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Our story begins long ago, a time before the Age of Chronicles...
“Again, boy. Don’t let the outside world influence your ability, your control, your influence. Do not doubt for this is the seed which if planted, will grow tenfold to disrupt you in every step of the path. Let us not doubt ourselves if it means certain failure, hope in the face of the fact that you may still fail, and you will have the chance to succeed.”
Heavy breath clamored out of his chest, clouds puffed out with every exhale, sweat dripping from the pours on his skin. Across from him the older man held out his staff in recognition of the restart, quickly whipping it in the direction of his calf, pain dropping him to his knees.
“Again, boy. Let go of yourself.”
Another whip to the side of the head sent him crashing to the earth completely, devastated by the force from the blow. Blinding light filled his vision as the pain now seeped from his cranium, the boy letting out a whimper and a gasp at the sudden connection between him and the weapon. Cradling his head in both arms, dropping his own staff, the boy curled into a ball on the ground, wrapping extremities together in the fetal position to protect his weakest points.
“P-please, master, no more.”
The old man cracked the staff down on his back. A cry leaped from the boy's lips as he struggled to continue with the training, before another, and another, and another. After the second one he quieted his cries, he endured without emotional endearment.
“The world won’t hold back because you ask it to, dear child. It is not up to you to design the punishment, only to take it as you see fit. You can blubber like a babe amidst unknown territories, or you can growl like the wolf who knows only to survive. It is the choice you make in the mind which allows or stops you from pushing forward in reality... Enough for today, tomorrow we will double the practice time.”
The boy winced as he rose to his feet, slowly and mistrusting as his master had already taught him not to place faith in the words he spoke, as at anytime of his choosing he could thrust the staff out against him again, whether or not he said finish. When the old man stepped forward and grasped him by the shoulder, the boy deflected it by turning away.
“You are angry with me,” said the old man. The boy nodded slightly, grimacing in the wake of the beating he took. “This is normal. I am not here for you to like me, I’m here to see you survive without me. There are going to be times where you wallow in your hate for me, and others where you realize even between the hate, that what I’ve done has been for your benefit, in the long term. Youth always has the ability to see what is directly in front of them, yet foresight and a gaze towards the future youth generally lacks, however not always. The earlier you learn to process things in such ways, the earlier you will succeed, boy. Best not forget that.”
The two stood amidst a clearing within a heavily overgrown forest, tree trunks spanning the distance for miles, the clear blue sky above them only seen from within their own, private, personal piece of nature’s recluse.
“Let us see to the traps,” the old man said to him, and the two wandered off into the thickets and overgrowth to obtain their food for the evening.
The two beings meandered through the oaks and pines scattered across the scape, over rumbling rivers and through bumbling brooks. Meadows were littered between the areas of trees, and every once in a while they found their little traps set about for the forest creatures to trick themselves into death. Along their way home, the two had eight small forest creatures slung over their shoulders, hunger gnawing at the boy’s belly as he dreamt of the warm fire and roasting meat he were soon to indulge upon. His body ached from the earlier training and extending trek, which went for miles seemingly unending, until eventually they found their tiny hillside hut which was dug into the surface of the earth itself, outcropped just enough so that it could be easily hidden when they were not home. It took a skilled tracker to find these two, the hermits, deep within the Falwoods.
“Master, why do you train me of such tasks, as fighting and hunting, of tracking and learning the wilds?” the boy asked over the dim lighting of the fire.
“I will not always be here to protect you, little one. The day will come when you must learn to protect yourself, and I am here to make sure that you are well on that path before you are forced to set upon it.”
The boy nodded as if he understood, however he was actually more confused now as the old man always spoke in odd symbolism, in riddles misunderstood at times when the boy first arrived in his care. Now, he knew better to compare the words with the several underlying meanings the old man conveyed, yet never really understood just what his master spoke of in its fullest. He guessed it were not his place to know, not yet anyways, yet even still the boy grew frustrated by such hidden mysticism displayed by the elder.
“Why don’t we live in the cities with the others, the elves, dwarves, orcs, the men and women like us, master? Could you not train me in a profession which would help me to live side by side with those we share existence with?” the boy asked meekly, as if expecting a blow for the question itself, yet the old man just gave him a small shrug.
“Have you forgotten your training so quickly, young one? To trust others implicitly opens you to the dangers they have to offer against you, and to think society is always beneficial of its members is the same as saying cloth never rips. It is impossible, when a herd of deer becomes large enough, the weakest members are designated towards the back of the processions, so that predators will be more incentivized to pick off the stragglers than those in the main group. It is not always the weakest of the group, but whom they deem weakest, or different. You are different, little child, and for the time being you are also weak. To be both weak and different in the eyes of society is to spell certain doom for the likes, instead I found you and brought you here so that you may grow in strength, so that you may not need rely on society and her ability to disrupt sound judgment, based on her abilities. It is better to be used to sleeping amongst nature’s bosom than to forever be afraid of it, because society doesn’t force you to fully experience it.”
“Yes, I understand this, but then, if society gives me the choice to do what I want, why is that worse off than being forced into this kind of life?” The old man shook his head.
“Society is the illusion of choice and freedom, this is the trap ensnared upon the unsuspecting rabbit looking for its meal between the mortal-made constructs of death. Society wishes to imprint herself as the true reality, when we’ve been living among it all along. It is a dream to force the world to bend to your will, something society and its benefactors have a knack for forgetting. As I said this morning, you may hate me for what I do now, but in the future, you will hold greater understanding than even I, who learned alone.”
Kreyadis leaned back a bit as he was handed a skewer of meat. He took a few bites of the morsels before another question came to his mind, one he'd never asked before.
"Master... Where are my parents?"
The old man led his pupil to a thick twisted oaken tree, stalwart and alone, weathered by many storms, cropped atop a rocky cliff side, its roots protruding from the dirt. The pupil, a younger elf, what a human may consider a teenager, carried a large load of provisions and other such necessities on his back, the two elves each straining their weight on oaken staffs.
