16 days till Alageasia's Downfall:
Orik's eyes snapped open before he realized what had happened. A sharp groan escaped his lips as he tried to turn, but found that something was keeping his body stationary. He suddenly lost his breath and struggled to suck in any more air before his throat constricted and he gasped. He coughed, clearing his throat and laid still for a few more seconds.
He tried to move agian, but whatever was on top of him wouldn't budge. Attempting to reposition himself, he discovered that the object above him would shift slightly when pressure was applied from it's left side. Twisting around so that his back was agianst the ground and his feet were pressed firmly agianst the underside of the object, he lifted his legs and the object rotated to the side, dust pouring through a gap between the rock and the wall.
Regaining his strength, he shoved once more and lifted the stone up, which widened the gap, allowing sunlight to flow into the pocket of space he was in. He pushed the stone to the side and stood, his cramped muscles releasing tension that had built up over... how many days?
The mouth of the cave was littered with rocks and strewn with fungus and other such organisms. It also held the rotting stench of mud and neglect. And... what was creating such a foul odor?
Orik cringed his nose and scanned the exit of the cave and noticed a large pile of rocks, but nothing more. So what was the smell coming from? He took several heavy steps forward, his boots creating a clinging echo thoughout the cavern. He happened to discover that the walls of the cave was covered in a green slime when he nearly tripped and had to reach out for a hand hold. Wiping his hand off on his tunic, he stopped at the edge of the tunnel.
His previous guess about the large pile of rocks had been wrong as he soon found out. In fact it was the half scorched carcass of a Feldunost, flys buzzing over the body and maggots squirming through it's flesh.
"Barzûl." He whispered. It was a loss to have such a magnificant creature killed during battle, or rather, the aftermath of battle. His reflexes tempted him to vomit, but he scooted away and held it in.
"Ugh!" He groaned, and continued forward, his feet knocked several small stones from their resting place and sent them clattering down the foothill. As his eyes adjusted to the sudden light breaching his pupils, he noticed that the mountain side was barren of any life. The only trees left standing were charred black, and with every breeze the leafless branches would crumble into dust.
The entire area was snowing with ash falling from distant, feathery ash-clouds thousands of feet in the air. Very little fires remained burning, and those that did were small. Tronjhiem was nothing but a pile of rubble, with spire-like projections that was left of the walls.
Orik felt tears weld up in eyes and he began to curse aloud until his voice grew hoarse. The valleys were like-wise, charred stone, scorned trees, corpses of dwarven soldiers and of the Ravtelr. He kicked the ground and seated himself on a fallen log painted grey with ash.
While he was sitting, he pondered about how he had gotten trapped. He couldn't remember much of the battle after Tronjhiem collapsed, and grew wary. What if he started loosing his memory until he couldn't safegaurd is name. Small flashbacks reverbiated in his mental state; rocks falling, knurlan shouting, fire ravaging, and monsters roaring.
It was all too much for him to recreate at the moment, but he figured it would be easier to summon into mind as time passed, or at least he hoped it would. He had no clue what to do, at the moment he was brain-dead and could only command simple thoughts.
To consume time he swirled the tip of his finger in the sand, developing images of his wife in the midst of the immature dunes he crafted. His lips curved into a smile and he felt a longing in his heart to be with the one he loved once agian.
Orik stood after a reasonably long rest and stretched, groaning as relief washed through his arms and legs. Then he hiked his belt and started walking east, hoping to reach Hedarth as soon as possible. As he trudged down a steep cliff-side trail he encountered a steady stream of falling rocks that pummled over the edge of the upper platuea.
He slowed, looking up, and avoided the rocks that clattered over the edge to the ground level where a small lake was nestled between two foothills. He refocused on walking and rounded a corner onto an outcropping, there he stopped and looked over the edge. There was no easy way down, well... for a dwarf it would be difficult, but if he was more agile like an elf it would be possible.
"I'll have to go back around." He said to himself, rotating back around, but stopped dead in his tracks.
