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Under The Great Hollowed Tree
I take a sudden breath of the night air, awoken from my nap by the sounds of far-off shouting. Val stirs next to me, moonlight cascading across her body from far above.
“What’s wrong, love?” She murmurs, still on the edge of sleep.
“Voices,” I say, keeping my voice low but my tone urgent.
“Shit.”
Val rises from our makeshift bed of moss and fresh leaves, cursing under her breath.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” I ask, my body and mind now both fully awake.
“Remember how I told you I got these swords from a job I did up north?” She asks, pulling on her clothes and strapping on her sword belt.
` “Yes… what of it?”
“There’s a group of mercenaries up north, they call themselves The Hand of Frost. I killed their leader and raided their treasury. Wherein I found those swords. At first, they thought it to be the work of an opposing faction, The Snowdrift Sentinels, but quite soon, after some violent diplomacy, realized they were wrong, and the two factions joined forces to hunt down the person responsible. A scouting party found me a three days’ ride from the settlement of Glacier’s Peak, and whilst I was able to easily dispatch their unskilled warriors, doing so angered the factions even further. I thought I lost them after a six days’ ride across the rocky plains of the west, but apparently, they found me.”
“So what should we do?” I ask, mildly upset with Val for not telling me this information sooner.
“You.” She says, pausing to emphasize her point, “Will do absolutely nothing.”
“The hell I won’t!”
“This is a problem of my own creation. Not yours. Therefore I shall deal with it.”
“You could die!” I’m almost crying at this point, her words sting more and more with every passing beat.
“A risk I have assessed and understood since the moment I joined the guild.” She replies, a hint of agitation creeping into her voice.
“At least allow me to help,” I beg, strapping on my new swords, and readying myself for combat.
“You, Draven Lightfoot, will take yourself and go back to Danor. NOW!” She shouts the last word, her voice echoing through the tree, and it sinks into me like a knife.
The voices from outside draw closer, I hear muffled shouts, words mixing and melding together, all of them containing violent undertones directed towards Valena. I throw one last cascading look around the hollow, cast in the moonlight from high above. Searching desperately in my mind for something, anything, any reason to stay and help Val.
Sighing, I look back at Val, locking my gaze with hers. Her eyes glimmer in the dim light, the color of fresh coffee.
“As you wish.” I reluctantly sigh, the weight of the situation crushing me. I love her too much to disobey her wishes, likewise, I love her too much to leave her. A double-edged sword, the worst of the worst.
A solitary tear rolls from my eye as I grab my pack, and sling it over my shoulder. I scale up part of the tree and exit the hollow on the tree’s eastern side, opposite from the incoming mercenaries. I pause one last time, looking back at Val as she slinks out of the hollow below me.
It is not my lack of faith in her ability to fight which hurts me. It is her refusal to accept my help which hurts more than any wound I have ever suffered. But, I believe in her ability to fend off a small party of unskilled mercenaries, and if she doesn’t want me involved, then I will unwillingly comply with her wish.
I take off into the forest, circling around towards Danor, my feet pounding on the hard dirt of the forest floor.
A scream echoes through the forest, high-pitched and full of agony. I recognize that it is not Val’s and a wave of relief rushes through my body. I hear the far-off clash of swords, then a loud booming fills the forest. I see a great blue flame rising from the forest behind me. Its frosty blue light illuminates the base of the Great Hollowed Tree.
I see Val, her sword raised, deep in a crowd of blue-cloaked men. She fights with all the ferocity and tenacity that she can muster, but sheer numbers seem to be overwhelming her. Not to mention the blue flame which has erupted into a smaller fire at the base of the Great Hollowed Tree.
Damn the Gods! I stop dead in my tracks, my boots sliding before I come to a complete stop. I cannot stand idly by and watch as she fights for her life. I tell myself, regardless of the consequences, I have to help. And with that thought driving my entire body, I spin around and go rocketing back through the tightly knit trees of the forest towards the conflict.
