I am in full sprint. My legs are cramping and lungs are set aflame. the throat is dry as a desert and skin, covered in a layer of sweat making it cold while my body burns underneath. Heart pounding away like a steam engine, about to blow up from the inside.
I am marked. To be killed. To be prey.
I feel it in every step I take. Those vertical-slitted yellow eyes following my every move, giving me goosebumps with their calculating gaze, ready to pounce.
When my mind coaxes me into slowing down to breathe, to rest, I allow myself a look back. Only catching a glimpse of yellow-eyed blurry shadows coming for him, gives me all the motivation, I need.
The wet, slippery stone makes it difficult to get the right footing. More than once I caught myself from serving up my cracked skull a stony plater.
Up ahead there is a fork in the narrow cave path. I am about to head left but a panther-like monster (only bigger, like a tiger) is blocking his path. I grit my teeth in frustration and choose the right path instead.
Finally, I reach a dead end. My steps heavy, and breathing haggardly, I turn around facing my pursuers. I am surrounded, on all sides, by at least seven ‘panthers’.
I slowly creep back a little at a time as the beasts close in further. While moving back I pick up a 3-inch-thick sharpened wooden pole from beside my foot, and wildly swing the wooden pole around to stop them from pouncing randomly on me.
The situation does look hopeless. I show desperation in my eyes. Seeing me retreating the panthers were emboldened.
However, the monsters failed to notice that there is an inconspicuous marking right where they were creeping.
Suddenly, the desperate expression on my face morphed into a vicious grin as I swiped the pointy end of the wooden pole down on a coarse wine rope making it snape. A cold shiver runs up the beast’s spine but it was too late. They are too deep into the trap to escape. The narrow path that gave them their previous advantage became the reason for their misery. With tall walls on both sides, they are cramped into a small area
After the rope snaps there is a loud sound of rope rubbing against stone and then from the dark ceiling a net, made of a similar rope, comes loose, letting go of countless sharp obsidian-like black crystals.
The whole area becomes a danger zone as sharp crystals cut the monster's thick hide-killing a few. The trap kicked up a storm of dust clouds making it difficult for me to see the result.
After a few painful long seconds of waiting the dust settles and I see the running silhouettes of the monsters.
‘Cough. Cough’ “yeah” ‘huuuuh..huuuuh’ “you better run you pieces of shit.” Coughing and wheezing I speak.
After realizing that I would live a while longer my body gives out and I collapse on the ground, gulping down air. When I had enough of that, I was gulping down water from the waterskin.
[Tchuk, tchuk, tchuk…. Xhojuhntaco. N’eka Cojuhnn’eka? Ta Zalvakaco Uitaa’a Taxhotadu’I Uia’avaru Juhnn’eka Juhnvarum’?]
The heavy voice- in an unknown language- resounds in the cave as if coming from all around me. It was rough and filled with grunts and noises I wasn’t sure how to make.
I freeze up immediately- hair standing on ends. My instincts sharpened over a few weeks telling me that I was in grave danger. I didn’t know where the other person is, if they are male or female, what age that person is, or if they can even be called a person.
[Du’ivau’u’a’am’ Solvarun’evegu Xhon’ecojuhn Rum’]
[You are coming with me.]
This time the voice was more than heavy. It had weight…. pressure. He could feel it slowly pushing against my head, pressing his consciousness down. He tried to resist and fight back but it was for naught. His vision became blurry and all the senses seemed to fade away slowly sinking deeper into the water.
He blacked out, left with only a glimpse of the perpetrator- A pair of vertical-slitted amethyst eyes boring down on him.
___________
Dolen’s eyes snapped open. He sat up gasping for air as he looked around. Ready for anything.
Stolen novel; please report.
Silence….and the chirping of small birds greeted his vigilant ears.
Yuriel stirred awake by the sudden movement. Seeing him gasping and sweating- slightly shivering, she hugged him from the side.
“It’s ok Dolen. Its ok……Was it the same one this time?”
“No. I was hunting [shadow prowlers] this time.” “Lately it’s become more varied.”
She whispers, gently rubbing him on the back, “It's ok. You are here now. You are safe. You are safe.”
After Dolen got his racing heart under control he could appreciate the natural morning ambience of his bedroom.
The golden streaks of dawn light trickled through the cracks between the curtains. Washing the whole room in a dull yellow. The air in the room was crisp and fresh making him thankful for the vents he installed in the whole house. You could close all the windows and doors in the middle of summer and the air would not be stagnant through the magic of a few yearly wind vector calculations and architecture modifications.
