From ashes

Chapter 4

We set off to find our kings “nightmare”. Several nights in season, the king's banquets known throughout the territories as a spirited gala of ceremony (and sometimes ill-repute), have become nothing now but a kingdom left in ruins, filled with a graveyard of my kinfolk before the night's end. My liege’s fear of this being, this “Grendel” is believed to be what has been terrorizing our lands. This Grendel must be vanquished. Our spirits expressed the concerns of many, whom in our provinces now realize that what we are in perilous search of this beast only witnessed by the dead that experienced its wrath. My colleagues, appointed by the king to assist me on my quest, have solicited my lordship with urgency to act as guides with the task to track down this creature and destroy it. They seem to have a certain familiarity with this Grendel. They (my companions) claim its existence (spawned from drunken bards and children's fables) to be of a different nature. These myths have festered into reality. A reality that spread like plague throughout the decrepit kingdoms and forgotten lands that creatures alike and such as this have survived the “century wars” which after the great battles between kingdoms, in what now remains of these regions, war-torn still and in ashes. These lands we travel today jointly will soon behold what terrorizes our people, regardless the nature or being. It matters not., I will allow this monster no further premise or cause in our lands. The days of its feasting on my kin are over. With our steeds, we set off from the Kettle-whistle Inn; where my oldest and most trusted friend, Chēmosh, said his goodbyes and reminded me to always “thrust-thrust-kick” when in combat. Perhaps he feels I am careless and quick to run in battle without him, being we fought so many together. My thoughts of home have become more focused, more so on our task as midday’s travels continued into the countryside. The one, only known as “D” so far, and whose name, by his demands, never be uttered ever in his presence; “I feel its life-beat,” whispered callously. “Quiet! You sense nothing but remembrance, and it has a name, and he has been awaiting us, as long as we are, for him”. The weakened response the mage extended left him twisting in agony, coughing while spitting up more blood, and collapsing into the hallows of the dead thistle. “What good is staying obscured within the night's shivering embrace when the spattered scent of your imminent death that you spew gives prelude to our intent, my venerable master”, D hissed with hesitancy. They both speak of “it” or “he” to themselves, as if they perceive what or whom we are searching for. “It smells us, our fear, as we draw closer. It knows we are near”, I stated. They glanced at each other. The type of glance that almost implied that I am a fool for stating such things. Both of my beleaguered companions present a necessity in discovering this creature; unknowingly to its purpose. They appear to keep a separate agenda then mine, which was appointed. Their actions suggest, however, a commitment in finding this mythic entity, and ridding it of our lands. I experienced what the stories are and what it’s suspected to be, but dare not say. Such creatures do not exist. Through the countryside, now exhausted after a full day's march that lead us to an embankment near a stream and underneath a canopy of oak trees, we stopped. I noticed the nocturnal air thicken to a dense vapor. “We must stay concealed and rest here until sunrise”. I watched as both of them, without trespass, collapse from exhaustion. Mental exhaustion, not physical, and both awaited my next decision in silence. “We’ll make camp here tonight”. As dusk few remaining rays of light gave form to the shadows of night's embrace, I built a fire. The fire flickered setting the ambiance underneath the trees, with the blackness of nighttime creeping in, a distant early warning of thunder lurked beyond the horizon. “We must not give way to our presence, despite our urgency' dulling the glow of the embers on the campfire. I untucked my bedroll, placing it in between two small mounds, forcing me ground height at all times just beneath fog’s horizon, and is easier to keep a mindful eye on those who I’ve just met two days before, or anything else that might prevent me from what seems now to be my destiny. I observed my two companions while sharpening my broadsword, wondering how they impose to battle, and what with, whatever lies ahead of us? The magi displayed only a walking stick or as he called it a “staff”. Neither brandished any belongings save the staff, except several pouches carrying (only they knew) items to provide them with their daily or endeavors. Fine, let them engage in with words and a long stick. They seem confidant with only what they have, so I guess I’ll have to wait and see. With the fire now only a deep glow, I removed my helm and let the warmth of the fire hit my face. Blisters had formed on my brow from its permanent fixture to my head, but its warmth felt good against the chill of the midnight. With my pack as a pillow, I retired into the earth. I unwrapped some salted eel and honey coated Malynx bread (best in the kingdom) that I had kept from the king's jubilee held in my highest honor the night before. I believed it to be a fool's errand then, but today realize something fated me to this, and know it to have been so my entire life. “Do either of you want any”, I asked, knowing both