Sorry for the rather long, long, long wait. Let me just say, WRITER'S BLOCK SHOULD NOT EXIST! But after painful redrafting and redrafting this was the best I could do. Thank you everyone for your kind reviews and I have hopefully replied to them all exceptt he ones that I can't which I shall do now.
hahahahah - Thank you very much, glad you like it :D
D3R3K - Hopefully this was soon enough, thank you!
Chapter Seven: Morbid Innocence
The thoughts that haunt our minds as our bodies lay idle for timely rest, known to most as dreams normally are hidden reflections of the mind which holds them. Those who dream of wealth and power usually belong to those who want more in life, whether it is in greed or welfare. Those who dwell on dark twisted visions, such as pleasurable torture and heart wrenching screams which bless the ear can often be found in the guilty, such as the common life taker or slaver. Those who replay the sleeping thoughts of love and passion are often those whose hearts are heavy with either bliss or longing. Those who sleep restlessly with the thought of children in trouble often belong to the minds of frightened parents, longing for a safer world. Alas, those poor souls who cling onto the past, replaying haunting memories or tragic events are usually those haunted souls who remorse their dark, hidden past. A dream state which is commonly found among heroes...
There is another word for these types of dreams...or at least some of the circumstances previously mentioned. A word commonly used at children's bedsides...Nightmares.
Alastair thought that The Normanomicon's dreamlike state (being the book of the dead and possibly one of the most powerful tomes in existence) would be like a Nightmare Plain. Like a dry wasteland with a misty cloud hung over it, with piles upon piles of corpses lying upon the barren terrain. Dead trees with twisted trunks homed to the bones of black crows which had died within their entangled branches. Perhaps the odd scream and cries of anguished pain from the tortured souls of the underworld, crying out across the blackened sky, screaming to the heavens which refused to exist for them. However, this was not what Alastair saw.
He had never seen a place look so alive. The brightness of the countless colours which surrounded him made him feel quite nauseous. The bright blue sky accompanied by the odd pearl white, fluffy blobs of cloud shone clear like a painted canvas. The plant life brought a more earthly colouring, deep shades of green which seemed to roll on for miles in rich pastures and the odd yellow of wheat fields. The subtle colour of the distant cottages made the place look like some sort of town. He could spy an inn in the distance, and a large bridge which seemed to span over some sort of entrance. And Alastair swore he smelled the sea. Trees stood in random places, some small with thin creamy coloured trunks. Others large with thick bronzed bark chipped in an artistic way.
A grey streak of earth lay on upon the ground in front of him and at once, he realised it to be a country path. Slightly disappointed at the nauseous landscape, Alastair began to follow the path but stopped at once realising something. There was no sound. No birds chirping away like they usually did in this sort of atmosphere. No children laughing, no men shouting, no sign of life whatsoever. Absolutely nothing! He could not even hear his own footfalls upon the path. The place seemed to be deprived of sound.
He carried on walking down the quiet path, casting his eyes around the hushed landscape. Another thing he seemed to notice was everything was so still. No gentle breezes swaying grass, no birds hovering above. He was not quite sure if this was a blessing or a curse. Sure the sound of life was comforting and the odd silence did provoke suspicion, but did he really want to listen to false sounds? The forged sounds of children playing and woman laughing, it would be quite depressing to listen to the constant waves of artificial information.
Was he the only one here? A question he frequently asked himself as he walking down the path, his eyes darting from one side to the other in mild suspicion. He inhaled the air around him which was dense with morning smells one would usually find in a close knit town. The smell of fresh baking from a bakers, the smell of sweet summer bloom and of course, the strange scent of new grass rising from the earth. He let out a sigh of impatience when he looked around; there was no indication of where to go.
What an odd place, he thought to himself. The tone of thought was neither irritated nor confused; it held a rather bemused theme. Alastair stopped for a second, taking it all in. Something was not right; the sheer brilliance of the colours did not match the atmosphere. The place looked vivacious yet was languid, no-one, nothing seemed to exist. It was now that Alastair's chain of thoughts held an irritated tone. What was the point? How was this going to help? He cursed the tome, kicking a small stone in frustration. The small piece of rock skidded across the path, halting in front of a small cottage not too far from the path.
