Hello once again everyone. It's been a while since I last posted here. This isn't another installment on my Devil May Cry story, but don't worry, I haven't exactly given up on it yet. Truth be told I just haven't had any motivation or inspiration to collect my thoughts for the next chapter. I will eventually though. So in the meantime, I hope you enjoy this story I'm writing about which will focus on the Yogscast's Shadow of Israphel series.
Note: During the story, I will indicate certain sections where music, which I have pre-selected, will be available should you choose to listen for a more immersive feel to the story. Below are a list of the songs and their creators. This is purely optional, and you don't have to listen to the music choices. The songs will be indicated by a bold number, this is when you can start playing the song. I will also mark when the music should end in the story by labeling the number of the song and "end". Depending on how quickly you read, you may have to loop the song until you get to the "end" portion.
Disclaimer: The characters mentioned in the following chapters belong to the Yogscast unless specifically stated. The children and wife of Verigan, the serpent Ezekiel, and the wizard Davlamin Urthadar are of my creation. All other characters belong to the Yogscast. The songs listed below belong to their respective creators.
Song list:
1. "Secret of the Golden Blossom" by Oliver Shanti
2. "The Diety" by Daniel Yount
3. "Earth Rising" by Two Steps from Hell
4. "Freefall" by Two Steps from Hell
5. "Iron Heart" by Two Steps from Hell
Shadow of Israphel Saga
Novel 1: Shadows of Minecraftia
Book 1: Dark Tidings
Chapter 1
(1)Many millennia ago, when the world was still primitive, and the beasts that scoured the land were massive, there existed an evil that had tainted the land. The animals feared its wrath, and the plants resisted little against its might. This great power commanded obedience from all it oversaw, and time seemed to pass in cumbersome convulsions as the poisoned land echoed shadows of its once grand life. The beasts could offer little in the ways of intelligence, calculated power or persistence, and would often fall quite rapidly whence the force unleashed its foul bladed fury. At first this somewhat unstoppable force remained ethereal and formless, its wicked obsidian tendrils delving into the soil beneath it for nourishment and stability. Because of its gelatinous form, neither the masters of strength, nor intellect could topple it. Not even the crisp goldenrod sun disk, or the pale solitary glow of the moon could quench the thirst of despair the land bellowed. And with each accursed sunrise, this unstoppable impetus grew in strength. In time, many of the native creatures of the land fled to faraway lands, adapting as they went, or suffering extinction if they collapsed. What little remained of this land was quickly swallowed up by the ethereal being's vile caress.
Many eons passed before the first intelligent beings ventured back to the land of black magic to view this ancient foe. Stories of this wicked force had haunted each tribe's dreams for countless generations, and it was through this fear that those of a willing spirit and attitude approached the hindering barrier that separated their world from the unknown. Those who would make the journey often paused to reflect on the hideous appearance of the long charcoal tendrils that snaked along the ground, the powdery complexion of the lifeless soil, or the mangled limbs of hollow trees that seemed to writhe in agony with each passing day. Their ancestors had long before migrated to higher ground in order to evacuate the souring land that only produced twisted trees and poisonous roots. Deliberating in their own languages, these two-legged creatures formulated strategies that would one day produce the termination of this foul being. However, as evident by the scattered remains and rusted weaponry, many have tried, and none had survived to communicate of its evil. Millennia passed before these creatures began to worship this force. They built monuments and gathered up offerings to stem the flow of poison into the land. The beast took note of these creatures as they cautiously approached and placed at the cusp of its reach small gifts of fruits, meat and treasures. Intrigued, the beast would absorb the trinkets and infected culinary items after allowing them to fester for a few months' time, only to regurgitate it within an hour. As the weeks passed, the items that the ape-like monsters viewed as gifts repulsed the obsidian being, and the edible objects only served to agitate its free-floating sack of digestive fluids. Fearing the bi-pedal beasts may be attempting to terminate its existence, it set up a barrier of mangled limbs and warped vines, their surfaces littered with sharpened spikes.
Despite the visual warnings, these creatures continued in their efforts to soothe the ethereal beast's wrath by offering gifts of flowers, idols, and even live sacrifices. But no matter how persistent the tender animals were; the inky black existence would not budge. With each new offering the malignant force denied the intellectual beings began to speculate that they were being fooled. The force that they feared and respected for many generations was thought to be no more than an act of cowardice and spite performed by an older tribe that did not wish to share land or resources. Enraged, the beings prepared for war. By the time the initial tribe had returned to the harrowed savannah of evil, a massive fortress stood before them. The walls were constructed of a dark substance that would singe any who were to touch it. A massive crevice separated the mainland and the small island that the edifice resided upon, gurgling lava occupying the space between. Small indents into the outer shell omitted an ominous crimson glow, and each circular tower supported massive cauldrons belched fire, which spewed thick clouds of smoke into the atmosphere.
The mortal creatures were spellbound by what they envisioned before them. Such a mighty structure being constructed in such a short time seemed impossible to their comprehension. Many of the congregation turned and fled in fear of what yet lay in wait in the bowels of the impressive structure, yet the few who remained surged forth toward a miniscule bridge that spanned the moat. From atop the wall, a dark figure watched in a twisted mirth as the impetuous creatures advanced. Leaning on the sable stonewall, it reveled in the sound of primitive spears and knives clattered against the impenetrable gate. Hoots and hollers sounded continuously from the small militia as they continued to grate upon the barrier. However, they quickly grew exhausted and collapsed before the obstacle. Menacing laughter vibrated the dark halls stretched before the group, and before long, the large door began to part. Hope sparkled within the unsuspecting living beings' eyes and they sprang onto their feet, their damaged weapons clutched tightly within their grasps.
"I have enjoyed this little display of valiance," a sinister voice boomed as the doors revealed another being masked by the stigma of darkness. "But I now grow tired of it."
Within the expense of a breath the being surged forth and skewered its first victim through his abdomen. The others leapt back and prepared their weapons for battle. A cancerous grin spread across the being's face as it proceeded to cleave the remaining vulnerable beasts in two. One sorrowful cry was emitted that day, but none that could convert this omnipotent figure's emotions. From that day on, the bi-pedal creatures learned to avoid its influence for fear that they would meet a grizzly end at the hands of this dark force. (1 end)
"Mother!" a shrill voice cried out. "Are you telling that horrid story to the little ones again?"
