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Chapter II: The past, the present, and the wrath of Skorm to come.
The days dragged on like a plow in a field of mud as Tarus continued to deal with the petty needs of his followers. Yet as his unknowing mind debated over witless decisions, a higher power was debating his fate. In the darkest corner of Darkwood forest, where the souls of countless stay trapped in darkness, where the very earth pulses with fear, stood the mighty chapel of Skorm. Within the walls of this temple of evil, a dark power was arising. In the dark, a hissing voice rang out, "My lord, your servants await," At the head of the temple a large altar engraved with the eyes of Skorm, a ferocious symbol that resembled fear itself. The altar stayed, as it always was for a moment, grim and lifeless, then suddenly an odd cacophony of moaning and screams filled the temple. As if an evil welcoming ballad for the lord of darkness, the noises continued in a horrific song. The disciples who resided in the temple watched the eyes of Skorm with anticipation, when suddenly the eyes began to glow. The eyes shone with a brilliant, red glare, that seemed as pure evil. The desciples then bowed low in reverance. Skorm had arrived.
The disciples were silent with fear for a moment, but the head of the group managed to speak in his unnaturally deep and rough voice, "My lord, your servants welcome you to Albion," The altar remained still. The disciple spoke again, "What is it that you wish of us my lord?" The disciples looked at the altar as if it were Skorm himself, awaiting an answer from the king of darkness. For a moment, eerie whispers filled the room, then distant screams and other sounds of pain and suffering that came from unseen victims. The altar then began to shake, as did the entire temple. The quake shook everything; even the very innards of the disciples shook ferociously. What the disciples heard next was a sound so fearful; it could kill a weak hearted man. The voice was oddly deep and guttural. It became louder and quieter at different times, like a raspy wind, yet the voice always maintained its power. The voice of Skorm said this, "My followers," the disciples shook and remained utterly silent, " You know of the overthrow of Bowerstone?" the disciples could not find themselves breath enough to answer, but one managed to get out a hushed, "yes". The voice began again, " You know who it is that did this?" The same man answered yes. The disciples had seen Tarus when he came once to the temple, and other times when they were outside of Darkwood. But then it was hard not to at least hear of a man so great, and so powerful. "Then surely you would know how a simple mortal was able to do this?" the room remained silent. The voice of Skorm then rose to a furious shriek, "MY SWORD HAS BEEN CLAIMED YOU FOOLS!" thunder roared outside the temple, and wind rushed through the trees, tearing some from their roots. All were signs of Skorm's hideous wrath. A disciple, mustering up every amount of courage in his veins, spoke up, "But my lord, even the great Jack of blades was defeated by this man, we have seen none who are as powerful as he." The room was again silent, aside from distant sounds of anguish that emanated from the walls. Skorm's voice then filled the air, "There is one other," he said, "And this one will not fail, for he is the true keeper of my sword," A deep rumble shook the earth, "He is the chosen one,"
Suddenly a crack appeared in the stone floor. The crack quickly widened until a massive hole was opened in the solid rock. Out of the chasm shot fire and debris, along with moans from endlessly tormented souls. Then, out of the crevasse, rose a figure silhouetted by the flames. Skorm then spoke, "This is the hand of Skorm," said the ominous voice, "I give you...Vornoth." The sight was so entirely horrific that the disciples nearly went into madness. The chasm that led into the abyss quickly sealed, and as the flames vanished, the disciples set their eyes upon a thing so horrific and mutilated, words can vaguely describe it. The figure stepped forward. His skin was a pale gray, and was covered in scars where endless tortures and battles had taken their heavy toll. The eyes of the creature had a small hint of reddish glow, showing the pure evil within him. His face was contorted into a writhing glare of pure fury and hate for all that lived. This figure barely resembled a man, it was more a monster. "Vornoth has been trained in my realm, and by my hand." Said Skorm "He can not fail."
As quickly as it came, the presence of Skorm vanished. The altar returned to its normal state, and Darkwood resumed its mysterious, dark, yet quiet aura. The beast that was Vornoth took a short glance around the room. His entire entity was as fearsome as Skorm's. No one in the room dared to meet glances with this hideous creature. It stood for a short moment longer before opening his mouth to speak. The words of Vornoth sounded horrific. Each word sounding hoarse and crackled, "Skorm wishes for an army…now." The disciples looked around the room expecting an explanation. Vornoth looked down at the disciples for only a moment, "NOW!" he cried in a fierce and crackled shriek. The disciples thought it best to do something so they stood up and began to pace around hurriedly, all the while not accomplishing anything but further annoying Vornoth. "What are you doing?" he cried in anger. One disciple mumbled out, "Where should where begin my lord?" Vornoth looked out of the door of the temple and stared angrily into the forest of Darkwood, "Gather the disciples of Skorm," he said, "Our army will build from there." And so they went. In a fearful stupor the disciples of Skorm went about the land to gather the few followers of Skorm, lest they suffer the wrath of their new master.
