A week passed since the last contuberanium departed from the sprawling encampment of the 7th Legion near Lianassian’s Rest. The second group to do so, and now it seemed Aelfsigior and his comrades, brothers and sisters were next on the chopping block on the slanting, populated altar of an unknown, distant deity who thirsted for the souls of the damned. And to further his unease, the outwardly congenial Raleiquuth appeared on the morning the decision came, as if he himself suggested it to the head of their cohort.
Beyond the small tract of meadow and cropland, the dirt road slowly transformed into one pebbled with large stones of a dark bluish shade, iridescent, emanating a faint glimmer of azure and violet even though no light seeped through the thickness of the Mist. Aelfsigior felt first with Dionysi and Pariphaenas the change in walkable land, the slight bumps as their soles pressed loudly against the cold stone. And stood first in the shadows of Lianassian Rest’s edifices appearing high thanks to the elevation of the earth.
Before them, Raleiquuth sauntered jovially, merry for the neophytes following willingly into his oblique abode. He loudly greeted the silent villagers whose eyes were lined by dark circles, their skin even from the distance appeared coarse, unkept yet there were little signs of their everyday toils. No sore hands reddened by the pressure applied to the ploughs, sickles nor were marks of the heavy baskets filled resting near the faded purple, red, green and yellow walls adorned with cracks and crumbling spots revealing the natural shade of the stone. A mundane grayish brown akin to the fine white strands of elder humans and orkhin.
Not much days have passed after the Aelfsigior’s Contuberinium was chosen to head into the village. Though unlike the preceding groups, they were sent to receive them or at least learn what may take them so long. Suspicion seemed to aloofly evaded their minds in regards of the quaint village and its languid residents.
“I welcome you all once more in our humble home. Hector has all the wondrous goods to satisfy your hunger near the eastern end of our village” Raleiquuth halted in what was the village square signaled by its broad, round circumference, and the dozen branching roads whilst in the middle a masterwork of a sculpture, depicting Septurrian sitting with his legs crossed, all his arms converging on his lap, palms facing the hidden sky, fingers touching, his unseen gaze peering towards the south.
After pointing towards the east, his arm turned towards the opposite, the road west leading a bit upwards. “A bit higher west is the humble inn of our dear Ursa, always welcoming those in need of refreshments. Her mead sweetened by plum and apricot, I highly recommend.” He continued with a genial smile. “And if you are in need of clearing your head after a long night there, not far from her establishment is Nonus’s emporium with his myriad, prepared concoctions to ease the pains without expediting once chances invoking the Rage.”
Led by his instincts, Aelfsigior peered around the surroundings and noticed Tanitha watching from the corner of a humble edifice. Her lips slowly formed words with a meaning etching themselves into his mind. “Come to the emporium. Trust no one, they are all lost sheep.” The meanings of the words sent shivers down his spine, an unease draped over him, one the prey feels when it unwittingly walks into the lair of their predator without even noticing or meaning it.
When Raleiquuth excused himself with some matters, walking away in the company of the elder he visited the camp with, Aelfsigior himself meant to heed Tanitha’s words and head straight towards the emporium. Instead, he followed the orders decreed by Dionysi to head the opposite way with Sceparzara and by handful of supplies for the night’s feast they were planning to held in the camp. Though he knew not why, as there was nothing to celebrate.
Standing before the emporium’s dry, weak wooden door, he felt hesitation holding his hands from turning the knob. With a bit of exertion, he lifted his arms and curled his fingers around the cold metal, though with a bit of care fearing the object would crumble to dust and rust from the exertion of more power. The door slowly opened, creaking and revealed a humble interior with a long counter sprouting seemingly from the wall. On it, the expected apparatuses of an alchemist lined on the coarse top, and similarly covered in dust, the glass blurry from carelessness of the decades, liquids of green, yellow and red rested within them.
Beyond the counter, another rustic old door awaited, faced him taciturnly. On its right, shelves croaked and moaned under the wight of the dusty, webbed tomes with their thick spines bearing faded letters. A portrait hung on the right wall near the stairs leading up, though its female subject hard to recognize. Parts of the face dried and crumbled from the canvas, a few wrinkles and cracks slithered voraciously, taking from the minimalist background frugally decorated with the very shelves lining opposite of Aelfsigior who slowly entered.