That is when it happened.
The sudden outburst of raw emotion seemed to cause a stir within the 'serene' environment. The whole place flickered, losing itself in a blur of colours. It was as if he had said a password or flicked a switch, causing a reaction within the book's image. It caught Alastair by surprise and he found himself knocked over by the sudden force of this change. It only lasted for a few minutes before it returned to normal. Alastair helped himself up but stopped when he saw what surrounded him.
There dotted among the town he had already walked through were people. Unmoving; still, lifeless people. They stood in various positions; a woman not too far from Alastair was leaning against a wall with her mouth open in a strange way as if halfway through a sentence. Next to her was a small child stationary with its head looking up at her as if it was listening before it was frozen still. A man with a stick in the air was in a still glare with a bunch of children who were all turned away with their feet paused in the air, a look of amusement forced upon their shiny faces. It was strange but began to fall in place. The people who were frozen in their stance, the still memories, were the victims of the book. Alastair began to see how sinister this place was becoming but the way it was set out; it had a childlike innocence to it. Alastair lovedit!
"How fascinating!" he murmur to himself silently as he began to move between them, his eyes watching them with an eager expression. His curiosity burned but the patience that was the wick of his candle grew short; he wanted to know what was going on now. He surveyed the people, trying to figure out a pattern so he could follow but they seemed to be dotted around randomly. Statues, that is what they were, statues of souls fallen to the books power. The atmosphere around was neither warm nor cold and their faces, showed no signs of fear or anger. Just day by day activity and that is when Alastair stopped in his tracks.
What if this was contagious? What if these souls were the ones who had too wandered into the books mind just as he done? What if these were the souls rejected, the ones who the book did not 'like' as Salty Jack had put it? Alastair looked around, finding a possible argument to these theories and the more he mulled, the more he realised how ridiculous they were. The souls, the frozen souls that stood in front of him were native to this village. They wore dated clothing one would usually see in a village years ago. Perhaps these were merely images used to frighten him away. Well, Alastair was not easily frightened.
"You're images are impressive book," he spoke aloud, and even though only silence escaped his lips, he knew the book could hear him. "But I am not the sort of man who fears the dead. I have seen many men, woman and children alike fall before me with a spin of a wheel, engulfed within a fate chosen by the Gods. Why would you think I would fear mere images? It is an insult almost." Alastair laughed in sardonic manner, hoping to rile the book into revealing itself. "And they call you the most powerful tome in existence. Bah, looks to me as if Meredith Sock's books are more intimidating."
Alastair waited for a response but none came. Only silence was issued and Alastair could feel an anger rising within his chest, burning the back of his throat in irritation. He walked among the statues of souls, his eyes studying them one by one. There was nothing which really made any of them stand out, apart from the fact they were frozen still. It was not until he wandered further into the village that he discovered something, something that he was sure that was not there before.
A young girl, no older than six he would guess, stood behind a gate in the near distance. She was frozen just like the others, in a simple pose. But there was something about her, an aura of innocence, however also an aura of importance. Yet she looked just like the rest. Her dark blue eyes were fixated somewhere in the distance, a rather dreamy look on her face. From the simple scruffy clogs to the dated dress. Even her red hair was in the same style as the other children. But he was sure she was different, a feeling he could say, told him she was significant.
You are more skilled than I gave you credit for, a voice which sounded neither male nor female echoed within Alastair's mind. Alastair stopped in mid thought, and a smile etched its way onto his partially hidden face. He was finally getting somewhere...
"I was wondering when you would arrive," Alastair replied in a forged uninterested voice, hiding the excitement which pounded at his chest. The tension within Alastair was so great; he failed to notice sound had returned to the location.
I have no trust in you.
Alastair frowned, "What an odd way to start an acquaintance. Usually trust is the third thing we deal with."