"Master, why have we come here?" the pupil asked curiously as he looked about himself. They were far from their haunt in the depths of the Felwoods, on the edge of the border where forests met savannah, trees gradually increasing in distance from one another as the land turned to plains. From where they were they could see across many a miles of the Felwoods, Kreyadis' eyes beheld wonder in their depths as they glistened in the wind. Dusk was setting in, the two moons beginning to encroach upon the sun's domain, the sky holding many shades reaching from orange to purple, blended smoothly across which no painter could ever hope to accomplish. The old elf stooped low as he made small, shuffling steps towards the tree's trunk, leaning against it and sliding down slowly to rest between two thick roots which he used as armrests. Finding a comfortable position overlooking the scene, he motioned for the boy to sit also, deep set wrinkles in the face of the elder, eyes peering across the scene.
"I'd been brought here myself... Around your age, I was in the same shape as yourself... Young and curious of the world, what she had to offer... I'd been brought here by curious whims of fate, for this is the place where I first experienced magick..." Kreyadis turned from where he stood, the master's words catching his attention.
Of course Kreyadis had heard of magick, tales of great mages raining fire upon helpless whelps, catastrophic earthquakes brought upon to shatter mighty fortresses, Gods gifting mortals with a sliver of their being, however, he'd thought him and his master far removed from the subject.
"Magick? You've never shown me any of these abilities, master." He was beginning to think the old elf's mind was going senile, yet when he discovered the old man had procured a book from the depths of his flowing robes, he inched closer to look upon the rugged leather cover.
"Aaah, Kreyadis, you are a fool to think magick is so easily employed, or that it is a toy to play with... I do not use magick unless it has its necessity, and only when my physical capabilities have no chance of withstanding the situation..." He had to pause momentarily for breath between excerpts, time catching up to the once wily individual. "My time grows near, pupil, and soon I will leave you to go to the Astral Valley, Annuk willing... Before I go I will gift you with what knowledge I've acquired... We will live here for the time being... For this is where I will die."
"Where you will die? Master, let's not speak on such things now," the boy said in worried tone as it was clear he did not feel ready yet. He had lived so long at the elf's side, it seemed as if his master would be a continual piece of the narrative. The old elf gave a ragged laugh.
"Oh, my child, life will never cede to your demands, not completely, you must learn to flow with hers... Sit a moment, and I will tell you the tale of how I happened upon this place, and of how I learned of my abilities with the strange essence we name... Magick..."
Kreyadis sat in front of the elder, legs crossed, his torso leaning forward in apprehension. He'd been drawn to the old man's stories of his travels and adventures, always desperate for another as it helped to broaden his mind when thinking of the world, and the tales of mystery and wonder left him pondering days after, a hidden meaning always to be found. The old man's breath had been found now that he sat a moment beneath the boughs of the lone oak tree, and he opened the book to a particular section which he had marked.
"When I was close to your age, a bit older, a bit less wise, I was returning to Fal'Addas from the Steppes of Taagi Baara, a seemingly fruitless journey in search of my purpose in life... I'd always been existential in searching for the meaning to existence, when I happened upon a halfling under this very tree who'd also come from the Taagi Baara..." The venerable elf paused a moment as he turned his gaze down to the page, reading some of the words to himself before catching up with the present again. "Anyways, after long discussions by the fireside, he'd given me this book, detailing his advents across Arethil, and I had decided to stop here to rest a bit on my journey home. After reading a bit, I 'd fallen asleep, and in my dreams, I met a presence unlike any I'd came across before, a beautiful angelic presence which spoke to me of the future, of my life, of my purpose in the world..." Kreyadis' brow wrinkled in comprehension of the words, yet he said nothing as he learned long before of how his master would weave in the reasoning for why throughout his retelling. "This presence told me to open the book up to these pages, and said much later that I would gift this parcel of knowledge to one whom I'd raise as my own." He then pulled a page not connected to the spine of the book out from the folds, and placed it atop the open tome. Upon it was inscribed sets of intricate runes, the same ones he had marked on his skin, Kreyadis realizing this to be the source of the power he spoke about.
"Mana is a mysterious force, one mustered through many various exchanges between our physical realm, and the ethereal home of Magick... Ever since Naspar taught of his ways... Sorcerers have used many methodologies to bring this... Force... To awareness, the most easily practiced, yet hardest to master, that of the runic technique, shadows cast on its origins long ago... To shape one's thoughts on a page, or other material, one can bring about many effects, given the technique is correctly administered..." Kreyadis leaned forward attentively, ears perked with interest, his old master giving him a twinkling glance before continuing. "I believe that the first practitioners used this method, however as I say the origins have been shrouded by time, yet I believe the runes hold the key to shape all forms of magick... One cannot say... However, there is a rune for every intent, every purpose, as there are words for ideas, and if none are present for such a will, if given the right amount of power, may become one... Every rune is a word, fashioned from within an ancient tongue, a long dead language, yet constantly reemerging... Placed in plain sight for all to see, yet few to know, opening doorways to realms of possibility which the mind may find unfathomable... To this end you must take care in its practice, Kreyadis... Adhere to the Five Laws."
"Five laws?"
"The boundaries placed by the Gods, Kreyadis... Overstep their bounds, be assured of their wrath. The Gods take great care to keep mortals in check, remember the Doomed Three, Bel-Ayya, Tabin-Ur, and Hissut, their uprising... Hissut's belly the place you will go for blasphemy..." The old man proceeded to recite the Five Tenants. Afterwords, Kreyadis gave him a curiously dumbfounded expression.
"If the Six want us to stay within their laws, why give us magick in the first place, master?" The old man grinned sardonically.
"Ask the Gods, my student, I cannot answer for them."
Kreyadis ran through the thickets with ragged breath as he tried to outlast the pace of the roaring she-bear behind him. He'd accidentally happened upon two of her cubs while taking rest at the edge of a river, through weariness he had allowed her to sneak upon him from behind as her little cubs gave the warning shrills for help. He clutched at his side as blood seeped from the wound, five jagged lines opened in the flesh of his torso. Through gritted teeth he forced his breathing to slow, allowing the ache in his legs to subside partially so that his strides may lengthen. This was in vain, however, as even though his sinewy body could easily outrun those of stockier nature, Gaia's animals were gifted in strength and speed what they lacked in intelligence. The she-bear ran him down as he tripped over an outcropping of thick roots of an oak tree, sprawled forward onto the ground. Immediately he felt the weight of a mountain atop him as the mother gave ferocious roar, before claws sunk into his back repeatedly, and her jaws into the flesh of his neck. Eyes widened in disbelief, horror, Kreyadis felt his esophagus being crushed beneath the power of her bite. She had her weight on his back, and began shaking her head violently to incapacitate her prey, with success. His body went slack, he felt a disconnection between his mind and his body, his vision blurring as the shaking continued.