A soft chuckle vibrated the aged vocal cords of an elderly woman as her maternal title was forcefully barked. Two miniscule candles illuminated the room, which she and a small group of seven children were occupying, the flames dancing vividly in the otherwise stale atmosphere. A lavish carpet stretched across the width of the floor with intricate designs littering its faded ruby color. Along the walls were situated seven evenly spaced straw beds, a thick quilt draped over each one. Upon the furthest wall, a stark window resided, small cracks scattered about amidst the dust and grime. Lace curtains were suspended above the window. The lovely designs of simple flowers and vines twisted and curled throughout the fragile linen, creating patterns upon the walls whenever the pale moon emerged forth from the wispy cirrus clouds that drifted lazily before it. And finally in the far right corner of the room there resided an old bookcase, which contained multiple books with colorful illustrations and prints of children playing gaily in the woods, or in fields usually accompanied by a brown and white dog with floppy ears and a lolling tongue. The children stared wide-eyed up at the woman before diverting their attention toward their caretaker. Three of the eldest boys groaned and rolled their eyes as they predicted what the younger woman would quickly remark with. However, the old woman remained unfazed as she gently rocked back and forth in an intricately carved rocking chair, which generated a soft squeak with each undulation. Sighing in frustration, the younger of the two women ignited a small candle before she entered into the musky room.
"How many times have I told you not to tell the children that story before they go to bed?" she quipped as she hastily placed the contained inferno upon a small table a corner of the room. "You know it will only give them nightmares!"
"Nonsense my dear," the elderly woman replied, her crackled lips curling into a smile. "These youngsters know not of the true terrors that haunt their dreams, and can therefore only be comforted by the gentle cradle we provide for them."
The adolescent female rolled her eyes as she quickly adjusted the soft wool sheets upon each of the children's beds in preparation for the little ones to soon reside in. The soft banter between the women passively earned the attention of the children. The youngest members of the group huddled together in fear of this foretold monster springing forth from any shadow that moved, while the boldest ones leapt onto their feet and began proclaiming propositions to face this evil and destroy it. The grandmother watched in mild entertainment as the youngsters prattled about, their little feet pounding against the wooden floor. The large ornate carpet assisted in muffling the loud noises that the rambunctious children generated.
"Well I'm not scared of this beast!" the second eldest of the group announced as he raised his tiny right fist into the air triumphantly. "I bet I can take him on all by myself!"
"Yeah!" the third youngest continued as he staggered onto his feet. "I'll bet you I can chop that nasty old monster without even breaking a sweat!"
"Can not!" one of the girls chimed in, her face slightly damp with tears.
"Can too!" he shot back, his lower lip pushed outward.
"Can not!" she squealed as she began to bunch the folds of her tiny dress in the palms of her hands.
"You're both wrong," the third male child shouted as he pushed them apart. "Cause I'm the one that's going to beat it!"
"Oh yeah?" the eldest quipped as he turned to face his brother with his hands perched defiantly upon his hips. "How are you going to do that huh? You can't even walk that good!"
"I can walk fine Matthew!" the middle child shrieked as he tackled his brother onto the ground and proceeded to claw at his face.
The other children quickly vacated the area as the boys tussled about in a mass of limbs, grunts and ruffled clothing. The sporadic brawl caused for one of the youngest girls to weep, and the others watched on in stunned silence. The second oldest boy glanced in a concerned fashion toward their mother who was still busy fixing the sheets stretched across the beds. He then averted his gaze to lie upon their grandmother, the woman's wrinkled face merely observing as the two fought. Eventually, the eldest managed to pin his younger brother onto the floor, his left forearm placed precariously against the child's throat. The rambunctious noise quickly quieted to a melody of nasal sobs, labored breathing, and the metronome-like squeak of the wooden chair. The mother sighed heavily in exasperation once the quarrel had ceased, and she gradually turned toward her brood. She clasped her hands tightly together as her golden brown eyes gazed down upon the disheveled youths. Her lip twitched in disapproval, and the curve of her eyebrows sent many of the younger children fleeing toward their respective beds.
The grandmother remained silent as the two boys gradually untangled their limbs from each other's clothing and smoothed them out. The younger of the two sheepishly tugged upon the hem of his cotton nightshirt while the eldest interwove his pudgy fingers together behind his back. Neither child could muster the courage to gaze up at their mother with a straight face. They understood the penalties for quarreling in the house, and even such a short-lived brawl would not go un-noticed under the precision of her watch. As the other children rapidly ascended onto their beds, they forcefully yanked upon the tightly knit compilation of their blankets and concealed their pale faces from what they predicted would come next. The mother sighed once more before loosely folding her arms over her bosom. While she understood what would become of this situation, she began to debate whether or not such an offense was worthy of the usual treatment. After all, neither child received any injuries, nor was anything broken, and her mother didn't appear to have acquired any additional stress due to the excitement.
"All right you two," the mother remarked after a rather lengthy pause. "Into bed you go."
"But mother," one of the younger siblings chimed as she poked her head out from underneath the covers. "Aren't you going to punish them?"
"No my darling," she answered calmly as she proceeded to tuck each child in.
"How come?" Matthew questioned as his mother gently kissed his forehead.
"Because I think you have had enough excitement for one night," she answered as she glanced at the other six of her children. "All of you."
Two of the youngest girls giggled softly as they quickly buried themselves beneath their blankets once more. Their mother smiled softly as she momentarily played peek-a-boo with the baby of the family before tucking her in as well. One of the boys sighed heavily in protest to the necessity of bedtime and kicked his feet wildly beneath his sheet. The child adjacent to him was quick to voice his perturbed command before receiving a raspberry in reply. The grandmother meanwhile continued her slow rocking motion, the daily activities and rituals of her family doing little to pester her anymore. In her gnarled hands was perched a sturdy cane, which the father had crafted for her many years prior. The object had since acquired many signs of detriment, but never once displayed signs of collapse. As she leaned back against the smooth, curved rods of her rocking chair, her aged emerald eyes slowly slipped closed as her brittle bones relaxed and set into that specific position.
"Momma, why do we have to go to bed now?" one of the girls queried as she turned to face her mother. "I wanted to hear more of the story Nana was telling."
"Yeah me too!" the youngest boy declared. "It was just getting to the good part!"
"Not tonight my darlings," the mother whispered as she started for the door. "Go to sleep now my babies, perhaps Nana can tell you the rest tomorrow."
A chorus of groans followed the woman as she retrieved her candle from the small table in the corner of the room, half of the wax consumed by the flickering inferno. Her eyelids drifted down over her eyes as she glanced back toward her aging mother, the woman slumbering peacefully as the rocking chair ebbed back and forth in a gentle sway. She smiled softly, but the gesture was grim, as she feared the woman might not rise by the dawn of the next day. Nevertheless, she once more whispered tidings of a peaceful rest to her children and her mother before quietly slipping out of the room and slowly pulling the door closed. For a moment, the room fell silent as the seven children gazed up collectively at the ceiling that was concealed in shadow. The light of the pale moon cast eerie patterns against the walls and various surfaces of the small room as it proceeded to ascend into the sky. One of the children, the middle child, tossed and turned as he struggled to discover what his brothers and sisters gradually obtained. Sighing heavily in defeat he reopened his crystal blue eyes to stare up at the ceiling. A childish groan of frustration vibrated his vocal cords as he turned once more onto his right side in order to gaze over at the remaining light source in the room: the candle resting upon a stool just beyond the range of his grandmother's rocking chair.
