Update:
Prologue slightly rewritten and simplified. The latter chapters are not as descriptive.(A cheer is heard >.>)
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Prologue:
Deep within the Velkan forest stand trees centuries old. They block off the sun, their roots steeped in a frothing mist that boils up from the marshy ground. For the first time in years a light flares beneath their branches, its source a newly made campsite. A sleeping bag and miscellaneous utensils are scattered about, while an old man is feeding logs into the fire.
He wears no hat, his head being amply covered with snow-white hair. The only sign of vanity is his beard which is short and neatly trimmed. He wears a threadbare robe of worn silver, scars of previous battles stitched across it. Intricate designs swirling on it give hints to his past, days filled with songs and power. The only remnants of those times are the robe, a staff,a silver hart, and treasured memories.
He stands up while chewing on rations and carefully reaches inside a large leather satchel. Inside there's a small rough-bound book, with a smaller inscription of a blackened leaf. The various paraphernalia of a mage are jumbled with an assortment of crystals twinkling in the firelight. He pulls out a stained manuscript, containing his task's destination. He remembers the summons, that he alone had been chosen to bear the burden that falls to the old. He sighs and packs up his gear. He begins to move through the night, he still had a while to go to the clearing, and the tower.
Far off in a moonlit clearing there is a thick silence. The creatures had learned through harsh experience not to step or breath beside the tower. The construction would have scaled two-hundred feet, if it wasn't in shambles with its second story missing three walls and then some. It is encircled by a swath of overgrown grass marking the passage of time. The glistening crystal walls of the tower are overgrown with ivy, which struggle to find purchase in its smooth exterior. In place of an ancient doorway lie runes drawn on solid stone, warning of the inner danger.
The first footsteps in years are heard. The mage had spent an hour walking straight to the tower, for his goal lay further within. He takes no heed of the warnings inscribed on the outer surface of the walls, or the runes declaring danger. He steps inside, and examines his surroundings.
Inside a lacklustre abode is seen, dust covering every pore. A skeleton lies in front of a stone bookcase. Empty tables complete with empty drawers accommodate the edges of the room. The walls are scorched and mossed over, times work evident in their exterior. The only item of note is a rectangular slab, standing upright in the center across from a blank wall. It’s made of a dark burnished metal, swallowing all of the light that leaks from the cracks in the ceiling. There are no lines on the unblemished surface, no marks of dust or time. It stands alone as it always had, waiting for something.
The mage approaches the slab, and speaks a Word of Power to it. It is uncaring and immobile. He frowns, and speaks a second Word. The dark block shudders, resisting an unseen force. An inspection follows of its surface and the ground beneath it. He sighs, and with a tired air brings out a small knife and cuts his finger. He leaves a trail of blood along the slab while saying a third Word.
It flares to life as runes flicker across its sides. A harsh icy glow reveals a door etched out of moonlight on the wall. With a satisfied nod the mage approaches the Moonlight door, and a series of complex manoeuvres opens it. Inside lie worn stone stairs, surrounded by walls of cracked marble. Few of the runes on the walls remain active and light the path down.While not enough to walk by, there is enough light to show tattered remains of the unfortunate dead. Curled up on the ground and clasping at metal statues of harts. At least a dozen line the entrance, as if they were trying to get out in their last moments.
Heedless of the dead the mage takes a rod from his satchel and raps it against the wall, creating endless echoes. The rod lights up and illuminates a small space in front of him, adequate for his purpose. With caution he examines the stairs and their foundations. Finding nothing amiss, he slowly proceeds down the stairs with the help of his staff, searching the walls for any wayward runes. The moonlight doorway closes and disappears without a sound or trace. The last of his footsteps mute into nothingness, and the tower is quiet once more.
The light in the woods is no longer there, the only remains consisting of a faint smoke trail in the air. A vaguely humanoid figure stoops down to examine the ashes, its dark-red gloves searching for traces. Its suit is as black as the night it often wanders in and an expressionless cowl stares back from its face. Two wicked blades hang on its sides as colorful as their wielder. It gazes into the distance and continues walking, its cape fluttering in a breeze that wasn't there.