'This is it, here is my end.' Kreyadis thought to himself, his life force waning. He thought about the many days spent in the forest, cursed himself for his stupidity, thought about what his master would have said had the old man seen him in the predicament.
'This is deserved,' Kreyadis heard the old man say in his head, agreeing with it. It had been many years since his master died, Kreyadis left with only his teachings, which in the present circumstances seemed ill used. As Kreyadis feigned to his fate, he heard the faint whisper of arrows flying through the air, yet chalked it up to his state of mind, the elf thinking this to be illusions as death crept upon him. The she-bear let go of his neck however, letting out another powerful roar before stampeding over his body, forcing him into the dirt below. He couldn't move, couldn't see anything except the earth which his eyes were laid into, darkness surrounding his vision. The last thing he heard was the sound of a mighty body falling to the ground near him, a torn groan let loose from the mother before her heart stopped beating. Kreyadis drifted off to what he thought was the Astral Valley.
Kreyadis awoke in a dimly lit room as he heard movement and hushed whispers near him.
"To think that a ranger could be caught off guard by the most obvious of signals, it's a joke really. I don't know why Zunedia insisted upon bringing him back. I assume she wished to try her hand at healing, now that she's learned enough. If it were up to me, I'd have left the fool there to reap his folly, to find bear cubs and unwittingly suppose the matron weren't present, it's comical, really!"
Snickers of agreement filled the air as Kreyadis' ears flickered. Anger filled his head for the way he was being spoken about, yet he also found it in himself an agreement with the ideas presented, as if he were the ones who were talking presently, found it in himself a similar judgmental view. Kreyadis tried to sit up, yet the wounds on his torso kept him from doing so. He let out an audible groan which caused the guarding elves to focus their attention upon him.
"Aaaah, finally awake! Probably heard us too, although I can't say I'm disappointed. Can you talk, foolish one?"
The one who spoke these words was the same one making jokes of his previous actions, a blond elf with fair complexion, a beautiful face, yet time had wrought its due course upon it. Kreyadis tried to speak yet felt the strain on his throat as if sandpaper were rubbing against each other, and after a few syllables of disproportionate length, shook his head no. The speaker, and evident leader of the group, bid the rest leave as he drew closer towards Kreyadis' bedside, pulling up a chair next to him.
"Yes, she almost made quite the feast out of you, kinsman. Luckily for you our party was roaming the woods for her, a prey eluding us for a few weeks. She'd been eating elven flesh for nigh on four cycles of Lessat now, probably tracked you herself as she'd been feeding her cubs with such as well. My son, Dorinthellar, felled her as she stood atop what we thought was your corpse, my daughter, Zunedia, brought you back from the Astral Realm. She'll be most excited to hear you've finally awoken, this is the first time my daughter has put her abilities to use."
Kreyadis didn't know to whom the elder was referring to, he didn't have the ability to respond. As the old elf continued to talk to him of his children and their great deeds of saving him, two figures wandered into the room.
Kreyadis thought himself in the midst of an angel, her blue eyes framed by the golden strands of divination captured his attention immediately as she drew close to him. Her small frame gave her an air of delicateness which captured his imagination as he thought of tales of Narmaka, professing in his mind that even this woman could subdue the Goddess of Beauty. She held within her hands a basin of water, two damp cloths strung over her arm which she moved to place across his forehead after setting the bowl down near the bedside. She wrung the other one out across his face, the dripping moisture comforting him. Her soft gaze played innocence, a slight smile sprung at either end of her lips. She basked in the evidence of her success as she moved to uncover his body, revealing him in sudden nakedness as she began to undress his wounds.
"Praise Maskat, your wounds were terribly grave, I'd been afraid you'd not recover! Father, it is rude to be in the presence of another while they are uncovered. Bid us departure a moment, so that I may treat him in privacy."
The older elf scowled at her.
"My daughter, this is the time for the experienced to handle such procedures, I believe."
The girl shook her head, pouting at her father as he retorted to her demand to leave.
"This is my patient father, and I am not going to be able to prove myself to the elders if you constantly coddle me! I am grown now, I can handle this on my own, it is of my own hand that he lives!"
The other elf who followed her in stuck to the background, his appearance difficult to discern. He chimed in,
"Sister, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it was my arrows that felled the bear."
"Your arrows felled her, yes, my hands saved this one from destruction, Maskat willed it so," she responded quietly. A sigh drew forth from the elder, who stood up slowly and waved a hand towards his son.
"Come, Dorinthellar, leave them be. Your sister is right, it is her time to fulfill her role in society, let us bid the newcomer farewell and allow him rest."
The two elven men meandered towards the door, as the younger one filtered out of the dim lit room two guards reappeared and took stance on either side of the entrance, nodded at by the elder.
"Try not to dirty your hands too much, darling. We are expecting company this afternoon and I would like you in presentable fashion while we dine."
The older elf bent his head for he couldn't fit through otherwise, glaring light momentarily filtering through the entrance as he left.
“What is it that you want from me?” he asked in the dim moon light as she turned to face him.
“I want to know why you won’t stay!” she stammered back at him, her eyes lined with moisture as her cheeks flushed. She clasped two hands around his arms as she drew herself to his chest, nestling her head beneath his neck. “Please, Kreyadis, its been so long since I’ve felt anything like this, I don’t want to lose it because of your stubborn stupidity! I know you’ve been used to the wilds your whole life, and it’s all you know, but I can help you adapt!” He gave her a long drawn out sigh as she tried to squeeze closer. “Oh please, Kreyadis! My father is of nobility, you’ll have a place in society and responsibilities, but you can still go in the wilds as you please! Oh Kreyadis, I can’t lose you, I love you Kreyadis! I love you!”
His face scrunched in confusion, caught unaware by the sudden profession. He wanted to say the same to her, yet held himself back.
'Love is a powerful poison,' whispered the voice of his long gone teacher.
“You don’t love me, Zunedia, you love the idea of me,” he said coldly, turning away from her to walk away.
“You’re not in my head, Kreyadis! You don’t know what’s going on, as much as you think you do! You’re a fool, Kreyadis, a real fool! How can you be hardheaded, when all I’ve done for you is help you!”