His steps echoed meagerly and as he opened his mouth to make his presence known, a hefty of dust slipped into his mouth and he coughed loudly. “Oh, a visitor.” The door opposite moaned open, from it the elderly man revealed himself from the dark room, his skin housing hundreds of wrinkles reminiscing Aelfsigior of aging tomes. His hair gray as the dust on it, beard unkempt and dangling before his long, crumbling robe revealing more than necessary. “How may I be of help?” He asked in his high-pitched, whispery voice.
Then for a moment before he could speak up, Aelfsigior noticed a hint of understanding in the pale emerald eyes. “Or I should ask what ails your mind, but if you are here, the spell haven’t completely dug in.” He whispered with a smile, leaning over the counter. With a bit of struggle, Nonus bent down to search, Aelfsigior rushed over to help noticing the rapid breaths filled with the agonies of elderly vessels of the humans. “Thank you for your kindness. Here, take and drink it. Though pardon my bluntness but I wish one with a higher rank would have come with you.”
Aelfsigior gulped a little, then grimaced at the abrupt sourness of the elixir. But with it, came a tide of cleansing and he sensed a weight drop from his shoulders and head, his will reinvigorated after the One and the Eight know how long. “There is one with me, and she may not need this healing of the mind.”
“A dwarf she is?” The elderly asked with a certain understanding, Aelfsigior nodded. “Then Septurrion may have at last smiled upon us. Though I fear, we must act in haste otherwise that wicked thing shall dig its claws into all of you, and I can’t even imagine what he could do with a cohort of his own.” Nonus weakly grabbed his wrist and pulled him along – or in truth Aelfsigior followed and matched his slow pace up the stairs, whilst also grabbing the balustrade as they walked towards the front door on the narrow passage.
“Here he is, the one you talked about my dear.” Nonus said as soon as the door creaked open, revealing Tanitha bathing in the light seeping in from the lone window, sitting on its broad pane. A smile on his elderly face as he noticed Aelfsigior appear a bit timid glancing at the girl whose tired smile awakened a warmth in his stomach.
“Thank the Fateweaver. I was afraid he managed to take hold of you, just like the ones who came last and before.” She said, relief written onto her lovely owl-like face.
Aelfsigior cooled himself a bit, taking a sterner posture. “Could you two elaborate? I have an inkling this Mist is not as benevolent as it may seem.” The two wasted no time, and even Nonus who watched with the gaze of a proud father straightened himself with a whimper as his old bones cracked in rhythmic succession.
Like with him, a fog gathered about their minds, stifling efforts to fully recount the events which unfolded decades before, when Tanitha herself dwarfed in the shadow of Nonus yet to be tainted by the decrepitude of time and its ravages upon his body. On a warm summer day, a strange traveler arrived to their humble abode on the hill where one of Septurrion’s chosen was laid to rest by his company of brothers and sisters, asking for no more than a bed and a night’s rest and warm food to fill his empty belly.
Tanitha’s parents who themselves led the flock five or so decades before, listened wary yet unsure why, a revelation that descended weeks after the arrival of this strange, languid traveler – with the Mist itself. At first, they themselves believed dire, grim times awaited them aware from the revelations of the dreaming Septurrion. Her parents’ visions increased drastically, each warning of a coming darkness, a shadow stretching over the promised land where their ancestors escaped from their crumbling, desolate worlds. Visions of the dreamless dead skulking the country side, thirsting for death and hungering for flesh, and of a stranger worn by apathy until he was nothing more than a husk of himself.
One who they begin to suspect being the traveler, going by the name of Raleiquuth, a self-proclaimed pupil of a primordial spirit wishing nothing more but to bring its own piece of peace upon the good people of Elhyrissian. The liturgies of this traveler came just as sudden as him and the Mist, the people at first recognized not the unseen tendrils of the creature digging into their minds, slowly draining them of all their emotions, concerns for worldly things.
First, they stopped working on the croplands, the meadows, let the tamed beasts they brought from Nidumiath, who provided them with their fat rich meat and dairy, wither away as days, weeks and months passed listening to the vampiric words of this self-proclaimed prophet. Yet, contrary to what Nonus believed to follow – as his mind remained with a certain clarity thanks to being the pupil of Tanitha’s father, receiving the protection of Septurrion himself – the crop themselves thrived even more, with even less care, the animals themselves appeared dead, yet breathed and when large pieces were carved from their vessels, it quickly healed and provided the same nutrients and rich tastes.
