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."

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

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.