Well guys, the end of the first rewrite project is near. I will continue the series in this thread, while the "lorebook" will be posted in a separate page. I am going through my notes and making everything readable, and I'll probably post it a few days after Eragon Book I is finished. It's totally amazing how this fanfic took off, with nearly 18k views. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy the climatic conclusion to this first entry.
(End A/N)
HERZIG placed his palm on the skull of a long-deceased High Elf. Dark magic swam around him, spirits whispering in his mind, some rubbing against his skin like some goading lover. Around him, bone spires rose, some of them as tall as the dark trees that shared their space. His acolytes sung beautifully, a ballad to their god, their father.
Golhlobor.
The skull began to heat Herzig's palm, and when the dark elf closed his eyes, he saw the future. He saw land awash in black flame, he saw Golhlobor sitting upon a throne of blood and bone. He saw the fallen Prince tower of the land, whip lashing out at pitiful beings who challenged him. Herzig shuddered in ecstasy as he pulled his hand away from the skull, his fingers engulfed in black flame that melted away his skin, leaving only a polished skeletal palm.
"What did you see, father?" Herzig was drawn fully back into the physical world as his son's voice hit his ears. Danziig Bloit was an accomplished disciple. He learned from Golhlobor that there was a mage who was commanded by a shade named Durza. The mage had been abandoned, and the urgals that were enamored by the shade's spell as well. Danziig had been able to possess the mage and take command of the urgal forces, and went on a long and bloody rampage in the north. In the end, he had been defeated, but not before Golhlobor's blood seal had been weakened even further, due to the sacrifices Danziig accumulated. It was because of him, they could move their plan ahead.
"I saw visions and omens, my son. Good omens." Herzig said, and then spoke louder to the surrounding acolytes.
"I have seen our foes burn, and I have seen Golhlobor smile at the fruits of our efforts. He has said it is time. Time to begin our attack. He has gifted us with more of his servants, dark warriors that will not falter in fear, and will inspire such emotion in our enemies. Bring them forth."
Seven high elves were herded into the circle. Beaten nearly to death, their backs were slashed open, and Herzig could see the red gleaming muscle that hid beneath white skin. Acolytes filled the open wounds with ash, and then Herzig began the incantations.
The high elves turned, growling and cawing and roaring as black cloaks twisted around them, as snouts and beaks and tentacles grew from their faces. Two of them, however, turned into something of a special sort. Their bodies expanded past normal limits, growing long and gray as skin stretched over growing bone. Wings splattered forth from disfigured backs in a waterfall of black blood, while hands and legs were turned into bird-like limbs, talons scraping at stone. These new creatures raised their curved beaks and cawed into the night, while spiders as big as an elf's chest crawled from inside their open maws.
"The end comes." One of these new beasts, the Lethrblaka said, turning its massive beak towards Herzig. It lowered its head, and Herzig scampered up the beast, saddling his legs around the Lethrblaka's neck.
"We strike the wood elves first." Herzig said as his skeletal hand pressed against the mushy head of his new mount. The creature screamed as it lifted off in the air, and in three easy strikes with its large wings, it rose over the forest that had once stood around them. The Lethrblaka wheeled around in the air as its brother joined it in the sky, while below, nearly one million dark elves sped through the wood, leaving their territory and starting the invasion that would start with the death of the Wood Elves, and would end with the freeing of Golhlobor.
(Line Break)
MOLUCH tied his red hair behind his head, a long ponytail held in place by a black and ragged cloth. His pallid skin contrasted with his dark brown garments, a leather jerkin, stained with blood, around his chest. His legs were adorned with plain brown trousers, and his feet inhabited molding boots. Behind him, seventy thousand urgals waited. Intermixed with them were possessed shadow lions and darkwolves, creatures of the wilds in the flat lands of House Yorbar. It was night, and Moluch could taste the slight lick of joy in the air. His ears, much more refined that that of a human or an elf, heard music playing faintly. A tiger-boar sniffed at his hand as he stroked the mane of the creature, its curved horns gleaming in the moonlight. He hopped onto the beast, his legs curling around the beast's thick torso. His hands dug into abundant fur, and he urged the creature forward.
Go.
The urgals ran then, coming up behind as the wood and stone walls of Olan were seen. Moluch's yellow eyes glowed with glee as he sensed confusion coming from the various sentries as they no doubt saw the growing dark cloud approach them. He stretched out with his mind, and possessed one of the men.
"Ko'es Quen Ko'est?" Moluch heard a man say as he stood, in another body, atop the walls watch tower turrets. Without a second thought, Moluch pulled a dagger from his belt and slit the throat of the talking man. He pulled the man to the wooden flooring of the turret, the dying human looking up at him in confusion as blood welled from his mortal wound. Moluch produced the bow that hung on his shoulder and then strung an arrow. He saw another watcher, aimed, and fired. The arrow struck through the man's neck, and he fell to the ground with a dull thud. Moluch then leapt from his tower, leaving the only surviving human's body quickly enough so that the human would feel the heavy crash of death. Moluch's eyes constricted as he returned to his own form, air brushing against his face as the tiger-boar pounded at the earth. The urgals roared as they trampled through, while shadow lions deftly maneuvered between thick urgal legs. Darkwolves yipped as they ran, tongues lolling while their ebony fur stood on edge on their long backs.
