《Tomb World: Tales From a Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy World》


 The Average Monday (Oneshot)

    Seventy-five tribes fell, yet the ''beast'' remains unfulfilled. It yearns for more land; it yearns for more subjects; and above all it yearns to prove itself even more.


    One day, a message was delivered to its doorsteps, detailing of a tribe hiding in the east, so once more the beast along with its armies embarked to conquer.


    Thirty-six days they walked across inhospitable lands, battling heavy snowfall and dwindling supplies before inevitably reaching their intended destination.


    There, on the base of a mountain an ancient stronghold stood, and on-top its dilapidated mossy keep, a tattered white flag bearing the symbol of a golden sun soared, a relic of a bygone era... of a time where dragons reign.


    The fortress in question belonging to the last remaining Kamlodon tribe, the Kokobods, and the folks living there were more than aware of the impending threat; a stockpile had been gathered, the surrounding grounds made further uneven to deter their siege machinery and perched above the many stone towers were balistas set in place.


    These measures proven futile, for when the trumpets of war were called upon, the attackers rendered the obstacles useless with the use of a few simple tricks; thick smokes from bonfires engulfed the battlefield thwarting effective use of their balistas, and when machines couldn''t be brought to the walls it was decided men will do ¡ª a dozen soldiera packed with explosives were commanded to blow themselves up alongside a section of the olden defenses.


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    Amidst dusk, the fortress was subjugated, and retribution was swiftly delivered.


    They rounded up the surviving men and placed them inside cages, there-after, disemboweling them alive one-by-one. Their victims did not go quietly¨C many tried resist when they realize their soon-to-be fates, in turn, it was decreed their legs and hands were to be chopped off to prevent escape. None was spared, their innards were used as nooses to dangle their lifeless corpses from the merlons of the ancient battlements.


    In the ensuing occupation, mass ransacking and ruination ensued.


    The conquerors seized any valuables they could unvover: provisions, weaponry and tomes, before committing untamed destruction upon the relics which littered the grounds, destroying all sorts of antiquities big or small, from statues to tapestries in a platoral of means.


    In a blink, centuries of history was lost forever.


    Most notable of these demolished relics was the Kokobod''s symbol itself which was set ablazed and replaced with a different white flag, one bearing the mark of a black star ¡ª a declaration informing the defeated that from here on out no longer were they the architect of their own destiny... a conquered tribe amongst conquered tribes, they were now subjects of the Twilight Regime, a fledgling state stretching from the western banks of the Great Korrodium River to the eastern bases of the Kobodi Mountain Range, an entity with aspirations derived from its founder that is still yet... unfulfilled.

 The Mule, The Fool, and The Tool | Chapter 1

    The sun arose from its slumber, and with its wicked rays slowly vanquished those layers of settled snow scattered about the Kobodi Territories, transforming this land shrouded in ice into something much greener, providing conditions in which men could work, and work did men did.


    For within the conquered stronghold of Ardeth, Rangers with the same hands they used to destroy have employed them to rebuild, first and foremost, clearing out all those rubble they''ve caused from their previous assault upon the place, those olden stones which tumbled down slowly gathered to one pile to be repurposed as components for cement.


    ...a whistle erupts and work was halted, a secret was uncovered by a detachment of men stationed within Ardeth''s keep while they were clearing the leftovers of a statue that once depicted the figure of a bygone king, where, beneath the Idol''s former base a staircase was found.


    Such a discovery demands for exploration, and so seven were chosen to walk the path of attainable death. They did oblige and with lanterns lit and equipped into the godless depths of Ardeth they ventured forth.


    The thumping of their boots... the beating of the their hearts... a symphony inadvertently took form, accompanying throughout their descent with each step taken upon decaying stone slabs.


    The improptu song wouldn''t last for long.


    Eventually, marking their journey''s end, a rusty door entered their line of sight, where, from its cracks, bluish rays emitted, consuming the warm yellowish hues of approaching lanterns till all that remained was a sole harsh color.


    In the depths, a debate arose, a moment was taken, and eventually a decision was made; the man furthest within the line of infantry reluctantly pulled, meanwhile the rest ready themselves for the worst to come.


    The door creaked loudly as it moved, and from within the chamber beyond, a roaring breeze erupted, peppering the faces of the daring in dusts, averting their gazes from what lay ahead momentarily.


    When the breeze did eventually subside, the men stared in disbelief at the sight beholden to them, there, within a weary marble hall, a crystal tree shone ever so brightly, exhuming an opulent pretty glow those watching couldn''t help but felt it was lovely. Such a sight enticing the party to come near¡ª to which they allowed themselves, encircling the anomaly just a feet away from its reach.


    The men stood there seemingly in trance, staring at the glowing thing being captivated by the colors that constantly changed in intensity like moths enticed by flames. In the heat of the moment, an urge soon emerged. What urge one might wonder? The innate urge to touch something they probably shouldn''t, one of them would succumb.


    "Stop!" The leader of the expedition shouted, his eyes lit with terror as he saw one of his men slowly reaching for the object, yet it was too late and his associate had already placed his hand upon the glowing construct.


