In the final confrontation, two great hosts faced each other across a beautiful savannah. Werth, wanting to avoid the massive carnage that would be wrought by a full battle, directly challenged the Emperor of Losz, who was certainly the most powerful of all the necromancers, and the two hurled the power of their gods at one another, meeting in a titanic collision. It dawned on Werth that neither combatant could hope to defeat the other, and he ceased fighting and allowed the necromancer’s evil power to wash over him. Werth absorbed the Loszian’s power, allowing it to fill his being, and in one final effort, he channeled all of the dark sorcery and the power of Garod directly into the ground below. The ground shook as none had ever felt and split asunder as huge peaks plunged upward, and the two armies fled in horror and confusion as both the priest and necromancer were swallowed by a great crevasse. The World’s Spine was born, a scarred mountain range running north to south, fully separating the Shining West and the Loszian Empire.
The next day marked the beginning of year one A.C., After Cleansing. The Westerners tore down all remnants of Loszian power, every purple tower and every black temple of darkness, and using the knowledge they gained under the whips of the Loszians, they built their own cities and temples to Garod. One large country, Aquis, emerged with three small neighbors. No peace was ever declared between the Shining West and the Loszian Empire, but no large scale war continued. Skirmishes and battles occurred, but neither side ever committed to a full scale invasion, The West thrived in relative peace and prosperity.
* * *
Cor set the scroll down; he had many questions about what he read. The priests had never described any of this history to him, not about the gods, the arrival of the Loszians, The Cleansing, none of it. No doubt, Rael could answer his questions or point him to scrolls and texts that would. He stood up from the table and made his way through the rooms he and Rael occupied. He walked outside into the courtyard, finding it to be a beautiful sunny day. It was quite warm, but there seemed to be a constant strong breeze off of the ocean, carrying with it a familiar salty scent.
Rael was outside, organizing an assortment of weapons and other combat paraphernalia. Cor saw swords of various sizes, axes and a number of bludgeoning weapons the names of which he wasn’t aware. He also saw a variety of shields, ranging from small wooden discs a mere ten inches across to huge steel monstrosities clearly meant to cover the entire body.
“What year is it Rael?” he asked.
“Seven thirty six A.C.” Rael answered, turning to face Cor. “You did not know?”
“No, I didn’t. Well, I didn’t know any of what I just read.”
“I’m not surprised,” Rael commented, scratching his chin. “What you know was taught to you by your parents and by Garod’s priests. They conveniently leave out most facts, and I am not even sure most of the priests know the real history anymore.”
“I want to ask you some things,” Cor said, chewing on a fingernail.
“Of course, but how long has it been since you have wielded your sword?”
“A couple of months at least.”
8.
“Combat training,” Rael began, “is an excruciatingly long process. Fortunately for me, most of the hard work has been done, but I also have to teach you how to use the power in your blood. First, you must select a weapon.”
“But I have a sword,” argued Cor, confused.
“Yes, but it may not be the right weapon. You must choose the right weapon.”
Cor stood in front of the weapons racks, staring at them uncomprehendingly. Many of them were ancient, swords and axes rusted, their edges dulled by time. The bludgeons were bizarre to him, but their use obvious, for there was little question what a spiked ball at the end of a long handle or chain was meant for. The longsword Naran had given him stood amongst the other weapons; it was plain but clean, sharp and in good repair.
“Rael, I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do,” Cor said, again chewing on a fingernail.
“Stop thinking about it. In fact, close your eyes and let yourself be guided to one.”
Cor sighed quietly, truly not understanding why Rael didn’t let him use his longsword, but he closed his eyes obediently and simply stood there, trying not to think about the weapons he knew were arrayed in front of him. He began to notice an odd sensation in his chest, almost as if there were a string attached to his heart and someone was pulling the other end ever so slightly. Cor stepped forward and then turned slightly to the left, held his right hand out and opened his eyes as his palm settled around the hilt of a longsword. He hefted it off the rack, finding it lighter than he expected. It was old and rusted like the other weapons, and it had a single dull edge.
“Why did you pick that one?” asked Rael.
“I don’t know,” said Cor, looking at the blade. “It was like someone led me to it.”
“That is good,” encouraged Rael. “Your blood will call you to things, items, weapons and even people. That’s how I found you. You must learn to listen to it. At times, it will lead you to objects that will amplify your strength and power.”
“I like my other sword better,” Cor said doubtfully.
“Only because it is familiar. You have only begun to feel your power, and you do not trust it. Be patient.”
They spent most of the day drilling, allowing Rael to test Cor’s skills. He found Cor was indeed an adequate swordsman, clearly taught by one forced to innovate as opposed to any distinct style. Rael found a small wooden shield and strapped it to Cor’s left forearm. It was not important that Cor learn to use it now, but only to feel and become accustomed to its weight. They practiced for hours, and after Rael showed him how begin cleaning the rust from the sword and sharpen its blade.
