A/N: Welcome to my newest tale: I have enjoyed the writing, and I hope you'll like the result just as much. The whole thing was born after I wrote a Forgotten Realms one-shot which a lot of people wanted to see continued... I obliged, but as the story progressed it shaped up more and more into something different: into this world, which is a unique take on fantasy created through traditional Dungeons and Dragons experience. Why don't you give it a chance? Read and let me know what your thoughts!
o O o
1. To catch the moonlight
o O o
Rhyl'lyn leaned against the rocky wall, fighting off the wariness that tried to take over his body. He closed his eyes and took deep, calming breaths, desperately trying to slow down the frantic beating of his heart before the maddening pounding forced him to pass out.
He hadn't made it this far to fail now, when he could smell the proximity of the surface in the very air.
The young fey didn't even know how he could tell that the humid smell that had been permeating the dry atmosphere of the Otherworld for the last few hundred yards actually belonged to the World, because he had never been there before, but know it he did.
He just had to push a bit further, and he would be there.
Rhyl'lyn forced his abused body to ignore the pain that had followed him all the way from his rushed escape from his homeland and to just move, his mind refusing to acknowledge that he was feeling weaker and weaker.
He half walked, half stumbled past a sharp turn of the tunnel he had been following, and was greeted by a soft, invisible caress to his sweaty visage.
He had felt something like that before, only not quite.
Usually, the fingers stretching out to him were warm, as dry as the air surrounding him, and more often than not they were heralding danger. This time, though, there was a soothing coolness to the gentle touch, a hint of purity as the intangible hands swept his soaked bangs back from his forehead.
He had read about this, and so his body relaxed slightly and a faint smile of relief pulled at his lips.
This must be what they called a soft, fresh breeze - a current of moving air that was untainted by the sulfurous fumes it always carried in the Lands Beyond the Land.
It was the final signal meaning that he was facing the last leg of his journey.
Once he covered the last few yards, he would be free of the Otherworld.
Rhyl'lyn could barely believe that he had managed to come so far: when he had set off, alone and wounded and with only a faint idea of the route that laid ahead, he had been sure that he would wind up dead before he could finally set his gaze on the rightful land of all fey.
And yet, here he was.
His merry thoughts were interrupted by a faint odor, though, snapping his mind out of the complacent reverie he had foolishly allowed himself. His nose informed him of the existence of living waste and of decaying flesh, somewhere in the cave were this tunnel ended and the World began. It was a smell he was familiar with, too, having lived in a place where the dead bodies of those who were no longer of use served as compost for phosphorescent, hallucinogen mushrooms.
So he had reached his goal, but he was far from safe yet.
Rhyl'lyn strained his ears as he let his eyes travel down the length of his right arm to examine his hand.
It was wrapped tight in bandages that had become dirty along the way, and he still couldn't move his fingers without the searing pain lancing through his mind and threatening to leave him incapacitated. Due to the magic nature of the terrible lesion he would sport for life, it was unlikely that he had gained an infection, but he wouldn't be able to use the hand in a fight.
He was too close to defenseless for comfort, and so he allowed himself a weary sigh of relief when he ascertained that there was no noise to be heard. Whatever inhabited this particular entrance to the Otherworld, it was not around at the time.
This was an arrangement liable to change without so much as a moment's notice, so Rhyl'lyn decided to take his chances in the World before he was backed into a situation he knew he couldn't win.
Unfortunately, that was easier said that done. No amount of books or doctrine received in his earlier years could have prepared the young male for the unforgiving surface.
Some things he could manage. For example, as he crawled to the mouth of the cavern, his fingers felt the grainy, slippery texture that apparently covered the base of this world - and he promptly filed it away as the so-called soil while small branches and fallen leaves crunched under his light steps.
He took one such sample of vegetation between his fingers, unable to help his curiosity and wishing to keep his mind occupied to avoid dwelling on the huge step he was taking.
It was dry, and fragile, and it shattered with the barest pressure from his fingertips.
It was quite similar to an ornamental mushroom, he thought with a smirk, or it would be if it was sturdier.
He had had the chance to read a couple of studies about plants and botanic knowledge of old during his training, and he honestly didn't understand what the fascination was all about: they were just like fungus, and he was quite sure that no matter how impressive they could be, the World would always pale in comparison to the wonders of the Otherworld.
And at that point, Rhyl'lyn chose to lift his gaze from the floor to take in his first impression of the lands he had so striven to reach.
His eyes, still a glowing orange-red even though they had been switched out of the lightless vision, landed upon the irregular trunk of a tree.
