.


    The image of her body was unfathomable both in the damage he had done to her, but also in her inhuman resilience. No creature could have survived such an onslaught of energies. Yet, here she was crawling up to a standing position on legs that were nothing more than broken bones and pulped flesh. He couldn¡¯t understand if it was telekinetic energy that was keeping her aloft, or some ability to completely remove pain.


    Merithault was on her feet, such as they still were, and she lurched forward a few steps on broken limbs. Each footstep echoed out with the crunching of shattered bone and torn sinew. Her arms were useless and her body was sundered in several places. Portions of her skull were impacted and her jaw hung at a strange angle.


    The beast continued to make slow and agonizing steps toward Tyverus. With the first few steps, the monster managed to snap portions of her legs back into place beneath her. A few more steps as she neared the crest of the bridge let her snap her arms back into place. Several more steps saw her use her clawed hands to snap her jaw back into place. A few more allowed her to heal portions of her skull, or snap bones back into place on her chest.


    It was obvious that the previous element that Tyverus had assaulted her with was not sufficient for killing the creature. He only had enough in him, if he sacrificed everything, for one last attack. If blades, strategy, the powers of the air, the earth, and water itself weren¡¯t sufficient to kill her, he only had one last recourse to try.


    Tyverus painfully lifted his sword-arm up and set the heavy blade on his shattered knee. He kept his eyes locked on the icy stare of Merithault as she continued to near him with each slow step. He closed his eyes once more and reached out to the last bit of energy within him and his mantle. He turned off the enchanted safety mechanisms that held his body together. He tore through the last runes instilled in his mantle and let the raw energy cascade through him.


    His eyes opened and he could see himself glowing. Tongues of plasma danced along his body, the fires burning the top layers of his flesh away. Rage pooled up inside of him once more and with a smoke-filled breath, he launched all of his excess energy through his blade and outward from it.


    Tiny strokes of lightning jumped from his body to the metal of his blade causing the air around the blade to ignite. The energy quickly ripped into a frenzy of crimson bolts that soon shot out from the sword.


    The air around Tyverus squealed and then roared as the flames were given life as they bolted at Merithault who was only a few yards away. The flames struck her in the chest, bowling her back a few steps. The first impacts only seemed to stun her, but the second volley of flame melted her in place.


    The fire continued to roar from Tyverus¡¯ body, through his sword and out into Merithault. The flames roaring forth began to spread out like a dancing river of plasma let loose. The smell of burning flesh, bone, and ichor welled up on the smoke from her body. She gave a loud scream of pain as the flames dissolved her unholy flesh.


    Merithault dropped to her knees as the flesh was flayed from her bones. The waves of flame continued to wash over her as her bones began to sizzle and char. Her screaming ceased as her body collapsed to ashes and smoldering shards of burnt bone.


    Tyverus kept the energy coursing through him even after he saw the Mad Oracle¡¯s body collapse. Fire still roared through him as the flames began to melt away to the rock before him. His body went cold as the last vestiges of energy were sucked away. Pain filled his mind and his breathing slowed.


    His sword gave one last sputter of lightning and flame and then went quiet. He gave a few pitched breaths, feeling the last bits of energy leave him. He could feel his body dying and growing cold now. He gave one last look at the charred heap of ashes and blackened bone on the ground before him before he closed his eyes.


    In the darkness behind his eyes, he could hear the slow beating of his heart. The time between each beat grew longer and longer. The pain coursing through is body began to numb. In his mind, he reached out to whatever was beyond life and wished for it to finally take him away from this world of the living.


    There came a sound of soft pattering from in front of Tyverus. At first, it was hard for him to hear it over the beating of his own heart, but as he began to realize the sound, he opened his eyes once more. Before him, he gazed a humanoid form coalescing from the smoke of the cavern.


    Slowly the form took a feminine shape and stepped toward him. The first features to become visible were the opened green eyes that looked down at him with tears. Next came the familiar smile and beautiful features of Isilda.


    The female form divested of clothing knelt down over Tyverus and reached out to his chest with a hand. An ephemeral feeling of cold penetrated his chest and seemed to reach around his heart. Energy crackled from Isilda¡¯s ghostly hand to his heart, reviving his life energies. He could feel a feeling of soothing calm spread over his entire body. In his mind, he could feel love like he was finally free of all this pain, this rage, and immense suffering.


    ¡°You gave everything.¡± Isilda leaned in to whisper into Tyverus¡¯ ear. Her voice was like a choir of the gods singing a hymn to the righteous fallen. ¡°Know that you have fought well.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry.¡± Tyverus¡¯ eyes began to well up with tears. He wanted to reach up to her and hold her, but both of his arms were ruined beyond use. ¡°I failed you. I let her take you away.¡±


    ¡°She didn¡¯t take me away, Tyverus.¡± Isilda continued to smile as she raised her other hand up to lightly caress his cheek. Her skin felt ghostly and cold. ¡°I¡¯m here. Bhergom is here. All of us are here. You will be here with us.¡±


    ¡°I will join you beyond the veil of death? I will join you in Olthenna¡¯s grace?¡± Tyverus could feel Isilda¡¯s cold hand gripping his heart. His life ebbed and flowed for a moment as pieces of his consciousness left his body.


    ¡°Beyond the veil of death, yes.¡± Isilda¡¯s eyes began to glow brighter with each moment that passed. It was hard for Tyverus not to be drawn to her eyes. The rest of her form seemed to darken and distort as he gazed into her beautiful eyes. ¡°As for Olthenna¡¯s grace, such is not meant to be.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about the gods. I just want to be free of this pain. I want to be free of this world.¡± Tyverus choked for a moment and blood welled up in his mouth. He spat it out over his chin and tried to breathe once more. ¡°I just want to be with you.¡±


    ¡°Good. You will be. Forever.¡± Isilda¡¯s smile began to widen and reveal teeth. It took a moment for Tyverus to notice the strange silvery gleam her teeth had. As her smile widened, he could see sharpened fangs peek over her bottom lip.


    Tyverus pushed his sword-arm against a boulder and squirmed upward. The world was darkening around his vision, but something felt off about how Isilda looked. There was something wrong with the cadence of her voice. It was familiar but not filled with the same life and joy that made ice vibrate and dance like before.


    He lifted his chin slightly, feeling the cold grip of Isilda tighten a little more around his heart. She continued to hold his cheek, but he shook his head free of her hand. He looked below him, past his feet at the charred ground. It took a moment for his mind to grapple with the realization that the charred remains of Merithault were no longer to be seen.


    ¡°Hush now. Don¡¯t worry. The pain will be gone and you¡¯ll soon be at peace.¡± Isilda grasped Tyverus¡¯ chin with her free hand and pushed his neck back. Her earlier ephemeral feeling was much more solid now. As she pushed against him, he could feel the sharp bite of long claws against his cheeks.


    Tyverus let his face be pressed back against the rock and slumped down to lying on the ground once more. As he did so, he shifted his broken leg slightly causing his body to convulse with extreme pain. He lifted his sword-arm up very slowly and pushed his elbow into a nearby rock.


    He stared up into the glowing eyes of Isilda as she continued to smile. His eyes moved from her eyes to her lips, and then to her body. As he did so, he pushed the tip of his blade into her ribs with all the force he could muster.


    Isilda reeled back in pain and screamed out. Her voice stopped being the soothing and familiar sound but changed into an inhuman howl of pain and betrayal. Tyverus kept his eyes fixed on her face as it melted away like a dream-like illusion.


    Before him, he could see the charred and burnt flesh of Merithault. As she opened her eyes he could see the inhuman and icy cold hatred in her stare. He had driven his sword between the blackened ribs that stuck out between her cracked and blistered flesh.


    She reached out with her free clawed hand to snap the blade in half. The force shattered Tyverus¡¯ wrist and sent his arm to fall at his side. She reached into her side and pulled the jagged and melted metal shard free.


    ¡°You can¡¯t just let things be.¡± Merithault threw the shard of metal away and turned to gaze at Tyverus. Her earlier smile had morphed into another predatory snarl. ¡°I try to give you peace, and you won¡¯t accept it. To your last breath, you fight.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll kill you.¡± Tyverus spat up at Merithault. He lifted his chin up and returned the same snarl that Merithault had upon her charred lips.


    ¡°You have spirit. I should expect such from one of the Guardian Knights of Morrthal.¡± Merithault tightened her icy grasp on Tyverus¡¯ heart causing him to sputter for breath for a moment. ¡°I once had a son when I was mortal. He left to become a Guardian Knight, like yourself.¡± Her snarl turned into a sadistic grin. ¡°He put up a fight, just like you. I killed him all the same.¡±


    ¡°Monster!¡± Tyverus lifted his head up again while trying to jab at Merithault with what was left of his sword-arm. The fiend grabbed his neck with her free hand and held him down. ¡°So many innocent lives were taken by you. You do not deserve to exist!¡±


    ¡°Poor boy. Poor deluded boy.¡± Merithault crooned as she leaned in closer. ¡°No one upon this forsaken world is innocent. You have no idea the horrors I have glimpsed for all of us. The death that I grant is a mercy. Every life I take saves the world from its ultimate destruction. It is only when I don¡¯t take lives when those of my blood somehow create new whelps to inherit my sin, that is when horror and bloodshed are truly released.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re mad! The eons you¡¯ve spent as an unliving abomination have rotted your mind as well as your soul.¡± Tyverus glared hotly up at Merithault. He pushed back against her hand with his throat in defiance. ¡°Isilda saw your weakness. Isilda knew that the last of your lineage must live. Your secret is known, beast!¡±


    ¡°You think that blood-haired little witch is your savior?¡± Merithault gave out a cruel laugh, loosening her grip on Tyverus¡¯ heart for a moment. ¡°I¡¯ve seen the future. Ullthos, himself, gave me the knowledge of what is come millennia ago. If she lives, she will be all of our ruin.¡±


    ¡°The only one that needs to die is you.¡± Tyverus felt Merithault grip at his heart with cold fingers once again. He began to sputter up blood. He kept his eyes fixed on her despite the pain.


    Merithault let go of his neck and began to stroke the top and side of his head with her free hand: A caress like a mother would to her son. ¡°You poor boy.¡± She leaned in again, whispering in his ear. Her cold breath made Tyverus shiver. ¡°You think all of this about you, don¡¯t you?¡± She pulled back and stared down at him. ¡°You¡¯ve dare to think this is all about you. Your story. Your life.¡±


    Merithault shook her head slowly and smiled. ¡°This isn¡¯t about you, not one bit.¡± Her smile grew until her fangs were fully visible under her healing lips. ¡°This story is about me. You are a pawn in fate¡¯s hands, and I am the one who guides that hand. I always have.¡±


    Tyverus remained quiet while beaming his rage up at Merithault. He pushed forward again and was gripped in painful convulsions as the Mad Oracle seized upon his heart once more. He could feel the life leaving his body as his sight began to grow dark.


    ¡°Embrace the darkness and give in.¡± Merithault¡¯s voice was less like a predator and more like a concerned care-giver. ¡°I can feel within you the desire to be reunited with the one called Isilda. If you just give yourself to me, like she did, you can be together again.¡±


    ¡°Lies. Isilda never gave in to you.¡± Tyverus pulled back, but Merithault clutched at his heart again. His vision was now nothing more than pinhole of light.


    ¡°She gave in when her soul was freed by me. You see, your feelings towards the gods are correct, young knight.¡± Merithault gave Tyverus a jolt of more energy to keep him alive just a few moments longer. ¡°The gods you know have forsaken you. They have forsaken all humanity. When we pass beyond our mortal coils, there is nothing be the realm of shades. Beyond that is oblivion. It hungers for us all.¡±


    Tyverus stared up to Merithault with a look of genuine fear. He wanted to fight against her words, but his lack of faith resounded with what she said. If there was nothing but a realm of echoes and dissolution beyond death, maybe what she offered was the closest to the here-after he could find.


    ¡°Good. Your feelings are correct.¡± Merithault began to draw her free hand over his face and neck. She stopped and felt the cold metal of his drained mantle, her fingers gliding over the dead runes. ¡°You will see once I kill you that there is nothing beyond. You will be drawn to me like Isilda was like Bhergom was like all my children were. There, I will drink of your souls and keep you with me. Oblivion won¡¯t take you.¡±


    Tyverus wanted so badly to be reunited with Isilda, yet for all his doubt and pessimism in life, he could not bring himself to believe in the monster¡¯s words. She was an abomination; an unholy thing, a monster beyond reckoning. The choice between being a pawn of a devil or being cast to nothingness was simple, he would not be a pawn.


    ¡°Take your offer of immortality¡­¡± Tyverus lingered on his words for a moment as his eyesight passed into darkness. ¡°¡­And fuck yourself with it!¡±


    Merithault snarled and roared like a predatory beast. She leaned in and clutched hard on Tyverus¡¯ heart. Her other hand tore the metal mantle from his chest. Coldness and pain soared through Tyverus and then was engulfed by blissful numbness. He could feel himself spiraling away into a deep abyss.


    The roaring of the monster faded away to a distant echo. He was barely aware that the fiend was ripping his body asunder, but he no longer cared. He had fought to his last breath and that was enough.


    As he fell into the cold abyss beyond life, he could reach out beyond his senses to feel a glimmering purple light. He didn¡¯t perceive this light with his eyes, but with the ephemeral perceptions of his soul. Slowly the light grew and took on the form of Isilda.


    The woman reached out her ghostly hand towards Tyverus and as she did so, he was aware of his own ghostly hand reaching out to hers. He could feel the energy within her as their astral bodies touched. She leaned into him and embraced him. Crackles of energy shot between them.


    ¡°I¡¯m here to take you away.¡± Her voice resounded with love and comfort. Her voice had the same vibration as she had in life. A voice that could make the ice dance and sing. ¡°You suffering is finished.¡±


    Tyverus embraced her deeply, getting lost in her arms. Their energies melded and then faded away. The fighting was over, and Tyverus could finally find peace. The expedition was lost and the suffering had been immense, but the concerns of the living were not for him any longer.


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    Version 4.0.02


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 Episode I - A Blood-soaked Legacy XV

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    The tangy smell of blood and the primal scents of murder lingered on the air making its way down the river¡¯s water. Scents and details beyond the ken of mortal senses relayed dark information as they wafted and congealed near the water¡¯s cold surface. As they made their way along in the dark, they were greedily snatched up by the nostrils of Vhoggli as he wadded in the midst of icy, subterranean waters.


    The bloody information shot through his synapses lighting up his mind with fear and remorse. He could smell the destruction of the female oracle and the old man. He did not regret the passing of the old man as he had been quite mean and unnecessarily rude to poor Vhoggli. The passing of the young female, however, pained him as she had been more than accommodating to him in the past.


    There was another strange scent on the air, something that smelled like blood but was far sweeter. The smell of the thing sent Vhoggli¡¯s senses into a dizzy swirl. There was power in this smell and the only way he could place it was the ichor of some unholy thing.


    Vhoggli began paddling harder at the water to put more distance between him and the carnage barking at his back. The new smell must be the stink of Merithault the Mad. His master had warned him before this expedition started to avoid her at all costs. He was going to heed those warnings with every fiber of his strange existence.


    He padded over to a rock up ahead that tore through the surface of the water like a jagged tooth. He scrabbled with his soaked leather boots against the rock but found a ledge that he could push himself up on for a moment¡¯s respite. He flopped his cold and soaked body on an outcropping and stared back the way he had come.


    His cold, tiny fingers dug beneath his leather armor and underneath layers of his clothing to find a small pouch sewn within. He grabbed an orb the size of a fist and lifted it up to his face. There was no light this far into the deeper caverns for the orb to catch, but with the preternatural sight that Vhoggli had the orb glowed a soft blue. Many of the oracles he lived with believed him to have abilities to see in the dark like a cat or wolf ¡ª they were mistaken ¡ª his sight was focused on the astral realms more than anything terrestrial.


    Vhoggli ran his stubby fingers over the smooth and perfect roundness of the orb. He could feel many little matrices of runes with the tips of his fingers, but he could see the energy dancing within it with his eyes. He took a moment to wax academic at this treasure he now held. An orb of power created almost four millennia before the current age. This was the first and the most powerful of the Nesharite Spheres. This was the most sought out artifact of the Authrakallin Order and one that many of the oracles would murder each other simply to gaze upon.


    His clawed fingers seized tightly around the orb as he opened his inner thoughts towards it. He had to know for certain that this wasn¡¯t just a hoax. He could feel the immense energy flowing through it and could taste the ancient power tickling the back of his throat. If this was a forgery, it was one made with powers that were no longer left in this world.


    As Vhoggli¡¯s soul reached out and touched the orb immense flashes tore through his disjointed consciousness. Visions of ancient cities deep beneath the world-plane where ancient artificers crafted the pieces of this orb. Visions of Merithault¡¯s visions from Ullthos that drove her insane. Visions of Merithault¡¯s daughter, the one who would inherit her mother¡¯s sin and sacrifice herself to save the world. Visions of eons of carnage, madness, and pain. Finally, he saw the serene visions of old Vhaltenesh as he took it upon himself to bring the oracles back from the ashes.


    It was painful and more than he could bear, but he pulled his consciousness back from the orb he clutched in a death-grip between his fingers. This was indeed the first of the spheres and the only one to have all of the truth of the world hidden within. This was the tool that his master needed back in Alsira Thaenat. This was the prize that was worth not only the lives of each member of the expedition to Oerstav Caelii but the life of every human upon the face of the world.


    Vhoggli placed the orb back into his pocket and tightened a loop of twine over a small piece of bone to secure it. He patted the orb safely tucked beneath his leathers and reached into another pocket to retrieve yet another ancient treasure. When his hand emerged his fingers held a small metal clasp still holding a torn bit of ancient fabric. The metal glowed with a green flame of energy within it.


    Quickly and deftly, Vhoggli drove the sharp pins of the clasp into the palm of his hand. Small rivulets of blood came up from the wound as the clasp drank deeply from it. He lifted the clasp up and placed the pins through the fabric of his shirts beneath his leather jerkin. He tightened small gears with his thumb which mechanically drew the fabric taut and cinched down hard on the pins.


    Toulam had told him before he left to keep his eyes open for this particular artifact. Thankfully his master was gifted with scrying and divination enough to know exactly where Merithault had hidden it. Given that it was the robe clasp given to Maenthrai to hid her from her mother, it was easily found beneath the poor oracle¡¯s skull. Vhoggli now hoped that just as it hid the creator of the Nesharite Spheres away from her mother for many years, it would help shield himself from the Mad Oracle¡¯s uncanny abilities. Thus far it had worked as intended.


    Vhoggli rolled back into the freezing waters and continued to wade away from the horror that was unfolding behind him. The cold waters were uncomfortable and did drain the energy within him, but they weren¡¯t as dangerous as they would be to a mortal. As fond of the humans, as he had become over his existence, it was moment¡¯s like these that he found it worthwhile to be something entirely other. If he was human, he would have given in to hypothermia and drown a long time ago.


    A few moments further and he could reach out with his senses to notice he had come to a dead end. Ahead, the roof of the cavern sloped sharply until it bent beneath the surface of the water. A moment of panic and rage tore through him at the thought that he had reached an unnecessary obstacle. It was only a matter of minutes before Merithault finished with the other expedition members and began to seek the thief of her treasures out.


    Vhoggli flopped in the water and gave a kick at the wall ahead of him. He stopped for a moment and remained silent. He re-attuned his senses to seek any other way out of this predicament. Maybe there was the slight sound of wind coming in from somewhere, or bubbling coming up from below the water that he might be able to explore.


    As soon as he reached out with his heightened senses, he was blinded and deafened by an explosion of raw elemental energies. An earthen thunder tore through the roof of the caverns around him sounding like the world-god Myrris herself had awoken in an ancient, primordial rage. Small rocks began to pelt down from above causing Vhoggli to drop beneath the surface of the water to shield himself.


    Stones and shards of the roof crashed down upon the surface of the water and sunk into the chilled depths below. Vhoggli let himself drop into the depths just as a weighty rock fell on top of him. The impact was lessened by the rock but still hurt him and trapped him beneath its weight. He struggled and kicked against the weight to dislodge it from him. Several kicks and he got himself free. He watched below as the large rock descended into a dark tunnel.


    The water around him wavered and rippled with the impacts and the quakes that tore through the whole set of catacombs. He looked up between upraised arms to see massive fissures in the roof above the water. The impacts of stones and shards lessened after a few moments. Willing to risk his safety, Vhoggli dropped his arms and began to kick with his feet towards the surface of the water.


    The crest of his oblong head peeked above the frosty water until his eyes could peer into the dark air once again. He kept the rest of his body submerged just in case another quake sent the caverns into chaos once more. He cocked his head to the side to free one of his pointed ears and heard a strange silence in the caverns beyond.


    He did not know what caused the quake if it was the wrath of Merithault at having found her treasures missing, the elemental powers of Tyverus who must still be fighting for his life, or some natural occurrence. Whatever had caused it was devastating and had no doubt sealed off most of the passageways that Vhoggli could have used to get back to the surface.


    He let those realizations sink in for a moment as he lowered his head and peered downward to at the darkness beneath him. The rocks had continued past him into that darkness, which signaled either tunnels or caverns below. It seemed counter-intuitive to go further down in order to travel upwards, but he would have to explore this as it might be his only way now.


    Vhoggli reached up an arm beyond the water and grabbed a jagged rock that had revealed itself in the quake from the sloping wall beside him. He kicked hard against the water and launched himself into the air to hang by another rock slightly higher up. He swung there for a moment, peering around in the darkness around him while reaching into a small, leather satchel hanging from his belt.


    It was a merciful thing that his peculiar existence didn¡¯t necessitate for him to breathe like most mortals did. His existence was beyond such concerns as air, food, or most temperature extremes although fire and ice still caused discomfort. Being as he was, a creature born of astral power trapped in a half-dead shell, his only concern was that of essential energy. Specifically, that of the blood of his master. In a situation as dire as this, he needed to sup from that power to keep himself going.


    Vhoggli grabbed one of the small vials of blood elixir that his master had prepared for him on this expedition. Toulam had labored hard to prepare extra vials of his blood mixed with distilled magical herbs and enchantments to keep himself going. Usually, it was enough simply to be near his master and quaff some of his immense energy through proximity, but being thousands of miles away, he had to resort to more potent forms of sustenance.


    His tiny and clawed fingers seized upon a vial and lifted it up to his face. With a flick of his thumb, he broke the tip of the glass and placed it against his ragged lips. The trickle of blood and power flowed over his tongue and sent his mind dizzy with fire. One gulp and the elixir was fully within him. He tossed the empty vial into the water with an almost silent splash. Within a moment the power of the blood soared throughout his body as it healed and reinvigorated him.


    Vhoggli let go of the rock and fell into the water once more. He bobbed on the surface giving one more look back the way he had come. He felt remorse for Tyverus who was either dead or fighting for his life, at this very moment, against insurmountable odds. He would not win, but at least he would go down fighting. Vhoggli had studied the notes that his master had gathered concerning the Mad Oracle and knew well that she was beyond the powers of any mortal to vanquish. Her powers were given to her by some tainted god, to be its avatar of destruction in this world. This was all the more reason for him to get out of this damned place as soon as possible, lest she finds him despite the enchanted clasp he wore.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    With a kick and bend, Vhoggli was beneath the waves and making his way towards the darkness below. Slowly he made his way further and further into the depths, checking sporadically at his collar and padding at his leather jerkin to make sure he did not lose his prized treasures. The tunnel below seemed to stretch on forever.


    Despite the renewed power coursing through him, Vhoggli soon began to notice a drag on his kicking downward. At first, he wondered if his limbs weren¡¯t responding correctly due to the cold, but within a few moments, he felt the upswelling of water around him. It began as a push against his face, but then soon became an immense pull against his back. Each kick seemed to do nothing as he was being dragged back up the way he had come.


    A few moments more and the water around him seemed to lose density around him. He blinked his strange eyes as the pull from behind him loosened and a moment of vertigo overtook his senses. Something was pulling the water around him up and back into the caverns. Tendrils of dense water slapped against him now, and as vertigo mounted he felt himself falling as if in the air.


    The water ahead of him seemed to tear itself free from itself and get swallowed behind him into the dark. Ahead he could see rushing darkness as gravity took hold of him and sent him falling through the air beyond. He kicked and swayed with his arms against the rushing air as he fell faster and faster into the darkness.


    The moments of panic seemed to stretch on longer than they should have but it wasn¡¯t long until Vhoggli could reach out and see the black surface of water rushing up at him from far below. He kicked at the air and swung his arms around to get himself as if he were standing upright. He clenched every muscle he had in his body, pressing his legs together and lifted his arms to cover his head.


    The impact of the water was as hard as a rock against his flesh. The feeling of ice tore up his back and chest. Pain tore at his feet and then against his arms as he rushed beneath the surface. Most mortal bodies would have been shattered by the impact, but once again Vhoggli was glad that he wasn¡¯t mortal.


    It took a moment for him to shake the pain out of his mind as he began to sink further into the darkness below. He checked to make sure that his arms and legs were still functional. If any of this fingers or toes were broken he would deal with that later. For now, the blood elixir within him healed him sufficiently so that he could keep swimming downward.


    Whatever power had drawn the water from the caverns above must have drained the entirety of the catacombs dry. He was fortunate that whatever body of water remained below him remained otherwise his body would now be shattered on rocks and the amount of wounds that he didn¡¯t think the powers of his blood elixir could heal. He continued to kick and sway in the darkness.


    Vhoggli could feel a smile creep across his wide mouth as the realization dawned on him about the source of the water below. Whatever power above had summoned and drained the waters of the catacombs away was separate from these waters he was now within. That meant that the water he was making his way through right now would open to another body beyond. Eventually, he would be able to get out of here, after all.


    Minutes of swimming into the depths were beginning to take their toll on his limbs, but Vhoggli continued forth with a desperate desire to be free. His ears popped several times as he could feel the pressure of the water mounting over him. He had traveled through all kinds of directions as she followed the curvatures of the tunnel.


    The tunnel began to bend upwards once more and as Vhoggli reached the turn he could see a beautiful and dazzling light shining through the darkness towards him. He kicked harder and shoved his arms forward to press into the lit waters beyond. As soon as he emerged his senses were sent into a frenzy at what he beheld outside the tunnel.


    He had followed the waters straight into the depths of the Heartsblood Sea. He tore himself free of the tunnel mouth which stood as a hole in an immense cliff deep below the waves. Ahead of him, he could see rifts of boiling magma heating up the further depths of the water.


    Soft moonlight filtered in from the depths far above creating a cascading set of blue and silver ripples that lit up the higher water above. The magma boiling below lit up the depths with a crimson and gold sheen amidst all the shadowy darkness. Lit up from the shifting colors and shades was a sprawl of gigantic silhouettes all around Vhoggli in the depths.


    These silhouettes, as his perceptions acclimated to the energy around him, were cast by immense spires and ruins that had sunk beneath the waves long ago. Ahead and around him were the ruins of the ancient city of Neshran, the first home of the oracles. Jagged cliffs of rock held half-destroyed spires and buildings over boiling rivers of magma.


    The sight that Vhoggli now beheld would be enough to make most scholars and oracles of the Authrakallin descend into crying fits or go mad at beholding. All around him were treasures beyond the ken of even his master. Spires of metal and glass that dated to the time when the ancient Morthavi built them at the dawn of time. Ruined streets and buildings flowed beneath him as he kicked his way through the chaotic waters toward the surface.


    Some spires still held light within them, glowing with the torches crafted by the extinct Azhemyra artificers of old. Powerful energies still coursed through the ruins below, some of them harnessed still by enchantments and others being the echoing shades of the dead. A place of such beauty and horror, untold hundreds of thousands of souls condemned to destruction by the madness of Merithault when she ascended to be the monster she now is. So many artifacts may still be within those depths, waiting to be reclaimed by those adventurous to seek them out.


    Such concerns were beyond Vhoggli at this moment, he had what he had come for and all that was left now was to get it back to his master before Merithault tore this land asunder once more in her unquenchable wrath. He kicked hard against the water and drove himself up through the hundreds of feet towards the surface. The spires below seemed to reach up towards him, wanting to trap him beneath the waters, but he ignored them.


    Minutes more, flowed away to be snatched up by the darkness below as Vhoggli finally reached the highest waters above. He could see the light of Ishep lighting up the night¡¯s sky as immense and dark storm-clouds rolled in to quench that light. Several flashes of lightning tore through the clouds to strike the surface of the sea water. As they struck a feeling of static energy rippled beneath the water¡¯s surface.


    Vhoggli tore up through the surface of the water to be blinded and deafened by cascading energy once more. The sounds of thunder and whipping wind assaulted his hearing as the red flashes of lightning went off above him. He could feel himself being tossed on waves as they crashed over one another with elemental anger.


    Vhoggli blinked the sea water from his eyes and began to swim towards the shore just a few dozen feet away from him. Waves crashed down upon him, but he continued his way towards the shore with resolute determination. The storms above were growing with power and savagery. He suspected that the storm wasn¡¯t natural and was, in fact, a sympathetic response to Merithault¡¯s rage in the catacombs below.


    Perhaps the Mad Oracle had finally dispatched Tyverus and was now realizing that two of her treasures had been snatched by a foe she could not sense. She had existed in this place for so long and the land itself had drunk from her foul essences to the point that both existed in sympathy with one another. As her mood changed, so did the weather in this land. As such, it was paramount that Vhoggli had to get away from this misbegotten place of madness as soon as possible.


    With a tumble in the waves, Vhoggli was cast against the blackened and rocky sands of the shore. He pulled himself up, as further waves crashed against his legs and back. He patted himself to make sure the clasp and orb were still in possession and got up to his feet. The light of Ishep was almost swallowed by the growing storm-clouds above.


    Vhoggli looked at the grass and trees ahead of him and recognized the area he was now in. He had made it back to the small island south of where Neshran had been located. He was on the same island as the camp his now dead friends had set up. Before him by a few hundred feet and around a jagged rock was the entrance to the catacombs below.


    Running on tired legs, Vhoggli made his way into a grove of trees to his right. He used the trees as cover and continued over a slight ridge to where he found a fallen, moss-covered tree. He dropped and skidded forth on his knees as he neared the fallen tree. His slide forward allowed him to reach his arm inside a hollow of the wood to grab a small pouch within.


    His fingers seized the pouch and brought it out greedily. He pulled on the draw strings and looked inside to see several vials of blood elixir held within. He closed his eyes and held his head aloft with relief. The extra amounts of blood elixir he had hidden there two days before was what he needed to keep himself alive on the journey back to Alsira Thaenat.


    Vhoggli snatched the vials from the pouch and shoved them into the satchel around his belt. He tossed the pouch on the ground and stood up. The canopy of the trees above were dancing as rain and hail tore through them from the clouds above. He climbed over the fallen tree and looked forward in the darkness, allowing his preternatural senses to reach out.


    A few hundred feet forward and to his left was the camp just outside the mouth to the catacombs. The members of the Ahlketh caste that the expedition had brought with them were located there. A few dozen feet from there, on the opposite shore, was the moored ship they had taken from Morrthault City to this accursed place.


    Vhoggli winced as he realized that the innocent members of the Ahlketh laborers were probably already dead. They had no chance against the powers of Merithault if she emerged from her subterranean realm. The ship itself would be destroyed or stripped of all its crew as well.


    As his senses reached out, he could hear a strange silence on the winds and a hint of blood on the air. Everyone was dead on this island, perhaps on all the islands that made up Oerstav Caelii, that is except for himself. He turned away and began to run back to the nearest shore.


    He jumped over rocks and crawled through foliage as he made his way to where he had hidden a small raft from the ship. He tore through the branches of trees as his feet padded upon the black sands of the island. Lightning tore through the skies above as he did so.


    Among the flashes followed by ear-splitting thunder, he could spy the raft still tied a jagged rock on the shore. The battered raft lifted and swayed on the crashing waves as if it were trying to free itself. Vhoggli ran towards it with abandon.


    With a jump and flourish of claws, Vhoggli made his way into the raft and severed the ropes holding it in place. Waves brought it hard against the rock once, but with a riptide drawing it below, it swiveled and was drawn back out into the waters. Within moments Vhoggli seized the oars within the raft and began paddling hard against the waves.


    It would take him the rest of the night wrestling against these waves until he could get free of this place. If he could survive this last trial, all he would have to do is follow the northern currents of the Heartsblood Sea to a small port on the coast of the Morrthal Highlands. There, hidden away, he would be able to find his master¡¯s Authroc and fly it back home to the deserts of Alsira Thaenat. That is, of course, if he could survive the elemental wrath of this horrible place.


    Vhoggli gave a jagged grin, letting his tiny fangs poke free over his lips. His master¡¯s plan had gone well and he would soon be home. The price had been high, but his companion¡¯s sacrifices would be worth it. With the first of the Nesharite Spheres, Toulam could finally find out how best to keep the poor girl alive and hidden from Merithault¡¯s wrath. That pitiful, red-haired Witchling he had seen so many times when his master went to visit her adopted father. She was the last of that misbegotten bloodline, after all. That poor, unaware girl named after the thorn-covered desert lotuses that only bloomed when coated in the blood of the fallen ¡ª Ghelta.


    <hr>


    For the Skaldts I - The Music that Inspired "The Hunter"


    Spoiler : <input class="spoilerButton" type="button" value="Show">


    Theme:??Puscifer - Telling Ghosts</a>


    Bhergom:??Nine Inch Nails - Only</a>


    Isilda:????Perturbator - Venger</a>


    Tyverus:??The Cure - Burn</a>


    Vhoggli:??Gary Numan - Bed of Thorns</a>


    Merithault:??Euzen - Judged By</a>


    Maenthrai:??Siouxsie and the Banshees - Cities in Dust</a>


    Within the Den of the Mad One:??God Body Disconnect - Dreaming of Glaciers</a>


    The Walls Close In:??Danheim - Tyr</a>


    Visions of the Past:??Dance with the Dead - Her Ghost</a>


    Memories of the Wounded Wolf:??Killing Joke - Love Like Blood</a>


    An Elemental Vengeance:??Perturbator - Lilith


    </a>


    <hr>


    Version 4.0.02


    <hr>

 Episode I - A Blood-soaked Legacy Addenda (Work in Progress)

    <hr>


    A Blood-soaked Legacy- Addenda


    [Work in Progess]


    <hr>


    Chapters


    I - Descent</a>


    II - A Matter of Runes</a>


    III - Tombs</a>


    IV -Night''s Bridge</a>


    V - Skulls of the Fallen</a>


    VI - Vhoggli''s Transgressions</a>


    VII - In the Darkness</a>


    VIII - Reigning Them In</a>


    IX - Places Lost to Memory</a>


    X - The Price of Discovery</a>


    XI - An Elemental Vengeance of Air</a>


    XII - An Elemental Vengeance of Earth</a>


    XIII - An Elemental Vengeance of Water</a>


    XIV - An Elemental Vengeance of Fire</a>


    XV - Escape</a>


    <hr>


    Plotline Information


    Outside the Ruins of Neshran City


    Oerstav Caelii (The Shattered Oracle Isles)


    Morthav Province


    Hoelatha Lands


    Northern Heartsblood Core


    Aelth Myrris (The World-plane of Myrris)


    The Sixth and Final Age of Humanity


    1,701 Ahn Reckoning (Post-Cataclysm Reckoning Calendar)


    Year of the Trailing Stars - Traditional Year (2nd Last Traditional Year Before the Next Blood Year)


    9th Day of Ostahl (First Month of Spring)


    <hr>


    Plotline Inspiration


    Theme: "Telling Ghosts" by Puscifer</a>


    Within the Den of the Mad One: "Dreaming of Glaciers" by God Body Disconnect</a>


    The Walls Close In: "Tyr" by Danheim</a>


    Visions of the Past: "Her Ghost" by Dance with the Dead</a>


    Memories of the Wounded Wolf: "Get Your Fight On" by The Prodigy</a>


    An Elemental Vengeance: "Sonne" by Rammstein</a>


    <hr>


    Dramatis Personae


    Central Characters


    Bhergom kolst Khaylant


    Name Pronounciation: (B-HER-GHOM kohl-st kay-lant)


    Name Etymology: Bhergom (male name) - Shortened Form of ''Bhergomil'' (A Healing Herb with Blue-green Leaves)


    Surname Etymology: kolst Khaylant - ''of the Kaylant Bloodline'' (Esteemed Family from the Morthal Lands)


    Species: Mhorrath (Human)


    Ethnicity: Hoelatha


    Tribal Origins: Athulma (Adopted Nominally Into the Alsira Tribe)


    Former Caste: Tolshaltra (Courtier Caste)


    Title: Master of the Authrakallin Order (Specialist in Authroc Training)


    Role: Oracle


    Age: 48 Years (as of "The Hunter")


    Birthdate: 27th Day of Celannil - 1,653 Ahn Reckoning


    Sex: Male


    Orientation: Straight - Celibate


    Eye Color: Brown


    Hair Color: Dark Brown - Graying with Age - Balding with Trimmed Ponytail - Trimmed Beard


    Skin Tone: Light with Mild Tanning


    Myrran Height: 6 feet, 2 inches (3.72 metres Terran)


    Body Build: Formerly Muscular - Now Slightly Out-of-Shape


    Myrran Weight: 260 pounds (233.5 kg Terran)


    Parents: Jakoben kolst Khaylant (Father), Ollistha kolst Khaylant, niallus Llomn (Mother)


    Siblings: None


    Spouse: Unmarried


    Children: None


    Lineage of Note:


    - None


    Notable Characteristics:


    - None


    Demonstrated Haeth (Divinatory) Powers:


    - None


    Musical Inspiration for Character:


    - "Only" by Nine Inch Nails</a>


    Isilda kolst Japhet


    Name Pronounciation: (EE-SILL-DAH kohl-st jha-fett)


    Name Etymology: Isilda (female name) - Shortened Form of ''Issa Khalda'' (Ice Crystal)


    Surname Etymology: kolst Japhet - ''of the Japhet Bloodline'' (Merchantile Family from the Issautha Lands)


    Species: Mhorrath (Human)


    Ethnicity: Hoelatha


    Tribal Origins: Issautha (Adopted Nominally Into the Alsira Tribe)


    Former Caste: Veskaultri (Explorer Caste)


    Title: Initiate of the Authrakallin Order (Specialist in Ancient Lore)


    Role: Oracle


    Age: 22 Years (as of "The Hunter")


    Birthdate: 4th Day of Kollast - 1,679 Ahn Reckoning


    Sex: Female


    Orientation: Straight - Celibate, but Open to Relationships


    Eye Color: Blue


    Hair Color: Blonde - Frequently Braided


    Skin Tone: Very Pale


    Myrran Height: 5 feet, 4 inches (3.2 metres Terran)


    Body Build: Petite - Slight Curves - Lean


    Myrran Weight: 130 pounds (116.7 kg Terran)


    Parents: Asthyr kolst Japhet (Father), Vyka-Molth kolst Japhet, niallus Isaholme (Mother)


    Siblings: Helda kolst Japhet (Twin Sister)


    Spouse: Unmarried


    Children: None


    Lineage of Note:


    - Related to Haelstromm kolst Isaholme, Ravager of the Kethyran Seas


    Notable Characteristics:


    - Elementally Attuned Bloodline: Water - Ice


    Demonstrated Haeth (Divinatory) Powers:


    - Astral Projection (Intermediate Haeth Augury)


    - Essential Diffusion (Minor Haeth Control)