Yet both were poisoned, he knew it himself just as Tanitha’s parents. The more the villagers consumed the meat, the less and less they cared, and a few even remained in their abodes. Her parents remained as kind, carried food and drinks, even fed a few, hoping their efforts shall lead those lost in the blackness of utter apathy to return them to the light of the One and the Eight. Initially, it seemed to be the case, hence Raleiquuth slowly turned the people against them, calling them tyrants who wished to maintain rule through chaos, wrenching away the blissful future of veritable respite.
Less than a decade, more than half the residents withered away and reborn as the tainted spirits of Sloth. In a last effort to save those who remained Tanitha’s parents aimed to cut off the head of the venomous serpent. “And as you could see, they now rest in the Cradle of the Gray City, whilst the few who corroborated were devoured by the jaws of apathy, me including to an extent.” Nonus’s tired eyes glistened from the pain stirred by the tale, Aelfsigior curled his fist in anger, first aimed at Septurrion for letting his people be taken by such evil, but it quickly migrated onto the one behind it, Raleiquuth whom true, horrific form appeared before him.
“It is never too late. Though I am a simple legionary, I shall do what I can to banish the Mist and its evils from the village.” Nonus chuckled, sitting down as his legs beckoned him to rest – eternally.
“I appreciate your humility, brave Aelfsigior.” He said stopping to moisten his dried throat with a cup of water handed by the soft pale hands of Tanitha. “But as I trust Tanitha and Septurrion who have chosen you to be our liberator.” At those words, Aelfsigior trembled and taken a step back, his brows raised in the confines of his helmet. But he remained silent as his heart truly wished to defeat Raleiquuth and his elder master. Partly out of amour, partly out of the youth’s spark fueled by the thirst for glories.
When the tale reached its end, Aelfsigior swallowed the dolorous compassion rising within him towards the two. He focused on what needed to be done, but before he could have questioned the elderly man, a portentous tide hit him, drawing his gaze towards the window resting just below the beamed ceiling. Beyond the dirty old glass, the Mist gathered, as if listening onto their talk, wishing to seep in through the forming cracks.
At once, as Tanitha’s wailing broke the momentary silence, he reached for his sword sleeping in its sheath. Aelfsigior watched with a horrid countenance as Nonus fallen from his chair, but his instincts stopped him from aiding the elderly man whose back bulged and ghastly waves formed glided across his whole expanding back. Without wasting anymore time, the blade shrieked in tandem with the creature beneath Nonus’s falling skin resembling the withered parchment of eon old tomes.
Black ichor tainted the silvery surface with a faint hint of azure, and in an instant a Mist followed as the droplet evaporated before they could even depart as he swept it sideways. Aelfsigior’s chest arose wildly, pushing the plates and shirt layering over it, with each deep breath he inhaled heavily the thin, desiccated creature’s malodorous scent – a scent of living rotting away in their own bile. Carefully he stepped over the creature’s carcass and grabbed Tanitha as her strength waned from abrupt sorrow.
Slowly, Aelfsigior helped her onto the table she leaned against before the dreadful transformation of the old apothecary whose torn skin sprawled beneath his ruined robes and the creature’s remains, blocked by the tall aevhe. “Take deep breaths. Do you know where we can bring an end to this nightmare?” He asked with as much care as he could muster, wrestling with repugnance not to take the place of his sympathy towards Tanitha who just lost a second father.
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Moments, seconds, minutes passed as tears streamed down her white cheeks, black as her bewitching eyes of utter blackness. Yet even though Aelfsigior gazed into many dark eyes, each as dreadful as the creature behind him, in that blackness he saw nothing but pain and anger – the latter forming into an urge for vengeance. “In the catacomb’s heart below the Manor.” Tanitha’s whispered unevenly, her words, intonations poisoned by sorrow, voice deepened as he met his assuring gaze.
“Come, we shall retrieve my companions, and end this nightmare once and for all.” She grabbed his firm hand, and left with him, taking one more look at what remained of Nonus, recoiling before she tensed herself for what was to come.
***
As they reached down the stairs, they watched with horror as the front door moaned open. But their fear subsided, and Aelfsigior lifted down his blade pointed at Sceparzara carried on the broad shoulders of their dwarven leader. “Mind giving me a hand?” She said between breaths and Aelfsigior, without wasting a breath of his own rushed to her aid and helped his friend towards the counter.
“What happened?” He asked just noticing searing blood trickling down on her decorated plates, beyond the door and the windows the Mist hung thickly, even blocking the darkness of the night he glanced upon for a mere instant before Dionysi shut the door.
