Realm of Druids

by Mark Hogenelst

  Lady Cedonia waved her sweep in the air to draw a series of runes while reciting the ‘Flamma Fluctus’ enchantment. The jewel in her sweep glowed intensely, and her eyes burned a fiery red. A deep crimson haze encircled her body as she morphed into thick flame. She rushed forward, several feet off the ground towards Strala. Strala had not stood idle, she knew the changeling spell Cedonia performed and faced upwards to the sky while her eyes rolled into the back of her head with only the whites visible. She chanted the words to spawn the Hydrox Wraith. A deafening roar, the sound of a powerful wind was heard as an inverted water spout stretched from the circling black clouds above, directly down to engulf Cedonia in a matter of seconds. Great blue hands could be seen in the turbulent water extending and crushing inwards towards the centre. Cedonia could still be seen in her fire flame form within the fast-spinning water spout. Her screams of anger barely heard over the roar of the rotating wind and water.

  The flame glowed brighter and nearly broke through the wall of water in an immense cloud of steam and noise. The great blue hands appeared again and formed fists that pummelled inward towards the flame, causing it to recede slightly. Strala pointed the jewel of her sweep at the water spout, and the spout spun tighter and faster until the fire of Cedonia faded and vanished. Strala muttered a few words and the spout broke apart and dissipated into the air in a mighty plume of steam and showering everything nearby with hot water. Cedonia was now on her knees, her hair and robes dripping wet and sobbing with rage.

  She reached outwards for her sweep that was on the ground nearby, it started to move towards her outstretched hand, but Strala waved her sweep back and forth quickly. Cedonia’s sweep flew through the air to be caught by Strala’s free hand. Strala yelled in delight as Cedonia jumped to her feet and made to run towards Strala in a fit of rage. Strala crossed both handles of the sweeps in front of her and both jade jewels hummed in anger. ‘Anima Ardeat’ yelled Strala looking directly at Cedonia. A uniform green flash from both sweeps leapt to Cedonia. She appeared to be on green fire for an instant then disappeared with a loud hiss. In her place, several pieces of ash drifted about in the breeze to fall gently to the ground like black snowflakes. The Soulburn spell was a powerful killing curse that destroyed the physical being and banished the essence of the soul to the Dread-Realm. It usually could not be performed by one witch alone; however, one witch with two sweeps was a different story. The witches ‘peering out of the circle of Bloodwood trees were in awe, and the goblins were still horrified. Both Daemons stood up from their perch on the rock and applauded.

  They had already known what the outcome of this fight would be. Daemons were rather fickle when it came to be fighting it out with one another. They preferred to send magic aid rather than get their hands dirty, for it also cost them a great deal to leave the Dread-Realm and travel to this one. Ar’geth stretched and waved his black tail about swatting invisible flies. He chuckled and winked at an exhausted Strala. By banishing the soul of his witch, Lady Cedonia to the Dread-Realm, Strala had done him excellent service, and now his daughter had returned home. Dalgaith the wretched then complained loudly that he did not have anything as a reward. Strala now exhausted, glanced around then nodded towards the goblins. He spied them cowering nearby and beckoned one to him. The goblin in forceful involuntary movements climbed the rock and stood in front of Dalgaith. The Daemon looked the goblin up and down for a moment as if examining livestock then stepped forward. He drove his horn through the goblin, and then both disappeared to follow Ar’geth back to the Dread-Realm. Several days later, the three witches’ that had been loyal to Cedonia and suspected of plotting Strala’s assassination were now hanging by their heels in the Bloodwood trees around the grove above the coven. Their headless bodies were constantly twisting and swaying in the gusty wind. The Wailing Woods now that bit louder with the addition of a further 3 trapped souls.

