Chapter 4: The Black Dragon Box
"The short cut," Oaklore Forest
The sneevil, one that the other sneevils called Snick, watched the battle from the safety of a bush, his eyes just barely peaking over the small shrub. It did not want anything to do with the fighting of the Big Peoples. No no, that would not be good. That would hurt Snick, and Snick did not want to be hurt. Snick watched as the Big Peoples shot fire and hit each other with sharp sticks and not-sharp sticks, until finally it looked like the fight was over. With two of the Big Peoples busy standing over the other one, Snick scurried through the underbrush to continue on his way, but stopped when he caught sight of the most beautiful thing Snick had ever seen.
It was a box, made all of polished black wood and inlayed with gold. It wasn't the gold that made it precious of course. Gold was just gold. This was something far more precious than gold. It was a box. Snick, like all Sneevils, loved boxes. But this box was better than any box he had ever found before. Cardboard boxes, wooden chests, iron crates, all were beautiful and amazing and precious. But this box was the greatest, bestest box Snick had ever seen, and he needed it.
Ooooooh, Snick thought, creeping closer to the box with a snort. Beautiful box. Precious box. My box." And while the Big Peoples continued talking, Snick snatched up the box and ran.
. . . . .
A dark fortress, location unknown
Drakath fumed, clutching his father's blade with a white-knuckled grip. I was so close! The Box was in my grasp! And those… those peasants ruined everything!
Drakath took a deep breath. He couldn't afford to lose control. Not now. He rose to his feet, standing at the double-doors to his master's throne room. Drakath had called out for his aid, and the DoomKnight would be expecting him. Drakath dusted himself off, lifted his head high, and pushed open the doors. He marched forward, keeping his eyes forward, away from the rows of armored corpses standing at perfect attention, waiting for their master's call, focusing on the armored figure on the throne before him. When he reached the foot of the dais he bowed low, staring at the ground in obeisance
"Drakath," his master said, the voice deep and resonating, but twisted and warped, somehow unnatural, as powerful as it was pained. "Speak."
"I-" The words halted in Drakath's throat. I can't tell him I failed to acquire the box, he realized. I can't let him know I failed. "I have not yet been able to find the Black Dragon Box," he finally said, "but my men are scouring the forest for the priestess. She will not evade us for long, my lord."
"Then why do you come before me?" his master questioned, an extra layer of danger entering his tone. "Do you find my power such a trivial thing to call upon a whim?"
"No, no, my lord!" Drakath hurried to assure him. Did it just get darker? he worried to himself, Is it colder than it was a moment ago? "I faced an unexpected obstacle. The village you sent us to, the one with the deserter. We left the sword, just as you commanded. Now a boy from the village, a survivor, has it, and he attacked me with it. Even with my considerable skill, I could not defeat him."
He heard the DoomKnight settle back into his throne, the air of threat seeming to pass, but his master said nothing. He seemed almost… satisfied.
For several moments, Drakath almost managed to control himself. But his master was just… sitting there. Smugly lording over Drakath's defeat. A defeat that should never have happened! Finally, Drakath spoke, raising his head. "My lord, I must wonder how wise this is, giving such powerful weapons to our enemies. If you had just given me the sword-"
"Enough." Drakath shut his mouth and dropped his head to the ground immediately, feeling the danger he was in, the gaze of the DoomKnight piercing him like twin daggers. "I did not promise you that sword. Nor have you yet fulfilled your end of the bargain. Do you wish to wield the lesser blade, little princeling? Or do you wish to wield the far greater power of the Necrotic Blade of Doom?" Drakath could feel the blade's power then, lying in the dark warrior's hands, pulsing with cruelty, malice, and might.
"I wish to wield the Necrotic Blade of Doom," he whispered once he found his voice.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAH!" the cruel, twisted laugh came not from Drakath's master, but from the blade in his hands, the Necrotic Blade of Doom's laughter echoing through the throne room. "SO EAGER LITTLE PRINCE! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
"Then leave us," the DoomKnight commanded. "And do not return until you have what you promised."
. . . . .
"The short cut," Oaklore Forest
For a moment Jonathan just stared in shock at the spot where Drakath had been. Did he just… teleport? Shaking his head, he realized Damien was on his knees, looking as if he had all the life drained from him. "Are you alright?" he asked, grabbing Damien's shoulder.
Damien started as if from a dream, or perhaps a nightmare, smacking Jonathan's hand aside. "I'm fine!" he proclaimed with a little too much force, quickly getting to his feet. "Just pissed that the coward got away."
