The evening began as it normally would for the king: He has dinner with his close associates in the town square; heads to the altar to pay tribute to his god, Atraxa; then heads into his personal chambers. His gaze sweeps along the stone walls, shedding his black cloak once he deems his surroundings safe. His brown hair falls to the middle of his neck and he lets out a tired sigh. He runs his hands through shadowed tendrils that emanate from the cloak as it hits the ground. It slowly fades away and the shadows seek other shadows the candlelight casts on the room around him. The king’s gaze turns to his shadow coated hand. It was a familiar warmth to him, much like the candlelight or the fireplaces he warms his hands over. The shadow snakes down his arm, bringing the heat with it and the bitter cold on the areas it leaves behind.
Laying on a hook near the door lies his personal bathrobe. The red and gold colored fur is twinged with thin branching dark veins that take up the entirety of the bottom edge of the robe. Pinned on the left side is a gold emblem. Taking up the center is a multi-walled city carved around a mountain. Four beings surround the city with their arms interlocked. Standing behind them are four other larger and more extravagant looking beings. They each have a hand on the shoulder of the being they are standing behind. The king walks to the robe and puts it on, the veins flaring to life and filling the cloak with heat.
Ice, rain, and snow drum up against the sides of the tower he calls home. Outside, the city lights reflect off the half-frozen water. The city itself looks essentially dead. The few who wander outside step carefully, occasionally slipping on ice the wanderers did not see. Secretly, the king wonders if they were of his kind or not. He had no trouble making the trip to the tower when the storm hit.
Why did they not see? He thinks. They should have seen. He shivers gently and heads to bed, sitting down in it. The king closes his eyes, then lays down on the bed. The heat from the robe quickly knocks him out, sending him into a deep and dreamless sleep, or so he usually thinks.
To the northwest, where the vast swaths of plains meet the forest, a shadow horse and his rider gallop down a well-traveled road. Shadows trail behind the horse with every move it makes. The rider is a large and well-cloaked man with no visible facial features. His left hand is placed on the horse’s neck, while the right is holding a dark grey dagger. As his surroundings fade into dense forest, he urges the horse on, eager to get out of these woods. He knows the night creatures are hungry, but does not fear them. A shiver runs up his spine, his right hand aiming at a rapidly approaching bush. Soundlessly, he flicks the dagger as he passes by the bush. A roar breaks the silence, followed by the sound of paws hitting the forest floor. The being rolls his eyes, a second dagger appearing in his hand. He shifts his upper body a bit, throwing the dagger at the wild creature’s neck and sensing it sink in.
Foolish creature, He thinks. You cannot hide from me. He extends his senses out towards the slain creature. The heat of the creature’s body and the blood fills him with some level of comfort. Opposing the comforts were the creature’s last thoughts and intentions, and with it a sense of understanding. The man knew the feeling of hunger and the accompanying drive to get rid of it. In the creature’s eyes, it was only wanting to survive.
Yes, I see now. The land will accept your sacrifice. He thinks. After a snap of his fingers, the daggers jump back to his side and are placed inside their respective holsters. He runs a hand along his left leg to confirm that the daggers made it to their correct position. From there, his thoughts turn to his destination. He notices that the trees are becoming more and more spaced out and familiar to him. As he approaches the regional capital, carvings on tree trunks pass by him in a blur. Hanging on those branches are a number of necklaces, rings, and metal bracelets. Carved on each accessory is a date and a name, most of which he has already memorized.
Ahead of him, the forest breaks into a large clearing. In the center sits a large and well-decorated evergreen tree. Encircling it are floating orbs that emit light, but the figure did not need the light to see what was on the tree. Painted strips of gold and silver metal line the needles, depicting small but readable scenes of peacetime in the capitol and the forest near it. The most prevalent scene is himself and ten others standing around a bonfire in the center of the city. The full moon shines above the fire, bathing the area in its silver light. The man is looking towards the sky as a comet passes overhead.
Paintings to either side of the centerpiece show scenes of feasts, dancing, and storytelling in the capitol square. The being slows his horse down and looks at the tree. He smiles fondly, then urges the horse down the trail. He only stops when the forest gives way to flat grasslands. There, his gaze falls on a gated wall that is as dark as the night around it. The shadows under the overhang at the top of the wall shifts as if it is alive. As it skirts past a torch by the gate, the flame flickers and dims noticeably. A guard wandering behind the parapet stops and turns toward the horse and rider. He calls down to a pair of guards standing behind the gate, who then motions to the visitor to come closer.
