ALAS MY FRIENDS! Rejoice I say unto thee! Break out the ale, have a flagon of mead, slaughter the fattest cow I SAY NOW I HAVE RETURNED! Woot! Its been TOO long, but Im finally back. What took so long is that accursed thing called "school", but hey, its winter break so here I am. Ive also taken my time planning out everything that happens, (by the way there is quite a lot of happening in this story so a lot of planning comes along too.) but I think I have a pretty basic outline of thetale nowso- tell me what you think. Read and review people of the earth, read and review.
Chapter IV: Winter's coming
The moon still hung high in the sky, although it could not be seen. The veil of cloud that filled the heavens would let no light through, and hid the empty heavens from the view of onlookers. The currents that churned in the clear sea flowed through the clouds, and then crashed down upon the earth, chilling all that thrived below. Although desolate, the sky was at peace, whereas the toils on earth raged on. "My Lord," said an unnaturally deep, bone chilling voice over the relative silence. A hunched figure, wrapped in black robes that hid every inch of his body, except for his cold eyes, stood facing his master, his head slightly bowed. The eyes that sat in the black robes looked around themselves quickly, darting from scene to scene, taking in the dismal surroundings and all the while appearing lifeless. The man's otherwise exquisite robes had only one flaw, but it was an obvious one. On the robe's front was a huge tear, where a branch had managed to catch onto the cloth and shred a large portion of the fabric. Vornoth stood tall, silhouetted against a massive bonfire that raged like the demons inner fury. "What is it," he said, his voice cackled and maniacal as ever.
"My lord I have seen the one we hunt."
Vornoth and the servant stood on a raised hill amidst Skorm's army that was at the moment scrounging for their meals and mending armor and weapons. Their dark shapes were barely visible, however, in the glare of the central inferno
"Are you sure?"
"Y-y-yes my lord," Vornoth's servant felt a cold rush throughout his very soul despite the raging fire as Vornoth narrowed his eyes as if peering into a deep, deep well.
"Where is he, how did he fight…" Vornoth then turned and peered straight at his servant, his infernal eyes tearing at the servant's mind, "Did he have the sword?" The servant said nothing, only fell to his knees shaking violently and whimpering as he stared into the face of evil. Vornoth sneered; he walked briskly up to his servant and halted only half a pace to him. Vornoth then let loose a violent roar, thrusting his fist at the small man, sending him flying twenty feet and into the blazing fire. Vornoth growled like a beast in anger. A whispering, harsh voice then cut into his tormented mind, "We will not strike until the time has come, there force may be more than anticipated." Vornoth only shrieked again in frustration, "What does this man have that even the great Skorm fears?"
"DO YOU DOUBT ME?"
The whispering voice grew into a throbbing shriek, and a surge of fiery pain blazed through Vornoth's spine. His eyes rolled back into his head as the pain increased, and fell to the earth as it became unbearable. For only a moment the beast known as Vornoth let out a wimper, barely audible, of pain and helplessness. "N-n-n-no…my lord," he gasped, "N-never" The pain ceased, leaving Vornoth to, in silence and darkness, bask in his misery.
Tarus awoke, once again, in the library. The dusty room was barely lit by a small hint of light that trickled through the door. He reached to his forehead to wipe away his exhaustion; instead he brushed against the jagged scar. He sighed out of lack of sleep, and grief. He stood up, brushed the dust off of his cloak, and ambled towards the door. He walked through the winding corridors towards the front hall where he hoped to receive a breath of fresh air.
He reached for the massive door, and pulled it open. Tarus was nearly blinded by the fierce beauty of what he saw. The ground beneath him, the rows of houses, the outer wall and even the hills beyond…all covered in snow. The endless blanket of white stretched for miles, but its beauty was contrasted by the fierce winds. The bitter wind bit like a vicious beast at the small patches of Tarus' exposed skin. He could hardly bare it. Tarus closed the door behind him as he stepped out into the blizzard. To his amazement, the mysterious old man stood outside. His flowing grey robes flapped violently in the wind, and his face stared defiantly out at the storm. "It is an early winter," said the old man, "It is a bad omen indeed." Tarus huddled against himself in an attempt to stay warm. The old frail man stood like a statue, motionless and silent, with no intimations to the frigid temperatures. Tarus could barely stand the cold. He began to shiver uncontrollably. He did not go back inside, however, for he found this mysterious man so intriguing he could not leave his presence. "Why are you here?" Tarus said to the old man. The man looked away from the storm and met with Tarus' eyes, "Have I not already answered that question?" Tarus found it hard to reply for his teeth began to chatter incessantly.