I arrive at the outermost edge of the fight and quickly and quietly sink Shadow into two of the blue-cloaked men without being seen, ending their lives in a matter of seconds. My form is hidden amongst the shadows, illuminated only on occasion by the iridescent blue flame which is ravenously eating its way up the trunk of the Great Hollowed Tree.
By now, I have infiltrated the outermost circle of the fight, and I have an unblocked view of Val as she furiously fights through the horde in front of her, taking on a defensive stance atop a high root.
I count twenty bodies at her feet, and the pile only keeps growing as she slaughters more of the untrained warriors who dare attempt to dethrone her position atop the root.
Two words are shouted across the clearing, “igni impes!” The source of the words is a man in a darker robe than the rest, who stands on the fringes of battle. In his gnarled hands, he holds a great staff, the top of which radiates a bright blue and purple light.
It’s that very moment in which the blue flame, which has been only a minor inconvenience thus far, begins to spread across the base of the tree with reckless abandon. The fallen leaves of the forest floor begin to catch and burn where the flame touches them, casting everything in the same blue and purple light of the man’s staff.
I lunge for the man, hoping that killing him will end the spell of the flame. But, as soon as I get close, blade outstretched and aiming for the man’s head, I am knocked back by an invisible force. My body is filled with an icy sensation as I fly through the air, landing some distance away from the spellcaster on the hard rocky bank of the Tranquil Creek.
As I try to rise, my left side erupts in an icy pain. Looking down reveals three deep parallel gashes which are scored across my left ribs. I reach down in an attempt to wipe away some of the blood that is pooling on my body, and I am shocked to feel the wounds radiating an icy chill. Valena was right, I shouldn’t have tried to fight The Hand of Frost. But I couldn’t just leave her to die, and if I am to die defending her, it would be noble, this I know. And that is the singular thought that allows me to push my freezing, bleeding body up from the slippery rocks below me.
Staggering under my own weight, I push my body towards the ever-thinning circle of blue-robed men. Valena is still fighting valiantly at the center of the mass, her form outlined by the ever-growing blue flame wrapping its way around the Great Hollowed Tree.
I look at her, our eyes lock for a mere second and I see horror flash across her face, marring her gorgeous features. However, she has no time to focus on me because she is still fighting for her life.
Her sword is a blur as it flies through the air, clashing against the steel swords of her assailants. Blood soaks the roots at her feet, and is running in rivers from the bodies which pile at her feet. She chances one more glance at me, still desperately stumbling towards the fight, and I scream her name as a blast of the blue magical energy flies from the man with the staff and hits her dead in the back.
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Val’s body goes flying from the high root of her final stand. The blue light wraps itself around her like tentacles. Capturing each of her limbs and restricting her movement. As her body lands towards the outer edges of the circle of blue flame, she cries out in pain. Then with one final breath, slipping into unconsciousness, she tells me for the last time, “I love you, Draven Lightfoot.”
I am broken. Not only in my body but in my mind as well. Every fiber of my being breaks watching Val slip into unconsciousness which borders on death. The pain is horrific and gut-wrenching, akin to none I, or anyone else, has ever felt before. There are feelings of loss, of failure, of disappointment which all blend together and take over every last inch of my body. I crumble to my knees, defeated and sobbing. I puke, violently and suddenly, all over both myself and the hard dirt at my feet. I crawl over to Valena’s body, my wounds still bleeding, the coldness creeping over my body as well. And, as I place one hand over hers, I too slip into unconsciousness.
When I awake in the morning, Val is gone, but another figure stands over my body, roughly shaking me awake.
“Hey, mate! Rough night?” He asks, oblivious to the large gashes, just beginning to coagulate, on my side.
“Who… are… you?” I gasp through ragged breaths.
“Names Thorin mate,” He replies, offering his hand to me, “Thorin Ironblood.”
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The cold stone floor of the mausoleum grounds me in reality as I stare open-mouthed at the sketch of Valena, staring back at me from the pages of the tome.
Why would she be here? I ask myself. Who saw her? When? All questions flying through my head as I look at the sketch of Val.