The room was a simple affair, nothing too extravagant. It was a medium-sized room. From the door, you would see the window on the wall across. The closet on the left side of the window with the same wall and against the wall on the left was a queen-sized bed. The dresser/ study table was across the bed against the right wall. Beside the door to the right was the wardrobe and the floor was partially by a wolf pelt rug in the centre of the room.
Looking at the sun outside above the horizon, Dloen realized, he didn’t have much time to appreciate the morning ambience. He got up and began to change for work.
___________
Dolen walked down the hills on a soft dirt road, towards the main square. Even in summer, the Almarian morning breeze retained its icy nature from the snowy winters. But the cold could not stop the people from walking the streets. Shouts echoed from the sides as shopkeepers and peddlers alike advertised their wares all along the main block. Some of these voices were heavy and gravelly coming from short but stocky forms. Some were squeaky and pre-pubescent with Petite forms, often confused for children but were certainly not. Some were melodious and ethereal with pointy ears and tall, slim frames.
The voices spread along the crisp morning wind which also carried an unwelcome companion.
The smell of horse, lizard and cow dung had stopped bothering Dolen long ago but [Almar] being the city of craftsmen, carried the scent of bitter herbs, ash and rusting metal which still made his throat itch. He hurried along while scanning the crowd habitually.
The streets were filled with all types- some were locals and some were travelers from afar, but that’s not what Dolen was looking at.
Some people with keen eyes would spot a different breed of humans altogether among the heard people walking west- to the [Dark Forest]. They had a different air about them- an edge, causing others to subconsciously keep their distance.
Most blended in with a few cloaks draped over their body, but for some, hiding their stature and a weapon as big as them tied to the back would be a dead giveaway.
[Adventures]. Explorers of the unknown. Dungeon divers. Monster hunters. Treasure seekers A profession, only possible in this world.
This was city of Almar, east of the Dark Forest-because of which it exits as well. The massive industry here processed all the products that were extracted from the forest by the adventures. Then a cadre of merchants would take the finished products all over the [Eldian Empire]. Dolen works in one of those very factories as a smith.
As he neared the commercial/ industrial area the murmur of people was suppressed by the clangs and the pings of hammers and the shouts of apprentices as they worked the bellows along with the roar of flames. The sky disappeared behind a thick veil of smoke coming from the chimneys of the Forges around the block.
One of these had a board made of metal, stylised to look like a hammer which spelled “Rudius Forge”.
Walking inside the main entrance, Dolen enjoyed the warmth of the room, as the logs cracked in the fireplace keeping the cold out. The interior was made of wood and together with the lighting, it gave a pristine and cosy feeling. Here a decent crowd was waiting to go to the desk and place an order for equipment. Most had a silver circular medallion worn around the neck or tied securely to their belt. A few golds and bronzes were also present. The image of a rising sun from behind a mountain and a plant stalk and a sword crossed together at the bottom was embossed on the medallion—the symbol of the [Adventurer’s Guild].
On the right side was a display area where ready-made weapons were neatly placed on the racks. This section also had a few people but almost all had bronze medallions.
Walking to a door to the side, while saying hi to Shamir-receptionist and a [Dwarf], Dolen moves to the back, where the real work is done. As he opens the door, he is greeted by the familiar scorching temperatures.
The large warehouse was not a tall building because it had been dug deep into the ground to save as much heat as possible during the winters. Even then, it was almost 4 stories tall and 1000 square yards in area. It was divided into various areas by lower walls. Almost everything was made of metal. One giant area in the centre housed a massive blast furnace and the molten iron and other assorted metals were pouring into a giant 2 stories tall crucibles around it.
To the left and right sides, there were many anvils and small furnaces lined together where the weapons were being crafted. The small workstations were manned by 2 people; the smiths forging the metal and the apprentice moving the bellows and controlling the flame.
“you’re late.” A husky yet reverberating- if loud enough would probably shake the whole facility- voice spoke from the side. Dolen turned to face the speaker with an awkward expression.
His father-in-law, Rudius Stoll, was the very definition of a rugged, hard-working man. Although the hair had gone almost completely white, 6’3 in height and covered in thick muscles destroyed his ‘old man’ image. However, that was not the most exotic thing about him. That title would go his eyes-colour of the hearth with a dying fire—a mix of ash grey and fiery crimson towards the centre. Rumours said, that when there was a hammer in his hand, the eyes would become golden as the Sun itself and the metal would melt without a flame. That is the [Anemos], the blessing of mana, he received.