Jonathan looked at him for a moment, not sure what to make of that, before turning his attention back to the one they had come there to protect. Realizing he didn't know the proper way to address her, Jonathan gave her an awkward half-bow before speaking. "Lady Celestia, I'm glad that we got to you in time."
"Thank you," the priestess replied with a motherly smile, giving them both a small nod of appreciation. "I am grateful for the rescue. Alas, the box was taken by a sneevil while you were busy smack-talking."
Jonathan said nothing for a moment, his brain refusing to process her words.
"What?!" Damien exclaimed, the anger in his voice seeming to revitalize him. "Why didn't you say something?"
"Well, Jonathan was really on a roll. I didn't want to interrupt him."
"Didn't want to…" Damien's words sputtered off, unable to finish the sentence in his exasperation.
"You must recover the Black Dragon Box before it falls into the wrong hands," Celestia declared, turning to gaze straight into Jonathan's eyes as she did so. "Travel to the town of Falconreach and meet with Twilly. He has friends who will be able to help you find that sneevil."
"A-alright," Jonathan said, taken aback by her sudden forcefulness, "we will travel to Falconreach… but what about you?"
"Well… if you are going after the box with Twilly, then…" Celestia paused, thinking, "I am going to teleport back home and have some tea."
"Wait, what?" Jonathan and Damien said in unison.
"Thank you," Celestia said with another smile. "Bye!" And before either one of them could make any objection, she vanished in a burst of light.
For a moment, Jonathan and Damien stood there, dumbfounded. "So," Jonathan said after a moment. "What do you think could be so important about that box?"
"I have no idea," Damien replied. "All I know is that Captain Rolith is going to need to know about what happened here."
"Think he might have some answers?"
"We can only hope."
. . . . .
Oaklore Keep, Oaklore Forest
"Did you say Drakath?" Captain Rolith asked after they finished telling them the story. "Are you sure that was his name?"
"Yes," Damien answered. "Is that important?"
For a moment, Rolith said nothing, seeming to wrestle with something before finally answering. "Slugwrath, the tyrant who ruled before Alteon. His family's true name was Drakath. Slugwrath was so hated that after his defeat, it was universally decided to never refer to him by his true name again, but instead use the insulting name of Dinkleheim Slugwrath, and let his true name fade from all record and memory. If this Drakath is really his son, and he is leading the Darkwolves… it could explain where all these bandits have been coming from.
Damien felt his hatred surge within him as Rolith continued to talk about Drakath. The coward had escaped, and Damien was left unable to claim his vengeance. Damien gladly let the now-familiar anger in, letting it burn away the bitter taste of resentment left in his mouth by the priestess directing her quest-giving at Jonathan, and Jonathan alone. Of course, the oblivious beanstalk assumed she was talking to both of them, but Damian knew better. Whatever was going on with that box, the priestess Lady Celestia meant it only for Jonathan. But those thoughts faded as his hatred for Drakath overtook them, the fire settling comfortably in his chest.
"A lot of Slugwrath's soldiers went into hiding after the war," Rolith continued. "It seems they've rallied behind the son of the tyrant they once served… Thank you both. This is information will certainly help in our efforts to stamp the bandits out."
"That's good," Jonathan replied. "I hope you are able to do that quickly. We need to go to Falconreach. The priestess said we would be able to get help finding the box there." He stopped, a thought occurring to him, and he quickly turned towards Damien. "Sorry, I didn't mean to speak for you. I just thought, well, the priestess said… anyways, I would appreciate the help."
"We could use your help with the bandits," Rolith said, "but the priestess wouldn't be asking you to find this box if it wasn't important."
Damien was surprised to find that he wasn't sure which option to take. They had their first real lead on the Darkwolf Bandits. Now they might actually be able to hunt them down. But Drakath was the bandits' leader, the one who commanded the destruction of his village, and he seemed to want this box too. But what surprised him more was that those weren't the only considerations. After spending almost two weeks at Oaklore Keep, he had grown to like the knights, even Sir Kuss, to an extent. And the beanpole seemed oblivious enough that he would get himself killed if he didn't have someone helping him out.
Avatars, he swore inwardly. What am I supposed to do now?
"Are you alright?" Jonathan asked, worry obvious in his deep, storm-grey eyes. "You look a little sick."
Avatars curse this, Damian thought. And you too. "I'm fine. And I'm going to Falconreach too. I want to see this thing through. I just need to pack my things."
