Introduction
"Quickly now!" Donovan shouted back at Ruben as he took the time-worn steps two at a time. Ruben cursed under his breath, sliding the strange yellow flower into the inner pocket of his green jacket.
His legs he worried would fail him. He knew that they were more suited for strolls through the halls of the League, on his way to classes. Or perhaps even a game of wood ball with his friends under the tree canopy back on his mother's acreage. Three weeks of running and climbing hadn't done well for the rest of his body, either. The sooner this foray was over the better!
Ruben had even begun to curse Master Rodmire and Pietre. When the hall master and his Cultures proctor had come to him with the idea of heading off on a foray with a supposedly well known scholar to find the answers to questions many others had sought for made him beam with pride. Oh, how he had cocked his nose high towards his hall mates then! And to think, he was only in his second year, not even through his basic studies on some subjects. Not to mention some of his grades were less than satisfactory.
Master Rodmire and Pietre hadn't been totally dishonest with him, he had reasoned. Master Donovan did have a Letter of Academia in The Studies of Man, as well as lesser degrees in many other subjects. So well known he was, but they neglected to enlighten him on the fact that Donovan was best know for his obsession with the Isle of Gorlick. Not that an obsession with any certain subject would have necessarily been bad, it just so happened that the men who searched for the answers he sought had done so many centuries ago. The Isle of Gorlick had been deemed by The League of Academia as no more than a myth.
And so now not only were his hall mates probably having a quite a good jest over him daily in the months he had been gone, but he was forced to follow a cranky old man who not just talked about his precious Isle of Gorlick constantly, he had to delve into each little intricacy. Ruben couldn't count the times Donovan had shown him his prized Brackenten medallion. It was a crude little thing, made long ago out of some mixture of copper and iron.
Donovan had quite a time finding a ship that would ferry them to the Isle. Not only was it not believed to exist, but it also resided in the midst of a particularly vicious part of the sea, which whirled with tempests most all the time. However, they did find one captain who could offer passage, for quite a fee of course. A small weasel-faced man, with a small crew who looked even less reputable. Ruben could still remember how the captain's breath smelled of lemon and smoke leaf.
Ruben was surprised when the captain did just as he said he would and rolled them through somewhat calm waters during what he said was when the eye of the storm moved outward. Old sailors' lore, he said. However none were ever brave enough to see what was on the other side.
"Eight days," the captain said as Donovan and Ruben disembarked. "And not a minute later, lest the sea swallows ye whole!"
This was their fifth day, and supposedly they had found a scholarly treasure trove. A smooth oval rock, which Donovan said had once been tied to the end of a carefully carved ilsti, or a pretty much a big hard stick Ruben had surmised. A few rock arrow heads, a piece of fabric that could have blown from anywhere, a broken antler, and other small trinkets, Treasures of the Brachens, Donovan said. Ruben had his doubts.
The first two days had been the most aggravating for Ruben; long, hot days spent out on the sweltering beach. Even though it was fall around the rest of Gaia, this island forsaken in the throws of the storms still scorched with heat, the sun beaming down on them while Ruben begged the clouds just within eyesight to come redeem him for just a moment. The endless sand-sifting and trailing had chaffed Ruben's thighs.
The next two had been more pleasant. Several hundred feet up from the beach at high tide was a somewhat defined tree line. Master Donovan had allowed Ruben to examine the flora and fauna of the isle. Under the shade of the massive oaks, maples, and liers he discovered what appeared to be two species of loi flowers and enjoyed the rare delicacy of a ripe tangero. Ruben thought it rather odd, however, that tropical flowers and the great trees of the forests coexisted on the same isle.
Now, however, he awkwardly made his way up the rugged steps between the gnarled trees leading up to an open spot on the hilltop. Ruben continued to curse his luck, trying his best to maintain his footing as the archaic stone steps crumbled under his feet. He wiped his brow as he finally made it up the pathway and gasped at what he saw.
A few feet in front of his Master Donovan was frozen, gaping at the massive burial mound in front of him. Axes adorned the crest, perhaps at one time having banners waving from them. Their rust did little to take away from their very presence. At the base of the mound was a stone tablet, crudely etched with the Brachen runes, emblazoned on the minds of even the most lacking League history students. A small walkway shouldered with Baronian steel spears connected the small path where they now stood and the mound.
"Master Donovan..." Ruben managed, trying to conceal his childish curiosity.
"Miraculous!" Donovan exclaimed. "My boy, do you realize what this means!?"
It means you are not totally crazy, Ruben mused, but he knew better than to verbalize his thoughts.
"This is a discovery of epic proportions, my lad!" Donovan continued. "Oh how they will rue the day they ever doubted me! I will be renowned throughout the ages for this! Donovan Cambri, Master Scholar of the Studies of Man and discoverer of antiquities!"
Frantically, Donovan pulled a tome from his shirt. An old, decrepit piece of work. The Vralak of the Brachen. Despite his introverted jesting, Ruben could not help but feel some sense of reverence. For thousands of years, the legends and stories of old talked of the Brachens, the warring island nation whose warriors met their deaths on the coasts of what is now Damcyan's dominion.