Oh, I am unfamiliar with this aspect. Please, what are the two other things must we settle with?
Alastair's frown deepened. "Well, I usually start off with names. Then I go on to how much of a threat they are to me, or what benefits their acquaintance could bring to me.
Names are merely titles; they are no use to me.
"On the contrary my dear-"Alastair paused thinking of a suitable word "-book, names are what assigns us with who we are. Without them we are merely people, a sheep in a herd with no significant way to individualise ourselves. Our personalities are merely a quirk within each but combined with a name we are a person, an individual. Everything has a name, and rightly so. And they too associate with us. A hill, without a name it would just be a clump of common earth. We would be confused without names, and our memories would fade faster without them. To abandon a name, is to abandon what something is."
Compelling...yet I still have no faith in you.
"Why not?" Alastair asked, not sure who he was talking to. If these statues of flesh were alive then they would be mocking his appeared madness, thinking he was replying to voices in his head. Alastair chuckled at the thought but paused to listen to the book's reason.
You wear a mask both physically and spiritually. Part of you is hidden from me and yourself. Yet I can glimpse part of your soul, its dark paths were difficult to see. No light within them, no remorse, no empathy. Just a raw streak of passion, and scornful hatred masked so well within a jovial form. A man of his word twisted into battle. The man who gets others to fight in his stead. The man who brings the past into the future, dragging it away from death. I hear a woman screaming and a child crying, and a father fit for revenge but all faded now with callous laughter. It all leads to you and your game. You walk among shadows, bleak and distance yet they are within you. You would rob a broken heart of its blood for the sake of a game. You are an evil man.
Alastair no longer had to feign boredom as this speech had made no movement within him. He was tired of all the tedious chatter and was eager to fulfil his quest on to this forsaken book. "Please, you're flattering me too much," he mocked, beginning to walk towards the little girl. "So tell me, you pass judgement on me about being hidden yet I have yet to experience any of your true abilities. So, you looked into my soul, perhaps one of the most private places of any man. So, you need to reciprocate by showing me yours." It was more of an order than a request, forced with such vigour Alastair did not expect it to work.
I am not in control. I have no agenda, no devotion, and no alliance. I am merely a link between worlds above your own, the link between life and death, and others too horrible to mention. I am not in power; the power is to those who are able to wield me. The best I can do is limiting my power to stop those who I do not like. It is rare for a weapon to choose its master.
When Alastair reached the girl, and he noticed that behind her was a path leading away from the town. He followed but continued his conversation with the book. "That explains the brothers of little wit, playing around and refusing to have fun. But I don't understand why you won't work for me, I need that spell yet I cannot get it to work. It refuses me."
It is an evil spell.
"That is not the reason and I know it. You feed off the weak, I know the stories, and I know what happened. Though my spell is different, it requires something, something that is not easy to gain. And I need you to tell me for the sake of the worlds you hold within you."
Yet at the cost of your own world, you wish to bring a great evil to your plane of existence. Souls will be vanquished.
"You have done something similar before."
That was different.
"Yes, that was a pathetic villager. I am a true man not a frightened child, why do you forsake me so much!?"
You do not know.
"Then explain it if it was so different."
It happened years ago. To me thousands could have past, to you hundreds. I was worshipped by the fallen, and the scattered remains of Shadow Worshippers. Held sacred and was not touched. I was in blissful harmony yet I could feel the wind grow colder as the rebellion grew closer. They were to use me to build their empire but I was snatched away in the night by fools. A woman, sleek and sly, a serpent snuck among their nest and snatched their lives to feed her pleasure. She found me hidden and took what was not hers. She delivered me to a place where death soon struck.
A quiet cottage in a peaceful town, where two men dwelled together and hid me from sight. The woman, the shadow Empress herself protected me from the eyes of the law. The worlds I held longed for her, begged her to release them but she was not taken by their enchanted whispers. It was only a matter of time before she was hunted and taken away, leaving us with the villagers.
