ã€ŠPathwalker: Into Darknessã€‹


 Prologue: Awakening

    Update:

    Prologue slightly rewritten and simplified. The latter chapters are not as descriptive.(A cheer is heard >.>)

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    Prologue:

    Deep within the Velkan forest stand trees centuries old. They block off the sun, their roots steeped in a frothing mist that boils up from the marshy ground. For the first time in years a light flares beneath their branches, its source a newly made campsite. A sleeping bag and miscellaneous utensils are scattered about, while an old man is feeding logs into the fire.

    He wears no hat, his head being amply covered with snow-white hair. The only sign of vanity is his beard which is short and neatly trimmed. He wears a threadbare robe of worn silver, scars of previous battles stitched across it. Intricate designs swirling on it give hints to his past, days filled with songs and power. The only remnants of those times are the robe, a staff,a silver hart, and treasured memories.

    He stands up while chewing on rations and carefully reaches inside a large leather satchel. Inside there''s a small rough-bound book, with a smaller inscription of a blackened leaf. The various paraphernalia of a mage are jumbled with an assortment of crystals twinkling in the firelight. He pulls out a stained manuscript, containing his task''s destination. He remembers the summons, that he alone had been chosen to bear the burden that falls to the old. He sighs and packs up his gear. He begins to move through the night, he still had a while to go to the clearing, and the tower.

    Far off in a moonlit clearing there is a thick silence. The creatures had learned through harsh experience not to step or breath beside the tower. The construction would have scaled two-hundred feet, if it wasn''t in shambles with its second story missing three walls and then some. It is encircled by a swath of overgrown grass marking the passage of time. The glistening crystal walls of the tower are overgrown with ivy, which struggle to find purchase in its smooth exterior. In place of an ancient doorway lie runes drawn on solid stone, warning of the inner danger.

    The first footsteps in years are heard. The mage had spent an hour walking straight to the tower, for his goal lay further within. He takes no heed of the warnings inscribed on the outer surface of the walls, or the runes declaring danger. He steps inside, and examines his surroundings.

    Inside a lacklustre abode is seen, dust covering every pore. A skeleton lies in front of a stone bookcase. Empty tables complete with empty drawers accommodate the edges of the room. The walls are scorched and mossed over, times work evident in their exterior. The only item of note is a rectangular slab, standing upright in the center across from a blank wall. It¡¯s made of a dark burnished metal, swallowing all of the light that leaks from the cracks in the ceiling. There are no lines on the unblemished surface, no marks of dust or time. It stands alone as it always had, waiting for something.

    The mage approaches the slab, and speaks a Word of Power to it. It is uncaring and immobile. He frowns, and speaks a second Word. The dark block shudders, resisting an unseen force. An inspection follows of its surface and the ground beneath it. He sighs, and with a tired air brings out a small knife and cuts his finger. He leaves a trail of blood along the slab while saying a third Word.

    It flares to life as runes flicker across its sides. A harsh icy glow reveals a door etched out of moonlight on the wall. With a satisfied nod the mage approaches the Moonlight door, and a series of complex manoeuvres opens it. Inside lie worn stone stairs, surrounded by walls of cracked marble. Few of the runes on the walls remain active and light the path down.While not enough to walk by, there is enough light to show tattered remains of the unfortunate dead. Curled up on the ground and clasping at metal statues of harts. At least a dozen line the entrance, as if they were trying to get out in their last moments.

    Heedless of the dead the mage takes a rod from his satchel and raps it against the wall, creating endless echoes. The rod lights up and illuminates a small space in front of him, adequate for his purpose. With caution he examines the stairs and their foundations. Finding nothing amiss, he slowly proceeds down the stairs with the help of his staff, searching the walls for any wayward runes. The moonlight doorway closes and disappears without a sound or trace. The last of his footsteps mute into nothingness, and the tower is quiet once more.

    The light in the woods is no longer there, the only remains consisting of a faint smoke trail in the air. A vaguely humanoid figure stoops down to examine the ashes, its dark-red gloves searching for traces. Its suit is as black as the night it often wanders in and an expressionless cowl stares back from its face. Two wicked blades hang on its sides as colorful as their wielder. It gazes into the distance and continues walking, its cape fluttering in a breeze that wasn''t there.

    The mage arrives at the stair¡¯s end slightly charred from a trap he narrowly avoided, and sees multiple tunnels hewn out of solid stone. Moss grows where it can, speckling the dark brown surface of the rocks. Cracks line the walls in a haphazard fashion, as if some tiny gnomes had taken a hammer to them in a fit of pique. No runes glow to show him the path and no signs point to the way, but he needs neither.

    Approaching the center of the branching he takes out a sphere of crystal that beats to a unseen rhythm. The light from it gives a opalescent glow to the caverns and a thick line is formed to guide him. Tracing the tip of the line leads him to turn back to the stairs. Aside the stairs lies the barely discernible impression of a burned leaf. More Words are spoken, and the stairs lift to reveal a door. It''s made of bone, charred and broken in many places. The surrounding stone had once melted into tiny rivers that flowed across the floor. The shadows seem to reach out to the light, greedily drawing it in. He continues without pausing , though his steps are not as certain as before.

    Far above, the Moonlight door opens once more. A shadowed figure enters , leaving behind the ruins of a shattered slab.

    A chill wind blows in the depths of the tower, twisting and turning through the deserted halls. It carries the whispers and rumblings of things in the darkness as they go about their way, prowling in search of a meal. It carries the dripping of leaky ceilings, the rustle of soft moss, and the steps of a traveling mage. The crystal sphere had ceased its glow not long ago, barely reaching a large clearing.

    The lichen covered walls are wet and glistening, assorted crystals covering their surfaces. Glow-moss lines the roof, giving a phosphorescent light  to the proceedings below. Small, vicious green creatures tumble about haphazardly. Their arms are wiry and thin, belying their massive strength. They wear leather clothes that are thickly stitched and warm, with occasional tinpot armor dented and rusted. Many rings and bracelets line their arms and fingers. The Goblins prize their shiny things, collecting them in the way a miser would scavenge every penny, leading usually to brutal fights. Four are having a typical discussion,struggling over an unidentifiable piece of meat.

    "Mine"

    "Dumpohf, since when do you get it all the time "

    "So what? I have lots more shiny, I deserve it "

    "No fair, you took all the shiny before, at least let me have the meat you pig."

    "Pig you say? Coming from a filthy kremp-"

    "Argh" exclaimed one, knocked back by a blow

    "Ow" said another,as he in turn was pummeled

    The discussion degenerates quickly after that. Meanwhile the rest of the goblins walk around nonchalantly, chatting and divvying up the spoils from a recent escapade. One of the most striking figures lies seated in a leather chair, reclining and viewing his subordinates. His equipment is bedecked with crystals , and he chews on a hunk of meat with a satisfied leer. His clothes are a mix of old and new, scavenged from those who fell in the catacombs. The colors form a unique tapestry, fit for mopping the floor in a messy tavern. His beady eyes flicker over the loot as he watches the divvying, licking his lips in anticipation.

    His excitement is interrupted when his feet combust spontaneously, to his and the minions surprise. He starts scampering around wildly, knocking them out of the way and screaming for water. The minions gaze stupidly and then follow the steps of their leader, screaming and scrambling about. A few get into heated arguments over items that they had "procured" in the spur of the moment.The turbulent episode ends even quicker than it started, with the appearance of a mage.

    He looks at them with a face of stone, marking every single one. No minion dares to view him, lest he cut them down where they stood. The only thing that kept them from running away was the exasperated howl of the leader, demanding them to stay still.  Wincing from his burned feet the goblin leader steps forward and addresses the mage.

    "Could I interest you in some wares? Lovely time of the year for pearls and amethysts. I have a nice hart statue here you might like, some careless travelers waylaid it and I happened to come upon it recently. Perhaps some food is what you want, we have a lovely selection of the freshest rock slime and the occasional mulu,in fact-"

    "I have come not for graverobbed items, but for the key.Where is it?" speaks a cold voice grown deep with age.

    The goblins blanch a sickly yellow-green, this did not bode well for them.Their leader shuffles his feet and exclaims.

    "Uhm....Well....we lost it...."

    "And perhaps in return you found a gold or three?" says the mage with a grin that didn''t reach his eyes.

    "Perhaps.......but we think we know where we...lost...it..." , says the leader with a worried grin

    A curt reply follows,

    "Yes, please show me where you "lost" the key to the seal, the one which for eighty years you were supposed to guard."

    "Well....we thought perhaps it would be fine if someone borrowed it for a little bit..."stammers out the leader.

    The temperature seems to fall ten degrees,

    "Really? borrowed now you say? So quickly does something lost become something borrowed. Did you perhaps sell the incantation as well?"

    An awkward silence emerges,covering the group with a shroud of fear.

    "I told the Order not to pick such spineless fools like you. However,I don''t have the time to deal with this miserable business. If you seek to gain favor with me and spare your wretched lives, answer this. When and where did this occur?"

    "Last Fallow, mid-noon in the Barrows..." whimpers the leader, slowly shrinking into his suit.

    No more words or threats are spoken, and the silence stretches. The mage abruptly turns and slowly walks across the cavern to the cave on the other side. He slips into the shadows, his mute footsteps receding quickly. The goblins , relieved to say the least, resume their bickering. The one exception is their leader who thoughtfully gazes at the cave. After a moment''s pause he orders everyone to pack-up and get ready to move, best to get out while they still could.

    Elsewhere, the staircase rises again. A figure clad in darkness enters.

    The creak of rotting timbers fills the Barrows,the supports protesting against the weight. A even chiller wind sweeps through the rotten cloth covered skeletons that fill its nook and crannies. The mage kicks the bones from his path, their gaping skulls grinning in the magelight. The bones were well picked, with both loot and marrow gone. The catacombs scavengers had done their work. With the exception of a few lichen covered remains, the bones are recent.

    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    The mage crouches down and draws a circle with a chalky powder he pulls from his satchel. Around the borders he draws glyphs of time and space.Upon completion the outside world bends and puckers, calming down to reveal a scene from last Fallow,mid-noon. A young mage stands there, sulking under one of the supports.His clothes are rich and hand-spun, white bedazzled in rivulets of gold.Four rings hang on his fingers, sparkling in what little light was there.His grey hat is too large for his head,the felted edges nearly covering his eyes. The rich leather boots fidget impatiently , and he starts levitating some of the skeletons to make them dance.

    The macabre demonstration ends upon the appearance of an extremely worried goblin. An exchange is made, a small bag with a metallic twang goes to the goblin and an even smaller one goes to the mage. He''s satisfied with the contents and wanders off deeper into the Barrows as the goblin scurries back to where it came. The image slowly mists away as they walk off into the distance, and another takes his place.

    Screams fill the Barrows, metal clashes and mages chant their spells. Chaos flows, and screams add to the confusion. The front lines fall to encroaching darkness which grasps them and pulls them in. The only sounds that they hear are the yells of the dying and those in pain. Swords pass through with no effect and mage spells are absorbed inside. The futile defense soon turns and runs back, no doubt towards the tower door where they fall. The mist passes once again, and another image takes its place, a void unending.

    A voice ancient with acrid evil,

    "Foolish mage daring to enter my domain. Long have I waited to rise free and you dare come into my realm, as if you can do what you please? Suffer foolish mortal,I shall delight to hear your screams"

    A trap is triggered and a pressure attempts to crush the mage. He is unaffected and dispels it with a wave. He continues on his way unperturbed by the sights he had just seen. He moves again, walking patiently towards his goal.

    Into the cavern a figure strides. The goblins freeze as they gaze upon its visage. It pauses, and seems affronted with the miserable figures. Its hands reach, and the first goblin falls, its hand rising from its chest. The second dies with a neck broken in nine places, and more follow soon. Slowly with no mercy and no quarter, it slaughters the rest. It pauses once more, a sword jutting outwards from its gut. It casually hits the leader that dared mark him and he hits the wall in a shambled heap. There is but one left alive soon and the creature kneels above it. A scream is then heard, the first of many. When they end the only thing left is the faint scent of rotting flowers.

    A shadow is cast on a thrice-locked door, carved from marble and set in runed gold. The door is open and its edges cracked from a inward pressure. The mage closes the door on his way in , and enters the antechamber.

    It is cut out of solid white marble, every edge with symbols to withstand breaking and erosion. There is a dark iron pedestal in the center, holding a clouded crystal. The glyphs on the pedestal are nearly gone, barely holding on to what little force they possess. The remainder of the room is occupied by two figures having chess on a worn wooden board. One is wearing a familiar grey felted hat, and the other is robed. The robe is black, as are the iron chains that bind its hands.The robed figure glances at the mage, and pops a grin.

    A slick voice with the weight of ages is heard,

    "Again? I''d have sworn you would be dead. No matter, I''ll get better. We were just finishing up here anyways."

    With a weary sigh the mage responds,

    "It would take more than that to finish me, you know that all too well.Props for the fireball trap, I didn''t think to inspect the air for floating threads."

    "Why thank you, no harm done I supposed? Oh dear, your robe is charred , getting old ......are we?" the figure looks thoughtfully at the mage

    "I was old when this began and I am older now, but do not try to resist me. It didn''t work the first four times, why should it work now? On a minor note, how did you escape this time?"

    The figure says "Ah, the blind fools of your Order practically gave me the key. Giving a relic unto creatures so easily bribable was mistake on their part. Why didn''t you stop them? I do so enjoy a challenge. It got boring here in these past centuries."

    "They ignore me, they believe that I¡¯m going senile. Idiots, I had forgotten more knowledge than they had ever known in their tiny heads."

    He sighs,

    "However, it''s time for us to part again. Return to your focus please, you''ve caused enough ruckus already."

    The figured wheedles, sliding closer,

    "Why must you be so cold and unfriendly to us. We took you in, gave you a home and taught you of the darkness, of the Draphur and the lurm. We showed you void eternal, and were there when you spoke your first Word. Admittedly, it was when you sealed us the first time but all children have a period of resistance. Come now, won''t you join us? "

    Its voice falls into a reverent whisper

    "Eternal life, endless power, you can feel the age now can''t you. The Words don''t flow as easily as they did before, and mornings are colder. I see you use a alchemist rod instead of a magelight, has your strength failed you so much?"

    "I''m in no mood to bargain. My resolve firm, and the response the same as before. Draining the life of hapless victims, even if they were fools," says the mage, gesturing to the corpse in the felted hat.

    "is not a thing I aim to do. My purpose is to save lives not to take them. Return to the pedestal, Slythan , I am losing patience" he says in warning tones.

    Slythan shrugs,

    "I see.......nevertheless I must profess a complaint. The room is stale , the social life is nonexistent, and when I sit here I get so very...very....hungry..."

    It strains painfully against the chains, but the mage speaks three Words. He continues chanting with a concentrated look.The chains contract and the runes flare , dragging the being back to the pedestal.

    Slythan screeches in pain,

    "You will rue this ! I will feast on your soul the next time we meet, you cannot live forever. A time will come when I will be free and you will become a servant at my every whim. You pitiful child thinking you know all , how wrong you are, you do not know a quarter of what has been going on. You have gotten senile Lethan,you fail to even notice that which has followed you from the start of your cursed journey."

    No shadow falls upon the door, but it opens nonetheless. A humanoid walks casually, as if ignorant of the scene inside.

    The mage turns, and exclaims a Word. The shadow shrugs and crushes it. He pales, and says several more. It approaches him with no problems, and stabs his heart. He slides off its hands and lays on the ground , unbelieving. To have come this far and yet to fail.... He attempts to speak, but Words fail him. His vision dims and the light flickers as he lies bleeding.

    A bundle of chains is still being dragged , and it exclaims,

    "Thank you Madgor, now if you would please be so kind as to release me we can complete the contracted terms."

    A voice like sand on glass whispers ,

    "Madgor is no more, he fell by my blades but two moons ago.I am but a messenger. Zeryth, says hello." Its message done the figure strides towards the pedestal, ignorant of Slythan''s exclamations,

    "No,don''t do touch that. I can give you any dream you''ve wished for, anything at all. Please, how have I wronged you?"

    The figure pauses, and replies "Not at all, I am but a messenger. However you may go to death confident that even for Zeryth this is nothing personal, just business. Nothing to relate to the likes of you." Saying so, it grabbed the crystal and crudely crushed it, fine dust sprinkling the pedestal that had contained it for so long.

    As it turns, a desperate chanting rose. Flowing in and out of hearing, the twisted syllables created a portal of endless void.The creation began draining the room, the first to go the chessboard and the corpse.

    "How dare you kill me, I will take you with me into the endless void,no rest shall you have as you are drained of your power, and-"

    It casually grabbed the mage and threw him in. The portal closes and the voice is silent.It sardonically exclaims,

    "Pitiful, to have made it accept any living being. Must have been deluded in death, I am far from alive."

    Saying so, it turns and exits the room. The room was silent and empty, nothing to show what had occurred, but the mild scent of rotting flowers.

    In the endless void a figure stirs. The darkness closes in, and is then repelled. Not dissuaded, it waits for the mage¡¯s power to fade. Lethan scours his memory to find his learnings of the endless void, and swears . His memory fails him at its most needed time. Nearby a lump of darkness, unlike the rest, was pitifully flopping around in resistance as well. Lethan stares at it, and pronounces a word

    "Sylthan?"

    The shadow stops and whispers weakly,

    "So we meet again, it is fitting I think. The rivals who had fought for decades to pass this world together. Hah....."

    Lethan queries,

    "Wasn''t there someone who harnessed the void?"

    Sylthan replies after a small pause,

    "You mean¡± Sylthan replies after a small pause,¡±  Degan? He harnessed it but for a moment, the result tore him apart to his very soul. Our kind couldn''t find him again...."

    The darkness begins making pressing advances, testing to see if they were dead yet. It declares it a tad too soon, and withdraws for a moment more.

    Lethan hurriedly says

    "Quickly, the Words , tell them now. At the very least it has  a chance of working."

    Sylthan replies

    "Really? Madness is the best case, your very soul will be gone don''t you understand? its is a fate beyond death. Even the endless void can''t touch that."

    The endless void meanwhile, approaches the mage again.With a violent wrench the darkness eats his right eye. Lethan screams a minor Word in pain, and the darkness subsides for another moment.

    Sylthan considers the situation, and with a tired resolve,

    "At least one of us should get out eygh.....here, this will help with the words and with the pain"

    Sylthan begins chanting. At the end the darkness surges and devours him, but not before a part of the shadow lurches towards the mage. His final words lie in Lethans mind,

    "I give you part of me to tide you over and to replace that which was lost. Think of it as a token of our friendship, take care to control it.Keep it well, live long and grow strong.I bid you adieu my friend........"

