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A_Knight_Errant
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| The Ascension, Part 2: Part 4 of the Igorian SagaMaluus Umbra opened his eyes and looked about him. He was in a small, dark stone room; there were no windows, and very few furnishings in it – a table, a few chairs, and an old chess board with the chess pieces scattered about the room. There was an old wooden door in one wall, made of some ancient and magical wood; it hung on old rusty hinges – but no doubt they were still exceptionally strong, for it was a solid and good-sized door. Dust covered the entire room like a layer of snow. He walked over to the door, the old wooden floor creaking as he stepped; he tried to open it – the door was locked, as was expected.
“Am I a captive in the home of the gods? Have things changed so much that Vera-al-tzier has been overthrown in his absence?” he murmured to himself, doubting his lord now that he was alone in the darkness that he so loved, yet that now seemed so cold and barren.
He heard footsteps approach the door, a key turn in the lock. He backed away from the door, fearing what could be his doom. The door opened.
And there stood Vera-al-tzier, once again man-sized, yet still bearing all the features he had when he had towered over Maluus in the storm and darkness.
“Come,” he said, beckoning Maluus forward, and then he turned and walked off. Maluus hurried to join him, not daring to walk by his side but staying a few steps back.
“My lord …”
Silence.
“If I may as be so bold…”
There was still no answer.
“My-”
“Oh just say it!” Vera-al-tzier said in exasperation. “I have no time for pleasantries and games here.”
“Am I to still challenge the Chaos Lord of Destruction?”
“Yes, you shall fight Kha-Zeras-Tung. He is waiting for you – expecting you, even.”
“He is?”
“Of course he is, you cretin! Think!” he yelled, turning about and grabbing Maluus by the collar, shoving him up into a wall. “Would you not wait and prepare for your chief rival whom you have known about for three thousand years? Would you not ready his destruction?!” He set Maluus down. “Of course you would.”
“Will he –” Maluus began tentatively as they resumed walking. “Will he be … gigantic as my lord was on the night of his ascension?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Did I not just say that,” Vera-al-tzier said, once again turning upon Maluus, “or perhaps you have decided to be a parrot? Hm?”
Maluus was silent. They continued to walk through the long corridor, lit by torches in regularly interspaced intervals, passing by countless doors on either side.
“No, he shall not be as large as I was at my ascension and rebirth, but as larger than I am now. Contrary to popular opinion, we do not normally take on our large resplendent forms – to difficult to feed, to much wasted space to house.”
“But larger than you are now?”
“Of course! He is not me, he is …”
“He is what?”
“He is a humanoid saurian. A reptile.”
“A saurian? Like the legendary race…”
“Yes – but they are not legendary, just rare in your part of the world. They prefer the warmer, more tropical regions. Not the inhospitable Northern Wastes, nor the mountains in the far South where you were created.”
They walked for a while more, passing many rows of doors and many rows of torches. Finally, they reached the end of the hall – a large door with rounded edges, slightly widening towards the top before coming to a gradual point overhead. Vera-al-tzier turned back to Maluus.
“This is where I leave you. After I have gone, you need only to open these doors and step through. It shall be all up to you after that.”
“What shall I fight him with?” Maluus cried franticly and his lord began to walk off.
“You shall see, Maluus … Oh, and Maluus? Do not fail me.”
“Perhaps I will try not to fail myself,” Maluus whispered under his breath after his lord had departed.
He opened the door and stepped through.
The room he entered was huge! A large tear-drop shaped room, made from some slick and lustrous black stone; the floor was strewn with sand and gravel. Thirty feet up along the wall there were built into the walls halls for spectators to watch whatever progressed in the arena. There were row upon row of these halls going up towards the ceiling – which was several hundred feet above – and all of them were crowded with what he could only assume were deities of one sort or another. A light from high over head lit the arena, as did magical torches built into little coves in the round wall. Below these, there were weapons of all sorts lining the wall, along with shields; there were even devices he had never seen before!
And then he looked across the arena - fully a thousand feet in diameter – a saw, entering from a door opposite his own, a large humanoid saurian. He must have been nine feet tall! As he stepped nearer – for he had already selected his weapon, a large double-bladed, wicked looking axe – Maluus could see more of him. He had dirty yellow scales all over him, and two dark slitted eyes glaring menacingly at Maluus. His corded muscles shone in the magical light, for he wore nothing save a loin cloth.
Maluus quickly turned and looked at the weapons near to him, and selected a long pole with a cylindrical mace head at one end, and what looked like a two pointed trident at the other end. He turned about to face his enemy.
The crowd went silent, their collective breaths held as they waited for the first clash.
The saurian smiled, showing sharp rows of wicked yellowish-white teeth. The confidence he exuded was staggering. This was a god!
With a roar the saurian charged, he feet throwing up sand behind him; for a large creature he moved deceptively quick and was upon Maluus in an instant.
Maluus dove aside, hitting the ground and rolling. He quickly rose to a crouch and threw the mace-end of his staff back, hoping to catch the saurian in the knee and delivering a quick and early victory.
He hit the knee with a resounding crack that was quickly drowned out by a deafening roar. But the god would not go down so easily. He reached down and grabbed the mace end of the staff, picking it up – and Maluus in the process – before throwing them both a hundred feet through the air.
