As he sat in the loud and boisterous pub, the little
Dalimarnian bard thought back to the tiny village he used
to call home. The dark wooden stool creaked as he shifted
his weight on the unsteady seat, emptying his brown leather
purse onto the unsteady weathered table, sending gold coins
and small shiny stones scattering across the carved wooden
top. Counting the gold he had netted from his most recent
performance, he silently smiled, thinking to himself, "One
of my better performances, if I do say so myself."
The tiny Halfling reached for the metal mug that held his
drink, and as he gulped down a mouthful of the lukewarm
ale, he was reminded of the place he once called home.
The Dalimarnian village of Northern Sel'Arom did not
have much to offer those with an adventurous heart. Inhabited
by farmers and fisherman, the tiny village consisted of
small dwellings made of dried clay and treated wood, tin
roofs and glassless windows. A small port provided a wharf
for the weary fisherman to dock their small, handmade fishing
boats, and the farm lands were proportionate in size to
the tiny men and women who cultivated the rich land. Hadrian
vividly remembered the days when as a young Dalimarnian,
he would disappear into the nearby Yerling Woods in search
of excitement, while his friends and family worked about
the village, farming the seasonal crops and tending to fishing
nets and herds. "Yes indeed," he said to himself,
fully aware that there was something different about him.
Something that separated him from his kin. The thought of
home brought a familiar tune to his mind:
Across the land and sailing the seas
Adventure and glory are what I seek.
I come and go and do as I please
And sing a new song every day of the week.
Some say I am crazed for leading this life
I tell them be quiet and go home to your wife
For if I should get there before you do
She'll be thinking of me when she says she loves you!
"Ha!" he laughed to himself. The Halfling
truly lived for excitement. He was well aware that it would
be the end of him someday, but as long as he was still alive,
there was no reason to worry about it. He had no cares about
tending to the livestock or worrying about the upcoming
crop. He cared for only two things, adventure, which more
times that not resulted in coin for his purse, and his song,
which oddly enough, also resulted in coin for his purse.
Though he did miss his home from time to time, the irksome
scent of fresh fertilizer and steaming animal manure quickly
pushed the thought of returning to Sel'Arom far from his
mind. And so, when the mysteriously hooded woman approached
him shortly after his performance at the Red Gryphon, he
knew that, right or wrong, he had made the right decision
to follow his adventurous heart.
***
Though the corridor between the two stone buildings had
been cluttered with metal containers, wooden boxes and other
trash, it still provided enough open space for the sorceress
to move about and retaliate against her wicked attacker.
He had emerged from the shadows without warning, stepping
out into the open from a cleft on the side of one of the
buildings. She could not see his face and knew nothing of
her attacker. The black hooded cloak he wore did a masterful
job of hiding his appearance. The cloak itself seemed magical
to the sorceress, as it shimmered in the night. She had
no doubts that the cloak had aided the faceless assassin
in springing his trap. What she did know was that he was
very fast and had surprised her. For one brief moment, he
had held an advantage over her. However, she was determined
to turn the tables on this hooded thug. Almost as if by
instinct, the sorceress, clad in her exotic-tinted robes
and small leather tunic, assessed her bearings and focused
on the dark assailant before her.
"Solorus Flamius Astori" chanted the powerful
woman, as the elaborate staff she held tightly in her grasp
crackled to life. As the magical incantation gracefully
rolled of off her Elven tongue, from her wooden staff shot
a burning arrow that seared through the dry air, a reddish-orange
streak lighting up the dark night and leaving a black trail
of smoke in its wake until it met its target with a muffled
thud. With the sizzling arrow protruding from the right
side of brown leather vest that covered his torso, the dark
hooded figure, armed with a double bladed knife that curved
up and down to its point, grasped at the arrow with his
free hand, and fell to his knees. As he knelt, the magical
projectile turned a translucent color, slowly becoming less
visible, until all that remained was the grey smoke emanating
from the burning wound that had been left behind. A second
later, he crumbled to his side and hit the ground on his
back, lying motionless on the gravel floor.
The sorceress approached the fallen figure cautiously,
stepping slowly through the debris along the passageway.