    The pain increases ten-fold,and ends as quickly as it had come. The darkness shudders , and begins to consume the mage. He quickly starts casting, each Word hitting the darkness and making a hole. It increased slowly, a ray of light amongst the darkness. As the blight eats away his body, the gift returns it. He does not rest or pause , to cease is to welcome death.His vision fades slowly, and as his time runs out he completes the spell and steps through the portal, free and safe at last. He sees the sky , and then quite quickly the grass. His last sight is of his blackened right hand, and a hat beside it.....

    #####Authors Note###########

    Thank you for reading all of this text.

    Now,

    Hart = deer

    Hewn = cut out of

    Please leave comments, ideas, fears, thoughts about the story etc. I''ll write better the more you guys write and the more helpful you are! Looking forward to release more chapters. (Rate too if you want too, no 1 * ratings though :P )

 Ch.1-ish : Spared

    Sec1: Spared

    A howling wind sweeps through the Felspar Mountains in a valley forged in ice. It comes down frigid cliffs and flows through bending forests holding nature¡¯s private chatter. If a man were to stand on a ridge and listen, they would hear the gifts it brought. It would bring the call of a wild lityn, a whisper of falling snow and the distant rumble of falling boulders. If they were to strain their ears and stand still they might even hear another sound. A quiet, restful sound.

    However no man hears it, as no man has stood upon the ridge in centuries and lived to tell the tale. There is a darkness here savage and without mercy. It walks leisurely through the mountains and stands upon a crumbled ridge, listening. It hears the icy wind, the murmur of the snow and the panting of a fox. But those are not the sounds that make it turn and slide down the packed snow. It also hears a quiet, restful sound. The sigh of a dying man.

    A snowflake falls, its graceful form spinning and weaving through the air into a cave, tracing a path to a mage lying on the ground. His breathing is erratic, struggling for every mouthful he takes. His black arm hangs useless by his side and his tattered robe helps little against the frost. His satchel is gone, along with his prized staff and precious hart figurine. He blearily opens his eyes, reluctant to move from the snow-covered grass.

    As he lifts himself onto his elbows he releases a gasp, his right arm throbbing painfully. The surroundings are, if nothing else, as bleak and unforgiving as the void he came from. The cave is filled with icicles lined up on the ceiling, and a constant drip of water spatters the pool in the back. The cave is small and uncomfortable, barely keeping the wind outside. The mage crawls towards the pool, his blood leaving a dark red trail against the snow. He forces himself into a kneeling position and cups his hands to drink from the water. As he does so, a stranger is reflected back.

    Startled he examines himself, no longer an old grandfather of a hundred years but a young man of thirty. Grey hair sweeps over one good eye, and in place of the other a gaping hole stares back. The robe sports a large rip across the chest, revealing a black scab. Recovering from the visage,he drinks a couple handfuls of the water to quench his thirst. He takes several more handfuls and rinses out his wounds, leaving a dark stain spreading across the pool. He lies back weakly against the wall to get a moments rest, an agonized cough escaping from the strain on his damaged body.

    The numbing cold seeps in slowly and dulls his senses. Aware of it he attempts to bring some warmth with a Word, but it skitters just out of his grasp. A frown appears and he tries again, but it¡¯s as if a wall in his mind had appeared barring his knowledge in an iron chest and leaving him mute. He contemplates the irony, that all of his life''s learnings were now locked beyond his reach. No Word, no glyph, no rune could save him now. He had fought with demons, vanquished darkness, and escaped the endless void only to die amongst the ice like a broken rabbit.

    If his order would ever hear that the great Lethan the Wise died from a cold he would be a laughing stock. He chuckles and spasms wreck his body, painting his mouth a vibrant red. Well there is no helping it, with his power sealed and body crippled there is no way to evade death. Resigned, he relaxes against the frozen wall and lets out a deep sigh. Perhaps at last he''ll get some rest, it''s been so many years since he''d last lain peacefully. His musings end and in minutes he is unconscious, the toll too great on his body.

    A shadow falls upon him and a figure shuffles forward. Its front is covered in dark grey scales with the rest coloured a rich black. It resembles an upright lizard with a belt about its waist. Several pouches hang, their contents filled with a mixture of herbs and pelts. A leather sheath holds a slim and tarnished knife with a blade of blue steel. A war-axe with a blackened hilt hangs upon its back. Silver runes glow on its edges, releasing waves of chilling steam.

    One violet eye peers carefully at the figure crouched against the wall,the other gone from a pair of raking claws. It reaches for its axe but stops suddenly, a look of surprise plainly written across its face. It leans closer to inspect the mage with apprehension, and seems to make a quick decision. It picks up the figure and marches away with its new burden as quietly as it had come, disappearing into the blizzard.

    The wind may howl but it will never reach the insides of this cave. It is large and spacious, its floor the soft bed of an old river. A hearth occupies one side of the room, its warm fire roaring as a scaled figure feeds wood into it. It turns and sits down on a wooden chair, gazing at a mage wrapped in furs. Bandages covered him across an eye and about his chest, with a poultice applied to staunch the flow of blood.

    He moans softly in his sleep, turning fitfully and mumbling incoherent words. As time passes he calms down and seems to get a bit of rest while under the figures watchful eye. He slowly awakens to a series of loud scraping noises. The figure is seated at a makeshift workbench covered in assorted tools and stones, calmly sharpening a knife. It stops as it notices his revival, and turns about to face him. It seems to wait patiently for the mage to begin the conversation.

    His voice hoarse from the ordeal, the mage speaks softly,

    "I know your kind ....... the Draum have little mercy and even less compassion. Why did you take me in? "

    No response follows, it continues staring silently. After a time it turns back and continues working, indifferent to the mage¡¯s questions.

    Lethan gives up all pretence of conversation, and goes back to sleep. No matter what the outcome was,  since it didn''t kill him it needed him for something. It alone can decide when to tell him, until then he might as well get some rest.

    Time passes as the Draum helps him recover and refuses to talk, only leaving to gather food. It begins to work on a leather collar bound by runes written in the mages blood. He slowly regains his strength over the course of the following days, sleeping and eating the food provided regularly. It''s a staple fare, a herb soup with the occasional rabbit cooked over the hearth.

    By the seventh day his cough is gone and he can move his arms without an overwhelming pain. By the ninth he is able to move his feet, and the ache in his empty eye has subsided. By the tenth he can walk clumsily, and by the twelfth he can pace for five minutes before falling exhausted. On the thirteenth, the Draum speaks with the sound of rocks grinding against each other.

    "Wear this" it says, and hands him the finished collar. He briefly glances at the runes on it, none he''d ever seen before. They are dark and shadowed, absorbing light like bottomless pits.

    Lethan frowns

    ¡°Since when ? I thank you for your help but it doesn¡¯t entitle you to leashing me,¡±

    The Draum forces it over his head in a quick and precise motion, where it locks in and tightens. Lethan tries to remove it but it¡¯s useless, the only thing that his efforts cause is a chaffed neck.

    ¡° How dare you-¡± he begins in rage, but the Draum pulls him by the collar , indifferent to the mages struggles.

    As soon as he reaches outside the cave he is floored by a shock. He staggers back from the unseen blows as he¡¯s pummeled into the ground, soon he''s powerless to even move back inside. The Draum takes him back in and gives him a draught to restore his strength. As he recovers, it continues speaking.

    "I¡¯ve no trust in you, so this is a necessary precaution. Now I will ask you questions, and if spared you will continue working for me. If you waste my time you will be disposed of, I have no need for useless things."

    It sits down in a chair and continues to speak,

    "Your arm is of the Shaed. What are you to carry such a thing?"

    The mage replies with resentment,

    "My name is Lethan,  I know not from where this came or how I ended up in these mountains. Neither do I know why you refused to speak with me, or are enslaving me as if I were a dumb animal. Then again this is typical of your kind, you -"

    It cuts him off,

    "My name is Hulm , and I am of the Draum as you have guessed. I care not about my kind nor your pitiful feelings. I brought you here and nursed you back to health on a whim , nothing more. I can just as easily end the life that I''ve saved as I can spare it. You owe a debt to me, and I expect you to pay it in full. You can start by answering my questions truthfully. What are you and why are you here?"

    The mage frowns, saying

    "Evidently you can''t hear truth if it would hit you on the head. Why would I lie, as you have said you can end my life at your whim. I am powerless, wounded, and you still presume that would try to fool you?" his rage increases, and he starts to yell " You lack the sharpness of even a dull knife. I''m surprised how you managed to live out here, I''d have expected you to drown in a puddle by now or even -" he coughs rapidly,too tired to finish his sentence he manages a weak glare.

    "I see you''re in no condition to talk, I advise you to temper your angry words in case your condition would suddenly worsen. We will talk of your arm later and the eye that you have lost. For now I expect you to clean and maintain the cave. If you have need for food or clothes I can provide the materials, but you''ll have to make them yourself. You shall mend weapons and clean gear, cook and attend to wounds should I have them. Though bear in mind that at my weakest I am still more than capable of ending your life."

    saying so it leaves the cave and the mage is alone again.

    The mage picks up a nearby stone and throws it at the wall, releasing a scream of rage. One of the eighteen Magi chained to a cave by runes which he couldn''t fathom, and ruled over by a Draum. Nothing he could do at all, nothing except to rampage across the cave that the Draum calls his home. He calms down, obviously breaking the home will have him no closer to escaping, it would bring him closer to death than the void ever did. Regretfully, he begins to shamble about, cleaning and sorting the establishment.

    The hearth was first,  a mass of dark seared brick in the center of the cooking area. Ashes removed and fresh logs put in, the mage continues to the wooden racks nearby. Meat and herbs hang suspended from the racks, releasing a savoury smell across the cave as they dry. He sorts them , splitting into respective piles depending on what he can remember of herbology. Most are the usual thyme and golden holly, sprinkled with a bit of greywood for roasting. However there were a few flowers whose names escaped him, purple petals reaching as if trying to grasp the light. Finishing he turns to where the soft ground is pierced by a rickety well, its chiselled stone on the verge of collapse. He rearranges the stones so they wouldn''t break and draws water from it. By the time the bucket reaches the rim his arms are screaming in pain, unused to the physical labour. After taking a quick break to regain his stamina he continues roaming around the rest of the cavern.

    The workbench where the dreaded collar was created is located on the right side, holding works half done and in progress. Blue blades and metal disks that flare with runes occupy most of the table, and an engravers toolkit is nearby. As he walks closer to inspect it he notices a thick wooden door inset in one of the walls, perhaps a way out? He approaches it hastily , but unfortunately it turns out to be a hand-made freezer. A melding of sticks and ice cover the roof that leads to the outside snow, runes for bonding and strength inscribed across the frosty surface. Disgruntled, he slams the door and continues to clean, heading for the bookcase on the opposite wall.

    Thick leather books lie in all sorts of positions. They are piled up on each other in vertical stacks, horizontally leaning against the sides, and some are even carelessly tossed about at the floor of the bookcase. Together they make up a hodgepodge of random colours and languages, none of which are known to the mage. He can tell what languages they included, Draconian, Flyrin and even Hugden are there, but he can''t make head or tail out of what they said. He probably should have learned some of them, it would have helped immensely. Then again he has all the time in the world to study them, at least now he knew what he would do in his spare time.

    Dust is swept off in massive clumps, occasionally obscuring his vision for seconds at a time. Old books have their bindings re-glued at the workbench, and while those dry he sorts the rest by language, he doesn''t know enough to read even the titles. Gradually his body gets used to the menial work, and progress accelerates smoothly. He manages to finish the bookcase faster than the hearth or well, with only a mild ache in his arms. However he still stumbles about due to his affected vision, one time nearly knocking down the entire bookcase on his head. Luckily he emerges unscathed, although a few books land in pieces and have to be rebound.

    He finishes by early afternoon, the entire place far neater than it ever was. He approaches the books ,determined to gain at least something out of this situation even if he had to do it the hard way. After a large amount of searching he manages to find a series of novels that eventually culminate in the human tongue. Draconian is translated to Hugden, which is translated to Flyrin, and so on until it finally reaches the human language. The waist high stack of books doesn''t deter the mage, he had faced far worse during his University life. He begins to read.

    By the time Hulm comes back laden with a score of rabbits,  he had managed to become thoroughly bored. He is lying down on the sheepskin roll, twiddling his thumbs and frowning in thought, a treatise open in his lap. It has detailed drawings and is an accurate translation from Flyrin to Dwum, its only saving point. It shows obscure birds from an obscure town in a boring village located across half of the world. After staring at it for three hours even the most patient man would get annoyed, and Lethan is no exception.

    Hulm sets the rabbits down near the workbench and gets out a pair of skinning knives. It approaches the mage and kicks him harshly into his arm.

    "What are you doing on the ground? Get up and get to work. After you have finished I have some more questions for you."

    The mage sulkily rises and receives another kick. He starts skinning the rabbits carefully, taking care not to disturb them he started slowly pe-

    "You call that skinning a rabbit? By Thralls horns, do you have any idea how to do this? I''m surprised you lived to your age with that kind of skill."

    Saying so it roughly grabs hold of his hands and guides him through the work, commenting

    "Any slower and it''ll be sundown before you finish even one rabbit. Look here," it gestures,

    "you''re wasting about a third of the meat, you need to cut it like this, and this." It lets go of his hands and signals him to continue working.

    Flustered, the mage responds

    "I can''t help it, I''ve lost my eye so don''t expect me to do it well." This earns him a blow on the head and another comment,

    "A drunk goat could do this better than you boy, just because you don''t see as well is no reason to turn the rabbit into pulp. I won''t say things twice, get to work skinning those rabbits, I need the meat for the stew " it waits expectantly.

    Lethan fumbles at first, but picks up the pace and manages to get a decent pelt on his fourth try.

    After a couple more rabbits have been skinned it grunts out,

    "Hmph, At least you have some sense in you. Carry on."

    As it turns away it notices the large stack of books that the mage had been reading. Hulm chuckles,

    "The so-called mage doesn''t even know Draconian, I''d have thought that would be the first thing they teach you , along with us robbing babies and eating small children who''ve been bad"

    Shaking its head it begins cooking the evening meal, occasionally checking back on his work.

    After an hour or two, the rabbits were skinned along with the mages hands. Scrubbed a raw red, his hand is covered in blisters. Thankfully dinner is ready by that time, so he is able to recover a little by eating the thick meat stew prepared by Hulm. After the moments rest, the questions begin again.

    "In all my life I''ve seldom seen a Shaed that was just strolling around, they are always doing something. If it seems like they aren''t that just means that it''s something you''ve missed, or they''re plotting it. Mind telling me exactly why you''re here, boy?"

    "My name is Lethan and not boy. I didn''t come here by choice, and I have no goal here."

    It gives him a cuff,

    "I will call you whatever I want, you might as well be a stick or a stone, both are as valuable as you right now. I fancy the name Dren, it fits you better. With your grey robe and hair you would put any rabbit to shame."

    It takes a sip of the stew and continues,

    "So, Dren, you just happen to drop into my lap... I have guarded this valley for decades and few have managed to get as deep as you have, none with as little warning. Why, if this continues I''ll soon have a whole settlement living outside the cave. If you didn''t have a choice what made you come here? Perhaps the same thing that made you lose your eye?"

    Rubbing the bump on his head, Lethan replies slowly

    "I was trapped in the Endless Void , and escaped through the help of an old friend who gave his life. The darkness took my eye away, but with my friends sacrifice I managed to break through the void with an incantation. The conflict made my right arm as it is now, I have no inkling of what it does or why that happened."

    it violently attacks the stew, impaling a hapless piece of rabbit and says

    "If what you say is true, that does nothing to remove my suspicion, in fact it only increases it. A Shaed pales in comparison to the nightmares in the void. Everything that comes out tops even the imagination of a mad hermit, the beings distorted and formed of corrupted darkness. The one act that they cannot do is call the Words of power, perhaps you think you can? Come on, do a trick boy, I''m sure you can do that if you''re a mage. Summon wind? Perhaps call the name of fire?"

    The mage does nothing, his voice mute but in his eyes there''s a raging fire.

    It reveals a scathing grin,

    "Oh is that too hard for you? Would you like to pull a coin out of my ear? Juggle? Stop wasting my time. I need no tricksters here Dren, save the jokes for others. I am only interested in why you are here, and what you plan to do in my valley."

    Lethan loses his cool and angrily replies,

    "If you had a memory worth speaking of you''d remember my name as Lethan, not boy or Dren. I have no purpose, I have no idea where I am, and quite obviously I am not made of void or darkness. I would have killed you if I was, even you should know that. Look at these arms, do they not bleed? I am human and I know things such as pity and compassion, you seem to lack both along with brains."

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    It manages to control its rage, but the fury in its voice is solid enough to get bruised on,

    "I am in no mood to have idle pleasantries. You came here for a reason, and sarcastic barbs will not hide it. A human who wears the arm of a Shaed is no better than the Shaed itself, no doubt you''ve killed hundreds , if not thousands, of people to attain it.  I''ll assume that this is just because you''re tired, were it otherwise you would be a mere stain against the floor. Don''t you dare speak to me in those tones again, you''ll regret it even before you end."

    Its tirade over it lies down and begins to sleep. Lethan looks at it for a long moment, thinking if he should risk escape. He decides against it, and follows Hulm into sleep thinking over his future.

    The next day Hulm had already left to some unknown location. There was a note though, dictating what the mage should do while Hulm was gone.

    "

    Hello Dren,

    I assume you can at least read human even being the simpleton that you are.

    Use the pelts from yesterday to make me a pair of moccasins and covers for the chairs, when you''re done you may use what remains to make yourself some new clothes. Practical ones, nothing like those silly robes. A note of warning, if you tailor as well as you skin rabbits you might have to prance about naked.

    I''ve changed the bindings on your collar, you can leave the cave now as long as the time doesn''t run out. Be back by Sundown or I''ll be picking you up in pieces.

    After you''ve made some decent clothes get some wood and chop it up into logs, you can use the axe I left for you on the workbench.

    -Hulm

    "

    With a sigh he begins to work, taking the rabbit pelts and carefully cleaning them. Then he scours the place in search of some vats and ingredients, finding them in the strangest of places. The vats are easy to find, being in the freezer, but all the ingredients take him ages. Under the sleeping rolls, behind books, in the tables drawers, they are scattered everywhere and it takes him nearly an hour to find enough for his work. He suspects it might have been Hulms doing, but one can''t be sure of that, the initial state of the cave was far worse so the items may have just gotten there by accident.