But Maluus’ stroke had worked – the saurian was limping, and not moving nearly as fast as it had been. Maluus smiled, his confidence returning – maybe he could defeat this beast! He rose up, shaking the sand off him, waiting for the god to come to him – no sense in tiring him out, and every moment spent was another moment the god would feel the pain of a wounded knee. Maluus assumed a ready, confident pose.
The god snarled, flicking his forked tongue out. He wasn’t smiling anymore.
With a roar he leaped high into the air, axe overhead.
Maluus once again dove aside with a laugh at how easy and predictable this god was.
But he was wrong. The god had anticipated him! The axe blow landed on Maluus’ shoulder, shattering it and his left arm. Kha-Zeras-Tung’s other arm flew out and sent Maluus flying once again.
Maluus lay on the ground, his blood staining the sand around him. He looked over to Kha-Zeras-Tung, who smiled and brought his hand up to his mouth, and licked Maluus’ blood off of it. His grin widened as he strode once more toward Maluus – without a trace of that limp.
Maluus slowly got up and took a more cautious stance that combined his speed and power with that of his wariness. His eyes flared with anger at Kha-Zeras-Tung as he walked over.
“I will not lose to you,” he whispered fiercely underneath his cowl, deep within his shadow-face.
He sneered at Kha-Zeras-Tung, who was still walking toward him, and then Maluus too walked forward. Kha-Zeras-Tung slowed, a shadow of doubt crossing his face as he pondered what his enemy was doing.
Then Maluus sprang forward with a blow from on high; the god easily side-stepped it – right into Maluus’ true blow from the side, smashing into the god’s shoulder, sending him flying and his black blood seeping out of his destroyed shoulder.
“Hah!” Maluus crowed. “My feint worked!”
Kha-Zeras-Tung got up, angry as his like of foresight, and determined not to let this whelp win.
Maluus came forward. He swung once, twice, and a third – all feints, finally forcing Kha-Zeras-Tung to go wide. He altered his third strike, swiveling around and landing the blow into the small of the god’s back, before altering again and bring the blow up around his head and down across Kha-Zeras-Tung’s legs, sending the god sprawling face-down into the sand. With a roar of glee Maluus turned his staff over and sunk the two-pronged trident – which had begun to have a dark glow – into Kha-Zeras-Tung’s back. Black light flooded through the prone body.
Maluus arose, pulling out his staff. He held out his wounded hand over the fallen god’s body.
“Arise Kha-Zeras-Tung, and serve me!”
Kha-Zeras-Tung arose, a controlled being.
Maluus turned about, raising his staff high into the air victoriously. A roar went up from the gathered gods. Vera-al-tzier flew down from high above, landing lightly beside Maluus.
“I give you Maluus Umbra, Chaos God of Destruction, Master of Deception!”
The crowd roared in approval.
Vera-al-tzier motioned for Kha-Zeras-Tung to go to Maluus’ chambers; the high god and the god of destruction walked out of the arena.
“Well done, Maluus, well done!”
Maluus spun on the high god, grabbing him by his collar and thrusting him into the wall.
“I have questions, Vera-al-tzier!”
“Temper, temper, Maluus! Remember last time we did this?” With a flick of his hand he sent Maluus into the opposite hallway wall. “Ah, Maluus, Maluus – will you never learn?”
“It is the way of chaos to continually try the same thing and expect different results.”
Vera-al-tzier smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
“Come – you have a few things you must know.”
“And I have a few questions I will have answered.”
Again, Vera-al-tzier smiled and offered a shrug. They walked down to the end of halls, turned left through another door, and then took a right down an adjacent hallway before coming to another large door at the end – this door, like the hallway, was round like a circle. It was made out of the same ancient magical wood that all the doors were made of, but was blackened as if it had been burnt. There was no visible handle, nor hinges, only a glyph engraved in the middle of the door and then filled in with gold.
“My lord?”
“Yes?” Vera-al-tzier mused, standing in front of the door, his chin resting in a cupped hand while the other arm crossed his torso, with his wings folded behind him. He stood staring at the door, as if fondly remembering something long ago.
“Why is the door burnt and blackened?
“Oh, that happened many years ago – many thousands of years ago. Somehow, the Dragon Father came to Cuain and got rather, hm, shall we say irritated? at some of the gods and went on a rampage. He was a rather large, magnificent, and powerful dragon – no idea how he got here…”
“Is that so?”
“If you notice this glyph was not burnt.”
“Indeed.”
“It had been there long before, but strong magic protects it.”
“Magic? The gods use magic?”
“Oh of course – the only reason a god’s magic is more potent than most mortals’ own, is because a god has a greater will and strength of mind than most mortals.”
“And the glyph?”
“Ah yes – the glyph is a character, a samao-patou. It is an ancient writing form of an ancient culture whose language supposedly died out many centuries ago. It means ‘ascended serpent’s protection.’”
“Ascended serpent’s protection? What is that?”
“Long ago, the Chaos God of Destruction was a great serpent named Hassessin.”
“He wasn’t an assassin by any chance?”
“Amusing, Maluus, amusing. The name, in the serpentine dialect of that time, meant ‘resplendent glory’s ascension, remake our clan.’”