We were untouched for a while, how long I am not precise but dust had certainly gathered underneath those floorboards. But then I was discovered by a broken heart, a man of extreme beauty and youth. He was taunted restlessly until he gave in, until his weak shell of resistance shattered before me. He took me away from the town, and summoned the power which called to him and brought them into this world. He begged them, he asked them to immune him against time, and cheat death like they had promised in the whispers. They granted his wish at no small price. His village, his life, his family were all destroyed in a wave of shadows.
The Shadows laughed at him as he cried out in remorse. They gave him a seal before setting up a lair in the place which had once been so alive. In a fit of mournful rage, the man threw me, threw me into the murky waters, believing I myself was the cause of his pain.
"Then what happened?" Alastair inquired, finding this insight of the past rather intriguing.
I was found by another man, a robed mage of the dead. He locked me away in a dark chest and placed me in a tomb where nobody should ever find me. For good measure, he blessed my chest with a curse, to make sure no-one ever made the same mistake again. I never saw either of the men again; I wish I had seen that eternal mage of the dead. I respected him more than anyone I had ever met. Only few have touched my cover and not felt overwhelmed by the power I contain.
"A mage of the dead? Ah, a necromancer, they are rare to find nowadays. I have always wanted to meet one, though in some sense I am one myself. I summoned a spirit into this world, but unfortunately I got more than I bargained for."
It is the price you must pay for messing with things you have no control over. The dead should remain dead, not bound into this world in shadow form. Though a shadow spirit is merely the essence of what it once was, if that essence begins to seep into control, it can have disastrous consequences on the world.
"Believe me, she is controlled well. But, again, we have travelled away from the topic of the spell. I need something, something which will unlock the power. I used to believe you had the answer but now I'm not too sure."
Your faith wavers between so many things.
"Give me reason to have faith in you, show me the truth. You hide, which makes me think you fear me. Reveal yourself and we can talk properly."
Thunder crashed in the skies above him as if his words had provoked a storm. The colours, the bright lively colours dissolved in a flash of lightning and the land stood bare below the sky which swirled in a dark vortex above him. Wind thrashed itself against Alastair's body, lifting his robe and causing it to swirl itself around him. His mask shuddered with the vibrations of the earth and Alastair tried to shield himself from the rain that lashed down, pelting him like watery bullets shot from the sky. He realised the land had sunk around him, leaving him standing on a lone hill, overlooking the images he faced before in a darker form. The still villagers were nothing but piles of bones lying upon the earth. Some skeletons had remained intact, warped out of shape however; their features distorted as if something had twisted them in a grotesque image. The sound of the howling wind was soon replaced by screams, heart wrenching screams calling out pleas of desperation.
The force of the wind overpowered Alastair and he crouched down, his feet dug firmly into the soft ground trying to grip himself on the land and not fall into the pit of bones which surrounded his hill. The rain seeped through his cloak, burning his skin the moment it made contact. Then there was a flash of colours and the land reverted back to its usually colourful form it was before the sudden storm took place.
"That is what the corners of my soul hold," a small voice spoke behind him. Alastair wheeled around and found himself face to face with something that was not there before.
Alastair found himself in the garden of a small cottage. The cottage was the same subtle stone colour of the others in the village. The small windows which seemed to inhabit every corner were a perfect square shape, the wood between the panes painted a strong white. The grass in the smaller garden was shorter than anywhere else he had ventured in this dream state; it was as if hundreds of feet had trampled it down to its last stem. It looked perfectly normal until he gazed next to an open gate that led to out to the village. To the left of that gate was a small gravestone and in front was a newly dug patch of earth.