She held her powerful staff with both hands, pointing it
in the direction of her enemy, maintaining a defensive posture
as she approached him. She had named the mighty staff Rosin,
an honor she had bestowed upon the staff as tribute to her
mentor and teacher in the art of magic, Ulagarthio Rosin.
Following his graceful passage into the afterlife, Sidria
wept for many days as she mourned the loss of the man she
had considered a second father. She had been sure to take
possession of his death crystal after the disintegration
of his mortal form. As a means to protect the crystal, she
called upon the power of the stone and joined it to the
wooden staff. In doing so, she not only bestowed a great
magical force upon the weapon, but was also able to harness
some of its great power and increased her own magical acumen
as she too absorbed the energy within the crystal. It wasn't
until many years passed that she realized she could communicate
with the soul of the deceased wizard Ulagarthio, the mighty
staff Rosin providing the cross-dimensional connection between
her world and his.
Intensely focused on the body lying motionless on the ground,
she did not want to be deceived by this unknown assailant
and fall into a trap. His first barrage of knives had caught
her off guard, and had narrowly missed their target, taking
with them some of her flesh and tearing through her thin
robes as they whizzed by. Although not seriously wounded,
the wound did sting, which was a steady reminder to the
danger she faced.
Using the mighty weapon Rosin, she prodded at the hooded
man's side and took a few steps closer. She wondered who
this attacker was, or who may have sent him. She tried unsuccessfully
to recall any signs or hints that would have helped in revealing
the source of the attack. She did have an idea as to why
she had been attacked, as her powerful staff was no mystery
in these parts. She knew that there were many in the region
that considered her crystal-adorned staff a mighty weapon,
as well as a trophy. Ironically enough, she thought, was
the fact that she had come to own this beautifully crafted
weapon in the same manner. However, up until this moment,
she had not gotten hurt during these encounters. Either
she was starting to let up on her defenses, or her assailants
were getting better.
As she contemplated this thought, she failed to notice
that her assailant's left leg had twitched, ever so slightly.
With a kick from his heavy boot, he had caught the pondering
sorceress off guard, planting the heel of his leather boot
in her midsection, sending her reeling back gasping for
air. As she fought desperately to breathe, she could not
believe her eyes, as her attacker leapt to his feet and
within what seemed a few seconds was poised to strike at
her again, the double-bladed weapon firmly in his grasp.
With the little strength she had regained, she swung the
edge of her staff in a semi-circle angled at her attacker's
head. His quick reflexes had allowed him to duck away from
the sorceress' weapon, avoiding what could have been a fatal
blow. However, in the process, one of the embedded crystals
on the enchanted staff managed to catch a part of the attacker's
hood, swinging past his head and pulling the hood down,
revealing a most frightening scene.
The yellow eyes of the Darconite stared eerily at the sorceress.
The greenish reptilian skin on his face seemed to almost
dance in the pale moonlight. His nostrils flared with every
breath he took in as he licked his thin wiry lips with a
long pink tongue. With a gasp, the sorceress had suddenly
become quite frightened of her attacker. She had of course
heard of the reptilian race before through stories and tales,
but had never seen one with her own eyes. The Darconite,
realizing that his appearance had surprised the sorceress,
formed a sinister grin across his face and pressed on with
his attack. He twirled the knife around, holding it in a
downward manner and slashed from right to left, the blades
cutting through the air as the sorceress skillfully dodged
the attack. He then twirled the knife again, grabbing it
in an upright position and swung the curved blade in a slicing
motion, hacking at his victim unsuccessfully, as the experienced
sorceress deftly parried her attacker's blows, swinging
her staff left, then right to counter his attempts.
The sorceress' talents had begun to frustrate the assassin,
who had considered her an easy target. Recklessly, he thrust
the exotic blade forward, its sharp edges intent on tearing
open the woman's abdomen. The attack was easily blocked
to the left, leaving the Darconite's right side fully exposed.
Immediately, the sorceress twirled her body around, away
from her attacker and brought the thinner end of her staff
directly into his exposed ribcage. The reptilian creature
let out a howl as the blow to his side crushed bone, causing
him to drop his weapon.