. . . . .
Eastward road, Oaklore Forest
Apparently Damien had been busy during his time at Oaklore Keep, because when they started on the road he was carrying more than a snapping camel. "Are you sure you don't want help carrying all that?" Jonathan asked, not for the first time, as they trekked through the forest.
"I'm fine," Damien growled. Beyond the pack itself, which was filled to bursting, Damien also had two very interesting-looking staves strapped to it, and the unsettling sword he always carried with him, which Jonathan still couldn't look at for too long without feeling sick.
"Alright." Jonathan kept walking, and after a few minutes he turned to make a comment to Damien, but after seeing the other boy's glare, he shut his mouth and turned back to the road. This is going to be a very long walk.
. . . . .
Several hours later, they were still walking in silence. The forest grew thicker around them as they continued down the road, the trees edging closer to the road, their branches linking together and blocking out the sunlight. Soon they reached a section of forest where barely any light reached them at all, and Damien began to wonder if they would have to pull out the torches. But just as he was reaching for his pack, the branches above rustled and a half dozen bandits dropped from the foliage, surrounding the two of them. The bandits wore the same piecemeal outfits Damien had seen twice now, the black wolf's head buckle on display. He moved his hand to his blade, letting the fire within him grow.
"Ha!" one of the bandits laughs, swaggering forward. "More victims fall prey to the Darkwolf Bandits. Your gold or your life… now!"
Damien readied himself to attack, but stopped when he saw Jonathan stepping forward to face the lead bandit. Oh no. What are you doing, beanstalk?
"Hmmm," Jonathan mused, a smile on his face. "How about… YOUR gold or YOUR life. Then we won't have to hurt you guys."
If he weren't already grasping the hilt of his sword, Damien would have facepalmed. Oh my… That's not what "or your life" means.
"Our gold?" the lead bandit laughed, slipping down his mask to reveal a grin. "You've got some nerve kid, I'll give you that. You would make a good bandit." He shrugged, stepping back and pulling out his cudgel. "Too bad the boss says we have to waste you. Get 'em boys!"
Jonathan drew his sword in a flash, parrying a strike from the first bandit to come at him, knocking his cudgel to the side and kicking him in the chest, sending him crashing back into his friends. Damien moved to draw his own sword, but stopped, glancing at Jonathan with his blunted blade, moving to pull out one of his staves instead. I can't believe I'm doing this, he thought, moving to stand back-to-back with the larger boy. "Do you really need to banter with them?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the ring of bandits around them.
"What?" Jonathan asked. "I wanted to give them the chance to avoid the beating we're about to give them."
Damien shook his head. "You're going to get us both into a lot of trouble, beanstalk." Then the bandits attacked, and Damien couldn't help but smile as he and Jonathan fought together.
. . . . .
After their fight with the bandits, Jonathan was feeling much better, mostly because Damien was fifty percent less grumpy than he had been before. Apparently beating up some bandits was exactly what the doctor ordered. Beyond that, he felt that feeling inside again, that pull forward, and they seemed to be heading in the exact right direction. The forest was starting to thin, letting them see the sun again, a relief after the darkness of the deep forest, where it had seemed as if something was lying in wait beneath every tree and shrub. Soon the forest fell away entirely, and Jonathan could see the ocean less than a mile away through the trees.
Jonathan stopped in his tracks, staring out at the water. It stretched out beyond the horizon; greater than any body of water he had laid eyes on before. Even as far as it was, it was beautiful. He had never seen anything so big or so blue in his life. The sunlight glimmered off the waves in flashes of gold and silver, giving the illusion of treasure hidden beneath the tide. How far does it go? he wondered, gazing at the seemingly endless azure expanse. What could be on the other side of all that? Does it just go until it falls of the edge of the world? Or does it all wrap around itself like a great big ball? Is it just sea until the end, or are there other lands out there, beyond the waves?
"You gonna stare at nothing forever, or are we gonna get going?" Damien asked, breaking Jonathan out of his reverie. Jonathan turned around to see Damien giving him a look he didn't understand.
"I'm coming," Jonathan assured him. "I just… I've never seen the ocean before. It's beautiful."
That same expression returned to Damien's face. "Yeah, I guess so."
They kept going, following the path as the forest continued to thin, Jonathan's attention still on the distant sea. "SHHH!" a voice hissed, forcing his mind back to where he was. Ahead of them, standing on the stump of a tree, was a moglin, but not the one that had been traveling with the priestess. This moglin was a deep, dark blue, with bright red eyes, one of which had a long scar across it. The moglin also wore a dirty, tattered rag around its neck and shoulders like a cloak, a tiny staff topped by an even tinier skull in one hand.