    - Gazing with Neshran''s Eyes (Intermediate Haeth Augury)


    - Seizing Upon the Object''s Truth (Minor Haeth Augury)


    - Telepathic Defense (Minor Haeth Defense)


    Musical Inspiration for Character:


    - "Venger" by Perturbator</a>


    Merithault Haullpent, the Shattered Oracle


    Name Pronounciation: (MERRY-TH-AUHL-TT haul-pent)


    Name Etymology: Merithault (female name) - Shortened Form of ''Meri Thault'' (Happy Hearth)


    Surname Etymology: Haullpent - Descended from the Pherene-Morthav of the Ancient Hoelatha Empire


    Species: Formerly Mhorrath (Human) - Currently Unknown/Undead


    Ethnicity: Hoelatha


    Tribal Origins: Morrah (Forgotten Tribe)


    Former Caste: Not Applicable (from Before the Time of the Castes)


    Title: Haethrex Secundi of the Sharr-vhult Oracles


    Role: Oracle


    Age: Apparent Age of 43 (as of "The Hunter")


    Birthdate: 38th Day of Ghetral - 3,802 Years Pre-Cataclysm


    Date of Death: 1st Day of Ullthane - 3,759 Years Pre-Cataclysm


    Sex: Female


    Orientation: Straight - Formerly Committed - No Longer Applicable


    Eye Color: Ice-blue


    Hair Color: Blood-red - Long and Wild


    Skin Tone: Formerly Pale - Now Inhuman


    Myrran Height: 5 feet, 9 inches When Mortal - 8 feet, 4 inches Currently (5 metres Terran)


    Body Build: Formerly Lean - Completely Alien Currently


    Myrran Weight: Unknown


    Parents: Primothain Phelrhent (Father), Kalysulan Phelrhent, niallus Ollanth (Mother)


    Siblings: Nerethault Phelrhent (Younger Brother)


    Spouse: Jornath Haullpent


    Children: Maenthrai (Daughter), Serranos (Son), Nesbinet (Twin Son), Jhulessi (Twin Daughter)


    Lineage of Note:


    - Related by blood to Boulka, the Warrior-Queen of the Morthavi and Vanquisher of Vhaulgisaal


    - Related by blood to Maenthrai, the Last Oracle (Daughter)


    - Related by blood to Serranos, the First Martyr-knight of Morrthal (Son)


    - Related by blood to Loelan Ryunath, Warrior-Queen of the Gladeguard (Grand-daughter)


    - Related by blood to Jaethanna, the Bloody Witch of Ceranthos


    - Related by blood to Bulithol Gaereth, the Mad Bull


    - Related by blood to Ghelta kolst Wyghtsmourn, the Witchling of Alsira


    Notable Characteristics:


    - Absolute Elemental/Geomantic Control of Oerstav Caelii


    - Damned Avatar of Ullthos, the Dark Master


    - Destined by Vhaulgisaal: Bloodline Curse


    - First of the Ullthosian Witchlings: Bloodline Curse


    - Malleable Visage (All Victim''s Identities)


    - Omniscience of Blood: Bloodline Ability (Can Sense and Telepathically Connect to all Members of Bloodline)


    - Soul Absorbtion and Control (All Victim''s Personalities + Abilities)


    - Undead / Immortal / Living God


    - Unrestrained Command of Haeth (All Powers)


    Demonstrated Haeth (Divinatory) Powers:


    - Telekinetic Grip (Advanced Haeth Control)


    - Telekinetic Throw (Advanced Haeth Control)


    - Telekinetic Rage (Advanced Haeth Attack)


    - Telepathic Suggestion (Advanced Haeth Control)


    Demonstrated Unknown Powers:


    - Awakening the Raellin Crystals (Unknown Energy Control)


    - Tendrils of Ullthos (Unknown Energy Attack)


    - Ullthos'' Revalescene (Unknown Healing Control)


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.????- Veil of Sharrniv (Unknown Illusion Control)


    Musical Inspiration for Character:


    - When Mortal - "Judged By" by Euzen</a>


    - Immortal - "Star Ruby" by Red Queen</a>


    Tyverus Mhalkath


    Name Pronounciation: (TIE-VHER-US m-hal-kath)


    Name Etymology: Tyverus (male name) - Shortened Form of ''Tyvarah Vethus'' (Majestic Mountain)


    Surname Etymology: Mhalkath - Title Name, Shortened Form of ''Mhallus Kathal'' (Hammer of Retribution)


    Species: Elementally Augmented Mhorrath (Human)


    Ethnicity: Hoelatha


    Tribal Origins: Athulma


    Former Caste: Filidath (Law-giver Caste)


    Title: Phalthran Rexis of the Wolf-killers Legion


    Role: Guardian Knight of Morrthal


    Age: 26 Years (as of "The Hunter")


    Birthdate: 17th Day of Sumnistal - 1,675 Ahn Reckoning


    Sex: Male


    Orientation: Straight - Open


    Eye Color: Blue


    Hair Color: Light-brown - Closely Trimmed


    Skin Tone: Light - Weathered


    Myrran Height: 6 feet, 10 inches (4.1 metres Terran)


    Body Build: Very Muscular - Chiselled


    Myrran Weight: 270 pounds - 390 pounds with Knight''s Mantle and Augmentations (350 kg Terran)


    Parents: Tylannis kolst Zyphont (Father), Raemona kolst Zyphont, niallus Fyrroth (Mother)


    Siblings: None


    Spouse: None


    Children: None


    Lineage of Note:


    - None


    Notable Characteristics:


    - Adamantine Skeleton: Ribs + Left Femur


    - Augmented Reactions: Minor


    - Augmented Sight: Minor


    - Augmented Speed: Minor


    - Elemental Attunement: Sword


    - Elemental Command: Least / Minor / Intermediate


    - Elemental Mantle of the Guardian-knights of Morthal


    - Immortal (Age-delayed): Elemental Mantle


    - Summon Elementals: Least / Minor / Intermediate / Greater


    Demonstrated Qthallan (Elemental) Powers:


    - Armor of Stvetha (Elemental Defense - Earth)


    - Atulmatul''s Dance (Elemental Attack - Air)


    - Awakening Myrris (Elemental Control - Earth)


    - Blast of Vorthax (Elemental Attack - Air)


    - Chaelnor''s Caress (Elemental Attack - Water)


    - Chaelnor''s Embrace (Elemental Attack - Water)


    - Paladarc''s Demise (Elemental Attack - All Elements)


    - Trallt''s Ambition (Elemental Cantrip - Fire)


    - Vaeka''s Lance (Elemental Attack - Fire)


    - Vethic Rage (Elemental Attack - Earth)


    Musical Inspiration for Character:


    - Flashbacks: "Love Like Blood" by Killing Joke</a>


    - Current: "Burn" by The Cure</a>


    Vhoggli


    Name Pronounciation: (VV-HOE-GG-LEE)


    Name Etymology: Vhoggli (male name) - Shortened Form of ''Vhorrga Linsaenga'' (Shadowed Bloodline)


    Surname Etymology: None


    Species: Haemonculus


    Ethnicity: None


    Tribal Origins: None


    Former Caste: None


    Title: Master of the Authrakallin Order (Specialty in Blood Magic and Alchemy)


    Role: Oracle


    Age: Unknown - Immortal


    Birthdate: 1st Day of Vhorram - 1,613 Ahn Reckoning


    Sex: Apparently Male - No Actual Sex


    Orientation: None


    Eye Color: Black - Glows Green in the Dark


    Hair Color: Gray - Scraggles


    Skin Tone: Gray - Mottled


    Myrran Height: 3 feet, 3 inches (2 metres Terran)


    Body Build: Lean - Squat


    Myrran Weight: 70 pounds (62.8 kg Terran)


    Parents: Toulam kolst Vhalten (Creator)


    Siblings: None


    Spouse: None


    Children: None


    Lineage of Note:


    - None


    Notable Characteristics:


    - Blood-dependent: Toulam''s Blood-elixir


    - Blood Scent and Tracking


    - Borrowed Discipline: Toulam''s Command of Haeth Powers


    - Command of Blood: Telekinetic


    - Haemonculus


    - Immortal: Minor - Does Not Age


    - Immortal: Minor - Does Not Breathe


    - Immortal: Minor - Does Not Eat


    - Increased Resistance to Heat and Cold


    - Night-vision


    - Telepathic Connection to Toulam: Constant


    Demonstrated Haeth (Divinatory) Powers:


    - Cloak of Jhulkos (Minor Haeth Illusion)


    - Seizing Upon the Object''s Truth (Minor Haeth Augury)


    - Telekinetic Leap (Advanced Haeth Control)


    - Telepathic Defense (Minor Haeth Defense)


    Demonstrated Saengva (Blood Magic) Powers:


    - Haemonculus'' Strength (Minor Saengva Control)


    - Haemonculus'' Dexterity (Minor Saengva Control)


    - Sniffing Out the Blood Trail (Minor Saengva Control)


    - Stiching the Bloody Corpus (Minor Saengva Healing)


    Musical Inspiration for Character:


    - "Bed of Thorns" by Gary Numan</a>


    SecondaryCharacters


    Chace Nahlstradt


    Name Pronounciation: (CHASE nah-ll-stradt)


    Name Etymology: Chace (male name) - Shortened Form of ''Challath Cenvol'' (Chalice of Courage)


    Surname Etymology: Nahlstradt - Title Name, Shortened Form of ''Nahllus Stradt'' (Road/Way of Spears)


    Species: Elementally Augmented Mhorrath (Human)


    Ethnicity: Hoelatha


    Tribal Origins: Caella


    Former Caste: Vhulkhovyr (Warrior Caste)


    Title: Squire Rexis


    Role: Guardian Knight of Morrthal


    Age: 16 Years (as of "The Hunter")


    Birthdate: 9th Day of Dhaulmor - 1,675 Ahn Reckoning


    Sex: Male


    Orientation: Unknown


    Eye Color: Green


    Hair Color: Light-Brown - Shaved


    Skin Tone: Tanned - Weathered


    Myrran Height: 5 feet, 7 inches (3.4 metres Terran)


    Body Build: Lean Muscular - Fit


    Myrran Weight: 170 pounds - 210 pounds with Knight''s Mantle and Augmentations (118.6 kg Terran)


    Parents: Baemon kolst Vathcael (Father), Ulgarra kolst Erathanom (Mother)


    Siblings: Zathandyr kolst Vathcael (Brother), Xenobyor kolst Erathanom (Sister)


    Spouse: None


    Children: None


    Lineage of Note:


    - None


    Notable Characteristics:


    - Augmented Reactions: Minor


    - Augmented Sight: Minor


    - Augmented Speed: Minor


    - Elemental Attunement: Spear


    - Elemental Command: Least / Minor


    - Elemental Mantle of the Guardian-knights of Morthal


    - Immortal (Age-delayed): Elemental Mantle


    - Summon Elementals: Least / Minor / Intermediate


    Demonstrated Qthallan (Elemental) Powers:


    - Awakening Myrris (Elemental Control - Earth)


    Maenthrai Ahlmunast


    Name Pronounciation: (MANE-TH-RAY auhl-moon-ast)


    Name Etymology: Maenthrai (female name) - Shortened Form of ''Maen Thraya'' (Beautiful Daughter)


    Surname Etymology: Ahlmunast - Descended from the Haulthan and Pherene-Morthav of the Ancient Hoelatha Empire


    Species: Mhorrath (Human)


    Ethnicity: Hoelatha


    Tribal Origins: Morrah (Forgotten Tribe)


    Former Caste: Not Applicable (from Before the Time of the Castes)


    Title: Haethrex Acolyte - The Morthav Collegium


    Role: Oracle


    Age: 39 Years (Apparent as of "The Hunter")


    Birthdate: 21st Day of Althann - 3,776 Years Pre-Cataclysm


    Date of Death: 13th Day of Vhorram - 3,737 Years Pre-Cataclysm


    Sex: Female


    Orientation: Straight - Formerly Committed - Estranged


    Eye Color: Blue


    Hair Color: Blood-red - Long - Often Braided


    Skin Tone: Very Pale


    Myrran Height: 5 feet, 7 inches (3.4 metres Terran)


    Body Build: Slightly Muscular - Lean - Fit


    Myrran Weight: 140 pounds (125.7 kg Terran)


    Parents: Jornath Haullpent (Father), Merithault Haullpent, niallus Phelrhent (Mother)


    Siblings: Serranos Haullpent (Brother), Nesbinet Haullpent (Twin Brother), Jhulessi Haullpent (Twin Sister)


    Spouse: Kaisos Ahlmunast - Estranged


    Children: Isyn (Son), Loelan (Daughter)


    Lineage of Note:


    - Related by blood to Boulka, the Warrior-Queen of the Morthavi and Vanquisher of Vhaulgisaal


    - Related by blood to Maenthrai, the Last Oracle (Daughter)


    - Related by blood to Serranos, the First Martyr-knight of Morrthal (Son)


    - Related by blood to Loelan Ryunath, Warrior-Queen of the Gladeguard (Grand-daughter)


    - Related by blood to Jaethanna, the Bloody Witch of Ceranthos


    - Related by blood to Bulithol Gaereth, the Mad Bull


    - Related by blood to Ghelta kolst Wyghtsmourn, the Witchling of Alsira


    Notable Characteristics:


    - Attuned to the First Nesharite Sphere: All Haeth Abilities


    - Attuned to the First Nesharite Sphere: Soul Transplant


    - Augmented by the Azhemyra: Minor Physical Boosts


    - Augmented by the Azhemyra: Minor Mental Boosts


    - Creator of the Nesharite Spheres: Imprinted Essence Upon All Spheres


    - Destined by Vhaulgisaal: Bloodline Curse


    - Devoured by Merithault: Soul-captured (Until Released by the First Nesharite Sphere)


    - Protected by the Azhemyra: Wynnol''s Cloak


    - Second of the Ullthosian Witchlings: Bloodline Curse


    Demonstrated Haeth (Divinatory) Powers:


    - None


    Musical Inspiration for Character:


    - Younger at Oerstav Caelii (Shattered Oracle Flashbacks): "Cities in Dust" by Siouxsie and the Banshees</a>


    - Adult (Shattered Oracle Book I): "Losing My Religion" Lacuna Coil</a>


    - Adult (Shattered Oracle Book II): "24" by Jem</a>


    - Adult (Shattered Oracle Book II - Finale): "Lilith" by Perturbator</a>


    Mentioned Characters


    Toulam kolst Vhalten, Grandmaster of the Authrakallin Order


    Musical Inspiration for Character:


    - Later in the Witchling of Alsira: "The Garden of Earthly Delights" by Apocalypse Orchestra</a>


    Vhaltenesh, Primarch of the Authrakallin Order


    Musical Inspiration for Character:


    - Later in the Shattered Oracle Anthology II: "Backwards" by Depeche Mode</a>


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 Episode I - A Blood-soaked Legacy - Oerstav Caelii; the Isles of Oracles (Work in Progress)

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    Map I: Oerstav Caelii - The Isles of Oracles


    [Work in Progress]


    <hr><center></a></center><hr>


    Once a beautiful unified island before the Great Cataclysm, the land of Oerstav Caelii is now nothing more an archepelago of savage isles continually assaulted by magickal storms. Once called the Isle of Oracles, the land is now often called the Shattered Oracle Isles in reference to the storied history of the place.


    These strange and inhospitable islands are located west of the Morrthal Highlands, north of the Morrthault Isles, and south-east of the Fyrrantha Wilds. There are many legends, and dark fables, shared among the Hoelatha tribes distorting the true history of this land. It is a mythical setting used by skaldts in their tales and by oracles in their cautionary teachings. The shear number of tales told about the place ensures that every child in every tribe can recall the place by name.


    It is said, in the more accurate tales, that the Shattered Oracle Isles were ruled over by the ancient Morthavi people when they first fled to the world of Myrris. Later, during the reclaimation of the Hoelatha Empire, the island was rebuilt and established as the home of the Sharr-vhult Oracles. These oracles were noted for their command of divination and potent mental abilities that challenged even the elemental powers of the Guardian Knights of Morrthault.


    This was a place of peace, where different peoples of different cultures could come together to learn the mystical ways of the Sharr-vhult. It was a center of trade and travel between the Hoelatha lands, the Fyrrantha lands, the Frigid Wastes of Ssvacnoth far to the north-west, and the forgotten lands of the far north. It is said that the druidic tribes of Fyrrantha strongly assisted the Hoelatha people in their occult discoveries, regularly coming to this island for convocations and retreats.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    It was when the Hoelatha Empire had grown fat and lecherous on its success that the island would be host to monsterous activities. The great city of Neshran would have its streets filled with blood before it would be sunken beneath the cold waters of the north. The island would be torn asunder by wild magick, sinking vaults of mystical knowledge beneath freezing water or to be burned away in lakes of magma. It was inthis time thatthe final revelation was givento the Hoelatha Empire allowing it to know its decline and eventual doom would be imminent.


    Many legends speak of a great seeress of the Hoelatha; a red-haired woman able to communicate with the very gods and forsee the doom that would befall the Hoelatha centuries in advance. It is said that in the ruins of the this maddening land, she still dwells, severed from death by the intervention of some elder god. She is cursed to watch as the world crumbles to nothing while she gives into unholy desires to destroy the other gods. They say at the very core of her monsterousness is the hope to restore the world to the vibrancy it once held, but in order to do this she must cleanse the world of her tainted blood-line.


    Tales told to children of this red-haired witch involve her leaving her ruined island hermitage, craven with bloodthirsty madness, seeking children of the Hoelatha who rebel against their elders. She will snatch them up, carry them away, whispering false prophecies about that child''s greatness into their ears. She will use them up, drain their life-force from them, and send their ashes on the wind to be forgotten for all time. Her desires and insanity are a cautionary tale to those with the vain-glorious ambition to fight the status-quo enacted by the Elders of the Grand Circle; the last remnants and vigilant guardians of the faded Hoelatha Empire.

 Episode II - A Cliff-top Duel I

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    EpisodeII


    A Cliff-top Duel


    <hr>


    The warm winds flowing in from the sandy deserts in the south were beginning to pick up in ferocity, from gentle breezes to hard gusts. The brightest of the twin suns had arisen to rest atop thehorizon creating a rich glow as the second, dimmer sun, languished after.Grains of white-gold sand peppered against the rocky cliff-side while even more flowed like dry waves over the rocky plateau below.


    A young woman stood at the cliff¡¯s edge staring out at the desolate landscape before her. She took in the sight of the flat, rocky plateau stretching to the extents of her sight, broken only by the occasional mountain, gorge, or mesa. A thick line of turquoise waters surrounded by a dim green set of streaks snaked its way through the left-most side of her vision. Past that blue slash across the landscape, large dunes of white sand stretched further beyond. She stretched out her arms embracing the land she grew up in and swelled up her chest to drink in the cooling air.


    She closed her eyes for a moment and could feel the wind tugging at her blood-stained hair; sending loose rivulets, those not constrained into tight braids, into a dance around her head. Her left hand held a long-handled klaive loosely outward while her right hand lowered down into an open palm. The wind felt comforting on her bare arms, mid-riff, and legs as beads of sweat began to dry away. The gray wolf¡¯s fur trim around the collar of her leather armor teased at her neck as the wind blew through it.


    Slowly, the young woman broke the tranquil and inviting peace of her stance to arch her back and bend her legs. She relaxed her thighs allowing herself to drop backward for a moment. As she did she strained them hard to lift herself back up ever-so-slightly. She held her chin outward as her neck extended backward as her eyes shot open.


    Roughly forged metal passed by her face within a scant hair¡¯s width from the tip of her nose. The blade of the heavy sword managed to snip a few errant strands of her hair. Her bangs caressed the reflective parts of the metal with a sanguine hue. She could see a flash of her ice-blue eyes as she saw her face reflected upon the long blade. Small flecks of sand left the pockmarked surface of the weapon to sprinkle lightly upon her freckled cheeks.


    As soon as the main thrust of the sword passed by her head with a faint whistle, she allowed the muscles in her thighs to strain harder. The open palm of her right hand hit the ground and with some force, she flexed herself from a falling position back up into a crouching stance. As she pushed with her legs and hand, she swiveled her hips under her to face the wielder of the blade.


    ¡°Damn you, girl. I almost had you!¡± The voice was gruff and deep, containing as much annoyance as mirth. The source of the curse was a giant bearded man in full armor just an arm¡¯s length from her. ¡°I could have finally been done with you.¡± The man¡¯s heavily muscled and tattooed arms took hold of the sword¡¯s hilt and flipped it up from a sideways swing to a high arc as he lifted it above his head.


    ¡°You¡¯re not done with me yet.¡± The young woman quickly grabbed a handful of white sand in her right hand while swiveling the hilt of her klaive in the other to point backward. She was ready for any further attacks now that she held the flat of her blade against her forearm. The lean muscles in her legs tightened as she readied to spring forth.


    ¡°A pity.¡± The much older man gave a slight shrug as he lifted the man-sized sword above his head and then let it crash down to earth in front of him. The blade whistled through the air as he gave a hard groan that soon erupted into a frothing howl.


    The young woman¡¯s eyes grew large as she realized the immense weight crashing down on her. She twisted her left arm upwards at an uncomfortably steep angle. She punched her left wrist with her sand-filled fist to steady her arm as the man-cleaving blade struck the flat of her klaive. Sparks erupted as metal battered metal and thunder erupted over the quietly blowing desert winds. The steep angle of her blade barely deflected the impact of the sword and pulled her downward behind it¡¯s swinging force. Both blades slid against each other as squeals of metal-on-metal followed the impact.


    Taking advantage of downward momentum, she kicked her legs up to the right allowing her left elbow to impact the dusty rock beneath her. With her legs now free of the ground she slid forward on her side while managing to wrap one of her long legs around the thick ankle of the warrior before her. With a pivot of her body, she brought her other leg up with her knee against her chest and the top of her foot pressing beneath the warrior¡¯s inner thigh.


    The large warrior narrowed his eyes as he looked down at what the young woman was attempting. His reaction was sour, reflecting his reaction towards the young woman having just entered close enough that he could not cut her down with his sword. He let the momentum carry through on his swing as his sword skipped off the stone ground.


    The young woman continued to slide closer to the warrior¡¯s feet. With her lifted leg she tightened in on the man¡¯s immense thigh and pushing with the downward-pointed tip of her klaive, she sprung up a few inches and swung in the air. Both of her legs tightened around the man¡¯s leg as she lifted herself up, using only the muscles in her abdomen, and flicking her head forward in a serpentine flourish. She gave a wicked smile as she punched her left arm past the man¡¯s face.


    The backward-held blade shot past the man¡¯s face and severed a braid from his beard. His eyes grew wide with rage even before his hands could reclaim control over his sword. The young woman continued to lean against him, with her gleeful face staring up from beneath his chest. Slowly she raised her right hand, palm upturned, to her chin and as she pouted her full lips she blew the white sand she had seized into his eyes.


    The large warrior coughed and took a step backward as the coarse sand blinded him. He dropped his sword and the young woman let go of her leg¡¯s grip to drop to the ground and scurry on all fours away. The warrior wiped at his eyes with large and leather-covered hands while taking one more step backward and kneeling over while shaking his head.


    ¡°You uncouth, little runt!¡± The large warrior pressed his meaty thumbs into his sockets in hopes of liberating the sand from his tearing eyes. He gave one more hard cough while kneeling forward and tried to snort the sand from his nose.


    The young woman remained in a crouched stance near the edge of the cliff. She stretched one of her long legs forward, aimed at the warrior. With a skittering leap, she cautiously reached to the ground to snatch up her prize. She pivoted back on her heel to restore the distance between her and the snorting man. She held up the braid of beard-hair in her right hand and waggled it slowly in front of her. The grin remained on her lips as she waited for the man to turn and stare at her.


    ¡°You¡¯re getting slow, old man.¡± The young woman flipped the hilt of the klaive in her left hand as she idly spun it around in her palm. She kept the muscles of her legs tensed and ready to leap at a moment¡¯s notice.


    ¡°Old man?¡± The warrior erupted with a deep laughter. ¡°If I¡¯ve grown old, it is only from having to put up with the likes of you.¡± After wiping away enough sand to see through red and bleary eyes, the warrior stepped forward and stuck the enormous toe of his leather boot beneath the hilt of his abandoned sword. With a kick, he lifted the sword up and seized upon the leather-wrapped hilt once more.


    ¡°If I¡¯m such a burden on the great Ylethus ¡ª esteemed Vhollen of the Alsira ¡ª then why not be done with me once and for all?¡± The young woman ceased spinning her klaive and leveled its tip at the warrior before her. ¡°Enough of these flirtations with death, old man. I know how it pains you to be responsible for an unwanted orphan, the cursed one that you hide away like some hidden sin.¡±


    Ylethus lunged forward and hit his fist against his chest while making a grunt of challenge at the young woman. As soon as his feet hit the ground, she jumped away from him into a back-flip, coming dangerously within reach of the edge of the cliff. With her feet on the ground, she slowly raised herself up to standing and flourished her blade before her.


    The grizzled warrior ran his free hand through the thinning and graying hair on his head while giving a short chuckle. ¡°You¡¯re not a hidden sin, dumb girl. You may be an orphan, and I cannot control the reactions of the other Alsira towards you, but I see you as mine. I took you in, and with me, you are wanted.¡± Ylethus idly let his sword slip from his hand and then seized it with a better grip. ¡°You are correct about one thing in all your self-pity, however. Since you are mine, and I am responsible for you, your life does belong to me. It is mine to take as I wish.¡± A smile erupted from beneath his bushy mustache that connected to his immense beard.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    With a bolt of energy that seemed unlikely from one as immense as he, Ylethus ran forward to close the distance between him and the young woman. He let the pommel of his sword hit his wrist as he lifted his sword up and outward like a lance as he ran. He gave another long howl as he rushed forward with deadly intent.


    The young woman threw her severed beard-prize at the charging hulk of Ylethus limply and let the smile drop from her face. She took a single second to assess her options, realizing that the cliff¡¯s edge was only an inch away from her heels. There was no dodging to the left or the right as the edge now surrounded her. She blinked for a moment while drawing in one last breath of dry air and then let it out in a rage-filled scream as her legs sprung forward beneath her.


    She began her run towards Ylethus who continued to charge at her and with only a second to spare she leveled her blade at him while jumping with all the force her legs could give to her. As she lifted up she brought her legs up and behind her, trying to get height over the warrior¡¯s sword. She kept her klaive pointed before her at an angle to sever the artery in Ylethus¡¯ neck.


    Despite the redness, Ylethus¡¯ eyes twinkled as he anticipated the young woman¡¯s attack. He let the momentum behind his blade drag it forth as his hand slid along the hilt. He flicked his meaty fingers around the pommel and pulled the sword back sharply with two fingers. He let his girth carry him as he slid on the sand-dusted rock. Within the span of a heartbeat he was able to slide his hand down to the middle of the blade and with a snap of his wrist he brought the tip in towards his chest.


    The woman was undaunted by the handiwork that Ylethus pulled off before her. She continued soaring a few feet further in the air, allowing the world¡¯s weight to draw her toward her target. She had left herself open in the air and had to commit to her attack.


    Ylethus grabbed the tip of his sword with his free hand and felt the sharpness of the blade dig into the exposed parts of his palm. The cool metal felt comforting and the callouses of war insulated his hand from any pain. He held his stance to the very last moment and with one last groan he seized upon his sword and jerked it forward with all his strength.


    The pommel of the great sword flew through the air to make contact with the young woman¡¯s face. A savage crack erupted as metal impacted flesh and bone. As soon as the sword¡¯s end made contact with the woman¡¯s face, Ylethus pushed the blade¡¯s tip over his chest like a pinwheel. The blade swiveled without a grip on it until he could seize upon it with his other hand. Once he could feel the leather between his fingers he swept upwards with the flat of his blade to impact the woman in the ribs.


    Ylethus turned his body as he slid, easily dodging past the woman¡¯s blade by a few inches and allowed his feet to skitter to a halt near the cliff¡¯s edge. He let his sword drop and threw it into the air to catch it with his preferred hand. The young woman impacted the ground hard and she remained there for several moments as embarrassment and rage tore through her.


    ¡°You think you¡¯re so deceptive.¡± Ylethus gave another chuckle as he took a step towards his wounded prey. ¡°I¡¯ve trained you to fight since you could hold a sword. You have the skill, but you refuse to temper it with wisdom.¡± He lifted his sword up and let it drop into his scabbard with a single motion. ¡°You still haven¡¯t mastered the most important lesson I¡¯ve given you after all these years; honor.¡±


    Ylethus closed the distance to the young woman and knelt down with his arm outstretched, hoping that she would grab it and get back up to her feet. The woman looked up at him with tear-filled eyes and blood dribbling from her nose. He could see in her eyes that he had wounded her pride more than her face. She lifted herself up to a crouching position and pushed away his hand with her own. She stumbled to her feet and stepped back from him.


    ¡°Ghelta¡­¡± Ylethus started and then ended his words. ¡°It was just a little sword-bite, don¡¯t be like that.¡± He took another step toward her with his arm still outstretched, this time not to help her to her feet, but more for comfort.


    Ghelta wiped the blood from her face with the back of her hand. All she managed to accomplish was to spread the blood across her cheek and allow new rivulets of crimson to drip over her lip. She flicked a scabbard at her waist and dropped her klaive into it. She took one more step away from Ylethus and lifted her top lip into a snarl.


    ¡°So, this is why you brought me up to these cliffs. Just so you could remind me of my place and hit me in the face?¡± Ghelta tried to aim her words like weapons at Ylethus. She could see in his eyes the concern he had for her well-being. The weapons may have been sheathed, but she knew she could slash at him with her tongue just as well as metal.


    Ylethus stared at her with worry for a few more moments and then let his face fall to the ground. ¡°I brought you up here for training.¡± He let his outstretched arm fall and brought it in to cross over his chest. ¡°The bloody nose is just my way of caring for you.¡± He gave a sardonic grin at her.


    ¡°We usually train at the barracks. Why are we out here, in the middle of nowhere?¡± Ghelta outstretched her arms to indicate the cliffs around them. ¡°I appreciate the change of scenery, don¡¯t get me wrong. Some fresh air compared to all the stink of the warriors back in Alsira Thaenat.¡±


    ¡°Today is a special day.¡± Ylethus lifted his eyes up and focused intently upon Ghelta. ¡°Not only do I need to beat some honor into you, but I need to know if you can handle yourself for what¡¯s about to come.¡±


    Ghelta took a few cautious steps forward and turned her head to the side to stare at Ylethus skeptically. ¡°Is this my Kollishi Thaulp?¡± She narrowed her eyes and watched his every moment with anticipation.


    Ylethus let both of his arms drop to his sides and gave a belabored sigh. ¡°No.¡± He rolled his eyes and turned away from the young woman. ¡°You¡¯re not ready for that, yet.¡±


    ¡°Damn you to Gehemol!¡± Ghelta threw up her arms in the air and clenched her hands into fists. ¡°I¡¯m almost twenty Summers old, you stubborn bastard. There are young-lings half my age being allowed to prove themselves to become warriors, and here you are keeping me cooped up as your little plaything!¡±


    Ylethus turned back with a snarl. ¡°You¡¯re not my plaything, girl. You¡¯re the closest thing I have to a daughter. I tell you when you¡¯re an adult.¡± Ylethus¡¯ sky-blue eyes shone hotly beneath his bushy brow. ¡°You are not yet ready to prove yourself in such a ritual.¡±


    ¡°You have no idea what it¡¯s like.¡± Ghelta brought her clenched fists up to her chest and could feel her face growing flush. ¡°I may be like your daughter, but I¡¯m still an orphan. You won¡¯t let me fight as a warrior. The other members of the Vhulkhovyr whisper things about me all the time. They call me the runt of the litter. They call me strange things like the ¡®Witchling¡¯ and the ¡®Cursed.¡¯ The only way I can get any respect is to carry my weight as a warrior.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re mine and I¡¯m the gods-damned Vhollen of this city!¡± Ylethus bellowed his words, but he wasn¡¯t as mad at Ghelta as he was at the situation that surrounded her. ¡°I know how to command warriors. I¡¯ve lived my life on the battlefield, Ghelta, I know what is best. You don¡¯t know what the world outside is like. I don¡¯t care what they call you. All I care about is that you¡¯re safe and that you learn to fight well.¡±


    ¡°I know how to fight.¡± Ghelta wiped the drying blood from her lip once more. She grabbed the bridge of her nose with her index finger and thumb and snapped it back into place. Some more blood flowed freely.


    ¡°You know how to wield weapons. You don¡¯t yet have the honor and the bravery to truly fight.¡± Ylethus began to fidget his fingers over the pommel of his sword. He stared away from Ghelta towards the distant Jol River that sliced its way through the deserts and rocky plateaus beyond the cliffs. ¡°You don¡¯t know what the battlefield is like. You don¡¯t know loss, fear, and true rage.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just mad that I threw sand in your face.¡± Ghelta smirked and began to dab at her face with her hand. She pressed her fingers to her cheek and winced at the soreness that tore through her.


    ¡°That proves you¡¯re not yet ready. You may know how to win, but you don¡¯t know the point of the fight.¡± Ylethus pulled himself away from whatever was worrying him in his mind. He lowered his head and looked back to Ghelta with a sideways glance. ¡°I think I¡¯ve been too lenient with you over these years.¡±


    ¡°Lenient?¡± Ghelta lowered her hand away from her face to stare slack-jawed at Ylethus. ¡°You have me train almost every day. My first toy as a child was a gods-damned sword! The only books you¡¯d read to me at night were the tales of the old Alsira battles and the conquests of Bulithol Gaereth.¡±


    Ylethus gave another sigh at the knowledge that he wasn¡¯t reaching the young woman. ¡°I¡¯ll show you today the lessons that I¡¯ve failed to get through to you in the past.¡± He lifted his chest up to give a deep breath and continued. ¡°Maybe if you can prove yourself to me this day, I¡¯ll think about giving you a chance to prove yourself to the tribe with a Kollishi Thaulp.¡±


    Ghelta¡¯s crimson eyebrows peaked at the last two words. ¡°Really?¡± She took two steps towards Ylethus while curling her hand under her chin and grabbing her elbow with the other. ¡°You swear?¡±


    ¡°Upon your empty, blood-shaded skull.¡± Ylethus closed the distance and grabbed Ghelta by the head with his meaty fingers. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. He could feel her pull slightly from beneath him, and he released his grip to let his hand slide slowly through her long hair.


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Ghelta finally got free and stood before Ylethus on her tip-toes. She leaned backward and forward from toes to heels and crossed her arms behind her. ¡°Okay, then.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Ylethus stepped away and lifted his sword out of his scabbard. He looked the blade over in his hands and then let it swivel back into his dominant hand. ¡°You¡¯re going to get some lessons in honor from me, whether you like it or not.¡±


    ¡°Fighting, I¡¯m fine with.¡± Ghelta lowered herself into a crouch and flicked her klaive free of her scabbard with her thumb. ¡°Just tell me you¡¯re not going to go on one of your rants.¡±


    ¡°They aren¡¯t rants, girl! They¡¯re lessons.¡± Ylethus shook his head, causing his beard to sway around his chest. ¡°My words will temper you with wisdom. While my sword will beat those lessons into your thick skull.¡± Ylethus grinned wide, showing his large teeth above his beard. ¡°Now prepare yourself!¡±


    <hr>


    Version 4.0.01


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 Episode II - A Cliff-top Duel II

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    The sweet and rich smell of burning tolsen weed flowed on the soft breezes wafting their way through the winding streets of the canyon city. The smell made its way through the gaps in the wooden walls of the small hovel to slowly fill it up with a comforting feeling. Today was the day of Tegall¡¯s Rapture and most families in Alsira Thaenat were at home burning incense, praying to the gods, and partaking of feasts.


    It was a day of celebration, as many families had managed to survive the bitter winter season and everyone wished to celebrate the hopes for the new year that was upon them. Those children who survived the harsh and bitter winters, where food was the scarcest, were given gifts to celebrate their continued lives. Couples celebrated each other¡¯s lives with gifts as well and renewed their vows for the coming year. Those who lost loved ones during the winter were given alms and respite in the homes of their families or in public houses owned by the community so that they might continue on despite their loss.


    Ghelta sat upon her straw-filled bed covered in threadbare and blood-stained linens she had managed to steal from the infirmary building nearby. She drummed her small and wiry legs against the creaking wooden frame of the bed as she chewed on a braid in her long, crimson hair. Papa Ylethus had just come home from early morning training with his warriors and was in the living area talking with some old man covered from head-to-toe in draping robes.


    Ghelta grasped the wooden frame of the bed with her hands and leaned forward to stare beyond the bedroom door into the living area. She could see Papa Ylethus standing beside their dining table. She couldn¡¯t see the robed man, but she could hear his calm and light voice coming from another corner of the room.


    ¡°I know you couldn¡¯t be there. Please know that she holds no ill feelings for you.¡± The sound of the wooden floors creaked as the unseen man shifted his weight. ¡°She knows you love her and her child in your own ways, Ylethus.¡±


    ¡°It still pains me.¡± Papa Ylethus leaned hard on the table, causing the furthest legs to lift slightly under his giant frame. He sighed hard and swiveled his leg up to sit upon a stool near the head of the table. ¡°You know that I don¡¯t mean any disrespect to you in my decision. Her path and my own weren¡¯t to be.¡± He let both of his elbows drop to the table as he leaned forward. His hands were held with their palms up towards the unseen man. ¡°Besides, as you mentioned, my hands are full with Ghelta.¡±


    ¡°Yes, they are.¡± The unseen man stepped forward and sat at the table across from Papa Ylethus. The tip of the robed man¡¯s hood could be seen past the door-frame. ¡°She is my daughter, and thanks to you I have a grand-daughter.¡± The robed man gave a half-hearted chuckle as he reached a skeletal hand towards Ylethus¡¯ own and grabbed it up. ¡°The heart wants what it wants. I know in your heart you still love her and her child. They are safe in Haaken Vaulthaen and you can visit them anytime you wish.¡±


    ¡°Were you able to give Eranii the gift I bought?¡± Papa Ylethus slowly pulled away from the robed man¡¯s grasp and straightened his back at the table.


    ¡°Yes, I did. You know how Eranii is with tradition.¡± The robed man gave another chuckle, this one more warm than the last. ¡°She gave the gift to Scythana as soon as I got it out of my pack.¡± He drummed his skeletal fingers on the wood of the table in a dance and lifted his index finger up sharply. ¡°She loved it, Ylethus.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Ylethus lightly pounded a fist on the table and lifted himself up from the stool. ¡°You¡¯re right that Eranii could never really get the hang of tradition.¡± Papa Ylethus smiled and reached over the table to give a slap to the shoulder of the robed man.


    ¡°About tradition-¡± The robed man started and then paused in his words for a moment. The tip of his hood shot up to look Ylethus in the face. ¡°You remembered her gift as well, correct?¡± The robed man bent his arm slightly to point at the door-frame. ¡°She deserves just as much of your love as the child born of your blood.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Ylethus gave a nervous laugh as he ran his meaty fingers through his long, brown hair. ¡°What do you take me for?¡± He let his laugh continue into a roar.