    After the pelts are cured he begins sewing them. After a couple false starts he completes all of the prescribed cushions and moccasins. One pair of the moccasins is partially ruined so he keeps them for himself. Besides, he doesn''t know how deep the snow is and it might help him with gathering the logs. After that he fixes up a warm hat and some gloves,  repairing his robes with the remaining materials. Hopefully Hulm won''t mind him using it, its not like there were that many pelts to begin with.

    It was two hours later when he set out, well fed and prepared with rope,food, and other equipment.

    He takes his first steps outside of the cavern, cautiously passing the boundary , prepared to jump backwards at any sign of the pain he had felt before. As soon as his foot touches the ground outside he begins to feel a mild shock and jumps back quickly, hitting his head onto the wall beside him. Gripping his head in pain, he stands back up only to see a message appear in the wall.

    "PS: I might need you to cook supper. I''ll probably be back an hour or two before sundown. -Hulm."

    Cursing vehemently the mage continues out, slowly walking across the fresh snow. At least the sky was only slightly cloudy, there might be a storm later that night but it won''t stop his journey. He looks down, and the view takes his breath away.

    Snow-capped mountains overlook the valley, they crowd around it , hunched like small grey men. Stones seem to be the main crop, coming in all sizes and shapes but remaining a bland grey. A cold fog fills the remaining space, light twinkling in a vain effort to reveal its depths. Occasionally small bundles of trees and hills would pop up from beneath the fog like miniature mushrooms. Bird song can be heard , as well as streams flowing downhill while animals rustle in the undergrowth. The land is large and peaceful, Lethan could see why Hulm lived here in the wilderness, far out of reach of civilization.

    The nearest bundle of green is just a mile away, peeping out from behind a mountain. The mage sees it and observes the route he would have to take, it was no easy path. Rough ground covered most of it, and slippery ice covered everything that wasn''t vertical. He would have to take care on where he placed his feet, lest he meet a tragic end. Continuing his silent march he angles for where he saw the forest, estimating that it will take him an hour or two to get there and back. Satisfied with the schedule, he proceeds in a leisurely pace, humming the odd tune or so.

    He follows the ridge of the mountain, taking care to avoid the crumbled edges and jumping over the breaks. He walks between two dangers, unknowing of a third. Too his left stands a sudden drop , one misstep and he would plummet over the edge. Too his right stoops a sullen wall, cracked and broken in many places, seeming to brood over whether it should fall. His footsteps echo through the valley, a regular beat breaking the birdsong and the wind sweeping through the trees, muffling the heavy footfalls of his follower.

    Step by step he walks, a smile on his face as he breathes in the sights. An aged tree stretching its boughs across the path, colonies of birds nesting in its branches and trilling rapidly. A large spider scurries away from his feet, digging quickly into the snow. A bored moose once blocks his path, chewing thoughtfully. It stares into the space behind him, treating him as part of the landscape. After a few moments it decides that the clump of grass on the other side is greener, and ascends the wall in search of it. He passes it and continues on his journey after being momentarily distracted by a purple flower, its velvet hands seeming to grasp the sun.

    The flower is covered with a shower of rocks a mere minute later. Above a scaled figure could be seen for a few moments,  scrabbling up the wall intent on following the mage. Another minute later it is gone, no tracks or trace remaining to tell of its passing.

    The shadows lengthen and some clouds begin to swarm, light and grey speckling the blue sky. He had managed to get about three-quarters of the way to where he last saw the forest, but an obstacle was in the way. A gaping maw stretched for hundreds of meters on either side, closing off the path between the two mountains. On the other side he can even see the green tinge of forest growth, somehow struggling amidst the snow. He considers scaling the down chasm, and carefully approaches the edge. He kneels down and takes a view, what he sees forces him to discard the idea. Scarred and worn, the walls had been hewn by the river over the ages, leaving an abyss in its wake. The fall was long and dark, the only sound coming from beneath the roaring of chill water.

    He gets up and paces the edge, trying to figure out a way to cross. There are some sparse shrubs and roots on the sides of the four meter gap, but none can reach the other side. His brow furrows in concentration, and he examines the sides closely , deep in thought. After a minutes thinking he comes up with a possibility. Looking about, he locates several thick and heavy roots and marks their location. He nails a long and thin metal rod into the side of the chasm, tying it firmly to his rope. Tying it about himself and grasping hold of it, he paces down and pulls out the axe that Hulm had left for him. The blade is sharp and strong, it only takes a couple hits to cut the young branches. He binds them together with loose pieces of twine and secures them about his shoulder.

    He repeats the process multiple times, nearly dropping the axe at one point but managing to save it with a lunge. He ascends back onto the level ground and re-binds the twigs into one thick strand. It''s about two meters long , a hulking mass of branches,roots, and rope. He tests it several times by embedding the sides into the nearby snow and jumping on it. The strand withstands his blows and with a grin of satisfaction he prepares for the next part of his plan.

    Carefully he scales the sides of the chasm again, but this time he looks for strong and packed ice. Finding it, he spends about five minutes excavating a deep hole with the help of a rod and hammer, chiselling slowly . He pushes the strand in firmly, using the same hammer to knock it into place. He takes out his spare rope and tightens it around the strand, and keeps holding on to it. He cuts off the other one, requiring the rest of the rope to achieve what he was about to do. For a brief moment it seems as if the strand would fall and Lethan with it, but then it stabilizes with a creak. He shudders, thinking of the fall, and splices the two ropes together in a series of complicated knots. He then secures the rope about his waist as before, and looks over the opposite side for an appropriate place to swing too.

    He swings, the wall whooshing up to meet him as he tries to grab its sides. He fails to grab it, the resounding thwack echoing through the ravine, but on his way back he manages to halt and avoid injury. On his second swing he grips it for a moment, but his fingers slip on the ice and he falls back. On the third swing he hooks his fingers deeply into a crevice and holds on, barely. He begins to ascend the side slowly, testing every foothold before moving on to the next, carefully checking for patches of ice that would hasten his fall. A mere three feet later, a shadow falls.

    He turns around to view it and sees a bloated monstrosity, nearly two meters in length. Its scales are coloured a icy grey, with a giant maw occupying most of its body. Behind it a short and stubby tail ends in a spiked club, swishing eagerly in anticipation. Its front, if it could be called that, is smooth and angled just like glass. The light reflects brilliantly off its scales as it peers on the mage, two dark orbs that serve for eyes observing him carefully. It looks at the strand and tests it with a foot, which strains but doesn''t fall, and proceeds to walk down it.

    It stands on the tip, its blue tongue lapping against the air and tasting the mages smell. He presses forcefully against the wall, determined to get as far away from the creature as humanely possible. A putrid stink washes over him, the rotten remains of previous victims stuck in the creatures teeth. It starts to reach for the mage hungrily, but falls short of its intended target. Irritated, it waddles slightly closer and tries to hook him with its paw. It captures only air, and this frustrates the creature even more.

    A thin, high pitched warble starts emanating from it as it grumbles and tries to scoot the strand closer. First an inch, then another, then closer still it comes to Lethan. He watches it with apprehension, his hands gripping the wall so tightly that they were numb with cold. There was nowhere he could go, he was trapped and this creature would flay the skin from his bones if it could. His gaze turns to fear as the creature moves forward, reaching out with a long and vicious talon, mere inches from the mage.

    A resounding crack echoes down the ravine, and the strand gives up all pretense of hanging on. The creature shrieks as it falls, splitting the ravine with echoes that bounced around the walls without pause, and as it fell it held on firmly to the strand. He notices that and panics, quickly sawing away the rope bit by bit, until with a sudden jerk he falls down. He grabs on for dear life, gripping the cavern walls as much as he can with his hands and the axe , trying to slow down the fall. Rocks and ice spew out in a stream, marking his path as he descends, his hands leaving a dark red stain against the wall.

    The frayed rope finally snaps and releases the mage from its heavy tug, the creature falling into the rapids below. He lets out a relieved sigh, and starts rising once more. Alas, his body fails him, weak from wounds both new and old. His numbed hand falters and he slips, failing to grasp another hold. He dangles with both hands on the axe, straining to rise. Seconds pass, he starts pulling himself up slowly, but then the ice itself gives away and has the last laugh. He seems to hang in mid-air for a second , horror written across his face. Slowly, but surely, he begins to fall.

    On top of a windy mountain peak a Draum was walking, carrying a heavy load of meat and herbs. It senses movement on the side, and glances there in time to see a falling figure crash down amidst the frothing waves of a river. Hulm drops his load and breaks into a run, kicking up spurts of snow in his wake.

    The walls flash in front of his eyes, grey and blue colours blurring across each other as the river quickly rises. He tried to angle his body to avoid a hard fall, aiming for a spot that seemed to have less rocks than the rest. Sound recedes and a quiet lull appears as he falls, like the one before a storm. Closer ,faster, farther he fell. A giant hand slams him against the water, and a roaring fills his ears as the current sweeps him away.

    It twists him in every direction that it can think of , forcing him to bob like some cheap wooden toy. The foamy water blinds the mage and more than once he goes down under it, barely able to breath. His head rises up again and he takes a quick breath, only to get sucked back in as the current rages and flows through the rapids. He tries to use his arms to grasp onto anything he can, a passing twig or branch, perhaps a chunk of ice. But the twigs snap against the rocks and the ice splinters into pieces, leaving nothing for his hands to hold.

    The rocks are painted a glossy black, smooth but hard and unforgiving. He hits one of them and agony flares up his arm, he hits another and his vision blurs for a moment. He tries to turn against the current and grab one large rock, but that proves to be a mistake, as his left arm snaps against the stress. Red pain covers his vision as he cuddles his broken hand against his chest. Thankfully the wounds were numbed, were it otherwise he would have passed out from the shock.

    A few precious seconds pass and he flutters like a leaf through the water, unable to change or control his path. However even that was to end soon, an abrupt precipice appearing in front of him, the end of the horizon. A few more seconds are wasted in contemplation, but then rapid action begins. He grabs at the strand wedged in rocks and takes the loosely hanging ropes, fashioning small lasso. He throws it at the nearest hanging branch, managing it on his second try. He hangs on to it desperately, his feet floating above the valley.

    A two hundred meter fall greets his eyes when he looks down nervously, and quickly regrets his decision. If the previous path could be considered just to have the occasional rock, then below was a forest. A small part of it seemed deep enough to dive in, but he counts on more stones being there as well.The water gushes out in a steady stream and falls loudly to the bottom. His one good hand is at the breaking point, barely holding onto the rope as it is. He manages to get a small foothold and start to ascend , praying that he wouldn''t fall. He slips, but the grip is as tight as ever, and he manages to regain his footing.

    The branch also strains, but it''s long and thick with age , not as apt to breaking as his strand was. Slowly, step by step, he rises up against the flow of water, climbing the rocks that hung over the edge. As he reaches the top, he turns to the left to see a woeful sight. The creature from before is there, standing on one of the rocks. It is unharmed, its brilliant scales still as bright as ever. It gives him a lopsided grin, why here we are again, lets resume shall we? it seems to say. It begins to step on the stones one by one, until it reaches a stone three meters in front of the mage. It lies down and begins to wait, licking its lips in anticipation.

    The mage can only curse at his luck, doomed if he went forward and doomed if he didn''t. His strength couldn''t last forever, and the blasted creature had occupied the space near the branch. He continues holding tightly, the only choice he has as the creature calmly stares at him. The black orbs are patient and timeless, waiting for the mage to continue climbing. It starts to make small purring noises that clashed with the waters flow, warbling in a high-pitched squeal as it swishes its tail about. Its legs are gathered in a crouch, ready to pin the mage against the wall as soon as he gets closer.

    Minutes tick away, and the mages grip hasn''t faltered. It gets impatient , pacing from side to side as it waits for the mage. It has the affronted look of someone who was stood up on a dinner party, a thin smile and glaring eyes. Silly mage come over here, we all know its going to happen eventually. At this moment the mages grip fails for a second, but he regains it quickly. Seeing this the creature smiles again, its tongue probing the air for his taste.

    Lethan''s wane face looked ghastly in the light, thin and pale from pain and cold. He begins to move up again, dreading every step and looking for a way out, any way at all. He can''t see any though, the only thing that graces his vision is the dark maw of the creature. It starts making false jumps, taunting the mage as he approaches, and he flinches every time. He doesn''t half his painful progress, leaving a dark red stain across the rope. The creature halts, beginning to time its jump, when suddenly out of nowhere a boulder flies by.

    It is one of the smaller ones, that is to say it was a mere meter across. It flows down the river on a thick plateau of ice, and when the ice breaks the impact knocks it into the air. As it flies it slams into the creature, knocking it off its perch and into the air. Unfortunately the creature shot off like a bullet in the worst direction possible, straight into the mage. Confused it didn''t even bother to eat him, flying didn''t suit it  as it was a creature of ice and rocks. The mages broken arm erupts in more pain from the impact, and his other one looses its grip. They fall together, beast and man tumbling down into the spiked water below.

    The wind rushes through his ears again, but fills his lungs with a pungent stench. The creature realizes that its meal is with it, and decides that it might as well have a little snack before landing. A vicious paw carves its path down his chest, re-opening his old wound. He screams in pain and hits its eye, shoving his right hand as deep as it could go. It screeches as well, and their harmony carries them down into the watery depths. The creature hits first and is separated by the crash, but the mage follows soon after. Blurred vision is followed with dark water, and then the darkness spreads across his sight until he falls into unconsciousness.

 Ch.2: Blizzard

    Author''s Note:

    Thanks for reading.  I didn''t do any work on Sat or Sun, and none on Monday....."busy" with friends :P

    Tuesday: Wrote plot (massive) for the next couple of Ch''s(or at least general outline)

    Tuesday: Wrote part of Ch.2

    Wednesday:  Finished Ch.2, Yelled at people until they cowered and PR''d

    Thursday: Proceeded to ignore 80% of what they did(>.>) and then posted Ch.2

    So it basically should take me 3 days about to post each chapter, provided I work every day. Well, the upcoming chapters have me very excited. I managed to create such a wide swath of characters that I hope you''ll enjoy.

    It will now become (eventually) a band of travelers roaming around, quite better than a hermit in the middle of nowhere and his companion.

    So, well...... Post things I''m doing right, doing wrong, tips to fix them, and so on. Also any thoughts you may have on the story so far (if there are any). Posting helps me know that someone out there is reading this.... :P

    ##############################

    A blizzard rages across a twilight sky. A figure travels heedless of the storm, its footsteps marching through the wind. Hulm patiently progresses, he had seen Lethan swept away by raging currents and assumed that he would find his body broken amidst the rocks. But he had to be sure, so here he was freezing his scales off trying to find him in spite of the snow flung into his face.

    A wild gust throws him back, his mouth contorts into a grimace and he continues forward. He hears the falls and realizes that he is nearly there, he had walked for more than three hours trying to reach them and he wasn''t going to stop because of a blasted blizzard. He walks onwards, the sound of rushing water becomes louder and he hastens his pace.The frigid land contains odd corridors and wind relentlessly gushes about the falls. Hulm tightens his cloak and begins to examine the rocks scattered across the water, their surfaces sleek and deadly. He travels around the edge, reluctant to venture any further due to the spray of chilling water.

    An unpleasant sight greets his eye, squeezed between two boulders is the snapped handle of the axe he had given Lethan.  Its smoothly carved surface is riveted with cracks. Discouraged, but not losing hope, Hulm continues his search. After all, Lethan could have just dropped his axe in the fall and managed to get out earlier. Unfortunately another sign proves his doubts, the leather collar of the mage lies torn apart and floating on top of the water. Its once bright runes are silent now and dark stains cover its surface, undoubtedly the blood of the mage.

    Hulm¡¯s face could be carved from stone as he mourns of the loss. In the end he had quite liked him, no matter how untrustworthy he had seemed. Lethan had did all he asked and seemed a decent sort. What corrupt and evil being could stare at a dull treatise on birds for three hours? Certainly none that he knew of. He slowly turns away from the remains of his fallen companion and begins to trudge back to his home. As he does so, he notices some footsteps leading away into the icy plains. They are accompanied by a thin line of spattered blood, a bright trail amongst the snow.

    He lets out a grin as he examines the human tracks, but it doesn''t last. A set of claws marks lie nearby, their cruel tips following the mages path. Hulm glares in disappointment, and his mouth frowns into a thin line. Shaking his head he continues tracking Lethan, praying that it was not too late.

    Lethan walks uncaring of the storm. He stares into the distance but doesn''t see it, occupied by visions of the past. He listens to the wind but doesn''t hear it, insinuating whispers droning in his ears. He lurches across the snow, but doesn''t feel the pain of his damaged body.

    He shakes his head and throws off the hallucinations temporarily, trying to re-organize his thoughts. He suddenly groans, his thin and wane face collapses in fear as the whispers begin again.

    "Why do you hate me so? I only tell you of your hearts desires, the ones you can achieve even now...."

    "Off with you, cease your tormenting cries and let me die in peace. I see no reason for you to do this, whoever you are."

    "But there is a reason, I am trying to open your mind to your own follies. Remember? You were young then, young and powerful, and the Council dared hang you back. You could have been more, so much more....."

    Images flood his eyes, and he continues walking.

    A large marble room is filled with golden scrollwork and wizened men. They look down from their tables at a youth boldly staring back. One of them begins to speak, his robes of the darkest blue.

    "Lethan Elthwyrd, you have been summoned here to hear the Councils decision regarding your advancement."

    The youth attempts to hide a grin, and shifts from foot to foot as he waits for the verdict.

    The old and grand voice goes on,

    "Throughout our lives we have had the pleasure to advance many other youths such as yourself into the higher ranks. We had watched them grow from their apprenticeships into full Masters of the Art." he pauses, rubbing his head and evading the youths eyes,

    "However, we feel that you are not yet....ready....for such an honor. You lack a certain capability that we are disinclined to mention. As such, the Council will postpone your advancement until you are better prepared for such responsibility. We think that a slight period of about five years would be enough for the purpose. The Council is now adjourned and all parties dismissed."

    The council members all stand up to leave the room, each one walking past the young man, each one ignoring him. Until the elderly wizard who proclaimed the verdict turns to him with softened eyes.

    He murmurs in a kinder voice as he turns away,

    "My boy, I''m so sorry that I couldn''t help you. I''ve tried my best, but....." he shrugs, and leaves with the others, the last one to go out.

