| The stranger stood behind a tree, he'd heard the approaching footsteps
and decided to wait and see. About 10 yards in front of him stood several
small cages, inside one, a golden foxlet lay panting. One leg naughed off
from being held in a trap. He'd spent the previous day following the
trail of blood leading here. If it had been any other animal he'd have
let it go without a second thought but the golden foxlet was worth 15 gold
coins a pelt right now. Still coming up on the cages and seeing it inside
one had taken him by surprise. He'd heard stories about the old Sorceress
who lived in these woods and he didn't want to cross her. He was about to
open the cage and take the foxlet when he heard her voice drifting up over
the ridge behind the cages. He immediately dashed behind the tree and decided
to wait and see what happened. Once she finished whatever business she had
among the cages, he could get the foxlet and leave.
He glanced around the tree again and saw the old crone, she was ladling
something into the bowls within the varied cages. The cages contained
everything from an owl with a broken wing, to a small hemloa a small
snake with an extremely poisonous bite. This particular one had a strange
crook in it's back as if something had broken a portion of it's spine.
As he watched her move from cage to cage filling the bowls inside, he noticed
a small sparrow land upon her shoulder. She took the ladle and held it up
where the bird could hop onto it's edge, he eat a bit of the contents then
chirped happily and flew off. She reached the cage that the foxlet lay
in and carefully opened the hinged lid, reaching down with the ladle, she
carefully set it close to the foxlet's mouth so it could gently lap up some
of the contents. At first this was all he could see, then slowly the foxlet
rolled over from it's side and stood on it's legs, all four of them. He
looked again, and could see that the missing leg had somehow grown back. He
could only surmise that it was as a result of whatever she was ladling out
to the animals. He glanced over to the small snakes cage and saw that the
strange crook in it's back was gone, and the large owl stood on it's pearch
with both legs folded against it, not the broken wing extended slightly like
before. He looked back at the foxlet and noted the healthy gloss to it's fur.
His mind began to consider this, "What a marvelous advantage I'd have over
the other hunters!" he thought to himself. "I could trap the animals then
treat them with her potion and have perfect furs to trade with. No more
holes from arrows or muskets, no more dingy fur from disease. Why, my pelts
would be prized throughout the countryside!" He made up his mind to get
his hands on the potion, at any cost. If he could trade for it fine, if
not, he'd use other means.
The old woman turned away from the cage of the foxlet and returned to the
owl's cage.
"There now Old Owl, you're fit and fiddled again" she said as she opened
the lid again and released him from the cage. The owl swooped up into the
sky circled over her head, his soft cry drifting down to her in thanks, then
he flew off in search of a place to sleep until night fall when he would
once again return to his practice of nocturnal hunting.
"Stay away from stray Minc kittens from now on old friend, the mother's tend
to be close by and don't appreciate you trying to eat their youngsters." she
cackled as she watched the speck of the owl disappear in distance. She then
turned to the cage with the snake and opened it. The snake hissed once, then
carefully crawled out of the cage and stopped beside her left foot. She
reached down with a vial and waited as the snake opened it's mouth and allowed
it's fangs to protrude over the edge of the vial. She gently pressed upwards
with the vial and watched as twin streams of an amber colored liquid flowed down
from the snakes fangs and collected in the bottom. After a few seconds she
pulled the vial away, looked admiringly at the long sinuous serpent and said
"Fair enough, enough venom for several batches of antitoxin in exchange for
fixing that busted vertebra in your back. Now don't go and get kicked by
anymore hunters when you're out in the woods, and don't you dare bite that
poor little felinx I fixed up yesterday. He's living near your den and
is temperamental but he'll leave you alone if you don't go nosing about his
burrow." The snake hissed and twisted around to crawl away under the loose
foliage.
She looked at the foxlet in it's cage, it sat with it's hind legs folded
to one side of it looking at her. "No I'm going to hold on to you another
day. I want to be sure the bonding takes properly or you'll end up with
a crooked leg that will only serve to hamper your movements." The foxlet
yipped at her repeatedly for a few moments, then chased it's tail around
twice and lay down to nap in the sun.
She turned away from the cages then and headed back up over the ridge
she had first come over, and disappeared from the hunter's view.
The hunter waited a few more moments, then carefully stepped from behind
the tree. Walking up as quietly as if he were tracking one of the herd
bucks he'd been hunting last week, he stalked up to the cage and peered
closer at the sleeping foxlet. It wasn't his imagination, all four legs
were whole and the foxlet had taken on a much glossier coat, a coat that
would bring only the highest price at the trading post he frequented.
He slowly turned and looked up at the small ridge the old hag had disappeared
behind and slowly walked up and climbed over it. Looking about he saw
a second ridge just beyond his current location and watched as a cluster
of long green and yellow tangle vines fell over a door placed within the
ridge. The fines curled and unfolded a few moments before settling into
place and effectively hiding the door from view.