    ¡°Scythana is being taken care of. Ghelta needs your full attention now.¡± The robed man lifted himself up and stepped out of view. ¡°You are as much her savior as her father. Love her as you would Scythana.¡± The robed man made several floorboard creaks as he moved further out of view. The sound of the battered front door groaned open as the robed man said his last words. ¡°I¡¯m always here for you, Ylethus, as a father and as a friend. Remember that.¡± The door groaned and popped again as he shut it behind him.


    Ghelta felt a growling in her stomach and clutched it for a moment, hoping to silence it before Papa Ylethus could hear. The richness of the tolsen weed smoke and the smells of cooking meats coming in from outside made her hungry. She knew she would have to wait until Papa Ylethus had finished the afternoon training drill before he could come home and start cooking their meal. She was too young to handle the knives and fires herself.


    She looked up from her hands upon her stomach to the light filtering in from the window above Papa Ylethus¡¯ bed. The light from the two suns climbing into the sky were given a soft orange glow as the smoke from all the houses rose up like a ceiling above the canyon city of Alsira Thaenat. Her home was upon one of the upper layers of the city, next to the Vhulkovyr barracks, the infirmary, and the quarters for visiting dignitaries. She could see streams of smoke rising up from the lower layers of the city like tendrils to the heavens above. Within each of those streams of smoke rising heavenward were the hopes, prayers, joys, and sorrows of every member of the Alsira tribe.


    As she took in the sight through the small window, she could hear Papa Ylethus rummaging around in a pack he had dropped upon the dining table. She turned her head to see him lift an item wrapped in twigs and twine and set upon the table. He threw the empty pack over his shoulder and snatched up the item in one of his immense hands.


    Ghelta pushed herself up further on the bed and crossed her legs in anticipation of Ylethus entering the room. She could hear his thunderous footsteps coming closer to the door. She grabbed one of her old blankets to drape over her knee and ruffled up the threadbare linens of her bed to make it seem like she had just woken up. She looked up to see one of Ylethus¡¯ hands pressing the door a few inches further open.


    ¡°Ghelta.¡± His voice was soft as he entered the bedroom. He leaned in and saw her deceptively rubbing her eyes with two small fists. ¡°Are you awake?¡±


    Ghelta nodded and lowered her hands from her eyes, she looked up at him with a smile which melted Ylethus¡¯ hardened heart within a moment. He stepped further into the room and crossed in front of Ghelta¡¯s bed to sit on his own. The mass of old straw and broken wood groaned and snapped under his immense frame. He placed the bundle of twigs and twine on his lap while leaning toward Ghelta with a few more complaints from the bed.


    ¡°It¡¯s the day of Tegall¡¯s Rapture. Do you remember what that means?¡± Papa Ylethus leaned forward some more as Ghelta leaned the rest of the distance. She gave a nod and held her smile as he continued on. ¡°You¡¯ve survived another year and this is to be celebrated.¡± Papa Ylethus pulled the bundle from his lap and held it in one of his palms toward Ghelta. ¡°You know that we don¡¯t receive much to live off of. Most of the spoils of war go to my warriors or to the tributes we give to the Chieftain.¡±


    Papa Ylethus swallowed hard and lowered his gaze from Ghelta¡¯s eyes. He examined the dirty floor beneath his heavily booted feet. He looked over Ghelta¡¯s ruined bed and saw her sitting in her favorite threadbare tunic that was far too large for her frame. He felt a twinge pulling at the edges of his eyes and quickly wiped a tear before it could be seen.


    ¡°I know most children want toys on this day or some kind of bauble to gather dust on a shelf.¡± Papa Ylethus gave a sniff and returned his eyes to Ghelta¡¯s. ¡°This gift is a commitment to you. It is a commitment to ensure your future so that you might survive many years to come.¡± He lifted himself up to his feet and stepped forward to place the bundle on the bed beside Ghelta. He turned and sat down on his bed. ¡°I had it commissioned as soon as I took you in. I was just now finally able to pay it off.¡±


    Ghelta looked at the bundle and then up to Ylethus, she held the same innocent smile upon her lips as she spoke to him in a hushed tone. ¡°You don¡¯t need to give me gifts.¡± She watched him wipe another tear from the side of his dusty eye. She reached beside her and lifted the hefty bundle to her lap. ¡°Thank you, Papa.¡±


    She looked from the bundle back up to Ylethus to see him nod permission to open the gift. Her tiny fingers flowed over the twine and grasped the knots on either end. With a flurry of activity, she undid the knots and began unrolling the twig packaging of her item. She stood on her bed and began rolling the twigs towards her feet as she took tiny steps backward to unfurl it more.


    Within a few moments, she had revealed a fine leather scabbard adorned with polished iron designs. The black leather of the scabbard and attached belt reflected the light along its edges. She ran her hands across the supple leather and the cool metal until she grasped the leather-covered hilt of a blade sheathed within.


    ¡°Thank you, Papa. My very own sword.¡± Ghelta looked it over once more and then raised her face up to smile again at Ylethus. She looked back down to it and reverently placed it on her straw-filled pillow. She began to roll up the twigs and retie the knots on the bundle.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°Be careful with it. Remember what I taught you about blades.¡± Ylethus got up to his feet and wiped some of the sand from the fur-trimmed armor covering his shoulders. ¡°I have two more drills to do and then I¡¯ll be home. I¡¯ll make you some sarkrass stew for dinner and then I¡¯ll show you how to use it.¡±


    Ylethus reached forward, leaning with one hand on the frame of Ghelta¡¯s bed and grabbing her head with his other. He messed up her crimson hair beneath his immense hand and then pulled back to stand up straight in the center of the room. He stepped forward and grasped the door as he walked out.


    He leaned back into the room with just his head being visible. ¡°Remember, Ghelta. You are loved and you are wanted.¡± He waited for her to return his gaze and nod at him. He smiled down at her and closed the door slightly.


    She could hear his heavy footsteps as he made his way to the front door. Behind the creaking and another pop, she could hear him secure the lock and then walk away. She sat on her bed and stared at the sword upon her pillow for a moment. The smells of tolsen weed and cooked food wafted in all the more, making her feel a strange sense of comfort and longing.


    Ghelta pushed herself off of the bed and onto the wooden floor with almost no sound at all. She looked around the room quickly and stepped toward the doorway to peer past at the front door beyond. Feeling secure that Papa Ylethus was actually gone, she returned to her bed and began reaching under the wooden frame.


    In a few short moments, she grasped onto a small and well-hidden wooden box she had stolen from a visiting courtier¡¯s luggage a few months previous. She lifted it from a small separation she made between the bed¡¯s frame and one of the wooden slats holding up the straw mattress. With some flexing of her small arms, she raised it up and set it down on her bed.


    With one more look around her and a silent moment to hear that the house remained silent, she lifted herself back up onto her bed and pulled the box towards herself. Her small fingers ran over the exotic wood covered in rich lacquer. She reached for the metal clasp at the front of the box and opened the lid slowly.


    Within the box were several dolls she had made out of scrap linen, straw, and numerous baubles she had stolen over her short life. She tugged on one of her long and crimson braids and began to chew on it idly as she lifted each of the dolls from the box and placed them in a row beside her pillow.


    Ghelta had seen many of the young girls of the city collecting dolls as they grew up. She enjoyed playing out little dramas with the dolls when Papa Ylethus was away for long stretches of time. The first doll she had was a wooden figurine of a goddess she stole from Grandmaster Toulam who watched over her once when Papa Ylethus was on a campaign for several months. She had dressed the goddess, whose name she didn¡¯t know, in a small dress she had made from scraps of her swaddling clothes.


    The other dolls were a mismatch of found objects with only the vaguest hint of a humanoid form. Some of the dolls had names while others would change names as she willed it for each of the dramas she thought up while being stuck in the house alone. She pretended that she was one of the skaldten she had seen when Ylethus took her to the leiggenskappf to hear tales from distant lands. It was her job to recite the epic tales of heroes and villains.


    She always enjoyed those times Papa Ylethus let her go to the Hall of Heroes to hear the stories of the traveling skadlts. Being in the presence of the joys, and sorrows of warriors filled her heart with purpose. She did her best to remember the tales told and keep them going with her dolls. More than any of the tales she recited regularly, she tried her hands at making new tales that only she and her imaginary family would ever hear.


    There was a juvenile pain that crept through her as she surveyed her makeshift family of dolls on her bed now that she¡¯d brought them all out. Somewhere out in the city, there were numerous young girls getting gifts from their parents. Those children with loving mothers and fathers related to them by blood who cared and gave their all to their children. Those young girls getting new dolls to play with for the next year.


    It was envy that began to boil up from within her for a brief moment. Those other children didn¡¯t understand hardship like she had seen. Those other children were loved by those that brought them into this cruel world of pain and murder. Those other children received gifts that they wanted and would soon discard once new gifts presented themselves the next year. It was children like Ghelta who would pick up the pieces of the forgotten toys and dolls to make her own out of. It was children like Ghelta who lived in their shadows and made a life out of the detritus they threw away.


    Ghelta caught herself as her face grew red and she stared up at her pillow beyond the dolls she had lined up. There the gift that Papa Ylethus had given her sat alone and abandoned. As she reached a hand toward the scabbard her eyes swelled with tears. As her hand seized upon the leather and lifted it to her lap she began to sob openly.


    She knew how much it meant to him to give her this gift and knowing it at this moment made all of her envy drain away. The metalwork of the scabbard was a work of art that a skilled smith had spent months working on. Papa Ylethus had said how long it took for him to pay off the commission for this one-of-a-kind gift.


    It may not be what she had wanted or expected, but even as a small child she could understand the importance of what she held in her hands. She held the scabbard close to her chest and finished her sobs. As hard as she sometimes thought her life was, she knew she was blessed. Many children died in this cruel world and others suffered as slaves to be trafficked by corrupt lords.


    She may be an orphan, but she had a guardian that worked tirelessly to protect and keep her safe. Papa Ylethus may not be of her same blood, but he knew her soul far better than even her dead parents might have ever known her. She may not have full meals growing up like other children, but her stomach was always filled at the end of the day. She had a roof over her head and the chance to face the next day with hope rather than fear.


    Ghelta looked down at the scabbard in her hands and realized at this moment that what she held wasn¡¯t just a sheathed sword but a tool to ensure that her future would be filled with hope and not fear. She realized that it was by this tool in her hands that she could protect not only herself but others and put the villains of the world to justice. In her hands she held the ability to tell more than any drama or story could ever tell; she could live her own epic tale of heroism and adventure.


    As cool tears continued to stream down her face, Ghelta pushed herself from the bed and dropped her feet to the floor below. She held the scabbard in her hands and turned to stare back at her doll family on her bed. She tucked in her threadbare shirt-tail around her tiny waist and pulled the leather belt around her. She notched the buckle to the very last hole in the belt and tied it tightly around her, letting the sheathed sword fall to her hip.


    Her tears began to stop as she felt the weight of the sword around her, like the weight of duty that a warrior must have to their tribe. There was something about the sword that made her feel like a grown-up as it dangled beside her exposed leg. She reached down with her left hand to feel the warm leather bindings on the hilt in her hand.


    Papa Ylethus had told her often that a warrior¡¯s chosen weapons must be consecrated with blood the first time they are drawn. In the blood is the oath to the spirit of the weapon that it will only be used for honorable means. By tasting the wielder¡¯s blood, the blade and the warrior become one entity, with one will, and one celestial purpose. She didn¡¯t remember all of the other things he had spoken about warriors and weapons, but this she remembered well.


    With a flick of a leather snap, which held her guard in place, Ghelta grabbed the hilt of her blade and drew it forth. The klaive lifted quietly and easily as it slid on the fur inside the scabbard. She lifted the heavy weapon up to her face and stared at herself in the polished metal of the blade. Inside the weapon, she could see her wild, crimson hair and ice-blue eyes staring back at her. She held the blade with her left hand and wiped away the tears from her pale cheeks with the other.


    Ghelta held up the blade still and once her cheeks felt dry enough, she held her right hand with her palm upturned in front of her. She lowered the blade towards her hand and with a wince, she drew the edge of the blade against her palm. Tears of pain rushed forth, but she blinked them away with her renewed focus. She finished dragging the blade across and raised it up as she clenched her sore hand into a fist.


    Once the blood began to flow from her wound, she spread the blood across the flat of the blade with her hand. Once anointed with her blood, she lifted up the blade to her forehead and closed her eyes. She remembered that Papa Ylethus had said that every great blade must have a name. All the ancient hero''s blades had names that skaldts remembered throughout the centuries. Even if only the wielder of the blade knew the name, every one must have something to attach its spirit to.


    Ghelta opened her eyes and spoke softly to the blade she held against her small head. ¡°I name you, Scythana.¡± She remembered the name from when Papa Ylethus had spoken to the robed man earlier. The name seemed important to Papa Ylethus and sounded pretty. This would be the blade¡¯s name and she would keep that name to herself.


    She lowered her blade and stared up at the row of dolls lined up against her pillow. Thoughts began to bubble up in her imagination that the dolls were her family and she was a warrior who had to protect them from some ancient monster like in the stories she had heard. She swung the klaive in her hand and lowered it towards the door of the bedroom. She could feel the weight of the blade in her hand and the power that flowed into her from it. She was a warrior now.


    * * *


    ¡°-That is why we of the Vhulkhovyr caste must always be ready to lay down our lives.¡± Ylethus continued his speech as he reeled back from Ghelta¡¯s earlier attack. He allowed the momentum she had imparted to his great sword to pull him down into an upturned swing.


    Ghelta swiveled her klaive in her hand and pointed the tip upward. She caught her reflection in the worn and notched blade. She remembered the day that Ylethus had given it to her as a gift. She smiled as she caught her same crimson hair and ice-blue eyes in the reflection. The moment seemed to stretch on, but she soon saw Ylethus¡¯ sword crashing down on her. She ducked into a backward roll avoiding the strike and not needing to parry.


    ¡°Well, I take that to mean you understand this lesson.¡± Ylethus lifted the heavy sword up from the ground and leveled it across his body. He took several deep breaths and shook out the strain from his arms. ¡°Now onto the next one.¡±


    Ghelta caught herself in mid-roll and sprung back to her feet. She flourished her klaive in front of her, trailing it from side to side like a snake about to strike. She analyzed Ylethus¡¯ stance and prepared herself for his next thrust. Her smile turned into the grin of a predator who had the upper hand on their prey.


    ¡°Yeah. Sure. Keep the lessons coming.¡±


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    For the Skaldts II - The Music That Inspired This and Other Scenes in "A Cliff-top Duel"


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    Ghelta''s Flashbacks: In This Moment - Roots


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    Version 4.0.01


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 Episode II - A Cliff-top Duel III - I

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    The twin suns beamed their intense light and combined heat down upon the rocky plateau below. Here, on the topmost levels of the canyon city there was no place to run to for shade, so those caught out in the heat had to endure it. The Summer winds were dry and seemed to leech the life out of everything they touched as they blew across the land. The rocky ground was hot enough to burn uninsulated skin as the hours of the unbearably long days stretched on without any darkness to quell the growing heat.


    Ghelta sat upon a blanket of furs draped across a large rock that overlooked the cliffs of the canyon city below. She fidgeted with the emerald-hued lenses held in place by a leather strap across her face as the feeling of restrictive clothing always bothered her over-sensitive senses. The world took on a stark green hue beneath the filtering glass. The shadows of the lower buildings and dark areas beneath the earth seemed deeper, while the brilliance of the twin suns light seemed unearthly in their glow.


    She looked up at the sky to see the black rings that circled the larger and smaller suns in the sky, where the upper atmosphere was weakest. Wearing the lenses let her see a few stars peeking their light through the black shadows far above. The otherwise blue and orange skies were a mass of green waves flowing overhead with not a single cloud to be seen. She lowered her gaze back to the world around her as she pulled her linen hood over her head and enjoyed the shadows it cast over her face.


    She hated the feeling of the harsh, thick clothing on her skin as it seemed to leech the sweat from her skin and trap it against her like a wet towel. Heat and untapped energy roared through her veins with such an intensity that any clothing covering her felt unbearable after a time. Being covered head-to-toe in giant blankets in the outside heat was too much for her, but she knew that to take them off would cost her health during these hot Summer months.


    Ylethus had told her before he left that she would have to wear the thick, hooded robes and her leather armor every day that she was outside of their home. He had left her in the care of one of Alsira Thaenat¡¯s most esteemed broden groups. He had said it was for her benefit in getting to meet other children of the city and learn to socialize. He was worried she would end up stunted in her growth if she didn¡¯t get out of the house. Honestly, it was simply because he wanted more glory with his warriors and couldn¡¯t be bothered having to take care of her anymore.


    Ghelta stretched her legs over the rock and lifted up her knees as she pressed against them with her chest. She leaned on her heels and wrapped her arms around her legs as she sat. She lifted her shoulders up and sighed long and hard at the situation she found herself in.


    As she mulled it over in her mind, she felt that the broden groups were a ridiculous idea. Members of the tribe would give their children, some of very young age or even infants, over to be cared for in groups that were watched over by old women called broden-mothers. Large groups of children would be overseen by assistants called broden-nurses, and each group would also have at least one skaell-father to give them lessons or tell them stories to keep them quiet. The idea of a bunch of children not committed to each other by blood, all of different ages and personalities, being corralled together like livestock was absurd.


    Ghelta remembered how Ylethus had mentioned how absurd he had found the tradition from when he grew up. He complained about it often over dinners as he remembered back to what he endured as a child many decades ago. He had said it was all a scheme put in place by fearful members of the local Elder Circles, and the Grand Circle back in Morrthault City, to weaken the potential of the Hoelatha people. She didn¡¯t fully understand all of what he said and who these groups of people were, but Ylethus had been adamant in his hatred of their meddling ideas.


    It was hypocritical that Ghelta now found herself cast into the system that her adopted father had hated so much. It was his choice to abandon her here with a group of people that didn¡¯t know her and that she couldn¡¯t be bothered to get to know. She was cast out from her home and had to sleep on cots in communal rooms with the other children who all stunk and snored too loudly. She hated having to be around the other children and despite the chastisements of the broden-mother, she would escape to any quiet place she could to be lost in her thoughts. The activities and lessons given to the simpleton children were beneath her.


    There came a sound from over Ghelta¡¯s shoulder that made her tense all of the muscles in her body. Her left hand instinctively shot to the belt around her waist. Her fingers grabbed at the leather and were unable to seize upon what she sought. She sighed once again and curled up into a tighter ball on the rock as she punched the furs beneath her with her left hand.


    No weapons were allowed in the broden groups and it had become a source of severe resentment that the broden-mother had taken Ghelta¡¯s klaive. The instincts and training that Ylethus had given her were atrophying as she was expected to while her days away doing chores, learning lessons, and playing idiotic games with the other children. She longed for the security of the blade against her hip. She longed for the days spent running and fighting at the Vhulkovyr barracks on the other side of the city. She missed the days spent at home lost in her own imagination or teaching herself to read the books filled with epic tales and mythology that Ylethus hoarded away.


    A dull impact struck Ghelta on the shoulder, snapping her from her thoughts and causing her to tense up for a moment. She curled forward into a roll and sprung back up into a crouch on the rock. She turned to face the source of the impact with her hands held before her and ready to fight. Every muscle in her body was tenses and primed to lunge forward at whatever threat presented itself. She could feel the tails of her hooded robes being lifted up on the hot winds as her eyes darted around the cliff-side around her.


    ¡°Whoa, there-¡± The voice came from an older boy that stepped forward from a mass of children huddled together. He was tall and lean with a small amount of refined muscle around his arms and legs. ¡°No need to get hostile.¡± The older boy lifted his hands in the air while smiling and chuckling to himself. ¡°I¡¯m sorry that we disturbed you. I¡¯m just going to get the ball, okay?¡±


    Ghelta¡¯s eyes darted from the boy to the mass of other children and then down to the small wooden ball in the sand beneath the rock she was perched atop of. She flexed her fingers and scurried to the edge of the rock. She looked at the ball and then back to the older boy as he took two cautious steps toward her.


    ¡°You¡¯re Ghelta, right?¡± The older boy held his steps and looked Ghelta from face to foot and then back. ¡°I¡¯m Aethel. I¡¯ve seen you in the broden a few times in the last two months.¡± The older boy lifted his heavily tanned and bare right arm up and over his head. He wore a pleated green tunic and silk pants that billowed in the breeze. ¡°I was just teaching these mongrels how to play Svatcha. Would you like to play?¡± He scratched at the rakish mess of brown hair atop his head and then raised both of his hands out in supplication.


    Ghelta shook her head and continued to watch Aethel as he took one more step closer. She adjusted the emerald goggles around her eyes with one hand as she quickly snatched up the wooden ball with the other. She broke eye contact with Aethel for a moment to look at the red-and-green painted ball in her hand and then quickly locked her gaze on the older boy as he took one more step toward her.


    ¡°I can teach you; it¡¯s a pretty easy game and it¡¯s fun.¡± Aethel closed the distance and stood right in front of Ghelta now. Even with the height given to her by the rock, the older boy was taller than her. If she stood up from her crouch she might only be a few inches taller than him. ¡°You¡¯re the Vhollen¡¯s daughter, right? My father and your¡¯s are old friends. I¡¯m the eldest son of the Chieftain.¡± Aethel leveled one of his outstretched arms toward Ghelta. His heavily tanned skin was slick with sweat but his hand was covered in sand and dust.


    Ghelta looked Aethel from foot to face and measured him up. She had noticed him several times over the last few months. Despite his lean physique and opulent clothing giving her a bad first impression of him, she had noticed that he was kind and calm when he interacted with the other children. He was the oldest in the broden and had boasted several times that this Summer he was able to be granted his Kollishi Thaulp. There was something about his height and demeanor that attracted Ghelta to him, but she remained distant as he was the most sociable of the boys in the broden.


    She realized that Aethel was outstretching his arm for her to take it, it was a common gesture among the children to invite others into their play groups. Ghelta slammed the wooden ball into Aethel¡¯s outstretched palm and pulled her arm away quickly to avoid any more chance of human contact. She pressed her weight on the knuckles of her right hand and took a step back from the older boy.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Aethel smiled while flicking the wooden ball into the air and snatching it in his dusty hand once more. ¡°I understand you were born in another land.¡± Aethel gestured to the heavy robes and leather goggles that adorned Ghelta¡¯s body. ¡°I don¡¯t care. You¡¯re welcome here with us. Let this be your home and hopefully one day we can be friends.¡± The smile on his face broadened and seemed genuine.


    Aethel remained in front of Ghelta for a few more moments, but after the realization that she wasn¡¯t budging, he stepped back. He remained facing her for a few more backward steps then gave a sarcastic bow as he turned on his heels and ran back to the group of huddled children nearby. She could hear them all gawking amongst each other about what had happened, but Aethel remained silent. He soon held the wooden ball aloft and commanded the children to follow him back to their play area.


    Ghelta let her chest and shoulders slump slightly as she gave a silent breath of relief. She let one of her long legs drape over the hot rock that she sat on and kick at the sand beneath with the toe of her boot. Aethel continued to call out to the children, causing them to follow him like a shepherd. With each more distant shout, the slack-jawed multitude trickled away. She watched each of them as the lack of interest in her dawned over their snot-stained and bleak-minded faces and their short attentions returned to the wooden ball. That is, all of them except for one opulently-dressed boy and two of his friends.


    The well-dressed boy looked a lot like Aethel except he was shorter and far more slender. His hair was well-tended with two long braids trailing in front of his ears, while the back of his mane was long and wild with the hair of youth. He stood with his arms crossed over a blue vest and purple silk shirt. His brown eyes were focused into a squint of disapproval while his lips curled to reveal disgust.


    Ghelta casually began to flex her fingers and snap her knuckles while sizing up this boy and the other children at his back. With a glance, she realized that she could easily subdue or severely harm this imprudent boy if she needed to. Behind him was a small and fidgety boy with wide eyes and a rough set of clothes that looked more like scrounged bits of fabric and leather than anything else. The final child was one that caused Ghelta concern as she saw this hulking mass of muscle that might be considered a girl, save for the complete lack of feminine qualities. The last child was easily two feet taller than Ghelta and almost three times the weight. She was bald save for a few braids of white hair that tangled in front of her face that was warped in a perpetual scowl.


    ¡°Don¡¯t believe what my brother told you.¡± The opulently dressed boy kept his arms crossed and took a few steps toward Ghelta. He dragged his feet in the sand and had the posture like he owned the whole of the Jolash Plateau. ¡°I¡¯m the son of the chieftain as well, and I know that you¡¯re not wanted here.¡±


    Ghelta remembered seeing the boys face before and knew him as Aesothel; he was the second-born of the chieftain¡¯s children; two years younger than Aethel and six years older than his sister who still lived with her family. Those few times in her younger years when Ylethus had taken her to see the Chieftain, she remembered seeing Aesothel skulking and grimacing from distant points in the high-lodge. He had always been the type to hide in the shadows and hatch dark thoughts. It seems in his older age, his balls had dropped enough that he was willing to confront those that displeased him.


    ¡°I know where you¡¯re from. You don¡¯t belong here and no one wants you. Not even your parents wanted you, which is why the Vhollen had to take you in.¡± Aesothel gave a cruel laugh and reached out an arm to slap the nervous child beside him in the chest. ¡°Aethel has a weakness for exotic girls.¡± Aesothel took a few more steps forward and allowed his eyes to drop to the sand-strewn rock below his feet. ¡°He also has a weakness for wounded animals. He always brings them home with him, even if they¡¯re mangy.¡± He raised his eyes and focused them directly on Ghelta.


    Ghelta lifted herself slowly to her feet while turning her head to the side and making several slow and steady steps towards Aesothel. She kept him in her periphery as she walked from toe-to-heel in a figure-eight pattern across the rocks. The boy wanted to assert his dominance over someone and he had selected her as weaker than him. She would allow this illusion with carefully selected movements and avoiding eye-contact as she waited for him to build up enough gall to strike.


    The primordial dance of predators and prey began as Aesothel stopped moving while holding his right hand under his chin. The wide-eyed and feral child swung behind Aesothel and flanked him while watching Ghelta through a cocked-head and side-ways focus. The hulking girl swung wide and tried to flank Ghelta, mistaking her idle figure-eight movements as exposure.


    ¡°No one likes her, Aesothel.¡± The dry and multi-toned voice of the fidgety boy squeaked from behind. ¡°She keeps to herself well enough. Do we really need to make an example of her?¡± The boy blinked each eye separately and began hammering on the side of his head with the palm of his hand. He turned away from Ghelta for a moment and then focused his attentions on Aesothel like a cowering dog.


    ¡°No one likes her, is right, Paulk.¡± Aesothel looked Ghelta from toe to head once more. He lifted his hand from his chin to pluck the air in front of him with his fingers; as if this hand was a snake that was snapping at Ghelta with venomous fangs. ¡°Look at her, covered from head to toe in robes. She can¡¯t even handle Dhaulm and Trallt¡¯s blessed light.¡± Aesothel leaned in toward Ghelta as she passed by him. ¡°They say that beneath all those robes she¡¯s covered in scabs and sores because the gods have forsaken her.¡±


    ¡°The lenses are odd, too.¡± Paulk careened his neck and looked up at Ghelta. She laughed inside her own mind as she watched him, as he was one to criticize the oddness of another. ¡°Maybe she¡¯s got the eyes of a serpent.¡± Paulk laughed openly to himself as he began to scratch at his exposed thigh like a dog with fleas.


    ¡°Well, then-¡± Aesothel returned his hand to his chin in a moment of contemplation. ¡°We might as well put the other children¡¯s theories to the test.¡± He nodded and became resolute in his hatred. ¡°Vhaydra, grab her. Let¡¯s see what¡¯s beneath those robes and those lenses.¡±


    Ghelta turned her head to see the giant girl take a lunge at her. As Vhaydra charged in, Ghelta dropped to a crouch and rolled out of the way. The larger girl spat openly, then roared her anger into the hot and dusty breezes that were whipping up around the children. She toppled forward onto her hands and then lifted herself up to take a swipe at Ghelta with a meaty arm.


    Aesothel remained a few yards away from the scuffle and regarded Ghelta and Vhaydra like a general surveying his deployed troops. The look on his face betrayed the realization that Ghelta was far more agile than the larger girl, so he took a step backward and grabbed Paulk by his collar. ¡°Get in there and help her.¡± He tossed the smaller boy into the fray and took a sideways step to watch.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Paulk fell to the ground, catching himself on his hands and then looked up at Ghelta. His fidgety and cowardly demeanor quickly faded as he grit his teeth and began to foam at the mouth like a rabid animal. He scurried forward on all fours and tried vainly to grab Ghelta by the leg.


    Ghelta nimbly pulled her leg from Paulk¡¯s desperate grasp and proceeded to kick him in the face with the top of her foot. She rolled once more to avoid any further grasps by the mongrel boy and put some distance between her and him. She realized she was nearing by the mass of muscle that was Vhaydra, and prepared the muscles in her legs to spring her backward into a leap.


    She wasn¡¯t able to do as she planned, as the grotesquely meaty arms of Vhaydra clamped down around her arms and chest. Ghelta kicked from the ground, but the immense weight of Vhaydra and vice-like grip around her center caused her to topple backward and hit her shoulders against the ground. Before she could try to pull her arms free, she felt the scrabbling and sticky hands of Paulk grabbing onto her legs and pinning them down beneath his trifling weight.


    ¡°No more than a feral animal.¡± Aesothel loomed over Ghelta as she struggled against Vhaydra¡¯s pinning arms and the slithering hands of Paulk as he sat on her feet and began pushing up her thigh. ¡°Maybe you have fur under there, or a tail tucked away.¡±


    The thought of a tail seemed to fascinate Paulk as his eyes grew wide and his hands began to grab at Ghelta¡¯s thighs greedily. She managed to get one of her legs free of his squirming and lift it high enough to stomp on his groin. He recoiled and grimaced for a moment and then returned to pinning her with his hands and legs. He snarled like a dog and sunk his jagged teeth into the skin of her leg.


    Vhaydra pushed her weight down on the right side of Ghelta¡¯s chest while panting like a dog left out in the sun. The giant girl¡¯s breath was sickly sweet and fetid as she pushed more of her weight down. One of Vhaydra¡¯s large hands reached over Ghelta and began to claw at her face. Ghelta pulled her face away, turning her chin upward at the pawing hand. Vhaydra responded by slapping her meaty fingers against Ghelta¡¯s cheek.


    Ghelta struggled and squirmed as Vhaydra finally grasped her sausage-like fingers on her goggles and pulled them from her face. The brilliant roar of the twin sun¡¯s light at noon blinded her for a moment. She shut her eyes closed and continued to work her left hand free from being pinned behind her.


    ¡°She winces at exposure to Dhaulm¡¯s cleansing light.¡± Aesothel continued to loom and observe Ghelta as she struggled against the other two children. He took two steps to look at the lenses that Vhaydra had pulled from Ghelta¡¯s face and tossed onto the ground. He gave a snooty sigh and kicked the goggles with his toe into the air and off the cliff-side. ¡°Vhaydra, do the rest. Let us, and Dhaulm above, see what horrors she hides under there.¡±


    Ghelta opened her eyes just wide enough to see the blurry image of Vhaydra¡¯s rotund face smile down at her. She managed to free her hand from behind her and tore towards that face with a clawed hand. Her fingernails tore into the girl¡¯s pudgy face and as the first rivulets of blood crept up from the stripes, Ghelta returned the smile with fangs barred.


    The mass of muscle and fat atop her pulled away for a moment due to the pain and shock. Ghelta¡¯s attention focused on the cool and wet feeling of Paulk drooling on the exposed flesh of her inner thigh. The wretched beast was practically rutting on her as he began to bellow out grunts. She lifted one of her legs and brought the back of her knee to pin his head against the ground. She hiked up her leg, folding it behind her rump to clamp down on his neck and begin choking him out.


    She looked up from the gasping face of Paulk to see Vhaydra reaffirm her grip on her other arm and bring her large elbow down hard on Ghelta¡¯s chest. The impact knocked the air from Ghelta¡¯s lungs and with this moment of disorientation, the hulking girl grabbed onto Ghelta¡¯s sleeve and began to pull her arm up and over her. Vhaydra used her free hand to hammer her fist against Ghelta¡¯s stomach, keeping the wind from her lungs, and pulled her torso backward, using the robes as leverage.


    Under the strain on her body, Ghelta relented and was rolled on her side as Vhaydra pulled the robes off of her. The movement allowed Paulk to get free of Ghelta¡¯s leg and he scrabbled away on all fours. He got away and then returned to kick Ghelta hard in the side and spit on her.


    ¡°How disappointing, she¡¯s human after all.¡± Aesothel leaned in to survey his prey. He grabbed one of Ghelta¡¯s bare arms and slid his fingers down her flesh. ¡°Incredibly pale, almost like the porcelain sold my merchants from the Alwhedein Empire.¡± He let go of Ghelta¡¯s arm and sunk his fingers into her hair, grabbing up her head painfully. ¡°Crimson hair; so the rumors are true. She¡¯s a Witchling.¡±


    Ghelta snapped her head back to free herself from Aesothel¡¯s grip. He let go of her hair and stepped far enough back that he was beyond any attempts at an attack against him. Ghelta remained on the ground, half-curled, and feeling exposed in front of these monsters. The heat of the twin suns at their zenith beat down upon her, causing her skin to feel like it was on fire. The only clothing she had to shield her body was that of her old and threadbare tunic and a pair of loose-fitting leather shorts held in place by her old scabbard belt.


    ¡°No wonder my brother showed compassion for you.¡± Aesothel snorted derisively and turned his back on Ghelta while examining something beneath his fingernails. ¡°He¡¯s always been fond of exotic women. I guess his hound-like sense of smell could pierce all those robes and sniff out the strangeness beneath.¡± He turned over his shoulder to glower down at Ghelta. ¡°I¡¯m not amused by exotic creatures. I find your strangeness repulsive.¡±


    Paulk swung back around on his feet, ambling like a drunkard, and then lunged at Ghelta once more. He was able to get atop her, but not before Ghelta shielded herself with her long legs. She kept him slavering above her as he rested his weight on her legs. His black eyes swayed in his skull and he shook his half-bald head coated in shocks of brown hair, to shake over her like a dog shaking off water. Ghelta responded to the ineffectual actions by punching him square in the nose and pushing him off of her. The crazed boy fell to the ground and then pulled himself up while grasping his bleeding nose with a hand.


    ¡°Look at those eyes!¡± Paulk commented in a nasal voice as he continued to grip his bleeding nose. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen blue eyes before. I swear-¡± He tried to lean in toward Ghelta once more and got a kick to the side for his troubles. ¡°I swear those orbs glow. They¡¯re glowing at me!¡± He lowered his hand from the bloody mess of his face and began to laugh like braying goat. He stooped into a crouch and began to stare off into the distance.


    Ghelta rolled onto her side and looked up to see Vhaydra standing near the cliff¡¯s edge, holding her robes out with one hand. The wind whipped at the fabric and the hulking girl smiled as she let the breeze carry the robes outward and downward to the city below. Without the robes to protect her from the heat, her skin would turn red and begin to rash. She wasn¡¯t built for these climates; Ylethus had said when she was still a small child that her parents had come from the northern lands where the world was closer to the night¡¯s sky and the temperature was always chill. She had no replacement for those robes until Ylethus came back from his campaign which could be weeks or months away.


    ¡°I grow bored of this simpering little bitch.¡± Aesothel had come to his final realization about Ghelta. ¡°Let her bake out here, and the gods willing, I won¡¯t have to see her again. Vhaydra, Paulk-¡± He snapped his fingers and pointed to the ground beside his foot. ¡°Come here. Let¡¯s get back to the broden before Mother Kollchen sees us.¡± Like devoted hounds, both Paulk and the mass of Vhaydra followed after Aesothel as he began his walk away.


    With several winces of pain, Ghelta lifted herself back up to her feet. Her eyes were slowly getting used to the severe light of the twin suns above but she could feel the irritation on her pale skin. Fear began to gnaw at the back of her mind and embarrassment made her cheeks hot. She had never felt so vulnerable in her life. She knew that the other children could be cruel and stupid, but she never thought that they could be this ruthless or petty.


    She made her way back to the rock she had used as a quiet perch and wrapped her arms around her body as she slumped forward. Tears began to well up in her eyes and she tried to wipe them away with her dust-covered hands. The wounds on her body didn¡¯t hurt as much as her pride. She looked up to see the cliffs of Alsira Thaenat around her and then let her eyes fall to the sandy rocks below her feet. There, in the shadow of the boulder she liked to sit on, she saw the tool that would allow her some redemption; a single fist-sized rock, half-buried in the sand.


    Ghelta snatched up the rock in her right hand. She could feel the heft of it in her arm and the sharp crystal deposits coating it with the skin of her palm. The tears in her eyes stopped welling up and she could feel the lightning of rage coursing through her body. She turned on her heels and began running hard towards the retreating children.


    Ahead of her, she could see their backs as they slowly made their way back to the wide wooden building called the brodenskappf. They were oblivious to her silent steps as she ran up to them. Once she closed the distance to a half-dozen yards, she wound her right arm back and launched the rock forward with all the strength she could manage.


    The rock soared through the air for a few short moments and then as it fell back toward the world, it made contact with the back of Paulk¡¯s skull. A small spurt of blood erupted from the wound and the boy fell forward. His body fell face-first to the ground limply. The boy wasn¡¯t even aware enough to shield himself against the fall. Once his body finally remained motionless on the ground, his right leg began to twitch in the sand.


    Vhaydra turned around and began to growl at Ghelta like a beast. The hulking girl let her growl erupt into a howl of rage as she began to charge forward and pick up speed in her run. Ghelta quickly looked to her right to see a nearby boulder sticking up from the ground and began to run sideways toward it. Vhaydra bent her charge in that direction and tried to close the ground between the two of them.


    Ghelta was able to get within two feet of the boulder before Vhaydra was almost upon her. The massive girl gave another howl as her bulk tore through the air at Ghelta who lifted her feet into a skid across the ground. Vhaydra reached out to grab Ghelta¡¯s arm in one of her meaty paws but the grab was easy enough to dodge. Ghelta allowed her right foot to lift and drop over her left as she continued sliding on the ground. She spun in the air like a top, barely constrained by the gravity of the world until her left hand sunk into the flesh of the larger girl.


    Ghelta stopped her movement with her seizing hand and used the torque in her body to bring her right hand, clenched into an upturned fist, into the side of Vhaydra¡¯s neck. The pressure of her fingers and the palm of her hand struck the base of the giant¡¯s skull and carried into the soft tissue of her neck. Ghelta could see Vhaydra¡¯s eyes glass over and then roll upward into her skull as a crunching feeling came from the impact.


    The weight and momentum of the hulking mass continued forward, but Ghelta was able to trip up Vhaydra¡¯s feet with a swipe of her leg. After this, she was able to easily guide the girl¡¯s body to the ground beside the rock. She let Vhaydra¡¯s body hit and roll towards the rock and be pinned underneath some of it. The girl''s arms were splayed around her haphazardly and her white eyes began to quiver in their sockets.


    Ghelta freed herself from her skid and hiked up one of her legs on the rock for leverage. She lifted herself up two feet into the air and let her other leg drop hard down upon Vhaydra¡¯s neck. As her foot struck bone, she snapped her foot and broke the larger girl¡¯s neck easily. The rage-filled satisfaction roared up through her body as she snapped her eyes back to see Aesothel staring at her some distance away. His jaw was slack and his eyes were wide with a mixture of fear as well as shock.