And directly beneath him, slumbering next to the stump, was a massive grizzly bear. "Careful heroes," the little blue moglin hissed, whispering loud enough Jonathan wasn't sure it properly served the purpose of a whisper, "You couldn't want to wake this hungry, giant, sleeping, man-eating bear."
Jonathan realized then that, as distracted as he had been, if it weren't for the moglin catching his attention, he wouldn't have even noticed the bear was there. "Wow," he muttered to himself. "That was a close call." Turning back to the moglin, he whispered much quieter than the moglin had, but hopefully still loud enough for the little guy's large ears to hear, "Thanks!"
"I've got a bad feeling about this, beanstalk," Damien muttered, and when Jonathan looked back he could see Damien's knuckles had paled from his grip on his staff, his eyes fixed on the moglin.
"Don't worry," Jonathan whispered back. "We just have to be quiet." He moved forward, taking care to keep his armor from clanging together as he did. But right as they got close to the bear, the moglin began beating his staff against the stump, shouting at the top of his tiny lungs: "HEY BEAR! WAKE UP! LUNCH TIME!"
Jonathan quickly pulled out his sword as the grizzly moved, stirring from its slumber.
"Meh heh heh," the moglin laughed, "this should be fun."
"Why you little blue rat!" Damien shouted, electricity crackling across his fingers as he pointed his staff at the moglin.
The bear opened its eyes at that, turning its gaze towards the two young heroes, a growl rumbling in its throat as it stood up, standing taller than Jonathan, even while remaining on all fours, bigger than any grizzly Jonathan had ever heard of. "Uh Oh…" Jonathan muttered right as the bear charged.
Damien let lightning fly at the moglin, but the bolt missed and struck a nearby tree as Jonathan dove straight into his new friend, knocking him out of the way of the bear's charge. The air filled with the smell of ozone and burning wood, and Jonathan leapt back to his feet, brandishing his sword, even though he had no idea what to do next. This thing is even bigger than the gorillaphant, he thought. And I don't think it's going to give me a chance to swing onto its back and to do a repeat of that fight.
The bear charged again, this time straight at Jonathan, and he waited until the last moment to roll out of the way, the bear's massive paws missing him by a hair's breadth as he went down, leaving the bear open for Damien. Lightning struck the beast directly in the chest, eliciting a roar of pain as the smell of burning fur joined the myriad of smells in the air. Jonathan went for the bear's back leg as it was distracted by the pain, his blade striking with enough force that he heard bones crack. The bear swung back towards him with a roar, and once again he only barely managed to duck under the bear's swing, coming back up by some unknown instinct to punch the bear right in its lower jaw with a gauntleted fist.
This time the bear's bones weren't the only ones Jonathan could hear cracking as his entire hand ignited with agony, the whole world going white with pain.
. . . . .
"Interesting," the little rat muttered as the bear collapsed, knocked unconscious by its now-broken jaw. "I'll have to keep an eye on these two."
Damien could barely register the words, dumbfounded as he was by what the beanstalk had just done, before the blue rat disappeared with a crackle of dark energy. He let out a curse, and then was immediately assaulted by a scream of agony loud enough to wake the dead as Jonathan crumbled to the ground, cradling the hand he had used to break the massive grizzly's jaw, his brain apparently finally catching up to the messages his body was sending it.
Damien rushed to his… Damien didn't know what Jonathan was to him, and he didn't have the time to think about that right then. He rushed to Jonathan's side, blocking out the still-ongoing scream (though he was pretty sure he was going to go deaf if it went on much longer) and grabbing his hand. The leather of the gauntlet was slick and dark with blood, and even a gentle prodding was enough to know that the hand was very broken. Jonathan had finally stopped screaming, or at least Damien believed he had (it was a bit hard to tell with the newfound ringing in his ears), and Damien pulled out his pack and began digging through it for some of the healing potions he had taken from his mother's workshop. They weren't perfect for this sort of injury, but they were definitely better than nothing.
After Damien found a potion of the right color, a deep, almost blood-like red, he gave it to the now-sobbing Jonathan, placing it in his none-broken hand. "Drink this," he told the oversized farm boy. "But first, I am going to need to get some of these bones back into the places they are supposed to be, so your hand doesn't heal wrong. And… it's going to hurt. A lot."