Shakily, I stand up, outside the forsaken graves the world has begun to grow dark, and the ever-present fog rolling over the hills obscures my vision in the early evening hours. Doing the math means that I have been unconscious, locked in the void of visions for more than seven hours. I curse outwardly and kick a loose stone at my feet, sending it clattering off into the overgrowth outside.
I need to get answers, and the only people who have those answers are currently part of a weird cult to whom I owe my life.
“As if this situation couldn't get any worse,” I mutter to myself angrily, stepping out of the cathedral and into the graveyard. I take a deep breath of the early evening air and begin my return journey to the White Watchtower.
The trek back through the fields is even more desolate and lonely than before. Whereas in the morning sunlight, I could see the semblance of life clinging onto the edges of reality, the darkening world makes that damn near impossible now.
At long last I approach the Village of Light again, and as I look up at the White Watchtower, for the briefest second, I see a large tentacle wrapped around it. Radiant, and full of energy. I blink and it’s gone. But still, it’s weird. Picking my way back through the Village of Light, I note that the bodies are now all standing, staring at me with lifeless eyes. But they all lay just out of focus. The moment I focus my eyes on a single entity, the image of a standing corpse is replaced with the actuality of a body lying in the desolate remains.
I take in all of these oddities and make mental note of them, I wonder if they are waking nightmares, a byproduct of my time spent in the void of visions. All of these thoughts swirl through my head as I reach the watchtower and raise a hand to knock on the heavy wooden door. Which, for a moment, appears rotted and broken. Before appearing as itself again.
Before I even knock, Drysten opens the door and stares at my gore-soaked frame.
“Do you have the book?” He asks frantically.
I produce the book from my bag and begin to hand it over to him, watching his eyes grow wide as he lays his sight on it.
“Perfect.” Drysten purrs, reaching hungrily for the large leather-bound tome.
“Stop!” I command, pulling the tome away from his greedy grasp. “I have some questions before I hand this back over.”
No sooner have I finished my sentence, Drysten lurches violently toward me, grasping desperately at the air between the tome and himself.
“All your questions will be answered,” he snarls, “just give me the tome.”
“I won’t.”
“You said that you would! Traitor! TRAITOR!” He screams the last word, causing a nearby pack of vultures to take flight, screeching into the black sky.
“I am no traitor.” I spit back at him, malice dripping from every syllable, “I simply have questions. And you damn well better have answers, or I will burn your precious little book, along with everything inside of it.”
“No… not the book.” Drysten cowers away from me, hands raised as if he expects to be hit, “Anything, what do you want to know?” He whispers, shaking like a terrified animal.
“There’s a sketch, in the book, a sketch of a very notable woman, her name is Valena Bladesong. How do you know her?”
Drysten pauses, before breaking out into a long pitiful wail. “She came here nigh on two years ago. She was brought by The Hand of Frost, whose members are long since either dead or gone. As for this woman, Valena, under direction from the Covenant, she traveled north, in search of the Ichor of the Voidflower. Supposedly an ingredient used in the cure for the plague. However, she has not been seen since she set out for the Castle of Miracles almost a year ago. That’s all I know, I swear!”
He resumes his cowering, his body tense and small in the shadow of the tower.
“Where’s this Castle of Miracles?” I ask, not caring about Drysten’s deteriorating mental state.
“North. Past the Illusionary Forest.” He croaks. “But you’d be crazy to go north of the Forsaken Graves.”
“And you’d be crazy to try and stop me.” I snap back at him. “But pray tell, what is it that lies north of the graveyard that scares you so horribly?”
Drysten perks up from the corner slightly, locking his eyes on The Tome of Knowledge. “In the book.” he says, keeping his eyes locked on the book, “all the information is in the book,” he gestures hopefully at the tome still clutched in my arms. “May I see?”
Reluctantly I hand the tome over to Drysten, watching him intently as he flips through the pages, most of which are filled with indecipherable words and symbols. However, certain repeated symbols stand out to me, specifically an eye, large, bulbous, and yellow, which seems to appear every few pages of the tome.
Drysten stops on a page about halfway through the tome and begins to read aloud.