    Aesothel whipped his head away from Ghelta and began running as fast as he could away from her. He almost tripped over his own feet in panic but managed to stagger his way into a full sprint. Ghelta felt a predatory smile creep upon her cracking lips as she tore after him. The thrill of the hunt roared through her veins and focused her mind into a keenly murderous edge.


    With each step as Ghelta ran, she could feel an energy building up inside of her. At first, it started as rage, but within a few heartbeats, she realized it was something else inside of her welling up and ready to burst. The rage inside of her seemed to take on a cold and distant personality separate from her own. The feeling was exhilarating and intoxicating as something deeper than her own thoughts boiled up within her consciousness.


    The fine hairs on her arms and legs stood on edge as crackling energy coursed through her flesh and nerves. The crimson hair flowing behind her seemed to crackle with energy and the nerves of her scalp screamed as each hair seemed to flex and move like quills. Without thinking she found herself reaching her hands out before her as if to grasp at Aesothel despite is distance from her.


    Her legs continued their sprint, pressing against the weight of the world to throw her in leaps and bounds at her prey. The distance between them was closing, but she would not reach him before he got to the brodenskappf. She felt the energy flowing over her in waves and focusing on her fingertips. With one more heartbeat, she could feel a connection between her hands and the back of Aesothel as he ran.


    Reacting purely on impulse and instinct, Ghelta reached that energy out to Aesothel and pulled on it. She felt a snap between her fingertips that roared to life inside of her body. She felt the echo of that snap return to her from Aesothel¡¯s body as his legs lifted up from behind him. He clawed at the ground like a scared animal as his legs continued to lift and pull him back toward Ghelta.


    Aesothel turned his body to look up and back at Ghelta as threads of ephemeral energy built up, crackled, then dissipated between his body and hers. He continued to be pulled backward as she closed the distance between them. His eyes were afire with fear and his mouth gaped to draw in sharp breaths.


    With one last snap of energy, Ghelta¡¯s legs pushed against the ground and sent her soaring up and forward into a massive lunge. The wind whipped against her crimson hair behind her and her ice-blue eyes glowed with unhallowed energy. Aesothel continued to claw at the ground behind him as he remained with his back on the ground, looking up in horror.


    Ghelta¡¯s legs impacted the earth and sundered the rock on both sides of Aesothel¡¯s body. The cracking rock roared like thunder and in response, the panicked boy pissed himself. The soaked silk of his pants clung to his body and turned a yellow tinge. Ghelta remained unphased by this as she crouched over him and reached her hands towards his face.


    The coursing energy in Ghelta¡¯s body erupted forth once more from her fingertips toward Aesothel¡¯s screaming face. Indigo tendrils bled forth from Ghelta¡¯s eyes like slithering snakes and then leaped into the boy¡¯s sockets. Blood began to erupt from his eyes and boil up from the pores of his face as the dark energy drank his life away and imparted Ghelta with portions of his essence.


    Ghelta no longer felt like herself; she was more a passenger in her body as something dark had taken complete control. She could see and feel what was happening, but she was removed to some shadowed corner of her mind. The exhilaration of it all made her feel drunk on pleasures she had never before experienced. The power erupting from her and funneling through her was more than she could have ever dreamed. She was now a supreme predator beyond the concerns of moral or physical limitations.


    There was something ancient about the darkness that was taking control of her. This darkness was comforting and frightening in equal measure. It seemed to draw straight from her blood, from her soul, from something tethered to her that was stronger than her mere existence. It filled her with an ancestral pride like one would have for a family, yet she had never grown up with such a connection.


    Some distant part of her was frightened at this unholy power coursing through her, but she hadn¡¯t any capability to fight it. She was stuck in a storm of maddening feelings and she was unable to ascertain which belonged to her and which belonged to this dark intelligence. The vindication of having such immense power inside of her made her want to surrender completely to it. The darkness was like an unhallowed, indigo flame and she was merely a moth being consumed by it.


    The face of Aesothel began to contort as the tendrils of energy tore through him. His flesh grew pale and taut, his hair began to fade to a white color, and the stark brown color of his eyes began to fade to a dull gray. It was like she was draining the very life from his body, but it was something more. She was stealing away his strengths and adding them to her own.


    Her eyes began to clear from the glare of the noon-day suns. The irritation on her pale skin from the heat and light gave way to a soothing feeling like parched skin being doused in cool water. More than this soared into her body from the boy she drained. Years of life were added to her own mortal existence as well as latent mental capabilities roaring to life as talents and knowledge flowed into her. The blood inside of her welled up with energy as well as the strength in her muscles regrowing to accommodate more strength and flexibility. She wasn¡¯t just stealing his life, she was stealing away everything of worth he had.


    She could feel his energy ebbing now as the tendrils pulled on the last dregs of his life. Something in her wanted to stop, but just as much of her wanted to see what would happen when she finally drank him dry. She wondered what his stained and atrophied little soul might taste like. She wanted to experience his death through his own eyes and drink in the primal fear that tore through him once Olthenna embraced him.


    Just as she curled her fingers, feeling them stretch out to inhuman lengths, seeing the flesh of her hands turn almost transparent, something heavy and hard struck her in the back of the head. The impact was sudden and sent her consciousness reeling into an internal void. The beast within her separated itself just before her vision went dark and she slumped down to Aesothel¡¯s body beneath her.


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    Version 4.0.01


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 Episode II - A Cliff-top Duel III - II

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    Ghelta opened her eyes into darkness and the feeling of immense pain tearing through her body. Every square inch of her flesh felt like it was on fire. Through gritted teeth, she tried to stifle back a scream, but it eventually got free as a series of whimpers and howls.


    Once some of her wits returned, she could feel wet earth and cold stone beneath her rump and legs. She pulled back to feel the same against her shoulders and a tug against the sore flesh of her wrists. She pulled her arms to her chest, feeling the weight of shackles around her and the drag on her movements from rattling chains.


    She tried to get to her feet and hit her head on stone just a few inches above her head. She slumped back to the ground and noticed the same shackles were around her ankles as well. She pulled on the chains around her wrists and after a give of several inches, she felt the tug come from her feet. Letting go of the chains, she ran her fingers across the low roof of this room she was in. She could feel hard stone just above her head, and a square of rusted metal a few feet wide on each side in the middle of ceiling.


    The room was completely dark; she couldn¡¯t see her own hand waving in front of her face, nor the full dimensions of the room she was in. She tried to slide from side to side to feel the walls of the place which were only two feet tall and no more than two yards to a side. She tried to lay down on her back but the chains on her wrists and ankles were suspended from bolts in the ceiling which tugged both sets of her limbs upward.


    She felt a dry hoarseness in her throat and the taste of blood in her mouth. Despite the dryness and her cracking voice, she tried to yell out for someone beyond the confines of this prison. She shouted several times and waited, but no one responded. She shouted again and began to hit her hands on the metal in the center of the ceiling. She could feel and hear the echoes of her impacts resounding through a space above her, yet no one responded.


    After several minutes of trying and her voice giving out, Ghelta slumped against the cool rock of one of the walls and sat in the dark. Her mind went over the strangeness of what had happened near the brodenskappf. She didn¡¯t know how long ago the events had happened, but the memories were still sharp in her mind. Perhaps this was the ultimate punishment for what she had done, but she did not know who had put her here or for how long.


    She went over the situation several times in her head, combing through the details to try and make sense of it all. She remembered wanting to be left alone to mope on the cliff-side as she usually did. She remembered the resentment she had for the other children in the broden group and how she longed to be back home with her adopted father. She wanted to be mad at Ylethus, to blame all of this on him and his neglect for her while he was on campaign. She couldn¡¯t place the blame on him though, he had duties to perform and he couldn¡¯t leave her completely alone at home, she was too young.


    She remembered the unwanted kindness that Aethel had shown to her in retrieving his ball. He wasn¡¯t someone that she wanted to associate with, even if she knew how, but he was nice enough. The possibility that she could belong with the other children and that Aethel would champion her was a warming though. She quickly dismissed it by shaking the idea out of her head. She wasn¡¯t one of the broden, she didn¡¯t belong with the children, and she had no place here.


    The words and actions of Aesothel proved that she didn¡¯t belong here and wasn¡¯t welcome with the other Alsiran people. She remembered his cruelty, his harsh words and the cowardly way he commanded the other two children to bully her. She remembered the vulnerability and fearful exposure she felt being revealed in front of him. She remembered that sadistic curl to his lips as she watched her being beaten and her robe pulled off. She could see sharply in her mind¡¯s eye the look he held like he was examining an animal being put to the slaughter for his amusement.


    She remembered the rage boiling up in her, which soon took her over as she sought revenge against her harassers. The hollow thud of the rock against Paulk¡¯s skull, the satisfying crunch of Vhaydra¡¯s neck as she stopped on it, and the inhuman strangeness of her almost ripping Aesothel¡¯s very soul from his body. She didn¡¯t know what had possessed her in that moment; it was something dark, primal, and truly ancient. The presence felt like one of the gods had rushed into her body and used her as an instrument of wrath. The feelings and even just the mere memories were intoxicating as she mulled them over.


    Perhaps the reason she was imprisoned now was because she had killed all three of those children in her rage. If that was true, then why wasn¡¯t she given a proper trial or executed for her crimes. Ylethus had always taught her that the warrior¡¯s sense of justice was based on a life for a life; a wound for a wound. Maybe it wasn¡¯t justice that led her to this place but fear. Many in Alsira Thaenat called her ¡®the Witchling¡¯ and with the strange powers she had called upon previously, they might be right after all.


    Ghelta continued to run through the thoughts in her head, going over and over the events that led her here and the fear that the others of the tribe must have for her. The more she focused on it all, the more she realized that she was a monster. The other children were right, the old women who used to spit on her and mark signs over their chests to ward off her evil were right, and the warriors who talked in hushed tones about her when Ylethus wasn¡¯t looking were right. She didn¡¯t belong here, she didn¡¯t deserve to live. She wanted to be a warrior to slay the monsters of the world, but she was the monster, and maybe it would be best if she died here in the dark.


    She began to sob openly, feeling the water from her eyes flow over her cheeks and patter on the stone below her. In between bouts of crying she would thrash against her chains or pound her fists against the walls. As the emotions mounted, she even began to tear at the flesh of her face and arms with her hands, desiring to spill her own blood like it might be some paltry penance for the lives she took or the evil the lived inside of her.


    It was hard to gauge time in this place of utter darkness, but her sobbing and thrashing eventually took its toll on her constitution. She tried to lay down or curl up into a ball near the center of the small room. She pulled the chains over her head to get enough slack to lay down fully. She continued to sob until the merciful peace of sleep overtook her.


    She opened her eyes as the sound of grating metal erupted throughout the room she was in. She looked at the ceiling to see a small slat in the metal cover slide to the side. Beyond that opening was flickering candlelight and a hand that dropped several pieces of stale bread through the hole. Behind these bits of food, they dropped some pieces of fetid meat and a stick of tolsen weed. The motion stilled for a moment as Ghelta heard a rustling of metal on metal from above. The hand returned, lifting a silver pitcher over the hole and then pouring cool water through the hole and down upon Ghelta¡¯s face. She was only able to grab a few droplets before the water stopped.


    ¡°You won¡¯t get more until tomorrow.¡± The voice was male, gravely, and devoid of any emotion. The man beyond the prison hammered his fist twice on the metal ceiling and then pulled the sliding metal slat back into place with a rusty squeal.


    Ghelta pushed the pieces of food to the corner of the small room with her hand. She didn¡¯t deserve food after what she had done. Maybe if she didn¡¯t eat and refused to drink the water poured in, she might die and save the whole tribe her continued existence. She began to cry once more, this time withholding her fits of anger, and within a few more moments she was asleep again.


    Time seemed to have no purchase in this dark place. Moments seemed like hours, and days seemed like lifetimes. The only measurement she had was her bouts of consciousness between crying herself to sleep or the rusty squeal that signaled more food and water would be wasted on her.


    She continued to avoid the food and water for two more visits from the man above, but eventually, she gave in and began to drink the water he poured through the grate. After the fourth visit, she began to eat the food as well. The pain of dehydration and hunger were more than the pain she felt for her deeds. She would get mad at herself for her weakness and cry herself back to sleep soon after.


    It wasn¡¯t long for her to spend enough time exploring the extents of her dark confines and set up a system for herself to survive. She had found that although all the walls at first seemed the same, there was a small metal trough at one corner of the room that sloped down to a metal pipe. At first she didn¡¯t understand what this was for, that is until the first time she had to relieve herself, then she knew why it was there. Some days the man above would drop a piece of soap through the grate and pour extra water through the hole. She realized after the second time this happened that this was her chance to wash herself as best able.


    She thought she had worked out all the patterns to keep herself alive for a little bit longer, but eventually, her plans all fell apart around the sixth visit from the man above. Shortly after his visit that day, she began to feel extreme pains in her lower abdomen. At first, she wondered if the man above had given her bad food or was trying to poison her. She felt it was fitting that she might be poisoned as punishment for what she had done, but surely dragging her off to have her head liberated from her neck would be more efficient.


    The pain started as a dull and persistent ache, but after a few more visits from the man above, the pain was intolerable. Eventually, during one bout of sobbing and clutching her stomach, she felt something warm dribble down her inner thighs. She dabbed at it with her fingers and sniffed it to find it smelled of blood. She didn¡¯t know what was causing this pain and her constant bleeding. She didn¡¯t know if she was being poisoned or if the monster that had crawled into her earlier had left some of its evil within her and this was the cost.


    The next visit from the man above, she was able to request more water from him and she used that to clean up her nether regions. At first, it seemed to go away, but as soon as the grate above was closed, the pain came back as well as the blood. She spent the rest of that day screaming and clawing at her stomach, desperately wanting whatever demon was inside of her to finally emerge and devour her. She had constant nightmares of what the beast inside of her might look like and what her doom might be when it finally came into the world using her body as a vessel.


    She awoke from a particularly vicious nightmare to the sound of rusted metal squealing against itself once more. As her eyes opened, she wondered what scraps of food she might be fed this day, or whether or not it was time for her to clean herself. She lifted her tired head up and looked at the hole in the ceiling. She could see the flickering candlelight above, but this time was different. She could hear the breathing of the man above, but also hear the scuffing of two other people¡¯s feet on the stones next to the metal ceiling.


    ¡°The Vhollen is here, it¡¯s time for you to be released.¡± The familiar and gravely voice of the man above had the same unemotional tone to it as always. It took several moments for Ghelta to understand what he said, but the words struck home when she heard a lock being opened and several chains being fed through bolts on the other side of the metal ceiling.


    The metal above her groaned and then lifted away into the candlelit darkness above. Ghelta tried to lift herself up and grab at one of the metal edges of the doorway, but she fell back down to the stone below. Her arms and legs felt like dead weight, robbed of the strength to lift herself. As soon as she fell back on her rump, four arms reached into the pit and snatched up her arms. Two men groaned as they lifted her from the oubliette.


    ¡°The chieftain said she was supposed to be in there for several more months.¡± The gravel-voiced man was covered in black, leather robes and had his back facing Ghelta. He held a hand forward in supplication to a towering shadow in the dark. ¡°A few scant days doesn¡¯t seem justice enough for what she did, but if the chieftain said to release her now, so be it.¡± The man jingled a ring of iron keys with his other hand and clipped them to a leather belt around his waist. He stepped to the side as the large shadow moved closer.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°Look at you.¡± The voice was familiar and made Ghelta¡¯s eyes well up with tears. ¡°I leave for war, and I come home to find you in prison.¡± The shadow neared the flickering candlelight and was revealed to be Ylethus. He towered over the gravel-voiced man and the other two who held her aloft.


    Ghelta lowered her face from her father in shame, she refused to make contact with his sky-blue eyes that took her in. The two men grasping onto each of her arms lifted her over the oubliette and held her above the floor. Her legs couldn¡¯t hold her up, so they continued to strain to keep her standing.


    ¡°You look like shit.¡± Ylethus ran one of his hands through Ghelta¡¯s matted and filth-clogged hair. He let his hand linger on her cheek and turned his gaze from her to the man who held the keys. ¡°You couldn¡¯t have put her in a proper cell, with proper food? The gods old and new, you treated her like an animal.¡± He turned back to Ghelta and let his hand fall. He looked her from head to toe, examining the stains on her flesh and the shackles still on her wrists and ankles.


    Ghelta could see the muscles in Ylethus¡¯ jaw tighten which made his beard quiver for a moment. She always knew this would lead to him exploding in anger over something. She lowered her eyes and prepared herself for the rage that would soon wash over her.


    Ylethus turned and stomped toward the gravel-voiced man and without so much as a moment¡¯s hesitation, he grabbed the man by the neck with his left hand and slammed him against a nearby stone wall. The man struggled against the mighty fingers of the giant, but he his panicked clawing was in vain. He was lifted from the ground like a straw doll, and the air was being crushed from his neck with only a slight shift of Ylethus¡¯ tremendous weight.


    ¡°You think I wouldn¡¯t notice that she was raped?¡± Ylethus leaned into the key-master¡¯s face. He tightened two of his fingers which made the man¡¯s eyes bulge out of their sockets. ¡°Was it you that did the deed?¡± Ylethus quickly flicked over his shoulder with his right hand and liberated one of his jhulken-blades. He swung it back over his shoulder and pointed the curved blade at the two men holding Ghelta. He turned away to stare rage at the men. ¡°Or was it you two?¡±


    The two men let go of Ghelta¡¯s arms in a panic, letting her fall to the stone floor in a heap. She looked from Ylethus to the key-master, and then to the two men on either side of her. She looked down at her legs beneath her, seeing that the tattered shirt she wore barely made it to her waist. She could see long stains of blood and grime trailing around her inner thighs up to her crotch.


    ¡°It matters not. You dare treat my daughter in such a way. You dare exploit her innocence in this place.¡± Ylethus¡¯ voice was building into a howl as he began to froth between his teeth. His eyes were wide with murderous intent. ¡°You dare do such a thing to a girl.¡± He took two sharp breaths and squeezed harder on the key-master¡¯s neck until his body went limp. ¡°You dare do this to my girl!¡±


    Ghelta teetered back and forth while sitting on the cold and damp floor. She looked up at Ylethus and then to another shadow that emerged behind him. It took a few moments for her eyes to focus, but as the figure neared, she could make out the familiar shape of Grandmaster Toulam in the flickering light of some nearby candles.


    Toulam pulled his hood from his face and leaned down to Ghelta. He steadied himself with his metal staff and placed one of his withered hands on her head. He leaned further down and placed his hand on her thigh and pulled her leg to the side. He looked back up into her eyes and patted her cheek lightly like he used to do when she was younger.


    ¡°Don¡¯t kill him, Ylethus. He¡¯s done no wrong.¡± Toulam got back up to his height with some groans and snaps from his aged body. He gave shuffling steps towards to the side and looked up at the rage-filled warrior. ¡°Ghelta¡¯s virtue wasn¡¯t taken. She was merely visited by Celanna, the goddess in blood. I think this is her first bleeding and it won¡¯t be her last.¡± He gave a chortle and shuffled a few more steps to the side.


    Ylethus released his grip on the key-master and let his body slump to the ground. He lowered his blade ever-so-slightly and turned to look at the aged oracle. From his side, the key-master sucked in two breaths and choked himself back to consciousness.


    ¡°You¡¯re certain. I don¡¯t want to let these scoundrels live if there is any doubt. I¡¯ll kill the entire prison-guard retinue if I need to.¡± He looked at Toulam who smiled and nodded. He lifted his blade over his shoulder and sheathed it once more. He lowered his head slightly and made his way with just two striding steps to Ghelta.


    ¡°Grab her, my friend. Bring her home where she belongs. I¡¯ll give her a once over, get her cleaned up, and give her some exilirs to restore her health.¡± The Grandmaster lifted his hood over his head once more, covering up the scraggly white hair that adorned his leathery head. ¡°I¡¯ll have Vhoggli fetch some clean clothes and a hot bath for her. It¡¯s about time that little bastard got off his rump and did something of value.¡± Toulam cackled and tottered off into the darkness.


    Ylethus looked to the old oracle as he wandered off and then back to Ghelta. She looked up at him with tears streaming down her face and a faint smile. He reached down and with only the strength in his arms, he snapped the chains around her wrists and ankles. He lifted her gingerly in his hands and draped her over his shoulder. He looked up and noticed her bare bottom and with a faint-hearted chuckle he pulled his cape of station from his shoulders and draped it over her. She snatched up the edge and tucked it around herself.


    ¡°I swear, by the old gods and the new, you¡¯ll be the death of me, girl.¡± He began to walk away from the two stunned prison-keepers and over the wheezing body of the key-master. ¡°If you don¡¯t cause me to murder the whole world before that.¡± He continued off down the darkened hallway and towards a metal door ahead.


    ¡°You should put me back in that hole.¡± Ghelta¡¯s voice was faint and parched. She felt the warmth coming up from Ylethus¡¯ leather armor and could feel the hairs of his beard tickling her toes. She looked back to the candlelit section of the hall and the prison she was confined to. ¡°I murdered three people in cold blood. I deserve to be punished.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t murder three people, you guilt-ridden slob.¡± Ylethus shifted her on his shoulder and tightened the grip he had on her side. ¡°Well-¡± He paused for a moment of contemplation. ¡°You did kill that fat one. That was stupid, but thankfully she was an orphan from the Vollti tribe. No one will miss her, but I had to pay quite a large wergeldt for her life to the broden-mother. The dumb and squirrelly one survived, although his eyes will never be straight again.¡± Ylethus laughed heartily which caused Ghelta to jump up and down on his shoulder. ¡°As for that conniving little shit, Aesothel, he¡¯s still alive.¡±


    ¡°I tried to eat his soul.¡± Ghelta slumped against Ylethus¡¯ back as the words escaped her lips.


    ¡°Yeah, something like that. I don¡¯t know what in Gehemol you did, but you¡¯re not allowed to do that anymore. I¡¯ve talked with Toulam and he¡¯s going to do some rituals to stop that kind of fucked up shit from happening ever again.¡± Ylethus lifted one of his hands and threw the metal doors open before him. Evening¡¯s light filtered in from outside, as well as the first breaths of fresh air Ghelta, had in what felt like a small eternity. ¡°That pecker-head was the chieftain¡¯s son, you know.¡±


    ¡°I gathered as much from his bad attitude, poor choice in clothes, and the fact he pissed himself when I almost killed him.¡±


    ¡°Well, the chieftain doesn¡¯t take kindly to people using unholy powers on his children. Even if they are ball-less little twits. That¡¯s why you were thrown in the oubliette.¡± Ylethus continued into the open air beyond the prison. He passed into courtyard that was surrounded by other metal doors that led to other criminals trapped behind bars in one form or another. ¡°Aesothel is alive, but he¡¯ll end up with a care-giver for the rest of that miserable life. Whatever you did turned his hair white, made him blind in one eye, caused him to walk with a limp, and apparently his health is dismal.¡±


    ¡°Like I said, papa, I tried to eat his soul.¡± Ghelta lifted one of her hands over Ylethus¡¯ shoulder and began to fiddle with the hilt of his jhulken-blade. ¡°I don¡¯t want to go back to the broden.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t. The broden-mother is scared shit-less of you; thinks you¡¯re some spawn of blood-haired devil or some-such. The chieftain doesn¡¯t want you anywhere near his children, especially Aethel, his oldest.¡± Ylethus gave a belabored sigh and pushed open a large metal gate that serves as the entrance to the prison. ¡°I¡¯m never letting you out of my sight, again. I made a mistake in leaving you with the broden. You¡¯re not just some child to be shuffled off onto caregivers. You¡¯re my kid. You¡¯re my responsibility. From now on, your place is at my side, no matter what.¡±


    Ghelta felt the tears welling up her eyes again. She was surprised her body hadn¡¯t run out of them after all these days. She began to sob openly for the first time in presence of her father.


    ¡°I got your klaive back from the broden-mother. It¡¯s waiting for you at home.¡± Ylethus patted Ghelta¡¯s backside in hopes to stop her tears. ¡°Don¡¯t ever let someone take that blade from you again, you hear?¡± He lifted Ghelta up and held her in front of him for a moment as he walked. ¡°Next time someone disrespects you like that, don¡¯t use any of that strange magick shit to try and eat their soul. You take your blade that I gave you, and you slit their gods-damned throat.¡± He smiled at her and lifted her to his other shoulder. ¡°No one disrespects the daughter of the Vhollen. Warriors don¡¯t suffer cowards and bullies to live. Remember that.¡±


    ¡°I will, papa.¡± Ghelta reached around Ylethus¡¯ neck and embraced him. She felt his beard flow over her like a warm blanket. The braids of coarse hair soaked up her tears.


    * * *


    ¡°-And this is why it¡¯s important to always measure your strength with restraint. Honor doesn¡¯t come from a warrior blindly showing power over others, but rather the temperance a warrior has with their heart.¡± Ylethus flourished his great sword in several figure-eight swivels at his sides. He was growing tired and lifted his hand from his hilt. ¡°Quell!¡±


    Ghelta immediately stopped her barrage of quick attacks with her klaive and lowered her blade. She stepped back and gathered what air she could in hard puffs. The old man wasn¡¯t as proficient with large swords as he was with his favored jhulken-blades. He endured the swordplay because it allowed her to perfect her strikes with her klaive.


    Ylethus struck the tip of his sword into the stone of the cliff-side and leaned down on the guard while he caught his breath. He lifted his right arm out to his side and flexed his fingers while stretching out the strained muscles with some flowing movements. He looked over to Ghelta and lifted his bushy brow up in a dance.


    ¡°Tolesh¡¯s brilliant fuck, girl, I told you before we left the barracks to wear your damned armor!¡± Ylethus rolled his eyes and slumped his shoulders. ¡°What in Gehemol is wrong with you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m wearing my armor, what are you talking about?¡± Ghelta tossed the hilt of her klaive from her left hand to her right hand and back. She looked down at herself and then back to Ylethus. She gripped her blade in her left hand and pointed to the fur-trimmed shoulder plates with her right hand. She leaned forward and swiveled her head to the sides. ¡°I¡¯m wearing it, ghah!¡±


    Ylethus lifted himself from his blade and brought it up to slap the flat of his immense sword on Ghelta¡¯s exposed midriff. He then let the tip of the blade trail down her hip and slap the exposed flesh of her thighs. His eyebrows continued their slow dance on his face.


    ¡°There is armor for these parts. They¡¯re also the parts of your body an enemy will take full advantage of.¡± He leveled his sword at her and swung it from side to side while stepping toward her. ¡°Maybe you want to get disemboweled or have the artery in your thighs severed to bleed out in mere moments.¡±


    Ghelta reacted by stepping backward and then lunging into a back-flip from the oncoming blade. Once her feet were secure on the ground, she began to flick her klaive at the edge of Ylethus¡¯ sword, making light contacts playfully. She looked to his eyes and shook her head.


    ¡°They limit my movement. It¡¯s only leather armor anyway. Someone with a big enough weapon could penetrate it just as easily as my flesh.¡± She exposed her stomach at the tip of Ylethus¡¯ swinging blade and then pulled back at the last second. ¡°I¡¯m better being quicker. I¡¯m not a lumbering hulk like you.¡±


    ¡°This lumbering hulk has disemboweled his fair share of stupid idiots that didn¡¯t wear all of their damned armor.¡± Ylethus lunged forward and lifted his sword into a high swing. ¡°Besides that fact, I¡¯m your Vhollen, you little git. When I command you to wear the armor I paid for you to wear, you will bloody-well wear the damn thing. Got it?¡±


    Ghelta ducked under the blade and squatted on the ground like a gargoyle. She stuck her tongue out for a brief moment and then managed to parry another attack.


    ¡°Fine. Next time I¡¯ll wear the damned armor you paid for me to damn-well wear.¡± She jumped into the air and grabbed the tip of Ylethus¡¯ sword with her free hand, pushing it down and striking at the old warrior¡¯s face with her klaive.


    Ylethus dodged the attack by pivoting his head. ¡°Okay, now that you realize you¡¯re a dolt who won''t live very long on the battlefield.¡± He paused and lifted his blade back up into a guarding stance. ¡°Let¡¯s move on to the next lesson.¡±


    <hr>


    Version 4.0.01


    <hr>

 Episode II - A Cliff-top Duel IV - I

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    The wane light of the Ishep moon cast it¡¯s pale glow over the darkened world as cool breezes slithered among the streets of the City of Veils. Other than the sounds of soft rushes of air, the constant thrum of the churning river winding through the core of the canyon below, and the chirruping of desert cicadas, the city was silently tranquil. All of the denizens of Alsira Thaenat had retired to their homes to sleep, to drink their troubles away in one of the public lodges, or had slunk away into the shadows to hatch their plots for the next day. All was calm, save for the echoing hammer-strikes of Ghelta¡¯s booted feet on the dry stone streets as she sprinted towards the Leiggenskappf.


    Every stride forward was a lunge from her long legs as she ran and each footfall was the slap of leather against the chilled rock. She moved with a purpose, pumping her arms at her sides, stretching them with each step, as if she were grasping through the air at her destination. Her breathing was heavy and the warm vapor rising from her open mouth rose in little clouds towards the star-filled night¡¯s sky.


    Despite the cool breezes that teased at her crimson hair and cooled the sweat over her body, she wore nothing more than her favorite tunic ¡ª a mass of tattered linen, more than any sort of body covering ¡ª and her leather shorts. The scabbard of her klaive was tied tightly to her thigh so as to not jostle as she ran. Her gaze was focused on the robust lodge ahead of her as she shut out all other awareness of the world as she ran. All that existed in her mind was the shadow of the Heroes¡¯ Lodge with the flickering torchlight beaming from its windows and the sounds of music as well as shouts of the warriors erupting from within.


    In a matter of moments, Ghelta managed to finish her run and shove open the wooden door to the Leiggenskappf, as she entered she let her boots slide across the straw-strewn wooden floor. Her eyes darted around the lodge, from the skaldt playing his lute while singing a tune from the artist¡¯s alcove; to the roaring flames coming from the fireplace; then to a group of warrior¡¯s flipping stools as they wrestled each other in the corner; and finally to the bent form of Ylethus looming over a table to stare at his horn of mead.


    She didn¡¯t let her feet slide any further as she pushed against the back of a drinking old warrior and tore across the floor to Ylethus. As she neared a muscled woman with a tankard in hand got up from her stool and blocked Ghelta¡¯s path. Ghelta gave the woman a hard elbow to the ribs, causing her to almost lose her grip on her drink and slump slightly into the table. The woman belted out a retort of curses, but Ghelta returned the words with her upturned left arm and a slap of her right hand against the inside of her elbow ¡ª a gesture of equal viciousness. The woman belted out a hearty laugh and got back to her feet, easily forgetting the slight.


    Ghelta pushed her legs hard and jumped over another table in front of her, sliding on her rump and guiding her momentum with her hands. Two haggard warriors looked up from their conversation to see her glide between them. Her feet impacted the floor on the other side and she continued to run the last few yards over to where Ylethus sat with his back towards her.


    ¡°It¡¯s time!¡± Ghelta shot the words out between heavy breaths. Once she reached Ylethus she slapped her hands against his immense shoulders and used his back to stop her run. ¡°Skartha is in labor. The pups are on their way.¡±


    Ylethus turned his head and peeked over his shoulder at Ghelta who bent forward and placed her hands on her knees to catch her breath. One of his bushy eyebrows shot up for a moment and then he turned back to his horn of mead in silence. He lifted the horn to his lips and swallowed back the last dregs of his drink. He let the large horn fall away from his fingers and clatter to the table. He turned back, wiping some of his favorite drink from his beard. His eyes twinkled with light from a nearby torch.


    ¡°Well then, we don¡¯t have a moment to waste.¡± He lifted himself from his wooden bench, which groaned in relief as he got to his feet. ¡°She¡¯s in the kennels?¡± He turned on his feet and placed one of his giant hands on Ghelta¡¯s shoulder as she nodded up to him. The two of them began to walk for the door.


    ¡°Ho-ho!¡± A blonde-haired man holding a full and spilling tankard aloft in front of him pressed past two other warriors to near Ylethus. ¡°You said one of your wolves is giving birth?¡± Ghelta looked over at the man who grabbed his long, braided beard with his free hand, lifting it up and over another warrior¡¯s plate of food as the other passed by. He lifted his beard like a maiden would lift her skirts to avoid soiling them in mud near a stream.


    ¡°Yes, Amsthyn, are you interested?¡± Ghelta continued to walk with Ylethus but leaned back over the large warrior¡¯s arm. She could see a smile on Amsthyn¡¯s face as he nodded back.


    ¡°It was my wolf that knocked her up, I might as well be there to see the consequences.¡± Amsthyn laughed and raised up his tankard as he pushed past a fat warrior and a tall one with her hood drawn who was also pushing by. He spilled some of his ale onto his head and began to fuss with his immaculately cut hair. ¡°Provided I can get past these fools, I¡¯ll meet you at the kennels!¡± He elbowed the fat warrior in the gut and stopped in his tracks. The fat man stared up at him sternly for a moment as Amsthyn remained frozen, watching the other man¡¯s reaction. The fat man erupted into laughter and Amsthyn did as well while giving the fat warrior a light slap on the chest.


    Ghelta and Ylethus stepped out of the warm and hearty atmosphere of the Leiggenskappf and into the chill air of the city, outside. Ylethus kept his hand on her shoulder as they slowly walked from the door. Ghelta looked up to Ishep in the sky and gave a long and thought-filled sigh.


    ¡°She wasn¡¯t well a few hours ago.¡± Ghelta slumped her shoulders slightly and began to gnaw at her bottom lip. ¡°It must be a hard delivery. She crooned from her kennel and when I went to check on her, she snapped at me.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s probably just her instincts.¡± Ylethus moved his hand and clamped his meaty fingers around the back of Ghelta¡¯s neck to comfort her. ¡°I¡¯ve seen several childbirths over my life, Ghelta. One that I was responsible for, several that the warriors under me wanted me to be present for, and one right on the field of battle.¡± He rolled his eyes at the last memory and quietly chuckled to himself. ¡°Bringing life into this world is the same as taking a life from it; it¡¯s a bloody, painful, and extremely scary process. She probably just wanted you to leave her be.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s hard to do.¡± Ghelta looked up to Ylethus as the continued to walk toward the kennels. Her ice-blue eyes shone full with the star-filled and moon-haunted light from the heavens above. ¡°Just as you think of your warriors as your children, I see the wolves I take care of the same way. I can¡¯t stand when they¡¯re in pain or scared.¡±


    ¡°As you say, those wolves are like my warriors-¡± Ylethus pulled Ghelta close to his side and looked off to one of the jutting cliffs above. ¡°You care for them, but they still have to handle their own lives. We use those wolves for hunts, just as I use my warriors for war, you have to trust that they know what is best for themselves. There are times when you have to cut the mother¡¯s cord and let them fend for themselves.¡± He returned his gaze to Ghelta as she stared down at the ground. He shook her neck softly to get her to look up at him.


    ¡°I know.¡± She crossed her arms over her chest and ceased her gnawing on her bottom lip. ¡°I just want her to be okay. She¡¯s been mine since she was a pup. Birth is such a scary thing.¡± Her words became choppy as she got lost in her own head.


    ¡°Yes, and perhaps one day you will have to experience it.¡± Ylethus gave a sardonic laugh that was abruptly cut off by a punch from Ghelta in the side. ¡°What? One more year and I¡¯ll have to grant your Kollishi Thaulp to make you an adult. Surely you¡¯ve had your eye on one of the boys in the city by now.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s this? Is Ghelta pregnant, too?¡± The loud and boisterous voice came from Amsthyn and he sprinted up behind them. He still held his tankard in one hand, with a drumstick of meat dangling between his fingers. With his free hand, he reached out to ruffle Ghelta¡¯s crimson locks.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Ghelta shot a menacing glance over to Amsthyn as he caught pace beside her. ¡°I¡¯m with child, and it¡¯s your¡¯s, Amsthyn.¡± Her full lips spread into a savage grin that let the tips of her canine teeth peek out over her bottom lip. She shot her head to the other side to look up at Ylethus. ¡°He took my innocence. Now I¡¯ll be fat with his spawn in short order.¡±


    Amsthyn¡¯s face contorted with confusion as he nibbled on his drumstick. He looked down to Ghelta and then up to Ylethus. As he lowered his food from his face, he noticed the hulking warrior beside him fluidly pull one of his jhulken-blades from his back and level it over Ghelta¡¯s head to point at his face.


    ¡°If this is correct, Amsthyn, you have a choice; your life or your manhood. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll sever the balls quickly, but I might have to slowly hack off the rest.¡± Ylethus narrowed his eyes and lifted his upper lip into a snarl. He kept his blade leveled at Amsthyn¡¯s face and only an inch from his nose. Both watched each other silently and cautiously for several moments.


    ¡°Hah!¡± Amsthyn broke eye contact first and took a long swig from his tankard. He eyed the drumstick in his hand and then looked over to Ghelta. He took her in from head to toe and then leaned back to look at her rump. ¡°I couldn¡¯t have. I wouldn¡¯t.¡± He leaned forward and crouched slightly to look Ghelta in the face. ¡°Look at her. I could hardly get it up. She¡¯s too young for starters, and I like my women to have more curves. I wouldn¡¯t be interested.¡± He shook his head vehemently and went back to nibbling on his drumstick. ¡°-Even if I was in a drunken stupor and the gods had cleansed the world of everyone be her and I.¡± He gave a cruel laugh. ¡°Sorry, little lady, but you can still keep dreaming.¡±


    Ghelta turned her right foot out and swiveled her hips. With one quick motion, she lifted her left leg up high, bent her knee, and turned to kick the tankard and drumstick from Amsthyn¡¯s hand. She kept her leg raised up with her foot higher than her head, using her leg to bar him from moving forward. Amsthyn looked despondently at the food as it hit the ground, then slumped his posture to sulk.


    ¡°Perfectly good meat and ale gone to waste.¡± He turned his head back to Ghelta. He slowly raised up his hand, placing a single index finger on the toe of Ghelta¡¯s boot, then began to push her leg down. She let her foot drop back to the ground. ¡°I was enjoying those.¡± He leaned in and scowled at Ghelta for a moment. As quickly as his mood went sour, it jumped back to playfulness as he hopped behind Ghelta and grabbed her by the head. He put her in a headlock beneath one of his arms and started to ruffle up her hair with his free hand.


    Ylethus spun his blade in his hand and sheathed it as easily as he had freed it. He gave a snort and continued walking toward the kennels. He could trust his men, and although it was plain that he disliked Amsthyn¡¯s joke, he also showed how much he enjoyed watching Ghelta squirm. The warriors beneath him knew that he would protect them all if he could, but they also knew the ferocity he would protect his adopted daughter. They called him the ¡®Mother Bear¡¯ when it came to Ghelta and they were right.


    Ghelta and Amsthyn wrestled for a few moments and then easily caught up to Ylethus. They walked the rest of the way to the kennels in silence. Ylethus turned several times to look at Ghelta and each time he could see the mounting concern on her face as she looked back up to him. Amsthyn tried once more to bring levity to the walk by lightly slapping Ghelta on the back of the head, but it didn¡¯t work.


    A long and painful howl came from the large wooden building they were walking towards. As soon as sound began, Ghelta ripped herself away from Ylethus and Amsthyn to sprint head-long to the door. She pulled the door open with enough force that it might rip from its hinges and she ran into the darkness inside. Ylethus and Amsthyn looked at each other for a moment and followed after.