“And …”
“And, when Hassessin died – for he was killed in the Great War – he imparted his essence and his power to protect this room beyond.”
“And how is this glyph pronounced?”
“Hassamsur.” When Vera-al-tzier spoke this, the great door shifted, the stone about it withdrawing, and it swung open.
“Amazing!” Maluus whispered.
“You would do well to remember that – it both opens and closes the door.”
After they had stepped inside, Maluus turned about and spoke the command word. The door closed and the stone locked it in place.
“And now, my dear Maluus Umbra, it is time to tell you a few things.”
“My questions first.”
Vera-al-tzier threw out his hands wide, bowing his head slightly.
“When I was wounded, I felt no pain; I began to see clearer and move faster. And Kha-Zeras-Tung could not follow my moves.”
“Indeed – truly amazing, was it not?”
“Why?”
“Do you really need to know?”
“Yes.”
“Oh very well!” He walked over to a sofa and reclined upon it. “Care for a seat,” he said, motioning to a chair. Maluus sat.
“Shall we begin?”
“Oh alright – simply because you are a god in the Higher Pantheon doesn’t mean you can talk down to me – I am still above you. Hmm, I suppose we shall start with the beginning.”
“Yes.”
“You know if you keep interrupting me I shall get quite angry.”
“Silence is my motto.”
“Good. To begin: when you were first created, it was at my biding. Kha-Zeras-Tung was beginning to be far too dangerous, and was trying to steal power from me.”
“How?”
His response was a stern look from Vera-al-tzier.
“I decided that he must be replaced,” Vera-al-tzier continued. “And so you were created by the Dark Circle. Unfortunately, I had to step my plans up a bit as he began to press me to much, and so I had to ascend and bring you along with me before you were quite fully ready to fight him. So, I helped you out a bit, with a few minor spells – illusionary, speed, healing. Nothing major, but enough that you would be able to defeat him without a problem.”
“And so I did.”
“For the most part – by the way, he is your servant now, mostly controlled by you.”
“Mostly?”
“Yes, mostly. Must you always parrot me?”
This earned a dark look from Maluus.
“My apologies, Lord of Chaos and Destruction. To continue: he shall be under your control as long as you wear this medallion –” he said, pulling out a silver necklace, on which was strung a silver representation of Kha-Zeras-Tung, with a Blood stone set in his eye. “You must at all times wear this. You shall also have an enchanted snake staff – that is, a staff whose head is that of a striking snake, with two Blood Stone eyes and Shadow Stone set in its mouth. This staff is a mere convenience – helps the medallion, as well as increases your powers. Clear enough so far?”
“Yes, though I am slightly disturbed about the medallion.”
“Oh yes, do be careful – two Chaos Lords who are Gods of Destruction wandering around would not be a good thing. Not at all.”
“And what is this other thing you alluded to?”
Vera-al-tzier smiled.
“This, my dear Maluus, is my favorite part!”
“I quiver in fear,” Maluus said sarcastically.
“Indeed you should. You don’t know what this next part is, do you?”
“How could I? You haven’t told me … yet.”
“Very few beings that ascend to godhood stay the way they are.” Vera-al-tzier smiled cruelly.
“What do you mean?” Maluus hesitantly asked.
“You are Umbra, are you not?”
“Yes, and I have always been Umbra.”
“But you shall not always be Umbra. No, you shall not always be Maluus Umbra – the Dark Light of Shadows. No, you shall be Sheshnan Naga!” Vera-al-tzier’s eyes went wide, and he stood up, raising his hands. Then, in his deep and resonant voice, he began to chant:
Gi o so supa
Ni ami cro tooca
Vi esse nu’un tak
Bae essun ara
Takken et meso
Hruun ae deva
P’hecae su’un yhak
Ugae inae rassun
Noz iro cit trae
Ie alahk querr’n
Jugue poe teo uu
Karak fe ngo, ngo
Iaro es uso je
Niaro par et ae
Kia’amo hu’un
Vede jio jae’en
Ae riso gi o sepa ka mhak,
Ju’ug i’amea Sheshnan Naga!
The shadowy being the was Maluus Umbra sat in the chair, fiery eyes flickering, gripping the arm-rests of the chair fiercely, feet firmly planted on the floor throughout the invocation. At the end of the chant, arms still raised, eyes boring into Maluus, Vera-al-tzier whispered into the air: “Be’unn.” A dark cloud formed around Maluus and the chair, and within lighting flashed within.
There was an ear-splitting screech within the cloud, followed by a primeval roar and a great tearing sound. The cloud tore apart, falling in shreds to the ground, almost like a fabric. And then emerged Sheshnan Naga, once known as Maluus Umbra.
His lower body was that of a snake, with brown-red scales covering his entire body. His upper body was the same color, but smooth like skin and human in appearance; his two arms and chest were corded in muscles. His head was also like a human’s, except for two black and yellow slitted snake eyes, sharp fangs like a snake’s dripping acidic poison onto the ground, and two horns protruding from his temple. Altogether, he was thirty feet long, from tip of head to tip of tail. He roared.
“Yes! Feel the pain, relish it, and revel in it! You are now the Chaos God of Destruction and Master of Deception! Let me hear your roar!”
Sheshnan Naga’s roar split through all of Cuain. He turned murderous eyes upon Vera-al-tzier.