The sorceress noted the dark greenish blood that had appeared
on the edge of the Darconite's mouth and knew that she had
inflicted serious damage on her dangerous attacker. The
thought of this brought some relief to the exhausted sorceress,
as she was beginning to feel the fatiguing effects of using
her magic. The Darconite had appeared stunned by the blow
and staggered back a few steps, gnashing his teeth together
in pain and snarling at the woman. The sorceress despised
the idea of being engaged in this barbaric hand-to-hand
combat. However, she knew better than to resort to her magic
with the enemy in such close proximity to her. Not wanting
to prolong this encounter, she twirled her staff around,
bringing the thicker end of the staff above her head, and
spun the wooden staff in a circle, gaining the momentum
and speed she would need to deliver a blow strong enough
to end this conflict.
Without notice, as she was about to strike down on the
wounded Darconite, her attacker threw up his cloak with
his left arm. In one fluid motion, his right hand had produced
three small razor sharp blades that came humming in the
direction of the sorceress. With a skillful spin to her
right, she was able to twirl out of the way of two of the
small knives he had thrown at her, her flowing robes reaching
out and encompassing the projectiles. However, as she came
out of her spin, the third knife plunged deep into her leg
above her knee, tearing the precious ligaments that supported
her slender frame, causing her to fall to the ground on
all fours.
As she looked up, she found the Darconite standing above
her menacingly, greenish blood dripping from his chin and
his haunting yellow eyes eerily focused upon his prey. A
powerful kick sent the weakened sorceress sprawling across
the ground. In a raspy, slithery voice, he said, "Know
this witch, your staff shall fetch a mighty bounty, and
your life crystal will hang gloriously from my neck."
Just as he had finished speaking, he brushed aside part
of his cloak, revealing a jeweled scabbard made of dark
leather.
It had been rumored that the fearsome Darconites carried
weapons forged by their people, made from molten lava and
blackened steel. A savage race throughout the Northern Lands
of Volante, they had been systematically wiped out over
time, to the point where now, all that was left was a dwindling
race that had taken to the mountains for protection. When
the Darconite drew his sword, the sorceress could see the
magnificent weapon that her attacker had kept hidden. On
the metal hilt of the sword there sparkled a rare, large
ruby the color of Blood Red and the size of which she had
never seen before. The blade itself was truly remarkable,
as it seemed to be of almost a reddish metal that glittered
despite the lack of direct light, causing the sorceress
to wonder if it was red from blood, or from some unworldly
evil. As the sword slid out from its covering, a hissing
sound could be heard, as if the sword itself had let out
a sigh of relief in being released from its confines.
The Darconite raised his sword above his head slowly, preparing
for what would be the final blow of the battle. As the sorceress
glanced up at her would be deliverer, she wondered how she
could have been beaten so swiftly and easily, and jarringly
caught her reflection in the red-tinted blade of the Darconite's
weapon. Accepting the inevitable end, she closed her eyes
and could hear the voice of her old mentor Ulagathrio ringing
in her ears.
***
The Red Gryphon Inn was alive and boisterous with music
and laughter as its patrons drank their ways to the bottom
of their mugs. Debauchery and cheer were two common traits
of the renown Inn, drawing visitors from both near and far,
and offering a unique melting pot of strange and exotic
people from even stranger backgrounds.
As Valdor came to his senses, he was quick to scan his
surroundings. He was still seated at the same sticky wooden
table he had been at when the vision had started. A quick
hand check revealed his sword to be securely by his side
as his hand glided over the smooth hilt of Night's End,
and his wooden crossbow was still strapped to his leg. He
could hear the indistinct drunken voices of the patrons
drinking the night away, which was mingled with the sounds
of laughter and cheering. He was glad that Hadrian had been
by his side when the visions had past, but was in no mood
for any of the Halfling's concoctions. Waking from the visions
was never pleasant as it always resulted in his feeling
the misery of the person he was supposed to seek out. The
eagerness in Hadrian's voice concerned Valdor for many reasons,
but mostly because when Hadrian became this excited, it
usually involved some idiotic scheme which always cost them
more than they would get out of it.