The boy nibbled pensively upon his lower lip before he clutched the hem of the sheet tightly within his hands. Lifting his legs up, he kicked the fabric covering off of his small body and sat up, his shirt and pants wrinkled considerably and twisting in uncomfortable patterns around his limbs. He then scooted his rump over to the edge of the bed before alighting from it. Cautiously, the child crept closer to his Nana. The woman neither recognized nor acknowledged the boy's presence, and therefore remained captivated by the dream world in which she was occupied. The young child tilted his head as he continued to stare up at the withered woman, pondering whether or not waiting patiently for her to wake up would actually rouse her from her slumber. He puffed his cheeks out in frustration before latching his miniscule hands around the pleats of her long nightgown. At first he tensed as he applied minimal pressure upon the aged fabric, the lace frills wrinkling from the compression of his grasp.
"Nana?" he called softly after a few moments, the lad tugging carefully upon the gown. "Nana, you awake?"
The elder woman groaned softly as she was gently awakened from her sleep, a light smile curling her tattered lips as she slowly opened her eyes. The joints in her neck creaked and crooned from the undesired movement before finally complying and allowing the second mother to gaze down upon the faint image of her grandchild. She sighed lightly as the candle beside her jumped and flurried in the displaced breath.
"Hello my child," she whispered as the youth climbed carefully into her lap. "Couldn't sleep could you?"
"No Nana," he confessed rather light-heartedly. "I wanted to hear the rest of the story."
The old woman admired the child's curiosity as his sparkling eyes gaped up at her tired face, grandeur and wonder masking his own fatigue as he patiently waited for the continuation. She sighed in complacency as she proceeded to sway back and forth in the chair once again, the soft squeak creating a melodious metronome. Allowing her mind to wander for a moment, she closed her eyes and began to re-envision the tale of the Demon of the Ancient Sands. She gently placed her left hand around the boy's shoulders and proceeded with the narrative.
"Right, now where was I?" she began as her captive audience member tugged lightly upon the hem of his shirt. "Ah yes, the beast of mysterious origin and great power had all but destroyed human life as we know it."
(2)With each new day that dawned, the creature grew stronger. With the immense power it received via the resources it absorbed from the earth and the sacrifices it commanded of the human race, the obsidian beast became immortal. The castle it resided in grew with each passing day, and the large spikes slithering along the walls ebbed with turbulent energy and reeked of burning flesh. However, a land designed to be recycled over time was destined to die away if it never received back what it gave away, and eventually the nutrient rich soil degraded to a life-less, brittle substance gapping with cancerous lacerations. Dark smoke poured from these puncture wounds and only served to further blacken the skies that loomed ominously overhead. The sturdy rocks that supported this creature's fortress also began to fissure and crumble, its life energy spent millennia prior. The amorphous creature wailed loudly as it slowly began to weaken with its environment. The humans watched on with hesitation and pause as their oppression buckled from within. Thunder crackled menacingly overhead as lightning blazed across the sky. The bi-pedal beings gazed up at the heavens in awe as the clouds proceeded to twist and morph.
"You can not take me alive!" the inky black individual screeched toward the heavens, as it narrowed the effervescent golden slits it used to visualize its world. "I rule over these pathetic creatures, not you!"
The humans babbled wildly amongst themselves as they deliberated over who or what the creature was cursing at before a mighty bolt of ivory and violet lightning streaked through the sky and struck the ground with a catastrophic force. The beast howled in agony as it experienced the sensation of immense pain and agony. Twisting its body into nearly improbably contortions, the beast writhed in its sweltering heat before succumbing to the forgiving embrace that death's vile blade offered. Not a sound had reverberated forth from the might of the lightning strike, and once the omnipotent creature had seized its last breath, all was silent. The humans eagerly peeked their tender heads above their cover as a deep sigh filtered across the landscape. However, the brittle remains of the mountain could offer little to no protection from the crushing blow dealt upon it, and thus the ground fractured and collapsed into the deep recesses of the planet's inner core. A sorrowful cry burst forth at the termination of the oppressive alien creature and soon healing tears from the laden clouds above impacted upon the terrain.
The hair-less beings scratched their heads in astonishment as they continued to stare down at the massive darkened hernia that now obscured the beauty of their land. However, it wasn't long before a massive astral projection of a familiar five-digit extremity parted the clouds and descended upon the crevice. The spectators jabbered among their party and leapt to and fro at the sight before them. Apparently, there had been an all-powerful deity keeping vigil over their plight, and thus the time had finally arrived for the real omnipotent force to regain what was rightfully his. One of the members of the group, a short hunter with long obsidian hair and a small curved bone dangling from his neck quickly silenced his brethren before directing a gnarled index finger out toward the phenomena that had proceeded over the once tainted land. Silently they observed as the deity set about repairing and rejuvenating that which had been desecrated. Long, nimble fingers gently rested atop the weeping mountain, the human-like extremity glowing softly with a pale blue light. A bright aura soon arose forth as the soil began to regain its color, trees that had long since become deformed from the creature's twisted poison stretched toward the skies all whilst sprouting leafy boughs and branches. Sparkles illuminate the specter's hand while the pure astral being repaired the damage that ravaged the land for thousands of years.
Small smiles of reverence spread across the faces of the human males as they rejoiced in the revelation of the one true deity of the fertile terrain they called home. Leaping into the air with vigor and reckless abandon the congregation accentuated their voices with loud hooting and chanting. They clashed their palms together and stamped their feet, the reign of this terrible blight had finally reached its conclusion. With its task complete, the holy being relaxed its translucent hand before flicking its fingers causing all manner of vegetation to burst forth from the soil. Newborn trees rocketed toward the sky and vines snaked along the ground and branches of the various flora. The land was once again pure and fertile with the plants now thriving upon the remains of the inky corpse that beast left buried deep within the rock and magma. As time passed, the malevolent deity who sealed away the abomination of poison and all things evil, gave the human tribes a new force to worship. Instead of offering sacrifices and trinkets, the tribes erected a statue of a male figure draped in long silken clothes clutching a broadsword in one hand, and a staff in the other. The statue's face detailed that of a middle-aged man with a sharp angling jaw line and steadfast eyes. A radiant disk encircled his head to display the man's holiness. The statue had been placed atop the hill that once stood as a reminder of human contamination and punishment put forth to test the faith of the loyal. Every month, new offerings of flowers, sweets, and lavishly decorated meals were placed at the feet of the statue. During this time, the loyal followers held season specific festivals and regularly blessed the statue with purified water. Naming this holy being was probably the most challenging because the fair people of the land feared he would bring spells of terrible fortunes and plagues lest they dishonor his image with an unjust name. After much deliberating, the tribes finally settled on the name of Noatakoratch.
