Born of the Phoenix

by Forrester, David Murray

  Born of the Phoenix

  Written by David Murray Forrester

  Delenair Productions - Australia 2016

   For artwork and information about the Born of the Phoenix universe please visit:

  bornofthephoenix.blogspot.com.au

  facebook.com/bornofthephoenix/

  Prologue

  Built on an island in the middle of a small lake at the forefront of a colossal waterfall is a castle like no other; the Sapphire Towers. It is an awe inspiring sight. A grand castle comprised of three white marble towers standing a colossal thousand feet tall. The castle is so beautiful it is known throughout Sapphiron as the heart of the meadow lands, the jewel of the Engalian Empire.

  Delenair paused, standing in the middle of the road with the castle ahead of her in the distance. For a moment she stood unmoving; lost in the castles beauty, for the white marble that absorbs the brilliant blues of the Hyasineth falls has now taken into itself the red of the horizon.

  Dusk was giving way to night. In the fleeting light Delenair walked; her shadow a long silhouette on the stone road. It was too quiet. The road leading to the castle gatehouse should have been bustling with activity, merchants selling their wares, peasants haggling the prices and swapping news and gossip with each other while children run around getting themselves into mischief, but there were none. It was as though the township had been abandoned. There was a whisper in her thoughts, it crept its way from the shadows, from that dark corner of her mind that she tries to ignore, the voice whose truths are inescapable. They’re all dead.

  There were no guards patrolling the battlements of the gatehouse stronghold. A stronghold that was build to defend the bridge that led across to the island castle. It was nothing more than an empty foreboding shell of cold stone. Delenair stepped inside the guard post. Fires were burning low in the hearth, weapon racks filled with spears and halberds. She walked through the rooms and halls unchallenged, her footsteps echoing ominously amongst the shadows.

  The enormous wrought iron gates to the bridge were wide open. Wind from the lake made leaves dance at Delenair's feet and tussled her short blonde hair as she crossed the bridge with the great towers looming overhead. The vast expanse of water of the lake felt cold and lonely, a light fog was beginning to form on its surface. Waves softly slapped against the stone pillars, not a sound came from the castle.

  As she walked under the tall archway and into the threshold of the castle a fierce stench of blood assaulted her. It was however, not unexpected. Delenair had already assumed that everyone was dead, it was a hard truth she didn’t want to believe but now there was no denying it and in her heart the goddess grieved for the lives lost. Borawl was good at his work, too good.

  There was a soft echo resonating from the darkness of the castle; the patter of blood as it dripped from ceilings, walls and trickled down stairs to form dark scarlet pools under the light of fiery torches.

  Hundreds of corpses littered the hallways, rooms and courtyards. Knights in their steel armour, servants dressed in cotton garments, maidens with their beautiful long hair and flowing gowns lay ruined and despoiled, dripping with gore, limbs torn from their motionless bodies. The deaths had been brutal, and excessively violent. Delenair had seen more death and horror than most and here she was again to witness such atrocities; so much blood. One would say the slaughter was inhuman, and rightly so.

  There was a sharp chill in the air, the hairs on her neck stood on end. It was a deep and bitterly empty coldness; the aftermath of a human soul being destroyed and consumed breaking the strands of fate leaving behind an empty void. Through the castle she wandered, death was all around.

  Delenair found Borawl sitting upon the throne on the dais amongst a sea of blood and broken bodies. The body he resided in was not his own, but that of lord Maikon, liege lord of the meadow lands. In the fire light his shadow was a grotesque silhouette of his true from, twisted, horned and cruel. He rose to greet Delenair with a smile, gesturing to the bodies with a wave of his arm.

  "Gifts for you," he mocked with a cruel grin, knowing the empathy she held for mortals. His body showered the ground as magical dust and he reformed behind Delenair, his blood stained hands resting on her shoulders. He leaned forward nuzzling her ear and breathed in the sweetness of her hair.

