Realm of Druids

by Mark Hogenelst

  Barney pushed against the door, and surprisingly it swung open. Both men now tired and without any manners pushed through the little doorway and entered the cottage. It seemed quite ordinary except that no one was there. A quick two-minute search confirmed this. They closed the front door and found some stale bread in a cupboard. They ate hungrily and lay down in a small room to which they could bar the door with a chair and table. Both men were already tired, but this grey mist they took in with every breath made their minds foggy and lethargic. They lay on the floor and slept through the numerous footfalls on the road walking past, and the groaning and laughing of things that would have terrified them. They both dreamed horrible dreams of creatures reefing the souls from their bodies and feeding them to clawing grinning Daemons in the dark.

  Ronald awoke first and opened his eyes to see little in this dark room. He propped up on his elbows and looked around, trying to recall where he was, the cloud of nightmares fading away quickly from his mind. He saw the outline of Barney on the floor and on his back next to him snoring softly. ‘Mr Critchem, Mr Critchem.’ Ronald whispered as he gently pushed against his shoulder. Barney opened his eyes with a start and stared at Ronald. He then came to his senses. ‘Have you heard anything, boy?’ he inquired. Ronald shook his head. They crept to the small timber shutter at the side of the room and slowly and as quietly as they could, lifted the latch and pushed the shutter half-open. It was night, the mist was thinning out, and they caught frequent glimpses of the stars above. This cheered them up somewhat until they heard a distant scream and then a wailing of sorts that kept up for several minutes. Barney shivered and quickly closed the shutter. He whispered to Ronald ‘There’s nothing we can do until daylight. Then we can take stock of the situation and see where everyone is.’ Ronald nodded and lay back on the floor clutching his bow with an arrow fitted to the string. He was soon asleep. Barney, however, had a dozen scenarios running through his head of what they would encounter in the morning.

  Lady Ravyne from the Night Grove witch coven was pleased. After her skyriders had emerged from Trunarth, they had followed her orders and cast the Pigra incantation. This cloaked the entire area with a thick grey cloud that caused a numbing confusion to those caught in it. On that cloudy morning, the townsfolk of Brineburg were preparing to go about their daily routine. Bakers, fisherman, market stallholders and even the change of the watch guard failed to notice anything out of the ordinary. The only thing out of place was the lack thereof of animals in the village. During the night the birds and most of the domesticated animals had left the village after sensing a pending evil presence.

  Without warning, bazaar stories began popping up all over the village about people in black cloaks flying over rooftops around the outskirts of the village. That morning, a mysterious heavy grey mist drifted out of the dense forest north of the village and by midday had cloaked the entire area. It was written off as a natural occurrence, believed to have originated from the ocean. Though for the handful of fishermen offshore in their skiffs rolling out nets, the air was clear. As a precautionary move, however, the elders ordered the ringing of the warning bell, which was the signal for people to go home until further notice. That afternoon, only a handful of watchmen patrolled the streets. The village was silent and dark. The blind witchLilura observed from her vantage point high above the village. She sat comfortably upon her sweep and watched the lesser witches’ who had cast the Pigra incantation fly to her position. She faced them as they looked at her expectantly. She chuckled as she said, ‘Let the reapers go’.

  They came into the village from the nearby forest in droves, moving through the mist that was required to sustain them. Grey, soulless things hunched over as they shambled along, dragging their heavily muscled arms close to the ground. On the ends of these arms were great hands with long claw-like nails. They resembled the now extinct Baboons animals that used to live in the high forests where Trunarth met the Scarbia Ranges centuries ago. Except that their bodies were hairless and their skin as grey as the mist they now shuffled comfortably through. They frequently raised their heads upwards into the air. With protruding foreheads, wide jaws and flat noses, they tasted and smelt the mist detecting the mankind scent within. The witches’ had depleted an entire race of animals to create these Grey Reapers. Much of the town’s population had now succumbed to the properties of the Pigra incantation. They lay about in their homes in a semi-conscious state, aware of their surroundings, but unable to defend themselves or care. The watchmen were lying randomly about the streets where they had fallen.