Carefully he reached into his side pouch and pulled forth a small pouch tied
shut with draw strings from within it. He pressed the pouch to his lips,
kissing it gently as if it were some talisman of good luck then untied it and
poured a handful of reddish brown powder into his hand. HE quietly walked up
to the tangle vines and tossed the powder at them. They reacted violently
immediately curling in on themselves as if they'd suddenly caught several
animals in the fronds at once. They then began to drip the digestive liquid
from the leaves that left nothing behind once it had broken down the substance
it was ingesting through the fronds. He waited until the the fluid stopped
dripping then carefully placed his hand against the door and shoved.
It opened silently onto a dark cavern like room. As he stepped through,
he couldn't help but notice that the studs in the door where not rivets,
instead they appeared to be steal bars that had somehow melted and bonded
with the wood, where there should have been a distinctive line of steal
against wood, the edges instead seemed to graduate to a steal pin. He consider-
ed it and the thick solidness of the door. Then, shrugged his shoulders
and lifting upward on the door to try and prevent any tell tale squeaks from
the hinges he closed it behind him.
He now stood in the dark, his ears trying to reach out for sounds of the
old hag. Softly from his left he heard some sounds of movement and as his
eyes became accustomed to the dark, he started to perceive a glow coming from
what appeared to be a connecting cavern. He waited a bit longer for his eyes
to become fully accustomed to the darkness.
Once his eyes adjusted it looked around him, growing on the walls and across
the floor were patches of various mushrooms and assorted mosses and fungi.
Some these glowed slightly in the darkness, give the feeling of some strange
faerie land, trapped within the cavern. He stepped forward and as his booted
foot pressed downward, he felt a sharp thorn pierce the sole of his boot,
before he could react and jerk his foot back, he knew he'd stepped on one of
the deadly fungi called a Callus Thorn. The poison reacted with is body
chemistry almost instantly, he stiffened, paralyzed, then fell forward.
His lips blackened and he started to convulse his spin twisting into
inhuman contortions. Then he lay still, slowly, the fungus started to glow
brighter, as the cavern began to fill with the smell of acid, the man, body
seemed to melt into the cavern floor being digested by some of the fungus
and moss growing there. From the adjoining cavern a voice cackled gleefully
and the sorceress said aloud, "Eat well my children, I'll need you fit when
I harvest you next." Then it stopped cackling and slowly the sounds of
muttered incantations echoed around the now undisturbed cavern.
The cave was a bit too damp for her bones, moisture would seep down through
the walls from a stream flowing along the top of the hill, but it served her
purpose. The excess moisture helped to feed her crop of fungi and mosses grow-
ing in the cracks and fissures of the walls and floors.
Its location, deep in the forest, was far more important to her then
dry comfort. She hated people, preferring the company of the small creatures
living within the forest to the screeching, self centered indulgence and
frivolous demands that most of mankind made of a sorceress. It was because she
was tired of trying to right mankind's injustice to man, that she chose to
spend the past 150 years of her extended life span here, secluded
from the rest of the world. Her occasional slipping on a patch of mold or moss
growing on the damp floor, or awaking with various aches and pains from the
excessive moisture was a small enough price to pay. It wasn't until after she
had spelled the vines to recognize her, created the molecularly bonded door and
seeded various areas with the deadly thorns that the cavern suited her desire
for seclusion. The moisture allowed her to grow many of the more rare
and exotic mosses and fungi for her spells and her interests gave
her contentment while leaving the rest of the human race alone. The forest
was all the world she needed and she didn't care at all about the strange
stories or silly rumors that seemed to spring up around her when the rare
traveler happened upon her in the the area.
She was not unprecedented in her feelings. Many of the elder mages of
Avonan seemed to seek seclusion from mankind after a while. People
continually expected them to solve the worlds problems with a wave of the hand
or muttered spell. After two or three hundred years of this, the mages would
grow tired of tapping into the various energies and sources that they used
to heal, solve, create or destroy. They would, as she had, become disgusted
with the awe, fear, respect, failings, nobilities, and demands of man's own
selfishness, and finally seek out some form of seclusion to practice their art
in without interference from these wants, needs, and demands.
She enjoyed her magic and took a strange sort of pride in being older
then any of the mages alive today, and in knowing magics and lessons that were
no longer taught or in practice. As she bent almost huddling over her unusual
rune carved kettle, simmering over a strange glowing stone, she added chemicals
from a small table covered with vials of powders and liquids and muttered
spells to improve the nutrients in the strange brew she was designing for
several sick animals caged near the outside of her cave. She would often
find a contented joy in taking care of the smaller creatures of the woods.