A gentle shiver runs up the visitor’s spine. They accept, He thinks. He calls for the horse to head for the gate and the horse complies. The ground-level guards keep a close eye on the visitor as they simultaneously grab cranks hanging along the interior of the wall. The gate slowly rises from the ground as they crank. The visitor passes under it and dismounts. With a whisper, the horse fades away, its energy returning to him. It fills him with warmth and brings focus to his tired mind. Riding six hours across three different towns would normally be a stress-free experience, but he was stopped multiple times. Those that halted his journey did not listen to his protestations. People, He thinks bitterly. They see a god and don’t listen.
A guard approaches him and taps him on the shoulder. “Atraxa,” The guard bows at him.
“Where is the king?” He asks swiftly. “I need to meet with him immediately. Take me to him.” The guard obediently leads him through the quiet capital streets. Most of the houses lining the streets have no lights on, in contrast with the orbs illuminating the streets. Atraxa’s gaze locks onto two tall castle towers in the center of town. A purple glow emanates from two large crystals sitting inside the rooms at the top of the towers.
The stained glass surrounding one depicts Atraxa coming down from the heavens and coronating the first king. On the adjacent tower, the first king and three others stand in a circle while the two towers form right in front of them. Their surroundings are as dark as any moonless night would be. A red sun shines in the image, its rays doing nothing but hitting the darkness and falling prey to it. The next panel is split into two parts. One shows the formation of the two purple crystals alongside the towers. The second denotes seven beings inserting the crystals into a clear capsule.
The black brick on the towers look as if they absorbed all light around them. Ringed around the tower and constructed out of thicker brick is the tower base itself. Gentle blue and orange light is casted on ivory plaques commemorating the tower's creation:
Let it be that on the first anniversary of our creation, the two towers henceforth known as Ka and Dara, shall serve as the Light and the Stars that guide us home.
Let it be that on the fifth month of our first year, I, Kha, the first of the Drael and the First King, hereby name this city Drae Lanor as the capitol of Kha'An. We have came from nothing, from no one. The only masters we have is ourselves and our dear creator. From non-existence, we rise up and claim this land as our own
May peace eternally shine on this land, and may Atraxa bless us.
Atraxa remembered the words being etched on the ivory. The joy and pride of the townsfolk welled up inside him that very day. He remembered that it nearly brought him to tears. With a blink, and a shake of his head, the god focuses on more current affairs.
A second tingle up his spine alerts him to the shadows starting to shift in fundamental ways. A vision of a clearing halfway across the continent enters his headspace. Shadows the moonlight casts on the trees bend and shift to the center of the clearing. The god begins feeling tense from these visions. They only survive until Atraxa enters the central square.
The central square's centerpiece is the two towers. Between them, an illuminated fountain sits. Water spews out of the mouths of two oppositely colored dragons. A white dragon's left wing and tail is firmly wrapped around the black dragon's body. Their faces are identical down to the scales and ram-like horns protruding off either side of their forehead. The black dragon's claws look as though they can cut through the strongest steel, while the opposite dragon's claws and spikes are a lot more dull and refined. Their red and blue eyes gaze upon the base of the towers. Blue and red light reflects off their metal claws, spikes, and horns. The statue gives off an air of realism around it, as if the dragons themselves could come to life and protect the towers and the townsfolk themselves.
Atraxa steps into the protective aura the dragons emit and relaxes into it. With a snap of his fingers, the white dragon's left hindpaw twitches with a metallic creak. His guide stops when Atraxa passes by him. He sits next to the fountain, placing his hand on the white dragon's wing. Atraxa gives it a gentle pet before heading up to the base of the left tower.
The man carefully maneuvers around some of the icier spots on the tower steps. He walks along the tower base until he reaches a well-lit wooden door. Opening it soundlessly, he steps into a small passageway. He sheds his soaked cloak, smoothing back his long black hair in the process. A new cloak forms around Atraxa's body when the old cloak is placed down on wet stone flooring by the door. Slowly, Atraxa ascends the staircase.
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He must be asleep. There is no way the king is up this late, Atraxa thinks. Well, then I guess he's in for a rude awakening. Gods do not sleep, nor should kings. A gust of wind blows some water onto his cloak as he passes by a tower window. Atraxa sticks a hand out into the water, looking at his hand as he withdraws it. He shakes off his hand, then continues his trek up. At the top of the tower is a hatch on the ceiling and a large wooden door in front of Atraxa.
"Wake up, Raedel" Atraxa knocks hard against the door. The king snaps awake, scrambling to his feet and opening the door. Raedel blinks a few times and gasps upon seeing who is at the door. He swiftly bows.
"My lord," He says in awe. "You're here? Here at this ungodly hour even?"
"You and I need to have a chat," Atraxa says calmly. "Sit down, please." He motions to the bed. Raedel nods, yawning and sitting on a pillow. Atraxa sits facing Raedel at the foot of the bed. Both sit in silence for a few moments as each contemplate the other's next move. Atraxa breaks the silence with a soft sigh.