    The youth stands there with shoulders slumped, disbelief written about his face as the doors close one by one, leaving him alone in the room.

    Lethan says " They had their reasons, I was young and prideful, to certain of my powers."

    "Are you so forgetful of the verdict later? Seven years to be exact...."

    The same room is filled with the same wizened men, their brows parted with worry. A man stands in the center, his eyes raging against the assembled mages. The blue robes rise again, but with a different man,

    A stern voice speaks,

    "Lethan Elthwyrd, you have been summoned here to hear the Councils decision regarding your actions," he pauses, catching his breath.

    "The charges against you include the following. One, you snuck into the D''lar section of the Library under the cover of night. Two, that upon going there you attempted to read the books inside, and to learn the runes forbidden for any U''tar. Three, being caught, you attempted to escape and this resulted in the grevious bodily harm upon several of this distinguished assembly. Do you have anything to say for yourself before we pronounce our verdict?"

    The man steps forward , and pushes them all back with a glare. He speaks in words dripping with scorn,

    "For charge one I admit guilt, although as far as I remember the charge for breaking curfew was a mere fine. I didn''t sneak in, I came through the front and stepped through the opened doors, if any of the guards weren''t watchful then it is no sin of mine. "

    "As to the second, you owe those runes to me. I have waited five years for you to graciously get off your seats and give me a title, five long and painful years of being seen as the stupid one and the one that got held back. When those five years ended, I got nothing for my troubles, but still I waited faithfully for the summons granting me what I had long wished for. Two more years passed, and I could wait no longer. I didn''t learn forbidden runes, I merely took what was stolen from me to begin with. "

    "As for the third, you make me seem like some kind of cowardly thief. This so-called distinguished assembly managed to hurt itself, all I did was chant a minor defensive rune, of rank three which I hope you all know merely deflects the shots. They ignored my runes, perhaps thinking me for a simpleton and cast a array of spells on me that were targeted to kill. Had their aim been a bit better, perhaps I would be lying dead and forgotten, but thankfully their addled wits couldn''t hold a stick against my casting. Blaming me for their own fault is the epitome of cowardice, I expected far more from you Archchancellor. I rest my case, and await your verdict graciously."

    He bows with a smirk, and pretends to doze against one of the walls, as if he already knows what verdict is coming.

    The Archchancellor¡¯s face turns red with self righteous fury. He smashes his fist into the table causing the quills and glass ink bottles to rattle on the table. He continues his tirade,

    "For harming members of the Council, conspiring to steal the Libraries secrets , and illegally breaking into the Library, we hereby expel you from the University for an indefinite period. We hope that you will realize your mistakes and later regret your hasty decisions. I myself hope you will do this as far away as possible, preferably dead. Council adjourned and members dismissed."

    He haughtily straightens his wizard hat, topsy from his emotional oration and turns to leave. But the mage has final words to say,

    "If you think this ends here, think again. One day you yourselves will rue the day you cast me out. You will scream in pain as you dance to my magics tune, begging me to have the mercy that you lacked. Perhaps you yourselves will realize your mistake. I doubt it though, old vermin such as you seldom learn new tricks. Now to the so-called esteemed University, its brainless faculty, and blustering mages, I bid adieu."

    Saying so he blasts down the ironwood doors with a few syllables, his wicked laughter echoing in the corridor as he leaves.

    "I was foolish, little did I know of the world outside. I did learn to regret the mistake, and often wondered what would have happened if I had stayed. Perhaps nothing, but better than being expelled I suppose."

    "I can''t listen to this any longer, you wallow in self-admonishment and misery. You seem to prove their actions right by finding blame inside yourself, have you lost the wit that you had then? I dare you to prove their actions later. Remember the glade and Bessa..."

    Lethans eyes cloud in thought and he stops momentarily, the name parting his lips as he remembers the glade, how-

    He breaks off and staggers onto one knee, clutching his head in a furious howl.

    "Stop, I command you, I beg you to stop. Leave me be and go back to where you came from, I have no need of you. I can die by myself without your hands meddling."

    A deep voice joins a scaled figure as it reaches for the mage,

    "Really? Are you so willing to die that you refuse my help? Come, let us go back home, a warm hearth and a good stew is what you need."

    After a long pause, Lethan gazes at him, his pupil dilated in his madness

    "Home? I know of no such thing, do you mean the flowers around me? Look how softly the light falls upon them, beautiful isn''t it? You must get some for yourself sometime."

    Hulm''s eye widens in confusion,

    "What nonsense are you babbling? I talk of the cave, not flowers. Let''s go before the weather gets any worse, we need to leave as soon as possible"

    Lethan steps back a little ,

    "Leave? No I like my glade thank you very much.Unless...you have come to take me away haven''t you? Just like they did before, they made you do it again didn''t they?"

    His voice rises in pitch and he continues to hastily back away from Hulm,

    "No, never again. I will never go back to that room, to be dusted off every decade just to seal up a simple demon and then put back with no thanks. I''m with Bessa again, at last. You can go tell the Archchancellor that his tool is taking a vacation, for an undetermined amount of time"

    He begins to run away , lost in his madness with the whispers egging him on. His crazed laugh echoes through the plains, ending abruptly with a fall.

    Hulm tries to catch him, but he disappears and falls down a large precipice, his figure lost amongst the depths. Hulm waits for a few moments hoping to hear some sign that he was still moving. None came, and he curses in disappointment as he reluctantly goes back. Sometime later, an echo is heard.

    ****

    Lethan lies on the ground cradled by soft snow. His left eye opens, and it reveals an endless void. A dark aura emanates from his body as it begins to twitch and spaz about. Like a marionette he rises, propelled by some tangled strings he lurches around. His legs get tangled in his arms, and temporarily he tries to lift himself with his head. Soon though, the movements of the body are remembered and he begins to stagger about in at least some orderly fashion. A voice rings through unseen caves and brings with it the coldness of the grave.

    "At.....Last.....They..said...I would fail....but here I am, I , Nephtym have conquered death " a wicked laughter is swallowed by the surrounding cavern.

    "Now what to do what to do....." he begins to mumble as he wanders about , "Ah, I see, so convenient. To have my host bring me to the very place which I desired. Fate has finally played into my hand...."

    Nephtym feels around for a crevice, and when he finds it chants the opening sigils. "Brythuray, Alvanh dru poKveh". A light glows from within, and the walls part to allow him to step through. He mutters again, "How quaint, the Ulduin never change their spells or methods, the same as their traditions I suppose.....well, it has no doubt proved their downfall."

    Dead bodies of the Ulduins lie where they died, their dull eyes staring reproachfully at his intrusion. Their bodies are scarred with the claw marks of ancient creatures.

    He scoffs at them,

    "You will bar my way no longer, neither charm nor door can stop me from my goal now."

    He kicks one in the head and it crumbles to a fine grey dust, the armor falling with a clang. He continues to walk through walls hewn out of ice and stone, decorated with a dull grey metal. They are empty and damaged, as he walks he avoids the rubble that had gathered there over the centuries.

    He stops at a tarnished door, as dull as the walls around it. On its surface embossed symbols can be seen but they are to worn away to tell what they meant or represented. He tries to open it, but the hinges are rusted and refuse to budge. Seeing this, he breaks down the door with force instead, issuing a clang and another wave of dust.

    As it clears a wide chamber is revealed. The many corpses of mages gather about a runic circle in the center, falling where they had made their last stand. He looks around finds the remains of one in particular, scorched and with a sword through it. He exclaims with laughter,

    "My dear Thrylla, so good to see you again. Ah , where are my manners. After all, one lowly mage doesn''t address a Grand Magus in such disrespectful tones. Then again, you can''t do much about it now, can you, not with your own sword stabbed through you."

    "And yet here I stand above you, still alive from the very research you sought to seal away. No matter what you did to me I still managed to come back, your pitiful mind can''t even begin to comprehend what I went through to achieve this. This reward, that I should be able to see you dead was beyond my wildest dreams. You who had once scorned me are now in turn ridiculed by me. So pass all imbeciles, "

    He spits and leaves the chamber.

    "Hmm...where was I ...Ah yes, my studies. I wonder if their pitiful forces had managed to break through, not that it would have mattered. "

    He resumes walking, and reaches a door. It is plain and simple, nothing giving away the contents inside. The doorknob and locks are invisible, he speaks to open them

    "Krylmu van akhet, Zeraptu vo lo thruta, Abrekara telphura, hagharbaprobnet."

    With a slow groan, the door slides downwards into the ice, moved by an ancient mechanism.

    He snickers,

    "Figured as much, they didn''t even manage to pass the locks. I wish I could have seen their faces when the fireball exploded in their midst.....ah well, lets see what''s inside shall we? "

    He enters the room, its insides as plain as the door that had restrained it. No magical instruments line the desks, no books or tomes of ancient knowledge decompose in a corner. The only things that occupy the room are dust, and a bed.

    He speaks several more syllables, and a box appears. Its ethereal surface lies on the 8''th plane, scarcely visible even with his magic. He smiles , his eyes flicker over the box rapidly, lusting for the contents inside. He begins a droning chant, twisting words flowing into and over each other, a pulse escaping the box at each one. He doesn''t hear the entrance of a creature through the opened walls or its sharp-pitched cry as it sniffed the air, searching for its prey.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    At the end of his chant the strongbox opens silently.He reaches with his hands and pulls out two items, so powerful they are warping the space itself. The staff is of a dark wood , a blue crystal embedded in its top. The ring is obsidian, bands of shadow flowing through it.

    His voice is filled with pride,

    "Oh how I''ve waited for this, to hold and wear these items that I constructed myself. I remember the past days of contracts, summonings, sacrifices....ah, those were the days. Crijit and Narka were at my call, doing my every whim, and the entire blathering assembly was in my palm. If it wasn''t for an accidental spy I might have even been able to open the portal without them suspecting anything. "

    He breaks out of his reverie, and begins to inspect the items for any malformations. Finding none, he decided that he might as well start with the ring.

    His smile widens as he puts on the ring, waiting expectantly for the flow of power to commence. His upturned lips turn horizontal as his eyebrows furrow together,  something is wrong. Too late, another set of runes begin to glow amongst the ring and rise from its inky depths. They are as dark as where they came from, yet glow with a sullen majesty. As they float up they begin to inscribe a complex rune structure over him, twisting and turning as they fit into their places.

    He struggles to read it with a worried voice,

    "Thvulm? no , wait...that''s Drem paired with Lutwyn, what are they....no, god no, they have Usreala in there as well, for gods sakes no!"

    He waves his arms at the floating runes desperate for anything to break its progress,

    "Blit! Varagraph! break damn you, Trilyhfg, Crifgh Altarmi, aargh."

    His words end as the runes contract, sinking into him and binding him in their many circles. He closes his eye, preparing for the pain to come. Yet again, nothing happens. He opens his eye hesitantly, not feeling any different even after the runes had passed. His eyes glance at the ring, but a relieved sigh escapes him. The ring is dark once more, no more runes are spilling forth. He walks out of the room, his steps slipping across the marble as he makes his way towards the exit, when the creature appears.

    At first he''s taken aback, but he flaunts his staff and speaks,

    "Really? I am stopped in my tracks by a mere Glyth? You pitiful vermin shall be the first to fall under my staff. Feast your eyes on power you will never have, nor live to see again. Ajisy, val Halmar"

    The staff glows with an otherworldly force. Glimpses of the other planes flicker through its crystal tip as the mage cocks a grin and continues to chant. Halfway done, the glow fades and the runes falter as the magic fails. The staff shatters into thousands of tiny fragments, pelting him and the creature, soon he is left with nothing but an empty hand.

    The creature stares at him, wondering what was supposed to happen. It sits back on its haunches a bit confused at the whole proceedings, a bright light then a shattering and pelting of some random sticks. It tilts its head quizzically at him, as he begins to run. Its maw parts in a toothy grin, well this it could understand, finally its prey had done something that made sense. It leaps and begins to chase him through the halls.

    Left, right, and back again Nephtym leads the creature. His steps are disjointed, and his breath comes out in harsh gasps. Periodically he would look back, only to see the monster and speed up his pace. The Counting room! This is where he would lead it, but alas, it had caved in long ago. He turns into another hallway, steps pittering over the cobblestones.

    He runs through an ancient dining hall, banging into wooden tables corroded and malformed with rot and leaving dust in his wake. He kicks one of them into the creature, it barely pauses as it rams through it and the worn shield that follows.  Gathering speed, he slides his body into a narrow hallway, breaking a couple cobwebs as he does so. The creature pauses, sniffs the opening and attempts to get a paw inside. When that doesn''t work it walks off, intending to capture its prey via a different route.

    He leans against the walls and catches his breath, as he relaxes he looks up for a moment. Slowly crawling down the sides were thousands of tiny spiders, eager to have a meal that was so easily presented. He lets out a panicked scream, sweat covering his face as he recognizes them as Gavarian Mothbiters, known for the excruciatingly painful deaths they cause. He squeezes alongst the hallway, dodging the hungry swarm. He recklessly crawls out, barely escaping their hungry tendrils. On his elbows he glances up, and views the creature grinning at him from across the hall.

    ¡°By the Gods!¡±

    Scrabbling onto his feet, he runs as fast as he can away from both creature and spider, the heavy footfalls echoing through the empty corridors.

    A closet beckons, a sturdy door leaning half open. Nephtym rushes inside and slams it, barricading the door with buckets and shelves that lie scattered about. He looks up and views a broken roof and a blizzard raging across a twilight sky. He starts to climb up but hesitates, not wanting to freeze himself out there. A loud slam interrupts his thoughts as the doors rock back with the blow, the creature has found him and refuses to wait. Its eye views him through a hole in the door, telling him to wait a little longer, it will be right down. As the hits continue he speeds up and jumps out into the storm, dashing through the snow in escape from the threat behind him.

    The creature manages to break down the door into splinters but is greeted with an empty room. It tries to climb up but falls down quickly, the shaky roof not able to support its weight. It looks around uncertain, releasing several keen wuffles, and seems to give up as it heads back outside into the halls. It shambles about discontentedly, annoyed with the entire situation. It had chased the darn mage all across the valley, even fallen off a cliff just to get him, and he gets away just from climbing a wall. Its musing are interrupted by a cloud of shadows.

    They seem to spin around in circles, gradually forming a humanoid shape. Flocks of glyphs twirl inside the cloud, runes inscribed on dark iron floating in midair and giving a certain substance to the creature. They flare occasionally, releasing pulses of light amongst the darkness like miniature thunderstorms. It turns around to regard the creature, a thin monstrosity of a meter in height.  Its heavy footsteps , disproportioned to its size, crunch the ground wherever it walks. But none of them are heard, sound seems muffled around it giving a mute silence to its passing. It barrels through, barely noticing the creature that it pummels into the dust, and continues marching towards the object that it''s spelled to protect.

    Into the snow a figure falls, but then staggers back up again. This is not the first time for Nephtym, the body is on the verge of breaking down and collapses frequently, only to rise at Nephtym¡¯s insistent commands. His haggard face sports new bruises, and a tinge of blue is not the only reaction to the cold. He keeps going despite its protests, although shambling a little slower now. A spiteful frown is seen, to have come so close only to be chained and bound to such an insignificant speck of a body. Blasted Thrylla and her conclave, they had no doubt snuck in and tampered with his gear. He had been too lenient in inspecting it, he should have cast a divining spell at least. It''s too late anyways, this blizzard has no regard for him and is intent on burying the body.

    None of these bloody mountains or trees had been here when he went into his long sleep. His sense of direction is too skewed to find a way to safety, limited to wandering randomly in hope of a lucky break. Then a weak smile alights his face, Lethan might know, he had after all been here before. He begins to ransack the mages recent memories, trying to figure out a path back to Hulm''s place based on his and the mages combined knowledge. He manages to get a general idea and forces the body into a shaky run, knowing that if he should stop he won''t get up again.

    Sometime later he collapses, his strength gone and his vision dwindling. However he sees Hulm approaching , he had made it to the cave. He goes back to sleep, his mission done and the precious body saved.

    Lethan awakens, still mad and dazed from the journey. He begins to ramble,

    "Darkness that isn''t dark, light that isn''t light."

    He lets out a cracked laugh,

    "Oh the things they teach, the wonders and the instruments, so many creations lost when they fell."

    His smile is gone and he stares at Hulm with intensity,

    "I don''t think they''re all gone though, some might come back. Come back and...."

    The grin comes back,

    "Bring me flowers for Bessa, she''ll like that wouldn''t she"

    His murmurings continue even with Hulm picks him up and carriers him back inside the cave. They only cease once he falls asleep, warmed by the hearth and the stew that Hulm had fed him. Hulm watches Lethan as he lies there sleeping, wondering what in the world could have brought him to this madness, and what creations he had mentioned. Somehow they didn''t seem like the nice and simple ones....

    A couple days pass , with the mage mumbling things from his wild dreams, sometimes waking up screaming but not remembering why. Fragments of old languages and twisted runes tumble out of his mouth, occasionally calling Hulm by many other names. The storm continues to rage outside, and on the third day the mage regains his sanity enough to talk with Hulm.

    A thin whisper of a voice speaks,

    "I don''t know what happened to me. I remember walking across an icy plane and arguing with...whispers.."

    He coughs briefly and continues, his voice gaining strength as he went on.

    "They told me of power and of riches I could have had, someone I could have been. I don''t remember much of that, only that I managed to see you for a moment. For some reason I remember feeling angry at you, I don''t even know why. I''m sure you saw me fall, it wasn''t as bad as it seemed to be, the snow had cushioned my fall. However soon after, it wasn''t me who stood up and walked around...it was someone else."

    "He called himself Nephtym, and traversed the citadel searching for something. I think the ring I have is what he wanted, although he seemed to rage over it. I don''t remember much more, other than a scant few fragments of chanting and runes glowing the rest passed in a blur."

    Hulm nods thoughtfully as Lethan goes back to sleep. Why in the world would a darkness possess the mage, only to leave as quickly as it had come. He has his suspicions, but only time would tell if the thing still lingers. He sits back and continues to watch the mage as he lies sleeping, thankful that the nightmares that had plagued Lethan were over.

    Later in the night, a silence descends. Hulm wakes up and glances around, there was a raging blizzard just recently and it was unlikely that it would end so soon. As he turns around and views the caves entrance, he sees a fearsome sight. A cloud of shadows, darker than the night around it, slowly steps into the cave. In its body float glowing runes in complex patterns, releasing flashes of light as they hum through the air. Its face only had what could be called a mouth, the rest a formless and smooth black. It stares at Lethan, quietly stepping forward as cracks emitted from the floor.