They didn't make demands of her, and it was far easier to feel pity for their
sufferings, pain and hunger. The animals never asked for anything, content
to simply accept the fate that life would deal them, it made it much easier
for her to feel sorrowful for them then it did when mankind suffered.
Her mind flicked over memories as she picked up a vial of powder and added
it to her kettle. Her hands flying like a butterfly to make the right gestures
and ensure the proper energies manifested within the pot. She remembered the
lessons her teacher had taught her. The basic rules of magic, and wondered
how they would effect her brew now. She sensed she wasn't much longer for
this world, her time coming to an end and her spirit moving on to a new plain
where she wouldn't care about this life anymore. Her magics would fade when
she died, for no one would long remember her and one of the very basic rules
of magic was that it lasted as long as the creator of the spell was tied to
this world by someone's memory. So long as she was remembered, her magic
would last. She thought about how her teacher had instructed her in that basic
fact, then went on to teach her of the Wizards Circle. She learned their
names, Worthum, Maliny, Rundan, Manius, and Teriv ancient before her time.
She was taught how they had battled the demon-lord of the nether realm,
Asmonan, who sought to escape his realm and bring his hordes into the unspoiled
realm of Avonan. How they had in combining their magics, the skill of the
Dragon-Lords and the Lords' Elemental Dragons, defeated him, capturing his
essence in an ancient scroll and placing it deep within a secret chamber,
guarded by spells of protection keeping it away from man. The only thing she
didn't learn was that she was the last person alive who remembered such things.
The Wizard's Circle determined it best to keep their battles with
Asmonan as secret as possible, afraid of what would happen if the more common
folk learned of the demon and his hordes and tried to summon him into
Avonan in hopes of rewards. The demons would spread their corruption across
the lands, so the Circle cast spells weakening the memory of Asmonan in the
peoples minds, trying to avoid the fear and temptation that would result from
knowledge of a creature such as Asmonan's existence. Hopefully preventing
desire in any man who might crave power from and seeking out and attempting
to control the power such creatures had at their disposal.
But in the attempt they wiped out far more, for they destroyed the knowledge
of why it was necessary to keep the Dragon-Lords and give the tributes of
food to them in exchange for their protection. At first, some deep down
sense in the people allowed them to continue doing just that, pay homage
to these heroic Lords who's only purpose was to help them. But eventually,
the payments of food and service seemed to out-weigh the small good the Lords
were able to contribute to the people. After all, there were no creatures on
Avonan more powerful, or hungry then a dragon, and the relative good of
re-directing an occasional storm, or putting out a threatening fire, did not
balance against a person having to give over nearly one quarter of his finest
cattle and food to feed one of the creatures. Long after the passing of the
Circle, it resulted in a war. Save for a few select Mages and students who
had been sworn never to reveal to the people the reason for the creation and
existence, of the Dragon Lords, there were none to sing out against the fatal
mistake the people were making. The Dragon Wars ended with the slaying of
the Lords and the poisoning of the mighty Elemental Dragons.
She stopped her train of thoughts, refusing to go over her dealings with
her teacher again. Learning to avoid the pain of his rejection when she
had passed the last of his tests, and was pronounced a true sorceress. She
had offered him her love and devotion and he simply vanished into the night.
As she brought her mind away from those painful memories she concentrated
once more on what she was doing. She reached for a beaker of clear liquid
without looking, stirring and making the mystic gestures that
would bond the brew. Unaware of what was happening, she didn't see the
small 3 inch demon materialize on her work table, take stock of what was there,
and quickly switch a beaker holding a gray powder to the place where the
beaker she wanted had been. She didn't look at the beaker as she poured the
wrong substance into the brew, the gestures she made were designed for the
liquid, and as the powder merged with the brew, it suddenly caused a reaction.
The magical brew in the pot began to froth and boil over on to the stone.
As the altered brew struck the stone, a red toxic gas filled the room. She
inhaled it before she new what had happened. The properties of the gas that
had been meant to be a potion of healing quickly affected her lungs. They
stopped functioning, the insides of them turning into a hard brittle substance
that flaked away into dust within her chest cavity.
As she fell to the floor, she looked at the table and saw the grinning
demon looking down at her. Her eyes widening in horror as she heard him
laugh and say "With your passing old crone, comes the passing of the Wizards
Circle, you are the last to remember them hag."