  For several hours the Grey Reapers carried live limp bodies out of the village and into Trunarth to be met by the witches’ who performed the black ritual to harvest souls. A few random townsfolk were left behind as the witches’ were cautious not to wipe them all out. They wanted them to breed up again, as it was good for the environment. One of the witches’ was heard to say this as they looked upon the mankind animals as livestock. The fisherman, on the other hand, having had good day fishing, had all congregated on the beach as was customary to compare their catch of the day. They hauled the day’s takings to the paths leading up the cliffs just on dark. It was unusual that a grey cloud clung to the top of the cliff and that they couldn’t hear the afternoon bustle coming from the village above.

  41.

  GRELL

  When word came to Grell that the king sought his audience, he grimaced as he recited the cipher in his mind. This was as good a time as any to put the rest of his plan into fruition. He would destroy King Boorag through a spectacular enchantment that would captivate the guards and win him the favour and fear of the Slug Heart goblins. He spoke quietly in his room to Crovar. The great hound felt rested as he lay on a wild sheepskin rug. He had, had a welcome feed of rabbit and had slept for several hours. Crovar’s instructions were simple. Watch Grell’s back as he dealt with the king. Several minutes later, Grell walked boldly into the king’s throne cave. He whipped the cowl of his black mantle back behind his head, revealing his red skull covered in glyphs. No longer would he conceal his face in this room. Grell’s thin lips parted as he grinned wickedly through jagged yellow teeth, his arms crossed and hands were hidden in the sleeves of his garment. The fat red fool sat on his throne dressed in his grey and white wolfskin cloak while he held the kingstaff across his lap, balanced upon his disgusting belly which quivered slightly as he belched loudly. The several fire torches around the room showed nothing out of place. Several entrances leading off to other tunnels appeared empty. The usual placement of two of Boorag's goblin guards was also standard. Good, thought Grell. They would bear witness of what he was about to do to the king and would not dare interfere. He would let them live to spread the word throughout the hide of Grell’s power. They stood silently either side of the king brandishing menacing-looking hard wooden clubs. Grell did note however that the king clutched something tightly in his right hand. It was completely closed and concealed something that Grell could not see. He was curious. Never mind, he would find out soon enough when he pried the dead king’s fingers open. The white scars on Grell's face and head in the form of glyphs began to glow softly as Grell spoke under his breath.

  King Boorag sat gobsmacked as he noted with anger that Grell dared to walk with a slight spring in his step with his filthy face and head exposed. The King's flushed red face turned a darker shade, almost purple as numerous throbbing veins appeared in his cheeks. His beady green eyes stared with an intensity of deep hatred for this traitor. Furthermore, he was concerned that the witches may have grievance with him as Grell was his mage and advisor. He would make an example of him. The king looked past Grell and shifted uncomfortably in his throne chair. Was that a hairy hound from the Wildpack walking to the side and slightly behind Grell? How dare he bring that foul creature into the throne cave without permission? Was Grell ushering some curse now? How dare he! The king was going to enjoy what he had planned to do next. He shifted his chubby behind on the throne to sit upright and lea
ned forward slightly. He began to speak excitedly, but the words came out in a rush and barely understandable. ‘Grell the mage, your services are no longer required here, and you must now face the remedy to your crimes....’ The king stopped as the hound began to growl loudly and show ferocious looking teeth. Without further word, Grell pulled out a hand that had been concealed within a sleeve. Gripped firmly within his hand, he held his enchantment dagger. Joined to the onyx handle was the wide blunt crystal blade that showed numerous nicks and cracks to its edge. The blade emitted a dull white and yellow glow which brightened in sync with the glyphs on Grell’s face and head as he recited a cipher of the black craft. Grell waved his dagger in an arc in front of him. A trace of a thin red line was left in the air from the sweep of the blade. The blade hummed and glowed louder and brighter. Grell drew an outline of an arched door with a summoning rune.