Many centuries had passed since the great awakening of the peoples of this land. And with this passage of time came new discoveries, more specifically the gradual development of reason and doubt. Upon the invasion of the Skylords into the land of the surface dwelling tribes, many wars erupted, and soon the lush forests, vast plains and fertile swamps were once again cloaked in a veil of blazing infernos. The people pleaded vigorously each day for salvation to arrive from their God, but nothing ever came. The tribes slowly began to die off as the fires purged the land of all life. The natural supply of nutrients waned, as did the memories and traditions of Noatakoratch. Their conquest complete, the beings gifted with the power of flight continued on, leaving the charred landscape to rot in a haunted eternity. Eventually the terrain morphed into a soul-less desert, jagged formations rising forth from the remains of a once great civilization. The only remaining survivor of this massive purge was the lone statue of the fabled deity. The proud figure would reign for many years as the silent guardian and beacon of wandering spirits still trapped in limbo. Ever slowly the sand dunes would crawl laboriously over the landscape burying all it was instructed to conceal, and eventually the statue was lost to the sands of time.(2 end)
"What happened after that Nana?" the young boy questioned curiously as he yawned, his eyes drooping closed from fatigue.
"Oh, I'm afraid that will have to wait for another day my dear," the elderly woman chuckled as she lightly patted the child's head. "And now I do believe you should go to bed, it is way past your bedtime."
The male child groaned loudly in disappointment as he pouted, his lower lip protruding. Despite his best efforts, however, he could not suppress a second yawn causing his heavy eyelids to droop closed. A warm smile spread onto the woman's face as she gently lifted his body off of her lap and onto the floor, all the while balancing his equilibrium so that he did not topple over. With a lazy and cumbersome reaction, the young lad rubbed the thin skin of his eyelids before uttering another groan.
"Come on now," the grandmother encouraged as she lightly tapped his backside. "Off to bed with you. I'll tell you the rest of the story tomorrow."
"Okay Nana," the boy remarked as he dragged his feet in the direction of his bed.
As the young boy settled beneath the blanket of his bed, the elderly woman slowly closed her eyes. The metronome of her creaking chair slowly came to a halt as her withered body settled against the sturdy wooden ribs of the object's support. Her breathing gradually slowed, until she exhaled her last and entered into an eternal sleep. (3) Outside, the moon ascended to its highest point, the crisp reflected rays casting harsh pale light over the small village. Wild lupine beasts howled mournfully up at the spherical heavenly body. A frigid gale soon filtered across the land, systematically extinguishing the various torches that provided each house with security lighting. Many of the domestic animals began to stir as a terrible sensation befell them. The bovine lowed loudly and stamped their forked hooves upon the ground, while the swine squealed and sloshed about in their pens. Horses whinnied and bucked in their stalls and the sheep bleat with increased fervency. Even the chickens were jolted awake, the avian running about spewing feathers and panicked clucks. Tamed wolves whimpered and paced back and forth upon the living room floors of their owners. Every so often they would gaze outside and bay loudly before repeating their nervous pattering.
Annoyed, the farmers and shepherds tossed open their windows and pelted insults and harsh commands toward the livestock, hoping that they would settle down. Needless to say the commotion quickly stirred many of the other villagers including the pastor of the town. Curious, and a bit unnerved, the civilians began to venture outside to search for the catalyst of the animals' agitation. Young farmhands rushed to calm the large animals and collect the quickly scattering fowl. By now many of the residents began to register the rather chilly zephyr that periodically blazed through the dirt and cobblestone paths that linked each house together. Moreover, bouts of unease crept along a few villagers' spines when they noted that neither the leaves nor the boughs of the nearby trees registered the forceful breeze. As members of the community continued to observe the odd phenomenon, the town's pastor narrowed his eyes as he gazed at the moon. The heavenly body began to radiate pulses of light as a crimson hue proceeded to stretch along its pristine surface.
"What is going on here?" the blacksmith bellowed, his grizzled face contorted into an expression of annoyance.
"It seems as if a storm is coming," noted a female villager, as she smoothed out the wrinkles in her nightgown.
"But why aren't the trees moving with this wind?" a teenage boy questioned while clutching two wily chickens within his arms. "And what has these animals so spooked?"
The occupants of the valley hamlet continued to bicker amongst themselves as the animals' pandering began to slow. A young man dressed in a dark overcoat that was fastened together over his breast with golden clasps emerged from a small home fashioned from the very ground it stood upon. As he paced forth from his grotto, he folded his arms tightly cross his chest and dipped his head between his shoulders. Biting his lower lip, he advanced toward the steadfast cleric, his obsidian leather boots creating squelching noises as they impacted upon the ground. Fastened around his torso and over his left shoulder was a rigid bow, the painted wood curving languidly around its owner's body. The curve itself was dictated by the strength of the taut twine that wrapped securely around both pointed tips of the weapon. Upon his back rested a small leather and iron quiver that contained thirty or so arrows, all of which were constructed by the man himself.
"Father," the young man addressed as he halted his progress by the pastor's left side. "What is going on?"
The holy man neither averted his gaze, nor acknowledged the youth's presence as the lunar satellite continued to astound him. Narrowing his eyes slightly, the bowman followed the elder man's gaze until his own intercepted the pale body, now stained a deep ruby. His pupils contracted as the bladed serpent of a chill raced down his spine and coiled tightly within his bowels. He retreated a step before quickly fumbling for his bow and arrows. Within the blink of an eye, an omnipotent sensation washed over the land, silencing the livestock almost instantaneously. Coyotes and wolves howled loudly once more across the distant mountains, further emphasizing the morbidity of the situation. A cold sweat began to trail down the warrior's face as his trembling hands knocked an arrow.
"Wait," the pastor quipped as he placed an aged hand firmly upon the man's slim right shoulder. "Do not engage it my son."
"But father," the youth remarked in degradation. "I must, I'm a crusader. I must tackle this situation!"
"No!" the cleric bellowed as he shoved the warrior onto the damp ground. "I forbid you to leave this village in pursuit, Isra!"
"Then why did you have me join the Crusaders father?" Isra responded, his emerald eyes glaring back into the deep brown of his patriarch.
