Author's Note~ First chapter released... and I'm loosing motivation in Castle fanfics for some reason. I really don't want to abandon anything, but I have this bad habit of starting projects I usually don't finish.
Anyway, this chapter has a bit of an elder-scrolls type of feeling to it - I played skyrim for an hour or so before working on the story. Please review for new chapters.
The Wise One stood on the front end of the army of Ancients, waiting for the Obsidian army to arrive. Snowflakes fell from the sky like white feathers, blanketing the ground below their feet with ice. The chilling air produced a layer of frost on The Wise One's studded armor. His breath was vaporized in the air, and the ice numbed his sensations. He wasn't even able to feel the steel, iron-laced armor's weight on his shoulders, or the cutlass, tip-hooked sword wielded in his tight grip. The whipping winds flogged against his face, producing a layer of Goosebumps rising on his skin, despite the fur matted under his armor.
The resource war between the Obsidian and the Ancients created an effect of vast, ashen expanses of mountains and massive breadths of seas. It all happened to fast for The Wise One to register. But the Ancients believed that the Obsidian were the cause for it. They and their evil, deathlike black eyes were the cause of these dark times.
The Wise One's eye color turned to a fusing light blue, almost grey, judging by his ice-cold sensations that altered his emotion. His eyes raked through the mist, just able to make out the vast, seemingly endless silhouette of the Obsidian army, racing across the frost-covered ground, leaving behind a path of soil. Their black eyes seemed to slice through all the distraction, as if hunting for them. The Wise One could feel the Ancient army behind him tense up. From which Hell do these demons rise from?
The weapons wielded in their hands caught the weak sunlight through the slightly parted clouds, seeming to glow with vivacity. The Wise One shut out any panicky thoughts and focused on his psychic power. He could feel the Ancient army's power behind him lighting up, preparing for battle. The Obsidian army didn't have the psychic power as The Ancients, or The Wise One, so every battle they had between them, The Ancients would call their own victory.
The Wise One's eyes lit up with a white glow as he raised his sword and howled a battle cry. The others behind attained inspiration and screamed along, following The Wise One's lead.
The sound of thousands of running and thudding footsteps roared against The Wise One's ears, like a great ocean wave racing towards the shore. He was surprised when his body was moving on command; a few more minutes standing in this hell of ice, and he'd be frozen solid.
The armies drew closer and closer, and The Wise One's heart beat just as fast. The leading Obsidian of the Obsidian army was just a few feet away from him before The Wise One threw up his sword in a position for attack.
The two armies crashed into each other, the spray of blood gushing out into the air and the sound of echoing war cried resonating through the battlefield. The Wise One brutally fought his way through the Obsidian, his sword leaving behind a white trail in the air. He needed to find his way to the Castle, where his comrades had the two books waiting to be given to him.
An Obsidian charged at him, swinging his sword lethally at The Wise One's head. The Wise One sprang from its swath, countering the attacks with several explosive blows of his own. With a brutal arc of his sword, he severed the lower half of the Obsidian's neck, detaching the head from its shoulders. Blood sprayed on the icy battleground, painting the frost with crimson liquid.
On a crouch, The Wise One gripped the heavy sword tighter and charged back into the mass of fighting silhouettes, hacking and slashing his way through, clearing a path of his own to get to the Castle.
Two Ancient guards standing on either side of the large, double-door wooden gateways shut the gates behind The Wise One as he entered, blocking any remainder of the Obsidian army out. The faint sound of brutal war cries echoed off the stone walls as The Wise One unlaced the leather strips of his studded armor and tugged it off, grimacing at the blood and gore that stained the steel surface. He set them on a long stone table along with his weapons to be scoured of the blood. A long, seemingly endless line of bloody armor lined the tables, and for a moment, The Wise One felt a sliver of empathy for the few people who had to clean it all. Then it hit him. The gathering has already begun! He needed to get to the altar before the meeting was called off seconds before he burst through the doors.
He made his way to the altar room, where he hoped the rest of his brethren would still be waiting for him. On his way, he threw on a black robe handed to him by a waiting Ancient by the archway on the opposite side of the bride. He crossed a second bridge inside a massive circular tower. The bridge divided a line of large ancient cloaked, hooded statues. The Wise One stopped next to one standing beside another that led outside to another bridge. His eye color materialized into a dark blue with veneration as he kneeled before it and muttered something in the Ancient language under his breath.
He made his way across the second bridge and stood before the archway that led to the altar room. He pulled his cowl over his head and let himself inside.
A crowd of more than one hundred Ancients formed a circle around three hooded figures he couldn't see clearly. He squeezed his way through the crowd of Ancients, making his way to the center of the crowd. A large stone pyramid towered in the center of the altar, a black orb resting at the peak of it. The whole tower was packed with cloaked, hooded Ancient men and women warriors. Weapons were never allowed inside the altar room, as the tower was a sacred sanctuary to them, the atmosphere around it holding a majestic aura. A set of eight archways circled the outer perimeter of the altar room.
"Where is he? The Wise One was supposed to be back here a long time ago, was he not?" A gruff, tense voice with a rough edge at the center of the circle snapped in the Ancient language.
"You mustn't strain things that need no concern," A faded voice answered with a Canadian accent. "The Wise One stated he was going to need more time to come back. An Obsidian army was in the way to get to the castle, and it won't take a short time to fight through them."
