Two days go by, in which time, a lot of things happen. Not the least of which being my near-constant fear for my life at the hands of the black monster that I saw summoned under the full moon. I have taken to sleeping on the roof, silently escaping up there once the rest of the tower is asleep, and waking early to slide back down to my bed on the third floor.
Tulip spends hours over my bed each day, working with different salves and tinctures in an attempt to heal my arm. And the progress is damn near miraculous. By the second day, the pain is reduced from a scream to a dull ache in the area around the deep scratch.
I awake on the third morning of my residence in the tower and the smell of the Whispersage tea comes wafting up the staircase, permeating my room. The smell is accompanied by the sweet sound of Tulip’s humming. Since I’ve been here, I have been able to dodge my way out of drinking the tea simply by pretending to sleep any time I hear Tulip coming up the stairs, that same sickeningly sweet smell coming up with her. But today, I don’t try to dodge it, in fact, I do the opposite, and make my way downstairs towards the smell. Not out of a desire to drink the horribly sickening concoction, but in an attempt to catch Tulip alone, her being the only semi-sane person I’ve found here thus far.
My hopes are quickly dashed as I descend onto the first-floor landing and see that all three members of the tower are gathered around the small circular table preparing for breakfast. Godrick looks up, noticing me standing on the stone landing.
“Ah Draven, it appears that you are awake, good. Come and eat my friend, for you will need all of your strength today as you set out on your journey north.”
I take a few hesitant steps down to their level. The first-floor common area is larger in diameter than my room, the walls are adorned with shelves containing everything from books to potion ingredients. On the east side is the heavy wooden door which solemnly bears the sun symbol of The Covenant. A circular window above the door lets in glittering rays of the rising sun. Opposite the door is a large workbench that has diagrams, weapons, and books haphazardly strewn across its length. The middle of the room is filled by the circular dining table which sits close to the fire, whereupon Tulip is busy boiling water for tea as well as searing some sort of meat and vegetable mixture, assumedly for breakfast.
Drysten looks up from a large book in his lap and greets me in kind, “Good morning Draven. I hope you’re ready?”
“Ready?” I ask, not quite understanding his question. Nor the implications made by Godrick regarding my journey north.
“Yes, ready. Tulip has informed me of the progress regarding your arm and it appears as though you are mostly, if not completely, healed. Thus, you are ready to set out on your quest for The Tome of Knowledge.”
At this point, Godrick rises from his seat and makes his way across the tower floor. He stops at the workbench and picks up two cloth bundles. Bringing them back across the room, he lays them on the table and unwraps them to reveal my swords, they glimmer in the morning sunlight streaming in from the eastern window. I revel in their beauty, Twilight’s Bane and Shadow’s Whisper two swords as beautiful as the woman who gave them to me.
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Danor
Days. Hours. Weeks. They all blend together. From the first time that Valena told me on that rooftop, till the day that she left, I was, and still am, truly and deeply in love.
My blossoming love for her is quite like my experience as a thief. One moment, I am quiet, hiding in the shadows, unseen, unheard, and undetected. Suddenly, the silence, the shadows, the stealth, it’s all broken in a matter of half-seconds as I break the facade to accomplish my goal. My love has done the same, starting out in the shadowy recesses of my heart, but all too soon leaping from those hidden places, and stealing every rational part of my body. There isn't a moment I don’t spend thinking about her, a day gone by where I don’t envision her face. Not a second that I do not yearn to spend in her presence. Our love, so powerful and true, that not even the love told about in fables can rival it.
A late autumn morning finds us lying in my bed, our bodies tangled together. Outside, dark leaves of amber fall from above. The brisk autumn wind is blowing in through an open window, and I hold Valena tightly in my arms. Her body is warm against the crisp autumn air, firm and comforting. As we lay there, I feel as if I am sinking into her very being. As she lays against me, her head on my chest, I notice her breathing, rhythmic and measured, her heartbeat slow and steady. Her curly brown hair falls around her face as she looks down upon me. I am stuck staring into the infinite beauty that are her hazel eyes.
She extends a soft finger, caressing the side of my face, “I love you.” She says, her voice full of true sincerity. I know without a doubt that she means those words
“And I you,” I reply, the same conviction behind my words.
“I have something for you,” Valena says, raising her body out of bed, the early morning sun rippling across her flawless coffee-colored skin.
“Oh? And what might that be?”