A flow of pebbles rushed towards him and piled along the threshold of the outcropping and the cliff, which had slanted down so that it molded evenly into the limestone. At the back of the decending rocks was the scrambling paws of a black Shrrg.
The first emotions to dominate him wasn't fear, but a wondering of what would happen next. It was rare for a Shrrg to attack a dwarf, but with most of the Beor's forests and animals killed off, the large wolf would be desperate.
It jumped down onto the outcropping, it's claws sending sparks flying across the ground as they met stone. Then it began to circle him, no doubt deciding if he were a worthy meal. The Shrrg's lips lifted in a snarl and a growl slithered through it's dazzlingly white teeth. It's luminecent, green-blue eyes held a look of many emotions and showed detailed stories of what the wolf went through daily.
Orik held a respective feeling for this Shrrg, it was a beautiful creature, roughly the size of a full-grown horse. But as it approached him, he tensed and awaited for the worst to happen. It crouched as if to pounce, and... bowed it's head?
Orik opened his eyes and was taken aback at the sight before him. The Shrrg was kneeled in front of him, right leg extended farther than the left and head bowed slightly. A trifling gust ruffled the hairs on the Shrrg, causing them to reflect or abolish the light from the sun.
Orik stepped closer and carefully placed a hand on the Shrrg's neck, suprised at how soft the fur was. "What is it you want?" He asked, in the dwarven language.
The wolf stood up and looked at him with an intense stare, pawing the ground until he scraped a thin layer of dust from the stone.
"Do you want... food?" Orik replied, arching an eyebrow in confusion.
The Shrrg snorted and scratched the ground agian, clearly frustrated.
"Do you want me to ride you?" He asked, not really focusing on his words until it was too late.
The wolf inclined it's head and growled, then it lowered it's body.
Then Orik realized his mistake. A dwarf riding a Shrrg was an accident, death most likely, waiting to happen. They weren't even supposed to ride dragons, but now there was a dragon egg being tested with all the dwarves in hopes of have the first knurlan to be bonded with a dragon.
Orik analyzed his predicament, wieghed the outcome, counted to three, breathed in... out, and then climbed onto the back of the Shrrg. Maybe it was of Gûntera's doing that the wolf was sent to him. However, he accounted it as a blessing and relaxed... a little.
The Shrrg stood, it's immense, muscular body capable of lifting the dwarf easily, and howled at the sky. It's definitive and masterful cry resounded through the Beors. Its deafening sound made Orik's hair stand on end and caused a shiver of sheer teeror to run through his bones. Minutes after the Shrrg stopped, Orik could still hear the echo.
He was about to say something when, one by one, hundreds of more howls returned the call, all terrifying and graceful in their own way. The black wolf snarled and began running down the mountain side with expert movements. Orik grasped the wolf's hair for support as it swayed in different directions. The wind blasted his face from the speed they were going.
They passed bare trees and small hills, which appeared as a blur, in seconds. Orik felt a thrill increasing inside of him, it was quite enjoyable. Soon the Shrrg surged across the valley floor, slithering through trees and boulders with incredible speed and reflexes, dodging every obstacle seconds before Orik saw them.
But another noise rose up from the screaming wind, the howl of wolves. Orik peered over his shoulder to see hundreds, if not thousands of Shrrgs racing down the side of various mountains, all of them following the black one as if he were their leader.
Orik laughed and looked forward once agian. "Straight on to Hedarth!" He intructed, and the Shrrg snarled and surged forward.
(POV Change):
The cool, midnight breeze rustled over the great plains that lied just outside of Du Weldenvarden. It was a dark, serene night as the luminous moon gleamed and the white twinkling stars gave harmony to the sky.
Roran stood on the top of a lush hill, overlooking the plains as they crawled towards the distane in the invisible breeze. His beard had grown rough and his hair was longer than usual, waving in the bitter wind. His gaze scanned the unchanging landscape until he mapped out each and every detail.