“Damned Daemurnus – that’s what happened.” She said in a gravelly tone as she sat on the stairs after greeting the Djinn who wiped her tears away and offered her healing palms to the dwarf. Before she continued, a groan escaped her dark, effusive lips when etheric, glowing water poured forth Tanitha’s palm and enveloped her wound where the skin and flesh seemed to enervated. “In one moment, we were drinking heartily what was cheap mead, in the next those ugly bastards leapt at us in their whispery shrieks.”
“How many?” Aelfsigior asked, leaping up into a vigilant stance, staring at the window and the door.
“More than you can handle alone if they decide to break in.” She answered bitterly. “Give me a few second, and wait until Sceparzara gets better by your lady-friends hands.”
The two waited, weapons in their hands strongly held as they anticipated a sudden break in from both window and door. And when none came as Tanitha mended to Sceparzara whose wound seemed a bit more dire, the two thanked The One and the Eight from cloaking them from the senses of the damned. “So, what do we do now?” After he felt better, Sceparzara asked then thanked the Djinn girl with a warm smile that seemed to have no effect on the girl.
“I can’t be sure of it, but if we kill Raleiquuth, the rest may go with him to the dreaded realm of his master.” Tanitha answered as she rose and walked beside Aelfsigior who remained alert of the enemy lurking in the Mist.
“Honey, that’s never how those bastards operate sadly. But the Mist may go with him, and that should alert the camp.” Dionysi answered as the seasoned warrior, she battled stranger horrors whose blood her axe tasted diligently. “Now, before we plan our way to his lair – where is it exactly?”
***
Stepping outside, Dionysi gestured immediately to halt their steps in the alley. Before her one of the Daemurnus emanated its tired growls facing the opposite direction. A creature with desiccated skin stretched out and forming multiple folds beneath its jaw, on its limbs right at the wrists and ankles whilst its spine formed an eerie ridge along its back as it protruded the thin skin. Its beady, sunken eyes glinted in the mist in malevolent glow as it turned at the faint sound of plates colliding when the elemental blooded dwarf lunged at it.
With a singular strike, her twin-bladed axe found its way into the creatures collapsed belly, and at once dry, dust like blood poured forth. As the daemur fell upon the paved ground, its warped form shattered into myriad pieces and rejoined the Mist. “Come, before the others flock to here.”
At her words they all slipped out from the Emporium. First Aelfsigior with Tanitha in tow, closing in the rear Sceparzara with his own blade drawn, mana circulating in their anima veins as they were high on alert. Whether out of luck, divine protection or simply because the enemy wished to toy with them, only a dolorous silence mingled with the Mist as they walked between the edifices whilst climbing the hill.
“Seems we are walking into a trap.” Dionysi stated with a wide mirth adorning her face as they reached the zenith of the hill, no daemurnus impeding their way through the village. Before them, an arched gate arose high, its once bright azure and violet bars faded and rusted without care. Upon touch they even crumbled, paving the way for the four who without hesitation stepped forth and headed towards the manor.
A grand, oblong structure stretched evenly in a heptagonal shape, ending in sharp points on either side. It was a meager building, with only two floors above the ground, its roof slanting and dust covering its once-glossy coating. The windows gazed at them emptily; behind their web- and dust-covered glass, a thick, impenetrable darkness filled the space. It was clear to all three legionaries that no servitors attended to the building or its surroundings anymore. Even the hedges, flowers, bushes, and trees sprawled wildly or stooped on the precipice of withering away.
Upon stepping inside, Dionysi faltered for a moment, her grip around the hilt of her axe weakened suddenly. Even her balance parted for fairer meadows as she staggered forward, Aelfsigior reaching to catch her. Sceparzara similarly leaned against the weakened door which in the same breath crumbled into a mound of mold tainted, splintered fragments. Like Dionysi he too nearly fallen onto his knees by a sudden wave, as his limbs and the muscles shifted into an abrupt state of idleness.
“What happened?” Aelfsigior questioned both. Tanitha enveloped the true in an azure aura, banishing away the Mist that gathered below their feet, forming into tendrils digging into their souls and bodies. “Truly this is the place. Where the presence of the damned lord is the strongest.”
Slow claps echoed across the space, followed by the faintest of footsteps. Their attention turned onwards the thick wall of Mist gathered below the loft inner balcony, where a thin silhouette – most horrid and familiar to Aelfsigior – drawn out in the dim whiteness. If he would have not known better, Aelfsigior would have thought the creature before them, Raleiquuth was a wicked magus who embraced the gift of Dusk. But as he faced the warlock, he sensed the wicked materia of Taerebus lingering within and about the warped aevhe.