    Ghelta pushed her way though several hallways and then stopped near the exposed back of the building. She stopped at a doorway and slowly placed her hand on it. She bit her lip again and took several heavy breaths. She looked up to see Ylethus and Amsthyn make their way to her.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re concerned, but don¡¯t coddle her. Most wolves want to be left alone with they give birth.¡± Ylethus began to trip over his own words as he placed one of his hands over Ghelta¡¯s. His hand easily dwarfed hers that was pressed against the door. Her other hand was white-knuckled as she gripped the metal knob.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Ghelta held her stance for several moments, she looked up to Ylethus for some time and then darted her eyes over to Amsthyn. The blonde warrior returned her look with a shrug of his shoulders and a sheepish grin. She inhaled sharply and then turned the knob, pressing against the door slowly to enter the room.


    The room beyond was dark save for some of Ishep¡¯s light making its way in between the overhanging roof and the half-wall that served as the wolf pen. Cool breezes flowed over the half-walls and made the open gate at the far end of the room swing back and forth with a quiet creaking. Ghelta¡¯s eyes darted across the straw-strewn ground to each corner before finally resting on a shadowed form curled up in the farthest recesses.


    Ghelta slowly stepped into the kennel and lowered down into a crouch, she let her fingers trail on the ground and then slowly lifted her hands with palms held up as she neared the shadow. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she could see Skartha laid out on a pile of straw. She reached out to the wolf and let her other hand touch the ground. She could feel wetness beneath her fingers and stopped.


    As Ghelta looked at her fingers, she could see the dark blackness of blood in the dark. She looked down to see four small masses coated in glistening mucus among a huge pool of blood. The four bodies were each smaller than the size of Ghelta¡¯s fist. She rummaged in the blood for a moment and then looked back to Ylethus who had entered the kennel behind her.


    ¡°I can¡¯t find any remains of the sac and I can¡¯t find the placenta.¡± She took a step closer to Skartha and placed a hand on the wolf¡¯s flank. ¡°I don¡¯t know if she ate it already.¡± She leaned forward watching two extremely slow puffs of breath rise up from the wolf¡¯s mouth and into the night¡¯s air.


    Ghelta lightly touched the wolf and then pressed one of her hands to Skartha¡¯s chest. She could feel the wolf give only a single belabored breath. Her face furrowed in concern and then she pivoted on her toes to reach over to the four masses on the ground.


    She seized up one of the bloody bodies and held it between her hands. The blood that coated the tiny little form had turned cold. She felt it in her fingers, waiting to feel a breath or heartbeat come from it. After several moments she raised the little body towards Skartha¡¯s face. The wolf-mother stared at it for several moments and then turned her head away slowly. She let her head slump into some straw nearby and gave another long, wheezy breath.


    ¡°I think this one is stillborn.¡± Ghelta let one of her long legs pull out from her body and she moved along with it back to the small bodies strewn near the rump of the wolf. She still held the small lump in her hands and gently set it down in some straw.


    She snatched up another body and felt it in her fingers. The body was cold and lifeless. She tried to massage the pup¡¯s chest and she raised it up to her face. After several moments she gave a short and sad sigh and placed the little body next to the other. In short order, she made her way through all of the pups.


    ¡°None of them are breathing. I can¡¯t feel a heartbeat from any of them.¡± Ghelta began to choke on her words and feel tears filling up her eyes. She looked back to Ylethus pleadingly. ¡°I don¡¯t understand, how could all of them be stillborn?¡±


    Ghelta watched as Amsthyn stepped from behind Ylethus and lowered himself into a crouch next to her. He reached out a hand toward Skartha and stopped himself to look back to Ghelta for permission. She nodded and he began to feel the wolf¡¯s chest and around her neck. He held his hands for several moments and then let two of his fingers fall into the blood pool near the flank of the wolf.


    ¡°The birth was complicated, somehow.¡± Amsthyn choked on his words as well. He let his eyes fall to the ground. ¡°Something was wrong and she¡¯s bleeding out. I don¡¯t think she has much longer.¡± He lifted his eyes to Ghelta and reached out to grab her hand. ¡°You need to be here with her and say your goodbyes. Olthenna will be upon her soon.¡±


    Ghelta clenched her fingers around Amsthyn¡¯s hand and looked at him with tear-filled eyes. She could see the same tears in his eyes as well. He took two hopping steps backward and pulled on her arm with his to guide her to the wolf. Ghelta followed and felt Amsthyn¡¯s grip release as he placed her hand on Skartha¡¯s neck.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry.¡± Amsthyn whispered in Ghelta¡¯s ear and sniffed back some moisture. ¡°It¡¯s my fault because it was my wolf-¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Ghelta looked back to Amsthyn and shook her head. She leaned forward and clutched Skartha around her chest. ¡°Don¡¯t you apologize for anything.¡± She turned and began to run her fingers through the blood-matted fur of her pet. ¡°You got to be a mother, Skartha. Sadly, Tolesh didn¡¯t have any souls to spare for your pups.¡± She began to openly sob as she ran her hand over the wolf¡¯s neck.


    Ghelta laid her head on Skartha¡¯s chest and held her tightly. She could hear the slow and ponderous breaths coming from the wolf. She could hear the space between heartbeats grow with each breath. Skartha¡¯s body was growing colder by the moment as her life¡¯s blood was pooling beneath her. The wolf¡¯s eyes looked up at her and then she shifted slightly to place her muzzle into Ghelta¡¯s chest.


    The moments stretched on as Ghelta continued to sob over her dying wolf. The breaths shortened and the heartbeats fell away into silence. Ghelta continued to run her fingers over Skartha¡¯s fur.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be with Olthenna. She¡¯ll take good care of you. When my time is done here, I¡¯ll look for you in the Lands of Shadow.¡± Ghelta lifted Skartha¡¯s muzzle up in her hand. She could see the wolf¡¯s eyes close after she spoke her words. The wolf gave one last seizure of life as her leg lifted and dropped twice, then she was gone.


    Ghelta held her close for several more moments and then turned to look back at Ylethus. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she could see the glow of the moon on the moisture of her face. She looked to Ylethus and then to Amsthyn who stood with his head in his hands.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be okay. Please-¡± She felt her voice give way. ¡°I just need some time alone.¡±


    Amsthyn let his hands drop and looked at Ghelta. He gave a nod and turned to place a hand on Ylethus¡¯ arm. Ylethus looked from Ghelta to the warrior beside him and back. Ylethus nodded and left with Amsthyn behind him. The kennel door swung open and closed with a creak and then a bang. With the two warriors gone, the silence in the kennels began to linger and feel haunted.


    Ghelta ran her hands through Skartha¡¯s fur once more and laid the wolf¡¯s head down on some straw. She leaned back and allowed herself to sit in the pool of blood. She reached over to snatch up the four little bodies nearby in a desperate last check to see if they were alive. She felt each one and knew they were just as dead as Skartha was now.


    She held the little bodies in her lap as she looked up to Ishep in the sky. She wanted to be angry at what had happened. She wanted to pull that moon from the sky and set it on fire. She wanted to make someone or something pay for the lives that were taken away this night. Sadly, there was nothing she could do and there was no one to blame.


    This wasn¡¯t a situation that she was used to as someone who was training to become a warrior. None of her skills with weapons could bring back what was dead. There was no foe to vanquish save for Olthenna, the goddess of death, but Ghelta was hardly a match for her. She desperately wanted to be mad at something, but she couldn¡¯t be mad at all. The only thing inside of her was the hollow feeling of sorrow and helplessness that she had grown to hate.


    She lifted up and examined each of the pups in her lap and then set their little bodies next to Skartha¡¯s. Each one was beautiful in their own way. Beneath the blood and the mucus, they had down-like fur in completely unique patterns. Each of their little bodies were curled into little balls. Each had tiny little faces, tiny little legs, tiny little tails, and tiny little ears. They seemed complete in every way save for the spark of life.


    When the last was placed down, Ghelta lowered her face into her blood-coated hands and began to quietly cry. More than the loss of her companion and her pups, she felt a strange kinship to this situation. There was something that pulled at and resounded with her spirit. She began to wonder if it was her own origins in this world that was similar. Ylethus had told her that her mother had died when she was still an infant. She had no memories of her that she could recall. The feeling of motherhood was something alien to her.


    As she began to unpack the thoughts in her head and feel the tears running down her cheeks once more, she was pulled away from her sorrow by a strange sound. She stopped and lifted her head for a moment and perked up her ears. Immediately another muffled and barely audible noise came from the kennel around her. The noise sounded like a single breath or the quiet mewling of some animal.


    Ghelta looked ahead and saw Skartha¡¯s tail move slightly and one of her legs begin to quiver. Joy and confusion shot through her mind like lightning bolts as she looked over at Skartha¡¯s face. She didn¡¯t know how, but maybe Olthenna had forgotten to take her soul away. Maybe Skartha was still alive.


    She grabbed the wolf¡¯s face and ran her fingers over her ear. She pressed her head against the wolf¡¯s chest but couldn¡¯t hear anything. The body was cold and lifeless, but as she looked back to the wolf¡¯s flank she could see another quiver of life. A moment more and another quiet sound bubbled up from the body.


    Ghelta pulled away and looked at the wolf¡¯s rump, lifting up the tail and then the leg. She watched carefully as she could see something dark pressing it¡¯s way out of Skartha¡¯s nether regions. One more mewling bubbled up and Ghelta jumped. She could see the lump squirming around trying to make its way free from the body. Ghelta pressed on the wolf¡¯s abdomen and began to massage the lump free.


    After some squeezing and fury, the little mass popped free and began to roll down a pile of straw to Ghelta¡¯s foot. She watched in amazement as the little thing wobbled for a moment and then raised its tiny little head. She let curses and expletives of amazement roll of her tongue as she carefully lifted up the little body in her hands.


    One more mewling breath came from the pup as she lifted it up to examine it. She could see the blood-covered, blind eyes on its face as sit moved its neck back and forth. Tiny little paws stretched out and grasped at her fingers. She knew it was alive and it was responding to her touch. Tears overflowed once more as she cupped the little creature between her hands. Her eyes darted from it to the corners of the room, searching for something that she couldn¡¯t find.


    ¡°You stay right here and I¡¯ll find you a blanket or something.¡± She knew that newborn pups were blind and deaf, but she was so happy that it was alive that she didn¡¯t care. She laid the pup down near the foot of Skartha and got up to her feet. She looked down at the pup and then around the kennel once more. ¡°Where in Gehemol did I put that blanket?¡±


    Ghelta reached into the straw in the corners of the kennel to search for the blanket she sought. Wherever she checked, there was nothing to be found. She began to grow frantic and tempestuous, taking some frustration out by kicking the gate nearby. She knew she had laid some blankets in here before she ran to fetch Ylethus. There was no way that they could have vanished in such a short period of time.


    She looked up to the sky above and clenched her fists in rage. She gave one more temperamental kick to the kennel wall nearby where she stood and then heard the sound of cloth falling into the straw near her feet. She looked over at it and saw a blanket had fallen down. She looked up and noticed two other blankets that she had draped over the kennel wall. Immediately she felt warmth fill her cheeks and a rush of calm spread through her body.


    ¡°I¡¯m a bloody idiot, aren¡¯t I?¡± She snatched up the blanket and walked back across the kennel to the body of Skartha. She sat back down in the blood pool and draped the blanket over her arm. She looked to where she had dropped the pup, but the little wolf was no longer there.


    She rummaged in the straw nearby but couldn¡¯t find the pup. She leaned back and then heard a tiny sucking sound coming from Skartha¡¯s body. She looked over and saw the pup nuzzling up to the dead wolf¡¯s utter and suckling upon the nearest teat.


    ¡°Oh shit.¡± Ghelta watched as the pup hungrily pawed and nuzzled at the Skartha¡¯s body while suckling. The realization tore through her mind that beyond what cold and dead nourishment her old companion had in her corpse, there was no milk that the pup would need. Her mind began to wheel and churn with ideas as she continued to watch the pup drink what was left.


    With a click, she realized that she could get some milk from the brodenskappf. She loathed the thought of having to return to that place, but it was nearby and they would have some sort of nourishment for the pup. She knew from her childhood that the Broden-mother and several of the Broden-nurses would squeeze some of their extra productions and keep it in cold canisters for some of the infants. The thought of women milking themselves and collecting it made Ghelta wince, but it was the only place she knew of that would have what this pup needed.


    Ghelta looked at Skartha¡¯s face once more and then leaned in over the pup to press her hands upon the dead wolf¡¯s utter. She shook her head at the thought but steeled her nerves knowing what she must do to keep this fragile, little life going. She lowered her face to one of Skartha¡¯s teats and began to suckle on it while massaging the utter. Her mouth soon filled up with cold milk. She wanted to spit it out, but she kept going and using her tongue and throat to keep the milk in her mouth.


    Once she had enough, she choked for a moment but managed to keep it all in her mouth. She pulled away, looking once more at Skartha¡¯s face and then got to her feet. She didn¡¯t want to have to pull the poor pup away, but she couldn¡¯t leave it here while she went to retrieve the milk from the brodenskappf.


    She leaned in to the pup and lifted her pinky finger over the pup¡¯s nose. She pressed her face to her palm and let a bit of the milk in her mouth dribble over her lip and down her hand to her finger. She nuzzled the pup once and the pup pulled away from Skartha¡¯s teat to suckle on her finger. After this, she snatched the little creature up in her hands and wrapped it in a blanket with her free hand.


    She was able to rub some of the blood and grime away from the pup and then roll it up in the blanket. She kept her finger in the pup¡¯s mouth, feeling tiny lips tugging at her flesh. She placed the rolled up wolf down the front of her shirt between her breasts. She worried it might slip, so with her free hand she unbuckled the lower belt from her scabbard ¡ª that secured it to her leg ¡ª and re-buckled it around her chest.


    With a shake of her body as she hopped from heel-to-toe, she could see that the pup was secure in its little nest against her body. She continued to dribble small amounts of milk from her mouth, letting it gather in drops around her pinky to feed the hungry wolf. She gave a long sigh of relief and left the kennel.


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    Version 4.0.01


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 Episode II - A Cliff-top Duel IV - II

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    It only took several minutes for her to walk to the brodenskappf and with some luck, she arrived long after the children and their care-givers had gone to sleep. The collection of lodges was eerily quiet and devoid of any light from within.


    It had been years since Ghelta had been back to the brodenskappf. Ylethus had made sure to keep her as far away from it as possible after her incident with the chieftain¡¯s son. She had walked by it several times in recent years, usually while performing an errand, and had always seen it bustling with activity. The same Broden-mother and Skaell-father watched over the children, despite their advancing years, while many younger broden-nurses had come in to help in whatever way they could.


    Ghelta watched her footsteps as she made her way into the center of the area and made sure her pinky was still firmly in the lips of her pup so that it wouldn¡¯t make any more mewling noises. She looked to the smoldering remains of a rock-ringed bonfire a dozen yards from the main dwellings for the children. Judging by the smoke and fading embers, all the members of the broden had retired hours ago to be lost in whatever dreams Sethos had in store for them. She just hoped that Skaell-father Jhulmin snored as deeply as he did when she stayed there so that she might not wake him up.


    She crossed the yard and made her way to a crack in the ground that was covered over with aged and withered wood. As her feet lightly padded over the dusty rock, she looked up from her steps to see the same familiar boulder ahead of her. It was the same perch she had sat on for most of her time in the broden as she watched the bustling activity of Alsira Thaenat below. The stone seemed far smaller than she remembered it in her youth and now that she took one more look around the area, she realized the whole area was smaller than she remembered.


    The fragility of her memories began to gnaw at the back of her mind and the emotions that welled up inside of her heart made her feel sick to her stomach. She shook the thoughts from her head and refocused her intention on the wooden trapdoor next to her feet. She crouched down and slowly wiped the sand from atop it until she could shove her fingers into a small hole in the wood and pop the door open.


    With the trapdoor opened up, Ghelta gave one last look around the area to make sure no interlopers were present and then lowered herself backward down a small ladder. One of her hands raised to protect the head of the pup strapped to her chest while the other let her balance as she took several steps down into the dark. This was the storage area that Jhulmin had always kept well-stocked for every possible event.


    This underground space was almost pitch black and Ghelta could feel the tugging of spider¡¯s webs upon her hair. She knew that Jhulmin kept down here some extra bottles and hand-made nipples for several of the children that refused to be breastfed by the broden-mother or one of the nurses. Trying to find them in the dark, or more likely not break something while she was down here, seemed an insurmountable task. She dare not light a candle to guide her way, lest someone notice it from above.


    Ghelta held onto the little pup at her chest with one of her hands, feeling her fingers grip around the little bundle of towels and fur. She closed her eyes and began to focus on her breathing. She could feel the pup¡¯s heartbeat and her own as both seemed to slow and match in speed.


    She didn¡¯t want to draw upon some of the tricks she had learned since the incident at the broden when she was younger, but she had to draw upon one of those tricks in this moment. Ylethus had caught her several times and each time he had screamed at her with anger and fear. He made her promise to never do such, ¡°dark magickal shit,¡± ever again. He always dragged her to go see Grandmaster Toulam who would examine her from head to toe and then perform strange rituals over her. Each time the old man did so, Ghelta found it harder and harder to do the little tricks that she had learned.


    One such trick was something she called, ¡®the Eyes of the Wolf,¡¯ and she was focusing her energy to do so at this moment. Every time she used one of these powers, she felt a darkness slip inside of her and it frightened her to her core. She felt the pup continue to suckle at her finger, and her other hand holding the little creature firmly. She hoped that the joy and determination she felt towards this little life might keep the darkness at bay, while she drew upon her powers to help it survive.


    As Ghelta continued to monitor her breathing, she could feel the tendrils of shadow come out from the darkness around her and caress her flesh. Several of the tendrils burrowed deeply into her and caused the tiny hairs on her arms to stand on end. She could feel the heartbeat of the pup start to race as its instincts flared to life. She tried to fight the darkness by reaching out to the pup¡¯s energy and allowing it to suffuse her own. A battle of wills tore through her center until finally a crackling feeling from deep within allowed her to realize she had won.


    She opened her eyes and could feel the energy of the room around her rippling under her attention. The room was still dark, but she could make out the outlines of objects around her as if everything was cast in a dim, indigo light. As her eyes adjusted to these new perceptions, she could make out rows of shelves around her, some with folded cloth and others with small jars of preserves. She turned her head to the other wall and could see several more shelves holding miscellaneous utensils, tools, and small baubles.


    She took several steps further into the dark and after about four strides she could feel the floor slope and turn slightly to the left. She lifted her left hand from the pup to guide herself by lightly touching several of the shelves. Her sense of sight was heightened, but she could only make out shifting shadows and outlines if there was agape in her attention she might trip over some object on the ground, or walk straight into a set of shelves.


    Ghelta closed her eyes once more and focused more of the energies inside of her, as she did so she could feel a tendril snap at her consciousness like a flurry of a limb from some testing predator. The tendrils were wrapping around her, wanting to get inside and take over. One more lash came at her and tried to steal her focus away but she held strong despite. She tried to remember what the bottles looked like from her childhood and manifest those thoughts from memory into reality.


    She opened her eyes once more and could see a shifting mass of purple off to her right. She knelt down to look at one of the lower shelves near her waist and she could see the bottles stacked there. A shimmering cloud of purple energy clung to the outlines of the objects and as she reached for them, the haze faded away. She could feel several dozen glass bottles neatly stacked around her hand. She moved her hand up to the next shelf and could feel several of the fake nipples strewn about in a pile.


    Quickly and as quietly as she could, she snatched up three of the glass bottles and shoved them under her tunic beside the body of the pup. She reached out for the fake nipples and placed three of them into one of her shorts pockets. She gave a quick look around her in the dark, more out of habit than anything else, to make sure no one was around her and then began to make her way back to the ladder.


    The wooden rungs of the ladder felt warm and dusty as Ghelta¡¯s left hand dropped from one to another. The pup at her chest began to wiggle slightly and made a tiny squeak of a noise. In response, Ghelta spat some more of the milk in her mouth into the palm of her hand and let it dribble down to the pinky she returned to the pup¡¯s mouth. It was growing painful on her jaws and throat to keep the milk held there for so long, but she had to keep going until she could get out of the broden with her stolen prizes.


    As the little wolf began to suckle greedily once more, she tried to shake the darkness from her eyes. She focused her breathing and let the energy inside of her disperse. She closed her eyes for a moment and imagined the tendrils of snapping darkness receding away from her. She did as Grandmaster Toulam had taught her to do when she was younger and focused on a ball of white light growing up from inside of her as if warding off or banishing the darkness away. Slowly, she started to feel more like herself as she took two long and deep breaths.


    She opened her eyes to see only darkness and the dim light of the stars above coming in from the open trapdoor. Relief and calm spread over her consciousness and then gave way to determination. She grabbed the nearest rung and pushed herself up, lifting one foot over the other to get to the top of the ladder.


    Once Ghelta was able to peek her head over the ground, she noticed a flurry of motion and quickly dropped her head down. It took her a moment to realize what she had seen as adrenaline coursed through her veins. She had seen the wooden door to one of the lodges open up and a figure stumble out into the night. Ghelta bit her lower lip and pressed herself against the ladder.


    Slowly, she raised just enough of her head past the hole to see what was beyond. She looked at the wooden door that had been slammed open and was now creaking its way shut once more. Her eyes darted to and fro, covering different points around the lodge until they fixed themselves on a woman¡¯s body as she made her way from the door. The woman was stumbling as if she were still half-asleep, yet her pace was brisk as she sent herself around the side of the lodge and toward a small shack a few yards to the east.


    The woman wore the leather shoulder-guards and bandoleers that signified herself as one of the broden-nurses. Below these items of station, she wore a white linen gown that she had hiked up to above her waist. Below the tailings of her gown was nothing more than the exposed flesh of her legs, crotch, and buttocks for all to see, that is if there were anyone else other than Ghelta awake at this hour.


    The broden-nurse made her way to the shack and threw open the door in a rush, she still held her gown hiked up and turned around to face where Ghelta remained crouched. Panic tore through Ghelta¡¯s senses and she held her breath, waiting to be found. The woman seemed unconcerned as she lowered herself down upon a seat and let her eyes close. A look of contentment spread across her face and Ghelta realized why the woman was awake in the middle of the night.


    Ghelta lowered her head below the ground and leaned against the ladder while sighing under her breath. She gave the woman, who hadn¡¯t shut the privy door in her haste, a moment of privacy as she finished her deed. Each moment that went by was counted in Ghelta¡¯s mind as her nerves continued to be wracked at the possibility of being discovered.


    She twisted slightly on the ladder and lowered her gaze to the bundle of towel and fur next to her chest. The pup had pulled away from her finger and raised its tiny head up. Ghelta knew that all newborn pups were blind and deaf for several days after birth, but it almost seemed like the little creature was looking up at her. The pup opened its mouth and a tiny little sound came out, more like a whisper than the earlier mewling it was doing.


    ¡°Shh.¡± Ghelta whispered to the deaf pup as if it could hear her words. Maybe it could feel the vibrations in her chest, along with her heartbeat. ¡°We¡¯ll be out of here soon. Once this bint wipes her ass and gets back into bed, I¡¯ll get you some milk for tomorrow.¡± She ran her hand along the down-like fur atop the wolf¡¯s head. It nuzzled back against her fingertips and gave another whispered sound.


    Ghelta remained quiet, pressed against the ladder, and lightly scratching behind the ears of the pup until she heard a slamming of wood against wood. She turned on the ladder and slowly raised herself up to the very edge of the ground. Ahead she could see the same nurse, her gown dropped to flowing around her ankles, make her way from the privy to her dormitory. The nurse navigated her way with bleary eyes, profuse yawns, and the occasional scratching at her rump until she reached the door to her sleeping area. With another loud bang, she threw open the door and entered the darkness within, letting the door slowly creak back into place behind her.


    Remaining motionless, holding her breath, for several moments hoping that the broden-nurse would make her way to her bed and drift back to sleep easily. She began to wonder if the commotion had woken up any other members of the broden, or any of the sensitive children. She remembered back to her memories of being ditched with this group and knew it would be next to impossible for the nurse¡¯s slamming of doors to awaken anyone. The children were often shoved into crowded sleeping chambers where they would have to endure each other¡¯s snores and tumbles. She knew that most of the nurses and attendants were often exhausted after a day caring for the children. A few moments more and she found the daring to pull herself from the hole and get back to the rocky plateau above.


    She lowered herself into a crouch and snatched up the trapdoor. As she closed the worn wood down over the hole, she pressed one of her feet against the pivoting-end to quiet any creaks or groans from the rusted hinges. Once she felt it was securely in place, she brushed some sand and dirt over it while smearing her footprints. She made her way backward from the door, occasionally looking behind her to make sure no one was there, and then got up to jump away.


    All that was left now was to snatch up some milk for the pup. She had doubts about using the stored milk that the broden-mother gathered for the infants, but it was the only source she could get at. She remembered back to those few months that Ylethus had abandoned her here as a child and the location of where the broden-mother kept the stored milk dawned on her. She had a memory of that drooling, cross-eyed fool, Paulk, getting in trouble after sneaking into the broden-mother¡¯s quarters. Despite being far too old for it, he had a proclivity towards drinking the stored milk reserves.


    Ghelta quietly moved like the wind towards the broden-mother¡¯s quarters while checking every few moments that no one was watching her movements. She reached the side of the stucco hut and raised herself slowly to peer through the open window. Her hands caught the frame and she lifted herself to peek through the open wooden shutters. There was no glass in the window to distort her sight.


    Inside, she could see the plump and aged broden-mother laying on a fine mattress at the far end of the hut. She laid splayed out, with only a silk sheet covering the lower part of her body. She snored loudly, and with each pitched, noise-some breath, a necklace of bone clacked between her massive bosoms. The woman¡¯s clothes and dress of station were draped over a nearby wooden chair beside a small table. Strewn about the table and haphazardly piled on a small shelf anchored into the stucco wall were numerous books on herbs, husbandry, and some small tomes of hedge magick.


    Ghelta¡¯s eyes slid over the room and took in all of its contents until she had to stand on the tips of her toes to find what she sought. It was directly under the window sill that she found a small, lidded cauldron simmering above a brazier of smoldering coal. Hanging from a metal rung was a wooden ladle and a small towel insulated the handle on the cauldron¡¯s lid.


    Ghelta pushed herself up, shielding the pup strapped to her chest with a hand, and managed to get one of her long legs through the window. She let it limply hang there as she scooted her rump onto the sill. During this entire process, she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the immense, snoring set of breasts on the nearby bed.


    Leaning forward to snatch up the ladle from the nearby rung and giving a pat to the pup¡¯s head, she reached under her shirt to pull out the first of the bottles. She felt her left leg wander too close to the cauldron and pulled it back, almost causing her to topple over. Thankfully she secured the bottle between her thighs and snatched the top of the window sill before she fell and knocked the cauldron from its perch.


    She lifted the ladle up to her mouth and bit the handle tightly to secure it. She continued to pull out the other two bottles from beneath her shirt and set them between her thighs. Once this task was complete, she leaned forward, holding onto the pup so that it wouldn¡¯t fall, and snatched up the cauldron lid with a free hand. Every muscle in her body started to sing under the strain she held while balancing on the sill, holding onto the bottles, biting a ladle with her lips while holding the milk in her mouth back with her teeth, and lifting a heavy metal lid.


    The cauldron¡¯s lid popped up and she was able to gingerly slide it to the side of the wide-brimmed metal edge. She balanced it carefully by flexing out the toe of her boot to hold it in place. Once satisfied that it would not fall, she snatched the ladle from her mouth and dipped it into the warm milk below. With her other hand, she lifted the first of the bottles from the vice-like grip of her thighs and proceeded to pour the milk into it.


    She did this several more times until she was on the last ladle-full of milk that she needed for the third bottle. Once each was filled she pulled one of the fake nipples from her pocket to secure the top of the bottle. This was now the last one and she could finally be done with this place. She began to pour the last few bits into the third bottle when she felt a rustling and heard a mewling coming from her chest.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Ghelta didn¡¯t know if it was the smell of the warm milk or the feeling of warm steam coming up to rile up the pup. She thought that wolf pups were blind, deaf, and unable to smell, but something had caused it to stir. It had come to life in a writhing and noisy form between her bosoms causing her to drop the ladle in a panic.


    The only solution that came to mind was for her to shove her thumb into the pup¡¯s mewling mouth and lower her head to lightly bite the hackles behind the pup¡¯s head. Milk dribbled over her lips and onto the pup¡¯s head as it went quiet and stopped moving. She had seen mother wolves do this to stop fussing pups several times in the kennels. The success came at a cost, as Ghelta felt the contents of the third bottle spill down her leg.


    She kept her precarious perch for a few moments as her eyes focused back on the broden-mother laying upon her bed. The noise had caused her to stir and stop snoring. The heaving set of breasts jiggled once and then contorted as a small woman¡¯s head lifted up from the pillows. Her aged and weather-worn face looked more like leather than skin after all these years. Her eyes remained shut and her toothless mouth began shifting about in her face.


    ¡°Jhulmin, go to sleep!¡± The woman turned her head and lifted a flabby arm to bang on the far wall of the hut. ¡°Don¡¯t you wake me up, again, you prick!¡±


    Ghelta remained frozen as the rest of the bottle¡¯s contents dripped down her leg. She could feel one of the sealed bottles shift between her thighs, but she clenched all the more to keep it secure. She found herself silently praying to whatever god might be listening that she could get out of this situation without getting caught. She closed her eyes for a moment and took in a sharp breath through her nose.


    ¡°Oh shove it up your arse, you old bat!¡± The gruff and low voice of the Skaell-father erupted from the other side of the stucco wall. A bang came from that wall that sent one of the teetering books on the broden-mother¡¯s desk crashing to the floor.


    ¡°I¡¯ll suffocate you with my arse-¡± The broden-mother began cursing beneath her breath as she began to punch at one of her pillows with her hand and lay back down on her bed. She rolled over, causing the bed to groan as her bosoms flapped upon one another. The hefty woman finally settled into her new position.


    The moments stretched on and Ghelta felt like she was ready to give up, but then the broden-mother¡¯s snoring started up once more. She could feel her shoulders slump with relief. She let go of the pup¡¯s hackles and kissed its milk-coated head. With a few shifts of her weight, she was able to get control over her situation on the window-sill.


    She managed to finish up quickly and store the newly filled bottles back beneath her shirt. Afterward, it was easy enough to set the lid back upon the cauldron and place the ladle back upon it¡¯s rung. She shifted herself from the sill and fell back onto the dusty rock outside the hut.


    She didn¡¯t know how she managed to pull off the theft and not get caught. In her head, she thanked whatever god had given her the strength to get through this ordeal. She made her way cautiously out of the brodenskappf yard and with a quick jump over a wooden fence she was free at last.


    ¡°You are one demanding little sod, aren¡¯t you.¡± Ghelta whispered to the pup as she made her way back to the kennels. ¡°You almost got me caught. Don¡¯t do that again.¡± She rubbed the milk from the pup¡¯s fur with an edge of the towel bundle. She could feel the heft of the filled bottles around the pup and a sense of satisfaction made its way through her like warmth on a cold night.


    As she could see the shadow of the kennels come into view, sorrow began to gnaw away at the warmth she felt. Back there were the bodies of Skartha and her stillborn children. She was glad that one life was spared on this evening, but she still had to ensure that those who were lost could find some sort of peace.


    One of the most important tenets of the Alsiran people was that those who died must give back to their community. Whether it was fellow tribes-people or animals, all bodies must be used to their fullest before they were set to rest. In a place like the Jolash Plateau, where the ground was made of rock and sand, it was hard to find places to bury the dead. What could be harvested was, and then the remains were burned in funeral pyres so that their spirits could ascend up to the lands of the gods.


    Many families would keep the skulls of their fallen family members in their homes. Proud lineages would keep the skulls on display in a ceremony room next to the living area. Other members of the tribe thought of that custom as morbid and simply burned their family members while casting their ashes to the wind. No matter the way they honored the dead, each body must be treated and harvested with care.


    She would honor Skartha and her pups in the same fashion once she got back to the kennels. She would need to harvest Skartha¡¯s body for what she could use, such as furs, bone marrow, and a few of her ribs. She would boil her skull and place it in the ceremony chamber of the kennel along with Skartha¡¯s mother and Ylethus¡¯ old wolf. The pups would remain intact and have their bodies sent to whatever realm the wolves went to when they died.


    Ghelta looked down once more at the pup strapped to her chest. This one would be hers and she would raise it proudly. She understood what it was like to lose her mother and be abandoned as an orphan. She would not let Olthenna take this little wolf away from her. If she had to steal milk every night, she would do so. She would chew the pup¡¯s food once it got old enough, and she would teach it to hunt like a mother wolf would.


    She felt tears well up in her eyes once more as she kissed the top of the pup¡¯s head again. She felt the pup shift in the towel and she lifted a corner of the cloth to cover the pup¡¯s face. She knew the little creature was blind, but as a token action, she didn¡¯t want it to see what must be done to set its mother and siblings to rest.


    * * *


    ¡°Well, what kept you up all night?¡± Ylethus turned from the stew pot he had simmering over the hearth to see Ghelta as she entered the house with a slammed door behind her. He looked her over and smiled. ¡°You look like shit.¡±


    Ghelta tromped into the dining area of the house and set a dripping bag onto one of the chairs. She gave Ylethus a sideways glance as she pressed past him to grab a pitcher of water. She drank from it and walked over to a small basin near the kitchen and began to pour the water over her arms and hands. She began rubbing her hands together to get rid of some of the caked blood and ashes.


    ¡°I put Skartha and her pups to rest.¡± She looked up for a moment to see Ylethus lift a spoon from the stew to his lips. He gave a nod of approval and then turned to look at Ghelta. He pointed to the stew and Ghelta nodded back.


    ¡°I assumed as much, but what is that you have stuck between your tits?¡± He raised one of his bushy eyebrows and pointed the spoon towards Ghelta. ¡°Also, every time you move around I hear the jingling of glass. What did you steal?¡±


    Ghelta finished up with the water and poured it down a nearby drainage hole. She walked over to Ylethus and lifted the bundle from her chest with her left hand. She leaned over the table and unstrapped the belt around her midsection with her right hand. Once loosened, the three bottles fell into a heap on the table.


    ¡°This is the only surviving pup from Skartha¡¯s litter.¡± Once the bottles fell to a rest, Ghelta let the belt fall to the floor. She used both hands to hold the pup towards Ylethus. The corner of the towel fell away and a little pup nuzzled upwards.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be damned to Gehemol¡­¡± Ylethus let his words trail off as he leaned in to survey the little animal. ¡°I thought they were all stillborn.¡± He furrowed the features of his face as he placed the spoon back in the stew. ¡°You didn¡¯t do anything strange, did you?¡±


    ¡°Strange, like what?¡± Ghelta was honestly puzzled and pulled the little pup back from Ylethus. She shook her head and kept staring at Ylethus from different angles, trying to understand what he was saying.


    ¡°That dark magick shit I have to keep telling you not to use. I don¡¯t know how many times I¡¯ve had to get Toulam to purge that stuff from your mind and body.¡± He narrowed his eyes and lifted the towel to look at the pup. ¡°I don¡¯t need you raising the dead or some-such unholiness.¡±


    Ghelta pulled the pup back and looked angrily back at Ylethus. She let her bottom teeth jut out and scrape along her top lip. He had hit a nerve with her.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t raise it from the dead, okay?¡± Ghelta rolled her eyes and set the pup lightly on the table. She tugged at the corners of the bundle to make sure the pup was secure. ¡°This one was left inside of Skartha when the rest came out. I only found it when it had the strength to howl at me.¡±


    Ylethus took a step from the stew pot and lifted his sleeves up. He looked at the bundle and then lifted up the pup. ¡°So, what are you going to do now?¡± He prodded at the cloth with one of his meaty fingers and saw the little wolf nuzzle at him. His features immediately softened.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to raise it as my own.¡± Ghelta beamed proudly as she began to lift up and set down each of the bottles on the table. ¡°I¡¯ve stolen some milk to feed it.¡±


    ¡°Stolen from where, exactly?¡± Ylethus lifted his massive and bearded head to look at Ghelta. His eyes narrowed once more and he began to whistle from his nose as he took in sharp breaths.


    ¡°Well, none of the other wolves are pregnant right now, and I¡¯m certainly not capable.¡± She gestured to her chest and cocked her head to the side. ¡°So, I, uh-¡± She stammered over her words and then took in a sharp inhalation. ¡°I kind of stole it from the brodenskappf.¡±


    Ylethus seemed to deflate after hearing the words. He held the pup in one hand and began to pinch at the bridge of his nose with the other. ¡°You did what?¡±


    ¡°Oh, come on!¡± Ghelta pointed at the bottles on the table. ¡°It¡¯s leftover milk used for spoiled infants. I¡¯m only going to take a bit each day until the pup can be weaned. That old hag broden-mother probably just tosses it out every day, anyway.¡±


    Ylethus shook his head and continued to pinch his nose. ¡°You¡¯re stealing food from the gods-damned brodenskappf. That milk is specially treated for the infants who are sick or those who belong to important families. They put all kinds of concoctions and alchemical crap into that stuff. Some merchants even pay a high price to get a vial of it.¡±


    Ghelta scrunched her face and took a step back at the words. She remained quiet and let her features dance with confusion. She didn¡¯t know if Ylethus was making up what he said or if he was actually telling the truth.


    ¡°I¡¯m not lying, you little git.¡± He lowered his hand from his face and began to shake his head slowly. His beard ruffled and moved along with his large head. ¡°If a member of the broden catches you stealing that milk, you¡¯re done for. I don¡¯t mean execution, that would be too merciful.¡± He took a pause and made sure he had Ghelta¡¯s attention. ¡°Far worse, my dear. You¡¯d be expected to spend the next decade or two as a broden-nurse. Would you like to have mewling little bastards suckling on you all hours of the day? Would you enjoy having to wipe shit-smeared arses? Do you really want to go back to that place?¡±


    Ghelta¡¯s eyes went wide and her jaw went slack. The mere thought of having to become a broden-nurse was the closest thing she could think to real horror. She would rather be gutted alive on the fields of battle, or slowly ripped apart by a horde of blood-thirsty monsters. Anything but having to spend time being responsible for someone else¡¯s children.


    ¡°I see the horror in your eyes. I think the consequences of this are sinking in, right?¡± Ylethus gave a sardonic grin and then lowered his eyes back to the pup. ¡°I understand what you have to do to keep this little one alive.¡± He lifted the pup from the towels and held it up to examine the little creature. ¡°She¡¯s your responsibility now. All I can say, is-¡± He paused for a moment and looked back to Ghelta. ¡°Don¡¯t get caught.¡±


    Ghelta gave a single nod from across the table and took a seat in one of the chairs. Ylethus noticed the little pup gumming some strands of his beard and handed the little fur-ball back to Ghelta. She took up the pup in both hands and held it against her chest.


    ¡°So, have you figured out a name for her, yet?¡± Ylethus turned away to grab two wooden bowls in his hand. He snatched up the spoon and doled out a heaping serving of stew into the first bowl. He flourished the spoon like a chef might, taking amusement in his skill. He handed the first bowl across the table to Ghelta and lifted his eyebrows to emphasize his question.