The Vralak, a record of their history and culture, was all that remained of their libraries and studies. Ruben studied it under Donovan's hovering tutelage while they sailed. The founding of the great maritime nation from among the scattered island wulfs, descriptions of their crude yet fearsome weapons, and sketches and paintings of their soothsayers and mages among other things captivated Ruben's mind for a short time. The last several pages, however, were a complete mystery to Ruben. They were written in a strange language and prose never before seen by even the most astute scholars. Strange symbols and formulas adorned some of the pages as well, making it look almost as if it were some sort of tutor scroll.
As quickly as he pulled the Vralak from his shirt, a blur of orange wisped in front of him, and the tome disappeared. Donovan stared incredulously at his hand for a moment. His turned his head side to side, making the most distraught noises Ruben had heard in his life. Ruben followed his master's eyes, noting nothing out of the ordinary. Then something on top of the mound caught his attention.
Atop the mound, an imp dressed in bright orange laid on his back, thumbing through the tome. Ruben had seen imps before; short creatures with almost wooden facial features and long, slender noses. Most often people encountered them in the woods, becoming victims of their tricks and being relieved of their belongings. On rare occasions the encounter might become deadly, and even rarer still an oak of imps might assail a small village. It had been a couple hundred years since they had been seen in any strength.
This imp was different, Ruben could tell. While it still had the same mischievous look of the rest of it's race, it seemed somewhat more cunning. It's bright orange tunic was trimmed with golden ruffles at cuffs and looked almost regal, and his hat look as fire. The imp looked disinterested in the two men, until Donovan spotted him and spoke.
"Give me that book, you wretched little monster!" he screamed, "It is a record of antiquity and one of a kind!"
"One of a kind, one of a kind," the imp started in his high pitched voice, never taking his eyes off the page. "Surely the master of myths won't mind, if a lowly imp rustles a page in kind!"
"Riddles won't avail you once I catch you, imp!" Donovan yelled. The imp laughed and looked down at them. In the blink of an eye, a puff of fire and smoke appeared in front of Ruben's face. He coughed and stepped back, his eyes watering. Once he had regained his vision, he noticed that Donovan's pants were around his ankles. The imp sat smugly back atop the mound laughing gleefully.
"Strong words for a weak man, master of myths," the imp stated. Donovan huffed furiously as he pulled his pants up.
"You must be the Prankster of Wester Wood," Donovan said.
"Prankster of Wester Wood, Tickler of Vara, Tree Sitter of Hobs, many names have I!" the imp said as he jumped to his feet and danced with the tome as if it were a fair maiden.
"Return the book to me now!" Donovan screamed.
"Miss out on the history in making, would I." The imp said, thumbing through the book again. "An old piece of papers is the Vralak, older than me by the rain and maybe smell. Some men push dough, and spears some throw, but none yet know what an impling knows! Amazement and watch, and revel in the imps knowledge!"
Donovan's mouth dropped as the imp began to read the tome, and stood entranced. Ruben was much less amused. All he knew was that he was stuck on a deserted island next to a burial mound he didn't really care to be near. And to make things worse, now there was an imp to torment them and prank them all the way back to the league, if it wished. Ruben sighed and shook his head, checking his pockets to make sure his belongings were still there in light of the imp. Satisfied they were still there, he glanced back up to watch the imp.
It was several moments that he turned the pages, apparently reading for a bit until he got bored and turning a few pages to read again. Finally it made it to the back of the book and began to speak in a harsh tongue. Ruben startled when Donovan through his hands up and stepped towards the mound.
"No stop!" he cried, "You don't know what you're doing!" The imp glanced up and cast an amused smile, then continued to read from the book. Donovan continued to protest, and the imp continued to read.
A dark light began to emit from the book. In an instant the imp was sitting in the top of a nearby tree, a look of fear on it's face. The book still laid open in mid-air above the mound, the dark light shooting into the sky. Ruben took a step back, what little courage and curiosity failing him. Then it happened.
The earth began to shake beneath his feet. Long forgotten voices, dark and evil, whispered through the trees. The sounds of the forest had left them, and seconds after that a strong wind gust over them. The mound began to tremble harder, and some of the dirt fell away. Donovan moved towards the stairs, almost knocking Ruben over.
A black hand pushed it's way out of the mound. Ruben shrieked and jumped back, but his eyes were held by the gruesome site. Another hand pushed it's way out, then they fought to reveal the forearms, then the elbows. Unhuman roars and shrieks caught Ruben's ears. He ran over to the edge looking down into the forest. Through the leaves and trees he could see figures struggling out of the dirt. Donovan screamed, forcing Ruben to jerk his head back to the mound.
The ancient warlord had managed to push it's head through the earth surrounding his tomb. Long, black hair, matted with dirt covered it's eyes. It scrambled furiously to free itself, then looked up at Donovan and Ruben. It's eyes were a combination of red malice and hate, it's face conveying the hatred of the centuries. It let out a loud roar and worked ever more fervently to pull itself from the mound. Ruben turned to run but tripped over a tree root. He found his feet quickly though, and scrambled down the path behind Ruben. Urine dripped from the crotch of his breeches.