That evening, over supper, Rael decided to answer some of Cor’s questions. Rael lorded over a pot containing a sort of beef stew, tossing various spices in as he went, tasting it occasionally, but somehow, Cor thought it would likely taste the same no matter what.
“Who is the Chronicler?” asked Cor. “You mentioned him when you handed me the scroll.”
“The Chronicler is an immortal,” answered Rael. “I do not know where he lives, and I doubt there are any who do. The gods gifted him immortality and sight in exchange for recording history.”
“So, he could be watching us now?”
“I am not sure, but I think everything is history to him. It is not as if he is using sorcery to spy upon us, he simply sees it all as if it had already happened,” Rael said, stirring at the stew which was taking on a burnt odor. “Though, I could be wrong. The Chronicler has been known to make contact with mortals from time to time.
“I must teach you to at least read Rumedian, perhaps speak it. Rumedian is the language of the gods and of the Chronicler.”
“I have never met a Rumedian,” Cor said, repeating aloud a thought he’d had earlier in the day.
“Yes you have. We are all Rumedians. The gods call our world Rumedia.”
“Why did the Dahken not join the war against the Loszians?” Cor asked, switching subjects.
“There is a history of the Dahken that I will have you read, but the short of it is that it was not our war,” answered Rael, scooping stew into a pair of wooden bowls.
“But the Loszians attacked the Dahken once?”
“Yes, and they paid for it dearly,” Rael replied as he placed the bowl in front of Cor. “The Westerners had never wanted anything to do with us before, so we did not feel a need to be involved.” They ate in silence, Cor organizing his thoughts. He would wait until after Rael was finished to continue with his queries. It was all somewhat surreal.
“When we got here,” continued Cor, “you called his place Sanctum. What exactly is it?”
“It is the Dahken stronghold in the Shining West. We had one in Losz and a few in other parts of the world.”
“Something happened to the Dahken after The Cleansing, didn’t it?”
Rael’s eyes met Cor’s and he paused
before answering. When he did, it was by way of a question. “Why would you say that?”
“Well,” Cor felt a familiar discomfort; when he was a child Jonn would occasionally pose a question that would make Cor feel like he was being tested. “This castle is falling down, and it doesn’t seem like much of a stronghold. There’s no one here except us. I’ve never seen any other Dahken, and you don’t talk about them. How many are left?”
“I do not know,” answered Rael, his voice a barely audible whisper. “It has been a long time since I have seen another, and you are the first I have sensed in the West.” Cor watched Rael’s face as he spoke. The man seemed suddenly old and tired.
“Rael, how old are you?”
“Boy, you are terrifically perceptive,” he replied loudly, causing Cor to flinch a bit. “No, I meant it as a compliment, though you must be careful with such a skill. To answer your question, I am one hundred sixty three years old. I was born in the spring of five seventy three A.C.”
“Are Dahken immortal, like the Chronicler?”
“No, but once we reach maturity, our aging slows immensely. If you do not die with a sword through you, you may very well live to see three or four hundred years. Look, no more of this tonight. Tomorrow, after breakfast, I will have you read of Dahken history in the West, and that should answer some of your questions,” Rael stood from the table. “I must attend to my horse. Please clean up.”
Rael stalked away, leaving Cor simply staring after him. He knew he had asked Rael a disturbing question, and he had no doubt it had to do with absence of Dahken at this supposed Dahken stronghold. He cleared the table and cleaned the pot with some well water before returning to his room. Cor sat on his bed for a few moments, resting his head in his hands. He wasn’t tired exactly; his body was exhausted, and his right arm throbbed, but he couldn’t seem to make his mind quiet. Questions and a burning desire to understand filled his thoughts.
Taking his candelabra, Cor stood and made his way towards the study. He stopped at the doorway, looking down the hall that continued into the darkness. Curiosity came unbidden, and knowing he shouldn’t, he continued down the hallway another two dozen paces, before he stopped at another doorway, a gaping maw leading down a dark stairway into blackness below. The curiosity tugged at him, and the stairway seemed to beckon him downward in a most frightful way. He turned and sprinted back to the study’s doorway, slowed as he reached it and turned to look back down the hallway, certain that something followed him. All but one of his candles had gone out.
Cor entered the study, breathing deeply once to clear his nerves. He set the candelabra down on the table, careful to make sure no wax would drip onto the tomes and relit the other candles. He took the scroll that he knew he was to read next – more history, that of the Dahken. He opened it, realizing it was penned in the same hand as the one he read that morning, and the parchment appeared relatively new. Before settling to read, Cor wondered briefly if Rael had translated these from other older texts.