As she realized the folly of not having a student to teach, she also
recognized what the gray powder had been. She started working with that
knowledge, her mind drifting back through time, hoping to link to that of her
teacher's her will using the power from the powdered mold. She felt her mind
link, but her spell was unfocused. She traveled back further then she
needed and touched the mind of Manius, thinking it was her teacher, she
attempted to pull him into her present. Unknowing she had linked with someone
other then whom she'd though. She explained her need for him, and the
history he would have to deal with in a single burst of thought before she
died. Sadly she could not pull him all the way, her mind lost the link with
his will. For a moment she felt an overpowering sorrow, not for herself or
mankind, but for the animals in the cages outside, and in the forest. The
world of Avonan was going to end and they would be the creatures who had to
pay the ultimate price for it, because they would have no say in what was
going to happen. As she began to feel her mind slip into the realm after
death, she heard the last words of the small demon, "Master, you're free
once more to claim this world!"
Her conscience thoughts began to fold in on themselves and she slipped
into the next plain of existence. She would never know if her attempt to
rescue her world would do any good or not.
|
| The room was nestled at the top of the tower, a single door at the
ground floor which opened up on a spiraling stairway of stone leading up
to it. The tower wasn't fancy, nothing of pecular interest about it.
As for the room, the room had no windows along the walls, and only a single
bed on one side, placed close to the hearth of a large stone fireplace used for
warmth and cooking. The rest of the room was lined with cupboards and
covered with various odd tables of different sizes and shapes. The tables
were covered with books, scrolls, pieces of parchment, and beakers containing
many types of powedered plants, animals, and minerals. Some of the tables
held drawings and half finshed models of strange devices, others had half
written scrolls laying across them with various formulas and computations
scrawled across them. On one table, a vail was held by a metal contraption
over a candle spewing a very small black cloud about 2 feet in diameter that
seemed to contain both a mouth and a single unblinking eye. Beside the vial
a bowl containing a bluish liquid reflected whatever the cloud seemed to
look at. Beside it a scroll with hand written formula and incantations
lay beside a quill. The ink, still wet on the quill dripped a small black
splotch on the wooden table. Some of the tables had chairs placed by
them so the single occupent could sit down and work at whichever project
currently held his interest. The cupboards were different, they held
neetly placed within them, jars of dried leaves, and bit's of unusal
animal parts, one carefully labeled dragon-lizard heart, another held
a white powerd labled rather ominously human bone. Other jars held
liquids with equally strange lables, frog tears, bat blood, and oak
sap, as well as demon fire, Will of the Wisp breath, and other strange
labels in the same careful printing. Some of the jars seemed to glow
in various colors, others looked as if water had condensed on the outside
of them.
Manius, the owner of the tower, sat at one of the smaller work tables,
powdered plants and minerals spilled here and there among vials and scraps
of parchment and piled scrolls. His long sinewy frame hunched forward into
itself, tense with anger like a coiled spring. His steel gray eyes flashing
as he absently pushed one dark curled lock of hair back from his eyes and
under his worn felt cap. His voice seemed to vibrate between self contained
mutterings to outraged and angry yelling. "The damned fools, don't realize
the dangers of trying to make people forget! They're determined that the
commoners shouldn't know,'It's safer that way.' 'Think of those who would try
to find the scroll--try to summon forth Asmonan in hopes of being rewarded.'
the pompus ignorant fools!"
His suddnely straightend as his balled fist slammed down on the table,
causeing a pile of scrolls to tumble down onto the litter strewn floor.
"I should have known better then to think those four old fools would
understand the consequences of what they are doing. They refuse to
realize the dangers of being forgotten! They convince themselves that
teaching their deciples will be enough and refuse to see that blood lines
die out, words change in meaning, and time always garbles messages from the
past, damn them! They've studied the same ancient scrolls as I have, they
know that the spells contained aren't always accurate, that they need to be
compared against each other and experimented with carefully before attempting
the spells. One garbled word, one smudged ink spot can make the difference
between creating magic, and destroying yourself or worse! Why can't they see
that even with the ancient scrolls, the ancient mages are seldom remembered?
We would sense more of the spells cast by them, if they had never been
forgotten at some point in time of History. If the ancient Mages can be
forgotten as powerful as they were, even for a while, what makes them think
that they themselves won't be forgotten in future generations? Especially if
they aid in the memory lose by castings a spell of forgetfullness? Gods of
Avonan, I chose to work with ignorante self centered dolts when I formed the
Wizards Circle!"
He slammed down his other fist, this time startling a small rat like
creature which had been nibbling at some unidentified morsel of food. It ran
back into the small hole in the floor boards of the corner farthest from Manius.
Choosing to dine later when things were darker and less noisy.