The mage arrives at the stair’s end slightly charred from a trap he narrowly avoided, and sees multiple tunnels hewn out of solid stone. Moss grows where it can, speckling the dark brown surface of the rocks. Cracks line the walls in a haphazard fashion, as if some tiny gnomes had taken a hammer to them in a fit of pique. No runes glow to show him the path and no signs point to the way, but he needs neither.
Approaching the center of the branching he takes out a sphere of crystal that beats to a unseen rhythm. The light from it gives a opalescent glow to the caverns and a thick line is formed to guide him. Tracing the tip of the line leads him to turn back to the stairs. Aside the stairs lies the barely discernible impression of a burned leaf. More Words are spoken, and the stairs lift to reveal a door. It's made of bone, charred and broken in many places. The surrounding stone had once melted into tiny rivers that flowed across the floor. The shadows seem to reach out to the light, greedily drawing it in. He continues without pausing , though his steps are not as certain as before.
Far above, the Moonlight door opens once more. A shadowed figure enters , leaving behind the ruins of a shattered slab.
A chill wind blows in the depths of the tower, twisting and turning through the deserted halls. It carries the whispers and rumblings of things in the darkness as they go about their way, prowling in search of a meal. It carries the dripping of leaky ceilings, the rustle of soft moss, and the steps of a traveling mage. The crystal sphere had ceased its glow not long ago, barely reaching a large clearing.
The lichen covered walls are wet and glistening, assorted crystals covering their surfaces. Glow-moss lines the roof, giving a phosphorescent light to the proceedings below. Small, vicious green creatures tumble about haphazardly. Their arms are wiry and thin, belying their massive strength. They wear leather clothes that are thickly stitched and warm, with occasional tinpot armor dented and rusted. Many rings and bracelets line their arms and fingers. The Goblins prize their shiny things, collecting them in the way a miser would scavenge every penny, leading usually to brutal fights. Four are having a typical discussion,struggling over an unidentifiable piece of meat.
"Mine"
"Dumpohf, since when do you get it all the time "
"So what? I have lots more shiny, I deserve it "
"No fair, you took all the shiny before, at least let me have the meat you pig."
"Pig you say? Coming from a filthy kremp-"
"Argh" exclaimed one, knocked back by a blow
"Ow" said another,as he in turn was pummeled
The discussion degenerates quickly after that. Meanwhile the rest of the goblins walk around nonchalantly, chatting and divvying up the spoils from a recent escapade. One of the most striking figures lies seated in a leather chair, reclining and viewing his subordinates. His equipment is bedecked with crystals , and he chews on a hunk of meat with a satisfied leer. His clothes are a mix of old and new, scavenged from those who fell in the catacombs. The colors form a unique tapestry, fit for mopping the floor in a messy tavern. His beady eyes flicker over the loot as he watches the divvying, licking his lips in anticipation.
His excitement is interrupted when his feet combust spontaneously, to his and the minions surprise. He starts scampering around wildly, knocking them out of the way and screaming for water. The minions gaze stupidly and then follow the steps of their leader, screaming and scrambling about. A few get into heated arguments over items that they had "procured" in the spur of the moment.The turbulent episode ends even quicker than it started, with the appearance of a mage.
He looks at them with a face of stone, marking every single one. No minion dares to view him, lest he cut them down where they stood. The only thing that kept them from running away was the exasperated howl of the leader, demanding them to stay still. Wincing from his burned feet the goblin leader steps forward and addresses the mage.
"Could I interest you in some wares? Lovely time of the year for pearls and amethysts. I have a nice hart statue here you might like, some careless travelers waylaid it and I happened to come upon it recently. Perhaps some food is what you want, we have a lovely selection of the freshest rock slime and the occasional mulu,in fact-"
"I have come not for graverobbed items, but for the key.Where is it?" speaks a cold voice grown deep with age.