“You want a pet project, Zunedia, something to concern yourself with when you’re bored. The moment your attention is caught by a shinier bauble, you’ll forget you ever knew me.” He picked up his pack leaning on the hand rail to the bridge, overlooking the forest a moment as he heard her sniffle softly, shaking his head again as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You’re a real fool, Kreyadis. A stupid, stubborn, blasted, immature, single-minded, misogynistic fool!”
‘Women are comforts not easily afforded, beings as mysterious as the Gods. Once in their grasp, it is difficult to be free. Don’t fall into the trap, Kreyadis.’ he heard his master say.
Zunedia loosely smiled as blood dripped from her lips, the spear protruding from her stomach pushing crimson through her cavities as the internal organs hemorrhaged. As her lithe, dainty body began to fell forward, Kreyadis caught her, breaking off the front end of the weapon, wiping away strands of blonde hair that inadvertently covered her face. Tears welled from his eyes as she placed a hand on his cheek, the sounds of battle blocked out as he held his lover in his arms.
“Oh my love,” she said softly, ruby red now dripping from her chin to her chest, some splashing on his forearm. He tried to wipe it away, it was no use. His eyes searched the immediate area in frenzy hoping a healer was nearby, yet all his mind’s eye captured were the images of his brethren being felled by the onslaught of orcs which dominated the battlefield. He screamed in anguish before burrowing his face into her breasts sobbing, Zunedia wrapping an arm around his neck to comfort him. He could hear her frenzied heartbeat, felt the life force draining from her body. “This is nature’s due course. We all meet our ends eventually, darling. Do not burden yourself with my passing,” she whispered into his ear before using her free hand to raise his chin so they could look into each other’s eyes before kissing him softly on his cheek.
“My love, I don’t know what to do in a world without you!” he gasped to her between choked breath, and she shook her head, her knowing gaze penetrating his very soul.
“Your path will always be uncertain lest you make a decision, darling."
'Do not doubt for this is the seed which if planted, will grow tenfold to disrupt you in every step of the path. Let us not doubt ourselves if it means certain failure, hope in the face of the fact that you may still fail, and you will have the chance to succeed,' tendrils of memories whispered.
Always remember...” she coughed out more fluid and a drop landed under his left eye, “that I love you… forever and always... no matter what...” She let out a final, wretched wheeze, before the hand that held his chin fell limp, her head rolling back and her body going slack. Kreyadis’ irises darted back and forth between hers, glossing over with denial. He whispered words of the ancient tongue before kissing her forehead, running a hand over her eyelids to set them shut. The elf’s shoulders slumped forward in dismay as he prayed to the Six for peace in her passage, before setting her softly on the ground.
His blue eyes reddened, filled with inexplicable fuming anger, darting towards the hillside the orcs had ambushed them from.
'The world won’t hold back because you ask it to, dear child. It is not up to you to design the punishment, only to take it as you see fit,' the teachings of his old master emerged from the depths of his subconscious.
The orc in closest vicinity met his gaze, beating axe filled hands on his chest signifying his readiness for battle.
'You can blubber like a babe amidst unknown territories, or you can growl like the wolf who knows only to survive,' spoke the old elf from the depths of his soul.
Kreyadis unsheathed a large broadsword from his back, the knuckles on his hand whitening pure as snow as he gripped the hilt, charging his opponent with ferocity unlike anything the orcs thought elves capable of. Steel clashed upon steel, the elf immediately knocking one of the axes from the orc's grip, sparks ringing out into the air as heated metal does when struck on the anvil. The two ended up in a battle of raw strength, slamming together into a parry as a bolt of lightning strikes the sky, the blow rivaling Iasimu's creations in speed and tenacity, battling wrapped in wrath for the dominance which would decide their fate. The orc roared savagely, spit splattering the infuriated elf's dirtied cheeks. Kreyadis' face contorted into primal rage as he returned with his own passion-filled reverberation, hooking into the curved underside of the orc's final axe blade, shoving it away. The orc was completely stunned, allowing for a thrust into the greenskin's gullet, Kreyadis swiping to the side to tear the blade out, the body resembling a tree trunk freshly cut, and it fell in the same fashion. The onslaught continued as another jumped from the incline into the overpowering elf, the spirit of Hissut filling the felled opponent's brethren as the elf welcomed the newcomer.
'Your path will always be uncertain lest you make a decision, darling.'
Kreyadis would kill every last one of them before handing over his life to the Nine, pledging his certainty to bring Zunedia back from the Astral Valley, no matter the cost.
Ravens hovered above the remnants of battle, the smell of recently slain flesh drawing the carrions forth. Thin, limber bodies of elves were strewn between the thick green-skinned orcs, most twice the size of their enemies, still, the quick and graceful people seemed the victor, as a tiny fraction of the original caravan remained. Most were inspecting the remaining carts that hadn’t been lit aflame, along with their horses, the rest either looking amongst the dead or tending to wounds. One elf was slumped forward, further off in the distance from the main body of stragglers, a younger elf with flowing blond hair sauntering closer to the stricken comrade, dried blood matted across his chain-mail armor, clinking with every step.
“K-Kreyadis, I-it’s not… It’s not Zunedia, right?” the approaching elf asked meekly, to which the slumped receiver of attention said nothing. Long, jet black hair hung forward covering his face, covering that which he held to his chest. He merely clutched tighter as the boy repeated, “Zunedia wasn’t supposed to… She wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place, Kreyadis! That’s not her!” the boy denied in protest. He merely argued with himself, Kreyadis silent, anger swelling in the youth. He stomped to his friend’s turned back, and kicked a muddied, bloodied boot between the shoulder blades. “This is your fault! This is your fault! This is all your fault!” The kicked fell forward to the earth, his upper body elevated by the mass underneath. Two knees then pressed all the youth’s weight atop him, fists raining down on the back of the head. Raining fury of punches then impacted across the elder elf’s cranium, as sorrow filled rage bore screams of anguish into the air. The sky held gray overcast, thick to keep the sun’s rays from penetrating the scene below. It was going to rain soon.