  203 years after the battle of Roemus and the destruction of Cedonia, Lady Strala’s motives had changed. There was a time she had campaigned in this coven and to the other three covens to be more aggressive and destroy all who opposed the witches’ rule once and for all. Now a more significant threat loomed, as she suspected that an unknown force was conspiring to destroy her. The void shadow had appeared at Blackmire Castle and could only be controlled by one possessing the powerful skills of the black craft. But who? She could not sense them, which was highly unusual. When summonsed, the NaZuth would not return to the Dread-Realm until it had completed its purpose, or it was destroyed. Strala knew it had slain goblins and tried to destroy Salum. She feared it would soon be on its way here. Strala did not possess any direct magic ability to abolish the NaZuth. Dalgaith, the Wretched had not answered her summoning since the appearance of the shadow, and she felt that something was wrong.

  In the central chamber of the Bloodwood Coven far beneath the earth, Lady Strala sat in a huge stone throne fashioned in the shape of a mankind armchair and adorned with skulls from various creatures. The room was dark, cold and wet and appeared to have been carved from a huge singular rock. Several old and decaying purple tapestries hung about the walls. One had a faded picture depicting a powerful enchantress draped in a magnificent robe. She stood upon a hill casting a black spell into the sky that sent the sun to the other side of the earth. Another showed several skyriders on their sweeps leading an army of goblins and hounds against the wolves in some forgotten battle. Witches’ really had no need for such trappings, but these had always been in the ‘Ladies’ Chamber, and they were useful for impressing the rare visitor.

  Against the wall behind her throne, there stood a tremendous crooked woodworm eaten bookshelf that stretched from floor to ceiling. The ancient timber shelves had managed to stay together by pure luck as the old glue and nails had long rotted away. Upon a few shelves were and assortments of scrolls. The scrolls being thin cured hides from a variety of extinct animals. The manuscripts written contents of blood were mostly faded away, but the magical properties of each one still existed within. The remaining rows of shelves were packed with books and remnants of parchments rotting away. On an old stained square table in one corner were piled faded potion bottles and copper vials. They contained a variety of foul-smelling liquids, with several kept inside a wooden box to prevent them from moving about.

  Perhaps the most important item in the room was the large scale Planetarius hanging from the roof below a crudely carved dome in the rock ceiling. A model of the blood moon circled around a black sun in the centre. This depicted one of the most important solar events in the witch caste. Strala used this instrument for simulating the apparent motions of the sun, moon, and planets against a background of stars set within the domed ceiling. The room was dark with only a single fire torch at one end, throwing an uncertain light around the chamber. This fire torch was held by a grinning skeleton of a mankind animal, which had stood in this position for centuries. Witches’ had no need for light either, however, in this case, the fire was for the comfort of another not from the witch caste.

  A squat stone altar with marks of the knife and axe was centred in the middle of the room below Strala’s throne. An iron ring was set in each corner, and it was covered in various stains of ageing blood. Next to it sat a single stone bench, square, unattractive and not very comfortable. On this stone bench is where the witches’ invited guest sat uncomfortably. Lady Strala looked at Grell through piercing bright green eyes. Grell shifted on the seat awkwardly and forced a smile. He placed an ornately curved horn on the side of the stone altar and dipped his head. At every meeting he had with Strala, he never knew if he would stay seated on the bench or end up on the Altar to feed her patron Daemon.

  26.

  THE BLACK SHADOW

  The Daemons that inhabited the Dread-Realm feared little. What they did despair however was the Abysm. This was beyond the boundary of the Dread-Realm comprising of the nothingness of space and time, the endless void. Over a millennium, adventurous Daemons of the Dread-Realm who had travel
led to the Abysm had never returned. Daemons avoided it and speculated that nothing dwells there; seen only as the blackness and loneliness of eternity. However, in this place, absent of light, a black shape moved. It had heard its name called several times. It was sluggish to move out of the shadow of the void and then finally began to migrate towards the calling voice. Only the most powerful of Daemons could summon it. It was called the NaZuth by some, and it was known in the Dread-Realm as the Void Shadow. It craved life essence and warmth more than anything, and it was hungry.