The vicar frowned deeply as he paused to search the recesses of his mind for a response. Despite knowing the answer to the youth's question, he dared not speak of it lest the boy's reaction garner distrust and hatred for the man. Instead, he turned away and proceeded to gaze up at the swollen moon once more. Groaning in frustration, Isra pushed himself onto his feet and swatted his right hand at the clumps of muck that had adhered onto his cloak. He wrinkled his nose as he predicted the amount of hours he would expend cleaning the fabric. As his mind continued to ponder about the subject though, he began to wonder about his father's true motives for having him partake in becoming a warrior rather than a clergyman. Ever since his mother had died in childbirth, Isra was practically raised in the church affectionately named St. Riker after the man who single-handedly built the town he resided in. Whenever his father was giving a sermon, the innkeeper and his wife would usually care for him. Isra growled as he vigorously shook his head to alleviate those memories from his mind. He had more pressing issues to pursue than memories of grandeur. Straightening out the wrinkles in the lapels of his overcoat, he glanced once more toward his father. Once again, the man had not moved from his spot, his feet delving deeper into the soft soil. The young man with jade eyes sneered before turning his back. This charade had long since expired in its novelty. Therefore something must be done.
"If you do not wish to assist me father, then I shall take matters into my own hands," Isra snarled as he jogged toward the tree line behind his small abode. (3 end)
Meanwhile back at the residence of the village's militant leader, the mother and father of the seven children settled down for the night. The mother was already situated beneath the heavy comforter while the father busied himself in front of a medium-sized mirror, a frothy ivory concoction currently adorning his masculine jaw. A lit candle burned fervently atop a small wooden side table, which allowed the mother to partake in reading a leather bound book she recently purchased from a faraway town's scribe. The man was also in possession of a lit candle on the opposite side of the room as he pretentiously slid a sharpened razor along the scruff of his jaw. Various framed paintings of landscapes and intricate patterns tastefully adorned two of the walls, which were stained a deep mahogany. In the far corner of the room closest to the slightly ajar door resided a small furnace with the smoldering remains of charcoal calmly crackling within the blackened metal. Similar to the children's room, lace drapes cascaded over a single window that was situated behind the unembellished headboard that was constructed of sturdy oak and stained a dark sable. Currently, the commotion outside had been progressing for about a half-hour's time, and the mother found it to be very distracting. She sighed heavily before slapping the book closed, thus forcefully expelling miniscule dust particles from the unturned pages and into the air.
"I can't believe this Verigan," she quipped in a heated tone. "Our neighbors get spooked by the strangest things!"
The man by the mirror said nothing as he continued with the pruning of his facial hair. While he never scolded the woman for the constant and numerous tangents she would partake in, he didn't exactly enjoy them either. The conversations he discovered that they would always share included some form of misfortune she encountered on her trips back and forth from Mistral City. He sighed at the thought of those daily affairs his wife enjoyed to participate in. Prior to their wedding, she would suffer from episodes of anxiety and bouts of sobbing if she were tasked to travel further than ten feet from her own establishment. Nevertheless, he managed to cure her apprehension by accompanying her whenever he was required to fetch supplies for constructing new houses or raw materials for the blacksmith. He cringed slightly as the sharp blade sliced into the rugged skin of his left cheek. A foul curse passed over his lips as he carefully examined the minor laceration.
"Cut yourself again didn't you darling?" the female remarked in a coy tone as a sly smile spread onto her face.
"And all because of your chattering dear," Verigan replied, his words light-hearted despite his gruff voice.
"Were you even listening to a word I said?" she questioned before crossing her arms over her bosom.
"Yes dear," he answered as he dipped his calloused hands into a small porcelain basin before him.
"Oh you were," the mother commented, her voice fluctuating to express her disbelief. "Well then, what did I say?"
The burly man quickly splashed the water that he siphoned into his hands upon his face. He shivered slightly from the temperature of the liquid as it soothed his irritated skin. The miniscule cut on his cheek had long since ceased relinquishing the blood that circulated beneath, and the remaining lather was slowly trickling off of his chin. Inhaling deeply, Verigan dabbed a small cloth against his jaw and turned to face his wife, the woman's expression aloof and misleading. He shook his head in exasperation before extinguishing the candle to his right and proceeded to strip his work clothes from his body. His spouse's hazel eyes followed his movements as he haphazardly tossed each article of clothing onto a nearby solitary chair. Granted most of the items merely slipped off and landed in a heap surrounding the object's stark legs naught two seconds after impacting gently upon it. A soft chuckle vibrated the female's vocal cords as her husband finally settled onto the bed, drawing the thick comforter over his nude form afterward. He moaned a sigh of satisfaction and comfort a moment later as he allowed his weary body to relax against the cushion of wool, down feathers and straw. The materials were not exactly perfect for complete relaxation and immersion, but they were more preferable than slumbering upon the cold wooden floor, or a rock. Upon perceiving his consort's laughter, he turned his dark gaze to focus upon her smiling face.
"What?" he questioned, his brows furrowed slightly.
"Nothing dear," she answered after a few moments before lightly trailing her lithe fingers over his muscular chest. "Just go to sleep."
"That's easier said than done, darling," Verigan remarked in a low growl as he quickly enveloped her in his embrace.
Ill tidings rampaged the land as various creatures of the night were driven to insanity by the power of the invisible might of the omnipotent plague that now coated the land. Nefarious beasts emerged from cavernous depths, their ethereal oculars glowing a bright crimson. Fauna of all shapes and sizes fled from their homes as they struggled to evade the deadly caress of those that lurked in the shadow. However, most were unsuccessful and fell victim under the crushing stampede of clawed feet and bony hooves of the hell beasts. Insanity permeated over lofty mountains and across vast oceans, those unfortunate to be trapped within the bloated canker of sorcery wept tears of blood and staggered about wildly, often cannibalizing their own flesh for the sake of seeking retribution. It wasn't long before the infection ascended into the atmosphere, blotting out the light from the moon and casting a heinous shadow over all who dwelled upon the terra below. Winged beasts began to collapse into fits of seizures and lust insatiably for their own demise. Eventually, they too began to suicide upon the sturdy faces of mountains or into the thick canopies of nearby forests. It wasn't long before the waters of the land were stained red from blood and taint.
Meanwhile atop a towering mountain resided a young man gasped mournfully as he witnessed the steady corruption of a nearby forest. He slowly lowered his spyglass as a chorus of anguish echoed through the range. The man was intricately wrapped in a resilient fabric from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. A ruby sash bedecked his lithe waist and elegantly cascaded over his left side. His head was enveloped in a leather helmet and a silk scarf shielded his face, allowing for only his steely cobalt eyes to be visible. Adorning his body was a taut leather chest plate that served to shield his tender torso from outside intrusions. Narrowing his eyes he gazed heavenward, the thick reserve of clouds undulating in an alien manner. To his right stood a chestnut tinted equine; its rigid ears swiveled in various directions as it perceived the cries of the grief-stricken. The beast flared its nostrils as it stamped its hooves into the rock beneath it in apprehension. Shaking its head, the man's steed whinnied loudly as it flicked its tail in a nervous pattern.