In his hand Hadrian held his Meshgorne, the elaborate musical
horn he had purchased many years ago. The musical horn was
that of an Erske, a fierce animal in these parts. The large
predatory animal resembled a feline grown to preposterous
dimensions. The creature was known for its beautiful fur
coat, and was feared for its ferocity. The Erske had fangs
that slid out from the sides of its mouth, and were as long
as they were sharp, not to mention the short ivory horn
that protruded from the center of its massive head. There
were not too many who had been granted the opportunity to
come across an Erske and live to tell about it. The horn
was quite a piece of workmanship, adorned with jewels and
the like. Hadrian had once tried to affix a life crystal
to the horn, but was unsuccessful. He had long sought for
assistance from those that favor the art of magic to help
him in his efforts. According to the Halfling, the horn
was capable of magical abilities and was rumored to be capable
of calling upon the beast from which the horn had been removed.
This however had yet to be seen.
Valdor focused his attention back to Hadrian, but more
importantly, to the company he had in tow. Valdor could
now see a robed figure following Hadrian, and instinctively
placed his right hand over the polished silver hilt of Night's
End. As he watched the cloaked individual approach, Valdor
couldn't help but notice the rhythmic sway of the person
as it walked towards his table.
"Val" Hadrian said, "I was sitting by the
bar singing to the crowd when this beautiful woman came
over to me…"
"Woman?" Valdor thought.
"…told me that she knew who we were and that
we would be coming to this particular inn. You hear that!
She's heard of us!" Hadrian beamed with excitement
with the thought that someone had heard of them. He knew,
without a doubt, that it been his song that had preceded
them to this town. Valdor however, did not share his enthusiasm.
"Halfling" Valdor calmly, yet sternly started,
"Do not dishonor my name by referring to me by some
silly moniker. My name is Valdor. You would do well to remember
it, or shall I give you reason not to refer to me otherwise!"
Valdor knew well that Hadrian was aware of the pride of
the Bergeness Clan. To refer to one of their people by anything
other than their name was as much of an insult as cursing
the day they were born. He glanced behind the Halfling,
but could not get a clear look at the face of his new friend.
All he could make out were the purple-tinted robes that
figure wore. For all intents and purposes, Valdor now knew
that this robbed figure was a woman, but his instincts told
him not to dismiss the fact that she could be an enemy.
He had known many ruthless women in his time, many of which
would be quick to slice the Halfling's throat for no reason
other than to see the expression of surprise on his face.
"As for your new friend, I have warned you about the
dangers of leading strangers to me. My past is of no secret
amongst many circles. You know as well as I that our travels
have left many with revenge in their seething hearts and
the bitter taste of vengeance on their tongues." He
could see in Hadrian's clear blue eyes that his words had
fallen on deaf ears, as the little man continued to beam
with excitement.
Before Valdor could continue, the woman stepped towards
him and removed the hood that covered her delicate face.
Both men stared in amazement at the beauty that had been
hidden by the woman's hood. She had the sharp features of
an Elven woman; the pronounced cheeks, the pointed ears.
Her skin had a tanned tone, which was odd for an Elf, and
looked to be as smooth as silk. Her almond-shaped eyes were
a captivating violet hue, and along with her blue-black
hair, made her appear quite exotic. Her facial features
were accentuated by the small piercing on the nose. In her
hands she held a yellow-green crystal, which she twirled
around her fingers.
"My name is Sidria Ailema of Quaron. I am a sorceress
from these parts. Do not be threatened by my presence, as
I mean you no harm." As she spoke, she tossed the crystal
to Hadrian. "Your reward for keeping your end of our
agreement. Take special care of that particular crystal
little one. That is the life crystal of a Darconite."
Hadrian's eyes opened wide as he stared at the precious
crystal. A rare crystal indeed, the thought of what magical
abilities the crystal could unleash made Hadrian's mind
wander. He had never before seen one quite like this. Sidria
hid a smile as she glanced at the Halfling. She knew well
that there would be no interruptions or distractions from
the little Bard.
"What is it that you seek, Sidria Ailema of Quaron?"
Valdor interrupted. "We have no business with you,
nor have we inquired for your assistance." Valdor,
intrigued by the woman's beauty, was still alert of his
surroundings. He would not allow himself to be blind-sided
by this mysterious visitor.
"You and I share something," she said softly
to Valdor with a long, penetrating stare, "Desire.