  Grell sat in his locked chamber. He positioned himself cross-legged on the ground and faced the Divine Eye on the granite floor, room centre. The Oak carved lamp directly above was already lit. A low whining sound came from an infant mankind cub confined to a cage in one corner of the room. This cub had been stolen from its bed while sleeping with its tribe in the village they called Brineburg several days ago. It was an easy matter of using an Arch few knew about in the north to send the cub here. Grell felt exhilarated, he had never commanded power such as this before. Furthermore, he knew that if he failed the set task given to him by Mazamag the Deceiver, his patron Daemon, he would undoubtedly be dealt a fate worse than death. The goblin was again to summon the NaZuth and set it upon an army of the Wildpack heading south through the moors and the Bloodwood Witch Coven. Raven spies had reported to him regularly, and on occasions, he used the Divine Eye to view the Wildpack march through the eyes of one of his Ravens. Strala had ordered Shum to send several companies of hounds to the Great Southern Marsh for protection after the incident at Castle Blackmire. Strala had no idea who was controlling the NaZuth, and she certainly hadn’t thought that he Grell would ever command the black craft of conjuring on this level. The Deceiver had promised him greatness if he could be resurrected to the mortal realm.

  Strala had requested Lady Ravyne of the Night Grove Coven to send skyriders and minor goblin mages from the northern Windburn Grotto and Badwind hides to accompany the hounds. It was a month or more journey and somewhere along the way Strala had managed to pick up a swamp troll named Huldra from the North Marsh. Huldra was a giant of sorts who lived a relatively quiet life in the dense mists of the marsh. He resided in a hidden cave and had a taste for goblin, pony flesh, and the odd serpent found commonly in the north. He was twenty-two feet high, covered in thick brown hair and had a long bovine tail. He walked on two thick legs and carried a small tree trunk that he used as a club. A filthy weathered face showed patches of dried mud with the odd small bush tangled in his thick hair. Large yellow teeth had decaying scraps of meat in between them, and his breath was as foul as the marsh mud he lived in. He had dark grey eyes, the colour of the marsh mud and preferred a life of solitude, one that did not include the witches’ bidding. His shoulders and upper back bore deep scars of the whip. Punishment dealt out to him by the witches’ favourite toy known as the ‘Serpents Kiss.’ It was a price paid for minor disobedience from a cruel witch a century ago. The Serpents Kiss is made of 12-foot-long leather braided strips of pony leather, embedded with the teeth of some ferocious sea creature that doesn’t usually eat seagrass.

  There weren’t many swamp trolls left these days, as they had either killed each other off or had died on errands for the witches’ fighting other beasts. The name given to them, swamp troll was a bit harsh as their size and unfortunate looks was not really their fault. As physically powerful as they were, they were terrified of the occult and hence did the witches’ bidding. Grell doubted that the giant swamp troll would be of any concern to the NaZuth; after all, he had succeeded invoking the NaZuth and setting it upon an envoy of goblins meeting Bloodwood witches’ at Castle Blackmire some time ago. The only negative outcome was that the stupid King Boorag was supposed to have gone to Blackmire and die with the envoy and the witch.

  Grell held his dagger in front of him and scrutinized it; the crystal blade radiated a black light that resembled shadows as he twisted the dagger back and forth, admiring it. The mage had never had this power before, and his patron Daemon Mazamaag had kept his promise. Closing his eyes, he recited the magic cipher required. The white glyphs on his face glowed as he drew the summoning runes of the incantation in the air in front of him, keeping his eyes firmly closed. The power flowing through him was intoxicating as he fell into bewitchment. The blade moved about in his hand like a live thing, creating unknown symbols in the air and making cleverer token runes then he consciously could. This was the only invocation that could summon the NaZuth. After a short while, he paused, and the black runes hung in the air, rotating around each other slowly.