    Hulm reaches for his dagger, keeping his eye on the creature and watching for any sign of hostility. He throws the blade, and it whistles clean through the creature with no apparent harm done. It stares at him for a second but then resumes pacing towards Lethan. Hulm goes tense, a worried frown across his face. The creature raises an arm prepared to strike a blow at the lying mage. Hulm mouths ancient words, unheard in the creatures vicinity, and the cave dazzles with a blinding light.

    Hidden runes cover every inch of the caves surface, summoned by Hulms call. They swarm and gather in a frenzy, pushing back the creature like a cloud of gnats. Its own runes begin to flare and fight, but the others are too many for it and it''s thrown back in a pulsating shockwave. A sphere of darkness forms around it, binding it and imprisoning so it could do no harm.

    Hulm relaxes, glancing at Lethan to make sure he was safe. Lethan had woken up by now, staring at the sealed creature.

    "I remember this as well, this cold and aged darkness was in the chamber with the ring, lying in wait for something. I think its after me, it was probably sent to guard it."

    Hulm swears and replies,

    "That damn things a Shadow Golem, why the hell did you have to go and get it over here. They are near invincible and guard relics of the old. They are formed of runes unbreaking, and kill without a moments thought. Worse still, they never, ever, rest or stop."

    He turns to the mage and gestures for him to stand up,

    "Pack up, won''t have much time. We need to leave as quickly as possible, I think I know someone who can help in Aclyth."

    They turn to look at the runes, and they shiver from what they saw. The runes are going out one by one, flaring suddenly and then lapsing into nothingness. With the pressing time on them as the runes continue to go out, Hulm quickly gathers the provisions for a journey, packing everything he could into multiple satchels along with Lethans help. He yells for the mage to follow him, and they run away into the blizzard, as far away from the beast as possible.

    The creature senses their leaving, and quickly tears the remaining runes to shreds. A patternless shrieking scrapes through the blizzard and cuts at their ears, as it screams out what seems like words. It begins to chase after its prey determined to catch it, its footsteps marking huge holes in the ground where it ran.

    They reach a frozen river , a raging current flowing under it with a bed of ice above. A road leads onwards, but it is too far for them to escape the creature that is gaining on them.

    Hulm shouts,

    "Step back! The undead are weaker over running water."

    He raises his axe and staunchly stands against the approaching monster. With a sudden jerk it stops, staring down into the water. It tries to step forward, but the ice cracks and it nearly falls through. Hulm steps back, mincing as far away from the monster as he can. His eye scans the ground it had stepped on, it wasn''t likely to step on the ice anytime soon. Perhaps it couldn''t even cross. However these doubts are dispelled as the creature pulls yet another card from its shadowed sleeves.

    Runes float and gather at its feet creating a strange and darkened contraption, a pair of boots with blades in their soles. It steps forward slowly at first, but with increasing speed it seems to float across the ice, dashing towards the mage. Hulm lunges to intercept it, and manages to make a solid hit against its shoulder. The hit has it spin across the ice and hit an icy wall with a loud crunch. Its face turns to look at him, regarding him now as an obstacle to be disposed of. It crouches down and braces itself against the wall, and then it shoots off towards Hulm, a streak of darkness skating across the ice.

    Runes flash and dart around it, striking at Hulm in little whispers of light and darkness. He parries most of them, the remaining few making superficial scratches across his skin. The rhythmic hits form their own tune as they dance across the ice, shadows clashing against each other. The golem spins with the fluidity of a dancer, sliding about and using its hands to score deep wounds in Hulm¡¯s body. Meanwhile Hulm stands still, a un-movable wall of flesh repulsing the shadow. Soon this number will end, one of them dead and bleeding on the floor.

    At this rate it seems that Hulm would be the one to fall, his movements becoming sluggish and his strikes beginning to falter. The golem senses its advantage, and presses in to finish him off, which proves to be its first mistake. No longer tired, he quickly swings his blade and cuts through it, dealing a heavy wound. Panicking as it had not felt pain in many years, it rushes back against the wall and commits its second mistake. He says an Ancient Wyrd and throws a shadowed dagger, hitting the outcrop of ice above it.

    A violent explosion shakes the cliff, and a chunk of decent enough size to be called an iceberg tumbles down onto the golem. It attempts to reach and grab Hulm , but it misses by a scant inch. Its cries sink into the depths of the raging river as the current carries it away. Hulm staggers back to the mage, wounded and exhausted from the ordeal. It had taken nearly all he had to cast the Wyrd and swing his axe.

    He manages to croak out,

    "Lets go....the time the river bought us will not last long, we must hurry to Aclyth. I''ve heard of an artificer there who could maybe help us, although I''ve also heard that he''s a bit...queer."

    They leave for the city, Hulm hanging onto Lethans helpful shoulder. They fade into the distance as they walk over an ancient road, still hunted by the creature.

 Ch.3: Aclyth

    Authors Note:

    Hi ya all, here''s another chapter for you. I''m in BAD need of a good PR, it will help tons and speed up the work if they could work on my own time more or less. I hope this chapter is closer to what you guys are searching/waiting for, and I toned down the descriptions quite a bit.

    I have 5 + plot twists ready for ya, so just keep waiting and they''ll come. I have a lot of plot ready, at least 2-3 chapters (my size remember, big) ready, and I''m planning for more.

    Comment on the characters if you want, who''s your fave etc. Comments on plot, grammar or whatever, style, ANYTHING that I''m doing right/wrong will help. So without further ado, the chapter you''ve been waiting for !!!

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    Aclyth, a city of merchants. Swarms of people of all races are running about stone stores and wooden shacks.They are intent on getting to their homes or their jobs, oblivious to everything around them. Nearby shops are screaming that they are selling furs, tools, and ¡± doesn¡¯t this look lovely madam¡± . Not a single moment must be wasted, the day must be wrung dry for coins to fall into their lap. They fall upon the few travelers that they manage to catch from the herd.

    Like angry sharks they zoom about, demanding that he buy their brand instead of someone elses. The travelers argue back vehemently, trying to save as much of their wallets as they could. It doesn''t help, the merchants have too much experience to let such juicy prey away. Soon the travelers leave again, their shoulders heavier and purses lighter, and the yelling resumes.

    In front of a particular store, a small shack called "Al''s Wearables" , a thin merchant is having a similar discussion with the owner. Holding out spools of questionable thread, he wheedles,

    "Sir, I believe these threads would grace your fine establishment. Look at their luster and their nice thickness, it would do you good to use them in your shop. Think of all the noble cloth you could craft, fine riches for your pockets."

    The large leather-maker stares from behind a small hedge on his chin. He says in a thick nordic accent,

    "I do not need your thread. I have all I need. Go avay, if someone come I sell, if they do not come, I do not sell. Your silly thread is no good. Goodbye"

    The merchant protests,

    "Come now, look how sturdy they are!"

    He pulls on one of the threads, only to have it snap into pieces. He curses his luck, but still perseveres.

    "Ignore that, just a minor fault in the thread. Say, I could cut you a deal, buy two get one free. That''s about thirty percent off for ya, what do you say?"

    Al doesn''t say anything and just walks back inside, slamming the door. The merchant curses again and waddles off, trying to find another target. He spots a pair of buyers and eagerly dashes over, intent on being the first one.

    "Come now, your robe is in bad repair isn''t it? Well with these threads your problems will go away, all crystal clean and sturdy. I''m having a special offer today, buy three get one free, its a chance you shouldn''t miss. Only three copper a spool, cheap for a thread of this caliber."

    The smaller one ignores him, intent on looking about the city as he searches for something. Deeming him unimportant, the merchant turns to the the one next to him. To achieve this he has to lift his head up a couple of inches, the others size being a tad frightening.

    He mumbles off nervously,

    "Er...Sir, I don''t suppose you''d like to buy them either? They''re quite nice threads.."

    Receiving only a glare, he steps back a little and ends the discussion,

    "Well I suppose not. Pleasure doing business with you."

    He begins to run away from them but is stopped by a yell from the robed one.

    "Hey! Come back here, I didn''t finish examining your thread."

    He frowns as he approaches, uncertain of the change of mind. He creeps up to a safe distance and asks them what they want.

    "What do you¡ª"

    He gets broken off,

    "Listen, we know good quality thread when we see it, the same for good news. Perhaps you can be some help in...other...departments."

    The merchants eyes alight with greed, these fellows were quite right after all. He gives them a wide smile and begins a torrent of words, only to be interrupted again. The robed one negligently waves his hand and tells him,

    "We don''t have time for gossip. Do you perhaps know where an Artificer called Malwyn is? We''ve been searching for him but haven''t had luck so far."

    The merchants eyes turn into a narrow squint. He quietly says,

    "Why are you asking questions like that? Don''t you know.. Ah nevermind, stupid foreigners. I advise you not to get mixed up in this business, many a poor customer has met an unfortunate end. The most I can help you with is¡ª"

    He stops, examining his customers thoroughly. The inspection doesn''t do them good, as he says in a acrid tone,

    "I''ve changed my mind, I won''t deal with mages. You can go and do whatever you please, just outside of Aclyth. Goodbye."

    He turns away, and resumes selling thread while yelling at the top of his lungs. A heavy hand on his shoulder stops him.

    "Talk, you know something and it would be better for you to tell us."

    He freezes and begins to shout,

    "What do you mean, talk. How dare you lay a hand on someone like me, I''ll have the city watch down on you in seconds! Unhand me you¡ª"

    The robed one interrupts,

    "We''ll buy eight spools, that''s far more than you''ll sell in a day. Say, have you heard of where the Artificer was?"

    With a voice dripping in honey he replies,

    "Why yes, this is a completely different matter, you should have done this from the start. I think the best thing for you is to go three streets over there,"

    He gestures a bit eastward,

    "you''ll find his old shop, the rest you''ll know when you get there. Now about that thread,..."

    An expectant look follows, which the pair pays off with the agreed amount of string. Satisfied, the merchant joins the throng of those harassing a couple of tourists, which by now are so heavily laden with gear that they need two helpers.

    After a quick discussion amongst themselves, the pair wandered off in the given direction. However, the market street took its toll on their purses, it was nearly impossible to move due to all the merchants. The swarm would prance about you in a cacophony of slogans, trying to get you to look at their wares. The only way to move forward was to buy something from them. They¡¯d start moving, then were blocked in a moment later. They began buying things randomly, based on where the merchant was standing rather than their goods. Two streets later the merchants lost interest, and the pair managed to get out of the horde.

    They went into a side alley to recount their losses. They had managed to get out after buying only a few items, some apples, a horseshoe, a bar of "Horse Loved" soap, and several glasses of a suspicious "Lovers Tonic". Discarding these into the nearest trash bin, they continued following the merchants¡¯ directions.

    After arriving at their destination it takes them a while to realize that the dump in front of them is actually a shop. Its tattered sign lies skewed, missing so many letters that the only thing it said was ¡°M l¡¯s Ap  t ry¡± is here. The windows are broken and the walls laced with cracks. What remains of the door is happily decomposing into a sandy mush. They glance over the decrepit store, not believing their eyes. ¡°This was where the tinkerer lived?¡± Upon further inspection it turns out that he didn''t, but possibly may have at some time or another.

    They go outside and the large one slams his fist on the wall,

    "The damn merchant swindled us. When I get my hands on him I''ll¡ª"

    His partner calms him down,

    "No, stop it. There''s probably another reason for this, perhaps he had died or moved someplace. Lets ask the neighboring shops."

    They choose one at random, a tailors called "Buttons and things". They walk into the shack, and are greeted by a small and stooped man.

    "Greeetings young travelers, just how may I help you today?"

    "Could you be so kind as to tell us what happened to the Artificer next door?"

    The plastered smile curves into a frown, and the owner backs off.

    "Oh dear I just realized, it¡¯s nearly noon. Better close up the shop, sorry."

    "But¡ª"

    "Nonono, closing up shop. You have to leave"

    He ignores their protestations and shoos them outside, after which he dashes off into the marketplace.

    The large one asks the other,

    "Lethan, what the hell was that all about."

    "How should I know, typically a merchant acts like we bless the very ground we walk on. Why are they so afraid of the tinkerer?"

    Lethan shrugs and says,

    "Might as well check out the other shops, hopefully at least one will be of use."

    <hr />

    Meanwhile, far off in an enclosed room a figure sits. His face is covered by shadows, the light revealing a well-cut cloth. The arms are clasped behind his back as he stares off into an ornate window, looking down into the city. The room is spacious and richly carpeted, a nobles dream. After a few moments, the figure turns and goes back to an oaken desk, where he sits down and listens to a sniveling merchant. As he does so, he records some of the conversation onto one of the many stacks of paper on the desk.

    "M-M-My Lord, I bring you news that might interest you."

    A bored voice replies,

    "Hmmm go on..."

    He scribbles a minor note on the piece of paper, deft and clever hands making a fancy cursive.

    "I found a pair of travelers my Lord. One was large, covered in an armored cloth. The other one was smaller but dressed in the robes of a mage. The larger one¡¯s eyes were a violet, while the robed ones were grey. They are strange my Lord, foreigners that¡ª"

    He stops writing and leans back into his plush chair, speaking in a mild tenor,

    "and what makes them interesting at all? Please don''t tell me they look funny, lots of people look funny. You as a matter of fact give of the impression of a dried up prune, but you don''t see me complaining about it. "

    A note of warning creeps into the voice,

    "Are you by any chance wasting my time?"

    "N-No I wouldn''t dream of it my Lord. I just wanted to tell you that they were looking for the Artificer, they were asking an awful lot of questions about him."

    He cleans a small pair of spectacles, silver-rimmed with a black trim, lost in thought. After a few moments he replies,

    "Well, this can wait a while. Lots of travelers are asking about Mal, but none of them do much about it. If anything happens you will be sure to tell me as soon as possible, right?"

    "Yes my Lord, of course my Lord."

    He continues writing,

    "Good boy. Now then, continue. Tell me everything they did and everything you know about them. I will wring every last word out of you, once you''re done you can pick up the usual pay."

    The merchant continues , pausing here and there as the man asks him more questions. How did he grab you? What was his tone? Hmm I see, were any of them wearing thick leather boots? and so on. After an hours worth of this process, the merchant slinks away as quickly as possible, leaving the man still sitting at the desk.

    He mumbles to himself, tracing small circles in the desks surface,

    "I wonder if they''ll prove exciting. It''s been too easy so far, so few people worth mentioning. All so very,very easily to disposed of. The occasional assassin, the bribed maid, the blackmailed soldier. I could go on... Here I''m thinking that hiding myself has no point , no one has the capability to stand before me. Sigh...."

    His fingertips slightly blacken and the desk surface begins to burn, raising small curls of smoke into the air.

    "Its been such a long time since I''ve had any fun....."

    <hr />

    The pair had spent the past hour wandering the shops. In each one they had met with various strange coincidences. They go in one store asking about the artificer and suddenly the owner remembers a bit of business they must attend too. They try again with another shop, only to see the owner scamper out the back. The next couple were already closed or with the proprietor out.

    The mage confers with his partner,

    "Something''s odd here, I doubt we''ll get much more information from anyone. Perhaps a tavern will help, there''s all sorts of information in them. Lets try that one there."

    They enter the aptly named "Broken Table".

    Drunk stragglers of all kinds sit around grimy card tables, drinking and brawling across the room. A cuff or two, nothing serious, would occasionally break out when someone insults anothers card playing skills. This would end when the bartender slowly walks over with a menacing scowl, raising hands that could wrap around most of them twice. Seeing him, they promptly shake hands with each other and wander off to another table, wincing from his glare. He would then return to the bar with his eyes carefully watching, absentmindedly rubbing glasses that get progressively dirtier.

    The space in the remaining tables¡ªthe ones not hosting any card games¡ªare filled with miscellaneous travelers. They range from slightly-tipsy to dead-drunk, sometimes even passing out on the floor. If you would take a bunch of them together, you would probably have enough parts for one or two men. Most of them are of a disagreeable disposition, glaring at the pair as if damning them for blocking the sun. The pair quietly finds a table in the corner of the room and ordered a couple of drinks. As they sit they observe the others, trying to find one who knows something. While doing so, they manage to see the antics of a raggedy old man. He roams the tables heedless of threatening scowls, demanding a drink to quench his thirst.

    "Young man, " he says to a towering brute twice his size,

    "Didn''t your mother ever tell you to help the elderly? I''m in sore need of it, a drink would work wonders to help me live the rest of the day."

    Miraculously he isn''t pummeled into the ground, but rather shoved off lightly into a table. The rickety table of course breaks with a satisfactory crunch. He then pick himself up, dusts off,  and harasses another traveler.

    After watching this happen about four times, and noticing that the inn was running out of tables, the pair invites the hermit over. They buy him a drink which he sips. Smacking his lips, he begins to talk,

    "Aaah, that''s the stuff. Thank ya boys, I didn''t think anyone would do it at all. I wonder where all their manners had gone. Back in the old days they knew to respect their betters."

    His eyes cloud as he thinks of his past. However the one in the grey robe says to him,

    "Wait, you remember how it was before? Perhaps you could¡ª"

    He returns a glare,

    "Of course I do. What, thinking I''m going senile? The nerve of you, I''m just trying to have a little chat and here you go calling me old. Not that I aren''t, but man has his pride you know."

    "No, no, I didn''t mean it like that. I thought you could tell us how it was before, maybe even¡ª"

    He sits back and starts a lengthy oration, by the looks of those nearby this was heard quite often,

    (In the back one of the travelers groans and says "Not this again, who the hell keeps giving him drinks")

    "Yesiree, back in the olden days this city was far cleaner and better. When the Victus family ruled this city, a man could get a drink."

    He pauses, releasing another glare upon the surrounding people.

    "Times were better then. Mind you, I ain''t saying that there were gold paved streets, but we weren''t as poor as we are now. In those days we worshipped one god, Cercos, none of those new pagan religions that keep popping up. There were schools for teaching children, not barracks to train more soldiers. The Lords took care of the people and the people took care of them. We didn''t have much, but at least we lived well. Not like now, when people can''t even buy a drink,"

    At this a stranger at nearby table can''t hold it any longer,

    "Oh shaddup. You''re always muttering that, like one of them fancy records. If you''re not drinking your sleeping or talking"

    He leaves, muttering "damned old man".