Manius was the youngest of the Wizards Circle, his incredible memory and
aptitude for magic advanced him earily in his choosen profession, putting him
on a par with Mages far older then himself who had spent lifetimes studying
the ancient arts and developing the skills required to become a Mage. Being
the youngest caused problems when dealing with the four other
members of the Circle. They were far more cautious in actions and not
fond of his methods when dealing with situations. Manius felt that people,
the common folk of Avonan, had the right to learn as much magic as they were
capable of performing. The other Mages felt this was presumptuous and a
definate threat to there power. A Mage who prefered performing his craft
for a fee would have less money and fewer jobs if the common man could
accomplish many of the simpler feats on their own. Further, Manius felt
that the common folk were as intelligent and capable of handling their
affairs as any Mage, and this was not something the Mages liked the sound
of, after all, they spent lifetimes learning their skill, using their magic
to extend their life to accomplish their proficency in the art. And age
brought, as far as they were concerned, wisdom. They viewed Manius as
an oddity. A Mage as accomplished as they were, who'd only studied the
art for a realitively short time. He therefore was strong in power, but
in their eyes, lacking in wisdom. Yet with all their collected wisdom, it was
Manius who discovered that Asmonan was attempting to take over the world.
It was he who had sought them out one at a time and convinced them to form
the Wizrd's Circle, uniting the mystic powers of the most powerful Mage of
each of the Five Realms. As he continued his reverie he made a brief gesture
with his hand and the room darkened. The ceiling seemed to vanish and allowed
Manius to peer upward at the heavens, studying the pin-points of white light
spilled across the sky as his thoughts progressed.
It was nearly 3 years ago when he had first sensed the mystic energy in a
distitute area of Windaven's desert, the so called Realm of the Wind. The
area was unpopulated and therefore the build up of the energies were an
oddity. He gathered up his equipment and went there to investigate and found
two demons severally weakened, by crossing over from the Nether Dimension,
had succeeded in establishing a small mystical focal point which others could
expand with power and use as a gate to transport between the Nether Hell and
Avonan. As the two demons collapsed into the exhaustive sleep that accompanies
crossing into Avonana from another dimension, he slipped into the small gateway
and crossed into the Nether Hell. While there, he discovered the Great Hall of
Hell and learned of the Demon Lord Asmonan's plottings to retake the
Realm he'd long ago created. Further explorations of the Great Hall allowed
Manius to discover the Crystal of Dramanous, the Crystal was the sorce of all
Magic in Avonan. Asmonan had taken it with him into the Nether Hell when
mankind had forced him and his demon Horde to leave Avonan for a different
dimension and was now attempting to learn the secret of it's powers. While
Manius was studying the Crystal Nephan, Asmonan's second in command discovered
him and a battled ensued between them. During the battle, there was a surge
of mystic energy that struck the Crystal and as a result fractured five small
chips onto the ground. Manius realizing what they were, immediatly siezed
them, and before Nephan could react, escaped back to Avonan. The Crystal
healed it's own wound, for part of it's nature was of a living thing, and
no one knew of Manius' new found treasure. Asmonan was not informed of
the tresspasser found in the room with the crystal for Nephan feared
Asmonan's punishment for letting Manius escape.
With the five small chips of the crystal in his possesion, Manius contacted
the other mages and formed the plan to combine their powers with his and
perfom the Great Castings. A series of spells in which the Mages aligned
their powers to creat the magical beasts now called Elemental Dragons
He used the 5 small chips from the mystical stone not telling the other's of
the source of the materials they used to create the five dragons, but hoping
that with the five chips being used, the creatures would take on special
properties unlike other creatures created with magic. It was his
research and skills that designed spells. His skill that helped to define
the permiters of the creatures existence as they formed from the primordial
forces of nature, evolving in moments what should have taken billions of
years to exist. Once created each Mage enhanced the abilites and intelligence
of the Dragons. It was soon discovered that the Dragons had become far more
then they had expected. As a result of the Crystal being used, each one
became a living enbodiement of the Five Realms of Avonan. Fire, Ice, Water,
Wind, and Earth. Each with it's own unique abilities. After discovering
the abilities of each of the dragons, he suggested each mage select a warrior
from each of the five realms, training the five young men in the necessary
mental skills and empathy to control the newly created and powerful beasts.
The skills of the five warriors, soon known as the Dragon Lords, with the
power of the dragons and magics of the five strongest Mages of Avonan nearly
failed to defeat Asmonan. The war against him and the Hell Hordes was long
and the outcome questionable. However, once Asmonan's physcial being had
been overcome, it was the other four who created the scroll to capture his
essence and decided to secret it away with spells of protection.
They chose to do so because of rumour's of Asmonan being the source
of magical powers in Avonan. Manius knew this to be false, the true
sorce was the Chrystal Asmonan had possesion of. But in order to
reviel this, he would have to reveil how he came to learn of it and
did not want the other Mages to know what he'd done to create the
Dragon. He feared they would attempt to destroy the beasts in hopes
of regaining the five chips and use them to enhance and increase their
powers.