A small carved angel was perched upon the gravestone's arched top, its little upturned face gazed at the sky and its tiny hands were clasped together as if praying up to Avo, pleading for his protection over the fallen soul she was made to protect. The circular wings were drooped low, and caused a perfect shadow over the fallen soul's name. Selena was engraved below but the woman's second name was lost in an infestation of green mould which oozed through the cracks, blocking her final identity. Below that the words Beautiful and Beloved mother to Sally and Rupert. And wife to Gareth bore its mark and identified her to Alastair almost immediately. The 'wife to Gareth' bore itself in a cold way. It was empty of positive emotion, no beloved, no beautiful, no faithful, just wife. Alastair could hear her husband's droning voice echo the words in his mind, it was almost obvious to him he did not love his wife. A tension perhaps? But this was driven out of his mind when he realised the owner of the voice was sat right next to the marker of the dead woman.
The owner of the voice looked no older than six, around the same age of the young girl he had witnessed earlier. He shared similar dark blue eyes only the blue was not as evident as they were in hers. They were much darker, and fit well with his dark hair which shone slightly as it was bathed in the dull sunlight. The boy was playing with a stuffed animal which he had wrapped his arms around the moment he noticed Alastair. Its fur was stripped in different shades of brown and light wool for the mane on its neck and for the tail. It looked like a small version of a horse for there was a patch of black material on each foot which most likely represented hooves. The young boy narrowed his eyes as Alastair loomed over him.
Alastair had always hated children, finding their activities and personalities tedious and demeaning. However, he knew if he was to gain the knowledge he wanted he would have to play along with the book's charade. Alastair smiled and pointed at the stuffed animal, "I say boy, what sort of creature is that?" he asked in his trademark jovial tone.
The boy scowled at Alastair and replied in cold tone, "It's a pony." But blushed at the amused expression that crossed over Alastair's face, "But it belongs to my sister." He hid the pony behind him and smiled at Alastair to hide the annoyance at not being able to play with his favourite toy. As the sleeve rolled back from the boy's shirt for a moment as he was placing the pony on the ground behind him, Alastair caught a glimpse of a couple of large dark bruises that blemished his fair skin. But when the sleeve fell back over them, the mystery which surrounded them was hidden and Alastair had no time to ponder over the state of the young boy.
"So," Alastair began, his eyes falling on the gravestone the boy was playing beside. "Did you know her?"
The boy slowly nodded, his tone void of anything as he spoke, "Yes, it was mother." He turned to the stone and looked at it with a sense of nostalgia but at the same time looked slightly lost. He was silent, no words were spoken from his small rose tinted lips and Alastair knew the illusion of the child had nothing more to say. The books words ran through Alastair's mind, each syllable repeating softly through the passage of memory. The child...most obviously, just like the frozen villagers, was an imprint of the dark deeds that unleashed out of the Normanomicon. The child was merely a footprint of an actual soul...what soul he was unsure of. But judging from the state of the frozen villagers, the boy wasn't a victim in the same sense as them.
Alastair took a logical stab in the dark, focusing on the tale the book had told him and aligning it to the one his shadowy companion had recited on many occasions. The name on the gravestone, the scorning words of his companion, it all linked together in some strange way. "Rupert," he said with a smile, and the child's eyes widened in horror. "Yes, you say names are not that important but you are forgetting the power one has over the other when their name is known."
Perceptive mind indeed.
The child had vanished leaving the gravestone of the woman alone. Alastair turned on the spot, looking up, causing his orange mask to shimmer in the false daylight. "Ah, we are back to the large scary voice are we?" He paced in front of the stone; his eyes surveyed all the landscape which surrounded him. With a small smile he pondered over the little boy, "I suppose there was a point in showing me the image of the child. Perhaps a hint, maybe a sacrifice must be made in order for the spell to fully cast? Is that it? Is that the grand secret, a sacrifice?" Alastair turned to walk away in all his smugness but was stopped in his tracks by the book's next words.
Not any sacrifice.
Alastair gritted his teeth in order to control the sudden anger which boiled inside of him. He was sick of cryptic messages, sick of pathetic information. Turning back, trying to maintain the smile that was plastered on his face he spoke in his usual tone remaining as calm as possible. "Not any sacrifice?" He repeated, the words bouncing from his tongue in a questionable manner. "What do you mean not any sacrifice?"