    The old man continues,

    "Where was I before I was so rudely interrupted?...Oh yes, we didn''t have much but we lived well. None of these endless wars about one thing or another, or the newfangled weapons that keep appearing. I remember in the old days people fought with pure swords and steel, none of these stupid contraptions. Ah, the tournaments that they held back then. Wonderful things with banners and colors, shining knights fighting against each other all in the name of their Lord and god. Those were the days when a man could get a¡ª"

    Hulm loses his patience and opens his mouth, but closes it just as quickly once Lethan interrupts instead,

    "Look, we understand that back in the old days you could get a drink, back in the old days it was better, we get it. What is this you''re saying about weapons and war? This city doesn¡¯t look like it has any army worth mentioning, much less the ability to go about conquering other cities."

    The old man, at first disgruntled at being interrupted, gladly breaks into yet another rant,

    "Oh these wars are a blight upon our city. They''re recent, my thoughts are that the Lord is corrupt and scheming some evil plans. I hear these new weapons are made in blood, by an evil mage hidden in the castle."

    He lowers his voice into a conspiratorial whisper and leans in,

    "They say that whenever the tinkerer is mentioned someone dies. I''ve seen many a man go that way, gone with no note or warning. I swear by Cercos that something is afoot. People disappearing in the night, never to return again. Wars happening for no reason, and strange weapons being made. If this doesn''t smell conspiracy I don''t know what does. It''s all because of the mage,"

    He nods knowingly,

    "Mages bring ill luck, they always have and always will."

    Lethan repeats himself,

    "Say, do you know where he might be? We need to talk to him about something important, it might help if you could tell us about him."

    The old man yawns tiredly,

    "All this talking has made me thirsty,"

    He looks at them with pleading eyes. Lethan sighs and buys him another drink. After a few long gulps the old man continues,

    "Well, most rumors say that he''s up at the castle, tinkering in an evil laboratory. I feel it in my bones that he''s there somewhere, creating those very weapons and pushing out these wars. Blasted mages and their contraptions, used to be their kind wouldn''t go down here. Back in the old days mages didn''t come, and you could always get a drink."

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    The bartender has had enough, he walks over,

    "It''s time for you to leave, I''m tired of your rambling. I''ve lost three customers so far, and unless you''d like to pay for them as well as the broken tables you should leave. As for you,"

    He turns to the pair as the old man leaves disgruntled (taking the drink with him),

    "Best for you not to talk of such things, idle talk does no one good. When you''re done with the meal come to the bar to pay up, just take note I don''t keep tabs."

    He leaves back towards the bar, occasionally glancing in their direction while he wipes the glasses.

    They finish their meal quickly and give him the plates, as they do so he tells them quietly,

    "The names Hal. Sorry about that, thanks for giving him a drink. He''s not that bad, just gets damn annoying when you hear the same thing for the fortieth time. If you really want too, you can go and try out the mages tower. Its about a mile east of here, though I doubt you''ll find anything there."

    The robed one leaves a coin as thanks.

    "Glad for the help, but who was he?"

    Hal shrugs,

    "Dunno, some priest or other. He lives out in the woods and keeps blabbing about his Cercos. Not much is known, sorry about that."

    He continues rubbing the glasses, which by now were so dirty one could barely see through them. They give thanks again and leave outside, heading eastward wondering what they''d find there.

    .........

    Wandering through twisted alleyways and streets, they finally reach the tower.

    It is large, at least that much can be said. It towers upwards for nearly eight or ten stories, an impassible obelisk dominating the area around it. A granite wall , two stories high, separates it from the rest of the city. The surfaces of both include runes flickering in the stonework, no doubt protecting them from attack. The overall impression would have been much better, were it not for its obvious state of maluse.

    Numerous people had sprayed their wit across the walls, most along the lines of "Bad mages, go home" or  "Joe was here". Moss and ivy had overgrown both, making the wall seem closer to a hedge. The blocks release the musty smell of mold, which spews from the cracks that line them. The only entryway the pair can find is a tiny wooden door half-covered by the vegetation.

    They knock on it, and no response is given. They try again, this time the large one hammers it with the handle of his axe. Still no response, with no results forthcoming they decide to try another route, yelling.

    "Hey, anybody there? We want to talk with someone.Hello?"

    Hulm bellows,

    "Helloooooooooooooooooooooooooo. Come out you damn mage."

    A silky voice yells into their ears,

    "There¡¯s no need to be so rude."

    As they wince from the noise, he continues in a lower tone,

    "I have a ward system in place, you and I can easily hear each other so shouting only hurts my ears.  Now then, why the hell are you here? Bugger off."

    Lethan is taken aback, but recovers and says,

    "Erm we''d like to speak to you about something"

    The voice snickers,

    "There, you did. Now go away."

    Hulm bangs on the door again,

    "Listen mage, I don''t want to spend time dithering about arguing with a stone wall. We want to know where the artificer is, or at least where we can find him."

    The voice yawns,

    "Nah, nothing in it for me. Push off, I''mma go by and sleep right now."

    Lethan attempts to speak,

    "Hello? Are you still---"

    A message interrupts him:

    "Please leave a message after the beep or, better yet, bugger off."

    They wait for about ten minutes but no beep is forthcoming, if it ever was going to come at all.

    Hulm yells at the tower, his voice scaring off a nearby flock of birds,

    "Let us in you stupid mage! It''s important and far more pressing than your damned nap. Get out here or let us in, one way or another we''re going to talk with you"

    The only response was a bucket of ice water, poured down onto Hulm.

    A snide voice cackles,

    "Serves you right you big lug. Go take your thick head somewhere else, I can''t get a winks worth if you keep yelling."

    Spluttering in outrage, Hulm takes a few steps back,

    "That''s it, this door is going down the hard way. Step aside, "

    Lethan hurriedly goes off to the side as Hulm rushes through.

    The door shakes from the impact, and a resounding crackle sounds through the air as Hulm is sent flying back.

    The voice appears again,

    "Oh dear, did I forget to mention about the door ward? Oopsie, I hope no one got hurt. Nighty-nighty you big clod."

    Hulm shakes in rage and prepares to use his axe on the door, but Lethan stops him just in time.

    "We won''t get any further that way, there are bound to be stronger spells than a mere shock."

    Sighing in exasperation the group heads back, the mage throws a parting remark.

    "Oh? Given up? Why here I thought your matter was pressing and urgent, guess it wasn''t. Hey, better luck next time. If you can bring over a couple more idiots, you might be able to stack them up and reach over the wall. There''s lots more where yours came from!"

    Lethan barely manages to hold back Hulm during the laughter that follows. As soon as they''re out of eyesight, they begin to talk again.

    Hulm grumbles out,

    "Stupid mage, we go all the way over there and he just says he''s too lazy, in addition to playing jokes on us. No wonder the citizens hate mages, if all they''ve seen are that."

    Lethan replies,

    "No, I doubt its that simple. That tower is something only a whole conclave can create, and they don''t do it often either. Ever tried getting a pack of weasels to be friendly? They''re more likely to fight than cast such a complex team spell. Wonder why they left, or more importantly, why they were ever here at all."

    He examines the sky above, and deems it too dark to continue,

    "Lets head back, we can always do this another day. The inn might have a place to sleep, and at the very least the bartender was decent. "

    .......

    The inn is no different from when they had left earlier, albeit more crowded. There is a musician there attempting to play music, whatever it sounds like is drowned out with the thlop of thrown tomatoes. Seething in fury, the musician leaves the inn to the laughter of the other members. The pair stands around for a while and gets a table. After ordering some food and drink they begin to talk with the bartender a little about what happened.

    Hulm speaks first,

    "Nothing happened, at all. We went over there and got ridiculed to the delight of the mage. If I meet him face to face I promise I''ll give him a little something he won''t forget."

    Lethan interjects,

    "What''s strange though is that there seems to be only one mage. What happened to the others?"

    Hal rolls his eyes and responds,

    "They went and got drunk in a nearby tavern, or at least that''s what I''ve heard. After that they were moved somewhere leaving one of them behind to keep watch over the property. Still, I''m sorry that you fellas didn''t get what you wanted. How about you---"

    Whatever he was about to say was drowned out by a loud shout. A red-faced and lumbering man was picking a fight with a halfling.

    "Whadda hell do ya tink you doing, huh? Ya tink I too stoopid to see ya rig da cards? Give back mah money ya punk!"

    He raises his pool cue and brings it down, or tries too. Contrary to the force of gravity and his strength, the pool cue stays motionless in midair. He slowly looks behind him to see two fingers from a large and armored figure holding the cue.

    "You''re too little of a man to say such big things, grow a brain and then come back. As far as I can see you rigged the deck, I''d guess that there must be at least eight aces in your sleeves."

    "I-I dun''t know what ya mean. Who do ya think ya talking to, Imma mop da floor with ya once I''m done with this fellah here."

    He tries to yank the cue away, but fails. At this the large figure places a hand on his shoulder, slowly beginning to squeeze tighter and tighter.

    "Really?" *squeeze*

    "I fail to see your point, perhaps you''d like to explain it?" *squeeze*

    "I can do this all day if that''s what you want," *Squeeze*

    By now the man had considerably paled, but was still standing on his feet.

    "I think you should eat elsewhere tonight. I don''t like ruckus disturbing my dinner, and if I see you again a sore shoulder will be the least of your worries"

    *Squeeeeeeeze*

    The man stumbles backwards and barely keeps his feet on the ground. As he staggers towards the doorway he exclaims,

    "Dis ain''t da last ya heid O me, I''ll be back and ya''ll be sorry."

    As he leaves the crowd gives out a cheer, they always love a good fight. Hal comes over to congratulate them,

    "Thanks boys, while I''m not particularly strict on fights things tend to get messy once they use weapons. It''s problematic for me to step in cause I can''t hurt my customers even if they are fighting. When it comes to combat, I prefer being on equal footing. Come, here''s a drink on the house for ya."

    They gratefully accept it. Once they sit down and resume eating, they ask him

    "Hey, do you know a place where we could stay at? We''re in the need of a room you see, and being new we don''t really know any good places to rest in."

    Hal breaks into a grin,

    "How about this, in return for you breaking up the occasional fight, I''ll let you have room and board for free. That seem decent enough for you?"

    Lethan replies,

    "That''s more than decent, we''d prefer to pay you instead of being in your debt. How about two coppers a day for it?"

    Hal replies,

    "I ain''t going to accept more than one from you. A pair of folks like you is hard to come by in this town, people who have brawn but also the brains to use it. When you''re ready just go upstairs, there''s a room available up there that you can use. "

    He hands them the key, and receives their first pay. Thanking him they go upstairs and examine the room. It is decent, a bit of dust was the only problem there. A little cramped as well, but they''ve had worse. Soon they''ve finished unpacking and go to sleep, unsure of what they were going to do tomorrow.

    In the middle of the night their door creaks open and a light shines through. A thrown dagger flies towards the intruder but is quickly sidestepped. An exclamation follows

    "The hell you think your doing, its me ,Hal!"

    Hulm grunts,

    "Damn, missed. What do you think you''re doing here in the middle of the night?"

    Hal chuckles,

    "Your aim will have to be a lot better for that to hit me. I''m here to give ya fellahs another chance to find the Artificer."

    "Really? Hey, Dov, get up."

    Hulm turns and pokes Lethan.

    "Why now... oh, who''s this? Hal what are you doing here?"

    Hal takes a seat and tells them,

    "Well you seen I''ve been thinking, you fellahs seem to be in a bit of a spot, not being able to find anyone and all. I can''t really help you with that as its a tad bit too dangerous for someone of my occupation. However, I do know of a man who might be able to help you, he deals in anything and everything. I¡¯ve never heard him refuse a request before."

    Hulm raises an eyebrow as he gets up,

    "You''re taking us to a snitch? Those guys are as likely to help others as well as us, I''m not particularly fond of them."

    "No, not as much a snitch as a go-to man. He watches over certain parts of the city as well as certain deals. If anyone should know about the Artificer it should be him. Even if he doesn''t , he''ll know someone who does and how to make him talk. I set up a meeting with him in an hour from now, he''s waiting for you near the Shacks. I suggest you get there early as the Shacks are on the eastward side of the city and Jackrum doesn¡¯t wait. Sorry about this, it''s the best I can do. "

    The pair looks at him suspiciously. They''ve been through enough to know that such underhanded deals had a high likelihood of going wrong. Then again, its not like they had much choice, everyone else ran away at the mere mention of the Artificer.

    Lethan stands up and begins packing,

    "Fine, we''ll go there but I hope no "accidents" happen along the way. Are you sure he won''t do so?"

    "He''s not the type to do that, he might ridicule you or insult you but he never backstabs anyone. That''s another one of the reasons that he''s grown so quickly to power, he''s got the will of the people backing him. Here, take this,"

    Hal hands them a couple bottles of a liquid,

    "It''s spiced cider, probably the only thing he can''t resist. It''s earned him the nickname Jackrum, not that he resents it. In fact that''s how everybody calls him now, I don''t think anyone remembers his real name anymore. Good luck with him, just be careful and not insult him and you should be alright."

    Hulm forces a couple of coins into his hands,

    "This is the least we can do for you now, you''re even giving us drink to take to him. If you wont take these I promise you''ll regret it, we''ll leave a barrel of gold here one day, so heavy you can''t give it back."

    Hal breaks into a grin and shakes his hand,

    "Thanks mate, see ya later I guess. I hope the business with Jackrum works out."

    Hal goes and leaves as quietly as he had come, leaving the two in the dark again. They finish packing up and move out under the cover of darkness, trying to fumble their way across the city. After a couple collisions with trash bins and the occasional feral cat they reach the assigned place.

    The Shacks is a mixture of broken down buildings not even good enough to be called shacks. Miscellaneous "houses" made out of a mixture of tinfoil, sticks, and faith are stacked all over the place. Graffiti is so common you can assume that the houses are painted that way. The ground is littered with assorted trash , most of it splotched with mold as well. A lone lamp hangs off the roof of a house, releasing a weak and flickering light that illuminates a sparse clearing. The pair moves to it and waits for a couple of minutes, their eyes roaming the shadows as they watch for any movement.

    A rasping bass welcomes them,

    "Hello, you were sent by Hal, correct?"

    They whirl around to see a large man in a buttoned up shirt with short sleeves. It''s a plain grey color, a bit lighter than his bushy beard. He wears leather leggings and tough rawhide boots that are made for walking. The only thing giving away his profession is the fedora, velt with a rose hanging off the side, both the same color as the rest of his suit.

    His eyes squint at them from behind a slightly red nose,

    "My names Jackrum, but friends call me Jack. They also call me the go-to man, I deal in everything and anything.  I assume you''re here to have a chat with me, so please, sit down."

    With a snap of his fingers two small and quiet men walk in with some chairs.They are covered in black from their dark shoes to their black roses. Their faces are hidden with handkerchiefs, surprisingly a brilliant white. They walk over and set down the chairs in a careful and quiet fashion, melting into the shadows just as quickly as they''d come.

    The pair sits down ,a bit disturbed by the proceedings, while Jackrum continues,

    "Well? Lets no dally shall we, just tell me what you need and I''ll get it for you, after we negotiate a reasonable deal of course. You see its quite hard to maintain a conversation when only one party is speaking. What is it that you want?"

    Lethan begins,

    "Well, you see we are new and town and are trying to find out where the Artificer is. We need him for an urgent job and we heard that he was here, but upon arriving everyone just shuts up about it and leaves. Here, the bartender told us you like spiced cider."

    The little men take the offering as Jack grins,

    ¡°I knew he was going to say that. Still, thanks for the thought, I appreciate it.¡±

    He nods thoughtfully,

    "So, information is what you want. Unfortunately I do not have the exact tidbit that would lead you to him, but I do know who knows about him. The darndest thing is that I can''t get him to focus on anything, he''s worse than the goddamn hermit. How about this, in exchange for me pointing you to the source you will share the information with me. I''ve been wanting it for a while as well. Sound fair enough?"

    They converse for a quick moment, but there''s nothing else for them to do. They know its as fair a deal as they''re going to get, and they might as well accept it.

    Lethan says,

    "Yes , we accept the deal. Is he really willing to talk?"

    Jack chuckles,

    "Oh he''s willing to talk, just about anything at all. The problem is he keeps getting sidetracked at the worst times, if I didn''t know him better I''d think he was doing it on purpose. He always enjoys the odd joke after all, but then again he lives alone so he''s bound to have picked up some strange habits. You can find him at¡ª"

    "The mages tower?"

    Jack blinks , surprised at the interruption,

    "Why , yes, How''d you know?"

    Lethan sighs,

    "We figured as much, we tried to talk to him but couldn''t get beyond the door. He just kept laughing at us and ignoring anything we said. At the end my partner here tried to break down the door but got drenched for his troubles."

    "Yep, that''s him alright. Just say that you were sent by Jackrum, and if he asks you to prove it tell him that the pomade he uses is called "Youthful Soul". I''m his provider of those bottles, even though I can''t stand the smell. "

    He stands up and gives a small bow,

    "It was a pleasure doing business with you, I hope to make a deal with you later. I''m always in the market for favors."

    With a snap the chairs are gone along with the little men and Jack begins to walk away. However Lethan remembers something,

    "Hey wait a sec, why is everybody so scared of mentioning the tinkerer? The hermit said people kept disappearing just from uttering his name. Who''s behind all of this?"

    Jack stops for a moment and says quietly,

    "As to the first, that one''s easy so I''ll give it you for free. There''s an evil in this city, somewhere out there carefully manipulating the threads and making the tinkerers name a death writ. As to the second,"

    He continues walking,

    "That particular tidbit......"

    They hear the last echoes of his voice as he vanishes into the shadows, leaving them alone in the lamplight.

    "...is not for sale"

    ######

    Don''t forget , I needs a PR and comments reaaaaally help.

    PS: I''m planning on rewriting prologue, ch.1, and ch.2 a bit later.

 Ch.4 Cooking

    Authors Note:

    Well , howdy to you all still reading this fiction. Seems its steadily dying....I can''t even tell how many people are reading it at all. I''ll still post chapters but if this continues I''ll probably drop it, or at least slow down releases.

    Anyways, Here''s another chapter, its shorter than I wanted to but the thing is that the next part should be longer (by a lot) , too long for 1 chapter anyway.

    I have a lot of plot and twists in coming Bhuahhahhhaaha

    So comment, read, think about the characters (already a few hints given), or just do anything constructive (or supportive :P). *Shamelessly beg for comments*

    <hr />

    The next morning finds the pair standing in front of the tower. Nothing has changed from their last visit, the tower is as dirty as it was before.

    A voice greets them kindly,

    "The hell are you guys doing over here again? I told you to get lost yesterday. Did you find a couple more clods already?"