Kreyadis’ face sloshed in a pool of crimson mixed earth, a small puddle began to form as droplets fell from the sky, the ravens taking their leave to land. Even in this weather, the chances for food were too great to pass up, a scavengers paradise, as the remaining survivors were sullen and struck with exhaustion. If the ravens got too close to a loved one, or in the general vicinity of someone alive they’d wave a hand to shoo it away, but no one took the time to stop them. Most of the actual soldiers were dead, the rest being simple traders or in some cases the rare family of a trader looking to settle elsewhere. Unlucky were those who planned to strike out new life elsewhere within this caravan, for most lost all they had. There was only a four remaining carts, their contents being that of a dead silk merchant, a cart filled with general provisions, and two filled with weapons and armors of the elven variety, enough for a garrison. Of the twenty that began the journey, after the battle four remained. A few were seized by the attackers, the rest that they couldn’t get to were burned. These were the only ones unharmed. The assailant of Kreyadis quit when a guardsman called for the survivors to amass, the downed elf slowly rising to his feet when the weight of his aggressor was gone. His lips were pressed to an earth covered head of hair, whispering sweet nothings in her ears, a crumpled body in his arms. The pale, skinny arms which hung from his made it obvious that it was a woman, small and frail in comparison to the stalwart, broad-shouldered carrier. A raven hopped nearby, eyeing the procession, cawing to its brethren. More food became available.
As the survivors huddled together behind the provisions tent, a body was standing on the tale of the covered wagon, thick leather hides composing the covering. Another was just inside, crouched behind handing out salves and bandages, taking stock of what was left. It was only about two dozen in all, eight guards, the rest civilians. The raised one was speaking to the others of picking their loved ones from the dead and placing them in the armory carts.
“We can’t afford to sit here and wait for another war party to pick us off. If you want to die, then be my guest and let them take your life, anyone looking to live tomorrow needs to follow my orders.”
The crowd whispered quietly to itself, upset and weary, agitated the ancient rites for all of those who died wouldn't be performed. Some actually detracted to stay to perform the task, regardless of outcome, to which the speaker pleaded,
"Please, be reasonable! There aren't many left of us as is, we must make our way to Fal'Addas as quickly as possible before the brutes return! We'll notify the elders, we'll have a battalion of forces return to take care of the fallen," he turned to the guardsmen of the caravan, distinct from those they defended, "Our brother's names will be etched onto Fal'Tiereth, of this be certain of," the speaker said solemnly.
Kreyadis approached the cart laden with silks, and wrapped the body in a roll of fine satin color. His mud splattered face was downcast, his eyes stared at the object in front of him glossily. The younger companion who'd attacked him was at the edge of the crowd with the other guardsmen, yet glared at Kreyadis as the proceedings continued.
'To be daft enough to believe all would go well outside the Falwood, now a dead sister is what I bring home to my family, and you're to blame! The ridiculousness of the fact is that you read the correspondence from the scouts reporting of multiple raiding parties in the area, still you allowed her to tag along! You always preach against ignorance when you so strongly practice it, Kreyadis!' he thought as a fellow caravan guard noticed his gaze.
"So, they got Zunedia as well, Dorinthellar? A shame, she was an especially extraordinary woman, kind even to the dwarves, something I never understood honestly. Still, this is the way of nature, I suppose if not her then you?" the fellow asked in a rather sing song voice, as if he had no real concern over the issue. Dorinthellar turned to give his comrade a stare of malcontent before stepping to the side to give wider berth between them. The other elf shrugged, merely turning his focus back to the rabble, now arguing with the speaker of their next plan of action. The survivors went ahead with the lead guard's appeal for survival, taking a few of the bodies, those close to the survivors of the struggle, some following Kreyadis' lead and wrapping their dead in the rolls of silk, putting them in the three carts not designated for provisions, Kreyadis and Dorinthellar directing the procession from the dead merchant's silk cart in silence, silence rivaling that of the dead.
They reached Fal'Addas by nightfall, a few days later, and soon after three regiments of elven elite units were led back to the battlefield by Dorinthellar, choosing to clean up the rest of the caravan and ignoring the cries of his family to stay in mourning with them. His father was the most vehement against the decision, and with Kreyadis he sputtered and spat curse upon curse for the death, as well as further endangerment of his son.
"You knew the risks! You allowed your personal attachments to cloud the judgement in your mind, and now this same energy strikes my son in the wake of this event! Fa ma nu animas buch'iru du Hissut! (May your soul rot in the belly of Hissut) Fa'ra meno, du turu ma emoroma!" (May the embers of eternity claim you) Zunedia's mother fell ill with grief, her mental state afflicting her physical. Weeks later, her mother passed on to the Astral Valley, the blame for this taken by Kreyadis within his own mind, as well as from her father, the elder stripping him of rank and banishing him, effectively. While it was not of legal substance within the community, Kreyadis knew that of the elves he would be shunned, seen to bring misfortune. Because of this the elf signed away his home and left.
In losing everything he had, he gained seemingly divine willpower to journey into the unknown, regardless the cost. No price was too steep to redeem himself from the youthful stupidity which had thrust him from his former existence, which cost him that which he held most dear. Many a times had he fallen ill of self proccurred folly.
Therefore, he decided to search for the wisp of this legend, willing to pay any price.
Kreyadis heard of the San'Layn who'd boasted the power to bring life back from the dead in a book once held by his teacher, of the one named Kha'Zul. The tome held the author's encounter with the being while traversing the Taagi Baara Steppes, and so there the exile went.
The problem came in that Kreyadis only had the excerpt from the tome to go on, the large and daunting landscape of craggy, sparse grasslands fed into large hulking mountainous, crag-riddled backdrops. He knew not of the precise position of the encounter, only the experience the author had gained in his travels through the area.
It was in a narrow canyon, a scar upon Gaia's skin, that I came across the most horrid of scenes. Within a pentagram marked with blood, stood an exuberantly ferocious creature, large bat-shaped wings stretching from an etched back. The creature was about eight heads taller, rippling, fleshy pink skin as tight as rawhide drying in the sun. It's wings were more leathery in this regard, veins spider-webbing across the surface which stood out immensely in the light of day. It was midday to be exact, the sun high above, beating down on the two of us. Luckily, for the time being the monster was turned away, I happening upon him in the middle of his ritualistic endeavors from behind, and from the cover of a large boulder which was pressed near the left wall I watched.