The goblins blanch a sickly yellow-green, this did not bode well for them.Their leader shuffles his feet and exclaims.
"Uhm....Well....we lost it...."
"And perhaps in return you found a gold or three?" says the mage with a grin that didn't reach his eyes.
"Perhaps.......but we think we know where we...lost...it..." , says the leader with a worried grin
A curt reply follows,
"Yes, please show me where you "lost" the key to the seal, the one which for eighty years you were supposed to guard."
"Well....we thought perhaps it would be fine if someone borrowed it for a little bit..."stammers out the leader.
The temperature seems to fall ten degrees,
"Really? borrowed now you say? So quickly does something lost become something borrowed. Did you perhaps sell the incantation as well?"
An awkward silence emerges,covering the group with a shroud of fear.
"I told the Order not to pick such spineless fools like you. However,I don't have the time to deal with this miserable business. If you seek to gain favor with me and spare your wretched lives, answer this. When and where did this occur?"
"Last Fallow, mid-noon in the Barrows..." whimpers the leader, slowly shrinking into his suit.
No more words or threats are spoken, and the silence stretches. The mage abruptly turns and slowly walks across the cavern to the cave on the other side. He slips into the shadows, his mute footsteps receding quickly. The goblins , relieved to say the least, resume their bickering. The one exception is their leader who thoughtfully gazes at the cave. After a moment's pause he orders everyone to pack-up and get ready to move, best to get out while they still could.
Elsewhere, the staircase rises again. A figure clad in darkness enters.
The creak of rotting timbers fills the Barrows,the supports protesting against the weight. A even chiller wind sweeps through the rotten cloth covered skeletons that fill its nook and crannies. The mage kicks the bones from his path, their gaping skulls grinning in the magelight. The bones were well picked, with both loot and marrow gone. The catacombs scavengers had done their work. With the exception of a few lichen covered remains, the bones are recent.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
The mage crouches down and draws a circle with a chalky powder he pulls from his satchel. Around the borders he draws glyphs of time and space.Upon completion the outside world bends and puckers, calming down to reveal a scene from last Fallow,mid-noon. A young mage stands there, sulking under one of the supports.His clothes are rich and hand-spun, white bedazzled in rivulets of gold.Four rings hang on his fingers, sparkling in what little light was there.His grey hat is too large for his head,the felted edges nearly covering his eyes. The rich leather boots fidget impatiently , and he starts levitating some of the skeletons to make them dance.
The macabre demonstration ends upon the appearance of an extremely worried goblin. An exchange is made, a small bag with a metallic twang goes to the goblin and an even smaller one goes to the mage. He's satisfied with the contents and wanders off deeper into the Barrows as the goblin scurries back to where it came. The image slowly mists away as they walk off into the distance, and another takes his place.
Screams fill the Barrows, metal clashes and mages chant their spells. Chaos flows, and screams add to the confusion. The front lines fall to encroaching darkness which grasps them and pulls them in. The only sounds that they hear are the yells of the dying and those in pain. Swords pass through with no effect and mage spells are absorbed inside. The futile defense soon turns and runs back, no doubt towards the tower door where they fall. The mist passes once again, and another image takes its place, a void unending.
A voice ancient with acrid evil,
"Foolish mage daring to enter my domain. Long have I waited to rise free and you dare come into my realm, as if you can do what you please? Suffer foolish mortal,I shall delight to hear your screams"
A trap is triggered and a pressure attempts to crush the mage. He is unaffected and dispels it with a wave. He continues on his way unperturbed by the sights he had just seen. He moves again, walking patiently towards his goal.