“This is not what you promised me!” He said, slithering toward the High God.
“Hahaha! You did not ask to keep your body! Only to be god!”
“You tricked me!”
“You are the Master of Deception, my dear Sheshnan, not I!” Vera-al-tzier howled in glee.
“But you lied to me!” Sheshnan howled in rage and pain.
“I never told a lie, nor did I tell the truth!”
“WWWRRRRAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!”
“Oh quit your ruckus.”
Sheshnan hissed at him with his forked tongue.
“FEEL THE POWER, Sheshnan – feel the power. Become who you were meant to be!”
“I … I am … Sheshnan Naga, the Chaos God of Destruction!”
“YES!” Vera-al-tzier laughed maniacally. “Now go – find your priest Necrospore, and tell him of your ascension. But I suggest to not do so in this form, but in your Shadow Form. A physical manifestation of your spirit sent from here to there would be advised. I have other matters to attend to.”
Sheshnan hissed at him.
Vera-al-tzier walked away, before sending himself magically to Goeth-Tiar – there was a certain mathmetician he must talk with, concerning a certain diadem and a quest for an equation … | | |
| The Ascension, Part 1: Part 3 of the Igorian SagaGhost, formerly known as Lord Igor Ravennic, stood by a window in his study in what was once his home, Raven’s Castle. He was in an oddly good mood, humming an ancient tune with a smile on his face. He looked around at his study, at all the books and items he’d collected over the many years of his life – rare gems, ancient artifacts, ancient tomes and grimiores, priestly texts from across the world, skulls of various legendary creatures he’d slain, tribute jewelry and riches given to him from powers and principalities he’d impressed or subdued, magical items used in rituals, ceremonial garb from a dozen exotic cultures, and countless other items and objects that adorned the bookshelves, walls, tables, and floor.
“It has been a good life, and a welcome deviation from my duties…” he murmured to himself, a melancholy dropping over him like a dark shadow.
There was a shimmering in the room’s air; a black crack formed in the middle of the room with purple shoots coming out of it, grasping at the empty air. They spread out, finding holds on invisible particles, and then contracted, opening a dark doorway; stars from some unknown realm shown through the door, but were soon blocked as a black form that stepped out of the inter-dimensional door.
The figure was clothed in dark robes, the hood pulled low over its face, shrouding it in darkness.
“Sil et-che,” the thing murmured. The magical door began to collapse, the purple threads folding in about the figure, forming a dark purple sash and a collar that covered his shoulders and part of his cloaked chest. The door then finished collapsing, becoming this robed-being’s flowing cape, with small silver stars on the inside.
Ghost looked at the robed creature, and then smiled widely, showing his teeth – including his two long canines.
“Ah, Maluus, it is so good of you to come.” He paused. “I take it that our dear friend, your first high priest, has been brought into our fold of understanding?”
Maluus threw back his hood, revealing his face.
“Yes,” he chuckled evilly, “my minion has been convinced of my power and has agreed to serve me.” He smiled cruelly, revealing his long and pointed teeth; his forked tongue flicked out, excitedly tasting the air. “Ah, chaos, m’lord! Chaos! Just taste it …”
Ghost looked sternly at him, motioning his hand for silence; he turned back to his window to stare out of it.
“What is wrong, my king?” Maluus said, stepping toward him.
“I do not need any of your war mongering, Maluus. Not right now – soon, yes, but not now. The ancient evils are beginning to stir.”
Maluus grinned wickedly.
“Is not this good news, O Illustrious One?!”
“Not yet! I have not yet ascended, nor have you; we are vulnerable – should they awake now our time shall be ended, as will the time of this world.”
“Than we shall ascend! We have not played a good game of chess for a while, and this could present such an opportunity…”
“Yes … it has been a while – at times I think I have forgotten what it is like to be … to be the Illustrious One. At times I do not want to remember.”
“Do not be a fool,” Maluus spat. “You know the power you had, the power you have; you think it would be the same here were you to give up that power completely? No.” Maluus grabbed Ghost and turned him around, pulling Ghost toward his face. “No, you do not want that – you would never want that, unless … unless the Others have taken you again,” he whispered fiercely into Ghost’s face.
And than Maluus was no longer there. Ghost, with a flick of his hand, sent Maluus flying across the room, smashing into one of the heavy doors, almost shattering it on impact. And then Ghost sprang across the room to where Maluus lay, crumpled; he grabbed him by his robes and held him up with one hand, holding him off the ground, before turning and throwing him again into a door on the other side of the huge study.
“Do not ever speak to me like that again, creature of the dark! I have made you what you are, and I will put you back into you miserable existence if you dare touch me like that again!” he roared at Maluus’s crumpled form. He crouched slightly, throwing his arms out wide. “You think you are a match for me, oh mighty Maluus?” he said mockingly. “I am allowed to say and think what I will!”
He stalked across to Maluus’s form, which was starting to raise itself up from the ground.
“You would do well to remember that, Maluus Umbra. Remember who I am, and remember who you are.”
“My apologies, my lord, for doubting you.” Maluus sank to his knees, and then prostrated himself before Ghost. “Forgive your servant, O Illustrious One.”
“Get up,” Ghost sneered. “Cowering only becomes one for a moment.”
