The Chronicles of Hissfon Volume 1 - The five Mages

by Remy Lecornec

  Some villagers vainly tried to push back the Nevrigian bestial packs on the lookout for the slightest sign of life. The Mage Tohn-Mâ bitterly contemplated, from the great tower of the citadel of Moprem, the unquestionable artelians defeat.

  From the dock

  In demented agony, households and alleys of Eflo, which made this small maritime city a place admired by all folks, became ruins, indicating to the next villages their inevitable fate. A young man, wearing in a freshly tanned shirt and white pants, managed to slip through and escape from the invasion. He rode one of the few surviving horses and galloped as fast as he could towards Galnor, the great city of arms. After an intensive race, the young man arrived at Galnor. Pale gleams reflected off the impenetrable defenses, oozing stones from a still cool night, left this small horseman motionless. He sought the entrance of the fort and tried to penetrate it in order to find the greatest of the artelians kings, Berum from the kingdom of Fahl. He entered, frail, into the courtyard of the castle and after long and tiring discussions, he was taken to the king, rudely followed by the royal escort.

  The monarch gazed with admiration, through a small striped window, the archers calmly holding their bows and pointing at their target with steadiness. When told of the young man's presence, he slowly turned his head, his graying hair followed, stared at the teenager and then gazed back towards his previous focus.

  Silence reigned until a cry from an archer signifying the order to fire, interrupted it. The young man's thin legs made it difficult to hold him upright. The arduous journey taxed him heavily. The king, while fixated into his visual game, asked:

  - What are you doing here, little one? What is your name?

  - My name is Gerioh, your majesty, replied the teenager. “I come to you, sire, to tell you that the Nevrigian troops are coming from Eflo.”

  - The Port of Eflo has not been taken, pray tell!

  The eyes of the monarch showed dread. An invasion was unavoidable.

  - I fear, Majesty, the city has fallen, Gerioh confessed.

  King Berum hurried to his throne, stunned by the news. What he had feared for several cycles had happened, the Necromancer Thâar had finally begun his murderous plan of attack. He looked around him, lost and tormented with questions like "What to do at this precise moment? Who to get a hold of? Defend the fortress at all costs or flee?” It was not the habit of a great ruler to flee when the enemy approached, but rather to prevail and repel assailants.

  Sha A-Elhnola

  While the troops of Nevrigian were unleashed on the Mandrares Lands entering winter, the citadel of Moprem nested a great power in its center.

  From the top of his tower, the Mage Tohn-Mâ chanted incantations, hoping that their effects would slow down the advancing hordes’ hunger. The great magician held in his hands old relics as well as the grimoire of Vahl-Alâna, a sacred book granted by the Elder of Hissfon which contained great enchantments. The Mage believed in this grimoire, he gave it all its magic strength. As a bluish whirlwind swirled around him, he chanted "Ehl feih-chaala tohn mehi". The guards standing in front of the door of the immense tower heard the magician's evocations and saw powerful lights come out from in between the pillars. The whole citadel lit up and the incantations could be heard several miles away.

  Some Nevrigians stopped and saw the lights reach the sky, disturbing clouds then fell onto the cohorts. We could hear beast-like cries from the slaughtered. Great shards petrified hundreds of Nevrigians who had remained motionless. The wind blew a cool morning breeze that pulverized the filthy bodies of troops closest to the citadel.

  The Mage Tohn-Mâ felt victorious, but this was not nearly enough to restore peace across the land. However, proving to the Nevrigians that the power of magic was still present in Moprem.

  From Galnor

  As soon as the deadly advance of their enemies was slowing down thanks to the great magician, King Berum ordered his troops to prepare for an engagement. He became fond of the young Gerioh who suffered horribly at the port of Eflo. The teenager learned to wield the sword, he had the same age as Doltha.

  The king's young son had become one of the best paladins the kingdom had known. The Magician Tohn-Mâ had taught him the art of magic. His hammer, forged with a mysterious metal, had engraved inscriptions: "Fohla shan hefi fohla nhei eshôla" which meant "Master this hammer and you will master the powerful magic". He felt his power growing in him as soon as he learned to handle it.