Oblivious, Tarus sat in his room reading yet another book. Tarus found that he was fascinated with the stories that the ancient library of Bowerstone held, various tales of mystical lands, and histories that documented practically everything that had ever happened. He didn't know exactly what intrigued him so, but perhaps it was that he had been deprived of books, and stories for so long. He thought back again to the past, the wretched past that had so haunted him. The days of fire, destruction, death. He thought of how he had never been entertained. How he had only lived a horrific life of devastation, since childhood. He sighed as he realized that he was only feeling sorry for himself. How weak was he that he would waste time mourning for the past. He walked into his sleeping quarters where he looked ferociously through his things searching for anything to fulfill his boredom.
He looked through his small heap of practically useless belongings. "I own the world but nothing else," he said to himself. After what seemed quite a long time, Tarus came upon a chest. It looked quite ominous sitting alone, and high on the top of a shelf. Tarus thought for a moment as he looked intently at the Box. It seemed to somehow be calling him, its dark wood almost shouting out. He thought a moment, and then walked to the end of the room and shut his door sneakily. He paced again to the chest and placed it on his lap. As Tarus began to open the box he looked over his shoulder constantly as if he was a thief, sneakily stealing some expensive artifact. Tarus' mind felt overtly guilty, as if he were committing a heinous crime. It took a massive amount of determination mixed with curiosity, but he managed to slowly extend his hand towards the single golden latch. Tarus took a silent yet deep breath, and slowly he lifted the lid.
Inside the chest lay a sword; a blade like no other. It seemed alive. Its dark, jagged blade was engraved with ancient mystical patterns, and its hilt was blood red. The sword had its very entity that seemed seemed to pulsate with power, and emotion. As Tarus reached for the blade it seemed to fill him with power, and a lust for blood. He arose from his bed and held out the blade. He wheeled it around with tremendous speed making the blade sing. He spun the sword faster and faster, its power coursing through the very veins of Tarus. The rush of feelings and power were at their peak when suddenly... he stopped. He looked one last time at the sword whose blade was so closely intertwined with Tarus' dreadful past. He balanced his mind, and placed the sword carefully in the chest from where it came. He did not want to think about the sword, or its past.
It took a long time to calm himself, but when he had done so, he wondered once again about what should be done the rest of the day. He sat for another moment thinking of something to occupy the time. He thought and thought, but accomplished nothing for quite a while until finally he decided on going on a hunt.
The men assembled as usual, adorned their hunting gear and on horseback, before riding out once again into the blackened forest. Tarus still felt uneasy, but the events of the present were able to blot out the past. The men rode on as usual and stopped at the small clearing by which they always did. The husky yet loyal Bob spoke up, "I say men why not go further into the woods? I see much better game a bit deeper." The men thought a moment, and the descision was made by Tarus to go further. They eventually went a good three quarters of a mile deeper into the more dense area of Greatwood until deciding on begining the hunt near an abstractly shaped rock. Tarus looked at the odd thing for a moment. It was small and seemed like it was crafted to look the way it did. It was so interestingly chisled and shaped that it must have been manmade. For a moment, Tarus beleived it to have the likeness of a human face, but quickly stopped thinking of the thing, seeing how his companions were already off their horses and walking away. Tarus shrugged off the thoughts about the artifact and lept off his horse, brandishing his bow and tying his horse to a nearby tree. Bob was just releasing his falcon, its beutiful dance through the sky capturing the attention of Tarus. The falcon was adorned with two shimmering silver bells so it could quite easily be found. The bells jingled away and faded slightly as the falcon flew further and further into the woods. It was a pittiful sight seeing Bob watch his bird like a child would, unnaturally happily and with wonderment. He looked so happy, so content. Bob was slightly past his prime years. His hair, shooed away by age, was having to greet him goodbye, and wrinkles had begun to apear on his face. Yet despite his age, Bob was of young spirit, allowing for him to enjoy what remained of his life. Tarus half-smiled at the sight and took off through the woods.