  A large number of small rocks that were scattered about on the ground quickly rolled forward and rose up into the air to follow the line of the arch. An invisible door opened inwards to reveal a yawning black space, as a blast of cold air followed by a long mournful cry and a nauseating stench entered the room. King Boorag did not know the full ins and outs of the magic practices. He only knew enough to call for Grell or a lesser goblin mage if he wanted their help in some enchantment. However, he did know enough to realize that Grell was invoking some Daemon or monster to his bidding to do him harm no doubt. Boorag yelled ‘Guards!’, and then he looked down at his hand and opened his fingers. The wriggling Arachnid now free, jumped from the king’s hand to the ground. In a rapid movement, it grew to enormous proportions. It turned this way and that, all the while clicking together fearsome-looking fangs. It grew to the size of a pony as four large beetle black eyes fixated on Grell and it stepped towards him. Its abdomen was an exaggerated elongated shape curling upwards into a long-segmented tail that sported a cruel-looking stinger the size of a long knife. A sickly yellow venomous looking substance stained the tip of the stinger. The Chik-Vax was a genetic mix of the giant cavern spider and the rock scorpion. It was usually a much smaller and timid creature that could become quite savage if cornered or provoked. Its tiny brain made it easily susceptible to follow the basic directions of influential enchantments.

  Grell yelled out a strange word and with one final wave of his dagger, stepped backwards away from his enchanted doorway. The summoning rune broke apart as something moved forward in the dark. Two paralyzing red eyes stared at the king from a curved head adorned with spiky tendrils. Another mournful cry surged from its gaping toothless mouth in eerie joy. Its swollen head sat atop a thin, almost transparent body. Several bony waft-like protuberances wrapped around its white torso. It reached out of the black chasm and pulled itself into the throne cave with chaotic energy. Long tendrils drifted in behind it from the shadow plane. The door faded and then disappeared with the sound of a sharp crack. Flickering blue energy burst the length and breadth of its torso as it fixated its attention on the king. Grell had invoked the ‘Diabolus’, a wraith-like ghoul from the shadow plane between the realms. It possessed similar powers to the witches’ pet the ‘Night Spectre’, except that it wasn’t merely satisfied with absorbing a victim’s life essence. It would also enjoy rendering a body into pieces, which served to strike further fear into an enemy. This was what made it a favourite ghoul often summoned by the goblin mages.

  The two guards immediately leapt in front of the king. Crovar, unable to hold himself back, threw himself upon one of the guards and locked his strong jaws upon a shoulder and shook vigorously. The Diabolus reached out with long tendrils towards the king. Further tendrils arched out from its body and rippled like waves. The second guard stood in the way and swung his club with a mighty blow to strike an outstretched tendril. The Diabolus looked annoyed and withdrew that tendril. It shifted its position and changed its attention towards the guard. Several more tendrils appeared and wrapped quickly around the guard, whose red skin immediately paled. The guard went limp, his club falling harmlessly to the ground as the tendrils pulsed with blue energy sucking the essence from his body. The guard’s eyes widened momentarily to realize his fate before they closed permanently. The Diabolus pulled the limp upright frame of the guard towards itself like a puppet and seemed to study it for several seconds before the tendrils tightened, and the guard’s body was rendered into two and thrown to the floor.

  King Boorag was frantic at seeing this, and he shrieked loudly, his red-faced even more crimson than normal. Spittle flew uncontrollably from his mouth as he tried to shrink unsuccessfully into his throne and goaded the Chik-Vax on. More guards quickly appeared into the throne cave from the dark tunnel entrances. After the initial shock of seeing something resembling a giant spider and a Daemon like creature, they immediately went to defend their king. For a short time, the Diabolus was busy with the goblin guards. Crovar, who had managed to dispatch the first guard, was now attacking a second. Another three guards arrived and clubbed Crovar into unconsciousness.

