FIFTH INTERLUDE – FORSAKEN

Beyond the great gate south the sands shifted into more solid dried up patches of earth. These were known as the WasteLands, not quite desert, not quite marsh, yet still a wretched place. Malinor traversed the WasteLands and kept his path due south until he reached civilization. He needed to make sense of his experience back at the gate; get some sort of confirmation he is not just losing his mind. Did Lord of Darkness and the Netherworld the dragon god Dracobra really choose him? A nobody from the north. A reject. Maybe that’s all a revolution in the modern age required…

Most of the country in this area broke east back along the Burning Mountains, ahead south was the edge, and the Barren Sea after that. Except before the sea was a city along the skyline. That’s where Malinor would go. The road is never kind to people who are not used to it. A southerner worth his weight in obsidian knew how to spot a northerner. Malinor was easy prey. Before he had a chance to talk to anyone about his divine interactions he found himself in dire straits. Malinor quickly realized any word coming from someone north of the gate would not be trusted. He was a fool to assume otherwise. Do these people really want to hear that their god has chosen an outsider to lead them? No.

The bars clanked in front of Malinor after all his possessions save the shirt on his back were taken and he was thrown in with the rest of the lot of slaves. They were being wheeled off away from the city, towards the mountains to the east.

“What is that?” asked Malinor.

“Quiet!” the guard yelled, banging the bars separating them on the prison wagon.

No one answered for a while.

“They are taking us to those mountains, within them is Morticomb Caverns. The places we are going are not pleasant,” the slave said. He got smacked upside the head by the butt of a spear from the guard sitting above them in the cage.

Malinor shook his head annoyed. “No, what is that?”

He pointed to the horizon beyond the Morticomb Mountains. They had grown used to it living in the south. Sometimes it took a new set of eyes from beyond the gate to shake them out of it. Malinor was referring to the mists coming off the horizon east like tentacles of fog and wind, almost like the fire of a storm. It caught and cascaded across the horizon, twinkling with the far away sun.

After waiting a longer amount of time, more than double the length of time the first time, the same slave opened his mouth to answer Malinor. The spear thrusted back down to reprimand him, this time it was the spear head. Blood trickled out of the slave’s mouth, he cried out. A piece of his tongue fell through the hole in his cheek. It splattered blood onto Malinor’s chained leg. He squirmed. After that he kept his mouth shut.

It was like that for a while until they reached their destination. The wild horizon remaining in the background, unexplained. Malinor was forced into the mountains where he would not see the light of day for some time. He was first sent down to the mines where he cracked through the ground in search for ore. He served the forgesmiths until they grew tired of his escape attempts. Malinor was then sent to the dungeons where he was experimented on and tortured.

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It just so happened that amongst all the executioners, interrogators, and torturers Malinor was their favorite prisoner. It wasn’t often that they got a man from Northgate. When they felt like asking questions during their torture pieces it was always about MagnaThora’s kings. They had no concept of the Senate. Malinor had a laugh at that. Eventually his fame got him an audience with the lead interrogator, Officer Orwell Spangalore. Malinor knew he was mad from the first day they met. Back then his madness was restrained. He still kept up appearances for the sake of society. That was until Malinor got through with him.

It started off just as harmless as his other hosts. Malinor claimed he spoke with the god Dracobra and was anointed their savior. They wouldn’t believe him. They torture him until he confessed to his lies. Malinor swears of no lies. And on and on it went until the captors got sick of the circles and passed the prisoner along. Spangalore wanted to hear for himself.

“What did the great dragon say to you, scum lord of Northgate?”

“Many things. None of which I asked for evidence of…which now I see was a mistake.”

Malinor laughed and then screamed as Spangalore had his guard hold the branding iron to Malinor’s back. His flesh burnt. He could not see it himself, being tied down, but could he feel it, and also could he smell it.

“Your flesh smells good, north-man,” the guard spat, “must be coated heavily in fat.”

“You are barely a worthy meal for my men stranger. You really think our deity would choose you to deliver his will?”

“From the looks of things down here…yes.”

“Like you have any idea what life is like in the southern reaches. People of Northgate ignore the truth.”

“What truth?”

“You will never know. You will only know pain.”

“I am familiar with pain. You can remind me of its effects all you want. This only goes somewhere when you start talking.”

“If I talk…you will talk?”

“Yes.”

“What is it you want to know?”

“What makes the mists swirl along the horizon?”

“You want to know about MagnaThora’s oldest secret.”

“You just called my people ignorant. I’m asking you to inform me. Will you continue to perpetuate a falsehood? Then continue administering the pain.”

“I will not tell you, outsider.”

Spangalore started walking out of the room. Before he left he said one last thing then leaving Malinor to the darkness.

“I will show you.”