He watched instinctively, waiting for any hint of movement. He scruitinized both the air, and ground, awaiting anything that drew breath. He concentrated on the leaves; their fall colors a clever comoflauge for a bird of the same color. He looked for any out of place shape. The curve of a birds back that wouldn't match the surroundings exactly. The birds error would be small, but Tarus would see it. He lifted his bow, and let fly one of his arrows. A small thud was his only applause. His first catch came easily. He tied the pheasant to his belt and continued on through the woods. He now wished for something that dwelled on the forest floor, perhaps a hare, or maybe even a fox. Foxes didn't make good meals, he thought. Not a fox, a rabbit.
It was quiet, except for the rustling leaves. Every time the wind blew, it would stir up a pile of leaves, at which Tarus would send an arrow. His wit was at its peak. If anything living were to move, it would have a short time before being skewered by an arrow. He was looking for any sign of a rabbit. Its color would not save it as long as it were on the ground. Yet as rabbits do not tend to share the qualities of birds, their speed is what keeps them alive. Tarus at last laid eyes on an exeptionaly large, light brown rabbit that was looking directly at him. As Tarus raised his bow the hare twitched its whiskers as if challenging the man who currently had an arrow trained on him. Tarus shot and quickly looked to see if his shot had met the target, but all he saw was a rabbit sniffling at his arrow. He looked only somewhat surprised, but fit another arrow on his bow. This time the rabbit tired of playing games with this human and took off through the woods. Tarus decided to pursue the hare, hoping that it would linger near its home, where other tasty morsels lay waiting. Not ever finding his prey, he studied the ground searching for any signs as to its wherabouts. He studied the leaves that were layered on the ground. He saw no tracks, and no signs of living prey anywhere. He continued to brush away leaves searching for anything. He the moved to another spot, crawling on all fours and scrutinizing leaves. He did this angrily searching so hard but finding nothing, until his hand hit something. He looked over at his hand and saw, what seemed, a large bird covered in leaves. What slightly shocked Tarus was the large black arrow jutting out of it. The arrow surely wasn't his for it looked crude and fearsome; it seemed more a weapon of war than a tool for hunting. He moved curiously towards it, and began to lift leaves off of the carcass. Tarus finished cleaning off the thing until, to his horror, he realized what it was. In his hands Tarus gingerly held Bob's falcon, its shining bells still dangling from its majestic talons.
Tarus was in disbelief. He slightly shook his head not knowing what to do, when he realized someone had shot the bird, and the person who had done so was in these woods, near Tarus. He cautiously rose up, and began to walk back to where the men had begun their hunt. Tarus had only just realized how cold it was. He felt uneasy as the chill of the coming winter air filled him. He constantly looked over his shoulder fearful of the unknown that was stalking him, but nothing was ever there. His fear continued to rise until he eventually realized who he was, the ruler of Albion. How could he fear anything? His fear died down, but only slightly. His pace slowed, and his breathing regained its natural pattern. As soon as he had calmed himself. His false sense of security was quickly abolished when he came to the area where the horses once were. Another horror met his eyes as Tarus rounded a corner and came to the area where the mysterious rock lay.
All the horses lay dead. Each one had been pelted with arrows and was covered with blood. Tarus realized the mortal danger that was so near. He grasped the small sword that lay at his side. Now even the sound of the wind had stopped. Nothing broke the haunting silence. The chill of coming winder increased even further as Tarus looked around wildly, searching for the attackers. He turned quickly, and then turned again, taking in everything around him. Then he stopped. Now he surely felt something, some kind of presence…that lay right behind him. He bent his legs slightly, and prepared to leap on the thing behind him. He drew a deep breath, and lept backwards.
