by C D Muller
Prologue:
Day side was ending. Black clouds billowed in the sky. Lightning shot across the heavens followed by the clash of thunder. The rain fell incessantly. A small settlement by the name of Helshire Village lay nestled near the edge of the White Plains. For days, the clouds covered the skies to such an extent that it was almost impossible to tell the difference between day and night.
The streets were deprived of life and light, like walking through a graveyard, for it was considered a bad omen to wander the streets when it became dark. Rumors and stories of four black horsemen guarding the limits of the village sent a wave of paranoia through the townspeople.
An odd looking wooden house sat near the entrance to the village at the bottom of the hill. The house stood three stories high. A lamppost stood on the left side of the house. Two chimneys were precariously perched on top of the roof: one in the front near the third level, and the other in the far back with the small extension. Going near this house was considered a curse, for the four horsemen of rumor were known to be, usually, stationed near the perimeter.
The occupant of the house never left what little safety those walls harbored. In the study were bookshelves that contained thousands of volumes of literature that related to nearly every subject. A large desk with letters scattered on top sat in front of the window on top of the third level of the house. In the jumble were declarations from the town crier with information about the Empire’s victory in the One Hundred Years’ War. In the far corner of the room sat a chest filled with random pieces of paper.
Gundisalvus sat at his desk with a large piece of parchment in front of him, listening to every raindrop tapping against his windowpane. There came to his ears a sound like the ticking of a clock. He sensed Death stalking him as four black, mounted shadows of the horsemen he saw every night. They would draw a little closer to the house, not advancing much, but coming near nonetheless. Faceless black figures haunting, taunting, and watching him; three years of this torment had driven him insane.
Lighting flashed through the clouds. The sound of thunder shook the house, followed by the wind that whistled a ghastly melody, sending a cold shiver along Gundisalvus’ spine.
“I’m late… I’m late for the Empress’s dinner party…very important indeed! Oh, but what shall I wear? I dare not miss this! Oh, but my shoes, they will never do!”
He got up from his chair and walked over to the old chest. He reached into the chest and pulled out a few pieces of paper, one of which had ‘To my Fair Maiden’ written on the top of it.
He began to scratch on the parchment with his quill, hoping to silence the thumping noise coming from his chest. Under the stack of letters was a hand-written request from the Empress of Armageddon. She wanted to speak with him at Rune Citadel in regards to the aftermath of the war.
On his desk next to the letters Gundisalvus wrote were news clippings from the Council of Elders, a large group that governed the land of Armageddon, claiming that the Empire was safe from Venexus, a powerful undead necromancer known as the Lich, and his treachery. He looked over at them and scowled in absolute disgust.
His palms were sweating profusely. He had yet to begin writing a response.
“Oh the white rabbit is so pretty today! Its beautiful white coat would make the Empress such an excellent gift if it were to be dyed crimson!” he randomly blurted out.
Near the edge of his desk was an inkwell with a wine bottle standing beside it. He dipped the quill in the ink, and dated the piece of parchment the 13th day of Korvas 1376ED. Placing the quill in his left hand, Gundisalvus reached over with his right to grab the wine bottle and take a couple of sips of the bitter alcohol. He hiccuped before he continued writing.
To my Fair Maiden,
I am most pleased to say that Armageddon is celebrating our victory in the One Hundred Years’ War. However, it greatly appalls me to see what our magnificent Empire has become, with the Council covering the fact that the Lich still remains. I already know—and have proof—that Vidar Helios, the one in charge of their corruption, already labeled me as a conspirator for spreading such propaganda. You are already aware of his actions, but I fear for my life. Only the three Divines would know how long I may have before he discovers where I reside!
However, I recognize what Vidar refuses to believe. I still have your previous letter that describes a most incredible phenomenon—a Divinity Dragon in existence! Only one was ever discovered; such a rare beauty, indeed! What perplexes me the most was what you sent me, that it was incubating an infant human! According to the research I retrieved from Genesis Altessa, whom I believe was the one who discovered the dragon species, he claims that the Divinity Dragons are the only creatures that could do this, which leads me to believe that the prophecy made by the Oracles is already taking place. The one born of a dragon shall be Armageddon’s only hope of ever defeating the Lich!
I know that I do not have much longer and this may be the last that you will ever hear from me. Included in this letter, I have attached another which will help you in your endeavor.
With all due respect,
The Black Fox
Gundisalvus laid down his quill and began rubbing his hands together.
The storm continued to howl outside. He jumped at the sudden roar of thunder, and quickly glanced through the window once more. Lightning flashed again; his fear kept him transfixed at the shadows of the four horsemen that stood outside his house. This time they were a little closer than the night before.
He quickly took another sip from his wine bottle, hoping that it would drive his attention away, and took out another blank piece of parchment.
Written on its delicate surface was contained a very simple phrase: It hides beneath the starry skies.
“I have to deliver this fast, yes, fast. You will not arrest me, Vidar, no sir! You will not catch me; I will slip through your fingers!”