  Proudly brandishing his mallet decorated with symbols glowing in the daylight, Doltha showed Gerioh techniques that would ensure his survival when suddenly the royal horn rang. The teenagers looked at each other and then the young paladin turned and saw his father hurrying towards one of the flowered terraces. King Berum asked his young men to prepare for battle because of the imminent arrival of the hordes from Nevrigians.

  The king's advisors affirmed calmly to the monarch the long-awaited coming of the Mage Tohn-Mâ. The king only hoped that he would arrive in time for a counter-attack. The guards rushed to the entrance of the fortress and the guns were already loaded ready to sweep their opponents. The paladins took with them their combat scroll, highly appreciated during times of war, because it allowed them a prompt cure of simple evils.

  The ambush

  The drums of war reverberated in the distance, the ground trembled, the enemy horns rattled loudly, and life seemed like a dried-up pond. Bursts of magic suggested that the priests of Evil, from the lands of Tehala, had joined Count Nerrum's ranks.

  The king knew very well these first-rate magicians laid waste emotionless. The monarch then decided to sound the royal horn, symbol of the Kingdom of Fahl.

  The sound made the Nevrigian accelerate their pace and the archers of the citadel moved to the ramparts.

  At the last second, the first archer gave the order to shoot down hundreds of arrows onto the first ranks. The guards obtruded the golden decorated central door, high of about fifteen men, with wood as massive as boulders and alloyed with dense metal from the city of weapons.

  The paladins of King Berum chanted sacred incantations in an astonishing dialect, some of them were stolen from Vahl-Alâna's great grimoire. The whole citadel was surrounded by a glimmering white halo which illuminated the skies, comparable to an immense shield. The priests of the Kingdom of Tehala tried, despite the distance that separated them from the fortress, to cast away the protective field with evil hymns. Magic nets fell through the shield and reduced many of guards to ashes. The archers exhausted their arrows, as if they had vanished into thin air.

  The king's great warriors went a few dozen meters in front of the citadel, accompanied by a handful of paladins and healer priests.

  Armed with their collapsed metal shields and proudly bearing the royal coat of arms, the warlords went to meet the Nevrigians; the paladins helped the artelian offensive in formidable chanting, while the priests healed the deep wounds with incantations.

  Disproportionate losses weaken both groups. The Nevrigians passed from thousands to hundreds, then to tens, they saw themselves reduced into small numbers. The city of Galnor had increasing difficulty to counter its enemies. In a flash, tearing through the darkened sky of that endless day, the Mage Tohn-Mâ arrived, and annihilated what was left of the horde by branding his relics.

  After the few remaining enemies had fled, the few living warriors and paladins returned to the fortress. The king received them with the greatest gratitude and help came to treat the wounded. Finally, the monarch ordered that the memory of his faithful warriors be honored after a much-needed rest.

  The Mage Tohn-Mâ approached King Berum and told him that this attack was only the beginning of a great war for which they had to prepare quickly for.

  The search for the relic of Faln-Lannar by the three courageous Auttum Warriors gave hope to the monarch and to the heavily destroyed citadel by the Nevrigian plague. The Mage looked at the horizon and said:

  - The powers of this relic will serve to put an end to the reign o
f the necromancer Thâar and his minions such as Count Nerrum, rest assured, my friend.

  - Indeed, all our hopes have turned towards our heroes, admitted the king, “may all the necessary help be provided to them.”

  - I swear, your Majesty, replied the magician.

  Chapter Four

  Ashes here below

  Twilight quickly fell onto the Mandrares Lands and the last rays of sunlight penetrated the dense foliage of trees. The few animals in the vicinity also took advantage of the low light to enter their dens, sheltered from the cold winter.

  The three Warriors approached the village of Bäl-Geren, sacred place so venerated by the artelian peoples and irrevocably by the ancient of Auttum. Kenthaë the lancer looked the ground, the worried air, then rubbed his chin. Carhâa gazed at him then said:

  - What's happening to you, my friend?