“A gift, taken from one of my recent jobs,” Val crosses the room, and goes to her pack. After pulling on a set of clothes, she looks back at me and says, “It’s not here, it’s hidden just outside of town, by the Tranquil Creek, in the Great Hollowed Tree”
“Alright…” I say tentatively, “You’ve got me intrigued.” I stand up out of bed, toss on a tunic, and lace up my shoes. By the time I do so, Val has done the same and is waiting for me at the door.
“Ready to go?” She asks me, a smile tugging at her lips.
“Absolutely. Lead the way.” I reply, with no hesitation in my voice, trusting completely in where she will lead me.
We set off, Val in front, quickly descending down the tower stairs, I follow mere steps behind. Val throws open the tower door, and the cool air fills my lungs.
The city of Danor has lost its vibrant green summer hue and has taken on an orange tint, complimentative to the changing leaves of the season. The streets are less busy this time of year, most merchants have left the city and returned home in order to prepare for winter. Storing away what they need to support and preserving the rest for the Winter Festival. School is in session, which means there is a distinct lack of children playing in the cobbled streets. The only indicator of the usually busy city are the officials and nobles who hurriedly walk the streets, their only focus being the business they’re attending to. They hold no regard for anyone else whilst in this mindset, and I’ve found that this makes them especially vulnerable targets for pickpockets and common thieves. Apart from the nobles, the only occupancy of the street is held by the homeless and the hookers, neither of which I care much to interact with.
Without a word, Val and I both throw up the hoods of our cloaks and dip into the street, using the long shadows cast by the late morning sunlight to blend effortlessly into the backdrop of the city.
Val leads me down sidestreet after sidestreet, the cobbled stone streets are still damp from rain the night before. We near the edge of the city and the smell of nature begins to register on my senses.
The city has tried for years to keep up a standard of living, and as part of that, the King and his council decided to add greenery throughout the many spiraling walkways as well as plant trees in the center of the many plazas. But those bushes, those trees, they always feel so forced, even fake. There is nothing akin to the feeling of actually being in nature. The trees above your head, the dirt beneath your boots, the wildlife that just is not present in the city.
I always told Val that if the Thieve’s Guild hadn’t gotten to me, I would’ve ended up studying the forest as a druid. Possibly even learning some of their language and attempting their magic.
As we turn onto the main road again, the western gate stares down at us. Its menacing frame of red cedar wood and black iron has always struck me as extremely intimidating. But not because of the material, but because of the decorations. The gate is topped with huge brass spikes, upon which are the brass heads of all the enemy kings from across the land. Even the most powerful kings such as the king of the north, King Eamon of Frostvein, and the king of the west, King Thaddeus of Ironholt are featured within the gate’s macabre decorations.
Val and I pass through the gate, holding our heads low, avoiding the attention of the watchers above. Once we are a decent distance from the city, we turn north and dip into the line of the trees. After a minute more of walking, we cross the Tranquil Creek and stand at the base of the Great Hollowed Tree.
The Great Hollowed Tree is a massive redwood tree, standing at almost two hundred feet tall. It earned its namesake due to the fact that the behemoth of a tree is completely hollow. Only an inch of wood acts as the barrier between the outside world and the inside of the tree. Some legends surrounding the tree say that it was grown with magic, others say that it was hollowed out by wood nymphs for the purpose of a home. Regardless, it has since become the ideal location for children wishing to hide themselves, as well as a meetup spot for the local youth. But more importantly, at least in our case, the Great Hollowed Tree has become the ideal location to hide objects that have been stolen by the Thieves Guild.
Val and I stand at the base of the tree, admiring its beauty. I stare up, counting the creatures that scurry to and fro across the tree’s vast network of branches. By the time I refocus my attention on what’s in front of me, Val has already entered the tree and beckons me to follow.
“Come on, we don’t have all day!” She calls playfully from inside, her voice echoing up the gargantuan trunk of the tree.
I take a deep breath of the forest air and duck inside the small entry hole at the base of the tree.
Inside, the tree is vast and beautiful, somehow feeling open and airy. The many holes that pockmark the trunk high above, let in rays of sunlight, casting everything in scattered patterns of light which dance across the walls. Birds chirp far above us, nesting on the crisscrossing network of wooden veins which spiral into the sky. The dirt beneath my boots is soft and comfortable, not hard and compact like that of the forest outside. Moss adorns the walls in patches, home to small caterpillars and moths bearing beautiful colors.
Val stands in the center of the hollow, in her arms are two bundles of dark cloth, both of which are about three feet in length.
“I found these when I was up in Frostvein. The merchant there was more than willing to hand them over when I showed him my…” she pauses, considering her word choice. “Tenacity,” she finishes, a smirk tugging at her face.