The Mages knew that Asmonan was uncontrollable, and feared the power of
his wrath. They also feared that the unskilled wizard or common man
might one day try to summon him forth and decided it best if the common folk
didn't know such things. So they concocted the scheme to erase the memories
of the people. But because they themselves were so entwined in those memories,
the only recourse was to erase the memories of thier existence as well,
protecting only their students from the spell.
Manius was brushed aside as a young upstart, unschooled in the wisdom
that age would teach. His protests and arguments were sound and logical,
but they felt that he had done too much already. His name and beliefs
becoming too papular among the common folk and they refused to have it
known that he was the source of all the good the forming of the Wizard's
Circle had accomplished. However without his powers added to the spells
they were casting, the best they could accomplish was to leave doubts
causing the events of the past three years to become unspoken except as
garbbled myth and legends. Such was all Manius could do, hoping that
somewhere the myths would hold and be enough to withstand the weakening to the
cast spells protecting the scroll.
Manius rose slowly, his hand gestured and the light rose again in the
room, the ceiling once more conected across the walls where just moments
before the black velvet of the night sky had streached.
"Idiots!" he screemed once, then suddenly, fell forward, his mind
on fire, bombarded by the power of a temporal spell. He felt the tug, his
body suddenly pulled away into the temporal vortex created by someone in the
far future. He'd read of such experiences in his studies, but never once
dreamt of it happening to himself. He felt his body start to channel into the
slipstream created by the caster of the temporal spell and then a sudden
explosion within his mind. Information forced into him faster then his mind
could accept it. With some great mental effort he placed the surge of
information into one secluded section of his thoughts hoping to let the
knowledge trickle through later, he needed to concentrate, grasp at the mind
that had ensorcered him and was now pulling him forward into the future. He
established the link, but something was wrong with it. At first he thought he
was linked to a novice, someone practicing spells far beyond their own
abilities to control, then slowly he realized that the mind was dying. Growing
weaker as time passed away around him. He tried to grasp at the weakening
threads of thought. With utter frustration he suddenly felt himself slip back
out of the temporal energies. He could sense that his journey had not been
completed and he had no idea where or when he was.
He felt his feet strike solid ground as if he had jumped from a fence to
the ground. Around him he saw the dark shadowey outlines of trees. He was in
a forest at night. He took a step and suddenly fell forward rolling and
tumbling uncontrolably down a steep grade. Then he felt his head strike
against a rock and his mind filled with bright flashes and then, nothing but
unconscious thoughts.
|
| The scroll sat upon a pillar of cold iron, within a box of mistletoe carved
with runes and symbols of protection. As the last magics of the Wizard's
Circle faded, the iron pillar began to decompose, flaking into chips and bits
of rust as the years of exposure to the caverns moister caught up with it
at last. The box starting to decay as well, fell and broke open as the
pillar became nothing more then a jagged and rusted bit of metal.
The scroll was no longer contained, no longer protected from the foolishness
of man. As it rolled from the box, the ground beneath it changed, years of
moss and fungus like growths suddenly withered and died where it touched.
It stopped rolling against the North wall of the cavern. A wall placed there
by the combination of spells and magics of the Wizards. When the scroll
touched it, it began to pulsate with a sickly yellow glow. Like a tree
growing, fissures shot up the wall, branching out until the wall was no longer
capable of sustaining it's own weight, as it started to fall, the scroll rolled
back against the remains of the steel pillar and rested. The wall collapsed
with a rumble sounding like a demon laughing at the weaknesses of mankind.
Time passed and the sky grew darker, a beam of moonlight fell upon the scroll.
It's pulsations grew stronger and more steady until it no longer pulsated but
continually glowed growing stronger, feeding apparently off the moonlight.
Then, at almost midnight,the glow around the scroll began to coalesce above
it, forming a sphere of yellow light. Suddenly the sphere shot up out of the
cavern's new opening and high above the trees of Grenward Forest. It stopped
as if orienting itself carefully. Seeking something, a mind with the right
power and needs. A mind with the appropriate amount of desire and weak will
to take over, to feed from and eventually to consume. Suddenly it made contact
with the type of mind it sought, then as if a breath of air had blown out a
candle, it simply vanished.
Durlak wandered around in the forest, looking under the dead leaves that
littered the ground. "If I don't find some Belstar Mushrooms soon, it will
be too late" he half whined in his pitiful too high voice. It was critical
that the mushrooms be picked exactly at midnight or they would not work in
the virility potion he had to create for Eullic.
"Damn, damn, damn,!" he cried with despair, "I told Eullic it was too soon to
create a virility spell. But he insisted and had to hold that damnable dagger
of his in that way..." Durlak remembered the way Eullic pulled the dagger
and played with it, dancing the length of the blade between his nimble fingers
causing the light to shine in glittering lines across the razor sharp edge.