The being's extremities were large and obtrusive, where a humanoid's nails would be large claws gripped a hunk of flesh I'd of no idea of whose or whats, so bloody was the creature that it masked recognition of what it was consuming. I'd thought it best to leave upon realization, however after finishing what seemed like its meal, it began to chant in a hissing, bass filled monotone voice, strange incantations which reverberated between the canyon walls, and my head began to swim among a sea of whispers, so strange and suffocating that I felt as the rock itself, too heavy to move. Instead my eyes fixated upon this hypnotizing scene, and my survival instincts fled in the face of a large, blood filled pool raining down which had been vomited up by the beast, and out of it another rising into existence. I soon realized that the original creature was not in fact, alive anymore, but rather, not even a creature at all! It had shed its skin, renewing itself through means of which I couldn't comprehend. The newborn had risen to face its previous self, large bulbous eyes studying its shell, a grotesquely pressed nose gripped the middle of its head as if it were about to fall off, clinging desperately for purchase. Large down-turned nostrils spat out the blood it was covered in. Its lips were thin and stretched in demonic smile, so tight was the skin it seemed as if stitched onto the gums. Canines zigzagged in asymmetrical proportions, as if they were carelessly attached, yet the bone-like substance they were comprised of shined crimson in daylight, so as to compliment the terror-inducing image. It was studying its former self as if unaware of my presence, but then claws beckoned for me to approach.
"You are brave, yet foolish to ssspy upon me, little mortal. Come humor an old mind a moment, and you may live to ssssee another rissssing ssssun."
The hairs on my neck and back stood on end as the words produced themselves from within my thoughts, the monster penetrating the sanctity of my skull without my knowledge. My whole body shook in fright, my heartbeat increased frantically, my subconscious screamed to run. I didn't move from my position, locked in a rigamortis like state of panic.
"You are afraid," it whispered, "Thissss isss normal. Come." and a finger gestured in the air, nodding towards the speaker. As if a puppet controlled by strings, which he was pulling, my body stood up automatically to his command, and I walked forward much to the estrangement of myself. I queried just who the demon was, and what it was he was doing to myself. He answered,
"The mortal web weaved in ssssinew and marrow hark to my call, when I am reborn. At the zzzenith of my rise from Annuk'sss gift, I am able to ssso intricately pull Fate'sssss websss assss I have effectively... Corrupted the purposssesss of these giftsss from the Ssssix themselves." A notable air of hostility was drawn from these words. "I ssspare thee of the how, for I wissshhh only to sssee... Your comparative viewpoint upon thisss sssituation, noting from your thoughts a ssscholarly inquisitiveness. I wish to ussse your outlook to ssstudy what you ssssee before you, I will now delve into your introssspection."
I had no understanding of what he referred to until the whole of my vision clouded, and suddenly I was back within the safe, inviting hills of Oak-Shire Valley, where my childhood I had spent many a summers. I thought maybe the life I lived were a dream, until I noticed him there with me as well. Suddenly I was pulled forward through what seemed time itself, memories of my life flashing before me until we were back among the scene of death and renewal.
"Aaah, it hassss been too long sssince I've refreshed myself in the land of the Kinder. I thank you, little one, for I have been utterly quenched in thirssst."
I asked the being how old he was, and he humored me with the line,
"Ssssome ssssay ssssince the birth of creation."
I couldn't understand if he were serious or playing tricks, so decided then to ask of his origins.
"I wassss onccce an elf, of the kind yoursss get along with fairly well, if I remember correctly."
I'd never seen an elf of this kind before, thinking at the time maybe he were one of the Sharathi I'd heard some about, yet his deep monotone laugh said otherwise.
"No no, of the wildssss you are ussssed to communicating with... I've merely perfected the process of life and death, to a degree, it ssseemsss. While there are some futile measuressss I must ssssmoothen, ssssoon the time will come where I won't need the sssssssun."His hissing increased with the word, as if pained to say it. "Don't assssume me to be in natural form," the fleshy pink brute paused, evaluating on what to reveal, "I've been reborn many timessss, and may help you to be reborn, if you'd like?" His toothy grin widened as he bent over to level his face with mine, the breath filled with iron, the nostrils huffing steam and runny crimson fluid. His wings stretched forward to span four times my size, if paralleled head atop feet. The bloodied face held those bulbous eyes, yet the pupils were as thin as a needle. They were the focal point of my attention, a maniacal, menacing stare, eyes which haunt me in my dreams to this day, and forever will. "I've been able to reproducccce thissss effect on the inanimate, even long after bodily corruption, maybe you'd like to see that niecccce you watched drown in the river, sssso long ago?" Tears now welled in my eyes as the scene reproduced instantaneously, the two of us watching her flailing hands fall beneath the current. I screamed for him to release me from this torment, yet his gaze was fixated upon the struggle of death, the world was in my mind a moment longer until we finally returned to the present. "Not everyone has the sssstomach for renewal, I understand." It said in its now unbearable, monotone voice. The lips never moved, the lips stayed in the stretched, horrid smile. All the words it produced came from within the depths of my very own thoughts, the hissing drawn out like the remnants of a preemptively rung gong. I pleaded for release, and the creature decided to delight itself in torturing me through reliving more of my secrets. What seemed like an eternity finally passed as I awoke amidst the bloody pool, wrapped within its former shell. The image of those terrible, hellish eyes were ingrained within my vision. I vomited on myself in weakness of pure, carnal fear. The creature was itself disappeared, yet its voice repeated in my head the whisper of "Khaaaaa'Zuuuul," rung within the deep recesses of my soul. Six help any who face such a terror, for even the Three would cower in his wake, I do believe.
Excerpt from Curious Cases Across the Continents Vol. 3, by Dralten Hummington
The description of the vampiric necromancers were what the author had described of Kha'Zul during their encounter, yet Kreyadis was perturbed by the statement from it speaking of the image not being its only, confused as he had understood the San'Layn to portray certain details upon turning, written in ancient tomes, and never before had any noted texts he'd read spoken of them able to shift from such. To become San'Layn one sacrificed the very essence of their original being, sacrificed their soul, never to return to the Grace of the Six. At least that was what was known, however, everything wasn't known.
He decided to set about searching for this, Kha'Zul, to learn more of the creature's secrets. The author's dialogue with the being depicted that which had transcended the Five Laws, seemingly, the goal of which he sought to attain. Kreyadis planned to play with the laws of magick as if one of the Nine, and this excerpt drove him forward in the attempt. After two months, and low rations began to plague him, his certainty waned.