“Welcome to my abode. It seems the apostates of the Blind Weaver had infiltrated our little hamlet.” Even from the hollowness lurking in his sockets, Aelfsigior felt the gaze focused on him and Tanitha whose anger and sorrow were palpable. He stepped before her, sensing she would rush at the enemy led by her feelings. The tongue hanging from his jaw quivered making a vile sound almost like a clicking. “I should have not spared you, little owl. I hoped your eyes would open to our peace offered.”
Tanitha calmed herself and focused on banishing away the enervating tendrils of the Mist digging into Dionysi and Sceparzara. The two immediately rose onto their feet, and now all four formed a crescent formation around Raleiquuth. His arms raised, the Mist expanded ravenously, enveloping the four until they could see nor hear each other even standing only two or three steps away from each other.
Aelfsigior gritted his teeth in frustration, his sword remained hung down in fear of striking at one of his comrades or Tanitha. With small steps he began to search around for them whilst sharpening his sight in hopes of seeing through the dim white thickness. Naked footsteps reached his ears and with a sudden turn, swung his blade which sharp side sliced into the desiccated skin and flesh of a daemur, for a moment uncertainty gripping him as the blade glinted betwixt the hanging, loose folds before the creature of Taeberus dissipated back into the portentous Mist.
Slowly the loss of direction in the thickness strengthened the beating of his heart whilst at the same time, its cloaked tendrils dug into his body and soul. A struggle grew in him to keep his lids from falling over, wrestled with the urge to lighten his grip around his blade and gave in to lay down and rest upon the floor whilst the mana circulating in his anima veins faltered in their march. Then once more he heard footsteps, soft yet not fully naked and when Aelfsigior turned, half ready to thrust his blade into whatever appeared, stopped and let Tanitha’s white, glowing palms touch his cheeks.
Warmth spread from his chest, rejuvenating his waning limbs and cutting the weights pulling down the curtains of his eyes. “Thank you, that was sorely needed.” Aelfsigior whispered as his gaze was captured by the bulging black eyes of Tanitha.
“And I am sorry for dragging you all up here.” She whispered with a deep, regretful intonation. Though his smile seemed to ease her fouled mood.
“Fret not dear and lovely Tanitha. Regardless of the circumstances we found ourselves in, I would have come to the aid of you and this settlement even if the Great Black Serpent’s kin cast its shadow over Lianassian’s Rest.” At his words, she noticed a faint discoloration on her cheeks, whilst her pretty lips curled into a smile which cleansed his mind at once. Though it would take time for him to remember those words, embarrassed about them.
“Can you sense him?” He asked and she nodded. Aelfsigior followed whilst wreathing his blade in a radiant aura. The flowing gold radiance frightened The Mist as it parted away at its tip, boldened by the sight he reached for Tanitha’s hand whilst spreading the spell across his body and onto hers. A sibilant growl came just whence they headed, and with his blade strongly held, he leapt forward thrusting towards the heart of the tainted aevhe, but missed as the abhorrent form became translucent, one with the Mist.
Annoyed, Aelfsigior and Tanitha stood anent with the white, thick and soft walls, their gazes searching where the enemy may had gone. For a moment, unease followed in regards of their other companions, and of their enemy retreating back to the bowels of the earth. “Down.” But as she yelled her warning, the two ducked as spears and blade formed in the elevation of their heads, swinging and thrusting with a speed beyond mortal limits. Curious a bit, Aelfsigior swung at the misty weapons, and as his sword garlanded by the materia of dawn passed through them, a distant, dry howl echoed through the grand hallway of the mansion.
A bit emboldened by the howl, Aelfsigior altered his intention infused into the incessant spell, and thrusted into the Mist. “Shut your eyes!” Upon the thrust and the submersion of the radiant blade, Dawn crawled off from the tip and spread like wildfire across the thick whiteness, increasing its luminosity until they could see naught. He yelled towards Dionysi and Sceparzara still prisoners of the Mist, hoping his voice shall reach them before their sight was taken from them by him and the abrupt Dawn spell. And in hindsight a bit of fear as their enemy could clearly hear them, but he had hope that even in the worst case, they shall come out not unharmed.