It was only the moment he left the ground that he saw what was attacking him. It was a human, he could tell. The darkly hooded figure stood facing him, without any fear of its attacker. Tarus' blade was held over his head ready to cleave the man into as he flew towards the dark, hooded figure. The killing blow was moments away when the figure rose a gloved hand towards Tarus. All Tarus saw was a flash of light. The hooded figure had been trained in the skill of magic, for the force with which Tarus was hit almost killed him. The hooded figure looked down at the victim of his fury. Tarus was not that weak. He lay, face down, as if unconscious. As the figure approached him, Tarus burrowed within himself, looking for that deeply embedded thing…magic. The figure was reaching now for Tarus' shoulder, and at the exact moment that he touched his victim, Tarus let loose his power. A wave of force threw the figure almost ten feet, and into an oak tree. Tarus only had enough time to stand until the figure was rushing back towards him. The figures hood still covered his face, making Tarus still wonder as to the likeness of is attacker. The figure didn't give Tarus much time to think about this, as both opponents drew their blades. Tarus' small sword would be no match for the massive scimitar that his attacker drew. The figure's blade was as black as the one who wielded it, and was no doubt better made than Tarus' mere hunting blade. Nonetheless, Tarus rushed foreword, blade at the ready. He ran with all his might as did his attacker, closing the distance quickly before the blades first met. The dark figure was putting up a tremendously good fight, his blade spinning through the air like a dark shadow, yet as good a fighter as the hooded figure was, Tarus still didn't have to exert himself. Tarus brought his small blade down quickly on the attacker, the figures block only making Tarus' blade fly to the left, grazing his foe's arm. The figure groped his wound, but didn't cry out in pain, or grunt in frustration. In fact it was just now as Tarus looked down at his adversary, that he realized how silent the figure was. Tarus was slowly walking forward to deal a finishing blow to the dark being, but before he neared his attacker the figure dashed away. Tarus made a stifled laugh, but just before the figure wheeled around. Tarus readied himself once more for combat, but the figure didn't rush forward. Instead the hooded man lifted his arms to the sky. The figures arms began to shake, when suddenly the earth began to shake violently. The ground in front of Tarus began to open up slightly. Tarus was puzzled, and somewhat scared until he realized what was happening, but to late he was. Four mysterious looking beasts leapt up from beneath the earth in response to the dark figures summoning spell.
Tarus had seen these beasts before. Each one armored head to toe in thick shielding that made their strides heavy and loud. The creatures wielded massive two-edged swords that could cleave in two solid rock. These beasts were from another realm. Tarus had seen the creatures used by Jack of Blades, the man who had been responsible for Tarus' horrible past. He made the fiends into his minions, and commanded them to pillage the countryside. Tarus had seen these animals before, and knew of their power. Tarus had only a short amount of time to see the hooded figure run off into the woods allowing its minions to make short work of Tarus.
Tarus turned to see all four creatures surrounding him. He dug his feet into the damp earth ready to leap onto the first beast who dared attack him. One of the creatures leapt towards him, with a two-edged sword aimed directly at Tarus. Tarus saw this foolish move and leaned to one side letting the arm of the foe pass directly beside him. Tarus took a quick swing at the creatures limb attempting to cut it clean off, but when his blade met the thick armor of the beast, the blade did little more than agitate the beast. The minion that Tarus had just recently attempted to kill used the previously targeted limb to knock Tarus in the head. Tarus was thrown down to the ground. His head felt like his skull had been cracked. It throbbed horribly making Tarus dizzy, as well as unaware of his attackers. When he finally came to his senses he was looking up at his attackers. One had a blade raised ready to strike Tarus. Tarus rolled out of the way just in time for the blade to skewer no more than the ground. The creature grunted harshly as he angrily turned to kill Tarus. Now the beasts were angry, all four of them approached Tarus at the same time. Seeing no other option he dug into his mind desperately searching for some kind of magic. He tried and tried but couldn't focus. His head now ached painfully, so unbearably that he found it hard to think. With magic not an option he made a quick dash for his sword. The beasts rushed towards him, with blades aimed at skewering Tarus. But he still had enough consciousness to defend himself. He then made a dash for one of the beasts, but again hit their thick armor. He furiously hacked and slashed at the creatures, yet accomplished nothing. Now the minions were on the offence. All at once they flung their massive blades at Tarus. He furiously dodged them fearing for his life. He then saw an opening. He flew towards one of the creatures and plunged his blade into a very small area where the thick armor had one small crack. It was lucky but the small blade made it through. The beast shrieked an angry roar as Tarus retracted his blade and turned on the remaining three attackers. The battle continued with Tarus furiously trying to jab his small blade into the small exposed areas of flesh, but with Tarus' small blade, and pounding head it was near impossible. Now there were two attackers remaining who flung their great swords through the air with unearthly speed. Tarus had begun to feel exhausted, the fight had continued for to long. His head felt as if it would explode, and his small sword had been chipped far to much to function any longer. Tarus now began to lose consciousness. He felt the world becoming silent except for the blood pounding in his head. He found it hard to stand any longer, when suddenly, as Tarus began to fall to the marshy earth, he saw a man, clad in blue robes flying through the air towards the beasts. Tarus thought for a moment what would happen, as he lay unconscious on the ground. Would he be dead? Or saved by this man. He had little time to wonder if his life would end now or not, before he passed out. The world was now dark, silent, and at peace. Despite the wars and turmoil in the world Tarus was now at peace. His mind left to wonder in the world of dreams. Although unknowing that Bob, his faithful guardian, had defeated the remaining animals and was now taking his unconscious king back to the kingdom of Bowerstone, Tarus was at peace.