Everyone in the village knew how Eullic had used that dagger to kill a robber
one drink filled night. The robber thinking Eullic an easy mark in his stupor.
Eullic wasn't an easy mark, or perhaps his drunken clumsiness saved him, no one
will ever know for certain, and no one really wanted to try him and find out.
His reputation grew in the village as a man not to trifle with, quick tempered
and mean, big enough to cause damage to anyone whom crossed him.
Eullic had come to Durlak for the potion after taking a fancy to one of the
young single females in the village. Eventually convincing her father to grant
them a wedding. A woman named Farlina who did not care for Eullic's atten-
tions, she was actually attracted to Joleson a newcomer to the Village. Eullic
didn't understand why Farlina was barren and it was best he not find out that
she had bribed Durlak with special favors in exchange for a potion to make her
that way. She had taken up with Eullic only because her father had agreed to
the wedding, but her heart belonged to Joleson. Unfortunately Joleson was only
a poor farmer who grew alpha grass and vegetables. The grass was for his horse
named Flamestar. A pitiful looking animal who looked underfed, swaybacked, and
too weak to pull the plow that Joleson hitched to him every afternoon, too old
to carry the wagon filled with scrawny vegetables to market each morning.
Joleson was a very bad farmer who was rumored to have been a warrior at one
time. Farlina was devoted to him, but lucky for Durlak, Joleson was more
interested in his farm then a woman. So she came to Durlak for comfort and
bestowed her favors upon him in exchange for the daily dosage of the potion
that kept her non fertile in hopes that one day she would win Joleson's
heart and convince him to take her away from Eullic.
Durlak flipped over another pile of wet leaves and there finally he found a
small grouping of Belstar Mushrooms, their bell shaped caps glowing with a
pale blue incandescence as they were exposed to the night.
"At last!" he grinned bending over to pick the caps from the mushrooms, a
smile of relief flickering across his mouth. As his hands flicked busily
over them, he suddenly stopped, there between two of the mushrooms, stood
a miniscule being of only 3 inches height. Horns grew where the things
ears should have been, and a tail grew from the end of it's spine. The
strange little being looked up at Durlak and then in a voice far louder
then it's size would suggest possible, said "Oh impotent wizard, would you
like the gift of true power? Power far beyond your dreams and abilities?
Power enough to do as you would like instead of serving the needs of bullies
and bastards? Power enough to take the maidens of your dreams and acquire the
wealth you deserve with only a wave of your hand?"
Durlak looked down at the creature dumfounded and simply nodded his head,
sensing that somehow this small strange being would be able to grant him
everything he'd just stated. Finding within himself, not the desire to
question how such things would come about, but the greed and desire to have
them, the belief that of all the men on Avonan, he was the one most deserving
to receive such power as this being asked him about.
"So be it you weak and wholly disgusting sack of desire." and with that, he
mad a gesture with his miniscule hands.
As Durlak was about to chastise the small being, a yellow sphere suddenly
engulfed him, then shrank and flowed, the light streaming into Durlak's
mouth, nose, and ears. His body took on the yellow glow as the Sphere
dissipated inside him, then slowly the glow faded. Durlak looked down again
at the small being. A smile of pure evil danced across his face, his eyes
becoming glowing orbs of the same yellow light. He spoke, his voice booming
like thunder rolling across mountains.
"Excellent Nephan! He never questioned as I entered, he simply embraced
me and my power and now, he is mine to control. I could not have chosen
a better host. Was he long to be willing to accept me?"
The small demon gave his master a toothy grin and replied "Thank you great
Asmonan. No, as soon as you directed me to him, I offered him power and
he readily accepted the offer."
Asmonan laughed a deep booming laugh reminescent of rolling thunder,
"Excellent! Come along now, we've much to do, we've to establish a new
gateway for the Hordes and it will take time and patience to do so."
And with that they both vanished into a yellow cloud of mist.
|
| Manius moaned softly, a throbbing pain being the first thing he noticed
before opening his eyes. The sun stabbed into them and he squinted, then
turned his head to the side, "Damn, feels like someone is beating an anvil
inside my head" he muttered. He could feel a sharp rock beneath his left
shoulder blade, and carefully started to move his limbs in search of
further pain.
"Well, you did take a nasty spill."
Manius jerked his head around, then cursed at the increased pain, he stood
slowly looking at the ragged little girl crouched down beside him. Her
streaky blonde hair was long and un-combed, a stray dead leaf showed she had
slept on the ground near him, at his feet a fire had been burning and a
forked stick held half the remains of some roasted bird. "The grousit is
still warm, I only just put out the fire". The girl couldn't have been
more then 13 or so. Her cotton dress was tattered and patched and she
had a worn wool like cloak rolled up and laying beside her. She looked
up at him and smiled "Are you okay? You've been sleeping most of the morning,
I managed to stop your bleeding last night. You scared me when you fell
down the hill, you almost rolled into my fire. Why
were you out here in the woods at night? Are you a Robber?"