A wish which seemed to be heard by divine ears as when the blinding whiteness ceased, Raleiquuth laid near the old fireplace filled with dusty wood and cobwebs. His hideous legs and even parts of his sunken abdomen were amiss, seared away by the abrupt spell. Though he expected the warlock to plead for his life, parley with empty promises, the creature chuckled lightly. “Seems I was a fool to trust the world of that Serpent. The promise of a legion was too enticing.” Before he could continue on, Dionysi swung her twin-bladed axe. Their edges glazing with the flames raging deep in the bowels of the land caught on the dry, thin skin as it severed head from the remaining body and quickly consumed what remained of Raleiquuth whose dry laughter faded into the empty manor.
***
“Did the Mist ceased with the passing of the warlock?” Eadwald interrupted, no longer able to contain himself. Aelfsigior looked at him, into his shimmering golden eyes accentuated by the crackling flames betwixt them. Quelling his annoyance at the interruption, he ruminated on the words whilst shifting his gaze onto Priernuss who set on their right, listening with a bit more tact.
With a faint smile, he continued finishing the tale of his youth. “The Mist was gone – only temporarily though as the anchor remained in the heart of the earth, below the village.” As the words began to pour, Priernuss lifted his right arm and his fingers danced with unseen threads reaching into the flames and forming them into a vast network of dim corridors with a grand tomb just like Aelfsigior remembered it. A dark heart beat in the center, leaking the mist through the orifices of the centuries old cadaver. Bit of an artistic liberty, Aelfsigior thought.
Then Priernuss looked at him inquiringly, the flames took the shape of the bonny djinn, Tanitha. “What about the sweet maiden whom you rescued from the clutches of an ageless evil?” A thousand curses Aelfsigior wished upon his friend as he felt the flames of shame heat his face. Before he answered – as he intended to mend a still lacerating wound – Aelfsigior inhaled deeply the warm, caustic air.
“For a while, she remained with us. As a healer at first, then when the enemy proved capable of amassing greater numbers, proved to be an adroit, quick-learning magus who felled a great number of horrors.” He stopped for a moment, closed his eyes an envisioned the few battles the two fought side by side as comrades, as brother and sister forged in sweat and blood. Eadwald leaned closer, just as Priernuss as if the two’s minds adjoined in their curiosity towards their friend.
Then Priernuss leaned back on the snow and moss covered trunk before asking. “Was she taken by another? By your old friend, the Woe of Men?” He questioned, half jestingly. Though it hurt him a bit, Aelfsigior shook his hand. “Sceparzara passed not long after when we were assailed by another host of undead, nekrossos and other horrors of the Dusk. He perished before she could even mend his ravenous wounds. No, she remained a while in our company, but later I got reassigned further south, whilst she remained in the North before she was offered a place in the Order, amongst the most devout magusos of Septurrion. As if the Sightless Weaver himself recommended her himself.”
“But you met since then, don’t you?” Aelfsigior nodded, a meager smile offered to the flames. “We did, quite a few times where we talked of the past, the present or shared bed.” Though a little he regretted the last two words, as they brought a pain with themselves. A pain bearing his regret of not staying with her, not settling down in the embrace of a walled city. But as before it faded when he looked at the excited face of Eadwald who seemed eager for some reason. A welcome sight after the passing of his father.
“That explains quite a lot.” Priernuss broke the silence. “Why she not settles with us?” He asked with a childish fervor.
“A few decades ago,” He stared at Eadwald as he stopped. “Before you or maybe even your father was a thought – we ruminated on the matter, searching for ways but in the end, she has her responsibilities being on the highest step of the ladder.” A sour taste filled his mouth, weighting down his gaze into the dancing flames from Eadwald’s gaze. Priernuss’s inured eyes glanced more, but he remained silent on the matter as he looked up into the abyss.
Aelfsigior’s attention turned towards the distance walled thickly by the darkness of the starless night. “But that is the tale. Now go you two, a long road is ahead of us to home.” At his command both assented silently and bid him farewell till the rise of the Dawn. His gaze remained on them even after the thick leaf and branch veil draped over them, sealing them into the makeshift tents then arose staring at the blackness. His hand touched his chest plate, feeling the embellished medallion push against his ridged bosom. On it a majestic Ascalpiriath occupied the left space, its four wings spread wide, its black, antler like horns reaching the snow silvery borders, its large black eyes meeting the gaze of the red scaled dragon which crested, horned head leant closer to the owl-like magical beast.
Beneath the two mighty beasts, an oblong egg sat on the precipice of shattering open…