He appeared as a statue, calm and still upon the crest, so stationary he was that dust would have been unchallenged to settle upon his shoulders. Only it wasn't dust falling from the sky, but gentle snowfall of ash, rainingpon the ground and coating it in a blanket of dark grey. He couldn't tell where the ash was coming from, but he suspected that a large fire was nearby.
"Roran!" Came a voice he had grown farmiliar with. He turned around to see Murtagh running towards him.
"Thorn discovered the source of the ash." He pointed east. "Three miles in that direction is a forest fire of some kind. But I know the elves would have put it out by now instead of letting it devour their home. Maybe they are under attack."
"What do you mean by under attack?"
"You know all too well what I mean." Murtagh flared.
"I know what you mean, but what kind of idiot would attack the elves?" He shook his head.
"I don't know. But I can gamble Zar'oc that it is those monsters." Murtagh summoned Thorn. "And Thorn and I can get there faster if we go by oursleves, I just want to see what is going on, then I'll return."
Roran nodded as the ruby dragon landed, buffeting the meadow with bursts of air. Murtagh mounted Thorn and said, "Be careful," as he strapped himself in. Thorn tilted his head slightly to acknowledge him, then he leaped off the ground and with a mighty flap of his wings he rose higher.
"You too." Roran turned towards his soldiers as the red dragon entered the air and flew away. There was about three hundred now, many of which had been survivors from attacked villages and cities who had found them on their journey. Strength was in numbers, and Roran's were growing.
"Men!" He shouted, gathering their attention. "We have reason to believe that the elves are under attack by them cursed monsters. Murtagh has left to attempt to see what is happening, he will return, but we will be making our way there now. We will take a detour through the forest to get there faster. Now I know that most of you have complicated feelings about working or associating yourselves with the elves. But remember, they helped us take down the riegn of the evil king, I think it seems fair if we help them. Who is with me!"
Three hundred shouts filled the air, along with three hundred gleaming swords. Their war cry echoed across the plains. Roran smiled and looked towards the jungle, mystery lied beyond the poles of wood and roof of leaves. Hidden behind the curtains of vines was the unknown, to humans at least.
"Then lets go." He said in an under tone.
Roran leaned agianst a vast contorted tree, huffing for air. They had been marching through Du Weldenvardenfor at least an hour and a half. The soldiers were weary, and lagged behind the more determined of the men. The trunck he leaned agianst leaked sticky sap like the poisoned back of a toad, burning his hand. He snatched it away and rubbed his it on his tunic.
He was along the borders of a clearing, at the outermost edge of the glow of a fire, concealed in the murky shadow of the tree's massive vines. They twisted up insanely, like the despairing limbs of the damned begging for forgiveness. Above him, ghostly horsetails of moss were hanging from barrel-thickboughs like a poltergeist's entrails.
A large pearl of rain athered at the bottom of one of these spectre-strings. It alone had made its way through the abyrinthine canopy of hoary limbs and leafy bowers. It teetered there for an age, then with a slimy pop it released itself. A solitary moonbeam speared through the trees at that moment. The globule glowed white like the flash of a firefly before splashing onto the rotten humus. The wraithy horsetails shivered once with a swished whisper of hatredand settled back into their silent spite. The hoary tree knots glared at Roran like baleful eyes. He felt like the forest was infecting him with evil.
Never had he encountered these emotions on his many travels. All aggregated before him had appeared normal when he entered Du Weldenvarden, but this area seemed to radiate a mixture of evil, anger and hatred as if it was a living creature. Just being here felt like partaking in an unholy parody of life. He tried to think of a word for the renders of human flesh he was gazing upon, but it eluded him. They had maggoted their way to this glade, burrowing like wood-weevils into the heart of this clearing. He noted with contempt their filed-down fangs and brutish weapons; clunky clubs, brutal bull-axes, and wicked sickles. it seemed fitting to him that they would inhabit and corrupt this forest into a sacrilehious wood.
