Dead God's Blessing©
Chronicles of the Reaper©
Drama/Adventure/Action
Author's notes: Made huge changes because I did not feel satisfied with the quality of my previous work. Everything was rushed quickly, sentences were incoherent, heaps grammatical errors, and the entire thing was 'bleh' in general. Its kind of tough getting around this writing business…
Synopsis and settings: Based in the world of Forgotten Realms, my story sets in a city that was built upon a populace of nobles that fled Neverwinter to the seas during its times of darkness while the heroes continued battling the plague. Led by an unwittingly dark individual named Abel V. Veldanen, through strange and supernatural coincidence, they stumbled upon an Island west of Neverwinter and settled there ever since. The story takes place around several decades after their landing where stranger and more sinister events have a grip upon their fair kingdom.
And as usual R&R please! It will do me well to know if my idea is well received…or not! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: The fictional fantasy world of Forgotten Realms is owned by Wizard of the Coast, whereby it includes the Deities, classes, races and several events and character references to Neverwinter. The main plot, cities and most characters are by-products of a bored daydreaming dude.
Prologue
The cozy cobble-stoned room was where he retreated to, and within the solitude is where he found an ephemeral comfort of security and peace from his nightmarish flashbacks that maliciously robbed him of sleep, strength and will, even the chants and prayers from Sune's clergy could not do better to ease a wrecked mind.
"I grow weary, Logan," the wizened but compassionate man whispered in exhaustion. His eyes sagged with dark circles below his wrinkled eyelids. He age by the day, and strength of his former glory wanes by the hour. White strands of hair grew like weeds out of the skin of his oily scalp and the brows above his tired eyes.
"What troubles you, milord?" the sturdy bodyguard asked with head slightly bowed to conceal his pained expression.
"I grow weary of my city's fate, I grow weary of my children, I grow weary at each passing day and the days that are yet to come."
"But you should be at ease, Lord Veldanen. You have guided the kingdom towards the will of Lord Abel, your father, even more than he would ever expect. Your people, ministers and daughter are all profoundly wise and content." his personal guard reassured him while willfully holding back tears, it tore him apart seeing his liege slowly slipping away. Logan has sworn to protect his Lord, in body and soul.
"It draws to an end Logan," High Lord Markus Veldanen wheezed, "I fear the secrets…" he stopped abruptly.
"What of the secrets?"
The High Lord stared into nothingness.
"What of the secrets?" Logan repeated softly.
"Oh…nothing Logan, merely ramblings of a troubled mind," He snapped into his conscious state. "Merely ramblings of a troubled mind." He stared off into the open blue sky and over the green, tended forest. Chirps of birds and calls of tame creatures intensify the already calm and serene ambience of High Castle Valace.
Unfortunately, he can see neither of the beauty that was held before him nor feel the cool morning mist.
His hands began trembling in fear of the nightmarish flashbacks he had so frequently, everything he saw reminded him of his dreaded past. Every wood, stones and sand brought him to tears in a memory so haunting.
Soon, his legs started trembling in fatigue and turned in search for a chair. He spun around but stopped, eyeing on the only door opposite the window in the peak of the Western Turret. "Logan!" He yelled.
"Milord?" Logan unsheathed his short sword underneath his dark cloak and jumped into a defensive stance.
"The door!" the shriveled royalty screamed out at the top of his lungs, but was drowned by desperate bangs on the door and erupting tremor of the shaking earth. His band of protectors scurried from nowhere, with every available objects and furniture at hand, piling it over the entrance to hold the imminent breach, stalling their doom hopelessly.
It was too late, the only door was smashed wide opened by a strikingly powerful force that sliced the air and wailed into a sea of screams, sending wooden shrapnel, bodies of the protectors and several of their decapitated limbs across the room. A head dropped on the ground and rolled towards the feet of the High Lord, leaving red entrails of blood and veins.