He hiccuped once more and folded both of the pieces of parchment. He stuffed them into his robes as he heard one knock on his door. When he did not answer, it was then blasted off its hinges.
A stout half-elf stood in front of the entrance with two guards dressed in military attire standing behind him. The sentinels held their bows taut, arrows pointed at Gundisalvus.
The man stepped in and looked around the room with eagerness.
“Where is it?” he demanded.
Gundisalvus smiled.
“I’m thinking of a few words that begin with the letter ‘V,’” he began coolly, “Vile, vengeance, Vidar…”
Vidar’s face became red with rage. He turned around and pushed one of Gundisalvus’ bookshelves down on the floor.
“Dammit, answer me! You know exactly what I am talking about,” Vidar hissed under his breath, “the Lich and the Obsidian Order are after it. You, along with the Empress, will risk everything just to keep it under wraps! Because of you, the rest of Armageddon will perish and fall!”
“Answer you? Ha! I’ve already told you the answer nine times! In fact, I just told you the answer again and you’re too stupid to even catch it! It’s right there, in your face, just mocking you!”
Gundisalvus laughed maniacally.
Vidar looked over at his desk and made haste to grab the research papers, but Gundisalvus rushed over to throw them and the wine bottle onto the floor. The glass shattered, spreading its contents all over, making it impossible to read any of the papers.
Vidar knelt down and searched through his research.
“Are you mad?” he asked, while frantically searching through the ruined documents. Gundisalvus did not answer, but just smiled at him, keeping his head lowered.
Vidar grabbed the collar of his robes and pulled him close until his face was an in
ch away from the deranged general.
“You damn bloody madman! How dare you stand before me? Do you know who I am?” he spat in his face.
Gundisalvus looked up slightly with a very eerie smile.
“I know exactly who you are,” he said with an unnerving tone, “you think you know who you are, but you don’t! You think you’re the sane one! You think you’re the one keeping me prisoner here! Really, you’re not! I’m the one who is keeping you here! As long as I’m alive, I’m keeping you here with me! You’ll never get to the party on time! You’ll be left with nothing but crumbs! Crumbs, and pieces of a shattered dream!”
Vidar’s eyes became wide with fear and he pointed his fingers towards the door, his arms shaking.
“Take him away! He will spend the remainder of his days locked away in Willow Creek!”
Gundisalvus fell to his knees and the guards grabbed his wrists, dragging him across the floor. Vidar stopped searching through the papers and followed his guards outside the house with a few of the ruined documents dripping in his hand.
Gundisalvus remained in the Willow Creek Institution, a prison run by the Council of Elders, for about two years. During his time in the penitentiary, he used some of stones he found on the floor to write out his ambiguous phrase, “it lies beneath the starry skies,” across the stone walls of his cell as if they were like chalk, while continuously muttering it under his breath. The Council stripped him of everything that he had when he was thrown into the reformatory. He was only allowed to keep his insanity.
The moon shone brightly in the night sky. Its white and ghostly light peeked inside his cell.
Screams filled the corridor. In the cell across from his were sheets dangling from the ceiling, holding a skeleton around the neck. A foul smell lingered in the air. Rats scurried across the stone floor. A couple of them crawled through some of the skeletons, eating away what little flesh remained. Blood stains from the clawing fingers of prisoners were tattooed across the walls in the neighboring cells. Green water flooded the middle of the corridors of the institution.
The sound of footsteps pounding against the pavement suddenly filled the inside of his cell. He leaned up against the side of the wall, trying to disappear into the shadows made by the moon. Three military guards passed by with their weapons. He made sure not to make a sound, for they often beat their prisoners.
A few moments later, one of them began to scream out in agony, followed by another, like it was some kind of game. Gundisalvus covered his ears with his hands, trying to block out the terrible sound.
“Well, well. It’s none other than the successful war general himself. You know why you’re here,” Vidar hissed, as the sentinels dragged Gundisalvus into his small, oval shaped office. He tried to choke out a laugh, but he coughed instead.
“It’s the Lich,” Gundisalvus whispered in a dark tone, “he will destroy us all…”
“We all know that the Lich has been trying to conquer our world,” Vidar said as if he were bored; “if this is all you have to say, then…”
“No, wait please! Please! He is growing too powerful! He seeks to open the portal to Oblivion!” Gundisalvus screamed.
Vidar opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again as if he were astonished by his words. However, he waved his hands.
“That’s impossible! There is no way that our world could open a gateway to the other two realms! This is madness!”
“But of Ragnarok… the artifact blessed by the Fire Lion!”
Vidar flinched at his shriek.
“What about the sword? I’ve heard the tales of the two great relics. Ragnarok and Revelation. One gives such immense power and life, while the other is a soul eater and is supposed to belong to Death. But you know where the sword is, don’t you?”
Gundisalvus threw himself over Vidar’s desk and grabbed the quill and parchment to write a message. Vidar quickly got up from his seat and backed away as the mad-man used the inkwell to write his phrase on it and threw it at Vidar’s feet.
“This is what the Lich is after. You see my life is in danger because I know this! He wants this!”