would refuse and only would consume whatever they have concealed in their little pouches themselves. I chuckled to myself about this for some reason as I watched them peck like birds into their open hands. “More for me”, I mumbled, with my lips covered in honey and salt. “Get some rest. I will take first watch.” They had situated themselves in a semicircle near me, and from what I could identify with them, witnessed a relative sense of complacency from this closeness. They trust me. Both were very similar. The taller was Elvin (or claimed to be) and proceeded with elegance and seem to produce no sound as he moved, or ever. His dialect had a sense of aristocracy, but could explain he was nothing spawned or privy to such. The frail one. Very contorted in stature, and could fall over any minute. D related to him frequently as “master” or committed to himself as his “student”. He also never mentioned his named, nor did I ask. We spoke only of our task, and the task was given by the king to escort these two to whoever or whatever is feeding off what remains of our kingdom. He claims to be magi. They both do, however, these days to say that only means that you apply herbs from the forest to heal the sick, or live in solitude talking only to cats. They are particular to their daily discipline and dedicate numerous hours a day deep in thought, canting over and over particular unintelligible words and phrases that I do not understand. Evidence suggests they are both not from these lands, or I believe this realm even. They communicate in the past tense, about events that has never happened, or about kingdoms and wars that are not there, and never went on. Both adorned like death’s servants, shrouded in heavy black cloaks, conclusive of what “magi” or “wizards” would garb themselves, though D’s veneer is of a distinct quality. Ornately stitched, not worn and withered like the magi’s, which bestows that of another color at one time. Maybe dark red or something else, and may have been turned black from travel, or his constant release of life’s-blood, soiled over and over by his apparent illness or condition. He seems to prioritize the preparation of his liquid concoction that reduces the cough and symptoms, but appears to only quell this momentarily. His sickness does not represent his age. He looks older than the elf (impossible, elfs don’t age) and I, but could identify he has not passed midlife. One could reveal that they have been around, wherever they have been,around, wherever they have been, a long life, and wherever they have been, led them to this expedition now. They speak like this is the “final” quest and with a compassion for all this to be over; it desperately shows in both of their eyes. My two allies presume to have outlasted the sands of time, and are of legends. Glorious hero’s of an even greater war. Glorious only to those who remember the past through lost tombs and legend-speaks. Today they are, but nothing. Vanished vagabonds who live in the shadows of their once fabled selves. These selves now looked broken, almost as if I traveled with the dead, and perhaps I am. I considered of my companions throughout the night, until I woke the magi to relieve me from my duty to watch the camp. I fell asleep quickly and as I gazed upon them one last time, my only concern was, to what resolve do they seek from this creature? This Grendel. With desperation they search, bound to existence only by some curse. For them, it is different. They preceded by courtship, and with sanction from my king, to find this creature. Sought today, yet only to maybe die tomorrow and pass on by the nobility, and once alleged conjoined kindred spirit, a dragon.

Chapter 5

Waking from my sleep, one eye open, I noticed the rays of the dawn peeking between the dying needles of the trees glistening of the morning dew which accrued during the night. Silent. All silent except the rumble of storm echoing in the distance. Rising from my bedroll, a subtle realization that of no sound from the woodland fauna. No birds chirping. No bustling of little creatures scurrying about. Not even any bugs that would have annoyed me throughout the night. Nothing. Wait. “Where are my companions?” Grabbing my helm, I scanned for tracks, knowing men of this type are very careless in such situations. I listen for the magi's cough and look for any spuer. Nothing. The forest floor was dense with branches and leaves, which blanketed the natural primordial moss. This accumulation, also unchanged, revealed nothing. Gathering my bedroll and dismissing any trace of our encampment, I set off in the direction of the distant thunder. The skies promised an immanent storm, and soon. The Fell-shoal Lowland, near the foot of the Daraguarian mountains, is my stop, and is believed the origin or haven for this creature. Their absence worried me. For miles, I traveled, and my skills as a tracker detected nothing of them. No evidence they ventured this way. Facing a creature of this nature alone would surely seal their doom, and would not stand a chance without my sword, I thought, while giving its hilt a few trusty taps with confidence. Would they? Humbled by my self appreciation, I realized the woodland timber changed. It thickened, and the once plump colorful leaves of autumn oaks gave form to needles of dead pines. The ground beneath me came soft now, and with every step felt the heels of my scaled boots sink further into the drudgery, suggesting I reached the south Knotmeá Bog-lands