The nasty foul beings didn’t come alone. Within the host of thousands came other curious fiends. Among them, small black wingless dragons, not much bigger than horses, paraded in the collage of foul monsters. These reptilian scaled creatures of razor-edged teeth and claws were the drymraith. They moved beyond Icaz and into the world, occasionally glaring him down with their beaming red eyes, but never once did they threaten him. Then followed the taller ghastly monstrosities.
The dratzels came next after boundless undead made their way out of the dark pass. Many dratzels rode upon the backs of drymraiths. This breed proved far taller than the pulsling and came in colors of black, red, and darker-toned flesh. Tall and proud, their average height was a good foot taller than the average man or woman, yet some mutants towered an extra foot or two higher. Even taller, some of their midst mutated through strange breeding, looking like overgrown mortals. These mutants came across more like a small giant nearing ten feet tall. The troll dratzels were not only taller but also plump with a full head of stringy hair, and a look of angry stupidity painted across their blemished deformed faces.
Dratzel muscles were built like a rock. Their noses were deformed, resembling a pig’s snout while their eyes gleamed, tinted in a deep yellow or crimson glow. Some had horn abnormalities protruding from their forehead, others, their shoulders or backs. While most were bald, some had short tufts of thin growth about their skull. Heavy in their steps, their march proved far louder than their smaller pulsling allies. Unlike the pulslings, the dratzels weren’t dead. Their flesh had many deformities as well, be it boils or other nasty swellings, but their hide was thick and not withering away. The sounds they made were loud, thunderous and deep grunts mostly, yet some let out loud screeches that resembled that of a stuck pig, a mixture of pain and anger.
Most of these monstrous beings donned black cloaks, with some in armor, and many carried a weapon. Soon Crusayla was overrun by the thousands of strange horrendous creatures. Countless beings let loose terrible fits. Some talked, and some yelled, while many gave war cries, all in a language Icaz understood not at all. Yet, each one of them passed by Icaz without pause or question. None threatened him, nor did they seem to care he was there.
Hours passed, one after another, as the monsters poured from within and filled the streets of Crusayla and the fields of Tarrith joining the mindless roamers of the Divoxian host of mortal men and women.
For Icaz, this peculiar event left him speechless and beyond bewildered. He couldn’t understand what was happening, but it thrilled him nevertheless. Eventually, the march ended, although he could still hear sounds deep within the unknown place. He turned back to the outside world and then back within as he tried to understand the queer incident. Without warning, a person took shape before him. Just as the defender and the gate had vanished before, now a woman materialized.
"What is this?" Icaz blurted aloud while watching the woman slowly become more visible. Faint at first, but as the moments passed, Icaz grew curious when he thought he recognized this person.
"You?"
Chapter Nine
World of Ruin
Albatros watched the unimaginable as the lands of Tarrith filled with the dark races thought long gone from the world. Adding to that turmoil, the soldiers of Divox were no longer capable of rational thought, their mindlessness apparent. Together the Divoxians and dark races gathered as one force and a dangerous force they were. Many came bearing armor and weapons. As thousands of dratzels, drymraiths, undead pulslings, and hybrid mix-breeds assembled in the fields, Albatros now fully understood why the elves of Tragmont had protected and hidden perhaps the greatest secret of their world.
Albatros's hope for his friends' safety dwindled to nothingness. After seeing such a ghastly scene, he suspected they were likely dead or turned into one of these things. Whether they had died or had their will turned with the rest of the mortals, Albatros couldn’t be sure, but he realized his chances of survival grew slimmer the longer he waited. This horde was ready for something on a mass scale. Whatever had taken place in Crusayla would change the world forever.
Albatros was not the only one who saw this strange exhibit. General Vanaris Thornheart, who had come with the northern allies to aid the Tragmont elves, experienced a mix of curiosity and terror observing the onslaught. The northerners had arrived weeks prior, just in time to witness the remnant elves as they scattered and fled their homeland. Too late to help, Vanaris had sent the bulk of his host and captains riding back without him, but he remained with a few trusted warriors to observe, record, and report back to King Edward Dawnhand.
The events that took place that day were beyond any of their imaginations and left them scared, speechless, and baffled. From a far distance, Vanaris and company witnessed the white beast in all its terror from the moment it took to the skies until it diminished into nothingness. From their vantage point, they had no inkling of what happened to the mortals below, nor could they make out the individual grim creatures among them. Still, they realized they were not capable of taking these creatures on in battle. Much like Albatros, the northerners turned and fled as fast as their horses would take them. To their king, they would ride.
As for Albatros, it was with a heavy heart he turned and rode away from Tragmont, but alone he could do nothing. He did not find wisdom in charging an unknown enemy in search of his friends, but he intended to find aid and counsel. Albatros rode out of Tarrith, bound for his homeland. He fought sleep and hunger and journeyed day and night until he reached Divox, where he found even more strange happenings.