Into the cavern a figure strides. The goblins freeze as they gaze upon its visage. It pauses, and seems affronted with the miserable figures. Its hands reach, and the first goblin falls, its hand rising from its chest. The second dies with a neck broken in nine places, and more follow soon. Slowly with no mercy and no quarter, it slaughters the rest. It pauses once more, a sword jutting outwards from its gut. It casually hits the leader that dared mark him and he hits the wall in a shambled heap. There is but one left alive soon and the creature kneels above it. A scream is then heard, the first of many. When they end the only thing left is the faint scent of rotting flowers.
A shadow is cast on a thrice-locked door, carved from marble and set in runed gold. The door is open and its edges cracked from a inward pressure. The mage closes the door on his way in , and enters the antechamber.
It is cut out of solid white marble, every edge with symbols to withstand breaking and erosion. There is a dark iron pedestal in the center, holding a clouded crystal. The glyphs on the pedestal are nearly gone, barely holding on to what little force they possess. The remainder of the room is occupied by two figures having chess on a worn wooden board. One is wearing a familiar grey felted hat, and the other is robed. The robe is black, as are the iron chains that bind its hands.The robed figure glances at the mage, and pops a grin.
A slick voice with the weight of ages is heard,
"Again? I'd have sworn you would be dead. No matter, I'll get better. We were just finishing up here anyways."
With a weary sigh the mage responds,
"It would take more than that to finish me, you know that all too well.Props for the fireball trap, I didn't think to inspect the air for floating threads."
"Why thank you, no harm done I supposed? Oh dear, your robe is charred , getting old ......are we?" the figure looks thoughtfully at the mage
"I was old when this began and I am older now, but do not try to resist me. It didn't work the first four times, why should it work now? On a minor note, how did you escape this time?"
The figure says "Ah, the blind fools of your Order practically gave me the key. Giving a relic unto creatures so easily bribable was mistake on their part. Why didn't you stop them? I do so enjoy a challenge. It got boring here in these past centuries."
"They ignore me, they believe that I’m going senile. Idiots, I had forgotten more knowledge than they had ever known in their tiny heads."
He sighs,
"However, it's time for us to part again. Return to your focus please, you've caused enough ruckus already."
The figured wheedles, sliding closer,
"Why must you be so cold and unfriendly to us. We took you in, gave you a home and taught you of the darkness, of the Draphur and the lurm. We showed you void eternal, and were there when you spoke your first Word. Admittedly, it was when you sealed us the first time but all children have a period of resistance. Come now, won't you join us? "
Its voice falls into a reverent whisper
"Eternal life, endless power, you can feel the age now can't you. The Words don't flow as easily as they did before, and mornings are colder. I see you use a alchemist rod instead of a magelight, has your strength failed you so much?"
"I'm in no mood to bargain. My resolve firm, and the response the same as before. Draining the life of hapless victims, even if they were fools," says the mage, gesturing to the corpse in the felted hat.
"is not a thing I aim to do. My purpose is to save lives not to take them. Return to the pedestal, Slythan , I am losing patience" he says in warning tones.
Slythan shrugs,
"I see.......nevertheless I must profess a complaint. The room is stale , the social life is nonexistent, and when I sit here I get so very...very....hungry..."
It strains painfully against the chains, but the mage speaks three Words. He continues chanting with a concentrated look.The chains contract and the runes flare , dragging the being back to the pedestal.
Slythan screeches in pain,
"You will rue this ! I will feast on your soul the next time we meet, you cannot live forever. A time will come when I will be free and you will become a servant at my every whim. You pitiful child thinking you know all , how wrong you are, you do not know a quarter of what has been going on. You have gotten senile Lethan,you fail to even notice that which has followed you from the start of your cursed journey."
No shadow falls upon the door, but it opens nonetheless. A humanoid walks casually, as if ignorant of the scene inside.
The mage turns, and exclaims a Word. The shadow shrugs and crushes it. He pales, and says several more. It approaches him with no problems, and stabs his heart. He slides off its hands and lays on the ground , unbelieving. To have come this far and yet to fail.... He attempts to speak, but Words fail him. His vision dims and the light flickers as he lies bleeding.