The old man, realizing this, reached into his flowing robes and drew out a flask. He handed it to the feeble Tarus. Tarus looked at the flask thinking of the last concoction the old man gave him, but he put that fact behind him. He took a drink of the warm liquid. A steamy, tingling feeling flowed through his body. He felt warmer now.
Finding the ability to speak once more Tarus asked yet another question,
"I must know your name," he said, "It wont do for me to go calling you "Old man" for the rest of my life." The old man made an odd smiling gesture,
"Who said I was staying here the rest of your life?"
Tarus made a look of frustration. He had never thought of that, and the grave thought threw a bitter silence into the conversation. He did not know why, yet, but he found that he liked the old man. He had a certain air about him that Tarus felt empty without its presence. The feeling was almost spiritual, but Tarus decided to not dwell on the thought. The old man merely laughed in response to Tarus,
"They call me Mergoth, but that is the name mortal men have given me. I assure you I have no name." Tarus looked appeased.
"So you are a mage then?" Tarus asked, suddenly coming to his physical senses "That little map trick wasn't something every man can do." The old man looked amused,
"I suppose you can say that."
Taruslooked engrossed, "So… what can you do?"
The old man was cryptic as ever, "Many things."
Tarus sighed. He supposed the knowledge of the old man's name was all he could ask.
The chill picked up once again with a powerful gust of wind. "So Albion entire is rallying against us," said Tarus, "what are we to do?" The old man held his silence for a moment, "I suggest doing what you did last time this sort of thing happened." Tarus knew that the old man had something in mind that he would inform him of. "Last time this happened I had allies…but what allies remain?" Tarus felt a small hint of sadness. The only allies, and friends, that he had were drunks and rebels- bandits and pirates. However none of these remained. The men of the north who dwelled in Knothole Glade and Hook Coast were his enemies. They had been allied to Lady Grey, whose order Tarus had so recently decimated. Seemingly opposing this obvious fact, Mergoth said to him "Perhaps the people of Knothole Glade can help." Tarus laughed on the inside. Knothole Glade eh? I've pillaged that town more than once. Tarus was shocked. "Bloody hell. We're all gonna die." Tarus began to walk inside, but Mergoth stopped him with his words, "If we will die, at least die fighting, even if it is against Knothole Glade." Tarus was taken back. He tried to devise a plan, something to help him out of his doom…but there was nothing. His usually clear thoughts were obstructed by helplessness. He said nothing, only walked inside Bowerstone manor to bask in his library with thoughts of the end. He sat there, amongst the piles of books for a long, long time. He tried to begin a new story, perhaps something about hope. There was nothing.
Again he found himself in his dusty sanctum, sitting with no hope or thoughts of future.
Then, Tarus had a revelation. "THE SWORD!" he said shouting aloud. He ran to his chamber in a flurry of emotion. He ran to the chest, without any hesitation whatsoever. He took up the box, threw off the lid. There lay the accursed thing. It sat there staring at him. It was once Tarus' source of power, but now it was nothing more that the source of his troubles. He took up the blade, and with the sword in hand he ran as fast as he could down the corridors until he came to the front door. He burst through to see Mergoth standing where he was so many hours ago. "This! What do you know of this?" said Tarus holding out the blade. Mergoth gave a slight nod as if he understood all of Tarus' problems. "Aye… The Sword of Aeons…Truly a fabled weapon in this realm… how did you get this?" There was a long…long pause… Tarus had no words to say. The pain was too great to relive. Although nothing was said, Mergoth seemed to know Tarus' thoughts. "Tarus, I have some important knowledge to tell you." Tarus looked grave. "But we must speak in a more secretive location." Mergoth led Tarus into Bowerstone manor and through its many corridors until they came into a dark, damp wine cellar. The smell of mold and rot permeated the air, and the only light came from the open doorway, which was quickly closed by Mergoth with a slam. Now all there was, was darkness. A thick black curtain pulled over everything. Suddenly a bright glow made Tarus squint and cover his face with his arm. The light emanated from Mergoth's staff, which he held high to light the room. "The Sword of Aeons- is a mystical blade, forged by a dark magic…and not the sort of things an everyday mage dabbles in…the magic that forged this sword…" Mergoth found it hard to utter the words as Tarus leaned closer, "…this sword was forged by the dark one, your enemy…the one who wrought everything evil in this world… I speak of Skorm himself."