"The shadows are shifting. A... A mass movement to a clearing halfway across the damn continent," Atraxa says. Raedel leans forward, interest lighting up in his eyes.
"That is days away, my lord," Raedel quips. "We can't pool up resources for something that close by and so far away at the same time. If we can't be there for this birth, then what can we do?"
Atraxa leans back. "Dispatch a few riders to the birth location with orders to track it. If we can't get the newborn Drael into the capitol, then we have to make sure they are safe."
Raedel understands where Atraxa is coming from. His kind has not had a birth in a year. Hearing that there is another one coming puts his mind at ease a bit. Yet, surely this must mean something for the future, Rae? Surely, this means that danger is afoot. You hear the stories. Raedel shakes his head, forcibly shutting down the train of thought before paranoia sets in.
"Ah, yes Raedel. I get it," Atraxa's hand moves on top of Raedel's. It is cold, clammy, and yet there is a sense of warmness to it. Raedel takes Atraxa's hand into his own and cups his other hand over it.
"You... do?" He asks. "You... do understand these thoughts I'm having?"
"Why of course. I have them too when I learn about these sorts of things. Hold your head up high and look to the future. We will grow in strength and influence." Atraxa pats at Raedel's hand. "I would ask you about your partner, but you have things to take care of. I will be at the altar if you need me." The god disappears, black smoke swirling around in the wake of the teleportation.
With a sigh, Raedel stands up and does his god's bidding.
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In a clearing far to the east, shadows from the moon cast a black haze over the ground. Silvery light illuminates the haze as it slowly builds up toward the treetops. An easterly breeze sends leaves scattering towards the shadows, where they fade away and join the shadows and the mist. It expands outward and upward, taking any life the mist touches and converting it into energy it can use.
A deer laying nearby lifts its head. Slowly, the mist brushes up against the deer's tail and slowly disintegrates it. A burning sensation is felt by the creature. The burning is followed by fear and an intense drive to get away from the killer mist. It gives into these desires, choosing to follow a trail it created earlier. Other creatures are not so lucky. Birds nesting in trees become aware of the mist as it swallows them. Bats fly into the mist without knowing it is there. Thin bones fall onto the dirt that was once home to grass, flowers, and the insects that fed off of them and each other. The owls and squirrels that remain on the trees are also taken by the mist.
As time passes, expansion slows, then comes to a halt. A northern gust hits the clearing, beginning to agitate the dark smoke. The mist starts to circulate counterclockwise. Towards the center, additional dark energy begins oozing from the ground. The energy propels upward, kicking up dust and forming a dark and shimmering shell in its wake. Similar smaller shells spring up in a circle around the main one. The mist swirls more violently as more and more energy is added into the system.
Wind blows hard against tree branches, ripping out the smaller ones and scattering them around the area. Creatures cautiously creeping back to the clearing are forced back deeper into the forest when shadow-charged dust pelts at the trees and the ground nearby. As soon as the dust hits organic matter, shadow energy is injected into it and begins to consume the material. A disintegrating branch rubs against another tree trunk, sending the energy into that tree. It continues to spread to trees directly touching the ones being disintegrated until none remain.
Above the clearing, clouds begin to build up from the local instability. Humans inside a small bandit camp a few miles away hear the sound of thunder from the cloud system. Their eyes turn to the sky and see no clouds. Guards patrolling the perimeter are stopped by the distant sounds. They have heard no word of approaching storms from Elven forecasters. A man with short blond hair sits by a campfire, cleaning off a suit of leather armor. A guard approaches him and informs him of the thunder in the camp.
"It's too late for this shit, Merceus," The bandit leader skeptically raises an eyebrow at the guard. "You sure you haven't been drinking?"
"Positive, sir. I heard it to the south. Ask any guard around here and they will tell you that," Merceus replies with a steely gaze. The bandit leader eyes him closely and finds no deception in his eyes.
"Fine. Send scouts in the morning," He waves Merceus away, turning his gaze turning to the campfire. The leader opens a pouch strapped to his waist, taking out a whiskey flask and downing it to stem the uncertainty and worry in his mind before it further clouds his judgment.
With a flash of lightning and the accompanying crack, the shadow mist and the shells fade away. Moonlight shines on the clearing, illuminating a cloaked black haired man, two daggers, a short sword, and a leather bag. The cacophony that made up his immediate surroundings is long gone. Dimly, the sounds of the few displaced creatures are heard by the man. Layering over the sparse sounds are crickets and frogs, undisturbed by the life stealing force that ravaged the clearing life was created in.