  A bright light illuminated from Delenair's hand as she summoned Valeyaa, the divine weapon. It was a powerfully enchanted glaive with a long spear shaft. The weapon had an elegantly decorated hilt topped with a glowing blade the length of a short sword. Borawl quickly withdrew from her. Blades clashed as the pair fought viciously. Their frenzied movements sent tides of blood splashing in all directions like a horrific macabre dance.

  A skillful parry gave Delenair the opportunity for a powerful riposte. She thrust her glaive forwards violently impaling Borawl in an explosion of blood, lifted his body off the ground then brutally kicked him away. His body tore away from Valeyaa and flew across the great hall with vital organs spilling out of his torso.

  There was a smile across his face as he arose, rib cage exposed, flesh and muscle torn asunder and hemorrhaging blood. Whilst his essence possessed a mortal’s body he felt nothing; not pain, warmth or the bitterness of cold. He used mortals as vessels to commit slaughter, and nothing more. For no other pleasure could he find within these empty husks. It angered him that he was unable to fulfill all of his sadistic desires which only fueled his malevolent rage.

  Delenair pursued him relentlessly; attacking him viciously and with brutal strength. She knew Borawl felt no pain and within herself was tortured with every injury she inflicted upon the body he wore for she knew she was wounding an innocent who had been ensnared by Borawl’s demonic powers. Lord Maikon was known to her. An honorable man he was, strong and kindly. His people loved him, for he had the wisdom to rule and the courage to stand up for what was right. He was a great man and there is scarce few of that breed left in the world. She continued her assault, crushing him until his body was limp and useless.

  As Borawl lay defeated amongst the blood and gore of those he had slaughtered Delenair knelt over him. Soon his spirit essence would leave the body and return to Arronoki, the forsaken realm of the damned. She did not want this foul demon to escape and with a bloody finger she traced a glyph of binding on his forehead trapping his spirit within the body. Exorcisms had never worked with Borawl, he was too powerful an entity, if it wasn't the host's body he destroyed then it was the mind. A tortured soul was a terribly difficult thing to repair; Delenair had suffered greatly attempting it in the past. It was time to try something new, and far more dangerous.

  Delenair rose and stepped away from the body, as she did a dark shadow appeared on the wall behind her. It pulsed, changing shape and warped into a dimensional portal. Through it stepped a horse, bone grey with a mane, tail and eyes that were alive with blue fire; Forceren, steed of the astral plane. His twisted horns rose from his head as a crown, with shoulders bursting with muscle the powerful steed stood proudly with his head held high.

  Forceren trotted over to Delenair, she embraced him warmly, rubbing his face and neck before climbing up onto his back. The portal melted away and the room became consumed in darkness, Forceren's blue flames the only source of illumination.

  In the fading light Delenair's features were sharp, her keen eyes pierced Borawl with resentful contempt. She had the appearance of petite young woman; her strength and age were in no way represented by her stature, as it is with the divine gods.

  There was a deep rumble in the room which sounded as though some colossal entity was breathing through massive jaws. Borawl scanned the room but could see nothing except Delenair atop her flaming steed; he scowled at her as he began to wonder what
type of magic she was conjuring. Helpless, he could do nothing but lay and wait.

  Two large eyes appeared before him, when he stared into them he felt a vast emptiness, a great eternal void and in it swirled the stars and planets of the universe. He was trapped within its gaze and couldn't turn away, the eyes were piercing through him and suddenly he was gripped with intense pain as his spirit form was pulled free from the flesh of the human host he had possessed. Delenair had to look away as the skin was torn asunder, muscles and bones splitting and tearing apart.

  With Borawl's spirit essence free there was a thunderous crack as the room trembled. A reptilian face appeared with the long white snout of a pale crested dragon. Large deep eyes stared at Borawl's broken form and he cowered in fear. The great beast opened its mouth and consumed him as though he was nothing more than a mere tasty morsel. With the delicacy consumed, the unearthly creature slowly faded into nothingness. The darkness etched away and the room became light again.