Jonathan nodded, unable to say anything as he clenched his teeth against the pain. "Alright then," Damien said as he gently took ahold of Jonathan's hand. "Right… now."
Jonathan let out a long… the best way Damien could describe it was a whistle of pain. But not a whistle like a person whistling, more the sound that a metal whistle made. It was as if one of those could feel pain. That was the sound Jonathan made as Damien set his broken bones as best he could.
"Alright," Damien said. "Drink it." Jonathan did, downing it in one, and Damien felt as his hand began to repair itself, the magic in the herbs that made the potion accelerating his body's natural healing processes a dozen times over. After a moment he let go, letting out a relieved breath. "How are you feeling?" he asked, trying to slow his pounding heart.
"A lot better," Jonathan answered, flexing his hand. "Thank you."
"I can't believe you really thought it was a good idea to punch a giant grizzly bear in the jaw," Damien muttered, shaking his head.
"To be fair," Jonathan replied, "I wasn't really thinking at the time." They laughed then, both of them rocking from the strength of their mirth. When they both settled down, Jonathan looked at Damien. "Thank you. Really." The beanstalk's stormy grey eyes seemed to bore into Damien's soul as he looked at him, and Damien immediately recoiled from that sensation.
"Good," Damien said, practically leaping to his feet. "That means we can get going again. If it starts hurting again, suck it up. You'll need to go to a real healer if you want anything better." With that he started walking, not daring a look behind him.
. . . . .
Jonathan did not know what to make of Damien. Jonathan had just experienced the worst pain he had ever felt in his life, and Damien had immediately jumped to his aid. But only a moment after, he was back to… Jonathan wasn't sure how to describe it other than what seemed to be "instinctively antagonistic," which was beginning to seem like Damien's default state. Whatever was going on in his new friend's head, he did not understand it in the slightest.
After a while more of walking, the forest finally came to an end, and they stood at the edge of a small cliff overlooking a wide river flowing out into the sea. Across the river was a great bridge of wood and stone, a single knight standing vigil before it, standing in full plate armor, his features hidden behind a visored helm.
"Be careful," Damien said as they neared the bridge. "Some of the knights back at the keep said a great serpent has been attacking travelers that cross this river."
"Just what we needed," Jonathan joked, exaggerating the sarcasm in his voice to make sure he wasn't misunderstood as being serious, "more monsters."
"Hail!" called the knight as they drew nearer. "I am Sir Pent. What brings you this way?"
"Just traveling through from Oaklore Keep," Damien answered, readjusting his pack. "That sounds like a Pactagonal name. Why haven't I seen you before?"
"I've been out here for the last several weeks. The captain sent me to guard this bridge after he heard some rumors of travelers getting attacked."
Jonathan flexed his hand, making a conscious effort to not check yet again if something was broken. "Yeah, we've had a bit of firsthand experience with that lately."
"Are you alright?" Sir Pent asked, worry in his voice. "Were you attacked?"
"We were," Damien answered before Jonathan could speak, "but we handled it. Sorry, but we are in a bit of a hurry."
"Alright then, I just wanted to check," Sir Pent said, backing off. "You're free to cross."
Damien strode forward and Jonathan gave him a quizzical look but followed, giving the knight an apologetic shrug as they moved to cross the great bridge. As they walked, Jonathan noticed Damien's gaze focused on the waters of the river below, seemingly searching for any sign of movement. Jonathan didn't know what a sea serpent was supposed to look like, especially when it was hiding below the water, but he kept a lookout as well. They were about halfway across the bridge when Damien stopped, his expression a cross between realization, anger, laughter, annoyance, and disbelief. "I should have known. This is exactly like Sir Kuss."
"What?"
"Serpent…. Sir Pent…. the knights were playing a joke on me about the sea serpent. They were just talking about Sir Pent guarding the bridge."
Jonathan chuckled at that. "Heh, I get it. It's pretty funny." He put the sarcasm back into his voice as he added: "Too bad though… I was hoping for a good boss fight."
Just then, the air split with the sound of cracking stone, coming from directly beneath them, the bridge shaking violently.
"Whoah," Jonathan exclaimed, barely managing to stay on his feet in his surprise, "what was that?"
Damien just gave him a look that even Jonathan could tell meant "You just had to say it, didn't you?"
And the bridge in front of them exploded as three massive hydra heads erupted from the river and through the stone to loom over them.
. . . . .