Maluus rose, standing unsteadily.
“Besides,” Ghost said, once again in control of himself, “we have work to do. And we must work quickly.”
“The Ascension!”
“Yes, it is time for us to Ascend.”
Maluus’s evil laugh shook the room.
“Back away, Maluus, and hide your face lest my glory destroy you!” As Maluus retreated to the wall, he spoke some enchanted words, summoning a defensive wall between him and Ghost. Ghost, the former Lord Igor Ravennic, stepped into the center of the room, his immaterial and ghostly body taking on form and substance. And then, in his deep, strong voice, he began to chant:
“Four became One
One became Man
Man became Ghost
Ghost became God
Haruun God of Sky
Faruun God of Fire
Baruun God of Water
Gruum, God of Darkness
Five Original Gods
Four there now are
I, the Lost God
Reclaim my Throne
I am not One
I am not Many
Four is my Number
Completion my Destiny
Mállus
Tiraite
Ruadrí
Fathud
Four Names I have
Four Beings I am
Four Times Ours
Eight We Now Are
Cúáin Balanced
Order Restored
The Heavens’ Returned
All is now well
Powers that were sought
Long lost gifts were stolen
There arises a New God
Fulfills Prophesy of Old
My Powers in Full I have taken to me
Let none ever again challenge me!
During the chant he had spread his feet apart and stretched out his hands toward the ground, and his face with eyes closed staring into the domed ceiling high above.
When he finished the chant, a flash of blue lighting filled the air, followed by a clap of thunder that shook the castle to its core, disturbing even the inhabitants of the Undercastle. Then came a flash of red lighting, followed by an even louder clap of thunder that shifted stones from their foundation; ancient structures deep under the castle moved as they had not moved in millennia; pillars fell in the deep darkness, awakening creatures that had long been asleep.
A white flash of lighting, swiftly followed by a dark one, came into the room and struck the body of the former Lord Igor, filling the room with light and darkness, completely enveloping the body. The light and darkness receded from the room, intermingling with each other about the body, wrapping itself around the still standing body and lifting it up into the air.
A fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth bolt of lighting fell from the sky into the room, striking the growing cocoon. The noise of the thunder clap became an incessant roar, and constant thunderous booming that shook Raven’s Castle to its foundations; that shook the ancient Werran structures far beneath the castle, deep within the mountain.
The cocoon had now grown so large that it broke through the domed study – it was fully 30 feet high, and half as thick, consisting of an intermingling of light and darkness.
The storm outside intensified – rain thundered down, turning the ground into deep mud and causing the rivers to swell to twice their size; wind howled, blowing over houses and snapping trees as if they were dry twigs; lighting struck the area incessantly, and a never-ending flash turned the darkness of night and storm into brighter than day.
Then, from the cocoon, there was a roar and a great tearing sound; the cocoon separated and fell away in strands down to the study’s floor. From within the cocoon emerged a great creature: from the cocoon emerged Vera-al-tsier, also known as Kundaj or Barjuk, the High God of R’yni cah Braenach. He was immense: well over 60 feet tall, and 25 feet wide; his huge rippling muscles gleamed in the heavy rain, his thick skin repelling them as if it was a mere haze and nothing more; his two great leathery black wings unfolded behind him, stretching out into the air, unaffected by the fierce wind. He wore great robes, which shifted from black to white as light hit them from different angles; about his waist was a great silken sash the color of blood, and on it hung a huge sword in a diamond-and-ruby sheath. His head looked as if chiseled from marble, with a firm jaw line and strong nose; he had long, lustrous black hair. On his head sat a golden crown, with a single point that narrowed, broadened, and then narrowed again to a point, and in the middle of this was set a brilliant deep red stone; on the sides of the crown, above his ears, were great golden wings; about the top rim of the crown were diamonds interspersed with Shadow stones; the crown left the top of the head open.
He flapped his great and mighty wings and rose higher into the air, his great cloak billowing about him; he drew his sword and stretched out his arms into the air, willing the storm to cease. The sudden silence was deafening.
“Hear me, Cúáin,” he roared into the sky. “Your Lord and Master is returning! Prepare my throne! Ready the celebration feast! I have come back to claim that which is mine!”
The mountains echoed with his voice. Then, remembering himself, he looked down upon Maluus Umbra.
“Maluus, my servant!” he bellowed as he sank back to the earth. “Come with me! Tonight you shall win your place in Cúáin, realm of the gods. Tonight, you shall rise to my left hand, and become the Lord of Chaos and Destruction, the Master of Deceit! Come!”
He reached down and picked up Maluus, and then rose once again into the air, and with a thought, he and Maluus disappeared, departing the realm of mortals and ascending into the realm of the gods.
The night resumed, in Ravennic; the storm was gone, but its affects would be long felt, and repairs on Raven’s Castle would take many years.
And the ancient evils of the Werrans had awakened.
Enter the World of Shadows.
| | |
| Castle Coup - Part 2 of the Igorian SagaThe Lord Igor, now a ghost, stood in his study, looking through a window to the star-lit countryside, watching the wind blow across the moors. He sighed.
“Never again shall I feel the wind, nor the nip of cold, or the tingling of heat,” he said to Theophilus Paleologus, Captain of the Royal Guard of Ravennic.