I approach, taking the bundles from her and kneeling to the ground to unwrap them. I pull the gray fabric aside and feel a gasp catch in my throat. There on the ground is a set of the most beautiful twin swords I have ever seen.
The first is made of shimmering blue steel. Intertwined on the blade is an intertwining spiderweb pattern. The pattern has a range of colors from deep purple, to light pink, to an iridescent orange.
The second blade is made of a cold black steel. Its blade is marked only by a single long scratch running from its tip to its red leather hilt. Turning the blade over reveals an identical scratch on the opposite side of the blade.
“They are Twilight’s Bane and Shadow’s Whisper. Quite possibly two of the most beautiful swords I have ever seen,” Says Val from above me. “According to the merchant, they were both forged in the Great Hearths, fueled by the Eternal Flame of the North. For what reason, I couldn't tell you, but I knew they were special. Possibly even magical, however, I am no fool and know that magic wielders, at least in this age are few and far between.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
I look up at her, her hair cast in a halo from the broken sunlight flooding the tree. And I look back down at the swords.
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I stand on the landing, remembering that day inside the Great Hollowed Tree, remembering Val in all her beauty. But more than that, I remember the rest of the day, the fencing together, the lovemaking, the quiet moments lying together under the tree. All of it so pleasant, so perfectly picturesque. But that day was marred, horribly and irrevocably by the cruel bitch that is fate.
That’s still a pain I can’t focus on, so instead I look back at Godrick. He holds my swords on the table beckoning me towards the group downstairs.
“I have kept and cleaned your swords mister Draven. They are truly beautiful. If I didn’t know better, I would have called them pieces of art rather than weapons.”
His usual demeanor of being an asshole is gone, which I note as odd. But then again, this whole situation is odd. So I don’t let it bother me too much.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” he continues, “where did you come across such beautiful pieces of craftsmanship?”
“I do mind you asking. Those swords are mine and mine alone.” I can’t fathom telling this woman about Val and how much these swords mean to me, being my only remaining connection to the only woman I love.
“Well, your business is yours to keep. I must respect that.” Godrick replies, looking away and back towards the fire where Tulip has finished searing the vegetables and meat.
I take a seat at the table and Drysten slides a map into my view. The map is labeled “The Eastern Isle” and it shows a long island, stretching across the parchment. At the bottom, next to a small beach, is a stenciled white sun labeled as The White Watchtower. Just around the tower, in rudimentary circles, I see The Village of Light. Continuing north I see small scratches of black ink denoting The Fields of Despair and then just above them, in bold red ink, my destination, The Forsaken Graves.
I study the map, and having done so, take the parchment and slide it back towards Drysten.
“So I’m just heading north until I see a bunch of unburied bodies?” I sarcastically remark. Knowing damn well that it won’t be that simple.
“In so many words, yes. The ruined City of Light shouldn’t pose you much of a threat as you saw. And the Fields of despair are mostly barren save a few small creatures that still desperately cling to life. However, once you crest the northern hills, you will have crossed into the graves, and that’s when you will begin to encounter a challenge. The hills are crawling with Plaguebeasts and lesser evils. I cannot speak on where exactly the tome will be, but from Godrick and I’s observation, there seems to be a mausoleum in the center of the graveyard wherein many of the beasts can be seen gathering and patrolling. If I had to guess, that’s where you’ll find the tome.”
I nod. Taking in all of the information, processing it all, and reassessing my plan of attack. I need to see it all for myself and I am anxious to get off. So I quickly scarf down the food that Tulip places in front of me and stand up once I finish.
I replace Shadow and Twilight in their scabbards on my hips and grab my pack from Godrick’s workbench. My pack is more of a glorified satchel made of shadowy gray cloth, however, I feel that it is more than spacious enough to hold the tome. As I pick it up, I notice that Godrick has restuffed it with some basic supplies as well as two days' worth of rations. I roll up the map and stuff it on top of the bag before slinging it across my body like a quiver.
And just like that, I am ready to go. It feels surreal, I spent the past week helpless, at the mercy of whichever god controls my life, and now suddenly I am back in control, about to embark on a journey wherein I will be doing exactly what I have dedicated my life to learning. I am going to steal. Albeit, this book may be in one of the most hostile locations I’ve ever attempted to rob. Aside from the vault of King Tristan himself. But that doesn’t deter me, And if I am honest with myself, I really see no alternative. It’s this, death, or back to exile. Of my options, this somehow seems to be the most logical one.