The three monstrous heads leered at them, the beast so massive its body couldn't be seen beneath the river, even with the creature's long necks stretching from beneath the water up to the surface of the bridge. The central head was the largest by far, towering over both Jonathan and Damien, while the other two heads were almost at eye-level, though even they were still large enough that a single bite from their wickedly curved fangs would take the entire top half of either of their bodies. They were all covered in blue-green scales, massive fins along their sides and down along their spines. This was a real monster.
Jonathan looked down at his father's sword, with its dull blade, then back at the monstrous heads, then back at his sword. "This is not going to go well." Something flew towards his head and he caught it on instinct, a shock of electricity surging through his arm and down his legs, almost making him drop the object. Looking down, he saw that he was holding a blade of bright bronze, of excellent and even elaborate craftsmanship, with rubies set into the base of the blade, the whole thing crackling visibly with golden lightning.
"Took that sword off a storming mountain covered in elementals," Damien told him. "Should be much better for this fight than that antique of yours."
And then there was no time for talking as the heads struck. Moving like a pair of cobras, the smaller two heads were almost too fast to see, but the young heroes rolled out of the way in time for both heads to get a bite of wooden planks and the stone beneath instead of either of them. The central head opened its maw and a torrent of water shot out, blasting the ground where they had been standing and quickly turning the entire bridge slick and slippery. Jonathan moved to attack, but slipped on the slick wood of the bridge and fell, hitting hard. One of the smaller heads struck while he was down, jaws snapping-
-on the outstretched blade of Jonathan's borrowed blade, lightning crackling across the aquatic monster's head and neck, the electrified blade frying the watery beast from the inside, filling the air with the smell of freshly cooked fish. A bolt of lightning struck the second head, presumably from Damien, and both heads slumped back down to the water, leaving them with the final, largest head, which now stared at them with narrowed eyes.
"What are you thinking?" Jonathan asked Damien as he got back to his feet.
"We fry this fish," Damien answered with a grin.
"Let's go." Jonathan stepped forward and the beast opened its mouth again, a torrent of water hitting him directly in the chest with the force of a greathammer, throwing him off his feet. He heard a crack of thunder as lightning leapt from Damien's staff, but he couldn't see much more as he suddenly found himself flung off the bridge, barely managing to catch ahold of the edge with one hand, the other still holding onto the electric blade Damien had given him.
"Yes!" he heard Damien exclaim. "Take that, fish face!"
"Could I get a little help here?" Jonathan called back, feeling his grip slip a little. "I don't think I'm properly dressed for a swim."
Damien appeared at the edge of the bridge, his face unreadable. "How many times am I going to need to save you, beanstalk?"
"Hopefully not anymore than you have already," Jonathan answered, holding up the sword. "Just take this so I can pull myself up."
Damien took the sword. "Good, because I don't think I could pull you up myself. You don't exactly look light."
"Fortunately," Jonathan said with a grunt as he grabbed ahold of the edge and heaved himself back onto the bridge, "a lifetime of working on a farm does a pretty good job of keeping a guy in shape."
He stood up and looked back across the bridge, wondering how they were supposed to get to Falconreach now, only to find that the hydra's massive central head had fallen perfectly, lodging itself firmly in the space it had broken through the bridge. He doubted it would feel nice to walk across, but it would probably work well enough.
"Well," Jonathan asked, "What are we waiting for? Let's get to Falconreach."
. . . . .
Sir Pent stared at the departing adventurers in shock. He raced over to help them once the hydra burst from the bridge, but the fight was over before he could even get there. That hydra had been an absolutely massive beast, but they had taken it down like it was nothing, and then went back about their day. "Who on Lore are these kids?"
. . . . .
A hill overlooking Falconreach, the Maguswood
Jonathan stared down in shock and horror as he saw the town of Falconreach for the first time as the sun set. It was a small town, little bigger than his own village, made of simple wooden buildings. The only building of significance was a single great stone building on a cliff overlooking both the town and the bay beyond, three towers rising from the building, each crowned by a statue of a falcon with outstretched wings. Beyond that impressive sight, the town was a simple seaside town at a crossroads.
And it was entirely surrounded by an army of the undead. Rows upon rows of skeletal soldiers marched alongside dead-looking trees that walked, blobs of green slime dragging themselves across the earth as giant eyeballs with wings like those of a bat filled the air. It was an army out of nightmares, thousands upon thousands of them, and it had the town completely surrounded.
Damien voiced what Jonathan was trying to keep from thinking. "That town won't last the night."