Vidar, his hands shaking, bent over to grab the sheet that Gundisalvus threw at him. He smiled, for he felt a sense of victory over this man now that he had finally gotten the information that he wished to hear.
“Looks like you finally learned that you cannot keep secrets from the Council forever.”
“That holds the secret behind Ragnarok! No one knows where it is but I alone!”
Vidar unrolled it. He scanned down at the tiny cursive handwriting only to find a simple phrase.
“It’s all in code,” Gundisalvus said, lifting his chin up in pride.
Vidar looked back down at the piece of parchment.
“What does this mean?”
When he did not answer, Vidar walked up to him, grabbed his robes, and shook him.
“What does it mean? Where is the sword?”
“I’m the only one who knows. If you don’t figure this out, then this secret will go with me to the grave!” he shouted as he looked up to Vidar with an insane smile playing upon his chapped lips.
“Get him out of my sight!”
As the guards dragged him away, Gundisalvus cried out with insane laughter:
“It looks like you were wrong, Vidar! This is one secret that you will not be able to torture out of your victims, oh no! I will haunt your dreams; I will mock you even in death! My secrets stay with me to the grave! If you want them so bad, then follow me into the depths of Oblivion itself, you bastard!”
Chapter 1
The hatchling discovered the first taste of air through a slow awakening.
It opened its eyes, but only saw darkness. It wanted to instinctively uncurl its neck. However, its body was cramped in an unmovable emptiness.
With the chip on the edge of its nose, it was used to create a small crack that allowed light to seep through. The small creature repeated itself to make it larger.
Subconsciously, the dragonet used its talons to try to break the shell open. The two halves flung apart.
The slimy interior of the egg trailed behind the new dragon whelpling as it crawled its way out of the remains. It attempted to stand on its four legs, talons shoving the pieces of the egg fragments off to the side. The baby left a trail of the slime and blood.
Its dark, jagged crimson scales shined like gemstones. The wings that rested underneath its shoulder blades unfolded like a lady’s fan and stretched three meters in length. Its three phalanges were delicate and thin, the texture like that of a piece of parchment. The trailing edges of both of its wings were dabbed with little specks and small ovals of purple and yellow. Its stomach was a pure color of amber, the same as its eyes. Three small horns rested upon the side of its triangular-shaped head, while two sat on top curving inward. They connected to a small and frail bone-like mask that carefully caressed its facial features.
The dragonet opened its mouth and a long forked red tongue slithered out to taste the fresh air for the first time.
Its senses were awakened all at once after being exposed to this new world. The whelpling extended its neck fully to glance around at its surroundings. However, its newfound existence did not serve as a grand welcome to its unearthly environment. While it was still inside its egg, it absorbed knowledge about its surroundings and the world it was brought into through dreams and visions.
Wherever the young hatchling was, it was not pleasant.
The environment seemed uninhabitable. The place itself should not even exist.
The walls were slanted, twisting together to hold darkness within. A faint red lighting entered the room to reveal the corrosive foundation. Rats scurried across the stone floors, darting behind the skeletal remains chained to the walls. Mold and other forms of vegetation grew through the cracks of the walls, reaching towards the ceiling, with droplets of water mixed with a red liquid dripping from their roots.
The dragonet looked up as it drippe
d down. It was startled when the droplets splashed against its nose. It turned around and darted back to near the shell remains for safety, feeling that this spot was its safe haven.
The dragon looked down to see that it stood upon a nest made of bones mixed with pieces of dead grass. It lowered its head and scratched against the pieces, but stopped after its eyes landed on a stone table with a creature it recognized to be a human, a piece of knowledge it obtained through magic while inside its egg, bound to it next to the nest.
She looked to be scale-less except for a patch of a soft, stringy brown material on top of her head that the dragonet figured was perhaps fur. It flowed down past the hipbones of the body, covering up parts of her face. She looked to be young. She had four legs, but two of them were shorter at the shoulders. The body was thin and frail, her tan complexion glowing in the faint red light, covered in cloth and animal skin. Her eyes were closed and her chest moved in rhythmic motion as she inhaled and exhaled. Etched into her palm was an unnatural symbol. The mark was a circle with a crescent shape inside.
The dragonet inched closer, curiosity peeking. Although it had never seen the human before, the dragon felt at ease in her presence.
The human stirred; the young dragon flinched and heard a soft mumble of pain emanating from its breath. Instinctively, the dragonet knew it was hurt, or at least uncomfortable. It stumbled over to one of the creature’s shorter legs and laid its head on top of her chest, tucking its wings to its side. It heard a faint heartbeat for the first time, but it was not strong.
However, it arched its neck up when it heard a strange sound coming from the entrance of the room. Whatever it was, it did not sound friendly.
A malicious-sounding voice rang through the air that made the dragon cower. “Destroy them! They will rot in Oblivion!”
Its sound was chilling, almost like that of a shriek.
Shots rang through the air, followed by screams and yelling. The young dragon looked at the creature it stood next to, but saw that she remained undeterred by the commotion.