  - I feel something, but it is diffuse, it’s particularly strange here, replied the young man.

  - We should hurry, please, Artemion begged anxiously.

  The horses stopped abruptly near some burned down houses. Flames made the wood crackle. The three companions looked at each other and saw long black fumes rising.

  - But what happened here? Carhâa said in astonishment.

  - Surely, the troops of Count Nerrum invaded this area, replied Kenthaë.

  One could feel that the young people were upset at the sight of these ruins, which showed that death was winning over the whole Mandrares Lands. It was important to know if Faln-Lannar's relic was well hidden before the monsters arrived. The three Warriors slowly advanced into the rubble scattered across the path of the ruined village.

  The lonely groans of an old man were heard. Alive despite the plague that had fallen upon villagers. They tried to find out where those noises were coming from when Artemion shouted, “Here, come quickly!” They approached and found the man buried under the debris of charred wood. They tried to get him out, but to no avail. The elderly man, wearing an orange shirt and a small bonnet, looking so harmless, had difficulty speaking the slightest word.

  Kenthaë tried to understand the events that took place:

  - What happened to the village of Bäl-Geren, old man?

  - An... An... Evil... said the inhabitant.

  They held their breath as if it were the lasts.

  - An... Evil is... here... Run away... Expressed the man in one last sigh.

  Artemion then placed his fingers on the old man's blackened face, closing his eyes in order to allow this being to leave with dignity.

  The Auttum Warriors returned to their respective horses and headed towards the center of this mysterious and bleak place.

  The vision

  The Oracle Tenchlar saw some very strange visions in her immense home. One of her servants brought her a carafe filled with water so clear that the sun's rays let themselves be easily refracted into its center. After being given a small amount of this water, a rarity in those dark times, she took the cup and then froze while staring ahead. The vision she had just had seemed so terrifying that she dropped the cup to the ground.

  The Oracle hurried to one of the large rooms, all decorated with ancient statuettes and relics. She took a sacred grimoire and then read the inscribed incantations: "-Sha Ehfola â Ehflena". Her head so heavy that it appeared to detach itself from her neck, the divine Oracle fell into a mysterious sleep then small orbs of light came and spun around her. The spell used enabled her to teleport to any place she desired.

  She had chosen well her location, and she was determined to change the course of her vision. As the three Auttum Warriors looked around them on their way to the center of Bäl-Geren, powerful lights and a deafening breath came to disturb the silence worthy of the greatest prayers. The Oracle appeared before the young adventurers in a flash of light, all three stupefied to see her in this precise place. The soothsayer told them that a misfortune was about to happen when, out of nowhere, an arrow flew past them and into a wall a few meters from Carhâa. The three companions quickly understood that Nevrigians had remained on the outskirts of the village while an assault was given by one of the monsters lurking in the rubble. Kenthaë rushed to his legendary sword while Artemion grabbed his shield made from the purest metal of Galnor's forges.

  A bloody battle began between the two sides. The evil Nevrigians arrived by the dozen from all sides. Fortunately, the fervor and agility of the three Warriors was unprecedented. The bodies of these abominations flew in all directions; a blade even came to perforate one side of Artemion's shield. And then remained only four Nevrigians, one of them, certainly their leader, fled, no doubt to warn Count Nerrum of the imminent arrival of the heroes of Auttum.

  Before disappearing, the gleaming image Oracle Tenchlar mentioned:

  - I could not remain in my domain knowing what was going to happen here!

  - Of course, Oracle, you did well, admitted Carhâa while regaining her composure.

  - I hope that your quest continues on, the war rages in the South, it is time to put an end to it! Exclaimed the luminous being that suddenly disappeared.

  The three Warriors hurried, walking through the ruins of this ancient village. They knew that this relic would not be within reach easily and hoped that the Nevrigians had not already put their filthy hands on it. Kenthaë suddenly saw a glittering reflection not far from them, he remained frozen, as if absorbed by something he had never seen. His eyes closed and he saw himself transported out of his body. Time passed all around him but not in the normal direction of a normal day, the houses returned to their original state, the night was transformed into day, then again into night, the inhabitants traversed the alleys as if a powerful magic had made them come back to life. Then, everything stopped and resumed its normal course, it was then that the young lancer opened his eyes and saw two men.