It wasn't particularly old, nor particularly tall or magnificent, but Rhyl'lyn's eyes ran up and up, nailed to the moss-covered plant.
And then, his eyes went even higher, slowly taking in the evergreen canopy that sunk itself into a sea of endless black, reaching out and getting entwined with the upper branches of another colossus, and another, and another, and another…
A spell of dizziness came over the dokkar, and he was forced to his knees, his eyes clenched shut as he tried not to heave.
The air itself, the soft breeze he had felt before and that had picked up some, slowly eased him off the wave of vertigo, blowing gently into his face, through his pale hair and down his bent neck as he got a grip on himself.
Little by little, his shoulders stopped shaking and his tense muscles relaxed. Rhyl'lyn let his body get the comfort it needed for a few heartbeats, and then he opened his eyes again.
Bracing himself, he lifted his gaze once more.
Above him, there was an endless vacuum of swirling darkness. There was not an end to it, and he could not measure the vast distances between himself and the vertiginous top of the world.
So that was the sky, he thought.
He understood now what the tales and ancient songs meant: it truly was impossible to describe, as it was impossible to measure. No matter how many words he tried to use, he could not convey the humbling sensation of openness and vulnerability created by that heavenly vault.
Still, Rhyl'lyn frowned.
There… was… something missing?
Surely, the darkness up there wasn't supposed to be so… complete.
A spear of the purest white light lashed out and trashed across the heavens, and the distinctive smell of burnt ozone reached the dokkar's nose.
The light felt like a red-hot poker to the sensitive fey pupils and Rhyl'lyn cried out in pain, desperately reaching out to cover his eyes with his uninjured hand.
It had been an agonizing scream, but no one ever heard it - it was muffled out by the rolling sound of what felt like a whole cavern collapsing.
Fear seized the dokkar as he imagined that the huge sky was suddenly falling on top of his head - his punishment for escaping the Otherworld and stepping into a world that had long ago banished his kin.
However, his quick mind, boosted by dread and adrenaline, quickly chased those thoughts off: he had seen that white streak of light before: it was lightning.
A deadly spell that burned the flesh by virtue of nothing but the air itself, without fire, without smoke… only the destruction was left.
Which meant that either he had been followed by zealots and caught up with, or his trespassing had been noticed by the servants of the Gods of the World and they were chasing him.
Neither scenario was good.
The spell had failed to hit him once, but surely it would not be wasted a second time.
Struggling to regain his feet, blinded and quite badly hurt, he just pressed forwards, moving as fast as his body allowed him to; he knew it was not a smart thing, to stomp his way without seeing where he was putting his own feet and possibly going towards his enemy, but he just couldn't sit still waiting to be hit.
Rhyl'lyn crashed through the bushes, the lower branches of the trees hitting his face like added foes and catching onto his tattered tunic, like gnarled fingers trying to hold him steady.
He lashed back at the attacking vegetation, not knowing if whoever was behind him was commanding the wildlife to turn on him as well and not having the time to pause and ponder over it.
His mind was void of anything but the need to keep on running, to survive…
A second streak of lightning shone against his watery eyes, plunging his world of blotches and dancing lights into solid blackness yet again. The same rumble he had felt before was repeated, so loud that it seemed to rock the earth itself.
Rhyl'lyn's breath hitched, and his usually nimble feet lost purchase as he fell to the humid soil.
Instinctively, he tried to break his fall and an agony like he'd never known before soared through his body and coursed his veins as his whole weight collapsed upon his right, mangled hand.
He felt bile rising in his throat as his mind tried to keep at bay the fog of unconsciousness; he shook in spasms of pain while his eyes blinked tears madly away.
Then, he felt it.
It hit his forehead, his cheeks, his neck, his unprotected chest.
Rhyl'lyn tensed and braced himself.
Only, the corroding pain of acid eating away his flesh never came.
The droplets were cold and felt inexplicably good against his grit-covered skin, slowly tracing wet paths upon his prone form as more and more drops continued to fall on him.
The dokkar forced all his mental discipline in place to rein in the hysteric fear that had seized him, and realization dawned on his mind.
It was… water.
He didn't understand. Why was he being soaked in water? Were they planning to erode him away? To drown him?
Yet the dripping of the liquid element, though constant, was much too soft to be an effective way to cause him any pain; and while it was true that it felt like a great quantity of it was falling on him, flooding the forest where he had turned up did seem a bit of a far-fetched way to kill him.