    Hulm waves a fist in the general source of the voice,

    "We were sent by Jackrum you twit, now open up the damn door and let us in. I''ve just about had enough of your taunting."

    Startled, the mage replies,

    "J-Jack? Lies! Jack would never deal with folks like you. Bugger off!"

    Lethan joins in,

    "Your pomade is ¡®Youthful Soul¡¯, at least that''s what he told us. Can you let us in now?"

    A long pause follows as the pair awkwardly stands waiting for a response. A few minutes pass and still nothing. Hulm gives up,

    "That''s it, I''m going to break down the door this time. Stupid thing won''t open huh? We''ll see about that."

    ''Again? That definitely worked last time....'' Lethan sighs and steps away from him.

    He walks back again and dashes towards the door, only to have it open and make him fall inside. He crashes to the ground heavily, the impact knocking the wind out of him. Between gasps he swears at the mage,

    "What.... The ...Hell........You ...Sleezy Krlim..."

    "Oops, didn''t see you there. Sorry about the business earlier, I thought you were just another pack of hoodlums. "

    ''Right....'' is the first thought that pops into Lethan''s mind.

    This time at least the apology seems sincere as he helps Hulm up from the ground, or tries to. Hulm trips over the mages legs and goes down again, adding another wave of dust into the air. He slaps the mages hands away,

    "Hands off clumsy, I can get up by myself."

    Lethan hides a grin and looks at the mage that had opened the door.

    Grey whiskers peek out from a pointy hat set askew on the mages head. His robes are a dark blue, or were at some point , stained and frayed slightly at the edges. He has a frizzy beard that stretches from his wizened face for 5 inches or so. The entire figure looks like its about to keel over at any moment, a coat rack which had been placed in a dress-up competition for mages.

    The mage waves his hands grandly, nearly falling over,

    "I think my name''s Lyt, welcome to my humble abode."

    They look around and see a large lawn cut apart by marble stairs leading up to the tower. Trash is spread about it, interspersed with weedy bushes that cling faithfully to the steep slope. The stairs themselves didn''t seem that walkable, many were in disrepair and quite a few shined with a dangerous tint.

    Lethan gains a worried frown,

    "Er, this is it?"

    Lyt turns around, nearly tripping over his robes again,

    "Oh dear, I did it again didn''t I. I always say things too early, here just follow me."

    He begins to walk alongst the stairs in a lumpy fashion, randomly pausing and seeming to stumble to the side. The pair soon finds out there is a reason for this, a vast majority of those moves were used to avoid the hidden mines. Lethan missteps and hits a twig which throws a miniature fireball, causing a small flood of burning sparks across his robe. He quickly puts it out only to activate another trap which sprays iced water onto Hulm. Unamused, they continue to follow Lyt, this time taking care to follow his steps exactly.

    At the entrance to the door Lyt stumbles and slams his head on the wall, an action they repeat uncertainly. At this he looks at them with pitying eyes,

    "Why''d you do that? I just tripped and fell. The only dangerous parts were the steps. Sheesh, I thought you knew something."

    He begins to chant and touch the door across its sides, bit by bit the glow around it increases until¡ª

    "Ah bugger, damn thing changed its key again."

    The glow fizzles out and nothing happens.

    Lethan smirks,

    ''And here we were thinking you knew something''

    "So, what are we going to do now? "

    Lyt turns around and shrugs,

    "This place is as good as any. Well? What did you want to talk about?"

    "We were wondering if you could tell us where the artificer is and how to get to him."

    Lyt stares at them for a moment,

    "Well, I used to work at the palace until a couple of months ago. I think I have a key somewhere to one of the back doors, an old servants entrance that will get you to the kitchens. Beyond that it would be all up to you."

    "What do you mean up to us?"

    Lyt''s stare continues for a couple of moments,

    "To get to the artificer of course! He''s in the laboratory nearby the kitchen, you can''t miss it."

    Hulm asks,

    "Well then where''s the key?"

    "Er, I think it''s somewhere inside. Anyways, I''m not giving it to you for free, you have to go and get me um..."

    "What now?"

    "The hermit¡¯s whiskey! That''s what you need to get, go there and bring me the Hermit''s whiskey and then I will give you the key."

    Lethan sighs,

    "Ok I guess. Well let''s be going back¡ª"

    "No need for that, off you go!"

    Lyt kicks the wall violently, and then all three of them end up right outside the walls.

    "Drat, didn''t think the spell would get me as well. Ah, whatever. You go get me the drink and I''ll be off."

    Hulm¡¯s fists clench in anger,

    '' Of all the damndest things, to go play delivery boy to a cracked up mage.''

    Lethan waves an arm as he begins to leave,

    "Come along Hulm, we have a ways to go. If I remember correctly he''s in the forest somewhere in a small cabin, shouldn''t be too hard to find him. I mean, just how big can the forest be?"

    With a final glare at the mage Hulm turns around and follows Lethan.

    Lyt carefully watches them as they go into the distance and then begins to walk, his path taking him nowhere near the tower.

    <hr />

    A few hours later, in the secretive depths of a room stands a man with a face in the shadows. He talks to the empty room,

    "They''re coming too close to the Artificer. It would be quite a fortunate occurrence if they were to suddenly cease their journey. It would in fact, be a god blessed action, all the signs point to this. They''re heading towards the hermit''s cabin, I pity those who have god''s wrath upon them."

    A shadow manifests for a moment, icy blue eyes peering from its face. It bows slowly and vanishes again into the darkness.

    The man turns again and sits at the table, stiffly examining the contents of the papers strewn across the desk. A weak lamplight shines upon them, revealing a single name on the document that he holds. Cerceros.

    <hr />

    Deep in the Krell woods near Aclyth a pair of travelers were moving rapidly, in circles.

    "For the last time Hulm, no , I didn''t know that we had been there before. Now I know but your damned squabbling doesn''t make it any better."

    "What do you mean by that? I told you to go right didn''t I ? But nooooooo you just had to go left didn''t you. Get it through your thick skull that when it comes to tracking I''m far more skilled than you."

    "Is that all you can think about right now? Well then, get us out of this mess. Well? Something wrong O master of the forests? Where are we and where do we go!"

    "You little pipsqueak, I''ve walked more forests than you''ve read books. There''s something wrong here, nothing adds up and¡ª"

    A voice peeps out from the trees,

    "Howdy fellahs, something wrong?"

    They turn to look at the source only to see a raggedy old man carrying a small bundle of sticks.

    "You¡ª"

    "Ah, allow me to introduce myself,"

    He bows with a little flourish,

    "The names Father Bloom, pleased to meetcha. What are you boys doing here? Last time I saw you was at the inn."

    Lethan calms down,

    "Hello Father, we were actually looking for you but we got lost."

    Hulm mumbles under his breath,

    " Correction, you got lost."

    "Ah , well then is there anything else?"

    "Well, I was wondering if you could lend us some of your whiskey. We need it to give to a mage called Lyt , to get a key, to get to an Artificer whose help we sorely need."

    "That''s fine, you did buy me a couple of drinks and listen to an old man''s stories. I was going to my cabin anyway."

    Father Bloom turns and walks off, quietly rustling through the bushes. After a brief hesitation, they don''t know what to expect inside, they follow him into the undergrowth.

    Another hour or so later they arrive at his cabin. It''s made out of a large amount of fine-cut wood expertly created by a master craftsman. The wide windows sport colorful arrangements of figures in their many godly poses. It is closer to a church than a cabin, differentiated merely by their size and material. Father Bloom motions them inside , which is even more astounding.

    The Father goes and unpacks his bundle of twigs, storing them carefully aside the fireplace. He then turns to a massive distillery occupying nearly the entirety of the cabin. Beakers and flasks bubble with viscous liquids of all colors, the hearth gently propelling steam through an intricate array of tubes that lead to the flasks. Amidst it all the hermit goes here and there, twiddling this knob or fidgeting that beaker a smidgen to the right, a blur amidst the equipment.

    Lethan scoots to the edge of the wall along with Hulm,

    "Excuse us Father, but what should we do right now? We don''t want to get in the way."

    The motions stop for a second,

    "How about ya give me a little hand here. Pass me the berries on that table wouldja?"

    Lethan gives him a small bowl of the berries that are colored a violent green. They are applied with gusto onto seemingly random beakers. Satisfied, the hermit asks again.

    "Now how about some of that, er, watchamacallit, Derwood?"

    Lethan gives him another bowl while wincing at the strong smell of peat. The Hermit doesn''t notice this and just throws it in a barrel at one side of the room, from which even more tubes led to random places. One of them even went through the roof for some unknown reason, carrying a yellow substance that comes down a deep purple.

    "Ok, seems to be going well. Now hand me the Aspyraphyrilyxripotumium powder."

    Hulm,''The what???''

    Lethan takes this bowl carefully with the slow movements of one performing a very painful procedure with a scalpel. The powder inside is so fine that it flows around in the center, its colors everchanging in the light as it tinkles. To Lethans horror,the hermit takes a little bit and tastes it with his tongue, releasing a puckered frown,

    "Egh, not that fresh. Ah well, it''ll do for now."

    He dumps the entire contents forcefully into a tiny crystalline beaker, swirls it around, and throws it into the fire.  Lethan meanwhile dives behind the nearest cover, in this case Hulm.

    "What the¡ª"

    "Just duck !"

    *Tinkle*

    A moment passes, the hermit frowns and steps towards the fire as¡ª

    *BOOM*

    The massive explosion clears to reveal the scorched hermit in even more raggedy clothes.

    "I told you the darn thing was stale, time was I could get decent material in the old days.  Bah, if it had been fresh I wouldn''t be standing and it would have gone up faster. Stupid novice artificers crafting this third-rate material, I wish the old one was still around. Now those were the days....."

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    Lethan interrupts his reverie,

    "What were you thinking doing that! It could have blown us to pieces just from a pinch, and you threw a whole bowl into the fire. What do you even need it for?"

    "For the whiskey of course."

    "You mean you put Derwood into whiskey? and the Brillion berries? A drop of that would kill a man and the amount you have here is more than enough for a city!"

    Hulm meanwhile, ''How the hell does he know all of this? Did he try this or something....''

    "Not from the steam it won''t, look see?"

    A brilliant colored steam is slowly moving up the pipes, landing amongst many of the liquids and vastly changing their substance. Some of them become colored gases while others start to crystallize into floating gems, all of them moving upwards the tubes into a giant barrel that the hermit had just placed.

    After a minute or so the giant swirling mass had forms into a viscous liquid, or solid, or something anyways. It coalesces at the bottom of the barrel, shaking from unseen forces. The hermit turns to Hulm,

    "You there, go make yourself useful. Pick up the largest boulder you can from outside and bring it to me. Meanwhile, " He turns to Lethan,

    "Give me extract of Wrytroot and some Polmurion Gabble, I''ll need those tightly rolled up together."

    With shaking fingers Lethan complies as Hulm goes and gathers a large and mossy stone from the back. With a grunt he walks into the cabin with it, as he is about to place it down the hermit quickly says,

    "Not there! put it onto the barrel. I need to press the extract out. Oh wait, give me a second,"

    He takes the offered and rolled up Wrytroot, lighting it up from the hearth. He casually smokes it for a bit,

    "Ah, that''s the stuff."

    Lethan ''....I give up, he''s either mad or invincible, nobody else would do this.''

    Giving the roll a longing glance the Hermit throws it into the barrel and signals for Hulm to let go of his load. He grunts and drops it onto the barrel, with a sickly plop it hits the liquid.  He looks at the Hermit,

    "What in the world was that stone for? To press down on the substance?"

    "Naw, it''s to give us a little breathing room before it eats through the wood. You see it tends to select the more nutritious stuff first and you can''t find anything better for that then a rock. Thing is,"

    A loud sizzling begins to be heard,

    "Now it''s just a matter of luck, whether the substance cools down fast enough or the rock gets eaten up along with the wood."

    He walks over and squints into a beaker nearby, already filled with a dense black liquid. A small patch of nothing was spreading from the nozzle that lead to the barrel and into the beaker, making the black liquid run over into a side bowl.

    "Hm, seems to be progressing well enough. A tad to weak though, lemme give it a boost."

    He turns and grabs a small and dullen stone,

    "Hey, where''s the Styllium?"

    Lethan hands him a small piece of a chalky material,

    "Thanks! Ok now lets do this right."

    Father Bloom dons a pair of heavy smithing gloves, and approaches the barrel. He places the two stones together on top of the mossy boulder and rubs them furiously. After a while a miniature sun was emitting heat from between the two gloves, turning the boulder into a red hot mass of molten rock.

    "Okeydokey, since we got it going so well, mind getting me a rod of copper or something?"

    Once again Lethan hands him the asked for material only to hear the sizzling increase manyfold. He shouts to be heard over it,

    "What are you doing , are you mad or something? You told us to wait for it to cool!"

    "When did I say that? I just said its a matter of luck, and I don''t believe in luck my man. I prefer to know the odds with certainty"

    "It''s certain that it''s going to blow!"

    "Naw, it''s only slightly steaming. Anyways, that''s what the rod of copper is for, it should help. I think."

    "What do you mean you think?"

    The hermit steps towards the barrel and slams the rod down into the mess.

    "I haven''t done this before!"

    <hr />

    Alyth shook under a tremendous blow, people falling and packages tumbling all about. What was this they cried, what has happened? Those few with mage powers only confused them even more,

    "Well it sounded like the way nothing would feel."

    "What the hell do you mean by that?"

    "I don''t know, it just did. Then there was a brief glimpse of loud."

    <hr />

    Seven layers of magical spells, locks, and enchantments about it. Seven seals crafted at the price of blood to prevent the creature from ever seeing the light of day again. A pulse rings out, a tone whispering on ethereal pathways. Six seals are left, the seventh gone and broken, its marble sigil losing its glow and dark cracks forming about it. Six seals seals crafted with the strength of many, created to prevent the creature from escaping and devouring. Six layers of magical spells, locks, and enchantments about a deadly darkness. Inside the seals, the darkness stirs.

    <hr />

    Hulm awakes to the sound of some vigorous slapping. The hermit is trying to get Lethan back up, and after a few more slaps he finally does it. Hulm gets up unsteadily,

    "For the fortieth time, what the hell was that?"

    "Ah, minor side effect. It should pass soon, I plan on getting rid of it the next time I do it. Besides, it isn''t perfect yet anyway."

    "What isn''t?"

    The hermit just points to a multitude of droplets floating above the barrel, unmoving.  He grins,

    "Try to move one of those and you''ll see"

    Hulm squints suspiciously at one of the grey spheroids and pulls on it. Nothing, he pulls on it again, still nothing. With a massive jerk he succeeds in nearly ripping his arm out of its socket and moving the sphere a centimeter or so.

    "What......."

    The hermit walks over and moves it casually with no excessive force. Hulm just stares at him,

    "What kind of trick is this?"

    Father Bloom sidles up to him and whispers,

    "Magic silly"

    Lethan meanwhile has gotten up and viewed the orbs for himself, twiddling with them and moving them about.

    "It seems to be some sort of paradoxical phenomena, something that affects what''s here but cannot be affected. Is it on another plane? If so how does magic even affect it?"

    Hulm yells out,

    "Will someone please clue me in on this, I have no idea what we just did or made. If someone doesn''t fess up soon I''m going to leave before I get sucked into anymore of this madness."

    The two mages sheepishly look at him, and Lethan tries to speak,

    "Well uhm, its obviously here and we can be touched by it but we cannot touch it in return. Pretend its a type of one-way glass, and you''re standing on the other side."

    Father Bloom jumps in,

    "Exactly like that, only not even close. There''s no actual way to describe it, because technically it can''t exist, so it doesn''t. But it does due to a magical influence. While it kind of breaks these planes rules it doesn''t matter, since it isn''t here at all really. Better?"

    Hulm shakes his head in confusion,

    "I give up, none of this is going to make sense anytime soon."

    Lethan tries again,

    "Ok, think about it like this. You have three-dimensional cube floating in midair, inside is a bunch of water. Ok?"

    "Er...ok?"

    "Now pretend you invert the cube inside out, what''s inside now?"

    "Nothing?"

    "No, there was something outside the cube, wasn''t there? Now its inside, you may not sense or see it but it is there. That''s basically what this material is, a sort of inside-out mana pool. Does this help?"

    "Nope..."

    Lethan gives up and asks the Hermit,

    "Why did we make this anyway, and what do you mean incomplete?"

    The Hermit turns and begins gathering up the spheroids, speaking as he does so.

    "Well, to begin with it''s just a simple trick I found in some old books. A man called Ahimedez said ''Give me a stable point and I shall turn the world''. Inside he had described some various formulae which I decided to try out. It ended up being a stable fulcrum onto which you could technically move anything. It''s incomplete in that it is still affected by non-mana interactions, if it was finished no force on earth would be able to move it without magic."

    He looks at them, done with his gathering.

    "People have done this before you know, usually in the form of some so-called impenetrable armor that was glazed with this stuff. The thing is that it''s relatively mana-less on the Magics plane or realm or whatever you want to call it. That means that even a smidgen of magic can move it as easily as cotton fluff. I''m using it for a different purpose, it can contain some very violent substances on this plane without harm, the perfect testing chamber."

    He lets out a wicked grin at which the pair shudders , thinking of what other experiments he might have up his sleeve.

    "The thing is , I never did it up to this scale before. Usually I just let it cool down and then all I get is some mildly heavy liquid but this time I decided to do it since you got me such big stone anyways. It bought me enough time to put down the copper rod even though it was burning, with some spectacular results. As to why we did this, asides from dramatically advancing known magic, the byproduct is the pure alcohol over there."

    He points to the flask, which by now has a thin layer of the black substance enclosing a solid layer of....nothing.

    "That''s the alcohol, the black stuff is some sticky gum I made to prevent it from escaping. It will condense in a minute or so, so don''t worry about bringing some back to the mage. He was always asking for this stuff since he heard of it, eagre to get his hands for some of his own experiments no doubt. By the way, its not really alcohol, its more like the pure essence of it. Good stuff, just try not to drink more than a cupful or so a day,a million percent does some wonderfully painful hangovers."

    He said the last part with a nostalgic wince. A slow pitter patter on the roof brings them from their shock.

    "Ah, its raining....."

    The hermit shrugs,

    "It usually does that after one of these experiments, probably some of the mana overflow charged the surrounding water and made it condense. The rain usually goes away after a while, but then again I''ve never done it to this extent. So, watcha say I make us a meal and we talk about something. Say , do any of you know some good stories?"

    He looks at them hopefully, and sighs when they refute this.