“I shall return,” I say as a farewell to the group watching me from the table.
“May the all-loving Azhorra-Tha bless your journey and see to your safe return,” Drysten says, returning the farewell.
“In the name of the all-loving Azhorra-Tha,” the other two echo.
Knowing what I know about this supposed “all-loving” god, I shudder at the name. Nonetheless, I turn and walk out the door.
***
It's nearing mid-morning by the time I leave. And as I step out into the village of shadows, it feels somehow colder. Somehow more desolate. I know now the extent of the havoc that this village has been through. I trek carefully back through the concentric tiers of the village. The death and destruction slowly lessen as I get further from the tower until eventually, it is but a mere everpresent feeling.
After leaving the village and traveling for about a mile, I find myself surrounded by large barren fields. I understand why they are named The Fields of Despair. The fields are, like most things on this island, completely void of natural life. The grass is short, brown, and withering. Some trees dot the fields they are stripped down to twigs, barely holding on to a ruined semblance of their prior life. The whole area has a brown hue to it, accurately reflecting the feeling of a desolate wasteland. Whilst this field lies only a mile north of the White Watchtower, the dark gray haze that hangs low over the ground makes it appear to stretch for a hopelessly long time. Uninterrupted by wildlife, or nature.
I trudge on through the waist-high grass until I come to the bottom of a range of small hills which I can only assume to be the north hills that Drysten spoke of. Ascending the hill in front of me, I reach its peak and stare down into the valley below.
My attention is captured by a plume of smoke, and that’s when I see them. The Forsaken Graves. My heart drops as I realize the sheer magnitude of what I’m staring at. The Forsaken Graves are, put simply, the embodiment of death. But not the peaceful side of death. This is the grotesque, macabre side of death. And it’s horribly visceral. The rolling hills are littered with hundreds of gravestones. Some are marked, but most are not. There are graves as far as the eye can see, or at least sorry excuses for graves in the form of hundreds more shallow holes containing corpses. I see small fires burning pathetically at the bottom of piles of corpses, the thin black smoke of which blankets the horrific landscape. In the middle of all the carnage, I spot a mausoleum, presumably the one Drysten spoke of.
Its crumbling stone walls are covered in black vines. The once-white marble roof is cracked, and jagged pieces litter the ground around the structure. The door has long since fallen from its hinges, but I see a small portion of the light wood, streaked in the telltale dark crimson color of dried blood.
My eyes catch a movement amongst some of the shadows in this forsaken hollow. This movement is different, Different from that of the bloated rats that scurry around. Different than that of the flies that buzz in droves around the piles of bodies. Different even than that of the small birds that scrounge for scraps. This movement is vaguely humanoid, but it’s jerky and slow, it stays confined to the shadows. Skirting between graves and behind the barren mausoleum.
Drysten wasn’t fucking kidding. I’m kicking myself now for being arrogant and cocky, disregarding the man’s warnings. This place is absolutely nothing similar to what I’m used to. Stealth is far less viable than I would’ve liked or even dared hope.
I touch the pommel of my swords, assuring myself they are still secured to my hips. Taking one last breath of confidence, I begin my descent into hell.
I spend the first few tense moments flitting from behind grave to grave, as I patrol the perimeter of the area. Once or twice I come face to face with a bloated corpse, an encounter that fails to phase me, my mind now desensitized to this form of death. I creep deeper into the Graveyard, and that's when I hear a snap from behind me, like a twig or even a bone.
I pivot around, drawing my Twilight and Shadow. But there is nothing, dropping my body low to the ground in a defensive position, I continue to creep onward, now hyperaware of every sound around me.
Again I hear the snap, closer this time. I shoot back up, ready to fight, and not a moment too soon.
Slowly, creatures emerge from the mist. I recognize them as horribly misshapen plaguebeasts, shambling toward me. Four of them in total. One has the obvious build of a small female, a slender frame, and a small body. With a tattered and torn dress hanging from her gaunt Frame. Two of the other beasts are more adult males. Or, they used to be. Their bodies are mangled and disfigured to the point of being unrecognizable. They’re clothed in only the tattered ruins of peasant clothes, and their bodies are more torn, flesh hanging loosely from exposed bones. Joining them is a large dog-like beast, with vicious red eyes. Not the red that comes with autumn leaves, no, this is a burning, blazing red. Reminiscent of the fires of hell itself. The dog’s body, like the rest of the plague beasts, is torn and broken. Bones poke from odd angles out of its skin. Its teeth are jagged and chipped. It snarls, long ropes of saliva hanging from its gaping maw. The group of Plague Beasts moves in towards me as they attempt to form a rough semi-circle. From this close, the smell of decay and rot is somehow even more overpowering than before. These beasts should be dead. No doubt. But they’re not, and now I must send them to meet their god anew.
