Chapter 2 :: Cursed Misty Plains
From the inside, a voice said, "If you are soldiers, we want nothing of your war.""It's me! Mithos!" he replied. The door creaked open, but only enough so the two could step inside. Once the two entered, a priest inside immediately closed the door. "I've always hated the smell of this place," Mithos whispered to Kratos. The damp interiors were moldy since no windows allowed sunlight inside. Oil lamps lit the vast chamber where the clerics and priests were hiding.
"So... five thousand years ago, the great hero Zephos Silvir vanquished Dark Lord Eshera, thus saving Aselia," a priest said to himself. Reading by the light of a lamp, he carefully studied a story of times long past.
"Whoa!" Mithos suddenly said, as he tripped over a vase and fell head first into a bookshelf. The dark interior was unfamiliar to someone who had spent much of his life outdoors. Even in Delthis where half-elves were free to live as they pleased, the Eternal War had driven many from their homes. Mithos and his sister were lucky to live in such an isolated region.
"Kratos, why are you and Mithos here?" a priestess asked. She had long emerald green hair and a fair complexion. Two preserved oak leaves were clipped to both sides of her hair. The priestess's garments consisted of a gray robe with a flower print cloak over it.
"Martel, long time no see," Kratos said.
"Is Mithos all right? What happened?" inquired Martel who suddenly had a concerned look on her face. Mithos got up from burying his head in the books he had fallen in to.
"Sister! The Desians launched an attack on Heimdall. We were in the marsh training when they came from the sky," Mithos narrated.
"We are fine. Mithos insisted on seeing if you were, however," Kratos said.
"We're all safe here, for now. The wasteland region isn't secure for us anymore for us. Even our own nation, Delthis, wants to turn our land into a battlefield," Martel said.
"Well, what can you expect from a nation trying to keep an enemy nearly twice as large at bay?" Kratos said.
"Martel, I have a task for you," the head priest said. He handed Martel a sealed letter stamped with the crest of Luna. "Make for Asgard and deliver our message of peace. We have to let them know that we aren't willing to participate in their war." Martel nodded, accepting the mission.
"I'll come with you, Martel. If there are any monsters out there, I'll protect you," Mithos offered.
"Do you really think that will accomplish anything? War is a terrible thing, but the desire to keep fighting can't be easily dissuaded by words. However, I will come with you to make sure my Mithos doesn't do anything rash," Kratos said.
"The road through the wasteland is unsafe at night. We should set out tomorrow morning," Martel advised. That night the only thing for dinner was a simple stew of water, bread, and garden vegetables that Martel made. In better days, Martel tended the monastery's garden and nurtured the crops that everyone there ate. A surprisingly calm night passed over the monastery and dawn came without incident.
"Time to wake, Mithos," Kratos said. Tightly tucked into his blanket, Mithos groaned and strained his eyes open. The front door, now open, let the first rays of the rising sun in. Martel, who had awakened much earlier, had prepared preserved fruit and meat for them to eat on their trek.
"From here we cross the Misty Plains and head north to Asgard," Martel pointed out.
"Great... from Misty Cliffs to Misty Plains," commented Mithos with a sigh. Once they reached the bottom of the cliffs following the old traders' paths, they looked upon the barren wasteland that was the Misty Plains. An eternal blanket of dense fog covered the fields, making travel difficult even in bright daylight.
"Shall we proceed?" Kratos asked, striking a match and putting it to his torch. Martel's shooting staff provided light from the tip and penetrated the fog for a short distance to the front and around them. Within minutes of crossing into the plains, the cliffs behind them vanished into the fog. White sheets of mist surrounded them in every direction.
The magnetic compass that Mithos carried in his pocket pointed them north, but that was one of the few things reliable in the plains. Every few meters, travelers from long ago had erected wooden poles with red sheets on them that pointed them along a path. Around noon, Mithos' ears picked up something shuffling in the distance, as if someone were running.
"Is that a hut?" Martel asked. She peered into the north where the mist enshrouded the black outline of a small hut. A small fire burned at the base of the abode. As they drew near, the saw that it was an entire village hidden in the fog. Sprinting from behind a hut, a messenger in rags approached the travelers. The other inhabitants were equally poorly dressed and their homes were in much disarray.
"Leave immediately! This place isn't safe for you," he warned, breathing heavily.
"How come?" Mithos asked.
"A dragon from the lake to the west comes each year and razes our village. This year it is late," the messenger said.
"Let's go. Your message will never reach Asgard if we sit around waiting for a dragon to have us for lunch," Kratos said.
"Wait, we can help these people. Their lives are terrible as it stands and our indifference will only serve to worsen their plight," Martel insisted.
"Kratos, you said you've fought a hydra all by yourself before. It can't be that much more difficult with the two of us," said Mithos.
"One day, I'm going to regret following everything you two say," Kratos said reluctantly. The three walked briskly to the lake the villagers spoke of, vast and filled with murky water. Strangely, no mist covered the surface of the lake.
"Caw! Caw!" came the voice of a blackbird, fleeing the scene when they arrived. Bubbles rose from the depths of the lake as two grotesque horns appeared, attached to the head of a towering silver-scaled dragon. The dragon spread its broad bat like wings, looking down upon the three as if they were mere rodents.
"I think we're going to need a bigger party," Martel said.