  By now, the king’s Chik-Vax had stopped growing. It was one of the warped lesser creatures from the deep dark earth of the mortal realm that had been charmed by the witches’ to obey the basic commands of the king. It moved forward with a rustling sound on its many hairy legs towards Grell who was forced against a far wall. All entrances to the throne cave were now blocked by excited and yelling guards. Four dead guards lay in a horrible pile before the Diabolus as at least ten or more guards had surrounded it and were clubbing furiously at it. Another guard produced a spear and sword and joined in, stabbing and slashing at the thing. Fire torches were also used with significant effect. The Diabolus let out a loud, mournful wail; flames injured it much as the heat that had no place in the shadow plane. Its tendrils flailed about wildly in anger. It didn’t often lose to mortals of this realm, but finally conceded defeat and collapsed to the ground to melt into a white lump of flesh that then changed to liquid and disappear into the cracks of the floor.

  Severed tendrils that writhed about like snakes on the ground met the same ending. Grell now sweating profusely saw the demise of his Diabolus; he had underestimated the king and now suspected that he had walked into a trap. Crovar looked dead, and now he must escape as the guards and the Chik-Vax closed in. The guards had blocked all exits of the cave but wearily keep out of the Chik-Vax’s way. With the glyphs on Grell’s face glowing with magic energy, he yelled an incomprehensible word and in a white flash accompanied by a loud lightning sounding crack, disappeared leaving behind a tiny wisp of red smoke. But not before the Chik-Vax had darted forward and reached over with its stinger to stab downwards at Grell. As the goblin mage, disappeared so did half of the stinger lodged firmly into his left shoulder. Grell’s howls faded as he vanished. The Chik-Vax moved about the cave erratically and became uncontrollable after being injured through the loss of half its stinger. It slowly shrunk to the size of a small cat, which was its original size as the enchantment had ended. With difficulty, the king lifted his tubby legs off the floor and onto his throne as he looked fearfully at the Chik-Vax running about. The king certainly didn’t mind eating a fat spider now and again, but to have one running around your feet was disgusting. It was soon crushed under many clubs as it had outlived its purpose.

  Within the ladies’ chamber, the witches’ chanted feverously as the NaZuth lazily moved through them and relished in the flavour of their souls. A slight cracking noise was heard within the chamber as ice appeared on the altar and grew to cover the length and breadth of its stone surface. The now pulsing black sun in the centre of the Planetarius had changed colour. A milky white vein appeared in its centre that quickly spread. The scrolls on the altar below it now spewed raw blinding white light rays directly into it as it radiated a powerfully bright orange colour. The black sun of Strala’s Planetarius now mimicked the sun in detail. The gifted dagger from Dalgaith acted strangely. It twisted about slightly and absorbed the artificial sunlight, its blade taking on an orange glow.

 
The NaZuth paused. It was confused; it had never been in the presence of the sun as it followed an instinct to avoid it. The mass curled upwards to face the object and froze as if transfixed. Seizing the opportunity, Strala scooped up the dagger from the altar. It burnt her hands terribly and an intense heat radiated through her body, but she maintained her grip and with determination leapt forward and drove the dagger into the centre mass of the NaZuth. It screamed in agony. The blade was one of the few weapons to have influence in the Dread-Realm, where it could inflict damage to the creature. Strala was thrown back into the wall by an invisible force.

  A confused face appeared in the shadow and looked down at the dagger to see only the handle protruding from its mass. The twisted soul of Cedonia faced Strala on the floor at the base of the wall where she had landed. Cedonia’s soul formed a small part of the Void Shadow’s essence, and it was extremely dismayed at being robbed of its prize. Strala managed a smile through a bloody mouth and whispered faintly, ‘I won.’ Threads of white lines ran through the NaZuth to spread, join and completely dissolve the Void Shadow. It screamed in anger as its body turned into wispy black smoke that hissed loudly with a sound like water being thrown onto a fire. Strala’s gamble with the goblin King Boorag had paid off. He had either killed or wounded Grell mortally, which weakened his hold over the NaZuth, allowing the ancient Druid dagger to send the NaZuth back to the Dread-Realm. The enchanted weapon had vanished with the NaZuth back to the Abysm and was never to be seen again in the mortal realm.