    ¡°I was thinking-¡± Ghelta held the pup up to her eye-level and smiled. ¡°Khollta.¡±


    ¡°Queen of the Wolves.¡± Ylethus spooned out another heap of food into his own bowl and let the spoon fall back into the pot. He lifted a leg and straddled one of the chairs and lowered himself down to the table. ¡°A fitting name, if a bit uninspired.¡± He glowered at Ghelta for a moment and then softened his features into a sincere smile.


    Ghelta set the pup back into her tunic and snatched up her bowl, lifting it slowly to her lips. She watched Ylethus face for a moment as he continued to beam from across the table. He gave a nod to her and she slurped up some of her stew.


    ¡°It¡¯s a good name.¡± He lifted his own bowl to his lips and let his nostrils flare as he breathed in the smell of stewed meat and vegetables. ¡°A Wolf-Queen for a Warrior-Queen.¡± He chuckled and filled his mouth with food.


    * * *


    ¡°-Just as I told you that you must temper your strength, you must also show it openly.¡± Ylethus let his heavy foot slide across the rocky cliff-side as he readied his attacking stance. He brought his greatsword up to his eye level and stared over the blade at Ghelta. ¡°It is from our strength at arms that the members of our tribe gain their security.¡± He strained the boulder-sized muscles of his upper body as he pulled the guard of his sword past his face and then plunged it forward.


    Ghelta barely moved her head out of the way of the thrusting sword. The blade tore through the air in the space between Ghelta¡¯s neck and shoulder. She only had a moment to realize how close Ylethus had come to severing the artery in her neck. With a single downward swing, he could decapitate her easily. She struck his blade hard with the edge of her klaive, drawing the metal upward. She used the strength in her arms to keep the weighty blade far enough away that she might pull her head around it.


    ¡°We, as members of the Vhulkhovyr caste, are responsible for the safety of our tribe. We are the sword-arm and the blade that oftentimes must be sent to cast down those that would kill or rape our own people.¡± Ylethus pressed the blade down against Ghelta¡¯s for a mere moment and then relented. He drew his blade up and allowed the momentum to build into another swing. ¡°Ours is to live by the blade, to fall by the blade, and to ensure that others cannot cut down the people we love with their own. Each of us is expected to pay the ultimate sacrifice so that the innocent may live in peace.¡±


    He let his hands slip from the hilt of his sword as the momentum kept it aloft in the air. He snatched up the hilt with a different stance and brought the immense blade downward towards Ghelta¡¯s head. His eyes flared open and his froth began to build up from the corners of his howling mouth.


    Ghelta could see the light of the twin suns glint off of the blade as it came plummeting down upon her. Her instincts were to freeze up from fear but her training took over and without thinking her muscles were working hard to keep her alive. She swiveled her feet below her and let herself fall forward towards Ylethus¡¯ feet. As soon as she reached his boots she let go of her klaive and closed her eyes while splaying open her legs as far as they could stretch.


    Thunder echoed throughout the cliffs as Ylethus¡¯ blade struck and cleaved into the rock between Ghelta¡¯s legs. Following the thunder of splitting rock was a swell of wind that washed up Ghelta¡¯s back and made every inch of her flesh well with goosebumps. She took a moment to try and cleanse her mind of shock so that she might see if she was in pain from the blade sundering her flesh.


    The moments dragged on but Ghelta couldn¡¯t feel any pain rising up to her consciousness. She looked over her shoulder quickly and noticed Ylethus¡¯ sword buried halfway into the rock. The edge of the blade was no more than a hair¡¯s width from her crotch. She gave a relieved sigh and looked up to Ylethus who continued to stand above her.


    ¡°Many naive scholars I have talked with over the years have all told me that the world would be a better place if we all lived in peace.¡± He continued his lesson, oblivious of almost cutting his adopted daughter in twain. ¡°Such a sentiment is something worth wishing for but is not practical at all. As long as violence lives in the hearts of men we must use that threat of violence to hold greater depravities at bay.¡± He began to pull on his hilt to free his blade.


    Ghelta snatched up her klaive from between Ylethus¡¯ giant boots and pushed back until she could feel the edge of his blade against her rump. She coiled her legs around the sword as the giant warrior pulled his blade from the ground. Using Ylethus¡¯ strength to lift her up, she lowered her right leg down the blade to notch the top of her right boot into the sword¡¯s tip. She lifted up with the blade and was held aloft in front of Ylethus.


    He lifted her to his eye level and continued his monologue. ¡°A society bereft of those that are willing to die or kill to protect it and its values is a society that will fade away beneath conquering flames.¡± He narrowed his eyes at Ghelta and cocked his head to the side, seeing the odd position he found her in. ¡°Those same scholars, if they were as wise as the authors of the books they drown themselves in, would realize that the time for peace in this world is passed. All that exists in the heart of humanity is violence, now. It is our job to keep those violent wolves from our doorsteps so that the future generations may know some semblance of the peace they lost long ago.¡±


    Ghelta felt her dry lips spread into a painful smile as she focused on Ylethus¡¯ puzzled look. She struck out with her klaive, thrusting it over her arm to cut through Ylethus¡¯ beard. She could feel the blade snag on some of his flesh by his neck. His eyes went wide with shock and rage as his mouth opened up with a silent yell.


    Ylethus swept his sword hard to the right and then allowed it to carry over to the left. He let his hands go of the hilt, letting the weight of the blade and Ghelta attached to it, carry it toward the cliff-side. Ghelta let go of the blade with her legs and reached downward with her klaive to drag its tip across the ground.


    Narrowly, she was able to slow herself and the sword down before she went sailing over the cliff. She felt her legs sweep over the edge as her klaive dug into a rock to hold her in place. She managed to scramble up to her feet and hold herself in a crouched stance on the very edge.


    She looked around her and couldn¡¯t see Ylethus¡¯ sword anywhere. She leaned over her shoulder to look down the cliff-side and saw the glinting blade falling to the rock-strewn sands far below. Her eyes shot back up to Ylethus and every muscle in her body tensed as she prepared for the giant warrior¡¯s rage.


    Ylethus lifted a hand from the side of his neck and displayed it out in front of him. There was only a small dribble of blood on his fingers. A cruel smile spread across his face and he lifted his chin in the air in defiance.


    ¡°I think you¡¯ve gotten the point.¡± Ylethus took a single step toward Ghelta and pointed his bloody finger at her. He curled his outstretched hand into a fist. ¡°Now for the next lesson. One you should be prepared to learn after striking your Vhollen. The lesson of courage.¡± Ylethus lowered his shoulders and began to kick at the ground. With a thunderous howl of rage, he tore forward into an unarmed charge straight at Ghelta upon the cliff¡¯s edge.


    <hr>


    Version 4.0.01


    <hr>

 Episode II - A Cliff-top Duel V

    <hr>


    The night winds were beginning to kick up into a slowly churning sandstorm. The sanguine glow of Celanna above cast the sands below in shades of blood and rust. Beyond the Goddess of Blood on the horizon, the double-slitted eye of Vorthyl tore the sky in half. The hypnotizing twin rivers of stars and glowing celestial clouds was slowly being engulfed by the kicked up sands that were blowing in from the southern lands.


    Despite the wind, the rocky lands of the Jolash Plateau remained still and devoid of activity. There were no howls of wolves as they sung to each other, yells from laborers working on stones into the night, or the hissing of snakes as the sought out their next meal. The entire plateau seemed to be as silent and as eerily haunted as a grave-site.


    Ghelta remained perched on her favorite rock as she watched the stillness of the night before her. The blowing sands were growing bothersome so she lifted the hood on her black robes with a free hand. Her other hand clutched a long spear whose tip was buried far below her perch. Above her robes, she wore her leather armor that signified her membership in the Vhulkhovyr caste.


    After securing her hood, she proceeded to dust the sand from the wolf¡¯s fur trim on her shoulder plates and that trailed down her back; the familiar fur that she had harvested from Skartha when she set her to rest many years ago. She chose that fur as a testament to her origins as a warrior and to keep the spirit of her first wolf close to her heart. It would be the spirit of Skartha that would always watch over her and protect her as she watched over and protected the people of Alsira Thaenat.


    Beside her on the rock laid the immense black form of Khollta as she watched the plateau as well. The wolf had grown from a pup to great creature that dwarfed Ghelta in size. Once Khollta had grown to two years of age, Ghelta realized why Skartha had died during childbirth. The children she had died for were born as dire-wolves. It was extremely unlikely for domesticated wolves to give birth to such mutations, but any that did so would surely die.


    Ghelta didn¡¯t know exactly if it was Khollta¡¯s nature as a dire-wolf that caused her immense size and the bony growths that served as armor that sprouted from her shoulders and spine. Naturally, she would be larger than other wolves, but maybe it was the choice of milk and upbringing that Ghelta had given her that caused her to be even larger than normal. She wasn¡¯t allowed in the kennels with the other wolves as she would easily rip them apart. It was always at Ghelta¡¯s side that Khollta remained, and in those times where Ghelta had to be in civilized areas, she would let the wolf run wild outside the city.


    More than the fact that Ghelta was her mother, the bond between her and the dire-wolf was exceptionally strong. Both had come from similar origins as orphans, as unwanted cast-offs from their societies, and as creatures that held a darkness within them beyond mortal reckoning. Both seemed to always seek the other out when they needed to and react the same in moments of emotion. Theirs was the same soul.


    After preening her furs, Ghelta reached over and began to ruffle up Khollta¡¯s black fur. She could hear the wolf groan at the playful action and slowly lift one of her giant paws to push Ghelta¡¯s hand away. Khollta rolled from her back onto her stomach and began to nuzzle at Ghelta¡¯s hip with her nose. She playfully tried to push the young warrior from her perch, but she resisted as she replanted her spear into the ground.


    ¡°Phah! You little runt.¡± Ghelta pushed back against Khollta¡¯s nose and elbowed the wolf in the shoulder. She could feel the hard, bony plates scrape against her skin, but she knew the weak points to get the wolf back for her impertinence. ¡°This is where I sit. Get your own place.¡±


    Khollta gave a sassy and mocking set of yaps back at Ghelta as if trying to mimic her own words. She swiped one of her large paws against Ghelta¡¯s back and the rolled over onto her back again. She held her head up and continued to yelp aimlessly for a few moments. She gave a sideways glance back to Ghelta, with one of her blue eyes looking over her black fur. She yapped once more to test Ghelta¡¯s nerve and then went quiet.


    Ghelta refocused her attention on the blowing sand and darkness ahead of her. Her eyes scanned the sanguine-hued horizon and darted over key points of the towering mesas to her left and the jagged mountain to her right. She could make out a few distant lights coming from the tops of the mesas, but their glow was becoming hidden beneath the growing sandstorm. The mountain to her right was devoid of any life at all.


    She looked over he shoulder back to the glimmering lights of the City of Veils behind her. Many of the hermitages on the top of the plateau were closing up their doors and windows or blowing out their torches in anticipation of the sandstorm rising up. The lights of the central city could be seen glowing up from the wide canyon that the city sat within.


    The winds weren¡¯t particularly bad this night, but they were coming in from the Haakuenthi lands to the south, which caused the white sands to be blow up and over the plateau. The sands would be a nuisance and make it hard to see this night, but they wouldn¡¯t be as savage as they could get. There were times, especially in the Autumn, when great storms would blow in from the South and cast flesh-ripping sands upon the winds. Great bolts of red and purple lightning would devastate the plateau creating the famed glasses that Alsiran merchants would sell in later days. As for anyone caught out in the winds, they would be dead and stripped down to the very bone before the day was done. Thankfully, this wasn¡¯t one of those nights.


    Ghelta had always been a night-person and enjoyed sleeping during most of the day, so it had become a habit that Ylethus would give her ranging duties during the nights. She would retreat to one of her favorite perches and watch over the outskirts of the city for any beasts or interlopers that might come by. For the most part, it was a boring task, as more expert warriors would watch further afield as silent and deadly sentinels. Still, it allowed her to spend time with Khollta and be lost in her own thoughts.


    She would wait here for several more hours until Celanna had lifted more of herself into the sky ¡ª eclipsing the eye of Vorthyl ¡ª and then she would make her way to the mountain on her right to watch from a caern stone near the summit. She would then spend the hours around midnight at her favorite hiding place at the extents of the Alsiran lands and before dawn, she would do a quick survey of the mesas to the west. She did this almost every night, except those times she had to break the habit or watch another area that a different warrior was responsible for.


    As more of the sands began to blow in, it was becoming harder and harder to see the furthest extents of the plateau. In fact, the mesas to the west were almost overrun, and she could only make out the outline of the mountain ahead of her. She tugged once more on her hood to cover most of her face and leaned back against an outcropping of rock. She would take Khollta¡¯s lead and rest for a bit. She lifted and thrust the head of her spear into the sand and the let go of the haft. The spear remained standing up with the tattered scarlet banner on the top end trailing on the wind.


    She remembered what Ylethus had said about the significance of that ribbon of threadbare cloth. Each group of sentinels or rangers were given a specific color, and each had to keep their spear end aloft so that others could find them. Ylethus would perform occasional inspections to make sure each warrior was holding their banner high. If any warrior was found sleeping and their banner fell, they would be punished severely. The significance of a lowered banner was that they were under attack, or had fallen to a threat. What he hadn¡¯t thought of, however, was those warriors who found a way to keep the spears aloft, yet still get some rest during the quiet hours of the night.


    Ghelta looked back to her spear once more, watching it to make sure it was securely stuck in the sand. She crossed her arms over her chest and pulled Khollta¡¯s rump closer to her to keep her warm. She leaned her head back against the rock and closed her eyes for a moment.


    Time washed away between a state of half-dreaming and occasional alertness as Ghelta gave into sleep and then to moments of flurried wakefulness. Each moment she was pulled back to the conscious world she would look up to see Celanna growing nearer and higher in the sky. During the moments that she let her self sleep, she held flashes of dreams where she was exploring an icy cave complex deep beneath the world.


    As she drifted back into her ongoing dream, Ghelta noticed the chill that drained the blood from her fingers and toes. For the last few flashes of a dream, she had been working through several rooms beneath the world, but this particular room she found herself in made her skin crawl. As she made her way deeper and deeper, the light breaking its way in through the ice was giving way to darkness and shadow.


    She found herself walking through an archway and into a larger chamber with a shattered stone slab in the middle. She had never seen a sarcophagus before, but she remembered how they were described in tales that Ylethus told her as a child. These slabs would hold the remains of the dead. Great stone covers would be placed over the bodies to seal and preserve them for countless centuries. They weren¡¯t often used by the Alsiran people except in cases of putting famed heroes to rest. Mostly they were used by ancient societies in the hopes of preserving the dead so that they might come back to life later on.


    Despite the growing fear pulling at her heart, Ghelta¡¯s dream-haunted feet carried her closer to the sarcophagus. As she neared it, she noticed huge cracks and gouges in the rock. She noticed the debris of the sealing slab strew about the room as if the sarcophagus had exploded from within. She continued to near closer despite her mind pleading with her feet to stop.


    Ghelta wanted to pull herself away from the dream, but she could not. She wanted to stop walking towards the sarcophagus, for fear of what she would find within, but her feet kept going. She soon found herself looking over the edge, her cold fingers seizing the freezing edge of the stone.


    As she looked over the edge, she saw a woman¡¯s corpse laid within. Most of her flesh had been eaten away, exposing sections of her skeleton. Someone had taken care to wrap her in linen, but most of the linen had faded away to stained tatters, barely enough to cover her form.


    She looked the corpse over and noticed the carefully placed jewelry placed over her long and claw-like fingers, and hanging from her neck. The jewelry had strange runes carved into the metal and precious gems. As Ghelta raised her eyes to look at the corpses head, she was able to see the remains of a porcelain mask that half covered the dead body¡¯s face. The porcelain had been broken in half, and what remained was heavily chipped with age and ruin.


    Around the corpse¡¯s head was an ancient headdress of silver spikes that erupted from a blue and gold segmented crown. Each spike of silver had crimson hair wrapped around it like a snake made of blood. Immediately, Ghelta recognized the same hair color as her own. As this thought echoed through her mind, she found herself reaching out a hand to grip the corpse¡¯s own. As her flesh met the chilled and ancient flesh of the dead woman, a voice seemed to float up from what was left of the dead woman¡¯s still lips.


    ¡°They call you the desert lotus.¡± The voice was commanding and unearthly, yet seemed to float into Ghelta¡¯s ears on a whisper. ¡°The name they gave you is a lie. You carry my namesake and are doomed just as I am.¡±


    The corpses¡¯ eyes shot open but the dead woman remained still. The icy-blue eyes looked up at Ghelta and seemed to pierce into the very seat of her soul. The eyes were familiar, like a mother¡¯s eyes, but they glowed with an unholy power.


    ¡°I am your mother¡¯s mother, young one.¡± The room around the sarcophagus grew all the darker, yet the body of the dead woman remained visible to Ghelta¡¯s eyes. The piercing blue eyes glowed all the more and seemed to cast the inside of the sarcophagus with a silver light. ¡°You belong with me. I seek you out, but I cannot find you. You must come to me so that we can be reunited in death.¡±


    Ghelta looked down at her hand and saw the corpse¡¯s claw reach up to snatch at her flesh. The cold of the dead woman¡¯s flesh crept up and bit at her living skin. Trails of blackness began to burrow up through the skin of her wrist, spreading like an infection up her arm.


    ¡°You should not be alive, my daughter¡¯s daughter. In your heart and your veins is an ancient curse. I have seen what will befall the world if you don¡¯t allow me to kill you.¡± The woman¡¯s mouth opened up into a snarl of metallic fangs. ¡°Let me in so that I can find you. Draw upon my darkness and let me see with your eyes. I will end your suffering and bring you home to live inside of my soul. Once you have been cleansed, then all of my children can find peace.¡±The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Ghelta began to scream, but could not draw any breath. The corpse lifted itself from the sarcophagus and seized her neck with its other clawed hand. She could feel tendrils of darkness rising up from the dead woman and ripping into her soul.


    ¡°Surrender to me, desert lotus. Let me know where you are. I cannot see you.¡± The dead woman¡¯s porcelain face fell away to reveal the half rotten face of a monster beneath. Indigo energy bled from the surrounding darkness to dance around the woman¡¯s blue eyes like halos. ¡°Why can I not see you? You have my blood and my curse within you. Reveal yourself to me. Let me take your life. Let us finally have peace in this world. Do what must be done.¡±


    Ghelta finally was able to pull in a single breath in and screamed out her answer to the monster that held onto her. ¡°No!¡± She lifted her free hand and watched it turn into the same kind of claw that the dead woman had. The darkness that the monster bled into her became something she could draw strength from. She reached out her free hand and raked at the rotten flesh of the corpse. As she continued to rake she was able to dislocate the corpse¡¯s jaw as she tore flesh away frantically.


    The corpse woman leaned in with her ruined face and began to howl and snarl at her. The room grew dark as the shadows consumed the entire world. The only thing Ghelta could see were those piercing ice-blue eyes as they tore into her vision. She could no longer breath and succumbed to unconsciousness.


    The first sensation that Ghelta could feel was a low vibration coming from beside her. The second sensation was the sound of a growling wolf that thrummed through her ears. The final sensation that came to her was the feeling of dry sand filling up her mouth. She opened her eyes to the star-strewn darkness of the living world and began to cough up the sand that had made its way into her throat.


    She leaned forward to spit the sand from her mouth and leaned one hand onto Khollta who was perched beside her. She could feel the vibration coming from the wolf¡¯s chest and one of her large paws cover her hand and push her away. Once she cleaned most of the sand from her mouth she looked over to see why Khollta was being so angry. That is when she saw the dire wolf''s lips curled up into a rage-filled snarl.


    Khollta gave two short barks and looked sideways over to Ghelta. Her ears were pinned back as her blue eyes made contact with Ghelta¡¯s own. It took a moment for Ghelta to wonder if the wolf was snarling at her as if she could pick up the dream she had, but she was mistaken as Khollta looked outward into the darkness. She pointed her nose ahead at the swirling clouds of sand.


    Ghelta patted Khollta¡¯s hackles and let her hand slide to the hilt of her klaive. With her other hand, she snatched up the haft of her spear. She watched the darkness ahead for whatever threat that Khollta had noticed. She couldn¡¯t see anything in the whirling winds of crimson-stained sand.


    She lifted herself from her perch and dropped several feet to the plateau surface below. Khollta got up and followed after while still snarling. Ghelta let go of her klaive and focused both of her hands on the long spear she held. She slowly lowered the banner end and prepared the spear to be thrown. It would be next to impossible for any of the other warriors to see her banner in this storm, but maybe there was a chance that someone might.


    Ghelta took several measured and cautious steps forward into the dark. The sand-strewn winds billowed at her black robes. Despite all the wind, the air in this place felt hollow and heavy. It was hard to draw a breath, and as Ghelta noticed this she also noticed just how silent it had become around her. She should be able to hear the howling wind, yet she could hear nothing except the sound of her own heart hammering in her chest. She couldn¡¯t even hear the sound of Khollta¡¯s snarls and growls beside her any longer.


    It started as a vibration in the ground beneath her feet and then soon erupted into a shadow running headlong toward her from the sandy darkness. There was a flash of green light from almost a hundred yards away but as soon as Ghelta¡¯s eyes could catch it, it faded away into the sands once more. A moment later another flash of green, this time much closer but far to her right.


    Ghelta moved the body of the spear along with her head, her arm bent backward and ready to plunge the weapon into the darkness ahead of her. She darted her vision from one side to another, trying to find the source of the strange green lights. After scanning from her left to her right she stopped and focused on the center of her vision.


    There she could see the two green lights fade in from the sand ahead of her. They looked like two bale-fire flames floating almost a dozen feet above the plateau. It took her a moment to realize that these billowing flames were eyes of some beast standing several dozen yards away.


    In a panic, Ghelta launched her spear through the whirling darkness ahead of her. Despite the loss of composure, her aim was true. She could see the half of her spear flying through the air towards the monster and then disappearing into the sands.


    A sound of pain and rage tore through the silence of the night. This sound wasn¡¯t given by human lungs but something entirely other. The wail was filled with a rotten and gravel-like reverberation, like something that was capable of speaking but had no lungs to do so. As soon as the sound registered to Ghelta¡¯s ears, she looked down to see Khollta run headlong into the darkness howling her own sound of rage.


    For her first time in years, Ghelta felt mortal terror grip her heart and could not find it in her to run after her wolf. She watched as the green flames faded away once more into the sands. She felt prickles in her fingers, and although she willed her feet to run, she couldn¡¯t do so. She was stuck in place, fighting against her own fright.


    It was only with the next sound that Ghelta was able to shake off the terror that seized her like lead chains. The sound of Khollta¡¯s whine of pain, followed by a savage howl from whatever beast had attacked her. The monster¡¯s scream was filled with cruelty and predatory joy. That is when Ghelta found herself running forward into the darkness.


    She felt renewed strength as she felt spit and rage flow over her lips. She screamed back at the monster in the dark with all the rage she could muster. She could feel the heat of adrenaline coursing through her with each step against the sandy earth. She worked herself up into a berserker rage and prepared herself to meet Olthenna along with her dire-wolf ward.


    At first, the impact didn¡¯t register with her senses, but after she stopped and grabbed the spear¡¯s head that was stuck into her stomach she could feel the stinging pain shooting up from the wound. She felt the warmth of her blood flow over her fingers as the haft-end of the spear pivoted to lift her into the air. Her feet dangled helplessly beneath her as those same two bale-fire eyes opened in front of her.


    She could see the rotten flesh on the beast¡¯s face. It was half-skeletal like the woman in her dreams. Unlike the woman, this monster didn¡¯t speak as it couldn¡¯t. It howled rage and fury at her as if summoning the very wind to carry its voice. The monster easily stood twice the height of Ghelta, wearing tatters of rusted armor. This was one of those abominations known as a thaekkuz. One of those remnants of the dead who, due to regret and sin in life, crawled their way up from Gehemol to give a savage unlife to their corpse.


    The thaekkuz whipped her to and fro on the edge of her own spear. The blade tore more savagely into her stomach but was shoved so far into her that she limply went along with it like a doll impaled on a stick. She continued to stare at the green flames burning up from the monster¡¯s empty eye sockets until her vision faded and shock overtook her completely. After this all she could remember was darkness.


    * * *


    ¡°-You weren¡¯t even paying attention, you little shit!¡± Ylethus spat over clenched fists as he charged at Ghelta once more.


    Ghelta was pulled away from her reveries of past events as one of Ylethus¡¯ meaty fists impacted her square in the chest. The wind was knocked from her lungs and she felt herself reach out to grab his wrist. He used his free hand to grab her by the collar of her armor and raise her several feet up to his eyes.


    ¡°I saw that glazed look in your eye during each one of my lessons. You weren¡¯t even here!¡± He threw her across the cliff-side where she impacted several rocks near the edge. ¡°Always with the daydreaming! I¡¯m your gods-damned Vhollen and your gods-damned father! I¡¯m trying to teach you to be a warrior.¡±


    Ghelta used one of her own fists to try and push herself up from the ground. When she was thrown she had lost her klaive which was now on the ground next to Ylethus¡¯ feet. She tried to pull air into her lungs but couldn¡¯t. She felt her arm buckle beneath her and she fell face-first back onto the ground.


    ¡°Nothing sinks into you, does it?¡± Ylethus shifted his stance to aim directly at Ghelta once more. He stood with both fists held before him and his shoulders slumped forward as if he would charge at any moment. ¡°If I¡¯m to grant your Kollishi Thaulp, I need to know you can handle yourself on the battlefield. I need to know you won¡¯t end up another corpse beneath the blades of bloodthirsty barbarians. I need to know that you¡¯ll fucking listen to what I command of you!¡±


    Ylethus stopped his rage and swiped up Ghelta¡¯s klaive from the ground in one of his hands. He looked down to it and then grabbed the tiny hilt in his immense hand. He leveled the blade toward Ghelta as she continued to lift herself up from the ground.


    ¡°I understand. I thought as much when I brought you out here.¡± Ylethus lost himself in his own mind for a moment and took a single thunderous step forward. ¡°You only understand action, right?¡± He took several pitched breaths and another step towards Ghelta. ¡°Then I¡¯ll give you a lesson in action that you won¡¯t soon forget.¡± A cruel smile tore across his bearded face.


    Ghelta finally was able to draw in a breath and get to her knees. She looked up to see Ylethus charging at her with all of his weight and speed. Ahead of him, he swiped at the air several times with her klaive. His eyes were wide with a frantic kind of rage. His patience with her was gone, and she didn¡¯t know what he was capable of at this moment.


    She felt the trail of wind and heard the whistling of her blade as her klaive almost cleaved her head in two. The blade darted past her head, snipping several strands of her crimson hair. She choked another breath and jumped to her feet.


    The second attack went for her stomach, but she was barely able to step back enough to avoid the blade. She felt the cold flat of the blade push and then pull back across her abdomen. She jumped one more step back, feeling her heels on the edge of the cliff. The old man wasn¡¯t holding back anymore and if she didn¡¯t know better she honestly thought he was trying to kill her.


    The next attack was one of Ylethus¡¯ fists hammering against her right shoulder and causing her to crumple to her left. She could barely keep her feet under her against the impact. As soon as her senses were focused again, she saw her blade thrusting forward towards her chest. She barely had enough time to grab the blade with one of her hands, and the guard of the blade with her other. She shoved the blade further to her left as the edge bit into the flesh of her palm.


    In order to control the blade, she had to step back past the edge of the cliff. She found herself teetering on her toes as the center of her mass was over the fall. The only thing that held her in place was her grip on her klaive and Ylethus¡¯ giant fist leveled against her right side. She was helpless now, having to depend upon Ylethus¡¯ grip to keep herself from falling hundreds of feet to her death.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to lose you, Ghelta.¡± Ylethus said through grit teeth as he pushed her to teeter even more over the cliff-side. ¡°That is why I always kept you back from your rite of adulthood. This world is a savage and brutal place. I don¡¯t want you to be another casualty on a battlefield somewhere. I can¡¯t lose you.¡± Tears began to stream down Ylethus¡¯ face.


    ¡°Well, then just let me get back over the edge, so you don¡¯t kill me here.¡± Ghelta stammered over her words as she kept her eyes trained on the crazed warrior. She lightly lifted her hand from the guard of her klaive and raised it up to the side of her head. She was trying to signal that she gave up.


    ¡°No.¡± Ylethus pushed the klaive forward an inch. Pain tore through Ghelta¡¯s mind as the blade cut further into her hand. ¡°If I can¡¯t teach you properly-¡± His voice cracked and his words trailed off. ¡°If I can¡¯t teach you to be a warrior properly, then I have to let you go. I have to give you your last lesson, Ghelta.¡± He took a pitched breath beneath his continued tears. ¡°The lesson of sacrifice.¡±


    Ylethus took one last breath and then pulled back Ghelta¡¯s klaive with a single motion. The sliding blade bit even harder into Ghelta¡¯s palm. The loss of her grip sent her reeling backward over the cliff. She reached out vainly toward Ylethus¡¯ fist near her left side but he pulled it away from her at the last moment.


    The moments slowed down to a snail¡¯s pace as Ghelta continued to reach out for her father. She could see the tears slowly dribble down his face to gather at his mustache as he took two more steps backward. Her vision distorted as her feet fell over the edge of the cliff. A feeling of vertigo swept over her once she could no longer feel an anchor to the world around her.


    The wind rushing up to her from the bottom of the cliff felt soothing against her parched and sweaty skin. Terror shot through her mind but soon gave way to a strange sort of contentment. The last person she would see before her doom would be her adopted father, the man who sacrificed and cared for her. The last thing she would see is his sorrow-filled face as he let her go.


    The edge of the cliff rushed up and obscured him from her vision as she continued to fall backward. Above her, she could see a patch of white clouds floating by, momentarily obscuring the twin lights of the suns above. The feeling of falling felt like she could fly. Maybe if Olthenna felt merciful she could come back to this world one day and be one of the authrocs that flew through the skies. For now, she just hoped that she could enjoy this feeling before pain overtook her and carried her away to the dark realm of the dead.


    Wait ¡ª the goddess of death be damned ¡ª she wanted to live. She scrabbled and clawed at the empty air that rushed up around her. She began to fill her lungs to their fullest and screamed out her rage-fueled determination for all the world to hear. Olthenna be damned, she wasn¡¯t done living, yet. She wasn¡¯t going to die like this.


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    For the Skaldts III - The Music That Inspired This and Other Scenes in "A Cliff-top Duel"


    Spoiler : <input class="spoilerButton" type="button" value="Show">


    Ghelta''s Theme for This Section: Shireen - Unmarked


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    Version 4.0.01


    <hr>

 Episode III - On Authrocs Wing I

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    Chapter III


    On Authroc''s Wing


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    ¡°You¡¯ve been neglecting your duties.¡± The voice came from behind the young man who sat in a large wooden chair. He lifted his head to watch as a cloaked figure walked into the room, passed by him, and approached a far more opulent chair behind a desk. The room around them both was carved from stone and dimly lit by several candles scattered on shelves around the periphery.


    The cloaked figure dropped a sheaf of parchment, wrapped in a leather cover tied with twine, upon the desk as if they were unburdening themselves of a tremendous weight. From beneath the hood of the robes, the young man could see two black eyes that stared accusingly from the shadows. The figure remained standing for a moment as they let their right index finger trail across the leather surface of the folder in a slowly moving straight line.


    ¡°You must think you¡¯re special, don¡¯t you?¡± The figure leaned in slightly, revealing a dark and well-trimmed beard as it pointed from beneath the hood. ¡°The youngest Master of the Authrakallin Oracles ever to be appointed.¡± Those same dark eyes narrowed, and within hooded shadows, aged skin pulled up in a scowl of derision. ¡°Just because you¡¯re Toulam¡¯s pet doesn¡¯t mean you have what it takes to hold such a title-¡± The figure leaned in further and grit its teeth with disgust as it spoke the next word. ¡°Boy.¡±


    The young man sitting in the chair kept his eyes pointed forward and did his best to ignore the words of the cloaked man. He could feel himself gripping the wooden arms of his chair with biting fingernails. He did all he could to steady his heartbeat and breathing as well as not let his emotions bubble up in his face.


    The robed figure turned to stand at the head of his desk, he lifted his fingers up to cradle them over his chest. The figure lifted his head slightly to look from beneath his hood. He watched the young man¡¯s face intently and then slammed both of his hands onto the surface of the desk. This threatening impact caused the young man to jump in his chair.


    As quickly as he jumped, the young man openly winced as he felt the figure¡¯s ephemeral attentions flow over him. The robed man was reaching out daggers made of thoughts to rake and prod at his psyche. He let those invisible points scrape over the surface of the young man¡¯s mind, slicing up the top-most defenses he could muster in such a short time.


    The figure continued his telepathic interrogation until he finally found an unprotected and shadowed wound buried near the back of the young man¡¯s mind. He thrust his probing daggers into this area drinking deeply of the hidden wellspring of inadequacy and fear lying within. The robed figure smiled broadly, not doing anything to hide the fact that he enjoyed the feelings he had finally found within the young man.


    As immediately as the telepathic onslaught started, the robed man recoiled his invisible daggers back into his own mind. The robed figure used one of his corporeal hands to lift the hood away from his head and slumped down into his padded chair. With his other hand, he began to massage the hair above his upper lip in a self-satisfied fashion.


    ¡°We both know that your appointment to the title of Master was a mistake.¡± The older man continued to rub at his mustache as he flicked open the knot of twine of the folder in front of him. His long back hair reached to his shoulders and gray was beginning to gnaw away at his sideburns as well as a lock of hair near his widow¡¯s peak. ¡°All of us who have spent enough time to attain our titles know well that Toulam¡¯s time with us is ending.¡± The man looked from the sheaf of revealed parchment to the young man¡¯s face. ¡°He¡¯s a doddering old fool; age is catching up with him and his mind is slipping.¡±


    The older man watched the younger man to see if he reacted at all to the words he just spoke but was disappointed at not seeing the reaction he wished. The young man kept his gray eyes focused forward, staring at some far-off horizon. He had closely cropped brown hair with shimmerings of blonde that caught the candlelight dancing at the edges of the room. His features were handsome as the roundness of youth was falling to the sophisticated jaggedness of age. The youth that the older man noticed made him repulsed at the young man¡¯s impertinence, while at the same time drawing his attention in a strange mixture of jealousy and lust.


    ¡°Well, Leiros, what do you have to say about all of this?¡± The older man¡¯s words were deliberately vague as he grinned while leaning back in his chair. He was hinting both at the statement he started the interrogation with as well as what he had just said about the Grandmaster. He wanted to see which Leiros would jump at first, and how he would try to defend himself or his mentor. He prodded the young man once more with an impatient, ¡°Hmm?¡±


    Leiros slowly let his gaze pull from a million miles away to focus directly upon the eyes of the older man. He took his time shifting forward in his seat until he was barely on the edge of it. He lifted his arms calmly up, letting the sleeves of his robes fall back, as he placed each of his elbows firmly on the older man¡¯s desk. Even more slowly, he placed his right hand over his left in a tent on the desk and leaned in. He watched as the older man pushed back and pressed up against his chair. A very slight smile spread across Leiros'' lips as he noticed the older man getting uncomfortable now that he was able to defend himself.


    ¡°If you and the other Masters think I am neglecting my duties, that is entirely your prerogative.¡± Leiros spoke calmly and slowly with as much decorum as he could muster, but the respect in his tone was lost. ¡°Since we are all peers in standing here, it would be as much your duty to inform me of what I¡¯m lacking, as it is mine to enact it.¡± Leiros let his hands fall to the table with a controlled thud. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you say?¡± He cocked his head to the side while keeping his eyes focused like trained blades on the older man.


    ¡°As for your lack of faith in my abilities-¡± Leiros took a breath and began to lift himself up from his chair. ¡°As I remember well from my years of training in this Order, it is the Grandmaster who has final say on who is and is not to attain the title of Master.¡± He got up to his full height and leaned on the desk to tower over the shifting older man. ¡°If Toulam believes that I have what it takes to hold such a title, it is not up to you to dispute it. After all, it would be most uncomfortable for you ¡ª I would presume ¡ª if I were to have your title revoked because I found you wanting. Would it not?¡± He leaned further in and narrowed his eyes. ¡°If it were left to us Masters to take each other¡¯s titles, would not our entire Order fall into chaos? We wouldn¡¯t want that, now would we, Master Gwain¡± He opened his eyes fully, revealing his angered intent with contracted pupils.


    Gwain shifted in his seat and leaned fully back against the padded fabric of his chair. The older man held his hands up against his chest almost like limp claws ready to jump forth and rake at Leiros¡¯ face. The look on his face and his body language revealed his disgust, his rage, and that same kind of strange lust towards the power that the young man was demonstrating over him. The last feeling, being revealed more in Gwain¡¯s face more than his body, made Leiros feel sick to his stomach.


    ¡°As for your unfortunate words concerning our Grandmaster-¡± Leiros took in a deep breath, dropping his eyes to the sheaf of parchments on the desk. He couldn¡¯t keep looking at Gwain as the old man began to lick his lips while his pupils dilated. ¡°I would do well to remind you that wisdom comes with age and esteem comes from responsibility. Toulam has served as our Grandmaster for centuries longer than any other that has come before him.¡±


    Leiros reached out with one of his hands, willing to cut into the old man¡¯s space, and snatched up a handful of parchments. He lifted them up to cover Gwain¡¯s face and let his eyes trail over the runes scrawled across them. They were nothing more than notes on some auguries he was commissioned to do for some nobles back in Morrthault City.


    ¡°Grandmaster Toulam has spent his life researching the works of our Order¡¯s founder, Vhaltenesh. As such, he knows far more about how our Order should function, rather than someone who has spent their life rooting through entrails and manipulating nobles for coin.¡± He took a moment to calm his nerves so that he could keep his next words in a reserved tone. ¡°My own researches into the works of Vhaltenesh has revealed the importance of a strong moral center to our work. We are the warrior-oracles of the Hoelatha people, after all. Would it not be a shame then if one of our Masters were to be accused of trying to undermine the leader of our Order?¡±


    Leiros threw the parchments back on Gwain¡¯s desk without care. He looked the old man square in the eye and openly snarled his contempt. He could feel his fingernails cut through the wood on the desk as he curled them and used his palms to push himself back up to his feet.


    ¡°Mentioning Toulam¡¯s age isn¡¯t a crime, boy.¡± Gwain¡¯s spine had returned as he jumped forward and grabbed the edge of his desk with clawed hands. His eyes were fully dilated, and the dark brown of his irises could barely be seen. The look he held was more anger now than lust, and it made him slightly less repulsive in Leiros¡¯ view.


    ¡°Claiming that he is inept at his duties is, however.¡± Leiros slammed his palms on the desk and delighted for a moment at the flinch that the older man gave. ¡°Of course, you could just be mentioning your personal feelings concerning the Grandmaster. Maybe the word ¡®doddering¡¯ is charming in your view?¡±


    He watched as Gwain leaned forward while sitting and placed both of his hands lightly on his desk. The older man smiled broadly and began to nod along with Leiros¡¯ words while slowly lifting his chin higher up. Leiros pulled back with an open look of disgust and crossed his arms over his robed chest.


    ¡°So be it.¡± He closed his eyes and took a moment of calm and then opened them back up to stare from the side at Gwain. ¡°I could always mention what you just did to me to the other Masters while I mention to Toulam how you think of him.¡± He held his eyes on Gwain as the older man furrowed his brow in confusion.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    ¡°Inform you of your adequacies as a Master of the Authrakallin?¡± Gwain gave out a cruel laugh after his words. ¡°Oh, did I hurt your feelings, boy?¡± He lifted himself to his feet and leaned over his desk.