One of the man's fingers shakily brushes against the dirt. With a heavy gasp, the man sits up, breathing heavily. His gaze frantically sweeps across the clearing, an unexplained feeling of terror coming over him. His body starts to shake more.
Where am I? Where in the hell am I? No, not where. Who? Who am I? He scrambles for one of the daggers by his side and stabs it into the ground. A shadow pulse rockets out, taking his frantic thoughts and feelings with it. Left behind is a comforting void; a sense of clarity and great caution; and a deep, unexplainable longing for something to be by his side.
No. Now is not the time to think these thoughts, He thinks. There is a time for that later. There will always be a time for skepticism. The man closes his eyes and begins to hone in on his emotions. His hands drift to the bag, opening it up without much trouble. He starts to toss the bag's contents all over the clearing. Vials of silver, red, and gold liquid fly out and settle onto the ground. Following the vials are three hunting daggers, a spool of bowstring, and a locked wood box. His hand scrapes against a wooden key and pulls it out. In the moonlight, he cannot seem to pick out many details on the key. His hand runs over the unique teeth of the key. Without thinking, he sticks the key into the keyhole and twists it. Hearing a click, he opens the box.
The first thing he notices is the reflection of a distorted moon staring back at him. Inside the box is a perfectly smooth sphere as silver as the moonlight itself. He picks it up, finding it light in his hands. When he knocks on it, no echo is heard. Instead, the sphere rolls out of his hand seemingly by its own will. It hits the ground by his feet. Slowly, it rolls to the clearing edge. The man stands and follows it.
What the hell? He thinks. First I wake up with no knowledge, and then a freaky sphere seems to have a mind of its own? Just what even is all this? The thoughts frustrate him a bit. He stops a foot or so behind the sphere, then kneels.
All at once, cracks and pits appear on the sphere's surface. Two large square-shaped surface pieces pivot outwards on a side facing him and the opposite side. A skinnier rectangular piece juts out between the two on the backside of the sphere. Relatively small cubic pieces of all three parts travel around the sphere and orient themselves. The cubes stop after around a second when the two square segments take the shape of a dragon's wing and the rectangular one the shape of a dragon's tail. To make the point, a few cubes are cut in half diagonally. They travel to the tail segment right when the bottom of the sphere starts to unfurl and shape itself into the lower half of a dragon.
The man watches as, if in a flash, the dragon's legs are created in front of him. The shape of the back, neck, and head come quickly after. Large swaths of the untouched areas are unfolded, torn apart, and sculpted onto other parts to build them up and expand them. Two panels slide out on the dragon's head. Hiding behind them is an eye-shaped panel of tiny lights. The dragon's mouth opens, revealing pointed teeth and an organic tongue. The panel of lights flick on, then begin to flash in a number of patterns and colors before settling on red. The remaining cubes scattered throughout its body withdraw into panels that slide out.
It taps each claw into the ground, flicks its tail a few times, then settles its steely gaze onto him. A monotone female voice comes out of her mouth: "Matthew. You're Matthew. You look like a Matthew to me."
The man blinks, then frowns at the dragoness. "And who are you to make such a-" His eyes widen a bit. A feeling of anger washes over him. He manages to squash it down and dig past it. Confusion in his mind still reigns. Deeper in are feelings that he can't seem to recognize: Confusion towards himself.
No, that's not me... is it? Can't be. He thinks. He shakes his head and grunts. "Are you confused?" He asks. The dragoness blinks, tilting her head a bit at him, then suddenly skitters back until her tail bumps into a tree. A spooked feeling bubbles up in the man.
She can feel me? He asks himself, shocked that this can be a thing. What? How? I can feel her too. The man shakes his head, stepping back a few times and sitting down. He takes a moment to take all of this in. A dragoness was born in front of his eyes from something that should absolutely not house one. This was a dragoness that could apparently sense the most personal things he had aside from his thoughts. His world is only as big as the clearing he is sitting in, and it is already overwhelming him. To ward off panic, he gathers one of the hunting daggers in his hand and stares at the black handle. The handle itself is a perfect fit for his hands. He clenches his hand around the handle and shuts his eyes.
The movement of grass and fluttering of wings leave him lost. He wondered if he scared off the dragoness. He then shakes his head and stabs the dagger into the ground. A second pulse rockets out and calms him down. He probes her emotions and finds a need of food. The man's stomach growls.
Matthew... He licks his lips. Boring name for a boring guy. Fine. It fits. She would call me by it no matter what name I choose. The bitterness in his thoughts echo what he feels about her. Name me? I didn't even get to pick! I don't even have a choice in this! He grips the handle tightly once more.
As the moon slides across the sky, his emotions quiet down. His breathing becomes shallower and he finds himself drifting into a meditative state.