15th Verdant Rain Moon, 1892 C.E.
This time, I hailed a carriage outside the Opera House, and requested the driver to take me on the first leg of my journey to the next town. It was dawn, but the skies were overcast and the horses neighing in an unsettled manner. The clouds grew darker and darker, throwing shadows in great swathes across our paths. Rumbling started; the wind swirled violently outside and rattled the whole carriage. I firmly shut the windows.
A crash of lightning rammed into the earth. Everything shook; the horses whinnied loudly from outside. I heard the driver calling out to soothe his horses, but they bucked about for a while longer.
"Mister! We'll 'aff tah stop!"
We found an abandoned ruin of an ancient fortress, and here took shelter. An hour passed and still the storm raged on. I shivered. We weren't getting anywhere. I turned to the driver.
"Sir, I'm a mage. Of sorts. Why don't I get some wood and start a fire while we wait."
He grinned a lopsided, toothless grin.
"Aye, what luck! A mage, and not a demonical wizard. Go 'head, we'll be right here."
I struck out and looked around for something I could use as firewood. It took me some time, but I managed to spot a pile of relatively dry branches.
As I bent over, collecting them into my arms, I felt a strange heaviness around me. The very air seemed to grow thick, like viscous goop. It pressed against both my eardrums, oppressed my breathing. Everything seemed to grow far away, time slowed, and a deep, reverberating sound filled the air.
"Ellll-drus."
I froze. Whirling around I scanned the forest, fully alert. No one was there. Heart hammering, I resumed my task. It was impossible; no one knew my name around these parts.
"Eldrus Runamere."
My heart leapt into my throat.
Despite the cold, sweat broke out all over my face and neck. I had a terrible sense of doom. The mark on my hand throbbed and felt hot. For a moment, I feared every bit of this magic that I played with so unthinkingly, alone.
"I am Grima, the great Fell Dragon. You cannot see me, but I can see you, right through to your thoughts."
I looked around anyway.
"What do you want with me?"
Deep laughter.
"Me? Want with you? Ask yourself that, boy. I was minding my own business when I felt ripples from another dimension. Someone trying to dip into the overpowering magic in my side of the world."
Something new, an excitement, filled my heart.
"You're from another realm? The-" It couldn't be. "-the source of the Ley Lines?"
This had stupendous implications for magical research. Ley Lines…not just small reservoirs of magic, but tiny cracks in a wall separating us from an entire universe, and just on the other side, bristling with overwhelming magical power. Aunt Forrest herself once claimed she had spent her childhood in another realm. Needless to say, I'd never believed her.
"I am. Here, Fell Beasts still roam and magic is everywhere by the fountainful." He left a pause for me to take this in. Then casually, "I suppose I could give you entry."
"What? ….Why are you telling me this?"
"Oh, I'm simply curious. You're desperate and I think it's amusing. But my world has been sealed off from yours. Breaking through would be too much for a human." He affected a sigh, which irritated me. But it sounded incredible. If I wanted to take my chances, it was now or never.
"Not for a wizard, Grima. Try me. What must I do?"
"You must seek a Font of Power and…destroy it." I fancy I heard a soft cackle, but I couldn't be sure.
Fonts of power: sacred sites, guarded closely by clerical mages. Rumored to contain the ability to cure wounds, corruptions and all manner of ailments. Understandably, they were kept well out of reach of the public, and guarded by the most pious and advanced of clerics. Only they could permit entry to those in need. To destroy one altogether…Aunt Forrest would never forgive me.
But unlike her, I had never seen another realm before.
17th Verdant Rain Moon, 1892 C.E.
The Deep Armour lies in an old, abandoned temple at the outskirts of Southern Nohr. Here, the environment is inland, more frigidly cold and unforgiving. I am on my own at this point, but I have some fire tomes with me, and my Grimoire. Pensive and moody as evening falls, I decided to go the rest of the way alone. Even in darkness I can tell this land is bare of trees, being many rock faces and the stringy skeletons of dying plants. I fancy I can hear whispers and see figures skulking around. Taking a deep breath, I grip my Grimoire more closely to my side.
My footsteps echo in the dark halls of the mauseolum.