He smiled briefly at her "Whoa, slow down a little, lets take this
one question at a time." He thought for a moment frowned slightly as he
remembered the events leading up to his fall, then reached into his muddied
and torn robe to remove a small vial held within a padded pocket of the sleeve.
He looked at it a moment, then pulled the cork out and drank the yellow fluid
inside it down. "Ahhhh that's better" he said as the liquid quenched the
pain inside his head and along his left shoulder. His head slowly stopped
throbbing and he started to feel a lot better. A warm fuzzy like burning
started inside his stomach and worked it's way outward. "Yes, much better"
he said. He rose carefully to his feet, and sighed after checking for any
further damage beyond the bandaged bump on his head.
He looked down at the girl again and smiled, "My name is Ma.." he stopped
and thought for a second, he wasn't sure where or when he was and didn't
want to reveal who he was. It might have some effect on the far future.
The girl looked at him and laughed "That's a funny name for a man" she said,
her laughter fluted upward for a moment.
Manius smiled "That is to say my name is Tol-ma" he said
She looked at him and frowned for a moment. "That is a Sundell name?"
she asked, knowing that only those from the Realm of Fire had the habit
of using two names to make one."
"Yes, you're a bright little thing aren't you?" he smiled.
"Well, I did go to school in Parsh Theyan for a while."
Manius thought for a bit, he didn't recognize the name of the village or
city she'd named but realized it had to be a Wind-haven name. Now if only
he could learn where in Wind-haven he was. He might be able to locate his
tower and hopefully get a few needed items.
"So what are you doing here in the forest?" He asked.
She looked down at the ground and kicked delicately at a small rock. "I'm
running away from the orphan asylum" she said, not looking up as she spoke.
"Ahhhh, then you've no one to look after you?" Manius felt a stirring in
his heart for this poor girl. He'd been orphaned too as a young lad, and
if not for the tenderness and teachings of his master, he could have as
easily ended up a crilium minor, or oarsman, or worse. Instead, he'd been
taken to his master's home, cleanup up, given good food and taught the
ways of a Mage. When he'd reached legal age, he was given a pouch of 10
gold coins and a horse, and told to go out into the world. Most boys from
an orphan asylum ended up dead or maimed from hard labor before reaching
legal age. And once they reached it, sold themselves to their masters for
lack of anything to take care of themselves with.
She continued to look down at the rock. "They were going to sell me to
a slave master, he wanted me for..." her face started to burn bright red,
then she started to cry.
Manius felt the rage build up before he realized it was there. He looked
around a moment, then waved his arm and send a white hot fireball at the
dead limb of a tree nearby. The limb fell with a sudden crack as the
ball continued it's journey up through the limb and across the sky. He then
walked over to it breaking branches off it. Snapping them
quickly and tossing them to the side. His anger slowly burning itself
away. As he broke the limbs off, the girl stared at him her eyes enlarged
with awe and a little fear. "You're a Mage!" she gasped.
Manius considered his situation carefully, his options were simple enough,
He could lock in on the thoughts of one of the Wizard's Circle and return to
his home time, or remain here in whatever portion of the future he had fallen
into, learn what he could, and hopefully be able to control some of the
circumstances in the future of the person who had attempted to bring him forward
in time. He decided that his usefulness in the past was done with, for none
of the information still trickeling through his thoughts seemed to contain
anything of importance beyond his creating the Dragons and his battle with
Asmonan. So, perhaps remaining in this future time would be for the best,
if nothing else, maybe he could learn a few new things. Meanwhile, he needed
to fit in. He considered the girl for a moment, her past, and the future she
would have if anyone were to capture her and return her to the asylum. Then
he stopped and looked at her. "What's your name child?" his passing anger
still touched the edge of his voice and gave it a harsh demanding quality.
"Krystalind" she answered.
"A lovely name Krystalind, how would you like to learn the art?" he asked
her.
She looked at the limb that he'd severed from the tree. Considered his robes
and though of how he'd become angered when she said she was almost sold to
a slave master. Slowly she nodded her head affirmatively and then blushed.
She felt a small tight bubble of happiness within her chest and as it exploded
she started her flute like laugh again.
"You find it funny?" He asked perplexed by the sudden shift in emotion.
"I was just thinking about how you fell in on me last night, I thought
I had been caught by the orphanage and then you offer to make me a Sorceress."
He smiled at her again, then began to break off more of the branches from
the dead limb. She walked over to him, smiled shyly and began to help by
collecting the pieces he'd broken off and placing them in a neat stack by
the now cold fire pit.
|