It had been three days since he'd ran completely dry of provisions, going so far as to sacrifice the horse he'd had, roasting its flesh above a warm fire that evening. He'd found a small cave deep within the mountainous region, lost among the crisscrossing canyons carved across the land, trying to figure out exactly where he was. He made sure to keep the fire minute so as not to alert any would be predators or other malignants, nearly crossing paths with a group of centaurs the day before. Still, he couldn't help but feel watched this particular evening as Lessat and Pneria both rose full in the cloudless nighttime air, the white rings surrounding the former blaring bright as the stars which blanketed the black. Pneria sat directly in front of hulking Lessat, rustic orange seethed where the scars on its surface didn't appear.
It was out of nowhere that the whispers began to fill his mind.
They trickled in soft, as if distant, drawing strength over time. Kreyadis thought at first there were creatures nearby playing tricks, drawing his broadsword from the saddlebag he'd rested it atop of, a torch in the air searching for signs of life, and then it dawned on him the words from the passage.
"All the words it produced came from the depths of my very thoughts." he muttered to himself, his eyes narrowed in trying to produce an image. His view of the landscape stayed constant. This was his target. Self assured, Kreyadis wondered momentarily on how to find the one named Kha'Zul when it dawned on him to think, mere thought itself seemed heard by the creature, or so the excerpt made him believe. He began to imagine himself yelling loud, hoping the whispers would grow more extreme. To his dismay, they lessened, as if there were actual creatures creating noise off in the distance. His hypothesis seemed incorrect, so he took a blanket roll from atop his saddle bags and pushed the clouds of smoke from his flames towards the entrance, to alert the creature he was certain was nearby. He even began foolishly screaming out for Kha'Zul. The only answer given was in the form of a howl in the air. Only animals seemed physically near. Still, the whispers only lessened, but they continued.
Kreyadis was trying to decide what to do when there appeared a flame in the distance, followed by another, and another. Kreyadis may not have found Kha'Zul, but centaur had found him. A marauding band far off whooped and hollered in return of his moments ago, the elf smacking his forehead in stupidity. The column of smoke he'd created led them to his position exactly.
There was no time to gather belongings, Kreyadis making haste to climb further upwards out of their grasp when the whispers began to grow again. By now Kreyadis was actually crawling, clutching to a cliff-face for dear life, slowly moving upwards upon the mountain as the centaur reached his encampment. They were speaking their gutteral language loud enough for him to hear, and in the mixture of steppespeak and orc he understood one had spotted him. The brethren of his watcher began to shoot arrows in his direction, one piercing Kreyadis' right calf, a scream produced after. This slowed the elf, and as he shifted his weight to the other leg its purchase in the crags broke, and Kreyadis stumbled down to the cave front below, knocked unconscious from the fall.
He awoke within the confines of a rawhide tent, hands wrapped together by strips of rawhide, his calf festering in wound as the arrow was poking out. He'd been stripped to his undergarments, the only thing in the tent a basin of dirty, dusty water. Sweating, he realized fever was beginning to set as the wound was infected. Gross misfortune after gross misfortune, all cast by his own hand. Kreyadis cursed to himself vehemently as he suffered his pessimistic thoughts of self deprecation, alone in the dark. Outside, the voices of his captors carried through the air, the whispers gone. The elf resigned to his fate, deciding if he were stupid enough to lead them to him, as he led Zunedia to her death, that he'd deserved the fate they were soon to give him. It only worsened as the camp came under attack.
Kreyadis had never experienced the company of centaurs before, resigned to what seemed to him in his youth a far away land, a new mythical experience he'd had as he awoke in the tent of one dawned as the screams of his would be slavers began to paint the background. Steel clashing upon steel drew him to slowly stand and limp his way towards the tent opening, looking out.
The clan of centaur he was captured by paled in comparison to the horned monstrosities of barbarous nature which cleaved whole man-like torsos from the horse-like body in single swings. Others bit through the jugulars of their lesser brethren, all delighting in the drums of war which echoed behind their cries. Kreyadis made his way to the back of the tent and slowly dragged himself from under it, hoping for escape. There would be none, however, as one of the marauders spotted him and cantered to his side, grasping him by the back of the neck and pulling the elf into the air in front of him. The beast yelled something in his native tongue, spit splattering Kreyadis who merely winced as it was near his eye, and the beast laughed. It was a heartily ferocious laugh, one of mocking. It then swung him over its back, carrying him as it then continued its rampage. Kreyadis watched as his earlier captors fell in mass, yurts duly burned after. One of them held all his belongings, including the book which he'd brought with him. Kreyadis' deprecation turned to deep depression. Everything of his past burned, while the flame of his soul withered as a flickering candle, blown upon for decease.
Kreyadis was taken to another, more gore stricken encampment, littered with the remains of the inhabitant's victims. The elf was daunted by large mounds of skulls which were littered about, other bones strewn across the ground. They took him to an enclosure where slaves were chained by their necks to posts inside a fence made of femurs and humerus bones. The elf was attached to one such means of detainment, next to another elf of lanky proportions, small and gangly, dirty from mistreatment. His eyes grew and brightened at his newfound companion, almost poking from his eye sockets.
"Another elf, finally, one who can speak the native tongue! I'd been here with these humans and dwarves so long common began to degrade my memories of our culture, while unfortunate you now share our fate, I am glad to see kinsman." He seemed younger than Kreyadis. "Why are you here?" the elf asked him.
"I seek knowledge." Kreyadis simply replied, stoic in manner.
"Aye, we all seek knowledge coming here, well, we elves. I'm an author, inspired by such tales of documented creatures in the area that I came to investigate the claims myself..." he studied the impudent elf. "You have the image of great sorrow etched in your mind, I assume? Your look is that of a gaze far off in the realm of time. What are the specifics which brought you here?" the elf asked.
Kreyadis nodded, "I wish to transgress the Five Laws."
The other laughed rather loud for their given situation, some of the other captives looking over with disappointment. He made apologetic gestures and returned his attention to Kreyadis.
"And are you not afraid of the consequences wrought from the Six?" the stranger asked. Kreyadis shook his head.
"You're a fool, but a fool is needed in these times. Great strife will befall us each, it is good to bare such burdens with humor. I commend you for aiming high, kinsman, yet I fear the sight of this camp will be all that you see in your future."
Kreyadis' brow arched. "You mean as far as ending up another skull on one of the piles?" His kinsman nodded.