I have a desire to gain something of particular importance,
and you have a desire to be released from the grasp of something
you do not fully understand. Something that has led both
you and I to this place tonight." Her melodic voice
was so soft in tone, it had almost been soothing to Valdor's
ears. He had felt a bit entranced by the woman's voice and
the gaze of her violet eyes. A quick glance at Hadrian told
him that his Halfling companion was useless in this encounter.
"That is the first time I have ever seen him at a loss
for words" Valdor said to Sidria, "You must truly
be a powerful sorceress." He silently said to himself,
What did this sorceress know about me? More importantly,
how did she know? Was she cursed as I am? Curious to
know more about this woman and why she had approached them,
Valdor resigned to the Sidria's will. "Well met sorceress.
Sit if you will and tell your tale. But know this, I am
here with purpose and will not be deviated from my task.
If there is treachery in your heart, leave now, lest it
lead you to the tip of my blade." He was hesitant to
test the woman's tolerance, but for the safety of himself
and his companion, he had to make sure that this woman did
not have ulterior motives.
Sidria gracefully took a seat at the table, sitting directly
opposite of Valdor and looked deep into his eyes. "Your
purpose for being here has yet to reveal itself to you fully.
Only patience will guide you to the true purpose of your
presence here." As she sat, she revealed an elaborate
staff that she had kept hidden underneath her flowing robes,
planting the staff firmly at her side, and showing Valdor
that the she was by no means intimidated by him, which subconsciously
made him smile.
Valdor found the Sidria to be a beautiful woman. The slender
robes she wore allowed enough of her figure to be seen so
as to captivate those who saw her. Valdor could see the
woman's bare midsection through a part of the robe she had
brushed aside when she sat. He took notice of the green
emerald pendant that hung from her neck by a thin gold chain.
The precious stone seemed to almost dance with her every
move, as it playfully swayed across her tanned skin above
her curvy chest. He found himself wondering what the woman's
true intentions were, and at the same time, didn't care.
Both Sidria and Valdor spoke in soft tones, under cover
from prying ears by the loud laughter and cheers from other
patrons at the Red Gryphon Inn. All but Hadrian had missed
the interaction between the mysterious robed woman and the
bald tattooed man sitting at that table. He listened to
everything that was said between the two, and made mental
notes of all he saw and heard, all the while twirling his
newly acquired treasure through his fingers. *What a great
story this will make* he thought to himself. Excitement
coursed though his little body, sending chills up his spine
and making the hair on his arms stand. "This definitely
has great possibilities," he said to himself in a low
tone. As the two continued to speak, little Hadrian transformed
their words into song:
A sorceress of might and power so great,
A chance encounter predestined by Fate.
Her pristine beauty, like a waterfall cascade,
And a look in her eyes that would make most men afraid.
She sat with my friend, to tell her tale,
While I listened carefully and drank my ale.
And to my surprise, she had fooled me blind,
For it was much later that her intentions came to mind.
She spoke of her past, of many moons gone by,
Good times and bad, I laughed and I cried.
And through her story I was able to understand,
How she became so powerful due to the weapon in her hand.
For at a young age, she encountered a staff,
Not magical at first, but a simple weapon by craft.
Enchanted by a wizard from the city of Kahzi' Alimard,
The staff was adorned with a crystal shard.
As time became old, and the staff felled its foes,
More crystals were added, as his enemies were disposed.
With every crystal, its powers increased,
Until the day when the wizard became deceased,
By none other than the hand of our sorceress friend no less
Who bested the wizard with her cunning agility and prowess.
Now jump to the present, many years later,
The sorceress has grown, and her powers grown greater,
But the one thing she seeks, the thing that she lacks,
Is a shard of a great scribe, a shard that is black.
And so the deal they struck is here,
Retrieve the shard and the reward will be dear.
To accomplish the mission he did agree,
And as a result, from the curse, he would be free.
***
As they continued their conversations and exchanged their
tales of adventure, Sidria Ailema of Quaron and Valdor of
Bergeness remained captivated with one another, eyes locked
and barely blinking, mesmerized by each others words, desperately
wanting to hear more. Valdor found the company of the woman
to be oddly alluring and found peace with her presence,
something he had not felt in quite some time. As Sidria
continued her story, the silent former-assassin listened
intensely, devouring her words as one would a meal, savoring
every utterance, consuming every syllable, and anxiously
awaiting more. As he feasted on her very words, she continued:
"As I looked up, there he stood; the vile creature
glaring down at me menacingly. I closed my eyes and began
the enchantment that would protect my life crystal."