“M’lord?”
“Ah stop that! I am no longer your lord – I am a dead man, who lives among the living in a world not my own, for a reason unknown to me.” Theophilus shifted uncomfortably. “Oh sit down! We have always been friends, and your duty to me is fulfilled.”
“M’lord, I am sorry that I failed you!” he said, leaping back up, hand on his sword hilt. “If I had known that –”
“SIT DOWN!” Even as a ghost, Igor had a powerful voice; Theophilus sat down, mute, color stricken from his face. “Ah, I am sorry my dear friend,” Igor said, walking over to him, resting an immaterial hand on Theophilus’s shoulder; Theophilus’s stiffened at the touch. “What a life I must now live …” Igor said, as he withdrew his hand and went back to the window, staring outside. Suddenly, he laughed. “Did you hear that, Theophilus?” he said mirthfully.
“M’lord?”
“I just commented on the life I now have to live.”
“Yes …”
“Think about it: a ghost, dead, living a life …”
Theophilus’s young, smooth face eased itself into a slight smile – still slightly confused, but glad that his lord was no longer depressed.
“Ah, but what to do now with my new life? Where should I go?”
“M’lord, what of Ravennic?”
“Ah,” Igor said, waving his toward his friend. “What need does Ravennic have of me now? I am a dead man, and useless to this kingdom. It needs younger blood than me! Or, hah, at least some sort of blood.”
“But –”
“No – I am through. It can take care of itself. You can take care of it,” he said, turning around and staring Theophilus in the eyes. “Yes, you heard me right. You can take care of it.”
“B-but m’lord! The people expect one of your line, a true Ravennic, to rule. They would never accept me, a mere captain of the Royal Guard.”
“You underestimate yourself,” Igor said, walking over to stand before him. “You are not just a captain of the guard – you are my friend, a capable man. A bit brash at times, but that will be tempered in time.”
“The people will not accept it.”
“A steward then; at least a steward until my one of my sons, Wulf or Balder or even Jürgen, whichever returns, can take over my domain. Ah, but what is the problem? Why wait for them? It is not like you are becoming king – you are inheriting a portion of lands in Ravennic and becoming a lord. Such a thing is done – there are provisions for it.”
“But, m’lord –”
“ENOUGH!” Igor shouted, leaping across the room and throwing Theophilus into a bookshelf, shaking the wall and sending books falling to the ground. “I am no one’s lord now,” Igor hissed through clenched teeth. “You would do well to remember that, friend.” Igor turned around and strode towards a shelf directly across the room, as a very shaken Theophilus stood very still, unmoving, against the bookshelf.
Igor reached for an old, dragon-hide tome, studded with goblin teeth. In the middle of the front of the tome was a circle made from entwined golden thread, and inside that circle the picture of Karo, Father of Dragons.
“I shall take this with me now; I shall be back for the rest in my personal study – you may have all the rest.”
“M –”
“Don’t … say … it …”
“Yes … Igor.”
Igor nodded in deference, still not looking at his former captain.
“I cannot take your land.”
“It is not mine anymore, to hold or to give. It shall fall to whomever wants it – if not you, someone else, then; and if not them, another.”
“You could throw the land into civil war!”
“Ah, what would I care – perhaps a few more ghosts to join me in my eternal damnation. Fighting, killing, death, destruction, the burning of villages and towns. What does one like me, an unfeeling ghost, care?”
“But … this is –”
“This is what?” Igor spat. “My home? Hah! I have never had a home, not since …” A ghostly tear crowded his eye.
“But these people were loyal to you.”
“And they shall be loyal to you!”
“Civil war though!”
“And whose fault would it be? Mine for dying and wishing for some peace? No! No, it would be yours, my friend, for refusing to accept the gift I have bestowed upon you. It will lie on your shoulders, ‘till your dying day. I shall not accept the lives of the living on my shoulders. Hah, you asked for the position of Grand Vizier after my death, during the chaos the ensued after my murder, when our guardian spirit disappeared, and before I had returned. Think of this as … as a step up!”
“Very well … I shall accept.”
“Good. Farewell, then.”
“Farewell, m’lord.”
“Just that once, then, m’lord Theophilus Paleologus, just that once.”
“Aye, just that once.” They smiled.
* * *
“What do you mean, he’s become lord?” snarled Dfaeren, captain of the castle guard.
“In the study … Lord Igor … he-he-he said he was giving him the lands!” Gruun, a small, pale man said.
“Rrrrrraaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!!” Dfaeren roared; his hand snapped out and grabbed Gruun by the throat, easily lifting the smaller man up off the ground. “NO! I will not serve under him" he snarled at Gruun. "I will not let him be a lord of Ravennic! It is to be mine!”
He drew back his hand, bringing Gruun close to his face.
“It is to be mine,” he whispered.
“GRRAAAAHHH!” He roared, throwing Gruun across the officer’s quarters; Gruun hit the wall, before crashing down into a sturdy wood table, shattering the clay dishes that lay there. As he started to get up, Dfaeren growled at him: “Stay down there, you useless pig!” He walked out of the room, slamming the heavy wood-and-metal door behind him.