"Easy girl," the cloaked man cooed as he lightly threaded his naked fingers through the mare's mane. "It's going to be alright."
Upon hearing her master's voice, the horse quieted down and snorted. A small smile curled the pale man's lips before he turned back to face the corrupted forest below him. A stale breeze filtered over the top of the mountain he was perched upon, his clothes rustling slightly. Collapsing the spyglass into a compact cylinder, he quickly inserted it into a small pouch fastened to a thick leather strap that coiled around his waist beneath the scarlet sash. He then gnawed upon his lower lip before turning back to his mount. The wilderness below him was beyond salvation, however, the vicinity of the infection in proximity to his village stirred emotions of concern. Momentarily closing his eyes, the cloaked man briefly allowed for his mind to wander back to pleasant memories of his past. The visions that entertained his conscious mind were of frolicking in fields of swaying stalks of grain and splashing about in sparkling sapphire lakes. He sighed in delight upon remembering visions of a better time. However, his rendezvous with nostalgia was short lived for a massive winged creature of sinister origin detected him.
"Great," he growled as he quickly leapt up into the leather saddle that was strapped onto his steed's back. "He-yah!"
(4)As the avian creature screeched loudly upon identifying a live target, the man with blue eyes swiftly jolted the chestnut mare. The equine cried out loudly and reared back onto its hind legs before leaping off of the mountain's summit and onto a haphazardly marked path. Beating its tattered wings furiously, the monstrosity pursued. The man grit his teeth and clenched his horse's reins tightly. His mount snorted loudly as its hooves clopped noisily upon the shattering rock of the steep path. It bobbed its head back and forth in rhythmic undulations, as the man atop the saddle urged it to accelerate. Screeches resonating from the forest below fronted the chill that coursed along the scout's veins and down his spine. Narrowing his eyes he rapidly struck the mare's right flank, resulting in a sharp whinny and a quickened pace. As the man descended the mountain, the atmosphere grew thick with pestilence. Both the rider and the mount began to pant laboriously as the forest drew ever closer. Growling from the sheer suffocating prowess of the smog, the man with sapphire eyes failed to notice a low hanging branch just beyond the duo.
The branch inevitably collided with the top of the iron helmet that rested atop the rider's head. He cried out in pain as the object was forced off of his head and careened down the jagged edge of a collapsed portion of the natural landmark. The man groaned from the shock and quickly shook his head only to experience dagger-like nails slice into the soft flesh of his back. The winged beast roared once more and extended its head down toward the horse's fluttering tail. Drawing its mouth agape, multitudes of razor-like teeth glistened wickedly and a foul odor emanated forth from its throat. The rider glanced over his left shoulder at the gruesome sight before him. Re-gripping the reins, he jerked his galloping beast slightly to his right just before the foul creature snapped its jaws closed. It narrowly missed snatching the hoofed quadruped within its maw and instead careened into the trunk of a massive tree. The demon screeched in pain from the impact, the force of the collision splintering the tree almost instantly afterward.
"Heh, that will give me some time," the man quipped before turning to face where his mount was currently charging.
He gasped however when he noticed a massive metaphorical tidal wave of obsidian creatures surging up the face of the mountain. He cursed under his breath as he glanced about frantically, his brain racing to discover a plan. The man's horse began to panic and feverishly attempted to slow its rapid descent, the iron shoes underneath each of its hooves scraping against the rugged landscape. As he momentarily flashed his gaze to his left, the hooded scout spotted a small albeit deep ravine that supported a source of cascading water. Never one to pass up an opportunity, he wrenched the leather reins toward the direction of the ravine and rapped a stick against the equine's flank to goad it forth. The panting beast cried out as it leapt off of the crumbling remains of the mountain trail. Time seemed to slow as both the rider and the mount plummeted through the air. The man grit his teeth and held on to the frightened mare tightly, a ferocious wind lashing at both of their exposed bodies. Finally, the two collided roughly with the surface of the water, creating a massive splash. Stunned from the impact, the man's grip on his horse lessened considerably as it frantically thrashed its limbs about. He shook his head to alleviate the sensation and blurred vision before assisting the cob toward the surface of the rigid water.(4 end)
The man inhaled deeply before coughing in order to expel what water had managed to creep into his lungs during his time beneath the water's surface. His steed was also shaking its head about, its long spindly legs swiping in repetitious cadences beneath it in order to keep its girth afloat. Sighing heavily, the man with mahogany locks gazed about the fissure in slight confusion. Neither wall maintained a steady and consistent natural stepladder, and he did not possess the tools required to construct one. Nevertheless, he retrieved his wandering mare's reins and pulled her toward a large outcrop in the wall. The beast shuddered softly and shook its body about to rid its short, brown hair of any excess water. A small smile pulled at the scout's lips as he lightly patted his steed's nose. A shrill cry however quickly drew his attention skyward. Growling softly he tightly clamped his right hand around the loose reins and tugged the mare into the depths of the ravine, silently praying that the winged monstrosity would not discover his location. His breath came in ragged patterns as he proceeded to stumble in the dark, the jagged rocks slicing into the fabric of his trousers. Eventually, the land grew silent, and only the spontaneous pattering of water echoed through the cavern. The man paused and quieted his breathing as he strained his senses to detect any movement in the near vicinity. Upon locating naught, he sighed heavily and plopped onto the moisture-slick rocks.
"Thank Notch," the man remarked as he began to slide his hands across his waist. "I though we were done for back there old girl."
The horse whinnied in compliance as her master retrieved a small bundle of sticks and a flint and steel. Shivering from the low temperature of the cave, he quickly assembled a small stack before striking the flint against the steel loop. The first few attempts were met with failure, however the congregation of sparks eventually ignited the tips of the wooden steaks. Leaning forth, he gently blew upon the smoldering embers until they grew into a miniscule flame. Satisfied with his work, the man returned the igniter back into a side pouch and drew his hands close to the flickering inferno. His mount snorted in apprehension as its ears swiveled in each direction. The mare looked about as its ears swished rapidly. Something was amiss, and there was imminent danger sharing that very cave with them. Nevertheless the man continued to observe the immature flames, their movements offering a brief respite from his surroundings. Despite the frigid atmosphere, the fire seemed to provide him with enough warmth to relax. His muscles eased and loosened as his eyes drew closed, the thought of a good night's slumber irresistible to his weary mind. Meanwhile in the deeper recesses of the cavern, another monstrosity of the shadows slithered along the smooth rock. The beast's scales glistened amidst the sparse light, as did its eyes. Flicking a forked tongue about in the stale air before its snout, the creature soon captured the tantalizing scent of fresh meat. It hissed in excitement as its eyes scanned the room. Within moments it located a large heat signature just before the entrance of a massive fissure. The serpentine beast slithered ever closer as its tongue lapped at its fragmented lips to recollect the saliva that began to dribble from them. Once more the horse began to announce its distress as its ears pivoted back and its hooves stamped nervously upon the rock beneath it.