  It was over. Borawl was trapped in a nameless dimension from which there was no escape. Never again would he return to his master, or to Arronoki. Delenair's greatest desire was that he never returns here, to the continent of Sapphiron. Despite the victory her heart was restless. She had been unable to protect her people and took little joy from vengeance. Lord Maikon was dead and his family also. He would have been trapped within his body and forced to watch helplessly as Borawl used his flesh like a puppet to murder his beautiful wife, children and all the inhabitants of the castle. Delenair couldn’t imagine the torment he must have suffered during those horrific hours. His entire family had resided within the Sapphire towers; it was possible that on this night the great lineage of Maikon was ended. It pierced Delenair's heart with mournful grief. She needed to get away, to clear her mind of this growing sadness.

  "Take me to the isle of Valeforr," she said to Forceren, "I want to ride amongst the stars."

  Forceren obliged her request. The dark portal opened at his command and he leapt through. With powerful legs he soared across the vast cosmos, the dazzling lights of the universe burning away Delenair's misery.

  Chapter 01

  It was a hideous and intimidating helm, forged of black dempt steel in the shape of a twisted demons head yet Ravage looked at it with fondness. It was her companion, her protector, the finest helm she had ever forged. The helm rested on a rock adjacent to her watching with lidless eyes as Ravage knelt and splashed her face with water from the rocky stream. It was fresh with a sweet taste and the harmonic gurgling of the water as it trickled along its path was tranquil and calming. Quartz crystals in the stream reflected the morning’s sun giving the flowing stream an almost magical appearance, a glimmer of the beauty that was Sapphiron. Feeling refreshed she climbed across the rocks surrounding the creek to resume her position crouched in hiding behind a large boulder beside the road. A dense growth of river weeds and thickets pushed their way up between the rocky stones, their tips flourishing with blossoming flowers of yellow and wild red.

  The peaceful morning had inspired her imagination and as she day dreamed about the journeys to come Ravage was roused from her thoughts by the familiar clinking melody of steel horseshoes on stone coming down the road; it was time. Ravage pulled back her long flowing midnight purple hair, donned her helm then leant patiently against the boulder, her hand resting on the hilt of her longsword.

  Perched upon the rocks high above the road was Patsy, concealed from sight by a thick layer of overhanging branches from the forests canopy. With this bird's eye view she was able to keep watch over the group of bandits as they slowly made their way across the glade, oblivious to the peril that lay in wait for them. As the bandits moved into the area where Ravage lay in ambush, Patsy notched an arrow in her bow and took aim at the lead rider narrowing her eyes with dark thoughts of malevolence.

  The arrow struck the bandit with a heavy thud as the power of the ashen bow violently threw him from the saddle. Ravage emerged from her concealment and impaled the closest rider with her sword, mounted his horse and began to ruthlessly ride down his comrades. Her blade sliced through leather to sever limbs, found the vulnerable areas between plate armour to puncture the organs within and destroyed necks to remove heads from their bodies, it was a scene of chaos and gore; all the while arrows whistled from above stealing life from men who fell in despair.

  The bandits nursed sunken eyes and swollen cheeks, the aftermath of a night of hard liquor. They were slow to react to the ambush. The sudden attack coupled with Ravage’s demonic appearance and an unseen archer raining death upon them filled the bandits with confusion, panic and fear. They could not stand against Ravage’s fury and skill, after a short skirmish the battle was over.

  For three days Ravage and Patsy had been stalking the bandits along the eastern roads after having heard how they brutally murdered a family in a cabin on the outskirts of Tandruitt, a small and remote farming village in southern Engalia. Ravage had a penchant for vengeance; if these bandits thought they could murder an entire family without consequence they were sorely mistaken. Injustice weighed heavily on her, especially at night; it had its way of preventing her from sleep. Ravage was always getting herself involved in other peoples disputes, a trait her father claimed would get her killed one day, and in brutal fashion.

  The pristine creek had been transformed into a horrific scene of blood and gore. Ravage removed her helm and surveyed the carnage.