A bundle of chains is still being dragged , and it exclaims,
"Thank you Madgor, now if you would please be so kind as to release me we can complete the contracted terms."
A voice like sand on glass whispers ,
"Madgor is no more, he fell by my blades but two moons ago.I am but a messenger. Zeryth, says hello." Its message done the figure strides towards the pedestal, ignorant of Slythan's exclamations,
"No,don't do touch that. I can give you any dream you've wished for, anything at all. Please, how have I wronged you?"
The figure pauses, and replies "Not at all, I am but a messenger. However you may go to death confident that even for Zeryth this is nothing personal, just business. Nothing to relate to the likes of you." Saying so, it grabbed the crystal and crudely crushed it, fine dust sprinkling the pedestal that had contained it for so long.
As it turns, a desperate chanting rose. Flowing in and out of hearing, the twisted syllables created a portal of endless void.The creation began draining the room, the first to go the chessboard and the corpse.
"How dare you kill me, I will take you with me into the endless void,no rest shall you have as you are drained of your power, and-"
It casually grabbed the mage and threw him in. The portal closes and the voice is silent.It sardonically exclaims,
"Pitiful, to have made it accept any living being. Must have been deluded in death, I am far from alive."
Saying so, it turns and exits the room. The room was silent and empty, nothing to show what had occurred, but the mild scent of rotting flowers.
In the endless void a figure stirs. The darkness closes in, and is then repelled. Not dissuaded, it waits for the mage’s power to fade. Lethan scours his memory to find his learnings of the endless void, and swears . His memory fails him at its most needed time. Nearby a lump of darkness, unlike the rest, was pitifully flopping around in resistance as well. Lethan stares at it, and pronounces a word
"Sylthan?"
The shadow stops and whispers weakly,
"So we meet again, it is fitting I think. The rivals who had fought for decades to pass this world together. Hah....."
Lethan queries,
"Wasn't there someone who harnessed the void?"
Sylthan replies after a small pause,
"You mean” Sylthan replies after a small pause,” Degan? He harnessed it but for a moment, the result tore him apart to his very soul. Our kind couldn't find him again...."
The darkness begins making pressing advances, testing to see if they were dead yet. It declares it a tad too soon, and withdraws for a moment more.
Lethan hurriedly says
"Quickly, the Words , tell them now. At the very least it has a chance of working."
Sylthan replies
"Really? Madness is the best case, your very soul will be gone don't you understand? its is a fate beyond death. Even the endless void can't touch that."
The endless void meanwhile, approaches the mage again.With a violent wrench the darkness eats his right eye. Lethan screams a minor Word in pain, and the darkness subsides for another moment.
Sylthan considers the situation, and with a tired resolve,
"At least one of us should get out eygh.....here, this will help with the words and with the pain"
Sylthan begins chanting. At the end the darkness surges and devours him, but not before a part of the shadow lurches towards the mage. His final words lie in Lethans mind,
"I give you part of me to tide you over and to replace that which was lost. Think of it as a token of our friendship, take care to control it.Keep it well, live long and grow strong.I bid you adieu my friend........"
The pain increases ten-fold,and ends as quickly as it had come. The darkness shudders , and begins to consume the mage. He quickly starts casting, each Word hitting the darkness and making a hole. It increased slowly, a ray of light amongst the darkness. As the blight eats away his body, the gift returns it. He does not rest or pause , to cease is to welcome death.His vision fades slowly, and as his time runs out he completes the spell and steps through the portal, free and safe at last. He sees the sky , and then quite quickly the grass. His last sight is of his blackened right hand, and a hat beside it.....
#####Authors Note###########
Thank you for reading all of this text.
Now,
Hart = deer
Hewn = cut out of
Please leave comments, ideas, fears, thoughts about the story etc. I'll write better the more you guys write and the more helpful you are! Looking forward to release more chapters. (Rate too if you want too, no 1 * ratings though :P )