    "I can always treat you to some anyways, the least I can do for helping me with this. So, lets get dinner started shall we?"

    They back off fearfully, expecting even worse to come.

    "Aw come on, it wasn''t that bad. I''m not doing anymore of that stuff, it''s just broiled duck and potatoes."

    They relax prematurely.

    "Or at least it would be, if I can get the duck to solidify again."

    <hr />

    After a frightening experience that both promised to never, ever, mention again, the meal was done and sitting like a normal cooked duck should. With normal potatoes and everything, no longer dancing about in multiple colors and swearing "Mata el pato!". They eat it silently until the Hermit breaks the silence.

    "Have you ever heard of the old days of Aclyth? The days when men were fine and pure of soul, even though a bit simple at times. Back in those days the kingdom was whole and untarnished, the epitome of culture and growth. Or at least it seemed that way. Few technologies were progressing, even the drink was getting watered down....."

    "What?"

    "Oh nothing , sorry. Anyways, in those days they worshipped one god and his name was Cercos. This was due to some myths and legends regarding the starting of the kingdom, legends which many still believe to be true. Once upon a time in the Krell forest, when it was far larger, lay a man waiting to die....."

 Ch.5: The Hermits Tale

    Authors Note:

    Here again with another chapter, slightly shorter but it felt right. I''ll keep making this, possibly rewriting the first 3 this weekend if I can. I have lots more coming, especially a lot planned about the mage and *wink* ruins

    Try and guess who the hermit is ^_^(or anyone else bhuahahahha)

    Comment, rate, blah blah etc. Just show something that tells me you''re there. >.>

    Have fun with this chapter!

    <hr />

    A knight lies dying, sheltered underneath the overhanging branches. About him lie bodies both fair and foul, the remains of the battle that had been recently waged there. His plain armor lies cracked and broken like the man himself. Blood stains his armor and the ground around him, many colors dripping and swirling around on the muddy ground. He hears some people moving in the forest, talking and chatting as they walk about, heedless of the catastrophe right next door.

    He struggles weakly, attempting to lift himself and alert them,

    "Hello? Can you help me? HEL¡ª"

    A dry cough escapes him and a fraction of his remaining blood leaks out. The voices start to fade away into the distance, walking away from his dying body. Suddenly a shadow looms over him and a stranger kneels down beside him. He stares at the knees covered in grey felt and at their designs. Twin flames sparking out of nothing, seeming to move and flicker even though the figure stands still. A quiet voice simply asks,

    "Do you want to live?"

    The knight laughs and chokes as his body continues to fail him. The stranger repeats calmly as he ignores the knight¡¯s slow demise,

    "Do you want to live?"

    He considers this question in its entirety. Did he really want to live? He had been betrayed and forgotten by the very people he had sought to protect. The very vows which he had taken were trampled in the dust by others while he kept them to their word. This had gained him nothing besides pain and misfortune, the death of his loved ones and his own. He lay dying because others judged themselves only in those moments when it proved useful, ignoring the deeds of others if it benefited them in the least. Such a world doesn¡¯t deserve him, a world where Krissa died is not one he is reluctant to depart. The stranger stands up and begins to move away, only to stop a few moments later.

    The knight was trying to tell him yes, that yes he wanted to live of course he did. His spasmodic struggles failed to talk to the stranger, but his eyes showed it all. He hadn''t done anything important yet, nothing that would change the world. He would leave this world no better than when he had entered it, his name to be lost forever. He wanted to live, to grow, to make himself a name in this world. If others were so dishonest he would find them and force them to be otherwise. He entreats the stranger , unknowing why he places so much trust in him, to spare him and let him live again. The stranger hears his plea,

    "So be it."

    The stranger bows and flourishes an arm,

    "Let there be life."

    A blinding flash is emitted across the clearing, sending a murmuration of swallows up into the air. The travelers, worried over what had caused the birds to flee, approach the battlefield only to see the knight weakly struggling. He attempts to find the stranger, but the figure is nowhere to be seen. His thrashings end as the travelers hold him down and start healing his wounds, chanting softly and calming him down. He doesn''t hear them as the darkness fills his eyes and he lapses into unconsciousness. He hears instead the benevolent words of the stranger,

    "There is always a second chance."

    <hr />

    A week or so later the knight had regained consciousness and began to ask about the stranger. Grey pants he said, upon which two fires flickered and burned merrily even though the stranger didn''t move. No one knew the strangers name and asking about helped little. As soon as his strength was regained the knight set forth to fulfill his wish, to make a mark upon the world and to know the name of his savior.

    His journeys took him far and wide, through the deep caverns of Hallenbruk where trolls and ogres lay sleeping. Through the catacombs beneath U''Maar, where thousands of others had perished to great evil. Across the sea of Silken Tears, where the Wurms swam beneath the water. To great Karythol, its shining spires gleaming across ancient trees. Even to Sykleth he went, the crooked jester in his palace of light. I''m sure you''ve heard of these tales and the name that went with them, Terum of the Mourning Flame.

    His path wasn''t limited to the earthly plane alone, he went to others as well. Through the fiery fortresses of Dalgar, housed within the plane of ash and fire. Past the dungeons of Kathun, where many a monstrosity was created on Deaths plane. Even to slumbering Jirrl he went, heedless of the frozen winds and bitter cold. Through his paths and travels he succeeded in making a mark upon the world, reducing the hideousness that was apparent. However even in these far and distant places he failed to find his savior''s name and soon gave up his search.

    He returned to this plane laden with powers unimaginable, blessed by no less than eight gods and carrying the vows of twenty. He sweeped through the Orwyn continent, founding splendors never seen before. Palaces and schools of knowledge long forgotten, technology that shouldn''t have been possible by the standards then. He built statues to the many known and forgotten gods but there was one in particular that sparked wonderment. The grandest and most regal had no name, a figure in a velvet suit with twin emblazoned fires.

    They began to call it Cercos, after "Empty" , and soon worshipped him like any other. The knight''s, now king''s, righteous path set ablaze across the continent the hearts of many people who followed him as one would follow a light in the darkness. Of the rise of that empire you should know many tales, I will not bore you with Ralfens magics or Firala''s loyal deeds.

    Not much could be said of the fall. The Grim wars took their toll and killed the noble king amongst many others. The remnants of that noble line retreated here to the valley near the Felspar mountains , taking with them mages of massive power . Why they moved here I do not know, perhaps because of the ruins nearby or the Tower that they had found. The noble family continued to die out from famine,disease, assassinations and eventually couldn''t keep up with the losses. The last couple was worried that they wouldn''t be able to produce an heir but as if by divine gift a baby had appeared on their doorstep. They adopted him immediately and through soul-binding magic, they tied him to the noble line¡­ or at least that''s what they say.

    During the very next week, the entire party was ambushed and slaughtered to the last man. However some rumors disagree, saying that a child had escaped on the night of the assassination, carefully carried by a cloaked figure . Little can prove this, so I do not know if the noble line will ever again rule Aclyth like it had before. Right now the evil lord has the city in an iron fist, supposedly enslaving a mage to work in his chambers. I believe that is the Artificer you folks were looking for earlier, I remember the man had quite a lot of skill involved in tinkering and mechanics. It shouldn''t be a surprise that those with evil hearts enchain him.

    I see the rain has stopped, I''m sorry for boring you with this tale. An old man like me has few pleasures so please be so kind as to forgive me this one.

    The hermit ends his tale and there is a silence upon the room, as the pair considers what they had heard. They shake their heads in pity as Lethan apologizes,

    "I''m sorry but I can''t believe such fanciful tales. There are no records of such an empire or of such a man. I don''t remember hearing stories like this before and I''ve lived for quite a long time myself. As it is now this god of yours seems a bit too coincidental, he saved one person and it somehow lead him to create a kingdom? That''s fairytale stuff, not history, even considering that he was an unknown god wouldn''t there have been more proof that he was active?"

    Father Bloom sighs in regret,

    "I guess you''re right; he won''t come again anytime soon. I desperately wish that he will appear and with a wave of his hand, solve all the madness that is happening right now. But I guess he just can''t do it, if he isn''t dead by now. Even gods can die you know."

    He gets up and hands them the beaker of alcohol,

    "I''m sorry about that , although I hope that story has sparked your interest. If you see any more works of Cerceros please come by and tell them to me, it would help a great deal. I suggest you to west then north-east from here, it should get you quicker to the city."

    His mopey face turns into a grin,

    "Now off with you, before I decide to cook something else just for fun. "

    They run off as fast as their feet can take them, fearing another catastrophic experiment, perhaps with a type of carnivorous lettuce.

    As they walk away, the hermit¡¯s grin fades like a sunset and he sits down wearily. He tries to avoid looking at a form underneath the covering but the hidden object beckons to him. His glance pauses on it for a second, the worn leather covering a bulky package. He looks away and begins to gather up the floating spheroids into a marble container. When finished, he equips some gear and ventures out into the woods again. As he leaves he murmurs under his breath, keeping a mental tally,

    "One down, six to go."

    <hr />

    The sun sets over the forest, elongating the shadows from the trees and the figures camped inside them. They stand deep within the vegetation, cloaked in black as fitting of their kind,  with twin fires the only colors showing. Two of them are lying down and resting near the trees, relaxing even in the face of the job that they''re here to do. The third is pacing to and fro with the steps of a lean panther, eager to get on the hunt for its meal. He speaks in a gruff voice,

    "Why can''t we go , come on there''s only two of them. What harm can they do? A measly mage and a dumb brute. I''ve met many of those before, the so-called experts and their bodyguards. Come on, quick in and quick out, back to base in time for some pool or a couple of drinks. It''s not fair that the other group gets all the fun and us here like measly backup."

    He wrings out his clothes,

    "Annoying climate here anyway, blasted rain ruining my coat."

    The figure lying down flips her knife lazily, weaving arcing circle through the air.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it."No point in that, we''ll get into trouble anyway. You know how Zaro is , staring at you with his eyes of ice."

    They shiver, not wanting to repeat that again. The third one adds as he leans against the tree,

    "Best not to speak of him. They say he''s always watching you, that his name is brought by the wind to his ears."

    A silence falls upon them but soon the third one stops his pacing once more,

    "Wait a sec, I hear something."

    A rustle in the bushes interrupts their gathering and they quickly slip back amongst the cover, waiting for the prey to approach. Inside steps a raggedy old man, a small bushel of sticks on his back. The leader replies,

    "Who the hell are you and what are you doing here ?"

    The old man scrunches his brow in thought and eventually answers in a hopeful voice,

    "I have many names....I think you''re referring to the hermit?"

    The three sigh simultaneously, they had all heard of the madcap hermit living in these woods. However one isn''t satisfied,

    "Well? What are we supposed to do? The leader told us to leave no witnesses and he''s one isn''t he? Come on he can''t be that great, its a damn hermit for crying out loud."

    The woman says thoughtfully,

    "Well I dunno Chuck, it just doesn''t seem right to kill an old man. Where''s the fun in that?"

    The hermit cries out,

    "Why must any of us fight? Come on fellahs, calm down and think about this more clearly. Here, I come with gifts if you want them,"

    He procures a tiny bushel of sweet-cakes made with exceptional skill, the group starts salivating at the mere sight of those crunchy brown surfaces. Two pairs of eyes follow them as they smash upon the ground. One pair, belonging to the person who caused the ¡°accident¡±, stares accusingly at the hermit,

    "Nobody calls me fellah you damn prick."

    The hermit squints at Chuck,

    "Why''d you go and ruin those lovely cakes....fellah?"

    Chucks face is livid with rage as he draws out a thin blade, its white handle blazing in the shadows,

    "You little.... That''s it you''re going down. Not just for the fellah, you''re way to suspicious for my liking. The hell is this coincidence, you just happen to be passing by with sweet-cakes?"

    The other two pull out their weapons as well, twin daggers and an oaken bow,

    "He does have a fair point...... We can''t help it I guess, nothing personal."

    Chuck grins stabs the hermit, leaning in and saying softly,

    "Just business"

    A wet thump is heard, a solid blow from what the pair could hear. They begin to sheath their weapons only to see Chuck fall,  a dagger in his heart. He falls stiff and silent, revealing the hermit with a worried expression. His brows furrow as he speaks gently,

    "I''ve tried, I really have. If only you''d taken the sweet-cakes we could have finished in a much nicer fashion."

    He kicks the corpse,

    "Young-uns, to smart for their own good these days. Sigh......"

    He casually steps back in his reverie , dodging a steel-tipped arrow. He turns the move back into a high kick, stopping the dagger strike that was coming and sending the wielder gasping onto the ground. Another arrow flies its way towards him and he casually deflects it to the side with Chucks blade.

    "Really? Well no wonder you''re backup, perhaps I didn''t have to do this at all. Ah well."

    The woman does a quick roll and gets up, kicking the man at his knees as she does so. He takes the full impact and doesn''t move an inch, sending her collapsing to the ground from the recoil. He stares at her with pitying eyes,

    "I''m so sorry, so very sorry. May your soul rest in peace young-un, though guided from this light by my hand you shall land into another."

    Continuing to whisper some passages he approaches her with slow steps, ignoring the arrows that completely miss their target . An intense fear appears on her face as she stands up again and runs, shouting out for help. The archer hears her cry cut off mid word and trembles from behind a tree, also runs away as fast as possible.

    <hr />

    His lungs burn as he tries to shake off his possible pursuer. For more than ten minutes his movements are composed of careful dodging and sprinting, always choosing the path that would be hardest to track. He''d left his bow behind long ago. It only weighed him down; a useless weapon against someone of the hermits caliber. No birdsong echoes in the forest, lending a deathly silence to the proceedings. As he runs, he thinks about what had just happened. Like withered leaves they had fallen; swept aside by that mighty hand. Who was that hermit and what did he want? Chuck was stupid for attacking him. Everyone knows no good can come of attacking a hermit or a tinkerer.

    He reaches a rocky ledge and dives beneath it, stifling his breath for the fear of alerting the stalker.  His eyes flicker from shadow to shadow, expecting the hermit to jump out at any moment and start spouting scriptures again. God he hated this, he should have taken the Dritt job when it had come. Damn, damn, damn......... Sweat drips across his pale face in a incessant torrent. He fingers the handle of his dagger, considering to try and use it against the hermit. But no, Jessa had been good with those blades and look where it had gotten her. Heck, he is supposedly good with his bow as well, but none of that matters any more. He''ll never see Jessa say another joke or wince embarrassed. Neither will he see Chuck spring into one of his long stories.The evenings by the firelight were gone as well as his old companions, fading memories all that remain of them.

    He clutches his head and moans in regret. He''d always heard of this happening to some groups when they got careless; a misplaced knife here, a fall here, silly mistakes that cost lives. It had just happened to someone else, always someone else and not him. His group was relatively untouched, for so long they''d been together that he''d lost count of the years. Yet the group was done, over.....and he was next, unless he could think of something to do.

    A small cough is heard, he turns to the right to witness the hermit sitting there.

    "Erm, the names Father Bloom in case you were wondering. You look like a soul in need of help, perchance I can answer any last questions you might have?"

    He laughs,

    "Really? You? It''s really you? Too be killed by someone of such renown is quite an honor I suppose."

    The hermit shakes his head,

    "I''m not the one you''re thinking of, he was my pupil at the start but we...diverged...."

    The assassin turns to look at him more closely, examining the lines of his figure and face. Shock forms on his face,

    "You-You....I thought you said to kill them! Why are you doing this ? Why?"

    The hermit pauses for a moment, an eyebrow raised. Then he shrugs,

    "I guess I did. However I decided to help them for now,  this little that I can do. For a moment, a mere moment, they had Believed. It was enough for me."

    He looks into the assassins face once again,

    "My child, do not fear your passing. You will die to rise again , the death will only be a part of who you are."

    The assassin kneels, wet tears running down his face as he begs,

    "Please, please let me live. I beg of you, I will never see the sun or feel the grass, the sky will be held in my own sightless eyes. There is so much I could have done, so much I could have been, can still be. Please let this poor soul live Father, aren''t two deaths enough to appease you? I won''t attack them I swear I won''t, you can count on me to follow your every word. Just please spare me, let me live unlike "

    A catch appears in his voice and he swallows painfully,

    "Jessa....."

    He looks at the hermit, who shakes his head in sorrow,

    "I''m sorry my child, that cannot pass and you know. The best I can grant you is a quick and quiet death, along with prayers for your soul. I can give you some time, you have a minute to make peace with your god. That is the least I can do for you."

    An aching pit fills the assassin, to sit here knowing that his time is limited and that a inescapable death approaches. He sits quietly, calming down and trying to organize his thoughts. His god, huh....From the time he''d been a little boy there was no god that he truly believed in, he''d only joined the Order for the excitement and power that it gave him over others lives. He''d never been into that fanatic stuff, but here his doubts about the gods existence had been utterly revoked.  The only thing left for him is to hope that someone out there will help.....he sends a prayer to the only god he can think of, the first one that pops into his mind, the irony not escaping him. After a moments careful prayer Father Bloom stands up again.

    The assassins vision begins to fail him, as he falls into the the dark cloth he hears a voice whispering,

    "A mere moment.....but it was enough"

    <hr />

    Meanwhile Hulm and Lethan are vehemently arguing , their wounds and the surrounding bodies doing little to prevent this.

    "What the hell was that, you call yourself a mage? You can''t wield anything but a pitiful dagger and I didn''t see you cast a single spell the entire time."

    "Really? You actually managed to trip yourself up with your own axe. If there are ranks of stupidity, that has got to be one of the highest. Who has ever heard  of a so-called veteran tripping over his own weapon?"

    "I wouldn''t have tripped if it weren''t for you knocking me in the knee! Your damn feet are clumsier than a Habbersnatch. I''m surprised how you can even walk, much less fight on those feet and in those robes."

    "I don''t have the scales that you have my friend, or a brain as hard as yours. You know well enough that I can''t cast the Words anymore, they just won''t come. I''ve proven to you over and over again that I know them, but you refuse to believe me. I myself doubt that you can''t cast magic as you say; multiple times I''ve seen you summon darkness at your whim."

    "Pah, mages and their damn secrets. At least mine deserve to be kept, they''re not for the likes of you. This discussion is pointless, we best be going before night falls. For all we know, anything can happen in this damned forest. Damned hermit made us take the long way about¡­.."

    Lethan raises his hands in defeat and follows Hulm. Their disgruntled steps stomp in the direction of the tower, leaving the cloaked bodies strewn across the ground like broken dolls. As darkness falls the trees above stir, by next morning the bodies are gone without a trace.