There was sudden high pitch shriek and the land inside the book shuddered for a moment before reverting back. The colours blurred and went duller than before. "What was that!?" Alastair demanded forcefully, dropping the jovial act and not bothering to hide the panic from his voice. Just as he was about question the sudden reaction again another voice entered the world.
"We have no time for games!" It hissed and just as Alastair expected, his shadowy companion suddenly materialised beside him. She had returned to her usual shadow state making her body blackened by a hazy mist. But though no evident features would provide him with the knowledge of her precise feelings, the piercing red eyes hinted she was not in the best of moods. Raising herself on her hind legs she spoke to the book in a more vigorous tone than he had. Though her eyes were in a different direction, Alastair could not help thinking the 'games' referred to him in some way
You! Fiend of Skorm! Remove yourself from this world at once! The shadows are not welcome within me! I am merely your bridge; this is not your world, Leave at once!
"If you have time for humans in your world," her eyes shot to Alastair for a second before returning her glare to the area around the gravestone, as if she could see something Alastair could not. "You have time for me. If you refuse to him, you refuse me and I do not take refusal lying down. I have crashed through your barrier and plead with you to divulge the information we need. Not only for our benefit, but for your own."
Is that a threat fiend of Skorm?
"It is neither a threat nor a fact. But a possibility to consider, perhaps an offer you could say. Do you believe that not giving this information to us will stop us from trying to solve it ourselves? Do you think limiting the power will make us give in? You may expect that from a human but the shadows are not as fickle, especially me. I will fight you; I will read every single incantation and drain all your power until you'll be begging for release."
Alastair stepped in, not wanting his 'pet' to get too big for her metaphoric boots. "She is right, and may I add humans are not all fickle. But imagine it like you said; imagine being free from all the hands of the corrupt or the ignorant. Locked away in a chest like that mage of the dead provided. We could give you that once more help us achieve what we want, help us with the incantation. Then we will lock you away just like that mage of the dead did. We will bind a curse to the lock and scare away those who wish to lay your hands on your covers. However," Alastair once again returned to his jovial tone. "Fail to recognise this opportunity we are granting you, I will tear the pages from your very spine and listen to you scream." He ended it with a smile and a playful tone, and the world's colour once again lost its brightness and dulled even more.
You make a good vessel for the fiend of Skorm. And I was beginning to believe all the true Shadow Worshippers had died many years ago. I long for a peaceful existence within myself, ignorant to the other worlds. That mage of the dead brought me harmony with the worlds I link together. I was not troubled until two fools disturbed my rest. Yet they spoke words foreign to your world, and only those special few have succeeded in that. Could you really provide me with peace? Or is this some sort of deception you two have planned? Is there any hope?
"Believe me I keep my word because once the deed is done, once the Rise is complete there will be no further need for you. And locking you away so no-one will be able to get their hands on you could be quite handy for our plan." Alastair tried to keep the overwhelming feeling of triumph hidden from the book, but even Alastair could not suppress the feeling of arrogant glee. He awaited the book's reply, eager to know if the battle was over and won. His companion did not show so much enthusiasm and merely stood waiting for the reply with the element of calmness wrapped up in a hazy blackened body.
I will provide an answer to your problem in exchange for the peace you have offered. You agree that once you are done, you will provide me with a chest and lock me away with the blessing of a curse to those who try and snatch me?
"We agree," the shadow hissed, slowing falling back onto all fours.
"Yes we agree," Alastair confirmed. "Now if you please, we are missing something. You earlier mentioned a 'sacrifice'? Could you please enlighten us with further detail?"
The spell requires another voice to read it aloud in a tongue foreign to this world. But it does not require a random voice, not one of your choosing but the voice of one who has previously harnessed my power.
"Damn!" Alastair cursed, turning away from his shadowy companion. "The two brothers of little wit, damn! I sent them away to –"
"Were you not listening or are you really that brainless?" The shadow sneered in a snarl at him, her red eyes piercing bitterly into the back of him. "The book stated a soul that has harnessed the power, not dabbled around with it for fun."