(5)Furrowing his brow in concern the man with azure eyes lifted his gaze from the tantalizing inferno to stare upon his steed, the four-legged beast pattering about noisily. The mare he had claimed as his partner back when he was still a part of his father's training regime never behaved in such a manner unless there was something of great importance, or grave danger afoot. The cave, despite its alluring invitation of safety from the hysteria corrupting the land outside, he could never completely trust that all natural shelters were uninhabited. Ever so slowly, he placed his right hand atop the intricately crafted hilt of a sword that dangled from his belt. His ears twitched slightly as the subtle scratching of the approaching fiend's body against the slick bed of rock that was dotted with miniature fragments of once grand boulders and stone resounded. The man bated his breath and nibbled lightly upon his lower lip as he silently curled his fingers around the handle of the blade, his left hand gingerly constricting the stark leather that encased the weapon. Tension was heavy as the serpent coiled its slender body and lifted its head high above its perspective prey, its forked tongue lapping greedily at the air. The scout exhaled a slow and anxious breath as he leapt forth from his position, the creature vividly striking its snout upon the flattened smooth stone. It hissed loudly in pain and shook its head about violently. The man stumbled over the small fire and tumbled onto the floor of the cave. The reaction was a bit ungraceful, and he would have undoubtedly been reprimanded for his sloppiness had his father been present.
"Egh! Come on Karpath!" the man growled at himself as he glared up at the flickering silhouette of his opponent. "Remember your training!"
The man sprang onto his feet and quickly wrenched his blade from its sheath, a vibrant resonance of scraping metal ringing in the large cavern. The serpent alleviated the remaining shock from its vision and focused its attention upon the bi-pedal being before it. Rearing its head back, the scaly fiend opened its jaws, dagger-like fangs protruding forth and gleaming menacingly in the dim light. Karpath's mount screeched wildly and bucked its back legs as it scampered toward the entrance.
"Elora!" he called after the equine, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Stop!"
The horse failed to recognize his command, however and continued out into the pre-dawn morning. Gritting his teeth, he turned and surged toward the mouth of the cave. However, a whip-like tendril twisted around his right ankle, assisting in the scout's eventual collision with the damp, hard texture of the cavern's floor. He grunted and hissed sharply as his body rebounded from the impact, forcing the breath out of his lungs almost instantly. His sword clattered onto the sturdy rock, the sound echoing within the dense cavern walls. The serpent glared mercilessly upon the traveler, its tongue flicking about as it withdrew its tail. Karpath grunted in exasperation and fear as he frantically combed his hands over his torso. Saliva seeped forth from the reptile's mouth as it dipped its snout toward the writhing human. A sharp hiss reverberated forth from its vibrating throat muscles as it opened its mouth, needle-like fangs emerging from the pink tissue of the creature's palette. The man cursed under his breath before finally locating a hidden dagger secured to his belt just beneath his tunic. Frantically he retrieved the weapon, but not before slicing a small laceration in his abdomen. He grit his teeth and thrust his right hand forward, curling his bare fingers around one syringe-like fang.
The snake snapped its jaws open before whipping its head to its right. The sudden movement jarred the scout out of the demon's grasp. He smiled wickedly before repositioning the dagger in his grasp and forcing the forged blade into the serpent's skull. The scaled monstrosity wailed loudly in pain before violently tossing its head about. Karpath relinquished his grip, but was nonetheless hurled into one of the slimy, jagged cavern walls. He grunted from the impact before groaning in pain as one particular stalagmite skewered him through his right side. The beast continued to squirm in a listless fury before eventually falling silent, its massive cylindrical body collapsing onto the natural depression's floor. (5 end) The man breathed a shaky sigh of relief before carefully maneuvering his body off of the bloodied stalagmite and onto the coarse rock below. A shuddering cry of agony vibrated his throat as he constricted his fingers around the wound. Sighing heavily, he glanced up at the fresh corpse of the serpent, the glistening blade of his dagger now tainted with blood. The man grit his teeth and pushed himself up onto his knees before a new sound entered his range of hearing. The noise was rather disjointed between beats as the subject drew closer.
"Ezekiel!" an immature voice called. "Where are you?"
Karpath groaned from the anticipation of another brawl rapidly approaching. Nevertheless he leaned toward his previously discarded sword and wrapped his fingers around the frigid hilt. Utilizing the weapon as a crutch, the wounded man pushed himself onto his feet. The motion from the transfer combined with the steadily increasing loss of blood, caused for very little time to elapse before he began careening into a nearby wall. He muttered curses under his breath as he vigorously shook his head to alleviate his blurring vision. By now, the echoes of the unknown voice had at last caught up to the scene. Lifting his weary gaze, the man with cobalt eyes envisioned the form of a young man with raven locks and dark mahogany eyes. Draped around the boy was a rather gaudy sea blue robe that was dotted with ivory stars and embroidered with a golden trim. The youth gazed down upon the massive snake in pity and sorrow before quickly retrieving his wand and extending it out toward Karpath. His eyes narrowed considerably as his breath came in short puffs.
"What have you done?" the boy shrieked, his hand quivering.
"I was defending myself lad," he answered, an expression of pain etched across his face. "That serpent tried to eat me."
"He was merely hungry is all," the teen argued. "And you just had to kill him!"
"Fumblemore!" a second voice called out from within the dark recesses of the cavern.
The boy jumped slightly from the brevity of the tone with which a second male had used. In a timid fashion, he slowly withdrew his wand and glanced back over his right shoulder. Within a few moments, the figure of a portly man with a long white, beard emerged from the abscess of the cavern. The wounded cartographer grit his teeth as he leaned against a nearby wall, his weary gaze absorbing the man's appearance. The wizard stood stark tall with a faded cap upon his balding crown. His entire body was draped in a silken robe that radiated a majestic gradation of violet and obsidian. Squinting his eyes slightly, Karpath noted that the material that the wizard's cloak was fashioned from was silk. He pursed his lips slightly as he contemplated where the man would have purchased such a rare and valuable material since the various towns that stretched across both his knowledge and maps, neither sold nor manufactured the handsome garment.
As he continued his study of the elder's clothing, Karpath's gaze intercepted the sheen of a sapphire trim that not only encircled the lapels of his robe, but also snaked around the mage's waist as a sash. Secured to the sash were a leather holster, and various pear-shaped pouches. There was no doubt in the scout's mind that the small satchels contained herbs and other ingredients for potions and elixirs. As the warrior continued his observation of the two, the elder man proceeded to scold the younger, his ominous voice causing the youth to buckle from the verbal punishment.