  One of them kept looking around, while the other at his side stretched out an arm with his hand firmly closed, the other had a wrapped red scarf around it. The features tarnished by time, a glassy and bored look, teeth ready to fall off. This strange human being was none other than the Great Guardian of the Relic.

  The lancer tried to listen to the conversation between these two men, but to no avail, their voices seemed like distant echoes. He managed to understand certain words that indicated that the Great Guardian intended to relinquish the Relic of Faln-Lannar, surely in order to protect it.

  The old man nodded as he laid his faded hand onto the other man's and went their own way. Kenthaë looked at this scene, powerless, and closed his eyes. Everything accelerated around him and then he returned where he had left his companions.

  Artemion and Carhâa looked at him, worried:

  - What's happening to you, Kenthaë? Asked Carhâa.

  - I will not be able to say what has just happened but I have just seen two men, right here, reassured the lancer while rubbing his forehead.

  - Here? Artemion wondered as he looked around, trying to find those people his friend was talking about. “I can't see anybody!”

  - One of them was very old, he was wearing old clothes but he looked important and the other... this being was dressed like an ancient paladin of the Kingdom of Fahl, he had drawings on his body, inscriptions it seems to me.

  - I see no one either, says Carhâa, all but desolation here, ruins, no life, the last living man we saw just died under our eyes. You described one of the old paladins, but they never come to Bäl-Geren, they're far too proud! If what you say is true, then you are sensitive to the effects of these places, but without the Relic, I doubt it could happen.

  The three young Warriors looked at each other and suddenly understood that Kenthaë had visions for a few moments. The Elder had warned them about this village. It could conceal powers as equally terrifying than extraordinary. The Relic of Faln-Lannar was very powerful, its gift was a necessity to the necromancer, much like the three Warriors who had no other mission than to recover and protect it from the Nevrigian invasion.

  Kenthaë explained
his vision in details to his fellow travelers, they understood that the individual, who had this object in hand, was none other than the Great Guardian and Protector of the Relic. The lancer had noticed the direction in which the other man, an important paladin from the marks on his body, had rushed to.

  The three companions did not stay any longer near the smoking ruins. They decided go West, following the mysterious man’s footsteps.

  Chapter Five

  The Black Mage

  While the invaders swept over the prosperous Mandrares Lands, destroying everything in their path, there existed a remote place, barely accessible, named Shâltara.

  It was one the most beautiful place on Hissfon, where the Fourth Kingdom reigned supreme while the continent overflowing with wealth as diversified as abundant. The Mages, Paladins and other sorcerers of the Good took advantage of the tranquility of the lands to learn magic in all its forms. The great book of the Ancients of Hissfon could be read by anyone with a magical gift, giving birth to countless new scrolls, it was the largest library of all the kingdoms.

  But when the necromancer came to conquer these lands, everything was turned desolate, the trees were barren trucks, the dying animals fled their lairs, an icy and permanent wind blew from between eroded rocks. Black magic ruled, life and growth was made impossible, the ghouls and other abominations created by the vile witches in the name of Thâar were in every corner of this continent, detached from the rest of the Mandrares Lands by the nauseating Swamps of Zhalnor.

  In this place lived the necromancer, helped by his wizards and infamous servants. Chanting macabre incantations in his domain, his henchmen brought back to him prisoners of war destined to baneful experiences.

  During a murderous expedition, the Necromancer captured Viceroy Thann-Hon, former protector of the sacred books of the Sacred Mountain of Merhidios. After long rituals in the presence of pernicious witches, he was named the Black Mage and gave his allegiance to the necromancer Thâar, not free of suffering. He was forever cursed with a body resembling old charred fabrics and a tenebrous glance which shone as much in the night as during radiant days, he wielded the fearsome stick of Mourningruin, a powerful weapon which allowed him to decelerate time and to use a dark and forbidden magic.