“THIS IS NOT THE END OF THINGS, THEOPHILUS!” Dfaeren roared as he ran up the flight of stairs to the garrison’s eating hall. He threw the double wooden doors open, crashing them into the stone walls on either side. All the soldiers quieted and turned, looking at their captain. The eight, tall arched windows showed the darkness outside, and the storm gathering overhead – it would be a fierce, early winter storm. The rumblings of thunder shook the entire castle.
“Loyal soldiers of Ravennic! My friends, and fellow men-at-arms! You know of our lord’s recent death!” He shouted, as he slowly walked up the center aisle, arms outstretched. “And you know of his ghostly return!”
“Unnatural it is!” a voice yelled out from the back of the room.
“Oh, aye, it is,” Dfaeren said, turning around and pointing with a finger toward the man who spoke up, keeping the other hand outstretched. “Aye, it is unnatural! But it was for OUR good that he came back, instead of finding his much earned rest!” He turned back around, and resumed walking up the aisle.
“He’s earned his rest! Am I right? HE’S EARNED HIS REST!”
The men roared their approval.
“But has he gotten it?! NO!” He stopped walking forward, and put one hand up, as if he was about to confer a great secret to them; the men leaned in, anticipating what was to come.
Lighting lit the entire hall, swiftly followed by a crash of thunder overhead; the castle groaned.
“And now,” he resumed, softly. “AND NOW! Now he’s been tricked by his friend Theophilus to leave the country!”
The men roared. Some began to get up.
“But wait!” Dfaeren yelled into their midst, his voice carrying to everyone of them. “That’s not the worst of it!” He turned around, hand outstretched, pointing. “Oh no – no not the worst of it! Our dear friend, that arrogant prig of man, has tricked our weary lord into giving him the rule of the land!”
The soldiers face turned angry, and many of them clutched at their weapons, looking around for a Royal Guardsman to kill.
“WILL WE LET THIS HAPPEN?!” Dfaeren roared into the ceiling.
“NO!!”
“WHAT WILL WE DO ABOUT IT?!”
“KILL THE GUARD! RECLAIM OUR LAND!”
“BUT WHO SHALL RULE US?!”
“YOU!”
Dfaeren smiled.
“Then go! Find these men! Root those lying bastards* out, throw them out on the streets!”
With a roar, the loyal soldiers of Ravennic poured out of the great hall and into the rest of the castle, intent on claiming it for their new lord.
Dfaeren laughed into the ceiling of the now empty room, as yet another flash of lighting filled the air with light, followed by the deafening boom of thunder overhead.
“Everything is going exactly as planned,” he whispered to himself. “And now, I must go find my old friend, the former Lord Theophilus, and inform him of the … shift in power.” He laughed, cruelly, as he drew his sword and ran out of the hall, his dark cape billowing behind.
*my apologies if this offends you, but this is his character; however, I normally do not use what are considered 'swear words' in my writings - this is a special case. | | |
| Lord Igor's Death - Part 1 of the Igorian Saga Lord Igor, founder of Ravennic and commander of the now-legendary Dragon Force, walked the halls restlessly. It was a dark, stormy night in the recently created country of Ravennic, which wasn’t altogether unusual in the mountainous lowlands that bridged the Hoorum Plains in the north and the dark mountain ranges of Galor in the south. He paced through the halls, back once more into his private study in the north wing of his castle. He opened the two thick wooden doors, each with a protruding dragon head locked in a snarl with a large ring held in their mouths for handles. His study was magnificent – large bookcases covered most of the wall space, reaching nearly to the top of the 25 foot domed ceiling. There were four arched and fluted windows in the round walls of the semi-circular room, with clear-paned crystal insulating the room from the outside world. There were torches in sconces along the wall, all lit by magical blue fire; the lamps that sat on the five reading tables also were lit by this magical fire. The shelves themselves were full of books, magnificently carved bookends, statuettes, helms, artifacts, trinkets, candles, an assortment of magical instruments, and the like. The books covered various topics from geography, history, flora and fauna of various regions, tales of bravery and courage, stories love and valor, and many, many other topics; all in all, there were some thousand volumes in this room alone. Igor sighed deeply, sunk deep inside his own thoughts. He stepped into the room and shut the doors behind him; he crossed the room to sink into one of the eight overstuffed arm-chairs. “So much knowledge and wisdom is contained in here, and yet so little help it is to me now!” he said aloud as he sat there, slouched in the chair, head resting on his right hand, as his left mindlessly played with a small knife. There was a soft knock on the door. “You may enter, Tirg.” Tirg – a large, dark man, whose sleeveless shirt could hardly contain his muscular shoulders, and whose single gold earring shone in the magical blue light – opened one of the doors (which creaked loudly on its old hinges), stepped inside quickly, and shut the door firmly behind him. He turned around and offered a small bow, to which Igor replied with a deferential nod. “M’lord.” “Speak freely, Tirg.” “M’lord is aware of the poison and plans for assassination found?” Igor nodded. “And m’lord is aware of recently discovered plans of attack by the people of Iefiela?” Another nod. “And the traitor?” “Gone, or so I had heard and would assume.” “Not so.” “You know I am not a patient man, Tirg.” “Murdered – a bloodless kill.” “Magick?” “Possibly poison, but the doctors and sorcerers think it to be magick.” “And what of our new emigrant, the dark druid who claims to be our