By foot and horse alike, men and women of Divox roamed toward Tragmont. They seemed possessed and infected with the same mindless appearance as the mortals in Crusayla. They barely looked at him when he passed them by. Just like the Divoxian soldiers, their minds were bent. No longer were they people with free will, but slaves and servants of whatever commanded them. After witnessing thousands upon thousands of roaming zombie-like mortals, Albatros grew even more concerned.
Whatever had occurred was not good, and he was compelled to report these events to as many people as possible. As he headed to Lamisdoria, he summoned the first willing bird he found and sent a message to his Queen. However, he would soon learn, he’d been too late. Even before Albatros reached Lamisdoria, the bird he had sent to his Queen returned to him with only more troubling news. The letter was not delivered for a very good reason. What had happened to those in Divox also happened to the minotaur. They were not themselves, just as twisted and confused as the Divoxians who had turned into slaves.
With the unsealing of the gate, it seemed as if a terrible curse had befallen and plagued minotaurs and Divoxians alike. Albatros turned his eyes on the east and changed course.
***
Across the sea within the country of Loomis, Elzeenor Zavon, a tall, pale, slender elf with long silver hair, arrived at Haelleenia's doorstep after being summoned. Neither Elzeenor nor Haelleenia would require a message from Albatros to understand what had happened in Tragmont. From thousands of miles away, Haelleenia knew.
She invited Elzeenor to join her in her private room of reflection, a large dome-shaped space filled with old relics, books, and ancient items, her most prized possessions.
"What do you mean, my Queen? However, is this possible?" Elzeenor asked Haelleenia after she had told him about the great threat rising. While both elves looked pure and flawless as was the way of the ancient race, Elzeenor’s voice was filled with concern. "It was real? The underworld, the Dark Realm, Damia? Of legend?" Queen Haelleenia nodded as she clasped her hands and spoke in a calm, soothing tone.
"Legends are often real in some form."
"And you knew? Why did we not send aid to Tragmont?" Elzeenor implored.
"Why would we? An unbreakable spell is none of our concern. Murnia affairs are Murnia affairs." Haelleenia straightened the long green dress she wore and reached up to place her long blond braid over her shoulder. As she did, the shiny gemstones
from her fingers and wrist caught the light and sparkled.
"But it broke, and the world forgotten is back?"
"That it is, and for us, they come first," she answered. Even with that dire prediction, her expression was unchanged.
"Why? Does this mean Damia is back? I thought she died if I am to believe fable."
"She did die. I watched her fade, personally. I see not how this is possible. We will know soon enough, but for now, we prepare. What they desire lies here more than anywhere. I've summoned the dwarf and mortal lords. The alliance will come together as one once again. Somehow Damia has returned, and it is our fate to challenge her once more." The Queen's emotionless words alarmed Elzeenor.
"How can we stop her? The magirsum are all dead. We have nothing to confront her power with, my Queen," Elzeenor asked. Haelleenia saw his fear and responded with a warm smile as she set her soft hand against Elzeenor's face.
"Do not fear. Magirsum or no. Magic born, we are not weak. We must determine why and how this happened. That will be the key to knowing how to solve this."
"If she is as you have told me, then we are no match for this threat. None of us are. Nothing we possess will challenge her. Ancient enemies of the forgotten age. We have only us in the East. Murnia will fall," Elzeenor argued while Haelleenia grazed her hand over a silver bracelet with blue and green gems. She stopped and picked it up before sliding it on her wrist.
"All that was locked away in that realm were her ancient enchantments. Her beings and spells meant for wicked intentions. How she did what she did? I know not how it is possible. But I will say she is weak. The gate is broken, and she uses armies from the realm under. Damia would need no other than herself were she whole. She's missing something my heart tells me. We defend our world once more, and we learn how this came to pass. We find out how it happened and why, and perhaps we'll find hope." Elzeenor shook his head.
"I see no hope. I fear this is the end of us all. If she is weakened, then her servants will surely make up for her disability and make good on her intentions."
"There is always hope, my friend. Perhaps just a glimmer, but a ray is all you need. The eastern alliance can hold back this storm, for wiser minds can undo the plots of the inferior dratzel and pulsling. They will come like a storm, but we shall be ready." Not usually one for anxiety or hysterics, Elzeenor came out of his chair and paced. Despite his host’s unassailable composure, he could see no answer to the puzzle before him.
"You do not consider Damia wise? They fight for her. Any plot they follow is but an order from her," Elzeenor pointed out.
"No. Damia is not in the world. I sense her not as she was, but as something else." Haelleenia brought up the bracelet she had picked up and presented it to Elzeenor. "This bracelet belonged to Damia long ago. It is of her making. For the longest time, the gems on this bracelet were void of color and remained black. Now they begin to change. Although weak, life is returning. Yet, they struggle to shine and shimmer as they should. The power within the bracelet is struggling. Something unknown is holding her back. It is as if she is not complete, and she's slipping in and out of this world." Elzeenor peered at the blue and green stones upon the bracelet, but could not see or sense anything at all.
"You feel Damia within it?" he asked in bewilderment.