My first instinct is to get up high and pick these monsters off one by one, however, given my surroundings, that isn’t as easy as in the city, so I improvise.
I plant a foot in the soft dirt and take off in a sprint right at the small girl. My boots scale up her form easily, cracking bones with every step. Once my right foot reaches her shoulder, I push off, sending her body tumbling to the ground, and sending mine flying into the air. Tucking my knees into a somersault, I flip toward the dog, Shadow extended in front of my body. Then, as I watch, the orange electricity from the ritual crackles from my blade, arcing through the air and connecting with the beast. The smell of burnt flesh is barely noticeable as it mixes with the ever-present smell of decay already around me. Shadow sinks into the beast’s back directly where the lightning struck milliseconds before, and as it does so, the dog releases a terrible roar, sending viscous black saliva flying across the circle of bodies. As some of it catches on my cloak, I notice that it bores a small hole in the fabric. With Shadow now deep inside the beast, I switch my grip on the hilt and slide down its back, the skin ripping as I open a gaping wound. Dark blood begins pouring from the gash, soaking the ground where the beast falls. Turning Twilight towards the two remaining beats, I send myself spinning into the closest one, landing multiple slashes across his ragged body. He falls with a wail of agony, leaving me to face down the final beast. I turn at the last second, narrowly avoiding the sharp talons of the creature as he lunges for me. With a sickening crunch, I send a kick flying into his ribs, eliciting a yelp of pain as he attempts to catch his balance. Wheeling back around to face me, the monster prepares for another lunge. As he begins running towards me, I do the same, sprinting towards his ferocious maw. At the last possible second, I let my whole body drop, using the slight inline from the hills above to my advantage as I slide under the beast, raising both blades above me, and separating the limbs of the beast from the torso, creating a shower of gore behind me as I turn and reassume my attack stance.
My breathing is ragged and heavy as I survey the destruction of the beasts around me. All of which lay dead dying. I wipe the blood from my blades, coating the grass in even more gore before I resheathe them and continue toward the mausoleum.
By the time I reach the front steps of the ruined structure, the energy from within is something I have never felt before. It resonates through my body, like a low-toned vibration. There seems to be an absence of existence as I push past the broken doors and lay my eyes upon a large leather-bound tome with gold inlays, resting atop the sarcophagus. I reach out and touch The Tome of Knowledge.
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The world melts away around me. I no longer stand upon the cracked mausoleum floor in the Forsaken Graves. My body is taken over with weightlessness as I enter into a void filled with a complete lack of existence. Around me, stars begin to emerge, coming closer and closer to my body, their blinding bright light showering the void. As one of the stars near me, it dims and I can feel a presence radiating from it.
The light envelopes my body and I scream in agony as my whole being feels as if it is being lit aflame. I don’t know when they start, or when they end, but at some point during the burning, I begin to see visions.
The first of which takes place back in the Forsaken Graves, at a different point in time. There aren’t quite as many bodies, and the island doesn’t look nearly as desolate yet. Plague beasts charge in never-ending ranks against a small militia of humans. Amongst them, are Drysten, Godrick, and another woman whom I don’t recognize. All of their figures are cast in radiant white light. I see the woman taken over by smokey horror, her body floating above the field of battle as Drysten watches blankly, eyes completely white.
The vision shifts and now I see a bridge between the two islands, watching as an explosion echos and the bridge begins to crumble, bodies of beasts and humans alike falling into the river below.
More and more visions fly by, staying only briefly in my mind. I catch a glimpse of a massive volcano, erupting with a dark purple and black ooze. Black smoke rises in huge plumes. A white tentacle snakes out of the volcano, glistening like a pearl even through a coating of ash.
It is then that the voices begin, I hear chanting in that strange other language. The same style of chanting I heard the night of the ritual. I pick out the name I know all too well at this point, “Azhorra-Tha.” A name that is repeated ad nauseam as the burning finally subsides.
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Back on the cold concrete floor of the mausoleum, I find myself on my knees, curled up, and clutching The Tome of Knowledge, still open in my arms. Looking down at the yellowing pages, my heart catches in my throat.
There, staring back at me from the page, in a beautiful sketch, rendering every part of her beauty, no different from the day she left, is Valena.