    ¡°No, not at all. As I mentioned a few moments earlier it is your duty as a Master to make sure I am fulfilling mine.¡± Leiros cocked his head to the side with a feeling of smugness, knowing that he had trapped Gwain in the web of words he was weaving. ¡°Or are you getting too old for this? Maybe your memory is failing you? Maybe I can refer to you as ¡®doddering¡¯ in a charming way from now on?¡± He kept his arms crossed and swiveled his shoulders.


    ¡°Get to the point. What are you accusing me of?¡± Gwain was growing irate at being confused and not having the upper hand in the situation. He grabbed up the strewn parchments on his desk and hurriedly flung them onto the folder while slamming the leather cover back down.


    ¡°You are well-aware of the rules of our Order, the words set down by Vhaltenesh over a millennia ago, correct?¡± Leiros waited for Gwain to give a nod and an impatient flourish of his arm for the young man to continue. ¡°Well, you would then be aware of one of the core tenets concerning the use of telepathy in our order. Specifically, that any member of rank shall not actively probe another¡¯s thoughts.¡±


    Gwain snarled and rolled his eyes at Leiros¡¯ words. Obviously, the importance of one of the core laws of the Authrakallin didn¡¯t matter much to him both in practice and in theory. He quickly tied up his folder with twine and leaned on the front of his desk with his hip while looking up at Leiros with as much condescension as he could muster.


    ¡°Poor boy, you¡¯re still living in the dust of the past.¡± Gwain smirked openly as he lifted an upturned hand in mock supplication to Leiros and then quickly snatched it away. ¡°Toulam has filled your head up with all that nonsense about Vhaltenesh but has never told you about the lessons of life. We don¡¯t live a millennia ago, boy, we live in the world right now.¡± Gwain lowered his face to stare up through his brow at Leiros with that same smirk upon his lips. ¡°Our Order is growing and moving in a new direction. The majority of Masters here have agreed that part of that growth involves embracing our powers of telepathy. Vhaltenesh existed in a time of fear of the unknown when the powers of Haeth were just being rediscovered. He was a narrow-minded fool who might have been necessary for his time, but not for this time.¡±


    Leiros remained quiet with his arms still crossed over his chest. He took a small step away from Gwain¡¯s desk but kept his posture commanding and his shoulders square. He had earlier feelings that the Masters were going against the teachings of their founder, but now hearing the words come directly from one of their mouths filled him with bittersweet satisfaction. He would remember every heretical word that would fall from Gwain¡¯s corrupted mouth hoping to use it against him later.


    ¡°It is my job as a Master of this Order to use my abilities of telepathy to uncover the secrets that others store in their mind. We must guide others to proper paths and the best way to do that is to catch bad behavior before it starts. A proper oracle can¡¯t have improper thoughts.¡± Gwain continued his idealistic monologue while leaning further upon his desk. He let that same arm he reached out towards Leiros earlier begin to snake in the air like he was conducting a symphony of moral supremacy. ¡°It is a Master¡¯s job to guide the Initiates of our Order. It is the Initiate¡¯s job to guide the Neophytes. Ultimately, it is the Authrakallin¡¯s job to guide all of Hoelatha society toward a better future. We must put away with all this savagery, and guide everyone to pure and harmonious thoughts.¡± Gwain let his snaking arm stop and then leveled an accusing finger toward Leiros. ¡°No one should have to fear what we uncover, boy. That is unless they have something to hide.¡±


    Leiros held his tongue and watched Gwain carefully as the older man continued to hold him beneath his accusing finger. The words he spoke were enough to send him into a blind rage for the ideological folly they represented, but he understood that irrationality wouldn¡¯t work in this situation. People like Gwain only thought of the world in stark shades of power; either one had it or one had to submit to it. Gwain thought of himself has holding the power in this situation, if not all others. Leiros didn¡¯t need the powers of Haeth to look into Gwain¡¯s soul to see that it was filled to the brim with rot and narcissistic madness. The only way he could extricate himself from this situation without having the older Oracle constantly accusing him was to make his own power of self-defense known in a plain way.


    ¡°Surely, you and the other Masters aren¡¯t planning to dispense with all of Vhaltenesh¡¯s teachings, are you?¡± Leiros took back the step he had given and softened his features. He let his arms fall to his sides and leaned his head to the side to reveal his neck slightly. ¡°If you want to usher in a new society, we have to keep what worked from the old. Would not the Lex Talionis that Vhaltenesh put down be upheld?¡±


    Gwain gave a snort and gripped the far edge of his desk. ¡°Of course, boy. I know that Toulam mutters his delusions into your ear and spins your morals right around, but we aren¡¯t idiots. Propriety comes from the law, after all. We aren¡¯t here to usurp the laws, we are only here to make sure they are enacted properly. We must make our Order dominant in society once more. What our society lacks is guidance, so we must provide that. We will always uphold the Lex Talionis set down by our ancestors.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Leiros closed in on Gwain¡¯s desk while holding both of his hands out with the palms upturned. He lowered his stature slightly and let his shoulders slump as he neared the older man. ¡°I¡¯m glad to know that we can still speak a similar language in these changing times.¡± Leiros let his hands fall as he pressed the edge of his thigh against the desk and leaned slightly over the desk at Gwain. The older man remained nodding his approval at Leiros¡¯ words.


    With deft quickness, Leiros snatched the older man by the collar of his robes and pulled up upward and over the extent of his desk. Gwain tried to give himself leverage by grabbing at the wood of the desk but his hands slid easily over the surface. He soon found himself half over the desk, with only the tips of his toes touching the floor.


    ¡°By the laws set down by our founder, Vhaltenesh, in the Lex Talionis-¡± Leiros pulled the older man closer to his face by an inch and smiled. ¡°If you ever so much as try to peer into my thoughts once more, I will challenge you to a formal certamen.¡± He lifted his free hand into a fist, raising it to Gwain¡¯s eye level where the old man saw it and his eyes went wide with fear. ¡°I promise you I will end your life in that duel. I won¡¯t stop until I rip your fetid soul from its rotten moorings. I won¡¯t stop there either, as I will shred your ephemeral existence until nothing is left; casting you into the void.¡±


    Leiros let go of the older man¡¯s collar, causing him to fall onto his belly on his desk. He stepped away and took a swipe with his leg at the chair he had sat on earlier. He cast the chair tumbling across the room to strike a nearby set of shelves. Several books fell and a crystalline orb tottered from its display to shatter upon the ground. He kept his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he took several more steps and then whipped around to level his own accusing finger back at Gwain.


    ¡°You would do well to keep yourself in check, Gwain. I know you¡¯ll contact the other Masters sympathetic to your heretical views; go right ahead.¡± He took a sharp breath and raised his chin upwards in defiance. ¡°You may think I¡¯m some upstart, but I know my place in this Order. I am a Master who has earned his place of esteem here. I was selected by the Grandmaster who follows in our founder¡¯s footsteps. I follow the laws and the wisdom set down by Vhaltenesh. I stand for the Hoelatha people, but I know that it is not my place to usurp their futures from them.¡± He felt adrenaline flow through his veins as electricity began to flow over his flesh. He could feel the powers of Haeth roaring within him, desperately wanting to break free. ¡°I am sworn to the Hoelatha people¡¯s defense as a gods-damned warrior-oracle! I am here not to guide them, not to lord over them, but to reveal the future for them and allow them to make their own decisions for what that future will be! My powers of Haeth are to give them a future and the strength of my staff is to defend them so that future comes to pass. Remember your place, Master Gwain, because you forget it.¡±


    Leiros turned his back on the older man and marched out of the room. Each of his footsteps felt vindicated, but as each was taken a sense of dread began to gnaw at the back of his mind. He had made his allegiance and views known to someone who would undoubtedly use them against him. If he wasn¡¯t already held in contempt by many of the other Masters, he would be held with hatred from now on. Life would be getting a lot harder for him with each passing day.


    ¡°Leiros, it is you who forgets.¡± Gwain¡¯s voice was more of a groan as he lifted himself from his desk and began to preen at his robes. Leiros turned on his heels as he reached the doorway and looked back at the older man who was putting the folder and baubles on his desk back in order.


    ¡°What¡¯s that, Master Gwain?¡± Leiros crossed his arms over his chest and leaned in the doorway. He used the toe of his boot to snag the edge of the wooden door and was preparing to slam it behind him.


    ¡°It is only the entire reason I summoned you here, boy.¡± Gwain lowered himself satisfactorily into his chair once more and tented his fingers over his desk. ¡°Master Illena has mentioned to me that you¡¯ve been neglecting your duties as Master of this Order. As such, I have decided to increase your workload today and henceforth. Master Olkva has been called to the Athim Glaciers for the next few months.¡± Gwain let his fingers fall to the surface of his desk and leaned back in his chair. He lifted one of his legs up over the arm as if languishing in his power. ¡°You know that Olkva replaced Bhergom as the one who trained the Neophytes with their Authrocs, correct? Now that duty falls to you.¡±


    Leiros let confusion overtake his features for a moment. It fell to Master Olkva to find a replacement among the Initiates of the Order if he was to be called away for a long period of time. Each Master of the Order was given a set responsibility of duties and Leiros¡¯ was that of lore-keeping. He wasn¡¯t aware of whatever lesson-plans that Olkva had in store for the students. He also hated being around the younger members of the Order as they always gawked at him for being so close to their age.


    ¡°I would remind you that this comes from Master Illena.¡± Gwain beamed under the words he ushered forth like a commanding invocation. ¡°She is responsible for your further studies and is second in line to Grandmaster Toulam, isn¡¯t that correct?¡± Gwain chuckled as he lifted his fingers up and began to examine the contents beneath his nails. ¡°You are to report to the top of the Mesa immediately. Starting at Noon you will be giving the final examination in authvokan to the Neophytes. You best handle it well, their lives are in your hands.¡±


    Leiros notched up his toe and brought Gwain¡¯s door to his outstretched hand. He turned in a flurry of his robes and slammed the door shut behind him. He could hear the wood buckle and one of the hinges snap as he did so. It was now obvious that Illena had declared war on Leiros for daring to become a Master and being closer to Toulam than herself. It was equally obvious now that the Masters of the Order were committing to a war against everything Toulam stood for. If these wars were to begin, he would gladly meet it.


    ¡°As you say, Master Gwain. It¡¯ll be done.¡±


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    For the Skaldts IV - The Music That Inspired This and Other Scenes in "On Authroc''s Wings"


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    Leiros at the Hands of the Masters: Puscifer - Remedy


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    Version 4.0.01


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 Episode III - On Authrocs Wing II - I

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    The cool and roughly hewn stone of the wall felt soothing against Leiros¡¯ back as pressed up against it. He began to pinch at the bridge of his nose in a desperate attempt to stave off the pain pounding away within his skull. The stresses of keeping his mental defenses up and orchestrated during his meeting with Master Gwain were taking their toll on him.


    If there was one form of the Haeth arts that he excelled in, it was that of complicated and defensive uses of telepathy. He absolutely refused to use such abilities offensively to peer into other people¡¯s minds as it went against his own morality and the dictates he knew the founder of his Order had set down almost a millennia ago. Despite his focus and skill, the amount of energy he had to expend for the slightest interplay with others who didn¡¯t restrain themselves in such a way was very high.


    He knew full well when he had been informed by one of the brothers studying under Gwain, that he wanted a meeting in his office, he would be under mental interrogation from the first moment. He knew as well, from having to deal with other members of the Order that he would have to create fake layers of emotions and thoughts to feed to Gwain. He would have to protect the vast majority of his mind while leaving some little grottoes of half-hidden thoughts to serve as red herrings. Having to split his mind in such a way was taking its toll on his sanity.


    The teaching that Toulam had given him over the years of being his student were pivotal in Leiros being able to protect himself so well. He didn¡¯t just need to defend himself blindly, but he had such a heightened sense of empathy that he could drink up ambient emotions of people around him. This let him use skills of understanding people¡¯s intentions to cater those defenses to each person that might peer into his mind. The nature of his empathic observations were not as intrusive or as piercing as most applications of telepathy. He only picked up what people willingly or inadvertently broadcast about themselves. He then used his own intuition and understanding to piece together who they were and how they operated.


    More than the moral dilemma of possessing the abilities to look into others minds and the ethical rules set down by Vhaltenesh in his wisdom, it ultimately fell to Leiros¡¯ fear of using his abilities. Where most of those individuals who would later become oracles uncovered their abilities during their adolescence or during an event of severe stress later in their lives, Leiros had been born with most of his abilities intact. His life had been fraught with alienation and abuse for his strange ability to drink people¡¯s emotions, experience their memories, and his outbursts of telekinetic energy while growing up. As such, he did all he could to restrain his abilities for purely defensive arts while focusing entirely on his more mundane skills of observation, intuition, and academia.


    Naturally, he took solace in books more than he did in people around him. People were complicated and often overwhelmed him with the emotional information they broadcast all the time. People were messy with their emotions, they were contrived with the complexes they created in themselves to avoid memories they buried, and they were needlessly fixated on only their own existences. Books, however, were clear and plain, focusing almost entirely on the subject at hand. The authors only wrote down what was absolutely relevant and those few particularities of character that bled through the writing were subdued. The stories and epics set down by the skaldts were pure with subtle intention and a focus on deeds over thoughts. The words and recollections of the dead were hallowed with meaning far more than those of the living.


    Leiros took in a long breath of chilled air while letting the fingers he had upon the bridge of his nose flow over his face to rub at the side of his skull. He let the false psyche he had created for Gwain¡¯s satisfaction fall away. He imagined the floating metallic construction he had created slowly crumbling and melting away as it fell back into a sea of liquid mercury inside of his soul. Once the last pieces had finally returned to the sea of his soul, he created a glowing halo of light that lit him from within. He focused on that light and increased its brilliance until he could cover himself with a protective shield against any further telepathic contact.


    ¡°Master Leiros.¡± The words were in a soft and feminine voice that echoed slightly in the long and darkened hallways of the mesa sanctum.


    Leiros lifted his head to see who called him by name and saw a young woman of dusky features walking toward him. From what he could see by the flickering light of oil lamps hanging from the ceiling, the young woman wore over-sized gray robes like most of the other oracles. He couldn¡¯t see anything on her that denoted station in the low light. He could see that she had long dark hair, warm brown eyes, and held a sheepish smile on her face.


    ¡°We don¡¯t usually see you on this floor. It¡¯s good to see you.¡± The woman closed to a distance of a few feet away and gave a slight bow with her head. ¡°I see you probably talked with Master Gwain. I hope he didn¡¯t make you feel too uncomfortable.¡± The young woman smiled more broadly and crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her arms beneath long and heavy sleeves.


    Leiros looked from the young woman¡¯s eyes and then to the doorway he had just slammed a moment earlier a few feet away from him. He gave a stifled sigh and adjusted his eyes beneath a long blink. He turned his gaze back to the woman and adjusted his features with a fake sense amusement.


    ¡°Not too uncomfortable.¡± Despite the fake emotion on his face, the words he spoke fell out flatly. His mental defenses roared to life all the more as he noticed the young woman watching his face intently. He prepared himself for another mental onslaught. ¡°Hopefully he doesn¡¯t give you any grief.¡±


    ¡°Only the grief that I deserve.¡± The young woman giggled to herself to try and cover up the waves of fear that she began to broadcast. ¡°It is good to see you, Master Leiros.¡± She emphasized her last statement and then began to send out waves of positive energy towards him. Little bubbles of thoughts and feelings began to break over Leiros of past positive memories between the both of them.


    Leiros took a moment to run through the memories in his face and try to piece together where he had run into the young woman before. Flashes tore through his mind as he quickly ran through the palace of his mind, searching through the many alcoves and recesses he might have stored her face. As quickly as he began to search, he was able to recall when he had seen her before, which is one of the many thankful gifts he had been born with, having a near eidetic memory.


    ¡°It is good to see you again, Sister Kalyna.¡± Leiros called up a fake smile that strained at the unused muscles of his face. ¡°Thank you for your company over a meal a year ago. Were you able to answer that quandary you mentioned to me?¡± Leiros paused, looking up for a second, making it look like he was recalling information. ¡°I believe you were wondering if an augury you gave to young Guardian Knight might have influenced his actions to give up his own free will. Was it not a situation of the Ullthosian Paradox?¡±


    ¡°I completely forgot that.¡± Kalyna¡¯s eyebrows shot up with incredulity at Leiros¡¯ memory as she had obviously forgotten the minutiae of their interaction. A smile still spread across her lips and she gave another laugh. ¡°What I remember, you gave me a lot of insight into that augury. I don¡¯t know what happened after that, though.¡± She lifted one of her hands up and let her sleeves fall away to reveal an exposed hand. She lightly pressed her right index finger to her lips and then recoiled the finger back to her hand quickly. ¡°I do remember how generous you were with your time and spending those hours with me.¡±


    Leiros fought against the emotions that began to well up in him. He could feel the attraction towards him that Kalyna had. She was clinging to a built-up illusion of a memory that did not entirely correspond to Leiros¡¯ own memory. In the time since their interaction, she had thought often on that brief time shared fondly. She thought that there was some rapport between them and she wanted to follow that into a relationship. He focused the frustration and anger he had towards her into a single clenched fist hidden beneath the sleeve of his robe at his side.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad the ideas and companionship I could give to you was worthwhile to you.¡± Leiros felt his fingernails digging into the flesh of his palm as his face curled and twitched to give the slightest hint of a smile. He tried to emphasize the last elements of his statement, hoping that Kalyna would take the insinuation that it might not be worthwhile to him. He didn¡¯t see her features change, and the feelings emanating from her were still reaching a fevered pitch, so obviously she was blind to his insinuations.


    ¡°I apologize for the impertinence, but what brings you to Master Gwain¡¯s office?¡± The look on Kalyna¡¯s face turned to a twinge of concern and then back to her smile. She thought she was being sneaky by distracting Leiros with a question while taking a few shuffling steps closer to him.


    ¡°Gwain informed me that I would be taking over the duties of Master Olkva while he¡¯s away.¡± Leiros could feel the pain burning up from his clenched fist and let the pressure on his tendons fall away, relaxing his fingers for a moment. He kept his eyes trained on Kalyna¡¯s reaction to his words to see if a flash of recognition would overtake her features. He wanted to see through her emotions if she was involved in Gwain¡¯s large plots. Perhaps the emotions she was sending to him were part of some elaborate plot by Gwain and Illena.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s odd.¡± Kalyna scrunched up her face and a blush of red shone from her heavily tanned cheeks. ¡°I thought you were the Master of Lore and were Grandmaster Toulam¡¯s personal assistant.¡± She ruminated for a moment as her eyes flickered upward and to the right; recalling memories. ¡°You also report directly to Master Illena for duties, right? Surely, she would be the one to inform you of that. Why in the world would my Master have to tell you anything.¡± She gave another giggle and clutched her right hand to her face as if trying to hold it in. ¡°Technically, Master Gwain is below your station.¡±


    Leiros openly rolled his eyes at Kalyna¡¯s statement, letting his guard down for a moment. He could feel the honesty coming from her when she spoke those words. Technically, she was correct, however, due to his age, the recent appointment to his station, and the responses from the other Masters of the Order it wasn¡¯t nearly that simple.


    Although Leiros had managed to earn the respect of the initiates beneath him through his honest actions, and he had a flawless reputation for diligence within the Order, none of that meant a thing. He was not a part of some secretive clique who held the real power and he didn¡¯t have any skeletons hidden in his closet that those with power could use to keep him under control. He was learning quickly that all of the work he had done to earn his place was worthless because the real source of power in the Order was based on the entire opposite of merit.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    A wave of concern hit Leiros square in the chest and knocked him out of his internal ruminations. Kalyna was beginning to wonder if she offended him and was recoiling into herself. Worry and embarrassment soon followed her concern as she began to beat herself up emotionally for her statement. Leiros didn¡¯t want her to fret in insecurity, and the waves of unrestrained emotions were getting too much for him.


    ¡°I guess I still have to earn my place. After all, if Gwain has information, it¡¯s my job to know it, right?¡± Leiros tried to carefully pick his words to be self-effacing and present a question to Kalyna to knock her out of her insecurity. ¡°I guess, Master Illena rather talk to Gwain than myself.¡± He gave a half-hearted chuckle that was more a lame serious of breaths than a laugh.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why Master Illena has it out for you so much.¡± Kalyna extended her left hand toward Leiros to put it on his shoulder but pulled her hand away quickly. She didn¡¯t know if she was able to touch him due to their social distance and his title. She wanted to make physical contact with him but the trepidation whirling in her emotions won out. ¡°The other Initiates have noticed how she treats you. It must be exhausting to constantly jump through the hoops she and the Grandmaster give to you. I know you do a lot to keep the Order running.¡±


    The words were sickly sympathetic and not entirely true, which made Leiros want to cringe as he heard them. He didn¡¯t think that his duties were too much, and despite the resentment between Illena and himself, he enjoyed the challenges she gave him. He wasn¡¯t one to hide from a challenge or new way to prove himself. If the feelings that Kalyna was now expressing were indeed representative of the other Initiates of the Order, they were given too much slack in their duties. If they had time to gossip about the newest appointed Master and feel bad for him for having to do his job, their priorities might need to be refocused back to how they could benefit each other instead.


    ¡°So, when do you take over Master Olkva¡¯s duties?¡± Kalyna jumped in to change the subject when she noticed that Leiros wasn¡¯t taking the bait of sympathy. She took a step back and watched Leiros¡¯ features intently. She cocked her head to the side, trying to show off her desire to know more about him.


    ¡°Today, at Noon.¡± Leiros lifted his head up and furrowed the space between his eyebrows. ¡°Not a lot of notice, I have to admit.¡± He forgot to make another strained smile and let his features remain cold and stone-like.


    ¡°Oh?¡± Kalyna paused and pulled back her head slightly with a look of confusion and incredulousness. ¡°Surely you must be mistaken, or more likely Gwain was mistaken.¡± She waited for Leiros to focus on her and show is interest in what she was about to say. ¡°It¡¯s almost a full hour past Noonday. If you were to start your lesson then, you¡¯re already late.¡±


    Leiros clenched both fists openly in response to her words this time. Anger tore through his mind and he didn¡¯t restrain it. That conniving worm, Gwain, had left him waiting for two hours in his office before he finally arrived to interrogate him. He wanted Leiros to be late for his first and most important lesson to the young Initiates. This would give Gwain and Illena ammunition to say that he indeed had neglected his duties.


    ¡°I guess I best let you go so you can get back to Auhl Keignfel Stohll.¡± Kalyna sheepishly bowed once more to Leiros. ¡°That¡¯s all the more strange that Master Gwain would be the one to tell you this. The last time I saw Master Illena, she was back at Stohll.¡± Kalyna pointed off into the darkness of the hallway as if she could point out the far other Mesa almost a mile away. ¡°I know your quarters and offices are over there with Toulam¡¯s. Why you would be sent all the way here to be late for your first lesson¡­¡± Her words trailed off.


    Leiros knew exactly why he was sent all this way and why Illena had been dodging him all morning. Since Toulam had been gone for the last three days, dealing with very personal business, Illena had been orchestrating events to make him look like a fool. She had been undermining Toulam¡¯s wishes, making Leiros¡¯ life a living hell, and no doubt collaborating with those other Masters sympathetic to her usurpation of the Order.


    ¡°I guess I best take my leave. Thank you, again, for your companionship and conversation.¡± Leiros tilted his head slightly to Kalyna who beamed at him.


    She nodded deeper and ran off down the hallway to whatever destination she sought. She gave one more large burst of positive emotions which began to dissipate slightly as she left. Sadly, her fondness for Leiros had only grown due to their talking. Her seeing how Gwain had treated him, and his apparent recklessness toward his duties only seemed to make her more enthralled, which puzzled Leiros greatly. Perhaps it was the exposure of his viewed weakness that made her respect him more, or she was drawn to men that let her down in some way.


    Leiros shook her emotions and presence from his mind vigorously until he could try once more to forget she existed. He wasn¡¯t interested in her to be perfectly honest. He wasn¡¯t really interested in anyone as all of the women he had come across were too plain with their emotions. It was hard to make a proper connection with someone or be surprised about their interest in you when you could feel their emotions so keenly.


    He was of a far too rational of mind to get swept up in romances and crushes. Although he could appreciate the individual beauty and complexity that many of the women of the Order had, none of them seemed able to knock him from his mind as well pull on his heartstrings. When one came into contact with so many people with the same emotions and viewpoints in their heads, most people became nothing more than predictable background noise and it was precisely this omnipresent noise that bothered Leiros so much.


    Leiros turned away from Kalyna as she continued to run down the hall. He began to walk in the opposite direction while trying to figure out the best course of action to get back to the Stohll Mesa. He was already near the top of the Little Buetha Mesa and it would involve climbing down numerous levels to get to the underground passages that led back to Stohll. Such a method of travel ¡ª being the most commonly used by the oracles of the Order ¡ª would take hours. It would not be right to make the students wait that long.


    Leiros made his way to a fork in the hallway carved from the very rock of the Buetha Mesa and looked from side to side. He resolved the best way to get back to Stohll and ran headlong to the right. He would avoid the passages back, and instead reach the summit of the Mesa. He was only two floors away as it was.


    As he tore down the hallway in a full sprint, he narrowly pushed to the side to avoid an older Initiate carrying a stack of books and grimoires. As he passed, the older man had to catch himself and steady the stack of books he carried against his chest, up to his chin. The older man barked out a few obscenities and was lost as Leiros turned another corner.


    A dozen feet ahead the hallway broke into a flight of stairs upward. Leiros leaped at the bottom step and pulled himself up by grabbing the iron railings anchored into the stone. He took the steps three at a time, pulling himself up faster and faster until he got to the next floor. The stairs opened to another set of hallways, but he turned hard to his left and jumped over the next flight of stairs.


    Despite being in decent shape from his many exercises and physical challenges that he put himself through, Leiros still managed to get winded as he made his way to a heavy iron doorway at the top of the stairs. He strained as he pulled on the rope handle that was wound through the door. He struggled to catch his breath for a moment and then was overwhelmed by the torrent of air that blew through the opened doorway.


    The warm, dry, and sand-strewn air of the Jolash Plateau greeted him as he stepped through the threshold and secured the door behind himself. He turned around and began to climb up a wooden ladder up to the summit of the Little Buetha Mesa. The heat of the twin suns above was harsh on his skin as he took his first step on the exposed rock.


    Leiros quickly lifted the hood of his robes and secured them by pulling taut some of his cloth belts around to his frame. The harsh light and whipping winds of the Jolash Plateau were far more than his fair skin could handle. He took a few steps forward and focused his narrowed gaze upon the skies above.


    He began to pull loose some cloth scarves around the neck of his robes and upon spying a tiny dot playing among a group of clouds far to the east, he focused his mental energies into a blast. He gave an ear-piercing whistle between his tongue, teeth, and lips. Along with this auditory call, he let loose his mental energies to summon that far-away dot to him. The telepathic blast was profound and caused him a moment of dizziness.


    Once more taking control of his senses, he began to wrap the scarves around his face. He kept one loop around his forehead, and another around his nose and mouth. He fidgeted with the fabric to keep it taut and tie it near the back of his neck. He kept only a small slit revealed for his eyes and then pulled some leather belts from his sleeves to tie around his neck and to secure around his hands like makeshift gloves.


    Once he was bundled up, he took a few more steps onto the higher rock of the summit. He looked to his left and could see immense size of Auhl Keignfel Stohll. That great mesa, his home and the primary headquarters of his order stood like a giant, silent sentinel against the whipping sands that scoured the Jolash Plateau far below. Stohll rose almost a thousand feet higher than the mesa he currently stood upon. Several other mesas rose up from the rocky plateau, but most were farther away than this edifice of rock no more than a mile from where he stood.


    Leiros turned his head to notice a shadow that was cast over the summit. He looked up to see a great black and gold bird flap its wings several times as it lowered itself onto a large outcropping of rock nearby. From head to talon, the bird was twice the size of Leiros and the wingspan it held was slightly more than thirty feet to a wing. Once the bird¡¯s talons took hold of the rock, it folded its immense wings in and lowered its head down to Leiros¡¯ level.


    Gathering spoiled? The bird beamed the words straight into Leiros¡¯ mind. The feeling was less like a conversation and more like a wave of images, emotions, and a calming sense of oneness between his mind and the bird¡¯s.


    ¡°The meeting went well enough.¡± Leiros talked openly to the bird and lifted a hand to scratch some feathers near the back of its head. ¡°I think we are to be betrayed soon enough, though.¡± Leiros took a step up on the rock to get closer.


    I was playing with the clouds. The bird turned its head to look up to the nearby building clouds further across the plateau. Much power is building. It will storm soon. The clouds may weep. The bird turned its head back to Leiros and looked him in the eye. Immense orbs of orange jade seemed to be on fire from within.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take note of that, Qathalla.¡± Leiros turned to look over to the nearby towering mesa and pointed to it with his left hand. ¡°I need you to fly me over there. When we get there, I need you to stay with me, is that alright?¡± He continued to scratch at the bird¡¯s head with his right hand.


    Of course. The bird nuzzled into Leiros¡¯ arm and pressed its large beak against his chest. Qathalla closed its eyes for a moment and then continued to speak with thoughts. I saw other Authrocs over there. A gathering. Many young oracles are standing around looking lost.


    ¡°I have to go over there and teach them how to handle their Authrocs. I need you to stay with me, I will need to fly with you later on.¡± Leiros gave two pats with his leathered hand on the authroc¡¯s neck. Qathalla lowered one of its wings and allowed Leiros to climb up easily.


    Once Leiros was secured to the back of the great bird, laying into a leather harness that was strapped across the bird¡¯s chest, he gave one more pat. He whistled softly and the authroc¡¯s wings unfurled and began to pound air against the ground in a flurry. Within moments Qathalla had risen into the air and then darted downward into a dive with outstretched wings. A few feet from the surface of the ground, the bird pulled up and soared with great speed toward the summit of the other mesa.


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    Version 4.0.01


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 Episode III - On Authrocs Wing II - II

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    The currents of cooling air flowed across the linen shell that Leiros wore and sent the trailing ends of his scarves into a whipping frenzy around him. The winds had quickly switched to come from the north, drawing in the billowing clouds that Qathalla had earlier flew among. As Leiros felt the temperatures change from his soaring height he knew that the great bird was correct in its earlier forewarnings that the storms would descent upon the mesas of Alsira.


    The largest of the twin suns, the burning Lord Dhaulm, was at its zenith in the sky. The smaller of the suns, the ambitious lover Trallt, was nearing the western horizon and casting mismatched golden shadows over the terrain below. This day would be a short one, with the evening filled with storms, and the night would be almost double the length of the day.


    Leiros pulled himself away from his observations of the sky and focused on the nearing plateau of Auhl Keignfel Stohll as he rushed toward it on the back of his soul-bonded authroc. Through the slit of his shielding scarves, he could see a gathered mass of white-robed students milling about on the plateau. Moving among the students were two brown-robed initiates that took turns trying to talk with the students or throwing their arms into the air with exasperation. Several of the student¡¯s authrocs were either perched on rocks of the plateau or playing with each other on the air around the mesa.


    A momentary flare of rage shot through Leiros¡¯ mind as he tried to place blame for his lateness on Master Gwain. Despite knowing that the older Master had intentionally set this situation upon him and the confused students below, there was still a gnawing feeling of guilt in his mind. As certain as he wanted to be about the injustice he must now attempt to correct, there was still that youthful voice in his mind that made him feel like an impostor among the other Masters of the Authrakallin. If he could be manipulated so easily, maybe he wasn¡¯t cut out for his station after all.


    No doubts. The flood of certainty and flash of several images from the past flowed into Leiros¡¯ mind from Qathalla¡¯s own. The human you think of is sour. They do not smell healthy, but like they rutted with filth. Qathalla sent a roar of tingling energy through its feathers and into Leiros¡¯ body. That one is a cuckoo in the nest. I know not why you tolerate him to live. If I found him in my nest I would tear his throat out with my claws and devour his screaming face.


    Leiros couldn¡¯t restrain a twisted grin as it spread across his lips, the brutal honesty of Qathalla was jarring and oddly welcome. He leaned into the muscular neck of the bird and began to smooth the rippling feathers that crackled with unrestrained energy. As isolated and vulnerable as he felt in this moment he could feel the protection that Qathalla offered him. Slowly he opened his mind from fear and worry to the certainty of his good company. He had Qathalla with him, the guidance of Grandmaster Toulam, and even the slinking weirdness of Vhoggli to depend upon. There were other initiates that he had grown close with during his time with the oracles, as well. He wasn¡¯t alone, but he would now have to tread carefully as there were coiling vipers in his home.


    Qathalla was beginning its descent toward the summit of the taller mesa, which jarred Leiros back to reality once more. He looked down to the gathering of students as they all looked up at him in unison. The two initiates stood with contempt upon their faces and one had his arms crossed over his chest. His mind began to reel at the guilt he felt for leaving them waiting so long. He knew from his own studies when he was younger how important the first impression of a teacher was. These next moments meant everything when it came to earning their respect.


    Leiros closed his eyes as Qathalla began to beat its wings against the updrafts surrounding the Stohll mesa. He began to construct a new personality out of the same sea of mercury that made up his thoughts. He brought up his mental defenses and wove them into the fabric of this new self. He decided to construct a rakish and devil-may-care sort of personality to keep any of the more telepathically inclined students at bay.


    He reached into his own memories to pull up what he remembered of a friend of his father. He had long forgotten the man¡¯s name, but the memories of his behavior when he came over for dinners, or those handfuls of time had given him advice on the steps of the Morrthault Anathaem of Law while he waited for his father to finish his daily duties, were etched into his psyche. He was a man who didn¡¯t care what others thought of him. He was a man who seemed to intentionally show up late for his duties. He was as unphased by social mores as he was by the violence he had to dole out to criminals. Leiros remembered well the words he spoke to him when he was just a small boy waiting for his father on the Anathaem steps.


    ¡°I can see that look in your eye, boy.¡± The man unfurled his heavy leather coat from around his legs and took up a sitting perch two steps higher than Leiros on the cold stone steps. ¡°You have that same devotion to duty and propriety that your father has. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll follow his steps and become one of the Filidath as well.¡±


    Leiros remembered looking up at the man whose face was still covered in a long, black hood. The man forced him to look over his shoulder, backward, and up to him on purpose. Even with his empathic abilities budding at such a young age, he recalled how hard it was for him to pick up any emotions from the man. Feeling his mind was like running his hands over cold metal; something he learned to adopt to protect himself later in life.


    ¡°Here you wait like a dutiful son. Always here an hour before your father finishes his last bits of paperwork.¡± The man looked off to the ancient and decrepit spires of Morrthault city for a moment. He looked like he was surveying all the world and finding it wanting. ¡°I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ll end up a bureaucrat like your father, or you¡¯ll choose the more active role that I do in the Law-giver caste.¡± He patted a gloved hand on the star-metal sword hanging from his belt. ¡°I can see in the way you look at me that you have more spine than your old man. You have the look of a judge who yearns to bring justice to this dying world. You have the look of someone who wants to make others pay for their injustices.¡±


    Leiros remembered looking down at the steps below his feet, turning away from the man as if that could stop him from seeing into his heart. He could still recollect the burning anger he had in him for how his father was treated a few months previous when he was stripped of status and pushed behind a wooden desk. He could once again feel the uncertainty gnawing at his soul when he realized that justice and responsibility weren¡¯t known by all people and that most thought of such as entirely alien concepts.


    ¡°You might find this uncouth, but I care for you, boy. Not as much as your father does, nor as much as your mother did before she was taken from this world, but I have concern for your wellbeing. I¡¯ve worked for decades with your father, and although I will never have a family of my own, you and your father are the closest I could ever have to one.¡± The man shifted in his position and leaned back on the steps while unfurling his legs forward. ¡°I don¡¯t know if you¡¯re old enough to understand what happened to your father. Maybe when you¡¯re older you¡¯ll know what happened and that you shouldn¡¯t hold anything against him. Your father has a kind spirit and has always been dutiful. It is in his sense of uncompromising duty that his weakness was birthed.¡±


    Leiros felt like he wanted to punch the man for saying anything against his father, but despite his youth, he understood that something was wrong. The fact that other members of the Filidath could strip him of his station so easily revealed some sort of weakness that they had exploited. His mind began to race at questions to ask the tall and imposing man slouched behind him. He sucked in air to reply but held his tongue.


    ¡°You can learn to bulwark yourself from the cracks of weakness by turning them back on themselves, you know.¡± The man shifted once more and leaned forward. He seemed like he was looking down at Leiros, but all he could see when he looked up and backward was the side of the man¡¯s hood. ¡°You don¡¯t always have to be the dutiful son and arrive an hour early. You could very well show up late if you wanted to.¡± The man reached his gloved hands out and began to crack his knuckles loudly.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Leiros didn¡¯t understand how showing up late might guard himself against weakness, the whole thing seemed extremely rude to do to his father. What would happen if his father came to the steps of the Anathaem and couldn¡¯t find him. He could see the look of panic on his father¡¯s face in his mind and the frantic searches he would conduct. Such a situation would cause disharmony, unpredictability, and invited disaster.


    ¡°I can taste your skepticism, boy. I can hear the little gears of your mind whirling into a frenzy at all the things that could go wrong.¡± The man gave a chuckle and shook his head, causing the overdrawn tip of his hood to sway in the air. ¡°You and your father are so obsessed by order and have such a fear of chaos that you can only see the latter as a hungry serpent at your door. You need to be able to understand both elements fully in order to truly be strong.¡± The man reached out his right hand and began to squeeze his fingers into a fist. ¡°You have to let that serpent into your house, boy. You have to wrestle with it. You have to choke the life from it, master it, and then use it. Order and chaos are like light and darkness; one cannot exist without the other.¡±


    Leiros could feel the tiny muscles of his skull furrowing up in confusion as he looked back at the hooded enforcer of the laws. He still couldn¡¯t see any details on the man¡¯s face from beneath the shadows, but something told him that the man was smiling down at him. It was a strange memory to think of a man as a symbol of uncompromising law, who was as much a protector as an executioner, sitting there and smiling at him.


    ¡°Learn to embrace chaos and make it a tool, lest that serpent take hold and poison your future.¡± The man reached out his left hand to place it upon Leiros¡¯ shoulder. The grip felt cold like metal but offered a deep feeling of protection and ownership. It was a feeling like being cloaked in darkness but not being afraid of it, instead embracing it to become one with it, then extending his senses through it to see all things not just the illusions of light and shadow. ¡°There will be a time in your life that you will be late for your duty. Much as your father was when you were younger. I do hope it won¡¯t cost the lives of the people you care about, but there is a way to master it.¡± The man leaned forward a few inches so that the cool fabric of his hood grazed Leiros¡¯ cheek like a kiss from the goddess of death. ¡°Act like you don¡¯t care. Be as late as you want to be and make a grand entrance when you get there. People will only make you guilty of the things you feel guilt towards. Know what is important in your heart, but tell the rest of the world to wait for you. Own your fate and never let others unjustly rob you of it.¡±


    Leiros didn¡¯t understand the man¡¯s words when he spoke them so long ago, but in the current context, he could see some of the warning that was meant. Serpents had indeed found themselves inside of Leiros¡¯ house and the cracks of chaos were everywhere. He had focused so long on maintaining order and living his life with honor so that he might constantly prove himself to others, that he had forgotten that chaos is also a source of power. It was precisely through chaos that Master Illena and Master Gwain were gaining influence in the Order while eroding the Grandmaster¡¯s desire for justice.