"So..." Alastair turned back to her, returning her bitter stare with a lightened touch. "Who exactly are we talking about? This Rupert who keeps coming up, the child you showed me? Surely he'd no longer be around. I would have heard of an immortal named Rupert, he must have perished somehow. Perhaps a descendant of his...But no, it states his voice. How troubling, I think we are looking for a needle in a haystack."
That is not all.
"Oh please, bless us with some more good news."
For the spell to correctly begin, the voice of the previous harnesser must speak the words. During the incantation, the life of the harnesser must spill onto the pages to strengthen the bond between the speaker and the spell. His energy will be the fuel of the ritual. Then the power will be directed to you, Shadow Worshipper and you will command the rest.
"His life must spill onto the pages? Does that mean he must be killed?"
No, his death is unnecessary...but the intenseness of the ritual may deplete his energy which could lead to death but his death is not needed for the incantation to work.
"Then the life that must spill...?"
"His blood," the shadow answered before he could fully finish the question. "The life of every being is in its blood."
Alastair let a small groan escape him, "Blood? Why must it always be blood?"
"Blood is what gives us life, it is there for a birth and there at our death." His shadow answered in her whispered voice.
Indeed. But I must warn you, the task will not be easy. There will be those who will stand in your way. And the powers you wish to interfere with are not powers that should be taken lightly. They are ancient arcane powers deep within the heart. And that power will attract demons beyond your control, alas if you were to perish among them, it would have all been for nothing.
"Believe me; I have no desire to die." Alastair assured the book, turning to his shadowy companion who snarled in return as if to back his statement up. The book was silent for a moment, processing the whole thing together.
There is a woman, a strong woman who I have once had a brief encounter with. She too – like the mage of the dead – was not overwhelmed by my powers. The only grief I have towards her is that she handed me back into the wrong hands. She dwells where trouble lies, find this woman and you will find your answers and may begin your quest.
Before Alastair could respond, a sudden thrust of the earth collapsed the ground beneath him and he fell, sucked down by some unseen force. He did not cry out, or make any attempt to prevent what was happening. Blue lights seemed to flash before his very eyes, and a familiar feeling of being dragged from one world to another crossed his entire body as if he had plunged into a warm sea. And when he finally opened his eyes, he found himself back in that besmirched room in the Bloodstone Tavern.
Sitting opposite – returned to her panther state – was his shadowy companion, her large yellow eyes narrowed in impatience. Her paws were crossed over each other and her jaw was transfixed in a silent snarl. Beside her, was the body of a man Alastair could vaguely remember but his identity was lost among the swirling whirlpool of his own thoughts. The knowledge he had gained was riddled in his head. He smiled down at the shadow opposite of him, proud of the knowledge gained but all that met him was a cold stare and scathing words. "Men are useless," she hissed before slinking out of the door.
Alastair continued, not affected by his companion's coldness. They slipped past every citizen without notice. From the rowdy men on the corner table, to the lifeless barmaid behind the counter, they slunk past without notice as if they themselves were merely phantoms in their minds. "Well," Alastair mumbled as they slipped through the door. "This changes everything."
This chapter is a very important chapter may I add, there is a lot of foreshadowing in it. Also, this is the last time Alastair will appear for a while...I think. The next few chapters are focussed more on the heroes. I usually don't say mention such things on other websites other than its own but I was browsing through deviantart when I came across a delightful little fan art of the heroes from Fable as dogs. It made me laugh and cheered me right up I felt like I just had to mention it. I haven't got an account (I can't draw, seriously I have trouble with stickmen so I don't really think I should join) so I couldn't leave a comment so I thought I would mention it here to make up for the missing comment. It's by someone named Biigurutwin. If anyone would like to pass on my admiration to the artist I would be very greatful.
Hope you are happy with this chapter! Thank you all again x Next chapter, Reaver's trial...
P.S. I'm going to try and get the next chapter up before my birthday...sixteen days :D Hopefully a Dragon Age: Origins is on the way ;)