Tarus was taken off-guard. His insides churned as he glared at the blade, which he held up to see. The sword looked more menacing than ever before. The lives it had taken flashing through Tarus' mind. The millions of innocents, the mighty Thunder, and…his sister. He wept. He wept for all that was lost, all that would be lost…and all that was left in this world. "Now Tarus," said Mergoth in a voice perfectly neutral and firm, "I tell you again, what you do is your choice, including what you do with this sword." Tarus said nothing, his hints of weeping were wiped away by his rough hand. After a long while Tarus thought about his two options. To finally rid himself of the enemy he would need the sword and its omnipotent power, but then again, perhaps just as many troubles would vanish if he were to merely destroy the blade. "I…I will…" Tarus could not make up his mind. He sighed deeply. Mergoth glanced slightly at the floor and turned away, opened the cellar door, and walked out, the light of his staff leaving with him. The last ounces of hope seemed to trickle out of reach ever faster.
The day continued with Tarus wearily performing his leader's duties. Today someone was arrested, but the crime was more serious than stabbing a scarecrow.
"Robbery!" exclaimed the jail-warden, "A right good example of it too. Four 'undred gold pieces from ol' Monty's shop." Tarus and Bob stood side-by-side glaring at the warden, a thin, gangly man with a missing tooth and a brain as intelligent as a lump of cheese. Tarus looked up at the overcast sky, while Bob kicked some snow with his boot. Both men were bored out of there minds. They stood in a hay-covered area that was bordered by a barn to one side, and a stone cell block on the other. They were on the path that lead throughout the prison area of Bowerstone, and although this was one of the less severe areas of punishment, the cell block remained grimy and old. Tarus could not see the prisoners inside from his angle, but he could see portions of the rotting wood doors, and he could only wonder at the interior of the cells. "What's the punishment for a thing like that?" asked Tarus. The warden looked up at the sky as he thought a moment, and not coming up with an answer consulted a small booklet entitled, Felony and Fine. Bob leaned towards Tarus and inquired in a hushed tone, "Erm…who hired this fellow?" Tarus leaned back and answered in the same fashion, "I have no idea." Both men snapped back into a standing position when the warden appeared to find the answer. Happy with his accomplishment of finding the correct fine, the warden exclaimed, "aha! The punishment 'll be thus-" The Warden smiled and slightly chuckled at himself for using such long words such as "thus". The warden then noticed the two staring men and resumed, reciting from the booklet "The offending party will repay what was stolen along with one thousand gold pieces and, or, death. Their choice." Tarus and Bob shook their heads in unison. "Lets see him then," said Tarus. The warden nodded and walked over to a stone cell block. Taking a jingling mass of fifty or so keys from his patched pocket, the warden fumbled with the lump of metal desperately trying to locate the correct key. At times like this, when boredom seems to bore into ones mind in an effort to kill someone, people tend to notice subtle, yet sometimes genius things about life or there surroundings. For instance Bob was noticing that the flames in a nearby campfire seemed to have exactly seven shades of yellow, and the hay that scattered to road in these parts of town tasted quite good if sucked on long enough. Tarus was about to solve the meaning of life, and Bob had managed to find the perfect piece of hay when the warden finally exclaimed, "Aha!" once again, giving the notion that he had found the key. The gate made a deafening screech as it opened, and a loud clang as it hit the stone wall. Tarus saw the warden make a gesture at the prisoner and accompanied it with "come on out you." The prisoner, who obviously would not comply, still remained hidden to Tarus. The warden finally lost his patience and walked into the cell grabbing the thief harshly, as Tarus and Bob could tell by the rough sounds coming from the sounds. Suddenly the warden flew out of the cell door, not with the prisoner, but with a black eye. The warden, now angry, ran in head first, determined to apprehend the criminal.