    The words that the hooded man had spoken about taking control over one¡¯s dereliction of duties, seemed flippant all those years ago. Specifically alluding to his father¡¯s lateness that had caused the death not only of his mother but of several thousand innocent people in Morrthault City was hard for him to swallow at such a tender age. For most of his life, he had neglected that memory and found that man¡¯s words worthless. It was only now that he found himself upon a precipice where his duties were being used against him, much like what had happened to his father, that the words held power.


    He could feel the terrestrial pull once more upon his body as Qathalla¡¯s talons sunk deep into the rock of the summit below. With a reflexive action, he slid from his saddle while dragging a hand through the great bird¡¯s black feathers. Qathalla crooned and swooped its great head and pushed him forward with one of its tucked wings.


    Leiros landed upon the ground several feet ahead and proceeded to dust the Jolashi sands from his robes with one hand and pulled the scarves around his face free with his other. His eyes darted from the young students gathered before him to each of the initiated brothers taking steps towards him with snarls of rage upon their faces.


    ¡°Well, no wonder Master Olkva had to abandon his duties for a relaxing vacation in the Athim Glaciers.¡± Leiros tucked his errant scarves in his robes and narrowed his eyes contemptuously at the two brothers ahead of him. He waited just long enough for one of them to take in a sharp breath to reply and then cut him off to speak once more. ¡°It would seem you two enjoy wasting my student¡¯s time. I had told Master Gwain that the Authvokan tests would begin at two hours past Noon. Here I see a bunch of bored students looking like they¡¯ve been waiting here for hours.¡±


    ¡°Master Leiros, you¡¯re mistaken-¡± The youngest of the brothers managed to seize upon his voice and step forward with his hands outstretched.


    ¡°I¡¯m mistaken? The one who scheduled these tests with Master Gwain and Master Illena over a day ago?¡± Leiros cocked one of his eyebrows up and began to walk over to the youngest brother with command in his stride. ¡°Are you sure it¡¯s not you who is mistaken?¡±


    ¡°It was Master Gwain who told us to assemble the students before Noon. We only did what we were told to do.¡± The second brother, much older than the other stood his ground with his arms crossed. The look on his aged and dusky face was nothing more than a set knotted scowls.


    ¡°So, it would seem that neither of you can accept your own blame and would instead try to pin all of this on a Master of station like Gwain.¡± Leiros crossed his own arms over his chest as if mimicking the scowling brother to his right. He gave a short half-snort and chuckle before continuing. ¡°As one of the Masters, I¡¯ll let this slight go for now.¡± Leiros seemed to look both brothers from toe to face and then back again, sizing them up. ¡°Well, let¡¯s just say there was a miscommunication. I would remind you not to speak ill of those above your station, but I will hold Master Gwain responsible for this. I assure you, I will find out if it was him that caused this mishap and he will be corrected for his behavior.¡±


    The younger brother stopped in his tracks and seemed to bow with deference toward Leiros for a moment. He went quiet as he pursed his lips and lifted both hands up as if in supplication. Leiros shot his eyes over to the other brother and saw the scowl upon his face break for a moment. The older brother closed his eyes slowly, opened them again and gave the slightest of nods. His arms remained crossed in front of his chest, but his shoulders slumped.


    ¡°Good. Now I have been told that I will be taking over for Master Olkva and today will be these student¡¯s Authvokan.¡± Leiros stepped forward and struck a pose that was far more casual than his station should have allowed. He reached out two arms towards the brothers standing before him. He carefully raised his right arm higher toward the scowling man than his left arm towards the younger. This action got the angry brother¡¯s attention immediately and softened his features a bit more. ¡°I would like to be properly introduced to the both of you. We will be working closely together this day and several others into the future.¡± Leiros allowed a wide grin to spread across his lips and he flashed his teeth at both brothers.


    ¡°I am Brother Telomai.¡± The younger brother took one more step to stand right before Leiros on his left side. ¡°I have served as a celestial cartographer under Master Peloyn. It is good to meet you, Master Leiros.¡± The younger brother tossed his head to the side to fight against an errant shock of brown hair that had draped over his face. He offered out a bare hand and Leiros eagerly shook it with a hard grasp. ¡°I heard that you are a specialist in the lore and history of Vhaltenesh. Maybe one day we could share a meal and talk about the ancient Morthavi.¡±


    ¡°I assure you it will happen. Any oracle of this Order that understands the wisdom of the ancients is a friend to me.¡± Leiros gave two downward shakes of Telomai¡¯s hand and then let his hand drop to change his attention over the old man on his right.


    ¡°I am Brother Hethras.¡± The older brother seized upon Leiros¡¯ outstretched hand greedily and took charge. ¡°I used to perform auguries for Master Chaelra until Gwain took up her position when she passed away. I didn¡¯t want to keep working under him, so I switched over help Master Olkva.¡± Hethras seemed to stare deeply into Leiros¡¯ eyes as if trying to analyze his deeper character. Leiros prepared his mental defenses even tighter to prepare for any telepathic onslaught, but within a moment he could see the brother¡¯s face soften. ¡°I may not believe that Gwain made the mistake, but I am quite certain he is guilty of us being here for this long.¡± Hethras leaned in with his words and let Leiros¡¯ hand drop.


    ¡°Well met to the both of you. Now, if you would be as kind as to introduce me to my students so we can get started right away. I know these poor souls have been waiting here for some time. I¡¯m sure their nerves are all a mess because today is the day of their final test.¡± Both brothers turned on their heels and stepped toward the huddled group of young students before them. Leiros stepped between Telomai and Hethras in as certain a fashion as he could. He flashed his smile at the students who all looked up at him in unison. Leiros gave both brothers a playful slap across their backs and held onto their robes for a moment as they walked towards the students.


    <hr>


    Version 4.0.01


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 Episode III - On Authrocs Wing III - I

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    The cooling afternoon winds pulled at the robes and scarves covering Leiros¡¯ body as he plummeted through the sky. The air rushed at him with a soft howl that lulled him into a sense of serene comfort despite the bouts of vertigo assaulting him from the constant dives and rises Qathalla sent the both of them into. A feeling of growing moisture and tingling energy was beginning to build up from the growing storm-clouds far above, making Leiros¡¯ every heartbeat pitch a little faster with reverent anticipation.


    With a push from the leather guards along Qathalla¡¯s immense back, Leiros let his body float a few inches above the black feathers of his spirit-mount. The pull of the world-plane¡¯s gravity sent him flying as the great authroc plummeted into a hard dive. The sensation of the world inverted for a few moments as Leiros fell upward with his companion. He looked up to see the seas of sand and great plateaus of rock eat up the sky above him, while below his feet was a sea of clouds and heavens.


    The wind rushing against him impacted the hardened scarves he had wrapped against his face, allowing only his stinging eyes any exposure. His gray robes billowed against his body causing drag as he began to fall toward the terrestrial realm above. The distance between Qathalla and his body grew from inches to feet as he closed his eyes to embrace the fall.


    A strange feeling began to gnaw at the back of his mind; a feeling that soon grew into a presence that began to whisper in his ears with the voice of the wind. A voice that wanted him to let go of the feelings of trepidation and fear that were building up in his mind. He imagined that the voice was a feminine presence pressing into his back as he arched up and away from the world rushing toward him. Within the rushing air that tore into his robes, he could feel a caress of hair against his neck and face.


    ¡°Embrace the fall and be with me.¡± The feminine voice¡¯s words took form and resounded deeply in Leiros¡¯ mind. ¡°The world you once knew is crumbling away into darkness. Soon there will be nothing worth clinging to. You know this.¡±


    Leiros could feel the presence of Qathalla growing further away from him as he kept his eyes closed in this blackened world of eternal descent. He could hear his own heartbeat over the rushing wind and within a single moment, everything went completely silent. He could no longer feel the rush of wind against him, and the feeling of falling began to feel like a perpetual flight. He was free of the limitations of the world at this moment, free of his mortal coil, free of his fear, and his only companion was the voice that crooned softly into his mind.


    ¡°Let go of what pains you, my love.¡± As the voice whispered once more, he could feel the sickly tangy smell of old blood overpowering his nostrils and creeping along the back of his throat. ¡°If you continue to struggle against this faltering world you will only find suffering. If you let go in this moment, then soon we will be together forever. We will be free of this damned world once and for all.¡±


    With each word the voice spoke, sudden and jarring flashes of Leiros¡¯ buried memories began to surface up from the deepest recesses of his soul. He could feel anger coursing through his veins and the ephemeral echo of his body clenched its fists in sympathy. All of the injustices he had witnessed growing up, and the certainty inside of him that he would witness even worse as his life continued on should he not embrace this voice from the depths of the abyss. He did not enjoy having the cold and metallic stillness of his mind being broken with revealing fractures, but as hard as he fought against this alien will, further cracks broke open all the more viciously.


    ¡°Save us both the pain that the future will bring. Embrace the void with me.¡±


    The last piece of his personal control was sundered and began to crumble into dust, he could feel the unrestrained chaos of his emotions burning up from their depths. As these emotions and thoughts began to lick around him like hungry bale-fire flames Leiros forced himself further into his mind, to the one place he could find refuge from this madness; the last island at the core of his soul. As he continued to plummet through the darkness within and without, he awoke to the sensation of calmly floating above an ocean of quicksilver, with nothing but a dark abyss above him.


    He could feel the feminine presence in the distance, at the edge of his astral senses, like a hungry beast stalking the darkness while being warded off by a bonfire¡¯s light. He could see with his astral eyes the far-off ripples of the woman¡¯s feet as she strode at the periphery of his metallic ocean. Bale-fire flames licked up in her wake as if her merest touch upon the ocean of his mind caused rot and madness. With each eruption of flame, she managed to move quickly into the darkness, always remaining hidden. Time and distance didn¡¯t matter in this place, but the woman¡¯s shadow invited such entropic concepts to manifest in jarring and distorted ways. Leiros was half aware of the sensations affecting his material body as well as the stillness he yearned for with his astral senses.


    ¡°You can¡¯t escape from me and you¡¯ve kept me restrained for far too long.¡± The woman¡¯s voice was less seductive and more forceful as she continued to walk along the periphery of his stillness and test the very last of his mental defenses. Her voice had a predatory sort of cruelty behind it now. ¡°I¡¯ve been with you since you were a child. I¡¯ve always been here ¡ª just out of your reach ¡ª yet always calling out to you. I have been your guide in your dreams, even though you did not remember me when you woke. I am the part of you that you refuse to embrace.¡±


    ¡°I refuse to remember you.¡± Leiros found his voice in this astral realm in the depths of his soul. His words began as a vibration from within but soon broke out into ripples of force that caused the surface of his metal ocean to ripple outward, eventually crashing into waves. ¡°You are the serpent of chaos. You are my lesser self ¡ª my shadow ¡ª and I have no need for you.¡±


    The woman laughed at his words and with each breath, her voice resounded like thunder. Torrents of indigo lightning raced across the infinite abyss above as the woman clawed towards him but was held at bay by the last of his will. She struggled for a moment and then continued her corruptive walk along the surface of his mind.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing wrong with a little chaos, my love.¡± The woman¡¯s voice immediately lost its savagery and began to croon once more. The words felt like they reached across the distance of Leiros¡¯ mind and caressed his astral essence directly. ¡°You can¡¯t hide behind suffocating order your entire life. Soon, you¡¯ll find yourself embracing me whether you like it or not. If you refuse to embrace me now in death, saving you and I continued suffering; I¡¯ll find you shortly and we can embrace as the world is drowned in blood and fire.¡±


    ¡°Then blood and fire it will be.¡± Leiros felt a cold fire rise up from inside of him. This threat from within himself caused a higher degree of personal defense to be birthed. Blue crackles of light began to build up from his astral fingers and roar within his astral body like arteries of power. ¡°I¡¯m not ready for you. I¡¯m not ready to embrace the chaos within me. I am not strong enough, and this is not the right time.¡±


    The woman threw a shadowed claw across the distance of his ocean and struck the void near his soul. Indigo flames rushed over him and instinctively he fired back with the cold fire he had begun to build up. The woman gave out a howl and stepped back into the furthest darkness.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°So be it, my love. Blood and fire, you have sworn this oath to me. I await you, and when the time is right, we will embrace the void together.¡±


    With those last words, Leiros felt the feminine presence pull away from him. He could feel the corruptive bale-fires being quenched by the cool quicksilver of his internal ocean of order. Explosions of his intent caused waves of metal to stretch out and reform the defenses he had constructed for so long. Cracks and fissures were sealed as if they had never existed, and the newly found power within him imbued those cold edifices with greater strength.


    As calm and rationality returned to his soul, Leiros stared down at his astral hands as they continued to crackle with blue flames of energy. Trickles of energy roared up and back into his astral self, creeping along his arms and through his torso. The energy suffused him until it began to build up behind his eyes. With a brilliant flash of blue, he found his eyes opening up once more into the corporeal world.


    Leiros could see Qathalla¡¯s immense and dark form rushing to meet the ground above him. They were separated by several yards of distance and he knew that the great authroc would be ending its dive soon. Reaching out his hands, Leiros felt the last vestiges of his crackling astral energy rush to his fingers once more. He aimed his will through his hands toward Qathalla and pulled hard on several of the leather reins flapping in the air around the bird¡¯s back.


    With a subtle pull of telekinetic force, he unfurled a distance of the reins and managed to seize onto one of them with his right hand once it snapped on the air near him. He spun the reins around his hand and leaned forward to press the reins into his left elbow. He began to push forward, drawing on the rein¡¯s slack with each elbow as he neared his soaring spirit-mount yard by yard.


    The last few inches toward the leather grip on Qathalla¡¯s saddle were soon within reach. Leiros let all of the reins fall to his left hand so he could reach out with his right and take hold. As soon as the tips of his fingers stumbled over the rim of the grip, he became aware of how close Qathalla and he were to the ground. With a piercing rush of wind and a momentary sense of overwhelming panic, it seemed like Leiros and Qathalla fell through the very surface of the rocky Jolash Plateau.


    Leiros stretched out his fingers once more and grabbed hold of Qathalla¡¯s saddle and with every bit of strength he could muster, he pulled himself against the leather while slinging his feet into the harness. Darkness washed over him for a moment and then his eyes adjusted to the dim light trickling in below his feet from the mouth of the great Alsiran Canyon.


    With his body secured against the hulking body of his spirit-mount, he could feel Qathalla change its pitch and bend even further upward. The authroc¡¯s immense wings caught the quickly whirling canyon winds rushing up from the chilled waters of the Alsira river that crashed up from jagged rocks as it made its way from the Heart of Alsira in the north to the emerald-hued Jol River in the south.


    As Qathalla pulled from its dive and turned its ground-ward momentum into a hard forward thrust, nausea and disorientation began to pull at Leiros¡¯ body. His chest hit the great bird¡¯s back hard and he began to gulp for air. Despite the disorientation and lack of air, he clenched every muscle in his body in hopes of keeping his blood flowing to his head properly, lest he black-out and fall from the saddle. Within a moment, he could draw breath again and feel his sight and senses returning from dim darkness to the full brightness that the afternoon¡¯s light provided to the shadowed canyon reaches.


    Leiros lifted himself slowly up from Qathalla¡¯s back while holding tightly to the great bird¡¯s reins and despite the shaking of his tired arms. The cool and refreshing mist of crashing glacial waters sprinkled across his face letting him know he was still alive for the moment. The whipping wind from the canyon tugged all the harder upon his robes and his ears were filled with a deafening howl.


    I wished only to stretch my wings, and I find you slipping from me. Qathalla¡¯s words rushed into Leiros¡¯ mind with flashes of images and intense emotions. You have taken on the role of mother to these chicks. You have thrust them from the nest to earn their wings. Qathalla turned its great wings downward and then pushed back to attain more speed as it rushed mere feet above the crashing waters of the river.


    Leiros looked from side to side and noticed that Qathalla was taking them into the heart of the City of Veils, built into the sides of the great canyon. He could see the first few riverfront buildings whipping by, and felt the tug on him as the great bird soared around a hard bend in the canyon. The clusters of buildings and houses grew more elaborate as they whipped by at a frenzied pace. Within a few moments, they would be nearing the great bridges near the core of the city, and the shadow cast by the overhanging great hall of the Elder Circle.


    I don¡¯t know what dark thoughts tore you away from me, but I refuse to allow it again. Qathalla¡¯s emotions grew stronger and the authroc gave out an audible screech to let loose its demands. No more day-dreaming, my companion. You must remain awake!


    Leiros didn¡¯t need to see or react to what was about to happen, he already felt it through the keen emotional bond between him and the great bird. He moved quickly to throw his left rein far off to the side and coil the right rein around his right arm. He let his feet out of the harness and threw himself hard to the right and over the body of his soul-mount.


    His legs dangled in the air a mere foot above the frothing waves of the river while he carried his momentum around to grab the flapping left rein in his hand. He struggled against gravity that pulled tightly on his arms and hands. With a groan, he steadied himself and threw his feet up to swing toward Qathalla¡¯s chest.


    As soon as he impacted the bird¡¯s chest, he could feel the impact of Alsira Thaenat¡¯s lowest bridge against Qathalla¡¯s back. The bird thumped against the ancient rock once and then a second time much softer. Qathalla gave out another ear-piercing screech and beamed emotions of mirth to Leiros¡¯ mind. If he had remained upon the saddle, the great bird would have ensured that his head would be caved in by the rushing bridge¡¯s edge, or he would have every bone in his body crushed beneath the bridge during the first impact. Qathalla¡¯s Ruffled or torn-out feathers from the impact began to burn in the air, looking like a rain of ash and flame. Distant sounds of shouts or curses echoed up from the many startled people using the bridge as they heard the screech and saw the great bird rise up from beneath it.


    Are you awake now? Qathalla flapped its great wings to ascend a few feet higher and then lobbed over to allow Leiros to swing back into his saddle. Your chicks are waiting to be taught how to fly and to fight. You must guide them properly, so their companions don¡¯t get hurt. You promised me.


    ¡°Yes, I know.¡± Leiros took hold of the saddle and nestled into the harness once more. ¡°I can¡¯t do my job if you kill me.¡± He spoke aloud, but he knew his words would be carried away on the wind. As he spoke he used his telepathic bond with Qathalla to send the words straight to the bird¡¯s mind.


    Qathalla gave a few more hard flaps of its wings and soared higher into the air. The half-orb roofed outcropping of the Elder Circle soon descended past them as they tore up and over the rim of the canyon. The brilliance of the afternoon suns caused him to blink a few times as he got used to the searing light.


    When he had finished introducing himself to the students and giving them their last instructions, he had promised Qathalla that none of the other authrocs would be harmed during the final tests. Some teachers were fond of severe tests during the Authvokan challenges, but Leiros would not be like that this day. Qathalla seemed overly worried and furrowed its feathers several times when Leiros tried to mount him and give the last instructions to the students. Something had spooked it, just as the introductions had spooked Leiros in his own way.


    ¡°I must be alert, you¡¯re right to scold me. Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ve now woken me up, my friend.¡± Leiros leaned into Qathalla¡¯s back as they made their way back to the air around the great mesas. ¡°You wanted to stretch your wings, and I wanted to stretch my mind, that¡¯s all. It won¡¯t happen again.¡± Leiros nodded and let one of his gloved hands run along the immense black and ember feathers of the great bird. ¡°I will watch after my students, and you must watch after the other authrocs.¡±


    Qathalla gave another screech in affirmation and swooped upward to meet the other authrocs soaring through the skies.


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 Episode III - On Authrocs Wing III - II

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    ¡°Well, Master Leiros, these are¡­ Uhh¡­¡± Brother Telomai choked on his words as he stepped forward from Leiros¡¯ side. ¡°These are the students ready for their final tests with their Authrocs.¡± He turned to smile sheepishly and let his arm glide through the air as if placing all of the waiting faces on display. A small breeze lifted an errant shock of his brown hair to blow about his face. Once he dropped his arm, his green eyes darted to the ground while his mouth pursed as he chastised himself softly for tripping over his words.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got twelve of ¡®em to contend with.¡± Brother Hestras now stepped forward from Leiros¡¯ other side and looked down to him with a stern look. The weather-worn wrinkles of age and sorrow furrowed as if devouring his features. ¡°You think you can handle this lot?¡± The same breeze couldn¡¯t tease any of the older brother¡¯s hair as his head was cleanly shaven, but it did tug at the bristling and unruly gray hair of his brow.


    ¡°Assuredly.¡± Leiros gave a broad grin to Hestras and turned away from him sharply. He folded his hands behind him and stepped toward the gathered group. ¡°I am Master Leiros. I¡¯ll be taking over for Master Olkva in your teaching. Sadly, it seems I didn¡¯t get to know any of you before this day, so I can¡¯t speak to any of your strengths or weaknesses. We¡¯ll be thrust into this test together, but I promise you that I am a quick learner¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve wasted enough of our time.¡± Leiros was interrupted by a curt female voice from among the students gathered before him. Several of the students looked from Leiros to their number with arrayed states of shock on their faces. Slowly, a young woman pushed her way to the front. ¡°I honestly don¡¯t care who you are. Just do your job and let us get on with it.¡±


    Leiros¡¯ eyebrows shot up and one of his hands unfurled from his back to scratch at his face for a moment. His interest was piqued by this impertinent young woman. His eyes flowed judgmentally over her form as she stepped forward to challenge him. He let his eyes quickly fall to her feet and then slowly move back up to her face. He let his reactions linger, his face becoming more concerned as he went, showing that he was sizing her up and finding her wanting.


    The young woman wore immaculately cared-for robes of stark white that seemed immune to the dust and sand whipped up by the Jolashi winds. She had obviously taken pains to enhance the limited wardrobe of the order with gaudy bracelets and a long necklace that draped over her low-cut top. The jewelry she wore seemed to be gold accented with the signature blue-tinted silver from the distant Star-shatter Peaks; a metal that cost as much in blood and lives as it did in Alsiran Talons. She had also taken the effort to embroider blue runes into the sleeves and neck-line trim of her robes. Leiros doubted that this embroidery was done by the long, clean, and softened hands draping limply beneath her crossed arms.


    Her face would otherwise be considered pleasant to look at, but there was an added sourness to her features that bled through even the scowl and narrowed eyes she threatened Leiros with. There was something in her eyes that betrayed a rot within her that was bubbling up from the fetid depths of her soul; if she still had one. Those same eyes, hazel with more green than brown, were locked in a threatening challenge with Leiros¡¯ own. Her lips were thin, and her jaw was as sharp as a razor¡¯s edge. She still had a softness near her cheeks, showing some of the baby fat of her youth; a youth no doubt filled with temper tantrums and her always getting her way. Her dirty-blonde hair was tied tightly around her head in thick braids that went right down ¡ª almost painfully ¡ª to her scalp. Blue ribbons held the tails of her hair in place as they draped over her shoulders and the silken hood of her robes.


    ¡°Good, this saves me from having to continue my introduction.¡± Leiros maintained his composure in the face of this interloper and continued to stare into the young woman¡¯s eyes; not willing to back down from her challenge. He stepped forward and into her personal space. ¡°Could you please tell me specifically whose time I¡¯ve wasted?¡± Leiros lifted the hand that he had scratched his face with to point at the young woman, then flipped his hand over with his palm up. He did this more to press into her personal space and get a reaction than for any other reason. ¡°Let¡¯s begin with you.¡±


    Those same glassy and rotten orbs began to roll in their sockets as she gave a protracted sigh. She turned her body to the side slightly, giving just enough ground to Leiros to let him know she had a hint of insecurity in the negative attention she was getting from him. She looked over her shoulder as one of her long-fingered hands fell to her side. She snapped her fingers and waited for three shorter young women to crowd in behind her, each younger and less refined than she. Once they arrived, beckoned forth like the hounds they were, they provided security to their master. It was only then that she began to slowly speak.


    ¡°I honestly shouldn¡¯t have to introduce myself, but you might as well know the name of the next Grandmaster of this bumpkin little order of yours.¡± The young woman paused for effect and lifted her chin into the air. ¡°I am Celeste Bhourstark, heir to the county of Haellstrad in the Sapphire Kingdoms. You have heard of that place, haven¡¯t you?¡± She lowered her chin just enough to hold Leiros¡¯ eyes with her continuing stare of condescension. She looked back to the young women surrounding her and gave a derisive giggle.


    ¡°Oh yes, I am quite acquainted with it. I traveled there with Grandmaster Toulam a few years ago-¡±


    ¡°An irrelevant detail.¡± Celeste interrupted Leiros once more, but she didn¡¯t bother to keep her eyes on him. She darted her gaze to the side as if taking in the distant rocky horizon from atop the highest mesa in the region. She was showing some loss of confidence now that she knew Leiros had been to her homeland but did her best to make up for it with a sense of disgust. ¡°I merely wish to emphasize that among all of the other students here whose time has been wasted, you¡¯re also wasting a lady¡¯s time as well.¡±


    ¡°Oh, so you¡¯re a lady?¡± Leiros¡¯ tone, as the words came up from him quickly, was more rhetorical than inquisitive. He flared his eyes and lowered his forehead to simulate a sense of incredulity aimed not so much at the young woman¡¯s title as the fact that she was deserving of such. Before she could react with a sneer or words in her defense he pressed on. ¡°I didn¡¯t know we were all in the presence of a lady, let alone the self-proclaimed next Grandmaster of our order. Oh, my.¡±


    Leiros turned to look to Hestras at his side with false awe upon his face. He waited half a moment, seeing the brother¡¯s face still in a scowl. He turned to the other side to see Telomai staring at him with a look of bewilderment and fear. He held his eyes on the younger brother a few moments longer, emphasizing his reluctance to look back that the young woman snarling in front of him. He did so, and bowed into an overdrawn curtsy, letting his eyes trail from the ground back up to Celeste¡¯s face.


    ¡°Unbecoming.¡± Celeste gave a snort of derision and looked to her gathered hounds for reenforcement. ¡°This is our teacher? This is the impertinent fool that dares to teach us what we already know?¡± She lowered her snapping hand down and brought it up in a flourish towards Leiros. She rolled her putrid eyes once more and shook her head in tiny and controlled motions.


    ¡°Tell me ¡ª Lady Celeste ¡ª if you already know everything I have to teach you, then what one of the primary conditions you agreed to when you took the Oath of Vhaltenesh?¡± Leiros leaned in close enough to the young woman¡¯s face that she would be able to smell his breath. His demeanor was fading, revealing the fullness of his contempt. ¡°You did take the Oath didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°That was some years ago.¡± Celeste pressed her immaculately plucked eyebrows together as she tried to understand where Leiros was trying to aim her. It was obvious that many gears were working behind her eyes, trying to defend herself and prepare her next attack.


    ¡°It¡¯s a life-time Oath, my dear. I would certainly hope you remember what you agreed to.¡± Leiros smiled broadly and waited in a few moments of silence for Celeste to reply. She seemed dumbfounded by what he might be insinuating, so he continued. ¡°Vhaltenesh, our primarch, realized that we as oracles could be corrupted by bias both within and without. Ties of honor, ties of blood, claims to wealth and claims to fealty all strip an oracle of their righteousness. Ties to your former life are like chains, holding you down and keeping you away from the truth that Nesharr gifts us with.¡±


    ¡°So, what?¡± Celeste shrugged openly and narrowed her eyes at Leiros. ¡°I and everyone here made that same Oath. You have to in order to join the Authrakallin Order. They¡¯re just old words and symbolic promises given to someone long dead.¡±


    ¡°You made a blood-bound Oath to renounce all claims to titles, to land, to family, and to any other trappings of your origin.¡± Leiros clenched his fists and took a belabored breath. He tried to calm his nerves, wishing it was only stupidity that this young woman held within her and not outright maliciousness. ¡°This is the only way you may enter the Order. You joined this Order to follow in the footsteps of Vhaltenesh and learn from his teachings. This is the only way to become an oracle.¡±


    ¡°Those are old ideas, we don¡¯t follow those things anymore. The Oath is just a formality. I was selected to join this Order by Master Illena, herself. She selected me precisely because of my title and the rather amenable trust my parents gave to this little group you¡¯re so fond of.¡± Celeste fluttered her eyes with every statement she spoke and waved her hands at her sides in mockery of the very teachings she benefited from. She languished in her derision for a moment and then refocused her attention squarely on Leiros¡¯ eyes. ¡°What you care about is long gone, Leiros. The Order is changing around you and I¡¯m glad to be a vehicle for that change. When I¡¯m Grandmaster, I¡¯m going to enjoy getting rid of that silly oath and all the rest of that old bastard¡¯s writing. He died a thousand years ago, it¡¯s time to let his ideas die, too.¡±


    Leiros closed his eyes and lifted his head skyward while still straining his fists tightly. The corruption he had seen in Master Gwain, earlier this day, truly had seeped throughout the Order. Not only was Master Illena an agent of that growing malfeasance, she had deeply installed it in all of the initiates as well. She didn¡¯t have the right to go over the Grandmaster¡¯s head with selections for initiation. She didn¡¯t have the right to take bribes from wealthy foreign nobles to use for her own ends. It was beginning to feel like Leiros had woken up into a separate world this morning, a world filled with evil creatures that wore human skin, not the world he had fought so hard to preserve while growing up.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°Can we get on with the lesson, or must we bicker some more?¡± A male voice cut through the silence between Leiros and Celeste. Leiros opened his eyes and saw a young man push by two of the hounds to stand in solidarity next to the pompous young woman. ¡°I¡¯ve already sent my servant to retrieve another Master should this one not be sufficient to do his duties for us.¡± The young man glared hotly at Leiros out of the corner of his eyes and then focused them calmly upon Celeste¡¯s.


    The young woman nodded to the young man and both turned to look derisively from equally rotten eyes at Leiros. The young man had a shade darker skin than the woman¡¯s pale features. His brown hair was chopped, feathered, and bent stylishly around his head as if it were some kind of haphazard helmet. A gold chain necklace hung around his neck, and several of his fingers were bedecked with jeweled bands. It seemed like none of these new initiates understood the noble poverty and humility that Vhaltenesh¡¯s teachings encouraged.


    ¡°Let me guess, along with a Lady, we also have a Lord in our midst.¡± Leiros lifted one of his strained arms up and pointed with his index and middle finger toward this new student. ¡°Who might you be, and what sort of great house did you come from?¡±


    ¡°My name is Brault kolst Cyrallbhirt. I¡¯m not a Lord of anything.¡± The young man stared deadpan at Leiros and crossed his arms over his chest. He also had immaculately cared for robes, as he should since he had a servant to tend to him. A servant who was not permitted according to the traditional laws of the Authrakallin. ¡°I am the first son of Neimol kolst Cyrallbhirt, a prominent member of the Grand Circle and Filidath Primarch.¡±


    Another child born with a silver spoon in their mouth, who again claimed importance from the family they were to have abandoned upon their oath-taking. Leiros took a sharp breath in, wanting to interrogate Brault as what Master Illena promised him and his family in order to have him here. He stopped in mid-breath and realized that it no longer mattered. The ancient traditions of the Order had been outright dismissed in these last years. Even without knowing just how far the corruption had become, he felt affirmed in his earlier desires to avoid having to do any teaching duties. Leiros longed for the years he spent among books written by long-dead persons, rather than the simpering and still-living parasites gathering around him.


    ¡°So, Brault, do you have ambitions to be the next Grandmaster of this Order, as well?¡± Leiros remained focused on the young man and gestured with his pointing hand back to Celeste. He kept his arm low, around waist-height, and didn¡¯t move the rest of his body. He was displaying her as a subject and not a person with his body language. He lifted his upper lip into a slight snarl between his words. ¡°You¡¯ll have to fend off some competition.¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t plan on remaining here after my schooling is finished. I was promised a position of importance back in Morrthault City by several of the Grand Circle. Master Illena wants to set up a satellite Order there. It¡¯s our hope to bring propriety and social order to the capital. Perhaps once those in power have been brought into a virtuous path of social welfare, the rest of Hoelatha culture will be brought to heel.¡± Brault relaxed while speaking and looked almost wistful as he recounted his motives plainly.


    ¡°You are aware that we already have a sub-sect of oracles in the capital.¡± Leiros leaned in slightly to the young man. He looked from the side of his vision, pressing his cheek forward as if he was revealing some secret conspiracy as he spoke. ¡°The Order of Lanterns is quite prominent there, and although we don¡¯t see eye-to-eye anymore, they never-the-less still follow the teachings of Vhaltenesh.¡±


    ¡°The Order of Lanterns have become unnecessary in the eyes of the Grand Circle. They served their purpose in the past, hunting down monsters that preyed upon us during the dark times.¡± Brault rolled his brown eyes and looked off to the horizon for a moment. ¡°The darkness of the past is now over. We are moving into an age of illumination, shepherded by the wisdom of our Grand Circle. We have no use for exorcists and monster-hunters. Besides, for centuries now, such things have only existed in children¡¯s stories.¡±


    ¡°I suppose it would be hard for you to see such things, being surrounded by almost a million souls, and hiding behind such great walls.¡± Leiros all but snorted his disdain upon Brault as he leaned back and began to tap on his cheek with his pointing hand. He sized up the young man from foot to face and took in a sharp breath of chilling afternoon air. ¡°If the Grand Circle has decided that the Order of Lanterns isn¡¯t necessary any more than what precisely would a bunch of oracles be worth? If you¡¯re looking perform auguries for the rich and powerful back home, I¡¯m afraid that Master Gwain and his ilk have that market cornered.¡±


    ¡°No, nothing as base as that.¡± Brault kept his eyes focused on the horizon as if he were looking across the entire world-plane to take in the decadent majesty of his old home. ¡°As I said, we are entering a new age of illumination. The Grand Circle has realized that the common folk don¡¯t have the fortitude and strength of spirit to keep away from their destructive desires. Tribes are warring with each other and society is crumbling. Enlightened leaders must show the ways of virtue and social reform to the masses. We will be creating a new order to help this grand vision.¡± Brault turned his eyes once more to Leiros while puffing his chest up with air. ¡°With our powers of telepathy, we will be able to find the truly weak of heart and purge them from our society. We will be able to advise the Grand Circle to the betterment of all. We will be the arbiters of purity.¡±


    ¡°Somehow I have a feeling that you won¡¯t be purging the weak of heart, but rather the poor, the desperate, and those that don¡¯t agree with your new order.¡± Leiros took a backward step away from the overzealous young man. The visions Brault exalted in were like a glimpse into a nightmare vision of the world that made Leiros¡¯ skin crawl. Another law of Vhaltenesh was being broken if this malignant future was to come to pass.


    Leiros turned his head to take in Celeste and her hounds standing to his left. Celeste busied herself with whatever was beneath the nails of her right hand as several of her hounds whispered amongst themselves. A young woman wanting to be the next Grandmaster of the Authrakallin Order while also being the heir of a distant land. The absurdity of her ego was appalling.


    With another turn of his head, he looked over to Brault on his right. A young man filled with a notion of a utopia that stripped the free will from all others in the lands of the Hoelatha. An idealistic fool who had never actually suffered or seen hardship in his life, wanting to purge away the lives of those he had never met. Willing to throw those lives upon the sacrificial pyre of a short-changed future where only the rich and powerful would have the freedom of thought or ability to follow their soul¡¯s purpose in a dying world.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯ve both made your objections to me as your teacher and the time I have forced you to spend before your Authvokan.¡± Leiros crossed his arms and turned to his side. ¡°Still, you¡¯ve had some time with me to state who you are and what your ambitions are for the future. If you won¡¯t object further, I would like to offer the rest of the initiates here the same courtesy.¡±


    Celeste¡¯s eyes opened wide as she began to suck in air to protest. Several of her hounds began to bay and circle her, picking up on their master¡¯s emotion. Brault reached out a hand to tap lightly on Celeste¡¯s wrist. Without speaking he looked into her eyes and then shook his head. He turned back to Leiros and opened his mouth for a moment.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see the problem in getting acquainted with the other students.¡± Brault was obviously feeling generous as he gave permission to a man seven years his senior. ¡°Understand, that I have sent my servant to retrieve another Master to replace you. You getting to know the other students may be a waste of your and their time, but we are all stuck here until that Master arrives.¡± Brault lifted an arm limply to wave his wrist to dismiss Leiros.


    Leiros couldn¡¯t contain another snarl as he openly turned his back on the five students. He gave a quick glance over to brother Telomai who seemed preoccupied with scuffing his leather boot against the chalky ground beneath him. With a few steps, which felt like traversing the entire world-plane¡¯s breadth to get away from the corruption he felt in those initiates presence, Leiros walked over to the others to begin his introductions.


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    Qathalla beat its wings against an updraft and pushed into a stream of air nearing a group of other authrocs milling and sweeping around in the clouds. Leiros let himself lean back to look over the great bird¡¯s neck. A scant mist was developing high in the atmosphere which would soon turn to rain. Huge thunderheads built up above the gathered authrocs, sweeping across and drowning out most of the twin sun¡¯s light.


    Leiros looked to brother Hestras on his immense and aging mount. The old brother rode the back of his authroc like he would a horse, and his hands held leather reins slackly like his flying bird was nothing more than prancing pony. He looked up at Leiros and despite the distance and speed as he flew by, Leiros could almost swear that he saw the old man smile. To someone as dour as Hestras, a smile would be the lifting of his lips a hair¡¯s width, but it was enough to signal to Leiros that everything was alright.


    Hestras had taken half of the students to the eastern side of the mesas and watched over them carefully. Most of the initiates he watched over were female; mostly Celeste, her hounds, and one other. The only male student he watched over was the quietest of the group who wouldn¡¯t be a bother at all. The older brother watched them closely, like a broden-mother surveying her children.


    Leiros lifted his arm to give a wave to Hestras, he waved back and then let his arm fall to waiver at his flank. He was signaling to Leiros that all was okay, and he didn¡¯t need him to watch over the group. Hestras looked once more from his periphery and then focused completely on the students flying around in front of him.


    Leiros was surprised that Celeste was actually following the rules for the Authvokan. She was challenging the quiet male student, Hueshanth, a towering young man. Both seemed to be equally matched in their skill, relying on the power their authrocs provided them, without forcing their will to harshly on their mount. Hueshanth was too fond of defensive tactics and seemed to enjoy kiting Celeste. Celeste was very offensive and often had a hard time pulling out from dives with her great bird. Still, they were learning and only just in the beginnings of their test.


    The three hounds weren¡¯t as skilled, and one that was paired up with a young woman who wasn¡¯t part of Celeste¡¯s retinue was easily trouncing her partner. Seeing the hounds flailing brought a dark smile to Leiros¡¯ face as he flew by. He noticed one of the young women pulling the reins too hard on her authroc, but as soon as he was going to call it out, brother Hestras swept by and dealt with it. No words were spoken, as Hestras used his telepathy rather forcefully.


    Leiros wasn¡¯t needed over here, so he leaned back into Qathalla¡¯s back and gave a pat on the great bird¡¯s neck. With a sweep of its immense wings, they dropped into a dive and bent westward to the other group. So far, the initiates had promise, even if some of them had less than savory origins. Just a few more hours of these challenges and Leiros could get back to his studies, hopefully before the storm hit.


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