    The consequence of the act was instantaneous.


    The bright light which the anomaly emitted grew abruptly harsher. Then, in a blink, the bluish light which reigned was gone, a white flash took its place, encapsulatimg the entirety of the marble space, blinding those that came temporarily¨C a loud BOOM exhumed.


    The anomaly anomaly exploded and a mighty blast of bluish energy swept the men away, scattering them all across the place, those kettle-helmets and curaisses the men worn thankfully protecting them from any serious injuries.


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    Some groan. Some were knocked cold. Above all, some complained.


    "S..pyros...why?" the leader of the expedition gave a muffled cry. His body lying flat on the ground currently crushed by said prepetrator of this mess.


    "I''m n...ot sor...ry, Able," Spyros replied.


    His associate''s comment was not appreciated, and so he abruptly rose, letting Spyros once again be flung away and come crashing head-first to the cobble floor.


    "Prefect, you got to see this."


    Able directed his attention to the voice in question. There, a ranger with a sore leg held his javelin like a crutch, pointing to a bundle of crystal shards on the ground ¡ª the remnants of the Anomaly that was once there.


    Able stood by the man, watching with indifference to the oddity which they found, where, amidst the faintly glowing bits and pieces, adorning a copper crown and a scarlet robe, a pale red-haired lady slumbered O'' so peacefully.


    ~? ? ?~


    "So... while spelunking deep underground, you found a comatose lass trapped inside a glowing tree?" With both legs atop the table, a pen in one hand and a book in the other, Captain Pilaf stared blankly towards his associate whom sat at the opposite side of his desk, staring back at him in a manner equally as so, "Is this correct?"


    "Yes, this is indeed correct," Able confirmed, the young lad harboring quite the disheveled state that was best described as beyond fucked; the standard uniform he worn, a white gambeson and black slack piece, was soaking in sweat and coated in a deep layer of muck and grime much similarly to his snowy-white hair that was equally dirty in the same kind of filth.


    Pilaf shrugged. "Meh, I''ve seen wierder things," he said, writing said account half-assedly into his logbook, the scribbling of his fountain pen blaring loudly throughout his study as he does.


    It didn''t take him long for him to finish, a minute at most was taken. "Where''s the lass now?" Pilaf asked, clasping the book shut and chucking it aside.


    "In the infirmary with Spyros and a few others on stand-by they''re waiting on what to do from you."


    "Yeah... there really isn''t a precedent for this kinda thing, I''m going to have to discuss this matter further with our esteemed master," Pilaf told, esentially opting for the solution of doing nothing and letting other folks deal with it. "Just keep watch, while I''m out delivering the news."


    "Noted," Able nodded.


    With matters concluded, Pilaf stood up and prepped himself for his upcoming visit to his master''s lair, donning his own curaiss and kettle-helmet which he left at the corner of the room. Above all, making sure to bring copper crown that laid on his desk with him for his upcoming visit.


    "Seeing you''ll be leaving, I''ll be in charge while you''re gone, right?"


    Truth be told, Able''s question was less of a question and more of a confirmation. There are only four people around qualified to do so:


    Firstly, Montello, the underseer of the company, but his currently hunting down partisans, so he''s a-bit busy.


    Secondly, Lenard, the quartermaster of the company, but he''s currently recuperating having an arrow lodged to his knee during the previous battle.


    Thirdly, Spyros, a fellow prefect, but his not really what one could say someone with great restraint.


    This really leaves Able the only realistic choice.


    "You damn right you are!" Pilaf gave a jolly chuckle. "Who''s going to make sure those indolent schmucks won''t slack off fixing this place?"


    "You know... This won''t be an issue if you PAID them ON TIME, right?"


    The captain sighed. "I know, I know, and I''ll get to it... At some point, I''m a weak man, Able, I can''t sit in a 4x4 meter room for fuck knows how many days, signing goddamn cheques for schmucks I don''t give a flying shit about," Pilaf grimaced just imagining it. "Besides, what even is the point? What are they gonna use their money on while in this godforsaken place?"


    Able pondered for a moment before eventualy replying. "Gambling."


    "I rest my case and proclaim myself a saint," Pilaf patted himself a job well done for blatant act of wage theft.


    Able was a little appalled even if he did not show it. "So be it... Captain," the white-haired lad solemnly said.


    Pilaf smiled, he had a knack of knowing exactly what Able thought beneath the facade he commonly held. "By this month''s end, they''ll get what they deserve and even more... I promise this out of my own pockets," Pilaf assured his friend. "Now, shall we go?" Having finished dressing up for the coming occasion, Pilaf went on and held the door open for both men to leave.


    The captain was known for a-lot of things... an asshole... an alcoholic asshole... a walking talking atrocity machine... but a liar? He''d rather die than be one, and Able understood this.


    "Yes, we shall," Able said, exiting the room first.


    The captain followed suit, closing the door gently behind him there-after.

 The Fool, The Mule, The Tool | Chapter 2

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