"How many times have I told you not to cast that animation spell?" the senior magic user reprimanded, his hands planted firmly upon his wide hips. "There's no telling the amount of damage that vile creature could have caused if it were to slither away from your sight!"
"Ezekiel isn't a vile beast!" Fumblemore argued in response. "I was taking good care of him! Until this man attacked him!"
A crimson hue flushed the boy's cheeks as he accusingly thrust his wand toward Karpath. The wise wizard averted his gaze to fall upon the crumpled form of the indicated man whose body armor and clothes were torn asunder. He clutched his left arm over a still weeping wound, and his teeth were bared in agony. A sense of pity softened the mage's expression as he advanced toward the third inhabitant of the cave. A soft growl vibrated his hoarse vocal cords as he visually inspected the man before fully approaching. Placing his right hand down upon Karpath's quivering shoulder he gently questioned the man for an identity.
"Karpath…Antioch," the man responded his azure eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I beg of you good wizard, I did not mean to kill your apprentice's pet. I was merely defending myself from its onslaught."
"This is no fault of yours warrior," the sorcerer remarked as he dipped his gaze toward the source of the wound. "But do inform me on how you acquired your injury."
"Don't believe him master!" Fumblemore cried as he leapt over the serpent's massive carcass. "He's probably a thief in disguise! He only wants you to advance closer to him so that he may slay you then steal your items!"
Karpath averted his gaze to fall upon the junior mage, an expression of anger tainted his otherwise blistered adolescent face. Beneath a wild mane of jet black hair burned a furious dark brown gaze, which pierced the atmosphere quite rigidly. The boy's face and jaw were constructed mainly of sharp and jagged angles, each connecting at a narrow nose and a small rounded chin, which retained a bit of a cleft. The robe that was draped around the youth's frame appeared to be a few sizes too large as the sleeves and lapels easily slipped down his torso whenever he shifted in too hasty a movement. Karpath began to formulate that the boy's attire had been a family heirloom, and had thus seen many generations of wizards and witches. He hissed sharply when the elder man proceeded to prod at the tender flesh he was attempting to conceal. The bearded man inhaled sharply before swatting Karpath's bloodied hand away from the laceration. The cartographer swallowed nervously as he continued to lean heavily against the damp wall of the cave. His eyes darted back and forth between the sorcerer's hands and his whiskered face.
"Pardon me mage," Karpath addressed as he gazed down upon his wrinkled features. "But what, pray tell, is your name?"
"I am known as Davlamin Urthadar," the wizard answered. "I am a scholar of a far away land known as Kimir. I am also the headmaster of an institute for the brightest of the magical folk."
As Davlamin spoke, the fingers of his left hand unlatched the twine that secured a leather sheath that housed his wand. He then proceeded to whisper enchanted words, his aged silver eyes focused upon the site of the bleeding wound. The mage paused momentarily as he withdrew his wand, the slim shaft glowing softly with an emerald aura. Fumblemore relaxed his pose as he studied his master's movements. The spell he was currently recanting was one he had yet to achieve. Healing was a particularly tricky incantation, and only the very best of the magically gifted folk could understand its complexities. Narrowing his eyes, his gaze followed the subtle shifts of Davlamin's wand before a small butterfly materialized forth from the object's tip. Karpath also focused his line of sight at the insect as its wings unfurled, a faint greenish hue emanating forth from its glimmering scales. The butterfly's fragile antenna twitched as it sensed the world around it before it rapidly fluttered its wings. The insect's glowing body slowly lifted into the air before drifting toward the scout's weeping side. Upon contact, the aura intensified for a few moments before slowly dissolving. The wizard smiled in satisfaction before straightening his back, his rounded belly shifting slightly with his movements.
Karpath exhaled slowly before combing his hands over the tattered remains of his clothing and armor. The previous pain that had crippled his body had finally been alleviated. A heavy sigh of relief cascaded past his lips before he smiled in the utmost of gratitude. Magic and those who studied the craft always unnerved the young cartographer. Ever since his father had verbally illustrated the activities of the mages, they were a civilization he had grown to distrust. An unwarranted bias, but a childhood taboo nonetheless. Regardless, he could not exactly conceal the gesture of praise. He was quick to extend his right hand out toward the elder man.
"I thank you for your service good mage," Karpath remarked as the two men shook hands. "If there is anything you want in recompense, just name it."
The portly sorcerer smiled in return.
"My pleasure young squire," Davlamin commented. "It's the least I could do after the misguided actions of my apprentice."
"Pray tell," Karpath continued as his healer turned back to face his student who was currently absorbed in the task of returning the serpent to its original form. "Why are you exploring such a hazardous cavern? Surely there are others less caustic to your health and the well-being of your apprentice that you would use to train him."
"Well, I chose this cave because it acts as a test for my students," he answered. "I take them here to train when they are young so they do not learn the severe disability of fear as they age. Being a cowardly wizard is far worse than being a bull-headed warrior. If he or she can not put faith in his or her craft, then there is no reason which will save him or her from the condemnation the fledgling will face among his or her peers."
The wizard paused briefly as he witnessed young Fumblemore transform the rotting carcass of the serpent back into a small stuffed toy, a crimson velvet tongue lolling out of the jaw's seam. The young man's expression belied a deep sorrow as he paced toward the soft object. Animation was one of the first complex spells he had learned. However when he wished to astound his professor with his knowledge, he had merely been barked at. Fumblemore knew that his pet snake was not a bloodthirsty beast his teacher had made him out to be. Nevertheless, Davlamin never really did praise his efforts even when he succeeded with flying colors. All the boy really yearned for was to hear the man praise his work; therefore he would not believe the temptations that he was of no real use in the world of magic. Regardless, the sable-haired youth quickly collected the plush serpent and trotted back to his perturbed instructor. The man's previously jolly gaze quickly darkened as the boy sullenly approached him. As the youth closed the gap between the two, Davlamin turned back toward Karpath.
"Did you come here on your own accord," he began. "Or did you possess a mount?"
"Yes, I did," Karpath answered as he lowered his gaze. "However, when the serpent attacked, she ran off in fear."
The mage with silver eyes studied the scout's movements for a few moments as he formulated a plan. The elapse of time between the snake's assault and the present was not very great. Therefore his steed could not have traveled far. Davlamin collected Fumblemore and advanced toward Karpath.
"I estimate that your mount would not have traveled far," he informed as he placed his left hand down upon Karpath's left shoulder. "Now that the sun has risen past the horizon, it should be quite easy to discover its location. However, we must not dawdle. Collect what you wish to carry and we shall be off."