"I do. Not sure how, but I do. I sense her uncertainty and find it curious. We need to understand what caused this. Only then can we begin to grasp what is happening," she repeated. Elzeenor looked between her and the bracelet, trying to understand. He had heard of countless mysteries concerning Haelleenia, but this was the first time he had heard she was connected to the Dark Queen of myth.
"How do you know this, Haelleenia? How is it you have a deeper understanding than others?"
"I am the eldest being of our world. Except for Damia. I'm bound to her like none other. There are many questions you may have I could answer but now is not the time. I speak only as needed and respond to questions deemed worthy of answers. Don't infest your mind with questions that lead only to more questions and trust in me. I will always tell you what you must know." Elzeenor believed he needed more understanding, but he would have to trust Haelleenia.
"I don't like being in the dark. What would you have me do? What would you have us all do?"
"Today, we prepare for what tomorrow may bring. The same as we do every day." She gave Elzeenor a generous smile before turning to walk away. "You are my most worthy champion, and one of my dearest friends, precious Elzeenor. I trust you will take up the mantle to advise and command in the alliance I am about to set once more in place." Elzeenor watched her walk away, her head held high as she looked about her room of relics.
"I will do my best, but against such a great enemy, I fear I cannot deliver what is expected of me."
"Success is what we make of it, and I expect nothing more than what you are capable of. Your great strengths never fail you, for it is what you were made of, and for that, we are all fortunate."
Elzeenor remained plagued with the fear of the unknown, but he would accept this mantle and fulfill his duty. Elzeenor was an old elf himself, but nothing like Haelleenia. At nearly six-hundred years of age, Elzeenor understood much more than the mortals and folk of Murnia. However, after this brief council with Haelleenia, he felt as clueless about the threat they all faced as any other.
An ancient deity from an age long before his birth had apparently returned. Not only would he live to experience the horror rise, but he was expected to play a significant part in what came next. The world was on the brink of change, and only time would tell what this new world would be if it even survived.
Chapter Ten
The Stubborn King
As events unfolded from the depth of the underworld with minions of some forgotten horror spreading like a plague from Tragmont, most of the world remained oblivious to the terror that had only just begun. General Vanaris Thornheart couldn't be sure what he had witnessed from afar. While the beastly terror in the sky was hard to miss, he had not gotten a clear view of the dratzels and pulslings. Between the distance and the darkness, the creatures could pass as men and women of various sizes. It was the undeniably unusual way these figures moved in a zombie-like state that did not add up. Also, the sounds that came out of some of them weren't anything he'd ever heard from mortal folk. The howls and screeches reminded him somewhat of the sounds of a throng of dying rabid animals. Vanaris knew one thing. If he could not understand what he'd witnessed and feared, what chance did he have explaining it back home?
King Edward was quick to brush aside General Vanaris's fears. "Elf trickery and witchcraft from strange persons? Something that big doesn't suddenly die without cause unless it was never anything but mere illusion. You saw an attempt to scare the elf enemy, and it failed. You witnessed defeat, and the Divoxian people were celebrating."
After receiving the General’s account of events near Tragmont, the King closed down further discussion and insisted Vanaris's observations go no further. No word from Lord Lucas would convince him otherwise. Edward had always been a stubborn skeptic, but hearing about Tragmont's defeat triggered another sore spot, one he shared with all.
"Thanks be to you fine confidants we allowed a likely ally to perish and showed up only in time to watch them die a terrible death. This made me out to be a liar to Laelliandir, and worst of all, that fugitive rat that aided in the murder of my father is still on the loose. It is what it is, but don't come clamoring to me outrageous stories and gibberish and expect me to bat an eye. I won't hear of this nonsense or anything else concerning what's happening outside of the northern realm. Cassenneth, Pallaecious, our precious icy cliffs, Vallidor, and all of our people is my only concern. I want no reminder of our failure south of us."
Lord Lucas and his prized generals were dismissed after King Edward's outburst, crushing Vanaris's plans to better prepare the north for what now was his greatest fear. However, Lord Lucas and General Kadwalador did not share their King's sentiments. G
eneral Vanaris had expressed grave concerns, and as one might expect of someone in his position, he had a keen sense of priorities and was unlikely to devote his attention to matters he deemed unworthy of his time. His brother and Lord Lucas knew the seasoned general would never utter a word of concern if he were not truly riddled in worry. The three men, behind King Edward's back, were not going silently in the night. Whether or not King Edward approved, they intended to not only prepare the north from an unknown future but to uncover what ghastly events occurred in Tragmont. If there was reason to fear it spreading further, they would be prepared.
Lord Lucas Dawnhand devised a strategy a few weeks after General Vanaris's return and King Edward's quick decision to dismiss his report as little more than elf trickery.
"Stay your posts for now. Kadwalador North. Vallidor will serve well as it has, but tighten our defenses. I will deploy many more young men ready for training your way. Vallidor is our base of operation. Dig and mine and build as always, but I want our military preparation raised to top priority. Better out in the unknown and unseen than to make it obvious our concern. If the King is right, it still won't hurt to have battle-ready armies to protect our nation. None of us will sleep easy wondering if he's wrong."
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