* * *
As Chronicler, one finds there are countless subjects and moments in history that must be recorded at some point and discussed with some detail. The emergence of the Dahken as a race is one of these topics, and you will find their history in the paragraphs below. The Dahken first came into being as a race in what is known as the Shining West, and that is where most of their history is centered. Certainly, they have had a historical impact on the other continents of the world, but I will reserve those stories for other texts.
Around five hundred B.C., the god Dahk manifested to a Westerner named Tannes, appearing before the man as a great iron fountain, bubbling and gurgling enormous amounts of blood. Dahk bade Tannes drink from the fountain so that he may gain full knowledge of what he was. Tannes had no desire to drink of the blood, but he was overawed by the pure power of divinity. Slowly, but deliberately, he lowered his hands into the pool at the base of the fountain and brought them forth again, cupped, blood trickling between his tightly closed fingers. The blood tasted no different from his, and as he forced himself to swallow, he felt as if he had been struck by lightning. He threw his head back, howling in pain as thousands of images filled his mind at once. Stars exploded in his vision and then went dark as he lost consciousness.
When Tannes awoke, his head and body throbbed with soreness. He sat up slowly, beginning to make sense of everything he had seen, and he understood why he was different from other Westerners. He also knew there were more like him, and he must find them. Tannes was deeply aware of the power that coursed within him, power that all Dahken would have if they were only awakened to it, and it was his task to help them find it. He knew Dahk would not be able to aid him, having exhausted much power appearing before him in such a way.
Tannes set about finding more of his race; he found their blood was drawn to each other, which allowed him to find them easily, so long as he went where he felt led. Some he found as newborns, others as children or adults, and many were outcasts. Westerners feared and shunned them, and in the north, where their condition would be seen as frailty, many were killed as babes or left to die in the icy snows. Tannes taught them how to unlock the power within, though some had discovered some small part of it on their own. As they grew more powerful, he bestowed on them the title of Dahken, and they came to call him Lord Dahken.
They built a small castle, wall, keep and tower, on the southwestern coast of what is now Aquis and called it Sanctum. Sanctum would be the center of Dahken power, home and refuge to all. Here new Dahken would be brought to learn their power and train, and those who died would be laid to rest below.
It became clear to Lord Dahken Tannes that more such castles would be needed. After all, Dahken could be born from parents of any race of the world, and he selected his most powerful six, gifting them with the title of Lord Dahken; their names were Drath, Xalta, Yorina, Baen, Keldin, and Noth. All were set with the task of establishing a castle like Sanctum in different parts of the world. Drath was sent into the north, Xalta and Yorina to the southern continent of Tigol. Baen and Keldin set out for Dulkur across the eastern ocean. Noth went with the latter two, but did not join them in crossing the ocean; instead he stayed to build a castle in what would become the near center of the Loszian Empire.
The Lord Dahken discovered in other parts of the world the same fear and mistrust they were accustomed to in the West. Baen and Keldin found their situation particularly difficult, as it seemed in Dulkur it was common practice to kill those who turned to Dahken immediately. Apparently, the elemental gods warned their sorcerers some years ago, and the rulers of that land would not risk anything that threatened their power. As it was, the two Lord Dahken, who had originally planned to establish two separate citadels on opposite ends of the continent, were forced to stay together for each other’s strength, and they built their stronghold deep in the jungles of Dulkur.
Drath found he did not care much for the north; the weather was extremely cold and inhospitable, much like the people who lived there. They watched him with great distrust, and he was forced to stay hidden much of the time. In the first few years, he found only two grown Dahken, and he had limited time to find any newborns. The north men did not recognize the condition as anything other than sickness and often left the babes to die. Even when he did find a newborn in time, he was no nurse and had trouble caring for the infants. He finally established an icy stronghold in underground caves.
Then the Loszian meteor struck Rumedia less than a mile to the east of Noth’s citadel, and in its descent, sheared off the citadel’s great spiraling tower. The falling tower, combined with impact of the meteor when it struck ground, shook Noth’s citadel apart and it collapsed amidst great destruction. In the aftermath, Lord Dahken Tannes sent several of his own Dahken in search of Noth and his warriors. The first never returned, and those he sent later came back with reports that the citadel was completely destroyed, and there was no sign of Lord Dahken Noth.
The Loszians set about enslaving t
he West, conquering Garod’s people at will, and as I have already described, they battled with the Dahken only once, finding their dark sorcery ineffective. Tannes, some six hundred years old now, led his men and women to a terrific victory over the Loszians annihilating thousands of undead servants, weak soldiers and necromancers. The Loszian Emperor then sent an emissary to Sanctum requesting peace and making great payment in the form of gold and jewels. Tannes accepted the payment and signed the peace treaty, giving the Dahken full autonomy so long as they did not interfere in Loszian affairs.
Tannes died shortly thereafter. It seemed to the others that the battle had taken all of his strength, and he aged horribly fast over his last few years. What had been a seemingly strong middle aged man died decrepit and ancient, his skin stretched across brittle bones.
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