servant? What think you of him?” Igor asked, moving on with the conversation after a moment’s silence as he thought on the revelations. “A spy, perhaps.” Tirg said, shifting on his feet and he subconsciously dropped his hand to the hilt of the curved sword that rested in its sheath on the dull-red sash about his waste. “Perhaps.” Igor replied, with a slight smile on his face. “But you think not.” “No, m’lord. He attempted to cause too much damage to Iefiela when he left. I do not think he is a spy – nor a druid.” “Ah, the plot thickens.” Igor said, tilting his head, and spreading his arms out wide as if to encompass the web of deceit. “M’lord, I do not mean to presume …” Tirg voice trailed off. “My dear Tirg – we have been together through countless campaigns, and you should know I that I trust you and that you may speak freely in my presence.” “He is not a druid, not even a dark one. They do not have the powers he has been seen to use, nor do they seek to destroy the land for petty insults over rank and title.” “It does seem a bit out of character.” Igor mused, frowning and once more letting his head sink into his hand. “A hamo-ka-soto.” Lord Igor stood abruptly and flew across the room to one of the shelves, running his finger along several dusty old spines of thick tomes. He stopped at one, and tapped it lightly a couple times, thinking over its title. He moved his finger on, finally stopping at another spine a few tomes down. “Hah! Here it is.” He grabbed the large book off the shelf and moved over to one of the reading tables in the middle of the room. “Kolath” he said, causing the magick-fire in the lamp to brighten, casting eerie shadows across the room. He laid the tome down, and began to rapidly flip through the pages. Tirg crossed the room and peered at the tome. “Here! Here – look here – oh, you can’t read.” An embarrassed Tirg shook his head. “Ah, its alright – I’ll get around to teaching you one of these days. But look here – you see this illustration?”
“Of the eight-point star inscribed within a circle?” “Yes, yes that – but look here, in the center of the star.” “At the cloaked man wielding an axe and a sword, with red glowing eyes and a …” “And a dragon tattooed on his right forearm in red. Yes! Now think – think back to the druid, what’s his name – uh, Maluus Umbra. When you clasped arms with him – did you feel the dragon? The tattoo on his forearm?” “I felt a … a sensation, the momentary surge of power through me … his – his eyes became slits! Like a snake!” “But you never saw the tattoo, did you?” “No … even after he took off his cloak, I didn’t – and he was wearing a sleeveless tunic.” Lord Igor laughed, half-crazed with excitement. “Hahahahah! Even I didn’t put it together, not ‘till you mentioned hamo-ka-soto! But it fits, it fits! He would …” Lord Igor looked down, at his abdomen, as searing flash of pain rushed through his body, trembling his limbs and blood to sweat down his forehead. In his abdomen was Tirg’s hand and arm, going through it. He looked up, at Tirg – but it wasn’t Tirg. It was Maluus Umbra. “Smart, very smart, m’lord Igor,” Maluus said sarcastically. “You had figured it out, but only to a point.” His pupils became slits, his tongue lengthened and forked. He chuckled evilly, relishing in the pain he was causing and his own incredible brilliance. “You’re a fool, Igor!” he hissed through his mouth, his tongue flicking through his now razor sharp teeth. “Yes, I am hamo-ka-soto – and I shall truly enjoy taking Ravennic as my own, before destroying it and its people!” He wrenched his hand out of Igor’s abdomen, and, steaming blood dripping from it raised it to his mouth and licked it, smiling cruelly. Lord Igor staggered backwards, grasping at the whole in his belly, trying to stem the flow of blood as the pool around him and beneath him grew. He fell back into a chair, sinking down into it, covering it with his life-blood. The light faded from his eyes, and he was dead. Maluus laughed wickedly, relishing in his destruction of life. He began casting a spell, moving his hands in an intricate spherical motion, creating a growing orb of light between them. He flung one hand up and the other down, and the orb expanded and became a doorway of light; it solidified and became a doorway of wood and stone. Each stone that formed the mantel was a lustrous black and carved into the shape of humanoid skulls. The door itself was a black wood, and seemed to suck the light from the room. Gradually, the magick fires in the study went out. Maluus looked at the crumpled and now-lifeless form of Lord Igor, Founder of Ravennic and former commander of the Dragon Force. “Hail and well-met, m’lord,” he said, bowing gracefully towards the body. “I am glad to have met you, before you died; I only wonder what now shall happen with all those fierce dragons, with their Lord and Master dead. A pity the havoc they’ll surely wreak.” He smiled, enjoying the picture his thoughts created. “I suppose it’s good that you shall not be hear to see it,” he said in mock sympathy. He laughed. “I bid you farewell – both on your journey and on mine!” He grasped the dragon-skull handle of his magick-created door, pulled the door open, and stepped through, closing the door behind him. As soon as he closed it, the door slowly dissolved into a black mist, floating up to the domed ceiling high above, flowing outside through the stones. | | |
| Two Words: Feng Shui To live life...
To its fullest... A noble idea...
But worth the while? Life to be lived...
Live for life... Or rather opp'site:
Live to die... Or die to live...
Possible: Indeed. For all: No...
Sadly, for the Few...
For the Brave. But Worthwhile. This was done, oh, a good while ago - probably in early July... first poem I think I've done that wasn't an assignment... | | |
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