leading into the valley. Quickening my stride against the increasing winds, I pressed into the marsh, realizing that my destination was near. The skies blacked. The blackest I ever witnessed. This terrain would be nearly impossible for the weakened magi. There would be tracks made from his walking stick? My entire journey here and still no evidence of them. There is no other possible entry into the valley where the beast resides, save this forsaken bog. Natural debris thrown from the storm-gusts bounced off my armor. The winds now became gales and sent me diving into the swamp to evade its tempestuous volley. Looking for any sign to escape, and continue forward, I notice something very strange near a knoll several heels to my flank. The reeds were swaying opposite the wind? Swaying towards my destination? In awe, I crawled through the mire, reaching this unnatural pathway. Unusual. Very unusual. There is a a passage further into the bog, unaffected by the surrounding maelstrom! The air smelled of sulfur, with a hint of dead flowers? I could feel the air was different here. Almost charged by the storm's lightning, or of wizardry. This storm's torrent promises only to fall with severity outside this enchanted pathway. It must be magic! Not wishing to be stuck here when or if this vanishes, I rise from the ground soaked, covered with mud, and travel with haste down the path. Again, extraordinary; and with this, thought of what my companions claimed to be Magi. Magic is in the minds of the aged ones, from tales of yore, not in the actual of our very existence? Or is it? Even though this path is I will say strange in nature, I dare suggest that it is indeed magical. The absolute calm of this pathway, avoidant of the elements, seems to near an end near the ridgeway, past the bog into the valley-basin. If this path ends, I will find refuge from this cursed storm there. My retreat from the path into a natural edifice under the shadow of the bluff's ridge provided me sanctuary. I looked for any other possible “magical” pathways, or any other signs of unnatural,; when wait? What’s this? For the first time since I departed from the encampment this morning, detect footprints. Two sets of them. I noticed whatever sorcery or magic that was used in the marsh leading me here has ceased. The tracks surface, more slender in stride, and are fresh. Recently made. They are close. Following the path and remaining lower than the ridges, underneath the shadows of the massive, nearly extinct Vallenoak trees that once guarded this valley, I crept. That’s when I discovered what sounded like a cough. If it is them, I must learn of their deceit, that left me behind. The large rain droplets pounded through their leaves, causing a natural symphony, providing me just the distraction I need to remain undiscovered and determine their intent. Crouching quietly, inching to the next Vallenoak”, is when what I heard an attempt to muffle a cough. Then another one. Then several more. From tree to thicket, I inched closer. Under a cramped ledge beneath the ravine, I peeked over the ridge. Alas! An enormous obscured cavern entrance where my former companions appear to be preparing to enter! The magi prepares his remedy as the other seems to be engrossed explaining something to him. Now is my chance to proceed undetected, and listen to my once fellowship about what is the actual truth behind this dauntless quest from my king. Concealed in the mud from the deluge and the shrubbery near the entrance, I without error positioned myself only but a few feet from their makeshift encampment. Whispered exchange now is more clear. I watched the magi consume his remedy. With the spasm subsided, grabbing his walking stick, he detailed a design into the dirt. “Ashes of his keep, now hardened by time, was here,”, tapping the end of his staff in the drawn arrangement. “Luinë-lókë came to this place because of her”, D spat with disgust. “Her allegiance to the knight of the black rose, and his loyalty to her, proves bound even into this world”. The mage's comment caused the elf to sigh with almost agony, hearing this. “You act is if you believed you were the only one she forever loved, dark-elf” D, now virtually enraged by the mage's statement, “The death knight and the dragon were merely her pawns, and govern for the Dark Queen, nothing more.” Regardless of once was, the Dark Queen is the reason why we are here; when we died in that world, we arrived here”, the magi declared, in an practical attempt to embolden this now newly titled “dark elf”. In disbelief, I sunk below the ridge-line, astonished, and finding it difficult to take in all what I had just heard. These people that they speak of, these events? A magic pathway? Elves and death knights? And dragons? Could this Grendel be a dragon? Nobody ever survived the carnage and bear witness to whom was actually committing these atrocities throughout the kingdom. Again, rising and inching closer to listen. “Yes, and we know that if this could happen to him, one who was of the undead, returning from that realm, only for the Dark Queen to destroy him, his keep in flames at this very spot, then we should disparage believing anything different that the same fate has happened to us. From ashes, many of us”, the mage said, freshly committed to argument. “The similarities between our realms are strikingly authentic, and are conceivable Dúredhel?” At that moment, the elf shifted his demeanor when the fires of the torches changed