A wiry, almost British accent joined in. "It has been too long. The Obsidian are planning their next move even as we speak, and we haven't even begun a battle plan. We need The Wise One here, and we need him here now."
The Wise One squeezed his way through the crowd of Ancients and joined his comrades. He'd heard enough to know he was incredibly late. "If you thought I was taking my time to get here, that army almost ripped ours to pieces. We lost 200 brethren."
Sagaciter paid little attention to what The Wise One was saying and set his gaze on the empty stone table between them. "We drew out and threw out countless battle plans in your absence. None seem to top our previous ones."
The Wise One hunched over the table, finding it better to draw a battle than to sit and argue. "The Obsidian are regrouping in isolated areas in the North." The Wise One waved his hand over the table, and glowing dents began to etch themselves into the stone, creating an image of a black colored eye on the front end of the table. "We are in the East and still unprepared, giving the Obsidian an advantage." An image of a green eye engraved itself on the right side of the stone table, a glowing emerald light emitting from the edges.
"What about the Black River?" Gladius pointed to the center of the two eyes as a picture of a black river carved it's way through the stone. It was the main source of water for the Ancients and Obsidian, but the effects of the war caused the water to become murky and tainted with oil, earning it the name "Black River".
The Wise One took in what Gladius was pointing out. "The Black River can lend us the upper hand in slowing down the army's attack path, but they will be too close to the Castle to—" The Wise One stopped listening.
A distinct, opposing presence he hadn't sensed before filled it's way up to the brim of the altar room. It was as if a knife sliced through the air, mentally stabbing his forethoughts. The air crackled and flexed with an unwanted presence. Someone shouldn't be here.
The Wise One's eyes raked through the crowd of Ancients, searching for something that might be out of place.
"What is it?" Serpo asked before The Wise One signaled him to be quiet.
His eyes turned to the peak of the altar.
A hooded Ancient was kneeling down, locking his hands one the black orb. He must've sensed the Wise One's eyes being trained on him, because he returned the gaze with black eyes.
The Wise One's blood turned to ice. "Obsidian!" He shouted.
All eight archways around the altar room burst open, and countless Obsidian stormed the altar room.
"We've been fooled! Protect the power, brethren!" The Wise One instinctively reached for his sword slung across his shoulder blades. Instead, his hand grasped air. He remembered weapons weren't allowed in the altar room.
He swore under his breathe and focused on his psychic power, summoning a wave of adrenaline and raw power through his veins. His eyes held a violent white glow as he made his way up the altar to catch and kill the Obsidian that took the orb.
The Obsidian that raided the altar each wielded a sword, war-axe, battle-hammer, or some other medieval weapon. An unearthly, crisp spark of sapphire burned in a matrix of patterns on the weapons, indicating that they were using the Ancient's weapons. Going back to the weaponries tower was no longer an option. They would have to fight, raw psychic power versus iron armor and weapons.
By the time The Wise One reached the peak of the altar, every last drop of the power was drained form the orb, now inside the wrong hands of an Obsidian. The Obsidian's head whirled up to face The Wise One as he slowed to a stop. The Obsidian tucked the orb away and drew his black sword and shield. The Wise One willed forth his psychic power and thrust his hand out, creating a sphere of light. They circled each other, knees bent, ready to spring.
"Put that back where it belongs, Wench. You're playing with a fire you cannot wield."
The Obsidian watched him with dark eyes through the shadow of his black hood. "Your kind never deserved this power in the first place. It's time to take what is rightfully ours!" The Obsidian lunged with his sword plunged forward before The Wise One leaped out of the way to dodge the sudden attack. The Obsidian staggered to his knees from the dive and The Wise One took this as an advantage. He shoved his hands forward and a spark of magnetic white energy burst from his palms and towards the Obsidian.
The Obsidian threw his hands out and wall of light fabricated between them, blocking the attack and shattering their power on impact.
"So you think you can know a few basic power and it can change anything?" The Wise One spat with a sharp tone of abhorrence and irritation. The Obsidian clenched his jaw to keep his panic leveled and focused his attention to the blade of his ebony sword. A small flame sparked at the tip of the blade before it ruptured into an afterglow of white blaze. Light traced the surface of the blade like a hot glowing black coal. He then turned his attention to The Wise One and viciously stabbing his thoughts with his own, breaking down his defenses. The Wise One fought back, but the Obsidian absorbed all the remaining power in the orb. He was far stronger than any Ancient in the altar.
The Obsidian beat down the mental impulses firing to and from The Wise One's thoughts and held him in place, freezing his muscles and powers. He then plunged his sword forward and stabbed The Wise One, lodging the sword in his chest. The sudden impact of pain made him jolt out of his apathy. He clenched his teeth and glared at the enraptured black blade deeply wedged in his chest. He curled his hands around the hilt, trying to dislodge the sword. He glared into the eyes of the Obsidian with hate and torment.
The Obsidian kicked The Wise One's knee, forcing him to stagger and fall before he turned and ran, grabbing the orb as he did. He shouted to his brethren in the Obsidian language. "!rof emac ew tahw evah eW !kcab llaF"
The fighting ceased to a slow halt and the Obsidian warriors drew back, running through the archways and out of the altar room. The Ancients would've followed them, but they were missing direct orders from The Wise One, who was still on top of the altar.