For a moment, there is only my slow footsteps, the flickering torchlight from my hand throwing irregular shadows that jump all around the hall, and the illuminated rectangular edges of graves. Sometimes, I stop and look at them, reading the names aloud in my mind, the epitaphs revering brothers, sisters, parents, illustrious soldiers, scientists, leaders and mages. My grandfather's image comes vividly to my mind. I am told I am the spitting image of him as he was at my age, and just as cunning. It is a curse of infanthood that memory fades so fast. I have but one remaining of Prince Leo, and that was of him casting a spell. He was aged then, I could tell, and had never been physically imposing, but the sheer magical ability and intellect that radiated from him gave him such immense presence to me. And to think we shared a family tie. His is the one loss in my life I have really felt. I have never been one to be close to other people.
A new set of shadows fall at my feet.
I pause. Holding my arm still, I watch the shadows carefully on the floor. There are the small fluctuations in the graves' shadows from my flickering torch. But these additional ones move still more rapidly, back and forth across the floor. I frown.
And then I hear the jingling of coins, and jaunty footsteps. It wasn't my imagination. Quickly, I dive behind the nearest tomb.
A heavy grinding sound, and swearing.
"Curse of Naga! This baron's determined to hang on to his fortune 'til Judgement Day!"
Two more voices, cackling.
"Leave it, brother. I just got into the one next to his."
"You did! Already?" A scuffle of footsteps, and something heavy falling to the floor. "Is't meant to be that easy?"
Rumbling, again. I slowly let out my breath, and drew in a new one. I just had to sit tight, and wait until they…
Dust fell from above. It settled on my shoulders, white standing out against my dark cloak.
What-
Shouts echoed from the next room.
"A trap! Hey, run for it! This place is caving in!"
With a loud rumble, the ground around me also shook, and a loud crack reverberated all along the hall. A chasm yawned open, and my screams were lost in the deafening sound as I fell into blackness.
Amidst the pitch blackness, I called out in the celestial tongue.
Fountains of light pierced out from my palm in all directions. The flipping of my stomach stops; the slightest of breezes caress my cheeks. Panting, I looked around to get my bearings.
Floating in midair, soft glowing light came off me like a torch. Slowly, I willed myself to the floor, and in a couple of minutes touched gently down. That would have been a very heavy fall. The light remained, for how long I have no clue. This place appeared to be a dark basement. A skeleton swaddled in cobwebs in one corner, a wooden chest in another.
Rummaging around, I finally found it: a decoratively crafted set of armour, light enough for a small mage to wear. Clearly made with a magic user in mind. This was it.
It was while I was unclasping the armour that I felt a prickle in both my arms this time. The violet, vein-like marks had spread up not just one hand, but both my whole arms. For a moment, fear gripped me, but then as I pulled the armour on, I felt such a surge of magical energy. With a small effort, I cast a simple fire spell: instead of the usual candle-like flicker, a flame large enough for a hearth filled the room.
Time to get settled for the night. It will be a simple matter in the morning to find the staircase out, once daylight arrives.
5th Red Wolf Moon, 1892 C.E.
The end of the year is coming. Casting my gaze heavenward, I again have been lost in my study of the Ley Lines. Too much time has been wasted already in my little trips all over Southern Nohr. My newest glyph, at last, is made for the offensive: a devastating wave of lava that would wipe out a small army. Its sacrifice was the greatest one yet: a living beast. Namely, scrubbing flesh with the fur of a slain red fox.
Coming out of my tower, a bright flash of colour catches my eye. Someone has painted my doorway. I frown. It looks like a simplified, tribal dragon. Looking around, it seems that every entryway in sight bears the same pattern. A chant floats out from the chapel: a procession of druids and clerics fall into file behind a wyvern rider. Then I remember Anna's carts suddenly overflowing with protective dragon shaped charms and enchantments made to be hung around the home: full of nothing, I might add, but the weak remains of a Refresh spell and good helping of lavendar.
Today marks the day that the Eye of Grima, that peculiarly ellipsoidal winter constellation, lies closest to our city. Along with this Fell Beast comes the trials of winter, illness, ill luck, and other hardships that one would normally expect at this time of year. The amber wyvern, I assume, must be the heroic figure everyone must be hoping will move from his realm of the flat painting to the real, breathing world of horrors.
I say that it is all an immense waste of paint. They do not know that Solamur the Mind is closer than anyone yet to find a way to break into the other realm that is the source of the Ley Lines' power. And when I do – my gloved fingers grasp the leather spine of my Grimoire, not feeling the cold one bit – when I do, oh how this world will change.