“The Castle of Miracles is a vast, castle located on the northernmost tip of the eastern isle The Castle of Miracles is named so because it is the only place on the East rumored to hold the cure for the plague, a magical flower, known as the Voidflower, the ichor of which is said to have extreme healing properties and possibly act as a cure for the plague. Before the plague, the castle was home to King Magnus of the White Crown. Known for being a fair and generous ruler, Magnus was once king of The Isles. However, he was tragically assassinated by a member of The Cult of the Wandering Soul once the plague broke out. The Cult of the Wandering Soul then trapped a corrupted version of the King’s soul who now rules over the castle. The bidding of Magnus is carried out by The Cult of the Wandering Soul.”
Drysten pauses after reading and looks up at me expectantly.
“If you think your fairytales will scare me off, you’re sorely mistaken.” I reply matter-of-factly, “If there is even the smallest possibility that Valena is in this castle, then that’s where I’m heading. Nothing you say or do will dissuade me.”
I reach into my bag, producing the map, and unrolling it, I scan the northern parts of the Eastern Isle. Just above the Forsaken Graves, I see a scattering of black trees, drawn in with long gnarled branches. The banner running through the trees reads ‘The Illusionary Forest.’ And north of the trees is a large castle, the gold lettering above it denoting it as my primary destination, ‘The Castle of Miracles.’
“Tell me more about this ‘Illusionary Forest’ north of the graves,” I tell Drysten, leaving no room for argument.
He frantically flips pages in the Tome of Knowledge, landing on the desired page, and he again begins to read aloud.
“Created by dark magic after the outbreak of the plague, the Illusionary Forest lies just north of the Forsaken Graves. It’s said that the woods are home to the lost souls who died of the plague and were left unburied and forgotten. Ghosts and Specters populate the area and make it almost impossible to navigate through the woods and its accompanying fog. It is said but not proven that ethereal forms hide deep within the trees and speak to lost travelers, inviting them into the heart of the woods. According to past members of The Covenant who were brave enough to travel the woods in the early days of the plague, the heart of the woods is home to a haunting corporeal monster who wields twin swords of ice, said to slice through flesh with the greatest of ease.”
I sigh exasperatedly. “So you’re telling me that the further north I travel, the more fucked up the fairytales become?” I ask, not expecting an answer. “That’s just wonderful.”
Drysten looks me over, then without a word, he slams the book shut and scurries inside the tower, clutching the book in his arms.
I follow. Stepping over the threshold of the tower, I notice that something feels different, the air is somehow more charged, electric even. Drysten is crouched over the workbench quietly reading from The Tome of Knowledge. I brush past him and head upstairs, I’m exhausted from a long day and my bed looks inviting. But right now I need someplace quiet to think about all of the cracks beginning to form, shattering reality as I know it.
I ascend the ladder to the roof and let the night air wash over me as I settle my body down, my head racing.
First, there was the Plaguebeast which attacked me the first day I got here. I never remember seeing anything like that in Danor. The closest I ever got was the beasts trapped by wandering magic wielders, shown off in cages at the city fair. Next, I remember the strange word that Tulip whispered over me, ‘Fhtagn’, her use of the word causing me to fall asleep instantly. Furthermore, the name Azhorra-Tha is one that I cannot seem to escape. From observation, I understand that the name is in some way connected to a god or goddess worshipped by the people within The Covenant. Yet its true meaning is still unclear to me. Then, of course, there was the ritual I witnessed on my second night here, the odd horror that possessed Tulip, Godrick, and Drysten with the orange lightning. The same orange lightning that flew from Shadow’s tip earlier today. All of these events seem to have culminated in my time spent within the void of visions. Those visions resulted from my contact with The Tome of Knowledge. The book which damn near drove Drysten mad when I withheld it from him.
It’s hard to draw any conclusions from these events, they are all odd and off-putting in their own way. But, there seems to be a common thread connecting all of them. This island seems to be inhabited by a higher power, a power still beyond my comprehension.
However, I don’t believe that I want to understand this power. If it has the ability to drive an entire island to ruin, then I know for sure it could kill me in mere seconds. Now, my only objective is to find Val and escape this island once and for all.