Tarus had expected a grizzly, disheveled man, perhaps sporting equally grizzly clothing and an equally grizzly attitude, but the person who walked out of the cell with the now- severely-beaten-but-triumphant-warden, was not a horrid man…but the most beautiful womanhe had ever seen. As soon as he saw her he felt as though he were in a dream, not like the nightmares that had, until now, plagued him, but like the best vision he had ever witnessed. Words can not describe exactly what he felt, other than dumstruck bliss.He thought for a moment that he had gone over the edge mentally, perhaps his meaning of life ideahad left his mind philosophically entrapped…but it was not so. She was real. Her l ong brown hair, pulled back by the cloth the warden had used to gag her, her face glowed despite the dismal, frigid surroundings, her skin- dark yet radiant, and her eyes, which said all that her mouth could not, locked with Tarus'. Both the woman and Tarus seemed to speak to each other without words as the warden lead her up to the two men in order for her fate to be decided. Although she was beautiful, Tarus looked away as reality crept back. He fought his urge to look at her, for he had never before been so attracted to someone, never felt this way. Tarus only noticed for a moment how odd it was that someone so beautiful could turn up in his jail cell for thievery. It was especially shocking despite all the pain, and bleakness that life had contained so far. But now a new light had entered Tarus' world, a light to hopefully brighten the darkness that consumed the world. He looked at her once more, unable to break the spell that she had cast over him. "Well?" asked the warden. Tarus found his mouth unable to move. The woman stared back.
Bob decided to be the one to break the bond. He kicked Tarus sharply on his shin making Tarus wince and grope his injured leg. "Er…yes, well." Tarus shook off the pain and thought a moment. "May we speak in private?" he asked. At the moment, he had no idea why he said his idea out loud, but he was soon devising a plan to follow through with his remark. The warden looked confused, as always, but he eventually handed the woman over to Tarus. Now she was standing in front of him, glaring up with her deep brown eyes in a blank expression, telling none of her true feelings. Tarus managed to gesture towards the shoddy barn near the jail cell, where he led her into the dusty structure. Once inside, he found his mouth to be adamant, once again, to speech. "So…er…god…It's your decision like he said…so…what'll it be then?" Tarus nervously scratched his head and swayed from side to side as he spoke, while a brief smile spread across the woman's bound face. "Oh, right." Tarus noticed the gag still around the woman's mouth, and removed it gently, accidentally brushing against her smooth cheek in the process, a feeling that he treasured. He finally managed to remove the cloth, and waited for her to speak. "What say you?" he asked again. The woman's eyes finally gave away her feelings; it was a feeling of grief. She seemed lost, and said nothing, her eyes searching the floor for answered. Tarus realized for a moment how much this woman was like him, lost and saddened. Tarus was about to say something to comfort her but instead she blurted out, "How can I pay you with gold when I have none? The money is for nothing more than food and shelter m'lord, please I have nothing." Tarus looked away from her. He pitied her deeply, but had no idea what to say. "Its not like me to steal really, never thought it would come to it, but I cant think of anything else." Her face, though beautiful, was filled with grief and suffering. They both stood for a long while until finally Tarus came to a conclusion. His idea was not in the least bit logical, or pragmatic, the end result was made out of nothing but love. "Go." Was his simple reply, "Take this," Tarus then went even further with his absurd idea when he reached into his pocket and drew out some gold coins, as if the ones she had stolen were not enough. The woman was confused, almost shocked. She said nothing, only pushed Tarus' hand back to him with a gentle touch. In the back of his mind he felt the urge to say something of his love, but that was out of the question…at least not now. He lead her from the barn and out to the two men, who stood quietly, as bored as ever. "Well? What's it then?" asked the warden. "She decided to pay, and I have already been given the thousand gold peices," replied Tarus. "May I have the stolen money also?" he added. The confused warden thought a moment and then reached into his pack to withdraw the bag of money. He handed it to Tarus who then walked towards the woman. He discretely led her behind the barn where he gave her the bag of money and whispered into her ear, "Take it, ill repay Monty later." She accepted the generosity happily with a wide smile. "And stay out of trouble," he said as they began to walk down the path to town. "I'll try," she said, giving back a small kiss on his cheek and a kind look that he would never forget. As Bob and Tarus returned to the manor, Tarus exclaimed, "Oh bloody 'ell now I have something to stay alive for."
Just some things to clear up- The man Vornoth throws into the fire is the mage that fought Tarus in the woods, the jagged scar is the scar that Tarus received from Thunder in that o-so-epic duel and remember Tarus didn't know this was Skorm's sword until just now . Oh yeah- "He wept" just sounds so cool I had to put it in there.
And by the way, 1 seda 1 are you a fellow that goes by the name of "Brandon"?
Thanks for your interests in my story, and I promise ill crank out the rest of the story more smoothly and with less interruptions .