Conclusion of the Great War
The Lord of the Dead finally appeared. Hasbarie loomed ominously atop the hill that the Onock called home. Darkness surrounded him like flies feasting on a decaying carcass. Inside the swarm of blackness stood a tall man wearing obsidian colored trousers and boots. A black cowl covered his slick head, which hid countless, black protruding veins. He wore no shirt, revealing his skeleton-like torso, which also pulsed with black engorged veins. The Dark Wizard’s most notable characteristic was the large crystal in his chest, where a normal man’s heart would beat. The organ which sustained life was replaced with a pitch black, swirling crystal, which preserved Hasbarie’s life and granted him his unworldly power. It was often wondered what type of evil force he had dealt with in order to obtain such a vile object.
He briefly scanned over the collage of mutilated bodies; a thin smile grew on his face.
So many dead, he thought. They will not stay that way for long.
Until this moment Hasbarie had not been present on the battlefield. Only his faithful minions occupied the field in an effort to destroy the courageous warriors who were laying siege to his fortress.
Hasbarie had laid in wait, watching the great battle from within the confines of the Onock, his safe haven. No being, although many tried, gained entry into the Onock. Hundreds of foolish warriors charged the Onock, only to be absorbed inside of it and converted into the Breathless.
To Hasbarie’s dismay, the war had not played out as he had envisioned. The Saviors and their armies surprisingly fared much better at disposing of his troops than he had ever dreamed possible. The number of his dark minions that lay dead before him matched that of Calencia's dead. Hasbarie knew that now, only he could secure the victory against Calencia. The time had come for him to directly engage the last surviving Savior, Ryker Graystone.
Ryker, the last living Savior, and his remaining troops navigated their way through the countless bodies, up the hill toward the Onock. With Hasbarie finally in his sights, Ryker immediately called his feeble eight man army into formation.
"Attack!" Ryker roared.
They heroically stormed to the top of the hill with reckless abandon, slaughtering anything that stood in their path.
Ryker, a giant of a man covered in the black blood of the Breathless stormed the hill wielding duel swords. He savagely tore through the remaining forces that lay between himself and Hasbarie.
From the time the conflict had begun, everyone knew Ryker was destined for greatness. His accomplishments on the battlefield were unmistakably the achievements of a great warrior destined to play a huge role in the battle for Calencia. Donning a snow white suit of plate armor, trimmed in gold, Ryker stood out amongst the ranks. His golden cape whipped behind him in the wind. He wielded a long sword in his right hand and a sixteen inch short sword in the other. His legendary weapons were forged from the bones of the last High Dragon, which, fittingly enough, his father slew.
The moment had finally arrived. The two legends, for that is what they were to become, stood motionless. Only mere feet apart, their eyes locked upon one other. Whether good or evil would emerge victorious, the conclusion of the Great War was at hand. The smell of death had scattered through the air by a cool winter’s breeze. Neither man flinched. This moment was inevitable and all eyes watched to see the next move in this elaborate game of chess.
“So,” Hasbarie said with a loud booming voice as he took a few steps forward, “The great Human general finally arrives. It has been a long and perilous journey, Mortal. You should be proud. You have achieved what no other could. Your destiny awaits you mere feet from where you stand. Are you prepared to embrace that destiny?”
Ryker stood silent.
Again, like the sound of rolling thunder, Hasbarie bellowed, “Here you stand, Mortal, frozen in awe of the greatest Necromancer ever known to the world. I understand your dilemma. You believe you are destined to destroy me, but as you stand in the presence of a soon to be god, the Lord of the Dead, your heart is aching for you to fall to your knees and praise me, hoping I will spare your pathetic soul. Hoping that in this moment I-,” Hasbarie's words were cut short. Ryker had heard enough.
“I stand here now in front of a coward who shields himself with dark magic, scared and frightened. You are no god! You are not even courageous enough to meet me on the battlefield. The Lord of the Dead stands petrified, too afraid to descend his perch and face me. You have hidden behind your abominations hoping that I would not defeat them, but here I stand . . . your destiny!” Ryker roared with great authority.
Ryker let out a battle cry loud enough for the heavens to hear and took a single step forward; the last step he would ever take. As Ryker began to advance, Hasbarie plunged his staff forward sending forth a black wave of energy that dropped the last of the warriors, including the great Human general himself. Hasbarie stood motionless for a moment, admiring the lifeless bodies that lay crumpled before him. A smile lengthened across his face. He turned and began to walk away, intending to return to the safety of his dark fortress. As he began his ascent up the hill, he heard an unsettling noise behind him . . . laughter. He could not believe his ears; the laughter was resonating from where Ryker lay motionless only moments ago. Hasbarie swiftly turned to see the Savior propped up on his elbows, with his legs sprawled out in front of him. With a smile on his face, Ryker slowly raised his right hand, palm up, pointing it toward Hasbarie.
Once more, the Dark Wizard spoke. With amusement in his voice he said, “You raise your pathetic hand out to me as if reaching for help. There is no help for you now, Savior. Your soul will soon be consumed, to be forever tortured and tormented.”
"I always keep my promises," Ryker managed to choke out.
With an ever widening smile, Ryker aimed his hand at the black swirling orb that sat in the middle of Hasbarie's chest. He spread his fingers wide, as if to show the width of his hand, triggering a mechanism inside his bracer. A single steel bolt shot from beneath his bracer, traveling with pinpoint accuracy, striking the black orb directly in its swirling center. A sea of ebony erupted from Hasbarie's chest, darkening the entire sky, as if an eclipse had just occurred, blotting out the sun. Thunderous booms erupted from the Onock, along with a blinding white light that began to creep through the darkness. Soon, the darkness that blanketed the land faded, becoming replaced by the brightest light anyone had ever witnessed. The Onock began to implode, pulling all traces of darkness into its core. The Hethern, the Breathless, and all of the other evils that Hasbarie had conjured disappeared into the white abyss. When all of the evil had been reclaimed by the Onock, an earth rumbling explosion occurred. The concussive force that followed flattened everything: trees, warriors, outposts, and anything else that stood within a quarter of a leagues radius. Only the warriors on the outskirts of the battle, the mountains, and one young Wizard, who stood atop Mt. Pizenchaffe, survived the blast.
The threat was finally over. The darkness had returned to the bowels from which it came. For now, peace had returned to Calencia. The rebuilding process began shortly after the battle; trading routes reopened, villages rebuilt, and tributes were made to the fallen. Life went on and normalcy was restored. The races began to repopulate, except for the Dainties who many believed extinct.
As the years passed, the Great War’s relevancy diminished. The Saviors, who had been immortalized in song and lore, became more of a myth told in ancient folk tales. Only a few in Calencia, namely the Wizards, did not forget the sacrifices made, and the unspeakable evil that once came terribly close to destroying the lands. The Wizards could not forget what had happened. They knew it would happen again, for on the day the battle came to a dramatic end a new prophecy was seen. The prophecy, like the one before it, foretold of a great evil that yearned to claim Calencia once more. This time the destruction was predicted to be on an unimaginable scale; darkness would swallow the entire land, and Calencia's will to survive would be tested like never before. Still, no
t all hope was lost. Along with the new threat, the certainty came that a new generation of Saviors would rise to once again defend Calencia from the darkness that so desired to consume it.
Locmire's Quest: Book One A Tales from Calencia Novel Page 11