  He turned and faced the now sleeping mankind cub. The last part of the required magic formula to call the NaZuth required a blood sacrifice of a higher species. King Boorag was many things, but he would not have tolerated infanticide. Especially when it involved a mankind animal as they were scarce to get one's hands-on. Didn’t matter anyway, once the witches’ had been taken care of, he would turn his attention to King Boorag. The NaZuth’s sinuous form flowed through the cracks and arteries from the Dread-Realm into the mortal realm deep in the ground below Blackmire. It was slow and precautious. As it was born of dark, it feared light, particularly sunlight as the Abysm was utterly absent of it.

  27.

  SALTWOOD

  The body of the night watch guard at the north gate entrance into Saltwood was the only victim found. The clues left behind by the culprit were several bite marks out of his exposed arms and large paw prints on the ground, suspiciously similar to a big dog. The elders had concluded the cause of his death was likely from some devil that had crawled out of the sea nearby. However, to avoid spreading panic, they notified the gossipers in the village that he appeared to have died from an untimely heart attack. As for the three nightwatchmen that the hound had killed near Saniel’s house, their bodies had vanished. Therefore, they could only be listed in the village as missing. Saniel’s mother and the burnt remains of the Draugen had also disappeared. The surviving two nightwatchmen had fled through the streets after witnessing the Draugen and his companion of a hound skulking around. They had run to the shelter of their houses for the rest of the night and emerged the next morning thinking it was all a bad dream.

  Several bells rang long and hard for the remainder of the night. Nobody in Saltwood could sleep any longer with that entire racket going on and stayed awake until daybreak. Most people knew something had happened in the village, but no one was going to unlock their door to find out. At sun up though, the bravest men of the night watch and armed civilians stepped out into the street and met in the village square. After an encouraging lecture from the elders, they set forth like an angry lynch mob. They would have dearly loved to wave fire torches around, but it was daylight, raining steadily, and the desired effect of the fire would be less effective. Thirdly, no one wanted to burn their own house down. However, they were well equipped, as many of them were armed with garden shovels and big stones. Some of the men even carried a net between them after hearing one of the elders mention that something ‘Fishy’ had occurred during the night. They combed the several streets of Saltwood until their anger had faded and they were just too tired to walk around anymore. Most of them began to peel off to their homes for breakfast. Finding no trace of the murderous culprit or the several missing people, the rest went home.

  An inspection of the Carlow family cottage at number eight Woodward Road revealed a broken front door and signs of a general disturbance throughout the inside. Mrs Carlow and her son Saniel were missing. Therefore it was assumed that they had likely gone mad, trashed their own house and had run off into the moors or thrown themselves over the cliff into the sea. In the council hall near the square, six elders sat around in a semi-circle and addressed the townsfolk that had bothered to come. Two of them wore white and brown goat hair wigs, which was the style at the time. They all looked at each other somewhat perplexed as they had heard the accounts of several watchmen. Old Mrs. Willoughby from next door to the Carlows sat on a st
ool and looked nervously at the elders in turn as she twisted her small copper ear horn between her hands. She stated that she never heard a thing during the night as she never sleeps with her ear horn attached. As she told her account to the council elders, she lowered her voice, looked around cautiously, and said, ‘I always thought that the Carlows were a strange lot.’ The elders murmured quietly and nodded to one another for a short time to then finally announce that the case was now closed.

  Later that morning at a second village meeting the elders decreed that Mr Faber the village smithy should immediately commence making short swords, breastplates and arrowheads to properly arm the able-bodied men folk in the village. This would mean putting aside several shoeing jobs and cancelling the repairs to the handrail on the front steps into Mr Sowerbottom’s house for his elderly mother. A decree was immediately put into effect that all steel items laying about the village were to be delivered to the smithy forthwith for application to better use. Further that an armed escort was to accompany a messenger to Brineburg, which was about a ten-day journey on pony back. The night watch and other hastily appointed guards were now doubled on the southern and northern gates to the village. However, a lot of townsfolk queried this as there were no walls around the village anyway, including the woodland side. The dark and tall woods along that eastern side separating the village from the moors suddenly seemed gloomy and foreboding, more than usual.