Burning flashes of fire smoked the room, choking the High Lord into suffocating tears, the baking heat trickled streams of sweat down his aging skin and the entire room instantly turned to the color of brimstone red and evil.
And comes the horrific figure, the leader of the raid - dressed in battle robes of silk, steel, leather and royalty, where he stood right through the doorway…it was the face of evil, the face of a powerful yet stricken man… a man that seemed as old the High Lord himself.
The mad, agonizing picture of the intruder was instantly replaced by streams of heavily armored soldiers, storming into the house with their crossbows where they shot the High Lord Markus's remaining protectors down. Trembling with blind fear, the High Lord could only fall on his knees and silently await his fate.
Stream of tears bore down his cheeks, seeing the familiar but faceless friends pinned down by piercing bolts and soldiers' brute force. They were choking in blood and wheezing their dying breath; some tried reaching out to the High Lord but was stabbed in consequence.
"Markus…" the mad intruder finally approached like a towering shadow, his shaking hands reached out and held Veldanen's face, casting his mad eyes into the fragile man's. "6 long years…" he whispered in bitter joy, in an emotion so great yet affectionate.
"6…agonizing years!" The intruder's unpredictable emotions turned to anger, and with a hand, he gripped the head of a nearby fallen and smashed it against the wall and another, snatched an axe from his soldier and severed the fallen's neck with one clean, powerful side swing.
Blood painted the wall, and the headless body just dropped dead on the floor, its life and blood slowly leak away into the cracks of the cobble stones.
He spat on the head with disgust and flung the axe aside. The pinned guardsmen could only witness and cry, wallow and cringe in hopeless despair.
At the door stood a child, barely the age of 13, with an unnatural smile directed at Veldanen, his calm, penetrating eyes prompted curiosity and excitement.
Veldanen looked to his left and caught a glimpse his father, pinned to the ground and face on the floor, struggling to breathe from the pool of his own blood. The High Lord wanted to reach out for him, but was crippled by fear.
His head was held by a sticky, bloody hand. "My son," the mad intruder looked him in the eyes.
My son? Confusion played in the High Lord's mind and could not think in logic as he was too stunned at the sight of the blood, horror and insanity that scribed on the intruder that claimed Veldanen as his son.
"At long last Markus! My son!" the intruder exclaimed in a booming voice. "Let there be a union for the father of two," the wild eyed man placed both hands on Veldanen's shoulder excitedly. "…and the two together and to their father.
Fear not, Markus." His father hugged him close, "Know my name, and know that I am your real father… I am Abel Veldanen the Sixth. And these around you," he gestured to the dead soldiers lying around, "These people are rebels, scum…demons that took you away from my arms when you were small, claiming you their own."
Fear not Markus, for you are with your family once more..." The mad intruder and released him to the child by the door.
Abel's words and warmth exuded the qualities of a parent and authority that somehow got Markus weakly on his feet and stumbled across the room to his brother. Standing taller than Markus, Horatio placed his hand on Markus' head and smiled affectionately. "Welcome back brother, long have you been absent." Horatio said, "And as promised by father, your absence has caused us 6 years of grief that could only be remedied with 6 years worth of punishment." Horatio's eyes playfully shifted towards the fallen men on the ground, especially the man that Markus once knew as father.
Abel walked by and took High Lord Veldanen by the hand, and placed another on Horatio, his lips etched an evil smile.
Logan's calm voice became more audible as the red room slowly de-saturated into a balance of warmth and white. The air seemed to be void of smoke and was replaced with fresh air. The conscious state of Markus was slowly returned by Logan's constant care and patient calling.
"Milord…" Logan sounded even more disheartened when Lord Veldanen's eyes returned its sanity and consciousness. The High Lord was suffering another tragic nightmare of his past.
"I saw it again Logan," the Lord huffed.
"What did you see, Milord?" Logan asked as he had for the hundredth time.
"I saw the end of my sanity…"