"Yes, you see, these horsemen here are cannibalistic, even eating their own kind! We are to be their meals, in due time. They hold some sort of ceremony every few nights, a few of us are rounded up and made to be their nourishment. Luckily for me, they like their meat to be full." Kreyadis nodded.
'At least he knows how to play his cards right.' Kreyadis thought.
Kreyadis racked his brain to try and figure out means of escape, when the sharp pain from his leg wound came to the forefront of his thinking. He grimaced in prickling affliction, the other elf noticing immediately, transfixed by the larger.
"You're injured? Shot, I assume when captured? Strange, I've not seen these centaur with bows."
Kreyadis shook his head.
"No, I was captured by another tribe, and then they were duly overran by this one."
His kinsman's eyes widened at the sentence, eyebrows raised in apprehension.
"Aaah, I must say, you've got rather bad luck it seems."
Kreyadis kept the origins of his original capture hidden, embarrassed of the story in the fact that he called the situation upon himself.
"What sort of creatures are you looking for?" Kreyadis asked his brethren.
"I'm searching for San'Layn." the other said simply. Kreyadis' eyes widened in disbelief.
"And you laugh at me, brother?" Kreyadis mocked, knowing full well his own intentions the same. The elf shrugged, producing a lackluster smile.
"Exactly as I said, it does us good to bare this weight with humor..." His words drifted off into the air. Noises of the centaur amassing silenced the elves.
Outside, drums beat, hooves pounded the earth, chants began to flood from the mouths of many.
"It seems tonight some of us will be ascertained by the ethereal. May the Six smile on those awaiting their judgement." the skinny elf prayed, Kreyadis nodding in affirmation.
'Fa ma nu animas buch'iru du Hissut!' whispered the past, Kreyadis closing his eyes.
Two large centaurs entered their corral, unchaining a human and a dwarf. The two started pleading to their captors, the dwarf pointing at another human to try and persuade them another choice, with no avail. They were grabbed by their necks and carried away. Outside the screams of the two prisoners intermingled with the tribal theme, no mercy shown. The drums picked up pace and the chanting grew more frantic, the two victims now wretchedly bleated as if lambs to the slaughter, grotesque noises of ripping flesh barely making its way above the sound of the rest. Soon their cries turned to agonized sobs, before final thwacks made of some unknown, dull source rendered complete silence from the procession.
"May you be claimed by one of the Six." whispered the scrawny elf, now rocking back and forth. Everyone's eyes were widened in fear, stricken with dread. Kreyadis opened his eyes after a moment.
"They claim two every ceremony?" Kreyadis asked. His brethren nodded affirmation, mute.
'We're next on the list then.' Kreyadis ascertained, the two of them being the only elves.
Two nights later, this was the case. After seven humans were brought into the corral, the two elves were replaced and brought forth to the sound of the drums. The ceremony started early this evening, only the rusty moon of Pneria visible. It blotted the dark as a bloodstain on a cheek, Kreyadis' intense gaze fixated upon it within the remnants of the daylight feigning to purplish black from the orange sunlight. His newfound companion and himself were strung up by their extremities, all limbs tied to four posts, stretched out like skins. They were atop a cliff overlooking the village, centaurs gathered about for offering. Ceremonial painting rippled across their humanesque skin, some had shaved designs in the fur. One such decorated centaur, Kreyadis evidently assuming the chief, or some sort of shaman, deigned so for his immaculately created headdress fashioned from the bones of slain humanoids, flung his arms into the air and the crowd's chant began, rhythmic music setting the pace for the event. He stood beneath them as two warriors began to circle a large bonfire aflame among a circle, parallel in front of them. Kreyadis looked over to the opposite elf, calm as though nothing were happening.
"Are you not afraid?" Kreyadis asked. The other elf pursed his lips.
"I'm afraid for them." he said. His eyes began to bulge unnaturally from beneath their lids, almost free of the flaps of skin which held them close. A snarling grin then adorned his lips, Kreyadis now noticing the sharpened rows of teeth.
Kreyadis arched his brow, confusion wracking the elf's brain. More warriors joined in on the dance, the chants pitch heightening with added members. Soon after, the leader made his way through the circle, three times around he went before moving up the cliff the elves were hung upon. Upon arriving, the centaur unsheathed a jagged, dull ceremonial blade, the hilt gleaming with rubies encrusted between gold, pressing it to the back of Kreyadis, parallel with his heart. The crowd below bellowed in anticipation of the kill. Kreyadis muttered words of prayer in the Ancient Tongue. The leader screamed, then thrust his blade forward into Kreyadis' heart, eyes widened, shock ensued. The drums beat furiously and quickened now as Kreyadis began squirming in epileptic trance, his mouth agape, flowing with syllables of no coherent meaning. He looked below to see the tip of the dagger barely protruding from his chest, iron taste wetting his tongue. He sputtered out fluid, the dagger drawn out. His vision blurred as he fell into the clutches of death, the scene stripped away. Deep blackness consumed him, his soul reclaimed by the Nine.
Until he awoke with a start, in the middle of darkness. Whispers had eased him from unconsciousness. They blared in his ears as if the source were next to him, he could feel the hot breath of the speakers. When he felt around, only air was what he found. He was in a cavern, for the sound of something leaking echoed through the chamber.
'You are lucky, you know... Your sssoul nearly fled before I could chain it.' The bassy, hissing monotone voice echoed from the chambers of his mind. Kreyadis shook his head in disbelief. He clutched at his face, rocked back and forth in manic manner, yet what remained of his heart swelled and soured.
"Kha'Zul? Is this to whom I speak?" he asked aloud.
'Khaaaaaa'Zuuuuuuuul,' reverberated through his body, like the drawn out clang of a cymbal.
'Fa ma nu animas buch'iru du Hissut!' If it meant her return.
'You must take care in its practice, Kreyadis... Adhere to the Five Laws...' his old master spoke.
'My dreams will be made reality!'
'Yesssss..... They will be made reality... My apprenticcce...'
Then, deep laughter emanated from within himself, yet it was not of his, not originally, his chorusing in afterwords, his eyes widening, bottom lids halving the irises, pupils shrinking, madness enveloping him in the darkness. Whispers chimed in from all around, yet he was alone in the darkness. He flung his arms out to envelop the nothingness which surrounded him, dreaming within it, everything. Everything his heart desired.
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