He blinked furiously, trying desperately to regain his vision, his body still taut and strung in adrenaline as he kept waiting for the worst to happen.
Then, acting on a rather daring impulse, Rhyl'lyn poked his tongue out, catching one of the many droplets that ran in steady rivulets down his face. It tasted fresh, and pure, and so clean that it actually took him a few moments to understand that this was what water was actually supposed to be like - not the tangy, acrid liquid he had drank before in his home.
It made even less sense to him. He was not being poisoned either. Water was a rare resource, a form of richness on its own right in a world where it was found in rare spots that stood far between; where it was even rarer for the liquid bodies discovered to be drinkable and not harmful in nature - in the Otherworld, it was too easy for the precious water to mix with and carry traces of acid, sulfur, even quicksilver and the occasional putrid corpse that would spoil whole fountains.
He was, literally, being bathed in translucent gold.
Slowly, so painfully slowly, his eyes were able to distinguish shapes and shadows within the shadows, and with a straining effort he was able to recognize the trees around him, the rocks that littered the uneven floor he was lying in, the branches that had chased him and the shapes of the leaves, quivering in the wind as if they sympathized with the tremors shaking is own body.
Rhyl'lyn looked around, trying to find whoever was behind the strange circumstances. However, he came up with nothing - he seemed to be alone.
Craning his neck while trying to ease his weight off his right arm, his eyes widened in utter shock as the most amazing sight he had ever encountered presented itself.
The black void of the sky was alight with deep blues and shining purples, rolling and spiraling in a show of nature's prowess. The water droplets, reflecting the spectacular illumination like molten streaks of silver, poured down from that endless sky, kissing and embracing the land and cleaning him of the rigors of his journey.
A mix between a ragged sob and a relieved cackle tore itself from his throat, and he settled down in the floor to bask in the welcoming gift the surface was giving him, relaxing and letting the water wash away his fear and his pain.
It was raining for him, and he planned to enjoy it for as long as the skies would let him.
And when the storm let up, nearly two hours later, Rhyl'lyn was smiling and feeling completely at ease - his mind was calm like a mirror, much calmer than he had ever managed to get it while meditating back in the Otherworld.
He was soaked, and the rain water was not only cold, but had turned his surroundings into sticky mud, and yet he felt renewed. His tiredness had ebbed away, the cool had soothed his aching muscles, and he was more alive than ever.
Somewhere along the downpour, he had reclined against a rock that would grant him a good view of the sky, and now, as the heavy clouds started to part and to dissolve into the ether, he didn't move.
He waited.
He waited, for he knew that he was about to face the one thing he had been following, the elusive quarry of his fool's quest that had, somehow, ended up happily for him.
The raging darkness gave way to a more velvety black, far over his head, and hundreds - thousands of small glittering lights covered the celestial vault like diamond dust. The wind picked up some, taking away the last lingering clouds, and then…
Then he saw it.
Round, and shiny, white as his own hair, so close and yet so far, far away.
So that was the moon.
The sight of the symbol that stood for everything the dokkar had once believed in, for the beginning of it all and ultimately for their suffering, was so beautiful that it forced the air out of his lungs, and he could do nothing but marvel for the longest minutes.
As if ensnared by an spell, Rhyl'lyn reached up with his right hand and held it in front of the celestial orb that held so much meaning to him, to his whole condemned race. Slowly, carefully, he started tugging the dirty, ragged bandages free - it hurt, but somehow his spirit was far beyond the pain as he uncovered his marked hand.
Finally, the bandages fell across his lap and his hand stood there, bathed by the creamy moonlight, reaching out in front of his eyes as if to touch a reality that only he could grasp on.
He tried moving his fingers, turning his forearm this way and that, and a quiet, truly happy smile appeared on his lips as he watched his muscles and tendons tense and relax under the blackened skin that covered his right hand, from over his wrist to the tips of his fingers.
It had been magically wounded, pigmented and scarred over, time and again, until the normal coloration of his ebony skin became a uniform pitch black, as if it was permanently coated in tar. In the Otherworld it would be difficult to notice, and even here, in the World, those who were no used to seeing a dokkar's skin would have a hard time understanding the agonizing procedure that Rhyl'lyn had endured - perceiving its results.
For him, though, his hand offered a stark contrast under the pale night light. It was a mark he would always carry, and he would never see it as clearly as now, under the stars.
He curled his fingers, closing them in a tight fist.
He closed his eyes and allowed his smile to fade into a sneer.
He had made it, he had survived the Otherworld. Now, he was ready to live up to his name.
Rhyl'lyn. Killer of the moon