She noted the confused look in Valdor's eyes and continued,
"It was taught to me by my mentor. The ancient incantation
causes the precious crystal to magically vanish once the
body has passed."
"And what becomes of the crystal afterwards. Is it
lost from this world forever?" asked Valdor.
"The crystal is teleported to your next of kin, wherever
they may be. The magic allows the crystal to seek out and
follow your bloodline," replied Sidria.
Valdor, amazed by Sidria's accounts, made a mental note
of the abilities of the spell and told himself that it was
something that he would have to learn, for the sake of preserving
the precious crystal deep inside him. He continued, "So
what then became of the Darconite."
"As I silently said the spell, I could hear the vile
creature speak in his slimy, raspy voice, as he held his
red-tinted sword above his head, "Embrace death as
it upon you."
"Then suddenly, there was a gasp for air, and as I
looked up, The Darconite's green blood washed over me as
if a faucet had been opened in his chest."
Hadrian's small nose wrinkled in disgust as the disturbing
image of being covered in another's blood took hold of his
vivid imagination.
"Protruding from the center of his chest was the wickedly
hooked tip of a halberd; the creature's blood dripping from
its razor sharp edge. As suddenly as it had appeared, the
large blade was viciously yanked out from the creature's
chest, pulling his chest inward and tearing his torso wide
open. Just as quickly as it had skewered him, the weapon
had torn the creature apart, ripping the very life from
his ragged body"
"From that gapping hole that had been left in the
creature's chest came the rare stone in your little companion's
possession." As she spoke, both Hadrian and Valdor
glanced at the greenish tinted, eight-sided oval stone he
held in his small thin fingers.
"As his destroyed body collapsed to the cold ground
beside me, I reached for the stone that had fallen to the
ground before me." She paused as she sipped the Elven
tea that had been brought to her a few moments prior. "It
was at that moment that the identity of my savior became
apparent. Before my Elven eyes stood one of the Red Falcon
militia men, weapon at the ready and doing what they have
been handsomely paid to do."
"Do not give them more credit than is due my Lady,"
Valdor stated as the Halfling lifted his heavy mug to his
dry lips. "It is more likely that you happened to be
engaged with this creature in the same corridor that the
guard had chosen to relieve himself." As he finished
his statement, the amusing thought caused Hadrian let go
a snorted chuckled, as the ale he had been drinking spewed
from his nostrils uncontrollably. Valdor simply looked at
his friend and shook his head, more out of embarrassment
for the Halfling than anything else. "That's a shameful
waste of perfectly good drink little one," he said
as he patted his companion on the back.
"Do not mock those who protect the city," Sidria
said. A long-time supporter of the mercenary militia, she
was very grateful for the small army that had saved her
life. "I owe them a great debt, and would most likely
be beyond this world and far along into the next had it
not been for them." Obvious of the discomfort his statement
had brought to the sorceress, Valdor bowed his head, and
implored the elegant elf to continue.
***
The dark, quiet passage way sprung to life as more militia
moved into the area where the Darconite had been slain.
As the soldiers milled around, the sorceress attempted to
stand, taking hold of her staff, Rosin, and firmly planting
the edge of the staff on the ground as she attempted to
rise. As she placed pressure on her right leg, a hot searing
pain caused Sidria to crumble back to the ground. The fire
within her slender limb radiated throughout her entire body,
causing Sidria to cry out in agony as the pain quickly surpassed
her normally high threshold, causing her to pass out into
darkness.
Days later, the sorceress awoke in the comfort of her
home and in the care of her servants. By her side laid the
exquisite Rosin, unscathed and silent, its crystals gleaming
with energy and reflecting the day's sunlight into a beautiful
cascade of different colors across the room. Beside the
staff was the glowing life crystal of the Darconite, accompanied
by the blood red sword that had almost been the end of her.
As she lay her head back down and closed her eyes, Sidria
could hear the familiar singing of her former teacher, which
she subconsciously hummed until succumbing to the sweet
slumber her weary body desired.
End Chapter Two
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