  Patsy found her friend heavily splashed with blood, kneeling amongst the corpses searching them for anything of value. It made her realise just how ruthless Ravage was. There was violence in the core of her being that made her almost as demonic as her helm. The murderous lust resided within Patsy also; killing was easy, especially when it came to slaughtering men who were heartless and cruel.

  "Find anything good?"

  "Nah, nothing really, just a few sovereigns, their weapons are too notched and worn to bother taking to sell," Ravage rose and walked over to her friend, she detested the filth that had soiled her armour, it was going to need a meticulous cleaning. "I need a bath."

  "Strip off and wash in the stream then," Patsy grinned, the stream was barely a few inches deep.

  "No, I need a real bath," she said with a smile, half day dreaming," with hot water, scented soaps and oils, in a nice large tiled bath with candles and flower pedals."

  "Well it's going to be a long while before we're anywhere that civilised!"

  "Once we have our fortune we're building the most epic bath in our fortress."

  "Of course we are!"

  A deafening roar erupted from within the forest which shook the trees and sent a swarm of birds fleeing into the sky in terror. Patsy and Ravage froze, gripped with fearful anticipation. After a short moment of silence another roar echoed from the trees which began to moan and crack as if some great force was pushing its way through them. Ravage could see the branches bending and shaking, she looked at Patsy and their eyes met, neither ready for the hellish monster that was about to descend upon them.

  From the tree line emerged a great beast, hideous to look upon, a shorku, an enigma of the world. Its body was reptilian, bulky, armored in heavy scales. Powerful insectoid legs supported the huge mass of its body; the vulnerable flesh of its arms protected under a barbed carapace. Rancid poison seeped from the pores on its mangled, dreadful face. The shorku howled in delight as it looked upon its prey and the mass of corpses sprawled across the road. This was not the first time the pair had faced a shorku, but it was one of the largest they had come across. No two shorku's were ever alike, and when they bred the offspring was a deformed beast spawned with foul mutations from each parent.

  The pair was ill-equipped to deal with a monster such as this, the wisest choice of action was to flee, and they did just that. Dashing across the rocks they raced to their horses which they had hidden away behind a wall of green undergrowth. The horses knew the shorku was close and were acting unsettled and tense, they were eager to leave the area
and held back no speed once mounted. Through the valley they raced carrying their masters to safety. The shorku did not bother to chase them, it perched itself above the mass of bandit corpses and began to feast upon the soft human flesh, blood spilling from its mouth with each bite.

  At noon the girls stopped for a meal on a grassy knoll beside the road. It was the last of their food, but neither was concerned, Patsy was an excellent hunter, as long as she had her bow they would never go hungry. The grass was luscious and thick, as Patsy sat enjoying an apple she stared at Foxglove Mountain off in the distance. It was a wondrous place that she hoped to one day explore.

  “What are you day dreaming about over there?" Ravage smiled at her friend with fondness, Patsy looked adorable when she stared blankly in a haze; her mind off with the fairies.

  "Oh I was just thinking about the mountain."

  "What about the mountain?"

  "Just that I’d like to explore it one day,” Foxglove Mountain was alluring to her, its beauty, its mysteries, it was said to have deep unexplored caves that led into the very heart of the mountain; Patsy wondered what ancient secrets lay within.

  Clouds amassed about the peak of the mountain. Ravage thought Foxglove beautiful yet perilous. “I heard no one’s ever returned from the mountain, that an ancient evil dwells there and claims the souls of anyone who ventures within.”

  “Well it’s not very different from the broken ravine now is it?” The broken ravine was the destination the two warriors were travelling across the continent to reach. Its true name was the Ravine of Broken Memories yet people referred to it as the Broken Ravine save in maps. It is the infamous ruins of a civilisation that ended mysteriously eons ago. It is said that a vast wealth of gold and jewels lay hidden deep within the ruins which is guarded by hideous monsters and the vengeful ghosts of those who once dwelt there that now harbour an eternal hatred of those who walk among the living. Countless adventurers and tomb raiders had ventured into the ruins to seek their fortune but thusly all have perished within the ruins.