As he reached the wall, Moluch held out his hand, and felt magic coursing through his pale arm.
"Brafanio Aul Daranka!" He howled, and the portion of the wall he aimed at fell into itself, pieces of wood and stone pulled into a swirling vortex.
"GO! GO! GO AND KILL THEM ALL!" Moluch screamed as the Urgals ran past him, and he sensed a mounting fear from those gathered in this doomed city.
Humans, Elves, and Dwarves underneath. Fleshly things.
Prey.
Moluch's mount leapt over the horned heads of urgals as foolish men, wearing helmets in the appearance of goats, raised their spears as Moluch's army crashed through the streets of Yorbar. The Tiger-boar gored three of them, their entrails spinning from stomachs gashed open. The rest of the guards faltered, and then they were destroyed by the urgal charge. Moluch raised his hand, and summoned his weapon. It had a long hilt, with a purple-colored blade that extended for nearly eight feet. He rested the sword on his shoulder as he pressed his charge. Urgals opened homes and pulled out crying humans, felling them with clubs, iron swords, horns, and fists. Darkwolves tore out hamstrings as shadow lions pulled and tore at flailing arms and streaming hair. Horns were sounded as the Varden camps came alive, and Moluch could sense fear, anger, and even excitement come from soldiers rushing to where he was. Moluch raised a hand, a large orb of fire appearing above his fingertips.
"Enjoy the rain!" He screamed as he thrust his arm downwards. The ball of fire erupted in the air, and long streams of flame fell to the earth, instantly catching on the homes of the city. The sensation he felt from the Varden lessened, and he frowned.
Regrouping underground? Wise, but ultimately fruitless.
Moluch re-organized his bestial army, and slowly made his way through Yorbar, approaching the dark mountains that separated the city from the dwarven kingdoms. As his tiger-boar stepped out of the burning city, he saw the gleaming stone wall that contained the dwarves within their grounds. Moluch smiled, and rushed his army forward.
(Line Break)
"How many are they?" Orrin asked hurriedly as his new wife shivered on his arm.
"I do not know, My Grace. I narrowly escaped with my life." Lord Yorbar shook as well, anger and fear on his face. He had been able to dress himself in his regal armor, silver-colored plate mail, while a fearsome-looking helm was held between his arm and his hip. A sword waited in its sheath opposite of the helmet, dangling from a black belt, weighed down by the heavy gauntlet that rested on the sword's pommel.
"You coward. You rush into Tronjheim while your people are put to the sword." A human scowled at Yorbar, a general of Orrin's.
"Silence yourself, Lord Olyn. It is a sound thing he has done." Orrin said, and Olyn fell silent.
They were in the main castle of Tronjheim, while their diverse army seat up in the vacant homes and streets. The people had been hurried into one of the empty jewel mines below. Orrin's wife had wanted to flee as well, but Orrin refused her. She was his queen, now, and she was to be at his side, whenever able.
"There will be no time to set up any sort of barricade. Once they break through, there will be only us stopping them." The elf lord Ocain ran his hand through dark locks.
"King Orrin, I have set up my arches in the homes surrounding the stone gate. The Wood Elf rangers are the best shots in the land." The brown-skinned elf named Haroi assured. His clan, he was told, had the ability to change into massive bears. They would come in handy.
"But where did they come from? That is what I wish to know." An elf lord named Ceiyen Terfel spoke, blonde hair framing a handsome face.
"It does not matter, save that we will defeat them." Prince Orik boasted proudly. The Dwarf King growled something in his tongue, and Orrin frowned.
This is not how it is supposed to be.
They were seated in a circular spire that overlooked the entire city, high above even the highest buildings. There were gaping holes in the spire, and men raised telescopes, reporting every shudder and crack the stone gate suffered before it was inevitably broken through.
"We can do nothing but wait until the battle comes." A dark elf said softly. There was a murmur of agreement among them as Orrin raised himself from his seat, leaving his wide-eyed wife. He approached one of the large circles in the wall, and snatched a telescope from a fidgety human. He wiped the eyeglass clean and then peered within the long cylinder-like tool. He spotted the gate, and then nearly dropped the telescope as a massive crack spider-webbed across it. Time seemed to slow down as stone shards fell uselessly to the ground, as urgals sped through the breech, as black wolves and lions zipped past them. Arrows were loosed into the crowd, and many of the invaders fell, but they just kept on coming.
"It begins. The battle has started." Orrin declared as his generals sprang into action around him. Tronjheim, which had been deathly quiet, had erupted into howls and screams. Orrin's stomach turned as he heard the dying cries of man and beast.
"King Orrin, I have arranged for a safe place that you and your wife may hide. If Your Grace would permit me to-"
"Silence, Lord Goryn. I will join the battle."
Lord Goryn looked abashed, his balding head already beaded with sweat.
"My Grace?" He said dumbly.
"I will join the battle. Prepare my things."
I will prove to them that I am King. I will prove to them that I deserve this.