Nearly two hours of plunging through stunted coppices and hacking at misshapen thickets had gotten him here. It was a grotesque haunt, offensive to eye, ear, and nostril. The air was hot and stale, burning his lungs like the fumes from brimstone. The floor of the forest belched up constant waves of foul and rancid odours that smelt like sickely excrement. All the freewheeling flotsam of the trees gathered there in blasted mounds of steaming mulch. The scorch of the sun didn't cause this.
Only an occasional, listless ligament of light would pin-prick through the dense foilage. It was like a constipated beam of hoplessness, limply flickering. It had all the cheerless comfort of a dying candle flame. Heat was provided by the thickness of the forests canopy. It compressed down upon the lucifugous heads of those below, creating a sunless curtain of chaos-black. Yellow fungi tossed their pestilent spores into this goulash of decay. Deformed trees pressed in from the sides adding to the mood of stuffy claustrophobia.
Only one trickling streamlet gasped its way through the stomach-souring compost. Like the river of death, it was acheron-black and gleamed with a deadly lustre. At its swirling edges, brown leaves got sucked into the inky morass and added to the treacly pollution. On the trees, wet clumps of glistening growths hinged themselves sickly to the bark like clotted pus. Their glossy texture resembled the skin of slugs. Over the bitter water, great screens of milky mist were heaving with their own steaming malice.
Stealthy scarves of the mist detacthed themselves, slowly glided in silence and coiled serpent-like around helpless limbs. Between the trees, wispy cobwebs threaded out like fibrous star-streaks. They would be the sinewy tentacles of destruction for all those who would dare their tensile strength.
Rorans eyes were scanning the shroud of shadow at the other side of the fire, where a line of figures stood chanting in an unknown language, as the pulsing flames reached higher with the completion of each word. A strange vine-like biennial growth was crawling out of the fire's edge like hundreds of multi-sized snakes making their way into the surrounding land.
These creatures were causing something to grow into the land, like an infection. From the interior of the fire came a caterwauling sound, somewhere between a tortured whine and a despairing screech. The screams of some creature scared his soul.
He had a sword and three knives, but left them sheathed. It would be gory work tonight, silent and bloody and he felt that his hammer would be sufficient enough. He eased away from the tree, a foe far more deadly than the hemlock and wolf's bane he stepped over. Skirting the glade, he made his way to the edge of a boulder set to the side of the fire and strange growing infection.
Four brutes, leather skinned and red eyes, stood over the fire chanting. They were wielding crude, bone-edged clubs. One of the heathens raised his club and ceased chanting. Roran nodded to the soldiers hidden behind the trees, his meaning was apparent; Ready? He prepared himself to meet his creator, unless he made it out alright. He crouched and crept closer to the fire...
Reply to Reviews:
Guest- Your review means alot to me. I hope this chapter continues your intrest in this story. And who cares what Cambridge exams say, Fanfiction isn't for expert writers, cause I'm not an expert writer but I still upload stories, because that is what I enjoy doing. If you want to make a story and post it on here, go right ahead, I'm interested in seeing what you could bring to the community. And I know I've said that I wasn't going to update till I got my Laptop, but I can't stay away from this site, writing is like a soul soother. Hope you've enjoyed.
- Well I'm glad you would like to see a sequel, I hope this chapter keeps you o the edge of your seat but also keeps you from falling off. Lol, Yes, Roran and Murtagh were on a cliffhanger, but I gave them a hand and here they are. Happy reading and writing.
Luckyponygirl- Same here, I've had exams too for the past weeks, and now I have quizes and tests and Fcat and Flordia Writing exams coming up, Oh the joy of High School. I do sorta, kinda, maybe know what your talking about when you said that the story is getting more smoother, I've noticed it not sure if anyone else has. And I'm trying to make the imagery and descriptions more vivid so that the readers can sink into each chapter. Reading your story is also a study break for me too, Zoe is always updated when I have stressful days, it's as if you know something. But it is medicine for those days keeps me going and realizing that life can be fun and not boring and...stressful. happy reading and writing.