directions before their eyes, and suddenly, with a gust of warm noxious wind coming from the cavern, blew the torches out. “As I mentioned, he awaits” D replied with a sinister sense of confidence. Relighting the torches, D pointed to the flames. “This flicker will guide us to him throughout the cavern passages.” The air before the cavern entrance thickened, changing, swaying and being only several heels from the cavern, smelled like dead flowers (again), and I must say, blood. What causes this? Perhaps this is the smell of sorcery? I’ve heard enough of this. I rose from behind the embankment, wiping the mud from the visor of my helm, drawing my broadsword, and pointed it directly at them. “The providence of your actions seems has yet again brought me before you both”. I replied with conviction. Both guides, now startled, took an illicit combat stance; then sunk into the shadows of the cavern entrance. “If we desired to elude your pursuit, Rynok, we would have”. The mage said, stepping out from the darkness. “We awaited your arrival and had every intention of assisting you with every step”. “Your reputation before the monarch granted us sanction if indeed this is who we believe this to be,” D hissed. “Your king will desire to hear what transpired from he who was most entrusted with this endeavor, not from us guides”. “You both will need to explain before the king all of what I overheard and ensued, providing we return safely back to Shalandorn”, I promised. “We must go”, D confided, “he has risen from his sleep.” Brushing past between the shoulders of both colleagues, I commanded the lead into the dank mists of the cave. “Get behind me.” The mage followed, with D at his flank. “We’ll follow the torch flicker through the tunnels”, the mage whispered. The torches, dimly lit, did little to guide our passage with the air shifting in and out, towards our entry. After pressing further into the cavern's depths; the mage, from under the confides of his robes revealed a crystal fashioned into the claps of a locket or pendant. It’s reveal caused D to mutter a name, “Neamya Broadripple?” “Yesss” the mage coursed, with preposterous smiles coming from both of their faces. “Shirak” the mage spoke, and the crystal glowed like of such I have never witnessed, elucidating the entire passageway. I must make the king aware of the sorcery witnessed today, which now is of such sorts, and most certain. With the crystal illuminating our path, and the torch flame leading us through the maze of passages, we realized the walls open up into a massive chamber. The wind. In and out. This cavern’s air kept its strange rhythm. With fewer obstacles, standing ourselves with no natural structures for us to conceal our intentions; the crystal's radiance cast no end to what was in front of us, nor on our sides. We entered a giant subterranean grotto. In and out. And again, the rancid air became more turbulent, causing the torches to extinguish. Then silence. Turning slightly to the magi, “what causes this?” I sense danger. The mage's glare shifted from me to behind me, looking up. His eyes were wide open, shown startled like that of an owl, then narrowed to tiny slits; and before I could turn my head to witness what he had seen- “Down!” D yelled. I dove into the bedrock with my companions as a bolt of lightning crackled from the blackness beyond the light of the crystal, directly between, and nearly incinerating us. Still crackling with energy, the cavern entrance was obliterated, with nothing remaining except that of now glowing molten bedrock. Rising from the ground, I drew my broadsword and charged into the darkness, slashing and hacking carelessly at anything that may be concealed by the caverns' dark. “Nárë-fairë” the elf spoke, and a vortex of three red flames shot from his hands into the natural spires of the cavern's ceiling! The flames remained above us, dancing about; allowing for the seclusion beyond to behold what was before us. I stopped my most effective assault on the thin air and acknowledged the entire rear of the cave moved and writhed. The shapes confessed whatever was moving was gigantic. I cautiously began stepping backwards to see more clearly from the now fleeting fireballs. “Shirak” the mage had spoken, but now noticed the pendant to be on the top of his staff. The light from the crystal shone brightly. The mage walking forward, revealed with clarity what was before us. Looking up in absolute terror, frozen with marvel and disbelief, I dropped my sword. This before me can’t be real! I can’t believe my eyes! This was no Grendel! It’s a dragon! The head of a giant blue dragon stood almost face to face with the mage who had now climbed up onto a large stone edifice. The air. In and out. Swirling back and forth, in and out; was the dragon's breathing. His breath was of magic! The lighting! The dragon, with apparent enormous admiration, lowered his head to the mage, showing great respect. A pause for several moments as the pair just looked at each other. This silence felt as if this moment had been written in the stars, or was the beginning or ending of an event unbeknownst to the world around us, except them. You could feel the magic. The energy. This was the feeling of an epic destiny happening before my very eyes. The mage moved closer to the great giant blue dragon, and at the end of the structure reached out his hand. “Do not worry, you are safe now, Khelendros”. The mage patted the dragon on his jowl. “Or should I call you Skie?”